Incomplete

by Eliza Park

  An ocean of green widened at my declaration, a pale pink appearing in her cheeks. “Right. Well, I developed kind of an unhealthy obsession with the memories, relying on them to get me through.”

  I was trying to connect the dots. She thought she was obsessed with me because she had been temporarily obsessed with the memories we had together during a traumatic period in her life?

  “And my therapist, Jenny, she thinks I took a lot of what I was feeling and misplaced it onto you, developed an attachment.”

  The attachment didn’t already exist? “She thinks we’re a bad idea, I’m guessing?”

  “Yes, and no. In rehab I sort of talked about you incessantly and for a long time I refused to talk about what had happened with--.”

  My jaw twitched.

  “About what happened…It’s why I didn’t visit for so long, Mav, why I didn’t stop here before I went to Dublin. I was afraid I’d built this obsession in my head. There was a time Jenny thought you didn’t actually exist.”

  “Is that why you went to Ireland? To get away from me?” My voice sounded harsher than I intended it and I cleared my throat.

  The waiter reappeared, setting the glass down in front of me. I swallowed it whole and asked for another.

  Celeste watched me with narrowed eyes. “Yes,” she admitted, and I looked away from her. “And No. I wanted to see where my mother would have taken me. And I thought distance and time would help me...get over you...get over what I had thought we had.”

  “What you thought we had?” This was like Saint Bridgette’s all over again. I was being dumped due to a memory issue.

  “Will you let me finish?” She said, exasperated.

  I schooled my expression, wishing for that next drink.

  “I started working on retaining my memories. All of them. I told you this before. And the more I recovered, the more I really started to fall for you, Mav, and that shit was scary. So yeah, I ran away, and I didn’t come back until I knew what I was feeling was real.”

  It took me a minute to process those words. To hear what she was really saying.

  “The problem,” she continued, “Is now that I’m here, I can’t seem to stay away from you. It feels like another obsession and that isn’t what I want this to be.”

  I frowned, “Holy shit, Ace, you’re breaking up with me. Again.”

  She rolled her eyes, “No, I’m just backtracking. I’ve been trying to seduce you since I got here, and you were right, we need to take things more slowly. I don’t want to, necessarily, but I agree that it’s a good idea.”

  “How slowly?”

  “We could try being friends?”

  Something hard clenched in my chest, “No can do, Ace.”

  “You can’t just say no, Mav.”

  I leaned forward, feeling the scotch works its way through my blood, “I’m not saying I won’t be your friend. I want nothing more than to be your friend, but I’m not going to stop there. I’m taking on every role, one at a time. Boyfriend, fuck buddy, valet, cook, sugar daddy, and eventually, husband.”

  She coughed on a laugh and glanced around, “Sugar daddy? I have more money than you.”

  “You would if you touched it, we both know you haven’t.”

  “Mav this isn’t up for discussion. I need to know where we stand.”

  “I’m telling you right where we stand, Ace. I’m quite literally drawing out a map for you. I’m going to continue to date you, I don’t care what your therapist says about it.”

  “It isn’t just her--.”

  “It is just her. You said yourself, if it were up to you, we’d have fucked already. I agree, we should take things slowly for both of our sakes, but if you think for one second that we’re going to go backwards,” I sat back then, shaking my head and letting out a breath, “No, Ace. I refuse. I told you before and I’ll say it again. You’re back now, and you’re mine.” I crossed my arms over my chest, “Deal with it.”

  “You’re infuriating.”

  I grinned, “You should try dating you.”

  She sat back in her chair, scowling.

  “Tell me something,” I said, voice lowered, “When we’re together, when I’m on top of you, my fingers buried in that warm, wet--.”

  “Maverick,” she hissed, glancing around us, the heat creeping into her cheeks.

  “Are you somewhere else when that happens, Celeste?”

  She frowned and shook her head, “Of course not.”

