Unbreak Me

by Alicia Cicoria

  “Amberly, you have to give me something. I saw the way you two looked at each other.”

  I lifted my head, my fingertips gliding along my cheeks and down to my neck. “You’re imagining it then because there is nothing between us.”

  A knowing smile crept across her face. “Whether or not words or sex were ever exchanged holds no relevance to what I saw between you two. There can still be a connection, maybe neither of you realize it yet.”

  I knew I had some sort of connection with Bryant but hated that Cricket was so in tune with it. I had kept my distance, knowing any shortening of it would result in a catastrophic nightmare. I didn’t trust myself around Bryant. After all, for the time I knew him, I was married. Who was to say Bryant even felt a sliver of what I felt? Cricket supposedly.

  “Please don’t.” I pleaded.

  Cricket walked back to her desk. “Don’t what?” She asked, her eyes skimming over the computer monitor.

  “Don’t make this out to be something that it’s not. I’m not ready.”

  Cricket shrugged, though I knew her cool demeanor was an act. She wouldn’t let the subject go with ease. “Amby, your husband cheated on you while your daughter was dying. On the day she died, you discovered the affair. It’s been a year. He’s not worth the pain, unless of course it’s in a telegram that also delivers a person to smash his balls up to his eyeballs.”

  I giggled, my face turning red. Tears streamed down my face as my laughter escalated. “Oh. My. God!” The muscles in my midsection convulsed and pain coursed through them.

  “All I’m saying is, he’s got a dick and you’ve got a vagina. Maybe you should introduce them to each other. I mean, it’s rude for your sexual pudenda to be antisocial.”

  A smirk stayed in place without changing, but I felt the rest of my face contort with confusion. “Pudenda?” My laugh swirled around the word and I was barely able to pronounce it.

  “Organs, Amberly. Pudenda means organs. God, you should really read a dictionary.”

  I busted with laughter once again and threw the schedule book across the lobby, aiming at Cricket. I was so uncoordinated, throwing anything never landed at my destined target, it dropped down to the floor and out spilled the contents across the tile. “How would one go about reading a dictionary?”

  I imagined someone, anyone, picking up a dictionary and reading it from cover to cover, and how awkward that would have to be for anyone listening.

  “Never mind. You’re such a bitch.”

  The lobby became quiet again, the only sound was that of the fish tank Adam had set up after I had started working here. My mind drifted to Bryant, as much as I tried to stop the thoughts, they filed one by one. There was a stencil of him printed into my mind. No matter how hard I had tried, I'd never forget a face like his.

  Bryant Kessler was taller than me by eight inches. It was only eight inches, but it felt as though he towered over me. His shoulders were broad, reaching out further than the narrowing of his waist. His chest stuck out and as he dropped his hands to his sides, you’d think he was prepared for a fight, the knuckles of his hands facing forward. He was wearing shorts today so I could see his calves. They were muscular and designed with a tattoo on each one. One of the tattoos was of a skull, fire pouring out from the eyes and mouth of it. On the other leg were the simple words, ‘first in, last out’. I thought about his face last. When he smiled at me earlier, I had almost forgotten how beautiful it was. I didn’t know another man who had a beautiful smile. Perfect teeth and a wide mouth, complete with mildly full lips. Any woman would have to be insane not to want to put her lips to his.

  Just then, Cricket’s words flashed into my mind ‘orgasm on a stick’. I had to stay far away from Bryant Kessler.

  Chapter 4

  Hurricane

  Bryant

  My first week went smooth and by the end, Adam started teaching me some modification techniques. I had learned how to mount a lift kit in a Chevrolet Tahoe in one day. The rest of the stuff was standard for me, given I’d been around cars my entire life. I knew how to diagnose a vehicle based on the way it was acting and sounds it made. Changing brake pads was second nature to me.

  Adam informed me he’d rather have me focused on the modification process in the shop, rather than the mechanic portion. He did need another hand in that area but had no idea I would catch on as quick as I did. The job was something I enjoyed doing, but the nagging in the back of my mind wouldn’t quit. I missed my old job.

