Scarred Love

by M. S. Brannon

  Reggie leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine, then cups my face in his hands. I’m instantly drowning in his aqua blue pools. The gaze captivates me and my heartbeat begins to accelerate. Feelings of more than his safety start to invade me and I can’t look away. These are the feelings I’ve been pushing away because I’m too scared to allow myself to feel them, but suddenly the safe around my heart is cracked and Reggie has stolen that part of me. A part I will never get back. I look away from his eyes and glance down at his lips. They are lightly surrounded by the day’s stubble and poised very close to mine. Like lightening to my core, electricity strikes my body and I want him to kiss me. I want to feel his lips touching mine. Reggie’s shoulder length, golden hair brushes against my face. He begins to move forward and we are about to cross that bridge. I close my eyes and hold my breath, bracing myself for the sensation of my first kiss. However he moves north, placing a kiss on my forehead. After letting out a deep sigh, he gets up and disappears out of my room. I’m left feeling a different kind of love for Reggie and the feeling is maddening.

  Reggie

  I leave Darcie’s room and walk across the hall to my office. I shut the door behind me, sit at my desk, and stare at the computer screen. The numbers haunt me. They are a constant reminder of what’s looming over me if I don’t pay. It’s either pay or lose Darcie. Maybe that’s why I held her the way I did.

  I won’t ever forget the moment my love for her changed. It was a subtle moment, but it will always be the moment my feelings were left spinning on an axis, out of control. We were all sitting outside, enjoying the warm summer day. Jake was manning the grill while Drake, Jeremy and I were head first under the hood of Jeremy’s Challenger. When I stood up to stretch, my eyes instantly went to Darcie. She was leaning against a large oak tree in the backyard. The sketch pad was propped on her bare knees and she was lost in her art. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, illuminating the sky, and as the bright rays lit her face, Darcie laid her pencil down, closed her eyes, and then lifted her face to bask in the warmth of the sun.

  She looked so incredibly beautiful, angelic. When Darcie’s eyes met mine, my world stopped. A large smile spread across her face and I mimicked my grin to hers. Before I realized it, my feet were moving toward her, like a magnet to metal, I couldn’t have stopped them if I tried. When I crouched down, the desire to kiss her was intense. I tore my eyes from hers and focused on the picture resting on her knees instead. “Wow, that’s incredible.”

  “Thanks,” Darcie replied, but I honestly have no idea what she was drawing. My mind could only focus on her lips and how the feeling of them pressed against mine would be.

  I looked back up at her and lifted my hand to her cheek. Not sure what I was doing, I lightly swiped the pad of my thumb across her bottom lip. Holy shit! What am I doing? I quickly stood and told her something about food on her lip, then bolted for the back door. That day, my heart filled with a longing it’s never felt before, and instantly, I realized Darcie is the green-eyed women that I love.

  From that moment to this, it’s all I can do to contain myself. My body aches to kiss her, to feel her against mine. Darcie has transformed into a woman full of love, passion and so much life. A woman who has come miles from where she was three years ago and has turned into a phenomenal person.

  Hunching my shoulders forward, I put my hands over my face, letting out a deep sigh. When I heard her screaming on the living room floor, I was immediately transported to that night. The night Darcie Claiborne came into my life. It’s a sound I’d never heard before, an agonizing scream of desperation and pain. It still haunts me today.

  When she came into our house, every time she’d go to sleep the nightmares would invade. I lost a lot of sleep that first year. The only thing I could do to calm her down was to cradle her. Darcie would plant her nose in my chest, taking deep breaths before I could let her go. At first, I would hold her for hours because she never wanted me to leave. I was lost. I had been taking care of my brothers for years before my mom died, but Darcie was different. I had no idea how to care for a girl. Shit, I was only twenty-four.

  I wasn’t sure what I could do for her, but I knew she couldn’t stay in that home. The authorities are useless in this town and I feared she would have been taken back to that hell hole. Then he came into the picture, and I did the only thing I could to save her, save my family. I made a deal with the devil and it’s been costing me ever since.

