“What can I do? I need to do something.” I yanked at my hair while pacing back and forth and talking on the phone with Doc. Luca was out cold in the bedroom, thanks to a healthy dose of Xanax he’d prescribed when I’d first called him a few hours ago. But she’d been against even taking one pill; I wasn’t going to get her to take any more—which meant I needed to figure out how to fix what I’d fucked up. Fast.
“I’m afraid you’re doing everything you can, Griffin. You’re providing her emotional support and a safe environment. She’ll calm down. It’s just going to take some time.”
“How much time?”
Doc sighed. “I can’t tell you that, either, Griffin. Luca’s fear of being trapped stems from a situation that she couldn’t control. Over the last few years, we’ve worked on her believing that she always has control—whether that is to walk out of a building or simply get out of a car—but at the moment she’s feeling like she had no control over the situation that occurred, and it’s going to take some time for her to be able to see she actually did. She allowed you to take the lead and exited the building—that’s giving permission to another person to help when she needed it most. However, I know our Luca, and I’m sure she doesn’t see it like that—at least not right now. She’s feeling like she was helpless. And in good time, we can work to get her to see that sometimes allowing someone to help is the best decision to make and that doesn’t mean you’ve failed. Just the opposite, actually. Allowing someone to have control over you is a form of exercising control in itself.”
I creaked open the door to the bedroom to check on Luca while talking to Doc. She was still out cold. I’d taken her to a friend’s house. A buddy I shared a label with lived on the outskirts of Chicago. Luca and I had only been sleeping an hour when the fire alarm went off, so we both needed to crash for a while, and I knew taking her to another hotel was out of the question. Luckily, Travis had answered his phone when I called at 3:00 a.m., and he was kind enough to let me stay over at his place. He was on the road for a gig, so we had the place all to ourselves for the night after a quick stop to wake up his housekeeper and borrow her keys.
“I’m not sure what to do, Doc. She wants to go home. I hate to take her, but before we started this trip, I promised her we’d take it one day at a time and if she wasn’t happy, I’d drive her back home.”
“I think that’s probably wise. Luca will feel better in her own environment. After an event like she’s just gone through, feeling in control of her surroundings again is of the utmost importance. And her home is where she feels the safest. I’ll come by as soon as she’s settled in, and we’ll get right back on the bicycle. This is a setback, not the end of the road for Luca’s recovery, Griffin.”
I don’t know what I expected the good doctor to say—taking her home was obviously the right thing to do. But hearing him confirm that I shouldn’t even try to talk her into staying made my heart sink.
“Okay. Yeah. Thanks, Doc.”
He must’ve heard in my voice how deflated I felt. “She’s strong, son. Luca will come back from this. You need to have faith.”
What was most important was that Luca would be okay. Whatever would become of our relationship took a back seat to her mental and physical health, of course. Though the selfish part of me couldn’t help but worry—Luca might come back from this, but would we?
We’d been on the road for thirteen hours already and had about two hours left until we got to Vermont. Luca had been quiet the entire trip. Despite her preference to drive only at night to avoid traffic, we also traveled during some daylight hours to get home faster. She was calmer now, almost too calm. While she’d answer me if I asked her a direct question, it was clear that she didn’t really feel like talking. Most of the time, she’d just stare out the window, lost in thought. I hadn’t attempted to discuss what would happen when we got to Vermont, mainly because I was afraid of what she might say. But with two hours left, I needed to at least let her know the plans I’d been able to make.
I reached over and took her hand in mine. Bringing it to my lips, I kissed her knuckles. “The production company gave me until Monday to get back and finish the video shoot. So I booked a flight back tomorrow evening.”
“Oh. Okay.” She frowned. “I’m sorry you had to postpone everything. I’m sure the band isn’t happy about the delay.”
“It’s not a big deal. At all. We once had to postpone an album cover photo shoot because Styx, our drummer, got his tongue stuck to a stripper’s muff.”
She squinted at me and shook her head, seemingly coming out of her fog. “Did you just say he got his tongue stuck to a . . . ?”
I nodded. “Muff. Her pussy.”
Luca looked rightfully confused.
“Dumbass has a tongue ring. He went down on a stripper who had a clitoris ring, and the two somehow got connected, and they couldn’t disconnect them. He didn’t show up for the shoot and wasn’t answering his phone. So I went over to his place and pounded on the door. I figured he’d gotten loaded the night before and was passed out inside. When he still didn’t answer, I got the building super to let me in and found his head between her legs—they’d been stuck that way for four hours. Every time they tried to move, it hurt one of them, so they just lay in bed with his face planted between her legs and waited for his roommate to come home.”
