Between Black and Sunshine (22 page)

I know, the minute I walk back into the studio, back into reality, that I have fucked up monumentally. I can suddenly see each and every mistake I have made.

I can see how low I have fallen. I remember myself curled up in a ball in front of the futon, filled with anger. I remember how I lost myself in the things he had left behind because I was so desperate to hold on to the man I thought he was. The man who belonged to me. I felt every emotion from a life time of memories with him and every cell in my body begged to have him back. It hurt; the love itself was physically painful. But the fact that I was going to have to live without him hurt worse.

I don’t know who I am without Luca. I don’t know how to feel anything if it’s not attached to Luca. My mind didn’t know how to function without Luca.

And my mind, that bitch, it clung to last thing it knew of him.
He loved Clara, not me
. Up until that point I hadn’t made any mistakes that I couldn’t recover from. But when the voices began to convince me that I needed to go to her, that I needed to see her, that’s when the mistakes began. Mistakes I can’t go back and make right.

This is what I’m realizing for the first time, as I step back into the studio.

Here, in this studio, it’s all clear to me. What I did to her. I let her fall in love with me. Not even me, but a lie. A manipulative, sick girl who makes up lies and takes advantage of the one person who is there to help her. A selfish bitch who screws with a person who has been abused and fucked over so badly that she had given up on love forever… until Blanca stepped into her life.
I never thought I’d feel love again like this.
She said this to me and I told myself that she was talking about the kind of love you have with a friend, the most general form of love. I told myself this as I lay in her bed and she stroked my hair.
Me either.
That’s what I told her. That I never thought I would feel love again either.

And hadn’t she been saying things like this all along, from the very first night I went to her apartment? Yes, she had. And did I ever bother to clarify that my feelings for her were not romantic? No, I didn’t. Did I ask her to stop holding me or caressing me? Did I tell her I’d rather sleep on the couch? That I didn’t like wearing her clothes or that white terrycloth robe? Did I tell her it made me uncomfortable when she fed me food from her plate with her fork? Or begged me to come meet her friends who she had been telling about me, friends that surely included Luca? No. I never gave her any reason to believe that my feelings for her were any different than her feelings for me.

I am a sociopath. I am the one of those creepy women you see on real life mysteries. I am the girl from
Single White Female
I am Charlize Theron in
Monster.
I am just like every evil, twisted female that’s come before me.

I have seriously fucked with Clara’s head. I’ve fucked up any chance I would have had to make things right with Luca. And what the hell do I do about it, is there anything I can do about it?

I’m stalled in the doorway, looking into my world. The area where Luca set up my art supplies is a mess. It looks like someone broke in and scattered the shit all over, leaving behind angry charcoal drawings… of Luca, of Clara, of Luca and Clara.
Jesus, I don’t even remember doing that.

The small kitchenette is littered with garbage. The small amounts of food, alcohol and water that Luca had bought, that we never got around to consuming, have all become empty containers, angrily scattered around the room. The grocery bag that held garbage has been kicked into a wall.

I don’t even want to look at the bed. But I do. The textiles are just a bundled up mess, same as always, but I can see myself drowning in them; buried so deep that I disappeared into the mass of sheets and blankets and pillows… and sweatshirt.

It sucks being aware of who I am. Of being brought back into reality like this.

But here I am and I can’t stand it. I can’t stand to look at it. I go to the kitchen and pick up our former grocery bag that is useless now – torn and damp. The garbage bag I packed my non-clothes items in is still sitting on the floor where I dropped it. I empty it out, neatly folding the bedding and towels into piles. My books and notepads and folders are put in a pile next to them. My life in neat little piles.

I fill the empty bag with garbage, disgusted with myself that I could have done this, lived with this trash right in front of me. There are no cleaning supplies so I grab a wash cloth out of the pile.  I wash up the blatant spills and sticky crap on the floor and counters. Then I just keep going, washing every inch of that dirty kitchenette until I’m sweating.

