Broken Pieces (22 page)

Reluctantly, I put my dress back on. As I put on my heels, I am reminded of walking away from that monster. The thought makes me shiver. It was only hours ago, but feels like a lifetime.

“I can do this,” I chant to myself.

I get to the bottom of the stairs and see Kace sitting on the couch with a beer in hand. He glances at me, but says nothing. I guess I don’t get a good-bye. I go outside where Drew is sitting on his hood. “What took so long?”

That makes me stop in my tracks. I don’t understand why he has this attitude towards me. Trying to avoid a fight, I say, “I’m sorry.”

I turn to my car, but he stops me. “You’re going to ride with me.”

“What about my car?” I hold my hand out, gesturing.

“I assuming that his is at your apartment. He can switch them.” He gets in his car.

Okay, he might have had a point, but he didn’t have to be such a damn asshole about it. I am already rethinking my decision to go home with him.

He doesn’t acknowledge me the entire way to his loft so I stare out the window. The sidewalks blur, as he speeds down the blacktop. It’s a great metaphor for my life. I have always said that no one has a perfect life, but I would like to know what I did to deserve my father leaving me at a young age; why my first boyfriend, my first love, my first everything destroyed me. In one week, I went from being on the top of the highest building in New York to the bottom of the freaking Grand Canyon. Now I graduated, had my boyfriend and two best friends, a new job, and an interview for graduate school. Everything was too perfect, I guess …

The tears spill over the edge of my eyelids. He pulls into the parking lot for the center. I raise my head and swipe the tears away. There is a cold spot on my forehead where I leaned on the window for support, and even it left marks.

I get out and start walking in a haze, dragging my heels on the concrete which makes an eerie scrapping noise. As I trudge up the stairs and turn into Drew’s loft, it feels different. I toss my stuff on the floor by the door and kick my heels off.

“Would you snap out of it?” he says, exasperated.

I glance at him through my lashes, drop my head, and go towards the bedroom to change. I understand that he does not have a clue what’s bothering me, but can’t a girl have some space to think? Obviously not because he just stomped into the room.

I sigh. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“We need to talk first,” he says, sternly.

“There is nothing to talk about. I feel horrible for leaving you today when you needed me.” I grab some underwear and one of his shirts.

“I believe that you feel horrible for that, and we will talk about who picked you up later. Why won’t you tell me what is bothering you?” His voice sounds sincere for the first time tonight, but it only makes me feel more like shit. Why do I have to be the one to ruin things?

“I’m fine. Some … old memories came to mind and I let them get to me. It is nothing, really; no need to worry.” Hopefully that sounded convincing. I don’t wait too long for a response before I head to the shower. He doesn’t follow so maybe he bought it.

A hot shower is just what I need. I used to wish I could wash away all the memories, feelings, and the hatred. That is the worst part, being left with all of that to live with day after day. Through the years, I have learned to deal. Yet, with everything resurfacing, I don’t know if I can keep it together. First the incident with Collin, then Jeremy deciding to show his face, and I hate when Drew and I argue.

I hear the door open. I lost track of how long I have been standing under scalding water wishing to wash everything away again.

It is quiet, but I can hear Drew shuffling around. I pay it no mind. When the curtain is pulled back, I don’t even bother to cover anything. He steps in, showing all of his glory. I grab the soap and move so he can have water. He gratefully accepts it; he looks tense. He waits until I have rinsed before he spins me to him. I’m not even surprised. He grasps my neck, pulling me towards him so he can place a chaste kiss on my forehead. Then he engulfs me in a hug and I fall into him, missing the feeling of his skin on mine. The heat shoots towards my lower abdomen, as my nipples make friction on his rock-like chest. I run my hands over the bulges on his slick biceps to his face, pulling him to me to take him in a kiss. He kisses me back with feverish lips, gliding his calloused hands across my delicate back. I moan into his mouth.

He stops and squeezes me, hard. “I know what happened today.” I hold my breath, not moving. “It’s him, isn’t it?” His whole body tenses.

Maybe if I play dumb, he’ll drop it. “I don’t know what you are talk—”

He halts me in midsentence. “Stop!”

It makes me jump, I close my eyes and try to pull away, but his grip is tight. “Drew, don’t,” I beg.

“Tell me it wasn’t him then!” he commands, but I hear the longing.

My eyes are fixed on the black, gray, and white striped curtain. Black, then gray, then white, repeat. The black stripe is biggest, the gray is smaller, and the white is the thinnest. A perfect pattern that will never change. After the black, you know the gray will come; after the gray, you know the white will come. Repetition. Methodical. I should have known. It was bound to happen; it happened before.

He shakes me out of my stupor and whispers, “Kara, answer me. I need you to answer me.”

“Yes.” My voice is barely audible.

His breath is starting to come rapidly. However, he hasn’t let me go; one arm is draped around my shoulders, the other is cradling my head to his chest. I try to keep the sobs at bay, but the shudders that are racking my body are a dead giveaway.

He effortlessly maneuvers to shut the water off, jerks the curtain back, and hands me a towel. I numbly take it from him, not noticing that he already has boxers on before I can wrap myself with the towel. He makes sure not to look at me, and then he is gone.

I fall to the floor and let lose. I don’t hold back at all; I let it all out. When I feel like I can’t cry anymore, I make myself stand and get dressed. I feel the fluffy rug between my toes, reminding me of my mother’s house. Everything was always in its place, and the rugs had their certain spot. She couldn’t stand it if they were out of place; just the slightest angle off and she knew it. I shake my head to get the thoughts of my mother’s obsessive compulsive disorder out of my mind; she denies it to the day, though. Maybe there was a reason she kept things in their place.

My eyes are swollen, tinged with a blush of redness. I run my hands through my damp hair in an attempt to rid the knots. I eventually give up and brush my teeth. My eyes are droopy; it seems like this day has lasted weeks.

