alright, so I know floggings are in order, but I've been away for good reason. School has released my throat from its relentless grasp
so, away we go...
The Deepest Secrets
I'll admit it, if there has ever been a time when I've stood next to my sister and totally felt like the ugly duckling, it's today. And I'm not even pissed about it.
I was always "cuter," always "thinner," I had a boyfriend first, I had more "friends." (Notice I used the quotes again.) She hated me. She told me to my face more than once, and even though I always told myself in my head that she was my sister and it was impossible and she didn't mean it, sometimes I was scared she did.
But we were young, and she was painfully fucking insecure and dare I say jealous without sounding like a stupid bitch. Even though I don't know why in the hell she would ever be jealous of me, besides all that stupid superficial shit, which I guess is important at thirteen. Truth is, even when we were younger, I was jealous of my sister more times than she would ever know, or even believe if I told her to her face.
Because if she had to live in my head for even half a day, she wouldn't want my life, then or now.
But today she looks stunning, and she deserves it. All along she's felt like the lesser of the two of us, and she's finally come into her own. She deserves everything she has because not a single damn thing was ever given to her because she was sweet or charming or, for lack of a better term I'll use that dreaded word, cute, again, and only now that we're older am I mature enough to realize this, of course. She has a job, she's in love, she's getting married, she's happy. Damn her. It makes me laugh when I think about it.
Oh how things have changed.
Her dress is ivory and beaded and just fucking gorgeous and would never look as good on me as it does on her, and I'm glad. I'm in my little puny bridesmaids dress which I have now not-so lovingly named peach disaster after my mother made the executive decision to have it sashed around the middle and tied in the back because it still didn't fit me right in the waist. So now everyone has a bow on their ass, thanks to me. Sorry, girls.
We're lined up at the altar, me and the other two bridesmaids and the maid of honor. Yeah, yeah I'm not the maid of honor, boo-hoo for me. Not that I could've exactly filled the roll anyway, but it still stings if I think about it in the right way. Anyhow I'm first in line behind her and still got to hold the boquet, a small victory, and this ballroom is just gorgeous, again everything is just ridiculously gorgeous. It almost makes me sick. Is this really what I used to dream about? I guess things really do change. I mean I'm happy for her, but at this point in my life if I were standing up there in her place, in this room with silk panels draped across the ceiling and tents waiting outside with twinkle lights and smoked salmon hors d'oeuvres…well, clearly I would be standing in someone else's dream. But this is her day, and it's just right.
Normally country clubs like to set up these ceremonies outside, but because of this weird ass cold and long winter we're having, even now in early February we still couldn't do this whole vows thing outdoors without everyone freezing to death. So instead there are tents out on the lawn with paper lanters and decorative standing heaters ready to be filled for the reception later.
Okay so it's not my ideal wedding, but it still might be making me a little jealous, dammit. Little ol me, with no intention of settling down until god knows when, is standing here thinking about love and marriage and while my mind tries and tries its damndest to keep Justin's face from popping up, as I listen to the reading of 1Corinthians about how love is patient and kind and not rude or self-seeking and all that…they might as well say love is everything that Justin isn't. And I would be a liar if I said that didn't scare me slightly. Not that I'm standing here thinking about marrying him. Crap.
-- -- -- -- --
His big hazel eyes are staring at me knowingly from their oversized sockets.
"I mean sometimes you just know, you know? It's like…like I can't even sleep without him there…" I hear my cousin, Jessie, say somewhere in the back of my mind, but I can't turn my attention away from the toddler in her arms.
She sways lightly and his large tweety bird head bobbles, eyes wide and rarely blinking, focused on me intently, mesmerized.
At twenty-one, Jessie's had two kids by two different guys-the newest of those two boys, Brent, is on her hip-and she's in love again. Of course she was elated to come to Aimee's wedding and exchange love stories, which has been taking place for the last ten minutes as I stand by awkwardly, being sized up by her nine-month-old.
Chocolate-tinted drool drips from his tongue as it reaches to touch his chin.
"I mean six months with the right person can feel like…a lifetime, right? It just feels like forever. Like, I know everything about him."
His wet lips purse in a silent "oh" and Jessie shifts him on her hip. His teethless gums bump together.
"So what about you, Leala? I guess this means you're next huh?" I feel her elbow against my side and when I look at her she's smiling at me, amused.
