Reviving Haven (31 page)

“Did Latch do this?” His voice shakes as though he’s afraid to hear the answer.

I blink several times. I bite my bottom lip, trying to cause enough pain to stop myself from crying.

“I . . . I didn’t say no . . . I didn’t . . .” I stammer, my eyes staring at the ground.

Keenan interrupts. “Did you ask for these?” His eyes graze the marks that are darkening into bruises on each of my arms.

“Did you say yes to this?” He points to my neck.

My fingers trace my neck, but I can
’t feel anything. I pull out my compact to look. There are red welts from Latch’s hand.

“He didn
’t mean to do this. I pushed him.” A strangled cry leaves my mouth as I realize what I’m actually saying.

“Quit making excuses for him, goddammit!” Keenan roars.

This Keenan scares the hell out of me. Even Weezie takes a few steps back. He looks deranged.

“Marlon will drive both of you home. I
’ll take care of this. I’m done coddling his ass,” Keenan says in a deadly serious tone as he stalks away, his fists clenched at his sides.

Thirty minutes later, we arrive home.

“Do you want to talk about it, Haven?” Weezie asks, tossing her purse on the kitchen bar.

I shake my head. All I want is a shower and my bed, in that order.

I hate my life.

I hate myself.

I only wish I could hate Latch.

L
atch

I wake up to the worst taste in my mouth ever. My entire body feels like it
’s been through a meat grinder. Hell, even my eyelashes hurt. I detest hangovers, and this one is a twelve on a scale of ten. I let out a groan, cracking one eye open in the process. Shit, I must still be fucked up because that looks like—

“No, no, no . . . big fucking mistake . . .” My voice sounds strangled, as I look at Krystella, naked in my bed. I open my other eye and find myself surrounded by pink drapes, pink pictures, nothing but—pink, pink, and more pink.

Wait! This isn’t my bed, or my house.
I flip myself over abruptly, landing on my back and looking up at a ceiling full of smoky pink mirrors. This is her house—Krystella’s house.

Oh, God, what the fuck did I do? Haven . . .
I cringe, panic rolling over me in waves with the knowledge that I’ve been with someone else. This will kill her, unless she kills me first, or rather Weezie hunts me down and has my balls stuffed and mounted.

A sigh comes from Krystella as she props herself up on one elbow, her enormous silicone boobs jutting straight out. She pulls the sheet to her feet. Yup, she
’s naked, except for the teeny tiny G-string. I groan again, this time out of regret. I love Haven. She means everything to me. I would never hurt her—well, not intentionally. What the fuck did I do?

Between the booze and the pills, I
’m a mess. If I had any kind of backbone, I’d just admit my addiction, go into rehab and come out a rock star like everyone else. Honestly, I don’t see this as a problem. I can quit anytime. Keenan calls it denial and calls himself an enabler.

I
’m starting to think he’s right.

I look at Krystella unhappily, pulling the sheet back up to cover her nakedness. She pouts, then looks at me and starts giggling hysterically. My eyebrow arches up. Holy mother of God, that fucking hurts; my entire face feels like it
’s on fire. I jump out of bed and run straight into the bathroom, ignoring the fact that I am naked and hard as hell. Fuck!

Another eruption of guilt ravages my body. I know this will crush any trust Haven has in me. My heart hurts. All I want is for her to love me. If she finds out about this, and she will, our relationship will be over.

I grab a towel—
Jesus, a fucking baby pink towel
—and wrap it around my waist. Krystella has seen me naked many times, but I don’t want her getting any ideas. I pee, and my dick finally softens to its normal soft size. Then I take a look at myself in the mirror and recoil in shock. For a moment, my brain refuses to believe what my eyes are seeing. There’s a bruise covering half my face—
no wonder it hurts like a bitch
—and my left eye is every color of the rainbow. This is not an attractive look. I stand there trying not to be vain, but my face is marred. I mean really fucked up. How can I not remember this? And who in the hell hit me? Certainly not that asshole, Jared. I clearly remember kicking his ass. He didn’t even see it coming, so he never got the chance to retaliate. I do have a few enemies, but none of them would ever cross the line at a public event like my mother’s gala. Does Haven know this happened? Was she there? Was she hurt? Does she know about Krystella and me? Once again, I groan loudly.

Krystella cracks the door open. At least she had some clothes on now, sort of. She
’s still wearing her G-string, but at least she’s covered her 44 DD’s with a shirt. I roll my eyes—
fuck that hurts!
—as I put my mouth under the faucet for a drink.