“Did you . . . unhook them?”
“Fuck no. I did what any good buddy would do. First I FaceTimed the guys to show them the shit I’d just walked in on, and then I called 911 and snapped some pics while the two poor paramedics figured out how to remove the dumbass’s tongue ring without castrating the woman. Anyway, we missed that photo shoot, and a whole bunch of other shit for my mates’ ridiculous crap. No one is going to give a shit that I need a few personal days.”
Luca sighed. My stupid story seemed to at least get her attention away from the window. “Thank you for not pushing me to try to stay.”
I nodded. “I told you we’d take it one day at a time and I’d drive you home if you weren’t comfortable at any point. When I tell you something, I want you to be able to count on it. But I hope you know I would have done anything to get you to stay.”
“I know, Griffin. And I appreciate that. I really do.” She turned away and looked out the window again. “I’ve been thinking. When I first started working with Doc, I had photos of Isabella and me in every room of my house. The one in my bedroom was the first thing I looked at each morning when I opened my eyes. Doc convinced me to put them all away for a few days. He thought that if I stopped forcing myself to look at what I’d lost, it might make moving on a little easier. I hadn’t wanted to do that, because I loved Isabella so much—not past tense: I love Isabella so much—but eventually he got me to do it.”
I wasn’t sure where she was going, but I was happy she was talking, at least. “Okay.”
“You know what happened when I put them away?”
“You stopped thinking about what you’d lost as much?”
She nodded and turned back to look at me. Her eyes were glassy, and she was on the verge of tears. “I did. And I feel a lot of guilt over never taking them out again. But Doc was right; I needed to do it in order to move on. It doesn’t mean I don’t love her anymore. There are just times in life when love isn’t enough, and being strong means being able to see that and making a decision that hurts.”
I definitely didn’t fucking like where this story was heading now. “Luca—”
She put up her hand and stopped me from talking. “You’re a beautiful human being, Griffin, and I’ll always cherish this time we’ve spent together.”
My heart started to race. This was not happening. And this conversation was not one I wanted to have while driving seventy miles an hour on the highway. I needed to pull over. I was about to pass an exit, and I abruptly cut over three lanes to get off at the last second. Luca grabbed on to her door and started to freak out.
“Hang on, love. We’re not having an accident. Everything is fine. I just needed to get off the highway so we can talk.” Luckily, the exit ramp had an entrance to some sort of town storage facility. I pulled into a parking lot with a dozen parked yellow utility trucks equipped with plows and a giant salt storage building. The place was otherwise deserted, so I took the first empty spot and put the car into “Park.” I turned off the ignition and started to get out of the car.
“What are you doing?” Luca said.
“I’m taking a break from driving so we can talk face-to-face.”
Before she could object, I walked around to the passenger side of the car and opened her door. Extending a hand, I helped her out and told her to stretch her legs for a minute. When she was done, I led us around to the back of the vehicle next to the trunk and lifted her up onto it so that we were eye to eye.
“Okay. Let’s talk now.”
Luca looked down at her hands. “I . . . You’re in such a great place in your life and—”
I stopped her. “Look at me, Luca. If you’re about to say what I think you’re about to say, I want you to at least look into my eyes while you speak.”
She swallowed, took a deep breath, and raised her eyes to meet mine with a nod. “We’re just so different, Griff. You’re a round hole, and I’m a square peg. We don’t fit.”
I started to get angry. She was feeling vulnerable and scared; I understood that. But I didn’t care. She needed to fight harder for us. “Just say it, Luca.”
She looked down again. This time for a solid minute before looking back up at me. A fat tear rolled down her cheek. “Sometimes when love isn’t enough to make things right, we need to let it go.”
I looked back and forth between her eyes. “Are you finished?”
She looked confused but nodded.
“Fine. Then it’s my turn to speak.”
“Okay . . .”
“I only have one thing to say, but I want to make sure you hear it loud and clear, Luca.”
She looked at me and waited.
I leaned in close so that our noses were touching and spoke directly into her eyes with one stern word. “No.”
Apparently she thought I had more to add. But I didn’t. After thirty seconds of silence, she wrinkled her nose. “No?”
“That’s right. No.”
“But I don’t understand . . .”
“What part of the word no don’t you understand?”
“What are you saying no to?”
“Everything. You dumping me. You thinking I’m better off without you. You thinking you can just walk away from what we have and I’ll let you. The answer is just no. One big giant fucking no.”
She still seemed confused when I thought I’d been crystal clear. “But . . .”
“But nothing, Luca.”
“Griffin . . .”
