Kim Karr - Dazed

His body tenses even more beneath my fingertips. His eyes start to swirl—stormy gray again as he stares at me maybe waiting for me to take it back, but I can’t. It’s true. It’s how I feel.

There’s a deep sadness flowing in waves between the two of us. Then, he turns and walks up the steps without another word leaving me feeling numb and alone. I finally let the tears I’ve been holding back fall like rain. And as the flickering of his orange shoelaces slapping against the floor begins to fade away, I’m left standing there staring at his disappearing image through the glass.

“You know what they say about staring through the glass.” I keep hearing his voice, deep and sexy. I fluff my pillow and drop my head to it for the hundredth time. Inhaling deeply, I try to catch a whiff of him on my sheets. Even as exhaustion overtook me, sleep wouldn’t come, and daylight arrived way too soon.

As the sun rises, I lie beneath my silk coverlet and close my eyes. Not wanting to start another day, I make myself sit up . . . I have to make myself do this. I have to continue my life as it was before I met him. But everywhere I look, he’s there. I hear his voice, smell the lavender scent of his skin, taste the lime he always added to his drinks. I can see him coming out of the shower—his dark hair wet, his body damp, his arms strong enough to lift me onto the counter in one swoop.

The picture of my grandmother sits in a crystal frame beside my bed with one of my uncle next to it. I pick it up. He has deep tan lines and burnished blonde hair. He wears a look of optimism that doesn’t appear in all my memories of him. I considered how he fought depression his whole life, and wondered if it had to do with Madeline. I hadn’t seen his manic side, but I’d heard my parents talk about it and then I read about it in the movie script. He worked in fits and bursts—writing and recording non-stop for days without sleep. His band members were attuned to his personality and accommodated his needs.

Setting the photo down, I glance at the two twin frames—two people plagued by depression, but who led completely different lives. My grandmother lived in the shadows of her depression, letting it control her. My uncle fought it, only giving in when he could no longer fend it off. But they both died young. Would I end up like them? All alone?

I’d told Jagger about Levi, but not the whole story. The only person who knows everything is Dahlia and maybe that’s why she’s always so accepting of my quirks. It’s not a time in my life I ever want to relive. The summer after I returned from Laguna, the summer after I lost my virginity to Levi, I spent a lot of time dwelling on the events of that summer. I had withdrawn even further into my own shell and my parents were concerned. My mood swings got worse, my anger spilled over into our conversations, and all I wanted was to be left alone. I pretended to be sick as often as I could. My grades were dropping because I just couldn’t focus. I had lost control of my life. This went on for about six months until my parents became so worried they took me to a therapist. With medication and many hours of therapy, I found myself. After six months of sitting in my psychiatrist’s office twice a week, I rebuilt a life I could control. Routines that I didn’t deviate from—ever.

I knew I needed structure and stability. That was who I was—until Jagger. I let him in, I let him alter my behavior—change how I approached life, and I found I liked who I had become. I liked living in the moment, having fun, departing from the predictable and mundane. But I shouldn’t have let it happen. I knew what worked for me. So as I set my feet on the rug beneath me, I am determined that today Alice is gone and Aerie is back—not because she wants to be, but because she has to be.

The traffic is ridiculous this morning. When I’m finally a few blocks away from the office, I glance at my watch and wonder if it’s too early to call Dahlia. I reach across to the passenger seat and pull my BlackBerry from its case. The screen doesn’t light up. I never even used it yesterday and it must have died. It’s so unlike me to let that happen. Dahlia is the one either with a dead phone or without one. Plugging my phone into the power cord connected through my console, it flashes and finally lights up. Two missed calls and a text from Jagger.

I listen to the first call and the sound of his voice affects me immediately. “Hey, Alice, guess what? Brett just called and he’s doing a round table casting at two. I guess one of the potential leads dropped out and he wants me to come in. Wish me luck. Oh, and it looks like I’ll be wearing a turtleneck because I’m not sure how well that hickey you gave me will go over.”

I touch my neck where he sucked on it. Then I scroll down to the second call as the tears I promised myself I wouldn’t cry prickle my eyes.

“Hey, baby, the audition was amazing. But listen I’m on my way over. There’s something I wasn’t expecting and I want to tell you about it person. Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours—it’s not really that big of a deal, although I think you’ll . . . you know what, never mind. I’ll just tell you about it when I get there. And, Aerie, I love you.”

Oh God, my cries turn into sobs—he really didn’t know. The traffic starts to move and I wipe the tears from my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I call Dahlia.

“Hello?” she says not sounding well at all.

“Dahlia girl, it’s me. Are you still sick?”

“Hey, Aerie, I don’t feel that great. I threw up again this morning.”

“Have you taken anything?”

“River just went to the store to get something to settle my stomach. Is everything okay?” Her voice is soft and as I listen to her, it hits me.

“Dahlia, are you pregnant?”

“No! God, no! I’m on birth control,” she laughs.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t get pregnant,” I say matter-of-factly.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I think I just ate too much junk food at the game the other night or, who knows, maybe I have food poisoning.”

“Well if I were you I’d call that husband of yours and ask him to pick up an EPT test instead of Pepto-Bismol.”

“Right,” she laughs. “Did you call for a reason or just to harass me about overeating?”

As I pull into the parking lot of the business center, I push my reasons for calling aside. “Just wanted to say hi, but I’ll call you later today. I just got to work and I’m late.”

“That’s not like you. What’s going on?”

“I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay, but please do.”

“Oh, and Dahlia, call River.”

She hangs up without a goodbye and I just stare at the blank screen. Then I notice the text.

At 1:53 a.m. from Jagger:

I’m going to give you some time, but we’re by no means over.

Sitting alone in my car, I contemplate texting him back to tell him how much I miss him. But I promised myself I would get out of this relationship before I was in too deep and I know I need to stick to my promise.

The elevator door dings on the tenth floor and as I exit I realize how exhausted I am. Feeling preoccupied, I don’t even notice Shelly approaching me.

“Good morning, Ms. Daniels,” she says, stopping to look at me.

“Good morning, Shelly. Any messages?”

“Yes, a few.” She hands me the newspaper and a handful of pink colored rectangular pieces of paper.

“Thank you. Anything urgent?”

“Umm . . . I’m not sure. Are you okay?”

“Yes, why do you ask?” I manage a small smile.

“You’re wearing jeans. You never wear jeans to work.”