Surviving Love (2 page)

“Hey, we’ve got time. Just tell me later, okay? I don’t think I can handle anything else right now.” I stand from the couch and move to the garage door.
 

Jeremy looks down to his feet and back up to me, “Yeah, brother, we’ve got time.”
 

I walk from the garage and from the look of torturous pain written all over his face. I don’t want to think about that now. I just need to think about moving ahead and not falling behind. I have a daughter to raise; I can’t afford more shit weighing on my conscience.
 

Chapter 2
 

Drake
 

Once I clamber inside, I notice the house is dark and quiet. It’s after three in the morning and I’m wide awake. Too wake. I don’t like being this alert. It makes life too much of a reality, and I don’t want anything in my life to be real at this moment. I’m still seeking peace for a few more hours.
 

I move to the living room and sit down in the recliner. As I flip through the channels, I come across The Notebook on a movie channel and my peace is soon interrupted. Fate has a way of making you face your challenges head on, which is what it’s done with this on the screen.
 

I close my eyes, allowing the glow from the TV to illuminate my eyes behind my lids, and like a movie playing in my head, I’m brought back to the last time I watched this movie with Presley.
 

She was tucked into my side with her fingers slowly dancing across my stomach. I had initially thought I wouldn’t make it through the first thirty minutes because, with every emotionally filled scene, she’d grip my shirt and her fingers would graze the skin of my abdomen. Her touch was driving me crazy.
 

I looked over at Presley’s face and knew life couldn’t get any better. I remember thinking how amazed I was with my life, especially after the drugs and rehab, because here we were and life was good.
 

When she finally noticed I was looking at her, she started to blush and whispered, “What?”
 

“Nothing,” was all I had to say. Presley climbed over onto my lap and straddled her legs on either side of me.
 

When her lips pressed to mine, I was helplessly falling once again for this woman’s charms. I’d fallen time and time again when it came to her and every time felt like it was the best.
 

I wrapped one arm around her waist and the other crawled up her back until my palm was wrapped around her neck, pushing her closer to my body and deeper into our kiss. I then stood from the couch and moved into our room, holding onto the very precious life of the woman I loved.
 

We made love for hours that night. I tasted, licked and caressed very inch of her soft skin. I remember thinking when we were all done and Presley was fast asleep in my arms, how blessed I really was. I’d never been a godly man because growing up in Sulfur Heights often left you wondering if a God exists. The crimes, drugs and hate living on every corner made you question faith all together. But that night, when I reflected on all the obstacles we’d overcome, I had known there had to be a God because no one on earth was as lucky as I was in that very moment.
 

What do I think about God now? For starters, I think he’s got a demented sense of humor—he’s a twisted, sick fuck. I can safely say that I hate God right now.
 

I’ve spoken to him many times, at first begging him to take care of Presley when she was in rehab, and then again, pleading with him for her to come back to me after she died. Only a God who’s spiteful would do this to us. I may hate him forever. There’s no way someone should go
through everything Presley and I were forced to go through only for this be our ending. At the age of nineteen, she’s six feet under and I’m left to raise our one-year-old daughter and live the rest of my life with a piece of me missing.
 

My lids open and I allow my eyes to focus again. The memories are too vivid for me to handle right now. I get up from the chair and move to the kitchen. Tucked in the back of the cupboard, I find another bottle of booze and chug it down just as quickly as the bottle of whiskey. I move to my room and strip myself from my clothes.
 

Tomorrow I will focus on moving forward, but tonight, I want to stay right where I was before she died. I want to keep myself in the past just for a few more hours.
 

***
 

Reggie has informed me that I only have two weeks leave from work then I need to be back to reality. When he told me this, I thought to myself,
How the hell is someone supposed to go on with life as normal when nothing is normal at all
. However, after a week of walking around the house watching everyone else tiptoe around me, I will be ready for some normalcy.
 

