Fragile: Handle With Care - Part 4
trigger warning for depression
Her throat was dry and grainy as she came to a stop at the doorway, with her socked feet half on the warmer wooden boards, and half on light tiled floor. The room that greeted her was calm and welcoming, a perfect extension of the rest of the apartment. She tightened her grip on the straps of the canvas bag, and silently cleared her throat in a nervous kind of way. Emma stopped pulling things out of her bag and met her shy gaze with a smile.
“Ruben? This is Jenny,” Emma presented her with unmistakable pride, without ever breaking her gaze.
Jenny wished she was deserving of such a proud introduction. She ducked her head a little as the elderly man turned slightly in his chair to follow Emma’s gaze, and she heard the wood creaking slowly his weight.
“Well, come in,” he told her with a sweep of his hand.
She stepped into the room, and kept going until she stood beside Emma. She felt nervous, as though this man would finally be the one to see that she was so completely undeserving of that wonderful girl’s heart. “Hello,” she greeted nonetheless, trying hard not to murmur her speech. Emma reached over and took the canvas bag from her, setting it on the counter beside her own to empty its contents. She looked down when the man with the smooth grey hair took her now free hand between both of his, and held it in a gentle grip.
“Hello,” he replied with kind eyes that had surely spent years smiling like that. The thought eased her mind somewhat.
Remembering the cup she was holding, she set it down on the table in front of him. “I believe this is yours,” she said, feeling slightly calmer with Emma beside her. It was priceless to see his eyes light up at the orange liquid.
“Well now,” he announced in a happy voice, his eyes alight as he relaxed in his chair. “This is a complete serving of health, I’ll have you know,” he told them both as he brought the cup closer and reached with thick fingers for the straw.
Emma giggled at her side before turning to put things away in the kitchen, and Jenny smiled quietly to herself, because it had all happened just as Emma had predicted it would. It was strange, the things that seemed to restore her faith in the world, but they were all little joys she’d forgotten to notice.
“Yes,” Ruben stated, agreeing with himself after taking the first taste, and couldn’t help smacking his lips together a couple of times as the flavor rolled over his taste buds.
“It’s a little chilly in here. Can I bring you a sweater?” Emma asked the older man, after sliding the kitchen window shut, and he glanced up from fiddling with the radio with a look that Jenny recognized. It was as though he hadn’t realized he needed a sweater until the moment Emma had mentioned it. She had a way of taking care of people without them quite noticing, and she did it in a way that never made them feel useless. Jenny had no idea how she managed to do that.
“Yes, thank you,” Ruben decided after a moment of deliberation.
“We’ll be right back,” Emma replied, sneaking her hand into Jenny’s, and leaving the tired-looking man to his radio.
The only bedroom of the apartment had three framed paintings along the wall above the bed, done by the same hand that had painted the ones she’d passed in the living room, the hallway, and the small one in the kitchen. Jenny’s gaze drew to a halt for a few moments at each one as Emma collected the sweater hanging on the back of the single chair in the room.
“Do me a favor?” Emma asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. She turned toward Emma and nodded. “Will you distract him while I tidy a little? He doesn’t really let me otherwise.”
“Uhm, sure,” she answered, as it seemed to be the only answer to give.
Emma took a couple of steps from the desk, sweater in hand, and met her at the foot of the bed, leaving hardly any distance between their faces. “Thank you,” she replied sweetly, and leaned forward to press a slow kiss to her lips.
“Is that your mother’s cake that you’ve brought with you?” Ruben called to them from the kitchen, and Emma smiled into the kiss before pulling away. She took a step toward the doorway, paused, turned back around, and pulled Jenny close for one more innocent kiss. She slid her hand against Jenny’s again, urging her forward, and led her back through to the kitchen.
Jenny’s lips tingled as she handed Ruben his sweater.
“Thank you, dear,” Ruben said with those softened eyes again.
Jenny smiled back. She liked this man. He reminded her of someone she loved very much when his eyes crinkled happily like that. A hand settled at the small of her back then, and she hardly noticed how she automatically leaned into the familiar touch.
“Are you okay?” Emma asked her quietly as she leaned forward and collected the plate with the remnants of the elderly man’s lunch.
She nodded, turning into Emma a little. “Do you need help putting things away?” she asked, not that she had a clue where anything went, but the question prolonged the time Emma stood so close to her.
“I got it,” Emma assured her, before continuing to the sink with the dishes.
“May I join you?” Jenny asked Ruben bashfully, to the sound of different kitchen compartments opening and closing behind her as Emma put the groceries away. Her words were somewhat forced, and her stance awkward, but the longer she stood there without purpose, the less likely she was to find the courage to speak. Her behavior was so unlike her normal self. She shook her head a little in defeat as she lowered her gaze to the floor.
“Please,” he motioned to the chair across from him. He was still a bit reserved in her presence, and she didn’t blame him. Her hands fiddled in her lap, unsure exactly what she was doing.
She blinked up when a mug was placed before her, with steam curling delicately above the liquid inside, carrying with it a soothing aroma that had her taking a slow, full breath. Emma smiled at her before resuming her work. Jenny hadn’t even noticed her making tea, but she was glad for the familiar item. She wrapped her cold hands around the ceramic mug and leaned forward a little in her chair. She blew lightly on the tea, unsure how to distract this man she’d met less than five minutes ago, as Emma busied herself with cleaning off the counter.
“Emma’s mother mentioned that you enjoy classical music.”
She looked up from her tea at those kind brown eyes again. Out of all of the things that could be used to describe her as a first impression, she mused that this was a rather wonderful one. “Y-yes, I do,” she replied with a bashful bow of her head.
Ruben’s smile softened at her confirmation. That smile was so familiar somehow, like some fragment of a very distant memory. “There’s a daily radio show that starts soon, and they play symphonies of some of the greats. Yesterday it was Verdi, and this morning they’re playing Haydn. Would you like to listen?” he asked as he reached toward the radio once more and turned the old silver dial.
“I would love to,” she answered as a deep-rooted kind of grin pulled at her lips, as if awakening a part of her that had long since been neglected. “I love Haydn,” she confessed quietly as she looked back into her tea, though she wasn’t sure why she added that. It had come out from that giddy smile.
Emma placed a plate down between them, with toast and apple slices arranged on it, and Jenny recognized the color scheme as the apple she’d been given that morning. She’d hoped that slipping it into her bag unnoticed would work. Emma didn’t seem cross that she hadn’t eaten her breakfast, only smoothed the hair back from Jenny’s neck affectionately before resuming her work.
