Starting From Broken

  STARTING FROM BROKEN

  Copyright © 2015 F.T. ZELE

  Cover Art Designed by Helen Williams, All Booked Out

  Cover Image by Photographer Elena Dimitraki

  Formatting by Integrity Formatting

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  As I look through my closet, searching for a black dress that will comfort me on one of the days I never expected to come, I realize a dress won’t bring me relief the way I need it to. The only thing that can help me is gone, and I will never be the same.

  I flip through dress after dress, not feeling satisfied with any of them. I have to get dressed and look decent enough to get out of our house and present myself in front of everyone. I am not looking forward to the I’m sorry, and If you need anything, just let me know. Nobody will be able to provide me what I need. It’s gone, forever.

  Jacob leaving me now was not in our plan. He wasn’t supposed to leave me. I should have been picking him up from the airport today and then enjoying the romantic dinner I had planned for us. I wanted to give him the good news of the one thing I thought would fix all our problems, but I lost that also.

  That day will never come. I clench my stomach, searching for something that is no longer there and wondering why this cold world is doing this to me.

  It was only three weeks ago I dropped Jacob off at the airport so he could fly to Africa to do some charity work. Jacob was a dentist; he was traveling there with his staff to provide dental care for children who live in poverty and foster homes. He was very successful and made sure to always pay it forward by taking these kinds of trips two times a year. He loved helping people and giving them things they needed that they couldn’t afford on their own.

  I sink into the closet under all the clothes and curl into a ball, just wanting to be with him. I don’t want to go on living without the one I was meant to be with. I’m not ready to go through the motions of life, knowing there will always be an empty space in my heart. Never in my life did I think at twenty-seven I would be a widow.

  Standing up, I make my way to the bathroom and open the medicine cabinet, looking for the strongest pill I can find. I have to be with him. I empty the half-full bottle of the pills into my hand and toss them back, swallowing them dryly. I walk over to his closet and grab one of his hanging shirts and wrap it around myself tightly as I make my way to the bed. I crawl onto Jacob’s side and lay my head on his pillow, inhaling his scent and letting it wash over me. Feeling the calmness start to take over, I feel at peace knowing I’m going to see him soon.

  My eyes feel heavy, and I’m finding it hard to keep them open any longer. Just as I feel the weight of my own farewell, I hear a knock on my bedroom door. Too sleepy to answer it and wanting my last minutes alone, I don’t say anything. Knocking turns to pounding. I try to raise my hand in a sort of goodbye salute, but it falls to the bed. Just before my time is up, I hear Sophie burst through the door and call my name. I feel her but can’t manage to say anything. I wish I had said goodbye. I hear hysterical screams, but it is too late. My hearing goes mute, and suddenly everything goes white.

  I’m floating, but can hear people talking, kind of like background noise. Every time I start flying higher, I am slammed back. It feels like turbulence. I’m being jolted, and I can’t seem to reach Jacob, who is waiting for me. I’m not able to get high enough to take his hand, and he just keeps floating farther up. My reunion with the man I love can’t even happen.

  I can’t reach him.

  I’m struggling.

  I’m forced back to the ground when I hear someone calling my name. I don’t recognize the voice, but it keeps replaying over and over. “Liz, Liz, if you can hear me, please open your eyes.”

  The sad thing is I don’t want to open them. If I do, I’ll lose sight of Jacob, and I don’t want to lose him again. Fighting the urge to open my eyes, I feel a hand touch my own. I imagine it is him, holding on to me, never letting go. I take comfort in thinking he is here with me. I feel myself smile, and for the first time since I answered that fateful call, it’s a real smile.

  “Liz, it’s me, Sophie. Please, open your eyes. Fuck, I need you to open your eyes.”

  Sophie? Why is Sophie here? She isn’t supposed to be here. Confused, I open my eyes and figure out why Sophie is in my dream, then my dream turns into my nightmare. Lying in a bed, I’m connected to tubes and machines. Tears fall down my temples as I crash into my situation. I am once again alone; I won’t get to be with Jacob. Everything after that, I tune out and don’t listen. I just want to be left alone.

  I stare at a broken tile on the ceiling and count the holes. I imagine the tile is me— broken and full of holes—except no maintenance person will be able to replace me or fix me. I will forever have this gaping hole in my heart and a missing piece of me.

  Panic takes over as I wrap my arms around my stomach, wondering what has happened and if I truly lost the last thing I had left of Jacob. As I kick the sheets off my feet, not being able to sit up fast enough, Sophie stands up and grabs my hands. “Liz, oh, Liz. Please lie back down. You need to rest.” The sorrowful look in her eyes tells me everything I need to know. The baby is really gone, and Jacob is never coming home. I watch as a tear escapes her eye and falls down her cheek, and I still can’t say a word. Nothing I could say would change anything, so I remain silent, praying everyone will just go away and leave me to wallow in my own pity.