I walked away to cool down, leaving her sitting on the car for a few minutes. When I came back, I held out my hand. “Are you ready to go now?”
Again her face wrinkled. I took a deep breath and lifted her from the car, setting her feet on the ground. Then I leaned in and kissed her lips. “When you’re ready to discuss how we’re going to make things work, I’ll be ready to have that conversation. But I’m done having this one, and I want to go home. I’m tired and I want to go home.” I started to walk back to my side of the car and then realized she might have gotten a mixed message from my last sentence. So I walked back to where she still stood at the back of the car and cleared that shit up. “So there’s no confusion, when I say ‘home’—I don’t mean my house in California. Because that isn’t where home is anymore, Luca. Home is wherever you are.”
The house was so quiet. I could hear Luca’s breaths but wasn’t sure if she was sleeping or not. After we arrived in Vermont, she’d busied herself with mundane tasks—going through mail, picking up Hortencia, cleaning out some expired food from the fridge—anything to avoid having a meaningful conversation. We were both wiped out from the drive home, so we ordered some dinner and turned in pretty early. It was clear from Luca’s body language that sex wasn’t on the menu for tonight. Not that I’d wanted stimulation, but I’d thought that maybe us getting lost in the physical might help her remember the connection we shared. But she’d come to bed in an oversize sweatshirt and joggers and given me her back.
I’d spent the last hour staring at the ceiling in the dark, trying to figure out what the fuck to do. I knew I’d never be able to sleep with so much on my mind, so I decided to get what I needed to say off my chest—whether she heard me or not.
“I don’t know if you’re awake, but I need to say a few things.”
Luca didn’t budge, and I didn’t hear any change in her breathing pattern, so I assumed she must’ve really fallen asleep. I didn’t let that stop me.
“We all have light and dark inside us, love. We try to hide the darkness from others because we’re afraid it will scare them away. But your dark doesn’t scare me, Luca. It only makes me want to hold your hand and be your light until you can find your own again. That’s what people do when they’re in love. I won’t always be able to give you your light back, because sometimes you need to find that within yourself, but I’ll stand by your side and hold your hand in the dark so things aren’t so scary.”
Luca took a big croaky breath in, and I still wasn’t certain she was awake. Until the next sound came—a raw, agonizing, painful cry that rang out like it was being viciously ripped from her body. It was horrible. She sobbed—long, throaty, sad cries that made my own tears start flowing. So much anguish came out of her, I knew in my heart that this cry wasn’t only about what had happened yesterday. It felt like years of pent-up sadness, loneliness, and grief that had found its way out of a long tunnel after years of being stuck in darkness.
I wrapped my arms around her and held on tight, both of us crying for the longest time. Eventually, when every painful sob had racked its way through her body, she started to calm down.
“The concert was my idea,” she choked out.
Oh God. The inside of my chest felt like someone had reached in, torn out my still-beating heart, and squeezed it into an angry fist. “It might have been your idea, but what happened wasn’t your fault. Millions of teenagers go to concerts every weekend, Luca.”
“She always had a smile on her face.”
I tightened my grip around her. “I’m sure she was incredible.”
“I . . . I miss her so much.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
“I loved her.”
“You love hard. I know you did.”
“I couldn’t find her.” Her voice cracked and shook. “The crowd. It just pushed me toward the door, and I tried to look around, but all I could see was people everywhere.”
I’d been to enough concerts to imagine how a horde of panicked teenagers would act during an emergency evacuation. Mass chaos with everyone pushing and pulling. If I hadn’t understood the basis of Luca’s fears before now, the visual of her little body being pushed through a crowd while she frantically tried to look for her friend really explained her feeling of having no control. I shut my eyes. I’d basically done the same thing to her—pushing her out of the hotel, down the stairs, and through the crowd.
“Shh . . . you’re safe now. We’re both safe, sweetheart.”
Eventually Luca’s crying exhausted her so much that she literally cried herself to sleep. One minute she’d been whimpering through a painful breath in, and then the next she breathed out a snore. I stayed awake until after the sun rose, holding her tight and listening for any change in her breathing. Visions of the night she described kept playing over and over in my head, and I was so angry with myself that I hadn’t been with her—even though I knew logically that made no sense. We were just kids and had lived an ocean apart. Still, that didn’t make what I felt any less real.
Somehow I finally fell asleep, and when I woke up in the early afternoon, the first thing I did was reach for my girl. A feeling of panic hit me, finding nothing but a cold bed where she’d been sleeping. And a note.
Be back later. I emptied your suitcase and did your laundry so you can pack for your flight.
-Luca
At least she’d left out what she’d really been thinking: Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on your way out.
