Love Isn’t Worth the Pain

[JuMartins428]

I weave through the crowd, careful with where I step as I’ve already almost lost my balance on these thin heels once tonight. In between glances around the room and back to my phone a message pops up
“We see you! By the blue light!”
Jess waved me over.
We all exchanged “hey”s and “it’s great to see you”s before settling around the table just off the stage. I notice his drink before I do him.

“Hey!”

I take a deep breath before turning around to face that familiar voice.

“Oh my god, Patrick!” I waited for his arms to open before accepting the hug, unsure of just how comfortable I should be acting in this situation.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here! You look great. Where’s Eliza?” My last sentences run together as my mind tries to catch up with how fast my heart is beating.
His small chuckle was almost alarmingly disarming.

“Thanks, you too. She has an early meeting tomorrow so she couldn’t make it tonight. And the band’s all busy so they left me to make an appearance.” He smiles, glad to have found some familiars in such a large crowd. I return the gesture but the bright lights irritating my eye make me shut back down quickly.

“Did you already get a drink?” He stares at my empty hands, waiting to offer to get me one.

I cut him off, “I’m not drinking tonight and I’m sorry but I can’t even stay long. I’m just barely making an appearance, too.” My weak smile does nothing to quell his concerned face.
I try to look away and avoid his pleading eyes but am unfortunately only met by a sea of similarly sad faces.

“What’s wrong, baby? You sick or something?” Anna places her hand gently on my shoulder. The gesture’s warm even though her hand was chilled from the glass of wine.

My mind starts to race again, I prepared a line but now it seems to be slipping.
“I’ve just had a long day and I’m kind of tired.” I expect that to be it but Jess cuts back,

“I thought you had the day off today? Didn’t Adam say you had like a date day planned?” She turns to Anna for confirmation when all I could offer was a stunned look.

“Yeah, you mentioned it last week. What did you guys do, walk around New York again?” She gives a knowing look, everyone here knows that I hate New York with a burning passion but was never one to mind long walks with him.
A voice from behind made me jump before being enveloped in a hug and wave of laughter,
“I’m sure he had other ways of wearing her out that didn’t involve leaving the apartment.”
Margo.
Another bit of greetings and compliments and friendly laughter. Unsure of whether I can still be grateful for her interruption when I know it made me shrink within myself, I look away from my friends.

The lights flash from yellow to green passing over, making my eye twitch.

The polite conversation begins and we all nod and laugh when needed. Despite the pings of “That’s rude!” in my head, I still find myself checking my phone every other minute. The time crawls by with a few more attempts from my friends at detecting what could be the cause for my strange mood, all in vain. Photos have been taken, speeches have been made, and the event shifts into after party so I make to leave. A couple quick goodbyes and apologetic declines to stay later, and I’m halfway to the exit, ready to call the Uber home.

Red light.
Pink light.
Yellow.
Green.

I couldn’t be more than five feet from the door but the blue light does just enough to mess with my depth perception to take me down. I inhale and brace myself for the fall but by some miracle I didn’t feel my hands hitting the ground.
For a second the entire world is nothing but gripped hands, closed eyes, bright lights, and stumbling. I look up to see what saved me from crumpling to the carpeted exit of the club to find those deep blue eyes looking back at me. I blink with a far away thought questioning whether the blue light washing over his face enhances the color of his eyes, or was it the other way around. Exhaling, confused both with how he managed to grab me and why I was holding my breath to this point, I mumbled a “How?”

Patrick laughs. He probably couldn’t even hear me over the music. Half shouting to get through the drums,

“That was a close one!”
His laughter is too intoxicating to not follow suit.

“Are you going so soon?”

I try to match his volume but get distracted by a growing dizziness.
“Yeah, I really need to get going!” I didn’t notice I was squinting. He did.

He took my arm and walked us out of the club towards a side entrance where the paparazzi had been blocked. The cold night air and quiet almost knocked me out.

I manage a couple deep breaths to steady myself before hearing his voice, clear behind me.
“Well it is definitely loud in there.”

We laugh but something in me, a reminder or regret of some sort, makes it hurt.
In a mock formal accent, “Well, thank you sir for saving me but I really ought to be going. The carriage has been called and I must adieu.” He smiles throughout the speech but it was the particularly bad French pronunciation and over dramatic bow that really made him laugh.

“You already called a ride or-I mean it’s late-I can drop you off?”

“No, really I’m fine.”
”I’m just about to call it.”
“It’s not that late.”
“Please, you should get home.”
“Don’t you have a couple people waiting on you to get back, Mister Family Man?”

I knew he was just being polite. I knew that he was just thinking about getting home soon, just like me. I turned, mumbling a good bye over my shoulder, and for the first time all night I rub my eye.

