The Brink of Destruction

Call it masochistic, if it makes you happy. But Billie's anger didn't scare me, or make me flinch. I think I needed to hear it, to hear him pour everything out on me that he had been feeling. And he didn't disappoint me.

"I mean, come on, Gen," he ranted, veins beginning to bulge in his neck. "I bet I must have called you a hundred times, wondering exactly what I'd done wrong, trying to understand how everything had just suddenly fallen apart. And not once--not once!--did you bother to pick up the phone and talk to me. Didn't I even deserve that?"

My head was hanging in shame, and the tears that poured down my cheeks weren't for myself. They were for Billie, and for the pain I had blindly put him through for so long, never letting myself think about what it might be doing to him.

It must have felt to him like losing Jackie all over again, and the amazing thing was that neither of us had ever meant to hurt him. But she and I both knew that music was what flowed through his veins, whispered in his ear, filled his lungs and drove his spirit. And neither of us felt that we could measure up against a mistress so seductive and so jealous. How ironic, that in loving him so much, we had both caused him so much pain.

How could I have been so stupid, to think I was doing something noble and good? All he knew was that, for the second time in his life, someone he cared for had just vanished without a trace, and left no explanation, no closure. Just like Bat. Just like his father.

No wonder he was furious.

"You wanna know the worst part? Huh? You wanna hear the part that drove me crazy, when I was lying in bed remembering how I'd planned our future together, thinking it was all going to work out so great? I never stopped loving you, Gen. God knows, I wish I could have. It hurt so bad I wanted to die sometimes. I hated everything--my life, the band, Mike, Tre--everything that had ever meant anything to me before was like a reminder that the one most important person on earth to me was gone. Do you have any idea what that felt like?" Tears of rage were sliding down his reddened cheeks, his fists knotted at his sides.

Silently, I nodded my head. I did know. I knew exactly what it felt like to get up every morning and wonder why I even bothered. I could tell him all about how impossible it was to do the simplest things--to shower, to dress, to eat breakfast. I was all too aware of how easy it was to come home and crawl in bed, still dressed, and cry myself to sleep.

It was then that he delivered the killing blow. "And now I find out that you were willing to keep me from knowing that I--that w-we--were having a child. Why, Gen? How could you do that to me?"

There were no words. There was nothing I could say to him, no response. Because ultimately, this had all been my decision, and my fault. And there was no excuse.

"Genny, tell me one thing. I have to know, no matter how much it hurts, because I can't go on without hearing you say it. Tell me you stopped loving me. None of this makes any sense if you don't tell me that."

Like an echo in the back of my mind, I could hear his fist pounding against the dorm room door, sobbing over and over, "Say it, Genny, say you don't love me..." It all swept over me again, as if it were only yesterday.

The answer hadn't changed. My voice was a tiny thread, a raw whisper.

"I can't, Billie. I can't tell you that. I've loved you every minute, every hour, of every day that we've been apart. And nothing I can ever do will make up for that. But no matter what, you have to know that I have never stopped loving you."

Desperation and anguish swept across his face all at once. He started to speak, and I raised my hand to stop him.

"And I never will," I finished, softly. "No matter where you go, or what you do, or who you choose to be with, I will never, ever love anyone again the way that I love you, Billie. And that's what I have to live with."

His body slumped back in his chair, spent and exhausted. All that had built up inside him for so long had been released, like a festering sore. There was nothing we could do to change what had happened, to wish it away. We were stuck with here and now.

"I'm not stupid," I sobbed, wiping at my cheeks angrily. "I know I've destroyed the best thing that will ever happen to me, and I take all the blame for it. You'll get past the hurt, and eventually you'll probably forget me. But I won't ever forget you, Billie. I won't forget a moment of the time I had with you. And every time I look into this baby's face, I'll see you, and know what I lost. If you feel yourself beginning to hate me, just remember that."

He bent forward, one hand holding his forehead, and the other dangling limply between his knees. Never, ever had I seen his fiery spirit look so defeated. It was a long time before he spoke, and I almost didn't hear him, his voice was so soft.

