Bittersweet Symphony (The Damaged Souls series Book 2)

by Belinda Boring

  “It’s like I don’t even recognize him anymore. How could he have changed so much? Why is he so angry when he was the one who ended it?”

  Tears trailed over my cheek. I was tired of crying, of feeling torn, of being at war with my head and my heart.

  “He’s angry because he knows he made a mistake, but instead of stepping up and admitting that, he fell back into old habits. Marty and I have talked about it. Cooper’s acting exactly like he did a few years ago. It’s his go-to mindset whenever life gets too much for him. Alcohol becomes his crutch . . . his voice.”

  “It hurts so much,” I confessed, shuddering against her. “I don’t want to hate him, but what if that’s the only way to escape this feeling?” Placing a hand over my heart, I searched for an answer. “All I want to do is hold him tight until whatever’s poisoning him disappears. But in the next breath, I want to shake him so hard that his eyes rattle inside his head. I sound crazy from constantly changing my mind about him. I feel guilty like I'm giving up on him when he needs me the most but angry for even thinking that because I've done nothing wrong.”

  “The only person who can help Cooper is Cooper.”

  Standing there, hearing him still outside, all I could do was nod.

  I just didn’t know if he cared enough about himself to ask for it.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Cooper

  She’d closed the door, turning her back on me. Staring at where she’d been only moments before, I didn’t know what to do—whether I should accept defeat or fight for her . . . for us.

  “Time to go home, Coop.”

  Turning around, I wasn’t surprised to find Marty there, keys in his hands, my designated babysitter.

  “I don’t need your help,” I growled, knowing that if I moved even a fraction, this would all become too real.

  I’d acted like an asshole and became the very person I’d vowed to never become again.

  Scrunching my brow, I shook my head and glanced back to the house. How did I end up here? Oh yeah, I remembered. After the girls had left, and Marty had smoothed things over with the guy I’d pummeled in a jealous rage, I’d gone down the street to a different bar and drowned my sorrows with whatever alcohol I’d managed to get my hands on. There’d been no pacing myself, no taking it easy.

  Had I not gotten it into my head to go plead my case to Caylee, I would’ve kept on drinking until one of two things happened: I either passed out in a whiskey stupor, or I keeled over dead from becoming too toxic, poisoning my kidneys.

  That wasn’t what I was confused about.

  How had I screwed everything up so badly? How had I slipped back into fear, giving free range to paralyzing doubt and paranoia? In my head, it had made sense at the time. My intentions were good. But waking up to find myself choking Caylee and then the ugly, raw bruises circling her throat . . . it had flipped a switch inside me.

  No. It went further back then that. If I was truly honest with myself, those fears had always been in play—from the moment I first lowered my guard and imagined her mine. That was the starting point where I realized I had so much to lose. I knew that some day—one day—I would prove those insecurities right and fuck up. It was never an if but a when.

  That was my biggest mistake.

  “I’ve lost her, haven’t I?” I whispered, my shoulders hunching forward with the weight of the world.

  “We can talk about it tomorrow when you’ve sobered up.” Gripping my arm, Marty tried to guide me back to the car. My feet tripped over themselves. “Things are always better in the morning.”

  He was placating me, talking to me like I was some rebellious child he had to parent.

  I shrugged out of his grasp, unable to control the way my arm flew out nearly striking him. “Don’t give me that bullshit. It’s never going to be okay. My life is over.”

  Marty didn’t even blink. Instead, he continued to the car and opened the door, shoving me inside. Staring at him as he slid into the driver’s seat, I wondered how long it would be until I pissed him off as well. Judging by the way his jaw clenched, the muscle twitching from the strain, I guessed it wouldn’t take much longer.

  “I don’t want to go home. Let’s go back to the bar. I need more to drink so I can forget all this.” I didn’t wait to see if he’d obey. As the car picked up speed, the blurring scenery outside made my head pound and throb. If I wasn’t careful, my gut would empty and Marty would have another thing to bust my ass over.

