In the distance, like a nightmare I could not wake up from, I heard the sirens. When I was able to open my eyes again, I was trapped, hanging from the passenger seat by the safety belt and the truck was on its roof. Frantically, I glanced around the space in search of my father. My eyes were having trouble focusing since all the blood was rushing to my head, but I finally located him. His crumpled form smashed up against the steering wheel, his head bleeding continuously from a monstrous wound on his right temple. The arm he had broken hung limply to his side and his head was laying on the roof of the cabin, his neck bent at an impossible ninety-degree angle.
I stared at his motionless figure as the sirens got closer and closer. Unable to tear my eyes away from him, I searched his face for some sign of life but found none. Reaching up, I attempted to release the seatbelt but was unable to. My weight was stretching it tight and it had locked into place when the truck hit the first set of rocks over the edge. Stretching my hand forward toward the glove box, I was able to release the door and flip it up. Inside, I knew there was a large, pocket knife. When my hand finally touched the cold metal, I wrapped it into my grasp and pulled it toward me. I flipped open the blade and sliced at the thick webbing of the seatbelt until it broke free and I fell onto the top of the truck.
Panting from my efforts, I crawled quickly toward my father, who remained motionless at my side. Unable to move him, I curled up as close to him as I could, cradling his hand in mine. I cried until they arrived, their boots crunching on the sand and rock under their feet as they hurried toward our vehicle. When I saw one of their faces appear in the window on the passenger side of the truck, I jumped, his head looked as though it were disembodied and floating in front of me. I had clearly hit my head way too hard and was suffering from some form of hallucination, I just knew it. There was no way that they had gotten to us that fast. On the other hand, I could have been down in that ditch for hours already and I would not have known it.
I watched his mouth moving as he was trying to say something to me. The words he spoke sounded like garbled nonsense in my head, but I got the sense that he was trying to see if I was alright. I nodded slowly, the motion causing my head to pound in relentless protest. He reached toward me and offered me his hand. I stared at it for several moments, not willing to let my father’s hand go, despite the fact that I knew deep inside me that he was gone. Finally, I slowly reached toward him and took the hand that he offered me. He pulled me steadily through the window until I was outside of the truck where he leaned me against the cold metal that was nearly crushed beyond recognition.
On the other side of the vehicle, another man appeared, rising to a standing position and shaking his head from side to side. When his eyes found mine, I knew. My father was gone. Instead of pulling him free like the other had me, the man walked several paces away before pressing the button on a microphone that was clipped to his collar. I could not make out what he was saying, he had gone far enough out of earshot from me intentionally, as he delivered the news on what they had found. One injured, yet still breathing individual and one, clearly deceased.
The man who had pulled me free from the tangled mess wore a bright, yellow coat and pants with reflective tape sewn at intervals along the surface. He was a firefighter and paramedic, according to the patch he wore. After checking my eyes with a penlight and doing several other routine checks, he too pressed the button on his radio and informed those that waited at the top he was in need of a stretcher, which was promptly lowered down the steep embankment. I was strapped to the hard surface after a brace was fastened around my neck. My head, chest, waist and legs all sported thick straps that held me fast as they began to pull me back up toward the road. I saw several faces hovering above me as I neared the top, one hand reached toward me and touched my arm, causing me to wince slightly and I wondered vaguely if that was broken too. My right leg was definitely broken, I could feel the stabbing pain every time I moved, but at least I had survived. At least that’s what they told me.
I was hoisted up onto a gurney that waited at the top. As the paramedics went to work on me, I saw another figure being hoisted over the side of the cliff and onto the road. Straining to catch one final glimpse of my old man before they shoved me into the back of the ambulance and sped away, I could almost make out the tranquil look on his face. My father was no longer with me, and I knew it. He had left me and my mother and gone on without us and I actually began to feel angry with him. Just when I needed him, at the start of the most sensitive time in a child’s life, he abandoned me and my mother and I was fuming. Of all his antics, all the women he screwed on the side and all the times he laid a hand on either my mother or myself, I had still felt that general respect one does for their father. That feeling was no more and had been replaced with the emptiness and despair that would reverberate for years to come.
***
I never really forgave my father for abandoning me, despite the fact that I followed in his footsteps when it came to womanize, and let’s face it, general asshole behavior. My mother was left to pick up the slivered pieces of our lives and move on and she was definitely not prepared for that. She had not finished High School, having dropped out to get together with my dad, not wanting to leave his side for fear he would find someone else, and she had no work experience to speak of. My father had been the bread winner up to that point and we both were suddenly plunged into a world of desperation.
It took several months and intense physical therapy for me to recover from the accident. Not to mention, years of psychotherapy to deal with the images that plagued my mind and the associated emotions of seeing my father’s dead body crumpled at my side, still and lifeless. That picture could never be erased from my memory, they could only work toward coping skills that would help me better handle its presence.
My mother spent nearly every waking moment at my side. Having lost her husband and nearly lost her only child, she was unwilling to relinquish control completely to the medical professionals charged with my care and was a constant presence in my hospital room. I was thankful for that, especially in the middle of the night when a nightmare jolted me awake, my mind reliving the moment we breached the edge of the cliff continuously, her hand stroking my sweaty forehead in a soothing gesture.
