Shattered and Shaken (18 page)

I consider his confession for a moment, and then I go at him again, full force. I punch him repeatedly. “You inconsiderate, insensitive, arrogant, virginity-taking, heart-breaking, piece-of-no-good shit! I hate you!” I sob, punching him with every word. I punch him for making me fall in love with him, and for making me give up the most important person in my life. And I hate that he enjoys the pain I’m inflicting upon him! I rear back and punch him in the jaw.

“Yeah, is that all you got? Huh?” he sneers. “Feels like mosquito bites,” he adds.

His words fuel me; it’s like adding gasoline to a fire. I take a few steps back and rear back my knee, aiming for his balls. As I lift my knee, his leg guards his jewels, and his arms capture me, squeezing me tightly. “I fucking love you. You hear me?” He turns me in his arms and looks me in the eye, searching my soul. “I'll leave, but you need to know one more thing. I've died a thousand deaths trying to return home to you, baby. I'll fight for you until all oxygen escapes my lungs and the beating of my heart goes silent. I'm coming back for you, promise,” he vows, kissing me tenderly.

Well, promises are made to be broken, and the heart’s sole purpose is to be shattered. His promise means nothing to me.

***

THE NEXT DAY I
catch my mother leaving for work, but I grab her before she heads out. I take her by surprise when I pull her to me, hugging her tightly. She doesn't hesitate in returning the love, and we hold each other in silence. Our hug is more than an expression of love; it's us telling one another we're sorry without words. I feel her tear splash against my shoulder. “I love you, and I'm sorry for being- for being such a bitch,” I admit.

She laughs, and it’s music to my ears. “You're not a- well maybe, sometimes,” she acknowledges.

I place my hands on her shoulder and look her in the eyes, needing her to see my sincerity. “I truly am happy that you found love again,” I assure her. Her smile widens and wrinkles surround her mouth on both sides. As usual, her smile's contagious, and I can't help returning an equally large, genuine smile. It's a real smile, not a fake plastered one.

She pats my cheek and turns to leave for work. “Mom,” I say, grabbing her attention.

“Yes.”

How do I ask this without sounding like a bitch? “Umm, why is Wyatt here? I mean, is he staying here?” I ask.

She rolls her eyes and lets out a sigh. “Unfortunately, yes. He has nowhere else to stay, Allie. Trust me, I don’t want him here anymore than you do, but I can’t turn him away. Like it or not, he’s family,” she sighs. “He promises he won’t be here long, but be careful; I see he still has some sort of effect on you,” she adds before exiting the door.

The house is quiet, and I wonder where Wyatt is. His duffle bag is on the floor next to the couch, but his jeep is gone. I turn on the television and flip through the channels but nothing's on, nothing ever is. I go through our movie collection and stumble upon the DVD Kyle made. My instinct is to toss it aside, but I need to watch it. Maybe, it'll help my anger dissipate.

I insert the DVD and press play. Kyle appears in front of his stereo. “Before you press the power button, listen,” he orders. I roll my eyes at how well he knows me. He presses play and our song begins to play. Turning the volume up, I bob my head, swing from side to side, and sing along, loudly. Andy Grammar's “Keep Your Head Up
”
is the best song ever. It was our theme song. The lyrics are inspiring and motivating. “Only rainbows after rain, the sun will always come again...” not true, but it sure does make you feel better, no matter what situation you're in. When you listen to this song, it makes you believe you can conquer all things, life or death.

The song ends and Kyle's sporting his goofy grin. “That's it. I know it's probably a lame excuse for a video, but hopefully it put a smile on your face.” He reaches out to cut the recorder off, but stalls momentarily. “Oh, and Allie, remember to live like it's your last day on Earth. Laugh as if no one's watching, love someone until your heart stops beating. And most importantly, forgive and forget. There's no meaning in holding grudges or hate, it only affects you, not the other person. Life's too short to live any other way,” he adds before powering down the recorder.

Kyle disappears and the screen goes blank, and to my surprise, I'm not crying.

