Jewel Ann - Idle Bloom

The cheap shrink in my head, the one that usually shows up at times like this, must be on vacation. I’ve got nothing. I need to rationalize that I don’t deserve her, that we’re both better off without each other. I’m too old for her and my past is not something she deserves. In a month she’s going to be in college and I’m floundering around with my brother and a dwindling savings account. The best of me is gone and the best of her is still on the horizon.

I shut off the lights and collapse onto my bed—my lonely bed. Then it hits me. That’s it. I’m the sunset, she is the sunrise, and the only thing between us is a world of darkness.

I bolt up from the bed. Crap! I’ve fucked up!

It’s a little after eleven, but I see lights on through their windows. No doubt a male-bashing fest has ensued since Alex physically assaulted me. Crossing the street feels like breaching the frontline and all I’m armed with is “I am the darkness and you are my light?” If I don’t come up with something better than that I might as well shove a sword through my own chest. I’ve already used up the gold standard, “I love you.” Now what? I want you? I need you? The sex is amazing? Yeah, that’s the one .

I knock on the door and pray the right words will magically find their way from my mouth to her ears. Alex answers with a smug grin.

“Come back for round two?”

“Where is she?”

“Flower is … busy . Maybe you should come back in the morning.”

I push the door open easily overwhelming her attempts to keep me out.

“Oliver!”

I scan the main level then head up the stairs; a pungent odor fills the air. Opening the door to Vivian’s room I’m greeted with bloodshot eyes and a lazy smile.

“Oli,” she says before taking another drag of her joint then coughing.

I take the joint and toss it in the coffee mug on the floor next to her bed. There’s also a box of sugar cookies, a bag of chips, and a bowl of pistachios on the floor. She plops back on the bed and closes her eyes.

“You must be feeling pretty smug, Mr. Konrad.” She giggles. “You nailed it. I’m a pothead. Maggie was right … don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

“Let’s go.” I lift her off the bed, cradled in my arms.

“Put me down! I’m not going with you!” Her attempts to kick and flail are weak and pathetic.

I wasn’t planning on going the caveman route, but then again, I wasn’t planning on her being high either.

“Alex!” she yells as I carry her to the door.

Alex hops off the couch and comes at me.

“Back the hell off!” I glare at her.

She gasps as if no one has ever put her in her place before, then she does something I’m not expecting. She opens the front door and grins.

“Take care of her.”

I pause only for a moment then nod as I take a now passed-out Vivian to my place.

She needs a shower and her teeth brushed to rid the smell of marijuana from her body, but right now I don’t care. I lay her on the bed and remove all of our clothes. A single thread is too much separation when I have such an intense craving to feel the touch of her skin against mine. I wrap my body around hers and let myself drift off to sleep in peace, a peace that will evaporate in the morning. Tonight, however, I just need this … I need us.

Vivian

I’m rethinking the weed idea. Foggy head, pulsing brain, and it must be one hundred degrees in here. Here? Where am I? What time is it? Why can’t I move?

The heavy feeling on my chest lifts as I remove the arm draped over me. I’m naked and so is Oliver. Great. I know we didn’t have sex; that I would remember. Pervert!

Easing off the bed, being careful not to wake him, I look for my clothes. After getting dressed, I tiptoe downstairs. It’s four-thirty in the morning so I’m going to leave before the sun, and Oliver, rise. Apparently we need to talk, but not naked in his bed. I look for my shoes but don’t see them. Reaching for the doorknob, I notice a pile of mail on the entry table. What catches my eye is the return address on the corner of an envelope sticking out from the middle of the pile. It’s from a hospital in Portland. The fine print below the name reads: Mental Health and Chemical Dependency Care.

Walk away!

I can’t. My curiosity has morphed into a monstrous need to know about Oliver’s past. I rip open the envelope. The cover letter explains the enclosed information is an emergency contact update for a Caroline Konrad.

Mark the “No Changes” box, sign and date if all the information is still correct.

The next page has Oliver’s name, address, e-mail, phone number, and relationship to patient.

Husband.

Bile races up my throat leaving a wake of acidic burn, and my heart pounds with anger as my blood runs toxic. Somewhere in my heart or soul I have to be crushed beyond words, but right now my mind is a volcanic eruption of anger and unfathomable rage. I think I could kill him.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I’m in his room within seconds … and then it begins.

“You have a fucking WIFE!” I think he startles awake, but I can’t tell for sure because all I see is red. One picture frame, then another thrown in his direction. A bookend, a vase, his shoes, a clock, all shattering and banging against the wall, his headboard, and even him.

“Vivian!” He stumbles around trying to find his balance in the midst of the debris coming at him.

I yank one dresser drawer out and heave it in his direction, then the next, and yet another until clothes are scattered everywhere and he’s charging at me.

“No!” I yell, grabbing the back of the empty dresser and tipping it forward to block his approach. I run into the hall ripping framed art and pictures off the wall, leaving a wake of broken glass behind me. Down the stairs I run into the kitchen flinging open cupboard doors.

“Bastard!” I repeatedly throw glasses, plates, cans, and jars in his direction. “You’re a fucking liar! How could you?”

“Vivian! STOP!” The roar of his voice can’t compete with the hurricane of deafening emotions in my head.

Shot glasses. Whisky bottles. Coffee mugs.

Clank! Bang! Crash!

I’m running out of ammunition, then I glance up and see the pots and pans hanging from the suspension rack. Climbing onto the island, I grab two at a time from their hooks and hurl them at Oliver. Sometimes I hear the crash of my miss, other times I hear a thwack and a few expletives when my aim is perfect. After the last pan has been launched, I see a bloodied Oliver lumbering toward me. I look behind but there’s no escape, so I leap with every last bit of energy I can muster and take him to the ground.

Thud!

Darkness.

Beep … beep … beep …

A flash of light and distant echoing bring me out of my sleep. I can’t remember where I fell asleep. Alex’s? Oliver’s? Maybe I smoked too much pot again. God, I really am turning into a pothead.

“Flower?”

“Ouch!” I squint trying to open my eyes, but the pain in my head feels like it’s paralyzing my whole body.

Alex flickers into focus. “What happened?”

“You … fell and other things.” She grimaces.

“Fell?”

“Well, sort of jumped or leaped … from Oliver’s counter. You have a concussion, and stitches in several places along with numerous cuts from the glass they had to remove from various parts of your body, especially your feet.”

The pain in my head and now everywhere else multiplies one hundredfold as the flood of memories rushes back. Oliver is married .