by Diana Nixon
Three, two, one . . .The sound of James’ growl vibrated on my lips. He pulled out quickly and I collapsed against my desk, with my chest rising and falling in need for more air.
“What the hell just happened?”
“What did it look like?” He asked in response.
I leaned on my elbows, watching James. He fastened his trousers, his look thunderous.
“How did we get from to a simple interview to fucking the hell out of each other, all in just two days?”
“Good question.” He put his hands on his hips, breathing heavily. “We need to be more careful.”
“No, shit?” I rose to my feet, readjusting my skirt and blouse. “Too bad great ideas have this annoying tendency to come too late.”
“I mean it, Stella. We shouldn’t do it like . . . this.”
“Like what?” I came closer, looking right into his beautiful eyes. God, why the hell couldn’t the man be at least a little less gorgeous?
“You should probably get back to your work now.”
“Seriously? What about you? Are you inspired enough now that you have fucked me again to continue working on your book?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then you are very welcome, Mr. Collins. Can’t say that I didn’t like being your inspiration.” I turned to the door and was just about the leave the office, when James caught me by the hand, saying, “I’m not done with you, not just yet.”
“Good to know that. Cause I’m not done with you either.” I walked out into the hall, feeling my cheeks burning with invisible fire. I only hoped my look wouldn’t give away too much. Of all things happening in my screwed life now, being called a slut was the least I needed.
***
“What the fucking hell is that?”
I almost jumped from my seat, looking up at Dillon. “What’s wrong?”
“Did you know that your grandmother is throwing a party for my birthday?”
I giggled, covering my mouth with my palm. “I did not.”
The thing is that Dillon hated his birthday, and he liked spending time with his mother even less. She was someone who never missed her chance to remind him about the absence of a woman in his life.
“How did you know about the party?”
“She dared to send me an invitation!” He threw a white envelope across the room, but of course, it was not heavy enough to reach my desk. So I went to pick it up.
“Why are you so mad, Dillon? She only wants what’s best for you.”
“Then she should have sent me a pack of beer instead of an invitation to her stupid party. I’m not going there. Period.”
“Grandma will be pissed. And you know it won’t do any good to any of us.”
“Damn it… Couldn’t she have at least ask me first if I even wanted to have a birthday party?”
“Personally, I think it’s a great idea.” I smiled and put the envelope back on his desk.
“You can’t be serious, Stella. You know your grandma and I can’t be in the same room together for longer than five seconds. How in the hell am I supposed to live through the entire party, in her house?”
“You are stronger than that. You’ll survive.”
“Well, thank you for your support, Dear. By the way, where’s James?”
“Last I checked he was in my office, writing.” Well, I suppose that is close enough to the actual truth; Dillon doesn’t need the real truth. . .
“Good, at least one of you can think about work today.”
I stared at him, puzzled. “What do you mean by that?”
“You look very distracted. I’ve been watching you, you know? And you haven’t written a word since the moment you returned about an hour ago.”
Well, damn . . . Dillon was right. I couldn’t concentrate on work. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t stop thinking about James. Whenever I started writing a new line with his name in it, it made my thoughts get back to my office and James, holding me firmly in his arms with his lips kissing mine. It was too good to forget.
“Sorry, my writing inspiration must be somewhere else today.”
“Then why don’t you go and find it? ‘Cause I need that article about James today.”
“You’ll have it, I promise.”
“Take a break. Go have lunch and then come back here and write the damn thing.”
“You are right, I need a break.” Hoping I would be able to get back to work right after having sex with James Collins was pointless. There was no way I would write a word, any time soon.
I took my purse and called Terry. “Hey, are you hungry?”
“Not really.”
“Come have lunch with me.”
“Did you hear me, Stella? I don’t want to eat.”
“But I do, and you are coming with me.”
“You love being a bossy bitch, don’t you?”
I smiled to myself. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
“Fine, be there in two shakes.”
I went to the elevator, praying for lunch to help me get back to my normal working self. It was unlike me to ignore my work, cheating on it with a man who would probably forget about me right after he left Braiwood. I still couldn’t believe I let myself get stuck in so many knots. There was no safe way out of what was going on between James and me. I only hoped I wouldn’t hate my life even more when it was all done and over.
Chapter 9
James
10 years ago
“You, son of a bitch! What have you done?” Ash shouted, bursting through the door of my apartment. “You killed her!” He ran up to me, his fist connected with my jaw, making blood spill from my mouth. “You killed my sister!” A punch in the eye followed, making me see stars.
I collapsed from the couch, hitting the floor, face first.
“Don’t you have anything to say?” He asked angrily.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, staying motionless. I didn’t have enough strength to get up; I didn’t have enough strength to talk. As a matter of fact, I didn’t have the slightest desire to do either. I just wanted to die too.
Ash laughed sarcastically. I knew he was pissed and broken. And we both knew he had a good reason to be here now.
“I didn’t want any of that to happen,” I said, feeling tears running down my cheeks. I was still lying on the floor, unable to move. It was as if I were paralyzed, I didn’t even mind Ash hitting me again. In fact, I didn’t even mind if he decided to kill me.
