Brisé by Leigh Ann Lunsford, Chelsea Kuhel Page A

didn’t have access to her personal account, but I knew she only had about two hundred dollars in there, and I wasn’t due to transfer her monthly stipend for another few weeks. That amount of money wasn’t going to last long, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to pay for any treatments she needed, and she needed to start them, and fast. I called Myra; he ignored my calls. I called the bank to see if any transactions had been made on her personal account, but because I no longer had guardianship, they wouldn’t tell me anything. Day three, I called Myra again, still nothing. I paced the floors of her childhood home. I called her phone incessantly. I pleaded with her in voicemails and all went unanswered. I called hospitals, police stations, but I couldn’t bring myself to call the morgue. That was not an option. Day four, still nothing. The heaviness that felt like sludge settled in my chest. I got rip-roaring drunk. Day drunk. How I made my way to Myra’s office, I don’t remember.
    “Where the hell is she?” He wouldn’t meet my eyes, and his shoulders drooped. He was trying to avoid the question, offering me sympathy. I don’t need sympathy; I need Phoebe. That’s all I’ve ever needed.
    “She’s safe. That’s all I can give you.”
    “Bullshit. You can give me everything, you can give me my fucking world back if you wanted to.”
    “Lucas,” that soothing tone was back, and I was ready to punch him. “She wanted this, and you have to respect it. She’s in pain, but I promise you she’s getting the medical attention she needs. You have to let go now.”
    Let go? She’s tethered to me with an invisible rope, knotted to my soul, tattooed on my heart. There is no letting go. It’s physically impossible. “Please,” I beg. I need to take a deep breath; I haven’t had one since she left. I’m choking on pain, roaming a lonely house, and there’s no consoling or soothing it. It’s raw and it hurts. Myra won’t look at me, he won’t answer me, he’s given me all he’s willing to give and that pisses me off. I sweep all the papers off his desk, the burn of losing her flaming out. Howling in frustration I continue to destroy whatever I can. His phone gets thrown against the wall, more papers liter his floor, and before I know it I am against the wall with him in my face.
    “This won’t help, Lucas. If it makes you feel better, destroy my office, destroy your whole damn life, but it won’t bring her back.” I don’t feel my legs anymore; I am on my ass on his office floor, head in my hands and once again cursing at the injustice of it all. I know life isn’t fair, it isn’t up to us to decide our fate; we’re supposed to just follow the path that’s put in front of us, almost blindly. My dad comes into the office; I guess he got called to pick my sorry drunken ass up. He doesn’t offer any words just helps me to my feet and out to the car. I notice he pulls up in our driveway and helps me into the house. “Lucas, I think it’s better if you move back in here.” I don’t argue with him because without her it doesn’t matter where I sleep, every place will seem dark and empty.
    Day five I’m hung-over. I wallow all day in bed, then I get pissed. Fate, karma, cancer, God, collapsing buildings, love, hate, but mostly I’m pissed at her. She left me like this, to pick up the pieces alone, and I’ve never done that to her. Those were promises we made to each other; we would never be alone as long as we had each other. As quick as my anger comes, it fades. I love her. I hate the situation, but my love for her is stronger than any other fleeting emotion.
    Day six I get my ass up and go into the office. Today will begin the first day of real life without her. I’ll make the best possible life and prepare for our future because one day she’ll come back. She has to. She loves me.
    The weeks pass by, one mundane task rolls into another, and at the end of the day I still go to sleep alone. I