by T. E. Black
“Mac, stop. Please. I can’t. We can’t. Just, please. Stop.”
He ceases all movement, pulling back, and watching me with hooded eyes. I put my hands on his chest, willing him to take a step back from me. I regain my composure feeling anxious under his heavy stare. I need to apologize for letting him get close, but my head is so foggy that instead, I tilt my head down staring into my lap. It’s deafening. Normally, I enjoy the silence between us, but this time it’s different. Everything just changed. He knows it, and so do I. We crossed the line and now there's nowhere to run.
“Callie, why are you trying to stop this?” he questions in a voice louder than normal, attempting to maintain his composure in this moment, failing miserably. He digs a smoke from his pocket. “You know you feel this between us. You can’t deny it. So, don’t even try to.”
I blink rapidly trying to rationalize his words. I didn’t know he felt like this. I mean, I know we had a connection, but he made it clear the first day he isn’t interested in a relationship. Did I miss the signs? Did I lead him on? This can’t happen between us.
“Mac, it’s not you—”
He cuts me off by letting out an unsettling laugh. I watch him take another drag from his smoke. His chest puffs, and his nostrils flare. Instead of these actions being filled with want and need, they are filled with anger and hurt.
“Really? You’re going to use that line on me, Callie? You know damn well I’m not crazy. I’ve held you in my arms almost every day for the past week. I told you about my past. I fucking let you in. You didn’t seem to mind me then. I guess I should’ve known. I should’ve known a girl like you wouldn't want a guy like me. I don't know what the fuck I was thinking,” he snarls.
I don’t like this side of him. It’s not the Mac I’ve grown to care for. This is someone entirely different standing in front of me. Someone full of insecurities and anger. I hop down from his car, walking up to him, and poke him in the chest hard with my finger.
“Listen to me Malcolm Davis; you don’t get to make me feel like shit! You don’t get to do that! I won’t be another notch in your bedpost, and that’s all you want from me. This…” I motion between us, “will never work! So don’t you dare go putting the blame on me. I didn’t do this! Whatever you made up in that head of yours about me and you is not my fault!”
"What I've made up in my head? Please. Everything that is happening in my head is because of you. You put the thoughts in my head, and the feelings in my heart Callie, and you knew you were fucking doing it. Don't play the victim here because you're not.
“I’d give you the fucking world if you’d let me, but you won’t even give me the fucking chance because you’re too hung up on the fucking ghost who sleeps in your bed at night!” His laugh goes cruel again. He shakes his head at me, finishing his rant. “So, don’t try to spin this on me because for once, it’s not my fucking fault. This is all you, sweetheart.”
I stare at him, feeling his words like a slap in the face. How could he accuse me of making him feel this way? How could he say any of those things, and mean them? He makes my head spin.
I stare at him, anger bubbling inside me like a boiling pot of water. That’s it. His ass is mine. I’m going to give him everything I’ve got, and he will not like it one bit. I may be tiny and fragile in his eyes, but I’m not. I’m strong and my inner badass is about to come out and fuck Malcolm Davis’s world up.
"What is wrong with you? How can you think it's okay to talk to me, to anyone like that?" I scream at him.
I take a quick breath, staring daggers into him. Who does this guy think he is? I see his lips turn upright into a sly smile, and it sends me over the edge.
“I don’t know who raised you to be so damn disrespectful, but I can tell you it isn’t welcome here! I left all of the negativity in my life back in Pennsylvania, Mac! I come here to start over and you plow into my life like a bulldozer! You didn’t once ask me if this is what I wanted. You assumed this is what I wanted. You only thought about yourself in this equation. Never once was I a part of it!”
I see his eyes widen, and the stupid smirk he was wearing seconds ago turns into a scowl. I catch my breath, ready to continue when he cuts me off in a matter of seconds.
Smoke blows from his lips and his stare hits me hard at the things I just said.
