Flawed (Imperfectly Perfect Book 1)

by Lym Cruz

  “I’m all right.” I tried to stand on my own, but Andrew didn’t release me. “Let me go,” I whined. My attempt to be freed from his firm grip only made Andrew apply more pressure.

  “Are you sure you’ll be able to stand?”

  I couldn’t. However, I couldn’t have his hands on me either. His touch sent a vibration up my spine and raised the hairs on the back of my neck. I nodded and Andrew’s hold slackened. I placed my foot flat on the ground, and it throbbed.

  “Ouch,” I cried.

  Andrew secured his hands around my waist keeping me steady.

  “You don’t need to run from me.” He removed the hair on my face. I nearly melted right there, but I was also determined not to let him see any more of how affected I was by him.

  “I’m not running from you,” I hissed, pushing away from him. “I don’t even know you.”

  He laughed with irony. “If that’s how you want it to be.”

  Finally, Darnel reached us. His tongue stuck out like a dog with his troubled breathing. Limping, I moved away from Andrew and held on to Darnel for support.

  “Are you driving?” Andrew asked.

  “No.” Darnel shook his head striving to contain his breathing. “Taxi… we took a taxi.”

  “Let me take you home.”

  “No,” I practically screamed my answer at him. I just wished he would go. “We’ll be fine.”

  Andrew sighed heavily, massaging the back of his neck. “As you wish.”

  He stayed put and made no further attempts to assist. We managed to get a cab and even then, when I looked back, he was still standing there staring at the car driving away.

  “What the hell was that about?” Darnel asked.

  “Nothing.”

  If only Andrew knew that he both saved and destroyed my life that night six years ago.

  Chapter 3

  Andrew

  The indigo Tiffany box glowered. My gut tightened every time I saw it during the four months I’d had it. I took out the box and opened it. The diamond engagement ring glistened—a ring my mother chose. I closed the box and threw it carelessly back in the drawer.

  “What am I about to do?” I muttered to myself.

  Before I could change my mind yet again, I picked up the box and dumped it in the inner pocket of my navy blazer.

  Showtime.

  With my keys in hand, I left the apartment and took the stairs to help reduce the anxiety that was building up. At the parking garage, I jumped into my Range Rover, giving life to the engine and accelerated down the street to meet Ashlyn.

  Ashlyn and I were in this on-and-off relationship for nearly nine years. All because my parents believed she was the perfect wife, for the perfect life they’d planned for me. And I played out their fantasies to a point of proposing to a woman that I didn’t even love.

  Ashlyn was melodramatic—always had been—since we’d met as kids. Her erratic behavior took a turn for the worse when she was nineteen, and in part, I blamed myself for it. She was pregnant and by her own decision, she had an abortion. Fueled with regret, she blamed me for not stopping her. She said it ruined her life. We were both young but she was right; I didn’t stop her, nor did I offer another solution. To be honest, I believed it was for the best.

  From that point on, I’d lost count of the times we separated. It was always the same: we broke up, then Ashlyn found a way to guilt me back to this charade we called a relationship. It was a non-stop cycle that I was too weak to disrupt.

  As anticipated, the restaurant was full. Due to lack of parking space, I was ten minutes late to our dinner. Marching through the open door, I headed to our regular table, took a seat across from Ashlyn, and smiled flatly.

  “Apologies. Had a hard time parking.”

  She smiled back, and the ever-present silence settled. Ashlyn was a good-looking woman, no doubt about it. A lean blue-eyed, blonde with a sporadic but great sense of humor and smart. Even so, I’d never developed any deep feelings towards her.

  Slowly, Ashlyn turned the menu pages with a bored expression. I looked around the room, contemplating the details of Falco’s interior design. The lights weren’t dim or bright, it was somewhere in-between, conveying a romantic vibe. The variation of brown and white décor with the no-frills table setting contributed to creating a relaxing ambiance. As relaxing as it was, I was a nervous wreck.

  “Are you ready to order?” she mumbled, flipping the pages.

  “Yes.”

