When I got to the kitchen, I didn’t give him a chance to say anything; I spoke first. “If you’ve come to keep arguing, I’m not interested. I don’t want to fight anymore, Nash.”
“I do trust you, Velvet,” he started, his voice rough, not at all what I was expecting. The anger I thought he was projecting was something else instead. There was almost a brokenness to it; to him. My heart listened closely while he kept talking, because I was sure he was about to crack himself wide open for me. “I’m fucked up though, where this shit’s concerned, and I find it hard to trust.”
His voice cracked on his last word, and he stopped talking. His eyes frantically sought mine; searching for what, I wasn’t sure, but I sensed his desperate need for me to wait patiently for him to get this all out.
So, I waited.
His hand pushed through his hair, and he blew out a long breath. “I was married. Her name was Gabriella. We met when I was twenty, back when I didn’t have a clue. I would have done anything for her. I married her and planned a long fuckin’ life with her, but she threw it all away when she cheated on me. And not just once.” He placed his hands on his hips, and bent slightly forward, expelling more long breaths. It was like he couldn’t catch his breath; almost like he’d just run a fast race and was struggling. I realised that’s exactly what was happening; he definitely was struggling for breath.
I placed my hand on his back, and said, “Nash, you need to focus on your breathing. Count your breaths.”
He did as I said, and began taking longer breaths. I counted them in my head as he took them, more out of habit than anything. Memories of my mother’s experience with this flooded my mind. I hated watching him go through this just as much as I’d hated watching her. Watching someone struggle through anxiety made you feel useless and desperate; desperate to be able to take it all from them and carry their burden. But you fucking couldn’t and that was the bitch of it all.
The house was silent apart from Nash’s breathing. I welcomed the silence; it allowed me the space to think. My anger dulled as the pain spilled from him. It was in this moment I realised how broken he was. He hadn’t done the work to move past this hurt, and I wondered how long he’d been carrying it.
He was starting to get his breathing under control, and straightened. His eyes found mine. They were wary.
I gave him a small smile, and reached for his hand. “How long ago was this?” I asked, softly.
His chest heaved again, but he maintained his breathing. “Ten years ago.”
I didn’t want to rush him, so I squeezed his hand, and waited for a moment before saying, “Tell me about her, Nash.”
He stared at me, and all I could see was his damaged soul. But his eyes were reaching for me; he needed me. I gently guided him to sit at the table, and prodded him to talk again. “What was Gabriella like?”
His hands fidgeted on the table, and he stared at them for awhile before finally opening up. “She was fun, spontaneous, up for anything. She was everything I wasn't back then.” He paused, and looked at me. I was stunned by what he’d just said, and he must have been able to read that on my face. “You might find it hard to believe, but back then, I was the responsible one. Growing up, I had to be. My father left when I was twelve, and my mother was pregnant with Carla. Jamison and I helped run the house and raise the girls during our teens while Mum was working two jobs making ends meet. I left school when I was fifteen to take on a mechanic apprenticeship to help her with the bills. So yeah, I had to be responsible and organised. When I met Gabriella, I was working as a mechanic, and desperately wanted her to be a part of my life. She made me feel alive again after all the shit I had to deal with at home.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked, wanting to keep him talking, and wanting to know more about his life.
“Dad never had anything to do with us after he left; not one fuckin’ word. Still hasn’t to this day. Erika was ten when he left, and Carla never knew him.” His eyes blazed with anger now. “He fucked them up. Erika got into all kinds of shit; boys, alcohol, drugs, skipping school. You name it, she fuckin’ did it. All she wanted was a father who fuckin’ cared. God help him if I ever find him.”
“So you were helping your Mum deal with all this?”
“Yeah, Jamison and I tried to help. We spent nights trying to track Erika down, nights trying to keep her away from the parties, nights at the fuckin’ hospital while they dealt with the shit she’d put in her body. Mum was wrecked; physically and mentally.” He stopped, and pierced me with his gaze. “The whole thing was fucked up.”
“You wouldn’t know it now; your family was amazing when I met them.”
He gave me a tight smile. “It’s been a long fuckin’ road to get there.”
My heart was hurting for what he’d been through; for what he’d missed out on in life. “And Gabriella?”
His words cracked my heart a little bit more. “I fell hard for her; hard and fast. I’d fucked around with a lot of chicks before her, but she was different. She made me want more. I chased the shit out of her. She was all I wanted, and I felt like the luckiest bastard alive when she said she would marry me. Problem was, she didn’t have a fuckin’ clue what loyalty was.”
“How long were you married for?”
