I sit at lunch alone. I see Peyton, who was sitting with Jagger, and I notice him stare at me a few times. I pay him no mind and continue reading my book. I’m reading A Prologue to Love by Taylor Caldwell—the British author, not me.
“There can be help. There’s always God,” said Amy. “I’m ashamed. I’d forgotten about Him.” She was quiet for a time. When she lifted her head she looked older and resolute. “Don’t blame yourself too much, Cousin Caroline,” she says. “That’s as bad as taking no blame at all. I’m not going to blame everything on Ames; I was a little fool myself. I was old enough to know that things aren’t simple.”
That quote from the novel hits me harder than two tons of bricks. It describes me well. God. I forgot about him entirely. I forgot he ever existed. This whole time I’ve been trying to fix things myself and I forgot that God is there to help. I feel foolish, just like the girl in the book does. That last quote, “I was old enough to know that things aren’t simple,” depicts me perfectly. I know life is hard. Somehow I forgot that when I agreed to marry Mason on my seventeenth birthday. I can’t blame Mason for everything. I was old enough to know what I was getting myself into. I should’ve known that being around Peyton so much would cause one of us to catch feelings for the other; I just didn’t think it would be Peyton.
Someone sits across from me, but my eyes are glued to the page. “Can I help you?” I ask whoever it is without looking up.
“Yeah, you can. We have to come up with some form of agreement.” It was a girl.
I look up to see Lauren sitting across from me. She must be insane.
“We don’t have to do anything,” I say giving her a hateful look. You know the old saying, “If looks could kill”? Well, let’s just say that she would’ve been slaughtered.
“Yeah, we do. Since, you know, we have to share Mason now.” She says it as if this is a negotiation.
“We’re not sharing Mason. He’s going to father his child and stay away from you. It’s that simple,” I say, ready to kick her so hard in the stomach that her fetus will fly out of her throat.
“Oh. Is that the reason he stayed the night at my house on Friday? I guess he was really staying away from me, huh?” She’s trying to get a rise out of me. She’s trying to hurt me, but I won’t let her see that she’s gotten to me.
“You know what? You can have him. You want him, right? You can have him and all of his baggage—but don’t come crying to me when all he can do is think about me and talk about how much he loves me. Because then he’ll be all yours, and I will have moved on.” I stare hatefully into her eyes. I have to hand it to her: for a blonde-haired cheerleader, she isn’t easy to intimidate. It must be all that aggression they always cheer about.
“I can see why Mason hit you. If I wasn’t pregnant with his baby, I would, too.”
He told her. He told her our business. How dare he? I am through. I’ve taken so much from Mason Taylor in these past few weeks that I could write a novel about it. I am ready to hit her. I get up so fast my chair tips over. I am ready to hit her and stomp on her stomach until she vomits her unborn child. So much for letting them not see me break. I feel someone grab my arm and I’m thankful for that. I don’t think I can handle jail right now.
“Walk away,” he whispers in my ear.
It’s Peyton. He probably was watching the entire time. I turn around to look at him, but he doesn’t bother to acknowledge me. I guess he’s still practicing forgetting that I exist. I do as he says and walk away.
***
I continue the rest of the day with my head held high, as if nothing is wrong. When I get home, it’s a different story. I cry and throw things. Mostly Mason’s things. I still can’t believe he told Lauren our business. I never even told Peyton our business; I haven’t told anyone. I’m waiting for Mason to get home so I can let him have it. We no longer take the same vehicle to school. I drive my car and he drives his. That way he can have the freedom he obviously wants. I’m not going to be nice anymore. He is losing me, and I want to show him just how much.
About an hour later, Mason walks through the doorway. I’m standing there, waiting for him, with my arms crossed. “You told her,” I say, not giving him a lead in this argument.
“What are you talking about now, Taylor?”
“Lauren. You told her you hit me. You told her our business,” I say, with my arms still crossed and my voice still calm.