  “Elizabeth, I’m Dr. Epstein. How are you feeling?” he says as he pulls a stool up to sit next to my bed. I quickly stop him by holding up my hand, hoping it will make him go away. I don’t want to hear anything he has to say. The second he says the words, they will become real, and I am not ready to hear it yet. If anything, I just want to curl up in our bed and wrap myself in Jacob’s shirt to keep him as close as I can for as long as I can.

  “Okay, well, if you aren’t ready to talk, you don’t have to, yet. I will send a nurse in here to check your vitals. Once we feel it is all right for you to be checked out, we will be moving you down to the psychiatric level to be evaluated. It’s standard protocol for anybody who tries to take their own life. For now, just get some rest and maybe we can talk later.” With that, he scribbles some stuff down on what I can assume is my chart and gets up and whispers something into Sophie’s ear. She nods her head and looks down to me, sadness plastered all over her face. Bending down, she places a kiss on my cheek.

  “I’ll be r
ight back. Try to rest.” She follows the doctor out of the room and closes the door behind her, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I turn over to my side, trying hard to close everything out, listening to the beeping of the monitor keeping the beat of my heart. What sounds strong and healthy doesn’t feel like it at all.

  Fresh tears blur my vision as I think about how I missed the wake today and how I won’t be able to get out of here to say goodbye to him tomorrow. Feeling like I am failing every which way, I close my eyes, hoping sleep will come and rescue me.

  When I finally feel tired enough to sleep, the door opens. A nurse comes in, as the doctor stated, checking my monitor and messing with everything that is connected to me, disturbing me from what I want the most. Completely irritated, I firmly state, “Can you please do this another time? I’m trying to rest.” Feeling a tiny bit guilty snapping at the poor woman who is just doing her job, I quietly say, “I’m sorry,” and let her finish without a fight.

  Sophie comes back in and takes her seat next to me, reaching out and firmly grasping my hand. As her grip gets tighter, I can’t help but think she’s holding on to me, fearing she’s losing me. I feel her hand tremble, and I know she is crying, but I can’t make myself look at her.

  Since she is the only person I have close enough to consider family, I tighten my grip on her hand, silently letting her know I’m here and I appreciate her being here for me. I finally fall asleep with our hands still laced together, clinging to the only person I have left in my life.

  After being released and taken to psychiatric level of the hospital, I have accomplished a whole lot of nothing. I’ve ignored everyone who has tried to talk to me, as they attempt to get a clearer picture of why I did what I did. I’m not ready to talk to anybody yet. I know I have to, but the moment I talk, will bring me closer to leaving here and having to return home—a place I don’t want to go back to. I can’t stand the thought of being back there with Jacob’s stuff as a constant reminder of everything I have lost.

  The building of this weight is getting unbearable, though. I feel like I am being suffocated. I need this pain to dull, so I can breathe again. Getting up, I walk to my door, slowly opening it and peeking my head out. I get caught by someone in a white coat and watch him as he moves carefully toward me, looking like I might break.

  “Mrs. Murphy, what can I do for you?” he asks with inquisitive eyes.

  What can he do for me? I don’t even know what I was doing or where I was going. “I don’t know. I’m just sick of hearing myself think, and I’m sick of being alone. Is Sophie here?” I say, looking down at my hands clenched in front of me, not wanting to look into his eyes and feeling like he can read my every thought.

  “Well, we can talk if you want to, or we can sit and not say anything. It’s up to you,” he gently says.

  I turn back around and hold the door open for him. “Maybe we can sit, just for a little bit. I’m sick of feeling alone.” I get back into my bed and sit up with my back against the headboard. Not knowing what to do now, I sit there quietly, hoping something will give.

  “I’m Dr. Peterson. So, can I ask you a question?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I say nervously, not having a clue as to what will come out of his mouth.

  “You understand why you’re here, right?” he asks, and I nod. “Can I ask you why you thought you had no option other than trying to end your life?” He props his foot on his knee.

  “I . . . I just can’t see why I should be allowed to be here and not have him with me. I would rather just go with him. There’s nothing left for me,” I say as my chest tightens. The wound is fresh and always will be.

  “Oh, dear, but there is. There is so much left for you. Who’s going to keep his memory alive if you aren’t here? Just because he’s gone doesn’t mean you have to push every memory of him away. You need to believe things will get better. It’s not going to happen right away, but work toward thinking he would want you to see there’s more out there for you.”

  “I don’t see it that way right now, maybe not ever.” Feeling like I have had enough of this talk for now, I shut down. “I’m going to take a nap. Sorry, I’m tired,” I say as I scoot down the bed and lay my head on the pillow, looking blankly out the window.

  “Okay, well, if you need anything, just let us know. We’re here to help you. We want you to see the light again,” he states as he stands and lets himself out and closes the door behind him.

  I continue to stare at nothing until I fall asleep.

