Flawed (Blaze of Glory #2) (3 page)

“Natalie, do you think you could keep it down?” he whispers harshly, leaning forward to be heard as the other patrons resume their evening. It’s okay for them; they’re not the ones being dumped on their anniversary. “Why?” I demand harshly, picking up the toothpick that had been stuck in the top of the strawberry shortcake.
My favorite dessert.
I watch with mild fascination as the tip leaves little white marks on the back of my hand, flinching when he leans over and snatches it away from me, waving it in front of my face. “This,” he says in disgust, dropping the toothpick on his empty plate. “This is why I can’t be with you, Natalie. You’re so involved in your own problems that you forget everyone has them. I’ve been so slammed at work, and have you cared? Even once?”

I struggle with an internal battle that I know I’m losing. Luke has been there for me since day one, holding my hand and putting his own law career on hold to spend his days with me, just to make sure I stay safe. He’s been so selfless, and I’ve done nothing but take advantage of his generosity and kindness. “Please, don’t do this,” I whisper, hanging my head in shame as I feel the first tear roll down my cheek. “I can change; I know I can. Just give me another chance.” I look up at him across the table, my heart shattering into a thousand pieces as she shakes his head. “I’ve given you chance, after chance, after chance,” he says softly, reaching across the table and taking my hand. His thumb rubs across my palm in the same gentle manner he’s always used with me, and my tears fall harder. I know I’m making a fool of myself, but I can’t seem to stop. He waits patiently until my quiet sobs subside, then silently hands me a napkin. Dabbing at my tear stained cheeks, I watch hollowly as he discreetly signals for the check. His manner screams authority, and I know the battle is over… and he’s won. Pulling out his credit card, Luke gives me a small smile of apology and stands, pulling on his suit jacket. He always looks so handsome in a suit, and tonight is no exception. Brushing his blond hair out of his eyes, he indicates for me to stand, and like a dutiful wife, I do as I’m told. Only I’m not a wife, and after tonight I’m not even a girlfriend. I hold my arms out as he helps me into my red jacket before placing a hand on the small of my back and escorting me from the restaurant. A few women glance up at me as we pass by but I keep my head down, not ready to see the pitying smiles they’re ready to give me if I make eye contact.
There she goes,
they’re all thinking.
The girl who wasn’t good enough to keep her man.
Stepping out onto the almost empty sidewalk, I push the sleeves up on my jacket. It’s a rather warm night in Dallas, Texas, and people are opting to stay indoors in the air conditioning. I turn and watch numbly as Luke steps back and shoves his hands into his pockets, clearly looking like he wants to be anywhere but here. With me. “I guess this is goodbye,” I say quietly, tears threatening to spill down my cheeks once more. “I guess so,” he says with a final nod. “Take care of yourself, Nat,” he says gently. “I’ll get my things out of your apartment next week.” That’s the final straw that breaks the proverbial camel’s back, and I let out a loud sob as I lurch forward, clutching at his arm. “Please don’t do this,” I beg. “Three years Luke, don’t they mean anything to you?”

“Of course they do,” he snaps in a rare moment of anger. “But what about me, Natalie? Did you ever think of that? Three years I’ve spent holding your hand and putting you above everything. My career has suffered; I haven’t seen my parents in six months. No,” he shakes his head, pulling his arm free. “I can’t do this, not anymore. I’m sorry.” He turns away from me and starts walking down the street, his back rigid. “Luke, I love you,” I scream, not caring about the people who exit the restaurant and stare at me strangely. His steps slow, then he spins on his heel and stalks up to me. I cower in fright as his face changes into a mask of pure rage. “Love? LOVE?” he yells, his face now mere inches from mine. “What do you know of love, Natalie?” he spits scornfully. “The only person you love is yourself. The only person you care about is yourself. Now please,” he continues in a calmer voice, stepping back. “You’re embarrassing yourself and frankly you’re embarrassing me. Goodbye, Natalie.” This time, I don’t call out to him as he storms away. Dropping to the steps outside the restaurant, I bury my face in my hands and sob. The short black dress I’d bought specifically for tonight snags on the concrete but I barely notice, nor do I care. How could he do this to me? I know I’ve become a little… unstable recently, but that’s no reason to walk away. Aren’t you meant to stand by people when times get hard? My cell phone rings and I sit up straight, wiping my face with one hand as I reach into my jacket pocket with the other. I check the caller ID and almost choke on a sob as I answer, “Mel.”

