Catching a Fallen Starr

by Adriana Law

  Consume with guilt, I snap, “I didn’t take your fucking Grandma’s necklace.”

  Our gaze hold.

  “How did know what it was?” he asks.

  “You said necklace.”

  “I didn’t tell you what kind. It could have been new, I could have been old.” He expels a lungful of air. Shakes his head. I swallow hard, refusing to break eye contact as I still maintain my innocents. Last person I want to see the real me is Sawyer. I need him to believe I am this sweet girl that life has been too hard on. I need him to still look at me as if he is moonstruck and in love. I don’t like this look, the one he is giving me now. “She gave me that necklace believing it—you know what, never mind—it’s not worth it.”

  “It’s not worth it…or I’m not worth it, Sawyer? Just have enough balls to say what you mean?”

  He stalks toward me with his hands clenched into a fist, and immediately I’m leaning away once his face is a mere inch from mine. His brown eyes reach into my body and take full control of my ability to breathe. Fists sinking into the mattress on each side of my legs he leans in closer, “Is that the kind of girl you want to be, one that lies, dodges her friends, steals,” his gaze drops to my drug-abused arm, “hurts herself?”

  My lips part but no words form on them.

  As if Sawyer can since my distress he steps back a couple of steps giving me room. He gestures over a shoulder at the closet. “Take whatever you need. You know what… I’ll make it easy on you and eliminate a few steps.” He pats the pockets of his jeans and pulls out his wallet, tossing it on the bed next to me. He leans in close, his face inches from mine. His brown eyes reach into my body, taking full control of my ability to breathe. Go ahead,” he says. “Rip my heart out.”

  I break eye contact first.

  I can’t bear the intensity radiating off him.

  He waits, for what I don’t know.

  For an apology.

  For me to break and tell admit the truth.

  Not finding what he wants in me Sawyer exhales a long frustrated breath. “I’m going to go for a run. I can’t live my life always worried you’re going to end up face down in a ditch somewhere.”

  I stay there on the foot of his bed, hugging my knees to my chest unable to move. Warm tears slip down over my chest. Damn him! I quickly wipe the tears away and suck in a quick breath. Damn him for making me want him. It was so much simpler when I hated Sawyer along with all the other men that ever came into my life.

  The apartment door slams.

  I sit for a few more minutes.

  I don’t like this. I don’t like being able to feel everything. I want to be numb. Glancing down I catch sight of his wallet laying halfway open. I pick it up and open it the rest of the way. It’s full of twenty’s. My fingertip skirts over the shiny badge. There is something folded and bulky buried under one of the flaps. I pull out what I now see is a photo. I unfold it, smoothing out the creases. Suddenly I’m on fire: my belly, my lungs, my heart…

  “Racheal,” I sigh.

  It feels like a betrayal. Why would Sawyer keep a picture of a girl that slept with his brother? What the hell are you thinking, you slept with his brother. It hurts to look at her. Racheal. The first His first.

  I hate that she is pretty.

  No tattoos.

  No blemishes.

  Innocent looking with her lips locked on a younger version of my man. Saw is smiling against her lips, his arms loose around her waist. They’re teasing each other, and someone snapped a photo of it.

  How cute.

  Not!

  Rubbing the tense spot between my brows I think back to what his explanation of her was. She broke his heart not long before he went out to Colorado for the funeral. Staring at the picture it is obvious to me now why he turned me down in that hotel, he still wasn’t over her. That explains why he threw everything she left behind broken into work. So he wouldn’t think about it.

  A distraction.

  He’d needed one.

  Fuck. Does he still love her?

  Sad thing is I expect it.

  I haven’t met a single guy yet that can be trusted.

  A part of me screams: you’re purposely sabotaging this relationship before it even gets started because you are afraid he can’t possibly love you back.

  You are unwanted.

  You are a sorry excuse for a human being.

  No one cares that you are gone.

  Bitch.

  Whore.

  Cunt.

  Tart.

  Slut.

  Trash.