Gingerly at first, careful not to rub too hard but enough to smudge the mascara in my waterline. It’s been stinging for hours, the blood pulsing underneath to ensure I never forget that just because the make up covers it, doesn’t mean the pain is gone. I cleared the notifications from the night and ordered the Uber.

2 minutes out.
That’s 2 minutes left to hide this...this.

I was winking down at my cell with one hand, still holding my left eye, when I thought I spotted the right color car coming down the street.
I clamber into the navy cooper before continuing my scroll on social media.

Various likes and various videos later, I glanced out the window. I knew I wouldn’t recognize the street names but figured why not try to see if they’re going the “right” way.

Madison Ave.
Charleston.
State.
Stop light. Green. Yellow.

Crash.

Thrown forward but the seat belt yanks me back down. I scan the car in a panic, glass is broken to my right, the airbag didn’t go off, but the driver looks okay.

I heard honking before I heard sirens. And I heard apologies before that too. Finally getting a good look at the driver, she’s shaking and her sorrys seemed to have an accent. She’s Brazilian. What a coincidence. My Portuguese comes out rough but it’s a surprise it came out at all when I reassure her that I’m fine, she’s fine, that’s all that matters. I made a note to make sure she isn’t reprimanded for this, that damn jeep switched lanes without looking. It’s only 15 minutes before an ambulance and police cruiser arrive to take statements and blood pressures. I wander off after giving my information to try and think of a way home. I was shocked. No cuts. No bruises. Well, no more bruises.

I’m sure the ones on my shoulder and ribs are just hours away,

I thought as I rubbed my right arm while pulling out my phone. Another mess of phone call notifications that get deleted. I squint away from the flashing police lights to try and read the more recent ones.

Jess 3 missed calls
Anna 4 missed calls
Margo 3 missed calls
Margo 4 text messages
Patrick 4 missed calls
Patrick 5 text messages

I barely process the banners on the screen before the phone rings again.

“Patrick.”

“Hey! Oh my god! Are you okay? Where are you? What happened?” He rushes through his words before taking a deep breath,
“You’re okay. You’re okay, right?”

“I’m okay. What- actually, just what?”

“Jess had your location on when she heard about an accident a few minutes away. They said they were calling you and you weren’t answering but you weren’t moving and I was on my way home so I was nearby and-“ he stops for another deep breath. It’s not shocking how fast he talks given how fast he sings but still, it’s kind of entertaining. I muffle a giggle at the worried mess everyone became.
I’m fine. Calm down.

“Where are you? Where’s the nearest Starbucks or something, I’m taking you home. You can go home, right?”

“What? Yes, I’m fine and you don’t have to take me back to the apartment.” I don’t want to call it home. “You’ve wasted enough of your night on this, go home! I’m good to call-“

“An Uber?! Are you kidding?”

We both breathe a heavy sigh, thinking How can you be so stubborn?

“Nearest Starbucks to you. I’ll text you the address and meet you there.”
His voice is so endearing I want to punch him.

“Ugh. I-I guess. Fine. I’ll let you know when I get there.” I bit my lip.

“Good. And be careful. You’ve had a clumsy night.”

I hung up with an angry “Shut it,” and started to stomp towards the linked address in the phone’s GPS.

While I wish the walk there had been a quiet one, my mind seemed to mimic the street noise. The car crash seemed to follow my train of thought as it struggled to process everything that happened. It just showed a string of images with no cohesion.

Blue light. Falling. Patrick.
Streetlight. Phone. Patrick.
Phone light. Car.
Yellow light. Crash.
Red light. Ambulance.
Blue light. Patrick.

My brain stalled but at least I managed to get in the coffee shop. There was an older barista on her phone who practically jumped when I opened the door. I offer a quick and quiet sorry before taking a seat. Poor thing. It’s late. I’d be scared, too.

Deep breaths. Confused thoughts. Shaking hands.

I pull my coat tighter around me as I text Patrick. In an instant I think to check my make up, I've been rubbing my eye for a while but it’s not so much that I’m worrying about looking like a raccoon. It seems the second I made to pull a mirror from my purse to check my eye Patrick walks in, startling the poor barista again.

“Thank God you’re okay!” He almost ran to me and after looking me over at arm's length, pulled me into a hug. I couldn’t help but smile when his beard tickled my neck.

“You scared the sh*t out of me. Out of Jess and the girls. Eliza. I mean-“

“Oh did you wake her? I mean like worry her, you really should just get home. I didn’t mean to cause such a fuss. I-“

“A fuss?” He laughs at my word choice.
“Well at least we know you didn’t hit your head.” That damn sarcasm. And that damn smile. My lips curl up against my wishes.

