Once upon a time there lived a young girl, who battled
depression and an older man who struggled with addiction. They fell head over
heels in love with one another and foolishly thought their love could conquer
all, that they’d beat the odds and live happily ever after. But some of the
most tragic love stories are disguised as the greatest fairytales.
I thought we were past the pain, that we could finally be
happy. I never imagined I’d be pregnant, alone and battling mental illness
while my husband overdosed in prison. I also didn’t think he’d miss our
daughter’s birth because a judge mandated him to rehab for ten months.
Now, he’s free and I’m broken beyond repair. Disconnected
from everything I ever loved, including my newborn baby, I’m the casualty of another
blackout.
Leather.
Lace.
Him.
Me.
Two tortured souls, navigating Hell, trying to find that
happily ever after—wondering if it even exists.
*This is part two of the Leather & Lace duet and over
70,000 words.*
Excerpt
Blackout,
Book Two Excerpt: “Not A Single I Love You”
©Copyright
2019 Janine Infante Bosco
Gripping
the doorknob, I draw in a deep breath and hold it. As soon as I find the
courage to open the door, I release the breath and shuffle my feet inside the
room. Before I can take another step, a uniformed officer stands in front of
me.
“Can I help
you?”
“I…I’m his
wife,” I stammer. Silently, he rakes his eyes over me. I’m about to ask if he
needs to see my I.D. or something, but he moves to the side and allows me room
to enter.
“No
touching,” he warns. All too familiar with the rules and regulations
surrounding a prisoner, I jerk my head in response.
“Lace,
baby, is that you?”
My eyes
snap towards the sound of Blackie’s voice and a gasp escapes my lips at the
sight of him. Shackled to the bed by a pair of handcuffs, the man I married is
unrecognizable. Aside from the dry blood and harsh bruises covering his beautiful
face, his left eye is swollen shut and just below the brow there is a deep gash
that’s been stitched with black thread.
“Lace?”
“I’m here,”
I croak.
“C’mere,
let me see you. I need to see you,” he slurs desperately.
The bitter
part of me wants to let him stew and feel everything he inflicted on me in that
courtroom. All the pain and every ounce of heartache. But the bigger part, the
part that loves him unconditionally, runs to his side.
“There’s my
gorgeous girl,” he rasps, turning his head to get a better look at me. “Don’t
cry,” he murmurs. “I hate when you fucking cry.”
“Then
please stop making me,” I say, choking on a sob.
Quietly, he
continues to stare at me, and I watch as his bottom lip trembles. Tears spill
from his good eye as he pulls at his chained wrist. The cuffs slap against the
bedrail and he releases a guttural cry.
“I’m so
fucking sorry,” he rasps. His tone remorseful.
I remain
silent as I stare at him in disbelief, wondering how we got to this tragic
point in our marriage. The longer we continue to stare at one another, I start
to think I’m punishing him with my silence, and I try to find it in me to
respond to his apology.
“How are
you feeling? How’s my baby? Did you get the teddy bear?”
At the
mention of the teddy bear, my gaze snaps to his and his apology is forgotten.
Suddenly, I’m consumed by anger as I recall waking up to find that stuffed toy
in my lap.
“I stood in
that gift shop mulling it over, trying to decide between pink and blue,” he
reveals, pausing for a beat as he tries to crack a smile. His face is too
swollen and all he really manages is a lip curl. “It’s a girl, Lace,” he
continues. “I feel it and I dream of her. Every fucking night, I dream of our
daughter.”
“Stop!”
I can’t
listen to him go on about our baby when he turned his back on us. I’m sure he’s
got an excuse, a grand one at that, but I’m done listening to him. He broke
something between us the day he threw that teddy bear in my lap and he built a
concrete wall between us inside that courtroom. Sadly, I would’ve forgiven him
for those things. I would’ve done everything in my power to piece together what
he broke, and I would’ve torn the wall down until it was nothing but a pile of
dust.
“You
promised me,” I cry, stepping closer to the bed so he can see the pain in my
eyes. The pain he put there. Choking on my tears, I shake my head as my
knuckles whiten around the bedrail. “I heard the baby’s heartbeat, Blackie,” I
rasp. “I reached for you and you weren’t there.”
“Baby…”
“You
weren’t there!”
“I’m—”
“Sorry,
yeah, I know,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s not good enough anymore.”
