by K. A. Berg
“I can hear you, you know,” I yell from my bed. If they’re going to bitch about me, they might as well do it to my face.
“Good,” Tanner calls back before barging into my room and stalking toward the foot of my bed.
“Why are you still here?” I growl. Why does he always have to be the one to save me? Why does he always have to be the one to see me at my lowest? I’m tired of him. I fucking hate him, but he doesn’t seem to care, which only makes me hate him more.
“Because you need someone here. You can’t do this by yourself, Ashley. You need to let people help you.” He sounds frustrated. If he’s so annoyed with my attitude, then maybe he should just leave me alone like I’d wanted him to in the first place.
“I didn’t ask for your opinion, but I do let people help. I let Quinn help me all the time,” I point out.
Quinn appears in the doorway, sighing. “I can’t be here all the time, sweets. You need to let more people in.” Her shoulders sag as she sits on the end of my bed.
“Sorry I’m such an inconvenience to you, Quinn.” My bitchiness seems to be out in full force today. I blame it on the new bruises and Tanner’s presence.
She frowns and shakes her head.
“That’s not what she said, and you know it,” Tanner scolds. “Stop being such a brat. She’s dropped her entire life to be here for you, and you’re going to pull this crap? What happened to you was awful, but I’m not—we’re not—going to sit here and watch your pride make things worse for you. You need someone with you all the time right now. Deal with it.”
I get lost in the authoritative nature of his voice. It reminds me of why I fell in love with him in the first place. Suddenly, a painful twinge in my knee snaps me back to reality, and I remember he’s the reason for this whole mess to begin with.
“Fuck you,” I spit back.
The cocky bastard smirks. “I wish, sweetheart. I wish.”
I want to slap him.
“So,” Quinn says, clearing her throat, effectively ending my staring contest with Tanner. “What are we going to do?”
“Well, you have two choices,” Tanner says. “You can come stay at my house during the week—”
“Absolutely not! Not a fucking chance in hell.” I shake my head adamantly.
“Or,” he continues, giving me a hard stare. “I can stay here with you while Quinn’s at work.”
“Nope. That’s not happening either.”
“Well, I didn’t ask for your opinion. I gave you two choices. Pick one. How much longer do you think it’s going to take you to heal if falls like today’s keep happening?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as if daring me to argue. Fucking smug asshole! The fact he makes a good point pisses me off even more.
“He’s right. Tanner will come here while I’m at work. Sorry, sweets, but it’s the best option,” she says, not sounding the least bit sorry. “I don’t think moving her in with you is good for anyone, Tanner. She might try to kill you… or after a few days of spending all day with her, you might want to kill her.” She laughs. Fucking traitor of a best friend.
“Umm, do I get a say in this?” I ask in annoyance at these two making decisions for me as though I’m not even here.
“No!” they both say in unison.
“You aren’t thinking with your head,” Quinn says.
Tanner steps toward the door. “Okay, since that’s settled, I’m going to head out. I’ll see you in the morning. Quinn, can you call the doctor and see if she needs to be brought in to get checked out after falling? I know she won’t do it herself.”
Quinn nods.
I watch him walk out as though he owns the fucking place. In this moment, I’m certain there’s no better motivator for rehabilitation than getting that smug, super-hot asshole out of my life. God, I hate him.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ashley
There’s only so much sitting on one’s ass and watching TV a person can do, and I’ve been doing even more of it in the past two weeks than I had been before falling and hurting my leg worse. When Quinn called the doctor and told him what happened, he wanted me to come in as soon as possible so he could check my knee. Tanner got to take me the next morning. Super fun! The caring boyfriend act was enough to make me vomit. It would’ve been nice if he’d cared when I’d needed him to instead of bailing and calling me a worthless whore.
