Splinters

by M R Field

  Then her fucking sisters came and ruined our moment …

  “Robbie, I’m leaving for London in two months, but if you ask me … I’ll stay.”

  My hands tightened on her hips; she was asking me to make her stay. But I knew how much this meant to her, I wasn’t going to have her regret it.

  “You need to go. This is your dream.”

  She sucked in a breath as tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry. I thought this moment meant. I’m so stupid,” She sobbed.

  “No, not at all.” I held her closer to me. “You have it wrong. I want you to succeed. You were born for stardom. When you’re done, come back to me.”

  “I see we’ve been slumming it with the local manwhore.”

  Hazel flinched in my grasp as she turned to face not one, but two evil sisters.

  “Chantal! Calista! What are you two doing here?” Hazel chastised. “You never come to my performances.”

  Chantal sniggered and looked sideways to Calista, who tapped away on her phone, while a secretive smile lined her face.

  “We heard from Davey that our little sister was whoring up on stage. We wanted to see if it was true. You know, see if you snapped out of being a little prude.”

  I lowered my hands and clutched them into fists at my sides. I had never hit a girl, aside from the arguments with Trice when I was a kid, but she could punch back and right now, it took everything not to go against what my father had taught me.

  “But,” Calista’s nasally voice interjected, “She’s definitely slumming it. Maybe she’s doing both.”

  “He’s not—” Chantal held up both her hands under her chin and shrieked in a little girl voice. “But Daddy, I love him!” sobbing fake tears while Calista burst out in laughter. Hazel tensed beside me and her eyes narrowed. Not once had I ever seen her angry.

  “You!” She pointed to Chantal’s face. “Dare to insult my choices when you have freaking powder on your nose!”

  Chantal’s eyes narrowed at the finger pointed at her. Swiping angrily at her nose, she glared back at Hazel while Calista continued to laugh.

  “I can’t wait for you to fucking leave, you self-righteous bitch. Go act and be fat on stage. How sad too that our Great-aunt Cynthia had to pay so you could actually leave us!” Chantal snarled.

  A low growl rolled through my jaw as I stepped forward and put Hazel behind me. I narrowed my eyes, staring at both of their faces in disgust. Curling my top lip, I sneered. “She has a scholarship, you misguided bitch. Sure, her aunt is paying for her accommodation, but at least she’s making a name for herself.” Looking between both sisters, I continue, “You can make choices to be a better person. You both clearly took all the bitch gene, leaving the best for last. She was not a whore tonight. She was magnificent. Hazel will be on stage all right, the brightest fucking star that will ever shine. Those stars will shine so bright, you’ll be left in the dark. A bunch of sad miserable bitches.”

  They flinched, both pursing their lips before breaking eye contact and rolling their eyes at each other.

  “Aw, isn’t that sweet? He’s sticking up for her,” Calista mocked. “Too bad, wog. We don’t need your filthy self amongst us. Like our father will ever condone a dirty fucking immigrant to date his baby daughter. Don’t you have some fruit-picking job or some shit to do?”

  “Yeah,” Chantal interrupted her while glaring at Hazel. “You slum it with this wog trash. Apples and peaches do it for you, do they? At least pick someone who is good enough for you.”

  “That’s where you’re both wrong.” Hazel glowered, stepping in front of me. “It’s me who isn’t good enough for him.”

  “Doesn’t matter anyway,” Calista muttered, her voice laced with venom. “You’ll fail, and when you do, you’ll come home and work in Mum’s shop or Dad’s. Won’t that be a good little stage to work from?”

  No, I thought. Hazel would never be without her spotlight. Even if I had to organise one myself, she would wow the audiences. As my rage continued to rise, my mind froze as a vision of my future entered my thoughts. Without meaning, ideas began formulating into a plan that would bring her back to me—eventually.

  Ugh. Those bitches. A cold shiver runs down my spine, crashing me back into reality. Just thinking about them brings me a dose of hatred and determination so fierce it could light its own match and detonate. I stare at the uniforms beside me and consider where I’d be if those crazy bitches hadn’t pushed my last nerve. I had to hand it to them—if they didn’t try to flatten me, I wouldn’t be here now.

