“You just have to get through one day at a time. Honestly, I'm not good with all this emotional shit but-”
“You're doing really well,” I smiled.
“Anyway, that's all you can do. Wake up each day until it hurts a little less and then move on eventually. Do what a guy does. Get drunk. Get laid. Buy new shoes like a chick or something.”
“I bought a hat today,” I laughed.
“O-kay... whatever works. But you have to just try to be strong every day until you notice it doesn't hurt as bad anymore, until it actually doesn't hurt as bad anymore. You have to, ‘cause what else can you do?”
Looking at my brother as he stood desperately in front of me, I was so sad again. I was sad at his wisdom, and sad from missing Peter. I was just so sad, nothing felt right inside me, and everything hurt me.
“I can't believe how much this hurts. This agony is all I’ll ever know, and it consumes me,” I whispered.
“Ohhh, Soph. It won't always. And I won't say anything bad about him, but I think there's more to Peter than you know, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to leave like he did. That's what I think anyway,” he said until he took me into his arms again.
Crying softly, I released all the tension and pain from my body, and let it take me. Pulling away from Steven, he pulled me back to him and whispered, “Just let it get out, girlie,” which naturally let it out.
Sobbing, I let it go. As the pain lashed through my chest, and my head pounded from the ferocity of my sobs, I let out the pain with Steven- the only true constant in my life.
“Thank-you,” I hiccupped through my tears.
But he didn't reply. Steven walked me to the couch, sat down with me, and snuggled up so I could get it all out.
Later Wednesday night after Steven left, I showered and decided to go to bed early. I was exhausted from faking being well at work, and from falling apart at home. I was beyond exhausted from lack of sleep, and from the pain inside me that wouldn't lessen.
My world was a constant carousel of pain and exhaustion, sadness and shock, and I still couldn't believe Peter had left me. I just couldn't believe it. It was too unbelievable to remember the love and passion we had shared Sunday, compared to the pain and absence of love hours later.
As I lay thinking in my bed while I slowly began to relax, I realized the love hadn't left me with Peter.
Peter was my forever, I knew in my soul. I knew that reality was my forever, so my love didn't die, it just changed to a love without a purpose- a love I would always know and always suffer in his absence.
The love I felt was still there, and probably always would be. The love I had remained, just unrequited and lost.
CHAPTER 22
On Thursday I went back to work, still devastated but determined not to let it show. I walked in, greeted everyone and gave a private smile to Madeline as I tipped my cute hat to her, making her laugh.
My day was an easy one, with no month end rush, or payroll looming over my head. It was easy in that I just had endless paperwork to complete alone in my office without a deadline or fellow employees threatening my sanity.
And Friday passed pretty much the same way, with the exception that Madeline, or Maddie, as she called herself to friends invited me out for drinks, which I gently declined. I let her down easy feigning a family engagement and then I got the hell out of there.
I had forced such a professional, together face all week, by Friday afternoon I was beyond exhausted, slipping into a near psychosis from sleep deprivation and heartache.
Driving home, I remember thinking about my week with an almost proud view of it. I knew I was devastated, but I was impressed with my ability to function when I thought of the depth of the pain eating me alive from the inside out.
And when I finally returned home, after I let the pain and agony take me with a good, long cry, I crawled into bed by 7:30 and I slept. Hard.
Those were my long days and weeks. And that was my time away from Peter. I was robotic and impressive, and I behaved as expected failing no one. I was good, happy on the surface, and professional.
Inside, of course, was different. I was still dying inside. I was absolutely DYING, but I just wouldn't die. Not that one actually dies from a broken heart, but if it was in fact possible, I was ready for it. I didn't want to die, but I was prepared for the inevitability of it happening because my heart simply stopped beating from all the pressure inside and the weight it had to carry alone.
I didn't know how I survived day after day and I really couldn't understand how I functioned, but somehow time passed and I continued to live.
The pain was always with me though, sometimes as a dull ache, and sometimes as an acute agony. Sometimes I expected it, and at other times I was blindsided by it. However it came to me didn’t really matter though because it was always pain.
I spent my time alone after work listening to Green Eyes to relive our beautiful life, and I spent my time listening to Black to relive Peter’s horrible goodbye.
I lived in a continuously pain-filled replay, day after day, like my 2 favorite songs.
*****
4 weeks after Peter left I had only lost a little bit of weight, not even enough to really show, so I looked the same on the outside, with the exception of the dark circles under my eyes. I still had my nails done once a month, and I still put a lighter blonde rinse in my slightly darker winter hair once a month. I dressed the same, and I acted the same, mostly. Well, in front of everyone else I acted the same.
In reality, I was a bit of a stalker, without the object to stalk. I drove around on weekends looking for Peter. I drove all over my neighborhood and slightly beyond looking for a bright pink car. I went to our cafe in search of him, and I walked the full street of the village from the Chocolatier to Pandora’s searching for any glimpse of Peter. But I never found him.
Finally, on the 4th weekend without him I thought to try Sunshine and Life.