After an MRI, the doctor had concluded there was more swelling but no additional damage. Since then, I’ve been on strict bed rest while my leg stays propped up on a pile of pillows and no getting up except to use the bathroom or wash up. The doctor ordered me to let people help me and said it was a bad idea to be alone until I have more strength and mobility. It seems like a bit of an oxymoron since I can’t get either of those while stuck in a fucking bed… But hey, what do I know? I’m just a girl who can’t do anything for herself, and he’s a doctor.
With Tanner always here, my days have been stressful and anger-filled. He’s here every fucking day… Sometimes I can ignore him, but others I can’t—like when he bitched I hadn’t eaten my lunch yesterday. I don’t want to eat anything that asshole makes me though, and I have no appetite most days anyway. Staring at these same four walls is already driving me insane without his constant attempts at small talk. I usually pretend he isn’t here by distracting myself with meaningless thoughts like what the hell had I been thinking when I picked this storm cloud gray color for the walls?
I’m getting better at ignoring him, but I feel his annoyance each time his attempts to get me to engage fail. At least he’s stopped trying to sit in here and hang out with me. The first few times I told him to leave, he’d just smirked at me and said it wasn’t a good idea for me to be so isolated. Since he wouldn’t leave, and I couldn’t, I just slept. It’s easy to sleep these days. I feel as though all I have to do is close my eyes—probably because my dreams are way better than my reality.
You’d think he would’ve gotten the fucking hint by now to just leave me the hell alone. I’m doing everything in my power to avoid talking to him at all, and I’m just waiting to add a bladder infection and a UTI to my list of ailments because I refuse to let him help me to the bathroom. I don’t know what he and Quinn were thinking when they decided having him here would help me.
My angry thoughts of Tanner are momentarily halted when I notice the forgotten TV. A commercial for diapers is on. On the screen, a sweet little baby is bundled up and laid down “for a better night’s sleep” or so the commercial claims. Who gives a shit about getting a better night’s sleep if they have a precious little miracle at the end? Ungrateful mothers! I’d never sleep another night for the rest of my life if it meant I got Daniel instead.
My torment doesn’t stop when the commercial ends because the show coming back on is A Baby Story. A very pregnant woman and her husband sit in front of the camera, talking about how they’ve gotten ready for the arrival of their baby. The smiles on their faces are luminous. Then the shot cuts to clips of their everyday lives, scenes of them with the son they already have, asking him if he’s excited for the arrival of his baby sister. The little boy squeals as he talks hurriedly about all the things he’s going to do with his new sister.
My heart cracks as I envision Daniel getting excited about being a big brother and jumping for joy at the thought of having someone to play with, having a new person in his loving family—a loving family which will never be because his father didn’t want him. Who knows though? I might’ve moved on and found a man who loved my son and me unconditionally. I don’t realize I’m crying until the big drops of tears hit the backs of my hands. I let them build and fall.
They come faster as I hear the woman on TV telling her husband it’s time. I watch the two scurry around their house, grabbing this and that, huge smiles adorning their faces. The woman winces in pain as a contraction hits, and I wish I could trade my pain for hers. I would’ve savored every contraction because each one would have meant I was closer to holding my sweet baby. I d
idn’t get that chance, and I’ll never get it back… not ever.
The dam holding my pain and sorrow at bay breaks as the doctor delivers a beautiful baby and places her on her mother’s chest. The husband brushes his wife’s hair out of her face and kisses her, telling her how amazing she is and what a wonderful job she did.
I can’t take the pain searing through my heart. I would’ve given anything to experience the joy those two obviously felt in that moment. Why couldn’t I have that? Why was my baby taken from me? I did everything right. I loved him from the beginning. I did what was necessary to ensure things would be good for us. I did everything a mother is supposed to do. Where did I go wrong?
When I think about it, I know where I went wrong… I got Daniel, the greatest gift in the world, from the most selfish asshole ever… Damn you, Tanner.
I don’t realize I’ve been screaming until Tanner comes bursting through the door.
“What’s wrong, Ashely?”