I had a full-leg cast, my femur had been shattered, splintering in three places to the point where Orthopedic surgery had been necessary to wrap my bone in a metal mesh to hold it together as it healed. That mesh would be removed later, when I had healed to the point that the bone breaking again was no longer a concern. Due to the nature of my injuries, I would need to be continuously monitored for some time and therefore would remain in the hospital for two weeks before they even considered releasing me. It was a strain on my mother, but I saw the strength and resolve on her face that made me realize that it was my mother who was the strong one and not the other way around. I had always assumed my father was the strength in our family, I suppose society sets us up that way, to assume the man is stronger than the woman. When I realized that it was she who kept us moving forward all those years, I had a new-found respect for her that would never be erased.
When I decided I had lamented for long enough, I shook my head in attempt to clear the images that always ghosted there when I thought about that night. I had delayed my morning workout long enough and I could definitely use the exertion to blow off the extra steam and anxiety I was feeling. After I had finished my morning bathroom routine, I crossed my bedroom to my ridiculously oversized closet and stepped inside where rows of clothing from the top designers waited for me. I quickly crossed the closet and opened the drawer to one of the built-in dressers and pulled out a pair of jogging pants and a muscle tank. I pulled the pants on over my boxer briefs and threw the shirt over my shoulder.
I left my bedroom and crossed my condo to a room on the other side. It was supposed to be an office or a den, according to my real estate agent, but I had promptly turned it into a home gym. The treadmill w
aited for me on the far side of the space. I approached the equipment and slung a towel and the muscle shirt over the handle before bending down and stretching my muscles slowly. Reaching up toward the ceiling, I slowly bent at the waist and attempted to reach my toes. I repeated the motion several times and, when I was satisfied that I was ready to tackle a run that would last several miles, I stepped up onto the surface of the treadmill.
Starting off at a brisk walk to warm up my muscles properly, I worked my way up to a steady jog. My treadmill had been programmed to ease me into a run and then, at certain intervals, the incline would raise so that it could give the effect that I was running up and down hills. Interval training was really the way to go if you wanted to get your body into shape in a hurry. Slow and steady workouts followed by bursts of high energy expenditure designed to give the heart a little boost had become all the rage and definitely did its job. I worked out daily to maintain my perfect form which also had a dual purpose: the fact that I was in such great shape both physically and as far as cardiovascular was concerned gave me an added advantage when it came to pleasuring the ladies. I could literally go at it for hours without becoming winded or exhausted. That part made me that much more conceited in a way as I felt that I could woo any woman with my sexual prowess and performance. Based solely on the way women responded to me, I was quite right.
I ran for ten miles before I stopped. Properly warmed up and my Cardio exercise out of the way, I crossed the room toward the weight bench that was poised across from a large window that looked out across the Los Angeles skyline. Before laying down on the surface, I added a five-pound weight to either side of the bar that was staged for me to start a series of chest presses. Making sure they were secure with the spring clip that holds them in place, I lowered myself until I was laying on the bench with my head at the top and the bar was centered over my chest. I took in a deep cleansing breath and pushed up on the bar, lifting it from the rack. Pulling the bar up slightly higher, I began to lower the weights and then press them up slowly as I let out my breath between pursed lips. I repeated the motion for ten repetitions before lowering the bar back down onto the rack and allowing myself a few deep breaths to prepare myself for another set.
Two hours later, I was finished with my workout and felt one hundred percent better. The exertion had forced the terrible memories from my mind and I was ready to take on the day again. I stood in front of my bathroom mirror which took up the entire wall above the double-sink counter top. Steam from the shower already in the process of heating up fogged the mirror enough to distort my view, causing me to have to wipe the glass with a towel that hung from a large ring fastened to the wall to my right. I stared at myself in the mirror, pride swelling inside me.
My body was perfect, chiseled from stone. Muscles toned and defined covered every inch of my figure. I was especially proud of my abs. Since I worked so hard at perfecting the masterpiece that was me, I sported an eight-pack that met the delicious v-shaped muscles that trailed down toward my groin. I flexed for a second and my pecs bounced happily, a talent that I had mastered along the way as a way of impressing the ladies. They always got a kick out of watching me flex my chest in alternating patterns creating a mesmerizing dance that would inevitably lead them straight to my bed.
I turned slightly so that I could get a glimpse of my backside, which was equally impressive. A large, tribal, eagle tattoo stretched across my broad shoulders and halfway down my back, drawing the attention of any onlooker down toward my perfect glutes. Hard and round, I flexed those too and laughed a little at the bounce I observed. I made a mental note to work on those a little harder to eliminate any extra movement. My body was to be like that of an Adonis and I was solely responsible for making it happen. I was rewarded for it well by the fashion industry as I had no shortage of photo shoots and my body was frequently the one on display on the front cover of every publication I modeled for.
