Page 26 of Alexander: Alexander's Story

‘Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t come visit.’But why the fuck am I feeling guilty when those were her final words to me?

She doesn’t want this, Alex. Not you. Let it go.

I have to find a way to let it go. And burying myself deep inmy wifefeels like the best idea I can think of.

But she’s right that I would regret it. I’d regret letting go of the pain and letting myself feel even just a second of joy. I already regretted letting her take me in her mouth because I didn’t deserve it.

I don’t deserve her.

And there lies the source of my regret.

Maybe if I’d met her at some other point in my life, everything could have been different. But maybe I never would have given her a second look. Because without being broken, I wouldn’t need her so desperately to fix me.

When we get to the clearing beside the garage, the unofficial trailhead, she turns to stop and wait for me.

“Can you take me somewhere today?” She asks. I nod. “I think it would be good if I had a car, so I didn’t have to ask you guys for rides and stuff…”

“Do you want me to just get you a car?” She shakes her head.

“No, I can use what you gave me to buy one.” I’m already shaking my head, though.

“No, that’s money for you to save. For you. I’ll go with you… Or Blanks will, and we’ll get it.” Her brow wrinkles slightly.

“I appreciate that, but I need it to be in my name. It’s…important to me.” I give her the same look of confusion.

“And it will be.”

“Okay…” She lets it roll out seemingly against her will. If I can do nothing else right, I can take care of Emma’s needs. She should want for nothing while she’s here.

There’s a small instinct inside me, willing me to make some kind of gesture. A hand on her shoulder or arm, a hug. But then there’s reality. My boots feel too heavy. She feels too perfect, and the closer I let myself get to her, the more corrupt and less perfect she’ll become.

I want to keep her a certain way in my mind and reality. And the more I touch her, the more muddied she would be. So I keep my distance and bypass her to walk towards the house. She doesn’t say anything because she’s not expecting anything either.

When we walk inside, I can feel it. The difference.The absence.

“Blanks!” I shout into the expanse of the main floor, hearing only the sound of the kitchen faucet in response.

Seething, I walk past the great room, discovering what I knew to be true, then on and into the kitchen.

“What’d you do with it?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, “I took care of it.”

“Where is it?” I practically yell. He doesn’t respond. He never engages when I get like this. I fume, standing in the kitchen, over the missing gifts. The bottom of the tree empty.Barren.The stockings hung on the mantel.Gone.Her fucking high chair.Missing.

“I didn’t ask you to take care of it,” I hiss, but he stands there stoically, broad, taking it.

“She’s not fucking coming back,” he says eventually, breaking the tension. Breaking me.

I want to throw or hit oranything, but light shuffling has me halting when I remember Emma behind me.

“Take Emma to get a car today. I can’t be here.” I watch his face twitch with anger and see Emma step uncomfortably from one side to the next.

I should apologize for the outburst, but instead, I walk away and far. Opting for the trail up the mountain, I hope a small little hope that I never see this house ever again.

Emma

“Do you always just take care of him?” I ask Blanks, who loads a glass into the dishwasher, his back to me.