“I have bottled water in the kitchen, you know,” she offers, leaning against the door and licking her lips as if I
’m brunch.

“I have to go. Jesus, where are my clothes?” I ask frantically.

I dash back into the bedroom, wearing my baby pink towel with a scowl on my face. I feel panic and, well, more panic. This is the ultimate betrayal to Haven. If she finds out, she’ll hate me forever and I won’t blame her. If the tables were turned, I don’t even want to think about what I’d do. Krystella drags her long, fake fingernails down my back. I shake her off and glare at her.

“Whatever happened, it was a mistake.” I
’m angry. Not so much at Krystella, but more at myself for being such an asshole.

Krystella chokes on a laugh. “Calm down, Latch. Nothing happened,” she admitted. “Not for my lack of trying, of course, but you wouldn
’t fuck me. Normally, sucking a guy’s cock does the trick. But since blowjobs never really got you off, I didn’t even try. Honestly, after Keenan punched your lights out, you were done anyway.” There’s a satisfied grin on her face.

“Wait . . . what . . . we didn
’t fuck? Really?” I didn’t mean it to sound so gleeful.

“God, don
’t sound so happy about it. You know how many men would love to fuck me?” She leans against the bedpost and pushes her boobs out.

“Well, yeah, okay, but you know I
’m with someone, right?” I say, absolutely relieved with the knowledge that I didn’t touch the manipulative witch.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah . . . evidently you must love her because you wouldn
’t even kiss me,” she replies.

I turn toward Krystella as I find my clothes. “What did you mean when you said Keenan punched me?” I ask, my clothes bundled in my arms as I head towards the bathroom.

“Really, Latch, I’ve seen your dick plenty of times. You don’t have to hide in my bathroom to dress,” she calls out from the other side of the bathroom door. I can hear her snicker, like I’m the biggest fucking joke in the world. “I don’t know what went down at that party, but Keenan was really pissed at you. You guys were talking, and then yelling, and then he pounded on you for at least ten minutes.”

I charge out of the bathroom dressed in the poorest excuse for a tux ever. Wrinkled, dirty, stained and torn. Wonderful—I look exactly as I feel. One hot mess.

Why did Keenan, my best mate, someone who’s like a brother to me, fuck me up? What did I do? Keenan hardly ever gets angry. And in almost fifteen years, I have never seen him get physical with anyone.

“Where
’s my phone?” I demand rather than ask while slipping into my shoes.

“Did you check your pants pocket?” Krystella answers, clicking her nails. That
’s one of many things she does that fucking annoys the hell out of me.

I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, many phone numbers on little slips of paper, and a small baggie of white pills. Shame racks me. Yet there it is, the hunger—a desire for the pills. My hangover is so bad, just one will help. Just one. I choke down the thought and shove the baggie back into my pocket. As I cross the room, I crumple up the phone numbers and toss them into the pink trashcan. Then I dial Keenan
’s number.

“What do you want, Latch?” Keenan snaps into the phone, sounding pissed off.

“What the fuck, bro? Come and get me,” I reply, sounding equally pissed.

There
’s dead silence on Keenan’s end. And for a brief moment, I think he’s disconnected.

Keenan clears his throat. “Where are you?”

Fuck. I don’t really want to tell Keenan I’m at Krystella’s, especially since there’s a good chance Keenan is going to talk to Weezie again.

“Nothing happened, man. I swear to God,” I blurt out.

“Where the fuck are you, Latch? If you want me to pick your ass up, you’re going to have to be specific,” Keenan demands.

“I
’m at Krystella’s,” I whisper. I can almost sense the shitstorm over the phone.

“YOU REALLY ARE AN ASSHOLE!” Keenan yells.

“I told you, NOTHING FUCKING HAPPENED! Just pick me up!” I yell back.

“How could you possibly know that—whatever,
I’m on my way, be outside.”

“Are you planning to hit me again?” I ask.

“I make no promises,” Keenan responds before the phone goes dead.

I grab my jacket and run out the door. I stand outside waiting for Keenan in just my shoes, pants and my light green shirt that
’s open and blowing in the breeze. I couldn’t find my tie, my socks or my briefs. Thirty minutes later, Keenan drives up. He doesn’t get out of the car. The passenger door opens from the inside.

“Get in, asshole!” he shouts.

I get in, slamming the door of Keenan’s Porsche. For twenty minutes we drive in silence, the air between us filled with discord. I have no idea what the hell is going on or why my best friend cleaned my clock last night.

“You smell,” Keenan states nonchalantly.

I sniff the air, then under my arm. My body smells the way my mouth tastes—gross.

