Finding Eden

23

"I missed you. I missed you so much."

Cade still had the same habits. Sleeping too late, drinking too little water, leaving his books scattered around. I was rolled over on my side when he said this and he had a copy of a Hemingway book in his hands.

"Did you?" Nothing prepared me for the storm that followed my question.

"The letters you wrote. You have no idea what went through my mind and I didn't know. You were living with me for three months and I knew nothing about how you felt. I mean, god, I knew you were a bit messed up. I mean, why else would you visit my therapist? I was messed up too but I didn't know to what extent you were.

"And you would put all your thoughts into those letters and attach these pictures of Europe. And the paper would smell like you. Did you know that? Did you put your perfume on it or something? Because it made me miss you so much and made me regret everything.

"I didn't know what I was thinking that night. God if I did I wouldn't have said all those things just to get you to go. Maybe your ankle wouldn't be in pieces right now. It's me. It's all me. I've always tried to escape from relationships and just somehow fuck it up because that's who I am and that's who I've been ever since my last relationship. She left me in ruins, Eden. And I was terrified you would too because I see so much of myself in you," he said. His voice was shaking now and his breathing was ragged.

The speech left my mind reeling and there was no possible way I could ever reply and break the silence that he created, dare I stain and do it injustice.

"I'm not okay, Eden," he said. He still had that terrible habit of uttering my name after the sentences he would create and I wondered if he had developed and adopted after he had noticed positive reactions to this psychological hack. "I haven't been for a while. I can't tell you everything right now but I promise you that all that I've said is truth."

"Cade..."

"You have to go, don't you? That's what you're going to say. I know it."

"I'll be back. I just, I have some things to do today but I'll be back," I promised. We had spent our second weekend together, mostly in silence and mostly sleeping. Back at my aunt's place, I got little sleep and it was constantly filled with her filing paperwork or her playing violin concertos in the living room. At Cade's, it was just him fiddling with new melodies on his acoustic guitar and testing new pedal settings.

He never made any effort to be in close quarters with me and was cautious about boundaries. It was as if the hard cast on my foot acted like a warning signal.

***

The physician told me I could be getting the cast off early because I showed quick signs of healing and recovery. I would be free at five weeks instead of six however, physical rehabilitation awaited me and it would take ages before I got back to the proficiency I was at a few months ago.

I walked around with crutches and had gotten used to it about now. My aunt's apartment was empty when I arrived and I was sunken into her sofa watching videos of my old recital when the doorbell rang.

"Hi Eden, how are you?" my therapist asked upon sight.

"Hi Delilah," I greeted her, allowing her to set her bag and binder down before pouring her some tea. So I told her about Charles, about Cade, about my ankle, and about Aldous. She drank it all in and took minimal notes in her pad, preferring to listen than to diagnose. We hadn't been meeting up regularly and I'd only come to her once after returning where she'd told me she was proud of my progress.

"Are you sleeping comfortably? Do you still have anxiety?"

"Not really but I do wake up more frequently now. Sometimes sweating sometimes not," I admitted.

"It's great you went back to the townhouse and that you talked to Cade. Closure should never be your end intention but I can see how it's treated you and it's good. Have you visited your parents yet?"

"No." It was silly of me to think she would avoid the driving force of why we met in the first place.

"And why not?"

They're dead. I can't see them. I don't need to visit them.

"What difference would it make?" I asked. She didn't look surprised but her gaze was stuck to her handwriting.

"It makes all the difference. Typically, it would mean that my patient has come to terms," she replied and positioned herself on the loveseat. The gold earrings she had on dangled with her movement and landed itself in light for just a second.

Her face looked expectant but I only shrugged.

"I'll go when I'm recovered. It's hard navigating a cemetery on crutches," I joked.

Delilah nodded, animating her jewelry. "And Charles? How is he?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him since the accident." Since the accident. It was always since the accident and I feared that it will always be—my life split into episodes and episodes of unfortunate events.

Our session time was up (eight minutes late to be exact) and so Delilah clicked away with her handbag and blazer, telling me to keep in touch. It was always the same each time; she asked questions and I shrugged, never explaining to her the knots that writhed inside me. The only reason we met was for me to deal with what I had to do next and for me to gain enough courage and justification.

***

"This is the talk, isn't it?" he asked the minute he sees the way my face is set. Crack my heart splintered just a little.

"Do you know why? Charles?" I wasn't even fully inside his door yet. "I can't give you more. You told me you didn't want more but I have the feeling that you do every time you make me breakfast or carry me to bed."

"I was that obvious, wasn't I?" he laughed but it wasn't as glorious as his former ones. Crinkle my heart shrivelled just a bit.

"I loved you though." Even if I wasn't sure I even knew what love was, it was devastating seeing the way his face contorted for just that one second and the remainder of my heart fell flat against my chest.

"It was just moments though, wasn't it? It was never longer than a day or a week. I know that and I knew it when we first met because I knew that no one would ever have the effect on you that he does."

"What gave you that?"

"You wrote letters, Eden," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

It didn't take long for me to wrap my arms around him, in one final fashion of what our relationship was. This was the first proper breakup I ever had to go through and I had Charles to thank for none of the bitterness and heartache and tears of crumbled mascara. He must have known, perhaps from my radio silence, since he had gathered all the things I left at his place and into a bag. I later found that one of his sweatshirts had slipped in the there and I placed that at the back of my closet. Out of all the things he gave me, I'll never forget what had transgressed after.

"Can you give me a why?" he had asked while I was waiting at the elevator.

"I can't do this. String you along. I'm not worth it. You were only meant to last for a short while and you know it too. Don't settle for someone like me later on. It's not all about medicine. Give yourself a little taste. If only you treated yourself as well as you did me."