Flawed (Blaze of Glory #2) Page 3
“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.
Aft
er 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.
Then came Luke, my shining knight in a moment of darkness. He taught me about a new way to deal with the darkness that threatened to consume me every day. With every cut came a brief moment of relief in a flash of red, a moment where I was free of the mind-numbing thought patterns that clouded my judgment. The thought patterns that told me I would never be good enough, that no one but Luke could ever love me enough... but they always came back.
Now they’re here to stay, with precise jabs at my already low self-esteem. I will never be good enough for anyone. I’m nothing like my beautiful, perfect sister with her handsome husband and stepson. No, life will never be that good for me.
“... and you’ll get to meet Keets. He’s so funny, you’re going to love him.” Shannon’s constant babble worms its way into my thoughts, interrupting them. Sitting up straighter on the couch, I rub my forehead with one hand as I try and catch up to her. “Shannon, slow down,” I say tiredly. “What’s this about? Who’s Keets?”
“Oh, my gosh, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” She laughs. “Keets is Stone’s best friend. He’ll help you to run Saddles while we’re in Hawaii.”
“Me?” I ask, ignoring the wince of pain from my stomach as I sit up straight. Panic shoots through me like a spear. I haven’t been back home since I left for college; how will I cope being there without the added security of my father or sister? “I can’t run Saddles, I... I—”
“Have nothing better to do,” Shannon replies sternly. “You’ve finished finals, you’re not working. There’s no reason why you can’t come home for two weeks.”
I sigh and drop my head, knowing she’s right. I’ve run out of excuses; there’s nothing I can say that will get me out of this. “When do you need me?”
Keets
Two months later…
To my friends and family,
I guess the demons finally won. For years, I’ve put on a brave face, smiled when I’ve felt like I was dying inside. Do you have any idea how it feels to live in a shadow of your own making? Every morning I wake up, drenched in sweat and calling out her name. Don’t you see I blame myself? Why shouldn’t I? I was a fucking firefighter, for crying out loud. It was my job to save people. But I didn’t. I froze when I should have been running to her side. I should have gotten her out, or died trying. Everyone keeps telling me to move on, leave her to rest, but there is no rest for either of us, don’t you see that? She haunts my every waking hour. I see her face every time I look at another woman. And our child—Oh, my God, our child. Would it have been a boy, or a girl? I’ve always wanted a daughter, and so did Liz. Would she have had my nose, her mother’s eyes? Would she have begged me for ballet lessons or a pony? I like to think I would have made a good father, but I guess that’s something else I will never know.
Everyone says a woman’s intuition is reliable. Did she know? Did Liz somehow instinctively know that was going to be the day she died? Did she know I wouldn’t make it up those stairs? When we spoke that final time, she sounded so calm, so confident. I can almost imagine that it’s just some horrible dream I’ve yet to wake up from. Truthfully, I don’t know if I could have been as calm, knowing I was about to die. But that was just the kind of woman Liz was. She never would have let her fear show, for fear of upsetting others. The most beautiful, caring, selfless woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, and her light was snuffed out in a split second, the blink of an eye.
How do you even contemplate spending your life alone? Liz was it for me; my soulmate, my lover… my best friend. It should have been me who died, not her. Never her. Liz, who was everything beautiful and right in this world, left to die and remembered as nothing more than a pile of fucking rubble and ash. But isn’t that the way life goes? The ones who deserve to live are the ones who are murdered, maimed and destroyed. Those of us who were somehow lucky enough to survive are forced to leave flowers that die in two days at a site that will be remembered for a few months then forgotten, just like the people who perished there. You think we’ll remember the names of everyone who died on 9/11? We won’t. Fuck, the media covered the same stories of hope and survival over and over again. All the deceased got was their ‘number’ on a fucking plaque. Liz tried to tell me this for so long before her death; individual lives don’t matter. Did you see her face on TV? Did you hear about how she insisted I leave her behind and get as many people out as I could? Did they tell you the way she held it together in those final moments, giving everyone around her comfort in what can only be described as Hell? How the fuck would you feel, knowing you could be just minutes from death, trapped in a room no bigger than an elevator? My guess is you’d be freaking the fuck out. You’d be focusing on getting yourself out, no matter who you had to step on to make it to safety. You certainly wouldn’t be chasing away the one person who could save you. You wouldn’t be begging them to save everyone else. But that was the sort of person Liz was. Did you know she once climbed out onto a ledge, about twenty stories off the ground, to save a damn bird? The little bastard had hurt its wing and it was sitting on the ledge, cheeping pitifully. Liz didn’t think twice, just opened the window and climbed out. We kept that damn bird for three months through the winter, until its wing healed and we were able to release it back into the wild. Fuck if I know how, but that bird kept coming back. Every afternoon at four pm, it flew to the windowsill and sat there singing a damn song until she opened the window and fed it a piece of apple. I told her so many times not to let it get too attached, that it would stop trying to
fend for itself in the wild, but Liz insisted that it was fine. She was too sweet for her own damn good. And it got her killed.
I still remember her final words to me. She told me to live. And I’ve tried, I’ve tried so fucking hard to be brave, to be strong. But I’m just… not. I’m just a coward, afraid to live my life without the woman who breathed so much life into me. I can’t stop thinking about the little girl who never was.
The Army didn’t stop the nightmares, nor did they stop the constant, self-inflicted wounds. So many small scars cover my body. I’m so ashamed of them. Let’s face it, I deserve every single one of those scars and more. I should have saved her, or, at the very least, I should have died with her and our unborn child. Though both might have been alive today had I just been able to get up those stairs. I don’t deserve to live while they lie lie dead in the ground, so I’m taking the easy way out. Many of you won’t agree with me, but please remember that this is my choice, the only one I feel makes any sense. I need to be with her, need to hold them both again. This life is pointless without her smile, without her light. I know you can’t understand this, and I’m not asking you to. I guess I felt I just owed you all an explanation. I’ve been fighting these demons for so long, and I just can’t do it anymore.