CHAPTER Fifteen
Shit happens.
I never really understood that saying. Yeah, there were certain situations in life that were shitty, but they were just that; they were life. So it really wasn’t the shit in life that was, well, so shitty. It was life itself.
Life happens. That was much more appropriate.
Unfortunately, many of us found that out earlier than some. We found out just how awful life could really be. We found out that monsters were, indeed, real. They walked among us. They looked just like you and me. They came in the form of the people that we loved and trusted the most. The people whose only job was to love and protect us.
Funny thing about life is that it never turns out the way you want it to. It’s never fair. It’s harsh and brutal. It kicks you when you’re down. It makes you wish you could give up and part with it just to have a semblance of peace.
I almost felt that peace unintentionally. And if I had known exactly what I was fighting against, I would have succumbed to it. I would have traded my young shitty life for the peace that came with death.
I should have. I would have been free.
My father took me to a party when I was barely five years old. He said there would be other children there for me to play with. I was excited because he never took me anywhere. I usually stayed at home with my mother, breathing a sigh of relief whenever he was away. I got to watch television then. We didn’t have to cower in my room whenever he was feeling “playful.” It was the only time I didn’t see my mother cry.
Yet, for some strange reason, my father took me along this time. I remember the loud music and the different colored bottles of strong smelling alcohol burning my small nose. I remember people staggering around in an intoxicated haze and the half-naked women gyrating on men’s laps. And I remember the swimming pool. I had never seen one, and I was in awe.
Many of the adults kept disappearing inside to a back room. Then they would come back out, their eyes glazed and movements sluggish. My father told me he needed to go back in that room to “talk” to someone. I told him I wanted him to take me swimming.
“You wait here and I’ll be right back,” he told me. Then he dropped me into the pool, fully dressed, and told me to hang onto the side. I was too short to reach the bottom, and he said if I let go, I’d be in big trouble. I wanted to listen to him. I wanted to be good. I didn’t want to do anything to ruin this experience for me. I was actually happy.
But I was five. And my 5-year-old intentions did not win out over my curiosity.
I let go of the edge. And I nearly drowned, finding just a slice of that peace at the bottom of the swimming pool.
I don’t remember being pulled to the surface. I have no clue how long I was submerged. But when I finally regained consciousness, vomiting on the concrete as oxygen tried to combat the water in my lungs, I stupidly fought for my life. I battled for every breath, thinking that my life had to be better than the alternative.
I feared death when all along I should have feared life.
I sat on my bed cross-legged, dozens of tiny stars tickling my bare feet, as I put them back in the jar one by one. I had counted them over and over again since I broke down at Dive Thursday night. I could feel the cracks in my mask broadening into large fissures, splitting to reveal the little girl hidden underneath. The one that was so scared that it crippled her. The one that was afraid of someone finding out just how damaged and unlovable she really was.
“Knock, knock.”
I looked up to find Dom standing in my doorframe, smiling his usual boyish grin full of mischief. I was one of the few people who ever got to experience this smile. It was him. Unmasked, free and real. It wasn’t laced with pain or deceit. There was no anger in it.
“Hey you. What are you doing up so early on a Saturday morning? I thought you had a date,” I said, scooping the stars in my hand to hide them away. Of course, Dom had seen them before, but this was a personal process for me. It was something I could never share with anyone. No one would fully understand why I needed to count every single one.
Dom flopped back onto my bed, folding his hands behind his head. “Yeah. But I sent her home last night. Felt like sleeping alone.”
I detected the affliction in his voice, prompting me to abandon my task. “Nightmare?”
“Yeah.”
“Same as always?”
He nodded. “Yup.”
I let my hand cup his cheek, hoping my warmth would soothe him. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Nope.”
I wasn’t offended. I knew he would decline; he always did. If I had to battle that caliber of pain and anger daily, I’d want to keep it bottled up too.
Dominic divulged his level of f*cked-up-ness to me soon after we met. He was a known man-whore on our campus, and once we had established that we liked being around each other, he tried to sleep with me. I turned him down, and it wounded him. Deeply. He cared for me, and he thought that sex signified affection, both friendly and romantic.
“It’s just… you’re my best friend, Kam,” he said to me, betrayal written on his handsome face after my rejection. “I love you more than anything else in this world. And this is the only way I know how to show how much you mean to me.”
