Reality's Illusion

Chapter 7

Sera and I spent hours online, not that we shared anything of importance. It was just the same surface-level nonsense of the get-to-know-you phase. We had a lot in common, but that didn't surprise me. Although, the number of people she knew that I used to run with did. I'd figured with our age difference, and as long as I had been absent from the community, the key players would've changed, but not so.

Her stories of patrons still discussing my work flattered me, even though it wasn't true. Sera was as sweet as Sylvie had been. My wife had had this knack for making a person feel like they were the most important thing in the world. And she did it without ever telling a lie or fabricating a word. It was only one of a laundry list of qualities I'd loved about her.

The similarities didn't stop there. It was little things that brought my wife to mind when I talked to Sera: the things that made them both laugh, the way she'd pick on me in jest. Both women were playful and had a zest for life. From what I had gathered, Sera had enjoyed a picture-perfect life in her short twenty-five years. She saw good in the world and had traveled to beautiful places to study and work. What I wouldn't give to go back six years, before Sylvie got sick, before death touched my life, when my outlook on the future was bright.

When dawn started to break through the windows, I realized how long the two of us had been chatting. For the first time in years, hours had passed in a flash with no recognizable pain or deafening silence. I had been able to think about Sylvie without crippling grief.

Me: Random question.

Sera: Shoot.

Me: Where did your mom come up with the spelling for your name? It's unusual.

Sera: Ugh. She's a hippie, and so is my dad.

Me: Oh, so it was just to be different?

Sera: No. It's short for Seraphim. She still insists on calling me by my full name, but no one else does. I stopped that in elementary school. It's strange, and I never liked it.

Sera: Apparently, my parents tried for years to have kids and couldn't. They gave up in their thirties. My mom begged God to send her a little angel, but He never did.

Sera: About a year after they stopped trying, my mom got pregnant. Seraphim means an angelic being. A seraph is the highest order in the heavenly hierarchy of angels. They're closely associated with light and purity.

Sera: She refuses to shorten it to Sera because that takes the meaning out of the name. She's crazy. I love her but seriously, coo-coo. Haha

Karma. I believed strongly in the world providing what a person needed as it was required. Although I wasn't fond of the flipside of that coin-the universe took what wasn't needed as well. Everything had a time and a purpose. When its usefulness no longer existed, a high power took it. This angel was exactly what I needed at this moment. I just wondered what she needed in return.

My lids weighed too much to continue to hold them open, and my eyes burned from staring at a screen for so long. The fatigue stole my ability to contemplate the meaning behind Sera appearing in my life. I managed to tell her goodbye, and then I drifted off to sleep.

For five years, Sylvie had plagued my dreams or maybe graced them. Every night she came to see me; it was a curse and a blessing. I slept to see my wife but would wake to the loneliness I could only escape in my dreams. Sylvie's face was still full of life in that alternate state, like the day we married, not how she'd left me when she was sick. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes full of wonder. At least once a night, she would throw her head back and release her deep, throaty laugh. That was the most real way to see her-a raw, guttural, deep laugh that came from the soul. I had cherished that sound more than anything in the world, including her singing, and God, could she sing. Although it wasn't just the noise. I had loved the way her throat moved when her head tilted and how her hair swayed down her back. She was my epitome of perfection.

For the first time in years, Sylvie hadn't visited me, although I didn't realize it when I first woke. It wasn't until I noticed the dark circles-that normally surrounded my eyes-were gone. And my thoughts shifted to Sera, bringing a smirk to my lips. That was the moment it dawned on me, Sylvie hadn't come to my dreams.

My thoughts spun out of control, and the smile faded. I'd stood up my wife, and she had to be mad. I shook my head as the irrational thoughts bombarded me faster than I could fight them off. Tears welled in my eyes at the dishonor I felt for her memory. Rationally, I couldn't control my subconscious, but emotionally, I felt punished for flirting with Sera.

Sylvie hadn't come to prove a point.

I focused on my breathing to quiet my mind and still my thoughts, the in and out of the air, my lungs constricting and expanding. And when I'd finally stopped the barrage, one final thought took up residence. If my brain had generated meetings with Sylvie to protect me from life-threatening depression, those encounters in my sleep might disappear entirely if I moved on with my life. The idea of never seeing my wife again, never hearing her sing, never talking to her, and that laugh-it was more than I could bear.

Regaining focus on the man in the mirror, my eyes were bloodshot. And the tears still fell. I ached, and the pain hurt in a way that words couldn't express. It was no different than if she'd died yesterday. The hole she'd created took more of me than it had left.

