When Love Breaks (26 page)

LOGAN

“W
hat the hell happened in here?” Michael says as he walks in and sees the aftermath of my violent tantrum. I lean over with my hands on my knees as I catch the breaths that keeps heaving from my chest. When I look up at him, he’s waiting expectantly for an explanation.

“Nothing,” I pant.

“Really,” he cocks his head to the side. “So this room,” he looks back at the kitchen, “no, this
house,
has been spontaneously ransacked by unknown forces?” I nod, and he shakes his head. “What the hell happened, Logan?”

I shake my head. I don’t want to say it out loud, but I know he’ll keep going until I do.

“It was her,” I say; my voice is hoarse.

“Elora?” I nod. “What about her?”

I wince as I try to fight back my conflicting feelings for her.

“She was in the SUV. She was driving it.” He looks confused, so I elaborate. “
She
is the reason I lost my legs, Michael. She cut me off that damned day. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Suddenly, his eyebrows shoot up as realization dawns.

“Oh,” is all he says. I almost chuckle to think I’ve nearly rendered him speechless.

“Yeah. How about that? The girl who changed my life was the reason I wanted to end it in the first place. Talk about irony, eh?” I cross the room and open the liquor cabinet. I’ve never needed a drink so badly in my life. I pour the amber liquid into a nearby glass and drink it in a few gulps. I then repeat the action twice more.

“Are you sure it was her? I mean, did she
say
it was?”

I look at him out of the corner of my eye.

“Yes, she did.” I down another swig and pray that the alcohol starts taking effect soon. I just want to forget I ever met her.

“What exactly did she say?”

I slam down my empty glass in anger, and turn to him.

“What does it matter, Michael? Is this twenty questions? I had a memory surface, which included her vehicle. I remembered the stupid,
fucking
dolphin sticker on the back bumper, and it all came back to me.
It was her!
She
caused the accident that took my legs and nearly took my life. And ironically,” I chuckle sadly. “I wish now that she’d finished the job.”

I pour myself another glass, when he swipes it out of my hand. It hits the floor, spilling the contents onto the carpet.

“Knock off this pity party, Logan. You have every right to be angry as hell, but you need to put a few things into perspective. She may have been the cause of your pain, but she’s also the cure. Whatever happened that day was an accident, I’m sure. No decent human being would purposely run another person off the road, leaving them for dead, unless there were extenuating circumstances. The proof is in the details. Did you get any? Did you ever once think about how this has affected
her?
”

I scoff at his logic.

“How this has affected
her?
Are you fucking kidding me? She has all her limbs. She wasn’t forced to endure months in the hospital and have surgery after
fucking
surgery to put her body back together. She doesn’t have to deal with people staring at her as if she’s some kind of
freak!
” I laugh, but it’s sarcastic. “Don’t ask me to consider how she feels when her working here has made her look like a saint.” I grab another bottle and drink it without a glass.

My mind begins to run through all the good times we’ve had together, but I quickly take another swig, hoping to keep those thoughts at bay. It works for the moment. I don’t want to think about how much it hurts to both love her and hate her.

21

ELORA

M
y bed is warm. I don’t want to leave it. My heart is broken at what I’ve done. Logan hates me, and with good reason. Even though I know I need to get up for school, I can’t seem to motivate my body to move.

I miss him.

Why did I have to come into his life? Why can’t I go back in time?

I pull the covers over my face as tears threaten again. I cannot start this again. If I want to look like a human being today, I need to get rid of my puffy, red face and get on with life…without him. Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door.

“Elora?” Daniel says softly, “You’ll need to leave soon, if you want to get to class on time.”

I sniffle quietly before answering him. I don’t want him to know I’ve been crying.

“Okay. I’m getting up.”

“Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”

Is there anything? I ponder that question for a moment, then push it out of my mind.

“No.”

My day drudges on, as I go through the motions of living a life devoid of Logan. I’m doing my best not to think about him, but everything I see and touch, seems to bring my thoughts back to all I’ve lost. I don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel, only darkness and uncertainty, as I fall deeper into despair.

I wonder how he is. Pff! I can guess. He’s mad as hell and probably eradicating every errant thought of me from his life. I’m the cause; it’s only fitting that I’m suffering now.

School is going on all around me, but I’m not listening. I can’t seem to hear anything over the sound of my own heartbeat, which thrums in my ears.

“Elora, what’s wrong? What happened?” Daniel asks, trying to make this better for me.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I mutter sullenly, as I sit on the couch in my pajamas. Daniel sits next to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. I glance at it, wishing it was Logan’s hand instead.

“Did he hurt you? I should go over there.”

“No! You can’t!” I shout, and perk up immediately. “He didn’t do anything wrong. We just…can’t be together anymore,” I say, hoping he’ll just leave it alone.

“Tell me…what happened between the two of you?”

“I told you, I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe, someday I will, but not now.” I look into his concerned eyes, silently pleading with him to drop it.

“Okay, fine. I’ll leave it alone, but please promise me you’ll try to feel better…and maybe eat something too.” I nod in agreement, knowing full well I’ll never be the same again.

LOGAN

“Y
ou’re not going to mope in bed for days on end like you did before, are you?” Michael says through my closed bedroom door.

I open it abruptly and startle him.

“No. I’m too angry for that. I’m going to the rec to work off some steam.” I push past him, headed for the door, but despite my speed he follows me out.

“Mind if I tag along?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “Come on then. You can drive.” I toss the keys at him.

“I planned on it. I want to get there in one piece,” he says, then snorts. I give him a sideways glance.

