The Ahern Brothers Collection, page 26
Wes,
Merry Christmas. I wanted to knit you a sweater, but I’m not a crafty person. I tried to learn, but knitting is an art. My fingers are too clumsy. It’s frustrating because I have the mobility, but my fine motor skills suck. One day I might try to learn again, but for now I’ll just focus on painting. It’s calming and easier to accept when it’s not perfect. Beauty isn’t always flawless.
Thank you so much for the socks. They are fuzzy and warm and the best present ever. Thank you for the books and the candy. The peppermint bark is already gone. Tell your mom that I appreciate the gesture. In case you’re wondering, I haven’t spoken to her yet. One day I’ll send her a letter and explain my silence to her.
Why are you so quiet? You sent the package with the Christmas card, but I could tell that Anita signed your name. Felt impersonal. Are you upset at me? I hope not.
If I don’t write before the New Year. I wish you the best one so far. May all your wishes come true.
Love,
Abby
January 1st
Abby,
Since the first time I met you, there’s something about you that called to me. Your soul, your heart, or maybe it was your pain. The first day that I made you laugh it was like the heavens opened and the sun shined. You’re the sun, and I orbit around you. You’re so fucking important, and yet I screwed up my priorities when it mattered.
When I learned what happened to you, I had a hard time processing it. Then, Shaun took you right from under my nose. I’m not in a good place, so forgive me if I don’t write to you. Please be patient with me and don’t think that I’ve abandoned you. I’m trying to find myself under a pile of rubble. When I couldn’t reach you and felt useless, my entire existence lost meaning. I broke into a million pieces, and I can’t seem to find them to put myself back together.
Everything would be so much easier if you were here. Life is meaningless without you. This year has to be different for both of us. I believe that we are resilient and have dreams. I’m moving on. Not forgetting about my old life or you, but accepting that who I’ve been for the past six years wasn’t who I wanted to be and that you’re out of reach.
That day in the hospital I didn’t understand what you meant when you told me to chase my dreams. Fall in love with your life before you fall in love with someone else. I’m still cracking that code, and when I do I hope that you’re close by, so you can be that someone else. You took my heart with you, and I don’t want it back. I trust you’ll keep it safe. Maybe one day you’ll come back to me.
Missing you,
Wes
January 7th
Wes,
Remember that it’s always you and me. The two of us. I’m with you in spirit just like you’re with me. If you need me, reach out. I might not be able to help much, but I’m a great listener. I’m so happy to learn that you’re daring to go out and fall in love with your life. If you happen to finally fall in love with someone, know that I’ll be happy for you. You deserve happiness, love, and a life full of dreams.
You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, and I hope you’re not the last. I’ll treasure you and save our memories close to my heart.
Love,
Abby
February 13th
Wes,
Happy Anti-Valentine’s. I wish you were around to celebrate with me. The holiday where you refuse to go out on a date. Ever. Will you ever break that strike?
I hope not. It’s so much fun to celebrate with gummy bears and action movies. The year when we played ‘would you rather’ with Sterling was so much fun too.
How are you Weston Ahern?
I miss hearing from you.
Love,
Abby
February 20th
Wes,
Thank you so much for the champagne and daiquiri gummy bears. I received them just as I was heading to therapy. It was nice to have something to munch on during that hour. Though, the flavors you sent sparked a different kind of conversation.
I discussed with Rose (that’s my therapist) my alcohol consumption. Since my trip to England, there hasn’t been a day that I didn’t drink at least a glass of wine or a cocktail. I used alcohol to mask the shame and be bold and free. It gave me courage while I was drinking it. Not that alcohol gave me any freedom. If anything, I felt like I needed even more when the effect went away.
The constant brutality I lived through growing up still haunted me. It felt as though a hand gripped my throat. I could hardly breathe because of Corbin and Shaun’s vicious attacks. The grasp is loosening, and I’m not afraid of my own shadow anymore. Certainly here, I don’t drink to make things better.
It’s funny how in therapy I start talking about one thing and end up discussing something totally different in depth.
Today we started out with my drinking, and we ended up discussing you. I wonder how difficult it was for you to be with a person who was constantly unhappy and in need of reassurance that the world wouldn’t end. It can’t be easy to live with someone who is ready to jump out of her skin. As the months pass, it becomes clear to me that you had too many people to look after and too little time to care for yourself.
Your silence worries me, yet I understand it. It’s time for you to step away and take charge of your life. I hope with all my heart that you’re finding yourself under the rubble like you said. I can’t imagine the pain you suffered after seeing the person you’d cared for so diligently almost die. Remember that what happened to me wasn’t your fault. Just like it wasn’t mine either. I went willingly because I wanted to save Peyton. I believed that I had put her in danger. If I could protect her, I might overcome what I did to Ava, and if I died, it was because I deserved it.
