Vic stood stock still; his body language betrayed nothing and everything at the same time.
I breathed out slowly. Do I answer his question, or do I ask him another? Before I could decide, Vic spoke.
“Come on, babe, it’s been a long day.”
—understatement of the year award goes to—
“Let’s go to bed.” Vic said. He clasped my hand in his, leading my out of the suddenly thick air of my apartment.
I took one last glance at the empty apartment wondering what or who I was leaving behind.
I awoke in Vic’s bed. Bright sunlight streamed through the curtains, creating yellow-grey shadows that assaulted my eyes. I glanced at the clock, still not fully awake. It was noon. Last night played in my mind like an old movie, with bits and pieces blurred or completely missing. I remember coming back to Vic’s apartment with him, taking a sleeping pill, and that’s about it.
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. It was going to take a lot more than a morning to process what happened. Part of me wanted to stay in bed forever. I just wanted to melt into the bed, drift off into disassociation, and never deal with what happened. It was very tempting.
Back in the hospital, after my suicide attempt, they told me “one day at a time.” That even seemed too hard right now; I didn’t know how to deal with one minute let alone one day. I got out of bed, deciding to take it one leg at a time.
Everything still hurt. I could see bruises forming in various places on my body in the shape of grotesque fingers. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream, I wanted to feel nothing. I was in Vic’s bed again, but yet again it was for reasons I’d rather have avoided.
I slid out of the bed gingerly. Hmmm, the floor is cold. I lifted my toe up and put it back down to floor, attempting to feel the cool pressure. It was a useless exercise.
I felt things on the periphery now, noticing the feeling rather than actually experiencing it. It was similar to the days after my suicide attempt when I was in a fog of disassociation. When I finally started to feel again, it was hell. The pendulum had swung so far the other way that when I started to feel again it had been painful. It had actually been physically painful to feel anything.
I wasn’t looking forward to that happening again. If there was some way to jumpstart my emotional grid, I was going to figure it out.
As I reached the hallway, I was greeted by wafts of delicious food. Someone, presumably Vic, was cooking. I quickened my pace, suddenly aware of how hungry I was. I couldn’t recall the last time I ate. Evidently, being attacked burned a couple calories too.
Vic was wearing an apron and standing in the middle of his kitchen. He held a spatula like he held a gun.
“Sleep well?” Vic asked.
I don’t feel like I slept well; I feel like I’ve been wide awake for a century, but I did sleep until noon. I tugged at my shirt and the fabric felt unfamiliar. Looking down, I saw I was wearing his shirt. I would have been embarrassed, but I didn’t have the will to feel anything. I was drained. The pendulum had swung and now I was numb.
I shrugged.
“What happened?” I asked the first question that came to mind.
Vic raised an eyebrow at me. He was so calm and collected, flipping food with his spatula like everything was ordinary. He acted as if he had spent the night watching movies not hunting down my psychopath ex-boyfriend.
I rolled my eyes when he didn’t respond. “With Dean. What happened with Dean?”
Vic nodded, still smiling and working the spatula on whatever he was cooking. “Everything’s taken care of. Breakfast?” Vic gestured to the food. “Or, I guess, lunch. I’m making burritos, but they can be breakfast burritos. I like them spicy, though. So beware.”
I shook my head, feeling like I was still asleep. “I’m not hungry.” That was a lie. I was starving. However, I craved answers from Vic more than I craved food. But, as if on cue, my stomach growled giving away my lie.
“There you go,” Vic said, ignoring my protest. He set a plate down on the bar.
I narrowed my eyes and studied the proffered meal: one burrito, a side of hash browns, and some vegetable I didn’t recognize. To be fair, I can only name three vegetables. My stomach rumbled again.
“Go on, eat. It’s the ‘Vic Wall special.’”
I looked at him suspiciously and asked, “Why is it so special?”
“Because I made it for you, Lenny,” Vic responded, grinning like a complete cockhead.
I frowned, wanting to be stoic, strong, and all the things I wasn’t. I didn’t want to be in pain, I didn’t want to be hungry, I wanted to stand and face Vic and get all the answers I needed. In reality, I was exhausted and my stomach was demanding food.
Looking away from Vic, I grabbed a fork and dug in.