“Dom, do you love me like that? Like more than a friend?” I asked, grasping his hand. It was our thing. Dom needed constant affection, and I only found it acceptable with him.
“Well…no. I mean, I know I love you, but honestly, no. Not like that.”
“Then you don’t want to sleep with me.”
Genuine confusion flashed across his features. “I don’t get it.”
I knew something dark and ugly had happened to Dom, but that moment solidified it for me. I would never, ever leave him. He was a smart, witty man, but emotionally, he was an infant. He honestly had no idea that sex and love were two totally different things.
Then he broke down and told me what happened to him, his inhibitions numbed after sharing a few bottles of wine. I cried for him. And when my sobs had grown out of control, stealing my breath, I wanted to vomit from the sheer repulsion of his account. My beautiful, dear friend deserved every one of those anguished tears.
“I didn’t understand, Kam,” he cried, his face buried in my neck as I held him tight. “He was my uncle, and he said he loved me. He said that if I loved him that I would show it. That I would be a good boy and show him my love. And when he invited his friends to come over and… and… f*ck! When he let his friends f*cking rape me over and over, he said it was because he loved me so much that he had to share it. He had to share his love for his nephew by letting them f*ck me!”
He went on to tell me how it continued for years and didn’t stop until Dominic was hospitalized for severe damage to his rectum. His uncle had been his caretaker since a car crash claimed the lives of Dom’s parents when he was just a toddler. The police investigated and arrested all the sick-f*cks involved, including his uncle, the only family that Dom had ever known.
After his body had healed, Dom was sent to live with a relative in North Carolina when he was 14. The relative, a distant older cousin, was a stranger to him and only took him in out of obligation. She never helped him heal emotionally from the trauma or cared enough to get him help. So Dom coped in the only way he knew how—with sex. He slept with any girl that would have him, desperately trying to prove to himself that he was straight, that he hated everything his uncle had done to him. But he couldn’t deny that he still loved him. He was the only parent he had ever known. The conflicting feelings, the abuse, it f*cked with everything he thought he knew about love and sex, right or wrong.
The man that laid beside me today was still confused and outraged but he had begun to heal. He knew that intimacy wasn’t a substitute for affection, but he sought it out anyway. He needed that constant reassurance. He needed the physical reminder that he was a man, that no amount of abuse could strip him of his masculinity. I still hurt for him deeply, but I was honored to love him. He of all people deserved it.
“Kam?” he said, pinching my thigh and breaking me from my morbid account. “Wanna tell me why you’ve been missing Dr. Cole’s appointments?”
I shook my head and resumed putting the tiny origami stars back in the glass jar. “Because I’m not going back. It doesn’t help. And she thinks I’m being irrational.”
Dom let out an exasperated sigh. “You have to talk to somebody, Kam. I’m serious.”
“I talk to you.” I got up and put the jar in its spot on my windowsill before walking over to grab my guitar. I needed a distraction.
“Bullshit. You don’t talk to me. And I’m afraid that I won’t be around when you finally need to talk to me. Please, Kam, give Dr. Cole another chance.”
“Why the hell is she calling you about me anyway? You aren’t my father. Doesn’t that break some kinda patient-doctor confidentiality?”
“She didn’t tell me what you two talk about,” he replied, rolling his beautiful eyes. “Her office called to find out what’s been going on.”
“Mmm hmm,” I said, lightly strumming the strings. I was done talking. Nothing Dom could say would make me go back to therapy. It was a waste of time and money.
Dom got the hint and sat up with a huff. He knew I wouldn’t budge. “Fine. But the moment you feel yourself losing control, you come to me. Ok? Don’t give me that “I’m fine” bullshit. Next week, we look for another therapist.”
I nodded and just kept thrumming, getting lost in the melody that had been stuck on a continuous loop in my head for days. I hadn’t played for weeks but, for some reason, I felt the need to let my emotions trickle out in song. It flowed easily, and before I even realized it, I was humming, and the story was slowly coming into focus.
It was a song about hope and longing. About wanting something so bad but feeling too afraid to admit it. About fighting against fear and denial and letting in the unknown. The song swelled and flourished, the picture behind my closed eyelids becoming brighter and clearer. Hums turned into lyrics and the tune took on a life of its own, only using me as the vessel. And once it began to climax, the anticipation building deliciously, the picture came into focus, and I nearly broke into a sob.