  The determination ricochets in my veins, pushing me to reassess my goals. The club, the uniforms, stock lists, stage furniture, carpets, the smell of sanded wood—every single thing in that place was all derived from a plan that I had twisted and manipulated to bring her back to me. I had waited. Waited until one day, when she needed to leave as it was all too much, and despite her sobs wrecking me, I was ecstatic that she had been coming home to me. Ugh.

  Right. Home to the gym now. I need to clear my head, especially since reviewing the plan brought the bitch twins antics decided to take me on for a visit down memory lane.

  I unlock my phone and dial Alex and after two rings, he picks up.

  “Hey,” he greets, his voice slightly muffled.

  “Hey yourself. Did I call at a bad time?” Please don’t be screwing my sister.

  “Nah, just opening my mail at work. A few boxes arrived so I’m cutting them open.”

  “Oh, so you’re not home?”

  “Nope. Trice is though. All good?”

  “Yeah, just wanted to work out.”

  He chuckles as he clears his throat. “Don’t worry, you won’t be blinded by any unwelcome bits of flesh.”

  I growl and roll my eyes. “Geez, Alex,” I groan. “And on that note, I’ll go. See you tonight.”

  The drive back home is quick as I listen to Red Hot Chilli Peppers fill my car with no-excuse-no-bullshit lyrics. If anyone can get me out of my funk, it’s these guys. Tapping my fingers against the cool leather of my steering wheel, I begin to loosen up as “The Zephyr Song” blares through my car. I was lucky growing up in a household with a sister who liked the same music as I did, even though my mamma always said she was just copying her older brother. I’ll take that. No way was I going to listen to the bubble-gum shit that other girls listened to.

  I walk into the house and hang up the uniforms behind my door to keep them in good nick. Stripping my shirt off, I throw it towards the hamper and take my jeans and Chucks off. I stroll over to my wardrobe and hunt around for my shorts and tank. I need to sweat it out today and going easy isn’t an option. Rolling my socks on, I reach out for my sneakers and hear a faint noise down the hall. I don’t want to get stuck talking to Trice so I wait for it to pass and head to the back patio door.

  Our patio is on top of our garage, where Trice used to use it often to practise her dance numbers or yoga. Now she can use it as an extra space to practise for the club. I tie my sneakers up and then grab my iPod and a water bottle from my bedside table. Show time.

  My workout room is my man room. All my equipment is black, red and worn. I co- ordinate the space so that I could have my work stations around the room to complete a full circuit. There’s no room for being a pussy.

  I work out to keep my mind occupied; I use the burn to try and keep thoughts of her at bay. I crush the personal weight goals to stop counting the hours until I can message her again without looking like a stalking arsehole. In the mines, while some of the guys went home to Skype their families or others to dial a whore, I worked out more. I swept the dust and heat to the side and worked through it. Now my shoulders were even broader, and I am built. I still have pecs though; there are no man boobies for me.

  Working out has always been easy for me. It’s also the quickest way to settle my arse down. From the early days of high school, I’ve known that being bulky means the redneck arseholes leave me the fuck alone. “Oh, Alex, is your mum Italian? That must mean sh
e’s a slut.” WHACK! Followed by a detention on my behalf for breaking a kid’s nose. My gym in my parents’ garage back at home probably saved a few facelifts when the frustration got too much.

  I sit on the cracked leather seats that I don’t want to replace. They represent how hard I’ve worked, and what I’ve done to get here. What I’ll keep on doing to get there. Pushing through my weight stations, my arms burn as each weight is pulled back and pushed forward. I won’t let this club fail. I continue to pull each weight as the sweat trails down my back and chest, pooling against my hot skin, my shirt sodden. Still the ache is not enough.

  The exercises continue to burn through my body as I power through. There isn’t an area left that doesn’t ache. I pull myself up to my chin-up bar, lifting my body, crossing my ankles together. You can still be friends. Maybe she’ll come around. Growling in frustration, I release the bar after my set and shake my hands and feet out. She is doing my head in.

