Love Until It Hurts (Crazy Love Book 2)

by Carmen DeSousa

  Nothing would ever change, but I had to think about the innocent child she carried. I crossed my arms. “Sorry isn’t good enough, Cat. You killed our marriage. Now you want to kill our child. I knew you were selfish, but —” I stopped my words before I said something that would make her cry. The last thing I needed was to get her bawling. That wasn’t good for a baby either.

  She closed the distance, latching onto my crossed arms. “Never again. I swear. I’ll stop. Everything. I just want us to be a family.”

  I shook my head.

  “Brock, I screwed up. I know that. But you are supposed to forgive.”

  A puff of air escaped through my nose without my consent. But then it occurred to me … “Okay, Cat.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. No way were we ever getting back together, but all I needed was for her to stay sober for five months. “You’re sure the baby’s mine?”

  She nodded unconvincingly.

  “If you quit drinking and partying until the baby’s born …”

  “We’ll get back together?”

  My head dropped into a nod as unconvincing as hers had been. Even though I knew she couldn’t do it, I felt a stab of pain in my chest. I’d told Charity I’d never give up. And I wouldn’t. But how would I — It didn’t matter. I had to make sure my child was safe. If that meant putting aside my wants for five months, then that’s what I’d have to do.

  “Yay!” She clapped her hands together, then threw her arms around my neck. “Let’s go get your things. It’s the perfect way to start the new year. Daddy will be so glad to have you back to work. Joe has never been as good as you … Daddy said.”

  “I’m not moving back in, and I’m not going back to work for your father.”

  “But you said …” Her bottom lip jutted out again.

  “I said if the baby’s mine, and you stay clean —”

  “Humph! Maybe I don’t want that.”

  “Fine.” I pulled away from her and started for the door again.

  She grabbed the back of my shirt. “Okay, okay. Five months. I can wait five months.”

  My stomach plunged. But there just wasn’t any way. As much as I wanted Caitlyn to stay clean, I knew there wasn’t a chance in hell. She’d screw up somehow, I was sure of it.

  But what if she didn’t? I took off down the hall. I was pretty sure I was going to be sick this time.

  Chapter 22 – Charity

  As I opened my eyes, I tried to recognize my surroundings. A slice of sunlight streaked across my face, blinding me. With a slight turn of my head, I inspected the sheer white drapes behind a long narrow gap between the dark purple curtains my mother had picked out when I was sixteen.

  My room, I realized, even though I couldn’t remember going to bed.

  The memory of Nathan’s suicide hit me head-on again and I closed my eyes, blocking out the bright sun and trying to make it go away. It hadn’t been a dream. The throb in my hands brought last night’s fiasco front and center.

  Like a negative, Nathan’s image burned behind my eyelids. I saw his silhouette at the foot of my bed. Hunched over, elbows on his knees, his thumb scrolling through a phone. My phone. He’d been going through my phone.

  He’d always said that he couldn’t make me happy. That I’d eventually want better.

  Spoiled … He had always called me spoiled. Brock had basically said the same thing.

  My eyes fell on my desk. On the top-of-the-line laptop, the newest iPhone, several purses. Clothes strewn around the room from when I’d tried to find something to wear for New Year’s Eve. The door to my closet stood open, and I stared at the hundreds of boxes of shoes. Some I’d probably never even worn once.

  Spoiled? Was I really spoiled? Just because my parents could buy me nice things, did that make me spoiled?

  It had made me complacent. Bored. Not knowing what I wanted in life. But spoiled?

  Why had Nathan cheated on me when I’d given him everything? Why had he been looking through my phone? Had my spoiled lifestyle, as he put it, pushed him to think that because I had the newest iPhone and fashion, I needed a new boyfriend, too?

  Disgusted by it all, I jumped out of bed and rushed out of my room. Halfway down the hall I glanced at my body, realizing I was only in my bra and panties.

  No one was ever in the house anyway. I continued my sprint across the cold tile, passing through the kitchen, and into the laundry room. My mother’s Yorkies dashed around me, licking at my toes. Odd that they were out. Normally she locked them in the kennel before she left for work.

