“Sam, I can explain. It’s not what you think…”
Up to this moment, Sam has been calm, but now she loses her cool. She seems so angry and hurt. I feel terrible, but things are over with me and Delia. She will just have to understand that.
“Get out!” she shrieks at me. “Get out, get out, get out, get out!”
She is screaming like a child having a temper tantrum. I stand in front of her, still shocked, not moving until she begins to walk over to me. The look on her face necessitates a flight response. I better get my clothes.
I know how Delia can be in these situations, and though I’m sure Sam isn’t the same person, I’m not about to take that risk. Sam rushes and pushes me out of the room. She continues to push me to the front door with a surprising amount of strength. When I get to the door, I realize she’s not going to be convinced, or even listen to me, so I open the door myself. It’s probably best I come back at another time. Maybe I will take one last shot at convincing her.
“Sam, I can explain everything.”
“How could you be smiling at a time like this? You can’t just go around and play with people’s feelings! You truly are an asshole. Now get the fuck out!”
“Well, I had a nice time.” I say in a frail attempt to dislodge her.
“You’re an asshole, Mick. Don’t call me again.”
With that last word, Sam slams the door in my face. I stand in the hallway, holding my clothes, virtually naked. I get dressed and consider knocking on the door again, but realize that would do nothing for my cause. It’s upsetting to me that I’ve ended up in this predicament. I have no feelings for Delia, only for Sam. Regardless, I am pretty sure I will be able to explain this all away—it’ll just take time.
***
After a long day of dealing with Jaime and damage control, I am finally able to go home. I pull into my driveway, only to see Delia’s car there. Knowing the kind of person she is, I took the precaution of changing all the locks. She is standing outside her car, leaning against the bumper and smiling at me as I drive up. What a nightmare this is going to be. After a day like today, all I want to do is go inside and relax.
I get out of my car and look at her with a limited expression on my face. Delia runs over and hugs me like nothing has happened. She must have torn and shredded twenty thousand dollars’ worth of clothes and gear. She is fucked!
“Mick, I am so happy to see you. I think we need to talk this thing out and get past it.”
“Delia, I don’t want to get past it. Our time together is over. You left after tearing up all of my things. Again. We are done, Delia.”
She instantly begins to cry, but that doesn’t work on me. “Please, Mick, don’t do this to me. We have been through so much. I want to be with you. I need you in my life.”
“All of that may be true, Delia, but we are done. I don’t want, or need, you in my life anymore.”
I feel cold and callous for being so abrupt, but this is what she needs to hear. The tears begin again. I walk by her, trying to get to the door of my house, hoping she’ll just go away. Delia dramatically falls to the ground and clings to my leg like a child. I place my hand on my head and shake it back and forth.
“Delia, what will it take for you to go away? You don’t love me anymore and I don’t love you, so what are you after? Why do you want to continue this?”
“I don’t want to continue this. I never loved you. I was only in it for the money.”
“So you’re telling me this is all an act?”
“Maybe I am, and maybe I’m not.”
“You know what, Delia? I’m not interested in playing these games. Find your way off the property, or I will call the cops.”
Delia slowly stands up, her expression changed. She is now facing me eye to eye. It is as threatening a gesture as it could be. With a resounding blow, she slaps me in the face. It stings and causes me to bend forward. As I do, she spits in my hair. What a psycho.
“What the fuck, Delia?”
“Fuck you, Mick. This isn’t over.”
She turns around jumps into her car—the car I bought her—and drives away. I watch as she leaves, still rubbing my cheek. What the fuck has become of my life? A few days ago, I had everything under control, and now it’s all out of whack. I need a good night’s rest and a little perspective.
What I really need to do is get things back on track with Sam. It’s my honest belief that no matter what I do, there is no woman who can resist my charms. All I have to do is turn them on. Employ some skills and a little romance, and Sam will come running back to me. Time to send the flowers. I dial the number of my favorite florist and order two dozen roses to her house. The note attached reads,
Let’s not deny what we have together. I can explain it all, if you just give me the chance.
Now all I have to do is sit by the phone and wait. The good thing about that florist is they are open late, so Sam will get the flowers tonight and probably call me really soon.
As I’m eating dinner, I nervously glance at the clock. It has been over an hour and no call. Perhaps the florist is busy. I pick up the phone and call them to ask if they have delivered the flowers.
“Yes, Mick, they went out right away. We delivered the flowers more than forty minutes ago.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
As I hang up the phone, the unfamiliar pang of rejection sets in. It does not sit well. I need to know how Sam feels, and I need to know now! Picking up my phone, I send her a text.
“Did you get the flowers I sent?”
