Broken Girl(49)

Goddammit, I’m not ready to let go. I don’t want to be alone in this life.

Every agonizing brick hovered over me waiting for the moment I cracked, those deep personal feelings I was a master at pushing away, locking up and keeping at a distance suddenly slammed down across my shoulders. There was nothing I could do to bring Sybil back. She wasn’t mad at me, she didn’t leave to work, she wasn’t visiting her family or pulling an all-nighter, my best friend, the only person who felt like some form of family to me was gone . . . forever.

I pushed the heels of my palms into my eyes, pushed so hard my eyes ached from the pressure. I lost my breath and crumbled to the voice in my head.

Well, Rosalie, if you weren’t such a f*cking idiot, you would have locked the door. Maybe you could have saved her if you didn’t pass out after hitting your head. Weak, you’re weak, crumbling to the demons you cling to as an excuse. Maybe your friend Sybil would be here right now if you didn’t fail at saving the one person who always had your back. Did you have her back when she needed you?

My inner voice was relentless, reminding me I was the same worthless broken girl I had always been trying to run from my whole life. I took a deep breath, and let it out. I didn’t want to listen anymore; I didn’t want to fall to the memories of who I never asked to be.

“Sybil! I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to save you. I wasn’t able to protect you. I’m so sorry . . . Oh. My. Fucking. God . . . you’re not coming home!”

My voice cracked as I curled up and let every last thing which ever broke me flood my existence. Every breach of trust, every second of pain scorched into my soul where strangers and people I thought loved me, used me. Every breath I took drowned my lungs. Buried in wasted moments and nauseating memories as they flashed through my mind. Incidents which created who I was and how I handled moments like this. I couldn’t stop the twisted minds and pathetic excuses for people who ripped my heart to shreds. I thought about giving up Shane, losing a love deeper than any physical connection I’d ever had before.

I bawled until my head hurt and my voice was gone. I cried until I had no more tears to give, until every tear I had left was soaked into the cushion of the couch or Sybil’s chartreuse green pillow. I cried until I was exhausted enough to fall asleep in the puddle of my agony.

I was woken up by my phone vibrating next to me. I guess life goes on, even when it was being torn to pieces. There was no consideration for a woman whose life was just ripped apart all over again. I peered at the clock, blurry through my swollen eyes; seven thirty. The apartment was dreary and I was exhausted. The sun was down and I just couldn’t bring myself to get up and go out tonight. I tossed the phone on the coffee table. I knew it was horny clients who had called me to hook up or wondered if I’d left the business or even died.

Today made up almost a week where I didn’t manage my six squares of sidewalk, a sidewalk where memories of Sybil and me were the filthy runoff that ended up in the gutter after a rainstorm. What the hell was I thinking; I knew my six squares were already claimed by some other ho who thought she found gold at the end of her f*cked up rainbow. How was I ever going to go back? I was done living in a broken world, filled with crumbling sidewalks and wrecked dreams.

I sat in our apartment covered in a fog knowing there were decisions I ultimately had to make. I looked around at all of Sybil’s things and the other stuff that happened to belong to me. There was no way I could even consider going back to my squares. I had to be stronger than I’d ever been before. I had to get my shit together and pack up Sybil’s stuff. I couldn’t let anything of hers get lost or left behind. She wouldn’t want that to happen, especially if her family decided to come and collect what was left of her.

We’d never talked about shit like this. Maybe it was being optimistic that we would survive beyond our profession. I was so wrong. I didn’t know where to start. My hands tingled at the thought of touching her belongings. I stood in our apartment and looked around overwhelmed at where to begin. Should I start with her clothes, or look under her bed for things she kept hidden away? I had to remind myself, she was gone and there wasn’t anyone else who was going to clean up what was left of her.

I stood staring at her closet door. It was the only closet in the apartment. The day we moved in to our apartment poured through my mind.



“Wow, Sybil, get your ass over here and check out this closet. It’s like bigger than the whole place!” I bellow, wiping the sweat from my brow. We just finished unloading the last box from the back of my car.

“There’s enough room for both of us to hang up our shit,” she squawks.

“Hell, no, sistah, we’re gonna roshambo for it! It’s a luxury one of us should take full advantage of,” I quip as I square toward her and throw up my fist resting on the palm of my other hand. I know how to rock, paper, scissor my way into any situation, I’m quite good at it . . . until today.

“Fine, one, two, three.” She counts before slamming her fist down in unison with mine. She drops the infamous rock and well, when my two fingers protrude from my fist, my fate is sealed and the first game of three is lost. Sybil wins two out of three roshambos, and in less than two minutes claims her closet. To the victor goes the spoil, well, all except for a little section in the front right side, a spot she reserves for me, just in case I have something that doesn’t fit in my rickety freestanding armoire. Me being the stubborn shit I am, I never give into her requests and eventually she absorbs that space with more clothes she’s never gonna wear. But today is the last time I’ll ever play roshambo, with anyone. I learn my lesson; she is the best at anticipating people’s choices.