Breaking the Habit

by Anne Berkeley

  “Jesus, you’re so much better than any drug I could take. I think you’re my new high, Emily.” Parting my lips with his own, he regrouped for a second, deeper kiss. His tongue brushed the tip of mine and paused, waiting for reciprocation. With an internal groan over my weakening resolve, I returned the kiss.

  Shane was right. I felt something. I felt everything. My body had woken from stasis. Parts of me the doctors had butchered came back to life. I hadn’t been sure if they functioned anymore. I had balked at intimacy since the night of my miscarriage, but it appeared that everything was in excellent working order. Thank God.

  The chair came to a stop beneath us as we reached the top of the stairs, but both its complaints and my migraine ceased to exist. All my attention was concentrated on the man beneath me. He was all muscle and sinew, not an ounce of softness to be found. Well, except those lips as they worked against mine.

  Someone cleared her throat, quite loudly. I just about jumped out of my skin, but I knew that voice. Fixing my clothes, I climbed from Shane’s lap and turned to face her. “Mother,” I said, not at all warmly. “How did you get inside?”

  My mother rose from where she sat perched on the edge of my sofa. She glanced at the piece of furniture with distaste and brushed off the legs of her pants. “Please, Emelia, Martin only had to turn the knob. The place is hardly secure.”

  That explained the problem with the key. The door had already been unlocked. “That doesn’t give you the right to let yourself in. It’s not your house.”

  The door below slammed closed. It was loud in the empty apartment, echoing against the bare walls. I’d have to thank Shane later for the privacy.

  “Don’t be absurd; you’re my daughter.”

  “That’s not what you said the last time I saw you.”

  “I was angry and under stress.”

  I snorted. My mother grimaced over the unladylike sound. Fuck her. “Stress?” I countered, floored. “I was lying in a hospital bed, half dead, and you were worried about your public image.”

  “You were being intractable. I regret my impatience.”

  “Do you?” I said sarcastically. “Is that why you haven’t contacted me until now? Were you too ashamed to face me again? Five years is a long time to build up your courage.”

  “You know I don’t like confrontations.”

  “Don’t worry,” I dismissed, alleviating her discomfort. God forbid she strain herself. “I know you’re only here because Tommy’s out of prison.”

  “You know how much Thomas dislikes nicknames.”

  “Forget, Mother? He beat it into me.”

  “Don’t be facetious. It’s unbecoming.”

  Sighing, I rubbed my temples with the tips of my fingers. My migraine had returned with vengeance. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

  “Thomas would like to speak with you. Currently, the restraining order prevents him.”

  “The restraining order is irrelevant. It’s against his parole to contact me. The state will return him to custody.”

  “He’s changed, Emelia. He’s quit drinking.”

  “I don’t think he had a choice in the matter,” I pointed out. He was in prison for the last five years. I’m sure his cell didn’t come with a wet bar.

  “He’s been in therapy.”

  “So have I.”

  “Why must you be so difficult? He wants to support you. He’s trying to make amends.”

  “Amends?” I snapped, losing my patience. Even after all these years, the audacity of this woman never seemed to amaze me. “My daughter is dead, Mother! The doctors had to cut out my uterus! No amount of money is going to make amends for what I’ve lost!”

  My mother’s lips tightened. Her gaze flickered behind me and then back to my face. Fuck…fuck fuck fuck. Damn it and a half. I’d bet any amount of money Shane hadn’t left. He was still standing behind me. Which meant that Carter Strickland was downstairs listening as well, because if Shane hadn’t left, then someone had arrived.

  “Must you be so coarse?” my mother chastened. She stood there in her Stella McCartney skirt suit and shiny, bobbed hair, scorning me with her eyes.

  “I’m not being coarse; I’m being honest. The sad part is that you’re either too deluded to believe me or Tommy’s money is so important to you that you don’t even care.”

  “Perhaps your guest could step out while we speak.”

  “Mother, he’s not a guest. You are.”

  “I see.”

  “I’d like you to leave now. I don’t think we have anything further to discuss.”

  “Think hard, Emelia,” Mother warned. “I’ve put up with your defiance long enough. Once I walk out that door, I will not be in contact again.”

