I turned and Davis was standing right against the door. He gave a thumbs up then a thumbs down. See, back in high school he was the cutest boy. He was smart and athletic. Your typical small-town, good boy, hero kind of person. And for some reason he took to me. I was smitten and my life was amazing. But time does a strange thing. The cute boy turned into a man. The athletic side faded with very few glimpses of what used to be. Sometimes, I could spend forever trying to parse out those similarities between what he was now and what he used to be. I probably seemed petty or bitchy to Davis, who could never quite figure out that I was a different person now than I had been in high school.
I opened the door and Davis had his hands out. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“What did she say? Are the deals going through?”
“Davis… it doesn’t work that way.”
“She’s lazy, isn’t she? Dammit. I don’t like that you have to depend on her. You should do stuff on your own.”
“I’m fine. You should worry about yourself.”
“And what does that mean? Is that a cheap shot about my job?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Hey, I don’t appreciate your attitude right now. I just got home from work. I have work to do here. I have a busy goddamn night, Violet.”
I looked at Davis. Sometimes I thought about slapping him across the face just to see what he would do. I knew if it was Mason, he’d smile. Or he’d tease me to do it again. Or he’d spin me around and put me up against a wall and start up with me. But Davis? He’d probably cry. Or run away and then cry.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m under a lot of pressure.”
He touched my arms. He was the epitome of comfort. I could picture a future with Davis. House. Kids. All that fun stuff that most adults worry about.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m going to stop over at my parents’ in a bit. Check on Dad. See if Mom needs anything. So, you’ll have the place to yourself for a little while.”
“Thank you,” he said. He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “You’re perfect, Violet. I’m so happy we’re finally together again. The way it was always meant to be.”
I smiled but didn’t reply when he said things like that. It always left me uneasy, wondering what was right and what was wrong.
Davis kissed my forehead again and said he was going to start getting some work done. I grabbed my keys and got into my car. I was going to swing by Dad’s favorite pizza place and grab a pie for all of us to eat.
As I waited in the warm pizza shop, smelling the perfection of dough, cheese, and sauce all cooking together, I stood at the window and saw the reflection of my face and the neon sign that blinked Anthony’s Pizza letter by letter.
My phone began to ring and it was the old apartment complex.
I didn't answer.
I waited for the voicemail and listened.
I shut my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose.
It was official… the last tie to Mason was about to be cut.
3
Letters to Burn
(Mason)
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and pulled the bandage off my arm. I flexed my tricep into that amazing horseshoe shape that made panties wet. My fresh ink was looking really good. I threw the bandage out and grabbed the cream I had to apply to help the healing process. I put a little dab on my pointer and middle fingers and touched the back of my arm.
“You know, I could help with that,” a voice said.
Ah, shit.
I had forgotten about…her.
I looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing one of my t-shirts. There was nothing sexier than a woman in my shirt, but thanks to Violet, that was fucking tainted. I couldn’t stand it anymore. It didn’t look the same.
I wasn’t ready for this shit just yet.
“Hey, I fucked up the other night,” I said to her.
“What do you mean?”
“I shouldn’t have brought you back here.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m going through some shit…”
“Seriously?” she asked. “Are you turning into a pussy?”
This chick had a little fight in her, and it was fun for the two hours it lasted. She liked to scratch, claw, and bite. She liked to be on top and try to command me. The fighting while fucking was actually a little hot. Hot enough to remind me that there was a pulse deep inside the cavity of my chest.
“I’m married,” I said.
Shit. I had never used that card before to get rid of a woman.
“Fuck you.”
“I’m serious. She’ll be home any minute. You want to face that? Good luck.”
“You’re actually telling me the truth? You’re married?”
“Her name’s Stacey,” I said. “By all means, hang around. Meet her. You two could throw slaps, pull hair, whatever. Fuck, maybe we can ask her to a threesome.”
The woman grabbed my shirt and took if off her beautiful body. She was goddamn tight in all the right places. A killer body. One that I should have gone after again right there and told her the truth about my so-called marriage to Stacey. Instead, I just raised an eyebrow and grinned.
“Looks good from here. I bet my wife will love you. I can see her kissing all along your sweet, tight cu-”
“Asshole,” she said.
“I can go there too,” I said. “I got no restrictions. You’d be amazed how good that could feel.”
“This is why I don’t let guys at a bar pick me up,” she said.
“But you did,” I said. “Wait, did you hear that? I think I heard a car door close. My wife is getting close.”
“I hate you, asshole,” she said.
That’s all I needed to hear.
I waited and listened to her gather her clothes and leave.
Truthfully, my wife was nowhere to be found. That was a good thing too. I had no business in her life, and she had none in mine. That one crazy fucking night in Vegas was still nipping at my ass like a bored puppy dog looking for attention.
Once the apartment was clear, I went back to the bedroom. It had the lingering smell of a woman’s body and sex. I went to my dresser and opened the top drawer. The same drawer where Violet had found the letters I had written to Kate. That ripped open a wound nobody was supposed to know about. But I let Violet in. Even if I didn’t give her the truth about who Kate really was.
