Read Vivienne's Guilt for Free Online

welcoming, and I can’t help but wish it was his brother’s arms instead. He takes a few steps toward the house and then turns and calls out, “You call if you or Tillie need anything, Viv. We want to help.” And then he’s gone.

Vivienne
    I open my eyes and strain to see the red numbers glowing on the alarm clock beside my bed: 2:32 A.M. Well, if I can’t sleep, might as well take advantage of the alone time. I roll over and reach across the bed in an attempt to seduce my sleeping husband. When all I grasp are sheets and blankets, it all comes back. That piercing ache. My heart. My Abbott. He’s gone.
    I curl into a ball and clutch at my burning heart as I scream out in agony. It hurts. Oh God, it hurts so badly . I just want the pain to stop, and then again I don’t. Because if I stop thinking of him, stop aching for him, then I will begin to forget. And, I can’t ever forget.
    His scent no longer lingers on my bed sheets. I can feel him slipping away, and it is too much, and still it’s not enough.
    Sweat beads on my skin and I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I’m suffocating in my grief. It’s like burning lava coursing through my veins. A pain so excruciating, so unbearable, that for a moment I just want to die, too. I want to escape this agony and follow my heart to wherever he’s gone. Because a life without him, this life I’m pretending to live, is almost too much to bear.
    And that thought leads to guilt. How can I, even for mere seconds, want to leave my daughter all alone in this world? It’s selfish, and it’s wrong. I’m a horrible mother.
    With trembling hands, I pull open the drawer to my nightstand and manage to open the prescription bottle and tap a Xanax into my palm. I take deep breaths and try not to pass out as I slowly ease into a sitting position. I open the bottle of water that I keep next to my bed, swallow the pill, and I wait. I wait for the medicine to calm my racing heart. To clear my clouded vision. To ease the dizzying nausea.
    The panic attacks are worse now than ever. They usually come at night. At night, when I am alone. When I can drift off and for a blessed moment in time forget that my entire life has been upended. That I will never again feel his touch, taste his lips, or feel his hair slide through my fingertips. I will never again feel him moving over me—inside of me. And when that realization hits, it’s like I’m standing inside of a burning building with no escape.
    As the attack subsides, I glance back over to the clock: 3:03 A.M. What will I do for the next three and a half hours? I grab my phone from under my pillow and bring up the picture of Abbott and Tillie; the one he sent me right before the accident. I’ve spent countless hours staring at his radiant smile. That smile. That smile that will never again brighten my days.
    I put the phone down and try to fall back asleep, but my mind won’t shut off. Memories of Abbott flood my thoughts. I touch my fingers to my lips and smile as I remember our first kiss.
    It was Halloween of 2001, my first year at Tulane, and my first frat party. My roommate, Cassie, and I decided to wear complementing costumes because that’s what corny, college freshman BFFs do.
    “How’s my tail, Viv? Is it centered?” Cassie asks as she climbs out of the cab, stumbling over the curb.
    “It’s as centered as it’s going to be. I’m not playing with your ass in front of all of these hot guys,” I answer, shaking my head at how ridiculous she looks trying to see her own ass from over her shoulder. “Find a bathroom and check it out in the mirror or something. It’s hanging a little to the left.”
    “That’s what she said! Ba dum bum tsssss!” Cass jokes. “Oh come on, Viv! I need you. You can’t let me go in there looking a mess.”
    Great. Now she’s begging.
    “No one will see. Just fix my ass. Fix it or I’ll embarrass you. You know I will,” she threatens.
    And I know she will. Ugh. “Hurry up. Get over