  She looked up and shut the menu. “I’ll have a salad.”

  I flagged down a waiter and he took our orders. Then silence descended again. I drummed my fingers on the table, and Ashlyn stared at her nails.

  My relationship with Ashlyn was based on guilt and our parents’ pressure. She thrived knowing she could have me back with a finger snap. She enjoyed attention and seduction. I may have been a bastard at times, but the woman sitting across from me was no saint either. She had the sweetest, most innocent face—but it didn’t go beyond appearances.

  Ashlyn thought I was unaware of her indiscretions. I’d watched her suggestive exchanges with men right under my nose and many times it went beyond flirtation. I pretended not to notice. It was less complicated that way. She cheated, I cheated. It was a mutual unspoken agreement that bothered neither of us.

  The waiter poured us each a generous glass of red wine. I drained half my glass, craving courage.

  “I need to ask you something,” I said at the same time she said, “We need to talk.”

  “You first,” we said together.

  I fastened my lips and waited for her to continue. “Listen, Andrew.” She paused. “We’ve been friends for years, and I love you. So many things have happened between us, some good others bad but this isn’t working anymore. We’re better off as friends. This relationship is draining me, I work hard to try and keep us together. I give it my all, but I can’t do it anymore.” Another pause. “I love you, but I love myself as well so… It’s over. I need to start respecting and caring for myself, you obviously don’t. I’m sorry, Andrew. We’re done. I can’t keep doing this anymore.”

  With a white table napkin, she cleaned her invisible tears sniffling.

  This was the best thing I’d heard all day. I fought to remain impassive when I was swelling with joy.

  When she placed the napkin back down, I spoke, “You made the right call Ash, you deserve to be happy. We’ll always be friends, no matter what.”

  Ashlyn threw me a rage-driven glare, and I knew shit was about to get crazy.

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You’re an asshole,” Ashlyn snapped. “You couldn’t wait to see me gone. What have I done to you to deserve this? I’m an amazing girlfriend, and you’ll never find anyone as tolerant or as understanding as I am with you.”

  It was always my fault. That would never change with her. I sighed, raking a hand down my face as Ashlyn raised her voice, drawing the attention of our fellow diners.

  “You’re probably fucking some girl or two, or three. How can you do this to me?” I didn’t know what the hell was going on. But then again, when it came to Ashlyn, I never did. She was breaking up with me not the other way around. “You were supposed to beg me not to break up with you. You were supposed to say you love me and we can work things out! You son of a bitch. I hate you, Andrew… you…you… Aargh!” She slammed both hands on the table, the silverware jolted. Ashlyn prattled on, babbling incomprehensible nonsense.

  “Ashlyn, stop! You’re making a scene,” I yelled on top of her voice. “What the hell is wrong with you? Get a hold of yourself.” She halted with her mouth half open, breathing hard but at least she shut up. “If this is what the relationship is doing to you then we should break up. We have to end this. We can’t keep going back and forth.”

  Her chair screeched as she shoved it back and stood. “Fuck you, Andrew Malcolm.” She picked up her glass and I shut my eyes waiting for what was coming next.

  Cold liquid splashed acro
ss my face. I licked my lips—at least it was only water this time. Opening my eyes, I shook off the fluid from my hands and used the napkin to wipe my face. Ashlyn snatched her purse and stormed out.

  Relief settled in and I laughed softly. It was still the best thing that had happened to me all day. I took out my phone and typed a text to Robert and David, my best friends.

  Andrew: McAdam in 20?

  Robert: Already here.

  David: 15!

  “Um, sir,” The waiter said with unease to his voice. “Your meal is ready.” Not bothering to look at him, I presented my credit card. He struggled to take it while maintaining steady the tray of food. “I’ll be right back.”

  The grimaces and whispers from the nearby tables were discomforting, and the damn waiter delayed to return with my card. I tried to disregard the stares and continued scrolling down my contact list and then I remembered Melissa. The corner of my mouth curved up involuntarily.

  Days bygone, I still felt her fresh lemony fragrance under my nose and I couldn’t erase her face from my head.