  I gave them both treats so they’d leave me alone, then grabbed the entire box of trash bags — one wouldn’t be enough — and charged back to my room.

  One by one, I snatched tops, bottoms, and dresses off hangers. I couldn’t remember wearing any of them. Not since I’d graduated, anyway. In high school I’d been meticulous not only about not wearing the same outfit within a month — preferably longer — but also not even the same color within a week.

  For what? What had I achieved?

  Nothing. That’s what. No career goals. Not one person I could truly call a friend. A dead ex-boyfriend. And the one good person I had in my life, I’d shoved away … because of my guilt.

  Ten over-stuffed bags later, I dragged the clothes, shoes, and purses down the hall, depositing them at the front door, then ran back to my room to change into one of the five pairs of jeans I’d kept. Next, I opted for a plain Under Armor sweatshirt with just the one U layered with the A on the front. It had been impossible to find anything to keep that wasn’t a name brand, so I’d opted to keep only the most nondescript items.

  I wasn’t sure what I planned to achieve, but I knew I didn’t want to be the girl I’d been.

  “What are you doing, honey?” my mother’s voice startled me as I returned for the last bag.

  Surprised, I looked up. Since I usually slept past my parents leaving for work, it was unusual for anyone but me to be home. “Umm … I … was just …” I stuttered. “Cleaning.”

  My mother cocked her head. “Are you feeling okay?”

  I’d been so busy I had managed to push all that had happened to the back of my mind, but now I bit down on my lip as a sob threatened to escape. “I don’t know, Mom. But I had to get up.”

  My mother approached me, but didn’t reach out to me as I knew my grandmother would have. I vaguely remembered Gram showing up, sitting by my bed. I must have really been out of it.

  “You’ve been sleeping for nearly two days, Charity.”

  Two days …

  A tiny frown creased the corners of my mother’s perfect mouth. If she’d realized it, she would have instantly relaxed her muscles. “Have you eaten?”

  A laugh burst out of my mouth. Eaten? I hadn’t even thought to look for food. I figured I’d grab something on the way to The Salvation Army.

  The frown deepened, now coupled with two tiny lines between her eyebrows. “What’s so funny?”

  “Do we have food?” I asked.

  “There’s pizza. That place your father loves.”

  I shook my head as I turned to leave. “I’ll pass.”

  “Charity,” my mother called after me, and I stopped. “You know I love you, right?”

  I turned back to her, knowing what she was thinking. Other than the other night, she hadn’t told me she loved me since I was in kindergarten.

  “I love you too, Mom, but you don’t have to worry. I’m not suicidal.” And I left the house.

  The only time I’d ever been to The Salvation Army was with Nathan. A couple years ago, he’d insisted he could find a better Halloween costume there than at one of the chain Halloween stores. I’d scoffed, of course. I’d wanted to buy us a matching pirate and sexy sea wench outfit I’d seen. But he’d turned up his nose, saying it wouldn’t look authentic.

  As I’d watched him hunt through the hundreds of pants and shirts, looking for an aged pair he could cut off, I’d glanced around at all the shoppers. All ages and races were pr
esent. Some women had even been dressed in designer clothes, even though I could tell they hadn’t come from money.

  Maybe my donation would help. I could only hope.

  After dropping off the clothes, I sat in the parking lot, just staring at the six lanes of traffic racing north and south on Highway 19. Where was everyone going? What was the big hurry?

  How many people had stopped what they were doing for the last two days because Nathan had died? His mother? Probably, but not for long, I’m sure. I’d go to her, but she’d never liked me. She’d probably blame his death on me anyway. Morgan … God, I just wanted to kill her. I knew I couldn’t see her. Knew I’d pummel her if I did.

  Even though Nathan and I hadn’t been together in nine months, I ached for him. Wanted to tell him that everything would be okay. But I simply couldn’t cry anymore. It hurt. Crying hurt my throat, my head … my insides. And really, what good did crying do anyway? Crying hadn’t brought my aunt or uncle back to life.