  “Goodbye, Mother.”

  Footsteps clapped against the wooden stairs, strident in my empty apartment. Carter emerged. He crossed the space, and confounding the three of us in the room, he smacked my ass and planted an all too friendly kiss to my jaw, just below my ear.

  “Hey sugar.” He looked up, panned the room and then began waving his arms about like a director, composing a scene. “This place is great. Once we get the lighting in here… yeah, it’ll work just fine. Shane, we can put the camera over there. Turn the sofa this way. You can bend her right over the arm. You can take her ass while I fuck her mouth. What do you think?”

  My mother gasped audibly.

  Carter blinked, as if just noticing her. “Oh, I’m sorry, but if you want to watch, you’ll have to stand over there. Can’t risk you blocking the camera. Unless you want to join in…?” He looked my mother up and down, as if measuring her up. “I didn’t plan a gang bang, but I’m always willing to work on the fly.”

  Composure slipping, Mother’s lips contorted. She glared at me in disgust. “I can’t begin to explain how disappointed I am in you.”

  “Disappointed?” Carter continued. “You should be proud, Ma’am, Emster here is a natural in front of the camera. She doesn’t balk one bit.”

  Having heard enough, my mother walked to the stairs, her heels harsh and staccato against my hardwood floors. She paused at the top of the flight. “I won’t bother you again, Emelia. Your funds will no longer be accessible.”

  “You’ll find every penny untouched.”

  “You’ve chosen poorly.” With that, she left. When we heard the screen door slam closed below, Carter grimaced.

  “Your mom’s a fucking cunt, Em.”

  “I know.”

  “I can’t believe you came out of her twat.”

  “Please don’t remind me of that again.” Ambling to the couch, I collapsed in a slump and curled into ball. “Ever.” I swear I was about to have an aneurysm. With any luck, I would close my eyes and die peacefully in my sleep. “Santo cazzo Madre di Cristo.”

  Carter’s face appeared over the back of the sofa. He bent down, staring at me as if I had sprouted a second nose. “Jesus Christ, I think she’s leaking cerebral fluid from her eyes.”

  “Thank you, Carter,” I mumbled. All sarcasm was lost on my nasal tone. “You can go away now.”

  Behind me, the sofa cushion dimpled. Shane appeared over me, brushed the hair from my face. “Not going to happen.”

  “I’ll take her bags back out to the car,” Carter said. “She can stay at my sister’s house with us.” His voice echoed across the room as he walked away. “I can see why you wanted to come back so badly, Emster. This place is a real gem. Smells like fuckin’ mothballs.”

  “He’s sort of like a Sour Patch Kid, isn’t he?” Shane asked. He lifted my top half just enough to slide under me. “A little sour, a little sweet?”

  “I think he might be my hero. He asked my mother to gang bang. I thought she was going to die.”

  Garnering our attention, the stair chair produced a clank and a whir. “Hey guys!” Carter exclaimed. “This thing is aweso—oh shit!” A rather ominous, metallic grinding sound echoed up the stairwell. “Whoo hoooooo!” Ensuing Carter’s whoop, a large cr
ash shook the walls. Shane jumped from the couch and rushed to the stairs. I shuffled behind him, clutching my head.

  The stair climber sat in a heap on the landing. Carter stood by his side, his arms raised in the air. “WHHOOOOOO! ON MY FEET BABY!” Raising his head, he stared back at us. “What did I tell ya, Emster! Hand eye coordination!”

  “Gosh, Carter, I’ll never doubt your prowess again.”

  “Come on—you have to admit that was amazing.”

  “You broke my chair,” I pointed out with disinterest. I dared not roll my eyes, in fear they might never resurface. “They’re going to take it out of my security deposit.”

  “Girls,” Carter complained, “they have no appreciation.”

  “I’m sorry, Carter, I’m busy rupturing blood vessels in my brain.”

  “That’s not funny,” Carter chastened. “Shane would be heartbroken and probably turn to drugs and alcohol to cope. Would you want to be the cause of his relapse?”

