Bring Me Back(25)

I tear at my hair and I kick the bathroom cabinet.

I’m crying again. I’m so sick and f*cking tired of crying and now I’m angry. I never understood the term ‘seeing red’ until now. I seem to see everything through a red-tinged, anger-filled rage. I clench my fists and lean my head back, screaming at the ceiling.

“Blaire?” My mom sounds more urgent now. “You’re scaring me.”

“Let me scream,” I yell through the door.

I hear my dad say, “Let her be, Maureen.”

I wish there were more things for me to shove off the counter, but since there’s not I settle for throwing anything I can get my hands on. I throw a shampoo bottle at the wall and then my makeup bag. I stupidly throw a bottle of foundation at the wall and the glass shatters and makeup splatters everywhere. I can’t bring myself to care. Ben’s gone and I’m not even pregnant. My body failed me again. Or maybe I failed me, because I haven’t been taking care of myself the last few weeks. Maybe this is my fault.

I slide down the wall, sobbing, and wrap my arms around my legs. I’m falling apart at the seams and I don’t know what to do. Ben’s always been the strong one. He always knows—knew—what to do in any situation. I’m not like that. I’m more of a follower, and he’s a leader.

“Kid?”

I can’t answer my dad around my choking sobs. I can’t tell him I’m okay anymore, because I’m not. I’m sad. I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m confused. I’m tired. I’m feeling a million things and none of them are good. There’s no happiness inside me and that scares me. What if I never feel happy again? What if it will always be this way? Ben was my sun— What do you do when the sun doesn’t shine anymore?

I wipe my tears on the sleeve of my shirt. I’m a f*cking mess and now so is the bathroom. It looks like a hurricane hit it.

“Kid?” my dad says again, rapping his knuckles against the door. “Just tap the door or somethin’.”

My breath leaves me in a shaky breath and I lean over and flick the lock on the door. He hears it and slowly eases the door open. He takes one look at me and the mess around me and clucks his tongue.

“Well, Kid, that’s one way to go about it.”

My lips tremble with more tears.

“I take it the anger set in?” I nod. “’Bout time. I couldn’t take your mopin’ a moment longer.”

I know he’s trying to make me smile, but I can’t. I try, and I’m pretty sure it looks more like a grimace.

“Let’s get this cleaned up,” he says. I don’t move. “I’ll clean up. You just sit there and look pretty.”

Surprisingly, a small laugh bubbles up my throat. His lips twitch with a smile, and I know he’s pleased to have caused such a reaction.

He begins to pick things up and put them on the counter, and he refolds the towels, putting them under the sink like I should have earlier.

“Hey, what’s this,” he says suddenly. “Oh. Never mind.”

It’s too late. I’ve already seen it. A paper crane. The first one anyone’s found in the last two weeks—that I know of. I think they’ve been hiding them from me when they find them, afraid that I’ll break down yet again.

“Give it to me,” I plead, ready to fight my dad for it if he doesn’t give it to me.

He reluctantly hands me the paper bird. I sit it on my lap and run my fingers around the worn edges. It looks like Ben had lodged it in-between the cracks in the cabinet wall. I lift it to my nose and smell it. It doesn’t smell like him, only ink and paper, but it’s still a familiar smell, and one I love.

“Kid, you sure you should open that?” My dad watches me like I’m a bomb that might detonate in front of his face at any second.

I nod. I have to open it.

I slowly unfold the edges, peeling back the folds Ben previously made to reveal the message hidden inside.



I never thought I’d love someone the way I love you—I think I was made to love you. I used to make fun of love-sick fools like me. Then you came along and changed everything. Now I wish everyone could experience the kind of love we have.

—Ben



I know I’m crying—because it’s all I do anymore—but I fold the paper crane back up and hold it to my chest.

“Blaire? You okay?” my dad prompts.

I nod. I’m okay. For the moment, at least, because right now Ben’s here with me. I can feel him even if I can’t see him.





“You need to go back to work.” My mom glares at me across the kitchen table.

“You need to get out of my house.”

“Blaire,” my mom scoffs, “don’t be ridiculous.”

I eye her over my bowl of cereal. “I didn’t know I was.”

She huffs out a breath and her bangs brush her forehead. “We’re not going home until we know you’re okay.”

“I am okay,” I tell her. It’s a lie, and we both know it. I don’t know why I bother even saying the words. She can see right through me.

“You are so far from okay.” She rests her arms on the table. “Dan, come talk some sense into your daughter.” She calls to my dad where he sits in the family room. He’s taken up residence on the couch and claimed it as his own. That’s fine with me since I’d rather lie in bed all day.