  I dug inside the center console for my charger and plugged in my phone. When it came to life, I viciously swiped at the hundreds of messages. Some from people I hadn’t spoken to since middle school. A few were from Morgan … How dare she text me! What could she possibly have to say? Of course, she probably didn’t know that Nathan had come clean. She’d still been trying to get us back together. No wonder she’d looked so worried at the party. If I had known then — I shook my head to clear it. It didn’t matter. Nothing would bring Nathan back. Not anymore.

  I stopped on Brock’s name, then swiped away his message without reading it. I wasn’t ready. I needed to write him a letter explaining what I needed to do before I read something that could change my mind. For the first time in my life, I knew exactly what I wanted, and my mind was made up. Well, that wasn’t completely true. I didn’t know exactly what I wanted, but I knew where I was going to start.

  The only texts that remained were from Nathan. I didn’t delete them, but I didn’t re-read them either.

  Instead of typing a message to Brock in the text screen, I flipped to my notes. I didn’t want Brock to see I was texting him until I’d gotten all my thoughts on paper. Electronically on paper, that is. Too often I’d be writing a text and would hit send by mistake.

  Brock, I didn’t lie when I said I loved you, and I’m sorry for blaming you. None of what happened was your fault. I know that. And despite what I might have said to you — sorry, I don’t remember; I was pretty screwed up — I don’t blame you. That said, I’m not in a good place right now. All I know is that I need to make a change in my life. I don’t want anyone to ever see me as the spoiled rich girl again. And not that I think you do, but I also don’t want to live my life always wondering what might have been. You have a lot going on that you need to figure out, too, so I think it’d be better if we just stayed away from each other while we both figure out what we’re going to do with our lives. As much as it will hurt me, because I know I am in love with you, I’m asking that you don’t try to contact me, as that will only make what I have to do harder. You said you don’t believe in fate, but I have faith that if we’re meant to be, somehow we’ll both find our way back to each other when the time is right.

  It wasn’t everything I wanted to say to the man who’d made me fall in love with him in only a few dates, but it would have to do. I wouldn’t ask him to wait for me; I’d just have to let life take its course. What that course would be I wasn’t quite sure, but I knew it was going to start with my distancing myself from my parents’ money. If my dad did it on his own, then so could I.

  First things first, one of the number one places I used my father’s credit card. Food. I headed for the first grocery store I saw. I was going to buy groceries, dammit. No longer would I eat out every single day of my life. If I was going to make it on my own, I needed to start learning how. I’d received nearly two thousand dollars from friends and relatives for graduation and another five hundred in Christmas checks that I hadn’t bothered to cash yet since I always had my father’s credit card. I pulled the folded checks out of my wallet and used the app on my phone to deposit them into my checking account, which boosted my balance to just a little over three thousand dollars. If I was going to move out on my own and live without my father’s money, I’d have to find a job quickly. I wasn’t even sure how much it would cost to get an apartment.

  I walked up and down each aisle, grabbing the basic items I imagined should be in a kitchen. I rejoiced when I came upon buy-one-get-one items. The bill came to just a little more than a hundred dollars, and yet I was pretty sure I’d bought enough food to last me a few weeks. My parents never ate at home, so I didn’t have to worry about them eating my groceries.

  The cashier smiled as I slipped my chip card into the reader, so I forced a return smile. It hurt to smile. It hurt all the way down to my stomach.

  “You don’t recognize me, do you?” she asked in response to my weak attempt at a smile.

  I glanced at her nametag. Julie. I was still at a loss. “I’m —”

  “It’s okay,” she offered before I could apologize, since apparently she thought I should know her. “I just thought … Never mind.”

  “It’s been a rough couple of days, Julie …” I hesitated on her name, wondering if maybe she went by something different and I might offend her again.

  Her smile finally turned down. “I heard about Nathan. I’m so sorry. I always thought y’all were a cute couple.”

  “Thanks.” I took a stab at the obvious, “So, you went to East Lake?”

  Julie nodded. “Yeah. You and I had English together for four years. You know how she always liked to seat students alphabetically. I was right behind you. My last name starts with a B, too. Julie Bexon.”

