Chapter 15
*Elena*
"Who says it's about me?" I kept my face hidden from Sydney, who was trying to get a rise out of me. She's been going on and on since she got here about Ryder's latest hit and how it was all about me. "I'm telling you, that's all anyone can talk about. It's so damn obvious." And she sounded so pleased at that prospect.
"Don't you want to at least hear it?" This was a change from her usual refrain. She'd have cut her arm off just a few weeks ago before letting anything have to do with Ryder near me. Now here she was, trying to talk me into it. "You know you want to. I know you've never gotten over him, and that's something I've had to accept."
"I wasn't going to say anything, but after watching your documentary, I'm ready to admit that you're strong enough to make your own decisions. I'm not saying you should dive back into social media, no one should have to deal with that cesspool, but this, I think you can handle."
I've been tempted to listen to the song that everybody's been talking about for a while now, but I just haven't had the courage. I'd heard the whispers, of course, and more than one member of the paparazzi had yelled out to me, asking about my thoughts, but I was still too afraid to open that wound that had taken so long to heal.
But isn't that what the documentary was about? Healing and moving on? Why is it that at the first mention of him, I want to crawl back into my hole and bury myself away from the light? Along with bearing my soul, I also had some much-needed professional help that helped me to see what needed to be done.
I needed to focus more energy on myself now that I was no longer burying my head in the sand. I'd come a long way with the exercises that I'd learned, had been working very hard on facing my fears with the truth, and knew that I was in a good place now, a better place than I'd ever been.
"Fine, let's listen to it."
"Wait a minute, let me lock the door. We don't want any interruptions." She got up from the bed where she'd found me lounging as I flipped through the TV channels when she came by to visit and went to lock the door.
I was tempted to tell her that I'd changed my mind in the time that it took her to go from the bed to the door, but I knew that she'd grill me to death if I did. It was better to just get it over with since I was bound to hear the stupid thing at some point. When could be a better time than this, when I was alone with my best friend?
I was ready to see some semblance of myself in his words, but I was in no way prepared for the number the song did on me. "Are you crying? Why are you crying?"
"Because he sounds so sad and alone." And it broke my heart.
Why was he saying this now after all this time had gone by? And why does he sound so broken? I started to hyperventilate, which scared the crap out of my friend, who started apologizing as she tried to turn the song off as if it wasn't already imprinted in my brain.
Every word played itself over and over again in my head as I searched for new meaning. Maybe it was about something else; maybe he was pouring his heart out like that for someone else. But who? He was already married to the one he supposedly loved. He'd spent years assuring the public that he'd chosen the one he wanted, something that had made me spiral once again into a mental health crisis, but we're not going to revisit that catastrophe.
It was right after my album and the beginning of my tour when it all started. Day after day, there was another new post crapping all over me and what we once shared. I wasn't supposed to be looking at any of that stuff, but I was like a moth to a flame, just as I had been after the incident, pain diving, trauma seeking, whatever you want to call it.
I'd seen it all, saw the way his wife and her friends laughed at me. That was hard enough to swallow, but the things he himself had posted were the most horrible. He'd made a mockery of our love. Laying claim to the fact that he'd cheated on me with her while we were together. Something I had always worried about back then when I heard the rumors, but something he'd always reassured me about.
Now it was all out there for the whole world to see, and I was once again the laughingstock of our community. It was one of the things that had driven me to make the documentary, to share my side of the story. And now this, just days after the documentary had been released, I've had my heart ripped out of my chest once more.
"Breathe, Elena, it's going to be okay. Should I get one of your pills?" I shook my head no. I never want to become attached to those things. I don't want to run to chemicals each time I have an episode, though I know that they're needed. Especially those times when my mind turns against me.
They're of great help, the pills, but they also leave me feeling a bit groggy, not to mention the weight gain, which is one of the more bothersome side effects. "Why am I still so hurt by this? Why do I still care about him so much? Shouldn't I be over this already?"
"Okay, I know in the beginning I said all that shit, but it's taken me this long and watching your documentary over and over again to get it. You love him; you really, genuinely love him the way only you can. And that love doesn't just stop because he's a fuck up, and you know why? Because he's always been a fuck up. You just happened to see that and know that and yet were able to see all of his other qualities."
"You loved all of him, not just the good parts, and that is why you're still so invested to this day. You're one of those people who keep coming back for more, no matter how rough it gets. The difference is that this time, you worked on yourself first, so now you know that you couldn't fix him or anyone else while you, too, were broken."