“A girl your age who doesn’t just know who Haydn is, but loves his music?” he asked with both of his slightly bushy eyebrows raised. “I’m impressed,” he decided with a slow nod of his head. “You were raised well,” he concluded as he reached forward for a piece of toast.
Jenny’s smile tightened and hollowed. Her hands pressed against the too-hot ceramic mug for a moment, as she tried to fight off the bitter taste rising in her throat. She wasn’t ready to think about how she was raised, but this particular topic was perhaps one of the nicer ways around the subject. As the static cleared away, music poured through the speaker of the small radio between them. Her heart seemed to elevate in her chest as her ears pulled in the sound. She felt lighter somehow, listening to it. She leaned forward slightly, as if by sitting on the edge of her seat, she could will the music further into her body.
She looked to the doorway of the kitchen over Ruben’s shoulder a minute later, and noticed Emma looking at her carefully. ‘You okay?’ Emma mouthed to her. She smiled honestly and nodded. Emma smiled back and slipped out of the room unnoticed.
Ruben’s eyes were closed when she looked back at him. His head made small motions, following the direction of the music. He reminded Jenny of her grandfather in that moment. That had been the crinkled-eye smile that had curiously tugged her closer to this man. He sat, engrossed in the music, with both hands wrapped around the tea that Emma had left for him. She watched him for a few long moments, the way his eyes moved slightly beneath closed lids, and the way he cradled his tea. His thumb and pointer finger were wrapped around the rim of the mug, occasionally tapping against the ceramic, while the pads of his fingers stroked the smooth surface absently through the sway of the music, as though he were conducting. That very distant memory pulled forward in her mind as she watched him. Other than her grandfather, so many years ago, she’d never seen anyone else hold their tea in that way.
Her grandfather had been the one to start her love affair with classical music. She’d been six and a half when her parents had dropped her off at his house for a long weekend on their way to the airport, and she’d packed a new fancy dress in her backpack this time, for a very special adventure. Her father had dismissed the whole idea as ‘silly’ and ‘unnecessary’, saying that a child of six had no business in a concert hall, and bet that she’d just fall asleep during the first half, if she didn’t whine that it was boring. But her grandfather had simply patted his son-in-law’s shoulder, and kissed his daughter goodbye, as Jenny held the hand of her favorite person in the whole entire world. As her parents drove off, she’d looked up at her grandfather and squeezed his hand, promising that she’d really try her hardest not to fall asleep during the show, no matter what. He smiled affectionately down at her and patted the small hand in his grip as he led her toward the house. ‘And if you do, that’s just fine,’ he told her quietly as he held the door open for her to enter.
She’d had a silly grin on her face throughout dinner, which grew with each answer her grandfather offered to her multitude of questions. Her grandfather was the only one who never tired of her questions, and even encouraged her curiosity. After they finished their dessert, the housekeeper helped her put on her new dark blue dress that swooshed a little when she moved, and paired it with white stockings and sparkly black dress shoes. By the time she made her way to the front hall to meet her grandfather, she was practically buzzing with excitement. Her grandfather greeted her in his fancy suit, and the housekeeper waved them off as they made their way to the taxi.
The concert hall was grand, filled with so many seats, and a ceiling that was so high that Jenny was sure it ended higher than even the clouds. ‘That is where the orchestra will sit,’ her grandfather explained, pointing to the arch of chairs at the front of the room as he patted her hair. She nodded with interest as she took it all in. She waved shyly at some of her grandfather’s friends that had come to say hello as they made their way to their seats; she’d always been a bashful child. As the lights in the large room dimmed, she smoothed out the fabric of her dress and wiggled backwards in her seat. She was so excited that she’d reached for her grandfather’s hand and held onto it until the lights came back on at the end of the night.
The concert had been stunning. The music came alive to her as she listened, watching so many instruments work together to create a sound so lavish and full. It told stories, and spoke of whole worlds beyond her imagination. She looked up at her grandfather with her eyes bright, and squeezed his hand with pure joy in her young features.
‘Close your eyes,’ her grandfather whispered to her just as a new piece was beginning. She squeezed his hand and did as she was asked, and her breaths slowed as the music washed over her with its magnitude. It encompassed her, entering through her ears, and traveling into her whole body, making her chest feel both full and light at the same time. She watched the stories her mind conjured to the soundtrack, and grinned when she felt her grandfather leave a slightly scruffy kiss in her hair.
The entire way home, she regaled their taxi driver with her many thoughts, emphasized by grand hand gestures that still couldn’t quite convey how exciting it all had been. Her grandfather watched her with those smiling, pale green eyes of his, and promised he’d take her again soon. That promise felt like Christmas morning.
Soon after, she began attending an after-school course on classical music for children at the concert hall. They learned about the different composers and instruments that were used to create such music, and listened to different selections of songs. It had been her grandfather’s present to her, and she phoned him after each lesson to tell him all of the things she’d learned.
After he passed away, she curled herself into the music, seeking comfort in the unexplainable emotions that arose from grief. She began piano and voice lessons, and she stunned her teachers. Her mother had told her that her grandfather would have been so proud to hear her play and sing. She kept up with her lessons, but as the years passed, and producers were met, she was assured that she’d be much better if she gave her voice the proper stage it needed. So she did, and she loved singing quite fiercely for a while. She slowly grew away from classical music, trying to belong to the world like a normal kid, and when everything began to fall apart, she cut her ties with it entirely. She no longer wanted anything to do with music, or the magical feelings it had once given her, all in an attempt to erase herself and start again, become some alternate version of herself that wouldn’t veer off of the path so completely.
In her withdrawal from the world that was her move to Cologne, she’d begun to listen to classical music again, in the privacy of her headphones, where no one else could hear or know. It was hers and hers alone, and she swore to herself that she’d never share her love for it with anyone. It was perhaps the only part of her that was free of others’ judgments and criticism. It was free, too, of her many failures and shortcomings. The music was so eloquently constructed, and she let it wrap her up safely for hours, providing somewhat of a cushion to the blow that she’d suffered over the span of a few years.
Strangely enough, her love for classical music had been one of the first things she’d told Emma about when they’d gotten together. She hadn’t really realized it until it was out, and Emma had been so sweet and interested in what she had to say, that it felt like the right thing to share.
Now, as familiar music poured through slight static, she watched the elderly man in front of her, watched the way his eyes softened, the way his head nodded and swayed just a little to the currents of the music, and it all felt a bit like coming home.