"Huh?" I'm sort of dazed. "No…no, I mean I'm not in a rush." I laugh nervously. "I just have a lot going on. I wanna finish school…I just need to think about me for a while. And lately I just feel like, I dunno, I need to get myself together before I try and find somebody…who's also together, you know?" It sounds perfectly logical coming from my mouth, and as I carry on telling lie after lie about finding someone who's right for me, I wonder if she knows, if she knows everything about what happened and is being polite and not asking.
I stammer on through dating advice regurgitated from afternoon talk shows to sound like something I made up all on my own, my gaze flicking nervously to Brent whos head is still bobbling heavily like he might spit up, my hands waving about gesturing casually to really drive my points home. Does everyone here know? No one has dared to say a word.
"…so I figure it will happen when it's supposed to," I shrug, opening my mouth to laugh casually and something closes around my hand. Brent's five sticky, chubby digits wrap around my middle and first finger and it paralyzes me and no one notices. No one is saying anything about it. No one says anything.
I can't breathe. His slimy little hand pulls mine in an effort to shake it and he coughs out a single indistinguishable syllable and then another, vowel sounds that drown out other conversations and I feel light-headed from lack of oxygen.
"Sounds like you're next anyway, Jess," Aimee laughs, deflecting the attention. Jessie goes back to gushing about her man, and Brent lets go of my finger, pulling the fake rose from his jacket lapel and he watches it flutter to the ground and I exhale.
I duck away quietly, weaving in and out of the fluttering open drapes of the tents and nothing is stable enough, sturdy enough to hide me and keep me safe. My feet carry me back to the clubhouse slowly and I pull the heavy wooden door, relieved to find it unlocked. A few men in khaki janitor's suits give me curious looks but proceed in undraping the silk panels along the aisles of seats, eventually forgetting I am there.
I press my back to the wall, my heart pounding, and my stomach knots painfully, so much so that I press my hands there, curling into myself, nausea waving over me tauntingly. I worry if I'll always be like this, if it will ever go away: when Aimee has kids, when Sam has kids. Will I ever get over this?
My thoughts go to Justin immediately. I think of all the mistakes we made, all the people we hurt, all the time we spent hurting ourselves. Fuck him. Fuck him for not being clean or just being fucking normal and just…for not being here. I want him here. I want him to be someone I could bring here and who would look good in a suit but keep complaining and tugging at the collar of his shirt cutely, and someone to make fun of Jessie with me, and the odds of her ever actually finding someone, to agree with me that she's too young. I want him to be someone I can joke about weddings and marriage with, both of us trying to convince each other what a complete waste of time it is, but knowing somehow in silence that it's in the cards for us too, that it's not just an option but a possibility-not just a maybe, but a probably someday.
Fuck him. Fuck him for taking that away from me, from us, for making everything the way that it is now.
It's all his fault.
My insides turn again and my fingers curl against the fabric of my dress, pressing deeper toward the pain.
This is all his fault.
-- -- -- -- --
"For the last time, I told you, I was just goin' to smoke."
Alan looks up from the report sitting in front of him, across the desk at Justin, and something in his face tells Justin that he knows better.
What Justin doesn't know is that Alan Eisty used to be just like him, which is how he ended up working here in the first place, and which is also how he can see through every inch of his bullshit. His face doesn't tell him that, unless he's looking very closely. The scars at the corner of his mouth and through his eyebrow don't resemble Justin's just by coincidence, and neither do the faded remnants of the tattoos that once decorated the backs of his hands. He has plenty more hidden beneath the sleeves of his dress shirt which he has yet to have removed, along with many legacies he will never live down, and many people he had to leave behind for good. There are many things that Justin doesn't know about him.
"Sprinting toward the back doors…to go smoke?" he asks in disbelief after eyeing the report again.
"Jesus, everyone and their goddamn technicalities," Justin mutters, eyeing the report menacingly as he slumps lower in his chair before looking up at Alan again. He rubs his wrists, which feel bruised to the bone from the previous night's events which followed him being spotted making a getaway, as was reported. "I just needed to clear my head, alright?"
It was Alan who'd said he'd handle things, who'd given him another chance. "Mike says you've been quiet. Too quiet."
"Well, Mike's a little snitch. I wouldn't take him too seriously. The guys crazy…a crazy motherfucker, always doin puzzles and flippin cards and shit. He's got a few screws loose."
"He's been through a lot."