The sight of him only adds to my pain.
“Get the fuck away from me!”
“What’s wrong?” he asks again, ignoring my request. “You’re screaming bloody murder. Does something hurt?”
He walks toward the bed, and when he gets close enough, I can’t help but take a swing at him with my good arm. The punch hits him in the chest, the only body part I can easily reach. I hit him once more before he grabs my wrist.
“Did that make you feel better? Tell me what’s wrong.” There’s a mixture of emotions on his face, but I don’t care enough to worry about which ones they are.
“You’re what’s wrong. Get the hell away from me. I hate you! I hate you!” I yell. “But you’re always fucking here. Because of you, I lost the most important thing ever, and I didn’t even get to see him. But you did. You, the one who did everything wrong, got what I should have.”
He sighs. “Ashley.” He releases my wrist but only to run his hand up my arm.
I yank my hand from his grasp and hit him again.
“GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME! DON’T TOUCH ME!” I scream. My screams turn into sobs. I sit in my bed, hunched over, my head in my good hand as I continue to cry for everything I’ve lost.
“Ashley,” Tanner whispers.
“Go. Just leave me alone. Just get out of my life. Please.”
I hear his footsteps as he retreats toward the door, and when it clicks closed, another round of sobs leave my body.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tanner
What the hell just happened?
I stand outside her door, listening to her cry her heart out, and she won’t let me do a thing about it. I have no clue what set her off, but I’m becoming more and more worried about her. She’s just so goddamn angry all the time. I understand her pain, really, I do, but how long is she going to keep this up?
I slide down the wall to sit on the floor outside her door, wanting to stay close, just in case she fully breaks. I feel it coming. Maybe today's her tipping point. It’s hard to tell with her refusing to talk to me. Well, she talks to me sometimes, but only to tell me to go fuck off or leave her alone. Ashley telling me not to touch her cut me deeply, more deeply than I’d like to admit. Nothing has ever brought me as much joy as touching Ashley—the feel of her skin, the way her eyes used to shine brightly when she smiled at me, her laughter, the way she fit in my arms as though there was nowhere else she ever belonged. I would give anything to have her look at me with adoration again instead of hatred.
Her wailing grows louder and more high-pitched just as Quinn comes through the front door. She stands at the end of the hallway, a look of sympathy on her face.
“What happened?” she asks quietly.
“I don’t know,” I say. “She just started screaming, and when I went to check on her, she threw a huge fit. She punched me and kicked me out after telling me for the thousandth time how much she hates me.”
Quinn slides down the wall to sit next to me. “I’m sorry. I know how hard this must be for you.”
“It’s okay. She needs you, though. You should go check on her. I’m sure she’ll talk to you.” I don’t want Quinn to comfort me. I don’t deserve it.
“Okay, are you going to hang around until I find out what’s wrong?” she asks, standing again.
“Yeah, then maybe I’ll figure out how I pissed her off without being anywhere near her. Then, I can avoid doing it again tomorrow,” I say, feeling resigned as I watch Quinn head into Ashley’s room.
I push myself off the floor and head to the living room to give the girls some privacy. The idea of hanging around the door now Ashley has someone in there to confide in makes me feel like a weird stalker. I take up my post on the couch again and wait for Quinn to come out.
It feels as though hours pass before Quinn comes out, but a glance at the clock tells me it’s only been half an hour. She heads to the kitchen before coming into the living room with a glass of wine for her and a beer for me.
“It’s worse than I thought,” she says after a sip of wine.
“What’s going on?”
“She was watching some dumb show about babies—pregnant woman and their roads to becoming mothers or some shit like that,” she says, staring into her wine glass as if it holds all the answers to her problems.
“Jesus.” Why would she do that to herself?
“I don’t know what to do, Tanner,” Quinn says, bringing her eyes up to meet mine. There’s a pleading look in them, as though she’s begging me to help her figure this situation out.
