Resisting Love

by Christine Zolendz

  Liv was so innocent.

  She deserved more than anything I could give her. I wasn’t ready for a relationship, so why offer anything else? I wasn’t selfish. But God, she was beautiful. So beautiful that I wished I could just stop this life, just for a moment, step off the roller coaster and plant my feet on solid grown. A few minutes of her, of that sweetness—that innocence—and I would drown myself in it.

  I wasn’t afraid of getting hurt. It was her heart I wasn’t willing to put on the line. My job was all I knew. Being with someone working on this job would change her, harden her. Just like it did to my mother, like it did to my sister. Liv didn’t need that in her already-messed up life. She needed stability. She needed someone who could promise he’d come home every night. Someone who wouldn’t run out on her because of phone calls in the middle of the night.

  Anyway, there was no way I was in the right frame of mind to get into a relationship—or a bed with her. She wasn’t even staying here—so it was all a stupid waste of time to think about it. But it did take up a lot of my thoughts, which was the only relief I got from the instant replays of walking in on my best friend, dead.

  That was how I spent the night—toggling back and forth between images in my mind—Thomas’s cold dead body and Liv’s warm, living one. My thoughts were obsessive and uncontrollable. I pictured myself standing next to Liv and leaning down close to her as if I were going to whisper something in her ear. My lips pressed down into the curve of her neck, and I tasted the hot salt of her skin on my tongue. I moved closer and licked at the small indentation at the base of her throat; her shoulders shivered in response. She tilted her head and smiled at me, a little shy, a little uncertain. My eyes would close when she’d moan and softly call my name. But when I opened them again, we were in Thomas’s basement, his body lying cold and stiff next to us, his eyes glazed over and his hands clutching onto whatever secrets he kept from me.

  I couldn’t stay in bed a second longer.

  I ended up eating breakfast in a small diner before sunrise, watching the cars outside the window driving through the first streams of sunlight that hit the ground.

  After my fourth cup of coffee, I found myself knocking on Thomas’ wife’s door. I hadn’t called ahead or anything, and I knew it was going to be hard for Lucy to see me, but I felt I needed to see her. I guess it was selfish maybe, but I was hoping something good could come out of it.

  A long span of unease fell over me as I waited for someone to answer.

  Then, I heard the lock slide open.

  A pair of tear-filled, blood-shot brown eyes regarded me through a small opening in the door. “Dean?” the voice croaked in a sniffle.

  “Yeah, Luce. It’s me,” I said, trying hard not to crumble in front of her. The bridge of my nose stung with needles from holding back my tears, but my eyes blurred anyway.

  She stepped back slowly and crumpled onto the hallway rug. Before I could close the door and reach her, she was hiccupping and sobbing, folding herself into fetal position. Watching it gutted me.

  Sinking to my knees, I wrapped my arms around her. “I know, Luce. I know, Babe. I miss him too.” My voice trembled.

  “The job killed him,” she wailed, fisting my shirt in her hands. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t,” she cried. She pulled back her head and looked at me through hazy grief-stricken eyes. “Did he tell you anything? Why would he do this to me?” Her hair was pulled back tight into a messy ponytail, and wild strands of it knotted around her neck. “You saw him last. What did he say? What happened?” She sniffed, wiping her hands fast across her nose.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered, holding her closer. “We just had dinner, like we always did. He didn’t say anything to make me think he could…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Not sitting in front of her. I couldn’t say the words out loud.

  Her fists pounded into my chest. I just let her hit me over and over again—until she ran out of energy. I just let her.

  When she was spent, she slumped down against my chest and gradually quieted. “Something was up with him,” she hiccupped, “I just don’t know what. Do you think it was me? Do you think he was unhappy with me?”

