Perfectly Broken

by Prescott Lane

  “I hope I didn’t make you too late for work,” she said.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “THANKS FOR STARTING prep, Julia,” Peyton said, rushing through the back entrance. “Sorry I’m a little late.” Peyton threw on her apron and looked at the clock in the kitchen. The shop opened in ten minutes.

  “Some woman has been hanging out in front,” Julia said. “It’s a little creepy.”

  It wasn’t uncommon for drunks or addicts to wander around New Orleans, even among the high end shops on Magazine Street, particularly in the morning hours before businesses opened, still high from the night before. Some of them were just looking for food; some of them didn’t know where they were. And Peyton’s shop, the smell of freshly-baked pie, always seemed to draw a good number of them. She often wished she had a male employee to usher them away before opening, but with just Julia, it was up to Peyton to deal with them. Thankfully, most of the time it wasn’t too difficult. A leftover slice of pie and some encouragement to scoot down the road often did the trick.

  Peyton walked towards the front of her shop and stopped in her tracks, her blood pressure rising, as the woman outside stared back at her. It wasn’t a drunk or addict this time. And a male employee wasn’t going to help. A leftover piece of pie or encouraging words weren’t going to work, either — not for Heather, dressed all in black.

  Peyton unlocked the front entrance and stepped outside. “We’re closed.”

  “I’m not here for pie,” Heather said.

  “Then you should leave.”

  “Not until we have a little talk.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Peyton said. “He doesn’t want you. I know it must hurt, but let it go.”

  “Hurt?” Heather laughed. “You are so naive. You think you know him.”

  “I do know him.”

  “I don’t think so. I know things about Reed and his family I’m sure he hasn’t told you.”

  Peyton felt chills down her spine, something about that statement ringing true. “You came to my shop to tell me this? Do you realize how completely desperate you are?”

  “What do you know about Richard Langston?” Heather asked.

  “I’m not discussing Reed or his father with you.”

  “Richard made quite a few headlines when Reed was younger. Did he tell you about those during your pillow talk?”

  Peyton tried not to flinch, not wanting to give Heather any satisfaction, but knew she did. “Is this some desperate attempt to get Reed’s attention?”

  “I may not have his attention at the moment,” Heather snapped, “but that’s only temporary.”

  “I have his full, undivided attention, I assure you.”

  Heather paused and smiled. “He always comes back to my bed.”

  Peyton heard a nagging voice telling her that was possible. “Have you fucked any other girls in that bed lately? Because I don’t need to do that to keep his attention.”

  Heather whipped the inside of her hand across Peyton’s face, striking quickly and hard. “I have your attention now, don’t I?”

  Peyton staggered backwards then regained her balance, feeling a trickle of blood pour from her lip, the metal taste accelerating her heart rate, the lightning flashes storming back, attacking her body and mind, fierce and unrelenting, bringing her back to college, to the construction site, to the mounds of dirt. She dug her nails into her hand, trying to focus, only catching bits and pieces of Heather ranting. “Richard ... scandal.”

  Peyton wiped the blood from her lip, wanting to slap the smug look off of Heather’s face but too sick to do it, too trapped in the past, the monster blocking her present. “Sex ... public ... humiliated.” Heather kept going with a warning that Reed belonged to her, just as she belonged to him, and no “little pie girl” could ever change that. “He didn’t deny he’s like his father, did he?” Before Peyton could respond, Heather turned and slithered away.

  Peyton wiped her mouth and walked back inside, disgusted. She’d let Heather hit her and was too disabled — too broken — to fight back. She ran into the kitchen and vomited into the sink. Julia rushed towards her, offering her a towel, but Peyton swatted it away.

  She fired off a text to Reed. Meet me at my house. Now. Then she turned to Julia and took off her apron. “Open up the shop. I’ve got to take care of something.”

  * * *

  Reed dropped his work and raced to her house. He was quickly learning his seemingly modest girlfriend could be quite demanding. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. And he loved it. He pulled in front of her house and walked up the steps, wondering what she possibly had in mind this time. They’d done oral every which way, but if she wanted to repeat something, that was fine with him. Or maybe she had something even better planned; perhaps she’d gone to the doctor for birth control or her period was light enough for sex. He wouldn’t mind if their first time was that way. They’d certainly waited long enough.

