I give him a smile from my place on the porch. He told me exactly where everything is, and he told me to get in and get out as quickly as I can because he wants to go home. I don’t know what his hesitance to be here is for, but I’m just going to do as he asks.
I stick the key in the lock and unlock the door, stepping inside. Immediately, the stench of beer hits me. The house is an absolute mess. It’s just filthy. I can’t believe human beings actually lived here. I glance around for any signs of life—human life, because this place looks like a pigsty—and I don’t find any. There are no pictures up, no TV or computer or anything in the living room. The stairs are covered in stains, and multiple beer bottles line the floor. They clank as I step over them to make my way to the stair case.
His duffel bag in tow, I head first into his room. He told me to grab as many clothes as I could, and then move on to Cason and Dalis’s rooms and do the same. Once I open the door to his room, emotions hit me like a ton of bricks.
The blinds—if you can even call them that—are held up by nails. They’re falling apart, completely. There’s a plastic garbage bag filled with clothes, a small alarm clock radio sitting in the windowsill. On the floor is a palette made of a bunch of blankets, and a single pillow. My God, he doesn’t even have a fucking bed. My heart hurts at the image before me, and I almost back out, almost walk away completely. Why would he let me come in here? This is too much to deal with, too much to see.
But it fits him. I see what he does, what he gives up for his siblings. The fact he doesn’t have a bed shows just how far he’s willing to go to make sure they have everything they need.
I go over to the plastic bag in the corner, and upon opening it, I realize the clothes are clean. The scent of fabric softener is incredibly strong. I grab a couple armfuls and fold them up, then stuff them in the duffel bag. I exit his room quickly, heart aching. I make my way into the next bedroom and am not shocked at all by what I find.
Dalis’s room is the room any little girl would dream of. It’s all pink, ruffly, and filled with stuffed animals. Her bed is adorned with a white canopy, and my hand comes up to cover my mouth. Books line her shelves, and there’s a teddy bear with a cup full of pretty hair pins that I grab and toss into the bag. I also grab her a couple books before I go into Cason’s room. His is the room of a typical teenage boy, so unlike his brother’s. He has a video game console, and I take that. I grab some games, and some clothes for him.
I just want out of here. Something doesn’t feel right.
Zipping the bag up, I run downstairs. The sight, the smell, the feel of this place has me on edge. I hate it. I hate that this used to be his life. I hate that he had to hurt so badly. That he’s still hurt by whatever went on within these four walls.
Their bag slung over my shoulder, I walk over to the door. Suddenly, there’s a tap on my shoulder. I drop the bag to the floor, thinking it’s Brody trying to scare me. When I turn around, though, I’m sorely mistaken.
I barely have time to register the new face in my mind before a fist plows so hard into my stomach I immediately drop to my knees. Arms wrapped around my midsection, I groan and gasp for the air that was just forced out of my lungs. Tears are forming, but I try to force them away. I can’t even breathe let alone cry right now. My lunch from earlier revolts and I think I’m about to throw up, but I just dry heave to no avail.
Suddenly, hair at the crown of my head is yanked upward, and my hands go to my hair immediately. I want to scream, but I can’t. I’m so deathly afraid of what’s going to happen, I can’t find my voice, not even to scream for Brody to come help me.
“Who the fuck are you? How did you get in here?” the man says through gritted teeth.
Everything hurts. Everything. But I’m afraid if I don’t respond, he’ll hit me again.
“I…I’m Brody’s g-girlfriend,” I croak, my lips quivering. “I came to…to p-pick up some things.”
He pulls my hair harder and I yelp involuntarily. “My fucking son. Of course. I saw him out there in that hotshot car he’s drivin’. I almost pulled him out and kicked his ass for even showing his face here after taking my kids.” He sneers down at me. “But maybe my message will be better received through you. Maybe he’ll get the message and stay away for good if I beat you black and blue.” With his spare hand, he strokes his chin. “You’re a smart one, too. You haven’t screamed for him yet. I wonder how long it’d take him to find you if you continue to suffer in silence. I could have some fun.”
His words strike me, each one instilling the fear of God and all things in me. I’ve never been so afraid in my life. I know I brought this on myself. I offered to come in here. I wanted to see what his home life was like.
Well I sure as shit see now.
I don’t regret volunteering to get things for him. Because if he’d come in, it would have been him in this position. In pain, ready to beg for his life. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy, and definitely not on the man I love.
My blood goes cold as I realize what this all means.
This is how Brody must have felt every day. This is where the scars came from, the nightmares, the fear of not being good enough for anyone. If his own father didn’t love him, how could he expect anyone else to? Oh, God.
“P-please. Let me go,” I beg. “I won’t say anything to anyone. I promise I won’t bother you again. Neither of us will. Please.”
He glares down at me, and I let the tears fall. I know I shouldn’t expect sympathy from a man who would put his hands on his own son, but I’m hoping he has some to spare for me.
“You or that boy set foot in here again and I’ll find and kill both of you, do you understand me?” He looks down at me for comprehension and I give it to him with a halfhearted nod.