She reached forward for an apple and ate it slowly as the kitchen came to life with music. She suddenly wanted to stay there for hours, and as she looked across the table, she realized that she shared that particular notion with that kind man.
The radio host’s voice was low and deep as it came through the end of another piece of music, announcing the half-way point to the program before a commercial break. Ruben lowered the volume and finished off an apple slice as well. His eyes were bright but sad. “Haydn was my wife’s choice,” he shared in a faraway voice. “Schubert was my favorite, but in all the years we were married, she never budged. It had to be Haydn.”
Jenny smiled down at the tablecloth.
“Sometimes I found her in her room, paint brush in hand, and music blasting from the speakers as though she was a teenager,” he recalled, slightly shaking his head at the memory. “But she insisted that she had to hear the music completely, and I knew better than to argue.” He ran the pads of his fingers over the design on the tablecloth for a moment. “I bet half of the neighborhood heard Haydn from our home some days,” he added with a smile that masked the sadness those words had brought him; a smile Jenny knew well. “Isn’t that right, Emma?” he called a little louder, shaking himself out of his reverie.
Emma rounded the corner and stepped into the kitchen. “I always liked Haydn,” she added into the conversation, as if she’d been there the whole time. She bit down a somewhat guilty smile as Ruben turned to face her.
“That’s because she got to you before I could,” he reasoned simply, with somewhat of an accusatory finger shaking in her direction. “Are you cleaning in there?” he asked her, but Emma stayed quiet, clasping her hands behind her back innocently as she came up to the small kitchen table. Ruben reached up and pinched her chin, shaking it lightly. “Your mother has taught you well,” he conceded.
“Yes, sir,” she answered teasingly, flashing him a smile.
He slowly stood up from the table, steadying himself on the back of the chair, before taking the dishes to the sink. “This girl of yours is fine company,” he told Emma with his back turned to them, and Emma looked elated when she met Jenny’s gaze.
“I know,” she agreed, and Jenny blushed a little into the bottom of her tea. The kind words, spoken in the wake of music that exposed her heart back to the world, left her feeling incredibly vulnerable.
“Please excuse me, I must lie down for a little while,” he said as he turned to face them again. Jenny looked up to see that his shoulders sagged despite his best efforts, and those kind eyes seemed to have grown more exhausted in that last minute. “Make yourselves at home, I insist you stay for cake,” he added, trying to sound cheery, but it was a little forced. “Jenny, please tell me how you enjoy the rest of the program,” he added in her direction.
“I will,” she replied, nodding in promise.
He smiled at them kindly before making his way out of the kitchen. They heard the bedroom door close softly a few moments later.
Emma took a seat in his vacant spot and reached for her hands, like she couldn’t stay away any longer. “He likes you,” she said with a happy lilt in her voice. Jenny smiled shyly back. “It’s not so easy with him,” she continued, turning the radio up a little as the music resumed. “About a year ago, Jessica brought her boyfriend here to help her one morning, and Ruben kept sending him out with different things to the garbage room downstairs,” she said, holding back the giggles waiting at the base of her throat. “For like an hour.”
Jenny tightened her hold on Emma’s hand, and brought it to her lips. Her eyes closed as she pressed a small kiss to the back of it, anchoring herself back to the ground after a moment of weakening chaos.
“Are you doing okay?” Emma asked with that soft concern of hers.
She nodded, wanting to believe it, and wanting Emma to believe it too. She opened her eyes and pressed another kiss to Emma’s hands, watching her to see that half smile. “Yeah, I am,” she assured her in words, “but you’ve got to let me do something to help,” she replied, tugging lightly on Emma’s hands so she’d know she was serious.
Emma made a show of rolling her eyes. “Fine, but you really don’t have to. It’s nice just having you here.” For that, Jenny leaned over and kissed her cheek. Emma smirked as she rose from the table. She stepped onto the patio off of the kitchen and returned a minute later with a basket of laundry. She set it down in front of Jenny and kissed her in return, a hard, demanding press of lips, before making her way to the sink.
They worked quietly for a few minutes, to a soundtrack of carefully constructed notes meshing together in perfect balance, before Jenny spoke again.
“When did his wife pass away?” she asked, the words sounding almost out of context in their suddenness.
“I think it’s four years this April,” Emma replied as she soaped the last of the dishes. She looked over to see Jenny nod down at the laundry she folded. “He still has trouble sleeping without her,” she explained, when Jenny seemed to be trying to work something out in her head. Jenny looked up at her with quiet questions in her eyes, so Emma began rinsing the dishes as she continued. “He told my mother once that it’s easier for him to sleep when he hears someone milling around the house, because Alena was an early riser.”
She nodded again, but the explanation only seemed to make her sadder. She watched Emma work for a few moments, before forcing her gaze away and picking up another item from the basket of laundry, releasing a slow breath that she hoped would clear the steady havoc in her mind.
“I can help,” she offered as she moved across the small kitchen, to where Emma patted her hand on the counter beside the sink.
“This is helping,” Emma insisted with a sly smile tucked into the curl of her lips. Jenny hopped up, taking a seat on the counter so her socked feet were dangling off the ground, heels gently hitting the low cabinet doors. Emma moved in to stand between her legs and rolled up on her toes to catch her lips in a kiss that silenced Jenny’s reply.
She rested her arms on Emma’s shoulders, keeping her close, and pressed their lips together again. She wanted to hold Emma there forever, because there was safety and love in the space created between their bodies. “Okay,” she relented in a whisper, and only huffed a little when Emma moved away, to see her smile. She tapped out a soft rhythm with the heels of her feet as Emma cleaned the kitchen floor, taking perhaps longer than necessary to clean the areas closest to where she sat, to steal a kiss or two. When Emma finished, she placed the supplies away on the balcony again, and smiled to herself as she washed her hands thoroughly in the sink. She looked happy to Jenny, genuinely happy. Jenny silently cleared her throat again, as her chest tingled with the thought that she’d helped that mood come about.
With the dishes drying on the rack beside the sink, the kitchen surfaces all clean, and the laundry folded, Emma reached for both of her hands, pulling her down gently before leading her to the living room. There, she turned on the bigger radio that rested on the shelf beside some photo albums, and turned it to the station they’d listened to in the kitchen. She pulled Jenny down to the couch and tugged her close.
