Chapter Forty-Five (I'll Stand By You)

Previously, on "Memoirs Of A City Girl":
Ch. (44) Tears Dry On Their Own
-After Luke left, I ran upstairs to my bedroom
to try and make sense of what just happened.
-Brad asked what Luke was doing here.
-I told him that Luke needed to talk to me about something. 
-To my surprise, Brad admitted that he saw
everything that happened in my flashbacks,
especially Luke's connection to Jesse.
-Even though he implied that Luke and I finally
found each other, I changed the subject.
-I asked Brad why he never told me about his alcoholic father.
-He ended up telling me about his painful past,
including his mom's abandonment, being abused
and having to take care of J.C., his younger brother.
-He was afraid that if I found out, I would leave him.
-I told him that he was wrong, that I would have
loved him more because of it, but he never gave me a chance.
-I found myself needing to be alone, wishing
Luke was still here.

*Strong language*



Location: 1012 Pomona Promenade
Date: Tuesday, 11/8/2011
Time: 5:27 p.m.

I can feel the oxygen flee from the microscopic air sacs that make up my lungs, or at least the remains of it, as I try to process the information relayed on the phone. Dead. Everything else becomes static noise after that, even though I am fully aware that Brad is breathing on the other line---barely. It feels as if someone just dunked my head in the toilet bowl, submerging my face as it flushes, as I try to gasp for air. I clutch my cellphone with all of the strength that I have left, trying desperately to prevent my knees from buckling. My free hand absentmindedly reaches for the surface of the kitchen island as I mutter, "What?!" 

"Yeah. I just got off the phone with J.C." Brad's solemn voice---bordering on hopeless---starts to crush any hope I have left that it's all a mistake. That they have the wrong person.

"Oh my God, no!" 

"He's like a father to me. He was---damn it!"

"Poor Luke..." A heaviness falls on me like a net made of iron chains, dragging me down, as I try to support the rest of my weight against the sturdy corner of the island. For him to come home to this, after the way I left things. The shattered look in his eyes before he walked out the door. Oh, how I wish I can just take him in my arms right now. Tell him it's going to be okay. Let him know he's not alone...but...I'm not even sure if I deserve to do that. "I can't even..."

"Do you think you can go check on him? I would, but...I'm probably the last person he wants to see right now."

Check on him? Coming from another person, this suggestion sounds logical. But coming from Brad---knowing the fall-out he had with his best friend---almost defies reason. He actually wants me to go to Luke. "What makes you think he'll talk to me?"

"He will...once he sees you."

For a moment, everything falls completely silent. Somewhere in the rubble of my chaotic mind and the trepidation of my own heart, there lies a seedling of hope faintly emerging, coaxed by Brad's unwavering statement. He sounds so sure of it, as if there is no other interpretation left for doubt. "I don't know, Brad." 

"I'll take care of Nikki. Just leave a spare key in your mailbox."

"Alright. What's his address?"



As I look back in my rearview mirror, watching the small town of Appaloosa fade off into the tired afternoon sky, I know there's no turning back. I hadn't planned on going back to Bridgeport this soon, let alone see Luke. I didn't even pack anything, not one shirt, not one pair of pants, not even a toothbrush. Just my purse, cellphone and a full tank of gas. After leaving the spare key in the mailbox, I drove off with nothing but hope. Hope that Brad is right. Hope that I'll have the courage to keep on driving, despite the negative memories still lingering in the dark corners of my mind. Hope that I'll be able to bring some comfort to Luke---if he'll let me in long enough to explain myself, to explain everything.

But could I really just show up like this? Without warning or permission? My heart starts to suffocate at the thought that he might not be home when I get there. Or worse yet, he might be in the company of another woman---comforting him. Shit. At a time like this, it could very well be a possibility. 

Fear takes over. Even as I grasp the steering wheel with both hands, trying to focus on the road, the desire to go back home and avoid rejection grows by the second. Just when I think about turning the truck around, I'm plagued by something even stronger than fear: guilt. The mere idea of Luke having to go through this alone---as if the whole world just abandoned him---triggers flashbacks of my own darkest hours. Nobody should ever have to go through that alone. Ever.

When I finally muster up the courage to call Luke and let him know I'm coming, it automatically goes into his voicemail. Not even one ring. The mere sound of his voice causes a wave of panic, deserted by words, knowing the seconds are counting down before that inevitable "beep". 