"You want to know what's wrong with me, Callie? You are everything that is fucking wrong with me. You are so hell bent on me being like every other asshole out there you won't even give me the fucking time of the day. So, don’t stand there and spit that negativity bullshit at me! I’ve been nothing but nice to you even though you’ve been stringing me along while you ’found yourself’. I played along with your little 'let's be friends' game long enough. It’s hard to not be disrespectful to the person who’s been fucking with your head non-stop for days. I can't fucking do it anymore, Callie. I won't fucking do it for another day. The fact you can stand there and say I never took your feelings into consideration is insane! I’ve done nothing but take you into consideration! I knew you were trying to start over, and because of that I gave you the space you fucking wanted, but I’m done. I’m feeling some fucked up way about you, and I can’t fucking stand it! I can’t fucking stand what you do to me. You’re fucking ripping me apart!"
Tears form in my eyes, roll down my cheeks, and land on the concrete floor at my feet. I try to hide them, but it’s no use. Malcolm Davis is the devil. He is an evil, ruthless man, and I hate him. His words cut through my heart like a knife slices through paper—easily, without hesitation.
Mac watches me cry. He steps toward me, reaching his hand out to wipe them away. His eyes soften and he takes my chin in between his thumb and his forefinger, urging me to look right at him.
“I’m sorry. I really fucking am. Please don’t cry. I shouldn’t have said that shit.”
His apology clouds my anger, but I still don’t want him anywhere near me. I don’t want him touching me, and I sure as hell don’t want him apologizing. I cannot let him win. He can’t just make it all go away with a half-ass apology.
“I’m sorry Callie. This isn’t going to work. I thought it would. I thought I could have a friendship with you, if anything at all. But I can’t. Look what I’m doing to you and I’ve known you for seven fucking days. You’re fucking crying. You should never cry, especially because of me.”
I give him a sad look, sniffling to myself quietly. He’s right. This will not work. You can’t have a friendship with two people who feel the pull to each other we do. It will only end badly. Mac leans down, placing a soft kiss on top of my lips, and I instantly forget why the hell I was mad in the first place. His kisses are what I’ve dreamed about. They are the perfect mixture of heaven and hell, and I’m a sinner begging for him to take me under his tainted wing.
He pulls me into his arms and my head buries in his chest for the last time. I cry against his black t-shirt, knowing it’s all for the best. We will never work. I doubted it before, but I will never doubt it again. He has broken the heart I never even planned on giving to him.
“Come on, sweetheart. I’ll take you home. This shit is no good for either of us. You’re right, it was me, baby. It was always me. I’m sorry Callie.” He places a gentle kiss in my hair for what feels like the last time.
The ride home is eerily quiet. How is it possible to lose something you never really had in the first place? The only thing which makes noise is Red Hot Chili Pepper’s “Otherside” coming from the stereo. He obviously likes them, since I know for a fact this isn’t on the radio. The CD was blasting during the drive to garage.
I dissect Mac and I in my head, keeping my line of sight directed toward the passenger side window. The last thing I want to do is look at him. I’m mad at him for the things he said, but I’m mad at myself, too. I let him see right through me, and he did so. He saw me, the real me. The unfiltered version few people have met.
Mac pulls up to the curb by my apartment and shuts off his truck. Neit
her of us speak to one another. I turn to look at him, seeing his fingers gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are white. He looks like he’s in pain, but I’m going to guess the only pain he’s feeling is the migraine I more than likely gave him.
“Thanks for the ride,” I breathe, holding back the tears threating to spill any minute. He blows out a breath, turning to face me. He looks over my face, and his hard expression softens.
“You’re welcome.”
“Goodbye, Mac.”
“Bye Callie,” he replies.
I reach for the door handle, open it and hop out. I shut the door and don’t look back. I make my way into the apartment. Sierra is sitting on the couch in the living room, watching reruns of Friends. She hears me shut the front door and turns, smiling cheerfully.