There is still no response. I wait around another hour, but she still doesn’t text me back. Damn, Sam’s a tough one, or maybe she’s just out for the night. That’s probably it. When I go to San Onofre tomorrow, I will be able to talk to her face to face.
The sound of breaking glass interrupts my thoughts. The alarm sounds and my heart leaps straight into my throat. I run to where the noise originated to see what’s happening. A fire is burning my living room. The bamboo floors are no match for the flames and are instantly engulfed. The long, white drapes are hastily burning to the ceiling. It’s a big fire. My eyes follow the wreckage of window shards and I notice a bottle with a rag in it, lying broken on the floor. I can hear sirens in the distance, even as I’m rushing for a fire extinguisher. There’s one in the kitchen. I stumble to pull the pin and run back to where the fire is. I spray it as best I can to try and put out the flames, but it is not enough—the fire has just gotten bigger. It’s time for me to either die in this house, or save myself.
As I run out of the house, a piece of wood falls from the ceiling, striking me in the back. It stings and makes me realize that getting out now is the right thing to do. I open the door and stand outside, awaiting the firetrucks.
Chapter 11 Samantha – A lover scorned
“Mick, get the fuck out! I don’t ever want to talk to you again!”
Slamming the door behind me, I am immediately brought to tears. How is it that I keep letting this happen to me? Am I some kind of love idiot? One thing is for sure: I do not want to get into a situation like I was in before with John. Sometimes I wonder if I am meant to find love at all.
I can’t believe I let Mick fuck me. Again. Tears stream down my face as I fall asleep, wracked by sobs.
My alarm shocks me awake. It’s eight a.m. and I have a lesson at nine. No time to go for an early morning surf. Recalling the events of the night before, my mood immediately sours. I quickly pack my bag and rush out the door. Arriving at the beach, I empty the van and begin prepping all the gear. An older couple approaches me, holding hands. They look very much in love. Being so lost in my thoughts, it takes me a while to catch on to who they are.
“Hi, are you Sam?” It’s the McCalls, here for their nine a.m. lesson.
“Yes, I am. You must be the McCalls.”
“We are, and we’re ready for our lesson.”
“Perfect, let’s get started.”
I take them through the same lesson
I’ve taught a million times before. Today it seemed monotonous, somewhat cold and uncaring. Perhaps because I am too consumed with my own problems to remember this is supposed to be a fun time for them. It pained me to watch them holding hands, helping each other, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. That kind of love seems so far away for me. I must have been staring too long as Mr. McCall—or Jim, as he asked me to call him—turns to me and begins to speak.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” The question seemed overly intrusive.
“What?! Oh, no… not really. Well, it’s complicated.”
“Young lady, it’s always complicated. Is that what is on your mind? Is that why you seem so distracted?” There is something about his face that makes me feel like I can talk to him. He’s a kindly gentleman who has obviously seen his share of ups and downs.
“Yes. I’m sorry, has this lesson not been what you wanted?”
“The lesson has been great. You’re a wonderful teacher. But can I give you a piece of advice?” he asks with a somber look on his face.
I shrug. “I guess I could use a little advice right now.”
“I am not a man of infinite wisdom, but there are some things I do understand. So forgive me if I am sounding too much like a Hallmark card. Love is not about where you start, but where you finish. At the start of anything, it is complicated, but there is something to be said for perseverance. Love is not easy—not always. It is easy to be in love when everything is good, but true love is staying in love when things are hard. When I met my wife, I was in a relationship, but it was a lifeless, soul-draining relationship. She freed me from the confines of it, and fifty years later, we are still together.”
As if I wasn’t consumed in thought before, his prophetic words thrust me deeply into thought now. Jim seems so happy, so much in love. I never gave Mick a chance to explain. I at least owe him that. Maybe he is in a relationship that is stifling. Maybe he wanted out long ago. I won’t know unless I ask. Before I can turn to thank him, he and his wife are already waving goodbye and making their way down the beach.
I stand, silently staring at them as they hold hands. I wish I had someone to hold my hand. Just before they leave my sight, Jim turns around and nods, as if to say, “I know where you are. I have been there before.”
I sit awhile, staring out at the ocean, wondering what the best next steps are. Am I being naïve to think of talking to Mick, or am I being naïve if I don’t? I have no idea anymore. I don’t remember packing up the van, nor do I remember much about the drive home. My mind was just that consumed in thought.
As I pull into the garage, I am numb. Tonight, the van can stay full. There is too much to think about, and honestly, the thinking has exhausted me. Walking out of the garage in a daze, I don’t notice someone standing right in front of me.
“Hello, Sam.”
My heart pounds. I recognize that voice. That is a voice I will never forget. It runs through me like a paper cut. Slowly, I turn, hoping the voice will not match the person I know it belongs to.