Justin scoffs, disgusted. "Everyone here's been through a lot. What makes him so goddamn special? What makes him think he knows shit? Like he's got all the answers…" he trails, more to himself than to Alan, and folds his hands across his stomach, shrinking back into himself somewhat defeated.
Alan reads it all over his face. "Did he say something to you?"
"What? No." Justin laughs, unamused, but looks at the floor as he feels Alan's gaze become more imploring. "He fucking didn't!" he finally snaps, and Alan raises his hands in defense, the knowing look falling from his face momentarily.
"Alright." He sits back leisurely and crosses one leg over the other, propping his ankle on the opposite leg and pulling his file onto his knee, scribbling as he replies, "They're suggesting supervision, it would just be for a few days-"
"What?" Justin shouts over him, sitting up suddenly, gripping the arms of his chair. "I can't even take a piss in here already without somebody watchin over my shoulder! Now these motherfuckers wanna supervise me? What the fuck does that even mean?"
Alan's legs fall uncrossed as he sits forward and slaps the folder back into his desk, his eyes hardening in an instant, in a familiar way that Justin knows. "You know, I wish you'd learn some respect and watch your mouth a little."
Justin chuckles half-heartedly at Alan having the nerve to come at him this way, but theres a nervousness in it, a slight shock that this guy might not be exactly what he'd pegged him as. "Excuse me?"
"You won't get anywhere around here talking like that…to me, or anyone else." His eyes hold Justin's, unaffected, unafraid. "In the real world you have to give respect to get it. You're not entitled in here, or anywhere else that actually matters. Where you come from is a different story, but it doesn't work like that here."
"You don't know shit about where I come from," Justin mutters lowly, the fortress around his feelings being shaken at an alarming volume, that familiar fire building in his gut, the fear buried deep and covered in the rage that makes him want to fight.
"I think I know more than you want me to…and that scares the hell outta you."
It creeps up and chokes him, pulling his chest tight and boiling his blood in a way that he's never felt. His voice shakes just slightly. "I ain't scared of nothing, you got that?"
"You're scared of yourself. That's what you're runnin from, Justin. And the sooner you realize that the better off we'll all be." In an instant the fire dies from Alan's eyes and he's all business again, reopening the folder to read down the list of comments on the report. "They're also talking about possibly revoking visitations…"
"Come on, man." The sudden drain of emotion makes Justin's feel light headed, and he collapses back with a sigh, letting his head loll back heavy. "If they're gonna supervise me then at least give me my visitations. They can sit in the room for all I care, I just…I need somebody here besides these crazy people." He shakes his head, staring at the ceiling until Alan replies.
"Is she coming tomorrow?"
"What?" His head snaps up, and Alan's knowing look makes him change his game up quickly, asking innocently, "Who?"
"That's what I'm starting to wonder."
"I don't know what you're getting at exactly…but don't go run and get any ideas about my personal business, you feel me?"
"Well it's not like anybody else has been knockin down your door around here."
"If you wanna ask me something Alan, just fuckin ask me."
"Justin…" Alan sighs exhaustedly and Justin mutters a forced apology before he continues, "I won't force you to talk about it. But there's some red flags here."
"Ok…" Justin replies cautiously, nerves starting to get the best of him.
"Kristen came to me and she's…concerned about your workbook journals from your relationships group."
"What does that mean?"
Alan opens a separate folder and pulls out a few loose sheets of paper littered with Justin's scribble. "Who is…Leala?"
Justin feels the tightness in his chest again. "She's…my girl." He shifts uncomfortably but tries to keep his composure.
"Your girlfriend?" Alan corrects him.
"No," he says quickly, nervously, and Alan scribbles down notes, making him more nervous. He continues, in an attempt to recover and maybe part of him feels sort of bad that he dismissed it so quickly, "Not exactly. We're different," he explains for what feels like the hundredth time. He can't help but feel judged now every time he says it.
Alan looks up from his notes. "Different how?"
"We never…I mean we don't…call it that, I guess. We don't really call it anything."
"But she behaves like your girlfriend?"
Justin's face feels hot and he takes a deep breath, continuting to stammer through Alan's questions. "I don't know…she's like…my sister, my girlfriend, my mother…she's my girl."
He waits a beat before asking, "Did you have a sexual relationship with her?"
"Well now it sounds weird that I said she's like my mother and I used to have sex with her. But yeah, we slept together."
"But she's not your girlfriend?"