“I can, um, help with something else,” Jenny found herself saying, because the moment she’d slowed down, she’d begun to feel that familiar crawl beneath her skin. It had been there all day, that stir-crazy, panic-filled emotion demanding her attention. She’d managed to avoid it quite successfully for the most part, but as Emma rested a hand on her leg, encouraging her into the embrace, she felt herself begin to slip.
“That’s okay, we’re finished for now. Just let me hold you hostage for a little while,” Emma replied, giving her thigh a playful squeeze.
She nodded, and looked down at her lap, trying to ignore the swell of distress that brought with it that broken kind of sadness that seemed to live beneath her skin. Stupid tears gathered behind her eyes again as she traced patterns on Emma’s palm. She took a slow, full breath, willing it all to stay at bay for another day, or hour, or even minute. She exhaled carefully and gripped her locket, from where it rested safely against her collarbone. She pressed the thin metal into her skin, losing a battle with the emotion clutching at her throat. In a final attempt to block it out, she settled against the couch cushions as the radio host came on again in the otherwise quiet room.
“Welcome back to Classical Sound. It’s seven minutes past the hour on this chilly Wednesday, so we ask that those of you falling victim to the late afternoon traffic be patient and keep some distance from the cars in front of you, so we can all get home safely. We’ll move on now to an hour of music from our spotlighted composer of the week,” he said languidly, and Jenny couldn’t help but appreciate his calmness. “Let’s get started.”
She folded her socked feet up off the floor, and rested her head on Emma’s shoulder as music began to play. She recognized the melody by the fourth note, and closed her eyes as Chopin filled the room with soft sounds.
“Thank you for yesterday,” she heard herself say a few minutes later. She turned her head slightly, facing the pale expanse of Emma’s neck. Her hand reached out, letting her fingers lock with Emma’s in the still room. “And for letting me come along today,” she added in between key strokes, and felt Emma smile against her forehead. The hair was swept off of her face, and Emma stroked soft lines under her ear, and down the side of her neck.
“I’m glad you did,” Emma replied a few moments later. “I’ve missed this,” she breathed the words through a smile that Jenny heard without having to see it.
As the music flooded the room with quiet sound, Jenny gave in to how much she’d longed for this closeness with Emma. I like it here, she wanted to tell her, but kept it to herself as the music hummed and grew around them, encompassing them in the quiet that she had spent days searching for.
She lay there for a short while, with Emma’s arms around her lazily, and splashes of warm color dragging across the wall as the sun continued to set. The safeness that Emma’s warmth brought her seemed to reach inside and draw up the many dragging thoughts that she’d been carrying with her for far too long. She wanted to tell Emma about them just about as much as she wanted to keep Emma from them, and the two opposites seemed to be in a constant fight for dominance in her head, and on the tip of her tongue. For reasons she couldn’t fully understand, all of that packed emotion made her feel empty. Why did it have to be so hard for her to simply be happy with the chance she’d been given? Simply be happy with Emma, and leave the mess behind? Convincing herself that she was only making it worse by thinking about it, she pushed down the heavy feelings of sadness and guilt, compressing them to free up some breathing room. The only flaw in her plan was that instead of taking up less room, they seemed to merge into something uglier yet.
She couldn’t quite put her finger on the moment when it happened, but within seconds, she was overtaken by thoughts that felt awfully true, and painfully familiar. They pinned her down helplessly, words clinging to her insides, to every breath she took in. They told her, promised her, swore to her, that she was undoubtedly not good enough, not for her parents and their impossible standards, and not for Emma when she was in this constant, broken state.
She steadied her breathing as it began to overwhelm her, begging silently for it to leave her alone. Even if she’d try to voice it, she wasn’t quite sure how to explain it. Maybe there wasn’t even a reason for the aching sadness that had crept back under her skin so quietly that she hadn’t even realized it was there until it was paralyzing her in that position on the couch. Perhaps there were just too many reasons that it came back each time.
You’re not good enough. Like a mantra, it echoed in her mind.
You’re not good enough.
Stop fighting it, you’re not good enough.
She reached up and pressed a cold finger to the corner of her eye, warning it to keep from releasing any more stupid tears. Her efforts doubled when Emma reached up and stroked her cheek, warming the skin and dismantling the many walls she was working overtime to keep up. She wouldn’t cry in front of Emma again. Why would Emma even want to stay around if she was such a frail mess?
“Hey,” Emma said softly, more of a warm murmur in her hair.
Jenny fisted the fabric at her wrists and begged herself to hold it together. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin a perfectly good day by breaking now, but she’d fought too many waves that day, and this one simply felt too big. Emma’s fingers settled beneath her chin, hoping to raise her gaze, but Jenny didn’t move. Her eyes were glossy with tears and she felt warmth prickle into her eyelids that felt an awful lot like defeat.
“Talk to me,” Emma tried again, her voice even quieter than before.
She shook her head defiantly against Emma’s shoulder. “I can’t,” she sighed out heavy air as her chest shook silently from the growing need to cry. She shut her eyes tightly when Emma’s warm fingers combed through her hair. Something was gnawing at her insides, and she was spinning silently out of control.
“Jenny,” she said, her voice a few tones above a whisper.
Only Emma could speak her name like that, emotions laced in perfect balance within the two-syllable sound. It broke her. She pressed her lips tighter to keep them from opening. The sound of her squashing the first sob to make it past her throat tumbled into the room a moment later. She sat up rigidly and blinked, praying for another moment of control, and knowing she wouldn’t get it. Emma’s touch landed on her back, fingertips reaching the notches of her spine in a stroking motion meant to relax her, but she jerked away and stood up. “I’m sorry,” she pleaded in nothing more than broken breath as she turned to face her. “I just, I need…” she trailed off, pushing a hand through her hair and tugging lightly at the roots to get a hold of herself. “I need a minute, okay?” she pleaded, braving a glance at Emma’s face through the thick tears balancing on her eyelids.
“Yeah,” Emma replied, nodding understandingly while looking at her with that hidden, agonizing question in her eyes; ‘How can I help?’
Without waiting for Emma’s reply to fully form, fearing she’d voice that impossible question, she turned on her heels, sidestepped away from the coffee table, and left the living room. She pressed a hand to her gut, feeling a familiar, prickling wave of nausea as she turned down the small hallway.
You’re not good enough.
You’re not good enough.
You’ll never be good enough.
Her vision blurred from unshed tears, and her quiet breaths grew more ragged and shallow with each intake.