Blaine. All I could see was Blaine. He was the muse for every song, every painting, every dream. He occupied my deepest, most intimate desires, and hindered my past pains from consuming me with his touch.
It had always been Blaine. I just wasn’t ready to see it.
I wasn’t sure what I would tell him, but I knew it was time. I couldn’t keep fighting what my soul so desperately needed. Him. His presence, his smile, his words. They were all necessary. It was the thought of not having those things that sent me into a panic. It was even stronger than the anxiety I felt at the decision to let him in.
But of course, life had different plans. It always did. It never stuck to the script that you had rehearsed in your head a dozen times. It didn’t give a shit about crushing your expectations, causing you to second guess what you were so certain about just moments ago.
We had been at work for a couple hours when life decided to remind me just what a bitch it could be. Things had been better since Thursday. Pleasant. Blaine insisted I take Friday off after my meltdown, and I was too humiliated to argue with him. It’s not that he made me feel embarrassed for losing it behind the bar. It was the total opposite, actually. He was sweet, gentle, patient. He was exactly what I needed. What I wanted.
AngelDust had just kicked off their set with one of their newer up-tempo songs, when Kenneth approached the bar with some of his buddies. I was shaking my hips as I flitted behind the bar, serving customers with an easy smile, as I sang along to the provocative tune. The moment his eyes locked with mine, I froze, nearly sending the highball glass in my hand crashing to the ground. Kenneth looked just as surprised before his mouth turned up into a smug smile.
“So I see you landed on your feet, Kamilla,” he said coolly. He refused to call me Kami, no matter how many times I corrected him.
“Yeah,” I rasped, my throat tight. My heart was hammering in my chest, and I was certain he could see it through my thin, snug tee.
“I have to say, I’m disappointed. A woman with your…skill set, working at a bar? Hmph.”
I was furious. At him for being such a pretentious prick, and at myself for choosing not to see that he had always been one. Kenneth Walters was a partner at one of the most successful law firms in Charlotte. His father started the firm from the ground up decades ago, and their family was known as modern day royalty.
When a temp agency had assigned me to his office, I had hoped to reevaluate my life goals. Once upon a time, I wanted to pursue a career in law. I had majored in criminal justice and had hoped to focus on family law. But as the saying goes, “The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray.” Robert Burns got the memo on just how shitty life could be.
I shook off the shock of seeing him and gave Kenneth a hard glare. “My skill set? I answered phones and fetched your coffee, Kenneth. There’s nothing to be disappointed about. I actually like it here.”
“That’s cute,” he scoffed. “But if you change your mind about your future, you know I can find a place for you at the firm. Just say the word. I’m serious, Kamilla; you don’t have to slum it at some rundown bar just to avoid me.”
“Who’s slumming it?” a smooth as silk masculine voice said from behind me. With the tension swirling between Kenneth and I like noxious gas, I hadn’t even felt him approach. Usually the lower regions of my body knew he was near before my head did.
Another smug smile played on Kenneth’s lips. “Well, if it isn’t Blaine Jacobs. I see not much has changed since high school. Still working at the family bar?”
“What are you doing here, Walters?” Blaine nearly growled, his jaw tight with visible anger. He was not a Kenneth fan.
He shrugged. “I heard the hottest band in town played here on the weekends. Me and the guys thought we’d check it out. I didn’t know the staff was just as enticing,” he said pinning me with his dusky blue eyes. I couldn’t believe that I had once found them gorgeous and alluring. Now they just seemed icy cold.
“Is that right?” Blaine answered flatly.
“It is,” Kenneth shot back, making his retort sound more like “F*ck you.” He looked Blaine up and down, sizing him up. “Congrats on beating those charges, Blaine. I heard it was a tough one, but Edward Maren is one of our best attorneys. Hopefully, you won’t require his services again.”
I looked up at Blaine with question in my eyes but bit my tongue. Kenneth was baiting him and I’d be damned if I aided in his extreme assholishness. But I knew something was up. I had never seen Blaine look at anyone so threateningly, and it both worried and thrilled me. Something inside me liked this side of him. It was dangerous and undeniably sexy.
Blaine stared daggers right back at Kenneth before returning my gaze, his eyes instantly softening into melted chocolate. I could see his mouth troubling the metal in his mouth, and I reflexively focused on his lips, fighting the urge to still his assault with my own tongue.
