Page 13 of Scorched Hearts
“Let me ask you this—have you actually grieved your relationship?” Ramirez posed the question with a serious expression on her face.
“What do you mean?” Elle seemed confused.
“Have you allowed yourself to actually feel the devastation? From what I can see, you never actually allowed yourself to feel the loss. And if you haven’t felt the loss, you haven’t had the chance to truly feel remorseful for what you did. The whole time I’ve known you, you’ve just been going through women. Oh, and drinking. You may want to take a look at the drinking, too. Think about it. What was the first thing you did after you two broke up?”
Elle thought for a moment. “I got laid.”
Ramirez nodded. “And then?”
“I got laid again, because that one wasn’t fulfilling.”
“And I suppose you just kept going?”
“It’s not that simple, okay? Of course I respect all the women I’ve slept with, and wanted to have something with them, but--”
“Of course.” Ramirez nodded. “But you never acknowledged the hurt you caused the person you loved most, so instead of going through a healthy process of grief and healing, you’re just out here being a Casanova breaking hearts on repeat.”
Elle giggled. “Is that how you look at me, really?”
“That’s how you act, either way. You must allow yourself to feel the regret buried somewhere there in your stone-cold heart.”
Elle opened her mouth to protest, but Ramirez shut her down. “I’m joking. I’m joking. Only don’t get defensive. Think about it for a moment, maybe longer. You’re charming as hell, Elle, but that won’t get you very far with your ex. She already knows you, I’d guess even better than you yourself, kid. She needs you to actually work on yourself, not try to seduce her with the Rodriguez charm like all the others.”
And having released this waterfall of knowledge, Ramirez got up and went to check on the new recruits.
Elle sat thoughtfully next to her cup of coffee for a long time. Ramirez was one of the only people who could talk her down like that, call her a kid. Either way, her advice sounded difficult and unrewarding to Elle. Deep down, she knew Ramirez was right, she wished she could simply charm her way back to Maya’s heart. And she knew Maya enough to know Maya still had feelings for her. That lip twitching, that particular flavor of emotions she’d seen rush through Maya during their argument, had told her all she wanted to know. Maya may hate her, but you had to still love someone in order to hate them. Elle knew that. She just had to somehow get Maya to switch back more to the love side of things.
Driving home, Elle couldn’t understand the idea of feeling supposed emotions seven years after the fact. And for sure, she didn’t understand how feeling grief would help her be a better girlfriend. The whole situation was about that one drunken mistake, and Elle would reverse all these seven years if she could, but she couldn’t, and now she was driving her car to a huge, empty house with no one in it to welcome her, no trace of anyone who would love her.
Although at least she had a great house, and at least there was whiskey at her house.
These thoughts made her feel weak. Insecure. Sorry for herself. Feeling sorry for herself was Elle’s worst enemy. Other people could show their weaknesses just fine, but Elle’s standard for herself had always been so high above that she sometimes lost sight of it, chasing something vaguely upward to no end. Not even a dog or cat to welcome her home. Elle loved animals, but her shifts were long, and she just knew it wouldn’t be fair to take on a pet and not be home enough for it. So all she came home to was a racist neighbor and her screaming children. Not the kids’ fault they were screaming. Elle would be screaming too if she had to live with that woman. Elle had always had a weak spot for children. Something about their untamed curiosity and flexibility of mind soothed her, aside their obvious gentleness.
No child could be truly cruel, and their presence made Elle feel safe. She had thought once that she’d have kids with Maya. But that hope of being a parent had died when Maya had left. No way working/womanizing/drinking Elle would make a fit parent, and she knew that. So when asked, she always said she didn’t want kids.
Once home, she opened all the windows wide. She felt the need for air, to breathe in and out deeply, to release the pent up feeling of claustrophobia left from her conversation with Ramirez. She remembered distinctly how Maya would do that to let fresh air into their apartment, sometimes forgetting to close them overnight, and causing them both to wake up cold. After a while, Elle learned to wake up in the middle of the night to go around their flat and check whether all the windows had been closed. For a while after their breakup she’d still do that, startling an occasional hookup, but over the years the habit had faded away.
The memory made her feel deep sadness, an emotion she normally wouldn’t dwell upon, but this time, trying to follow Ramirez’s advice, she took up a pen from her desk.
I feel deep sadness.
She wrote on a piece of paper, silently swearing to herself she’d start a journal and keep it secret from everyone. Not that it would be difficult, living on her own.
I love Maya,
For the rest of the evening, she sat scribbling away. Simple statements about her day, about her feelings, things she hadn’t admitted to anyone for ages, if ever. A chaotic sprawl of feeling, but in a good way. Emotions she had no idea were nested in her mind after the day of work made their way onto the page, sometimes in clumsy words or incoherent sentences, but the activity brought her some unexpected peace of mind.
She finished writing with one sentence at the bottom of the page:
“Now my father would say I am weak.
6
MAYA
The ambulance sirens screamed above Maya’s head with what seemed to her an unusual intensity. In the intimate space of the car, the crew’s faces shared the same grim look. Once they’d get out on the scene, they would plunge into work, giving into the years of practice and rigorous training, foregoing whatever emotions might bubble beneath the surface. But for the few moments they had within the walls of the ambulance, they had time for themselves.
The scene was a high school bus accident.