Beautiful and Broken (3 page)

I feel the explosion, at first a little stutter, but then it grows to an earthquake that makes me scream.
 

“Oh, God. Don’t stop. Please.”
 

Electricity shoots through my body like its riding through my veins, and my toes curl as he find his own release. He pulses inside of me, causing aftershocks that make me bite my lips until I’m sure they’re bruised. I’ve never felt this satisfied before—not ever.
 

He rolls off of me and we lay side by side, neither of us saying a word; we just stare up at the ceiling.
 

The orgasm dulls and I feel like I’ve gone from drunk to sober in thirty seconds. Warm sweat on my skin cools to a chill; I know what I’ve done and I don’t feel good about it. Sleeping with a stranger just isn’t me, so on top of the broken heart, I feel like a dirtbag. Somewhere inside of me, I know people do this kind of thing all the time and it doesn’t make them awful, but I just can’t seem to stop hating myself for it. The sheets ruffle as he turns his head to look at me, but I can’t face him. I know the tears will come harder and faster and I just want them to stop—for good.
 

***

I wake up and wonder where I am, how I got here. It’s still dark outside and a man lays beside me. I study his face, trying to find a memory of him. Amy introduced us, but that’s all I remember. I think his name is Sawyer? Good golly, Miss Stupid Ass Molly, what have you done?

I try to slide out of bed; he rolls over and covers me with one of his muscular, tattooed arms. Ugh. He has tattoos and he’s built like an ox. Could I find anyone more dissimilar than Jason? It’s surprising how heavy his arm sits on my chest. I take a deep breath and roll out from under him. He sleeps soundly, his face pressed into his pillow, his short black hair ruffled and sticking up in parts. He’s shirtless and the sheets are up just high enough to cover the bottom half of his ass, but not enough to cover his muscled dimples. Lord, have mercy.
 

This is so not good.
 

I’m sore inside. Crazy sore. I’ve had sex for sure and I have no idea if I was safe about it. The thought rots me. This guy could have every disease known to man. I get up and orient myself: I’m in a hotel room. A massive one, like a suite, and everything in this place is black and white. There’s a living room area, a bar, a table, a mini bar and a king-sized bed. Everything is neat and tidy except for the comforter on the floor and my clothing tossed about the room. My shirt is on the lamp; my pants are on the floor; my underwear is on the coffee table and my bra is MIA. Luckily, there’s a condom wrapper on the floor. Thank God I was smart enough to use one. For a moment, I worried I hadn’t.
 

I breathe a sigh of relief.
 

I call a cab, and fall asleep on the drive home before taking the walk of shame up the elevator to Amy’s condo. The elevator guy winks at me and gives me a sly smile. I want to die.
 

Amy is already up—the girl never sleeps. She sits at the table in the kitchen with her iPad in front of her. When I enter the room, she taps in a word on her crossword puzzle before glancing up at me, smiling.
 

“Slut.”

I sigh. “No. Stop. I totally feel like one.”

“Oh, please. He’s like the second guy you’ve ever been with. You needed to clear away the cobwebs.”

I grab a cup of coffee and sit down across from her. She continues with her puzzle, the smile never leaving her face.
 

“So how was it?”

“Uh." I run my hands through my hair, my fingers stopping at a huge knot. I try to work through it. "Amy, stop.”

“I need details.”

"Yeah, well, so do I."

Amy drops her pencil and gives me her undivided attention. “What does
that
mean?”

"I was so drunk. I don't remember anything. I barely remember his name.”

She tips her head to the side and frowns at me. "Sawyer Davis. He's a boxer from Maine. You really don’t remember me introducing you?"

“No. Yeah, I kind of remember that, but everything after that is one big blur.”

“Shit, Amy. I’m sorry. If I’d known you were that drunk…but I guess you…haven’t really been eating all that much. Alcohol on an empty stomach isn’t a great combination.”
 

I tuck my hair behind my ears and looked away.

“You gotta snap out of it, really. Jason doesn’t deserve for you to pine over him.” She mutters under her breath. “Jackass.”

I sigh and throw my hands up. "Fantastic. A boxer. Wait until my mother hears about this."

