Contemplation
Laying in bed, I contemplate.
I contemplate two things: Going to confront Luke Maddison and his treatment of my sister, and going to visit Alex's dad in prison in hopes to get the answer that Alex was looking for but didn't get.
There's a downside to both, which are similar. Aggravating the person's anger and making the situation worse. It's not really my place to go and visit either people, but they hurt two of the people I love most in this world, and I feel as though all I've been doing is watch it happen. I feel a strong urge to get involved and I can't shake it off.
I reach over to my phone to search some things up, only to find it hasn't been charging overnight and is completely out of battery.
So, I get out of bed, Alex still sleeping as it is only half past seven in the morning, and go into the living room of his apartment to grab his laptop which is always left in one of the drawer of the coffee table. I open it, type in the password, and click onto Google, searching: How to visit someone in prison Massachusetts.
The first thing I see is from Mass.Gov. In a box before I even have to click on the website, it reads "They must be accompanied by a parent or legal guardian that has physical custody and who is on the inmate's pre-approved visiting list. An adult who is not the parent or guardian having physical custody of the minor must submit a completed Minor Consent Form and obtain the Superintendent's approval before visiting."
No hope for me, then, seeing as I am a minor.
Still, I click on the website to read more and I find that it says that if you're an adult, you have to be on a pre-approved visiting list, and if you're a minor, you need to be accompanied by an adult on the visiting list. I'm guessing Jasmin completed a Minor Consent Form and went with Alex when he visited his dad. But wasn't it a last minute decision? This doesn't seem like it takes just a few minutes to do. Or maybe it does. I wouldn't know.
I go onto another website. This one says pretty much the same as the first website, but also that Alex would need his birth certificate with him. I know that he his. I remember him taking it when we were packing up his things the day he got kicked out. It's etched in my mind, for some reason. I recall him saying, "If I don't have parents who give a shit about me, I guess I'm going to need this to do things myself." I'm not sure they know that he has it, but I'm quite certain that if Alex needed it for any reason, they wouldn't have given it to him if they did, which is why he took it.
So I can't go and visit Alex's dad, fine, but how will he get his answer? As his boyfriend, I feel a calling for me to go and find it myself. I want to know why Mr Montgomery chose to be this way towards his son and wife almost as much as Alex does. But I don't know how.
That's until I see, after I scroll down on a website, that you can send letters to prisoners.
I sit here for a while, back to contemplation. Should I write a letter? If so, should I tell Alex? If I don't and he finds out, would he get mad? Would Mr Montgomery even write back to me?
I sigh. This is such a tricky situation that I know I shouldn't really get involved in. I know how opposed Alex was to me even sitting in a car outside the police station. How would he feel if I wrote a letter that had landed in the hands of his own father?
"I woke up and you weren't there," Alex says from the hallway, stood in just his underwear with his hair disheveled from sleeping, and pouting slightly. I reach over and close the laptop. "What're you doing?" He asks as he walks closer.
"Nothing," I dismiss as I stand up and walk over to him. "Good morning," I say before I kiss him
"Then why are you closing the laptop in such a hurry? What are you hiding?" He says with a skeptical look.
"I'm not hiding anything. I just closed it to come and give you attention instead," I lie, continuing to play it off. I go into the kitchen area and open the cupboard where the cereal is stored. "What do you want for breakfast?"
He brushes me off, "No, I want to know what you're up to."
"Can't you respect my privacy?" I ask, placing a box of cereal on the countertop.
He scoffs, "It's my laptop."
"I was looking at presents for your birthday," I blurt out, which is stupid because his birthday isn't any time soon, and I definitely would not be looking for presents on his laptop.
"My birthday isn't for another two months," He tells me.
"Pretty much a month and a half," I correct him.
"Cut the crap, you weren't looking at presents. Why are you lying?"
And now I'm nervous because I lied, and he seems annoyed, and I'm so terrified of another argument. So terrified that, ever since, I've been scared of saying something wrong. It's not because I think little of Alex or that I think he gets annoyed easily or really anything to do with him personally, it's just that our fight made me feel so horrible inside and I don't want to feel that again, and I don't want him to feel horrible again either, because it was all my fault, and I take responsibility for that.