“Can you at least tell me why you ruined my face?” I ask casually.

All of a sudden, Keenan stomps on the brakes, causing the Porsche to slip and slide along the road. The car finally skids to a stop, causing a dust cloud to surround us. He looks furious. I have never seen him look like this. And for a moment, I’m terrified, scared that whatever I did is so bad that it has pushed Keenan over the edge.

“Jesus, Latch, you
’re telling me you don’t remember anything about the gala?” Keenan looks aggravated.

“I remember kicking Jared
’s ass, but not a whole lot after that. What the fuck happened? Why the beat down? How stupid did I get?” Now it’s my turn to be frustrated, because I can’t remember what happened last night.

“Latch, you hurt her.” Keenan
’s voice shakes with contempt.

I go silent, attempting to understand what Keenan said. I hurt someone? Was it Haven? A shadow of pain crosses into my heart and I can
’t breathe.

“What di-did I do?” I stammer.

The look of disappointment on Keenan’s face makes my heart sink and my pulse shoot through the roof. I feel utter despair. The physical pain I’m in is nothing compared to the mental anguish I’m feeling at this moment.

“You forced her,” Keenan says through gritted teeth and white-knuckles the steering wheel. He
can’t even look at me as he says the words.

I grab Keenan
’s arm. “What do you mean, I
forced
her? Who? What the fuck did I do? Tell me, goddammit,” I beg him.

Keenan turns towards me, looking me straight in the eyes. His look pierces my very soul.

“You forced yourself on Haven,” Keenan says quietly.

“No, no, there
’s no way. Why would I force myself on her? I love her. We’re together. I wouldn’t have to force myself on her. I don’t understand what’s happening here. Did she tell you I forced her?” My voice shakes with disbelief at the accusation.

“No, Latch. Haven loves you. She even tried to defend you. Jesus Christ, you fucking left marks on her. Do you understand what I
’m saying? You physically hurt her.” Keenan’s voice is quiet but stern.

I can
’t process what I’m hearing. I took Haven against her will? I forced her to have sex? I put my hands on her? I hurt her? That’s not possible. I love her! Even if she did deny me sex, I would never force myself on her. Knowing I have physically hurt her is almost too much for me to bear. I can’t remember a fucking thing.

I don
’t deserve her. If she’s left me, then it’s the best thing she’s ever done.

H
aven

Waking up is a painful experience. I
’m sore from the night before. My body aches. The bruises on my arms are more apparent now. I have a headache and I feel physically ill. I shuffle into the kitchen quietly, getting crackers and water.

“Hey,” Weezie says as she rubs the sleep from her eyes, even though she looks like she hasn
’t slept.

“Hey,” I reply.

I’m not only feeling sick, but I’m tired from a restless night without any sleep.

“Are you okay, really?”

She rubs both my arms in a comforting motion. I nod, sitting on the sofa and nibbling on my crackers.

“Do you want to tell me what happened, Haven?” Weezie
’s question hangs in the air.

I sigh deeply. This conversation is going to be humiliating.

“I wouldn’t know where to start.” I pause, sipping my water. “You obviously know that Jared was . . . well, he wasn’t very nice.”

Weezie acknowledges what I
’m saying with a grim look.

“Yeah . . . I always knew he was a prick, but I guess he
’s worse than I had imagined.” Her voice is laced with disgust.

“I don
’t want to rehash old stuff. I really want to forget it and move on,” I reply with frustration.

No matter how much I
’d love to forget my past, I have done nothing but dwell on it for the last seven years. I am my own worst enemy.

I grab two more crackers. Weezie moves over to the sofa to sit beside me.

“Sweetie, you do realize there is no moving forward if you don’t face the past head-on and let it go? You just can’t pretend it never happened. If you do, it will always haunt you and hold you back.” Weezie tells me.

She doesn
’t realize how true her words are. I have let my past control who I am or who I could be. Even though Jared is long gone, I still let him control me. I still let his words and actions haunt me.

Weezie squeezes her eyes shut as she leans her head back. When she opens her eyes, she grabs my hand.

“Don’t let that person steal your happiness. It’s something that happened to you. It doesn’t define who you are. You’re not that person anymore. Let it go.”

“What about Latch? How do I let him go? What do I do about the man I love? He clearly lied to me. And he
’s a thief . . .” I choke on the rest of my words. It hurts too much to consider what he has done to me.

“I don
’t know, Haven. I’m pretty pissed at him. He’s one fucked up prick in my book. I think you need some time to collect your thoughts. Put some distance between you and Latch. Maybe you’ll be able to forgive him; I’m not sure I could. Maybe he’s too fucked up to be with anyone. Keenan told me everything.”