The next few minutes are spent reassuring him that I didn’t get hurt and failing at convincing him to go home.
“I’m going to get you a water and me some tea.”
My hands reached up instinctively when he stood, “No. Thank you, but I’m really not thirsty.” He placed his hands over mine and weighed them to the table.
“You’re getting water and I’m getting tea because we’re both shaking. And before you try it, you’re not paying.” My mouth formed a tight line and he smiled. He had guessed my next move.

He brings back the drinks from the mildly perturbed woman at the counter who appears upset at having customers so late. We chat and he makes me laugh. It makes me forget. I forget a lot of things in that laughter. I even forget that lingering pain at my temple, around my eye until,
“Oops.” I, in perfect fashion, managed to spill some water all over my mouth and down the front of my shirt. Patrick laughs (again) while reaching for napkins and I mumble “Idiot” under my breath. I dabbed the water from my face,
“Well, my makeup is officially ruined.”
“It only took a car accident and a bottle of water.”
“I still can’t believe I got into an accident just like an hour ago.”
“And you’re sure you didn’t get hurt or anything?”
“Yep. You can thank the Spaghetti God in the sky for seat belts.” In a daze I go about wiping where my fingers show dark makeup smudged. Once again, like the trademark idiot I am, I rub my eye. The gasp is barely audible but the flinch is clear as day.
“Hey, you okay?”
sh*t.
I mumble, Mm hmm, and pull the napkin back to my eye.
“sh*t, did you hit your eye in the accident?” I regret glancing up because the concerned look on his face as he leans across the table almost breaks me.
...
Say something
...
sh*t.
...
Oh my god! Say yes!
...
f*ck.
...
f****g say you don’t remember! You’ve been through trauma right? It was an accident!
...
Oh my god JUST. LIE. Just say something you f****g dumbass instead of staring at him like a deer in headlights!

“Jules?”

sh*t.
“I can explain.”
Wrong answer.
***. ***** *********

Despite the heavy focus I have on the coffee, the color doesn’t change with my stirring.

“Jules.”

I don’t look away from the coffee,
“Stop.”

More insistent, “Jules.”

“What?!” I slammed the mug on the counter. The coffee spills with the thud but she meets my eyes head on.
...
“Just-how?”
“I told you! I-“
“No! f*ck that! The truth.” She’s inches from my face. We’ve both been angry at each other before. Spent hours staring each other down but at her next word, the crack in her voice, the anger melts into tears.
“Please.”

“It’s nothing. It’s my fault. It was an accident. I let it get to this. Let me handle it.”
Every breath only drove Love’s fingers further into her temple, eyes shut.
Neither of us making eye contact, she asks her next question,
“How did it start?”
******. *******
Curse words and name calling. Stomping and yelling. In between shouting, you wonder how you got here. It’s the same fight as always. The same fight since that day at the studio.
“I saw you f****g staring at him today!”
“I wasn’t staring at anyone! What are you talking about?”
“How can you lie to my face like this?! Everyone saw it! You make f****g goo goo eyes at him all day while you “work” and then what? Come home and yell at me?”
This is the fourth time tonight you’ve tried to turn away from him in disbelief but it’s also the fourth time tonight he’s spun you by your arm to face him again.
“How are you gonna f****g look me in the eyes and try to tell me you love me when you spend every day whoring around that f****g studio trying to get that married asshole to look at you?!”
The anger outweighs the shock and surges through your arm as you slap him. Your hand stings but not as much as the tears in your eyes. The fight subsides to sobbing, yours not his, consoling, once again, mostly on your part not his, and after a couple half-hearted apologies you both retreat to different rooms.
You weren’t looking at him. No more than you should be. You’ve had a stifled something for Patrick for a while now. Maybe it’s a crush? It’s been since before you met Adam. Before you even met Patrick. When you were still just a fan. It unfortunately did not fizzle out and die upon meeting him but you’ve managed to keep it buried so far. But it’s like something in Adam switched off that night. And never switched back on.

He came into the studio in a bad mood. He gave a dirty look to everyone before settling down with a drink. He’d barely been there twenty minutes before walking up behind you to ask to leave. You figured he’d had a long day and wanted to get home and sleep so you make your rounds and say goodbye before finding him at the door, still angry. It was in the car when he finally broke. It started slow. Just passive aggressive comments on you, your outfit, how much fun you had. Then it moved to Patrick. How you thought he looked tonight. Where his wife was. What you two were talking about for so long. By the time you got home the shouting had started. It was everything from demanding you didn’t love him to claiming a secret affair. It was all ridiculous. All still hurtful, nonetheless.