Swallowing bitterly around the lump in her throat, she knew;
It had all been too much too soon.
to be continued…
Her throat was dry and grainy as she came to a stop at the doorway, with her socked feet half on the warmer wooden boards, and half on light tiled floor. The room that greeted her was calm and welcoming, a perfect extension of the rest of the apartment. She tightened her grip on the straps of the canvas bag, and silently cleared her throat in a nervous kind of way. Emma stopped pulling things out of her bag and met her shy gaze with a smile.
“Ruben? This is Jenny,” Emma presented her with unmistakable pride, without ever breaking her gaze.
Jenny wished she was deserving of such a proud introduction. She ducked her head a little as the elderly man turned slightly in his chair to follow Emma’s gaze, and she heard the wood creaking slowly his weight.
“Well, come in,” he told her with a sweep of his hand.
She stepped into the room, and kept going until she stood beside Emma. She felt nervous, as though this man would finally be the one to see that she was so completely undeserving of that wonderful girl’s heart. “Hello,” she greeted nonetheless, trying hard not to murmur her speech. Emma reached over and took the canvas bag from her, setting it on the counter beside her own to empty its contents. She looked down when the man with the smooth grey hair took her now free hand between both of his, and held it in a gentle grip.
“Hello,” he replied with kind eyes that had surely spent years smiling like that. The thought eased her mind somewhat.
Remembering the cup she was holding, she set it down on the table in front of him. “I believe this is yours,” she said, feeling slightly calmer with Emma beside her. It was priceless to see his eyes light up at the orange liquid.
“Well now,” he announced in a happy voice, his eyes alight as he relaxed in his chair. “This is a complete serving of health, I’ll have you know,” he told them both as he brought the cup closer and reached with thick fingers for the straw.
Emma giggled at her side before turning to put things away in the kitchen, and Jenny smiled quietly to herself, because it had all happened just as Emma had predicted it would. It was strange, the things that seemed to restore her faith in the world, but they were all little joys she’d forgotten to notice.
“Yes,” Ruben stated, agreeing with himself after taking the first taste, and couldn’t help smacking his lips together a couple of times as the flavor rolled over his taste buds.
“It’s a little chilly in here. Can I bring you a sweater?” Emma asked the older man, after sliding the kitchen window shut, and he glanced up from fiddling with the radio with a look that Jenny recognized. It was as though he hadn’t realized he needed a sweater until the moment Emma had mentioned it. She had a way of taking care of people without them quite noticing, and she did it in a way that never made them feel useless. Jenny had no idea how she managed to do that.
“Yes, thank you,” Ruben decided after a moment of deliberation.
“We’ll be right back,” Emma replied, sneaking her hand into Jenny’s, and leaving the tired-looking man to his radio.
The only bedroom of the apartment had three framed paintings along the wall above the bed, done by the same hand that had painted the ones she’d passed in the living room, the hallway, and the small one in the kitchen. Jenny’s gaze drew to a halt for a few moments at each one as Emma collected the sweater hanging on the back of the single chair in the room.
“Do me a favor?” Emma asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. She turned toward Emma and nodded. “Will you distract him while I tidy a little? He doesn’t really let me otherwise.”
“Uhm, sure,” she answered, as it seemed to be the only answer to give.
Emma took a couple of steps from the desk, sweater in hand, and met her at the foot of the bed, leaving hardly any distance between their faces. “Thank you,” she replied sweetly, and leaned forward to press a slow kiss to her lips.
“Is that your mother’s cake that you’ve brought with you?” Ruben called to them from the kitchen, and Emma smiled into the kiss before pulling away. She took a step toward the doorway, paused, turned back around, and pulled Jenny close for one more innocent kiss. She slid her hand against Jenny’s again, urging her forward, and led her back through to the kitchen.
Jenny’s lips tingled as she handed Ruben his sweater.
“Thank you, dear,” Ruben said with those softened eyes again.
Jenny smiled back. She liked this man. He reminded her of someone she loved very much when his eyes crinkled happily like that. A hand settled at the small of her back then, and she hardly noticed how she automatically leaned into the familiar touch.
“Are you okay?” Emma asked her quietly as she leaned forward and collected the plate with the remnants of the elderly man’s lunch.
She nodded, turning into Emma a little. “Do you need help putting things away?” she asked, not that she had a clue where anything went, but the question prolonged the time Emma stood so close to her.
“I got it,” Emma assured her, before continuing to the sink with the dishes.
“May I join you?” Jenny asked Ruben bashfully, to the sound of different kitchen compartments opening and closing behind her as Emma put the groceries away. Her words were somewhat forced, and her stance awkward, but the longer she stood there without purpose, the less likely she was to find the courage to speak. Her behavior was so unlike her normal self. She shook her head a little in defeat as she lowered her gaze to the floor.
“Please,” he motioned to the chair across from him. He was still a bit reserved in her presence, and she didn’t blame him. Her hands fiddled in her lap, unsure exactly what she was doing.
She blinked up when a mug was placed before her, with steam curling delicately above the liquid inside, carrying with it a soothing aroma that had her taking a slow, full breath. Emma smiled at her before resuming her work. Jenny hadn’t even noticed her making tea, but she was glad for the familiar item. She wrapped her cold hands around the ceramic mug and leaned forward a little in her chair. She blew lightly on the tea, unsure how to distract this man she’d met less than five minutes ago, as Emma busied herself with cleaning off the counter.
“Emma’s mother mentioned that you enjoy classical music.”
She looked up from her tea at those kind brown eyes again. Out of all of the things that could be used to describe her as a first impression, she mused that this was a rather wonderful one. “Y-yes, I do,” she replied with a bashful bow of her head.
Ruben’s smile softened at her confirmation. That smile was so familiar somehow, like some fragment of a very distant memory. “There’s a daily radio show that starts soon, and they play symphonies of some of the greats. Yesterday it was Verdi, and this morning they’re playing Haydn. Would you like to listen?” he asked as he reached toward the radio once more and turned the old silver dial.
“I would love to,” she answered as a deep-rooted kind of grin pulled at her lips, as if awakening a part of her that had long since been neglected. “I love Haydn,” she confessed quietly as she looked back into her tea, though she wasn’t sure why she added that. It had come out from that giddy smile.
Emma placed a plate down between them, with toast and apple slices arranged on it, and Jenny recognized the color scheme as the apple she’d been given that morning. She’d hoped that slipping it into her bag unnoticed would work. Emma didn’t seem cross that she hadn’t eaten her breakfast, only smoothed the hair back from Jenny’s neck affectionately before resuming her work.