I rub the back of my neck, feeling a bad headache coming on. “Quinn, I’m more clueless than you. She won’t talk to me unless it’s to tell me what a piece of shit she thinks I am.”
Tears well in Quinn’s eyes. “I love her. I do. But how much of this am I supposed to take? I get she’s angry, but what the hell did I do? I’ve done nothing but support her. Her mood swings are giving me whiplash, and since I cut back on her meds. She can’t use them as an escape, now she’s gotten even bitchier.” She doesn’t deserve Ashley’s anger, and she’s most likely its target because of me.
I sigh. “I can only go by what she tells me, which isn’t much. I didn’t realize things were this bad. Maybe she needs to speak to someone who can help her through this. You and I can’t do this alone.” A professional could help our girl start to heal.
“She won’t go for it,” Quinn says, seeming defeated as she wipes a stray tear from her cheek.
“Well, we won’t give her a choice. I have no problem being the bad guy. I’ll take her, make her go. I bet she’d rather do that for an hour than spend it with me,” I point out.
Quinn chuckles. “Good point.”
I know she doesn’t mean anything by laughing, but it hurts to admit Ashley would rather do almost anything other than be near me. I can’t help the frown spreading across my face.
“I’m sorry, Tanner. It must be rough. You’re not an asshole or the bad guy. Don’t let her convince you otherwise.”
I smile sadly as I push myself off of the couch. “Doesn’t matter if I am or not. I’ve already made my bed with one mistake.” I hold out a hand to help Quinn up. “Come on. Let’s go tell Ash we’re making her see a therapist. I wonder how loud the explosion will be this time.”
Quinn laughs. “She’s going to blow a gasket.”
Is this what dealing with Ashley has come to—us plotting behind her back, making decisions for her, and laughing at the fact there’s a good chance she’ll go nuclear on us? Either way, no matter what I do, she’s going to hate me. I might as well force her to deal with her problems and get better.
Quinn knocks on Ash’s door before we head in.
We find her sitting in the same spot she always is. It’s not as though she can sprawl out or move around much. Tears are rolling down her face as she stares at the TV. The couple on screen talk about waiting for the arrival of their baby as the husband rubs his wife’s very pregnant stomach.
A piece of my heart breaks looking a
t the longing and sadness in Ashley’s eyes.
“Dammit, I told you to stop watching this shit,” Quinn yells, walking over to grab the remote from her hand.
Ashley just continues to stare at the screen now thankfully devoid of soon-to-be parents.
“Ashley, you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” I say softly, almost apprehensively, not stepping through the door. I don’t want to set her off more by getting too close.
“I didn’t do this to me. You did this to me,” she answers, her gaze snapping up to meet mine. The fire burning there is almost hot enough to melt me on the spot.
“Enough,” Quinn says, directing Ashley’s attention toward herself and effectively ending the “blame the world’s problems on Tanner” session before it gets started. “You’re not doing this again. You need to speak to someone. It’s time to start thinking about a therapist.”
“I don’t need a shrink,” she growls. “I’m grieving. I’m allowed to grieve my losses.” She snaps her head around to glare at me, a not-so-subtle reminder I’m to blame for her losing everything.
“You do need a shrink… and maybe an exorcist at this point,” Quinn quips. “I’m not too sure which right now. I love you, but you need something I can’t give you, and you sure as hell don’t want to talk to Tanner.”
I have to bite my tongue when she says exorcist. Leave it to Quinn to make a joke in the middle of a serious conversation.
Ashley grits her teeth. “Of course, I don’t want to talk to that…”
“Asshole? Yes, we know, Ashley. He’s an asshole. You hate him. Same shit, different day. He’s still here, and he’ll be here to help you as long as you need it. Want to get rid of him? Start getting better.”
Well, this is the first time I’ve been used as negative motivation. Thanks, Quinn.
“She’s got a point. Don’t want to see me anymore? Get better.” I smirk even though it pains me to say the words.