Hugging Terry briefly after I entered, I casually asked if he had seen Peter. I was casual as I tried to act like I had broken up with him and wanted to make sure Peter was okay, in case Terry knew about our relationship. But when Terry said he hadn't seen Peter in months, I couldn't hide the tears from filling my eyes, or the absolute understanding on Terry's face that it was me who had been dumped.
Holding in the tears before I left the store, while grabbing my favorite veggie chips, I finally asked Terry why he gave the strange look months before. I finally asked, and he told me the truth as he believed it.
“I think Peter is an undercover Cop, Sophie,” he said so seriously I couldn't help my pause, or the laughter that burst from my chest. Laughing loudly in the quiet store, I knew I looked deranged but I just couldn't hold it in.
“A cop?” I laughed. “Yeah… I really don't think so. He's wayyyy too in touch with his emotional side to be a cop,” I laughed a little more.
But as Terry watched me laughing he said nothing else until just the sound of my laughter seemed so odd in the store, I slowly quieted.
Looking at Terry, I was sure he was joking, but he didn't relent at all with his stoic expression. He stood behind the counter staring at me as I had my strange laughing fit, and then he finally spoke once I stopped.
“Come here,” he said moving down the aisle to the back of the store as I followed him almost giggling again.
“I’m serious, Sophie. We've all speculated. We've all talked about it after his infrequent visits to the store before. There is something about the way he disappears, and returns, asking questions about whose been around, or whose been in trouble, or if anything seemed out of the ordinary around the village, etcetera, that made us all question why he asked.”
“Please tell me this is a joke,” I begged with a grin as I leaned against a shelf.
“I'm not joking. Ask Margaret,” Terry continued. “One time Peter came in after no one had seen him in months. We had all left messages for his hand cream which I sell as quickly as he supplies it,
but he never called us back. We left messages for 3 months but he never responded, and then one day out of the blue he walked in looking horrible. He was bruised and his hair was long and filthy, and he had this fake tattoo all over his hand, and when Margaret asked if he was okay, he just nodded. But then she asked what happened, and Peter smiled a little and said, 'some bad guys, that's all,' with a grin. And though Margaret tried to press, Peter wouldn't give any more information. But it always felt like there was more to Peter, you know?” Terry asked looking at me expectantly.
“Um... I really don't think so. Honestly, I just spent over 3 months with him, and he was never away or banged up, or, like anything like a cop. No offense Terry but I really think you're crazy,” I laughed again.
“Look, I know many law enforcement officers, and I've seen police at trials and for pretrial dispositions, and I'm telling you, Peter was like them.”
“Like what?” I swear to god, I was holding my breath but in total disbelief.
“Kind of aloof, but warm. Like one easygoing personality for us, and then a very intense personality watchful of everything around him.”
“Paranoid?” I tried for a much simpler explanation.
“Not really,” Terry paused. “Watchful, I would say. Anyway, it's all just speculation, but my gut tells me I'm right. I really think he's a cop and that's why he disappears, and that's why he returns a few months later, sometimes looking horrible, and sometimes just very worn out. But I don't know for sure, obviously,” Terry said while leaning in closer.
Fighting to keep the laughter in, I bit my tongue until it passed. “Do you honestly believe that, or is this a weird joke, Terry? Because honestly, your sense of humor is a little odd,” I asked grinning.
Smiling back at me, but shaking his head, Terry answered the question I couldn't believe I was asking.
“I honestly believe that. There's just something about Peter that tells me there's more going on than he admits to, or can tell us. And I think he's a cop,” he answered seriously.
“Do you have his address?”
“No. He would only pick up his payments.”
“Does he have a SIN number?”
“No. I paid him cash,” he answered.
“Do you know where he works?”
“No. Other than what I think he does he's never actually told me where he works.”
“Well, he told me. He said he works at a steel company that resells recyclable steel to smaller companies.”
“A steel company, huh? Do you disappear for months at a time, and turn up looking, acting, and behaving differently? Do you turn up bruised and tattooed from a steel company?” Terry again pressed.
“No you don't, but I think it's a little too bizarre and unrealistic to think he's an undercover cop. I mean seriously, Terry, who does that? That's a TV show, not reality,” I said a little pissed.
Looking at my old boss, I suddenly thought he was a bit of an idiot. Originally I just thought he was a post-trial lawyer, eccentric, reformed hippy guy, but looking at him in that moment, I thought he was more of a Law and Order, CSI, too much TV watching Fucktard, as Steven would say.
Irritated, I decided I was done with Terry and our whole bizarre conversation. Peter had been gone for 4 weeks at that point and I was tired of everyone and everything.
“Well, thanks for the enlightening conversation, Terry. I'll just grab these chips and let you get back to the counter,” I attempted to sound final but not too bitchy. “Oh, you never did say why you gave us the weird look when Peter came in on my last day with the book.”
“I was worried you'd get hurt if you got involved with him,” he said way too seriously.
“And why's that?” I asked with major tone.
“Because I think his job is dangerous, and because I didn't know how long he'd be around until he had to go undercover again,” he replied seriously.
