Chapter IX: Transition

As I laid in the darkness of my bedroom, I was jolted awake by violent pounding. Pounding followed by the noise of claws scraping against the hardwood floors; the cats bolting out of the room and down the hallway to make their frightened escape. Through the gray drapes swaying from the reverberations, I could make out parts of what was outside. I saw shadows of multiple hands pounding on my bedroom windows.

I could make out flat palms and then fists; slamming back and forth on the panes. They wouldn’t stop. The drapes now rapidly curling like vertical waves in a tumultuous sea.

I was frozen; completely paralyzed by what I was witnessing. Multiple figures outside my windows trying desperately to break the glass with fists and get into my home. I tried tirelessly to move, jerking back and forth yet somehow completely anchored to my bed. I knew any wrong movement might be my end.

I tried to wake myself up; I had to be dreaming.

I finally gave in to the paralysis, hoping that my stillness would save me from whatever was lurking beyond the walls. Where was my phone? I thought. My eyes darted left to right. In the pitch black I tried to make out any semblance of an iPhone. Just as I saw the outline of it on my nightstand, the pounding stopped.

In the same abruptness that the clamoring ceased, so did my immobility. I immediately sat up and grabbed my phone; violently trembling from the terror that has just ensued. In a crazed state, I started to search the contacts in my phone. I needed to call my friend, Ben; he would know what to do. I could barely get a grasp of my current reality; unable to get my fingers to properly dial or search for him. Before I could press any definitive button, I heard my closet door slowly start to creak.

I knew it wasn’t the cats.

My closet was right next to my bed; a massive walk-in so deep and dark and not three feet from my face. I could hear the small, old knob turn and could make out the faint outline of the door as it started to slowly push open towards me. All my childhood fears rushed to the back of my skull like blood. Perhaps the Monster in the closet was real all along; not make believe or in our heads as our parents would have us believe.

I could make out the large shadow that was now towering over me; its hot breath I could feel on my face as the hairs on my body stood at attention. And as the door swept wide open to reveal what had been hidden in its depths, I channeled every ounce of rage left in my body and screamed at the Monster that had now emerged.

This time, I was the one eliciting fear. I stood up on my bed. My slender 4’11 frame now the one towering over him.

“Try something, Monster. I fucking dare you.”

***

I woke up that next day around noon; the sun peaking through the same gray drapes that haunted my dreams not hours before.

I looked at my phone; dozens of text messages from friends and family just “checking in.” They knew I hated the attention; I’ve always been that way.

I had dreams like that often. Sometimes they were less scary than the reality of the adjustment to a new life. I once was able to escape in my sleep; but now I couldn’t escape there either. I knew I was going to have to get away. For the time being; however, I stayed away from the house as much as possible.

I was the first to suggest happy hours after work and, on the weekends, I would do everything in my power to not spend time in the house alone.

I spent many nights sleeping at friends. My work friend, Ben, often lending me his basement couch to crash on when I was too scared to be at my house alone for the night. There was something about his constant happiness that was refreshing. His optimism and laughter was always so contagious that he made it easy for me to forget my troubles for a few hours each day. He knew when to be sad with me but knew when to crack a joke or switch the subject. He read me like a book.

I spent a lot of time on his old plaid couch; occasionally able to doze off for minutes at a time while he watched TV on the other couch, played video games, or socialized upstairs with his roommates. Often times, I would wake up with a quart of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream and a spoon sitting on the table in front of me.

The days turned to weeks. Before I knew it, it was mid-May and my ex and I were negotiating via text about the $50,000 my family and I lost from non-refundable wedding deposits. All my savings were gone. He mailed a check to my parents for the first $20,000 with a note apologizing for what he had done.