  “No, Lucy,” I said, kissing her mop of hair, “You and Chase were everything to him. He loved you both so much.” The words left a sour taste in my mouth—if they were true—why wouldn’t he want to be here? Thomas and I were close, but after his suicide I felt like I hadn’t known him at all. She knew him better than me. She had to know something. Thomas was older than me, had been on the job since 2000, seventeen years—he could have retired in three years. His next birthday would have been his thirty-eighth. Lucy and him were college sweethearts. His son was only four. He owned a house, had no debt. You could always find him smiling or telling awful jokes. He had, what I always believed, to be a great life. What the fuck went so horribly wrong?

  “What was going on that he rather be dead than watch his son grow up, huh? What trouble was he in?” she asked, ripping into my thoughts.

  Why did everyone think he had to have been in trouble? Why couldn’t he just be tired of giving pieces of himself to everyone until he was empty inside? Why couldn’t anyone else see how fucking lonely this life was? What a burden it was to know the evil that lives inside everyone, and you’re the one who has to try and protect them all. Even the shittiest, evilest ones.

  “I don’t know, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

  She pulled back and climbed to her feet, wiping snot across her cheeks. “Did you know a Katherine Meyers?” she demanded on a choked sob. “Who is she Dean? I know that stupid blue code of brotherhood you have, but I have his phone. Was he cheating on me?”

  What the hell?

  I jumped to my feet and grabbed for her hands, but she slapped them away. “Tell me the truth! You were single, and he was stuck with me. Is that what happened? Did you let him cheat on me? All those weekends away you and him in the last month!”

  Weekends away? What the fuck was she talking about? I didn’t ask her, didn’t want to fuel the fire.

  “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about. I’ve never heard of anyone by that name.” It was the truth. “And what time did he have to cheat on you? Lucy, I know you’re grieving, but this is Thomas we’re talking about. He’d never cheat on you.”

  “I never thought he’d kill himself, either,” she whispered, through tear-drenched lips. “But he did.”

  Chapter 8

  Liv

  The hospital staff said Mom was in stage two of her medical detox, twenty-four to seventy-two hours without a drink, which apparently meant that I was inside the ninth ring of Hell without an exit in sight. She was confused. Her blood pressure skyrocketed, and her limbs shook like she was outside naked in the cold. All my fault, of course.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” she whimpered, when her eyes opened long enough to see me.

  “What is it that you think I’m doing?” I sat forward in the seat beside her bed. My bottom tingled with pins and needles, and my neck was stiff from looking down at my phone. “Making sure you stay alive?”

  “You should go home,” she coughed and gagged on her own saliva. Her eyes darted wildly at the ceiling.

  I followed her gaze, fully expecting to see some green sort of goblin hanging from the overhead lights. My eyes squeezed shut, and I tried to clear my thoughts and be more understanding. I took a deep breath in and smiled warmly, “I’ve been cleaning the house, so it’s a bit more livable for you.”

  “Don’t touch anything that’s not yours! I got personal shit in there,” she yelled, looking at the top of my head. “Ask them if I could have a cigarette.”

  “There’s no smoking in the hospital,” I said, sweetly. The smile on my face started to hurt. “I had to throw away your mattress and bought you a brand new one.”

  Her head slumped to the side. “Why? That was a damn good mattress. How stupid are you?”

  “It was caked with shit,”
I said, still smiling, through tightly clenched teeth.

  “Damn dogs musta got in,” she croaked, scratching at her chin and neck. “Can you go get me a drink, Liv? Just a little sip is all. It hurts. You don’t want me hurtin’, do you?”

  “Mom,” I warned, smile completely disintegrating. “Stop it,” I snapped.

  “Then, you need to get out of here, that’s what you need to do,” she stammered, frantically pressing the nurse’s call button. “My life was fine until you came along!”

  Anger ripped through me, “It’s not my fault the asshole didn’t wear a condom.” I dragged my coat off the back of the chair, fumbling with the stupid material.

  “Don’t speak like that about him!” she roared.

  “Whatever,” I said, yanking my arms through my coat sleeves quickly. I wanted to get the hell away from her as soon as I possibly could. Screw patience and understanding. I’d never gotten any of that from her.