"Maybe she'll be jealous. He
is
pretty hot." Amy waggles her eyebrows.
 

She’s trying to make me smile, but I can’t bring myself to do it. "I suppose if you like guys who look like thugs.” I shake my head. "Besides, I bet he’s a complete player.”
 

“Because he slept with you last night? Glass houses, Molly. Maybe he just got his heart broken too.”

I frown, feeling guilty. “Did he?”

She pauses before responding. “No. But he could have.”

“Helpful, Amy. Really helpful.”

"So he’s no angel. But the scandals we smooth over for him aren't normally related to his relationships."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing. I shouldn't have said anything. At any rate, he's not my client so I don't know all the details."

I groan. "I don't really care anyway. I'll never see him again."

"You mean he’s not your type?" Amy sucks her lips in, trying not to smile

I choke out a cough. He’s not at all my type and she knows it. "Jason is my type.” Sweet, professional and conservative.
 

“Jason's a cheat, remember.”

“Yes. The memory’s quite fresh, thank you very much.” I tap the heels of my hands against my forehead, cursing myself over and over. “What was I thinking? Why did I go home with him?”

“You tell me.” She sets down her iPad and rests her folded arms on the table, giving me her undivided attention.
 

I sigh. "I don't know." That's a lie. “I vaguely remember running into Mia at the bar and then drinking way more than I should have.”

Amy frowns at me. "She cornered me in the bathroom. She's lucky I didn't deck her."

"What did she say?" I pick at the placemat on the table, averting my eyes.

“She wanted to know where you're staying. Continues to claim it was a one-time thing that Jason initiated, yada yada yada. Said you have to let her explain." Amy rolls her eyes when I glance up at her.

"I don't have to do anything. Anyway, I don't want to talk about her."

“You look better today. Maybe sex with Sawyer was therapeutic?”

I half chuckle. “I’m not crying, so I guess that’s a good thing...but I still miss Jason. I still want him back.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“No. I won’t. I’m done with guys. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want him.” It’s so odd to me, that sleeping with someone else makes me feel as if I cheated on Jason. I wonder if he felt one ounce of what I feel now. Did he feel anything at all? He never did say he was sorry. He only tried to explain it away, as if the cheating didn’t matter.

Amy makes a face that tells me exactly what she’s thinking.
 

"I won't go back to him," I say in a small voice that sounds none too confident. I’m sure Amy can see right through me.
 

“I promise it’ll get better. Just keep going. And you have Megan and me. And your mother.”

I frown. "How did my mother enter this conversation?”

“She called just before you got home.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her you the spent the night with a guy.”

My jaw hangs open. “You didn’t.”

“Relax. She didn’t believe me.”

She did!

“She thought you were still avoiding her calls, so she’ll be over this morning. Before lunch.”

“Fuck me. Why didn’t you say something?” I push out from the table and I’m on my feet.
 

“I just did,” she calls after me as I head to the bathroom.
 

No sooner have I washed off the stench of my roll in the hay, does my mother barge through the front door. I’m in my usual spot on the sofa. Today I’m not in pajamas; I’m trying to make myself look good enough that my mother won’t worry and harass me for the next few months.
 

Amy enters the room wearing spandex. Her iPod is in hand. She smiles and waves to us. “Off for a run. Nice to see this morning, Mrs. Denton.”

My mother smiles widely. “Lovely to see you too, dear.”

When the door slams shut, my mother’s lips form a tight line and her eyes narrow. “I hate that girl. I have no idea why you’re staying with her.”
 

Amy and I have been friend since kindergarten. Amy’s parents came from the wrong side of the tracks, for lack of better phrasing; her father was the town drunk and her mother cleaned houses for our friends. My mother would never admit to feeling they were beneath her, but I know her better than that. Even after Amy became a big shot public relations person, she never budged an inch in my mother’s estimation. She would always be the girl who lived in a two-bedroom apartment above the town’s only tattoo parlor. Plus, Amy has some dirt on my mom. I imagine that’s a little hard to get over. I know it would be for me.
 

