Brisé Page 9
“How do I do that?”
“Reach out to him.”
“I can’t hear his voice, Myra. I need this time to put myself together. My parents, the baby, the leukemia returning . . . it’s all too much, too soon.”
“Write him a letter, Phoebe. It may help you both. Give him some peace of mind and you some closure. Give yourself that, too. You need something else in your life besides your damn dance shoes. ”
Weighing my options, pondering my thoughts, I decide a letter is in order. I don’t want him suffering; I don’t want him broken. I need him to live.
Lucas,
It seems so weird to write you a letter. I have so many other options to reach you, but those all seem more personal than a letter. As of right now, we both need the distance. Myra told me about you destroying his office. I don’t know how to reach you, make you understand my thoughts and feelings. Nothing has changed since I left. We wrote our story. It had a beginning, one I will forever remember. We had the middle, many ups and downs, but one hell of a ride. We had our ending, it was sad and bittersweet, but it ended. History cannot be rewritten and no matter how much I love you, I have to let you go. That love hurts, and it’s a dead end street. I respect you too much for that.
I wanted to let you know I completed cycle one of my chemo and it went as well as could be expected. I will continue to get treatment and one day, hopefully, we will meet again as two wholes, instead of a part of one another.
All my love,
Phoebe
I battle telling him I love him, but that will make it harder, and he needs a clean break. Because no matter what, I do love him. But right now I resent him and all he represents. It’s selfish and petty, but it’s the truth. I seal the letter to send to Myra. He will have to deliver it to Luke so he doesn’t find out where I am. I walked away once from him, I know I can’t do it again.
Chapter 15
Luke
Her version of a Dear John letter sucks. I immediately demand Myra tell me where she is, but he isn’t budging. I can’t believe she would rather go through this alone; does she hate me that much? I made the only decision I could. I know there are no guarantees in life; I can’t guarantee she will survive this time, but I can guarantee I risked losing her and the baby if I chose to postpone her treatment. This way, I still have her . . . for now. I could walk out of my door tomorrow and it be my last day on Earth, but I would die knowing I always put her first . . . always. She couldn’t say the same. If she’d stop for one second and think logically, she would see I’m right and her actions are what are causing me the pain I’m going through. She respects me too much, that’s the biggest lie of them all, because if she respected me at all she would take off her rose-colored glasses and see I had no options, no choices. Our story isn’t complete; she cut that bitch off mid-sentence and left me in a cliffhanger status. I’m so angry at her and have no way of telling her, making her face me, venting my frustration on her.
I’ve thought about hiring a private investigator, but I stop myself each time. I do respect her, and if she doesn’t want me in her life, I have to give her that choice. I promised her parents and myself if the day came she wanted us over, I would let her walk away. I foolishly made that declaration when I didn’t have a clue what it would do to me, what having her meant to me. I dream about going to her, forcing her to listen to me, forcing her to love me, and then I wake up and realize I can’t take her choices away. I did that once, that’s why we’re at this point in our life. I continue to do the one thing I can . . . let her go. I pick up a pen and paper and write my response. Once I am done with the letter I place it in a box, thinking it will be one of many I write to her. If she ever comes home, I’ll give them to her. If I can share my days, my struggles with her this way, then we aren’t really apart.
Twinkle,
Today when I woke up, you weren’t here. Same as yesterday and the day before. The past two months have been the same, reminiscent of Groundhog Day. Tomorrow I keep hoping will be the day I open my eyes and realize it’s all been a nightmare. Instead, I continue to live this nightmare. I had the dream, and I lost it. I can’t apologize enough for causing you pain, I can argue every statistic, fact, opinion, and point until I have no air, but you will never see my side. If you were told you MIGHT be able to have a piece of me, of us, but you would lose me, could you chance that? Either way, our baby may not have survived, but I gave you the best chance possible. I have to live with that loss, but I don’t have my best friend, the love of my life here to share that burden with, So, I lost twice.
I can’t tell you that I would’ve made a different decision if given the chance, because I wouldn’t. I would always choose YOU, and if you are alive then we have a chance at a life, another baby, adventures and making memories.
I sold my first house a few weeks ago, and all I wanted to do was tell you. It sucked because it was a new family, and I immediately thought of us, what could have been, what won’t ever be. But at the end of the day, I made a difference. I helped them begin living their dream.
I hope no matter where you are, you think I made a difference to you, helped you live for a while without pain and regret. No matter what, I believe in you and in us because each day you were a part of my life, you made it better, made me better.
I love you,
Luke
The letter is therapy. I become obsessed with writing every day … sometimes several times. Telling her every mundane thing about my day, wishing I could hear about hers. Once again, I beg Myra to send her a letter, he refuses. He does let me know she’s doing fine, fighting like hell. Even he can tell the hell I live in daily and takes pity on me.
Her eighteenth birthday is today. I had so many plans for this day. A ring, a vow, and the beginning of our life. I add a birthday card to the pile of letters and head out with some friends. Drink after drink goes down, and I know I am getting drunk. I hope this will help numb how I feel. I’m so damn tired of constantly feeling, and I want a reprieve from it, even if only for a few hours. It works, even though waking up with a hell of a headache sucks the next day.