He releases my hair and I fall back to the floor. Not even a second later, his foot rears back and I catch his kick just beneath my ribs. I groan, closing my eyes in anticipation for the next kick, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he steps over me and spits on the ground a few inches away from me.
“You have sixty seconds to get the fuck out my house.”
I’m hurting so much, but I don’t waste any time. I struggle to my feet, and with gritted teeth, I force myself to grab the bag off the ground and walk out. Walking slowly back to the car, I try not to meet Brody’s gaze. Swallowing back bile and the pain coursing through me, I get in the driver’s seat and throw his bag in the back, starting the car without a single word. He grabs my hand and kisses my knuckles.
I give him a halfhearted smile as I drive away.
I feel his gaze on me, but I don’t want him to say anything. Honestly, things would be perfect if he could stay quiet our entire ride home, because I don’t trust myself to speak steadily if he tries to spark up a conversation.
If the way I talked to his father is any indication, my voice will waver and he’ll find me out immediately. He’ll know something’s up, if he doesn’t know already.
I start the car, no longer excited over the fact that I’m driving my parents’ car. I just want to go home, lie in my bed, and cry to my heart’s discontent. Alone. Excitement is evading me now.
I start the drive back to our home in humble silence, too afraid to speak—of what just happened, of what could happen if I tell Brody now, of what will come out of my mouth if I decide to talk.
The minute we get back to the house, I hop out of the car before Brody has the chance to say anything. Trotting up the stairs, I feel my hand being grabbed from behind me. I turn to look at Brody, and his brows are furrowed in concern.
“Hey, are you okay?” he asks. “You haven’t said a word since we left my dad’s place. Did something happen in there? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
I shake my head, wracking my brain for a reasonable excuse for my unusual behavior. I don’t want to tell him the truth. Not right now—Hell, probably not ever. Now that I know the secret of what has being going on within the four walls of his childhood home, I don
’t want to be responsible for him having to endure that again.
And I just need to think about how we’re going to get past all of this.
“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just…” I trail off, averting my gaze. “I’m cramping really bad. I just want to go upstairs and lay down for a while.”
He nods, comprehending this completely. I wonder how he possibly could, but then I recall that he has a puberty-aged little sister.
“Do you want me to come up with you?”
The hopefulness in his tone completely shatters me. It’s amazing how things have changed since our first kiss. That night, I was the one full of hope, and he did everything in his power to rip that hope away from me. Today, it’s the other way around. And I know for the rest of my life I’m going to regret doing this, but it’s what I have to do.
To protect him.
To protect us.
“No, it’s okay. I just need to sleep it off. I need to be by myself for a while. I want to be by myself for a while.”
He visibly blanches, then nods, conceding.
I hate myself, hate what I just did. I’ve never pushed him away before, and the look on his face just seals the reason why. Before he can speak again, I pull my hand out of his grasp and run inside the house. The minute I make it upstairs, I collapse onto my bed.
Curling into a ball on my side, I grab a pillow and clutch it to my front. Burying my face in the pillow at my head, I cry myself to sleep.
STARING DOWN AT HER SLEEPING FIGURE, my heart hurts.
Something transpired today, and I don’t know what it was. I need to know, so I’ll know how to help her.
Where normally she looks peaceful while she rests, there’s a pain that’s settled and made a home in her expression that was never there before today. She clutches the pillow like it’s a life preserver, and half her pillow is wet with her tears. Hell, she didn’t even take her shoes off or anything. It’s like she was so exhausted—whether mentally or physically, I’m not even sure—that she just collapsed and went to sleep exactly how she fell.
In the corner of her bedroom is her desk, and there’s a thick throw blanket sprawled over the back of the chair. I walk over to it and grab it. Walking back toward her bed, I drape the blanket over her, tucking it around her in case she gets cold sometime tonight.
As badly as I want to lie in bed with her and comfort her, and as badly as it hurts not to, I’m going to respect her wishes. I’m going to attempt to sleep alone in my own bed for the first time in what feels like forever, and I hope to God she sleeps more peacefully than I’m bound to.
Her request for time alone hit me where it hurt. And it hurts everywhere. I can’t help but think it was something I did—or something I didn’t do. And I just want to fix whatever’s hurting her.
And I honestly doubt that it’s menstrual cramps.
Taking a seat beside her on the empty space on her bed, I extend my hand and tuck a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. She stirs, but she doesn’t wake. With a sad, resigned sigh, I lean forward and press a gentle kiss to her forehead. I close my eyes, letting my kiss linger there for a second, and I inhale a ragged breath.
“Please come back to me, Sabrina,” I whisper.
TWENTY
IT’S BEEN THREE DAYS SINCE we went to my dad’s house, and I’ve barely seen her. The only words we’ve spoken are common niceties as we pass each other at home, and even then, she avoids locking gazes with me.
I’m so tired of this ridiculous standoff. If I did something wrong, I want to know about it. If something’s wrong with her, I want to know about it. I want her to know she doesn’t have to handle anything alone.