  I clamp hands over my ears to quiet the voices. It doesn’t help. They are still there. Loud. Echoing even when they are not. It’s impossible to forget when you repeat what others have said to hurt you over and over inside your head. It screws with the here and now.

  My gaze returns to the wallet. I pull out a couple of twenties and fold them over in my hand, considering how easy it would be to go purchase something to help settle my insides. I am eaten up with jealousy and feelings of not being good enough. It consumes me. My head swims with ideas that Sawyer still has feelings for Racheal and how it’s only a matter of time before he dumps my ass. Why else would he keep her photo? How can I compete with his first? A girl he maintained a relationship with for years?

  We can’t even manage a full month before we’re at each other’s throats. Passion, Starr. That’s because you two have it. No. No. No. Bentley’s just don’t do that. Well, not the father. He’s a slimy bastard. His sons could not have learned anything about commitment from him. But then there is Sterling. I can’t imagine him ever loving anyone other than Victoria.

  I glance down at the brown-eyed girl. There is no way what she has done can be any worse than what I’ve done. Sawyer likes to believe he can overlook my past, but how can he, when I can’t.

  Suddenly I jump from the bed and make a run for the toilet. I hit my knees and puke up nothing but acid.

  Sweating and not so sure I'm finished I rest my arms over the toilet, my forehead on the seat. The porcelain is cool. I’ve never thrown up over the stress before. I usually bury that shit where even I can’t get at it. But with Sawyer, he acted so genuine, so honest.

  I’m in the process of changing out of the hospital gown when Dr. Rodgers knocked. I finished snapping the last button on the back of my dress. It was an awkward stretch, but I was used to dressing and undressing quickly. “Come in,” I told the doctor. I took a seat in one of the chair rather than the stiff bed.

  “Okay Hun,” Dr. Rodgers said with a smile. She took a seat opposite me on the stool. “Your test came back fine. You’re a lucky girl.” She gave me a pointed stare that said it all—lucky to be disease free. “I think you’re ready to go. Oh. I almost forgot,” she handed me a small bag, explaining, “there a three-month supply of birth control pills in there,” she paused, “and condoms…I recommend you use them. You were lucky this time, next time you may not be.” She rolled over to a laptop on the desk and began punching in my information.

  “Here,” I nudged her arm, telling her, “I don’t want them.”

  Dr. Rodgers waved me off. “Don’t worry. They’re free. Just be safe from here on out.”

  She stood.

  “No. You don’t get it.” I handed her the bag. “I don’t want them.”

  She sighed. “Mya, you have to—”

  I was so ready to be out of there. “I don’t plan on having sex for a very long time.” I rubbed my hands over my upper arms, freezing. “I don’t think I will ever be comfortable with a man touching me.” I shook my head and told her, “You don’t need to be concerned.”

  “I understand. You may feel that way now, but it will change. Over time, it will change.”

  “No, It won’t. I don’t need the pills or the condoms. Give them to someone that does need them.”

  “Are you sure?” She holds the bag out, begging me to reconsider.

  Standing up I go to the sink, turn on the water, and mash out
a long line of paste on the end of my toothbrush. Staring at my reflection in the mirror in my head I calculate how many days it’s been since we didn’t use protection. How many days since my last period.

  My arm clutches my stomach. Still nauseous. I kill the water and drop my toothbrush back into the holder. My eyes slowly squeeze shut as I inhale deeply through my nostrils. Breathe Starr. Breathe. A baby? Something NO ONE can take away…except maybe God.

  My eyes flash upward. “Please,” I murmur.

  Suddenly I know what I need to do.

  I need to get busy making candy.

  We’re going to need the money.

  I’m going to need a job I can do from home.

  Needing to tell someone I whisper in Slicks floppy ear. The Saint cocks his head as if he understands. A hesitant smile creeps onto my face. “Sawyer’s baby! Is it too early to be hopeful?” I pause before rattling pans out from under the counter, placing them on the counter. “I must be crazy. I am talking to a dog like it’s a person.

  “I’m pregnant. Well, not officially but once I take a test—” I shake my head; the words sound absurd, but it’s a dog. A dog with big sad eyes. He won’t tell anyone. He can’t tell anyone, he’s just a dog.

