Broken

by Tia Sirrah

  I rubbed my round belly and headed towards the staircase. I knew what I had to do. Conner and I needed to talk. We needed to talk before he got too drunk off his ass to have a productive conversation with me.

  "When Conner chose me that night, there was no way I was going to miss my chance to have sex with a Brathwaite twin."

  "Twin?"

  Amy furrowed her brows, seemingly surprised by my question. "Yeah. Conner and Colton were identical twins. You could barely tell them apart."

  Twins? I swallowed past the lump in my throat and took a sip of water.

  "I agreed to marry Quentin, partly to please my dad, and partly to get a rise out of Conner." She laughed bitterly. "You see how that worked out. Quentin didn’t give a shit about me and could barely stand the sight of me. And Conner," she laughed bitterly, "he fucked his way through Manhattan before running through all the hot girls out here. Then he met you. Perfect and beautiful Novalee. He fell head over heels in love and stopped screwing around." Her smile was tight, and her eyes were sad.

  "I loved him madly," she said, as tears pooled in her cornflower blue eyes. "All I ever wanted was for him to love me back." Amy dabbed her eyes with the cloth napkin that rested on her lap. "Conner and I hooked up at a time in my life when I was very fragile. I’d already given up on my first love, and it was fucking brutal." She bit her quivering lip and exhaled deeply.

  Amy belted out a humorless laugh as she said, "He never loved me. We agreed to a no strings attached fling. I lied and told him I could handle that." Her eyes were fixed on me as she said, "I wasn’t going to give up hope again. Not this time around." Amy looked sightlessly out of the window before continuing. "I never thought that I would fall in love again. So, when I did, all bets were off. Unfortunately, things ended abruptly. One day, he stopped calling. Stopped answering his phone. He just sort of…moved on." Amy shook her head as if trying to shake those memories away.

  "Jesus," I mumbled.

  Amy’s emotions went from a 3 to a 10 within a few seconds. "I was waiting for him to come to his senses," she cried out, as tears dripped down her face. "He was supposed to quit whoring around and finally settle down. But all he cared about was fucking every hot blond in a skirt." Amy wiped her face with her napkin before subconsciously looking around. A few eyes were on us. "I loved him through it all," she said through gritted teeth. "Even from a distance."

  Amy was starting to cause a scene, her voice steadily increasing. "And then he met you." She frantically shook her head and pressed her fingertips to her eyelids. "People fall in love with you, Novalee. They always do."

  I headed for the master bath on the second floor. I examined my blotchy skin in the mirror. My nose and cheeks were reddened, and my eyes were bright. I secured my curls up on top of my head before heading down the long corridor towards Conner’s office. I wanted to forget that this day had ever happened. And something told me that sleep was a long way off.

  "Who was your first love? I thought it was Wes–Conner."

  She hesitated a moment and shook her head. "Are you really going to make me say it, Novalee?"

  I looked into Amy’s eyes and saw all the things that I hadn’t wanted to see. The things that I’d purposefully ignored for years. It was a talent of mine. I excelled in only seeing what I wanted to see.

  "Who was your first love, Amy?" I asked wearily.

  She took a deep breath and straightened her back. Her tremble was gone, and her voice was steady. "I’ve been in love with you since the sixth grade. When I first met you at Manchester, I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever laid eyes on. You still are."

  I slowly shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut. "Amy, don’t do this."

  "It’s now or never. What have I got to lose?" She gave a wan smile. "That’s why my mother never really approved of our friendship. She saw the way I looked at you. My mother wanted me to marry Quentin for entirely different reasons than my father. She told me that she knew about my unnatural feelings for you. She thought that marrying a man like Quentin would help me get over them."

  Amy had been possessive throughout our friendship. She was a territorial person in general, I’d always rationalized. I never wanted to face the tight and pressing hugs, the handholding with soft caresses, or the lingering kisses to my cheeks. I didn’t want to overanalyze the frequent sleepovers where we shared a bed because she was afraid of the dark. Some people are more affectionate than others. That was Amy.

  "You’re in love with both of us?" I shook my head in disbelief.

  "I know it sounds crazy," she said, on the verge of tears again.