I want to pretend I don
’t know what she’s talking about. I hang my head, feeling ashamed that I was so blinded by my emotions that I didn’t want to see the problems with Latch.

“He doesn
’t want me anymore anyway. He made that
Krystella
clear.” I feel drained. I don’t even have the strength to be sad.

“He
’s fucked up, you know that. I’m sure he’s very sorry right now.” Weezie isn’t smiling.

I know that Keenan took matters into his own hands last night. From what I heard of their phone conversation, Keenan had not only beaten the shit out of Latch, but had confessed to Weezie that Latch has a drug problem. Keenan
’s personality is so well mannered and gentle that it surprised me that he got physical with Latch.

“You really don
’t look good, Haven. You should go back to bed. Take it easy,” Weezie says, concern written all over her face. It’s not only the bruises and marks on my body that are making me hurt, but I ache all over.

I get up and walk to my room, taking my crackers and water with me. I spend the rest of the day in bed.

When Monday rolls around, I am still not feeling well. I decide to stay home and rest some more. Weezie works in her home office so she can keep an eye on me. She occasionally pokes her head in to check on me and brings me snacks.

There
are no phone calls or text messages from Latch. Even though we had both been clear about the fact that we are done, I keep thinking in the back of my mind that it isn’t going to happen. I am alone once again. At thirty-seven years old, I have lost at love again. The only difference is I had prophesized this outcome. I had gone into this affair blindly believing it would mean nothing, then allowing myself to fall for him. Even though I knew the relationship would never really work, somewhere deep in my soul I had hoped it would. I fell in love with Latch so hard, it physically hurt. When it was good, it was glorious, but when it got bad, it was hell. I refuse to give up my tears. I just want to lie in bed for an entire week. I’m so exhausted and I feel terrible. Not only did Latch break my heart, but he also decimated my spirit.

I drag myself out of bed on Tuesday to go to work.
Since I already gave Denise the day off, then I have no choice but to go to work or close the store for the day. I put on at least half a compact case of bronzer and I still look ghostly pale. I feel sick, but at least at work I can sit in a chair all day and read.

When I
arrive at the store, I choose several books to occupy my mind. Regardless of the reading material, my mind always drifts back to Latch. Memories of our time together torment my thoughts. Each moment together is like a freeze frame in my head. I close my eyes and try to revive the first time we made love, our first kiss, Latch telling me he loved me . . .

My body shakes with melancholy. My thoughts are going to drive me out of my mind. I have no intention of refilling my anti-anxiety medication, no matter how much I need too. And I don
’t want to go to therapy again either. I can’t mask my feelings with those pills, and talking to someone isn’t going to change anything. At some point, I need to take responsibility for my own actions, my own fate.

Latch hadn
’t been honest with me about his addiction, and why would he? I should have known from the beginning when I first found the prescription bottles, but I chose to ignore it. I didn’t want to believe it because I thought love would be enough. It’s possible that every memory he has of us, of me, is one from when he was under the influence. Nothing about us was ever real, only to me. His love was a drug-induced haze. I thought I could change it all, like I thought I could with Jared. Somewhere deep inside, I thought I could help him, which is ludicrous considering I can’t even help myself. He is addicted to substances—I am addicted to him.

I hear the bell ring as someone comes in. I look up from my book and see that it
’s Keenan. He’s holding a bouquet of lilies.

“Keenan,” I say softly as I stand and greet him.

“These are for you, from me,” he says, handing them to me. His face tenses and he appears uncomfortable.

“Thank you, but it really wasn
’t necessary,” I tell him, smiling as I bend to smell them.

“Can I sit down? Is it okay if we chat for a bit?” Keenan asks.

I motion him towards a small reading area with several cushioned chairs. We both sit. Keenan clenches and unclenches his hands, and his brow furrows with the weight on his mind.

“He doesn
’t remember,” Keenan spits out. He exhales deeply. “I didn’t think he would. This isn’t the first time he’s blacked out. I’m just so . . .” Keenan’s voice trails off.

I reach over and touch Keenan
’s arm. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to be responsible for tearing your friendship with him apart. You’ve been friends for years. He’s only known me for a couple of months.”

Keenan rises from his chair
and kneels down in front of me, and I can see the pain on his face. “I’ve told him that if he doesn’t go into rehab, we’re done. I can’t continue to sit back and watch someone I love destroy himself piece by piece. I’m so pissed off.”