  I must’ve dozed off, because when I came to, I wasn’t where I wanted to be. The bastard had driven me home—the house dark. Bryce’s car was missing from the driveway.

  “What the fuck are we doing here?” I croaked, my voice ragged from the yelling I’d done earlier. “Don’t mess me with. I need to drown the noise in my head, man. Not sit alone in the silence.”

  “You’re exactly where you need to be.”

  It was infuriating how calm Marty was as he appeared at my door and attempted to heft me out. Now, he was pissing me off.

  “Can you fucking leave me alone? I can get out of the goddamn car by myself without your help.”

  To his credit, Marty didn’t even crack a smile as I face planted into the grass by the curb, having misjudged the step and tripping. He didn’t bother dragging me up, opting instead to stand back and witness my humiliation as I cursed loudly in frustration.

  “Do I need to walk you inside and tuck you into bed, Coop?” Marty drawled, clearly enjoying himself.

  “You’re a fucking prick,” I retorted, glaring at him.

  “And you’re a mean drunk. Sleep it off, man. We can talk tomorrow.” Jingling his keys in his hand, Marty paused to see if I’d at least head in the right direction.

  I suddenly had a better idea, not ready to go inside.

  “You know what? Fuck you.” And with that, I shoved him as hard as I could. I was itching for a fight, to find an outlet for the rage burning a hole in my chest. Nothing had gone as I’d planned. Everything had been blown out of proportion.

  I needed someone to blame.

  “You don’t want to do this with me, Cooper,” Marty warned, stepping toward me without fear, hands clenched by his side. “Do us all a favor and sober up.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do. You’re not my fucking mother!”

  “You’re right. I’m not. That’s why I’m telling you straight . . . you’re acting like an idiot and if you’re not careful, you’re going to end up alone because no one will want to be around you . . . not like this.”

  I closed the distance between us, breathing heavy. “Is that right? Is that how you all feel?”

  “Wake up! You lost your shit tonight and terrified Caylee! Remember her? She’s the girl you’re meant to love and protect, but instead, you’ve shown her the ugliest side of you. I just found you at her house, trying to break her door down!”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” I repeated, my voice low and menacing. “And get out of my face before I move you.”

  Sadness swept over his features. “Do you hear yourself? Are you seriously threatening me . . . your best friend? I’ve stood by your side through it all. I’ve shown patience when I thought I had nothing left to give. I will fight to the death for you because, to me, you’re my family. But don’t push me, Cooper. There’s only so much shit someone can take before they break.”

  “Then go the fuck away. I don’t need you playing Jiminy fucking Cricket in my ear.” When he didn’t budge, I cocked back my arm, keeping it there as a threat. “I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

  I saw the second something inside Marty’s eyes flipped. “Is that what you’re wanting? Someone to blame?” He didn’t need me to say anything. He knew. Taking the next move, Marty’s fist shot out, finding its target. Pain radiated through my jaw, my teeth gnashed and I bit my tongue. A coppery tang filled my mouth.

  Spitting the blood out, I staggered forward, ready to retaliate. “Fuck you!” But no matter how hard I swung, I was clear
ly disadvantaged—Marty was stone cold sober and I was a slobbering fool.

  “If it’s going to make you feel better, let’s go,” Marty taunted, gesturing for me to advance. “Or, you can grow the hell up, go inside, and sleep this shit off.”

  We stood there, no one making the first move.

  Inside me, everything spiraled further and further into darkness.

  “I don’t need you.”

  “As your best friend I beg to differ.”

  “News flash, asshole. Owen died and, the last time I checked, I wasn’t holding interviews for the position.” It was a shitty thing to say—spiteful—but I was beyond caring at this point.

  “You know what, Coop? I’m done.”

  Feeling the first flicker of sobriety, I watched him leave, silently cursing the fact I was no longer numb. There was no way in hell I wanted to feel right now.

