Unbreak Me

by Alicia Cicoria

  I was more than confused and Lucas read it, sighing with irritation. He pushed play again, this time making sure the tape played at a slow-as-snail’s pace. You could see Sadie’s movement as she bent down. It was mere seconds and anyone could write it off as though she had scratched at her leg or readjusted her shoe. When she came up she pulled both lips in and started looking around. Without proof of anything, you could tell she had done something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. Still, it wasn’t a sure sign of anything.

  “What makes you so sure that Sadie did this? And, why would she do this? I don’t even know the woman.”

  Lucas switched the screen to a local news channel, taking the tape from his VCR. He chugged down a gulp from the beer he’d been holding since I arrived. “I found documentation that the drugs were found underneath the floor mat on the passenger side of your vehicle.”

  I was growing impatient. “Get to the point.”

  “Do you not remember that day?”

  “Not really.” That day had become a huge blur once the chief mentioned drugs. As days passed, my memory of that day faded.

  Lucas downed another sizable dose of his beer and sat adjacent to me on his love seat. He bent over, his forearms resting on his thighs. “There was a vehicle inspection that day. It was right after the other tickets and arrests you made and before Sadie’s.” He took the folder from me and flipped through it, pulling out a sheet of paper. He held it up.

  Sure enough, in bright green letters, was the word ‘passed’ on the inspection of my vehicle. My name and car number were written in black ink at the top of the paper.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I whispered the words with absolute hatred. Who was Sadie Wilcox and why the hell would she plant drugs in my car? “Have you showed this to anyone else?”

  “Not yet.”

  Chapter 9

  Let It Go

  Amberly

  Friday, December 4th…

  I sat in a pair of black leggings and an over-sized, long-sleeved shirt, staring at the muted television screen. A rerun of some reality show was playing. Tears coated my face in a clear, discreet liquid. I had told Cricket I needed today to myself, asking her if she would tell Adam I wasn’t feeling well. She knew the truth. She hadn’t kept track of the days like I had. She had thought today had come and gone and I had made it through without any setbacks. Days ago, she thought it had been a year already. It hadn’t and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t face anyone today. Thoughts of Haylie confiscated my mind, memories playing like a torture movie. The crash. Her body. Headlights lighting up the dark sky with flashes of lightening following. The sound of clashing metal and the smell of burnt rubber assaulted my ears and nose. There wasn’t escaping the anxiety I felt today, the one-year anniversary of the end to Haylie’s fight.

  I had received a text message from Eric that morning. A simple, I miss you. I didn’t answer, instead parking my body in the living room that was void of comfort. I wrapped the blanket, a simple quilt I’d found at a garage sale, around me and waltzed to the bathroom connected to my bedroom. I started the hot water in my bathtub, a rush of it filling the bottom. When I let the blanket fall to my feet, I heard a knock on the front door. I ignored it and peeled my shirt off when the knock came again, not allowing me to pretend I hadn’t heard it the first time. I fumbled with my shirt, yanking it back down over my chest.

  With a huff, I stomped my feet to the front door, opening it. Bryant stood, extending his hand that held a can of soup. His eyes scanned over me, in the most horrible state he could ever find me in, and he brought his hand back to his chest.

  He cleared his throat and let his eyes fall down to his feet and then back up to meet my face. “Cricket said you weren’t feeling well.”

  Uneasiness washed over me. I propped myself against the door frame. “I’m fine.” I lied, sweeping a hand over my face. I could feel the stickiness of the tears that’d been plaguing me all morning.

  He shifted his weight, silence falling down on us.

  “Come in.” I took notice of a few thin, plastic containers tucked into his opposite arm.

  He obliged, turning to me when I shut the door. “Today is…” His words trailed off, sliding into the emptiness of the room.

  I held in a sob. “Yeah.” I croaked, my voice somehow breaking on that one, single word. I felt weak that I couldn't even get one word out without it revealing all the emotions I had defeating my confidence.

  We stared at each other, the only sound piercing through the awkward moment was that of running water.

  “Shit!” I stumbled into the bathroom and shut the water off. It had reached an inch below the top of the tub.

  I released the clip that’d been holding my hair up, cringing at my reflection in the mirror. My face was red, my eyes swollen with hopelessness. I fluffed my hair out before shaking my head. I didn’t care what I looked like. I had a right to look like shit one day out of the year.

  I approached Bryant who had sat the can of soup on the kitchen counter and spread the containers across the coffee table. Disks sat in them. “Sorry, I was just fixing to jump in the bathtub.” I mumbled, pointing my thumb over my shoulder towards my bedroom.

  Bryant’s eyes were guarded with a baseball cap, a firefighter emblem stitched into the front. He wore a gray shirt, the sleeves tight around his biceps. He adjusted his cap, pulling it down a little further than it was. “I was on a call and decided to drop by when I saw you hadn’t come into work this morning.” He cleared his throat, his footsteps starting for the door. “I’ll go.”

  Had I ever seen Bryant in a hat? No, I don’t think so. God, he looked incredible. Too incredible. I wanted to use him to drown my sorrows away. I wanted him to make me forget. If I wasn't careful he would be my next addiction.