  I push myself until my exertion has me almost in a crippled mess. I push myself until there is nothing left and my mind can stop thinking about her. I push myself until all I can do is stare at the ceiling above me and wonder how the fuck I ever got in so deep with a girl who I only ever kissed. I close my eyes and mentally kick my own arse. You fell for her long before that. You were just too busy being a manwhore to realise it. I kick my arse for not jumping on a plane and following her. That would have made her believe in us.

  I sit up and lift my shirt to my face to wipe the sticky sweat away from my brow and neck. My hair clings to the side of my face in an annoying reminder to get it cut. Something for them to hold onto—apparently except for the one you want. My shirt itches against my skin from the heat so I pull it up and over my head, reaching for my water bottle that is on the floor beside me. Taking a deep swig, I let the water cool my throat and I swish it around my mouth. I wipe my face again with my shirt and am about to take another drink when I hear a muffled, “Oomph.” near the door.

  I peer behind the fabric of my shirt to find a frazzled Hazel standing awkwardly by the door, gripping the wooden frame with her hands. Is she holding on? The very person who fucks with my head is in my house again. I’m about to greet her when her eyes begin to roam down my chest and linger. She shuffles on the spot as her teeth gnaw on her bottom lip and my chest tightens. Is she checking me out? Why is she so quiet?

  I watch in avid fascination as she snaps out of her stare and awkwardly clears her throat.

  “Hey, Robbie … didn’t know you were her … here.”

  I smile as her tell-tale deep blush makes a special appearance. I lift my outer leg over the bench to turn and face her. Standing up, I make a point to wipe my shirt along my chest and smile when her eyes track each movement. So, she’s not so immune after all.

  “What are you doing here, Farfalla?”

  Her gaze flicks away from my chest as her shocked stare clashes with mine. “We’re we … we were just practising our root … um … routine.

  “I get that, but what are you doing here, Farfalla?”

  “You’ve called me that before.” She steps into the room, fumbling with her hands, and I feel a surge of pride as I wait for her to remember.

  “When?” My tone demands.

  “At the bonfire … you, ah … you stopped that guy from coming near me. Remember?” Her eyes gaze into mine, and in an instant, I remember standing in front of a scared girl who I wanted to protect more than anyone else. A girl who once sang a song so painfully raw that I wanted to burst into the room and hold her. A girl who had captivated me for years and weaved herself into the tapestry of my skin.

  “You have nothing to fear. You deserve to be cherished, Farfalla. No man I know is worthy of you.” She nodded, too stunned to speak as my hand lingered against her cheek.

  I’d been right then, and I am still right now. No man is worthy of her. But as I stare back at the most beautiful woman who makes me wild, and into her emerald lustful gaze encased by the longest lashes I have ever seen, I realise that I can never give her up. She was born for me. It makes me even more determined to win her over and make her mine.

  It’s now or nothing.

  I drop my sodden shirt on the floor and swagger over to her, watching her eyes widen as my steps draw me near. She moves slightly, causing her back to stand against the wall like a caged bird. No more flying away.

  “Do you know what Farfalla means?”

  She gulps and nods. Barely over a whisper, she blurts out. “Butterfly.”

  I step closer to her, mesmerised by how fucking gorgeous she is. The rise and fall of her chest heats my blood, and my tired, worn body feels rejuvenated with a charge of life. She looked the meaning up. She wanted to know me.

  “It does mean butterfly. To me, you are soft, delicate and beautiful. Fragile and in need of protection.”

  She sighs and shivers. Her eyes are hooded as she runs the tip of her tongue along the corner of her bottom lip. If that isn’t an invitation to go to her, then I don’t know what is. I lean forward, placing a hand on her cheek and gently touch her lips with mine. Her body instantly relaxes. I feel her beginning to respond—but I don’t take it further. I kiss her once more softly, savouring the taste of her lips. Leaning back, I run my thumb over her cheekbone as her wary eyes watch me. I brush a loose curl of her silken hair behind her ear, memorising each feature of her wanton gaze. This moment can either make or break us, and I want to remember each feature, from her pouty lips, to the gentle freckles across her nose, and those deep green eyes, forever. This, if it all turned to shit, she can’t take from me.

