Edge of Desire

The place was a mess – a complete and utter mess. Clothes lay strewn about in the living room, along with empty food containers and pizza boxes. The stench was almost too much to bear, as well, but Frances Faye Nickelsen simply pulled the fabric of her tee shirt over her nose, continuing to glance around the house. The curtains that hung over the large bay window were pulled closed, hiding the sunlight from outside. If she didn’t know any better, she would swear the house was abandoned.

The soft pitter-patter of paws hitting the wooden floor caught her attention, pulling her eyes toward the kitchen. There sat Sasha, an eight month old Golden Labrador Retriever. She was looking at Frances with pleading-like eyes and she sighed as she bent down to pet her head.

“Where’s daddy, huh?” she asked, although it wasn’t as if the dog could answer her back. Instead, Sasha’s eyes closed and she curled around her feet, making her laugh softly. “I’ll be back in a minute, Sash.”

She stood up and sighed as she glanced toward the staircase, knowing that going up those stairs meant entering dangerous territory. No one, aside from the man she was looking for, had been up those stairs in two months; it was almost forbidden. But Frances, ever the brave one, slowly trekked up to the second level of the house, trying to make the least sound as possible.

The upstairs was completely different from the first level. It was clean, and looked like nothing had been touched in months, which was probably the truth. Picture frames, as well as a couple of paintings, hung on the bright red walls, giving life to the seemingly dead house. Frances caught herself glancing at the picture of two of her best friends, smiling and holding laughter in their eyes.

Jana had always been a beautiful girl, but Frances had never remembered her looking as beautiful as she did that day in her white wedding gown. Her green eyes sparkled with liveliness and the smile perched on her full, pink lips was priceless. Her beautiful red locks were curled to perfection, framing her face.

Frances had to swallow the lump of tears in her throat as she shook her head. She couldn’t get so emotional over this – not right then, at least. She had come to the house for a reason, and she was going to fulfill that purpose.

Her hand wounded around the silver doorknob as she inhaled a large breath of air, preparing herself for what she was about to do. The door opened without a sound and as soon as her eyes took in the room, she felt her heart grow heavier than it had been before.

John O’Callaghan was lying on the bed, shirtless and in grey sweats, his skin a pasty pale color. A beard was beginning to grow in on his face, and dark circles were wrapped around his eyes. Frances had never seen John look so bad before.

Slowly, and ever so lightly, she walked over to the bed, taking a seat on the edge, beside her best friend. She gently shook him, trying to wake him up.

“John. John, get up,” she tried.

It took a moment, but his eyelids slowly fluttered open, revealing dull hazel orbs; it was as if the life had been sucked out of him. The moment he realized that it was someone who had awoke him, his face took on an expression of anger.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he snarled, not hiding any of his anger.

Frances was prepared for this, though.

“John, I’m worried about you … everyone is worried about you.”

John shot out of bed and pointed towards the door. “I don’t give a shit, Frances. You don’t just come into my house and – and come up here! Have some fucking respect!”

“Respect!?” Frances stood up, coming face to face with her once best friend. “You want to talk about respect, O’Callaghan? How about the fact that you’ve showed zero respect for any of your friends for the past two months!? You’ve been worrying everyone, John, and it’s about fucking time you open your eyes and realize that what you’re doing is wrong!"

She could tell John’s blood was boiling now.

“Get – the – fuck – out – of – my – house,” John seethed, enunciating every word slowly and precisely.

Frances shook her head, determined to fix this – this mess that was her best friend. “Jana is dead, John. She’s dead and as soon as you realize that, the sooner you can start to heal.”

Frances’ word cut right through John. Of course Jana was dead. He knew that.

Jana had been his girlfriend of four years and his wife for two. He had been right there with her, holding her hand and being strong for her. He was the one who was with her through all of her chemotherapy sessions and who watched helplessly as the one girl he loved withered to a slow death. He was the one who witnessed it all and he didn’t need anyone to remind him of that.

“John, I just want to help you, believe me. You’ve spent all summer hiding out here and no one’s been able to get through to you. The tour’s starting soon and the guys need you. You need to be back on the road, O’Callaghan. If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you love performing – that’s your therapy.”

John licked his lips, tugging at his hair before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “I – I just miss Jana so fucking much, Frankie. She’s everywhere I look. I can’t leave this room without images of her popping up in my mind.”

Frances sat down next to him, looking down at her lap. “I know that you miss her, John- we all do. The moment you introduced her to me and the guys, she became like a sister to us. But this – this isn’t how you fix that, John. You need to get out and breathe some fresh air. You need to talk to your friends and family … Jana’s family. You were their son, too, and I’m sure they want to talk to you. You just – you need to start somewhere. It doesn’t matter where, but just start picking yourself up.”

Frances’ words swam around in John’s head, hitting him hard.

“You’re right, Frankie … I know that you’re right, but I have no fucking clue how to do that,” he said.

“Well that’s why I’m here; to help you,” she smiled.

For the first time in nearly four months, John smiled. Albeit, it was a small smile, but it gave Frances hope. “Thanks, Frankie.”

She nodded her head, standing up. “You’re welcome. Do you mind if we start the healing process by cleaning downstairs? The smell is starting to chip the paint off your walls,” she joked.

He chuckled, the sound raspy. “Yeah, sure. It’s time for me to feed Sasha, anyway.”

Frances smiled and led the way out of John’s room, heading for the stairs. She noted the way John made it a point to avoid looking at the walls; to avoid seeing his wedding pictures. Her heart ached for him, but she had to continue being strong. When they reached the living room, John headed straight to the kitchen to pour food into Sasha’s bowl. Frances grabbed an empty trash bag, along with cleaning supplies, and began going straight to work.

John joined in soon after, but the two remained quiet. As Frances went to dust the mantle, she came face to face with another picture of Jana and John. She bit down on her bottom lip, a question burning her tongue. She turned around, watching as John polished the coffee table. When he finished, he got off his knees and looked at her.

“What?” he asked.

She cleared her throat, slightly bowing her head. “I just …” she stopped, second guessing her question.

John’s brows knitted together in confusion. “Just ask me, Frankie.”

“If you could go back to the day you met Jana, would you … would you still walk up and talk to her? I mean, knowing what you do now … knowing that she wouldn’t be with you forever?” Frances finally asked, although a part of her regretted doing so.

John’s hazel eyes traveled to the picture Frances had seen, and a look of longing adorned his face. But in a flash, it was gone. He looked back into her eyes and shook his head. “No. Even though it hurts like hell right now, I wouldn’t change anything about meeting Jana. For four years, I got to experience a feeling that some people spend their whole lives searching for: love.” He licked his lips, holding back tears. “You’ll understand one day, Frankie.”

She gave him a soft smile, her heart melting at his words. “I can’t wait.”