“I
’m glad you’re forcing his hand. I hope he cares enough about your friendship to get well. You’re a good friend and a good man. Thank you for defending my honor,” I reply solemnly. A smile touches my lips.

“He knows he fucked up. When I told him—dammit, I
’ve never seen him like that.” Keenan stands up and then sits back down in the chair. He runs his hand through his hair. “Truthfully, I’ve stayed with him the last two nights because I’m afraid he might hurt himself.”

I can feel the horror spread across my face.
Oh, Latch . . .

“He begged me to drive him to your house. It took me hours to talk him out of it. Not only because I think he needs to get straight first, but Weezie is . . . well, I don
’t have to explain your roommate to you,” Keenan replies, half-smiling along with me as we are most likely sharing and image of Weezie in ball-busting action.

“I don
’t think we’re good for each other. To be honest, Keenan, as I’m sure you know, my past relationship was damaging and painful. Latch isn’t the only one who’s broken; I am too, only I don’t get high to cope,” I explain, wringing my hands nervously.

“I just want you to know that I believe he really loves you. He never lied about that.”

Keenan stands up and gets ready to leave. My mind flashes to Krystella with Latch at the party.

“Sometimes love isn
’t enough,” I say as I walk him to the door. I look at the lilies still in my hand. “Thank you again for the flowers,” I say. He nods in response and closes the door.

I put the flowers in a vase, and their fragrance fills the room. I think I
’ll leave them here. I like the way they look on the front desk.

I really don
’t feel well. I have no idea if it’s the trauma of what I went through with Latch, or if I’m just under the weather. I need to sit down. I feel feverish and my stomach is growling. All of a sudden, I have the chills. I must have the flu. I decide to close the story early, and hang a sign to let customers know that the store is “Closed due to an emergency.”

By the time I get home, I f
eel awful. I haven’t vomited, but I want to. I stopped several times on the way home, trying to throw up by the side of the road instead of in the car, but all I retched was bile and water. On the upside, I definitely have lost some weight, since my skirt feels loose in the waist. On the downside, I look and feel like crap. I call Denise and tell her that I have the flu and that I’ll most likely be out for a few days. I decide to go straight to bed. Weezie shows up about an hour later, cracking my door open and poking her head in.

“Damn, you look like hell,” she says, pressing her hand to my forehead.

“And I feel like it too. I just wish I could puke. Whatever it is, I need it to either come out or go away,” I reply dryly.

“Well, if you
’re still like this tomorrow, you should go see Jacobson.”

I shake my head. “There
’s nothing a doctor can do for the flu. I probably caught a bug at the gala. It’s been less than twenty-four hours. I’ll be fine.” I click off the TV.

“For all you know, Mr. Manwhore gave you some disease,” Weezie replies curtly.

“Real nice, Weezie,” I groan. “I seriously doubt even an STD would make me feel this miserable.” I wince, grab the bucket off the floor and hug it to my chest.

“If you need anything, bang on the wall,” Weezie offers, smiling. “I
’ll bring you some bland food later.”

“Ugh!” I grunt as my stomach churns.

“Okay, I’ll give you until Wednesday, and then you’re going to Jacobson, even if I have to drag your ass there. You know how much I loathe puking, right? If you give me this flu, I will kill you,” Weezie says jokingly as she closes my door.

My night is flooded with lots of tossing and turning. Even though my body aches everywhere, my heart hurts the worst. God, I miss him.

Wednesday is not much better than Tuesday, except for the PJ’s and Jerry Springer. I lie on the couch, and then lie on my bed. I sit in a chair, and then I sit outside. I cannot get comfortable. I can’t shake this bug. I’ve had the flu before, but not like this. Theoretically, I’ve never had the flu combined with a broken heart. Maybe it’s a new strain.

It
’s Thursday and I have had enough. I’m almost too sick to go to the doctors. Weezie had called Wednesday to make me an appointment for today because she didn’t trust that I would follow through on my own. At least my appointment is at 10:45 a.m. and I won’t miss the next episode of paid actors and their fake stories on Jerry Springer.
There is no way in hell that those “guests’” stories are real—they’re as fake as Krystella’s boobs. No joke.

I haven
’t seen Dr. Jacobson for a while, not since my last physical. Sitting in the waiting room is excruciating. After waiting for half an hour, I’m finally taken to a room where the nurse takes my vitals and asks a ton of annoying questions.
I have the flu, go away. Get me the doctor and give me meds, ugh!
Dr. Jacobson strolls in fifteen minutes late, as usual. He’s a nice looking fifty-year-old man with a jovial personality.