We Are US...

"What won't you find?" Z asks. When I panic, I look at a very somber Mack who is watching us but not participating at all.

  Almost begging Mack with his eyes, he shakes his head no to me very slightly. The bastard! He's actually going to make me do this by myself, which I know I should, even though I don't want to. I need Mack's help with this, but I'm fairly sure he's going to make me do it alone.

  "Okay, why are we here? Not that I mind. It's lovely to see you again, Suzanne."

  "Ah, you too," I choke trying to figure out how I start.

  Turning in his chair a little, Z looks right at me before he says, "You look as beautiful as always, Suzanne." Ha! No, I don't. I'm a scarred mess I almost snap but just hold it in.

  Z hates when I talk like that. He always stops me, or tells me off, or waits until I've calmed down before telling me again close to my face without actually touching it that he thinks I'm beautiful. But it's not true.

  "You're a liar," I say loudly. But this time I think I meant to say it out loud.

  Watching Z jolt in his chair, I'm okay with it. He and I need to be honest I think, and if that means I have to start the conversation then I will.

  "I'm a liar?" Z asks with his infamous raised eyebrow as I nod. "How so?"

  Taking a deep breath I go for it. "Every time you tell me I'm beautiful you're lying. And every time you say I'm lovely you're lying. And, um, every time you said you couldn't live without me you were lying!" I yell at the end which totally killed the calm atmosphere I was going for.

  "I can't live without you," Z says calmly to my growing anger.

  "Well, you look alive and well to me. So I guess that was a little Z drama for once, not mine."

  "Really? Would you like to know how I've been living, Suzanne?" He asks as I stare. "Not all that well, actually. I go to work miserably, and afterward I go back to a hotel miserably. I have a drink, eat something, watch tv, then crash on the couch, just to do the same thing the next day. That's how I've been living. I do nothing else, and I don't want to do anything else. So yes, I'm physically living but I'm far from actually living without you."

  "Why are you doing that? You could be out with anyone. You should be out getting laid and having fun being Z." Yes, that sentence actually killed me to say, but it's true. Z should be with someone normal.

  "Should I? When the woman I love is in the hospital ignoring me and making me suffer, so I have to wait to see when she's coming back to me? I should cheat on the woman I've loved and lived with for years now who doesn't think I'm enough apparently? I should go out and party while the beautiful woman I'm in love with struggles to-"

  "You're such a liar!" I cut him off angrily. I don't want to hear any more of all this flowery shit from Z. I don't care, and I hate hearing it.

  In a voice that oozes anger Z says, "Do not call me a liar, Suzanne."

  "Why not? You are. Everything you’ve said to me has been lies. All of it. And I finally woke up."

  "Did you? How exactly did you wake up? No! Better yet, how am I a liar?"

  "Because I'm not beautiful!" I scream totally frustrated with Z and his bullshit lies.

  "You are to me!" Z yells right back.

  "Then you're fucking blind! And I'm sick of all your bullshit all the time!"

  "Really? And what bullshit is that?"

  "You," I exhale.

  Jesus Christ! I can't believe how angry I feel suddenly. I want to scream and rage and tell him to fuck off! I want to slap him and hurt him like he hurts me every single time he lies to me to pacify me.

  Looking at me like I've hurt him, which I know I have, Z asks simply, "Me?" And all the fight leaves me at once.

  Shit, I don't dislike Z. I love him, I know that. I'm just frustrated and pissed, and tired of being with him. But it's not his fault I'm like this. It's all me. As usual.

  "What else do I do that's so bad?" Z asks quietly as I breathe deeply. His deep dark eyes are staring at my face waiting, and I feel nothing but sadness.

  "Nothing... I'm sorry. You're not the problem here. I am," I exhale again as all the anger fades from my body completely. “I’m sorry…”

  “Don’t do that, Suzanne. If you’re angry tell me why. If I’ve pissed you off in some way, tell me that too. You don’t have to be sorry for feeling angry if you are, but please tell me why you are. Because I honestly don’t understand what I did to make you angry with me.”

