Smoke & Mirrors

The days following my parents' funeral were one in the same, all of the endless hours coming together to form a huge blur. I spent most of my time locked up in my childhood bedroom with my legs curled into my chest and my headphones glued to my ears, blasting whatever made me feel better until my iPod ran out of battery. It was safe to say I wasn't handling the absence of my parents very well. I barely spoke to anyone and when someone called me, my voice never went higher than a whisper. I was wasting away into the dark depths of a mournful depression with no objections to the numbness that came with it.

I just wanted my mom back, not that I didn't love my father, but I was closer to my mother. She was there for me through everything, supporting me even  when I didn't believe in myself and holding me up when I needed her to. She helped shape me into the woman I am today and for that I will always be grateful. My mom was an amazing woman, unselfish and more giving than anyone I've ever met. She was a woman that the world would miss severely.

Ever since their divorce, my father and I started to grow farther and farther apart. There was a time when I was younger that I looked up to him and prided myself in the title "Daddy's girl," but at a young age, that pride was completely shattered. My mother, brother, and I all found out that my dad was unfaithful and in result of his adultery came the likelihood that Anders and I had siblings. Needless to say, mom was heartbroken at the news of his unfaithfulness and told him to get his things and move out.

It took a few years but mom eventually forgave him enough to actually be in the same room as him, and later on, they even became somewhat of friends. When Anders and I moved off, they'd sometimes get together and come see us, and that's how they were killed; on the way to come see me. They were going to surprise me and that damn eighteen wheeler driver wasn't paying attention, so he totaled the car and destroyed the lives of my parents. I was furious with that man and with God for letting it happen. I was furious altogether about everything.

My parents didn't deserve to die! 

I can't believe they're gone . . .

I heard a knock on my door at that moment, but I didn't dare answer with a reply or make a move to get up. I was just too exhausted to speak with anyone. I wanted to be left alone to wallow in my depression.

"Lanny, there's a guy at the door for you." I heard my younger sister, Jaymie, call out behind the door. "He came with Riley's boyfriend."

Shit.

I sighed, throwing the covers from my body. "I'll be down in a minute, Jay." I heard her mumble something that sounded like 'okay' before I heard her footsteps retreat towards the stairs.

I quickly ran a brush through my hair and straightened out my attire; a simple outfit that consisted of an over-sized t-shirt and a pair of booty shorts. I knew I still looked like a big mess, but at least my hair was untangled. After a quick once-over in the mirror, I found myself making my way downstairs to question my husband on why he was here.

He was sitting on my mother's expensive love-seat, one of his feet tapping on the floor as his head moved from side to side, trying to take in all the new additions that my mother had added to the decor of the place just days before her accident. A white graphic tee hugged his upper torso fairly loosely as his pants looked tight and a pair of converse sneakers shielded his feet from the dirt of the floor. His hair, a dark color like oil, was gelled up stylishly, keeping his bangs away from his forehead and out of his eyes; those very same eyes that I was and still am fascinated by.

"What are you doing here?" I questioned him as I entered the room. My voice was hoarse and dry, and it sounded nothing like me.

He shrugged nonchalantly as he looked at his shoes. "I thought maybe we could talk."

"'bout what?" I mumbled curiously, raising an eyebrow at his suggestion. "Is everything alright?"

He shook his head at me. "No."

He took a moment to sigh out loud before elaborating on his answer as I looked him over with skepticism. "I'm worried about you, Landon." 

To be honest, his words came as sort of a shock to me. I had anticipated our next encounter to result in us being at each other's throats with things flying in every direction and my siblings all standing by to watch. Instead, he was calmly sitting on my mother's couch, telling me that he was worried about me now, and I was so confused. I didn't know whether to be happy that he was worried about me or mad at him for saying the things he said to me at my parents funeral.

"Um, okay." I mumbled, furrowing my eyebrows. "Where do you wanna go?"



I had been with Zack through everything that had ever happened to him. The good, the bad, and the terrible; I was there with him through it all. When his sister got married, I was his date to the wedding. When his sister gave birth to his niece and nephews, I was there with him at the hospital each and every time, holding his hand with one of my own and rubbing his back with the other. 

 I was with him when he got in his first fight; it was during our freshman year of high school against a member of our rival school's baseball team and the dude got in a few good punches before Matthew and some of Zacky's team members arrived to pull him off and warn away any of his friends. Zacky had gotten in a few good punches too, and when the two of them were pulled apart, they both looked pretty messed up. Zack had a black eye and a couple scratches on his face, but that was it. The other guy had a broken nose and a busted lip, and he looked the worst of the two. Anyway, I was there as his best friend to clean him up afterwards and calm him down.

When his mom thought she had a lump in one of her breasts four years ago, I went with her to check it out as not only a favor to her but also a favor to her eldest son so he wouldn't worry his self to death. It was also so I could tell him what the doctor said as Zacky knew his mother wouldn't tell him if there was anything wrong with her. Turns out, she was fine - thank God.

I was there when the guys got signed to Warner Brothers and had even planned on celebrating with Zacky later that night, but just ended up waiting at his house by myself until 3 in the morning, which is when I passed out on his couch. He didn't get home until 2 hours after that, reeking of illegally-obtained alcohol and foul-smelling Mary Jane and murmuring about absolute nonsense. Being the great girlfriend that I was, I didn't get mad at him. I just helped him into bed and drove myself home afterwards, never speaking a word of my feelings on it to anyone.

I was there when he got Ichabod, that little ball of fluff he loved so much and I was there when he was worried about leaving Ichy for a long period of time. I was there for him as much as I possibly could be and as much as he'd let me be. For years, we were inseparable from one another. But then, our honeymooners phase ended and all our problems kicked in. We had been through so much together that it came as a shock when our only option was to split up and go our separate ways. And it was hard to handle when the realization of it all finally set in. 

Now, sitting across from him at a table in the back of Starbucks, all that seemed like so long ago, almost like it had existed in another life and wasn't just two years ago. One look from those gorgeous eyes of his and I just wanted to melt. It didn't matter if we had spent two years apart; somehow, he still had a overwhelming power over  me and my body that I couldn't understand, nor comprehend.

There were nights when I couldn't sleep where I'd think about how things would've been had I stayed with him instead of leaving two years ago. Would we still be fighting? Would he still have that she-devil Gena woman as a side project that existed right under my nose? Or would he have given her up to stay with me? There were so many scenarios that my mind thought of that could've existed had I stayed, but they were so outrageous that I usually mistook them for humorous dreams. I couldn't change what happened to me, us, or my parents. That was all in the past. This was the present, the current happenings that I could change, and staring back at me was the man I could've had a future with.

To be honest, he hadn't been all that bad of a husband. He had been there for me through thick and thin, for better or worse, and everything in between. When my parents split up, he was there as my best friend to hold my hand and talk to. When my heart was "broken" for the first time by a guy I had been dating for over a year and a half, Zacky made a detour on his way to my house and beat the shit out of the guy; the image of Ryan Ashford with two black eyes and a busted lip was a site I'd never forget.

Some days, Zacky had a way of knowing exactly what I needed, when I needed it. Other days, he knew what buttons to push to make me wanna hate him. There really was a fine line that determined the boundaries separating love and hate from one another, and Zacky and I were a prime example of it.

At times, we were amazing together, and other times, we were terrible. Yet, somehow, we always ended up right back in each other's arms. It was no secret that I loved him, hell I always have, but there were times where he knew how to hurt me worse than anyone else, and it was those times that made me question why I loved him. It was times like now, when he was being comforting and all gentle-like, that made those questions vanish. He could be an ass more times than not, but he was still my husband, and I loved him with all my heart.