Bears of Burden: THORN

by Candace Ayers

  “But Claire…”

  “Fuck you.” I slam the door behind me and hurry down the stairs bleary eyed from the damn tears that he doesn’t deserve. I hear him coming after me - he even manages to weakly grasp my arm a few times - but I shake him off easily.

  “Claire, please don’t do this. I love you!”

  As I cross the threshold of the front door, I turn to give him a final glare and immediately wish I hadn’t. He looks so pathetic standing there in his boxer briefs, his blue eyes pleading, his broad shoulders slumped. He looks sorrowful, anguished, defeated. A twinge tugs hard at my heartstrings. I almost want to wrap my arms around him and assure him that everything will be okay and all is forgiven.

  Fuck that. I am done being taken advantage of. Done letting men hurt me and wipe their feet on me like I’m a doormat. How ironic that the man who taught me that I’m too good to allow myself to be mistreated is the one who has hurt me the most.

  “I don’t ever want to see you again. Ever,” I snarl, and I slam the door behind me.

  I’m proud that I am able to contain myself until I’m in my car and halfway down the street before I fall apart so hard I have to pull over. I wrap my arms around my middle unable to contain the wails and wracking sobs that shake my body.

  Chapter 8 CLAIRE

  Knock, knock, knock.

  Two months have passed since my heart was shattered into tiny shards. I have been doing the best I can to put one foot in front of the other and try to piece together a normal life for myself. Whatever normal is.

  The first few weeks were crazy. I went straight to a hotel hoping for anonymity; it might have worked if Blonde Bimbette hadn’t run right to the media with her story. I’m not sure what exactly her story is because I avoid tabloids, newspapers, TV and anything else that might flash a picture of myself, Jett or Blondie Boobs like I’d avoid the plague. I only know that once her story was out, I had reporters following me everywhere.

  I rented myself a small apartment, and refused every cent of the money that Jett tried incessantly to give me. I did accept the gift of a body guard for the first few weeks until the paparazzi lost interest and somebody else’s gut-ripping heartache was the gossip of the day. Slowly but steadily, day by day I’m trying to learn to survive without Jett. I look around at my tiny apartment hastily and carelessly furnished with thrift store finds. It’s not the mansion I’d been in, but it’s okay.

  Except for all the door-knocking.

  Visitors are a constant. Almost daily, without fail, there is a knock on my door from somebody new. At first it had been Jett, until the third time I opened the door to his hangdog face and dumped a bowl of chocolate ice cream all over his nice, pressed shirt. That’s when he realized what ‘stay the fuck away from me’ really means.

  Now, it’s delivery people of all sorts- fruit baskets, chocolates, flowers, singing telegrams, and even a singing strippergram, which set me off so badly I think my shrieking may have broken the poor guy’s eardrums. At the very least it certainly traumatized him for future jobs. Jett has been going through every trick in the book to try to get me to talk to him, but I won’t budge. There’s no point. I will never be able to forget the sight that greeted me the fateful afternoon I swung open our bedroom door to find him and Busty Bimbo. No, what good would talking do? It could only serve to dig the knife deeper into my gut.

  I’m not ever going back.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  I open the door to a young, nervous-looking woman with black curls and flawless brown skin. “Look,” I say, holding up a hand before she starts talking, “Whatever it is, I’m not interested. I don’t care if he’s sent me a literal boatload of puppies and kittens, I’m not taking him back.”

  The woman frowns. “Excuse me?”

  “It may sound crazy to his star struck fans,” I continue, “but I really just can’t deal with him. I’m in no great hurry to file for divorce, but between you and me, that’s a forgone conclusion. I mean, everybody knows what happened. I’m certainly not going back.”

  “Ohhhh,” the woman says softly, a look of recognition dawning. “No, no, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to talk to you about Aaron Belson.”

  My stomach drops. Aaron? Why the hell would she want to talk to me about Aaron? Surely Aaron wasn’t trying to win me back too. I’d heard through the grapevine that he’d moved on and found himself a new punching bag.