  “When is the last time you had to use one of our memories to get through something?”

  The waiter appeared again, his timing impeccable. Celeste barely had a chance to look at the menu, ordering a pasta dish. I downed the next glass of scotch and asked for another.

  “Not since rehab,” she said when he disappeared.

  So why the fuck would you want to halt all of this progress, all of these new memories we’re making together?”

  “I just want to make certain it’s real,” her voice was quiet.

  This shit again.

  I reached across the table to take her hand in mine, running my thumb over her knuckles, “It’s real, Celeste. I think you know it is, and I think you’re scared.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  “No, of course not, but I’m not going to let you run away from that feeling. The more scared, nervous, anxious, or horny you are, the more real it is.”

  “You’re going to be a great lawyer someday.”

  I smirked. “Tell me about some of these other memories.”

  “Do you remember our first kiss?”

  Fuck. How could I forget.

  “Yes.”

  “That was one of my favorites.” She took a sip of water, holding on to the glass in one hand.

  “I had a crush on you for years before that day at the pool,” I admitted, the scotch moving its way from my empty stomach and into my brain.

  Her mouth fell open in surprise and I wanted to tap it closed. A single blonde wave fell forward over the shoulder of her dress, kissing the soft swell of her breast. I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my eyes from resting too long in one spot. “You’re lying.”

  “I’ve been obsessed with you much longer than you claim to be obsessed with me, Celeste. I’ve just been over here waiting for you to figure it out.”

  She shook her head in denial, “That’s crazy. We mutually agreed to be friends with benefits.”

  I tapped my fingers on the table, “Nope. I just couldn’t work up the courage to ask you out.”

  “You have plenty of courage now,” she said, eyes landing on the scotch the waiter set before me on the table.

  I watched her as the food found its way in front of us.

  “Does it bother you?” I asked, swirling the scotch around in my hand.

  “What?” A silver fork was held aloft in her fingers, ready to dive into the mountain of pasta she’d ordered.

  I smiled, marveling at another major change in her personality. A supreme love of food. “The drinking.”

  Her fork twirled in a weak circle. And I knew her answer before she said it.

  “Yes.”

  I set the drink on the table. “I’ll stop.”

  “You don’t have to do that for me.”

  I grabbed my water, drinking the whole thing down and preparing to eat the pile of overpriced protein on my plate. “It’s an easy thing to give. Plus, I was relying on it mainly to keep me soft around you. So, prepare yourself.”

  She stiffened.

  “I mean,” I gestured, “Prepare yourself for hearing me take lots of cold showers.”

  Her hand went to cover her mouth, cheeks pink with laughter. “I don’t know that we need to go that slow…” She said then.

  I nearly threw myself on the ground in exasperation. “You’re all over the place.” I rounded my shoulders and put my hands on the table, “Okay. Here are the rules.”

  “Rules?” Celeste raised her eyebrows.

  “First Rule: you must always wear und
erwear. Thongs don’t count,” I pointed at her then. “I’ll do the same.”

  A couple to my left shot us nervous glances and I ignored them.

  “Second Rule: stop offering to blow me. It might kill me.”

  A grin was spreading across Celeste’s face.

  “Third Rule: I go home at the end of the night instead of trying to get into your pants.”

  The couple next to us was full on whispering about our conversation then. Celeste noticed and put a finger to her lips to shush me.

  I lowered my volume. “Fourth Rule:…”

  She raised a single eyebrow, chewing her pasta.

  “I don’t have a fourth rule.”

  Celeste was thoughtful for a moment, “You’re not going to try to fill the space I’m leaving with one of your harem, are you?”

  I pretended to consider it and she tossed a crouton from her side salad at me.

  “No, Celeste. I can honestly say I never thought you’d come back to me. I’m going to try my best not to screw it up.”

  Until you learn the truth.

  I stared at the scotch on the table, willing it to find its way into my bloodstream of its own accord, and vowed not to fuck her until I’d found a way to tell her my own list of secrets.