You’re still drying your face when he knocks on the door.
“Hey.”
“Hi.” You finish cleaning up before trying to walk out of the bathroom.
“Hey.” He repeats himself while blocking the doorway.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry I said all that stuff. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He goes on about a long day at work and a longer drive to the studio and tracing that to some long look supposedly shared between you and Patrick. Any energy for further confrontation has long been worn out so you reaffirm how hurt you were before sliding past him towards the couch. He mumbles another apology before cuddling next to you and turning on the TV. The show he puts on has barely started when he places a hand on your knee. You brush it away. You’re tired. Not tonight. He whispers into your neck that he loves you and he just really missed you. You contemplate how you want to use your energy. Trying to push him away and then dealing with his pouting after? Or lying there and getting past it so you can both go to sleep on fine terms? You really are tired of confrontation and with everything he said, a part of you worries his love will waver if you say no. So you say nothing. He moves forward, making the usual moves. You stay silent, giving the minimum amount of effort to keep him entertained. Time crawls on as you make your way to the bedroom. Clothes are removed. Moans are faked. You’re thinking of counting the seconds until he’s done when his hand reaches farther up than your breast. You’d roll your eyes if they had been open as you assume he’s caressing your face. Your assumption doesn’t linger.
His hand tightens around your throat. You instinctively pull up a hand to loosen his grip but you scratch in vain.
Coarse whispers claw their way out of your throat.
“J-Adam. Stop. Stop.”
He pushes your legs apart with his knees and uses his free hand to push himself up into a kneeling position.
Staring down at you, while your face blushes pink then red, with your fingers starting to slip away instead of scratch, you widen your eyes in desperation and look for any sign of Adam. The Adam that you love. That you trust. That you live with.
But all you’re met with is a dark, looming figure, sweating over you while grunting
“You still thinking about him now, bitch?”

Every second after felt like a decade taken from your life. When he finishes he collapses on you like always but your mind focuses on the fact that his grip has loosened for the first time in 6 minutes. You dissolve into ragged gasps and struggled crawls away from him.
Before you start your “What the f*ck was that, you psychopath?!” He lazily whispers “That was pretty good, babe.”
You thought you were gonna throw up but you felt your blood boil. The room was nothing but screams and shoving and apologies and grabbing for the phone.
The apartment stayed this way for hours.
The sun rose and no phone calls were made. You stared out at the bright yellow light of morning with one hand rubbing your neck and another gripping the phone, trying to ignore his reflection in the window.
************. ***********
“Oh my god.” In exchange from interrupting every thirty seconds of the story, Love had dug her nails into her palms, which now had started to bleed. She looked up into her best friend’s eyes, both of us crying, and she moved past the “why didn’t you tell me?” into the “how long has this been going on?”
“That was, well it was after the release date so... I guess that was in,” I hesitate before finishing, “February.” That shocks her back to life.
“What the f*ck?!” She straightened herself to start screaming and I steeled myself for her yells.
“Julianna that was 5 f****g months ago! What in the ever living f*ck? How have you kept this from me for 5 months? How have you dealt with this for 5 months? I’m gonna kill you! I’m gonna kill him!” She started pacing but the second I tried to get out a word she wheeled around to hug me.
“My poor baby.” She whispered into my hair, holding me so tight I finally felt safe enough to break.
But I didn’t.
I didn’t let go.
I couldn’t. Not yet.
I hugged her back and spent the next few hours talking in circles to beg her to leave the situation for me to handle while she dug out further information to feed her fury. Not including the dirty looks and aggressive comments, there were three incidents that followed that night, with one more to follow in a few days. The night ended with more than a couple moments of wrestling for the phone for Love to call first the police, then to Anna to assist in the homicide she was planning. She demanded I get help. Knowing me better than anyone else, she knew how he manipulated me, hurt me, confused me, and got me into thinking it was my fault and that I deserved either this or no love at all. I promised I’d make a step towards changing the status of the relationship while silently cursing myself for not practicing my lies and excuses enough to avoid mixing them up in front of her. The promise wasn’t a total lie. I didn’t mean it when I ushered it as a goodbye and calmative to Love that day. But I did mean it a couple days later when I brought up the relationship between me and Adam and Patrick that rainy Tuesday night. I had barely mentioned Adam’s irrationality and jealousy when it came to Patrick before I was lying on the floor, staring at the bottom of the coffee table with one eye.
I tried to focus on how the speed of the rain on the window matched the slow dripping of the tears on my cheek when he came to apologize again. To say “apologize” is of course being far more generous than he deserves. He says sorry but the words seem to twist and warp to leave me feeling empty and needing to ask for his forgiveness instead of the other way around.
“I have to get some ice on this. I have an event in a couple days that I can’t miss.” I croak out this cold response before shuffling to the kitchen. I pull the hand towel from the drawer next to the fridge and wrap it around the bag of ice cubes in the freezer. I sat at the counter, cold cloth on my eye, and stared at the clock. Last time it was 2:34. Now the green light reads 7:13. I count the seconds until the 3 turns to 4 and wince when I try to look out of my left eye. I try to think back to the last time I did my own makeup and whether I still had any green concealer left.