  I had a date with the bottle of bourbon I kept just for these kinds of emergencies.

  Tonight, I would drown myself in oblivion.

  ****

  Almost three-quarters of the bourbon later, the option left for me became clearer. I was a hindrance to everyone—leaving a path of destruction in my wake. As each minute passed—each long pull straight from bottle—I found fewer reasons to continue breathing. My mood spiraled until the only place left was to splatter against rock bottom.

  I knew I caused my parents heartache, inducing countless sleepless nights as they worried and prayed, hoping against hope that their son would find his way again.

  There was no mistaking the way my brother watched me when he thought I wouldn’t notice, the way he would sometimes carefully word his questions in hopes of catching a glimpse of something behind my crafted façade to the truth behind.

  Tonight . . . well, no amount of ignorance could hide the epic failure with Marty and Caylee. I’d be lucky if they ever talked to me again.

  With each pathetic swallow, I fumed, muttering about how I didn’t give a fuck what they thought about me—how they hadn’t lived my life or endured what I had. Maybe if they’d gone to war and seen the absolute horrors I had, having watched friends die at the hands of strangers, maybe then they’d show me a little more compassion and understanding. But that was the thing about alcohol, it could be your best friend and also your most brutal and honest critic. It only hid reality for the briefest of moments before breaking that illusion, revealing the harsher truths even the bravest of people cringed over.

  I’d kicked open my bedroom door, hell-bent on self-medicating—of turning to the only thing I could trust—and it had failed me

  I felt worst.

  With that, I knew. It was entirely my fault. There was no one to blame—no one to step in and rescue me from myself—no one to come and kiss it all better.

  I was no longer the child with tear-stained cheeks, a grazed knee or elbow that needed some tender loving care from my mother. She couldn’t always be there to fix things and, frankly, it killed me knowing the pain I’d already forced on her.

  I’d poisoned everything that ever really mattered.

  It was time to accept that there was no fixing what was broken inside me; no cleansing the rot that festered in my soul. I was an empty shell of a man—not worth the effort.

  It should’ve been me who died on that street in Afghanistan. God had gotten it wrong by taking the better solider, friend, and person. Owen would never have screwed his life up so completely. He sure as hell wouldn’t have fucked things up with Caylee to the point where she no doubt regretted ever meeting him.

  “Why?” I yelled out, alcohol dripping from my lips after my hasty sip. “Why the fuck didn’t you just let me die? It should’ve been me. All I’ve done is make a mess of my life, so come on!” I abruptly stood from where I sat at the edge of my bed and turned as if God would somehow miraculously appear. “Finish me off! Correct your mistake. Strike me the fuck down and put me out of my misery!”

  Nothing.

  No vision.

  No voice.

  Not even some small pathetic sign others talked about when they prayed.

  I was truly forsaken—abandoned by the one Being that was meant to give a shit about me, the one entity that supposedly cared for His children and intervened on their behalf.

  Nothing.

  I was so worthless that even God deemed me below His notice.

  I crumpled back to the bed, my thoughts running wild. Each one grew louder and louder, until the silence was deafening. Draining the bottle, I tossed it angrily at the wall. I didn’t care when it made a large hole. My mind was already made up; it was now or never.

  If God didn’t give a shit about me, why should I?

  In fact, maybe it was a mercy.

  It was my mess to clean up. At least now those I loved could move on with their lives, free of my bullshit. Sure, it would hurt at first, but eventually they would realize that they were better off with me gone. They could be happy. They could stop worrying. They could start living their own lives without the constant presence of my problems.

  The room begun to spin. I’d hit my limit. It was the courage I needed to do what I should’ve done when I first woke up in that hospital in Germany.

  I’d allowed myself to get talked out of it.

  I’d listened to nurses, doctors, therapists, and later, family.

  I’d tried for them.