Work and classes are my constants, now I can add in one night a week drowning my sorrows. It works, and for about ten hours I get peace. A calm I haven’t known since Phoebe left. After the fourth shot, it sweeps over me and remains until I wake up the next day. To my shock, sitting across the bar from me is Katie Daniels. I guess she’s home on break; time tends to get away from me, and the days just blend together. I give her a slight wave and turn my attention back to the guys I came with, discussing sports. Arms snake around me, and I feel lips on my neck, I immediately jump up and throw whoever it is off me. I turn and see Katie right behind me wearing a look of disbelief.
“What?” I bark at her.
“Geez, Lucas. I was just saying hi to an old friend.” She purrs at me, trying to sound seductive, but in actuality it reeks of desperation.
“Not tonight, Katie,” she may be playing the game of catching up, but I know what she wants. The only thing I ever gave her. She reluctantly leaves, and I go back to my evening.
Every week she is there. Finally I have had enough. “Why aren’t you in school?”
“I left. It wasn’t for me. I’m trying to break into modeling, but right now I’m working at Daddy’s company.” Spoiled girl, still the same. I will give it to her; she is a looker. I can’t call her beautiful because she’s ugly on the inside, but on the outside . . . she has it all. “I’ve heard some rumors, Lucas. I just want to say I am so sorry for everything you have been through.” She seems genuine.
“Thanks, Katie. It’s been rough.”
“What are you doing now? I heard you were working for your dad.”
I nod at her. “Taking some classes, getting my MBA and thinking about moving. Get a fresh start.”
“I understand. Listen, I’m gonna take off. Call me if you want to talk.”
I can’t believe that was the same Katie Daniels. She still has the a
ir of being a princess, but seems more caring. Maybe there’s hope for her after all.
I can’t believe I found a friend in her. She’s been my sounding board. A true friend. Once I let my guard down, we went to lunch, the movies, and have been together pretty much daily. Tonight, the memories are too much. It’s been almost a year since she left, a year since I heard her voice, felt her skin, and tasted her lips. A year of pure agonizing hell. Scotch is my friend tonight; I’m almost numb, but I’m tired of being like that. I want to feel, damn it.
“Lucas, I think you’ve had enough.” Katie. Good ole’ Katie.
“I don’t think you have had near enough.” I wink at her. Not my best pick-up line, but fuck it. I need a release. I lean over and grab the back of her head, bringing her closer to me. She doesn’t hesitate and is just as eager as I am. I control the kiss, not letting her head go as I seek to possess her lips. She lowers her hand to the button of my shorts and frees my cock. She strokes me up and down; it feels so good. A year since I felt this. Oh God, what am I doing? This isn’t Phoebe. I pull back, trying to retreat, but she isn’t letting go of my dick. I meet her eyes; she’s ravenous for me. I can’t look at her, so I grab her waist and flip her around so I don’t have to see her face. Making quick work of her clothes I push my shorts down and impale myself in her waiting pussy. I’m relentless in my thrusts, punishing, chasing the release I want. I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to see what I’m doing. I feel her clench around me, and I immediately pull out, stroke myself up and down and release all over her back. Fuck, I almost made the biggest mistake of my life. No condom. There was no tenderness, no love, and no ecstasy . . . just a physical release. But, I felt something.
“This can’t lead anywhere.”
“I know,” she doesn’t sound surprised. “It was sex, nothing more.”
So I allow it to continue, no kissing since that first time, and a condom every time. I keep trying to feel something more. It never comes, and as I finish up my MBA and get a job in New York, Katie decides to come with me. Friends only, but she wants to pursue modeling seriously. I don’t argue, it’ll be nice splitting expenses with someone and having an easy lay when I need it. Not my proudest thought, but she knows the score. I’m forever Phoebe’s. My heart desires her, my love is reliant on her, and my soul craves her. Almost two years later, and I still love her.
Phoebe,
It has been two years since you left me. I hope you’re well and living your life, wherever you are. I graduated this week, got my MBA, and headed to New York. It was the plan for us all along, me working all day, supporting us, and you dancing. Some days I can still picture those dreams. You getting home from a late rehearsal, me watching sports on the couch waiting for you. You would come in the door and cuddle up with me. Being the awesome guy I am, I would rub your tired feet, and you would reward me. Those visions are fading fast from my memory, along with the sound of your voice, the feel of your lips and what it sounds like to hear you say “I love you.” This will be my last letter; I finally understand you meant it when you told me it was the end. I will never stop missing you, loving you, needing you. But I understand now, we are Lucas and Phoebe, two separate people walking the earth alone. It still hurts because you’ll forever be the other part of my heart, and without you, it will never be whole.
Yours,
Lucas
I place that letter and the recording I made for her on the bottom of the pile and tape the box shut. In a way, I feel like I am shutting a piece of me away at the same time. I call Myra and set up a meeting to make sure the house will be watched over and all provisions made to keep the studio running. I subconsciously think that if things are the same as they were when she left, that she has a home to come back to. Signing all the paperwork, I drop the box on his desk. “If you ever think she’s lost, or wavering and she can handle this . . . give it to her.” I don’t wait for a response as I walk out of his office on the way to my future. A bleak existence I have set up for myself, but I’m continuing forward and hope she is, too.