“I just needed someone to talk to. It was stupid, I know…I—”
I smack him mid sentence. “Go tell her that!” I say, walking away. I’m a little pleased with myself.
Maybe I shouldn’t have turned around so fast because he grabs me by the back of my neck. He’s losing it. Before I know it, my body is slammed against the wall, and once again Mason smacks me. This is it. If he wants a fight, then a fight he’s going to get. I ball my hand into a fist and punch him. He isn’t going to hit me again and get away with it. I see the anger in his face. When I try to run for the door, he grabs me—by the hair, this time. I scream as he throws me on the floor. He punches me in the stomach and I scream in pain. Mason is about six foot one and pretty muscular for a seventeen-year-old. He plays basketball, so he kind of has no choice but to be cut in all the right places. Right now, that’s a disadvantage for me.
I squirm and try to get up off the floor so I can continue to fight, but he has me pinned down. I somehow get my arms lose and begin scratching his face. Everything I do makes him even angrier, so he grabs my arm and twists it. I start crying for so many reasons. He grabs both of my wrists—one of which is still sore from my suicide attempt—and drags me across the room. I can’t fight anymore. It’s Mason—the boy I loved, the man I married, the guy who would kill me if I let him.
“MASON, STOP! Please! Please! Please! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” I yell in agony with tears streaming down my face. I have to get him to stop somehow.
I guess he finally realizes what he’s doing and he lets me go. I lie there on the floor and cry in anguish. “Mason, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll stay. I’ll do whatever you want. Just stop—please!” I cry out quietly.
“Oh my God! Taylor, I’m so sorry—I didn’t…I blacked out…I didn’t…Oh God…Let me help you,” he says in shock, trying to help me up.
“NO!” I yell. “Please don’t touch me, Mason.”
I am too hurt to move, so Mason has to pick me up anyway. As he carries me to the bedroom, I cry with my arms around his neck and my face buried in his shoulder. It hurts for him to touch me.
He lays me on the bed and then sits next to me. He keeps apologizing but it doesn’t mean anything to me. I cry myself to sleep and when I wake up, it’s already night. Mason is sound asleep next to me. I can’t even look at him. I get up as best as I can and go to the bathroom. I take off my shirt and look in the mirror. No serious damage. Just a bruised-up stomach, bruised wrists, scratched-up arms, a huge bruise on my back, and a broken heart.
I have to leave…and I can’t wait. I quietly go back into the room and pack an overnight bag. I have nowhere to go, but I’ll figure it out during my drive.
I move swiftly but silently and before I know it, I’m out the front door. I feel free. I run to my car and start the engine with no hesitation. I pull out of my parking space and leave it all behind…at least for now. Mason hit me—again.
***
I pull up to Peyton’s apartment. I have nowhere else to go. I can’t call Jackson because he’d kill Mason, and for some odd reason, I have the feeling that I still love him. I take the elevator up to Peyton’s floor. I ring his doorbell twice before he answers. He has on pants, but no shirt. I admire the view.
“Taylor? What are you—”
I cut him off with a kiss. I know it surprises him, but I don’t care. I want him and I know he wants me. He said he was in love with me, and I want him to prove it. He pulls back.
“Taylor, what is wrong with you?” he asks, as if he is disgusted by my actions.
“Peyton, I want you! If you love me, you’ll take me right now! Prove that you love me like you said you do!”
He can tell that I am devastated by something. “Taylor, just tell me what happened.” I can tell that he is worried.
I don’t say a word. I just take off my shirt; and he sees it. He sees the marks and scars that Mason left on my body. I show him my arms and wrists. I even turn slightly so he can see how badly my back is bruised. The only thing I can’t do is open my chest to show him how badly my heart is broken.
“Oh my God! Taylor, what happened? Who did this to you?” he says in anger.
My eyes start to fill up with tears. “Mason.” My voice cracks.