  "I loved you…like a sister. I don’t feel the same way for you. I’m sorry," I said gently.

  "I know," Amy said, defeated.

  Our waiter approached our table and took away our scarcely eaten salads. Amy rested her elbows on the table and palmed her face. "I learned to accept the fact that we would never be more than just best friends. Then you and Conner met. It all happened so fast," she said, shaking her head. "I just couldn’t deal. I couldn’t accept it. It was the worst thing that could ever happen to me." She leaned back in her chair and shoved a hand through her hair. "The two people that I loved most of all found each other. Go figure, right? Fuck my life," she said with a humorless chuckle. "I kept you two away from each other, all those years ago, because deep down I knew. Knew that if you two found each other, you each would take the other one away from me."

  "So, your idea was to go after my boyfriend? What the hell, Amy?"

  "I was tired of losing! I thought I had a better shot with Conner. I was hysterical. Downright furious that he got you pregnant. I needed to prove to myself that I was lovable."

  With this confession of betrayal, my anger escalated, and Amy’s cries increased. Nothing was resolved. I don’t know what I expected from meeting with Amy. Closure, I guess.

  Amy and I talked until there were no more words. We both mourned the loss of our friendship. I thought about our twelve years of friendship. We had laughed together and cried together. We planned our futures together.

  "You mind if I walk you to your car?" She pleaded with her eyes. "I know that this is goodbye. I guess I’m just trying to bide my time. Please?" she asked as her voice croaked. "We don’t even have to talk."

  I gave a minute nod and slid my sunglasses back on. After settling the bill, we headed toward the parking garage. We walked in silence, each of us stewing in our own thoughts.

  Amy stood in front of me once I stopped at my car. "Take care of yourself, Amy." I was fragile. On the verge of shattering. This was final. I just didn’t have it in me to try. The moment she tried to seduce Conner was it for me.

  "You too, Novalee." She reluctantly stepped forward and leaned towards me for a hug, which I consented to. I awkwardly wrapped my arms around her for one last hug, and then the unexpected happened. Amy boldly pressed her lips against mine and kissed me hard.

  Stunned, I pulled back from her kiss and out of her embrace. "Amy, no," I stated firmly, as I wiped her lipstick from my mouth.

  "I’m sorry," she confessed. "I’ve always wanted to do that."

  "Goodbye, Amy," I said, on the verge of sobbing.

  "Goodbye, Novalee," she cried. She hurried away, and I got in my car and speed off.

  ∞∞∞

  WEARY AND TIRED, I stood in front of Conner’s office door. The door was ajar, and the lights were low. I stepped into the room. Conner was seated at his desk. He looked up at me when I stepped in. In his hand was a dingy piece of notebook paper. Handwriting appeared to be scribbled on it. An opened bottle of bourbon sat in front of him. I stepped over his discarded dress shirt and rounded the desk to stand beside him. "You wanna talk about it, or are you going to stew in the dark and get drunk?"

  Conner neatly folded the piece of paper four times over and put it in his desk drawer. He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together. Conner’s eyes looked haunted and bore into me, but he remained silent. He d
idn’t look angry. He looked… dispassionate.

  My palms gripped the edge of the desk behind me. "Amy kissed me. I didn’t kiss her back."

  "If I’d known it was like that, we could have all had some fun," he said, his tone dry and emotionless. "Amy always did like threesomes. Go figure." He took a swig of bourbon, straight from the bottle.

  "Fuck you, Conner." I raised my hand to slap him, which he caught in mid-air, his large hand clasping around my wrist.

  He rose from his chair as he held my wrist firmly. "But you won’t even do that, will you," he taunted, his face mere inches from mine.

  "You’re the expert at fucking, so go fuck yourself, like you’re doing to this relationship." I snatched my hand out of his hold. I shoved him hard, but he didn’t move an inch. In an instant, his hands were around my waist, and I was suddenly lifted onto his desk.

  Conner pushed my thighs apart with his hands before pulling my legs towards him, causing me to slide to the edge of the desk. His erection pressed against my center. "What the fuck do you want from me?" he asked, his voice thick with frustration. "I give you my heart. All my love. I don’t cheat on you. I give you all the things money can buy. I fuck you and give you more pleasure than you’ve ever known." He roughly pulled the hem of my gown up around my waist. His long fingers teased my sex through my panties. "And yet, you still want more."