  The woman looks over my shoulder at my sparse apartment. “May I come in?” she asks gently.

  “Please do.” I step aside and lead her to the small living room area of my studio apartment. I’m suddenly wondering if Aaron landed himself in lockup again and sent this poor woman to beg bail money from me. Maybe he’s unaware that just because I’m still married to Jett doesn’t mean I have access to his bank account.

  “What’s wrong with Aaron now?” I ask.

  “Well, nothing’s wrong with him,” she says bitterly, “and that’s the problem. My name is Nina Childs. I started dating Aaron right after you left, and well… things have gotten…” she turned her head to hide the tears starting to fill her eyes, but I saw them. I had been exactly where this woman was and I could read her like a book.

  “They’ve gotten bad,” I finish quietly.

  “Yes. To put it mildly.”

  “Did he hit you?”

  Nina looks down at her hands. “Yes. But the problem is, no one believes me because I didn’t report it right away. My lawyer thought we’d have a better case if I was able to find other women to testify as a character witnesses. I’ve tracked down a couple women but neither are willing. I can’t say I blame them, really. They’re both afraid to open a can of worms that might bring Aaron back into their lives. You’re my last hope, but I also figured you’d be the perfect person. I know how much he put you through.”

  “You do?”

  “Well, sure. I think a lot of people have put two and two together and figured out the truth. I had my suspicions, but it wasn’t until Aaron admitted it all to me one night when he was drunk.” She shakes her head, and looks at me sadly. “I knew he was an asshole, but I still can’t believe he made you believe your husband cheated on you.”

  I frown. “Made me believe… What are you talking about? My husband did cheat on me.”

  Nina’s eyes widen. “You don’t know?” Her fingers fly to cover her open mouth. “Oh goodness, I thought you’d realized it by now. I knew from the tabloids that you and your husband were estranged but I thought maybe you split up over something else. I didn’t realize you didn’t know the truth.”

  “Truth?” My stomach is doing somersaults. A burning sensation starts in my chest and radiates to my extremities as scorching anger pulses through me. I can feel my cheeks reddening with the coming outrage and for once, it seems to be directed at the right person.

  “That girl, the blonde, was an old friend of Aarons,” Nina confesses. She must see the fire in my eyes, because she gradually scoots farther away from me. “She’s a porn star now. Aaron paid her to drug Lang at the publicity shoot that morning, then take him home and wait in bed with him until you came home to find them. I don’t know what he hoped to gain from the whole thing. Maybe he thought you’d come running back to him. Maybe he just wanted revenge for the fact that you left him.”

  “So that whole thing was just a scam? It was all set up by Aaron?”

  “Yeah.” Nina is chewing her bottom lip. “I’m so sorry. I really am.”

  I stride to the door and snatch my coat off the hook. “Sorry to rush you out of here,” I say, thrusting an arm through the sleeve and crouching to lace up my boots, “but I really need to find my husband.”

  “Sure, I understand.” Nina stands and eyes me apologetically. “I just need to know - will you testify?”

  I smirk and narrow my eyes at her. “I’ll testify,” I assure her. “You’re damn right I’ll testify.”

  Chapter 9 JETT

  “Would someone please get the fucking door?”
I bellow. I’m busy in the kitchen making burgers for my ungrateful brothers, and the doorbell is driving me out of my mind.

  “Cade, get off your ass and do something.”

  Cade sighs. “Fine, yeah.” He tosses his phone down and saunters out of the kitchen. I hear the door open, followed quickly by Cade’s voice saying, “Aw, shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” I call, but I’m met with silence.

  For Christ’s sake, that kid can’t do fucking anything right. Even answering the door is some fucking chore for him.

  I know I’m being too harsh on Cade, but I can’t seem to control myself anymore. I’ve been in a shitty mood for two months straight. Ever since I woke up to Sexual Harassment Barbie.

  Ever since Claire left.

