by Amara Kent
“Of course, she was going to use it. That’s what they do!” I said, raising my voice.
“I’m sorry, Ren. If I could take it back, I would.”
“There’s no use wishing things you could have done. It makes no difference. You’ve already made the mess. Now I have to try to fix it.”
“Ren,” she whispers.
“Just don’t, Aiya.”
Chapter Eighteen
Kerri
Post-holiday depression is a real thing. I never thought it was, and I always scoffed at those who used to bitch about being so sad after having just got back from a holiday. Like seriously, what is there to be depressed about? I’m sorry, world. I get it now. I understand the sadness that hits you when you know that the place you love so much is so far out of your reach; you don’t know if you can ever find the pieces of your broken soul ever again. Sara had gotten teary when she dropped me off at the airport. When I landed back in America, I had received twenty messages. I need to remind that girl not to be so clingy.
I haven’t heard from Ren since I’ve gotten back. I’m disappointed. Not because I want to hear from him, but because he proved himself to be just like all the others. He didn’t even have the decency to apologize for what he had done. Why? Were you expecting one? I don’t know, brain. Fuck, if I can figure it out. I hate his guts and I hope maggots eat away at his dick, but there’s also a tightness in my chest that he hasn’t even tried to get in touch with me. Most of all, I’m disappointed in myself. I was supposed to be better than this. I was supposed to be able to see the signs and know when I was faced with an asshole.
“Kerri?” The mention of my name breaks through my thoughts.
I look at Taylor, who’s giving me a slightly disgruntled look. “Sorry?”
“What is going on with you today? You haven’t been present,” she asks softly.
“Jetlag,” I lie.
Her face falls into an annoyed expression. “Spill it, Kerr,” she orders.
“It’s nothing. Let’s get back to work,” I say, clearing my throat.
She takes my hands in hers and squeezes them. I look into her eyes. Eyes imploring me to tell her the mess that’s floating freely in my mind. I can’t tell her. I can’t tell her why Ren’s actions cut me so deep when I don’t really know myself. Taylor has always been very perceptive of me, though it hadn’t taken much to hide my experience with Garrett from her. It kind of happened at the perfect time. I laugh internally. Such a fucked-up way to think of what I went through.
Taylor was going through the breakup of a relationship on the back of a miscarriage. She was a mess and even though I was being brutalized most days of the week; I longed for something that wasn’t my problem. Something I could use as an escape. Taylor was it. Her situation was what I needed to forget mine. I know what you’re thinking. Something like domestic violence is not something you just forget about and push under the rug like dirt. I knew what I went through was wrong. I knew I was stupid for staying with him for as long as I had. I knew I had to get out of there.
I knew.
The problem with that was…
I couldn’t.
When I had thought there was no chance at leaving him, I grabbed onto Taylor and was there for her as much as I could be. Garrett hated how much time I spent with her and demanded that I stop rushing to her. I had convinced him that doing that was the worst thing to do, and so uncharacteristic of me, she would automatically sense something was up. He hadn’t liked the thought of someone finding out his dark secret.
Because of her, I was able to create some space between us. It, of course, did nothing to stop being at the receiving end of his wrath, but cutting out hours of the time spent with him, was worth so much to me.
“This can wait.”
“No, it can’t. We need to get everything sorted before you go and leave me for that sexy fiancé of yours.” I give her a cheeky smirk.
“Kerri,” she says softly. “We’ve been friends for a very long time. You’ve been there for me with every problem I’ve ever had. There’s something more than just jetlag on your mind. Talk to me,” she pleads.
“It’s nothing. I’m going to get coffee. Want one?” I ask, standing up and walking over to the best coffee machine to have existed outside of a commercial setup. I pick up my mug—the one I bought when I was in Japan. It says I heart Japan. It’s tacky as hell, but it was a necessary purchase. You can’t go to any country without getting something that expresses how much you love that country. The best thing about this cup is that it’s practically the size of my head. And for someone that can barely function without a cup of the deliciously smooth and invigorating liquid diamond, this size is not unwarranted.
I flick the little lever of the coffee grinder a couple of times and then secure the portafilter in the group head. I press the button for two shots and prepare my milk. When done, I pour the milk in my cup and bring the hot liquid up to my nose and take a deep breath in, leaning back against the bench, taking a sip.
“Why are you dodging my question?” Taylor asks.
“Would you like coffee? You never answered my question.”
“I could say the same thing.” She frowns.
“Would you—”
“I don’t want coffee, Kerr,” she interjects. “Tell me what you’re not saying.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I respond.
“Kerr,” she warns.
I sigh. “I found out that Ren had a girlfriend the entire time we had our fling,” I announce.
She takes a sharp intake of breath. “Fuck. What an asshole. Sorry, if I had known he had a girlfriend, I would never have pushed you so hard to hook up with him.”
I wave her off. “It’s not your fault.”
“Are you going to be okay doing the special there, then?”
“Yeah. I’m not going to let him stand in my way. Just because he’s a complete douchebag, doesn’t mean I should not go ahead with this on the off chance I’ll run into him.”