“Natalie?” My best friend’s concerned voice sounds in my ear. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”

“He dumped me,” I cry, hearing a slew of curse words through the phone. This would almost be comical if I wasn’t crying so hard… Almost. “Where are you?” Mel demands. “I’m coming to get you.”

***

True to her word, Mel picked me up outside the restaurant. But instead of taking me home like I begged her to, she’s brought me to this God-forsaken club in town. I guess I’m kind of grateful since it’s helped me forget about what’s-his-name. The group of hot guys at our table cheer as I lick a line of salt from the top of Mel’s boob before downing a shot of Tequila. Waving my arms at the strong taste, I frantically look for the lime wedge, doubling over with laughter as the guy next to me smiles, the wedge poking out between his perfectly white teeth. “Kiss him,” one of the guys encourages. “Do it, do it, do it, do it,” Mel chants, thumping her hands on the table for emphasis. The other guys quickly pick up the chant until at least six of them are chanting. Giving in, I lean forward and suck on the lime wedge between the guy’s lips, my face puckering at the bitterness. Sitting back, I give a proud grin, but it’s wiped from my face when he drops the lime on the table, wraps his hand around the back of my neck and drags me toward him. His lips taste of the citrus fruit and I murmur in appreciation, ignoring the catcalls and wolf whistles around the table. His tongue slips inside my mouth and I taste the Tequila. I grip his upper arms as his hand lightly tugs my blonde hair. A pressure builds between my legs, and I squeeze them tightly together, but rather than alleviating the sensation, it just increases it. My head is all sorts of fucked up from too much alcohol, and I can barely remember my own name. Who is this guy again? Wait, do I even care? Right now he’s exactly what I need to wipe out the memory of my disastrous night. Pressing my breasts against his chest, my hand sweeps down to feel his impressive bulge through his jeans. Breaking away from the kiss, he gives me a hard look that both terrifies and thrills me. “Let’s get out of here,” he says in a low voice. Glancing at Mel, I chuckle when I immediately see she’s being well attended to. “She won’t even know you’re gone,” his voice against my ear makes me shiver with longing. Giving him a quick nod, I stand on unsteady legs and reach for my jacket. I would have fallen, but his fingers have a firm grip on my slim waist. “Where’re you goin’?” Mel slurs, looking up from her cocktail.

“She’s not feeling too well,” Mystery Man answers for me, drawing me up against his body. “I’m going to drive her home.”

“Ohhh, not feeling well,” Mel gives an exaggerated wink and I groan as the other guys laugh. Who was I kidding, thinking I could make a stealthy exit? They know exactly what I’m about to do. “Come on,” he whispers in my ear, his arm still firmly around my waist as he guides me out of the club.

***

He grunts as he thrusts once more inside me before rolling away and climbing off the bed. I fight back a wave of nausea as I feel his cum run down the inside of my leg. He leans over and presses a wet, sloppy kiss on my cheek, smiling as I grimace. I don’t know what made me think this was a good idea; serves me right for listening to Mel. Losing Luke had been a massive blow to my ego, but a one-night stand clearly isn’t going to help me feel better.

“What’s your name?” he asks, as he pulls up his jeans and zips them. I take a moment to look up at him. He’d be good-looking if it wasn’t for the scowl; I wonder what’s happened in the past two hours to change his mood so drastically.

“Nat,” I finally respond, realizing he’s still waiting for an answer. He grunts as though satisfied with the name and drags a white t-shirt over his head, covering an ugly scar that runs from his left nipple all the way across his torso and down to his right hip, before disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.

“Don’t you want to know my name?” he asks in a gruff voice, slipping his feet into a pair of tennis shoes and standing up, giving me a hard stare.

My dress is still bunched up around my hips, I’m wearing no bra and I suddenly feel self-conscious. I drag the white sheet up to cover my almost-naked body as I sit up and run a hand through my blonde hair. “No,” I answer, shaking my head. “I don’t see why it’s necessary. This was strictly a one-time thing, right?”

He grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I’m filled with a sense of foreboding; this was definitely not a good idea. Leaning over, he presses his lips against mine, stabbing his hard tongue inside. I lie perfectly still with my eyes squeezed shut, willing it to be over. I keep them shut for so long that I flinch when I hear the front door slam, letting out a shaky breath as I open my eyes once more.

The effects of the alcohol have long worn off and left me feeling nauseated and sluggish. Pulling myself up from the bed, I let the sheet drop from my half-naked body as I pad my way on bare feet to the adjourning bathroom. I push the glass door open and turn on the shower, adjusting the faucets until a steady warm stream pours from the spout. Quickly using the toilet, I wash my hands and peel off my dress before stepping under the water.

Turning my face up, I wince at the sting of the hot water as it rips off a scab on my arm. I glance down to see a small red line appear over the newest slice, and tears immediately prick at the corners of my eyes. It’s about three inches long, but it’s shallow. It should scar nicely, just like the others.

Grabbing the loofah that hangs from one of the faucets, I pour vanilla and strawberry-scented body wash onto it and begin rubbing my white skin in circular motions, the loofah lightly abrasive on my delicate flesh. I press harder, rewarded by the sting of pain as it grates across my stomach, blushing it a deep red. Encouraged, I spin the loofah back in the opposite direction, ripping my skin to shreds. I gasp as blood runs in small rivulets down my legs, and it’s enough to make me drop the loofah as I taste my salty tears. A rush of endorphins flood through me, and I feel an immediate release of pressure.

I deserved it,
I tell myself, gently washing away the blood and turning the water off.
I’m such a slut.

Grabbing a fluffy white towel, I blot my body dry before dropping it to the floor and staring at myself in the mirror. I need this. I need to bleed to feel alive. Everyone thinks I’m the perfect woman. —Beautiful, young, and fresh out of college. They have no idea of the hell that goes on in my mind. Scars line my upper arms, and I pull on a long-sleeved shirt to hide them. I’m ashamed that I’ve been reduced to this, cutting myself to feel better.

After gently cleaning and dressing my stomach, I pull on a pair of cotton pajama shorts before heading out of the bathroom and into the kitchen to make a cup of tea; there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep tonight. I jump as my cell phone rings, and a quick glance at the clock on the wall reveals it’s almost eleven pm.
Who the hell would be calling at this time of night?
Grabbing the phone, I answer and put it on speakerphone as I fill the kettle. “Hello?”

“Nat?” My sister’s voice fills the quiet room.

“Shan.” I smile, turning the kettle on and grabbing a cup from the cupboard. “How the fuck are you? How’s Stone?”

“Stone’s good,” she answers, and I can hear the happiness in her voice. It fills me with warmth to know my older sister is happy. “I’m sorry I missed the wedding,” I say, dumping sugar in the cup along with a tea bag. “That’s okay,” Shannon laughs. “You had finals, we understand.”

The kettle boils and I pour water in the cup, followed by milk. Picking up the phone from the bench, I carry it and my cup into the living room and take a seat on the couch. Leaning forward to place the phone on the coffee table, I wince slightly at the fresh wound on my stomach and take a sip of my tea. It’s sweet and hot, just the way I like it, and I make a small sound of satisfaction. “So, what’s up?”

“Stone’s taking us to Hawaii for two weeks,” she says happily. “Zeke’s beside himself with excitement. I think he’s packed his bag four times since Stone told us at lunch.”

I can barely contain my grin of excitement for her. I haven’t met Stone’s son, but from what I’ve heard, he’s had a hell of a rough start to life. His mom recently passed away, and for a while there he didn’t say a word to anyone. Eventually, it was Shan who brought him out of his depression and gave him back his smile. But then that’s my sister, always putting others before herself. When Momma died, Shannon stepped up and raised me, helping Daddy with everything we needed until one day she up and left us for the big city. I was too wrapped up in my own selfish ways to remember much about her boyfriend, but I hated him for taking my sister. She’d become my rock after Momma died, and it wasn’t long before I sunk into a deep depression. When I finished high school, Daddy sent me away to college, hoping I’d straighten myself out and snap out of whatever it was that was troubling me. But how do you
get over
depression? Pills didn’t work; they just made me sleep. Talking about it certainly didn’t improve things, either; most therapists told me it was all in my head and would pass in time.