  I’d spent most of my time that wasn’t devoted to training and work sitting in my house and brooding. At first, I tried to drink until I felt numb, but I could never get numb enough. I knew better than to frequent clubs, or return to my previous lifestyle, and even if I didn’t, Larry was there to constantly remind me.

  I’m aware that I’m in a depressive slump, but I’ve been trying desperately to pull myself out of it. I arranged for my brothers to start coming around once a week for dinner, and even Larry and his kids came by a couple times to break bread.

  Not my best idea ever, maybe. They kind of hurt more than they help sometimes. After all, they really liked Claire, everyone did, and even though they don’t say it aloud, no one believes that I woke up naked in bed with a stranger. Hell, if I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t believe myself either.

  I flip the final burger patty onto a plate with the rest. Cade hasn’t returned, and I can’t hear a peep from the front foyer. Cade damn well better not be talking to a reporter. At first they were everywhere, and I had to have security monitor the front gate. After a few weeks, when nothing much happened (as in no naked chicks- no chicks at all actually), the media dwindled, and I cut back on security. I know the paparazzi, though and there are those who are nothing if not unethical. They’ll climb fences, twist words, use telephoto lenses.

  I growl in frustration, and toss of my apron, the apron I bought to make Clair giggle that says “Rub My Meat” on the front. I storm to the foyer.

  “Fuck’s sake, Cade, what’s wrong?” The moment I appear, Cade turns and looks at me with a sheepish grin, then ducks away into the living room, and I find myself face to face with my wife.

  “Claire,” I whisper. She smiles coyly and a tingle rushes through my entire body. My limbs suddenly feel like jello.

  “Hi, Jett.”

  She looks thin, like she’s lost some weight, and there are dark circles under her eyes, but she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. There’s so much I want to say to her right now. I want to tell her that I’ve missed her. Hell, I want to tell her that her leaving feels as though my hearts been hacked out of my chest with a chainsaw. I want to say that I’m sorry. I’m sorry that even though nothing happened that night with Bimbo Barbie, I’m sorry for ever being the kind of man that would make her suspect something might have. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to hurt her and everything I’ll ever do in the future, and that if only she’ll let me, I’ll promise to spend every second of my life devoted to her and never, ever give her a reason to doubt me ever again.

  “It’s… been a while,” I say dumbly.

  “It has,” she agrees. “One might say it’s been too long.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, one could say that.”

  She takes a step towards me, pushing her hair behind her ear. I want to touch her, to hold her, but I’m afraid to do anything to scare her off or make her leave. A pink tinge creeps up her cheeks.

  “One might also say that your wife was unfair to you,” she states, “and that perhaps your wife should have given you the benefit of the doubt and believed in you, or at least heard you out.”

  “Do you think one would be right about that?” I ask, my heart is racing in my chest. Is she saying what I think she’s saying?

  “Yes. One would definitely be correct about that,” she replies. Her eyes fill with tears. “Especially after your wife found out that her ex-boyfriend set up the whole thing just to punish her for leaving him.”

  “Wow.” I shake my head. I can’t stop the huge shit-eating grin from spreading over my face. “One could say that my wife’s ex-boyfriend is a real shitstain.”

  “Yeah.” Claire is grinning slightly now, too. “Your wife should have known better, she was a real bitch to you.”

  “Hey, don’t talk about my wife that way,” I scold her softly.

  Claire smiles gently, and a lone tear trails down her cheek. “I miss you, Jett.”

  I wipe her tear away with my thumb, “I miss you too. So, so much, Claire.”

  “I know. I got the cards.”

  We both laugh.

  “Think you can forgive me?” she asks, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

  I pull her towards me and wrap my arms around her. We settle against each other, content in the feeling of our bodies side by side once again. I kiss her forehead and sigh happily.

  “There’s nothing to forgive, beautiful. I just want my wife back” I tilt her chin up and press my lips to hers.

  How could I hold a grudge against the woman I live and breathe for?

  THE END

  THE VAMPIRE’S MUSE

  STORY DESCRIPTION

  April Hanley is a loner and newly appointed curator at an art gallery. When she finds and procures a rare Dobronravov masterpiece, strange things start to occur.

