Saving Mel

If this was the life I thought I was destined to live, then I’d been wrong once again.

“Fine,” I said.

Throwing my napkin down, I started for my room. I whipped open the door and started jamming things into my suitcase, fitting as much as I could before I backtracked down the hallway.

“Melanie, come on. That’s not what I meant.”

“You’ve made yourself very clear,” I said.

“Melanie, put the damn suitcase down.”

“You gave me your terms, and I’m abiding by them,” I said.

He grabbed my arm and whipped me around and I could feel the kids staring at me. Evan was trying so hard not to make a scene. His grip was solid but his eyes were pleading. Begging me to stay.

“I can’t be with someone who puts conditions on how long I have to heal,” I spat.

“Heal from what, Melanie? I don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about! I poured my whole ugly past out to you, but you won’t give me the same courtesy. I trust you with these kids every single day, but you don’t trust me at all,” he said, his voice dripping hurt.

“That’s not true,” I told him, “I do trust you. I trust you more than I’ve trusted anyone in a long time.”

“Then let me in dammit!” he said, shaking me slightly.

“I can’t,” I said again.

He cast his eyes down and let go of my arm. When he raised his gaze to me once again, I saw a look of defeat in his eyes and it nearly broke me. “Then I don’t know how to fix this,” he said.

“You can’t,” I told him.

I grabbed my bag and walked out to my car, climbing behind the steering wheel and making it only about twenty feet before I burst into tears.

About forty minutes later I sat in Layla’s living room, sobbing hysterically while she tried her best to comfort me.

“Jesus, Mel,” she said, holding me close her as I cried. “You really like this guy, don’t you?”

I raised my head and looked at her. “I. Love. Him,” I said between sobs.

“Well, shit,” Layla blew out a breath. “Has anyone ever told you you’re an ugly crier?” she asked, trying to break the mood.

It worked, and I started laughing between the tears. “You’re an asshole,” I said to her as I wiped my nose on the sleeve of my sweatshirt. I’d clearly been spending too much time with little ones.

“So, you really love him, eh?” Layla asked when I’d calmed down a bit.

I nodded my head. “I do. Layla, he’s so good and so gentle, and you should see him with those kids.”

“And how does he feel about you?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I thought maybe he loved me too, but if he’s willing to let me go then maybe—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Layla held up her hand and cut me off. “Listen, sometimes as your best friend, it’s my job to tell you when you are being a shithead. And, right now, you are being a total shithead.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said, knowing deep down that she wasn’t completely wrong.

Layla’s face turned serious, which it rarely did, so I knew she was about to impart some heavy shit. After everything she’d done for me, I owed it to her to listen.

“When you were taken, it was the single scariest time of my life. Of all our lives, really. Our friends, my parents, and your dad especially. We thought we might never see you again and I swear it was the longest two days of my life. When my parents called to tell me you were home safely, I broke down and cried in the middle of an economics test, I was so relieved. And when I heard what you’d been through, what he’d almost done to you before you escaped, part of me felt like I’d been through it too.”

I sat and listened quietly to her. In the past four years, she had never told me any of this, and I was left to realize that I wasn’t the only one who had suffered from that ordeal. I had been so focused on my own trauma that I didn’t stop to think how anyone else in my life had been affected by it. I can’t imagine the fear, anger, and helplessness I would feel if it had happened to Layla instead of me.

“I’m so sorry, Layla, I never knew how it affected you,” I said.

Layla shook her head. “Stop it. I’m not telling you this so that you feel bad. You went through hell and fought your way back from it. But I do have a question for you. How many of our friends at the time knew the full extent of what happened?”

I thought about her question for a moment. “None, except you,” I answered.

“And how many of those people are still in your life?” she asked.