  Chapter 5

  Darcie

  After an hour of sulking in my room, I manage to make my way back to the kitchen. I’m greeted by everyone in the house, everyone except for Reggie. He’s nowhere to be found. All I can think about is the affectionate exchange we shared just an hour before. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little hurt that he’s not in the kitchen with the others.

  Jeremy looks up from his phone, widens his eyes and gives me a concerned look. I shake my head slightly, letting him know I’m fine. Jake looks over in my direction and examines me like I’ve grown an extra head. Then, carefully, he approaches, giving a gentle pat to my upper arm. “Ah…sorry about that, Darcie.”I wave at Jake, showing him I accept his apology.

  Drake walks around Presley who’s pressed up against his side, looking a little edgy from today’s ordeal. He rubs my back for a moment, giving me a tender kiss to the top of my head. “Feeling better, sis?”

  I push away from him and shout, “God! Why is everyone treating me like I’m fucking broken?” I flip my arms up in the air and let out an exaggerated sigh. I hate when they worry about me, I can’t stand to be coddled. “I freaked out. Yes, it’s weird. Yes, it’s been a year since I’ve done it, and no, I don’t want to talk about it. So can you all stop the touchy-feely bullshit and act like the douche bags I love?”

  They all let out boisterous laughs and carry on with their visiting. I walk over to the sink, filling a glass with water and taking long, gulping drinks. I overhear Jake and Jeremy talking about a new guy in town who claims he can smoke Jeremy’s Challenger in a drag race. Apparently, he’s heard about Jeremy’s reputation for racing and wants nothing more than to make it history. Jake and Jeremy are huge on the Sulfur Heights drag race scene because, from the moment they entered their first race, Jeremy has smoked his opponents every time. Jake nominated himself as Jeremy’s official road dog and has always accompanied him for every race, everyone except his very last race.

  It’s been six months since Jeremy’s accident. The last race was too close of a call. Jeremy rolled his Mustang after his opponent ran him off the road. That was one of the scariest moments of my life, watching my brother flip six times down a steep embankment. Luckily for Jeremy, he was able to walk away with a concussion, a broken arm, gashes to his head and a dislocated shoulder. I would hate for Jeremy to get seriously injured or worse because of some jerk trying to prove how macho he is.

  “Hey Jer, are you going race again?” I ask, trying to keep the alarm out of my voice.

  “I don’t know. I guess, we’ll see.” Jeremy shrugs.

  The sight of seeing Jeremy practically incapacitated in the front seat of his Mustang flashes through my mind. He was sitting in the car, cradling his arm, moaning as the agonizing pain overtook his body. Blood was coating his face from the large cut above his eye. To this day, I have never seen Jake snap the way he did that night. Once the victor passed the finish line, Jake made a dead sprint to his car, opening the car door with such force I thought he was going to rip it off the hinges. Jake then powered back, leaned in, and laid a fierce strike to the driver’s jaw. Blow after blow, punctuating every curse word that was pouring out of Jake’s mouth while he was ripping this guy to shreds. It took Reggie, Drake and myself to peal Jake away from the driver who was left in a bloody heap in his front seat. The scene that played out that night is something I never want to witness again.

  Jeremy gets out of his seat and pushes out the backdoor, heading to the garage. I look over to Jake and Drake and plead, “Ple
ase talk him out of racing. Both of you know how lucky he got the last time.” Jake bows his head, remembering that awful night. He lets out a deep sigh while shaking the thoughts from his mind. He walks out of the back door toward the garage in a very un-Jake fashion…speechless. Drake’s hulking form slumps forward slightly as he tails Jake outside.

  Presley and I are left in the kitchen, sharing an awkward silence, when I realize she probably thinks we are a bunch of drama seeking misfits. Granted, she’s seen what our family is like on a regular basis with the fighting, cursing and psychotic episodes, but I’m getting the feeling it’s the exact opposite of what she deals with at home. I grab her by the wrist and start to pull her out of the kitchen. She begins to recoil her arm until she comprehends I’m leading her back to my bedroom; soda and chips in tow.

  Presley sits down on the bed while I curl up in the papasan chair, cracking open my Coke. The sweet, fizzy syrup tastes like Heaven as it saturates my throat. I let out a small man-sized burp and giggle at my disgusting behavior. Presley’s face cringes at the sound of my gassy outburst and then moves forward to lie on her stomach, snagging a handful of chips in the process.