His letter read this:

“Words cannot even begin to describe how deeply sorry I am to both you and <my dad, my brother> and most of all…Lindsay. What I did is completely inexcusable and blatantly wrong. I know that and I regret my poor decision. Lindsay is a once-in-a-lifetime love and destroying that love is something that I will always have to live with. I wish it didn’t take me so long to realize that, like I used to in the better half of Lindsay and my relationship. Lindsay is truly a special and remarkable girl and it is so easy to fall in love with her. Her love is uncanny, unlike any other. Somewhere alone the way, I forgot that. I shut down. I shut down on her, which is not fair to someone as special as Lindsay.

Lindsay was the love of my life and I destroyed it. I’m so sorry you now have to try and put her back together. But Lindsay is the strongest and most courageous person I know. She’s the best person I know. She will love again. She will be happy again. It may never be me in the future, but she deserves every ounce of happiness and love and she will find that once again.

I know you put a lot of time, energy and money into this wedding. And I am truly grateful for all your help and support throughout the entire wedding planning process. I am also truly grateful to know such an amazing family and I will cherish the happy memories we all shared together and the many nights yelling at each other and calling each other “dumb f**ks” over Catch Phrase. I will always love every one of you, just as I will always love Lindsay.

Accompanying this letter is a cashier’s check, as I wanted to put some repayment in your hands immediately. This will be the first repayment installment until Lindsay and I figure out what we are doing with the condo. I know Lindsay is broken, and I take fully responsibility for everything. I just wish I would take every bit of hurt within her and put it on myself.

Regretfully and with love,

<insert sociopath’s name here>”

***

It’s pretty convincing, isn’t it? I remember my parents and I reading it and feeling badly for him. I had moments of worrying that his life was crumbling to the ground; wondering what I should have done to prevent it; to save him from himself. I found myself wanting to reach out to see if everything was okay, but then realizing I was just falling for his meticulously placed trap.

Isn’t it funny how sometimes you want to believe something is real or good to the point that you start to convince yourself? I finally started trusting my instincts, something I wish I had done years ago. That’s the problem with always seeing the good in people, you start to put blinders up to what is real. Deep down you know what demons lie beneath but you are able to ignore. Perhaps because you just don’t want to know what the demons look like face to face. You revert your attention, never having to face the evil in the eye. Now, over a year and a half later, there are days where I wish I wasn’t so callous with certain people or in specific moments, but I now know why this has changed. Perhaps one day my faith in people will be restored. Restored while always remaining cautious.

***

My ex still had a remaining balance with my family and I. About $30,000. I took nothing from his first check myself. How could I? The guilt of what my parents had spent, the time they had invested; it was too much. It was hard enough seeing their faces and the looks I now got; knowing how they ached for me and my misfortune. Knowing how they had saved up slowly over the years to afford the nicest wedding they could imagine. I couldn’t take a dime more from what they had already generously provided.

My ex and I texted about the condo. He told me the week after his confession that we would sell it and he could use the proceeds from the sale to make my parents whole. It was at that time that he said he would only keep paying the mortgage through June.

“That’s not fair,” I told him. “This is my home and why should I be uprooted because of your foolish mistake?”

Despite my hating to be there, I was determined to keep my home. The symbol of my many years of hard work. I finally had something of my own. I was proud of my home, I loved my neighbors, and I didn’t want to be forced to change one more thing in my life. The walls were bare, but I would restore them with new pictures of my friends, the rooms would hear stories of my adventures and, if I was lucky, one day I might share it with a person that I loved; a love unprecedented, honest and real.

After crunching some numbers, I told him that I wanted to keep it.

I did research and knew that if he deeded the property to me, I could refinance the mortgage myself and it would no longer be a joint property.

The way I saw it, it would be best for both of us. I would no longer be financially tied to him and he would no longer be financially tied to me. I wouldn’t have to lose my home. If he agreed, my family and I would forgive the rest of his debt and he could walk away a free man; free to live his life however he chose without having to liquidate his other property, 401K, or any account in his name.

It was that simple. I was willing to take the risky gamble on the property. The gamble that one day, I may not be able to sell it for a profit of $30K or even a profit at all. A gamble that meant my family and I may never be made whole. This gamble; however, was worth it because it would have rid me of him forever. If he ever cared for me at all, if he meant what he said in that letter about my future happiness, why wouldn’t he agree?