Listening to Terry, I had had enough. Laughing again at the undercover comment, I put down the veggie chips, and shook my head at him. Walking back up the aisle to the front of the store as he followed me, I didn't even bother with a polite goodbye or a decent exit. I just laughed at his stupidity, and attempted to leave the store quickly before I said something very insulting.
“Sophie! Ask Margaret. She can give you better examples. Margaret and Peter have had coffee a few times,” Terry spoke to my back as I opened the front door to leave.
“No, thanks,” I said without turning back to him.
“Sophie! Undercover cops aren't just on TV, you know? How do you think the Police arrest people in gangs? Or other criminals? They actually exist in every city,” Terry yelled again.
I was already a foot out the door though as I said a loud, “Okay. Thanks.”
Stunned by my shitty morning, I started laughing outside in the cool April air, until I started crying thinking about Peter.
Walking back to my apartment I decided I needed a change. I had spent 4 weeks in a total funk- working all day, crying and obsessing all night. And my weekends were spent with the same crying, hurting, obsessing sadness my nights crushed me with.
I had missed 3 out of 4 Sunday dinners at my parents' since he left, and I had received hundreds of Steven phone calls every single day since Peter left me.
My parents were worried, and Steven was distressed by the weak Sophie I was in his eyes. For the first time in our lives he was the better, more stable twin, which we both hated. Steven was meant to be flighty, and I was meant to be stable. It was how we had worked for 25 years, and I needed it back.
I needed to be me again, the pre-Peter me I was happy with. I needed to feel stable, secure, and confident in my world again. I needed to feel like me again. I just had to figure out how the hell to get Sophie back.
*****
When Steven showed up at my place Sunday afternoon to take me to my parents' house for dinner, I was pissed. Throwing open the door, I was yelling before I even saw him and I continued yelling well after he was sitting on my couch ignoring me.
Turning on the TV, he flipped to and turned up a basketball game loudly. Ignoring me completely, I was filled with such a sudden rage, I actually kicked his shin, grabbed the remote and chucked it across the room while screaming for him to leave. But the bastard barely even flinched.
“Done?” He asked like a prick and I almost hit him.
I wanted to hit him so badly, just the shock of it stopped me in my tracks. Shaking, I was losing my shit right in front of him and he was watching with a kind of relaxed detachment that drove me over the edge.
“I hate you, you know that? I want to bash your face in so bad, and I swear to god, if you don't get out of my apartment in the next 10 seconds, I'm going to hit you, Steven!”
Looking at me with a goddamn smirk on his face, my hands were shaking with the need to hit him. “I dare you, Soph,” he said with a smartass grin.
“I'm going to hit you. I swear to god, Peter-” I gasped. Peter? Oh my god! I was totally losing my mind, and I knew it. And judging by the look on Steven's smug face, he knew it too.
“Peter? Really? Well, let's find the asshole then so you can hit him and move on, okay? Because I'm sick to death of this shit with you. Mom and dad are beside themselves trying to figure out how to help you, but you're so fucking independent they don't want to piss you off by talking to you about it. And I can't stand to see you look like this anymore. You’re acting like a fucking psycho. Go to work. Cry. Come home. Cry. Go to sleep. Cry. And do it all again the next day. For a fucking month you've been a mess and it's time to stop the shit, Sophie,” he said standing in front of me.
“Is it?” I snarled.
“Yeah. It is! This isn't you. You're tougher than this, and you're just wasting away for some fucking asshole who didn't love you enough to stay!” He yelled in my face.
Steven suddenly yelled the words I didn't want to hear and unbelievably I slapped him. A quick slap, right across the face, followed by a gasp from me as I covered my mouth with my ha
nds in shock.
In my wildest dreams, I never thought I'd hit anyone, never mind slap my own brother across the face- one of the most demeaning, horrendous things anyone can do to another person.
In the stunned silence that followed the slap I was so sorry and so scared I had caused irreparable damage to us, I grabbed him as tightly as I could, crying 'I'm so sorry,' over and over again as I shook against his chest.
I was beyond a fucking mess and I knew it. Steven was right, but I just couldn't get over it. I just couldn't leave Peter behind.
“I'm so sorry, Peter,” gasp again. “Fuck! Not Peter. I'm fucking losing it here. I'm so sorry, Steven. I'm sorry I slapped you. I didn't mean to. Oh, god, I'm so sorry,” I sobbed until he finally raised his arms and hugged me back.
“You can't keep doing this...” he whispered.
“I know, but it's only been four weeks. I'm just not able to move on yet,” I cried.
“You don't have to move on yet, but you've got to move forward. You're just stuck in this thing and you're not getting better. You're not even trying to get over him,” Steven argued.
Pulling away slightly so I could look at him, I flinched when I saw his face. The red slap was so obvious on his pale winter skin, I wanted to scream.
“I'm trying to get over it, but I don't know what to do. This pain is just as bad as it was the first few days. It's constant and exhausting, and it hurts so bad, I just try to swallow it down all day at work, so when I get home at night I can't hold it in anymore. It's like he just left that day, every day. Time hasn't helped at all,” I explained.