He is speechless. I see it in the expression on his face. Peyton is speechless; and that takes a lot. I walk up to him and kiss him softly this time. He kisses me back. I didn’t know Peyton could feel so good. He touches my back gently, and I could swear my scars were healed. I touch his face and continue kissing him. It is Peyton. He is the one I’ve been missing, and it takes this tragedy to make me to realize it. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he carries me to his bedroom. It is Peyton. And I love every ounce of him.
***
We lie in bed together, both of us covering our nudity with the comforter. I trace a faded scar on the left side of his chest. “What happened here?” I ask in a delicate voice.
“I cut myself.”
“Why?” I ask, looking into his eyes.
“Because I hurt you.”
I look at him with a question on my face.
“It was the night I yelled at you in the diner. I felt like I hurt your heart so I wanted to come just as close to hurting mine.”
I speak no words. I just softly kiss the place on his chest where the scar is.
“Well, I guess that makes it better,” he teases.
I smile, and then there is a moment of silence.
“Peyton?”
“Huh?”
“I love you. I think I always have.”
“You know, you shouldn’t say things like that if you don’t mean it.”
“But I do—I don’t think I realized it until now. Maybe I always knew. Maybe that’s why I got so angry when you told me you loved me. Maybe I just went back to Mason to prove to myself that I didn’t love you.”
I stop after that last statement. Mason. I had forgotten that he existed. “Oh my God!” I say, placing my hand on my head. “I forgot about Mason. He’s going to kill us if he finds out—when he finds out. Peyton, I can’t keep this from him—he’s going to find out!” I begin to panic. “Peyton, I’m still married—I’m just as bad as he is!”
He sits up and hugs me. “You can never be as bad as him. He hit you—he’s as bad as Karson. Taylor, you can’t go back. I won’t let you,” Peyton says tucking the cover around me.
“But I have to. I can’t leave him like this. He’ll know something is wrong—he’ll figure us out.”
He knows I have a point. I can tell that Peyton is thinking of a plan. He is plotting against Mason; something I thought I’d never witness. “Taylor, if I let you go back and something happens to you, I will never forgive myself. I’m not letting what happened to my mother happen to you. I refuse. I’m not losing another woman I love to a reckless man who doesn’t love her. If it means Mason and my friendship is over, then you’re worth it.”
“Peyton, don’t be stupid. Mason is your cousin. What will your family think of you? What will they think of me? And Mason has enough animosity toward you—he said the reason he cheated was that I spent so much time with you. I know it’s not entirely true, but I understand his point,” I say, feeling guilty but most of all, slutty.
“First of all, I don’t care what my family thinks. What will they think of Mason when they find out he’s been beating on his wife? And second of all, don’t even try to defend or justify anything Mason has done within this past month. You deserve better, Taylor. We’ll figure something out in the morning. We’ll take the day off and just think about all of this,” he says, trying to convince me that this is the right thing to do.
I lay my head on his bare chest. I love how hard Peyton’s body is. I drift off to sleep easily; maybe because I am in Peyton’s arms. I don’t love Peyton. I am in love with him. And for the first time, I feel the difference.
Peyton
I stay up and watch her sleep. She is beautiful. That’s why I can’t understand why Mason would want to hurt her; how could he hurt her? It isn’t fair that she has to deal with this absurdity. I tried to talk her into not feeling guilty, but even I feel guilty. Although Mason is completely wrong in this situation, he still is my cousin and he’s done a lot for me. He was there for me when my mom died and when I had to get away from Karson. It’s hard for me to not feel guilty. I look down at her hand and see the diamond on her ring finger. She is married. And worse, she’s married to Mason Taylor; my cousin, my blood. I know this isn’t going to end well, but I can’t tell her that. I don’t want to get her upset; she’s had enough to deal with.