  My head involuntarily lolled back. The tank undershirt he wore stretched across his muscles, and I dug my nails into his shoulders. Desire pooled between my thighs as he massaged my clit through my panties. It was pure ecstasy and unrelenting torture. The heat from his tongue skimming up the column of my throat caused a moan to escape from my lips. Conner cradled my face firmly in his hands and ran his tongue along the seams of my lips before parting my mouth for a kiss. I kissed him fiercely, even as I silently cried, with tears running down my cheeks. He tasted of bourbon, his lips and tongue hot and erotic, his kiss desperate.

  Conner broke our kiss when I should have been the one to. But he knew he was in control. He always had been, really. His fingers threaded through my hair and tugged my head back forcefully. I was shameless and dizzy with arousal as he grazed his lips against my ear. "I can’t give you any more of me." His voice vibrated against the shell of my ear. "Fucking take it or leave it. This is it," he said, causing my body to shutter and my heart to plummet.

  Releasing my hair and removing his hand from my aching center, Conner reached around me and grabbed the bottle of bourbon. I watched him intently as he took a few hefty gulps. "I can’t do this anymore," I said, barely above a whisper. I pushed away from him and off the desk. His eyes pierced into me, and I thought I saw a slight shutter in them before it was gone.

  I headed toward the door, my world cracking with every step I took and with every second that he didn’t respond.

  "Didn’t think you could," he finally said. "You’re too good for me anyway," was the last thing I heard him mutter as I hurried down the hall to gather my things.

  Chapter 20

  THE WORLD SEEMED DIFFERENT, odd even, without the assurance in knowing that Conner was mine. Day in and day out, I functioned on autopilot. I went through the motions of being polite, agreeable, and sociable. I wore a smile on my face during most times, even when all I wanted to do was curl into a ball under my covers and cry myself to sleep.

  "Novalee, hi. How are you?" Lydia beamed. I stopped by Conner’s office on my way to school.

  "I’m good, thanks," I lied.

  Just in case I ran into Conner, I made it a point not to look as bad as I felt. I now understood why Conner always took great effort in looking impeccable at all times. The more put together you looked on the outside, the easier to hide the personal hell you were really going through on the inside. I had rummaged through my closet for an hour, trying to find the perfect outfit. I stood in front of the mirror much longer than usual, attempting to perfect the wave and volume of my curls. I even wore more makeup than usual, trying to disguise the bags under my eyes from sleepless nights.

  "That dress is to die for. Green is definitely your color," she complimented, referring to the sea-green ruffled summer dress I wore.

  "Thank you, Lydia. Hey, can you see to it that Conner gets this? No need to disturb him." I handed her a manila envelope.

  She furrowed her brows. "Conner isn’t in today. He’s been out sick all week."

  My tight smile remained in place. "Oh, of course." I took the envelope back from her. "Well, never mind then. I’ll be sure he gets it."

  "Okay, sounds good. Have a great day, Novalee." She smiled before answering her ringing phone.

  I held the jingling envelope against my chest as I descended the top floor and exited out into the street. I slipped my oversized sunglasses on and headed to my car. I hadn’t spoken to Conner in over a week, our last conversation still haunted me. Once in my car, I looked down at the envelope that now rested in the passenger’s seat of my Lexus. It contained my copy of his house keys, the keys to the condo in Chicago, and the information to a safety deposit box that housed millions of dollars’ worth of jewels that he had gifted me throughout our relationship. Except for the pendant necklace. I couldn’t bear to give that up. The Porsche Cayenne Turbo S had already been transported back to his place. I loved that car, but it held too many memories of us christening the back seat.

  I drove to the post office in a daze, my mind continually replaying our breakup, as it often did. I knew that I had to walk away. He left me no choice. But why did it have to hurt so damn bad?

  WEEK FOUR POST BREAK up. Four weeks of loneliness and misery. The only communication from Conner had been through text messages, a lot of drunk text messages. Text messages that stole my peace, trampled my heart, racked my brain, and threatened my sanity.