As if reading my mind, he bent down and hissed into my ear, “Don’t you dare die, you motherfucker. I’ll be watching you, every day, for the rest of your damn life. And I want to see you suffering, as much as I am suffering now. I want you to remember this day forever, the pain that you are feeling now. Because there can’t be any excuse for what you have done to Melody. And I will never, do you hear me – NEVER forgive you for bringing her that close to the edge. It’s all your fault, James Collins! YOUR DAMN FAULT!”
And then he left, slamming the door behind him.
After he was far enough away I cried. I finally allowed everything that had been torturing me from the moment I found Melody’s lifeless body take me over.
I cried like never before. I didn’t even know I could cry that hard or that much. I cried myself to sleep, and when I woke up the next day, my living hell became even more real.
“Oh, my goodness! Son, are you all right?”
“Mom, what are you doing here?” I was only able to open one eye, the second one was obviously too bruised to pry itself open and see anything. I could tell that wouldn’t be happening any time soon.
She helped me roll onto my back and gasped, seeing what I bet was every mom’s worst nightmare coming true. “Oh, dear Lord! Who has done this to you?” She touched my swollen lip carefully, her fingers trembled against my skin. “We need to take you to the hospital, right now!” She grabbed her phone and started dialing some numbers.
“I’m fine,” I said, sitting up. My head hurt like hell. In fact, every
inch of my body felt like it was on fire. And for the first time ever, I enjoyed the physical pain – it overshadowed the craziness happening in my mind. “Mom, I’m fine,” I said again, taking the phone out of her hand.
“Look at you, James! You are covered with blood!” She looked terrified, and I felt really sorry for her. She was my mother and I loved her a lot, and I’m sure I would want to kill anyone that did the same thing to my children. Well, if I was ever going to have them anyway, but right then and there I just wanted her to leave. I was not ready for any kind of conversation.
“Did you do this to yourself?” She asked, apparently still trying to figure out how bad my condition was.
“What? Of course, not! Is it even possible to do something like this to yourself?” I went to the bathroom, hoping if I washed my face I would look better, and less appalling to my mother.
“Then who, who did this to you?” Of course, mom followed me.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, splashing some cold water on my face. “I’m fine, really. You can go home now.” I looked at her through the mirror, praying she would listen to me. I just wanted to be alone now.
“Did this happen because of Melody?”
The moment I heard mom pronouncing her name, my heart shattered. My jaw tightened, my hands gripped the edge of a sink, and I shook my head, as if that could shake off the memories from yesterday.
“It wasn’t your fault, son,” mom said softly, caressing my shoulder with her palm. “People commit suicide for many different reasons. You shouldn’t blame yourself, James. We don’t know what was going on in the girl’s head before she… Well, we can’t change anything anyway.”
“You are right, we can’t,” I snapped angrily. How could she be so calm, talking about the girl she knew I loved so much? Melody and I wanted to get married, and mom always said she liked her so much. So what the hell was going on with her now?”
“Go home, mom,” I said, going back to the living room. The feeling of hatred for myself was beyond description. Mom said that no one knew the thoughts that were running through Melody’s head before she killed herself, but I did. Because she thought it would be so great to tell me everything, to share her mental chaos with me, to make me feel like a murderer. The damn note said it all, and there was no way I would ever be able to forget the words she had written.
“She was a good girl, son. She didn’t deserve to go through everything that happened. She should have lived, and loved and…”
“Mom, please, just leave me alone.” I was seconds from showing her the door. It took all of my self-control to keep myself from screaming at her. She would never forgive me.
“James, honey, talk to me!” She pleaded. I knew she wanted to help me, but neither she nor anyone else could help me at the moment.
“Will you do something for me please?”
“Yes, of course, anything. What do you need?”
“I need you to send flowers to Melody’s parents.” I took a piece of paper and started writing the address.
“Aren’t you going to go say good-bye to her?” Mom stared at me, puzzled.
“No.”
“But why? I know you two went through some hard times, but you loved each other so much! You can’t just ignore that.”
“I can’t and I won’t. But I’m no longer welcome in that house, and I don’t want to make a scene on a day like today.” I knew Ash and his parents would throw me out into the street before I would get a chance to see Melody one last time. So I thought I would finally do what she had been asking me to do for weeks, I would let her go . . .
“You can’t be serious, James . . . They always treated you as if you were their own son. They need you now!”
“All they need now is a chance to say good-bye to their daughter! They don’t need me, mom. Don’t you understand? They don’t need any reminders of Melody’s past. Only now matters. And now is too short to waste it on fighting with me.”
“Do you think they blame you for what she did?”
I didn’t respond.
“But that is ridiculous! You didn’t kill her, you didn’t want her to die!”
“I didn’t. But they think differently.”
“Was it Ash who came here to ‘talk’ to you?” She pointed angrily at my ‘perfect’ face.
“No.”
“Oh, how could he?”