  At the end of the night I followed the curvy blonde back to the door of her apartment. She unlocked the heavy door and pushed it open, turning her head to the side to look at me. Her green eyes were hooded, and she smiled, “So you’re not going to come in?”

  Leaning forward, I tucked my finger under her chin, lifting her mouth up, “No,” I murmured.

  Her lids closed and blinked back open, watching my mouth.

  I was considering not kissing her, prolonging the torture. Then I remembered the years I went without her. The days and months I spent wishing the girls I was with were her. Imagining the face before me as a shadow over the faces of other women I fucked. And I didn’t want to torture myself. Who knew how many times I’d get to taste her before she let me go again.

  At first, I tried to be gentle. I really did.

  My lips fitted to hers and she wrapped her arms around my neck, pressing her chest to me, her long, soft legs meeting mine. My hand drifted down the silk of her dress, consciously staying away from the round bulge of her ass. She moaned, really quietly, and still I kept my hands where they were, just trying to enjoy the simple act of making out with my girlfriend.

  Then, she bit my lip, gently. Her teeth just scraped over the flesh of my bottom lip and I felt something inside me shift. I lifted her up by the pillowy cushion of her ass and nearly slammed her back into the wall next to her door, which was still hanging open, waiting for its owner to return. Her tongue shoved its way into my mouth, and I groaned, my hands somehow finding their way under the skirt of her dress to caress the upper part of her thigh. She tore her mouth from mine, and I moved to her neck, my teeth sinking delicately into her skin. Nails dug into the hair at my neck and another primal shift spread through my body. Before she could catch her breath, I brought her mouth back to mine, wanting her to feel just exactly how badly I wanted to fuck her. I hooked my elbows under her knees, feeling the soft resistance of flesh against the front of my pants. She moaned into my mouth and I grinned against the vibration, telling myself to let her go.

  But I couldn’t.

  Celeste pushed her hips forward, pelvis grinding against me and my vision went white. I was about to fuck her in the hallway. We were a zipper and a flick of my wrist from consummating this relationship. And only hours after she’d said we needed to slow down.

  Slow down.

  I let go of her legs and she fell to the floor, her dress still riding up against my buckle. I used the wall to physically push my body and face away from her, taking a full step back after her mouth disconnected from mine.

  Her dress fell back in place, the neckline slightly askew, showing more flesh of one of her tits than the other. They rose and fell, swelling and relaxing as she tried to get a grip on her breathing. Hair messy, cheeks pink, dress wrinkled, eyes glassy.

  I had to look away.

  She exhaled once more, loudly, and ran her fingers through her hair, straightening out the tangles we’d created. “Right,” she said.

  “So, I’ll see you…next weekend,” I offered, adjusting my pants away from her.

  She cleared her throat, “Yep. Next weekend.”

  Celeste moved to go into her apartment and a thought struck me, so quickly it made my heart race. I took two steps forward, placing my hand on her arm.

  “I was wondering, actually…”

  Green eyes watched me curiously, cautiously.

  “So, you’re my girlfriend now, right?” I said it quickly.

  Her mouth fell open in shock, “Oh, is this you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

  I ran my hand through my hair and chuckled, starting to sweat, “Um, yes. If you want to be.”

  She bit her lip, “Yeah, okay.”

  “Really?” The last time I’d asked, she’d been too fucked up to remember. I wanted, needed, to be sure.

  “Yes,” she laughed, “I’m not going to forget, Mav. I’m your…girlfriend.”

  My heart skipped a ridiculous beat. “Cool.”

  Her head fell back as she laughed, “Yeah, cool.”

  I kissed her on the cheek and watched as she walked into her apartment, closing the door with a smile.

  The feeling coursing through my body was unlike anything I’d experienced. It was better than winning a championship, better than acing a final, better even than any sex I’d had so far.