Justin's voice raises slightly. "Look…I just explained this to you-"
"I'm not trying to push you, Justin, I'm just trying to understand," Alan says over him and Justin calms again, running a hand over his face.
"I know," he sighs.
Alan gives him a minute before going further.
"How long were you with her?"
"I met her," he stops to think, "five years ago. We still talk."
"So that's her that comes to see you." It's almost as much a conclusion as a question, only the cautious undertone of Alan's voice giving it a lilt of asking.
"Yeah…"
"Were you exclusively seeing her?"
"You mean did I sleep around?"
He chuckles lowly at Justin's bluntness. "Yeah…I guess that's what I mean."
"No…I never cheated on her." This makes Alan's brows raise slightly.
"I notice you used the word cheated. So there was a binding aspect to your relationship…you were faithful…you felt like being with another woman would be betrayal?"
"Yeah. I told you, I guess she was like my girlfriend…but she was more. She was…everything."
"She satisfied all of the female roles in your life?"
"Yeah. That's a good way to put it."
Alan takes a moment to look at Justin while still avoiding looking like he's sizing him up. He knows that challenging Justin only makes him clam up, but there's something interesting about Justin's approach to this relationship that isn't sitting with him right just yet. "Was your mother around when you were a kid, Justin?"
The question makes him defensive, and disgusted more than that. "Look, don't go off on some soul search that I'm on a quest for a mother-figure in my life, okay? My mom was around." He rolls his eyes, sinking back in his chair, but he won't look Alan in the face for fear of impending questions he can feel coming.
"Did she love you?" It's a simple question, but something tells Alan that after a little coaxing he might get the answer he's looking for, what he suspects is the real answer.
Justin scoffs. "What kinda question is that? She was my mother."
"Justin…did she love you?"
"Yeah!" he answer moodily, glaring across the desk. "I mean…I guess, you know. She was my mom and shit."
He shrugs and Alan doesn't miss his guard coming down. He's dealt with Justin enough at this point to begin to see the ebb and flow of his emotion, and when he retracts like this he knows its his best chance at charging forward. It might be ugly, but it's moments like this that get the truth out of Justin, directly or hidden in his anger.
"What makes you question it?"
Justin shifts uncomfortably, feeling cornered for a moment. "I don't know, I just…" he takes a moment to collect himself, the hurt welling inside making his voice harden as he snaps back, "I mean she let my fuckin dad beat on me all the time, you know, how do you say you love your kid and let somebody hurt them like that?"
Alan waits to let it sink in. He doesn't want to press on too quickly and not allow Justin to deal with what he's just expressed, to allow him to say the words without hearing them. Only when he's calmed significantly does he continue.
"So when you think of love you think of…protection?"
"Sure."
"Do you love Leala?"
"I mean, we don't really say it…" It's a lie as soon as it leaves his mouth, and he trails slightly as his chest tightens, choosing not to explain further, hoping his silence will take the edge off.
"Does she protect you? Does she offer you that feeling of safety that you associate with love?"
"Well…yeah, when you put it that way," he mutters, feeling discomfort and relief simultaneously at the admission. "I mean she would never let anything fuckin bad happen to me…ever." His tone is more convincing now and Alan nods, piecing things slowly together.
"I get that, I do. But I just can't help but wonder…" he trails, wondering if he should be so bold to give Justin his straight interpretation of the situation. "I know exactly how situations like this work, don't get me wrong, I've seen it a million times. I know how girls like her are, especially if she used with you…especially if you had a sexual relationship, if she was emotionally involved…"
He stops again, wanting this to come out just right, searching for the right mix of concern and truth, trying at all lengths to keep Justin from shutting down again. "I think she's protecting you almost to a level of harm. I know that doesn't make a lot of sense coming straight out like that, but you have to realize what you've been doing to yourself, and even to her, and how much she's let you get away with…how much heat she's taken for you…how much shes's agreed with you and suffered in silence so you could get your way. And look where you are now."
He backs off a second time to let Justin react, but much to his surprise…he doesn't. He does something he never would've seen coming at this point, something he never thought Justin would feel until much later, being the obstinate guy that he is. Justin hangs his head almost in shame, and when Alan sees his wall come down, he drives it home, "I just need you to really be honest with yourself here, Justin…are you really learning your lessons or is she saving you?"
I love this update. It's weird, because I want them to work out, and then I also want to see them get on with their lives separately. I just hope
that whatever it is, they are both in a positive position and far away from what they were doing before. Love this story. 
