Scars of Love

by Lindsey Hart

  “It’s bad isn’t it?” She asked, even though the question was redundant.

  Tommy exhaled roughly. “Yes.”

  “What can I do? Tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it. I’ll be it for you. I just want you to be okay. I want you to be happy again.” I want us and a future. That little cottage in that dream and that plot of dirt and even the flowers that weren’t planted yet. It had all been so peaceful and serene before that storm.

  But there was no they. She knew better. There was no future. She was here to break this off. To leave him in a state where he could function without her. She was here to help him reclaim his life. She’d made it sound so easy when she talked to Evie. She knew how foolish that was now.

  Tommy lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Nothing,” he said brokenly. “Nothing at all.”

  Della saw the truth shining in his eyes. He truly believed that. She had a choice. She’d made a promise. She wasn’t going to let him keep going this way, plodding on and on towards destruction. “I don’t believe that,” she said firmly. “We’ll try something. Anything. I’ll find a way. I’ll help you. We can talk to someone. There are people who help with this.”

  “Talking doesn’t help. Those people don’t help.”

  “Stop it. Sometimes it does. You won’t know until you try it. There are other options.”

  “Like what?”

  Della’s mind spun. She felt completely overwhelmed and unprepared, as though she was going into a battle she could never win. “I don’t know. I promise you though, we’ll figure it out. You can’t keep living like this. You don’t deserve any of this. It will get better, Tommy. I swear it.”

  His eyes shone with derision, but he kept his mouth clamped shut. His eyes bore into hers. She recognized the hopelessness in those dark depths. His arms tightened around her shoulders and she let him pull her close. Her face rested against his soaked shirt. She stayed like that, for as long as she dared, joined with him. She’d dreamed of this moment for years, but this wasn’t how she wanted it. In her fantasies, Tommy was always happy and healthy and well. As in love with her as she was with him.

  She eventually pulled away. She knew it was wrong, just another form of torture for them both, but she leaned in and kissed his forehead. She tasted the tang of salty sweat and below that, the deep, rich masculine aura that was Tommy’s own.

  “In the meantime, how about a shower and a cup of coffee?”

  His lips, which had been drawn into a thin line, arched up. “Are you forgetting? We have no mugs left.”

  “Oh. Right. I’ll go to the store first thing. Go shopping and pick out a new set of dishes. What would you like?”

  His eyes met hers, a little stunned. “What do you mean, what would I like?”

  “For dishes… unless you don’t care?”

  He laughed, but the sound wasn’t right. It was tainted by bitterness. “Do you really think I care?”

  She pulled away. Shrugged. “No. But maybe you should. Maybe you should come with me and pick them out yourself.”

  “As punishment for breaking everything?”

  “Of course not.”

  “That’s what it would be. Punishment of the worst devising. If you want to go out with a freak, a man people stare at and fear or pity, then just take me out. Take me out and walk down those aisles with me and watch the stares.”

  Della slipped away and slid off the bed. She stood and placed her hands on her hips. “Thomas Porter! Are you kidding me? You can’t spend the rest of your life in this house. I’m not going to let you. You’re coming with me. So what if people stare? People stare at everyone. Whether you’re skinny or overweight, pretty or not, rich or poor, everyone gets judged and ogled and stared down. It’s just how people are. You can’t let it bother you. You can’t let it define your life. They don’t know you. What they think doesn’t matter. Do you hear me? Doesn’t. Matter.” She thought for a minute that her little pep talk might have been too harsh. She watched anger flicker over Tommy’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

  He finally shrugged and let out a hard, long exhale. “I’ll go, but only because I can’t stand being in this house for another minute. If you’re willing to go out with a freak then I guess I’m willing to get stared at.”

  “You’re not a freak.”

  “I am. I’m a fucking disaster, inside and out. Can’t you see that, Evie?”

  The use of her name brought Della up short. She started to shake so badly she was afraid her legs were going to give out.