  Two Years Later

  My cell rings as I’m cleaning up my desk at work, frantically trying to find the papers I need to take home to work on. I find it buried under the very same papers I need. Grabbing the papers, I stick them inside my briefcase.

  “This is Liz,” I answer without looking at the screen.

  “Well, Liz, this is your best friend Sophie. Remember me? Gosh, I hardly ever see you. You’re always drowning yourself in work. So . . . tonight, you, me, and a drink. It’s not a question.”

  I giggle at her bossiness. I know I have been absent, but the only time my mind stops thinking about Jacob is when I throw myself into my work. Since I have taken over the business side of his charity trips, I rarely have any time alone. That’s all I seem to do.

  “I can’t tonight. I’m sorry. I’m trying to finish plans for another charity trip that Jacob’s practice is going on. They leave tomorrow morning, and I have to tie up some loose ends. How about tomorrow night?” I say, even though the mention of his name makes it hard to swallow past the lump in my throat. I take a deep breath, trying to get my emotions in check. Planning these trips isn’t easy, but it’s the only way to keep his memory alive.

  “Aw, Liz, come on. It’s been months since I’ve seen you, and that’s because I came to your house to check up on you. You have to get out sometime.”

  “I promise tomorrow, okay?” I say, hoping it will hold her over from trying to take me out and hooking me up with any guy that walks by. I’m not ready to meet anyone. It’s too soon for me.

  “Well, I guess that can work. I’ll pick you up from work, so you can’t ditch me.”

  “All right, sounds like a plan. I got to go. See you tomorrow,” I say, ending the call. I grab my stuff and head out of the office. I have a bunch of work to finish before I go to bed, so a stop for some wine on my way home is definitely needed.

  Pulling up to our house is always hard. After two years, it should be easier, but it isn’t. I always imagine seeing his car in the driveway, but then reality hits me as I come to the realization I will never see him again. Composing my inner self, I take a deep breath and make my way into the house.

  After kicking off my shoes, I walk into the kitchen and pop the cork and grab a glass before taking the whole bottle to the couch with me. I shuffle through papers, making sure every detail of the trip is covered. Once I feel as though everything will work out, I send a final email to everyone who is participating, thanking them for helping me carry on this tradition.

  When there is nothing else for me to do, I call it a night and go to bed. These are my uneventful nights. I’ve pretty much followed this routine every night for the last two years since the day I was released from the hospital and deemed sane enough not to harm myself again. Since I never actually made it to my husband’s funeral, the guilt of that has remained a huge weight on my shoulders. I wasn’t able to give him the farewell he deserved, and I will never be able to forget how it was my own selfishness that did that.

  Like I do every night, I slip into one of his shirts and lie on his side of the bed and hug his pillow tightly, holding on to him as I fall asleep and get ready to do this all again tomorrow.

  As the time gets close for Sophie to pick me up from work, I get nervous. Whenever I go out with Sophie, she tries to make it like speed dating, always pointing out guys I should talk to or ones who might have glanced our way. She just doesn’t understand that I’m not ready to jump back in the saddle yet. My heart won�
�t let me.

  About twenty minutes later, my intercom comes to life. “Liz, Sophie’s here. Should I send her back?”

  “No, I’m coming up. Thanks, Jen,” I say, not wanting Sophie to come back. We should get going, so we can get this over with. I would have been happier with her just coming to my place and having a glass of wine. Public doesn’t feel . . . safe. I know what she’s going to try. I have already mentally prepared myself to ignore all her ridiculous requests to just go talk to him, or let him buy you a drink.

  I throw on a quick smile as I round the lobby, pretending I am more than overjoyed with this meeting. Don’t get me wrong. I love Sophie. She’s my best friend and has been there for me every day of this horrible journey I was forced into. She means well but doesn’t know when to stop.

  “Liz, you look . . . tired. Hon, are you sleeping?” she says as she throws her arms around me, squeezing firmly, like if she lets go all my broken pieces will somehow shatter more than they already are.

  “Wow, thanks. I’m glad to see you too, and you look like I should be careful touching you. Wouldn’t want to get a hair out of place,” I say, smiling at her. She always looks like she just stepped out of a magazine. With her auburn hair cascading down her back in soft curls, she has the bluest eyes that you would never expect to see on someone with red hair, but it makes her exotic looking. Guys are always swarming her, trying to buy her a drink or slip her their number.

  “You look fine, Liz. Maybe a little overwhelmed, but it’s okay. I’m here, ready to take you out and get your mojo flowing again. Let’s see if we can pep you up!” she says a little too excitedly, like she’s been planning Operation Take Over Liz for some time now. Shit, this can’t be good.

  “Soph, maybe my mojo is broken and doesn’t want to be fixed. I’m not going into this like a meat market. I just want to grab a drink with you and talk. I’ve missed you. Please, don’t start this tonight. Please.” I plead with my eyes, begging her not to make this out to be like every other trip.