I don't want anything to happen to us. Ever. This is such a small thing, I know, I remind myself of that, but I'm so conscious that it can lead to an argument.
Not a big deal. Not a big deal. Not a big deal.
A big deal to him.
Fuck.
"Alex—" I start.
But it's too late. He's already opened the laptop and, before I know it, has typed in the password. His forehead creases in a frown when he takes in what I had searched up before looking up at me in confusion.
"Why are you looking up—" Then it dawns on him. "No, baby no. You're not thinking of visiting my dad, are you?" I don't say anything, but he can read me enough to know that the answer is a yes. "Why?"
"Because you deserve to know why he treated you the way he did. You didn't get the answer when you went so I thought I'd go and see if I could get any sort of answer from him," I explain.
Alex signs and gives me a certain look, "I don't want you going to a prison, gorgeous. Not near my dad."
That's exactly why I didn't want to tell him. He's so again me being around prisons and I don't understand why. What does he think would happen to me? And if I did visit Mr Montgomery, it's not like he could really hurt me. There would be police officers around and glass between us. I'm not that weak that any mean thing Mr Montgomery says to me will make me hit rock bottom.
"I know and that's why I didn't tell you I was thinking about it. I know you're protective of me, and I love that, but I don't want you preventing me from doing things. I know he's your father, but still, nothing's going to happen to me. I just want to talk to him. I respect you enough that I would not go if I were able to, but it's kind of not fair, Alexander. You can't prevent me from doing things just because you're nervous that I will get hurt. There are a lot of things that could hurt me, are you going to try to stop me from doing those? Like simply crossing the road alone? You're my boyfriend, it's not your job. Your job is to respect my choices."
"I know, and I'm sorry, but—" He pauses for a second, sucks in a breath, and continues, "It's just that he actually, physically hurt you, remember. Your wrist still hurts sometimes, and it was months ago, and that itself is a reminder. He even threatened to kill me once he's out of prison. What's to say he won't harm you, too? It was my fault he hurt you, and the thought of him hurting you again, even verbally, is painful to even think about. I don't want to see you hurt, especially not because of me and my situation. It makes me feel so guilty, OK, and I'm not going to be one of those boyfriends who is going to prevent you from doing things, I promise. It's just this—"
He doesn't proceed to finish his sentence, visibly not knowing what to say next, so I take that as a cue to speak.
"You need to stop blaming yourself for actions of other people. He didn't punch me because of you, he punched me because he is fucked up. Because of his anger. Because of his abusive nature, and none of that is your fault. We've had this conversation before, even your counsellor told you that you need to work on it. I know it's hard, I do, but please, Alex. This hurts me. You saying these things hurts me, how you hurt yourself like this."
Alex moves his gazes away from me, like he's ashamed, "I know, I'm trying," He almost whispers.
"I know you are, sweetheart," I say, rushing to the couch and sitting beside him.
"You're not going to leave me, are you? Please don't." He grabs ahold of my arm, as if he's trying to physically prevent me from going anywhere.
"No, of course not. Regardless, I can't visit your dad. The only way I'd be able to is if an adult did that form and was on the visiting list, you know that. Jasmin did that for you, didn't she?"
He nods, "Yeah."
"When?"
"As soon my dad was put in prison, she called in to ask if she was on the visiting list. She used to get along well with him before she knew about everything, so she was able to use having a good relationship with him as an advantage. When she found out that she was on the list, she asked me if I wanted her to complete a consent form in case I ever wanted to visit him. At the time, I didn't want to go near him again, but I agreed in case I were to ever change my mind. She filled out the form and it was approved by the Superintendent, and when I did change my mind, I was able to visit him."
As he says that, he takes a breath, as if he's angry.
"That makes sense, then. It's good that she thought of doing that," I say, my hand in his. I decide to change the subject, "So, how are you feeling this morning?" I ask. He was so sad last night. It's been a few days since he visited his parents and he hasn't been so great, but he's trying to accept what happened. He's trying his best, it's just difficult, I am fully aware of that. I've just got to encourage him, as his counsellor said. Though not too much.
