Untouchable

Come Back . . . Be Here

I stared at the empty bottles. The empty bottles stared back. They laughed at me, they mocked me, they burned me; I usually didn't drink this much, but I was tired, frustrated, and hopeless. I was a mess. I hated myself for being such a horrible person. I tried so hard. I tried so hard to be good. And maybe I was for a while, but it just didn't work. It didn't work.

How strange that I don't know you at all.

My cheeks were sticky with dried tears. I made a huge mess of things. I never should have gone on that tour. I should've stayed home and protected her. I should've brought her along with me. I should've looked harder. I could've tried harder. I knew I could have. I should've been a better husband and dad from the begining.

If Taylor were here right now, my wife, she would've been so disappointed. She would've taken her daughter and never looked back. People need love, and all I did was send a cold eye to our daughter. It was all my fault--everything would've been better if I had ended it when I had the chance. I made everyone's life messed up. I was a waste of life. I never should have picked up the phone when Matt called; I should've slit my wrist and ended everything. I should've shot myself the day we arrived at Taylor's captors house. I should've ended it the day I got kicked out of high school; but now I had to stay alive to raise a child who absolutely hated me.

But in my mind I play it back

I bowed my head. The suicidal thoughts were old news--I was too much a coward to go through with it back then, and I was too much a coward still. What I really needed was some help--but the help I needed was untouchable. What I really needed was a sign. Anything, to let me know that I had to carry on, that things would get better, a better relationship between my daughter and I; the end had arrived and there was no one here on earth that could save us.

A shrill ring interrupted the silence of the room. My eyes shot towards the light blinking from the ringing phone. Adrenaline rushed through my body--the first signs of life in me since I woke up. The only one who would call at this time would be a hospital telling me my daughter was on her death bed. I grabbed the phone and shakily brought it to my ear. I reluctantly pressed the answer button, and braced myself for the worst.

"Hello?" I said in my hoarse voice.

"Josh," a breathy voice on the other end said.

Time slowed and my heart stopped. I recognized that voice. Even after all these years, it was still home. It still welcomed me in after a long night in a storm.

"Taylor?" I gasped in astonishment. Shivers grappled down my spine. A sudden hope spread inside of me. No matter how unlikely it was, no matter how impossible--how much it terrified me--I had to hope.

I had to believe it was her.

"Hi baby," she replied.

And this is when the feeling sinks in

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding in. I couldn't believe it. It was my wife. My beautiful wife. Tears burst from my eyes, raw jagged sobs shook my body in violent tremors. Grief washed over me in powerful waves, pounding into me with the power of a perfect storm.

"Oh my Taylor, my sweet Taylor. Where are you?" I bit down on my fist to control the sobs. It was her. This was real. Everything was going to make sense again.

"I can't tell you baby," she whispered. "I'm far, far away from where you are."

"Please come back," I choked out, "I've missed you so much. I need you back."

"I'm sorry baby, but I can't leave where I am."

"Why not?" Why wouldn't she? We always said we would love each other to infinity and beyond. If she loved me why wouldn't she come back?