ELLA
Everything is different this morning. It’s like the fog has cleared and now each destructive thought and the resulting consequences are highly visible. It’s hard to describe this unsettled feeling, but the way I’d put it is that if the barred door to my gilded cage were wide open, I wouldn’t move an inch from where I sit. Not because I don’t crave freedom, but because I’m terrified of what I’d do with it.
The wind carries a slight chill that whisks across my arms and I’m quick to pull the gray crocheted throw blanket up around myself more. I breathe in the brisk woodsy air and sink back into the porch chair.
I wouldn’t move an inch and I don’t have to. It’s something Kam has always reassured me of. I’m okay here and I can stay safely inside for however long I want; the door is always open and he’ll be there to hold my hand if needed. Inside or outside.
He was there for me before. And then there was James.
The thought tightens a vise that’s soldered to my heart. Zander is only feet away inside the house, more than likely watching the session. And yet here I am, reminded of what once was. The past that he’ll never fully know because I’m incapable of speaking of it.
“Your voice sounds much better than it did only weeks ago,” Damon comments. His teacup is empty but he keeps picking it up as if he’s going to take a sip from it.
Absently, the tips of my fingers graze my throat as I watch him. I wonder if it’s a sign of anxiousness on Damon’s part. I’ve never seen him fidget like that before, repeatedly lifting the empty cup and setting it down.
Even through the heavier conversations, he’s usually still or taking notes. Today has been relatively quiet so far and as the teacup clinks against the saucer, I imagine he has something he’d like to discuss but doesn’t know how to start.
“My throat feels better,” I comment idly. “It feels a lot better actually.” Everything is better, depending on how you look at it.
My gaze shifts to my left, peeking over my shoulder to the living room where Zander may be sitting. The thick curtains are mostly drawn shut and looking through the tiny slit in the middle I can tell Zander’s not there. The leather chair is empty.
Nervousness pricks through me.
“Is there anything you’d like to discuss today, Ella?” Damon presses as he lifts one ankle over his knee and sits back in his chair as if it’s a casual conversation.
He knows what happened. That I drank too much, I made a fool of myself … I had a moment.
Dread comes over me. I don’t want to talk about it.
James and Zander compete in the back of my mind but they both tell me I have to talk about it. The knowledge chills me as if James is here, as if he wants Z to command me to say the words out loud. I have to get everything out of me or it will kill me.
That’s one thing I imagine they’d both agree on. It’s going to eat me alive.
“Can we talk about James?” Damon says, moving the conversation forward and all I do is nod, staring off into the distance.
“I didn’t know love until James.” My statement is a murmur, but Damon hears it. His pen clicks and I glance to see his pad open.
“Why do you say that?” he questions, his dark eyes on me holding nothing but compassion.
“My mother used me as a bargaining chip, my father did the same when I was old enough … the things he made me do I’ll never forget or forgive.” Glancing down I find I’m picking at my nails. Readjusting myself in the seat, I get more comfortable and pull the throw blanket up again. Practically hiding under it although my head remains poking out.
“He was your first boyfriend or—”
“No,” I answer honestly and I’m certain Damon is already aware. “Every lover was only a partner for sex. There’s no family to speak of other than my mother and father.” Trish and Kam and Kelly flick across my memory at the mention of family.
Damon comments as if reading my mind, “You had your friends, though. You’ve been close with them for longer than you were with James, haven’t you?”
“Yes. Yes, and I love them. It’s just a different love.”
Damon nods thoughtfully. “Well, that makes sense.”
I do love my friends; they know this game as well as I do. The lies and the depths to which others will go. And they’ve been there for me as I was for them. There was that … partnership, that dependency …
But then there was James.
And now … Zander is bringing up things he shouldn’t. He’s making me feel things he shouldn’t. I don’t know how to simply turn it off.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Damon presses.
“I had a drink and I shouldn’t have,” I answer mildly, picking at the throw.
“It’s me, Ella. You can talk to me.”
“What if I don’t want to talk?” I’m surprised by how blunt my answer is. He’s only trying to help and I’m more than aware of that. A part of me desperately wishes to tell him everything. But I don’t understand it. I don’t know why I can’t turn it off.
“You don’t have to talk to me, but you may want to when I’m not here and I’m here now. I’m worried, Ella,” Damon tells me and that anxiousness shines through. His teacup sits unattended on the table. It’s his tone that gave it away.
“I’m worried too,” I answer him and my throat goes tight. This time it’s me reaching for my cup and finding it empty.
“Grief is a ball in a box … is love like that too?”