  Two weeks ago, I was let go due to drug paraphernalia being in my police cruiser. It didn’t belong to me. A standardized drug test was issued to ensure I wasn’t using. It came back negative, as I knew it would. Still, the police chief didn’t want to risk anything so he let gave me the choice of resigning. Someone had called and left an anonymous tip that they suspected drugs in my vehicle. Chief was determined to take the course of action he deemed would allow privacy for my sake. I couldn’t blame him. I knew someone was behind it, but didn’t know who it was.

  He didn’t believe it belonged to me but word had gotten around so quick that he didn’t have a choice but to let me walk away. He could have launched an investigation but risked the department in doing so. The community didn’t want a police officer who harbored drugs to enforce the law on them, even if the news held a press conference with the Chief of Police and he informed the town I was innocent, they would wonder what he was covering up. They would never believe I was framed. That's usually the way things went. They preferred those with a squeaky-clean record. No false accusations. No worries. No misdemeanors. No hint of a troubled past.

  Now, I sat at home and ran through files my old co-worker lent me. They were from all the stops I had made and anyone I had arrested in the last month. Even if I suspected anyone, it would be hard to prove. I had always taken the cruiser home for the night so anyone could have broken in and planted the drugs. Something told me it wasn’t as simple as that. There’d been no evidence of a break in, so I assumed it had to have been someone who had been in the vehicle because I had let them in. It didn’t make sense though, because no one had a vendetta against me that I could think of. I’d pulled plenty of people over, but most had been more than civil.

  I blinked a few times as I thumbed through file after file, my eyes tiring from the strain of reading every word. I flicked the files onto my coffee table and lifted my feet on top of it. I had the weekend to find what I was looking for because my ex-partner would have to sneak the files back in before Chief returned on Monday morning. That made things difficult because I wasn’t sure what I was looking for.

  My phone lit up and a text tone rang through the speakers. I picked it up and unlocked the screen.

  You never answered whether or not you were going to put me back on your life insurance.

  “Moron.” I whispered to myself.

  I typed back: I did answer you, you weren’t listening.

  Within seconds I got another one from her.

  If you don’t put me back on there, I will contact my lawyer.

  Fury swept me up, and I tossed my phone back on the coffee table, the back of the case clinking against the wood. I had to give it to her, she was persistent. However, persistence wasn’t a pretty look for her. There wasn’t anything she could do. She and her lawyer leveled me in the courtroom, taking everything from me. Not only did she take full custody of our daughter, I also had to pay her six hundred dollars in child support each month. Not to mention, she got half of everything in my retirement. I could tell her I no longer had a life insurance policy with my previous job to make this entire argument go away, but I was buying my time. I had to establish myself with Adam before she knew about my new job. I was behind on several things, including her bills that I was instructed to pay according to the court order. The entire thing was bullshit. But, the judge reasoned since I had been doing it during the separation, I should have no problem continuing to do so. I don't know what I had been thinking. The part of me that sti
ll wanted my family together thought it made sense to pay some of her bills. I thought if I did that she would change her mind, and I didn't want her to be another single-mother statistic. Yet, here she was, being the money-hungry, bitchy, ex-wife statistic instead.

  It wasn’t like Mac had ever been hurting for money, I had supported her the entire time she was striving to get an education. A year after our separation, she was making more than most single mothers around. Still, the judge showed me no mercy. I could only imagine what a new child support agreement would mean once she found out about my new job. Adam had offered to pay me some under the table so my exact amount wouldn’t be factored into a new agreement, but I refused. While I knew Mac didn’t deserve a penny more from me, I couldn’t help but feel I’d be holding it from Delia as well.

  My phone went off again and I grunted with annoyance.

  If I need to, I can come by your work on Monday so we can discuss this.

  There was no discussion to be had, but for the sake of demolishing her drama before it started, I offered another deal.