  “Yes, I can see that,” she finally whispered. She reached out and gripped the post of the ornate footboard for support. “Like I said, we can do something about it. You just have to try. You didn’t die in that fire, Tom. You didn’t, so you have to go on living. You have to try.”

  “Oh, I’ll try. I’ll try alright.” Thomas slid out of bed. She didn’t miss the wince of pain as he stretched out the knee she’d bandaged earlier. He didn’t say anything else. He thundered towards the on-suite bathroom and slammed the door closed. A minute later the shower started up.

  Della marched over to the door. She took a deep breath. It hit her then and nearly knocked her off her feet. Thomas was in there. In the shower. Naked.

  She barely managed to stifle a groan. Her hand fell away from the door, towards the knob. Her fingers wrapped around the cold metal but she didn’t turn it to see if it was locked or not. She closed her eyes as a hard jolt of raw need nearly brought her to her knees. Her stomach ached, her chest ached. Desire, hot, heavy and languid, pooled between her legs. Her arms burned and her hands tingled with awareness. Like a phantom limb, they recalled the feel of Thomas’ skin against her own, her arms wrapped around strong shoulders and rigid muscles. Now that the need to comfort had fled with the night terror, her body remembered. She would always remember.

  Della pressed her face against the door. Shut her eyes and took another breath, then another. She tried to count to ten but only got to six before she gave up. He’s not mine. He’s right there, but he’s not mine at all.

  “I’m going to go out and get us some coffee. When I get back you better be ready to go out and get those dishes.” She spoke loud enough to be heard above the shower.

  Still, she was surprised when a grunt echoed through the door. She didn’t know if it was assent or not, but at the moment it didn’t matter. Somehow, in that exchange, she felt like she’d made a mite of progress. Maybe an inch. She just hoped it wasn’t the one step forward, two steps back deal. Although, if that’s what it took, she’d take a million steps back, just to keep them going forward.

  She’d have to think about that later. At the moment, she had nothing left to do but choose something hideous out of her sister’s awful wardrobe, head over to the apartment and ask Eve why the hell she hadn’t told her how bad it really was.

  CHAPTER 7

  Della

  It felt a little strange to slip her key into the lock and push open her own front door, after being in Evie’s house. It might have been for just under twenty-four hours, but it felt right, good in a way it shouldn’t.

  “Evie?” The apartment was silent. Della’s voice echoed through the little kitchen and down the small hall.

  “In here,” Evie called.

  Della shed the pair of black pumps she’d jammed her feet into and walked down the hall to her room. Evie stood, wearing only a robe wrapped around herself, naked, shapely legs sticking out from below it, perusing Della’s closet.

  “You’re not going to find anything in there that you like.”

  “Yah. Tell me about it. All this stuff is cheap garbage that came from thrift stores.”

  Della rolled her eyes. “You know that I like retro and vintage style. You also know that I work for fifteen dollars an hour because you used to work at the light store too.”

  “I know you have bad fashion sense.”

  “I’ll bring you some stuff from your closet, okay?” Della flopped down on the bed. “Think
of how I feel having to jam myself into uncomfortable, overpriced clothing. All you own are blazers and blouses and skirts. And your shoes… how do you even walk in those things?”

  “I like my wardrobe just fine, thanks. My shoes too. You get used to it.”

  Della sighed. “Look. We shouldn’t be sitting here discussing fashion when your fiancé has just had two major meltdowns in less than twenty-four hours.”

  “Sounds like Tom alright.” Evie turned and went back to digging through her wardrobe as though she just didn’t care at all. Della sat in stunned silence until her sister spun back around. “Look. I want you to just hurry and fix things or whatever it is you want to try and do so that I can get my life back.”

  “Your life back?” Della echoed hollowly. She couldn’t believe how callous Evie was acting. She hadn’t seen this side of her sister before and she didn’t like it. “What are you talking about? You’re never going to be able to go back to that house. You might get your stuff back, but you aren’t getting your life back.”

