“I’ll return soon.”
Sliding into the car, I question why I did not correct her. Why I let her assume something about Tris and I that was clearly not true. Why I wish it was.
How different a life it would be …
Looking out the window as I pass through the narrow streets, I feel agitation gnaw once again. At my age, I should be the one swerving in and out of traffic, driving my retired motorcycle or the Porsche without regard for responsibility.
My phone vibrates, and I pull it out of my sports coat.
Tris.
Thank you for bringing the card by. My apologies for not replying to the text messages and making you go out of your way. My phone was not charged. ~ Tris
I quickly copy the text in the translation app so not to misinterpret her words.
No suggestive language, no flirtations or offerings, and no Xs, just Tris.
The fact that it is upsetting to me should have me calling my therapist, instead I message back quickly without overthinking, without worry of its ramifications.
Thank you for falling asleep, your head to my chest. I should apologize for drifting with you, but I won’t. Your friend, Matteo
When she doesn’t respond, I send her another.
Some people you meet and know it was more than just an encounter. Poems are written about it, art is made in its glory, songs sung due to happenstances. Your messages were sent with urgency. Mine is with trust in something deeper. O ~ Matteo
I immediately regret tapping send.
Art and Culture
Tris
When I met him, I knew there was something calming about him. But now I wonder if he’s not something otherworldly altogether.
Melatonin man.
I roll my eyes. I know it’s the pills, but it doesn’t seem to happen with anyone else.
I lean in a bit and look at my reflection in the mirror, hazed with steam from the extra-long shower I took, hoping he would leave in that time.
Looking at myself this way, I can see why my fans would think I’m something special. And that’s not in a conceited way, not at all. I know it’s genetics. My parents are beautiful people.
Jealousy rears its ugly head and taunts me, Too bad it’s only skin deep with you, unlike the others.
Fuck you, monsters.
I’m on a high, even though I literally retreated from its source. Lord knows I could screw it up in a royal way. So, ending on a high? Yeah, I can fixate on that.
And I will.
I smile as I shake my head.
I cannot believe I fell asleep listening to the calm, steady rhythm of his heart, wrapped in his arms, to him saying things to me that enveloped me in warmth. I will try to forget that I was in his shirt and that I probably looked like I had just licked an asshole, but why? He wanted to be my friend, right? That’s why he came here … right?
I replay his words in my head over and over as I blow my hair dry.
You have a beautiful soul, Tris Steel.
Take that, monsters.
I lean in to get a better look at my eyes, to see if he was right about them when he said, “I see it in your eyes, in their depths, and in hues of greens and browns, all equally as striking.”
Yep, they are all those colors until the world gets staticky, and then I bet they turn black.
When you woke rested, even the morning sunrise across the Mediterranean would pale in their splendor.
I wonder if he googled, “Things to say to make a stupid girl swoon.”
Marc googled, “how to make a girl love me,” and “how do I know if she really loves me,” amongst other things that I found in his search bar when we looked up BDSM.
How about this, Marcello, don’t fuck her cousins, or even one.
God, how in Dad’s mind did that make it sort of okay?
The twat twins probably said, “Hey, let’s draw straws. Whoever gets the shortest one pretends they’re gay to throw shade on the incestuous ménage.”
God knows if you say anything about anyone these days, there are enough victim cards to play that society deems acceptable for shitbag behavior over the fact that they fucked me over. Yep, I’m crazy because she’s now got a whole slew of “support” behind her.
I could toss my mental health card out there; air all my dirty laundry. It would hold more clout than trifling thunder cunts fucking their cousin’s boyfriend.
I turn off the hair dryer and set it on the quartz countertop. “Wrong is still fucking wrong.”
“It is, but how was he wrong to return the card?” Momma Joe asks, walking up behind me and fussing with my hair.
“He wasn’t wrong. I was thinking about …” I pause.
“You can tell me anything, Tris, always.”
“I can’t tell you how I hope your great-nieces fall off the face of the earth and pull Marc down with them, face-first into a gonorrhea-infested orgy in hell. That would be wrong.”
She stops fussing and places her hands on my shoulders, looking at our reflection in the mirror. “It would be, but worse if it was face-first into an HPV infestation. From what I hear, genital warts are more painful and visible, whereas gonorrhea is invisible and can be treated.”
She then lifts my chin to close my gaping mouth. “Now, let’s get dressed. You have a video meeting in half an hour, and then, tonight, we dress up and take in some culture.” She kisses the side of my face then leaves.
I finally laugh.
“They were wrong to hurt you. But you have to stop allowing it and move on.” She smiles. “Because men like the one who stood before you today, absolutely could be missed while suffocating in pain, and together time with you will not be poisoned.”
Behind closed doors, I sit on the bed, holding my charging phone.
My chest tightens when I see Dr. Marley Matteson’s name appear right before she does.
She’s younger than I expected and has purple and pink streaks in her hair, which makes me a little less sure that she will be able to deal with the likes of me.
“Hey, Tris, I’m Dr. Marley, and I’m gonna have to ask that you allow me to be less than professional for a moment and fangirl.”
Oh my God, I’m so fucked, I think.
“’Red Roses Turn Black’ is so deep. Anyone who’s been in a toxic relationship can feel that pain, and when they see someone who they admire—you—it helps to make them feel less alone.”
I don’t say anything, because I seriously think she’s blowing smoke up my ass and believes I’m buying into it.
Annoying.
“I think some of your fans can actually benefit from hearing your song and realizing they are not alone.”
“Glad to be of service,” I say dryly.
She smiles as if I didn’t just piss on her praise.
“So, tell me, Tris, what would you like to get out of our sessions?”
I shrug. “Pills that don’t make me so tired that I fight to keep my eyes open. Or, better yet, the magic one that makes me all better.”
“I promise you that I would if I could. And I also promise you that I didn’t one day decide to do this for funsies. I had my own struggles that I overcame, and if I can help people do the same, it helps makes the journey from then until now worth it.”
“Did you ruin everyone in your life, take a life, and then try to kill yourself?”