  I’m not sure there’s anything to talk about but instead of bringing your amazing personality to my work, how about we meet somewhere after my shift and talk then?

  Fine.

  The impending arrangement I made weighed heavily on me. Being in her presence did nothing for me emotionally, but physically? It always sent my senses into overdrive and my heart rate increased with an unease of anticipation. Mac wasn’t an easy person to be around and looking back, she never had been. My body revolted the sight of her now, the force of my anger rising with each minute I had to be around her.

  I wasn't sure why I kept giving in to her demands to appease her. Her texts always went answered, though I was starting to take longer to answer her. I thought by answering her every whim I'd get a break during the court session. It didn't matter. The judge didn't care how cooperative I had been during our separation. Even her ridiculous text asking about parent teachers conferences for Delia though she could look it up online had been answered. She made herself look helpless when she texted me about things of the sort. Mac had to be center of attention and she enjoyed the feeling of controlling me.

  During our separation, she badgered me with continuous phone calls and texts asking for a divorce. I had told her more than once to hire herself another lawyer and get a court date. I couldn’t go forward with the divorce on my own, that would have been a dick head move to leave her without someone to defend her case. I kicked myself in the ass throughout the entire case hearing, knowing I would have been better off divorcing her while she was without an attorney. It wasn’t my fault her original representation dropped her like a bad habit. I could only speculate she had lied to him about her case.

  The only defense I had? She moved in with my best friend, after our temporary agreement had stated in black and white there was to be no overnight stays with anyone of the opposite sex. It wasn’t something my lawyer had added out of spite, it was to protect Delia. The notion was thrown out of court before my lawyer could even finish his sentence. It was deemed irrelevant, though the new and permanent agreement stated I had to notify Mac thirty days in advance before moving a woman into my home.

  I closed my eyes, leaning back against the couch cushions and ran my hands down my face. Images of Amberly flashed behind my eyelids. Random times she would come to mind from the moment I met her the first time. On Monday she had looked different. Amazing. Her body had toned up and her hair had grown out longer. She was even sporting a natural tan. The anxiety written across her face when she turned to look at me was heartbreaking. I had no idea what had made her feel the way she did towards me.

  Adam had dropped not-so-subtle hints that I should ask her out before I’d even met her. He didn’t know that I already knew her. Now that my divorce was final, I was open to the possibility of hanging out with someone. I was looking for a no-strings-attached type of girl and Amberly wasn’t it.

  Amberly was the kind of woman you made plans with, the one you made babies with and actually looked forward to be a father to her child. She wasn’t a woman that you fucked on occasion when you were feeling lonely. Her devotion to her husband meant she deserved the same kind of treatment. Being around her was a bad thing. It would destroy any plans I had made the day Mac left me.

  Adam had given me her phone number, no doubt without her permission and I could almost bet he didn’t know about her husband. But, why would she keep that a secret? I assumed it had something to do with the fact he never treated her as though she were his companion. When they came to the games, his arms never wrapped her in a hug and his eyes never stared her down with any kind of admiration. I had tried to engage her in a few conversations when her husband wasn’t around, but she never took the bait, feeding me merely a few words at a time and no sentence that I could build into a conversation.

  At the time, I wasn’t looking for anything more than friendship. I simply felt a pull to her, a curiosity that I couldn’t kill no matter what I did. Even though the warning signs went off over and over, I didn't want to avoid whatever it was that had placed her in my life to begin with. When she disappeared, there were no words to describe how I had felt. It was similar to that saying, 'it's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.' My version was, I'd rather have her around and married than to never be able to see her again. Not quite the same flow or romantic gesture as the original, but it was the simple way I could explain how I felt about having her in my life. I could handle keeping my distance. I could handle not having a full-blown conversation with her. I could even handle never being able to see her for more than three hours of a week. What I couldn't handle was feeling as though she'd never existed. Now she was back. What kind of coincidence was it that, not only was she back, but that she worked where I had gotten hired? She was back in my life, stirring up my emotions like a hurricane.