I groan and tip my head back, closing my eyes. After a deep breath, I level my head and meet her gaze. "She's a good friend. And she's been nice enough to let me stay here since I became homeless a week ago."

"You know perfectly well that you’d be more comfortable at home than here.”
 

“I’m not travelling in to work every day, Mom.” My parents have two residences. House number one is about an hour and half's drive away, in the suburbs. House two is a condo in the city that my father lives in during the week since his practice is local. When she says ‘more comfortable at home,’ she means the house in the suburbs, in the same bedroom I grew up in. There are a million and one reasons why that’s never going to happen.
 

“Yes, heaven forbid you quit your job at the
real estate agency
.”

I make a face. Before Jason left me, my job was a constant topic of conversation. I went to college—like they wanted—and majored in art history. After school I was supposed to go to law school, but I couldn’t do it. Imagine their dismay when I settled on a career in real estate. They think it’s a phase, and maybe it is until I find whatever it is I’m meant to do, but for now, it works. And I get some small satisfaction about not needing to ask for their help or money.
 

My mother scrutinizes my face and sits on the couch beside me. She raises her hands to cup my chin. “Hmm. You look pale. And thin. Are you eating?”

“Every day.”

“This can’t go on. You need to go back to work and keep yourself busy. I’m sure we could find you a position at the firm. Maybe in administration?”

“I’m not working for Dad, Mom. We’ve had this conversation too many times.” Although it might be my only option after I go back to work, considering how awful I am at real estate. I haven’t sold a house in almost seven weeks, and am dead last for sales in the office.
 

“So go back to selling houses, then.” My mother’s voice is cold as she waves her hand through the air.
 

“I took vacation for two weeks for my honeymoon." My voice trails off. What would I be doing now in Cuba? Swimming in the ocean? Lounging by the pool? Or making love to Jason on the beach under the moonlight. There it is again, that stabbing pain that continues to remind me how terrifically broken I am. "I'm not ready to face everyone at work yet."

“I don't blame you. I'd be good and embarrassed too. But it's not forever. His mother already told me he’s devastated, and he wants you back. There’s no need to prolong the breakup when we all know you’ll end up back together anyway. You must have broken up a dozen times since high school.”

Devastated
. I almost laugh. That must be why my phone is ringing off its hook. Not. “It’s different this time, Mom. He cheated on me. With Mia! I couldn’t take him back even if I wanted to, and the more I think about it, the more I think I shouldn’t.”

“Nonsense. When your father retires, Jason and his father will be left to run the firm. It would be nice to keep the business in the family, so
I
think you need to go to him, tell him you forgive him. Make him take you back.”

I shake my head at her and scream internally. Here I thought she was here for me. Stupid, stupid me. “Then maybe Mia should marry him, Mom.”

“Don’t pull attitude with me, Molly Noella Denton. So he cheated. It happens all the time. You think your father hasn’t had indiscretions?”

“What? Dad cheated on you?” I sit up straighter. How is this helping? I don’t need to think of my father this way on top of all the hurt I’m feeling.
 

“They all cheat, Molly. What matters is how they treat you. Was he good to you?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point. How can you be so cavalier about this? I’m not you, Mom, and I don’t want someone to treat me like that. It doesn’t matter how nice he was to me or how many presents he bought me—I can’t be with someone I don’t trust or respect.”
 

“Are we talking about you or me right now?” She trains her glare on my face. It’s so fierce I have to look away.
 

“Me, mother.”

My mother points her manicured finger at my chest and her face becomes tight. “Call him. Work it out. You can’t imagine how awkward it is for me at the country club when I see his parents. Or at the ladies' auxiliary meetings. His mother is my best friend.”

“I apologize if my fiancé cheating on me has inconvenienced you, mother.”

“Don’t be a child. There’s just no talking to you. I’m done. I came over here to check on you and you don’t appreciate it. That’s fine. I know when I’m not wanted.”

I want to scream, but I know my life will be miserable if she leaves angry. Calming her is the only way I’ll keep my sanity and avoid the constant phone calls where she’ll try to sway me to do exactly what she wants. She never gives up. Never.