"No one can fault you for your love. I won't let them. There's no shame in giving your all to someone you love, but you won't go back to that girl who hid herself away as if she'd done something wrong. You did nothing wrong; you did nothing to be ashamed of. And this song, as much as I hate his fucking guts, is beautiful. And there's not a deaf man, woman, or child anywhere who doesn't know that it was for you."
"Okay, I'm better; you can stop lying now."
"Which part was a lie?"
"Since when have you ever had anything good to say about Ryder?"
"You know me; I give credit where it's due." She went silent and gazed off into space, but it was obvious that there was something on her mind.
"So, now that we're here, what do you think this means?"
"What does what mean?"
"This song, his words, what's he up to now?"
"Beats me! I know one thing, she must be losing her shit. Which means I can look forward to more of her bullshit. Have you noticed a pattern? Every time there's anything about him, she always goes on the attack. Why is she still so pressed about me? I've been out of his life and pretty much out of the picture for four years."
"Why do you think? Didn't you hear anything I just said? He's still in love with you. She must've seen it, and now the whole world knows. There are still enclaves on the Internet of millions of people who are still rooting for the two of you."
"But he married her. I lost."
"And he's been miserable ever since. You said yourself that you never really got any closure, that you still don't know why he did it. Maybe there's something there that we know nothing about, something that he was too upset to talk to you about."
What could that be, though? I'd spent hours, days trying to figure it out, but there was nothing, not even with all the mean girl posts that had been floating around for years. There was never anything conclusive that I could hang onto and say this, this is what it was all about.
"And by the way, you didn't lose shit. Let's face it; your ex was a drug-addicted narcissistic asshole who didn't have the first clue how to appreciate you. Don't get me wrong; I'm not saying he didn't love you; I know he did. But maybe he wasn't in the right place at the time."
"I know you're right, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. And it still hurts so bad. I try hard to pretend, but if there's anything I've learned after doing this documentary, it's that I can't hide from life."
"And you shouldn't, but I have a question. It's pretty serious, and I almost don't think I should even ask. I think I already know the answer, but since you're feeling strong enough to share, I'm dying to ask."
"Why are you beating around the bush? That's not like you; just spit it out."
"You know me so well. Okay, so here goes. If he, Ryder, should change his ways, get his act together, ditch the twit, would you take him back?"
"In a heartbeat."
"I knew it."
"No, but wait, wait, he'd have to have a very good reason for getting a divorce, and I definitely wouldn't cheat on him. And he'd have to be all the way clean, and we'd have to get some sort of counseling."
"My dear little chicklet, I think thou doth protesteth too much."
"No, but you know what I'm saying. I couldn't say this to anyone else. but with you, I can be myself; I can be honest…. Hello, who's out there?"
"What?"
"Oh, it's nothing. I thought I heard footsteps."
We both looked at the door as if expecting it to open, both forgetting that it was locked. Sydney got up to go check and came back empty-handed. "No one is out there."
"It's fine. I just thought I heard something. Anyway, back to what we were talking about. It feels good to be this honest, this open. If I'd said that to anyone else, I'd never hear the end of it. Everyone else seems to think that I should automatically hate him for what he's done, and though I am extremely pissed off at him, I can't just switch off ten years of love and devotion. Not like he so easily did anyway."
"That's just it. It doesn't look like he switched it off at all. There's something else that I'm not sure I should share, but you'll hear about it anyway at some point."
"Oh, shit, what is it?"
"He doesn't look well."
"What do you mean?"
"Okay, I didn't say anything before for obvious reasons, but it's a known fact that he's looked like death since the day he got married to her."
"What do you mean? Like sick from the drugs?"
"That's part of it, sure, but there's something else going on. Almost like he's under some heavy shit; he looks like the walking dead. His eyes always seem glazed over; he just doesn't look like himself."
"Oh no, why are you telling me this now?"
"Because I think this is part of your healing, he was a big part of your past, and you yourself admit that you still have feelings for him, so I thought you should know, or at least hear it from me and not some rag."
"You're right, but it still doesn't make me feel any better. You know I only want what's best for him. Now I'm not sure what's worst. Thinking that he'd moved on from me or believing that he's in some kind of danger."
"If you didn't care, it wouldn't matter. Is there any chance that you can give up caring about that heel in this lifetime? Why don't you go out on a date?"
"Sydney! You know I have no interest in dating anyone. Those days are behind me."
"How can you say that? You're still young, you're gorgeous, and you have a lot to offer."
"I'm also very ill, still getting over a very bad, very public breakup; who's gonna want to go out with me and all my baggage?"
"You can't be serious. Leave it to me."
"What? What're you gonna do, you nut?"
"You'll see. Be ready at eight." This girl! What is she up to now?