  “Hazel,” I whisper, as my hand lingers behind her ear, “I will wait for you.”

  I release my hand and step away from her, turning towards the door. Each step causes a sharp pain in my chest. I exit the room and aim for the bathroom to shower and wash the heat from my skin.

  I push open the bathroom door and look over my shoulder to find her standing there with her fingers against her lips, her brows squishing together. “You’re not ready now, Farfalla, but when you are, come and get me.”

  I step into the room and close the door behind me, leaning my back against it. I tip my head against the wood and listen to the movement outside the door. Nothing. I clench my eyes shut for a moment and let the breath that I’m holding out, vibrating through my lips. All I can do is hope that I’ve read those signals right. Only time will tell, but in the meantime, why do I feel as if I’ve dangled my balls to sharks?

  “In the end, what we regret most are the chances we never took.”

  Frasier Crane

  HAZEL

  Oh. My. God.

  What just happened?

  Those warm dark eyes, hot with lust, those full lips … that smile was known for ruining girls’ hearts back in high school, and who could blame them? All I wanted to do was wrap myself around him like a vine. His shoulders are bigger, I don’t think my hands can fit around them and his chest is carved like marble. I want to run my fingers down and trace the deep indentations of his V. Yes. I know which direction his V is pointing. Right in this moment, staying away from him is becoming harder and harder.

  My lips still taste of him. My heart still pounds for him. For years, I thought he was unattainable, but now, now not anymore. I won’t be on the outside looking in as he dates those nameless faces. I will be the one who tastes him, touches him. But I need a clear head to make my plan work. I can sing in front of crowds that fill entertainment theatres, yet watching him work out, the sweat beading down his chest made the ache between my legs throb like never before. It’s a constant pulse, a beacon that sings only for him. One look at him and my tongue is rendered futile, a wasted muscle. One look at his lips and I want him to desperately wake mine up over and over.

  I clench my thighs together and congratulate myself for not busting through that bathroom door. I want to, but not now. Now, I need to follow Trin’s plan. He makes me want to break down every wall I’ve ever built and pulverise it.
A smile breaks across my face as my cheeks heat. So long, naive and gutless girl, you have wasted far too long not going for what you have always wanted while cramping up my brain. Oh Robbie, wait until you see what I have in store for you. Patience, my love.

  I push my shoulders back and quickly run up the stairs to find Trice on the patio standing in our ‘showgirl’ pose. Her feet are together, with one knee bent slightly over the other, while her arms are by her side with flexed hands. For our final number, we’ve based it more on Trice’s dancing ability rather than my voice. She is going to be amazing on stage. For now though, I need some time alone.

  “Hey Trice, I’m going to head home if that’s okay?”

  She straightens and smiles at me. “Of course. I’ll meet you at the club at around five-ish. Sound good?”

  “Perfect,” I reply, trying desperately not to look too eager to leave.

  “I think tomorrow is going to go off like a bang.” She grins, a wicked gleam twinkling back at me. “In more ways than one.”

  I gasp as she winks at me. “You really are a cheeky minx.”

  “Call me a bitch, Hazel. Please, I dare you!” she teases, knowing that I would never do that.

  “I will see you tomorrow.” Turning, I avoid watching her shoulders shake from her giggles. Rolling my eyes, I head out to my car with a knowing smile on my face, mentally crossing my fingers and toes. I hope it will indeed, go off with a bang … in a good way.

  Riding in a tram on the way back to my apartment, I enjoy the freedom of not having to use my car. It was still the same Jeep that I was given in my final year of high school from my father as a ‘Sorry I don’t have time to interact with you’ present, and driving it around felt like I was accepting his cheap parenting imitation gift. Our parents used materialistic gifts to show us any affection. Stupidly, as a teenager I indulged them by accepting the gifts they gave. Now, instead of using the Jeep, I left it in the underground parking lot of my apartment complex. I would have rather it had stayed with my father. Moving back meant that I needed to become independent. I was worth something. I was worth more than a gift to make up for being ignored. If only I could do that with a new roof over my head also.