A Life More Complete(32)
“I know what it’s like to be alone and sometimes it really sucks.” I sit down next to her and kiss her head. She smiles softly and I realize maybe she isn’t a lost cause.
Watching Trini curled up in her bed, belligerent and abusive one minute and crying and apologetic the next brings back a flood of memories I thought had long since been lost. The remembrance of my father is small, yet impacting. He lived his life in a perpetual drug riddled coma, abusive, cruel and unpredictable. I feared him with everything I had and although my memory of him is fuzzy at best, he still haunts my dreams. The eight years that I lived with my father were frightening and traumatizing. I witnessed drug deals, the use of cocaine on a daily basis and my mother in a continuous state of apology. Death looked me in the eyes regularly and it was disgusting. The number of near fatal overdoses was more than I could count. And each time I cried hysterically as he was hauled off in an ambulance. I wished him dead on so many occasions, yet when faced with actuality of it I felt guilty, that maybe I was the one who willed it to happen.
Seeing Trini’s instability only accentuates my memories and I can’t help but wonder if she will eventually end up in a similar situation. Am I becoming a victim just as my mother was so many years ago? When did it slip from recreational drug use to becoming a full-blown addict? I thought of Maizey, my baby sister. Why am I here with Trini when Maizey struggles just as badly? Shouldn’t I be sitting next to her, letting her abuse me? But I walked away when I should have loved her unconditionally.
Trini’s pre-trial hearing is postponed due to a continuance. Dragged out even longer for the media to speculate on why, spinning more elaborate lies, taking it to levels I never thought I’d see. Her mother comes out of the woodwork during this time, selling everything she has on Trini, true or not, to any magazine that will run the story. There was speculation that she was compensated generously, somewhere in the high six figures, which I’m sure was true. The media couldn’t get enough and the public was eating it up. Trini has become a recluse, hiding in her palatial home, crying in bed as she downs Ativan and Valium like candy with expensive wine straight from the bottle. She’s more of a mess now than I’d ever seen her. All of this did little to quell the voices that screamed from inside her head. She fluctuates between manic and depressed like a roller coaster ride. It isn’t just the media coverage of her meltdown that spurs her instability, people camp outside her house protesting her abortion making it nearly impossible to leave. There are painted signs saying things like “Abortion is Murder” and “Trini Walters kills unborn children”. Someone even went so far as to hang a baby doll covered in red paint at the gated entrance to her home.
In the time between her pre-trial continuance and the actual trial she is arrested for driving on a suspended license. She played dumb and claimed she had no idea her license was suspended because she hadn’t actually had her trial yet. She is smarter than that. A week later she is arrested again, this time for felony cocaine possession. Jacob Foster quits. He told her to hire a criminal defense lawyer because she was going to need all the help she could get.
In a matter of two weeks Trini has somehow managed to single-handedly ruin her own life and is slowly bringing me down with her.
The next I day, I f*ck up big time and unfortunately for me it’s happened too many times. When I walk in the door it hits me. I forgot. It’s after ten and when I see Ben sitting at my kitchen table, his arms folded across his chest, I know he’s pissed.
“Sorry,” I say as soon as our eyes meet.
“No you’re not. Didn’t you check your phone? We were supposed to have dinner with my brother. He’s only in town for two days.”
“I didn’t check my phone. Obviously.” I apologize again, but it’s just for show. I’m on autopilot now.
“What good is it if you don’t check it? Where have you been?” As he speaks, I can tell he’s struggling to keep his tone even, which only adds to my annoyance. I want to scream at him to stop holding back. I want him to yell at me, but he won’t.
“I don’t like having to report to you. I was busy at work. I lost track of time.” I’m aloof and my response causes his jaw to tense.
“Report to me? That’s what you think this is?” I can hear the strain in his voice as he pulls his hand through his hair. “We’re far more f*cked up than I ever thought. I’m walking away before I say something I’ll regret.”
“Whatever, Ben.” I reply sounding far more annoyed than necessary. I hate this argument. The regularity of it is growing old. This is why I didn’t want to start this thing with Ben. I don’t like being responsible for making him angry, yet I don’t change the things I do.