I know better now, but back then that was my train of thought. My therapist calls it survivor’s guilt. How was I supposed to know that she was with Shaun? I tried to feel a little bad about her, but once I learned that she helped him get clients and victims … I’m glad she’s serving a life sentence.
I get it now. I didn’t put her in jail just like I didn’t kill Ava. You didn’t fail me. Never think like that. If anything, you saved me and kept me sane for six years. It’s my turn to look after myself though. To stop thinking about the things that I couldn’t change. There’s no way to bring back the dead or what they took away from me.
I’m putting myself back together with the pieces I have and finding new ones that’ll fit just right.
Love,
Abby
March 20th
Wes,
Sometimes, when I’m writing these letters I weep and press my pain into each page. Each word and sentence I record become memories, witnesses. As though each word were a flower set to dry beside others. It’s like a photograph of multicolored emotions and landscapes with moments that bleed one into another.
Every tear becomes a word as it lands on the notebook. There’s a quote on the same page that reads, “If I could have, I wouldn’t have chosen this life.” Not sure who wrote it, but it fits into my life. Except this is what I’ve been given, and now I need to learn to admire each of the flowers in my garden and work hard to cultivate the most beautiful ones while I prune those that can’t stay with me.
There’s some beauty in my past. You and your family are the best gift. Every trip we took—a treasure. It’s the tenderness and love you guys showed me that kept me afloat. Those memories are what sewed me back together.
I’ve no idea how long this will take. There are days that I feel awful. Like my skin has been peeled from me and I’m waiting to grow it back. It’s hard to manage—to breathe. I’m in a loop where some nights I feel like I’m being sucked into a black hole. I don’t know how to survive when it feels that I’m being ripped in two.
Here, I’m not allowed to numb myself. I feel so much that I’m not sure if I’ll survive this journey. I pray for courage. The doctors insist that I’m brave. Being here is the proof that I’m stronger than many others. It all might be true, but when will I find the light? When will I be able to step outside into the real world without a mask, without pretending, and be Abby Lyons.
All these feelings pass like the seasons, just so much faster. Somedays I see them like flowers that pop out in spring and others, there’s only darkness and bitter cold. And during all those moments I can’t help but miss you to the point of not being able to breathe because you’re not here to hold me. Will I ever stop needing you so much?
Please don’t forget me.
Love,
Abby
Seven
Wes
My hands grip the cold glass of water in my hands, my eyes swivel toward the back of my head in a stress headache. I sigh as the walls become like those in a fun house, changing shape in the blink of an eye. My breath carries the stench of alcohol that enters my nostrils, and my mouth is sore from the amount of alcohol I poured down my throat.
There’s a knock at my door. I clear my throat as I stand up, only to fall back down on the chair in an unbalanced attempt to walk to the door. Maybe I should tell whoever is on the other side either to fuck off or just open the door. I try to stand again, but the door opens before I can move.
“You’re drunk,” Sterling says as he enters my office.
“What gave it away?” I slur my words, staring at Abby’s last letter.
The envelope is sealed. I’m afraid to open it.
“Anita called me.” He tilts his head toward her office.
“I should fire her.”
“What are you doing with your life?”
Fuck if I know.
“She almost died.” I wave the envelope.
He has no idea what it’s like to live with the pain of knowing that you almost lost the one person who means everything to you. I did, and now that she’s far away, I have no fucking idea how to put one foot in front of the other. The life I’m living is not what I want, and I’m trying to fix it, but every time I go to the therapist some new trauma comes up. How do I fucking feel about being abandoned?
The truth is, the abandonment of my birth parents doesn’t hurt as much as the fucked-up relationship I had with my adoptive father. He loved me, but I’ll never know if it was just because I did what he said, or because I was his son. My mother leaving after he died hurt. It’s like we didn’t matter once she lost her husband. I resent Mom. If she had told me about Abby’s abusive history, I could’ve done so much more before Shaun and Corbin found her.
I comb my hands through my hair. Because of me, Abigail Lyons is trying to rebuild her life, just like the doctor had to reconstruct her hands.
“Abby would be so disappointed if she knew what you’re doing to yourself.”
I glare at him.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” my brother insists. “The fucking asshole who abused her and almost killed her is to blame.”
“If I hadn’t been at the office,” I yell. “I knew she was in danger. And yet, I had to check on that fucking IPO that’s worth shit.”
He sighs shaking his head and glaring at me.
“Weston, I can’t believe that I’m saying this, but you’re no longer the CEO of this company. I’m going to have to take over until you get your fucking shit straightened out.”
“Are you going to sculpt around the office?” I laugh. He has no idea how to run this place.
Sterling never gave a shit about the company. I had to sacrifice my life to be the person Dad wanted.