  He blew through the front door, fully charged, surprised to find Quinn coming down the stairs. “I wouldn’t go up if I were you,” she cautioned.

  “What? Peyton texted me to come over.”

  Quinn continued down. “I still wouldn’t go up.”

  “What the hell is going on? Is Peyton OK?”

  “Not so much,” she said then disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Reed alone in the foyer, with no idea what was going on.

  But he wasn’t about to take relationship advice from Quinn. She could save her words of wisdom for Bret. He stormed up the stairs, two steps at a time, and flung open the door to Peyton’s bedroom, finding an entirely different scene than the one he’d left. Peyton sat on her bed, with an iPad on her lap, her head down with tears flowing down her cheeks. She looked like a disaster, sad and angry, worse than even after Gram died. He took a careful step into her room.

  “Baby, are you OK?” She didn’t answer. She didn’t even look up at him. He took another step in the room and thought he saw a cut on her bottom lip, crusted in dried blood. “Jesus, what’s wrong? What happened?” He took a few more steps, his head spinning in total confusion. Before he reached her, she flipped the iPad screen to him, his eyes landing on a headline from 15 years ago. Reed’s stomach flipped. He grabbed his neck and took a step back. “How did you ....”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said flatly. “You should have told me.”

  Reed took a moment to consider her words. “I should have? You make it sound like I had some obligation to tell you. I’m not sure I’m required to tell you all the horrible, embarrassing, bad things about my family.”

  Peyton looked at him in disbelief, pissed he’d dissected her words, that he had the nerve to get defensive at a time like this.

  He softened his approach. “Look, I thought about telling you lots of times.” He reached out to her bloody lip. “What the hell happened?”

  “That doesn’t matter, either,” she said, pulling away from him. “You didn’t tell me. I can’t trust you. I never could.”

  “Of course you can,” he said, reaching out again. “Let me look at that cut.”

  She pulled back again, sobbing. “I actually thought you loved me — that we could make a life together!”

  “We can,” Reed promised. “We will.”

  “No!” she snapped, an angry fire in her eyes. “Not after this! Not after keeping this from me!”

  He reached out his hand. “Baby, please, just let me explain.”

  “How can I ever believe another word out of your mouth? You said you wouldn’t lie to me.”

  “I didn’t lie. I just couldn’t tell you. And with your past, I didn’t really know how to tell you.”

  Peyton’s entire body tightened, every muscle tense. “I’m so stupid. I told you everything.”

  “I know you did,” Reed said, “and that means a lot to me.”

  “Just get out,” she said, her eyes drawn and sad. “We’re through.”

  “No, we’re not!” Reed fired back, panic setting int
o his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he was afraid — not walking the dark streets of New Orleans, not picking up Jeremiah in the projects, not riding out hurricanes. But he was afraid now. He felt his knees buckle. He closed his eyes, praying for a way to make this right, to fix it, that he somehow wouldn’t lose her. “Let me talk to you. Tell you everything. Give me a chance.”

  “You had your chance,” she said, looking back down at the iPad, “and you blew it.”

  “I didn’t blow anything!” he cried. “Why won’t you listen? You are not going to push me away. Not over this. I will not lose you over this.” Gram warned me you’d push me away.

  “You already did,” Peyton said coldly, glaring up at him. “Now get out.”

  “No!” Reed yelled.

  She threw her hands in the air. “What do you want from me? I gave you everything.”

  “Not everything,” Reed snapped.

  Peyton stormed off her bed towards him, stopping a mere inch from his face. “And thank God for that because then you would’ve fucked me twice.”

  Reed swallowed hard, her bloody lip in plain view, her sharp words like a dagger aimed at his heart. He saw her clenched fists and cold eyes, too. His eyes watered, and he turned away, damned if he’d cry in front of the only woman he ever loved — not like this, not now. It’s hopeless.