My stomach drops at the sound of his voice. “Man, I miss him,” Wyatt interrupts, hands tucked inside his pockets, his thumbs hanging from his belt loops. He sits on the couch, leaning up to rest his elbows on his thighs. “I tried to save him, you know. Tried to stop the bleeding, I tried to keep him alive, but I couldn't.” His head hangs and I see the tears fall to his jeans. “I held his hand in the middle of the ruckus, prayed for God to take me and spare him," he sobs.

Going to him, I place myself between his legs. Resting on my knees, I reach up and wipe away his tears. I wish his being upset didn't affect me, but it rips me in two seeing him cry. “I'm sorry, Allie. I tried - fuck, I tried,” he's heaves.

Without hesitation, I climb onto his lap and kiss him, taking away his pain momentarily. In this moment, no one else matters. We know the loss of the other. We both feel the pain of losing Kyle. The electricity that flows between us is undeniable. Wyatt picks me up and repositions us on the couch, laying me onto my back. “God I've missed you,” he murmurs, nibbling my bottom lip.

I close my eyes and give into my desires, allowing his mouth to savor me, every inch of me, until my phone rings. Wyatt ignores it and continues worshiping me with his hands and mouth. “Wyatt, stop. I need to answer that,” I insist, scrambling to sit up. I grab my phone but I'm too late. I've missed the call from Blake. “I have to return this call. Should I go upstairs or can you keep quiet?” I ask.

“I'll keep quiet,” he replies, his lips giving a lopsided grin.

I'm in so much trouble. I feel sick. Guilt hits me. What the fuck was I thinking! I can't do this to Blake. I love him. I press send on the phone, returning Blake's call, but press end as soon as the phone began to ring. There's something I have to straighten out with Wyatt first. “We need to talk.”

He follows me back to the couch. “Okay, shoot,” he urges.

This is not going to be easy. “I'll be right back,” I inform him. I can't hurt him, sober anyway. Going into the kitchen, I go to the refrigerator and pull out my emergency bottle of Fireball whiskey. Two shots of this hotness and I'm invincible. After taking down four shots, I head back into the living room, slightly buzzed. I take a seat on the opposite side of Wyatt. “Okay. You can't barge in here and think you can pour your heart and soul out to me and I'll fall into your trap, because I won't,” I assure him. I’m impressed that my voice is holding and sounds resolute. Yay me! “The heart you shattered, the heart you left behind...someone's reconstructed and claimed it,” I point out.

He's paying attention, but I can see in his eyes he doesn't believe a word that's coming out of my mouth; I continue anyway. “Wyatt, I had been low and lost without you. I searched for you every day. I
Googled you, Facebooked you, nothing... I thought you were dead.” I take a deep breath to ease the anxiety that's trying to surface. “My soul was crushed. It took work to breathe, to live. Blake is the reason for that; he owns my heart. I can't break his. I won't,” I declare, blinking back threatening tears. “So please, if you love me like you claim, let me go. Don't make me fight the emotions raging through my body, just let me go, please,” I plead.

He shakes his head in disapproval at my request. "No. I won't give up, ever. Allie, don't let your love for me go to waste. And yes, I'm going to make you battle with your emotions. It's the only way you'll be able to choose between who you want and who you need; you need me just as much as I need you,” he says, his voice firm.

I wish he was wrong, but everything he's saying has an element of truth. He moves along the couch so that he's in front of me, using his thumb to trace back and forth across my chin. “And baby, when your fight overwhelms you, I'll be your soldier. I'll be here to catch you if you fall, and when you hurt, I'll carry your pain, always.” I wish I could break his heart, crush him to pieces like he did to me, but I don't have it in me. I hate that I love him more than I hate him, but what can I do? The heart wants what the heart wants, right? Wrong! My heart has no fucking clue what it wants. It's deceitful! He has no idea how difficult he's just made my life.