Her brows furrow. “Are you okay?”
Am I okay? No. I’m not. Am I in love with Ren? No. Do I like him? I’m not sure. Before I found out about his relationship with Aiya, I probably would have said yes, after some heavy denial. And before you think it, it had nothing to do with how good he was in bed. I liked him because he wasn’t a bullshitter, or at least I thought he wasn’t. He was the first real guy I had ever come across and it was refreshing. Now, my pride is hurt, my confidence in men broken once more, and I’m one step closer to sending myself to the nunnery because surely a life of celibacy is better than a life of constant regret and pain.
The situation with Ren hurts because I thought he was different.
“I just trusted him. I thought that he wasn’t involved with someone. I believed him when he said that he was still playing the field. I…” I think back to that night we had sex. In between one of our sex rounds, we got to talking. While painting patterns on my arm with his finger, we talked about things I had never discussed with anybody else before. Not the mundane crap, but the kind of topics that get you a little peek into who they are. We talked about my love of computers, and how my love of the cherry blossoms came to be. How he grew his business from the ground up and he landed himself as one of the top five tech guys in the world. We didn’t delve any further than that, but what we had given each other was something I thought had meant something. “I didn’t even pick up on any of the signs. I allowed my guard to drop with him, and it pisses me off that he brought that side out of me,” I respond after a few moments.
“And that makes you sad?”
“Not sad. Disappointed. In him, but more in myself. I should have been better. I should never have gone back. I have a rule for a reason, and I broke it for someone who is like every other.”
“You can only be disappointed in someone you care about. I think you like him more than you’re letting yourself on to believe,” she says.
“I don’t like him.
” The statement holds little conviction.
“Are you sure? This isn’t the first time you have slept with a guy and found out he had a girlfriend. You’ve never had this reaction with any of them before. In the past, you would get your revenge and tell their girlfriend.”
It’s the truth. I can’t always ensure that the guys I take home are single. The moments when I’ve discovered they weren’t had me so angry, that I slipped into vengeful bitch mode. The last one involved a guy who I had witnessed proposing to his girlfriend. A bit of advice, guys. I know that this whole proposing in public thing is the most romantic gesture you can think to do, but let me tell you, it really isn’t. It will go one of three ways.
The woman does love you and says yes.
She says yes because saying no in front of a crowd of people is so humiliating, she has enough warmth in her heart not to tear yours apart into a million pieces in front of a crowd. And then at some point—most likely after she feels so guilty and has strung you along a fair bit—she’ll confess that she lied to you when she said she wanted to marry you.
She says no.
Now, I’m no Einstein, but the probability of you coming out the other end with your heart struggling to beat on the cold hard ground is more likely to happen, than not.
That guy I saw proposing to his girlfriend after I had slept with him, had what was coming to him. A set of purple balls and a trip to the emergency room. Let me tell you, I’ve seen my fair share of scorned women. I’ve been that fair share of scorned woman, but I’ve never attacked a man’s appendage the way his girlfriend did. It was beautiful, to say the least.
“It means nothing,” I finally respond.
“Are you sure?”
“Will you quit asking that?” I snap.
“Then explain to me why you aren’t smashing things? Tell me why you can’t seem to get him out of your head since you came back. Tell me why, every time you do think about him, you look so hurt you’re about to burst into tears.”
“I do not,” I deny.
She gives me that look. “You can’t fool me. I’ve known you since junior high. You don’t think I see the signs?”
“What signs?”
“The same ones as when you were dating Garrett.”
I scoff. “That’s ridiculous. I loved Garrett, I don’t love Ren.”
“I didn’t say that. I said the feelings were the same. You trusted Garrett, and somehow, you managed to put your trust in a man you barely knew. He got under your skin, and the fact that he turned out to be a bastard, hurts.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know that this is the first guy you have ever returned to. This is the first guy you have let your guard down with. No guy in New York would ever get that treatment from you. You were adamant that you would never find yourself in the same situation you had with Garrett. Why do you think that is? It’s because you connected with him.”
“I don’t understand what you’re trying to get out of all of this.”
She stands up and walks over to me, placing her hands on my shoulders. “I’m trying to make you understand your feelings. I want you to understand that the life you’re living isn’t the one you want or the one you need. You love being in relationships. You love holding someone close to you and to snuggle up with.”
“I like the concept of love, not love itself. He made sure of that,” I mumble.
“Who? Ren?”
I shake my head and step back. “Never mind.”
“It’s about Garrett, isn’t it?” she asks.
“No.” I turn to leave.
“Why do you always do that?” Taylor’s voice is hurt and angry.
“Do what?” I know what she’s talking about, but I don’t want to get into it right now. I can’t get into it right now.
“You always dodge. Whenever he’s brought up in a conversation, you always dodge it. Why?”
“You think I want to talk about the ex that cheated on me multiple times?” I sneer.
“He’s not the first guy to have ever cheated on you, Kerr—”
“Thanks for the reminder,” I retort sardonically.
