Fated to be Yours (15 page)

“As you know, it’s Sharon’s fortieth birthday next week and I’ve decided to throw her a large party to celebrate. I was calling to invite you and a guest to the event.”

Of course, he’s going to throw her a giant party for her birthday. His little trophy wife is the center of his world and she gets everything that she wants.

He continues on even though I haven’t said anything in response. “It’s at the Millennium so going to be considered a formal affair. If you need money to purchase something appropriate for the event, I can have Natasha call you and she will set something up at one of the boutiques that she uses for these kinds of circumstances.”

It doesn’t surprise me in the least that he wants to deal with me through his personal assistant. I talk to her more than I talk to my dad. I could almost consider her a friend.

Almost.

“Um, well I don’t have anything that would be good enough for the event so if you could ask Natasha to set something up for me I would appreciate it.” My voice is small, feeling once again inadequate as a daughter. A formal affair? Just another reminder of how much I don’t fit into his world.

“Consider it done. I’ll have her contact you with the exact details and everything else that you would need.”

The loud click of his briefcase indicates that he’s getting ready to leave. “I have to be in court now so I must be on my way. Enjoy your business trip. I will see you when you return.” He pauses for a moment, letting his voice soften slightly. “Perhaps you can stop over and have dinner with us over the weekend?”

I rather dislike the family dinners he invites me to. It confuses me as to why he feels the need to bring me over. Surely it’s just to feed his power trip or exert his will over me. It’s the same thing every time I go over there. He will greet me and tell me that I can do so much more with my life. Then Sharon will wax on and on about how perfect their marriage and existence are. After that, I’ll go home feeling insignificant and depressed. Boy, I can’t wait for the weekend now.

“Sure Dad. That would be fine.” Even though I know what the night will consist of, there’s still that little part of me that doesn’t want to disappoint my father. I wish that part of me would just go away sometimes.

“Please give Sharon a call when you return and let her know which day would suit you best. I’ll talk with you soon.”

“Okay, Dad. Have a good day in court. Bye.”

There’s no goodbye from him. Just a click and then dead air, indicating that he’s ended the call. I toss my phone next to me and press the heel of my hands into my eyes. My headache is pounding full force into my head. Maybe a quick nap will help. I’ve got a couple hours to spare before Andrew gets here. I drape my arms over my eyes, allowing the dark to swallow me up as the memories begin to appear.

They’re fighting again. The yelling is too loud. They’re always fighting. But if I stay here maybe they won’t see me. They always give me the look when I’m around. The sadness in Mommy’s eyes is too much for me. But she always pushes me away when I try to hug her and tell her everything will be okay. So I’ll just sit here with Dolly and wait. The yelling will stop. It always does.

I stroke my doll’s hair, cuddling her close to my chest, whispering to her that everything will be okay. As long as I’m here nothing will hurt her. I pretend to feed her a bottle, blocking out the noise from the kitchen.

A door slams, causing me to look up. He’s got a bag in his hand. But it’s not the briefcase that he brings with him to work. No, it’s much larger than that. He sets it down by the front door. I watch him from the living room floor, my knees tucked under my chin, Dolly pressed firmly to my chest. Another bag joins the first and then another. Three bags total.

He looks over at me but doesn’t say anything. Why does he have all those bags? My cheek rests on top of my knees as I watch him get his coat out of the front closet. He shrugs it over his shoulders then slowly starts walking over to me. He looks sad. Why is he sad?

“Tessa, I have to go for a while.”

“Why?”

“I just have to. You need to be a big girl for me though. Don’t cry or carry on. That’s what little girls do. And you’re a big girl, right?”

I nod my head. Tears threaten to fall from my eyes, but I try to push them away.

“Yes, Daddy, I’m a big girl.”

His finger traces my nose and he sighs. “That’s my girl.”

He stands back up and walks over to his bags, placing one over his shoulder and clutching the other two in his hands after he opens the front door.

“Bye, Tessa,” he says before walking out into the bright afternoon sun.