Chapter Seventeen

THE LAST FEW WEEKS passed by smoothly. Wyatt's staying here with mom and me until he can find a place to rent, and thankfully, things between us haven't been awkward. Sophie's still on vacation, and Blake's been working almost every day since we returned home from Nashville. Apparently whoever made the schedules, mistakenly scheduled several residents to take vacation at the same time, so Blake's had to fill in. I still haven't mentioned Wyatt being here; it's not a conversation I'd like to have over the phone. I need to look at him when we talk, because his emotions show through his eyes, not his demeanor. Okay, maybe I’m also a bit chicken-shit.

I've made a point to keep mine and Wyatt’s relationship in the friend-zone category, nothing more, hopefully, no definitely, I think. You see, I’m still as confused as hell. Ladies, don't let anyone tell you, you can't love two people at the same time, because you can. My heart is conflicted. I truly love Blake; mind, body, and soul, I love him. This is exactly what I was afraid of, hurting him. If there's anything I can do to prevent from tearing him apart, I will. I've made a commitment to myself to stay with Blake, but sometimes things are easier said than done. When I'm with Blake, I feel loved, cherished, but not fully complete. With Wyatt, I feel complete. Despite the fact that he abandoned us, my heart’s sealed with love for him, and there's nothing I can do to break his hold on me.

“Oh no, you’re thinking. Your thinking can be dangerous,” Wyatt teases, offering me coffee.

Taking the coffee mug from him, I wrap my hands around the heat to warm my fingers. “Yeah, well, no one asked for your opinion, dick,” I mumble, taking a sip of coffee.

He lies beside me on the bed in nothing but black Calvin Klein boxer briefs, his abs contracting as he chuckles at my eyes devouring him; not to mention, my tongue’s hanging out of my mouth like a dehydrated puppy. “Aww sweet, sweet Butterfly.” His fingers trickle down my neck and he takes a strand of my hair between his fingers. “It's not even 8am and you're already thinking about my dick. I'm flattered.”

My coffee projectiles from my mouth. “You took that the wrong way, buddy,” I choke. Rushing to the bathroom, I wet a washcloth to clean up the coffee, praying it doesn't stain my sheets. Sophie's jokes would be endless. Her seeing diarrhea-like stains on my sheets, I'd never live that down. As I scrub the stain, I look up to see Wyatt's eyes attached to my chest. “Can I help you?” I should've put on a bra, but it's early and it's not something I do until I've had my shower.

“Actually, there's a lot you can help me with,” he says suggestively, grinning and winking at me. Shit, there he goes, making me damp between the legs. Oh Lord, if I'm going to resist this man, I need God to show up and show out, soon.

“You're full of yourself. We're just friends, Wyatt,” I remind.

He positions himself on the bed so that he's on his knees, resting his weight on his hands, and leaning into me. “Who you trying to convince, baby, me or you?” he whispers against my lips.

Pull away, just pull away.
“Me- you... I- I mean you,” I stammer, breathlessly. His breath against my lips is exhilarating. Running his tongue along his bottom lip, he moves closer to me, and I know he's ready to attack.

“Please don't, don't do this,” I plead, panting. He knows how he affects me. He's playing dirty, resting his lips to the crease of my mouth.

“Why not? You want me, admit it. Don't fight the temptation, baby,” he suggests.

But I have to. I can't give in to him. “Wyatt, I'm begging you to please, please stop. Don't try to make me love you, again. When it comes between the two of you, I'll pick him,” I advise. Both he and I know it’s a lie, but if he knows that I still love him, he’ll use it to his advantage.

Hesitantly, he removes his lips from mine and scrambles off the bed. “I'm only leaving because I can see the pain in your eyes, but rest assured, Butterfly, you'll be mine again. It's inevitable, baby,” he announces, exiting the room and slamming the door behind him.

As soon as the door shuts, I become dizzy…. nausea claims me.

I hide out in my room for the rest of the day, avoiding Wyatt. The nausea comes and goes in waves. Maybe I'm hungry? The only thing I've consumed today was coffee, and that was earlier this morning. It's late in the afternoon and I need to eat something; maybe it'll help reduce the uneasiness my stomach's experiencing.