When there is nothing left to wash I go to the futon. I remember how Luca pulled on it that first day, the day I became his girlfriend, and it flipped down into a bed.
It will be better as a couch.
I rip everything off the mattress then yank on the back of the metal frame until it yields to me and pops up into a stiff, little couch.
Better, much better
. I should have done that a while ago. It’s no longer a bed, but a couch. I only have one memory of being on that couch.
Yes, I want you to be my girlfriend.

I busy myself folding up the blankets and sheet. I set them down next to the towels. I pick up Luca’s sweatshirt, the one I’ve seen him wear a hundred times, the one that makes me remember his face, his voice, his body each time he wore it. This is stupid, this is just going to hurt, but I put it on anyway. I cover up Clara’s
Sex Pistols
shirt with Luca’s faded black hoodie.

I put the hood up over my head, pulling it to my nose and smelling him in the fibers of the fabric where he still resides.

“Jude.”

I hear his voice and my head snaps to the door that I never got around to closing. Oh shit, oh god…
Luca.

I run up the stairs two at a time, praying that I find her at the top of these steps. There is light coming out of the doorway and my heart starts racing,
she has to be here.

And she is, she’s here. Standing in the middle of the living area, drowning in the sweatshirt I left behind, the hood covering her, her small hands pulling it over her face. Her eyes closed, like she smells me. My heart feels like it falls out of my body. “Jude,” I say to myself.

She turns to me, her eyes going wide at the site of me, the rest of her looking stuck- completely unmoving.

I didn’t want it to go this way. I wanted time to prepare before I saw her again. I wanted to contact her first to let her know, over the phone, that I’m getting help; that I’m trying to get my anger under control, that I won’t hurt her. It’s obvious that would have been the correct route because the look in her eyes is sheer terror.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just showed up here like this, but I went to see Anton….” I pause because her eyes go from wide to almost closed at his name, her whole face tenses at the mention of his name. “Um… I went to apologize to him. I didn’t hurt him again. He’s doing okay. He’s home and he’s doing okay.” Her face evens out and I see her chest inhale and then exhale a large breath. “But he and Piper are worried about you. Anton told me you went home; back to you mom’s house
.
So I called…. your mom told me you weren’t there. I called Callie and she said she hadn’t spoken to you for weeks. I just had to come here… to see if you might be here… to make sure you were okay.” I stare at her; I don’t know what else to say. Her face is blank. I don’t know what she’s thinking. “Are you…okay?” I whisper.

Her small body starts to tremble. Her face, still surrounded by my hoodie, with her hands holding tight to the fabric, starts to move side to side.
No.
Silent tears trickle down her cheeks.

I’m forcing my feet to stay in place, I’m fighting the need to go to her. But it’s uncontrollable. I take two long steps and then I wrap her up tightly in my arms.
Oh god, oh god.
She feels so small, so fragile in my arms; smaller than I remember even. Her boney shoulders move up and down under my arms, her face is tucked tightly into my chest, her hands still small fists by her face.

“Jude, it’s okay. Shh, it’s going to be okay. Shh… shh… shh.” I hold her and talk to her, feeling her body going limp in my arms. Feeling all my energy seeping out of my body, too.

I pick her up and walk her to the futon that has been stripped of any memory of being our shared bed. I sit us on the couch and tuck her body into mine, rocking her and talking softly into her hair. I do this for a long time before I allow myself to accept that Jude is here with me, in my arms. I let myself breathe her in. There are new scents on her; manufactured, girly scents. I can smell my own shampoo on my hoodie. But underneath all that is still Jude; the smell that belongs only to her. I inhale deeply, remembering it, letting it spread through my body, as if she might disappear from my arms at any second.

Because she could disappear from my arms at any second.

I let my arms run up and down her back. Her spine is protruding and I can feel her ribs through the thick sweatshirt. She’s lost weight, a lot of weight from a body that didn’t have any to lose. My heart starts pounding in my chest. My hands move to her shoulders that are sharp now. I wrap my hand around the top of her arms, easily closing my fingers around her sweat-shirt covered body.
Jesus.
My hands move down her arms, onto her small fists. I need to see her face. I uncurl her fingers and move her hands away, then pull the hoodie off of her head. She keeps her head tucked into me, not wanting me to see her… not wanting to see me.  I place my hand under her chin and gently lift it. I can feel her resisting, but I have to see her.

