Marley pushes back in her chair. “Tris, is this is too much—”
“Life can be too much at times, but this, this needs to happen. I need to heal. I need to be able to look in the mirror and see—”
“Me!”
“Me!” I shout back. “I need to be able to look in the mirror and see me, not a monster. She won’t diagnose me because she thinks I’m too young, but I am telling you there is something seriously wrong with me, Marcello. There always has been. I’m—”
“No, Tris.” Marley stands abruptly. “He doesn’t need nor deserve that information.”
“He does. He loved me once, and I loved him. I made him do things to me because it felt good. I moved, he felt betrayed. I promised never to do that—”
“Tris,” he seethes, “don’t you dare fucking cry.”
I look back at him and see him gripping the edge of the seat, physically holding himself back. I’m getting a glimpse of the Marc he was before me.
I bat away the first tear. “I won’t!”
“Fuck.” He starts to stand, and I hold my hand out, telling him no.
“Don’t. Don’t touch me.”
“Then stop fucking crying.” His eyes start to brim red.
“You were my first friend. My only one, my whole life, who wasn’t family. I loved you.” I hit my chest. “You felt betrayed because I was so damn depressed, and you didn’t understand it. How could you? I sure as hell didn’t back then.”
“I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you want to hear? Will that make this better? Will you come fucking home then?”
“I pushed you away, and you were hurt, and—”
“Hurt? I was fucking devastated!”
“I don’t disbelieve that, and I couldn’t manage that with you because I was a mess, and I was pregnant, and I had to deal with that.”
“I should have.” He hits his chest and begins pacing. “I fucking should have.”
“Well, you were a bit busy with your little harem.”
“One wouldn’t have been enough to replace you. It’s still not,” he seethes.
“Then stop trying. Find someone to love, Marc. We crossed lines, dug trenches so deep and wide we’d be swallowed up if we tried. We can’t go back.”
“The hell we can’t. You just admitted you love me! Love doesn’t die, Tris. It doesn’t, and—”
“Love changes, Marc.” I hold my hand to my heart.
He holds his hand over his. “Like hell it does. Do you think I love any of those girls I fucked?”
“If you’re trying to hurt me by saying that, I’m going to ask you to stop. I don’t want to hurt anymore. I don’t want you to hurt anymore. And I hope maybe one day we can be best friends again, after we’ve healed.”
“I’m not fucking broken, Tris!”
“I broke you! Look in the mirror, Marc! I broke you! The Marcello I grew up with wouldn’t ever hurt me. But the Marcello I asked to inflict a little bit of pain once in a while, that Marcello couldn’t see past his hard-on to remember who he once was to me, and my needs superseded that, too. I couldn’t see we were no longer the little girl and boy who promised to one day be married, just like our parents. We became—”
“I see you in every set of eyes beneath me or above me. I still see you as mine. That will never change.”
Louder, I finish my sentence, “We became toxic.”
“You know I love you. You know you’re still mine. You know, when shit gets straight in your head, you’ll be enough for me. You know when this Marley or the next shrink finally fixes you—”
“You can’t even say you’re sorry for fucking my cousin, Marc! Jesus, listen to you. Admit you need help and find it! I have. I’m bipolar and—”
“Tris.” Marley, who had just sat down, gasps as she stands.
“What? I need him to see that it’s okay to be fucked up, but healing doesn’t start until you recognize it.” I look back at him. “I tried to kill myself, Marc. I wanted to die so I wasn’t hurting my parents, my siblings, my cousins, or you! I wanted to die, and my father had to reach his hand down my throat and make me throw up the handful of pills I tossed back. Before that, I was in a psych ward for the rose incident, for fuck’s sake. This isn’t just a little game. I have mental health issues, and I can promise you that they were here before our ‘wicked little games.’ Think back, and you’ll remember. I hide from crowds, I was anti-social, I had to focus on—”
“She’s lying,” he cuts me off and looks at Marley.
“Oh my God. No, I’m not. I’m batshit crazy and owning it. Hell, Brisa is so fucked up because of me that she’s seeing Marley, too.”
“Tris,” Marley whispers.
“I’m sorry. Let me clarify. She’s not crazy; she’s an empath. The fairy princess of mental health disorders. Me? I’m the black cross loving loner with suicidal tendencies because finding a way out of that dark was impossible.”
“Until now,” Marley interjects.
“Until music became my passion.”
He sits down, staring at the wall over my head, shocked maybe? Pleased? Who the hell knows anymore with him?
Marley clears her throat. “While things are quiet, I’d like to remind both of you that things shared in this space are safe. Marc, Tris just trusted you with things that even those closest to her don’t know. I’m not sure why she chose to share that with someone who has outed her to any male or female who she kisses to end her show, because, to me, that’s not something I would have advised and—”
“Who knows?” he cuts her off and looks back at me.
Marley answers, “That’s not information I’d share, either.”
His eyes aren’t cold, and his perma-scowl has softened, so I will. “My parents and Momma Joe.”
“You should have told me.”
“Really?” I wrinkle my nose.
He closes his eyes and shakes his head while sputtering curses. When he opens his eyes, they’re red again. “Yeah, Tris, really.”
I smile as my own tears begin to build again. “Those sandbox confessions were a lifetime ago, Father Efisto.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Someday, when My and Brisa are done with school, I may tell them, but—”
“I’m not saying shit to them, Tris. I still haven’t told My you broke his first MVP trophy or Brisa that you cut her doll’s hair.”
“Thank you.”
He stands and grabs his blazer. “Look, I’m not sure what to say, how to act, or what to feel right now, but I do know this; you can’t be dead, so don’t pull that shit again. You just can’t”
“Accept my apology and wish me well on my healing journey.” I hold my hands up and pinch my fingers together, like a Buddha statue.
He lifts his chin then looks at Marley. “Nice to meet your acquaintance.”
When he turns to walk out the door, my chest tightens, and I feel the fastest anxiety attack ever is brewing inside of me.
“Marc.” I gasp out his name.