"Hi, this is Luke Rossi. Sorry I missed your---"

I hang up.



By the time I'm within city limits of Bridgeport, I can see the cluster of lights adorning every single building---reminiscent of the hot, bright center of a galaxy---drawing everything in by its gravitational pull, bringing it to life. This city, which contains all the memories of my childhood, all the remnants of my hopes and dreams, my happiness and sorrow, all the pieces of a life I once knew---boils down to a single bridge. The moment the tires make contact with the concrete deck, passing every single suspension cable in its path, I become flooded by memories of the last time I was here---looking down at the water, tempted to jump. I try to look away and fight the tears, hoping to avoid the pain that's creeping back in, but my heart won't let me. 

Everything comes back like snippets of a movie, just as vivid as yesterday. Coming home to find Brad's sweaty body writhing with Naveah's, the pleasure that leaked out of their mouths, my heart being sliced apart by razor blades, the regret on Brad's face, the shame on hers, the horror in her eyes as I smashed her face to a pulp, smelling the fresh copper in her blood, the urgent need to witness her last breath. 

Running down the stairs in humiliation, Brad chasing me down the street, begging for me to come back, being saved by a cab and telling the driver to take me to the bridge. Stopping at the bridge, leaning over the railing, wanting the pain to stop so bad, wondering what would happen if I jumped. Wondering if I'd finally be free...wondering if anyone would care if I washed up on shore.

What was it that stopped me? What was it that convinced me to turn around, get back in a cab and head to Appaloosa? Maybe it's what saved my life---and the very same thing that brought me back---guilt. 

Or could it have been...Luke?



Location: 1557 Memorial Parkway
Time: 7:42 p.m.

With what seems like eternity between knocks---my heart trying to escape through my throat---I can hear scuffling of feet and a twist of a doorknob. Dear God. He's home. The door slowly gives way, revealing perfectly chiseled abs, a rock-hard chest and bulging arms kissed by tats. If my jaws dropped to the floor and slipped on my own slobber, I wouldn't know it. There's only so much hotness my brain can process. 

The moment my eyes land on his, I can feel my neurons jump and crash blindly into each other, like electrically charged microchips sinking into a bottomless ocean of warm, pale, lustrous green. But this glimpse of paradise is short-lived. The muddy sediments of pain turn the waters a murky olive, like a cobalt sky ambushed by gray clouds,  highlighting the puffiness around his eyes. 

"Lyn..." He whispers, as if saying my name will help him differentiate between a dream, a nightmare and reality. The sparkle and vitality in his eyes---that never fail to make my heart skip a beat---flicker down to its last embers, overwhelmed by the weight of despair. 

"Oh, why you
 Look so sad?
The tears are
In your eyes
Come on and 
Come to me now"



"Hi..." I manage to say, still standing at his door, at a loss for anything that remotely sounds like the English language. Seeing Luke like this...just kills me. It absolutely kills me. And I can literally hear and feel the tear of every artery, every capillary and every blood vessel in my heart.

"What are you doing here?" 

"Brad told me what happened...I'm so sorry."

"Yeah..." As if reminded once again of his nightmare, he finally breaks the spell of his gaze and looks down at the floor.

"I thought I'd see how you're doing. I tried to call, but you didn't answer." I explain, realizing that he still hasn't invited me in, nor has he given any indication of doing so. Suddenly feeling foolish for showing up---I try to make a dignified exit by adding, "Anyway...I'm sorry about the other night. I just...I was...I understand if you don't want---"

"Shhh. It doesn't matter," He interrupts gruffly as he picks me up in his arms, carrying me inside, kicking the door close. "You're here. You're really here."

"Yes." Our eyes meet again, a sort of glimpse into the creation of the universe, into the very same instant that time revealed itself, igniting the spark of consciousness and cellular memories of each incarnation. My Jesse. Words become obsolete at the throbbing of my heart and the urgency in my warm breath, mixing with his. Gently cupping his brutally handsome face, I whisper breathlessly, "I'm here." 



As he loosens his hold on me, my body slowly slides down against his. Without thought, he pulls me close, so close that not even air particles can wedge themselves between his skin and mine. Not even the fabric of my own top. I can feel the cotton fibers dissolving under the balmy temperature of his smooth skin---pressing, radiating, bubbling. His lungs expand as his lips brush against the top of my head, kissing it softly as he mutters, "God, I missed you."