Her face looks different; her cheek bones so much more prominent than before, there are dark shadows under her eyes. The eyes she won’t look at me with, the eyes that are trained on her lap.

“Look at me, Jude,” I whisper. She doesn’t. “Please, Jude, look at me.” Her shoulders lift and drop, and there is the small sound of air leaving her lungs. She raises her eyes to mine, but she’s still not looking at me, her eyes dart to everything but mine. They seem frantic almost. “Hey,” I whisper. Her eyes rest on mine for a second. It’s enough for me to see; they are sadder then they have ever been, darker than I’ve ever seen them, glossy with tears.

She ducks her head back into my chest, burrowing into my shirt and I let her. I wrap her back up into me and breathe her in, imagining that it’s possible to suck the pain and the hurt out of her body with each inhaled breath I take. And it almost feels like it’s working, like I can feel the sadness seeping into my flesh, finding its way through my blood stream, racing to get to my heart. I close my eyes and let myself feel it; the overwhelming sadness. For what? I’m not sure. For the end of us? For an us that she will not be coming back to?

Jude lays motionless on me. I would think she were asleep but I know what her body feels like, sounds like, when she’s sleeping. I find myself nodding off. But every few minutes I’m startled awake by my phone. It’s in my back pocked and I would have to move to reach it; something I’m not willing to do.

Call number seven comes in and Jude raises herself from my body. My body reacts strangely; like my skin is separating from my tissue trying to reach her. It’s a cold, stinging sensation. “Answer it,” she tells me, her voice horse and cracking. Her eyes darting to mine but still unable to really look at them.

I shift to take my phone out of my pocket and she tries to climb off of my lap. My hand goes to her waist, holding her in place before I can tell it not to. “Sorry,” I tell her, forcing my hand to let go.

She stands up and walks to the bathroom. I watch her until she has the door closed. The phone has stopped ringing but I know I have to make a few calls to let people know I found Jude. I check the call history that alternates between Piper and Callie. I dial Piper’s number and she picks up before the first ring can finish.  “Luca! Did you find her, is she okay?”

“Yeah, I found her. She’s at the studio, I’m here with her.”

“Is she okay? Can I talk to her?”

“I don’t know if she’s okay, I haven’t really talked to her yet. I don’t know if she’s ready to talk to anyone, but I’ll make sure she calls you.”

“She doesn’t have a phone.”

“I’ll make her call from mine before I leave. You’ll tell your brother I found her?”

“Yes. I’m worried about her Luca, what’s going on with her?”

“I’m not sure….” I watch as the bathroom door opens. “I should go.”

“Make sure she calls me.”

“I will,” I say, hanging up as Jude steps out of the bathroom. I watch as she comes back to me, sits next to me on the couch, her eyes trained on the flor the entire time.

“That was Piper.”

She nods. “I should have called her. My phone broke and I never got around to getting another one.”

“She was just worried. She’s not mad. I have to call Callie, are you okay with that?”

“Do you mind… if I do it?”

“No, of course not,” I say, handing her the phone.

It looks huge in her small hands. Even her fingers look as if they’ve dropped some weight. The ring I gave her for her fifteenth birthday rattles around on her bone. Her hands shake as she types in the numbers. She holds the phone up to her face, her head hung, her hair a veil separating us.

“No, it’s Jude,” she says. “I’m okay, I’m sorry I haven’t called…. My phone broke and I never got a new one…I don’t know, I can’t really talk about it right now…”

I should leave the room so she can talk to her friend. I start to stand but Jude’s hand moves to my thigh, asking me to say. I sit back down and her hand promptly moves back to her own leg.

“No, it’s not okay. It’s pretty messed up….” There it is- conformation. She’s not going to forgive me. But then she whispers, “I messed up. Really messed up….”
She messed up?
What the hell is she talking about?
“I will, I’ll call you as soon as I can….I promise, I’ll get a new phone, or find a public one…..No. Don’t use his.”
Because this is the last time I will see him.
“Okay… I love you too.”