  Conner, 9/4, 1am

  I miss you

  Conner, 9/4, 5:42am

  I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t breathe without you.

  Conner, 9/5, 2:15am

  You were too good for me.

  Conner, 9/5, 3:00am

  Watching you walk out that door gutted me, but it was what I deserved.

  Conner, 9/5, 4:02am

  I’m so drunk right now. I just want to be numb.

  Conner, 9/5, 10:02am

  Answer your phone. I need to hear your voice. Please, angel.

  Conner, 9/6, 12:47am

  What th fuckk, Novalee? Answer the FUCKING PHONE. Is someone

  Conner, 9/6, 12:47am

  Is someone there with you?? I swear to fuckiing Godif Marcus iss there wi

  Conner, 9/6, 12:48am

  With you, I will fucking kill him. I’ve called you 15. No

  Conner, 9/6. 12:48am

  17 fucking times!

  Conner, 9/6, 7:01am

  I wish I never fucking met you. Then I wouldn’t want to rip my fucking heart out.

  Conner, 9/6, 10:08am

  How many bottles will it take to forget about you? 2? 3?

  Fuck it. I guess I’ll find out

  Conner, 9/6, 11:03am

  What the fuck do I pay him for??? He won’t drive me to your place. And I’mm to fucked up to

  Conner, 9/6. 11:03am

  drive myself. ANSWWER YOUR FFUCKING PHONEEE ioedjjiokl

  Conner, 9/6, 2:03pm

  2 bottles... Still in my head. Fuckkk it. I’mm done.

  Novalee, 9/6, 2:03pm (to Quentin)

  I’m worried about Conner. Can you check on him? I’m calling you now.

  Quentin, 9/6, 2:10pm

  Just got your message. I’m on my way to his place now.

  Novalee, 9/6, 2:11pm (to Quentin)

  Thank you. I called Colin. He found Conner passed out drunk. He really needs a friend right now. It just can’t be me. I hope you understand. Please let me know how he’s doing.

  Quentin, 9/6, 2:11pm

  I understand and agree. I’m calling you now…

  Conner, 9/8, 9pm

  I’m so fucking sorry, angel. Please forgive
me.

  Conner, 9/10, 3:12am

  I’ll love you forever

  With each passing day, the tears slowly subsided, and the text messages from Conner ceased. But my worry…it intensified tenfold. I wondered how he was really doing. Especially at night, when it was quiet, and he was left alone with only his thoughts. Was he okay? Was he safe? Was he alone? Was he sober?

  School and work served as two distractions, forcing me to climb out of bed every day to face the land of the living. In the evening before bed, I occupied myself with mind-numbing tasks, like cleaning my apartment or peeling the nail polish off my fingernails.

  My new followers on social media, who had only taken an interest in me when I became Conner’s girlfriend, now despised me. People went nuts over the infamous kissing photo of Amy and me. I was labeled as a cheating gold digger. Conner was way out of my league, they said. How dare I partake in a lesbian affair with my best friend behind his back. Many speculated that it was a threesome affair that had gone wrong. I swear I can’t make this stuff up.

  Once pictures of me sporting a noticeable baby bump came out, the bloggers went crazy. Helena had tagged me in a photograph of us posing together at her birthday party. I was wearing a form-fitting cocktail dress, my noticeable bump on full display. A plethora of comments and questions followed. Was Conner the father? Was Andre Johnston the father? Andre had recently hit the like button on a few of my photos, so people began to speculate. Never mind the fact that I hadn’t spoken to Andre in years, and he was now dating an uber-famous R&B singer. Conner, on the other hand, was labeled a reformed playboy who fell for the wrong girl. Go figure, right?

  Instead of shutting down my social media accounts like I’d done in the past, I ignored the haters and continued to live my life unapologetically. I did, however, disable the comment feature on all my social media accounts and unfollowed Conner. It was torture, seeing the swarms of women throwing themselves at him, hoping to be his rebound chick. The last thing I wanted to do was have a front-row seat to that debauchery. I could only imagine all the women who wanted to get a taste of the newly single, sexy-as-sin billionaire who made girls’ panties cream with just one look from him. Maybe they’d already had a taste. That thought kept me up at night.