"God, I miss my wife!" I screamed at no one just before I cursed whatever being was responsible for the loss. "Why the hell did you take her? Why?" The grief staring back at me was too much. Without thought, my fist shattered the judgment in the mirror.

Out of nowhere, Nate wrapped around me, restraining my struggle and pinning my arms to my side. "Calm down, man. You're not alone. Come on." He spoke softly, repeating himself, as if he said it enough, eventually, it would sink in.

Unfortunately, grief wasn't rational.

And over the last few years, Nate had taken multiple punches to the face over that sorrow. Yet, he never complained. He simply suffered with me, at my side-always. He dragged me from the bathroom to the bed. There I buried my face in my hands with my elbows on my knees. I should be more concerned about my hand, but I couldn't get beyond the loss.

"What the hell happened, Bastian?"

I didn't respond immediately, but Nate was patient. He knew I'd talk when I was ready, and he leaned against the wall to wait.

"She didn't come last night." I almost couldn't stomach the words and had to swallow hard to keep from losing my stomach.

"Sylvie?"

I choked on a sob and nodded.

"Maybe she doesn't think you need her anymore?" Nate acted like it was the most natural thing in the world for my dead wife's spirit to move on without me-or to have been present to begin with.

I jerked up my head, staring at him with a mix of confusion and hatred.

"Bastian, it's been five years since she died. In the last few days, you've made more progress toward moving on than you have in all those years combined. Maybe your mind doesn't need her right now. I'm sure she's close by. But dude, you're going to have to give yourself a chance to live without her."

His intention wasn't cruelty; it was reality. While no one else could have gotten away with those words, Nate had kept me alive after Sylvie had died. He'd made multiple attempts to get me into counseling, but when that didn't happen, he just showed up. Every day. Every. Single. Day. Everyone else had given up on me around the one-year mark, including my parents. But not Nate.

I couldn't respond, but I held his stare, hoping he'd understand that I'd heard what he said, even if I weren't in a place to accept it yet.

He gripped my shoulder with one hand and a gentle squeeze. "Allow yourself to breathe. It's okay to feel something other than pain. Sylvie would've wanted happiness for you." He walked out of the room, although I was certain he would be waiting on the couch when I got my s**t together.

My head hung, and I wondered if I'd ever be able to function without her, to feel somewhat normal again. Not having an answer to that question or any other when it came to Sylvie, I stood and then made the walk of shame to find my best friend.

"Sorry, man." I apologized for yet another breakdown Nate had saved me from.

And again, he waved me off. "So, tell me about this s**t you're dragging me to as your date."

My death stare did nothing to calm his roar of laughter.

About a year after Sylvie had died, the papers reported that I was homosexual. Every time I'd left my house, I had been seen with Nate. But it wasn't because we were sleeping together. Nate dragged my ass out, kicking and screaming. Although no one ever reported how miserable I looked at his side. Bastards. Nate had thought it was funny then and referred to it constantly now as though it were a running joke.

"Sera has a gallery opening. She asked me to come."

He fell into fits of giggles again. "Does Sera know you're bringing a date?"

"Aww, f**k. Do you really think she thinks I'm bringing a date? Jesus, if she does, and I show up with you, she's liable to believe the s**t the papers had to say. And you'll encourage that crap."

Nate couldn't catch his breath and bent over, clutching his stomach.

"It's not funny, Nate. Dammit. What the hell should I do? I can't go alone. I can't face that crowd by myself. But I can't take a man."

Between bouts of laughter, he pointed out, "You sure can't take another woman, asshole."

I resigned myself to having Nate as my plus one. If I flew without my co-pilot, I'd crash and burn. I could explain his presence to Sera later. I'd rather justify him than another woman.

"f**k you. Pick me up at six-thirty. We can go grab a bite and then go to the gallery. The showing starts at seven, but we don't need to be there until after that. Oh, and don't dress like a damn slob, either-slacks and a decent shirt."

His laughter started to grate on my nerves. "For someone who doesn't want to date me, you sure as hell just planned one. I'll pick you up, wearing my Sunday best. Will I get laid for buying you dinner and taking you to a lame-ass gallery exhibit?"

"Nah, but at least you'll be seen with the best thing that's ever happened to you." I tossed a s**t-eating grin in his direction.

"I'm heading out, Bastian. You gonna be okay? Or should we have a sleepover so I can take care of you?"

"I'm good." Right before he reached the door, I called out, "Hey, Nate?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks." My voice cracked.

Nate didn't need praise, and he knew I wasn't referring to the gallery opening. Without another word, he nodded and left.