It’s four twenty-two in the morning and I still haven’t fallen asleep. I have Taylor right where I’ve always wanted her, but I don’t feel right. This couldn’t be any more wrong. I helped her commit adultery and that made me “the other guy.” I hate the feeling. I don’t know how some guys can pride themselves on taking another man’s girl. Maybe it’s because I took my cousin’s girl; I guess that made it a lot worse. I have to keep reminding myself that Mason did this to himself; that he drove her right into my arms. Besides, we all need to blame someone, right?
Taylor wakes up at ten in the morning and somehow she is still beautiful—messy hair and all. She looks at me, smiles, and then asks, “Did you ever sleep?”
“No, I couldn’t. You were snoring,” I tease.
“I was? I don’t snore! No one ever told me that!”
I laugh at how upset she’s getting. “Relax. I’m just kidding—I just couldn’t sleep last night,” I confess.
“Mason?” she asks, getting out of bed and putting on my T-shirt.
“Yeah. I know I told you don’t worry about it, and you shouldn’t because you deserve better. But at the same time, he’s my cousin.”
She goes into the bathroom. I hear her turn on the faucet, and she walks out brushing her teeth. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I feel guilty, also,” she says, her mouth full of toothpaste.
I can’t help but smile at her; she just has that effect on me. I quickly stop smiling when I realize something. “Dude! Is that my tooth brush you’re using?” I ask in shock.
She laughs. “I forgot mine at my place.”
I guess if we were able to share each other’s souls last night, sharing oral bacteria is okay. When she finishes, she walks out of the bathroom and wraps her arms around me. We are now chest to chest, and she is looking directly into my eyes. I can’t fight it anymore; I have to do it. I kiss her; and she kisses me back. I could get used to this. It had started to progress into something more until she stopped it.
“Let’s take a shower together,” she says in a sultry voice.
I kiss her neck and tell her that I took a shower at eight this morning. But she isn’t hearing it. “You can never be too clean!” is her response, and I can’t resist her. I let her take off my shirt and unbutton my pants. Here we go again. She runs her fingers through my hair just for fun and pulls me into the bathroom with her. She starts kissing my neck and doing little things to tease me. So much for feeling guilty.
She somehow successfully gets me into the shower with her, and I can’t deny it: I love every second of it. Even with bruises and scars, her body is perfect. I softly touch the mark on her lower stomach as she plays with my hair. We kiss and then we kiss some more. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I’d died and gone to heaven, as corny as that may sound.
We get out of the shower laughing and in complete and total bliss. I’ve never felt like this before. She’s always had a part of me, but knowing that I have
a part of her, too, makes it all different.
“You have a blow dryer?” she asks, while she’s at the mirror, trying to fix her hair.
“Yeah, it’s on the top shelf of my closet,” I say, pointing her in the right direction.
While she’s in the closet, her phone rings. I go over to it and see that it’s Mason calling her. Once again, we completely forgot about him. It’s like when we’re together we live in our own little world, and no one is allowed in. It’s been that way since we became friends. I go into the bathroom while she’s drying her hair and hand her the phone.
“Why are you giving me this?” she yells over the sound of the hair dryer.
“Mason was calling!” I shout back.
She looks down at her phone and turns it off. I guess she doesn’t want to think about him at the moment.
After we’re both dressed and settled, Taylor and I decide to watch a movie…hugged up, of course. Maybe all we’ve been looking for this entire time was an excuse to get close to each other, and all it took was one big mistake by Mason.
One thing leads to another, and before I know it, the TV is watching us. We’re making out like two sex-crazed teens in a romantic movie. Sadly, we’re interrupted by the doorbell ringing. It’s probably the pizza we ordered an hour ago. “Damn that pizza guy,” I say, a little annoyed.
She just chuckles and gives me one last kiss before I stand up to go to the door. I open the door and to my surprise, it isn’t the pizza guy. “Mason!” I say, hoping I’m loud enough for Taylor to hear, so she can catch the hint to be quiet. “Is everything okay?” I ask him, as if I didn’t already know what was wrong.
A Tragic Heart Page 11