He looks at me now with a hint of a smile, "Better."
There's a different answer in his eyes.
"Yeah?"
"Mhmm," he hums, and I frown.
Looking at Alex, as an impartial bystander looking in from the outside, you wouldn't be able to tell that he's struggling. But I look at him different. I really look at him. I take things in and I remember. I observe. I even wait. I see.
He's always tired, tossing and turning, the dark circles under his eyes existing to show for that. When he does sleep, he sleeps for a while. He smiles less. Laughs less. Has less concentration. More headaches, I've noticed, and even back pain. More irritability. More anger. Fluctuating appetite, to which some days he eats loads, and others hardly anything. He uses the gym as a distraction and has completely stopped going to his performing arts club, abandoning a show they were preparing for.
You really wouldn't be able to tell unless you look at him like I do.
"Are you being honest with me?" I ask, not because I don't believe Alex, but just in case. I know that, when depressed, people cover up how they're truly feelings. Towards me Alex usually doesn't, but you never know when things change.
"Yes," he breathes out, and he smiles again, but his jaw is still gritted, and he's rubbing his hands on his thighs apprehensively, his hands curling into a fist. "Just nervous about counselling today."
"Do you still want to go alone?" I question, my fingers running through the hair on the back of his head.
"Yes. I need to learn to do this on my own."
"OK. I love you, Lexy."
I go in to kiss him, but pull back when he pulls a disapproving face and asks with a slight furrow in his eyebrows, "Lexy?"
"It's my new nickname for you," I tell him. I didn't even come up with it myself. Last night, I took it upon myself to look up 'nicknames for Alexander'. More than I expected came up. I chose 'Lexy' today, but clearly it has not been approved.
Alex shakes his head, his disapproving look deepening, "Yeah, no thanks." When he sees that I look sad over his reaction, his expression softens. "Lexi Taylor?" And that's when I understand that he's not just being mean.
"Oh God, ew." I pull a face, regretting even thinking it was a cute nickname to give him. "What's her name even short for?" I wonder out loud.
"Alexia," Alex says. Thank God it's not Alexandra. "Anyway, breakfast." He stands up, but sits back down, "And I love you too."
Then he kisses me.
The rest of the morning goes by as usual. We eat breakfast, brush our teeth, have a shower together, get carried away, get dry, put clothes on, and then sit around waiting for when we have to leave so I can drive Alex to his counselling session.
I am supposed to be doing some grocery shopping for Alex, who has given me his credit card. I offered to do so as it seemed like a good way to pass the time, but as soon as Alex has left my car, I change my mind. If I can't go and see Mr Montgomery in prison then fuck it, I'm going to talk to Luke. At least I'm able to do that.
I don't struggle finding where he lives as before Sofia even knew that Luke was the father of her child, I remember we walked past his house, and she pointed out that it was the house she recalls running from that night. It's on residential side street opposite the park and it's the only house that is painted green.
However, when I park my car outside his house, I get a sudden jolt of anxiety and I can't brush it away enough to walk up to the door. I sit here for a little bit, debating whether or not I should suck it up and talk to him, or if I shouldn't pressure myself into uncomfortable situations, especially when it can cause conflict. I do this for a good ten minutes.
In the end, I choose not to pressure myself. People say that I should try, but it some circumstances, it can make my anxiety a whole lot worse. I know that if conflict did arise from it, it would not feel like an accomplishment. But I don't want to not say anything at all. I think back to this morning, how I wanted to send Mr Montgomery a letter. Maybe I could do the same thing here.
As soon as I get this idea, I drive back to my own home. When I'm in my house, I go straight to the dining room where I know we keep paper, pens and envelopes in the drawer of the desk that is situated on the left side of the room. I collect all three things and sit myself at this desk, ready to write.
Then it hits me that I don't know what to say. I hadn't even thought up anything to say when I thought I was going to talk to him in person.
Do I be firm? Even spiteful? Or do I play it nice, maybe as a nudge of encouragement?