"It would be impossible for me to hate you, Genny. If you don't know that, then you never understood how much, how fucking much, I've loved you. How much I still love you, even now. I guess maybe that's why all this happened. You just never understood."

He fell silent again, and I sat, dazed, listening to the hushed noises outside the room. A nurse knocked, entered, checked my pulse, my temperature, and noticing the subtle current of tension in the room, she respectfully avoided annoying small talk.

"The nursery will be by in a few minutes to bring the baby for his feeding, if it's okay," she whispered, patting my shoulder.

"Sure," I nodded.

She pulled the curtain across the doorway, and closed the door behind her. Billie stood, hitching up the sagging waistband of his pants. He pulled the curtain aside again, and as he was reaching for the door, my heart lurched into my throat.

"Billie?" I squeaked, my voice unnaturally high. I was so afraid that if he walked out the door, I'd never see him again.

"I need a minute, Gen," he said, without looking at me, and with that, he was gone.

****************************************

Mike and Wynn were waiting at the nurse's station the next morning to give me and the baby a ride, and she had brought me a fresh outfit to wear home, along with a couple of onesies and a pack of diapers for the baby. I stared at them for a moment, letting it sink in that, for the foreseeable future, this was going to be my world--diapers, and bottles, and sleep deprivation. Wynn must have seen the fear in my eyes, and she squatted down in front of the wheelchair, taking my hands in hers.

"Genny, take a deep breath," she said, a calm smile on her face. "You have plenty of help, and I promise you won't be alone. Mike and I will be there anytime you need someone to take you to the doctor, or shopping, and Kiko's working on an independent study project, so she can babysit during the day while you're in classes. And Criss and Tre--"

"Uh, babe, Criss is fine, but I wouldn't leave an innocent baby with Tre," Mike warned, a wry grin softening his long face.

"Okay, good point," she agreed, "but you hear what I'm telling you, right?"

"I do, and you guys have no idea how much I appreciate it. I hate having to ask for help, but I don't think there's much way around it. You're wonderful friends, I hope you know that." I squeezed her hand gently, hoping she knew how grateful I was.

Sensing that things hadn't gone well the night before, Mike didn't ask about Billie, and I didn't volunteer to tell him. Besides, the fact that he wasn't there made it painfully obvious how things had turned out. I was heartsick that he hadn't stayed to meet his son, but he'd made it very clear how he felt. There were so many things to think about now that I had to push him out of my thoughts once again, but the pain lingered like a bruise on my soul.

They'd found a car seat and had installed it--after half an hour of head-scratching and re-doing the straps--in the back of Mike's car. The baby looked so tiny, like a little doll swaddled in the flannel blankets, and as we pulled out of the parking deck of the hospital, I realized that I was terrified of making a mistake. What would I do if he got sick? If he wouldn't stop crying? How would I know what he needed, and what to do for him? But it didn't matter now. We were almost home, and I'd have to figure it out as I went along.

Mike and Wynn stayed for a while, and the baby settled into his cradle, sleeping peacefully, while we unpacked the little bag of supplies the hospital had provided. Finally, though, the time came for them to leave, and as I waved goodbye to them from the front door, loneliness came crashing in around me like I'd never known before. Staring at the silent phone as if it held some answer for me, I realized my life had changed, forever and in every possible way. For all of them--Mike and Wynn, Tre and Criss, Kiko, my friends from home, Dustin--the world would keep turning much as it had before, and their futures would unfold as they were meant to. But for me, everything I had thought lay ahead of me had vanished, and what I was left with was something I could never have imagined.

Because until now, I couldn't imagine it without Billie.

Would he wake up late some night, tangled in the sheets and bathed in sweat, still hearing the echo of the baby's cry in his dreams? And would he lie awake, trying to imagine his son's face, picturing how much he'd grown, when he took his first steps?

Sighing, I sank down onto the floor beside the cradle, and rocked it gently, back and forth.
This, now, was my world, and it would be enough.