The past ten days have flown by, probably because I can’t live in my bubble anymore, but time has also stood still. Agony and torment do not take vacation, and now I’m forced to deal with it in my real life.
 

There is no more pretending. I have to deal with people outside my house, and they will surely ask how I’m doing. I’m not sure I’m ready for that, yet I need to work, and I need to move forward.
 

I called the plant manager last night, letting him know that I will be returning tomorrow. Reggie and Darcie have been a great help with Mia, knowing I’m slowly starting to come back to life but still struggling everyday with Presley’s absence. I haven’t talked to Jeremy since that night in the garage. I know something is off with him because he’s absent more than he is around lately. Then there’s Jake. His usual infectious personality has been gone since Presley died. I can’t help but think something has happened between him and Delilah. Only Delilah can get him feeling this way. I wonder when he will actually realize she’s crazy about him. Do I really want to see the two of them happy just the way Presley and I used to be, though? I’m not sure if I can manage that.
 

I head to the bathroom to take a shower, and for the first time, I get a glimpse of my appearance. I’ve avoided the mirror the last ten days, and now, when I see my reflection, I’m appalled. No wonder everyone is looking at me like I will break. I look horrible.
 

I pull off my shirt and jeans, standing in my boxers to study myself in the mirror. My skin is ashy and pale, my eyes are sunken in and large bags are pooling under them. My chest used to be defined and ripped, but now it looks like someone has let the air out of my body. My rib cage is the only definition I have in my chest, and my skin sags slightly, hanging from my bones. My arms look weaker as do my legs. I look like I’ve been starving myself for days, which is pretty much the truth. Food? It hasn’t even been a thought for several days.
 

Tipping my head up, I try to remember the last time I ate a meal and cannot remember. I’ve been solely surviving on Mountain Dew and small bits of food here and there. My appetite has vanished along with everything else. I’m literally a husk of a human. There’s nothing left inside
and out. I’m nothing without her. I’m…nothing.
 

I quickly hop in the shower, washing and rinsing my body. When I get out, I can hear Mia crying from her crib. I get dressed and walk into her room, which is just off the bathroom. She’s standing in her bed, arms up, begging me to pick her up. It’s late, and the only way she’ll fall back to sleep is to be rocked in my arms.
 

I reach in her bed and hold Mia against my chest. She rests her head on my shoulder, yawning through her tiredness. Sitting down in the rocking chair, I begin to sway my daughter back and forth. Then, for the first time in days, I get the courage to sing the lullaby only Presley has sung to her.
 

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I let the words to Billy Joel’s “Lullaby” fall from my heart and into the air. Mia immediately is comforted as her body relaxes deeper into mine. I continue to rock her as I quietly sing words that have only been sung by her mother.
 

This was one of Presley’s favorite joys of being a mother, rocking and singing Mia to bed. The time was only theirs, and until she died, I never interfered.
 

Now, it’s up to me to keep the tradition going.
 

When I finish the song, I continue to hum the lyrics until I can feel the deep breaths coming from Mia’s chest. I then lay her back in her crib and she rolls to her stomach, settling in. Before I leave the room, I take a moment to study my daughter. She is absolutely precious with her curly, brown hair wildly lying across her face. I run my fingers over her cheeks, brushing the strands away.
 

I’m overwhelmed with so many feelings when I look at my baby. Of course, love is present, but I feel disappointed in myself that I’ve allowed her mother to die the way she did. I hurt because Mia won’t know her mother or how much she loved her. All I want is for her to be happy.
 

I lean down and whisper, “I love you, sweet girl,” then kiss her on the temple.
 

Mia is the only person in this house who has been created out of love. Unlike me or my brothers who’ve come from irresponsible and idiotic parents, Mia was created from the love of two people. The love Presley and I had for each other was bonded together to make this little angel. It’s a love that will withstand the test of time, and in my lifetime, will be irreplaceable.
 

I will love no one like I love Presley, and Mia is living, breathing proof of our love.
 

