Damn, Denial
1. Small Truths
Pt. 2
234 W. Polk St.
Chicago IL, 60605
I laid across the couch of Camille’s new place with my ass poked up in the air, begging for attention. She ignored me, lighting three Jo Malone candles and pouring herself a glass of cognac.
“Ahem.” She caught my attention, raising a glass to see if I wanted some.
“Mmm, no. I’m okay.” If I drink, I’ll act.
“Are you staying here tonight?”
“Is Mel?”
“Probably.”
“Then no.” Why the fuck would you think I would deal with that.
“Oh Kay.”
“What?”
“You’re not going to get over this, are you?”
“I don’t want to hear y’all fuck all night.” Especially considering where I’m at.
“Why because you want to join us or because you’re not getting any?”
“Hardy har mothafucking har. I’ll have you know I was nutted in just hours before dinner.” Oh, yeah, say that shit proudly. Camille’s face went stern.
“Did you want that?”
“No.” my voice grew quiet.
“Are you ready to talk?”
“What is there to talk about? I’m supposed to be planning a wedding.” I sat up and glanced out the window. The city stood still, and the water swayed calmly.
“You told me that you would talk to me, so talk. It’s me.” She came and sat next to me. Her sweet smell redirected my attention.
“How is the sex?” I switched the subject. Camille cackled and turned her head, before standing and walking toward what I presumed is her room. I did not hesitate, I stood up and followed.
“Why do you want to know? You’ve had us both, you can infer.” …. Oh, bitch. I fell silent. Camille turned to me and smirked before undressing in front of me. I know that I should’ve turned, or had a more friend-like stare, but I didn’t. As I watched the suit fall to the floor my eyes followed her legs back up. She paid me no attention, strutting to her chest of drawers to grab her silk pajamas before heading to the bathroom to shower. Her skin was warm and soft. She released her hair from the bun, and it fell past her shoulders. I just stared. She was the equivalent of art. I walked towards her, my hands tracing her thighs. She stared into the mirror at me and I gave her direct eye contact back. She leaned her head onto my hand and pushed her body against me so that it backed me against the wall. My hands found her hips with ease and I held her against me. The air between us got thick as my eyes scanned all of her. I didn’t want to move, but I knew I should.
“You staying or going?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. I couldn’t tell if she was talking about watching her shower or staying the night. Though neither was a good idea.
“I should probably get going,” I muttered before retreating out of the bathroom. To my surprise, she followed me.
“What are you hiding from everyone? Most importantly, what are you hiding from yourself?” She called out and I froze. I didn’t expect the flip.
“How unhappy I truly am.” I turned to face her, leaning against the frame of her door.
“Why – why would you hide that? What does hiding that do for anyone?”
“I convinced everyone Daniel was the one. I sold this story about finding happily ever after and true love and getting everything you want after being played countless times and then boom. You’re wrong. No one talks about the inner disgust you feel when you were blindsided yet again – only this time, you played a vital role in blindsiding yourself and everyone else along with you.”
“Upholding the vision and expectations of everyone else isn’t your job.”
“People will stop caring after a while, you know? Stop believing you.”
“And?”
“Who wants to be alone in all of their thoughts?”
“That’s what you are right now, though. Pretending like everything is perfectly okay on social media. Selling a dream. Planning a wedding. Acting like parts of you don’t still wonder about us.”
“Stop.” I said and began looking for my coat.
“I know that’s not what you want to hear,”
“Camille, just stop. I’m leaving. Mel is coming over. I’m leaving.” I reassured myself as I gathered my things. She held the rest of her words and watched as I scrambled. I didn’t even bother to say goodbye, just went out the door.
When I made it out of her building, the air was maddening. I held myself tightly as my eyes scanned for where I left my car. As I approached it, I prayed there wasn’t a ticket on it. Fortunately for me, something was in my favor tonight. I climbed into it, turned it on, and sank into the seats. The tears didn’t have the energy to stream down my face – instead, they pooled in the ducts of my eyes, faded, and then mimicked the same pattern. I wasn’t sure where I was going, but I wasn’t going back to his house. Hell no, they can enjoy their evening together. Now, more than ever, I yearned for my old place. To sink into the sheets in my hidden space and ghost everyone. Even my practice didn’t feel like my own because he was laced into pieces of it. I felt sick to my stomach again – that’s all I ever felt these days. My thoughts were jumbled, and if I tried to talk to people, I found myself an unstable emotional mess. It was easier not to talk at all. To smile and reassure everyone I was figuring it out. That was partially because I was still trying to understand what was going on, how I got here, and why.
228 E. Ontario St.
Chicago IL, 60611
In therapy a year ago, I was in the process of eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR) where we determined that I feel like hotels are my safe space. While on the surface we thought it was the happiness that I experienced from vacation as we dug deeper, it was the inaccessibility, ease, and comfort. The thought that I could still do everything I determined necessary, eat, shower, relax, work – from one space and never leave. In tandem, the thought that no one knew where I was unless I decided to openly share. The comfort of anonymity and solitude were unmatched in my mind.
Staring out the window I made the decision to turn my location off on my phone and text my therapist. I hadn’t decided when I would tell Daniel that I wasn’t coming home anytime soon or if I would at all. Would he even actually notice.
Rahkell: Jacqueline, when is your next emergency appointment, we need to talk. 10:32 PM
Jacqueline – Therapist: Hi Rahk, how about 8:30 AM tomorrow? Are you in a safe place? Do I need to call you now? 10:33 PM
Rahkell: No, just really need to talk through some things – sorry should’ve specified considering I know better. 8:30 AM is perfect. 10:33 PM
Jacqueline – Therapist: Understood – rest and drink water. See you in the morning. 10:34 PM
She was so understanding and methodical. Even her ability to text at ease this late at night, what kind of therapist was I to my patients, because my life did not allow. Fuck, the patients. We need to figure out if we’re working tomorrow. I know I couldn’t be the only therapist who needed therapy.
~
By 5 AM, I hadn’t slept and was on my third bottle of overpriced wine, wrapped in the back up set leggings and t-shirt I kept in my car. Despite desiring silence and rest, sadness and the desire for sorrow provoked me to be laying across the King Sized bed, singing out of key with wine spilling down my cheek.
“In a perfect world – you’re understanding – I’m not a perfect girl I would drop my fears at the door. I would only bring myself and nothing more. And you leeeeettt meeeeee be a woman.” I sang, in a drunken slur and then, to my surprise, I heard the knob turn on the door of my room. I sat up instantly. This is the part of the movie where I die and no one knows where I am because I decided to turn off my location and evade my problems instead of talking them out like I know how to fucking do because I went to school for it – you dumb bitch. I sat up, wine bottle at hand, its original purpose was comfort, but now it would be a weapon.
“How the fuck does this key work?” I heard someone mutter outside the door. I waited for someone else to respond to them, but heard nothing. I had watched enough videos online to know this could all be a set up and that they wanted me to open the door. I took a few deep breaths and closed my left eye, pressing the right one against the peep hole. To my surprise, I saw a quite tall, sienna brown figure with a low fade. She looked confused as she stared into her phone and then back at the door, determined to figure it out. My anxiety calmed a little before I decided that I was going to say something. I took two deep breaths, clenched the neck of the wine bottle and flung the door open. When I did, I had to look up slightly to meet eyes with her. Her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.
“Is there a reason you’re attempting to get into my room?” I asked, stern.
“Well, that would explain why my key isn’t working.” She nodded to herself.