  “Here you go, sir.” The waiter returned my credit card. I rose to straighten my jacket and caught a few curious glances directed at me. Elegantly but embarrassed, I left Falco’s never to return.

  ∞∞∞

  McAdam was our go-to bar and had been since we could legally buy liquor. The owner was a big fan of the San Diego Padres. He’d wreathed the bar in blue and white with pictures, signed shirts, baseball bats, and balls clustering the walls. Four waitresses in miniature replicas of the team’s uniform won the honor of being the main attraction of the bar.

  Cutting through the noisy crowd of near drunk and completely wasted men and women, I made it to the counter where Robert sat with a quarter-full pint glass. I’d known David Bale and Robert Crawley my entire life. We grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same elementary and high school. And the fact that all our fathers worked at the same firm made it easier, although Robert lost his parents years ago in a tragic accident and out of the three of us, he was the only one who took a different career path. He worked as an architect. Rob wanted nothing to do with the firm, it carried too many memories of his father.

  “Robbie.” I gripped his shoulder. “How are you, big guy?”

  Robert was huge. I was six-two and felt tiny next to his six-foot-five muscular frame.

  “Why are you so happy?” Rob said. “Engagement vibes?”

  I exhaled feeling light. “Ashlyn broke up with me.”

  “For how long this time?” Rob laughed. “No offense, but it’s not the first time I’ve heard this.”

  It was true. It wasn’t the first time I told him that but I vowed to make it the last.

  “Where’s Dave?”

  “Powdering his nose.”

  I called for the bartender. “Two buttery nipples please.” Ashlyn’s decision to call it off, again, put me in a festive mood. Around the bar, I saw a few promising faces and absentmindedly compared them to Melissa. None of them held a candle to her beauty.

  “Are we drinking to your engagement?” Dave asked as he positioned himself on my side.

  “No,” Rob said, wiggling his brows amused. “It didn’t happen they broke up … again.”

  “And by the looks of it.” Dave tugged on my jacket. “She gave you yet another bath. For how long this time?”

  “My question exactly,” Rob said, laughing.

  There was no convincing answer to give. I had to prove to them and myself that we were finished. For good. I knew my parents thought Ashlyn was flawless and we were the world’s greatest couple, but I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Ash and I are—were—bad for each other. I swear to you, we’re done, and if I go back to her... you can have my car.” I held up my keys.

  “I’ll hold you to that,” David said, dipping his hand in the peanut bowl in front of me.

  “You know he just wiped his pussy with that hand,” Robert said, chuckling.

  “Rob,” I growled, pushing the bowl away with disgust.

  They both laughed, and Dave rubbed his hands on my face. Playfully, I punched him in the chest and pulled away from him.

  “Let’s drink to Andrew’s freedom and hopefully it’s the last time that we need to drink to this.” Rob raised his beer glass then gulped it all down.

  The bartender placed the shots in front of me and I swung them both back, one after the other, relishing the burning sensation at the back of my throat and in my chest.

  “Remember that girl we met in Brazil?” I said regaining their attention. “The one who stayed in my suite the last night we spent there?”

  David and Robert were with me on the trip we took to Brazil six years ago, but the trip didn’t impact them the same way it impacted me.

  David narrowed his eyes jogging his memory. “The stripper?” he said almost as if disgusted.

  I nodded. “Yes, her. She’s here.”

  Robert looked around the bar and whispered, “Here? Here?”

  “No.” I punched his chest. “She’s here in San Diego. She was at the firm.”

  “Nah!” Robert shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Are you sure it’s her?” David asked, raising a brow skeptically. “Maybe they look-a-like. It has been a long time.”

  “It’s her,” I affirmed sharply. “I could never forget her.”

  David raised both his hands in surrender. “Calm down. There’s no need to get touchy.”

  “What now?” Robert shrugged. “You’ve found her, what’s next?”

  “I don’t know what’s next, but I need to see her again.” I ordered another drink then shifted to face David. “Do you still have that friend at the University of San Diego?”