The hot water felt good as it flowed down my neck and shoulders. I stood in the middle of the double-headed shower fixtures that sprayed warm water from both sides of the shower. The shower itself was big enough to be a small bedroom, ceiling to floor glass walling me in and keeping the water from escaping to the outside. Leaning hard on the cobalt-blue tiles, I allowed the water to soak my skin before reaching toward the bottle of shampoo that rested on the shelf I had placed at just the right level, so it could double as a foot rest for the latest woman I had invited home as I fucked her silly in the shower.
I smiled at the thought as I returned the bottle and scrubbed the handful of shampoo into my hair, lathering it well as my hands moved in circular motions. Rinsing it off after I figured I had cleansed my hair thoroughly, the soap slid down my chest and in between my pecs before falling all the way down to the floor of the shower and swirling down the drain. I watched as it disappeared, dancing around the drain before fading away to nothing. After I washed the rest of my body, I shut off the water and shook the excess droplets from my skin. Grabbing the towel that I had tossed over the handle of the shower door, I pulled it inside and towel-dried the rest of my body before stepping carefully out of the shower.
When I emerged from the bathroom, the cooler air in my bedroom felt good on my heated flesh. I stood there for several moments, motionless in the center of my room and allowed the breeze created by the air conditioning to sweep across my skin. Closing my eyes, I allowed my mind to drift back for a brief moment to that fateful night once more before I nearly slapped my own face. Shaking my head quickly, I made my way to the closet and proceeded to select an outfit.
By the time I picked up my cell phone off the end table, I had missed two calls and several text messages. I hated being tied to the device, but my agent insisted that I have one so that she could contact me whenever she needed. It did come in handy and modern society definitely demanded that everyone be current with the times and have at least some sort of smart phone device. I pressed the screen and revealed that Salley had texted me twice, Ephraim once and both calls were also from my agent. Ms. Chase was apparently trying desperately to reach me and I had yet to acknowledge her attempts.
Being the narcissist that I had become over the years, I ignored her messages and her voicemails in favor of my best friend’s. He had apparently not forgotten what day it was either because his messages were both attempts to “check on me,” and to make plans for later in attempt to “distract me.” I smiled at my phone. Ephraim always had a way of cheering me up and I would definitely be up for some debauchery later to remind me who I had become and not drag me backward into the horrible memories of my past.
I texted him back, agreeing to whatever he had in mind before finally checking on my agent’s numerous cries for my attention. Salley had scheduled me for another photo shoot that afternoon and I had yet to respond so with each subsequent text and then finally her two voicemails, she became more desperate to reach me. I had spent the entire morning stewing and wasted a lot of time, but hell, it was me they wanted, and I would get there when I was damn good and ready. In order to placate her, however, I shot her back a quick text letting her know I had gotten all her communications and I would be ready to leave in an hour. I instructed her to send the car as I was not feeling like driving. I wasn’t feeling like doing anything much but knew that I had to follow through with the gig or face possibly not getting future shoots with Threads. That would be a tragedy since they currently hired me for the most work and paid far more than most other magazines did.
Salley responded right away, informing me the car would be at my condo to retrieve me in forty minutes. I could almost hear the relief in her virtual voice as I read her messages that followed. She instructed me to report to the usual location at the main offices of Threads. All photo shoots that were not done on location were done right there in Downtown Los Angeles on the second of the two floors the company occupied. When I replied, it was short and to the point, simply acknowledging her instruction and letting her know I would be there.
As I waited for the driver to call and inform me he was waiting downstairs for me, I continued to get ready. I plucked the few stray eyebrow hairs and the one nose hair that was peeking out from inside my left nostril, combed my hair straight back before using my hand to scrunch it between my fingers and causing it to curl back up, and threw on some relaxed fit jeans and a loose t-shirt. I was ready well before the driver arrived and was practically out the door by the time he called to let me know.
When I approached the Lincoln that waited for me at the curb, the driver hopped quickly out of his place behind the wheel, rounded the front of the car and opened the back, passenger side door for me. I eased myself inside and he closed the door securely behind me before rushing back around the front of the vehicle and back into his seat. I watched as he signaled and eased into traffic before closing my eyes and leaning my head back against the seat. Trying to relax, I breathed in deeply, the smell of leather filling my senses. Soft music drifted out of the speakers, adding to the calming ambiance as we made our way downtown.
I lived in the Hollywood Hills which technically was not that far from Downtown, but traffic in Southern California was inevitable and there was often no way around it. We sat in gridlock for another thirty minutes before finally reaching our offramp. The driver guided the car through the surface streets and made his way inside the parking garage of our final destination. He stopped at the curb on the bottom floor, allowing me to exit and head toward the building before continuing up the ramps to the very top where my reserved space waited for him.
Instead of rushing inside like I knew I should, considering the traffic had delayed us and I was now running late, I stared up at the building. I was the star of the show and I would show up whenever the hell I felt like it and not the other way around. At the point of my career that I was in, I paid very little attention to my agent and her cries to make sure I showed up on time. They would wait, and I would make them. It was a little game I played. A power trip of sorts, to show them who was really in control of the situation. As one of the top models in the industry, they were always willing to wait it seemed and I was just a big enough jerk to make them do so.
Make it Reighn (A Threads Inc. Saga Book 1) Page 5