“A girl your age who doesn’t just know who Haydn is, but loves his music?” he asked with both of his slightly bushy eyebrows raised. “I’m impressed,” he decided with a slow nod of his head. “You were raised well,” he concluded as he reached forward for a piece of toast.
Jenny’s smile tightened and hollowed. Her hands pressed against the too-hot ceramic mug for a moment, as she tried to fight off the bitter taste rising in her throat. She wasn’t ready to think about how she was raised, but this particular topic was perhaps one of the nicer ways around the subject. As the static cleared away, music poured through the speaker of the small radio between them. Her heart seemed to elevate in her chest as her ears pulled in the sound. She felt lighter somehow, listening to it. She leaned forward slightly, as if by sitting on the edge of her seat, she could will the music further into her body.
She looked to the doorway of the kitchen over Ruben’s shoulder a minute later, and noticed Emma looking at her carefully. ‘You okay?’ Emma mouthed to her. She smiled honestly and nodded. Emma smiled back and slipped out of the room unnoticed.
Ruben’s eyes were closed when she looked back at him. His head made small motions, following the direction of the music. He reminded Jenny of her grandfather in that moment. That had been the crinkled-eye smile that had curiously tugged her closer to this man. He sat, engrossed in the music, with both hands wrapped around the tea that Emma had left for him. She watched him for a few long moments, the way his eyes moved slightly beneath closed lids, and the way he cradled his tea. His thumb and pointer finger were wrapped around the rim of the mug, occasionally tapping against the ceramic, while the pads of his fingers stroked the smooth surface absently through the sway of the music, as though he were conducting. That very distant memory pulled forward in her mind as she watched him. Other than her grandfather, so many years ago, she’d never seen anyone else hold their tea in that way.
Her grandfather had been the one to start her love affair with classical music. She’d been six and a half when her parents had dropped her off at his house for a long weekend on their way to the airport, and she’d packed a new fancy dress in her backpack this time, for a very special adventure. Her father had dismissed the whole idea as ‘silly’ and ‘unnecessary’, saying that a child of six had no business in a concert hall, and bet that she’d just fall asleep during the first half, if she didn’t whine that it was boring. But her grandfather had simply patted his son-in-law’s shoulder, and kissed his daughter goodbye, as Jenny held the hand of her favorite person in the whole entire world. As her parents drove off, she’d looked up at her grandfather and squeezed his hand, promising that she’d really try her hardest not to fall asleep during the show, no matter what. He smiled affectionately down at her and patted the small hand in his grip as he led her toward the house. ‘And if you do, that’s just fine,’ he told her quietly as he held the door open for her to enter.
She’d had a silly grin on her face throughout dinner, which grew with each answer her grandfather offered to her multitude of questions. Her grandfather was the only one who never tired of her questions, and even encouraged her curiosity. After they finished their dessert, the housekeeper helped her put on her new dark blue dress that swooshed a little when she moved, and paired it with white stockings and sparkly black dress shoes. By the time she made her way to the front hall to meet her grandfather, she was practically buzzing with excitement. Her grandfather greeted her in his fancy suit, and the housekeeper waved them off as they made their way to the taxi.
The concert hall was grand, filled with so many seats, and a ceiling that was so high that Jenny was sure it ended higher than even the clouds. ‘That is where the orchestra will sit,’ her grandfather explained, pointing to the arch of chairs at the front of the room as he patted her hair. She nodded with interest as she took it all in. She waved shyly at some of her grandfather’s friends that had come to say hello as they made their way to their seats; she’d always been a bashful child. As the lights in the large room dimmed, she smoothed out the fabric of her dress and wiggled backwards in her seat. She was so excited that she’d reached for her grandfather’s hand and held onto it until the lights came back on at the end of the night.
The concert had been stunning. The music came alive to her as she listened, watching so many instruments work together to create a sound so lavish and full. It told stories, and spoke of whole worlds beyond her imagination. She looked up at her grandfather with her eyes bright, and squeezed his hand with pure joy in her young features.
‘Close your eyes,’ her grandfather whispered to her just as a new piece was beginning. She squeezed his hand and did as she was asked, and her breaths slowed as the music washed over her with its magnitude. It encompassed her, entering through her ears, and traveling into her whole body, making her chest feel both full and light at the same time. She watched the stories her mind conjured to the soundtrack, and grinned when she felt her grandfather leave a slightly scruffy kiss in her hair.
The entire way home, she regaled their taxi driver with her many thoughts, emphasized by grand hand gestures that still couldn’t quite convey how exciting it all had been. Her grandfather watched her with those smiling, pale green eyes of his, and promised he’d take her again soon. That promise felt like Christmas morning.
Soon after, she began attending an after-school course on classical music for children at the concert hall. They learned about the different composers and instruments that were used to create such music, and listened to different selections of songs. It had been her grandfather’s present to her, and she phoned him after each lesson to tell him all of the things she’d learned.
After he passed away, she curled herself into the music, seeking comfort in the unexplainable emotions that arose from grief. She began piano and voice lessons, and she stunned her teachers. Her mother had told her that her grandfather would have been so proud to hear her play and sing. She kept up with her lessons, but as the years passed, and producers were met, she was assured that she’d be much better if she gave her voice the proper stage it needed. So she did, and she loved singing quite fiercely for a while. She slowly grew away from classical music, trying to belong to the world like a normal kid, and when everything began to fall apart, she cut her ties with it entirely. She no longer wanted anything to do with music, or the magical feelings it had once given her, all in an attempt to erase herself and start again, become some alternate version of herself that wouldn’t veer off of the path so completely.
In her withdrawal from the world that was her move to Cologne, she’d begun to listen to classical music again, in the privacy of her headphones, where no one else could hear or know. It was hers and hers alone, and she swore to herself that she’d never share her love for it with anyone. It was perhaps the only part of her that was free of others’ judgments and criticism. It was free, too, of her many failures and shortcomings. The music was so eloquently constructed, and she let it wrap her up safely for hours, providing somewhat of a cushion to the blow that she’d suffered over the span of a few years.
Strangely enough, her love for classical music had been one of the first things she’d told Emma about when they’d gotten together. She hadn’t really realized it until it was out, and Emma had been so sweet and interested in what she had to say, that it felt like the right thing to share.
Now, as familiar music poured through slight static, she watched the elderly man in front of her, watched the way his eyes softened, the way his head nodded and swayed just a little to the currents of the music, and it all felt a bit like coming home.