I look into the eyes of my abusive ex and swallow thickly. “…hello, John.”
“Where have you been, Sam? I have been looking all over for you.” The creep factor in his voice is like something out of a horror movie. I’m scared. Very scared.
“Uh, I have been around. Just wanted a change of scenery.”
Thankfully, my phone is in my hand. Long ago, I made preparations for this very moment. All I have to do is press and hold 7 on my phone, and it will text the local police a message.
This is an automated message of distress. I cannot tell you what it is, but most likely I am being attacked by my abusive ex-boyfriend. I added my address into the phone when I got my new place and I am thankful I did.
“You know I don’t like when you go away. Why don’t you come back home with me?”
I realize, at this point, I am in some trouble. I press and hold 7 several times, hoping that the message works. There is no way I can look down—that would be too telling. My best play here is to stall John as long as I can until the police arrive.
“John, I think we need to talk about this. Can you do me a favor, though? It is always so hard for me to get all the boards and gear out of the van. Can you help with that?”
“Of course you need help. You never could do these things on your own.”
Ah, that didn’t take long. Already starting with me. I bite my tongue so as not to respond. If he only knew now who I was, he would eat those words. Regardless, now I have some time. John grabs me and begins hugging me. It is difficult, but I fake the enjoyment of his touch. John moves in for a kiss.
“John, let’s get the work out of the way first.”
John grunts his dissatisfaction, but eventually relents. He smiles and backs away. His touch feels like someone has stuck a needle in my back.
As John gets into the van to remove more of the supplies, it dawns on me. I am going to lock him in the van. If I can close the doors quickly enough, I’ll have enough time to run away and call the cops. The timing is critical. John begins to speak again.
“So, I assume your business is not doing as well as you thought.”
“Well, we are doing okay. I am just at the start so… things are survivable.”
“Haha, you were always such a dreamer. Not to worry, I can support you.”
“Yeah, that would be nice.” I hate pretending I need him.
I watch as John begins to inch his way deeper into the van. It has to be the perfect moment. If I miss, it will not end well. I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. I want to look, but the fear of him finding out what I’m up to is too great.
“John, can you pass me the sheet there on the front seat?”
“Yeah, sure.”
As John reaches forward, I lunge for the doors. The surprised look on his face as the doors close is priceless. He almost loses his finger. I run back to the driver’s side door. That’s the only one that can be opened from the inside, once the car is locked. Leaning on the door with my back, I press my feet on the wall, jamming it shut. The sounds of John screaming should help to alert the neighbors. He threatens me, pointing his finger and shaking it. I can hold this door for a while, as long as the police will eventually get here.
John begins to try and kick out the window. I did not think of that. Now I have to run.
I hear the crash of glass and know John is close behind. I wish I would have run sooner. Looking over my shoulder, I see he is in hot pursuit. The gap between us quickly evaporates and he grabs me by the wrist. He begins to drag me back to the house with one hand over my mouth and the other around my wrist. Screaming into John’s hand does nothing and no one comes out to save me. Trying to dig my heels into the ground is pointless, as he just carries me. We are now at the garage door. Taking the keys from my pocket, he opens the door to my house and drags me in, locking up behind him. Never have I felt a fear as deeply as I feel it now.
“You little whore, you haven’t changed one bit. Now you are going to get it.”
John takes off his belt and lifts it over his head as I cower on the floor, awaiting my fate.
Chapter 12 Mick - Firetrucks
“911 what’s your emergency?”
“My house is on fire! My fucking house is on fire!”
“Calm down, sir. Please give me your address.”
“Holy shit! Calm down? You’re telling me to calm down?! My fucking house is on fire!”
“Sir, please give me your address so we can send firetrucks.”
“I am at 546 Blue Terrace.”
“Stay out of the house, we are sending help now.”
I watch in terror as my house is engulfed in flames. The fire emerges from the window at the front of my house and wraps itself around the roof, licking the treetops. Running to the garage, I take the hose and pull it as far as I can. I begin trying to quell the fire. It seems hopeless, but I am not going to let my house go up in flames. The tiny hose doesn’t do much, but it is better th
an nothing. Where the fuck is the firetruck? Why do I pay for extra service?
Sirens blare in the distance. It is deeply disturbing to watch helplessly as my personal belongings and the place I live in goes up in smoke. Finally, the firetrucks pull in. When the firemen come out, they cast me sidelong glances upon realizing I have been trying to put the fire out with a hose. The supervisor comes over to me and begins peppering me with questions.
“I think we can take it from here. Is anyone inside?”
“No.”
“Are there any animals inside?”
“No.”
Surge : A Stepbrother Romance Page 6