Saturday April 15, 2017
Remy shows up on my doorstep with blood running from his nose onto his once perfect white collared shirt. He doesn’t even notice the bleeding, or that his eyes are wide until I recoil from his touch.
“Krista,” he says, “I’m here, I’ve made it. Let’s get married.”
My heart does a back flip and lands with a thud. I haven’t seen Remy in 2 years. The last time we spoke he told me he was going to get clean. He asked me to wait for him.
Liz is waiting behind the corner with a baseball bat ready to knock him out. I realize quickly that he has already been knocked out-and the likelihood of him doing that to himself, knowing Remy, is high.