  “You…” she pointed a crooked finger in my direction, stopping me from running from the door. Would she say something to make it better? Please, just let her say something I needed to hear, something loving and encouraging. Something to make me believe this wasn’t all for shit. “You’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side for years. Miss Goody-Goody Fucking Two Shoes.”

  “No, I haven’t! I haven’t lived with you in seven years,” I yelled back, my words stuttering and spitting all over. “I’m the one that helps pay your bills. Do you even realize that? Do you realize that I have always been the adult in this relationship? That you don’t get light, unless I pay the electricity bill?” I leaned over her bed, raging, my face in hers. “You don’t get heat if I don’t pay the gas. Who puts money into your account, Mom? Me!”

  I stood at the side of that hospital bed, tears welling in my eyes, staring down into the face of a heartless woman, hands clenching. “You were the worst mother in the world. And considering how you treated me and neglected me, I think I am a pretty damn good daughter.”

  “Just leave,” she spit, wrinkling up her nose like I was nothing to her. “Every time you pop up, my life has to change. Go away.”

  “Fine,” I said quietly, stepping back up and straightening my jacket. “I’ll wait until the handyman fixes the door, then I’ll lock up, and you’ll finally be rid of me.”

  I ignored the nurses calling for me as I stepped into the elevator. I was too busy staring down at my shoes, and trying to swallow past the lump lodged in my throat. Mentally, I was so exhausted it took me thirty minutes to remember where I’d parked my car. Once inside, I thudded my head against the steering wheel and fought back the army of tears in my eyes.

  I hated her.

  I hated her and felt guilty about it.

  She was sick. She was weak and sick and maybe if I had stayed and taken better care of her—

  I’d be just a younger version.

  That thought made me dry heave.

  The drive back to her house was a haze of anger and utter disbelief, both feelings jockeying for my attention. By the time I reached her street, I was seeing red and drove my car right over her front lawn, leaving giant skid marks in her grass and muddy snow and slush across the front porch. I slammed the brakes right before I crashed into Brooke’s house. I didn’t think I would’ve even noticed.

  I stumbled out of the car, slamming the door hard, and let out an expletive string of such filthy words my mother would have finally been proud. Next door, the garage was open, and Dean stood staring at me, wide-eyed and still. Okay, maybe I would have noticed if I collided with their house, since the nose of my car was pointing right to where he was standing. Sweat dripped off his face, and a heavy bag swung wildly in front of him. His hair was sticking up every which way, and his eyes were drawn and red, but alarmed as hell. He looked just like I felt.

  “You okay?” I called out, cautiously. He didn’t answer; just stood stock-still looking stunned, which was completely understandable, since I probably scared him out of his damn mind with my glorious parking abilities.

  I pointed to my car, “Sorry. Bad day.” I walked into the garage, his eyes, devastated and filled with confusion, followed my movements. Leaning against the side of the car closest to him, I folded my arms across my chest and tilted my head. “But you, though…you look like you’re having an even worse day.”

  His neck corded; his entire body tensed, like he was waiting for a punch. His lips opened and closed, so did his scraped fists.

  I arched an eyebrow at him, waiting for whatever he was holding in to burst under the pressure. And it did.

  He flinched back and his words exploded out like low thunder, “She thinks he was having an affair. Blamed it on me. Thinks it’s why he did it.”

  “Who’s she?”

  “Lucy,” he stammered, angrily. “Thomas’s widow.” He pronounced the word like it tasted bitter to his tongue.

  “How is him sticking his dick someplace else your fault? And that’s not a reason to do what he did. It doesn’t make any sense. If you’re having an affair you get divorced. You don’t—”

  “Don’t,” he yelled, stopping me. His nose flared, as he tried to calm his breathing. “Why was your day so bad?” he asked. “You almost drove right through me.”

  I shrugged. “I would have stopped, probably.” His eyes softened with my tease, his shoulders loosened.