Something’s not right. I sprint to the door, my face pressed against the glass as I watch him load the bags into his car.

“Daddy!” I yell.

He looks up and his face twists in pain. My hands bang against the glass, hoping that he’ll come back.

“Daddy!” I yell again. He raises his hand and waves to me before he climbs into the car and pulls out of the driveway. I fling the door open and run down the sidewalk. My tiny legs carry me as fast as they can. The pain of the rocks digging into the soles of my feet doesn’t hurt nearly as much as the pain in my chest. I stop at the end of the driveway and scream, tears streaming down my face as his car disappears from sight.

“Daddy!” I wail again.

He’s gone.

Why is he gone?

Where’s Mommy?

My hands push at the tears coming down my cheeks. My chest hurts. My eyes hurt. I walk over the rocks again and look down when the burning pain is too much. The red is seeping through my toes and onto the gray cement.

“Mommy!” I yell. But she doesn’t come. It hurts so much.

I crawl on my hands and knees, not wanting to get blood on the carpet. That will make Mommy mad. The hard tiles on the kitchen floor hurt my knees as I crawl over to the sink. I wet a paper towel and press it against the cuts on the bottom of my feet.

It hurts so much.

I pick out the tiny rocks still stuck in the cuts and press harder to stop the bleeding. I look around the room, searching for the one person I want to find. But she’s not here.

There’s a noise coming from down the hall, almost like someone is crying. I check my feet again, placing a few band-aids on the cuts before I seek out the noise. I stop and collect Dolly, not wanting to be alone. My nose is still running and the tears are still there.

“Mommy?” I quietly ask.

Another noise comes from the bathroom and I push the door open slightly.

Her eyes are red and puffy. There’s black running down her cheeks. She looks pale. She doesn’t look like my mommy. She’s huddled in the corner, pressed against the bathtub, her head banging against the wall.

“Mommy?”

“He’s gone.”

I slowly walk over to her, clinging tightly to Dolly. I drop to my knees and sit in front of her, hoping that she’ll look at me.

“Are you okay, Mommy?”

The coldness of her eyes pierces me, holding me in my place. I scoot back a little from her, not liking the way she’s looking at me.

“It’s your fault. You’re the reason why he’s gone.”

“What?”

Her head lifts off the wall and turns toward me again. She raises her hand, pointing a slender finger in my face.

“He couldn’t handle it anymore. You were too needy. You took away his youth. He had loved me before you came. And now he’s gone. Why did you have to exist? It’s your fault. It’s your fault,” she angrily sobs.

Tears fall from my eyes once again. He left because of me. Daddy doesn’t love me. Mommy doesn’t love me. No, that can’t be true. They love me. They have to.

I reach out for her, tears streaming down my cheeks. She hits me with her icy gaze and shoves me away.

“Get away from me! You ruined everything!” she cries.

I move further away, my knees scraping against the tiles.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“You ruined everything! Go away!” she screams.

Gut-wrenching sobs take over as I pick myself off the floor, holding onto Dolly’s arm as she drags on the floor behind me.

It’s my fault.

It’s my fault.

I pick up Dolly and hold her in front of my face. Grammy gave this to me because she said it looks just like me. Brown hair, hazel eyes, rosy cheeks. She said it reminded her of her little angel.

I throw it across the room, watching it hit the wall, finally falling to the floor. The hurt won’t go away. It’s too much. My daddy left because I exist. He doesn’t love me.

I crawl underneath my bed. My safe spot. My refuge. Placing my head in the crook of my arm, I let go and silently cry myself to sleep.

I startle awake. Holy fuck.

I gasp for precious air. My lungs feel tight and my eyes burn. Why do I feel like this? I drag myself off the bed and close the bathroom door behind me. The light flickers to life and the cause for my pain stares back at me in the mirror.

My eyes are puffy and red. Blotchy patches cover my cheeks as if I had been crying for hours, which explains the dry and scratchy feeling in my throat. I look and realize my hair is a rat’s nest, sticking up everywhere. What in the heck was I doing? Did I somehow stand on top of my head while I was sleeping?