“You don’t make enough money and you’ll never get approved,” he said.

He was wrong.

My friend and co-worker, Ben, had previously worked in the mortgage industry. He gave me the number of his old colleagues and I was pre-approved. All I would need from my ex would be a signature.

“I’m done paying the mortgage after June,” he said again abruptly.

I couldn’t believe what I was reading. He wouldn’t agree to my terms but he was saying he was done paying. We hadn’t even listed it yet and, even if we had, it certainly wouldn’t have sold that quickly.

The Monster had begun to emerge and back me into a corner.

May 21, 2018, 7:02 PM: Text Messages

“I’m not putting money in the joint account come July first,” he said.

‘That’s wrong.” I said. “I do not need that added pressure. If we list, you would still need to pay.”

“Figure it out, because I’m not paying.”

He then demanded I find a roommate or begin the refinance process. Both of which, didn’t give me much time. I had a little over a month before complete and utter financial ruin.

***

As the month of May slowly progressed and transitioned into June, panic slowly overcame me. I hustled to try and find a renter that could live with me; to rid my ex of his burden to the condo while I worked through the refinance process. I didn’t want to live with just anyone; I wanted to feel safe. A few acquaintances and friends of friends came for a showing; however, nothing was panning out.

As my search continued, the tension with my ex seemed to cool down bit; switching back and forth from backhanded jabs to business discussions around the condo and paperwork. Despite his snarky remarks and attitude, things seemed to be progressing. I knew in the very least I’d be able to sustain the condo bills alone for a few months if I absolutely had to.

The paperwork was in and soon a third party would be sending over the deed documents to my ex for him to sign. Once that was done, I would be free.

***

As the days went by, I still struggled with my time at the condo. I spent more nights out with friends during the week than I care to admit and I continued to sleep on Ben’s couch whenever I felt the anxiety coming on. One night at his house, before I was going to turn in for the night, I saw him start to inflate a blow up mattress.

“Come on,” he said. “You’re gonna sleep in here from now on.”

He moved it onto his bedroom floor and gave me proper pillows and sheets.

“This way if you need to talk, I’ll be right here,” he said.

***

That night I struggled to sleep. I quietly tossed and turned on the blow up mattress, trying desperately not to wake Ben up from the squeaks of my body against the plastic bed.

“Can’t sleep?” He whispered.

“No,” I said softly, painfully choking back tears.

“Do you want to sleep here instead?”

“You don’t mind?”

“‘Course not.”

I slowly climbed up to his bed with my blanket in tow and laid on my back next to him. He asked me what was on my mind and I slowly began to unveil all the words that had been hiding in my head for weeks. I explained the feelings of shame, fear and anger; verbally walking through the quiet suffering I had been experiencing alone on my island. Tears dripped down my face and into my hair. I tried to muffle the sound of crying but I knew he could distinguish the faint quiver in my voice as I spoke.

What was only five or ten minutes of talking felt like an eternity, and the release of my emotions felt like a heavy burden had been lifted off my broken soul and into the air.

After a few minutes of silence, Ben spoke softly.

“Everything is going to be okay; I promise.”

We said our good nights as he rolled over; turning his back to me as I turned mine to his. For the first time in weeks, I was able to sleep through the night.

***

June 13th, 2018

I had been dreading this week.; my birthday week. My work team had an outing to the White Sox game on the South Side. A group of us took the red line home late that night, one by one my friends getting off at their respective stops. I recall walking home with one of them from the Belmont El stop. As he turned right to head South down Broadway, we parted and I turned left; walking the rest of the way alone in the dark. I spent the walk dreading the looming birthday wishes I would be receiving in a few short hours. I dreaded what my ex would do or say; wondering what could possibly bother me more: well wishes or no acknowledgment at all.

As I walked home a text message came in from Ben.

“Birthday plans tomorrow?”

I hesitated to respond; I knew I’d feel pathetic saying no. My parents had offered to come up, but I told them I wanted to be alone. I couldn’t bear looking at them even months later. The shame was too much; and it was for a long time.