  My arms were folded, creating heat across my chest that I was desperate for. Without thinking, I stuck an arm out. “You don’t have to.” I spoke with an air of confidence that was borrowed, not my own.

  “I brought you some soup and movies. I figured if you were sick you’d want something to pass the time with.” He swallowed, wiping a hand across the area between his nose and top lip.

  “Thanks. On a call?” I asked, curiosity seeping into me.

  I hadn’t known that Bryant worked for the fire department, but the hat, covering his half inch of dark brown hair, revealed this detail about him.

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Grass fire. A couple of teenagers set a field on fire this morning. I got the page while I was at work, figured I would drop by to see if you needed anything before I headed back to the shop.”

  “I don’t.” The words spit forward without my ability to retract them. They’d been delivered much harsher than I intended. “Thank you though.” I tried, struggling to recover from my slip up.

  Bryant held up three fingers. “I’ll pick you up.”

  “What?”

  “Number one, I pay for your meal. Number two, no messy eating. And,” he paused before shrugging, “number three is I’ll pick you up when I ask you out on a date.”

  I smiled and felt myself relax. Bryant had been busy all week, not once naming off another ‘dating rule’. I had felt like he’d forgotten about it so the pressure of us going on a date seemed to dissipate.

  “Number four is no dressing up.” I added to the list, loving the feeling of the light conversation. Three rules remained unless he added another one.

  “So, no button-up shirts?” One of his eyebrows lifted up.

  I considered it for a moment, my mind doing its best to conjure up the image of him in a button-up shirt. “You can wear whatever you want, I’m not dressing up.”

  Dresses weren’t my choice of clothing. If I had to dress up, I kept it simple with jeggings and a nice top. Sometimes, I wore heels and other times flats were my footwear. I hoped, despite my casual mention of leaving the choice to him, he would opt for a button-up shirt.

  “Fair enough. Uh…” he
walked to the coffee table and picked up the DVDs, “I didn’t know what kind of movies you would like so I got a few.” He pulled a title from the list and sat the rest of them down. “I’m going to take this one back.”

  I inched his way, tugging the dvd down so I could see it. The Fault In Our Stars. I eased it out of his grip. “I haven’t seen this one.”

  “Glutton for punishment?” He asked.

  I let my fingertips trace over the title, protected by the plastic case. “I guess I’m not done crying.”

  He nodded, lifting his head up enough to where I could see his eyes. The brown in them was softer, fitting perfectly with his gray shirt. “I’ll put it in for you.” He offered.

  I unfolded a blanket that was on the back of the couch and sat down, letting it float down to my legs. I watched him as he stuck the DVD in and switched the channel. His movements caused his shirt to tighten around him, the muscles in his back presenting themselves. Bryant was a bigger man, with plenty of muscle to offset any kind of weight gain. He reached nearly six feet, which put into perspective how short I was. I wasn’t sure if it was the way he looked at me or any of his other physical attributions, but I was curious about Bryant Kessler. I wanted to be next to him for whatever reason. That was a bad thing, but I couldn't control it.

  When the movie started, he made his way to me, kneeling by the couch. “You have my number, if you need anything, text me.”

  I contemplated my next move. Being around Bryant gave me a sense of weird relief. I wanted him to stay for no particular reason. “Adam needs you?” It was an invite for him to stay, without me saying it.

  “Not really. It’s slow today. Do you want me to sit with you?”

  I didn’t answer and was somewhat sure I didn’t even nod. Still, he lifted himself and turned to sit on the couch. He scooted to the side, lifting my feet and laying them over his lap. He pushed my leggings up an inch or two and glided his fingertips across my skin. I shivered from his touch, feeling it deep in my spine.

  His head turned and he peered over at me, the emotions on his face unreadable. I felt my breath catch.

  “What happened?”

  I needed to talk about it. If not to a therapist, someone. Cricket let me talk to an extent, figuring taking my mind off it would be more therapeutic than reliving the moment over and over. It had worked since I gave myself permission to grieve Haylie, truly grieve her, two days out of the year. Her birthday and the day she found her place in heaven.

  With a steady breath, I told him the story. I told him how the other driver had been intoxicated but the crash had been ruled accidental due to a malfunction in the brake system. I told him a field sobriety test was done, and anyone within a five-foot radius could see the other drive had been inebriated. I recited that day verbatim, leaving nothing to the imagination. There were details I missed because I couldn’t remember, whether the driver of the other vehicle was man or woman, what the other cars make and model was. His expression changed throughout, sadness sweeping through his eyes like an unrelenting cyclone.

  “Why didn’t you demand an investigation?” He inquired, his fingertips keeping their motions.

  My breaths came slow. I couldn’t concentrate. Not when he was touching me like that.

  I let my head fall back against the arm of the couch. “That was the last thing on my mind. I suppose I cared more about my daughter living than revenge at the time.”

  "And now?"

  I had the sudden desire to scoot forward and ask him to lay down behind me. I didn't though. Not because I didn't want to but because I was scared I would like it too much if he did.

  "Now I want whoever is responsible to pay for what they did. I can't bring Haylie back but I can fight for justice."

