I didn’t just poke her wound, I stabbed her in it. After she’d told me how scary it was to rely on someone.
Gospodi.
I thought I’d turned myself into Skal’pel’ for her and left her money for a new start, but was it any kind of gift worth receiving? A bag of cash and another abandonment?
It was no gift at all. Story’s the type who’d rather risk her own life and stay by my side. She’d already proven that to me. And I made her sacrifice mean nothing.
“What?” Nikolai demands.
I type, I abandoned her when she needed me to be her rock.
“Fuuuuuuck,” Dima says after he reads it.
“So you have to show her that you’re still her rock,” Nikolai advises.
I hold my hands out to ask how?
“Tell her. Keep going to her show. I wouldn’t get in her face too much-you don’t want to disrespect her wishes-but prove you’re not going anywhere. Not ever again. And communicate. I seriously feel like shit that we didn’t get to know you until Story moves in. I don’t know why we didn’t try harder to draw you out of your shell. I mean, fuck. We could’ve learned sign language a long time ago.”
“Definitely,” Dima concurs. “Hell, maybe we could even get you a speech therapist. I’ve been doing some research, and it sounds like they could teach you new ways to talk.”
I want to weep with gratitude at the flicker of hope the twins sparked-not about talking but about winning back Story. I stand, and when the twins also stand, I pull them in for a handshake and man-hug, thumping them each on the back.
“Oh. Okay. Wow. You must feel better,” Dima says, chuckling. “How can I help?”
I shake my head. I already know what I’m going to do. And it’s going to work. It may be a long game, but I’m willing to play it.
I’ll play it until the day I die if I have to.
I’m Story’s rock, and she’s going to know it and believe it and feel it right down into her bones.
I love her, and I will never abandon her again.
Story
“Story? Hey, it’s Mom.”
The warning bells all go off at once at the sound of my mom’s voice. It radiates with the heaviness of depression.
“Mom, are you okay?”
“Uh… I’ve been better. Sam and I broke up.”
Tears spear my eyes, not for my mom but my own self-pity kicking into gear. Like, seriously? Do I have to deal with my mom’s breakup right now when I haven’t even managed my own yet?
“Can you come over? I don’t want to be alone.”
Blinking back tears, I shove my feet into my boots and pick up my keys. “Okay, Mom. I’ll come right now. Are you at home?”
“Um… yeah. I’m at home.” She sounds lost.
I have to breathe through the spike of fear that accompanies all of my mom’s episodes. The fact that she reached out is good. Getting her help early prevents the really damaging lows. “I’m heading over now.”
“Thanks, hon,” my mom says, sounding like she’s lost in a dream. I know the feeling.
I get in my car and head over to her place, numbness taking over the anxiety.
I’ve been anxious ever since Oleg left my place Saturday night. In fact, every day that’s passed, it’s grown stronger and stronger.
It doesn’t make sense. Usually when I get that anxious feeling, I cut ties with whomever I’m getting too close to, and it immediately drops away. I consider it my gut instinct for when it’s time to move on. My relationship compass.
And I had it with Oleg. I had it so strongly Saturday.
And yet breaking up didn’t ease the sense of dread in the pit of my stomach.
And now I have this shit with my mom. Like the Universe decided that I didn’t have enough drama in my life with the whole Oleg sacrificing himself to an evil doctor and nearly getting killed and then our breakup.
I turn my phone on to call my sister Dahlia to let her know what’s going on with Mom.
“Hey sis, what’s up?” she answers cheerily.
“Eh.” It’s all I can manage. I suddenly feel like I can’t do this.
“What is it, Story? Is it Mom?”
I sniff. “Yeah. Sort of.”
I don’t know why I said sort of. I wasn’t calling to talk about my problems.
“Is she okay?” I hear the alarm in Dahlia’s voice, which I understand. We’re all dreading that call. The one where we find out Mom is suicidal.
“Yeah, I think so. She sounded depressed, so I’m heading over there. I’ll make sure she has an appointment with her counselor.”
“Good. I’m glad she recognizes when she needs help,” Dahlia says.
“I know.” I get choked up again.
“Are you okay? Do you need me to come home?”
“No, no. I’m okay. I just, um, I’m having a hard time right now, too.”
“Oh no! What’s happening?”
Tears start streaming down my face. I take my hand off the wheel to swipe at them with my fingers. “Remember that guy I told you about?”
“Oh my gosh, yes! What’s going on?”
“Dahlia, I think I might be messed up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Like I’m broken. Maybe I got Mom’s relationship gene.”
“Definitely not,” my sister says firmly. “What’s going on? You really liked this guy, right?”
“I did,” I wail. “But then I got that anxious feeling that I usually get. You know-the sign. That’s when I know things aren’t going to work, and I should get out.