“No plans,” I replied.

“Well, let’s do something then.”

***

The next day came. I woke up feeling better than usual; dressing in a blue sundress and taking more time to do my hair and makeup. For the first time in a while, I felt pretty.

As I walked to the bus stop, a text came in from my ex:

Friday, June 14th 8:24 a.m.

“Happy birthday, love ya!”

I rolled my eyes and closed the screen. I wasn’t going to think about him today.

After work, Ben and I got on the red line and exited at Addison. We stopped by his Wrigleyville apartment briefly, where he grabbed a large gift bag.

“What’s in there? And where are we going?” I asked.

He shot me a devilish grin.

We walked West down Waveland, right onto Southport and then into one of my favorite BYOB spots in the city, Tango Sur.

We sat outside; it was a beautiful night. Ben had picked out a bottle of Cabernet to bring; one I’m sure he had seen me drink at his house while I was simultaneously cramming my face full of ice cream.

The waiter brought two glasses and poured for us both. I laughed as Ben sipped; knowing all to well how much he disliked wine.

He grinned; knowing exactly why I was laughing, smacking his lips together like a true wine connoisseur.

“Ah yes, this vintage; flinty and austere,” he proclaimed sarcastically.

Everything always fell into place when we were together; like friends who had known each other for years. I had always adored Ben. We had the same sense of humor and our time together was always spent laughing, singing and talking about anything and everything. Him being seven years my junior, I always gave him unsolicited life advice and told him how lucky his future girl would be. He was a big kid with a heart of gold. We both were. I was glad we had become close friends.

“Want to open your present now? He asked.

Hating the attention, I begrudgingly pulled the bag to my lap and started taking out the tissue paper.

“Oh my god; you didn’t,” I said.

I burst out laughing, pulling out a brand new Nintendo Switch and Mario Kart game.

We had spent many of our work trips to the Pacific Northwest wandering around Target stores; getting snacks and killing time. Every time I would stop in front of the Nintendo Switch display in the electronics section, bargaining with myself over why I needed one; Ben always using his sales tactics to try and push me over the edge to pull the trigger.

“Is this a present for me or for you?” I joked.

He laughed, “Both! And now we can play each other on the plane to Portland for our trip in July!”

I smiled and he smiled back.

“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you for everything.”

***

As June came to a close, I walked into work one day and sat down at my computer. Before I could settle in and open my laptop, my manager came over and asked to have a word. He escorted me to one of the small conference rooms on our floor.

We sat down and he slid over a piece of paper to me. It was an offer letter; I was being promoted.

While he and I never spoke a word about my situation, I knew he knew and I knew he would never ask. I looked at the number on the paper and felt a sense of relief. The raise couldn’t have come at a better time.

I thanked him and went back over to my desk. As I sat down, I felt elated but then suddenly overwhelmingly sad. This meant that Ben and I no longer would be partners. No more trips, no more target runs, no more sing-a-long car adventures.

I asked him to go for a walk so I could break the news. He knew it was coming and was happy for me; I knew he would be.

He asked if I’d be accompanying him on our last trip to Portland and I said I still was. Because it was going to be my last trip out West, I told him I was going to rent the car and drive the coast.afterwards. I needed to clear my head.

“Where are you headed?” He asked.

“Carmel.” I responded.

I had lived there as a child and it was always where my mind escaped to during difficult times. Sitting on the cliffs overlooking the sea. I needed to see the ocean. I needed to feel small against the vast sea; knowing that all that was happening to me was insignificant and temporary. I needed to make a new memory. I needed to cry. It was calling to me like a siren to a weary traveler. I needed her now more than ever. I needed to clear my head; to drive the winding coasts of California Highway 1 with no plans and no reservations. I needed to feel the wind in my hair and the sun on my face. I needed a reminder that I was free. I needed a great escape.

Sometimes you need to go back to where you came from to see where you are going.

Ben looked at me and smiled.

“I’m coming with you.”