  He hustled down the stairs and found Quinn waiting in the foyer. He wondered whether he should’ve listened to her — to let Peyton cool down. But it was too late for second-guessing. It wouldn’t do any good now. The game was over.

  “Just give her some time,” Quinn said.

  Reed shook his head. “Take care of her for me.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  PEYTON SWITCHED TO autopilot. It was easier that way, and also less embarrassing. She refused to talk to Quinn or anyone else about what happened. She had no energy left to get into it all, to relive it again in words – that Reed hadn’t been fully honest; his father was garbage; his mother was a doormat; and perhaps, once again, she’d overreacted to a man who seemed to care for her, even love her.

  So she tried not to think about any of it, and talking about it wasn’t going to make it any better. She’d done so much talking with Quinn and Dr. Lorraine about her problems for so many years — exploring the reasons why she was broken, trying to come to terms with herself, and hoping to get better — and yet after all that talking, all that work, she now found herself alone again and even more broken than before — and broken-hearted, too.

  Her lip healed over the next few days, but she was still busted up, worn out, tired of fighting a losing battle, realizing at last she was never going to heal inside. It was like her scar had spread over her entire body. So she welcomed back her oversized shirts and baggy sweatpants and kept to herself, making sure to keep each day exactly the same — running in Audubon Park, working long hours at her shop, deleting Reed’s messages without listening to them, then returning home to her cotton pajamas. There was a certain comfort in that. She resolved she was done with talking, opening up, exploring, trusting, and all that other bullshit. There was no comfort in any of that. With a heavy heart, Peyton went to her usual Monday appointment, intent on making it her last.

  “It’s been a few weeks since we last met,” Dr. Lorraine said, noticing the frumpy clothes right away. “What’s been going on?”

  “I didn’t come to talk about any of that,” Peyton said, her eyes cast down. “I just came to thank you for trying so hard, fighting for me for so long.” Her voice cracked. “But I can’t fight anymore. I just wanted to say ‘bye.’”

  “OK,” Dr. Lorraine said flatly.

  Peyton looked up, surprised. “That’s it? You’re not going to try to convince me to stay?”

  “Nope.” Dr. Lorraine leaned back in her chair. “That’s not my job. It’s not my job to convince you to do anything.”

  “I guess I didn’t use the right words. You’re not going to tell me you want me to stay?”

  “What I want is for you to get better. I don’t want you coming here if you don’t want to.”

  “I don’t see the point in it anymore,” Peyton said softly. “I don’t think I can get better.”

  “OK.” Dr. Lorraine closed Peyton’s chart and leaned forward. “It’s been a long, hard road, and you’ve fought a good fight.”

  Peyton paused for a moment, knowing she had fought hard, that she gave it her best shot. “I’m just so tired,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “I’ve lost my parents, my grandfather, my body, Gram, and now Reed.” She pulled her knees to her chest and closed her eyes. “I just can’t do this anymore.” She suddenly felt a soft hand on her shoulder and looked up to see her therapist on her knees with open arms.

  “Come here, child.”

  Peyton fell into her arms, and Dr. Lorraine hugged her tightly, like Gram would have weeks ago, through the dark muck of pain and grief. And Dr. Lorraine did so without offering any cheap assurances or meaningless advice. “It will be OK” was not part of her vocabulary; she was too honest, too blunt, for that. Many of her patients had turned the corner and went on to lead rich, successful lives, but some others – those for whom life was just too much – were simply not able to and gave in to their grief. And at this moment, holding Peyton in her large hands, letting them speak for her, Dr. Lorraine frankly wasn’t sure which way Peyton would go. After so many years of work, she’d never seen Peyton so sad, her whole body sobbing.

  When the tears finally slowed, Peyton pulled back, more than a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry I’m having a pity party.”

  “Nonsense.” Dr. Lorraine smiled and handed her a tissue. “I’m just happy I was invited.”

  Peyton gave a slight laugh then wiped her face. “God, I went full force into the ugly cry.”

  “Crying is a beautiful thing. It releases pain and makes room for something new.”