But I know Luke, or at least I know him from what I see. He's not a nice person, so I don't think a nudge of encouragement would do anything. Although, I don't want to be too rude about it because of the fact that he's not a nice person. That would anger him and could worsen the situation.
I decide to just go with the flow.
To Luke,
I would've spoken to you in person rather than write this letter, but unfortunately certain circumstances prevent me from doing so.
I understand that you're angry with Sofia. Although I have never and will never understand what it's like, I do sympathise with the fact that it's a shock being told that you're going to be a father unexpectedly, especially at the age of seventeen, and I know that she took so long to tell you, you had every right to be annoyed, but I think that your reaction was completely unacceptable and that's why I also take such offence to it.
Remember that this is your child too, not just Sofia's. They're a part of you and you shouldn't throw that away just because you're scared. It's not fair to dump all the responsibilities on Sofia solely because she's the one who is carrying the child. You were both irresponsible, you slept with each other, it's not only Sofia's doing. I know you don't want to be a father, but Sofia didn't choose to become a mother either. You're also the reason this child is to be brought into the world. Do you understand how hard it is to be a single parent? Look into it so you can have a better understanding.
You don't need to be there every single day and you don't need to be in a relationship with Sofia. You don't need to even be friends with her, although that would be preferable. All you need to do is be there for your child. Someone who can look up to you, for you to teach morals and lessons and to watch grow up into a wonderful person.
I'm not asking you to write back to me or even speak to me, and I already know that Sofia is going to be a amazing mother on her own, I'm just asking you to please give your child a chance to grow up with both their parents. A chance to have their father too. Do you really want your own child to resent you when they're old enough to understand? For them to know that you abandoned their mother, and them, like this? To be known as a coward and an abandoner in itself?
I hope you realise that you can be taken to court for this. Grow the fuck up and take responsibility for something that is your doing. Don't be the bad guy.
I hope that you know you're a hypocrite.
Sincerely,
Matthew Jenkins, aka the walking talking pride parade. Look who needs to grow a backbone now.
I know it's not much, I couldn't think of anything more to say, but I hope that it's something, although I know it probably won't even do anything. Tucking it into the envelope and writing Luke's name on the front as if it is a simple birthday card, I stand up and soon I'm back in my car.
When I'm back at the guy's house, I take a breath, hoping to myself that I'm not going to mess everything up with this. I eventually walk up to the mailbox and post the letter through. When I turn back, I see Eva watching me curiously.
"What are you doing?" She asks.
"Did Sofia update you on the Luke situation?" I question before I let anything slip and tell her something that Sofia only wanted certain people to know. My parents know, and they're fuming, but I'm not sure about anyone else.
"About how he won't take responsibility? Yes," Eva responds and I let out a breath.
"Well, I wrote a letter to him, hoping he'd change his mind," I admit. "Do you think Sofia would be mad?"
I haven't actually thought about how Sofia's would react to this, if she were to find out. There could be a chance that Luke doesn't give a crap about the letter, thus not bothering to contact Sofia, but there's a chance that the letter could anger him and he would contact her, all angry and mention it.
Too late now. The letter is now in the mailbox. There's no way I'd get it back.
My little sister shrugs, "No, I think she'd be grateful."
"OK, good." I nod as we begin to walk towards my car. "What are you doing here?"
"Meeting my friend at the park. Where's Alex?"
I look at my watch and see that I'm supposed to be on my way to pick my boyfriend up right now. "Counselling. I need to go and pick him up now."
"Bet. Will you be home for dinner tonight?"
"Yep."
"Nice." And she walks away to the park.
Alex is waiting outside the building for me when I arrive in the parking lot. He rushes towards my car with a grin and I can't help but smile back. He always does this when I pick him up from somewhere. Smiling and rushing towards me, and he always gives me a kiss when he's in the car. Today is no different.
"How was it?" I ask once our lips part.
"There is this new restaurant that's opened nearby. Wanna go there for lunch?" He says as he buckles in his seatbelt, not even acknowledging my question. I sigh. He always tells me. Why won't he now?