She reached forward for an apple and ate it slowly as the kitchen came to life with music. She suddenly wanted to stay there for hours, and as she looked across the table, she realized that she shared that particular notion with that kind man.
The radio host’s voice was low and deep as it came through the end of another piece of music, announcing the half-way point to the program before a commercial break. Ruben lowered the volume and finished off an apple slice as well. His eyes were bright but sad. “Haydn was my wife’s choice,” he shared in a faraway voice. “Schubert was my favorite, but in all the years we were married, she never budged. It had to be Haydn.”
Jenny smiled down at the tablecloth.
“Sometimes I found her in her room, paint brush in hand, and music blasting from the speakers as though she was a teenager,” he recalled, slightly shaking his head at the memory. “But she insisted that she had to hear the music completely, and I knew better than to argue.” He ran the pads of his fingers over the design on the tablecloth for a moment. “I bet half of the neighborhood heard Haydn from our home some days,” he added with a smile that masked the sadness those words had brought him; a smile Jenny knew well. “Isn’t that right, Emma?” he called a little louder, shaking himself out of his reverie.
Emma rounded the corner and stepped into the kitchen. “I always liked Haydn,” she added into the conversation, as if she’d been there the whole time. She bit down a somewhat guilty smile as Ruben turned to face her.
“That’s because she got to you before I could,” he reasoned simply, with somewhat of an accusatory finger shaking in her direction. “Are you cleaning in there?” he asked her, but Emma stayed quiet, clasping her hands behind her back innocently as she came up to the small kitchen table. Ruben reached up and pinched her chin, shaking it lightly. “Your mother has taught you well,” he conceded.
“Yes, sir,” she answered teasingly, flashing him a smile.
He slowly stood up from the table, steadying himself on the back of the chair, before taking the dishes to the sink. “This girl of yours is fine company,” he told Emma with his back turned to them, and Emma looked elated when she met Jenny’s gaze.
“I know,” she agreed, and Jenny blushed a little into the bottom of her tea. The kind words, spoken in the wake of music that exposed her heart back to the world, left her feeling incredibly vulnerable.
“Please excuse me, I must lie down for a little while,” he said as he turned to face them again. Jenny looked up to see that his shoulders sagged despite his best efforts, and those kind eyes seemed to have grown more exhausted in that last minute. “Make yourselves at home, I insist you stay for cake,” he added, trying to sound cheery, but it was a little forced. “Jenny, please tell me how you enjoy the rest of the program,” he added in her direction.
“I will,” she replied, nodding in promise.
He smiled at them kindly before making his way out of the kitchen. They heard the bedroom door close softly a few moments later.
Emma took a seat in his vacant spot and reached for her hands, like she couldn’t stay away any longer. “He likes you,” she said with a happy lilt in her voice. Jenny smiled shyly back. “It’s not so easy with him,” she continued, turning the radio up a little as the music resumed. “About a year ago, Jessica brought her boyfriend here to help her one morning, and Ruben kept sending him out with different things to the garbage room downstairs,” she said, holding back the giggles waiting at the base of her throat. “For like an hour.”
Jenny tightened her hold on Emma’s hand, and brought it to her lips. Her eyes closed as she pressed a small kiss to the back of it, anchoring herself back to the ground after a moment of weakening chaos.
“Are you doing okay?” Emma asked with that soft concern of hers.
She nodded, wanting to believe it, and wanting Emma to believe it too. She opened her eyes and pressed another kiss to Emma’s hands, watching her to see that half smile. “Yeah, I am,” she assured her in words, “but you’ve got to let me do something to help,” she replied, tugging lightly on Emma’s hands so she’d know she was serious.
Emma made a show of rolling her eyes. “Fine, but you really don’t have to. It’s nice just having you here.” For that, Jenny leaned over and kissed her cheek. Emma smirked as she rose from the table. She stepped onto the patio off of the kitchen and returned a minute later with a basket of laundry. She set it down in front of Jenny and kissed her in return, a hard, demanding press of lips, before making her way to the sink.
They worked quietly for a few minutes, to a soundtrack of carefully constructed notes meshing together in perfect balance, before Jenny spoke again.
“When did his wife pass away?” she asked, the words sounding almost out of context in their suddenness.
“I think it’s four years this April,” Emma replied as she soaped the last of the dishes. She looked over to see Jenny nod down at the laundry she folded. “He still has trouble sleeping without her,” she explained, when Jenny seemed to be trying to work something out in her head. Jenny looked up at her with quiet questions in her eyes, so Emma began rinsing the dishes as she continued. “He told my mother once that it’s easier for him to sleep when he hears someone milling around the house, because Alena was an early riser.”
She nodded again, but the explanation only seemed to make her sadder. She watched Emma work for a few moments, before forcing her gaze away and picking up another item from the basket of laundry, releasing a slow breath that she hoped would clear the steady havoc in her mind.
“I can help,” she offered as she moved across the small kitchen, to where Emma patted her hand on the counter beside the sink.
“This is helping,” Emma insisted with a sly smile tucked into the curl of her lips. Jenny hopped up, taking a seat on the counter so her socked feet were dangling off the ground, heels gently hitting the low cabinet doors. Emma moved in to stand between her legs and rolled up on her toes to catch her lips in a kiss that silenced Jenny’s reply.
She rested her arms on Emma’s shoulders, keeping her close, and pressed their lips together again. She wanted to hold Emma there forever, because there was safety and love in the space created between their bodies. “Okay,” she relented in a whisper, and only huffed a little when Emma moved away, to see her smile. She tapped out a soft rhythm with the heels of her feet as Emma cleaned the kitchen floor, taking perhaps longer than necessary to clean the areas closest to where she sat, to steal a kiss or two. When Emma finished, she placed the supplies away on the balcony again, and smiled to herself as she washed her hands thoroughly in the sink. She looked happy to Jenny, genuinely happy. Jenny silently cleared her throat again, as her chest tingled with the thought that she’d helped that mood come about.
With the dishes drying on the rack beside the sink, the kitchen surfaces all clean, and the laundry folded, Emma reached for both of her hands, pulling her down gently before leading her to the living room. There, she turned on the bigger radio that rested on the shelf beside some photo albums, and turned it to the station they’d listened to in the kitchen. She pulled Jenny down to the couch and tugged her close.
