Sugar Rush (Friend-Zoned 3)

I love Tina, and she’s a total fox, but I don’t want to think about her in the sack. Especially not with Old Man River over there. I can’t help myself. I turn to Nik and smile cruelly. “So, how’s your grey pube? Lonely?”

A chair screeches, then I’m on the floor with two hands wrapped firmly around my neck, choking the shit out of me. “Shut your mouth, punk!”

I gasp, “Never!”

Tina chuckles sweetly, completely ignoring the fact her husband is roughly feeling me up. “Oh, honey, it’s not that bad. Just pluck it out. It’s okay. I love you and your grey pube.”

Nik’s hands still as he looks up at her. “If you pluck them, more come!”

She shrugs. “So more will come. I’ll love those grey pubes too.”

Looking at her, he roughly shakes me, choking me and making a point at the same time. Nik is a multitasker. “No you won’t! No one loves grey pubes!” he exclaims.

She looks him dead in the eye then smiles softly. “I will.” And she means it too.

Tina seriously is the shit.

Nik throws me down. My head hits the floor with a dull thud. Panting, I rub the back of my head and mumble, “That hurt, fucker.”

He stands, then holds a hand out to me. I take it, but before I can get him into a headlock and show him how you choke like a man, my reason for living comes out from the hall.

“Daddy, I can’t find my school bag.”

I smile, even though she sounds frustrated, and turn to her. Her long, reddish-brown hair has been brushed and tied already. “You did you hair,” I frown, “on your own.” I’m sulking; I know it, but I don’t get to do a lot for my little girl anymore. And I like doing shit for my little girl. I’m her daddy; I’m allowed to like being useful. Tina clears her throat, and I’m sure if I were close enough, she’d kick me. I quickly change my pout for a proud, fatherly smile. “Which is great. Good for you, baby.”

Ceecee looks down into her lap, hiding her blush. She gets embarrassed easily, my baby does. She doesn’t take compliments well. It sucks for her that I compliment her all the damn time.

My daughter’s name is Cecilia, but being that she’s named for her grandma, we like to call her Ceecee. She was born a healthy baby. She wasn’t planned or nothin’, and I gotta admit, finding out Maddy was pregnant was one of the scariest things ever, but I soon got used to the idea of being a young dad. In fact, soon, I loved the idea, and I couldn’t wait to hold my baby in my arms. Maddy, Ceecee’s mom, was very much the same.

But once we brought Ceecee home, things changed.

Maddy was constantly unhappy, getting annoyed at Ceecee for crying, not wanting to hold her, feed her, or change her. It didn’t take a genius to figure out my Maddy was not bonding with Ceecee, and not long after, she was diagnosed with postpartum depression.

I didn’t really know what to do, but that was okay. My family decided for me. Mom moved us into her house. I always felt like a burden there, taking up her space, but I had to work to make money to clothe my woman and baby, so while I worked my ass off, Mom and my sisters kept an eye on my girls, helping out where they could. More like where Maddy would let them.

I don’t pretend to be a saint in all this. I was young and on-edge myself. I can remember getting angry and yelling at my girl to get the fuck out of bed and look after our child. I remember throwing her in a cold shower after spending days in bed. I remember crying from confusion, frustration, and helplessness. I just couldn’t understand why she hated our kid. I couldn’t understand why she couldn’t see the beauty that was our baby girl.

Truth is, depression looks black and white, but depression is a fuck load of grey. It’s so easy to think things like, Why can’t she just… or She should just…, but it’s not that simple. I spent all my free time researching the causes of depression, ‘cause if I found the source, I could fix it. Turns out, the triggers are different for each person.

Depression doesn’t make a person weak. People with depression live their lives. Some live in pain, and not the type of pain you can see, but pain of the heart, and pain of the mind. They walk on while it feels like their world is breaking up around them. If you ask me, people fighting depression are some of the strongest people out there.

Living with Mom seemed to be working. My mom is one hell of a woman. Regardless of how frustrating it was to live together, Mom showered Maddy with love and affection, always telling her we’d get through it as a family. And, wouldn’t you know it, Maddy started to smile again. Then she started to hold Ceecee, feed her, change her, and bathe her. She was doing it. She was fighting it.

Maddy was healing.

Mom and I were both confident Maddy was beating the depression. She was a different person from the months prior, and I started to see the woman I fell in love with again. Life was lookin’ up.

But it lasted about a second.

I remember the phone call. I remember listening to what my Mom was saying, but not really hearing at all. I remember my heart dying a slow, painful death. I remember hospitals. I remember scrubs. I remember looking at my little girl and wondering what size casket I would have to get for her. I remember choosing the pink one, because she was my little princess, and princesses always wore pink. I remember Maddy just…disappearing.

Here’s what I don’t remember…

I don’t remember hating someone as much in my life than I hated Maddy. And I still hate her.

As far as everyone else knew, it was an accident. Maddy was preparing lunch for Ceecee, who was just over a year old, and put her to sit on the counter while she was getting the things she needed from the refrigerator. As far as everyone else knew, Ceecee fell off the counter and hit a stool on the way down, severing her spinal cord. Yes, that did happen.

What the others don’t know is that Ceecee had been fussy that morning. Maddy had placed her on the counter, frustrated with dealing with a whining Ceecee, and turned her back. What the others don’t know is when Ceecee started to cry, Maddy got angry. She got so angry she turned from the refrigerator, fuming, and yelled at my baby. She yelled hard.