"Yeah, OK. Where is it?" I respond, not pushing him to tell me anything that he was talking about with Sam. If he doesn't want to, he doesn't have to. As much as I want him to tell me everything, I remind myself that it's not really any of my business. It's Alex's and Sam's only.
"We need to put the groceries away first," Alex points out.
"I didn't get any," I tell him. He gives me a questioning look, so I explain. "I wrote and sent a letter to Luke. I'll explain when we're at the restaurant."
After Alex gives me the name of the restaurant and I put it in Google maps, it doesn't take long to get there.
It's a small, quirky looking restaurant. It's not busy, with only a few people dotted hear and there, but it seems relaxing, so that's nice, especially for Alex. We are seated by a window at the front of the restaurant, and the waitress is quick to get our drink order.
When I look to Alex after peering out the window for a few seconds, I catch him with his phone out, taking a picture of me.
"Why are you taking a picture of me?"
"Because you look so pretty," he says with a grin. I pull a silly smiley face and he takes another picture, then he puts his phone down and shifts on his seat. "You asked how my counselling went."
I nod, "I did."
"Sam has referred me to see a psychiatrist. My appointment is in, like, two week or something," he tells me.
If I'm being honest with myself, I'm not surprised about it. In fact, I expected it. I've been wanting him to see a psychiatrist he can be properly assess on whether or not he has depression, and thus can be treated for it, but of course I have no power to do that, knowing that there has to be a referral, and you don't just book an appointment because you want to.
"Really?" I ask, and I feel a bit silly to be excited over this, but I only want Alex to get the help he needs.
"Yeah, she thinks I may have a personality disorder or something like that. I think it's stupid but whatever."
"Oh, I thought you maybe had depression, I didn't know that a personality disorder was really a thing. I'll probably look that up when we're home so I know about it. You know, have an understanding. It's good that you're on the road to get the diagnosis that you deserve," I admit.
"Depression?" Alex questions. He shouldn't be surprised.
"Yes. I'm sorry for saying it like that, but Alex, you been a lot more than sad and I've been so worried."
"No, I've just been upset about my parents, that's all," he brushes off. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to respond.
"Oh, love, it's been more than that."
We're interrupted when the waitress comes by with our drinks and we order our food.
"I don't want to talk about it anymore. That's what Sam is for," Alex mutters when the waitress is gone, picking up his glass, but then he puts it back down again and his composure changes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I mean, I feel like I've talked enough about it for the day. You came with me to the other sessions so we never needed to talk about it afterwards, you know?"
"I understand," I utter, accepting the fact that Alex doesn't always have to talk to me about everything. "Did today help, though? Tell me that at least."
He shrugs, "Yeah, a bit. She's not happy with my mom." He bitterly chuckles before he takes a sip of his drink, and when he's done, he changes the subject. "Why'd you send a letter to Luke?"
"Because I was too nervous to speak to him in person," I confess sheepishly.
"About Sofia?" He asks. I nod. "You could've waited until after my appointment and then I could've spoken to him for you."
"As much as it's been a relief having you help me and speak on my behalf, I need to learn to do things on my own."
"It's OK to have help," He says to me, and it's so ironic for him to say that.
"I know, but I worry that too much help will prevent me from getting better. I know today I didn't speak to him face to face, but at least I wrote what I wanted to say down and sent it to him. I feel like it's building stones, you know. I sent a letter this time, maybe next time I can call whoever I need to confront, then it will reach the point where I can speak to them in person completely fine. And I know that I've been able to stand up for myself before, but that's only because of the adrenaline of that situation, it's not always like that. I want it to be."
"And you will, 'cause I know you and I know how resilient you are, OK, and I wanna help you."
I smile at him because I already know this. I've known this ever since we started dating. And Alex does help me, so much, and I'm so grateful for having such a wonderful boyfriend who makes me feel so loved and so listened to you, and as much as I want to grasp onto him at all time, especially in anxiety-inducing situations, I know that I'm only using him as a shield. I need to step away from that. I need to do things for myself, and that's not to say I never want his protection. I just want to be able to protect myself too; to have him as a backup instead of someone I automatically go to before I even try to do things myself.