“I know I
fucked up,” he chokes, his voice raw with emotion. “I fucking let you down, but
if you let me explain—”
“I don’t
want to hear it,” I interject, lifting my hands to wipe the tears rolling down
my cheeks. “How many times are we going to do this, Blackie?”
“As many
times as it takes to get it right,” he answers.
“No! You
don’t get it, do you? It’s not about us anymore. We can’t keep doing this. For
fuck’s sake, you’re chained to a hospital bed. I can’t even touch you,” I
shriek, eyeing the guard who is doing his best to appear invisible. “You know,
I wanted it to be you…I wanted us to go the distance, Blackie. I wanted you to
be the one who remained at my side when I lost myself. I wanted you to be the
man who reminded me of the love we made and the family we created. At the end
of a long life, I wanted your face to be the last one I saw before I died. I
wanted your hand to be the one I held when I left this world. It was supposed
to be you. You promised you’d be that man. You swore on everything we were and
everything we’d ever be.”
“I’m
yours,” he growls. “But you got it wrong, baby. So, fucking wrong. You’re not
going to lose yourself and I’ll never have to remind you of the love we made,
because if you ever forget, I’ll just make you fall in love with me all over
again. Every day, for the rest of my
life. Baby, don’t give up on me. I’m begging you. One more chance. I’ll make it
right. Schwartz is working on getting me out of here.”
Tears fall
endlessly.
Mine.
His.
They’re the
tears of love.
Of two
broken hearts.
As much as
I want to believe everything he’s saying, I know better. He doesn’t mean to lie
to me. He doesn’t mean to break my heart. He doesn’t mean any of it, but he
also can’t help it.
He can’t
help himself.
“You know,”
I start, pausing to clear my throat and wipe my eyes. “I think you like
breaking,” I whisper. My words aren’t meant to be insulting, they’re meant to
inspire. To help him see the error of his ways. I speak to him not as his wife,
but as a trained professional—something, I swore I’d never do. I guess we’re
both going against our word now.
“I think
you like falling apart because for a brief pause, you get to feel whole after
someone picks up the pieces. After the euphoria of being complete wears, you
come crashing down. You realize you did nothing to help yourself, and you do
whatever you can to break again, hoping this time you’ll be the one to pick up
the pieces for yourself. I wanted to be the one who changed you. I wanted to
breathe life into your fragile soul.”
“You
are…you’re everything, Lacey,” he shouts, his voice full of conviction.
“I’m
everything and nothing at all, Blackie,” I whisper. “I spoke with Schwartz, he
says you’re going to have to go to rehab.”
“I’ll get
him to appeal the judge’s decision. Whatever it takes to get me home to you and
the baby,” he insists.
“Blackie,
you have a problem, a serious problem and twenty-eight days in rehab won’t fix
you,” I tell him, watching as his expression goes grim. His jaw tightens and
the air around us changes. It becomes thick.
Too thick.
“What are
you saying?”
“I’m
saying, I can’t fix you. I’ve come to terms with it and now it’s time you do as
well. If the judge sends you to rehab, I think you should go. If you want any
kind of relationship with our child, you will
go.”
“Don’t
fucking do that.”
“What am I
doing?”
“Don’t use
our child against me.”
“I’m not,”
I admonish, hurt he would even suggest the idea. “I’m looking out for our
child. There’s a difference. Blackie, you have no idea how it feels to be on
the receiving end of your bad decisions. You have no idea how heartbreaking it
is to never feel good enough.”
“Don’t I?
Why the hell do you think I’m as fucked as I am? I know I don’t deserve you.”
“No,
Blackie, you think you don’t deserve me. I’ve done nothing to make you believe
that and everything to convince you otherwise. Now, you survived another
overdose and by the looks of it, a beating that probably should’ve killed you.
God is giving you another chance to get right with yourself. Make it count. Not
for me. Not for our baby, but for yourself.”
“And what
happens if I don’t?”
“I think
you know the answer to that,” I whisper.
This story
of ours won’t end with us old and gray. It’ll end tragically with our beautiful
child never knowing its father and me burying the man I love.
“You didn’t
say it,” he murmurs, forcing my attention back to him.
“What?”
“You didn’t
say you love me.”
I didn’t,
did I? Not a single ‘I love you’. Not
even a ‘Thank God, you’re okay’.
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