“Callie! How was your—”
She stops when she sees the tears streaming down my face uncontrollably. They started the minute I shut the door of Mac’s truck. I didn’t want him to see them. These tears are not for him. They are for me and me alone. I’m crying because I broke my own heart. Mac did nothing. I let myself get attached to him and I pushed him away.
She hops up from the couch, running as quickly as her feet can carry her. She pulls me into her arms, her touch comforting me immediately.
“Callie, what’s wrong?” she asks compassionately, rubbing my back. I sob into her shoulder, letting out the emotion which is barreling through the floodgates.
In between sobs, I manage to get out words.
“I lost him. I really lost him, Sierra!”
A small frown falls on her lips while her brows crease in confusion.
“Who are you talking about, Callie? Who did you lose?”
“Mac.”
Through the sound of my sobs, I speak his name for the first time I walked in the door and it shatters my heart to pieces. The shards stab me, replacing my once butterfly filled body with pain.
Sierra rubs my back in small circles, a sigh escaping her.
"I didn't know you ever had him, Cal..."
I pull back to look at her, the tears coming heavier and faster now.
"Me either," I admit.
It's the truth. I just lost a man I didn't know I had or wanted to have, but somewhere along the way of spending time with him, my heart got involved. Feelings developed, and I was too pig-headed to let myself realize they were there.
And now he's gone.
I dropped Callie off and headed straight to Max's even though they’re not open to the public for another two hours. I know Ryleigh is there. She's always early to get the place together. I shoot her a text on the way and let her know I'm coming by. I need a drink. Actually fuck that, I need an entire bottle, if not two.
I knock on the bar door. Ryleigh comes to open it for me. I look around seeing it's just me and her here, which works for me.
She's the only chick I plan on confessing my problems to.
"Why the hell do ya need booze this early? You could have just gone to the packy instead of sitting your ass in here." She reaches behind the bar and sends a shot my way.
I reach for it, flinging it back. The liquor burns on the way down, but I welcome it. I welcome the burn, and I welcome the buzz it gives me.
"I fucked up, Ry."
A concerned look flashes over her face while she grabs a beer for herself. She searches my face for any clue to what I’ve done, but I’m gonna say she isn’t finding any. I know right now, on the outside, I look emotionless. But on the inside, I’m fucking dying.
"What did you do?"
I place my head in my hands and let out a sigh. I feel Ryleigh staring at me, probably wondering what could have happened that would drive me to drink at one in the afternoon.
"I got attached to her," I confirm, biting back a slew of curse words.
I'm so fucking stupid. I should’ve known better than to let it get like this. I shouldn't have seen her every fucking day. I shouldn't have held her. I shouldn't have kissed her. I should’ve kept my distance. Yet here I am, drinking over her in a bar in broad fucking daylight.
Ryleigh stays quiet for a minute before speaking.
"I already know this. I picked up on that the other night. So, why don't ya tell me the other part of the story?"
I lift my head up to see her standing there with a smug look on her face. Tapping the bar to signal for another shot, I gladly shoot back whatever she just poured me.
"I fucked up big time. I've held her every night for the past week Ry. I told her shit about my past. I kissed her hair. I listened to her. I comforted her. I took her on the back of my bike for fuck’s sake. You know what that means for me. Hell, I haven't even slept with a bitch in days because of her. I wanted to, but I kept fucking thinking about her, you know? I haven't stopped thinking about her. She's like a fucking leech. I can't get her out of here." I point to my head.
Ryleigh just watches me, waiting for me to continue. She knows me well. So, I assume she knows what's coming next. She crosses her arms, letting me continue my one man pity party.
"Then today, I tried to fuck her at the shop. I don't know what I was thinking. She let me stick my tongue down her throat, taste her, and touch her. Then she told me no and I freaked the fuck out on her. I made her fucking cry, Ry. Who the hell does that? She doesn't want me, and I flip out like a goddamn woman."