  “You’ve done nothing, Z. I’m sorry,” I moan because I’m always sorry with Z.

  Looking away from a strangely silent Mack and a desperate sounding Z, I know what I have to do. I think all this anger is simply misplaced sadness because I don't want to do in my heart what I know in my mind is the right thing to do for both of us. It's the right thing for us, it just sucks.

  Pulling up my big girl panties, I finally turn to Z and say it. "Z, I want-"

  "Wait!" He barks quickly cutting me off as I jump in my chair. What the fuck? Ahhhh... Holy buzz kill. "I have to talk to Mack for a minute. Alone."

  "What? Why?"

  "It's personal," he says shaking his head. Personal? Because our impending divorce isn't personal? I giggle stunned.

  "Personal?" I ask softly like I don't know what the word means. Z never does 'it’s personal' with me, only I do it with him. Well, this is new.

  Nodding, he says yes as I stare at him like a moron. Do I stand up? Do I leave? "Do you want some privacy?"

  "Yes, please. I'm sorry, Suzanne. But I really need to talk to Mack for a minute. Is that okay?"

  "Ah, sure."

  Standing, I feel so awkward and confused by the sudden change in Mack’s office I don't know where to go or what to do. It's like I've forgotten how to walk or something.

  "Um, do you want me in the hallway, or like in my room? How long will you be?"

  Turning back to me as he stands, Z reaches out his hand to my face slowly like he's in pain. He has a look that screams something is wrong and I desperately wish I knew what was happening. Waiting, I can't even breathe until he makes contact with me and naturally I turn right into the hand against my face. God, I miss him.

  "Can I hug you?" Z asks like he never would've before. Well, sometimes he asks if I’m freaking out, but usually we both just walk into each other without thought because he needs to hug and I need to be hugged.

  "Yes," I whisper as he hugs me tightly with a low, sad groan.

  Oh god... He's just as warm and strong as he always was. His body though way bigger than mine fits me so well. We’re like puzzle pieces the way we fit together. Exhaling, I rest my head against his chest and breathe him into me. For the last time, I think.

  Oh god… My heart is breaking with the realization that this is probably the last time he’ll ever hug me, and I can’t stand the pain everywhere inside me suddenly.

  Pulling away slowly, Z whispers against my hair, "I'm sorry," and I don't know what he means. He shouldn't ever be sorry to me. He is too good for a sorry to me.

  "You never have to be sorry, Z. You've been everything for far too long to ever say sorry to me for anything between us," I sigh pulling away completely to walk toward the door.

  Opening the door quickly, I realize I don't know how I'm going to get back in. I don't know if they'll come get me, or if I'm just supposed to wait in the hall until they open the door again. I don't know anything right now but the feel of Z and the awful sadness surrounding us.

  I do know walking away from Z is such a physical pain within me, I feel totally broken inside again.

  CHAPTER 19

  Z

  "Z. Sit," Mack says firmly as I fight my whole body from reaching for the closed door to stop Suzanne’s sadness. I have to physically lock myself in place to actually listen to him as I turn around.

  I wanted to go after her so badly, but I knew I couldn't. I think I know where she's headed with us, and I need to have everything out before she does. I need to be honest about the biggest lie I've ever told before

  she changes things forever.
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  "I knew her," I admit on a gasp as the emotion threatens to strangle me.

  My throat is tight and my heart is pounding so hard in my chest I need to hold it so I don't have a heart attack from the fear and pain. I don't know what’s happening to me but I feel a little nauseous which is another first for me in years.

  Leaning forward, Mack asks absolutely everything in only 2 words. "From before?"

  "Yes..."

  Fuck! Between my pounding heart and Mack's shocked face, I don't know what to say as I finally fall into the closest chair. I don't know how to start, and I don't know what to do. I've held this lie for so long, I feel sick with this secret.

  Shaking his head, Mack looks as fucked up as I feel. Leaning forward in his chair nearly across his desk, I don't think he can even speak. I don't think he knows how to speak until he suddenly does.