I swipe hastily at the black running down my cheeks as the flash of my mom spewing her venom at me comes into view when I look in the mirror again.

“It’s my fault,” I whisper.

No, not now. I can’t do this now. Andrew will be here soon and I need to get ready. These repressed memories need to go back into the tiny box in my mind, never to be opened again. They need to stay there where they can’t hurt me anymore. Because if I don’t feel them, they can’t hurt me. If I don’t acknowledge their existence, they’re not there.

The first bite of the scalding hot water hitting my naked flesh clears my mind as I let the water run in rivulets down my face. It washes away the pain of the resurrected dream that I thought I had long buried. I stand under the spray until I’m convinced that I’ll appear normal again.

The buzzing of my phone has me searching the room. Where in the heck did it land after I talked to my dad? I scramble across the comforter, my towel barely hanging on to me as I shove my hands under the pillows.

Three missed text messages from Andrew.

Oh crap, what time is it? The bright red lights of the bedside clock beam the answer that I feared.

7:10 pm.

I’m late! Oh God, I’m late! My thumb swipes across the screen, opening the first message.

I’m just pulling up to the hotel now, love. I can’t wait to see you. ~A~

That was at a quarter to. The next two are time stamped a few minutes ago.

I’m down in the lobby waiting for you. I’ll be the good looking gentleman in the chair with the goofy grin on his face. ~A~

I hope you haven’t forgotten me, love. Text me back and let me know where you are. ~A~

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! I need to text him back, let him know that I didn’t forget about him. How could I ever forget about him? My fingers work in double time, quickly typing my response but the knock at my door has my head shooting up instead.

The towel wrapped around my naked body starts to slip slightly as I open the door, thinking maybe Kara wanted to check on me. Instead, I’m greeted by the hard body that turns my own muscles into a quivering pile of mush.

Andrew’s hands are tucked casually into his pockets as he rocks back on his heels slightly. A quiet gasp escapes his parted lips as he takes in my state of undress. I can feel the heat of his stare again as it travels across my body, lingering slightly on my chest before falling onto my face.

“Andrew, oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I was just typing you a response,” I say quickly, almost to the point of panting.

“Please tell me that you do not make it a habit of opening doors wearing just that. For if you do, I may be arrested for assault should anyone other than me ever see you like this.”

I swallow hard, his eyes following the movement. A low noise can be heard and I know it’s from him. It’s then I realize that he’s feeling proprietary of me as if my body is for his eyes only.

My head shakes from side to side, a slow smile playing on my lips. “No, I can honestly say that you are the only man that I’ve ever answered the door to wearing just a towel. So you should feel pretty special. But since I am in a towel and I’d rather not bail you out of jail, why don’t you come inside so I can finish getting ready.”

Without hesitation, he brushes past me, walking through the room and glancing around briefly before settling into the chair in the corner. My towel loosens again so I wrap my arms around my chest, squeezing it tight. I don’t need to embarrass myself again in front of this man. A wardrobe malfunction is all I need to completely throw me over the edge.

The blood in my veins heats my cooled skin as I watch him drag his index finger across his lips, seemingly studying me as I stand there frozen under the heat of his gaze. I shift from foot to foot, unsure of what to say to him.

“I’ll only be a few minutes. It won’t take long. Promise,” I say, backing up toward the dresser to retrieve the clothes I had picked out to wear. Holding onto them for dear life, I slowly back toward the bathroom, thankful that my towel did not fall off my body in the process.

Ten minutes later I emerge, fully dressed this time, as I make my way over to him. He hasn’t moved an inch, still sitting there, silently assessing me and giving me no indication of what he’s thinking. I slowly creep up to him, my hands wringing in front of me. My eyes search his face once more, desperately trying to find the words to bring him out of his apparent trance.

“I think I’m ready to go now. I’m usually not this absent-minded or late. Well, not
this
late at least but I guess I fell asleep when I got back and lost track of time. Then I couldn’t find my phone and you were texting me and . . .”