"Are you glad you got help?" I ask him, my hand going to his which he's resting on the table, and I play with his rings, just like I habitually do.
"Yes, I am. Thanks to you."
He brings my hand up to his lips and kisses it.
Parking in the driveway of my house, I see Esme stood to the side of it. It takes me by surprise seeing her here until I remember that she is dating Luca. I haven't heard him talk about her, and it's not like I assumed they broke up, I just forgot they were a thing. Well, I haven't talked to Luca about recently in general.
Luca, currently, is annoying me more than ever. It's been a while since our talk, and for a little bit after it, he got better at being so distant from us. He was home a bit more, he had dinner with us more often, he talked to all of us more and he made an effort to be more respectful. Then one week, all of that went down the drain, and everything went back to normal. Mum claims that, regardless of how disappointed she is, she's not going to put in further efforts to get him to spend time with us.
He says he wants to build a bond and to feel less separated, but then doesn't try. I guess habits are hard to kill off, but I really want to have a friendship with my brother, like we used to when we were small. We got along well then.
Nonetheless, when I get out of my car, Esme smiles at me.
"When is Alex coming back to club?" She asks, stood awkwardly with her phone clutched in her hand and her arms crossed across her abdomen.
Alex goes right ahead into the house, evidently not wanting to be a part of a conversation between me and his ex girlfriend.
"I'm not sure," I respond truthfully before blurting out, "I know why you and Alex actually broke up."
She gives me a half-assed apologetic look, "Sorry."
"Don't say sorry if you don't mean it. But it's OK, it's not that big of a deal, anyway. I hope you have a nice time with Luca," I say, assuming that she's here for him, and I walk away.
I walk into my house with the intent to go straight to Alex and simply hold him, knowing how difficult today was, like the days of his counselling appointments generally are.
"Matthew, why the fuck did you send a prissy letter to Luke?" Sofia basically yells as she rushes down the stairs, and the thoughts of Alex rush out of my mind. My heart drops. Oh crap. I shouldn't have sent the letter, should I?
"I—"
She cuts me off before I can continue, "This whole situation is none of your fucking business! You always have to do stuff like this don't you? Sei un rompicoglioni (You're a pain in the ass)!"
"What did he say to you?" I ask, my voice small and nervous, scared that I've just fucked my the whole situation. I really shouldn't have sent the letter.
"Well, he said that he was going to see the child every once in a while, I guess," she says, and then I'm confused.
She's mad because...?
"You're mad at me because what I tried to do succeeded? That you got what you wanted?" I don't mean for it to sound bitter because I genuinely want to know why she's so mad when my intentions succeeded, but it comes out like that anyway.
"No, I'm mad because you stuck yourself in my business!" She spits, her tone so sharp that I even flinch, and I inwardly tell my nervousness to calm down, because I am not being physically attacked, there's no need for the fight or flight response.
"Better to be a pain in the ass than a brother who doesn't give a fuck about you. You're welcome," I reply, not letting my annoyance and anxiety get the better of me, even though my hands are shaking a little bit from her shouting at me. From the conflict, the thing I don't want to be so scared of anymore, just as I told Alex in the restaurant.
I know what she said it true, that it was none of my business and that I probably shouldn't have sent the letter, but all I was trying to do was help. As Sofia's brother, I want to be there for her and to stick up for her. And it did work. If she doesn't want to see my intentions, especially because he did actually agree to see their child exactly like she wanted, well then that's her problem, I guess. I can't keep beating myself up for things that I can't take back.
"What's all this shouting about? We're not at a bloody football match!" I can hear my dad say, but I don't pay it any mind. I rush upstairs and enter my room, falling into the arms of my boyfriend, my comfort. I know what I did was not my place, but at least I tried. As the negative didn't happen, isn't that what matters?
I am so fucking proud of you, and you are so fucking loved.
Only two more chapters + an epilogue left! Let me know your thoughts on this story thus far! Don't be nervous to give criticism.