Gathering up the courage, I go downstairs to grab a sandwich and a few pretzels. Thankfully, there's some 7-Up in the fridge. I hope the carbonation will help me. As I walk back to my room, I skim the house for Wyatt. Don't ask me why, but I do. He's nowhere in sight. I peek out the foyer window and see that his Jeep's still in the driveway, which means he's in Kyle's room.

Thirty minutes after I've eaten my lunch, I feel it rise into my throat. Placing my hands over my mouth, I rush to the toilet, and I barely get the seat raised before I expel everything I ate. Cold sweat covers my forehead, and I collapse to the floor, resting my head against the wall. Tiredness consumes me, and I struggle to get back into bed.

I haven't left the house in over a week, so I'm not sure what type of virus I caught, but it's not welcomed, not in this temple of mine. Pulling the covers neck high, I snuggle into my pillow and close my eyes, hoping the dizziness will fade. The nausea has gone away; it's amazing what a little vomiting can do. As the vertigo subsides, I drift to sleep.

It’s not long before the rolling of my stomach brings me back to life, but this time I have no warning and vomit onto the floor beside of my bed. Once my body's depleted of food, I begin to dry heave, loudly. Great! There's no way I'm going to be able to clean this shit up without causing an even larger mess. My door busts open and Wyatt rushes to my side, pulling my hair back. “Oh damn, Allie. It's okay, get it all out,” he urges, softly.

My heaves finally vanish, my insides splattered all over the floor; this is embarrassing. Wyatt drops my hair and strides to the bathroom. Falling back against my pillow, I hear the sound of running water. “Here, let me place this on your head. It'll make you feel better,” he insists, placing a warm rag to my forehead. His hand travels down the side of my face and I reach mine up to cover his, bringing his palm to my lips.

“Thank you.” I place a kiss to the inside of his palm.

Pity penetrates his baby blues. “Anytime.” He places the back of his hand to my cheek. “You don't feel warm, probably just a stomach bug.” He walks to the bathroom and comes out with two or three towels.

“I'll get it, you don't have to play in my body fluids,” I say, sitting up mortified.

He bends down beside the bed and covers the regurgitated food with the towels. “No, you won't. I got it. Just rest,” he instructs.

I follow his instructions and lie back, feeling terrible that he's cleaning up after me like I'm a child. After he finishes, he checks on me one final time. “I'm going to throw these in the washer. You need anything else or will you be okay for a few minutes?” he asks, concern sketched into his face. You gotta love a man who doesn't mind caring for you when you're at your lowest and who still makes you feel like you're the most beautiful woman in the world.

Shaking my head, I assure him that I'm fine. “I'm okay. You don't need to come back. I'm going to sleep whatever
this
is off." He flashes me a lazy smile and leaves. Before I get situated in bed, my phone chirps; it’s Sophie letting me know that she'll be home in two days. I text Blake informing him that I'm not feeling well, assuring him it's a virus, and that I'll call tomorrow with an update.

I don't wake until the next morning, and sleep must have worked magic, because I'm back to feeling normal. The dizziness and nausea have subsided, so I take a shower and prepare for my day. I don't have anything planned, but I like to look my best every day. You never know who'll stop by. Mom must have stayed at Jack’s last night because I'm not greeted with the scent of coffee as I exit my room, and her car isn’t outside when I open my blinds.

The coffee pot is filled with yesterday's coffee. I pour the coffee into the sink and the scent smacks me in the face, making me sick to my stomach. What the hell? I've never felt this way about the smell of coffee. Gagging, I leave the water running and go out onto the deck, praying that all I need is a little fresh air. Sitting in the chair, I begin to make a list of what I've eaten over the last few days. It can't be food poisoning because I haven't left the house, unless I've eaten something that was expired. But if that were the case, Wyatt would be sick as well; he's eaten everything I have. Just to be sure, I go inside and check the dates on everything we have in stock. Even the food I haven't touched, just in case it has contaminated anything within its path.

There's nothing, everything is fine. Shit!

I go back to my room and check the calendar on my phone, and fuck my life... I'm late. Shit! I grab my wallet and haul ass to the car, passing Wyatt as he pleads for me to stop. What am I going to do? I can't be pregnant, can I? I try to count the times Blake and I got carried away and didn't use protection, but I can't decide on a number. Aw fuck, not even once... God dammit! How can I be so stupid! You'd think I would've learned my lesson the first time.