"I missed you too," I reply quietly, my eyelids shutting close, as if that's the only way I can really tell that I'm not dreaming, as my hands slowly roam up and down his back. I can't believe I'm here, in his apartment. My face resting on his bare chest, I become entranced by his scent---a mixture of salty sweat, breezy CK Free cologne and delicious pheromones of a man that evoke raw desires, deep inside.

"Did you?" His voice trickle into my ears, tinged with ache, a need---a hunger for something I can't describe. A dam of suppressed energy destined to flood and submerge everything in its sight---including me.

"Yes. More than you know." Overcome by my own emotions, I can no longer tell who's pulse is hammering wildly. I can no longer control the shortness of my own breath as I try to maintain my balance---and coherence---in his arms. I simply give in to the silence and stillness of the moment.

"And don't be
Ashamed to cry
Let me see you
Through
Cause I've seen
The dark side too"



In the purity of our embrace, reality forces its way between us, knocking us out of our spell. I can feel Luke's body tense up against mine as he tries to hold back the tears, but the jerkiness of his breath tells me it's too late. His hands close in on my arms tightly, bordering on pain, but I bear through it. His eyes, which are now red and heavy, search mine---as if they contain the answers---or the magic remote control that can rewind time and bring his father back. Then a sort of haze washes over his face as he blankly looks through me and whispers, "He's gone..."

Knowing its going to be a long night, I take his hand and lead him towards the bed, where he can at least lie down. "You should sit down."

"He's gone," Luke says weakly, as he sits on the edge of the bed. Shaking his head, he buries his face in his hands, unable to restrain the deep, guttural sobs---causing his whole body to shake and sink in defeat. "My d-daddy's gone! Why? W-Why??"

"Oh honey, I'm so sorry," I climb on the bed with him, rubbing his back, not able to fight back my own tears, feeling completely helpless. 

"I just saw him a f-few days ago. We had d-drinks with my bro-thers. Then...then they found his body in his car last night. In the parking lot. A gunshot to the chest and m-mouth. They think it's suicide but there's no note."

"Oh, no..."

"Suicide! They think he committed s-suicide! Why would he do that? And why would he do it at the firestation? It just doesn't add up!"

"I know, baby. Let it out."

"I know my dad! He wouldn't kill himself!" In the brief moment that he flashes his green eyes at me, there's a fury, a thirst for vengeance that sends shivers up my spine. Not necessarily because I fear for my own safety, but because of the coldness behind it. A justified means to an end. "Someone murdered him, I know it! And if I ever find out who did this, I swear to God, I will put those same bullets between their eyes. I swear to fucking God!! I swear---"

"So if you're mad
Get mad
Don't hold it all inside
Come on and
Talk to me now
Hey there
What you got to hide?
I get angry too
Well, I'm a lot like you"



"Come here," I scoot towards the middle of the bed, motioning for him to come closer so I can hug him. Instead, he shifts his body so that I'm securely tucked in his arms, with our legs intertwined. Quietly, I reach for a tissue and wipe the tears off his face, listening to his sobs subside. With one hand holding a clean tissue while the other hand smooths out his damp hair, I gently instruct, "Blow your nose."

After emptying his red, congested nose, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me even closer to him, reuniting the cozy warmth of our bodies. "Lyn?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you..."

"For what?"

"For being here." 

"Why wouldn't I be? You've always been there for me."

"Lyn..." There's a change in his voice, in the way he says my name, that takes over the rest of his body, shifting and pressing against mine. The way his hands gently cup my back, moving up and down in such finesse that it feels light as a feather, but wakes up every pore that holds a hair follicle on my skin.

"Y-yes?" I whimper, lost in his scent, drowning in his warm, quickening breath grazing my neck, paralyzed by this air of electricity between us. This thick, magnetic, primal, emotional, sexual energy weaving around the bed---swirling, coaxing, enveloping---wearing down our defenses.

"I need you...I need you so bad."

"I'll stand by you
Baby even to your
Darkest hour
And I'll never 
Desert you
I'll stand by you"

*Copyright 2013 Lyn C.S.* 
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"I'll Stand By You" by The Pretenders
Video by: mrtamberineman123