  I’d given it my best shot.

  I’d actually thought I was succeeding, that by meeting Caylee and allowing myself to let her in, that I would be a success story and not a statistic.

  That had been a colossal mistake on my part. All I’d done was delay the inevitable.

  Reaching for the top drawer of my dresser, I knew what I’d find. I’d placed it there when I’d first moved in with my brother. I always kept a few bullets in the chamber for such an occasion. I’d like to think that it was my way of tempting fate—of saying, See? I could kill myself right now, but I’m giving life one more chance to prove me wrong. But even now as I removed the gun, I saw that it was simply a game I played.

  All roads would’ve led to this moment.

  Even with Caylee.

  I just hoped that one day she could forgive me.

  “One last chance, asshole,” I blurted, raising my hand so the barrel of the gun rested under my chin.

  The moment had arrived. It was either go big or go home. If there was even a God and He loved me, then this would be the perfect time for him to show me a miracle.

  The disappointment felt bitter in my mouth. It was just like I thought.

  I was alone.

  I’d tried and failed.

  I shoved all thoughts from my mind—images of how my family and friends might react when they heard the news. I was doing this for them. I was sparing them.

  But most of all, I was just too damn tired.

  There was no escaping this Hell, the prison I’d created for myself.

  I closed my eyes, squeezing the trigger.

  Click.

  Nothing.

  I squeezed again.

  Click.

  Nothing.

  Again.

  Nothing.

  The fucking chamber was empty.

  I couldn’t even do this right.

  “Why?” I murmured as waves of nausea crashed over me. “Why can’t you just fucking let me die?”

  I stumbled to the bathroom. I didn’t think as I filled the glass on the counter with water, and then emptied the pain medicine into my hand, I swallowed them all.

  One way or another, tonight would be my last night on earth.

  With my last breath, I was done.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Cooper

  If this was Heaven, then the world had been sadly mistaken. Even before cracking my eyes open, I knew where I was—the familiar smells of a hospital filtering through the fog I was emerging from.

  The persistent beep of machines, the click as the pressure cuff around my arm activated . . . for a second, I wondered
whether everything had been a dream and I was just waking up from being shot on the street.

  But the pain in my body was different.

  In some ways, it was worse—the wound deeper.

  “How is he?” came the soft sound of my mother’s voice until I felt her rest a gentle hand on my forehead. “I don’t think I can take much more of this, Trevor. How can I help my sweet boy see that life will get better?” She sniffled as if holding back tears.

  Tears. She’d cried buckets of them on my behalf—because of me.

  I knew I should’ve opened my eyes and let them know I was awake, but I took the coward’s path and kept them closed. I wasn’t ready to see the disappointment and horror on her face. It was hard enough hearing it in her voice.

  “I don’t know, honey. I honestly don’t. I thought we’d passed beyond all this and that he’d finally found whatever he needed to be happy, but there’s something inside him, eating him away. Until he faces that and makes peace with it, there’s a good chance we’ll have more of this.” There was a slight shuffling of feet.

  “What if you and Bryce had gotten there late? What if Marty hadn’t called? What if?”

  “You can’t think like that, Heather. We got to him in time.”

  More tears and hushed whispers.

  In my minds eye, I could imagine her burying her face into my dad’s chest, his strong arms buoying her up as they found solace in each other. Growing up, I rarely saw them argue, the love they shared something of fairy tales and legends. It wasn’t that they were perfect or spent their entire marriage never disagreeing—they just didn’t let the small stuff overshadow the bond they had.

  To my parents, everything was the small stuff, things easily overcome by sticking together and relying on the strength each brought to their relationship.

  I’d once hoped Caylee and I would emulate their example and, maybe, we would’ve stood a chance had I been more like my father. I’d been the weakest link—clearly evident by where I now lay.

  She deserved better.

  They all did.

  “Remind me to thank Marty when he comes back. God, I can’t stop thinking about it.”