  Ignoring Carter’s retort, I shuffled back to the sofa. As my mother’s perfume wafted up from the cushions, my nose scrunched up in distaste. She probably drowned it in the stuff, hoping the alcohol would kill anything residing inside. I’m surprised she didn’t just have Martin place his coat down so she would have to touch the thing.

  “Em,” said Shane, staring down at me.

  “I hate my mother.”

  Sitting on the cushion beside me, he rested his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I should have said something.”

  “I’m sorry you had to see that. I thought you’d left.”

  “And leave you alone with her?” Shane objected. “She made me glad my mother wasn’t around.”

  “Shane,” I said, as another tremor racked through me. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m really not feeling well…”

  “I’m not leaving you here alone.”

  “I’m a big girl. I can—”

  “Save it, Em.” Standing, he lifted me from the sofa. I’d say he cradled me in his arms, but it wasn’t that romantic. My butt hung down between his arms like a bowling ball. My knees were pinned to my chest. My feet stuck outward like lamb’s ears, large and floppy.

  “Put me down!” I demanded, weakly.

  “I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands.”

  “No, but I might puke on you.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “You’re a glutton for punishment.”

  “The way I figure it, I’m due for it. I’ve puked on other people more than enough times.” Carefully, he shifted me in his arms to get a better grip.

  “Please, don’t—”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Move…or talk…oh dio…” I clapped my hand over my mouth in fear of what might come out. If I puked on him, I’d be mortified beyond belief.

  “I’m sorry,” Shane apologized. “It’s not as easy as it looks in the movies.” Great, now he was calling me fat. “That didn’t come out right, did it? I’m not saying you’re heavy. You just have a lot of leg. It’s hard to navigate. I’ll never razz Tate again.”

  “Just put me back on the sofa,” I pleaded. “I just want to lie down.” And die. I felt no need to point that out. He’d never agree to it.

  “Here we go.” Shane lowered himself onto the first step. He searched for the next blindly with his foot. My toes brushed along the wall. “Damn these things are narrow.”

  “Maybe you should just let me go.”

  “Told you—I’m not leaving you here alone.”

  “I don’t mean on the sofa. I mean let me go. Just drop me. Hopefully, I’ll break my neck on the way down the stairs.”

  “You still have your sense of humor. That’s a positive sign.”

  “Since when are you so pushy and talkative?”

  “Since I’ve met you.”

  “You just don’t quit, do you?”

  “That’s the rumor. I’ve an addictive personality.”

  Chapter 5

  By Thursday, I began to feel remotely human again. I emphasize remotely. A light fog lingered behind my eyes. I felt weak and exhausted, much like one felt after fighting off the flu. I was also depressed due to my mother’s visit and the loss of my job. Monday, they might have excused with a doctor’s note, but when I hadn’t been able to work the subsequent two days, they had to let me go. I had used all my sick time while I was in Seattle, so I only had myself to blame.

  Nevertheless, I managed to get myself showered and dressed. I was going with the adage ‘mind over matter’. If I got up and moving, perhaps I could shake off the last of my grogginess. Carter’s sister, Jess, was kind enough to let me stay in the carriage house with Shane, but I really needed to get home.

  So far, the only thing fueling me to move was my curiosity over the rhythmic male grunting coming from somewhere below. Padding down the stairs, I followed the sound. The closer I drew, the more strained they became. I almost turned around, afraid of the scene I would find. It’s just…well…it sounded like someone was enjoying himself. While I had told Shane I wasn’t interested, I didn’t want to find him in flagrante delicto either.

  That said, when I turned the corner and found him suspended upside down doing sit ups, I was surprised to find myself equally discomposed. Strained from exertion, his muscles stood out, cut and well defined. Veins lined his arms and shoulders, highlighted by the sheen of sweat coating his skin. And he’d come further along with that eight pack than I had initially suspected.

  “You’re up.”

  “Yeah,” I replied, verbosely. Not. I couldn’t tear my eyes from his torso. Merda. My brain went haywire, incapable producing a rational thought.

  “Feeling better?” He grunted, touching his toes again. Oh, those beautiful abs…glistening and lickable. Lickable? Get your mind together, Cipollini.