  I shook my head and sighed, “I went to see my mother. She just—well, it doesn’t matter. I’m just going to wait until the door gets fixed and leave.”

  “The door?”

  “Yeah, the one you kicked through to get inside her house?”

  “Oh, sorry, yeah. I didn’t even think about it. I just heard the alarms and…” His voice lowered and drifted off, like the thought wasn’t important enough to let out into the world. He looked away, tapping his fists softly against the punching bag.

  “You saved her miserable life, don’t be sorry.”

  I watched him quietly, wondering if his thoughts had led him right back to his dead friend. He was absently hitting the heavy bag, right hand then left.

  “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but why would Lucy think that?” I asked, low.

  “She found his phone,” he said, as the punches got quicker, harder, more intense. “He was calling the same woman a lot, too much, and for long periods of time.”

  “Dean, I think she’s just hurting. It sounds like she wants to blame someone else,” I said, low.

  His eyes lifted, focusing on a cell phone laying open on a workout bench. His fists punched even harder, pounding the bag so harshly the chain holding it bounced violently from the ceiling. Splats of red spread across the bag each time his raw knuckles collided against it.

  “Doesn’t matter to me,” he growled.

  “Of course, it does, Dean. Why else would you be in here making your knuckles bleed?”

  “I told you before. I’m-empty-I-don’t-feel-a-thing,” he punched out the words to the rhythm of his blows.

  “So then, why not make some calls? For Lucy?” I said, walking over to the phone. He froze, eyes angry, hands splayed flat out, stopping the bag from moving around. “Don’t touch it,” he rumbled.

  “Why not just call the number? Ask the questions you’re beating yourself up about.”

  “What if I find something that will hurt her? Huh?” He tone was curt.

  “Don’t tell her,” I said, shrugging.

  “What if it’s hurtful to his memory, and I have to live with it for the rest of my life?” He snapped, throttling the bag with another punch.

  “You’re the one that said you felt nothing Dean. You’re the one that said you’re only here to serve and protect, right? You’re not human, weren’t those your exact words?”

  “You don’t know anything about me—”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” I said, tapping the top of the workbench with my knuckles. “And I’m definitely not going to disrespect myself and act like one of those girls who thi
nks they could change you… But ask yourself something, Dean. Are you punching that bag, splitting your knuckles so deep they’re bleeding, because you want to get the pain out, or are you trying to pull it in?”

  Boom, if I had a mic, I’d have dropped it.

  His fists dropped to his sides, and he just stared at me, stunned.

  I left him there.

  It was late, and I promised Brooke I’d go out with her.

  Hopefully tomorrow, I’d be able to get the hell out of this town.

  The hell away from my crazy drunk mother, and the hell away from him.

  Chapter 9

  Dean

  I heard the shower running downstairs, and it was pissing me off.

  It was pissing me of because it was making me think about her.

  Her and the way she said things that got under my skin.

  I mean, why the hell would she care? Why should she care?

  None of it mattered. Thomas was dead, and Liv would be gone soon. And, both of them will turn into an uncomfortable memory I’ll avoid with work or booze.

  The only problem was I still heard the water running.

  She was a floor below me.

  Naked and wet.

  Instead of accidentally walking through my sister’s apartment or looking to borrow a cup of unwanted sugar just to bump into a towel-clad woman, I called a few of the guys. I figured a poker game and a few beers would hit the spot. At least, it would stop my brain from unhinging around her.

  Jack, Max, and the new guy Ryan were over my house within thirty minutes, all carrying two six packs and a cigar case tucked inside their coats. Callie brought over whiskey and a bunch of deli sandwiches.

  After two games, Jack was already starting his conspiracy theories. “So get this,” he said, through a mouthful of ham and Swiss, “I heard he got in trouble for something and IAB was looking into him.” We all knew the he Jack was talking about was Thomas. His name was still hanging in the air between us, and it was thickening like fog and getting harder to see through. I was starting to suffocate from it.