  “You could still ask that everything from that day be reevaluated.”

  All the energy I had for crying slowed down more and more as he spoke. “Really?”

  He moved closer, relocating his fingers to my lower back. I suppressed a moan, but my body reacted to him. It betrayed me in the best way.

  “I think so. I’ll have my buddy look into it.”

  Chapter 10

  Pretty Beautiful

  Bryant

  I didn’t miss the way her body arched as my fingers skimmed her lower back, stopping just above the waistband of her leggings. She responded to me in a way no other woman ever had, while remaining reserved. It was as though she were too embarrassed to let loose, to show me exactly what my touch was doing to her. I couldn’t blame her though, Adam had told me she hadn’t so much as went on a date with another man since Eric. I didn’t dig for details, but I could tell what he did had her heart on lock down.

  I kept my fingers moving, feeling the rise of her skin as it betrayed her. She could tell me to stop but she didn’t. She could reposition her body, creating distance, but she didn’t. She watched the movie, her eyes fluttering a few times, and kept still. I couldn’t bring myself to look in any other direction than hers. I wondered what I had missed only when I saw tears gliding down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the sleeves of her sweatshirt and peeked at me.

  “I hate that movie.” She declared, an internal battle raging inside of her.

  The story of two young lovers no doubt reminded her of the fact Haylie would never get to experience it. Hearing what really happened had my own emotions begging a release. I couldn’t fathom what she went through. I didn’t have to wonder if Eric was by her side. I knew the answer to that without asking. She had to endure it alone.

  “Get up and get dressed.”

  She pulled her legs back as I lifted myself from the couch.

  “What?” Her innocent confusion made me want to wrap her in my arms and not let go.

  Something was telling me I had to help her heal. I had to give her strength to move forward. I wasn’t dead set on how I was going to accomplish it though.

  I adjusted my hat and smiled down at her. She seemed to want to disappear into the material of the couch. “Get dressed. I’m going to get a few things and I’ll be back to pick you up.”

  She delivered an incredulous glare. “We haven’t gotten to number seven yet.”

  I placed my hands, palms up to her and she slid her tiny hands into them. I lifted her up and brushed stray pieces of hair away from her face. “It’s not a date. I promise. I’ll be ten minutes tops.”

  She groaned. “Might take me a little longer to do something with this.” She waved her hands around her unkempt hair.

  I wanted to tell her she was beautiful the way she was. That her face, red from crying, was perfect in its purity. That the clothes she wore right now made her look comfortable and warm. That her hair looked wild and free. I didn’t say any of it though, following her sentence with, “Twenty? Is that enough time?”

  She nodded then and I bent down, giving her a kiss on her cheek. Her cheeks lit up with the pink hue that was starting to become my favorite color. She lowered her head and avoided my gaze.

  It was an auto reaction, but how could I explain that to her? “I’m sorry, I just…” I just nothing, there was nothing I could say to explain why I had done that. Maybe it was her vulnerability that had me dropping my guard. Maybe it was my desire to touch her and hope that each touch, no matter how it occurred, could swipe away the pain she felt.

  “It’s okay.” She whispered.

  “I’ll be right back. Take all the time you need.” I closed her apartment door behind me and raced down the steps to my truck.

  I wasn’t sure how she would react to what I was about to do. I wasn’t sure it would make any difference to her, but she couldn’t sit in the apartment all day and cry.

  There was a small store on the corner of the next street over. I drove over, making a note of what time it was now and how much time I had promised to give her.

  I’d never been in this store before and the parking lot seemed to be fairly empty. I grabbed a cart on my way in, searching aisles for what I needed. I think I even went down
one aisle five times before finding the last item. I pulled out my phone and realized that I had only spent seven minutes in the store.

  I made a quick call to Cricket to gather a small piece of information I needed before loading up the small plastic sacks into my backseat and taking off to a convenient store. That trip took another seven minutes, due to a heavy line at the register. I juggled the cups I was holding, balancing them on top of a white box.

  I made it back to the apartment with one-minute left. I traveled up the stairs and knocked on the door.

  Amberly opened it and her mouth dropped open when I offered a coffee cup to her. “Pumpkin spice. I heard it was your favorite. Ready? I’ve got some donuts in the truck.”

  Her fingers wrapped around the cup. She hoisted her purse over her arm and reached back to shut the door. I walked next to her to the truck. She blew into the hole of the cup, trying to make the liquid cold enough for her to take a sip. “Where are we going?”

  I followed behind her, opening the door for her.

  She eased a tiny sip from the cup but didn’t move otherwise. “This isn’t a date.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. I planted my hand against the truck and leaned close to her. “Not a date.” I motioned for her to get in but she peered at me with suspicion, not budging a single part of her body.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  She considered my answer for a moment, taking another drink from the cup. “What if I don’t like surprises?”

  I shrugged and pushed off of the truck, taking the stare down she was piercing me with. Even though she was equipped with a light pink sweater that hung off her shoulders and a pair of dark denim jeans, no way this charade could stay strong for much longer. A playful glimmer showed in her eyes and her lips started lifting up in the corners.