Ryleigh's eyes show compassion while her lips find her bottle. This is why I love this girl. She's a good listener. She doesn't judge me. She doesn't lecture me. She lets me be the asshole I truly am.
"What qualifies as freakin' out?" she asks.
I run my free hand through my hair roughly, pulling at my hair a little bit. I let out another breath which I feel like I've been holding.
"I know she feels about me the way I feel about her. I fucking know it Ry, but she won't admit it. She wants to play the ‘let’s be friends’ game. I thought I could be good with it, you know, friends, but I can't. I can't be friends with someone who I imagine fucking in my bed every night. It's impossible! I mean, she said I see her as another notch in my bed post for fuck’s sake! That isn’t even close to the truth. She's not like the whores I usually get with. She's better than that. I would never fucking hurt a hair on her."
Ryleigh pours me another shot before replying.
"Did ya tell her she's not another notch? She seems nice."
I shake my head from side to side in disbelief at the entire situation.
"Yeah, I fucking did. Then, you wanna know what I did? I showed her the door. Like I do when anyone gets close. Like a fucking pussy. I told her we couldn’t keep seeing each other. I gave her an ultimatum."
She takes another pull from her beer and I fish a smoke out of my pack and light it. The nicotine grants me an instant release from the stress I'm feeling.
"Well take my advice, from one who has a pussy to a pussy like you. If you let that girl go completely Mac, you are a fucking igit. Give her some time from ya obviously being a nut case, but don't wait too long. I've never seen ya so hung up on a woman like this, so she must be something wicked. Callie seems like a good girl. She’s the marrying type, Mac. Can you handle that if you get it? Can you handle a woman instead of a little girl?"
I toss back my shot. I shrug my shoulders casually, feeling a little better with the buzz from the liquor.
"I’d give up everything for her, Ry. It's those fucking pink Chuck Taylors."
Ryleigh lets out a loud laugh, sipping on her beer. She cocks her eyebrows at me, shaking her head in a disapproving motion.
"You're really blaming this all on a pair of shoes? What's the entire male population coming to when a pair of shoes can make a man fall in love with a woman? That's some wicked pissa shit."
I glare at her as I speak. She needs to slow down with that shit. I may enjoy being around the chick, but the reasons aren’t clear right now. My dick may be half of the reason, but the other half is currently undecided.
"Let's not get carried away here
. Love doesn't have a damn thing to do with it right now."
She laughs. "Mmmhmmm. Keep telling yourself that, playboy."
I made my way over to the garage after I left the bar, hoping work will distract me from the aching which is going on in my chest. Every time I close my eyes, I see Callie. Tears running down her face, the smile I love gone, and her face as I kissed her lips.
The shit I said to her was wrong, and I fucking know it, but I can't change that I said it. Letting her go was the best thing for both of us. I’m the poison and she is the cure. Without each other, neither one of us will exist. We're opposites which will always come back to each other some way, somehow. We need each other.
My phone rings just as I get a beer out of the small fridge in the garage. I pull out my phone and see Caroline's name flashing across the screen. I hit answer, connecting the call.
"What?" I snap at her harshly.
She doesn't deserve my pissed off mood, but I can't help it. This is what she gets for blowing up my phone twenty-four seven. For texting me and calling me non-fucking stop.
“Are you at the garage?” she asks me. Her voice small and unsure.
I take a pull from my beer, plopping down in the metal chair that sits by the work bench.
“Yes, Caroline. Why?” I ask, waiting for her answer.
I know I shouldn't have answered. I should of let her call go to voicemail like the rest. My head is just too fucked up right now. There's a million things running through it and the weight from them feels like it's crushing my chest.
“Can I come see you, Bear...?”
I close my eyes and lean back in the chair, taking another pull. I'm making a horrible mistake. I should tell her no she can't see me, but instead I tell her she has ten minutes to get here otherwise the offer expires.