“I can, um, help with something else,” Jenny found herself saying, because the moment she’d slowed down, she’d begun to feel that familiar crawl beneath her skin. It had been there all day, that stir-crazy, panic-filled emotion demanding her attention. She’d managed to avoid it quite successfully for the most part, but as Emma rested a hand on her leg, encouraging her into the embrace, she felt herself begin to slip.
“That’s okay, we’re finished for now. Just let me hold you hostage for a little while,” Emma replied, giving her thigh a playful squeeze.
She nodded, and looked down at her lap, trying to ignore the swell of distress that brought with it that broken kind of sadness that seemed to live beneath her skin. Stupid tears gathered behind her eyes again as she traced patterns on Emma’s palm. She took a slow, full breath, willing it all to stay at bay for another day, or hour, or even minute. She exhaled carefully and gripped her locket, from where it rested safely against her collarbone. She pressed the thin metal into her skin, losing a battle with the emotion clutching at her throat. In a final attempt to block it out, she settled against the couch cushions as the radio host came on again in the otherwise quiet room.
“Welcome back to Classical Sound. It’s seven minutes past the hour on this chilly Wednesday, so we ask that those of you falling victim to the late afternoon traffic be patient and keep some distance from the cars in front of you, so we can all get home safely. We’ll move on now to an hour of music from our spotlighted composer of the week,” he said languidly, and Jenny couldn’t help but appreciate his calmness. “Let’s get started.”
She folded her socked feet up off the floor, and rested her head on Emma’s shoulder as music began to play. She recognized the melody by the fourth note, and closed her eyes as Chopin filled the room with soft sounds.
“Thank you for yesterday,” she heard herself say a few minutes later. She turned her head slightly, facing the pale expanse of Emma’s neck. Her hand reached out, letting her fingers lock with Emma’s in the still room. “And for letting me come along today,” she added in between key strokes, and felt Emma smile against her forehead. The hair was swept off of her face, and Emma stroked soft lines under her ear, and down the side of her neck.
“I’m glad you did,” Emma replied a few moments later. “I’ve missed this,” she breathed the words through a smile that Jenny heard without having to see it.
As the music flooded the room with quiet sound, Jenny gave in to how much she’d longed for this closeness with Emma. I like it here, she wanted to tell her, but kept it to herself as the music hummed and grew around them, encompassing them in the quiet that she had spent days searching for.
She lay there for a short while, with Emma’s arms around her lazily, and splashes of warm color dragging across the wall as the sun continued to set. The safeness that Emma’s warmth brought her seemed to reach inside and draw up the many dragging thoughts that she’d been carrying with her for far too long. She wanted to tell Emma about them just about as much as she wanted to keep Emma from them, and the two opposites seemed to be in a constant fight for dominance in her head, and on the tip of her tongue. For reasons she couldn’t fully understand, all of that packed emotion made her feel empty. Why did it have to be so hard for her to simply be happy with the chance she’d been given? Simply be happy with Emma, and leave the mess behind? Convincing herself that she was only making it worse by thinking about it, she pushed down the heavy feelings of sadness and guilt, compressing them to free up some breathing room. The only flaw in her plan was that instead of taking up less room, they seemed to merge into something uglier yet.
She couldn’t quite put her finger on the moment when it happened, but within seconds, she was overtaken by thoughts that felt awfully true, and painfully familiar. They pinned her down helplessly, words clinging to her insides, to every breath she took in. They told her, promised her, swore to her, that she was undoubtedly not good enough, not for her parents and their impossible standards, and not for Emma when she was in this constant, broken state.
She steadied her breathing as it began to overwhelm her, begging silently for it to leave her alone. Even if she’d try to voice it, she wasn’t quite sure how to explain it. Maybe there wasn’t even a reason for the aching sadness that had crept back under her skin so quietly that she hadn’t even realized it was there until it was paralyzing her in that position on the couch. Perhaps there were just too many reasons that it came back each time.
You’re not good enough. Like a mantra, it echoed in her mind.
You’re not good enough.
Stop fighting it, you’re not good enough.
She reached up and pressed a cold finger to the corner of her eye, warning it to keep from releasing any more stupid tears. Her efforts doubled when Emma reached up and stroked her cheek, warming the skin and dismantling the many walls she was working overtime to keep up. She wouldn’t cry in front of Emma again. Why would Emma even want to stay around if she was such a frail mess?
“Hey,” Emma said softly, more of a warm murmur in her hair.
Jenny fisted the fabric at her wrists and begged herself to hold it together. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin a perfectly good day by breaking now, but she’d fought too many waves that day, and this one simply felt too big. Emma’s fingers settled beneath her chin, hoping to raise her gaze, but Jenny didn’t move. Her eyes were glossy with tears and she felt warmth prickle into her eyelids that felt an awful lot like defeat.
“Talk to me,” Emma tried again, her voice even quieter than before.
She shook her head defiantly against Emma’s shoulder. “I can’t,” she sighed out heavy air as her chest shook silently from the growing need to cry. She shut her eyes tightly when Emma’s warm fingers combed through her hair. Something was gnawing at her insides, and she was spinning silently out of control.
“Jenny,” she said, her voice a few tones above a whisper.
Only Emma could speak her name like that, emotions laced in perfect balance within the two-syllable sound. It broke her. She pressed her lips tighter to keep them from opening. The sound of her squashing the first sob to make it past her throat tumbled into the room a moment later. She sat up rigidly and blinked, praying for another moment of control, and knowing she wouldn’t get it. Emma’s touch landed on her back, fingertips reaching the notches of her spine in a stroking motion meant to relax her, but she jerked away and stood up. “I’m sorry,” she pleaded in nothing more than broken breath as she turned to face her. “I just, I need…” she trailed off, pushing a hand through her hair and tugging lightly at the roots to get a hold of herself. “I need a minute, okay?” she pleaded, braving a glance at Emma’s face through the thick tears balancing on her eyelids.
“Yeah,” Emma replied, nodding understandingly while looking at her with that hidden, agonizing question in her eyes; ‘How can I help?’
Without waiting for Emma’s reply to fully form, fearing she’d voice that impossible question, she turned on her heels, sidestepped away from the coffee table, and left the living room. She pressed a hand to her gut, feeling a familiar, prickling wave of nausea as she turned down the small hallway.
You’re not good enough.
You’re not good enough.
You’ll never be good enough.
Her vision blurred from unshed tears, and her quiet breaths grew more ragged and shallow with each intake.
Swallowing bitterly around the lump in her throat, she knew;
It had all been too much too soon.
to be continued…