  “I mean my life. Mine. Not the life I shared with Tom before, during or after the accident. I’m done. Done with it all. Now you know what I was talking about when I said I don’t trust him to be by himself. I don’t want anything to happen to him, but I’m so damn tired of playing nursemaid to a man who can’t even help himself.”

  “He tore your whole kitchen apart yesterday. Banged your fridge up and smashed all your dishes, so don’t think you’re getting those back.” It gave Della a strange sense of satisfaction to watch the rage twist her sister’s features. She didn’t like the way Evie talked about Tommy. Or the way she was now caught up in the middle.

  “What are you talking about? Tore it up how?” Evie rushed over to the side of the bed and plopped down heavily beside Della. Her light blue eyes searched Della’s face.

  “Well, that was meltdown number one. I don’t even know what happened. I walked in on him. He was drunk, but I doubt that was the source of the issue.”

  “Of course not. And when is he not drunk? He’s been that way ever since he left the hospital.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I did tell you. I thought you could see for yourself. It’s obviously no use in trying to describe someone like that. No one would believe me.”

  “It was awful. He cut his hand and knees on all the glass.”

  “And my kitchen?”

  “It will need some repairs. I’ll see that it gets done.”

  Eve leaned back and sighed. Della wasn’t sure why her sister even cared about a kitchen and a house that was no longer hers. She wanted to walk out. Unless she wanted to try and take the house from Tom? Maybe that was her aim. A sudden, uncontrolled fury rose up in Della’s chest. She hated that her sister skimmed over the fact that her fiancé, or soon to be ex-fiancé had hurt himself and asked about something inanimate instead. Della made a silent vow to pick out a dishes set that she knew her sister was sure to hate.

  “Good. I need some money. I need to transfer from my bank account to yours. I’ll make the transfer if you give me my wallet back for a second.”

  “It’s in my purse on the table,” Della answered hollowly. “You can do it in a minute.”

  “Alright.”

  Della turned and took Evie’s hand, surprising her. “I need to know if the doctors in the hospital ever diagnosed Tom with PTSD. Did they ever say anything about that? I think some of this, at least the rages, the night terrors, obviously stems from that. I want someone to help him but I don’t know any of his medical history.”

  “You know about as much as I do. There was one doctor. He did say something about PTSD but Tom wouldn’t listen to anything he said. He didn’t listen to anything anyone said. You have no idea how tiring it was to be in there with a man who didn’t even want to live.”

  Yes, I’m sure it was real tiring for you. She felt bad as soon as the thought entered her head. Her sister wasn’t a bad person. Just the opposite, Evie was a good woman. She truly cared about those around her and she cared enough about Thomas to actually come to Della and voice her doubts about his health if she left.

  Della’s nerves were just frayed. She tried to remind herself that her sister had put up with this for a year in the hospital. She’d sat in with Thomas quite often herself, but it wasn’t the same. He’d never showed her the same face he showed Evie.

  “I just have one other question.” Della hesitated. How could she even consider asking it?

  Eve shrugged. “Go ahead. Anything you want to know can’t be worse than what you’ve already seen.” She winced herself and Della figured that her sister didn’t need a play by play of what had happened. She’d seen it, or similar behavior, before.

  “Why did you fall out of love? I mean, you said you wanted to leave Tom before the accident.”

  “I… I don’t know. I can’t explain it really. It’s just-one day you think you love someone and one day you don’t. Or maybe it’s all the days in between that make a difference. I can’t really say. I just know that I loved him less and less. I didn’t want him around. I was happier by myself, doing my own thing. Working at the jewelry place, having my own friends, doing things with them. The sex was…. I don’t know. Sorry. I shouldn’t tell you things like that. It just wasn’t the same and I didn’t want it to be. I was okay with leaving. You just know sometimes that something has reached its end. Burned itself out.”

  Burned itself out. Della would have given anything to be in her sister’s position and Evie sat there calmly, telling her that love just burned itself out for no reason at all.