“Mom, I said it was not him!” I was getting really tired of this conversation.
“Bullshit!”
“Mom, it’s not the best time to demonstrate poor manners.”
My mother was one of those ladies who couldn’t stand people swearing. And I couldn’t remember a single time she cursed aloud.
“You need to go the church, James. Period.”
I inhaled deeply. “I will think about it.”
“There’s nothing to think about! You have to be there! Not for Melody’s family, but for her.”
“I told you, I will think about it. But just in case I miss the mass, do what I asked you to do, okay?” I gave her the address of the house where Melody and her family lived. I was not going to say it aloud, but my decision about the mass had already been made – I was not going to attend it.
“Okay, I will send the flowers.” Mom took the note and put it into her purse. “But promise you will at least think about going to the church.”
“I promise,” I lied. No way was I going to give Ash another opportunity to remind me that his sister’s suicide was my fault.
Mom nodded wordlessly, kissed me on the cheek and left.
I took a seat in one of the chairs and sighed. What do I do now? How am I supposed to live knowing that I didn’t save the one and only person I loved more than life itself? How can I ever forgive myself for losing her?
There was no hope for tomorrow. Nothing to live for, no one to love, nothing to hold on to . . .
My life was over. And I didn’t know if I would ever be able to breathe freely again, without my heart shattering into million small pieces, over and over again . . .
***
Present Day
“Another vodka, please.” I waved for the bartender to refill my shot and drained it dry. The drink burned me from the inside and I welcomed the fire it started in my veins. It felt so good, so warm, and relieving.
I leaned against the back of my bar-stool, and let the memories swallow me again.
I rarely let that happen. For ten years, I had been trying to suppress the pain that occurred every time I remembered about Melody. I didn’t go to the funeral. I didn’t go to any of the masses following it. And today I was going to miss another one.
Unlike me, my mother still kept in touch with Melody’s parents. They didn’t hate her, but I knew they hated me. Not that I ever heard that from any of them, but I guess Ash did his best to make them believe I was a murderer, even though I didn’t have anything to do with Melody’s death.
I tried to start all over again. Well, as much as possible, considering how fucking ruined I was. Stella was right, none of my books ever concluded with a happy ending. And guess why? Because I didn’t know what a happy ending was. My own love story ended up in a pool of blood, and though I never wrote about death in my books, I still refused to believe all that romantic crap that people strongly believed in. My books were the reflections of myself, only colored with brighter shades.
And sex was the point of everything.
I turned physical satisfaction into a pill that I could take whenever I felt pain, and it always worked. Well, at least until the day I met Stella . . .
No amount of time with her was enough. I tried to make it look like I didn’t care about anything but fucking her. When in reality, she was the first woman in a very long time that I felt like caring about.
I didn’t know what was so special about her. Sexiness was not the only thing that pulled me to her. I wanted to spend as much time with her as possible. I couldn’t get enough of looking at her, of listening to her voice that made all the vibe
s in my body feel alive again.
I was losing myself in her. And it scared the crap out of me.
“Another shot?” The bartender asked.
“That’s enough for one night,” someone said behind me.
I turned around and smiled leisurely, looking into the eyes of my savior. “Well, hi there, Beautiful! What brought you here? And please don’t tell me you’ve missed me.”
Stella looked at me carefully and frowned, saying, “I hope you are not trying to ‘vodka’ yourself to death, are you?”
“Why do you care?” It was a little funny to watch her now, taking my place in the operation called ‘save the drunk-ass.’ Did I look as funny to her when trying to take her home from the same bar a couple nights ago?
“I don’t care about you. But I don’t want anyone to think poorly of Dillon, letting one smashed writer stay at his place.”
“Ouch, I’m almost hurt.” I laughed. “And here I secretly hoped you cared about me, at least a little,” I replied, using my fingers to demonstrate how much ‘a little’ was.
“Hope springs eternal,” she snapped, trying to pull me out of the chair. “Come on, Mr. Writer, let’s take you home.”
I laughed even harder. It was probably the first time in my entire life when I didn’t mind having a woman’s help. Or maybe I was just too damn drunk to care.
“You are incredibly sexy when angry, Stella.”
“Ugh, just shut up and move!”
We went out into the street and I took a few deep breaths, welcoming the fresh air filling my lungs.
“How are you feeling?” Stella asked, unlocking her car.
“Like dragging you to the backseat and having a closer look at whatever you have under this cute shirt of yours.”
“Oh God, this is going to be the longest ride ever,” she muttered, opening the back door for me.
“So you don’t mind?”
“Don’t mind what?”
“Going to the backseat with me, and have a ride with me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Just get in, James. I have no desire to spend the rest of the night trying to bring you back to your senses.”
“How about my desires, Stella? Don’t you want to know more about them?” The memories of the office flashed behind my eyes, making my dick harden. Perfect timing, dude, I thought a little disappointed. Maybe my condition left much to be desired, but there was no way I would have drunk sex. Not with Stella, or anyone else. Even for a scum of the earth like me, it was crossing a line.