Her hand reaches out to me, handing me back the phone. I take it and stare at her hair that is hiding her face. I can’t let her go. I can’t let this be the last time I talk to her. “Jude, I need to talk to you.”

“There isn’t anything to say,” she mutters. It sounds like she’s crying. I gently ease her shoulder back and she falls against the futon. Her eyes are clenched tight, her lips tremble.

“Jude, Anton told me about the night of Clara’s opening.” Her eyes shut tighter. “That you saw me there with her. It’s not what it looked like.”

“I know,” she whispers.

She knows?
“I would never do that to you. I should have brought you there with me. I shouldn’t have gone at all. I was afraid… I didn’t want you to meet her.” Fuck. I need to tell her, I need to tell her all of the ways I’ve hurt her. She deserves to know the truth.
“She’s the person I slept with. She’s the only woman, beside you, that I ever tried to care about. But it was only because… she reminded me of you. Her mannerisms, the way she moved and the way she always looked like she was searching for something, how small and frail and timid she was. When I looked at her I could see you. It was wrong that I did that to you… that I did that to her.”

“I know, Luca, I know. Just…stop.” Tears pour from her still-closed eyes now. I should have waited. Why the hell did I tell her that now?
Because this might be the last time I ever see her.

“Jude, I’m sorry.”

Her eyes open, they look directly into mine. “Luca, stop, please. Don’t say it, stop saying that you’re sorry. You don’t have to be sorry, not to me, just stop.”

“I am sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything. I’m sorry you had to watch me beat your friend to near-death…. I’m sorry that I hit you. That I pounded your back with my fist… just like him.”

Her eyes are still holding mine. Overflowing with anguish. Hurting so badly I can hardly look at them. “I forgive you, Luca. I know you would never hurt me. I know that you love me. I know that it’s always been me. I know it was never her. I know… I know… I know.”

Relief floods my body. She’s willing to forgive me, after all of that, she’s going to forgive me. “I love you, Jude, I love you so much. You don’t understand how good it feels to be forgiven by you, my sweet girl. I will never hurt you again. I will do anything for you, Jude. I will be better. I’ll make you better. I will give you everything forever until I can make you better, until we are better….” I talk, I just keep talking even though Jude is shaking her head, even though her eyes are back on the floor, even though she flinched away from my touch.

“No, Luca,” she whispers. “I forgive you. I love you. But I can’t forgive myself. I can’t be yours. I don’t belong to you anymore.”

All the energy that was awake in my body a second ago is gone. “Jude, what are you talking about?”

“I did something… terrible, something awful. Something unforgiveable.”

She slept with someone. She found someone else. She loves someone else.
“Jude, if you found someone… someone better than me, it’s okay. I just don’t want to lose you. You don’t have to be mine, I just can’t lose you.”

“No,” she whispers.

“No?”

She shakes her head.

“If you had sex with someone…”

“Luca, no. I didn’t have sex with anyone, I didn’t do any of that.”

“What then? There is nothing I wouldn’t forgive.”

“Luca,” she says, looking into my eyes, her voice cold and methodical. “You don’t understand. I’m not the person you think I am. I am capable of so much worse than you could ever imagine. What I did is not forgivable.” She looks at me for a hard minute like she’s making sure her words have found their way into my brain.

What the hell is she talking about? What the hell could she have done that she would think I wouldn’t forgive? “Jude, I slept with another woman, I left you alone after promising you I would protect you, I let that man beat you, I beat you myself. I’ve done every terrible thing there is to do to someone you love… I’ll understand. I’ll forgive you. Whatever it is, I’ll forgive you. There is nothing you can do to make me stop loving you. I will never give up on you, Jude. Do you understand that?”  I hear my voice rising, my skin warming, so I stop.

“Just leave, Luca. Just go.” I watch her eyes turn cold…dead. I will not let her do this. I will make her remember what we are together. That I am not something she can give up.