  "What do you mean?" He asks in a voice filled with such emotion between us I feel the betrayal of what I'm going to say to Mack so strongly I'm afraid I'm going to lose them both over this. "Z?"

  Taking a deep breath, staring at the sad eyes of my best friend, I say what I should have admitted to both of them years ago but couldn’t.

  "Ah, what Suzanne doesn't know or understand is it’s always been about her eyes for me. Her beautiful, nearly clear, pale blue eyes."

  "Yes," Mack nods.

  He knows. Everyone knows what her eyes can do to us. They make us smile, and they make us weep for her. Every feeling she’s ever felt shows in her beautiful eyes.

  "Suzanne's eyes are the eyes of my dreams, Mack. But sometimes they're the eyes of my nightmares, too. Um, I’ve always known her eyes, even before I knew her."

  "Oh fuck, Z. Tell me," Mack pleads breathing hard.

  "What you don't know is I saw her once. I saw her years before, but I didn't know how to tell you when she was fucked up in New York with me the first time, and then it was too late to admit to it when she and I worked everything out the night before her accident. So, I didn't tell either of you after she woke up from the accident because we weren't together, and then we were together again and it seemed too late, and I've just been holding it in since then."

  "When did you see her?" Mack asks cutting me off a little angrily, which I expected.

  Bracing myself, I finally tell it all.

  "Years before, when I stumbled upon my father's sick fucking other life, I saw her. I know I lied when she asked if I ever saw a picture of her when she was little. I know I said I saw a young brunette in my father's office when I realized what he was, which was true."

  "But?"

  "But I saw a young, tortured Suzanne, too," I say quickly like the speed of me admitting it will soften the blow or something.

  Standing to lean against his back window, Mack pauses for only seconds before asking, "You saw her? When?"

  "That day in my father’s office. When I was rummaging through his desk for his extra golf cart keys, I saw the link for 'Graphic'."

  "Graphic?" Mack says like it’s the most disgusting word he's ever heard, which in this situation it truly is.

  "Yes. That's all the file said. But I honestly didn't think it meant graphic like it was graphic images. I thought it had to do with the new graphics for the wineries. I was curious, and even annoyed that he didn't include me in the final say of the new graphics we were going to use on the new wine label from California. So I opened the file pissed that he was going behind my back, and then I was sick," I pause remembering the picture I saw first. "Right there on his goddamn computer. A computer me or my mother could have used at any moment, on any given day. The file was right there..." I whisper remembering that day so clearly.

  "What did you see?" Mack asks in a voice that sounds so far from me and my memories I barely hear him as I struggle with my past.

  "Ah, I saw- Um, on the screen there was a little brunette being raped by a much older man. She was maybe 12 years old if a day, and I was so shocked at the image and so sick so quickly I had to keep swallowing the bile that formed in my throat. I think unconsciously, or maybe I just didn't know what I was doing, I don't know, but I scrolled over one more picture and I was absolutely winded. I was so stunned and nauseous, I remember puking right in my father's garbage can under his desk."

  Feeling the memory of that day so clearly, I actually feel the bile rise up my throat again. Over fifteen years older, and a man, and not a twenty something punk doesn't matter. I feel exactly what I felt that day.

  I feel horror.

  Walking around his desk, Mack actually squats in front of me so I can look at his face. Feeling like I'm drowning in the memory of that day, I grab hold of Mack's eyes to help center me in this horrible moment of my past.

  "What did you see?" Mack asks looking level with me to give me extra support I think.

  "I saw her that day," I choke out barely above a whisper. Shaking my head, I continue before Mack has to ask. "But I didn't know it was Suzanne Beaumont, and I didn't know I would ever see that little girl again. Our parents may have travelled in the same circles, but I didn't know who she was, until I did years later. At the time I didn't know if the pictures were old or new, and I didn't know what happened to that little girl. Mack, I didn't know anything except horror. And blue eyes," I finally exhale as my strangled throat gasps a groan of agony from my chest.