“Ahem.”
Both our heads snapped back to Kenneth who looked like he had just experienced a drive-by colonic. “Hmmm, interesting,” he sneered. “Looks like those… special skills… aren’t going to waste after all, though I have to say, they could be put to better use. All the same, you know where to find me if you change your mind, Kamilla.” Then he slapped a hundred dollar bill on the bar along with his business card, summoned his cronies, and turned away.
I knew that if I didn’t intervene, Blaine would fly over the bar and beat Kenneth into the hardwood. His fists were balled at his sides, and his lips were drawn so tight that they were white. I could feel the heat of rage radiating from his trembling body. He was beyond pissed and if I didn’t act fast, Kenneth would be leaving in an ambulance and Blaine in a squad car.
So I did what any normal young woman would do when an incredibly hot man was turning her on with his bad boy charm. I pressed my hands to his chest, stood on my tiptoes, and kissed the hell out of him.
Blaine didn’t reciprocate at first, being that I had caught him totally off guard. But once his lips started working with mine, his strong arms pulling me flush against his body, I could’ve sworn that Kenneth, his butt-buddies and the rest of the bar had fallen away, bringing us right back to our little island off the coast of Dive. It had been a while since we had been here, but now that we were, I never wanted to leave.
Blaine let his tongue caress mine, and I felt myself melt in his hands. I wasn’t worried though. He had me. Blaine had always had me, no matter how hard I tried to fight against that fact.
“What was that for?” he asked against my lips, our foreheads still touching.
I touched my lips with his once more. “You’re hot when you’re mad.”
He squeezed me tighter to him, splaying his large hand just above my backside. I could feel the front of his jeans growing stiffer by the second. “Only when I’m mad?”
I giggled. I couldn’t help it. This guy knew he was drop-dead delicious, and something about him made me feel like a damn schoolgirl.
Blaine stood up straight and looked over my shoulder. It was his turn to smile smugly, and I let him have his moment. With my body still fused with his, he grabbed the $100 off the bar and held it up. “Drinks on this a*shole!” he said, pointing at Kenneth, who was bubbling over with fury. But he wasn’t an idiot. He knew he had his daddy’s money and power to hide behind but he wasn’t willing to suffer an epic ass whooping just to prove that theory.
The patrons around the bar erupted into cheers, and Blaine and I reluctantly broke apart to serve bottles of beer. Many gave us knowing smiles and winks while Blaine’s fan-girls shot me obvious scowls. I had gotten used to them. They were like gnats—insignificant, annoying as hell, and impossible to get rid of. No matter how many times Blaine swatted them away, they just kept coming back.
Once we had distributed the beers, and Kenneth had retreated with his tail between his legs, Blaine turned to me, his brown eyes smoldering. The fire that had ignited between us since the moment our lips touched was still kindling, and the way he was looking at me only fanned the flames between my thighs.
He stepped forward, bringing his lips down to my ear. I shivered as they brushed the shell. “Care to tell me how you know Kenneth?”
“Care to tell me how you know him?”
He lifted his head, a small frown resting between his brows. I could see the internal battle playing out in his expressive eyes. With a resigned sigh, he nodded. “Yes. Tonight. I’m taking you home with me.”
“Excuse me?” The butterflies in my stomach broke out into a choreographed happy dance, flash mob style.
“Don’t get excited. I’m not giving it up no matter how badly you want it,” he teased. “I just want to talk. And I want to show you something. Ok?”
I was nodding before he even finished his sentence. “Ok. I want to talk to you too.”
This was it. This was my chance to tell him how I felt. But what would I tell him? How did this type of thing go? I had only been on the receiving end of those awkward conversations, and my reactions were less than gracious. Oh shit, would Blaine laugh in my face? Could I blow this thing between us with my tendency to obsess over every freakin’ thing?
“Breathe, baby,” he murmured in my ear, his warm breath blanketing my bitter thoughts. “Breathe, Kami. It’s ok.”
I listened to his words, letting them pull me back to the surface. Bringing me back to him. That’s when I felt the fresh droplets of sweat on my forehead. My skin was clammy and hot, and my hands were trembling. I let out the breath I had been unknowingly holding, my lungs whining at the loss of oxygen. I had nearly sent myself into panic attack. Again. Shit.