  I wiped my hand over my mouth. “Of course. You look different, though,” I lied, hoping she did. Everyone I did know from high school had changed a lot in the last six months. I really didn’t want to lie to her, but I figured admitting that I still didn’t recognize her, after she had disclosed sitting behind me for four years, would further offend her. And Julie seemed like a nice girl, so I didn’t want to remind her what a jerk I’d been.

  If I wasn’t mistaken, Julie blushed. “Finally got my braces off and I bloomed in the last six months. I think high school was stunting my growth.”

  A laugh popped out of my mouth without my approval. Julie was rather funny. Why hadn’t I met her — or rather, noticed her — in four years of high school? She was cute. Even with her hair pulled back in a barrette, I could see that her strawberry-blond hair was long and curly, and it looked natural. The sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and slightly round cheeks, made her look like the proverbial girl next door. I imagined that when her boyfriends introduced her to their parents, she was actually welcomed. But also … with a little makeup and the right outfit, she’d look just as good as any of the girls I hung out with in high school.

  An elderly man pushed his cart into the lane behind me and started to unload his groceries, but I had one more question for Julie. “Hey, you seem to enjoy working here. How hard is it to get a job?”

  A wide grin spread across Julie’s face, making her cheeks appear even rounder. “It’s great. I’ve worked here for four years. We’re hiring, too, since many of our employees are heading off to college in a few days — I’m staying at St. Pete till the fall. Fill out an application at the kiosk,” she pointed to a green boxy contraption near the door, “and I’ll tell my manager about you.”

  What would she tell the manager about me? I wondered. Probably … Charity Bauer is a snob who doesn’t even remember the girl who sat behind her for four years, so how will she be able to manage a cash register? Or maybe, She walks around in Jimmy Choos and carries Gucci backpacks, so she doesn’t need a job here.

  The man behind me cleared his throat.

  “Thanks,” I said, accepting the receipt Julie handed me. Her smile was so genuine I decided to go ahead and fill out the application. “I�
��ll do it right now. Thanks.”

  My mom watched with an expression that I could only describe as perplexed when I lumbered through the front door of the house, plastic bags lined up both of my arms. Once again, her dogs ran circles around my feet. I did my best not to step on one of them, which I knew would send my mother into a coronary.

  “There’s more in my car if you wouldn’t mind …” I hinted, since she just stood there looking at me.

  She still didn’t move, just crossed her arms. “What on earth? You went grocery shopping? In your condition?”

  In my condition? Did she expect me to swoon on the fainting couch for months on end? Or was grocery shopping beneath our social status? Shopping for groceries was the one type of shopping my mother couldn’t fathom. As I’d started thinking about all the things my grandmother had in her pantry, and all the dinners she made, I had actually enjoyed myself.

  Realizing my mother wasn’t going to help, I dropped the bags on the kitchen counter and went back to the car for the rest. How had this woman been raised by the same woman who’d raised Kayla’s mother? My grandmother shopped. Made homemade meals. Cared …

  My mother followed me into the kitchen. “So, what are you going to cook?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing right now. I’m going to put these away, then I’m going to eat a bowl of cereal.”

  She huffed out a breath through her nose. “I just saw your room. Where are all your clothes, Charity?”

  My back to her, I filled up our enormous pantry with human food. Not just dog treats. “I gave them away.”

  “You what?” she shrieked.

  Another set of footsteps sounded on the tile behind me. “What’s going on?” my father asked.

  “Your daughter … gave away all her clothes!” my mother screeched, her voice cracking in her apparent frustration.

  Both of my parents in the house at the same time? Perfect. I thought I’d have to have separate conversations.

  I turned around and crossed my arms, wondering why it mattered to her. Why should she care what I did with my wardrobe as long as I didn’t ask her to replace the items? “They were my clothes, and I didn’t want them anymore, so I gave them to The Salvation Army. I also applied for a job at Publix, and tomorrow I’m going to register for classes at St. Pete College. Once I save enough money, I’ll move out so you won’t have to worry about what I do with my clothes or anything else — not that you ever have before.”