“It was your choice,” my brother slams the desk. “I told you several times to stop, but you didn’t. It fucking hurt that he never approved of me, but at least I’m satisfied with my life. Now, I’m going to put it on hold while you get your shit together.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I give a damn about you. I love you,” he says. “I hired people who know what to do and who are sober.”
“You can’t take this away from me…” my voice falters. “It’s the only thing I have left.”
“Mom worries about you.” Sterling says.
“You told her?”
“No, but you haven’t answered her calls,” he says.
I bury my head in my hands. This nightmare is worse than the ones I’ve been having lately. At least those come to an end. This one’s just beginning.
“What do I do?”
Sterling crosses his arms, sighing. “It’s been almost a year, Weston. You have to pick up the pieces and pull yourself together.”
I stare at his shoes through the gap between my hands. “I have no fucking idea how she’s doing.”
“Abby is doing well. If you’d open her letter and write to her … but you chose to ignore her.”
“What do I say? I fucked up her life.”
“You’re a broken record. A drunk broken record who needs to fuck off from my office. I tried everything, but I’m done with you.”
I look up finally, staring at him in disbelief. “What?” His words don’t register.
“I’m done looking after you. If you want to continue screwing up your life, do it somewhere else,” he says.
Two burly men dressed in black suits enter my office.
“Gentlemen, take him away,” Sterling orders them.
“You can’t do this,” I say. This has to be a dream.
“Watch me, asshole,” he says sternly.
May 2nd
Happy Birthday!
It’s been so long since your last letter, weeks. It left me worried and drained. I hope you’re doing a lot better and that your days are filled with spring sunshine. Sorry for not sending you anything before today. I’ve written a lot, but I don’t think I’ll ever send them to you. Know that I’m thinking of you every day, and I wish we could spend this day together. Soon, maybe?
Yours,
Wes
May 5th
Wes,
Thank you for all the presents. You spoil me, and I’m grateful for your thoughtfulness. I also hope that we can be together soon. Therapy has been harder these past few days. Every thought lingers around the circumstances of my childhood. It’s about myself, my mother, the abuse I suffered at the hands of so many. It’s hard to relive the memories in order to get over them.
I feel raw and vulnerable. Writing about it isn’t easy, but maybe someday I’ll be able to share it with you.
Love,
Abby
July 8th
Wes,
It’s been more than a year since the last time I saw you. I’ll leave the center in about a month. Can you believe it? I’m about to start a new life. I don’t know what I want to do or where I want to live. Our paths continue to diverge, and I’m afraid that we’ll never see each other again. That the connection we once shared is gone—forever. My heart can pinpoint the moment our bond ruptured. It was when I told you what really happened to me when I was younger. We tried to hold on to the few remaining threads, but maybe there’s nothing left.
You’ll always be special to me, and I hope that if we see one another again, we can catch up and be happy for each other.
Love,
Abby
August 9th
Abby,
I hope this reaches you before you leave or that they forward it to your new address. You worded perfectly what I haven’t been able to express over these past few months. Without meaning to, we lost our link. It fucking hurts so much. One day though, I’m going to find you because I know in my heart that we’re destined to be part of each other’s lives. Not sure as to what or how.
I'm in love with our memories, with the possibility of falling back in love with you.
If nothing, I’m a man of my word, and I promise this isn’t the last goodbye. Just a long pause.
Yours,
Wes
Eight
Abby
One year later
I never believed in love at first sight, but I’m head over heels in love, and it hasn’t been more than five minutes since we met.
“What do you think?” Sterling smiles.
Sterling and I got closer after I moved into Esperanza’s Home. We wrote to each other often and he visited me a couple of times at the Center. He’s been keeping tabs on me since I left. Out of the family, he’s the only one who still talks to me.
“You’re falling for him, aren’t you?”
I roll my eyes and ignore his cocky smirk.
“Who wouldn’t? He’s adorable!” I pick up the pup and stare at him. “Best present ever.”
“It’s my you’ve been out of the hole for a year present,” Sterling says.
“Thank you for the present, but I wouldn’t call the rehab center a hole. It was a very nice place where I made friends and learned how to cope.” I place the dog on my lap and scratch him behind the ears.
I hid myself away for an entire year, safely cocooned from the real world while I healed my wounds.
“There’s still a lot I have to work through, but you could say I’m better.”
“That’s where this little guy comes in,” he says. “I read that Labradors and Golden Retrievers are great therapy dogs.”
Sterling is right, and though I played with the idea of getting a dog six months ago, I soon realized that a dog in a tiny studio in Brooklyn wouldn’t be comfortable. Even now, I’m not sure if accepting this gorgeous present is smart.
“He’s going to get big though,” I say with a heavy sigh. “This isn’t the best place for such a handsome boy.”
“You should come home; back to Colorado,” he suggests.
“Slugger,” I say, opening my eyes wide. “That’s a loaded suggestion. You can’t possibly be saying that.”