  “It was so bad, Mack,” I cry out. “The picture was torture. You could actually see the torture. She was held down by someone at her back and someone was raping her from behind, but all I could see was her face turned to the camera. She was screaming I think because her mouth was open, but it was her eyes. The picture was black and white, Mack. It was black and white, and all you could see where her wide eyes staring at the camera. And her eyes looked almost entirely white because the blue was just gone in the black and white of the picture. But they held me captive, and I was beyond anything even close to stunned. I didn't know anything but those fucking eyes of this tiny little girl being raped and abused and tortured and-"

  "Z."

  "No," I shake my head so he stops speaking. "I didn't know her. And I didn't know what to do. I don't even know how long I sat there staring at her. What I do know is I sat in my father’s chair and I stared at the little helpless girl on the screen of my father’s computer in my parents’ condo in the best part of Manhattan and I was absolutely destroyed," I admit as the first tear falls down my cheek before I can brush it away quickly.

  Staring at Mack, I know I need something. I don't know what, but I'm desperate for him to say or do something to help me because I feel like I'm dying inside suddenly remembering Suzanne like that.

  "Did you know it was her when you first met each other at the hotel outside Chicago?" Mack asks as I shake my head no.

  "I didn't know until she lost it in my apartment with you. When she admitted everything about Mr. Williams. When she said my father’s name it was then that I put it together that my father hurt her, I think. Actually, I think I may have known unconsciously because of the way I felt about her when we started talking."

  "In what way?" Mack asks standing and walking back to his chair.

  "Everything was just so intense between us right from the beginning. I mean one phone call and I wanted to help her, and then when I looked up her profile picture, I wanted her. I wanted to help her with her job, and Marcus, and with just everything. It was an insta-love feeling neither of us could ever explain. And it wasn't something I did, or even felt before her. It made no sense to me at the time why I felt as strongly for her as I did. But then that night in my apartment when she was having her breakdown and losing it and telling us her secrets and when she said my father’s name, I remembered the picture. Hearing her say Mr. Williams was such a shock, and the horror of my memories and everything I was feeling that night just became too much for me to process fully. And then she was in the tub dying, and she tried to kill herself in my bathroom using a prescription some woman left at my place accidentally, and then..." I shrug.
r />   Mack knows the rest. He was there for her and for me, and then for us. Mack knows everything except how I felt.

  "It was the most horrifying picture I've ever seen in my life, even if it hadn’t been Suzanne. But it was Suzanne, and that just makes it so much worse. And I never did know if it was my father raping her at the time because the man's face was bent over her like he was grunting or something. But her face, Mack- she was in agony, and so scared, and just so young," I cry, finally bursting into the tears I was trying to hold in. "She was just a little girl and her eyes were screaming for someone to help her. But no one did. They just hurt her and photographed it. And I can't stand it anymore," I sob as Mack watches with tears in his eyes too.

  "Z, you didn't-"

  "Wait. Please?" I beg trying to get it together. Wiping my cheeks with my palms I need to explain what happened.

  "That's when I confronted him and went after my father that day. I did, Mack. I waited for him to get home, and I took him to his office and I pointed at the screen and asked what the fuck he was looking at. But he was just so blasé about it. He lied and said a friend sent him those pictures and he hadn't looked at them yet so it was no big deal. And then he deleted them right in front of me. But honestly, I didn't believe him. I had never heard or seen my father do anything pornographic, or with children, or even with women. As far as I knew he and my mother were very much a loving couple, so I had no basis for not believing his story, but I just didn't. For whatever reason, I think maybe the way he blew it off, or maybe because he didn't look at the picture shocked like I did, I think that was the tell I needed to not believe him anymore. I think his calm delete of the pictures told me everything I needed to know and that was it. I actually shoved him hard as I passed him for the door and I told him I thought he was a fucking pig. Then I walked out of their house for my own apartment and I never looked back as you know."

  "I do. Your explanation for cutting off your parents made no sense to me and Marty at the time. ‘My dad went behind my back on some contracts, so I'm never speaking to him again?’ Even for you that was a little dramatic. But you insisted so we let it go, especially after a few months and all the desperate calls from your mom to try to understand what was going on between you and your father."