I know I made it seem like I was nonchalant about being with her, about putting a label on whatever we are, but I’m not. I want to be with her. I want her to be my girlfriend. I want to wake up in the morning beside her and go to sleep in her arms at night. I want everything with her. And I want her to want everything with me.
I’ve been trying to give her the space she requested. But each moment we go without speaking, without touching, without being in each other’s presence, a piece of me dies inside.
I’m tired of being the guy who lets girls go without a fight. I’m tired of being the guy who lets other people run his life. I’m tired of being broken. I’m tired of being a shell of a man.
She makes me feel alive.
She’s the air I breathe.
I can’t lose her.
Not like this.
She’s working now, but I know her schedule like the back of my hand. She should be on a break right about now, so I storm through the front doors of Le Chateau D’If. She’s working the front section tonight. I didn’t know that at first, but I know it now because of the fact she’s the first person I see once I step inside.
I know I shouldn’t just pop up at her place of work, but I can’t help it. I need to talk to her. I need to know what the Hell is going on so I can fix it. So we can fix it.
She sees me immediately, but she brushes past me, depositing the tray of dirty dishes she has on her hip into the bin near the kitchen. I don’t even get a single backwards glance. I start after her and I see her shake her head as she continues to walk away from me.
“I’m working, Brody. Can we do this another time?” she asks.
I hate the way she avoids my gaze completely, the way she can’t even give me the courtesy of looking at me when she talks to me.
“No, we can’t because you’re about to go on break. And we need to talk.”
“Not right now, okay?”
This entire situation is really killing me. Why in the world is she avoiding me so much?
In my head, I replay everything that happened the weekend of our first date. I can’t recall doing anything in particular that would piss her off or hurt her. But then again, I often do things to hurt people without even knowing what I’m doing. The mere thought that maybe I’ve done something to hurt her is unbearable.
At the same time, though, I know I must have done something wrong. I always do, even without trying to. I try to protect the people I care about, but somehow, they always end up getting caught in the crossfire.
“Sabrina, you have to talk to me eventually. We live together, for crying out loud!” I exclaim.
She slams the tray of dishes down and whirls around to look at me. Finally.
Everything about her has changed within a matter of days. Her eyes are sunken in and red-rimmed, like she’s been crying more than usual. Her skin is pasty pale, her hair has lost some of its luminosity. The ghost of a smile that normally plays in her expression is gone, and replaced with a firm line and stubborn jaw.
I shudder as I realize how much she reminds me of her father right now.
“Fine. Fine. What do you want to talk about?”
The snap in her voice strikes me as odd. Even when she was pissed at me, hurt over me kissing her in the kitchen and leaving her there to pick up the pieces of both our hearts, she never talked to me this way.
“What is going on with you? You’ve been acting weird and pushing me away ever since the day we went by my dad’s place. There’s something you’re not telling me, I know it. Because you would never blatantly ignore me like this if there wasn’t a valid reason for it. So talk. Please.”
I have never begged for something in my life. And after Michele, I promised myself that I never would. However, for Sabrina, I’m certainly not above it. I would get on my knees if it meant finding out what happened to seemingly change her mind about me, and about us.
“Nothing happened. I just had an epiphany that day.” I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to enlighten me. “We should stay far away from each other.”
No. No way. She is not going to end this before it even has the chance to start. And she’s for damn sure not going to do it without giving me an explanation.
I lost my mother because I couldn’t fight her fight for her. I lost Michele because I wouldn’t fight for her. Finally
I meet the one girl who’s worth fighting for and she won’t let me do it. I won’t give up, and I won’t let her do it either. She doesn’t get to make my decisions for me, doesn’t get to tell me what I should do. I know what I want.
And it’s her.
It’s always been her.
“Why? If you want me to pack up my shit and my siblings and walk out of your life forever, you’d better at least tell me why.”
I see the mess of emotions flash through her dark brown gaze right before she turns them off. She cuts me to the quick with the cool gaze she shoots at me, lacking all emotion I’m used to seeing there.
“Because. We’re no good for each other. I’m no good for you, and you’re damn sure no good for me. You’re—” she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, “you’re too broken for me. Nothing can fix you, and I’m not going to try.”
I don’t give her a chance to say anything else. I walk out the front doors and collapse against the ground in front of the restaurant. My head in my hands, I let out a frustrated scream. I didn’t think anything could hurt me, not anymore. But hearing her declare the very thing I’ve always told myself…she might as well have just stabbed me with my own knife.
I close my eyes, grabbing at my hair as I bury my head against my knees.
An image flashes before me.
Her smile was glorious. Her hair, long, ebony, and draping down her back. She wore short shorts and a baseball styled t-shirt for her volleyball team. Her legs were seemingly endless. When she spoke, even though she sounded tired, there was life behind it. Everyone in the bakery hung onto every word she said. When she walked, she turned heads. She barely spoke. In fact, the only thing I got out of her was a shy, muttered hello. But it was enough. It was more than enough to sear her image into my mind, brand her into my soul. The last I saw of her two years ago was of a pair of tattered, run down Chuck Taylors, and the words butterfly you written across the toes.
Unbroken Page 17