The gym is filled with steroid injected rejects from the area. I roll my eyes, just wanting some time to myself, so I can think. I choose a piece of equipment near the back and set up to do an ab workout.

Breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, I crank out 100 sit ups with ease. When I see some jock eyeing me, I assume he wants the equipment, so I get off and nod to him. His eyes narrow, but he says nothing. Next, I walk over to the barbells. I’m not even sure how much weight I put on the ends, but I keep lifting, until I’m sure my arms might fall off.

“Hey, take it easy on your muscles. I don’t need you whining about hurting yourself,” Michael says.

“Fuck off, Michael. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I’m just looking out for you, man.” I curl my lip up on one side and almost audibly growl at him. He holds his hands up and backs off.

As I sit on the rowing machine, I see that jock again. Is he staring at me?

What the fuck?

“You got a problem?” I say boldly.

He shakes his head.

“No, but it looks like you do.”

I inhale deeply and stand up from the rower. With my chest puffed out, I walk toward him.

“My only problem is you staring at me. What, you wanna hug or something?” I laugh sarcastically.

“Fuck off,” he says, and turns to walk away.

“Oh, hell no. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

The muscle head turns back around and steps close, until we’re standing nose to nose.

“You better just back off, stumpy, before I teach you how to behave at the gym.”

I snarl as I draw my clenched fist back, and I’m about to launch it at him when it’s caught behind me.

“Logan! That’s enough!” Michael shouts, as he restrains my arm.

“You’d better take him home before I finish what
he
started,” the guy says. He shoots me one last look, before he turns and walks out of sight. Michael’s grip lessens, so I pull out of his hold.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I had that!” I say, furious.

“Like hell you did! That guy would’ve pummeled you. Calm the fuck down, dude!”

“Screw you. I’m fine.” I step away from him, but he counters and steps in front of me.

“You’re
anything
but fine. We’re going home, and you’re going to call her. Let’s go.” He grabs my upper arm, but I yank it out of his grasp.

“I’ll go, when I’m ready.”

Michael looks around the room, when his eyes catch sight of something.

“Come here. I have something you can hit.” Reluctantly, I follow him to a bag, which hangs from the ceiling from a chain. “You want to start a fight? Hit this. It doesn’t hit back,” he says, then positions himself on the side opposite me.

This is ridiculous.

Tentatively, I swing at the bag.

“Is that all you got? Hit it harder.”

I grit my teeth and put more effort into my swing.

“Our grandmother can hit harder than that. Let’s see something that could do some damage,” he says, antagonizing me. I hit it twice more in combination, and he scoffs. Finally, he leans in and whispers, “Hit it like it’s Elora’s next lover.”

At his horrific words, I ball up my fist as tightly as I can and, with a mental image I hope to never see in real life, I unleash my fury on the bag. Punch after anger induced punch, I take all the rage I’ve dealt with over the past few days and let it out. My heart pounds to the beat of my violent assault, until my knuckles finally become numb.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Michael says, but I continue. “Logan, stop. You’re bleeding,” he says, but I keep going. Finally, he lets go of the bag and snakes his arms around both my elbows at my back. I struggle to break free from his hold. “Hey, stop. You’re done,” he says, quietly.

I feel drops of water fall onto my thighs. It’s then I realize it’s not water, but tears.
I’m crying angry fucking tears.
I jerk out of his hold and head for the exit, before anyone can witness my pathetic display.

A few minutes later, while sitting in the car, Michael pats my shoulder.

“You okay?”

“I’ll never be okay.”

He exhales.

“I’m sorry. I thought that comment would help. I was wrong.”

I nod my forgiveness, but I can’t seem to wipe away that image.

As the days turn into weeks, my heart aches more and more for the girl I thought I knew. My anger has subsided, and sorrow has begun to seep in. I’m trying desperately to wrap my mind around what happened and how much she knew about the so called noise she heard behind her car that day, but understanding eludes me. I’m finding it harder and harder to believe that it was anything more than an accident. Still, I can’t condone her behavior in leaving the scene—or mine, the day I confronted her about it. I’m ashamed at the way I reacted, and I feel I need to apologize. Just then, Michael walks into the house with fast food bags in his hands.

“You know, you just need to make up with her already. I’m sick of eating this shit.” He plops the bags onto the table and takes out what he ordered.

“I’m not sure what I’d say to her,” I say, absentmindedly glancing out the window.

He takes an enormous bite of his burger, then pockets part of it in his cheek to enable himself to speak.

“Start with hello,” he says in a muffled voice. He chews a bit, then swallows. “If you miss her, I’m sure she misses you too. Just call her. See what happens.” He shrugs.

“It’s not that simple. The last time we saw each other…it was…difficult. Where the hell do I start? What do I say? I don’t even know if I
want
to talk to her at all. What if my anger surfaces again, and I say something terrible?” I look to him for wisdom, but he just shrugs. “Some help you are.” He snorts.

“Dude, just call her. I can’t answer these questions for you. You’ll just have to see how it feels when you finally talk again.
If
you talk again.”

I slump against the back of the chair. I was hoping for some inspiration, but I sink further into my depression.

It takes a whole day to convince myself to dial her number. And, as I hold the phone in my hand, I rehearse my opening line.

“Hello,” I say, sort of monotone, then scoff at myself. “Hi,” I say with a little more gusto. No, too much enthusiasm. “Hi, Elora,” I say quietly, but nothing I say is cutting it. I sigh in exasperation at my idiocrasy. “Good grief, just do it,” I tell myself, then I hit ‘
call’
.