  “I guess I’ve got lots of room now.”

  “You do.” Dr. Lorraine patted her patient’s knee then returned to her chair. “Do you still want to end our sessions?”

  Peyton bit her lip, considering. “Not really.”

  “Good, because we’re not finished yet. Plus, I’d miss you.”

  “I’d miss you, too.” Peyton dabbed her eyes. “You’ve always been with me.”

  “That’s my job.” Dr. Lorraine winked at her. “Let’s stop all this messing around and carrying on here.” She re-opened the chart. “You want to tell me what happened with Reed?”

  Peyton didn’t want to but knew she needed to. So she went through the funeral, beach trip, fight with Heather, and break-up with Reed. And all the while, Dr. Lorraine just listened intently, her hands perfectly folded on the chart.

  “Let’s just get this out of the way first,” Dr. Lorraine said. “This Heather person is a cunt. A big, fat cunt.” Peyton burst out laughing. “So if it’s OK with you, I don’t want to spend time talking about her. There’s nothing you can do about a cunt.”

  “That’s fine,” Peyton said, biting her tongue not to laugh again. “We don’t have to talk about her.”

  “Good, because I don’t have time for cunts. And sadly, child, they’re everywhere.” Dr. Lorraine waved her hands around. “Just all over the damn place.” Dr. Lorraine took a few deep breaths to settle herself. “Anyway, it’s Reed’s job to deal with Heather, not yours. We’ve got no time for her. I want to talk about Reed.”

  “He wasn’t honest with me,” Peyton said quickly. “I told him so many things, and he didn’t do the same. He even admitted he didn’t tell me because of my past. Obviously he thinks I’m damaged in some way — that I couldn’t handle it.”

  “How would you have handled it?” Dr. Lorraine asked. “If he’d told you himself?” Peyton looked away, having not thought about that. “And why didn’t you give him a chance to tell you his side? To explain?”

  “Because it wouldn’t have mattered,” she said simply. “I can’t trust him.”

  “Do you think he might
’ve been scared to tell you?”

  “Yes, but I was scared to tell him about my rape,” Peyton said, nodding her head to make the point, “and I did it anyway.”

  “Do you think he might’ve been scared you would’ve judged him?”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Peyton insisted. “Never.”

  “But you’re punishing him for something his father did?”

  “No, I’m punishing him for not being honest with me.”

  “Do you think Reed has made that distinction?” Dr. Lorraine sat up in her chair and looked directly at Peyton. “Or do you think he’s used to people making judgments about him because of his father?”

  Peyton shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “The sins of the father shall be visited upon the son,” Dr. Lorraine muttered to herself. “I think that’s in the Bible somewhere.”

  Peyton gave a confused look. “Huh?”

  “Honey, what was your first impression of Reed?”

  “A player.”

  “Right, he was what people expected him to be. And all the time protecting himself, never letting any woman get too close, hiding himself.”

  “No, I think he just liked a lot of women.”

  “He hides just like you hide.” Dr. Lorraine eyed her baggy clothes. “Peyton, are you scared of Reed? Do you think he’s like his father?”

  “Not at all. He’s patient and gentle and ....” She stopped, not wanting to focus on all she’d lost.

  “Do you think he’s keeping other secrets? Or lying to you about anything else?” Peyton opened her mouth quickly to answer, but Dr. Lorraine interrupted. “Now be honest with yourself.”

  “No, he’s a terrible liar. I’d know if he was.” Peyton thought for a moment. “So you think I was wrong?”

  “I think you should’ve listened to him, then decided. But you got scared and ran. Pushed him away.”

  Peyton stiffened her spine. “But he still wasn’t honest. How can I ever trust him?”

  Dr. Lorraine closed the chart again. “Listen up!” she barked, startling her young patient. “I know the game you play. Reed doesn’t, so he left not realizing this is what you do. Someone gets close to you, or you open up a little bit, and then you get scared, hide, look for a reason to push them away.” Peyton’s eyes began to tear, and Dr. Lorraine handed her another tissue. “The scared girl laying on the dirty ground helpless after losing her innocence.”