  I was high on this fucking feeling.

  But as I hopped down the steps to the front of the building, the feeling faded, replacing itself with guilt. Guilt and regret. My driver was waiting with the door open, and I dove into the car, letting my head fall back onto the seat.

  My phone buzzed with a number I recognized but didn’t have the heart to answer.

  There were a few things I needed to work out before I fully told Celeste the truth. If what I had in place fell through, if I didn’t have anything else to give her to make up for the things I’d kept secret, I was going to lose her. I knew that. Cold dread filled me at the thought.

  If I could give her this one thing, maybe she would forgive me.

  Maybe.

  I answered the fucking call.

  “Mr. Lockwood. I found her.”

  Chapter 35

  Celeste

  I loved dating.

  It was almost too much fun.

  Despite our insane schedules, Maverick and I managed to hang out at least once a week, usually on Sundays. He’d drive up in the morning, and we’d walk around the city and swap university stories. He was hesitant to tell me more about Mia and I tried not to push the issue although my curiosity was constantly trying to pound out questions like a hammer. He never came into my apartment, always choosing to leave me at my door with a not-so-chaste kiss. Every Sunday night I’d stand on the other side of my apartment door and take giant deep breaths, reminding myself that this was the best way to handle things.

  After the third Sunday of denying myself a physical release, I started to beat myself up physically. I was already running a few times a week, but after Sunday, I’d ordered a punching bag and had it hung up in my guest room. I hit it until my hands were sore, the gloves starting to tear, channeling the moves I’d been taught that six months I’d spent in Idaho with my cousins. By the time I was done, covered in sweat, muscles screaming, I’d throw my weak body into the shower and smile at the thought of Maverick, asking me to be his girlfriend. I replayed the memory over and over, adding it to my journal and dog-earing the page with a perfectly folded triangle so I could read it again.

  Mondays between classes I met with Jenny. And Wednesday’s I’d started attending a memory therapy workshop with a new therapist, Dr. Kroger.

  Jenny and I had been working on retrieving my memories for three years, but the one thing I wanted to reme
mber was still out of my reach. Jenny had tentatively suggested hypnotherapy, and I agreed, desperate for anything to work.

  I wanted to remember my mother.

  I needed to know what happened the day of my fifth birthday and it was still only coming to me in pieces.

  Dr. Kroger was a tall woman with white, blonde hair and blue eyes that wrinkled at the corners. During our second session, she led me to a large chenille couch, the fabric a calming gray, and had me lay down. Our first session had been introductory. She’d been updated on my progress and had quite the file on my sessions with Jenny, and then she’d gone into the details of what I should be expecting in the coming weeks.

  I told her I wanted to jump right in.

  She agreed.

  “Close your eyes, Celeste.”

  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

  ————————

  I was standing on the lake.

  It was frozen solid, the snow blowing and sliding around my boots. I pushed the skirt of my dress down with my blue mittens to look into the ice.

  I was cold and my head hurt from when the red-haired lady had driven off the road.

  Someone called my name and I looked up, squinting into the snow.

  My dad was on the bank of the lake, and he looked mad.

  “You honestly thought you could just come back and take her?” He yelled.

  I shivered.

  “If you let me see her I wouldn’t have to,” the red-haired woman yelled back, her warm hand holding onto my cold one. She was scooting us across the lake, hurrying as she skirted, her feet small and spread wide.

  “You signed a contract, Maeve. Bring her back to me now.”

  The woman scoffed and said something else, but I couldn’t hear her.

  Something happened and the woman was panicking, guiding me gently but hurriedly over the ice. “You’re too heavy, you’ll break the ice!” She yelled then, almost directly into my ear.

  I looked back to see my dad chasing after us and I giggled. He looked so funny trying to run across the slippery surface.

  A large crack formed between my boots and I felt the ground move.

  The woman gasped. “Stay still,” she said quietly.

  —————————