Blaine rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, you don’t have to do this if you–”
“No, I want to,” I insisted, cutting him off. “I mean, I want to go to your place, Blaine. If you still want to talk.”
He smiled, and it was pure and real. Not laced with hidden malice. Not infused with lust or desire. It was an honest-to-goodness happy smile. And his smile made me smile.
“Have I ever told you how much I love it when you say my name?” he asked, grabbing my hips and pulling me closer.
“Do you…Blaine?” I replied sweetly. I didn’t have the guts to tell him how much I loved it too. And how I craved to scream it.
He let out what sounded like a hiss between his teeth. “Keep talking like that, and I might shut this place down early.”
“Sure, bud. Mick will have your head for that,” I chuckled. Reflexively, I scanned the perimeter for him, not wanting to get caught flirting again.
“Yeah, right,” Blaine snorted.
He opened his mouth to say something else, but CJ came barreling up to the bar, completely trashed. He tried to flop onto a stool, missed it, and tried three more times before getting himself settled.
“Holy fuuuuck, dude! I am so f*ckin’ wasted!” he slurred, slumping over on the bar.
I grabbed a glass and filled it to the brim with water, setting it in front of him. CJ could barely lift his head to drink it.
“Dude, drink. You know your dad is gonna flip once he sees how sloppy drunk you are.”
CJ made a face, but picked up the glass and chugged. He set it down empty and hiccupped. “B, get me some food so I can soak this shit up. Please?”
Blaine let out an annoyed huff before turning for the kitchen. I went to swipe CJ’s empty glass when his hand reached out to grab my forearm.
“Hey,” he rasped. “You like him, don’t you?”
Reflexively, my eyes went to the direction of Blaine’s retreating back that was being swallowed by the crowd. I looked back at CJ and shrugged.
“And he likes you.” It wasn’t a question.
I pulled my arm away from his weak grasp and turned to refill his glass.
“So what’s wrong with you?”
I spun on my heel to face his sweaty, dazed face, my eyes narrowed in irritation. “Excuse me?”
“You know,” CJ replied, leaning forward. “What’s wrong with you? What’s your sob story? Blaine likes that type.”
I stepped towards him, a hand on my hip. “What type?”
“The broken ones. The ones with issues. The chicks that need to be saved and look at him like a knight in shining f*cking armor.” He closed his eyes, and his mouth curled up on one corner before he laid his head on the bar. “The f*cked up, damaged girls. Just like his mom. He needs that. All part of his Captain Save-a-Hoe complex. He needs to rescue them.” Then he was out like a light.
What the hell?
Before I could smack CJ across the back of the head to wake him so he could tell me more, Blaine appeared with a basket of food.
“Wake up, a*shole. I’m calling you a cab,” he said, setting the burger and fries down next to his cousin.
Shaken by CJ’s words but not wanting to let it show, I plastered on my mask and gave Blaine a pensive smile. Questions ran through my head on an endless conveyer belt, each one leaving me more and more unsure of what I should do. But I needed answers. And the only way I could get them was to ask.
We finished our evening in comfortable silence, brushing against each other and stealing lustful gazes whenever we got the chance. I had to admit, I was still excited at the prospect of being alone with Blaine, despite what his motives could have been. I wanted him. So. Damn. Much. But something inside me needed more than just the physical release that I knew he could provide. A part of me that had been forced into self-preservation, blocking itself off from the love that it desperately needed to thrive. This…feeling… had nothing to do with my head. Even my lady bits had to take a backseat to the foreign emotions.
Yet CJ’s words continued to replay in my head, nagging my rationality until it gave into doubt. Could I really trust Blaine? Could he only be drawn to my scarred, fragile psyche, feeling some strange, deep-seated need to rescue me from my demons? I knew if that answer was yes that I wouldn’t survive it. I couldn’t come back from that type of pain. I had already lived through so much. I had already reached my limit of heartache for this lifetime. I wanted to open up to Blaine, I truly did. But I wouldn’t be some pet project. I wouldn’t be a pathetic charity case. And because I refused to be just another broken girl in need of fixing, I knew that I could never tell Blaine who I really was.
Blaine would soon realize that, no matter how hard he tried, I was beyond fixing. Because you can’t fix what was never really right in the first place.