I step out into the open loft, my eyes scanning for him. I find him sitting on the couch, his hands fisted into each other, his elbows resting on his knees. He put sweats on but no shirt. I take a cautious seat on the wooden coffee table directly in front of him. His eyes are fixed on the floor.

“Drew.” My voice breaks.

I try to hold the tears back; I could only imagine how he feels right now … his best friend and girlfriend. “Don’t,” he says, blandly.

I stand and go to his room. I know this is for the best. I’ll just keep telling myself that. I throw on some shorts, because that is all I have clean here, throw on a college hoodie, and go back out. He is gone from the couch, but the bathroom door is shut. I guess he thinks a quiet and clean break is the best.

I can handle this. I have been through much worse. I have never walked out on the love of my life before. I try to stop the tears so I can see to put my jacket and shoes on. He still hasn’t come out so I write him a note on the back of an envelope that is on the island.

Drew,

If saying I’m sorry was enough, I would have already said it. I want you to know that I’m sorry for causing a problem between you and Jeremy. I also hope that, one day, you can forgive me for walking out on your mother’s funeral. I do think this is the best thing for us; a clean break. No reason to drag the pain out any further. I wish you the best. I love you. Always.

Love,

Kara

I am out the door and down the street before I know it. I know I could call Kace to come get me, but I feel like a walk. Maybe it will clear my head; I don’t think a cross-country run could do that.

When I look up, I don’t have a clue where I am, and there’s buildings I don’t recognize. I give in and call Kace.

“Hello?” a voice that is not Kace’s answers.

I look back at my phone. I dialed right. “Um, is Kace there?”

“Yeah, he’s asleep though,” he says with a gang-like accent.

Shit! I didn’t think of the time. “Oh, okay. Will you tell him to call Kara when he wakes up?” Strike one, Lauren’s next.

“Kara Kara? That was here earlier?” he says with more interest.

“Yeah, that is me.”

“I’ll wake him.” I hear movement.

“No, don’t wake him. I am on my way there. I just got a little … lost?” I say, more as a question. I am lost in more ways than one.

“Oh, well, hell, why didn’t you just say so? Where ya’ at and I’ll come pick ya’ up and bring you to Kace myself!”

“Um … I don’t know.” I look around at my surroundings. Anything sounds better than creepy sidewalks with flickering street lamps. “Fine.” My teeth are beginning to chatter. The hoodie is not making up for the lack in pants.

I tell gang dude what street signs and buildings I see. Thankfully, he knows exactly where I am. Less than ten minutes later, an older Toyota pulls up and he rolls the window down. “Kara?” the guy says. I nod and get in the passenger seat.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Kace speaks highly of ya’. What the hell are ya’ wearin’, girl?” He reaches for the heater.

I learn the gang dude’s name is Dane, and he plays drums in Kace’s band. He has a red Mohawk with tattoos to his ears, literally. His ears are gauged way more than Kace’s, I am secretly glad that he didn’t decide to go that far with it. Kace’s are there, but simple enough. Dane has a spike through his chin rather than a tongue ring; trust me, I heard all about that.

It is a relativity quiet ride, other than him talking to hear himself speak. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see Kace’s townhome. I feel my phone buzzing in my purse and don’t bother to look because I already know who it will be. Better turn it off now before the tears start.

Dane lets me in the house and tells me I know where to find Kace. I take my shoes off at the door and start up the stairs, freezing when they start to creak. I don’t want to wake anyone. I quietly open his door, just enough for me to squeeze through, and softly shut it. I throw my hoodie off and drop my shorts, leaving me in a tank and panties.

I scan the room. It looks like it did earlier, except that he’s sleeping on one side of the bed. I tiptoe across the shag carpet to the side of his bed and pause. I take a moment to admire him. He has one arm draped over his forehead and the other resting on his hip. He is shirtless and the sheets are pretty low. I am wondering if he is wearing anything at all. I stand there like a psycho, just ogling him. His abs flex every time he exhales; the pistol he has tattooed on his hip grows, then gets smaller.

I timidly climb into the bed, not knowing what his reaction will be. Maybe I should have thought about just waking him. Then again, what have I thought about lately? Not only have I been making rash decisions, but acting like I have no common sense. I should have stayed and faced our problems instead of just walking out. He probably had a coronary when he saw that note. I know I would have if he had left it for me. I ruin everything good that is given to me. I shouldn’t be here because I don’t want to ruin Kace, too.

I hiccup, as I try to keep the sobs from breaking through. “Kara?” I hear him groggily gasp.

I turn so I can see him. I breathe out, “Kace …”

I break.

How could she have not told me that is was him? Granted, she didn’t know that he
was
one of my best friends. I still would have known if she said his name. I’m one shitty boyfriend for not knowing. On top of everything, I have been treating Kara like shit. I know it is wrong and I fucking hate myself for it. She means the world to me. Work has been a living hell, my mother was calling everyday wanting money, and then my jealously getting the best of me was certainly not the best. That is no excuse, though! She’s different, and I want to keep her.

Jeremy had sex with … no, fucking
raped
… the love of my life. The mental images bring tears to my eyes. My thoughts are going to get the better of me.

“Man the fuck up!” I tell myself, while I stare back into the mirror at the man I never wanted to be. I never wanted to treat a woman like my father treated them. I haven’t done anything compared to him, but I am scared that if I keep letting my anger escalate, it is only a matter of time. I want to deserve her; I need to prioritize. Her first, me second, and Jeremy … dead.

I have fucked up so many times already. She deserves someone so much better than me. She thinks her past defines her; it only made her tough as nails. I could have never survived what she has. I think the world of her, and I don’t know what I would do if she was not in my life.