  I hate talking about my past. I have yet to exploit the horrific life I led prior to living with the Evans brothers. However, a part of me feels I owe her some sort of explanation for the disturbing show I starred in.

  “About earlier…” I can’t form the words, so I shut down. She sits up on the bed and looks at me with inquiring eyes. “And I really don’t plan on telling you about it, yet I don’t want you to think I’m some spazzed-out freak. Honestly, I really don’t care what you think.” I’m feeling vulnerable and getting defensive when she’s done nothing to me to question her intentions. My protective armor is in true form. It’s shielding her away from my truth.

  “It’s really okay, Darcie. I understand,” she says as the concern washes over her face. Presley carries a look I haven’t seen in a person for a long time. She has a look of integrity resonating in her brown eyes. My gut is telling me I can trust her, but instincts automatically want to push her away.

  Trustworthy or not, I follow my instincts and give her the first honest answer that pops into my mind. “I guess you could say I have Daddy issues.” A half smile pulls across my face and I soon hide it by taking another large guzzle of my soda. In desperate need of changing the subject, I gear the conversation away from me. “So…looks like you’re stuck with me. What do you want to do tonight? You’re staying over, aren’t you?’

  “Yeah, if that’s okay?” I nod my head while shoving chips in my mouth. “But I thought we’re going to The Slab with the others?” Presley asks.

  “Reggie’s cool with us going there, and most of the time lets us drink, but he won’t let anyone under aged in the bar unless they have a decent fake ID. He could probably score you one, but it may take a few weeks.”

  Presley gets off the bed and grabs a wallet from her school bag, removing a plastic card from its protective sleeve and hands it to me. “Will this work?”

  I examine the fake ID, mimicking in my best southern bell accent, “This should work mighty fine, Ms. Vargas. Now, let’s get ready.” Then I whisk her into my closet as we prepare for a night at The Slab.

  Darcie ~ Age 7

  My body trembles as my doom waits. My vision has been taken when he put the blindfold over my eyes, then handcuffed my wrists to the banister, and pulled off the belt around his waist. I can’t see; I can only hear as he snaps the leather together.

  “…please, sir. I didn’t mean to drop the glass. P—P—Please,” I plead.

  My stepfather leans into my ear and breathes heavily. “You are probably the stupidest person I’ve met and I will teach you a lesson for every stupid thing you do, Margaret.”

  He yanks my shirt over my head, but doesn’t take it off; then he whips my naked skin with his leather belt. My knees fall as I feel the warm liquid run down my back. Why are you doing this? I want my mother. Why can’t she stop him? Why is she always sleeping? I hate my mother. I hate my mother. Can’t she hear me scream? He cracks my back again and I scream, unable to hold the pain inside.

  “Scream all you want, Margaret. Your mother knows what a fuck up you are. Why do you think she’s always taking those pills? It’s because you’re an embarrassment, that’s why!”

  My body starts to get tired and dizzy from the pain. My legs are really sleepy and I fall to my side, curling up in a ball. Then it’s over because I’m asleep.

  Chapter 6

  Darcie

  It’s nearing ten pm when Presley and I are ready to emerge from my bedroom. I can hear the groans from the boys; they’re growing impatient by the minute. Normally, I don’t go to these lengths for a night at The Slab, but something in me wants to dress a little sexier than my typical t-shirts and sneakers. Since my blood raising exchange with Reggie this afternoon, my body feels the need to get his attention.

  I’m wearing a form-fitting, off-the-shoulder, black shirt, black skinny jeans, red, four-inch stilettos, and my favorite hoop earrings. It’s simple yet sexy. My idea of sexy is to show off as little skin as possible. There is nothing attractive about a body riddled with scars. It only raises questions, not erections.

  However, I discover Presley has a talent for styling hair. In no time, she pulls my thick, raven hair back into a loose French braid, which comes around to lie across my bare shoulder. Small wisps of hair fall loose from the braid, framing my face. I may have to recruit her to do my hair on a regular basis.