I have no idea how he’ll handle it if I'm pregnant. If I am, maybe I shouldn't tell him. I can take the money Kyle left for me and move out of state, rent an apartment until he's finished and then tell him. Nope, that won't work. SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! Motherfucking shit!

Pulling into the Walgreen's, I slam the gear to park and punch the steering wheel. “How can you be so stupid!” I mumble, thoroughly pissed off. I'm livid with myself. I have birth control and forgot to take it. Not only have I ruined Blake’s life, and mine, but if I'm pregnant, it'll crush Wyatt.

I stop procrastinating and make my way through the store towards the pharmacy department. As soon as I enter, Josie, one of my mom's closest friends, greets me from behind the counter. Can this get any worse? I hate living in this town! Everyone knows your business. If you fart the wrong way, everyone in Jacksonville will want to examine your ass to be sure it isn't deformed. Waving at her, I hurry to the back of the store, and I'm thankful when I see there isn't anyone in line to check out in the pharmacy. I skim down the aisle full of tampons, pads, and other feminine products and grab three of the first pregnancy tests I see. The cashier is an older woman that attends the same church as my mother, but I don't believe they're acquainted or anything.

As I place the tests on the counter, she eyes them suspiciously, and then she brings her eyes to mine. “All of these for you dear?” she asks, judging me. Not that it's any of her business, but I tell her yes. She leans over the counter and looks to my stomach. “Huh,” she shrugs. Damn lady, if I was showing already, I wouldn’t need the test. She better keep her job and not venture out, most employers have low tolerance for ignorance. Not saying she's ignorant or anything, okay, maybe I am, but she brought it upon herself - eyeing me the way she did.

She asks for a total of thirty dollars. “Are you kidding me?” Thirty dollars? That's absurd! She holds her hand out, palm up, waiting for me to pay her. “Y'all should be ashamed of yourselves, charging people an arm and a leg for a necessity,” I argue.

She puckers her lips at me and nods. “Yeah, and you should be ashamed of buying these tests without a ring on your finger, but who am I to judge,” she responds. What a bitch. If I didn't respect my elders, I'd reach over the counter and slam her face into the register. Okay, maybe a slight exaggeration, but I'd let her know about herself.

I'm not the best Christian, but I know that it's not her place to judge me; only one person can do that. It sure as hell
ain't her. She bags the tests and hands me the receipt, holding the plastic bag towards me. I snatch it from her hands. “And lady, for all you know, I could've been raped. Although I wasn't, you never know what someone's going through,” I advise her. She snarls her nose and backs away into the pharmacy. Now, I know I shouldn't have compared myself or my situation to someone being raped, but it has happened. Her words could've pushed a girl in that situation over the edge- causing her to self-inflict bodily harm. Maybe she'll think before she speaks next time, but it won't be me. There will not, and I repeat, will not, be a next time for me. Fuck!

Pulling into the driveway, I take the tests out of the plastic bag and stuff them along the waistband of my shorts, tugging my shirt down in an attempt to cover them. I open the front door slowly and peek inside for Wyatt. He's not within eyesight. I make my way inside and quietly shut the door. The last thing I want is for Wyatt to catch me and probe me with questions, so I tiptoe up the stairs. Right before I make it to the top, the stair creaks. Great. I stand still and listen for movement, but I don't hear anything. Skipping the last three steps, I scurry into my
room and lock the door behind me. I begin opening the boxes before I make it to the restroom, reading the directions as I walk. It says you should use your first morning's urine for the most accurate results, but I pay them no attention. If you're pregnant, it's going to show any time of the day, right?

I empty my bladder and place the stick between my legs, making sure I saturate it well. I place it on the counter and begin the countdown. In five minutes, I should either see the words pregnant or not pregnant; I hope to see not. I don't leave the bathroom. I can't. If I walk away, maybe I'll miss the results. Delusional, I know, but, hey, I’m not in my right mind here.