I wondered if Violet thought Stacey was Kate.
Damn, talk about an even bigger mess if that were true.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
I grabbed a notebook and a pen.
I made a promise I would always write to Kate. I would keep her involved in my life because she meant that much to me. For as much as I wanted the world to hate me, when it came to Kate, I didn’t want to let her down. Yet I did just that. I let her down every single day I spent living the way I did.
I took a detour through the kitchen for a bottle of whiskey, then sat on the floor next to the main window in my apartment. It was quiet and dark, except for a little lamp plugged into the wall that I kept on the floor.
I got to work.
Dear Kate,
Sometimes I ask myself, ‘what else is there to write to her, man?’ but I always come up with something new. Or lately, maybe I’m just repeating myself and don’t quite know it. Hell, maybe even you don’t know it. It’s not like you get these letters, right? You’re not sitting on the edge of your bed, butterflies in your stomach, sliding your finger along the edge of the envelope. Opening the letter and reading it. Letting all these words sink into you in a way that I always wished I could have and would have in person.
What the fuck happened to the time, Kate? Remember when we were young and everything was implied? It was like life was one big adventure and an even bigger promise. But time sweeps the fuck in like a jagged chisel and just takes what it wants. One year can age a man, another year can kill him. It d
oesn’t make any fucking sense to me.
I’ve spent so much time trying to find a way to spend my time and yet here I am, sitting here, writing to you.
I know you want to know about Violet. And everything that happened. I wonder what you would have done to me if I got married in Vegas. If I came back and told you what happened. Shit, you would have beaten me up. We both know I would have let you beat me up. I can’t talk about what happened in Vegas though. It’s not important. What’s important right now is Violet. I know, I haven’t contacted her. Why would I? She walked away, Kate. She left, just like you left.
I got another tattoo. I’m not sure how many that is now. You’d probably not even know who I was if you walked by me. I don’t even recognize myself sometimes. It’s why I stayed guarded and stuck to a plan. But that plan got fucked up. Violet fucked up that plan. You did too, Kate. I loved you and I never thought love like that could exist again. But then it did. With Violet.
She’s gone. You’re gone. The woman I just fucked is gone too. I didn’t even get her name. I didn’t give a shit to get her name either. I don’t even remember what it felt like. What she tasted like.
I don’t even
I stopped writing. I ripped the piece of paper out of the notebook and folded it up.
I took a big gulp of the whiskey and let my insides catch on fire for a little bit. It tasted great. I looked around the apartment. Being alone was my thing, but it was finally wearing on me. I thought about Hunter. There was a split-second back at the garage that I regretted giving it to him. I thought maybe he really did need my help, and I could distract myself.
All because of Violet.
Fuck, all because of myself, too.
With another drink of whiskey, it was time to write again.
Dear Violet,
I just wrote a letter to Kate. Remember her? No, you don’t. You never met her and you never will. You found out about her while trying to be fucking cute and steal my boxers. Because I stole your panties. I still write Kate letters. I don’t know if that will ever change. When you were here it didn’t seem all that important to write her because I knew the one thing she wanted me to have was you. Yeah, she never met you, but you were the one I was looking for. Not actually looking, but stumbling across at the right time.
The second I saw you…any woman I fucked, I thought of you. Making them scream my name. Making the headboard smash against the wall. That was to get your attention. Yeah, sure, I was like some punk ass kid, greedy for attention, setting shit on fire to get someone to look at me. But that’s the world I know. It’s the world I want to hate me. Hate is so much easier, Violet. You hate me right now. And that’s easy. You get to think about all the bad shit I’ve done and you get to feel proud that you walked the fuck away. You don’t have to stick it out here. Give me a chance to tell you the truth. I mean, that’s all you ever wanted from me. The truth. Then the truth came knocking and you judged. You fucking ran. I didn’t chase you, Violet. Hate me for that too.
Did you want me to chase you? Spin you around? Tell you everything?
Sorry, babe, that’s not how this works for me. You know where to find me. You think for a second I was gunning to break your heart? Shit. I told you I was. I told you I was going to ruin you. I told you I was going to pop the sweet cherry between your legs and ruin any shred of innocence that was left dangling from those pretty eyes of yours. I gave it all to you upfront. And you wanted more. You craved more. You craved me. I gave all of that to you, Violet.
Then I fell in love with you. You fell in love with the addiction to me. But the needle stung too hard, didn't it? You didn’t like to be bitten that fierce. You never said stop though, babe. You just grabbed your bags and left.
At least we can say we showed each other the other side of the world, right? I showed you the darkest corners of lust. The tattered edges of crazy sex. I put you against the wall and made you feel things you never knew existed. And to me…well…you managed to reach into that black cave inside my chest and find the last few beats of a heart that stopped beating a long fucking time ago.