  “Yeah, I do. Why?”

  “I need to find a student. Her name is Melissa.”

  “You know I need more. Melissa is a fairly common name.”

  “Her last name starts with an A. I think she’s a third or fourth-year student. MBA. She’s a foreigner, Brazilian to be exact. She should be easy to find.” So I hoped.

  As the realization hit, I watched my friend’s face fold into a frown. “Oh, Andrew.” He shook his head. “Are you really going after her? She’s a fucking stripper.”

  “Just tell me how soon you can get me her info. All I need is an address and phone number. Basic stuff.”

  “She could be trouble,” Rob mumbled under his breath, “but who doesn’t like a bit of trouble now and then? Especially from a stripper.”

  A wheel spun in David’s head. He knew that with or without his help I would get what I wanted.

  “Tomorrow morning,” Dave stated dryly, expressing his disapproval.

  ∞∞∞

  The door of my office swayed open. “Andrew Ronald Malcolm.” Then it was slammed shut. “What were you thinking?”

  What a way to start the day. My mother was like a migraine, you could feel it coming but you were unable to stop it.

  Jennifer Malcolm ambled into my office gracefully like only she could despite her fury. She sat in the chair opposite me and crossed her legs. I met a furious glare through her light brown eyes that were similar to mine. People said I favored my mother but apart from the shade of our eyes, I never spotted the resemblance.

  “Good morning to you too, Mother.”

  My mother was well-put-together—always. She never left the house without looking her utmost best. Her long, wavy hair cascaded down her shoulders, over the pale blue dress she had on.

  She removed a white glove from her left and then right hand and placed them neatly on my desk. In the entire state of California, I suspected my mother was the only woman who wore gloves during summer.

  “I called Ashlyn this morning to congratulate her on the engagement and to my surprise…” She gasped, eyes wide open, pretending to be astounded. “She said you never proposed.”

  “Ashlyn broke up with me,” I muttered dryly.

  Jennifer ran her index finger over her
eyebrows, flattening them. There was no need, they were flawlessly aligned like everything else about her.

  “Because you don’t give her the attention she deserves. The both of you make a lovely couple, imagine how beautiful your children will be.”

  My mother put Ashlyn on a pedestal. I couldn’t comprehend why. I’d told her countless times that our relationship wasn’t working, but she insisted that Ashlyn was The One. Exhaling loudly, I reclined into my chair, rocking to and fro.

  “You have to make things right with her,” she continued. “Call her, apologize, and ask her to marry you. She’s a good girl, and the two of you have been through a lot together. You forced her to have an abortion for God’s sake. Losing a child is not easy, I can assure you.”

  My brows shot up, indignant with my mother’s statement. She and Ashlyn were too similar, they reveled in torturing me with guilt. “Mother, Chloe is not dead. She lives in another continent. And I never forced Ashlyn to do anything. The abortion was her idea.”

  Her shoulders went back, her entire posture shifting to an aggressive one. “To me, your sister is dead,” she hissed, hatred sustaining her words. “But I’m not here to talk about her.” She uncrossed her legs, leaned across the desk to reach for my hand, and softened her tone. “Andrew, Ashlyn needs you. She’s hurting. Talk to her, son. Don’t disappoint us like Chloe did. Do what’s right. Marry Ashlyn and have three beautiful children. I know you don’t have feelings for her now, but with time they will come. Love is cultivated from companionship. Feelings come and go.”

  We had shared each other’s company for years and in spite of that, I felt nothing special, not even the glimpse of the physical attraction that once existed. Nothing.

  “I will talk to her,” I said, grudgingly.

  “Thank you. I knew you wouldn’t let me down. You always do what’s right.”

  Doing what was right for her didn’t necessarily mean it was right for me. Frankly, I didn’t know what was right or wrong anymore. I gave up trying to figure that out long ago. I didn’t want to be a disappointment like my sister was, therefore I maintained everyone’s happiness. The only problem was that, in the process I was suffocating. Doing what was considered right felt appalling and wrong.