  Half of Della wanted to throttle her sister and the other half of her wanted to weep. Weep for everything that was never hers, for everything that Evie had and didn’t want, for the man she’d thrown away.

  “We’re going out to buy dishes this afternoon. That’s my major accomplishment of the day.”

  Evie’s mouth fell open. “Are you serious? You’re getting him to leave the house? That is a big accomplishment, even if it’s just for dishes. Wow. I’m impressed.” She could have just left it at that. Could have just offered a big smile and her congratulations, but she had to take it one step too far. “Good. I’m glad. Maybe you’re right and you really can get through to him. You always were more patient than me and you don’t have all the negative history to remember and try and slog through. That’s a bonus. Anyway, you’re just one step closer to leaving him and then, like I said, I can get my life back.”

  Della barely refrained from shaking her head. She couldn’t defend Thomas without giving away how she felt. She could only stand there and nod and wait for her sister to go and get her damn purse so she could do the transfer and leave. No matter how brief the exchange was, it couldn’t happen fast enough.

  CHAPTER 8

  Thomas

  The outside world was absolutely terrifying.

  Since the accident, Thomas had as little to do with it as possible. Hiding out in the house wasn’t as hard as venturing into a world that was cruel more often than not. There was plenty he could do indoors. He had physio he should be doing to regain back the strength he’d lost lying in a hospital bed. The doctors wanted him to do it. They’d sent home everything he needed when he’d been discharged.

  So far he hadn’t done a thing. Hadn’t followed one single instruction. He hadn’t dumped out the painkillers they’d given him, but he hadn’t taken any either. He preferred to numb his pain out with whisky. Dead drunk, it was easy to just forget that there was a world outside the walls that sheltered him from prying eyes and crude gazes.

  “Are you okay?” Evie turned her eyes from the road for a second and Thomas snapped back to the present.

  “Yah,” he mumbled. He sank down further into the passenger seat and tried to keep his eyes locked onto something, some distant point on the horizon, to avoid seeing anything at all.

  “Your hand is shaking.”

  His eyes flew to his right hand. It was latched onto the door panel.
A tremor that he wasn’t even aware of feeling caused his fingers to shake.

  “Yah.”

  “Is it the car or what we’re about to do? Or all of it.”

  “I hate cars,” Thomas mumbled. “Hate being in them now. I couldn’t drive if I tried. I would be a mess. The store almost seems like a walk in the park compared to this.” He almost didn’t dare glance over at Evie. He didn’t want to see the scorn in her eyes. He knew that she wanted him to be normal. To pick up like nothing ever happened. To rejoin the living.

  Her hand shot off the wheel and rested on his knee. She steered her black, sporty sedan effortlessly and fearlessly through traffic. He froze. She said nothing at all, just kept that dainty hand resting on his knee.

  “You’re different, you know,” Thomas whispered before he thought better of it.

  Evie’s head whipped around. Something flashed through her eyes and she looked almost panicked. “How… how so?” She stammered.

  Thomas shrugged. “I just mean, we’re both different. No one can come through that the same. I just-didn’t expect you to understand or to-want to deal with it, I guess.”

  They hit a red light and Eve turned fully to look at him. The expression on her face was so sad, Thomas wanted to ram his words back down his throat.

  “I’m sorry,” Evie said softly. “I just-I’m sorry. For not being what you needed before. I’ve realized a few things about myself and I do want to change. I… it means everything to me that you’re okay, Tom. You know that, don’t you?”

  He hadn’t while he was in the hospital. Most of the time when Eve was there it was like she was just putting in time. She never once told him she loved him. Not once. Sure, she held his hand when he needed it. Arranged pillows, read to him, sat with him. He just had the feeling it was about duty and not about love. He kept waiting for the day she’d walk out and not come back.

  “Yah,” Thomas mumbled. Heat flooded his face. Maybe he’d judged her too harshly. No one should have to go through what they’d been through. No one should have to see the things Evie had seen. He’d waited for her to leave and not come back, but she’d always returned.