  Chapter 5

  Five More Minutes

  Amberly

  November 29th……

  I was losing control.

  Five days.

  Five days from the one-year anniversary of Haylie’s death. With Cricket out of town, I spent my Sunday afternoon shopping her cabinets for liquor. For a while, she had stopped bringing it into the apartment, worried I might have a relapse. I wasn’t an alcoholic anymore, though I did rely entirely too much on alcohol to curb my sadness when Cricket wasn't around. It helped me forget. It numbed me to the point where my heart stopped hurting for a few hours.

  I tilted my head back, letting the vodka cleanse my soul of the impending memories that wanted to erupt and remind me that I was no longer a mother. The liquid burned my throat as it traveled into the pit of my stomach. My face scrunched in disgust, remembering just how strong ‘courage’ in a bottle was. A cigarette burned in my left hand and I brought it up to my lips. I wasn’t supposed to be smoking, not just because of my promise to Cricket, but because of the surgery I would be having right after Christmas. The surgeon had instructed me to continue my path of quitting smoking, instead I was breathing in its toxic fumes. It felt damn good. These moments made me feel a little less broken.

  My body shivered against the cold. I wrapped my blanket tighter around me. I was sitting on the balcony, staring out into the clouded sky. I would have to toss my clothes in the washer and rid the balcony of any evidence that I’d been smoking before Cricket got home, but the vodka was bringing me to the point of not caring. So, what if she caught me? She wasn’t my mother.

  If she was my mother, I wouldn’t be living with or talking to her right now. It seemed I became the enemy once the divorce was in motion. My family stopped talking to me, believing every word that trickled out of Eric’s mouth. He put on the perfect show of a husband in pain. He gave the sad story of how I hadn’t had sex with him in months and he had no longer felt connected to me. In his mind I was the reason he cheated. Instead of having sex with my husband, I was at the hospital keeping my daughter company. In my heart I had
known from the moment she was airlifted to the city, she wasn’t going to make it. That didn't stop me from asking God for five more minutes. By the time I had hit the five-minute mark, I would ask for another five. I waited. And watched. And prayed. I wanted to spend as much time as I could with her, knowing every moment could be my last. Maybe I should have balanced it better. Either way I would have handled my last moments with her, would have been regretted. I’d rather regret Eric than regret not being by my daughter’s side as she fought for her life.

  The car wreck hadn’t been my fault. Seatbelts were buckled, both hands on the steering wheel, full attention on the road in front of me, randomly checking all mirrors so I was aware of everything, radio down low so there wasn’t a distraction, and speed limit abided by. I couldn’t have done anything different. Haylie was asleep in her seat and my mind was on the road. I’d had seconds to react to the headlights in our lane. First the car was in their own lane and then it wasn’t. My car flipped several times, landing on an embankment of impacted soil. Haylie had been in the backseat, passenger side. She’d suffered a fractured skull and a clean break in both legs. She was coherent up until we’d gotten to the hospital. Her brain started swelling and she fell into a coma. Slowly, her brain function diminished. Still, I had refused to let her go. Even when her doctor told me she was officially brain dead, I still held on.

  Anger spread through me like an unconfined fire. I downed another fraction of vodka and wiped the excess from my lips. I took another drag from the cigarette, letting the smoke fill my lungs until the nicotine calmed my nerves.

  I stumbled inside and sat down on my bed, opening my laptop. I typed in the date and the name of the town where the crash had occurred. It was easy to find the news article. My name and Haylie's name was included in the article. The driver of the other car had never been mentioned. Not once. That didn't stop me from searching. I opened a new tab and logged into Facebook. I typed in my name, Haylie's name, the date it had happened, and other random words to try to find out anything I could. I checked the group I had made the day I took Haylie off life support. For months I had pleaded for anyone who had any information to contact me through a private message. A few people had messaged me but not with anything substantial. To say it was infuriating was an understatement. It was downright bullshit.