  Presley is a little tougher to dress, considering her four-feet-eleven inches and a size zero frame. Unlike my child bearing hips, she has very little shape to her body; the girl is stick thin. She keeps on her black skinny jeans, and I’m able to find clothes that used to fit me a couple of years ago in the back of my closet. I pull out a black and purple button-up shirt—which flatters her nonexistentcurves—black heels, and another pair of large hoop earrings. She leaves her hair completely down, but twists her bangs back out of her face, securing them with a bobby pin.

  We each sport black and gray smoky eyes, black eyeliner, and light pink lip gloss. I spritz us with my favorite perfume, which has a light scent of vanilla. We’re ready to stalk down the hallway, preparing to show the boys why it took so long for us to get ready.

  Drake’s jaw practically comes unhinged when he notices Presley. She tries to hide behind me, obviously not comfortable being the center of a man’s attention, but I give her a little nudge to stand beside him. She drinks Drake in, slowly moving her eyes from the floor to meet his chocolate brown depths, lighted with a hint of passion. Drake’s wearing loose fitting, dark jeans, his favorite Detroit Lions t-shirt—which is tight enough to accent his newly formed muscles—and sneakers with his Lions ball cap turned backwards. He leans down and whispers something in Presley’s ear. I don’t know what he said, but from the way her face ignited, I’m sure it was pleasing.

  Jake is also eyeballing me with confusion. “What’s with the clothes?”

  He really knows how to frustrate me to no end. “Decided to dress up. Do you have a problem with that?” I snap and roll my eyes in aggravation. I look over to Jake and notice he’s wearing what he had on at school; blue jeans, red hooded sweatshirt, and black ball cap. Jeremy shakes his keys, getting everyone’s attention. We pile into the Challenger and make our way to The Slab, about twenty minutes south of our house. When we pull in the parking lot it’s packed with classic cars and motorcycles. Jeremy parks the Challenger in our VIP spot next to Reggie’s 1980 Chevy Camaro Z28. I readjust my shirt, making sure it’s all in the right place then sling my arm inside Presley’s.

  There is a small line at the door, and I take the opportunity to provide some advice to Presley before we walk in. “The bar is packed tonight and, from the looks of the parking lot, there are a lot of bikers and drag racers here. This equates to overgrown men comparing how big their dicks are. They can get a little…unruly.” I don’t want to freak her out,
but she needs to know this crowd gets very rowdy after a few drinks. “Just don’t leave Drake or my side, okay?”

  Presley nods her head and cinches her arm tight around mine. Jake leads the way, flashing Big Mike his ID, and we all follow suit. Big Mike eyes Presley, knowing she’s not even close to being of age. He’s in his mid-thirties and always has atypical biker look; long, stringy hair, ZZ Top beard and a black dew rag tied around his head. He’s sporting a leather vest, dark, loose, blue jeans and ass-kicking motorcycle boots. Big Mike looks at her ID and gives me an are you kidding me glare before allowing us to enter the bar.

  Walking in, I inhale a deep breath; ingesting the smells of cigarette smoke, booze, sweat and grease. To the left of the entrance is the bar. The cherry wood stretches almost the entire length of the room and has all assortments of liquor stacked on mirrored shelves behind the bar. Stainless steel and black leather stools line the counter and every seat is full with patrons. Behind the bar, I see the weekend bartenders Michelle and Gavin plus the man I came to see, Reggie. Only on really busy nights does he mix drinks and fill glasses. Normally, Reggie’s walking around making sure everything is copasetic.

  I stop instantly in my tracks. Since the age of fourteen I’ve only really noticed his aqua blue eyes. I was mesmerized by their gaze, never allowing myself to look beyond them, but now, after my heart has been unleashed from its cage, I’m noticing the very gorgeous man before me. Reggie’s golden hair is tucked behind his ears and a five o’clock shadow has formed across his well-defined, chiseled jaw. Reggie’s black t-shirt accents the muscular form hidden underneath. Tattoos across his arms move with every contraction of his muscle. I’ve seen him with his shirt off plenty of times, but was always too embarrassed to really look at him. Now, I want nothing more than to see his bare naked physique. Holy shit!