  “Oh, uh, I thought that if I got up, I might get the blood flowing.” Lord have mercy, did I just say that? And up he went again.

  “How’s that working for you?”

  The way his muscles rolled over his ribs had me mesmerized. The man was a work of art. Donatello would’ve squeed with delight to have him as a muse.

  Did he just ask me a question? “I’m sorry. What?”

  “I asked how that was working for you.”

  “Oh, it’s moving all right,” I muttered, then said louder, “I’m thinking a strong cup of coffee might help.”

  “Kitchen’s in the big house. I’ll walk you up.” Stretching up one last time, his fingers curled around the pole. Slowly, he lifted his legs and fell forward, dropping his feet to the ground. He lifted his shirt from the floor and began wiping his chest down. “Just give me a minute to shower.”

  “Can we go out to get a cup?” I asked. The last thing I wanted to do was face Carter. He really was a great guy, but I couldn’t take his taunting quite yet.

  For a long moment, Shane stared. A slow grin spread across his face. “Are you asking me out for a cup of coffee?”

  “No…yes…but only because I can’t deal with other people right now!” God, that came out all wrong. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. You’ve been kind. Everyone has. I just want a nice quiet cup of coffee.”

  “I can relate,” he said. The smile faded from his face until only a hint remained. “I can get you a cup from the house if you want.”

  “No, I think I’d like the fresh air.”

  “Coffee it is then,” he said over his shoulder as he headed for his room. “Just coffee with just Emily, who definitely didn’t have a concussion, and wasn’t staring at my body just now.”

  My mouth popped open to retort, but his deep chuckle stopped me short. The heat pooling in my groin rushed back to my face, causing a flush I was thankful he couldn’t see.

  A short time later, we pulled to a stop at the end of the driveway. Shane turned his head toward me. “I don’t know where the hell I’m going.”

  “Neither do I.” I was nearly comatose by the time we arrived four nights ag
o. Being winter, it had been dark. I hadn’t seen a thing. “What’s the first main road?”

  “Um, I think Richard said it was York.”

  “Oh, ok, I can tell you which direction once we get there. You can get us to the main road, right?”

  Hitting the gas, Shane pulled out into the street. “Yeah,” he said dryly, “I can get us to the main road.”

  After a half hour of driving in the wrong direction, I had to pull my cell out to see where exactly we were. Luckily, we had a tank full of gas. Well, Richard’s Jeep Wrangler had a full tank of gas. So, we turned around and with a little help from my GPS, found our way to a little set of shops called Peddler’s Village.

  As I slid from the Jeep and placed my weight on my feet, I tightened the collar of my coat. This infernal winter would never end. The climate change—or so the environmentalists would have us believe—took hold of the region like a fist, wringing every last drop of moisture from the clouds and onto the tri-state area.

  “Where to?” Shane asked, coming up beside me.

  “Golden Plough’s that way, Cock and Bull is that way, and there’re a dozen or so odd shops in between.”

  “So, where to?”

  “Cock and Bull, it’s farther. I could use the walk.”

  “You lead. I’ll follow.”

  We set off through the parking lot and the cobbled paths of the shops. Fake snow, candles, strings of lights and pine swags adorned the windows for the holiday, but customers were sparse. The wind kept most away. In the center of the square stood an old-fashioned Santa with rosy cheeks, one of those that bent at the waist and popped up again with a cheery “Ho, Ho, Ho! Merry Christmas!”

  “This place is straight out of Charles Dickens.”

  “Isn’t it?” I smiled. “I love it. Let’s go in here.” I pointed to a candle shop. The place oozed warm and homey. “I could use some to chase off the smell of mothballs.”

  “You’re staying.” In the mothball-infested apartment, he meant.

  “Of course.”

  “What for?”

  “I live here.” Tugging open the paned door of the shop, a waft of cinnamon and spice greeted me with false memories of home. It was family huddled around the tree on Christmas Eve or the scent of cookies baking in the oven while the children licked the bowl clean. To my mother, it was cheap and tasteless, and Tommy never wanted children. Pushing the thought away, I picked up a jar and put it to my nose, avoiding Shane’s stare.