If I told you the truth about Kate you wouldn’t understand. Same with Stacey, my wife. Yeah, big fucking deal. I have a wife. You didn’t take a breath and let me tell you who she was and why I did what I did.
Keep running, Violet.
Eventually you’ll circle the world and be right back where you started.
Facing me.
I signed the letter aggressively and grabbed for more whiskey. This time, I drank heavy. I read the letters again, first in my head, then out loud. I folded them both up and stood. My hand shot out and slapped against the window, leaving a handprint as I caught my balance. Goddamn whiskey had a funny way of creeping up on you.
Kind of like Violet.
I regained my balance and walked—stumbled—my way to the kitchen. I put the letters on the counter and looked down into the sink. For a second, I saw two drains. Then they merged into one again. I grabbed the letters, opened them, and put them into the sink.
Next to the sink was a little white bottle of lighter fluid. I twisted the cap off and poured some onto the letters. I opened the drawer next to the sink and took out a book of matches. Funny as it was, it was from a local strip club. On the back was the phone number of a stripper who wanted a little after-hours party in my pants.
The matches turned out to be more useful.
Hate me all you want…I don’t give a shit.
I struck a match and dropped it into the sink.
Flames instantly shot up, engulfing the two letters I had just written.
This had become my nightly routine. Standing at the edge of my sink, watching my own letters burn. Watching the paper curl up, burn, turn to ash.
The fire licked the air, the heat gently caressing my face.
My words were reduced to nothing. There would be no evidence that I wrote either Kate or Violet a letter. That way, nobody could ever find out what I was hiding inside myself. Violet had broken me open worse than Kate ever did. And the two of them were gone.
I turned on the water, killed what remained of the flame, and turned to go get my bottle of whiskey and finish it off with the night. I paused, glancing back at the counter, at the matches.
Grinning, I looked at the phone number on the back. One call could change my night.
I’d be lonely, but that didn’t mean I’d be alone.
4
Eye Roll Dinner
(Violet)
I stood in the foyer of the house and looked around. I couldn’t remember the last time I slowed down enough to appreciate the house. Of all the rooms in it, this had always been my favorite. I remember at one point there was a fish tank in the corner. Dad used to have some contraption where he’d suck the water out of the tank, just enough so the fish wouldn’t die. He’d scrub the inside of the tank, clean all the decorations, check the PH of the water, completely obsess over the thing, all the while whistling random notes. He loved his fish, that was for sure. But one night, something busted in the filter and water got all over the floor. The fish died, and Dad threw out the tank. There was a carpet where the fish tank used to be, with a corner table and a stack of magazines sitting on it. Under the carpet on the floor, there was still a stain from the water damaging the wood floor.
I used to set up my little table and chairs, collect my stuffed animals, and have epic tea parties. Mom always asked me why I loved the foyer so much. After all, I had a bedroom of my own. I told her it was the chandelier. Not a real chandelier, but the light in the foyer was fancy, and it reminded me of an exquisite chandelier. It just made the entire tea party feel more noble.
The truth?
I played in the foyer because when the door would open, it was Dad coming home from work. I hated the idea of him coming home and me not hearing him because I was in my room. Or having to rush all the way down the stairs to see him. So I wanted to be right there, waiting for him, able to hug him right away.
I w
iped a stray tear from the corner of my eye as I stepped away from memory lane. To my left was the living room. There on the couch rested Dad. Sitting up, head tilted to the side, sleeping. The medicines were hard on his body and made him sleep like I never saw him sleep before. The man with a thick head of hair and scruff on his face looked old, tired, wrinkled, and his hair was really thinning.
I sucked in a breath and sat next to him on the couch.
The house was quiet.
Mom was in the kitchen, cooking dinner. The smell was out of this world. I heard her go out back and let her go to have a breath or two. Normally, when she was cooking dinner, Dad was there picking at the food, getting his hand slapped and getting yelled at.
On the TV was some Western movie. Really bad acting. Guns that went off with smoke and the added sound effect of a bang or a zing. I grinned. Dad loved these movies. I never understood why.
“You can change it,” a weak voice said.
I looked and saw Dad was awake.
“Good morning,” I said.
He cleared his throat. “Guess I dozed off, huh?”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not me, Violet.”
“It’s not you,” I said. “It’s the medicine.”
Dad reached for my hand and squeezed it. “I don’t like that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“The look of ‘goodbye.’ The look of memories. I’m not going anywhere, Violet. This house isn’t going anywhere either.”
“I know that. Can’t I just think about life a little?”
Dad groaned as he pushed at the couch to sit up more. He leaned forward and grabbed at his right side before taking a few deep and labored breaths.
“What about life has you thinking?” he asked me.
“The usual,” I whispered.
“You know, I still never got the story of what happened with Mason.” He waved a hand. “I know, I’m not your mother. I don’t get the privilege of being let inside some of the girly stuff, but I do care. I liked that guy. He was tough. Cocky. He had a thing for you, you know. I could see that between you two.”
HATE ME AGAIN: a bad boy romance novel Page 3