Chapter 16
Phoebe
Listening to the shouting of the choreographer and head of the company, Claude, I stop and take a deep breath. Nothing is good enough for him. I’m used to being pushed, but this man is a tyrant. “Phoebe, I need more from you. If you want to be the ballerina then make me feel it. Until then, you’re still a principal dancer.” I hate those words . . . just a small fish in the big sea. This isn’t what I strived for, but this is exactly what I was afraid of. Not training under big names has hurt my chances. My mom was an excellent teacher but my name is unknown. As if that doesn’t work against me enough, I also can’t seem to open up. I haven’t been able to dance for myself because I’m empty. Half of my heart is missing, but I know exactly where I left it.
For almost two years I’ve been just another dancer. I’m stronger than ever after completing all my treatments. No sign of cancer. I know that can change at any time, but right now my focus is on becoming the signature dancer - the ballerina. These bitches are cutthroat here. I know people think of ballet dancers as elegant, classy, and regal but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. We are competitive, judgmental, and always searching for the other’s weakness. There’s no hierarchy here, we climb over the next person to get ahead. It’s never how I wanted to live my life, and I just want to stay one more year. I’m ready to go home and start my life teaching at the studio. This was just a stop on my journey, fulfilling a dream my mom had for me. I have survived it, but I want to flourish and remember the next year. I want to look back on it and draw strength.
I haven’t talked to or seen Lucas in almost three years. I refuse to log in to social media, refuse to utter his name out loud, and I refuse to ask Myra about him. Every spare penny I have is being sent to Myra to repay him for covering my medical costs. He tried to argue with me saying when I was twenty-five I would be in charge of my inheritance, sooner if I wanted to petition the courts, and I could pay him back then. I didn’t want that over my head for the next four years, and I didn’t want the first time I had contact with Lucas to be in a courtroom petitioning him for control of money. That would be the last tie to him, and I don’t want to sever it. I caused him enough pain and would spare him that. Once this year is over, I will have enough from the deposits made in my account monthly to live at home while concentrating on the studio and rebuilding its reputation. I haven’t touched that money because I was afraid he would somehow find out where I was. When he didn’t find out where I have been living, I was disheartened. A conundrum of emotions that I can’t make sense of. I asked him to let me go . . . demanded it and gave him no choice, but now that I think he actually has, I feel more lost than ever.
Rehearsal’s over, and even though I have memorized the steps, can do them flawlessly, it still isn’t enough for Claude. I want to stay and practice, find some way to pull what he wants out of me, but I can’t deny I don’t dance with passion anymore. Staying numb and detached has taken its toll on my mind, heart, and dancing. I’m almost ready to dive head first into life again . . . just one more goal that’s seemingly unobtainable at this moment.
“Pheebs,” Brett calls. Ugh, I hate that nickname, but it doesn’t matter, I love Brett. He’s the one person I wasn’t able to disengage from. He wormed his way into my life and heart, with no encouragement from me. He just wouldn’t take no for an answer. It didn’t matter how many times I blew him off, or acted like a snarky bitch, he kept coming back for more. “James and I are having a wine night in, you should be there at seven.” He knows I don’t drink, but he also knows I won’t pass up an evening with James and him together. They are an amazing couple, despite the small-minded opinions of their families. Apparently being gay is not acceptable behavior in their parents’ eyes, but love is love. To each their own is my motto. Or as my dad used to say, “Not my monkey, not my circus.” In other words, if it doesn’t directly harm you . . . stay the fuck out of it and let people live. I do remembe
r my dad’s wisdom, it was few and far between when he had an opinion, or at least when he verbalized it, so those lessons will be with me forever.
“See you then, Brett. Only because I miss James.” He just laughs at me and brushes my insult off. I roll my eyes at him and chuckle at his demeanor. It’s just our way. He’s held my hand more times than I can count at doctor’s appointments and was there with a gentle smile or a kick in the ass when I needed it. As I walk into my studio dump (I cannot classify this as an apartment) my cell is ringing. Checking the caller ID I see it is Myra. Once the pleasantries are out the way he dives into the crux of why he called. The lawsuit. The one I never let him talk about. My parents’ deaths. Taboo subject. He found out the contractor they hired for the new office had subbed the construction out, without the approval of my father or Myra. The company that picked up the bid had been fined and cited numerous times, shotty work, illegal parameters, cutting corners . . . anything shady to earn more cash to line their pockets. The concrete that had been poured for the second floor wasn’t braced right, wasn’t poured the correct depth or with ample footers. Structurally, it was a nightmare, and my parents just happened to be there when it gave way. As a partner, Myra can sue, but as their daughter I need to agree to proceed as well. The deadline is up, and I have to make a decision.
“I won’t have to be there? I don’t want to hear their excuses, I don’t want to see their faces, and I don’t want to hear about the demise of my parents, ever again. If you can promise me all of that, send the papers, and I’ll sign them.”