“It’s not what I meant. You’ve been cheated on in the past, but he’s the only one you refuse to talk about. Why? What happened? It has to have been more than him cheating on you. I don’t even know any of the details. All you said was that he cheated on you, and that was it.”
My eyes shrink into slits as I stare at her. Unbelieving of what she’s saying to me. “Are you kidding me? Did you expect me to be that selfish? You were going through a breakup of your own. You were still suffering the loss of your child and the death of your parents. How dare you be so hurt at me for not telling you about my cheating ex-boyfriend, when you were going through something so much worse!” I shout.
She winces at my tone, and I wish I could take back the harshness of it. “It’s been years, and I’m fine now. I’ve faced my demons head-on and have been able to come out of it. You haven’t, and unless you deal with them, you never will.”
“And you think telling you will magically make it all better?”
“No. But it’s a start. Something big happened between you two, I know that. What I don’t know is what, and why you’re still holding it from me. I’m your best friend, Kerr. We tell each other everything, no matter how brutal it may be. This is why our friendship is so solid. We never keep things from one another.”
It’s not that I’ve never wanted to tell her. I have. I’ve wanted to tell someone about everything, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want anybody to have to shoulder my problems, especially her. Years after it happened, it just became too late. I saw no point in telling her because it was all over. I was happy and content with how my life was.
“It wouldn’t change a thing, Taylor, so what’s the point?” I say softly.
“Because you haven’t moved on. You haven’t allowed yourself to heal from it.”
I tear my eyes from her. Unable to look at her. I should tell her, but what would it do? It would only dredge up the painful memories of the past. The reason I’ve been able to walk around the way I have so far is that I haven’t been thinking about it.
“I’ve moved on just fine.”
“Bullshit, you have. You go around sleeping with as much of the male population of New York as you can. I’m surprised you haven’t run out of men at the rate you’ve been going, and the fact that you never sleep with the same guy more than once, do you think this is you moving on? No, you just think you have. You’re still in the same spot as you were before.” She raises her voice at me. There’s anger pouring off of her and tears in her eyes, which hits me hard.
“What the fuck do you want me to say, huh? Do you want me to tell you he hit me? Will that make you happy to hear that most nights he hit me?” I scream.
She stumbles back, mouth agape and horror in her eyes. I take a bold step toward her.
“Does that make you feel better?” I ask in a low voice.
Taylor shakes her head. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know,” she apologizes on a whisper.
“Exactly. You weren’t meant to.”
She sits down on the two-seater couch she has in her office and I take a spot next to her.
“How long did this go on for?” There’s a hesitation in her voice, as if knowing the answer and not wanting to hear it.
“Two years,” I respond, with no emotion in my voice.
She gasps. Tears welling in her eyes. “Oh my God.” She breathes out.
“At first he was a saint. He treated me well, and I had no complaints. He made everyone fall in love with him, especially me. That hadn’t lasted long. Soon, he was possessive and way too paranoid. I couldn’t speak to any guy; otherwise, he would become unhinged and abusive. I tried to get away, but I was foolishly in love and believed him whenever he said he was sorry. I should have known it was all a ploy, and soon he took his anger out on me. Apologizing profusely afterward for his ‘outburst
s of fear’ as he used to call them.” I take a deep, shaky breath. Taylor drapes her arm around my shoulder. “I let it go on for two years. Two years and I couldn’t have any male friends or talk to another male without him going crazy. It’s why, at parties, he was always with me. Said he couldn’t trust anybody. I argued with him that the trust should come from me, not them. Well, didn’t I pay for that?” I chuckle darkly.
“What did he do?” she whimpers.
I hold up my finger. The finger that has the metal rod in it. We had been arguing about the male waiter at the local restaurant we went to on our anniversary. I stupidly stuck my finger at him and accused him of being a paranoid freak. Well, he didn’t think too fondly of that, and grabbed my finger, snapping it. His abusive attack afterward was the defining moment for me. It was when I finally woke up and realized that I needed to do something about my situation because if I didn’t, I would most likely die at his hands. He charmed and manipulated his way into women’s hearts, only to turn into a dark animal that fed on love, fear, and submission. I look back now and wonder how I had been so naïve and ignorant to his real self. How I always seemed to push aside the jealousy, the obsession, the insane possessiveness.
He had done more damage to me that day than he had any other. I was sent to the hospital with a fractured finger that required surgery. Puncture wounds from being stabbed multiple times. A mosaic of bruises and a severe concussion. I had somehow convinced the police I was attacked and I didn’t see my attacker. My parents were never told because Garrett was my emergency contact. He put on the best performance in the world. The caring and doting boyfriend, breaking down in front of the police and doctors when he saw the state I was in. The state he had put me in. He wasn’t even seen as a suspect, because he was that good at hiding his true nature. And I had to go along with it. I always hear people say things like, “If he was so bad, why didn’t you leave?” “Why did you go back?” “What, nobody helped you?” And the best one of them all, “You deserved it if you stuck around.” To that, I say, you have no idea what it’s like until you do. You don’t know what it’s like to be that much in love and know in your head that what’s happening to you is wrong, but having your heart overrule every sense you have.