  I lower to Slicks level and stare into his sad eyes, another one of Sawyer’s rescues. “Let Rachel compete with the mother of his child. She can’t. She loses. I win. It’s that simple. He has to love me now.” A tongue wets my chin. Animals, they give love so freely…like children. I laugh because it’s impossible not to.

  I stand and return to making candy.

  Slick whimpers, paws at my leg.

  I stare down at him until I finally cave. “Okay. Just one,” I tell him cracking an egg and letting the raw insides slide out onto the floor. Slick licks furiously. Addicted.

  There’s the sound of keys rattling on the other side of the door.

  “That didn’t take long,” I say.

  Sawyer mumbles something under his breath about running not helping and how he couldn’t focus.

  Doggie toenails click over the floor as City Slicker greets his owner with a wagging tail and a happy bark. Sawyer lowers, running a hand over the dogs back before standing. He’s all hot and sweaty from his run. He pulls up the hem of his t-shirt and wipes the sweat from his forehead, leaving his hard stomach muscles completely exposed. My eyes linger there before lifting to his.

  I expect some kind confrontation. Sawyer says nothing as he walks over, takes a bottled water of the refrigerator and pauses at the edge of the counter.

  “I took the necklace,” I suddenly say arranging graham crackers neatly on a metal pan. Sawyer drinks his water, staring at me over the bottle. Dammit. He is so unreadable. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “It was during that first week when it was… hard.

  “I didn’t use the money on drugs. I meant to…but I ended up using it to buy those first ingredients—”

  My words are cut off by the kiss Sawyer plants on my cheek. “Were you talking to my dog?”

  “It’s easier than talking to you,” I tell him on a relieved exhale.

  He rests his back against the counter giving me a sidelong glance. “I don’t like the thought that you went behind my back and lied to me, but I get it,” he says. “If this is going to work,” he gestures between him and me, “then we have to be able to communicate. I’m going to go ahead and tell you upfront…the one thing I can’t tolerate is being with someone I can’t trust.” His words stab at my heart. He adds, “If you have a problem, Mya, just come talk to me about it, and we’ll be good. No matter what it is.”

  I open my mouth to tell him there is more, but fear clenches the words not allowing them to pass over my lips. Lies. Lies. Lies. You tell one. One turns into two.

  Sawyer reaches for my chin, turns my head, so I am looking him directly in the eyes. “Is there anything you need to tell me?”

  “Nope.” I swallow hard, holding eye contact. I’ve heard breaking eye contact to look to your right means you’re searching for a creative lie to tell. I force myself to NOT look to the right. I shake my head. “Can’t think of anything right now.”

  “Then can I kiss you?” he says already tilting his head, leaning in toward my lips. It’s a quick kiss. Sweet. Then his mouth moves lower. First he pulls the material of my T-shirt aside and brushes my collarbone with his lips. While he works his way up to my earlobe, I croak out, “How about you?”

  “How about me what?” His breath warms my ear causing goose bumps to rise all over me.

  “Do you have any secrets?”

  “No secrets.”

  His tongue runs along my throat, around to the front column that moves when I swallow. Dear God. He does have a way of making me turn into goo. My eyes flutter shut, my hands spearing through his thick hair. I love this hair. I love that it’s a mess most of the time. I love the rough feel of his jaw over my skin when he neglects to shave. When his tongue reaches the hollow spot at the base of my throat, I inhale a sharp breath reminding me I love the way he smells. Even after running his stills smells like a mixture of Tide and Bounty fabric softener. I know. Not too masculine sounding but it works.

  I had completely forgotten our admissions or lack-there-of, to each other until he reminds me by breathing out the words, “I’m an open book,” over my skin. “No surprises here.”

  I snort thinking yeah…like the photo in your wallet. I’m in danger of being totally hurt. This is real. Oh Hell, this is real. My eyes snap open to the ceiling, my hand grabbing a handful of Sawyer’s hair, forcing him to stop and look up at me. My heart races as I stare down into his heavy-lidded eyes. “Are you lying to me?”