***
 

Six in the morning has come way too fucking early as my alarm sounds loudly in my ear. I shut it off and sit up, putting my feet on the floor. Today is going to be a hard day; I just hope no one asks how I’m doing. I’m not ready to talk about it, and the last thing I want to do is cry like a fucking pussy in front of a bunch of hard-ass steel workers.
 

I lean forward placing my head in my hands, which lately, has been my typical sitting position. I’m always hunched forward, looking down on a life that’s done just that to me—let me down. Keeping myself looking down is the only way I can keep my body from collapsing onto the floor. It’s so hard to look into the devastated eyes of my family and not feel pain. If I keep my head down, I find it easier to stand and move these days. I’ve got to do what I can to keep myself upright.
 

I pull work clothes from my dresser, get dressed and shuck on my boots. I can hear Mia over the monitor, bouncing in her crib and talking away. She has yet to say any real words and I’m excited for when she does. I wonder what her first word will be.
 

Jake started placing bets before she turned a year old and is confident Axl will be Mia’s first word. He is a delusional idiot sometimes. Darcie and Delilah are so sure a curse word will come out before any other word. Man, I hope not. I try really hard to bite my tongue when she’s around, but on the other hand, Darcie and Jake can’t control their language. It’s literally impossible for them. I said she would say mama first and Presley took the bet thinking Mia would say dada. It hurts a little, but I’m excited nonetheless.
 

I open the door to Mia’s room and her angelic face is full of smiles. “Hey, sweet girl,” I say when I pick her up and cuddle her into my body, holding her for a minute before we have to get moving back into reality.
 

I lay her down on the changing table to change her diaper and dress her in a purple outfit. I think Delilah bought this for her birthday, yet I can’t remember. Delilah buys Mia crap all the time. Actually, everyone buys Mia stuff regularly. My child will definitely want for nothing.
 

I pick her back up and walk to the kitchen, placing her in her high chair. I give her a sippy cup of milk and sprinkle some dry cereal on the tray while I get my lunch packed for the day. Mia wastes no time drinking down her milk and eating her food.
 

How am I going to get through the day? I place my hands on the counter by the sink then lean forward. Expelling a deep breath, I realize I need to do what I did when Presley was gone for three months in rehab. It was hard then, but that’s the only way I know I can approach the next several months of my life. I will just pretend she’s gone to rehab.
 

I finish getting Mia’s stuff ready and then we head out the back door and get into the car. I called Mrs. Fields last night and asked her if I could start bringing Mia there again. She was happy to be seeing us again, although I’m not really looking forward to seeing her.
 

Mrs. Fields has been a great help and a dear friend to both Presley and I, however it will be hard to look into her eyes. I haven’t seen or even spoken to her since the funeral. She’s a motherly figure to me now, and I hope I can make it out of her apartment without crying.
 

Then there’s the other reason I will hate going there—Carter. Being back at the apartment complex where he lives infuriates me, yet inwardly I hope he’s there. I’d like just one minute alone with him. I want nothing more than to make him suffer. However, I don’t think Carter is stupid enough to be at his apartment, especially since the police are looking for him.
 

When I pull into the parking lot, so many horrible feelings begin to escalate. Nothing good surfaces inside my chest—only pain, rage and anger. I sit for a second to gather my emotions, not wanting my daughter to see me upset, then exit the Chevelle.
 

Mia giggles when I pull her from her car seat and it instantly calms my rage. I can’t do anything stupid to Carter. I can’t sacrifice losing my baby. I have to be responsible. I believe full well Carter will get what’s coming to him. And I hope it’s as agonizing as Hell.
 

Before I get a chance to knock, Mrs. Fields opens the door and Mia leans toward her arms. She’s missed her babysitter, and I can’t help feeling glad I won’t have to worry about Mia while I’m at work. As Mrs. Fields grabs a hold of Mia and gives her a hug. I smile. It’s the first time in
days something has made me smile, and I feel good for once.