This question seemed to rattle him, but he kept talking. “I was with her for five years, three of those we were married.”
“I do trust you, Velvet,” he started, his voice rough, not at all what I was expecting. The anger I thought he was projecting was something else instead. There was almost a brokenness to it; to him. My heart listened closely while he kept talking, because I was sure he was about to crack himself wide open for me. “I’m fucked up though, where this shit’s concerned, and I find it hard to trust.”
His voice cracked on his last word, and he stopped talking. His eyes frantically sought mine; searching for what, I wasn’t sure, but I sensed his desperate need for me to wait patiently for him to get this all out.
So, I waited.
His hand pushed through his hair, and he blew out a long breath. “I was married. Her name was Gabriella. We met when I was twenty, back when I didn’t have a clue. I would have done anything for her. I married her and planned a long fuckin’ life with her, but she threw it all away when she cheated on me. And not just once.” He placed his hands on his hips, and bent slightly forward, expelling more long breaths. It was like he couldn’t catch his breath; almost like he’d just run a fast race and was struggling. I realised that’s exactly what was happening; he definitely was struggling for breath.
I placed my hand on his back, and said, “Nash, you need to focus on your breathing. Count your breaths.”
He did as I said, and began taking longer breaths. I counted them in my head as he took them, more out of habit than anything. Memories of my mother’s experience with this flooded my mind. I hated watching him go through this just as much as I’d hated watching her. Watching someone struggle through anxiety made you feel useless and desperate; desperate to be able to take it all from them and carry their burden. But you fucking couldn’t and that was the bitch of it all.
The house was silent apart from Nash’s breathing. I welcomed the silence; it allowed me the space to think. My anger dulled as the pain spilled from him. It was in this moment I realised how broken he was. He hadn’t done the work to move past this hurt, and I wondered how long he’d been carrying it.
He was starting to get his breathing under control, and straightened. His eyes found mine. They were wary.
I gave him a small smile, and reached for his hand. “How long ago was this?” I asked, softly.
His chest heaved again, but he maintained his breathing. “Ten years ago.”
I didn’t want to rush him, so I squeezed his hand, and waited for a moment before saying, “Tell me about her, Nash.”
He stared at me, and all I could see was his damaged soul. But his eyes were reaching for me; he needed me. I gently guided him to sit at the table, and prodded him to talk again. “What was Gabriella like?”
His hands fidgeted on the table, and he stared at them for awhile before finally opening up. “She was fun, spontaneous, up for anything. She was everything I wasn't back then.” He paused, and looked at me. I was stunned by what he’d just said, and he must have been able to read that on my face. “You might find it hard to believe, but back then, I was the responsible one. Growing up, I had to be. My father left when I was twelve, and my mother was pregnant with Carla. Jamison and I helped run the house and raise the girls during our teens while Mum was working two jobs making ends meet. I left school when I was fifteen to take on a mechanic apprenticeship to help her with the bills. So yeah, I had to be responsible and organised. When I met Gabriella, I was working as a mechanic, and desperately wanted her to be a part of my life. She made me feel alive again after all the shit I had to deal with at home.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked, wanting to keep him talking, and wanting to know more about his life.
“Dad never had anything to do with us after he left; not one fuckin’ word. Still hasn’t to this day. Erika was ten when he left, and Carla never knew him.” His eyes blazed with anger now. “He fucked them up. Erika got into all kinds of shit; boys, alcohol, drugs, skipping school. You name it, she fuckin’ did it. All she wanted was a father who fuckin’ cared. God help him if I ever find him.”
“So you were helping your Mum deal with all this?”
“Yeah, Jamison and I tried to help. We spent nights trying to track Erika down, nights trying to keep her away from the parties, nights at the fuckin’ hospital while they dealt with the shit she’d put in her body. Mum was wrecked; physically and mentally.” He stopped, and pierced me with his gaze. “The whole thing was fucked up.”
“You wouldn’t know it now; your family was amazing when I met them.”
He gave me a tight smile. “It’s been a long fuckin’ road to get there.”
My heart was hurting for what he’d been through; for what he’d missed out on in life. “And Gabriella?”
His words cracked my heart a little bit more. “I fell hard for her; hard and fast. I’d fucked around with a lot of chicks before her, but she was different. She made me want more. I chased the shit out of her. She was all I wanted, and I felt like the luckiest bastard alive when she said she would marry me. Problem was, she didn’t have a fuckin’ clue what loyalty was.”
“How long were you married for?”
This question seemed to rattle him, but he kept talking. “I was with her for five years, three of those we were married.”