  First, she experiences bizarre dreams of a mysterious stranger that plague her and leave her body writhing in wanton desire.

  Very soon after, reality becomes intermingled with her dreams, and her life takes a crazy and dangerous turn. She finds her life threatened by an unstable leather-clad dominatrix. She goes head to head with a couple of rival motorcycle gangs. And, she comes face to face with the handsome stranger from her dreams who throws her on the back of his decked-out, futuristic Harley.

  But, for April, the most jaw-dropping revelation is when she’s told her handsome stranger has been deeply in love with her.

  For centuries.

  Chapter 1

  The damn Jeep was making a rumbling sound, or a rattling sound. It was hard to tell. Whichever it was, it all of a sudden escalated to an almighty bang that shook the whole thing like an earthquake. I had to fight with the wheel to keep it in my hands. The Jeep swerved to the left, but I brought it back to the right. It swerved to the right, but I brought it back to the left. Then, when black smoke started filling the interior, I wrestled it off to the side of the road.

  When I got out, more smoke was wafting slowly from the tailpipe. A quick stoop down in my four hundred dollar heels revealed a thick, dark liquid puddling under the engine. I blew out a long slow breath. Well, I’d had Carleton, my Jeep, since I’d left for college over ten years ago, but it looked like it might be time to say goodbye to the old guy.

  Damn. Things had been going so well today, too. I’d had another great day at the gallery which led to Owen, the owner, asking me to dinner. ‘Purely professional,’ he’d said. Fortunately, he wasn’t lying.

  “April,” Owen’s voice had taken on a serious tone near dessert, more so than he’d had throughout the main course. I glanced nervously around the restaurant. It was a classy place in the wealthier part of town where Owen lived. There was low lighting, soft piano music, and the waitresses were all gorgeous and dressed in black cocktail dresses. Not what you’d find at your average TGI Fridays which was my typical ‘going somewhere nice for dinner’ destination. The thing that had been worrying me since we’d arrived was the more than one distinguished male patron hiding in a darkened booth with a significantly younger and considerably more attractive female companion. It certainly appeared to be a wining and dining spot for older men to bring younger female employees when their main goal was to see them naked. Please, don’
t let that be it. I prayed. I loved my job, and would hate to lose it. I’d also hate to waste the tastiest wine I’ve ever had by tossing it in Owen’s face as I told him where he and his sexual advances could go.

  I took a constitutional sip of wine.

  “April,” Owen said again, “I know you’ve only been with us…?”

  “Just under a year,” I helped him out. The wrinkles that were creasing his forehead under his thinning salt-and-pepper hairline as he struggled to remember, vanished in gratitude.

  “As you say. And I notice that, although you’re friendly with the staff at our gallery, you don’t seem to have forged any close friendships.”

  Not that it was any of his business.

  “If it’s important to my career, Owen, I’ll get some, I promise,” I joked. The truth was, the guys at work were all pretty much gay and catty and the girls were all bitchy and catty. I was in favor of creating a friendly work environment but I really never felt the need to invest myself too deeply. Without meaning to sound superior, the office games and gossip just felt just too shallow and childish to me. Besides, I couldn’t see myself becoming besties with someone whose deepest intellectual conversation was centered around The Real Housewives of New Jersey.

  “Quite the opposite, in fact,” Owen smiled again. “It’s precisely because of your uniqueness that I think you’d be the best choice for curator when I retire next month.” I almost choked on my wine. “Well, that, and your superb work in securing the long lost Dobronravov painting last week.”

  So, a fantastic day that was now ending with a little hiccup, but then again, it was extremely likely that a new car was now warranted. I needed to figure out where I was so that I could call for help. I could see the lights of the freeway but I couldn’t hear the noise, meaning I was at least a half-mile away. Looking around, there was a dark, empty-looking factory across the street, a motel with a faulty green neon sign in the opposite direction from the freeway and about the same distance, and a patch of yellow scrub grass behind a tall, chain link fence beside me.