  “No,” he says. I watch to see if he even attempts to look right. He doesn’t.

  “I’m not lying to you, Mya.”

  Instinct says he is withholding, but his eyes seem genuinely sincere. Ugh. There’s the word again. Genuine. How can you know for sure if someone is lying or telling the truth? I guess none of that matters now. Sawyer is a good man. It will bother him to be anything like his father. He will do everything in his power to NOT be that guy. He would never leave a girl pregnant with his child.

  “I need a shower.” He pulls away and I think that’s it. But not even close. I watch as he strips his sweaty shirt off over his head tossing it into a box along the wall. “We seriously need to unpack you,” I tell him. “No one should live out of a box.”

  His hands return to me and then he is pulling me, guiding me, removing my shirt as we go; off and over the head. We’re still in the kitchen but headed toward the bedroom. When his hands aren’t working to remove some article of clothing from him or me, his lips are on mine.

  “What are you doing?” I ask against his lips.

  “Taking you to the shower with me, so I clean you.”

  “Oh, really?” I stroke his hair.

  “Really.” He nods. “Every beautiful inch of you.”

  “And what makes you think I want to take a shower with you?”

  “Trust me. You do.”

  We Kiss some more. Did I say how much I love kissing Sawyer? “But first I need to be inside you,” he says apologetically, directing me straight to the floor.

  “Right here? On the floor?!”

  He stops kissing me long enough to yank my shorts down, the whole time looking down at me. “I can’t wait,” he says. His frantic urgency seals the deal and ramps the entire thing up to a whole new desperate level. “Okay,’’ I say. “The floor works.” My hands are everywhere. His hands are everywhere. And then without any caution or hesitation he thrust inside me. The sensation causes my back to bow off the floor and some unearthly breathy sound to be exhaled. I catch him staring. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I can’t help it. You are just so damn hot when you’re like this.”

  He groans out, “Don’t stop making that sound.”

  I smile. “I like impatient Sawyer…very much.”

  He laughs and shakes his head.

  “You know what
else is hot?” I ask him. I don’t give him time to answer. There is no time. We’ve already decided this is urgent. On another long whiny breath, I say, “Watching you suck my breast. Now. That’s hot.”

  He shakes his head and laughs again, doing exactly what I expected him to…sucking my aching breast into my warm mouth while driving into me.

  Ugh. Suddenly doggie breath is expelled into my face. Slicks tongue bathes the side of my face. “Sawyer, call off your dog.”

  He shoves the Saint away. “Go away, Slick.”

  The Saint whimpers and crawls in low to the ground, this time molesting Sawyer face with his tongue. “Shit, boy. Don’t do that.” Sawyer pushes the dog back again, only to have him crawl back in. “So now you want my affection…Dammit, you stink.”

  I can’t help but laugh.

  It’s hysterical.

  So…normal life.

  “You think that’s funny?” Sawyer wipes the slobber off his cheeks with his forearm and then tries to rub the drool in my face. I twist and squeal, unable to stop laughing. Did I mention I love how easy it is to laugh around Sawyer?

  He grabs my waist and tickles me.

  I wiggle and squirm underneath him, knocking his hands away from my sensitive areas but then something changes. Sawyer shifts most of his weight to the forearm resting on the floor. He stares down at me with dark hooded eyes that are no longer teasing.

  With one hand he pins both my wrist above my head, moving to make it clear he is still inside me. When he looks at me like that it does two things simultaneously: gets me wet as hell and unleashes the bad girl inside me that likes getting dirty when it’s with the right guy.

  Lifting my head off the floor my lips search him out, but he won’t let me kiss him. His only response is the tightening of his hands around my wrist and deeper more efficient movement of his hips. My legs grip his sides as I give up the good girl act and just be…me… screwed up… frightened… hungry-for-love…Mya.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Mask Come Off

  I stare over at Sawyer having conflicted emotions. When he’d told me I didn’t have to go outside to smoke, that I could smoke my cigarette lying in his bed I had been shocked.