“Fuck, I forgot about her.” Daddy says, pointing to me angrily.
“We’ll have to take her with us,” Mommy tells him.
“Goddammit!” my daddy yells up at the ceiling. “If you weren’t such a stupid fucking bitch, none of this would be happening right now!”
“It’s not my fault! You said they weren’t home. We were just supposed to get in and get out, remember?”
“We don’t have time for this. Hurry up, grab some shit, and let’s get the fuck out of here.” Five minutes later, we’re running toward the car and headed to who knows where.
I didn’t know it at the time, but both of my parents would be wanted for murder. It was a robbery gone wrong is what the news said. They were both cokeheads, doing whatever it takes to get their next high. They went in to the James’ residence to burglarize it and were surprised when Mrs. James caught them. My mom panicked and shot her in the chest. The noise from the gun obviously got the attention of everyone else in the house. Mr. James ran downstairs to find his wife lying in a pool of her own blood.
Mom took aim at him too, but he dove before she could fire and missed him. They wrestled around for a few seconds before Dad came up and stabbed Mr. James in the back. Fifteen stab wounds later, and Dad was satisfied he was dead. They rolled his body off of my mother but were surprised again when they turned around to see a little girl standing in the doorway watching the whole thing in terror. Not willing to leave any witnesses, my mom picked her gun back up and shot her in the head. They fled the scene before the cops could be called.
We were on the run for four weeks. Even though I had no idea what was going on, I could feel the tension and fear coming off of my parents. I knew something was wrong and that it was bad. They robbed a few convenience stores along the way to get money for the two things they wanted most: drugs and freedom.
I spent most nights sleeping in the back of our beat-up car while they drove through the darkest parts of neighborhoods looking for the one thing that started all of this.
Cocaine.
Eventually, the police caught up with us, immediately arrested them, and put me in child protective services. I spent a little time in foster care, bouncing around from one uncaring home to the next before the state was able to locate my closest relative.
I had never met my grandmother before. At least, not that I remember. She pretty much disowned my mother many years ago. I’d like to say growing up with her was pleasant, but it wasn’t. It’s not that she was mean, and it was a lot better than my living conditions before, but she didn’t seem to care. I think I reminded her too much of my mother. She never talked, never hugged me, never helped me with problems at school, nothing. She provided the basics and that was it.
Over time, I began to hate her too. I resented the poor old woman for giving birth to such a vile human being. As soon as I graduated high school, I packed up, changed my name, and never looked back.
My cheeks sting from the constant stream of tears, the acid from my dark heart pouring out and burning my skin. I thought I had escaped my past and moved on, but I was wrong. Really, no one can escape the demons that haunt you. All you can do is run and hope it never catches up. This time, I wasn’t fast enough.
IT MUST BE hours since I’ve moved from this spot curled up on the floor. The crying finally stopped after I began hyperventilating and couldn’t catch my breath. Now I lay here, staring blankly off into space. I don’t blink. I don’t think. I hardly breathe. I merely exist.
My body is stiff with achy pains shooting through my joints from the lack of movement as the hard floor digs into my bones. The sun has long since set into the distance and I allow the darkness to blanket me, to shield me from the horror of my life. Daylight brings clarity. The dark brings ambiguity. But as my fractured heart beats its weak, unsteady rhythm, I know that’s a lie. Regardless of what time of day it is, reality is flashing at me in neon lights, reminding me of everything I’ve lost.
Slowly, I unwrap my arms from around my knees and stretch my limbs. I wince as my body protests to the change in position. Getting up on my hands and knees, I crawl to where I left my purse on the floor next to the island hours ago. My hands dig around in search for my phone. There’s only one person I can talk to right now. When I finally find it, I send out an SOS and hope she answers quickly.
Me: I need you.
As I’d hoped, her reply comes within seconds.
Janey: I’m on my way.
“Oh, God, Jillian,” Janey says as she lets herself in the front door and flips on the light. I’m instantly blinded and slam my eyes shut. She walks quickly over to me where I still lay on the ground. My body’s too weak to actually walk. “What happened?”
Blinking several times, my eyes finally adjust to the brightness of the room and focus in on my best friend. Seeing her concerned expression has me breaking down again. “He knows,” I say through my tears.
“Knows what?” She rubs my back comfortingly.
“Ab-bout my p-past.”
“Oh, no.” She crouches down and pulls me up into a hug, wrapping her arms tightly around me. I cry into her shoulder even though I don’t deserve the comfort or compassion. “How did he find out?” she asks once I’ve calmed a little.
I shake my head and pull back. “I have no idea. I didn’t ask.” Honestly, that was the least of my concerns. I was more worried about Austin leaving me.
“I’m so sorry.” The pity in her eyes makes me feel worse.
I shrug. “It’s not your fault. You did warn me, remember?” Looking down at my lap, I pick at my nails. “I should have listened to you and told him the truth.”
“Maybe, then again, it might not have changed anything.”
I don’t respond since she’s probably right. Even if I had told him, I’d still be in this moment feeling completely empty. It would have just happened sooner.
Three days later, I finally find the energy to shower. Janey had called my boss to let her know an emergency had come up and I’d need to take some time off. Stepping out of the shower, I feel slightly better. It’s amazing what some warm water and soap can do for a person.
My reflection in the mirror is hardly recognizable. My complexion is paler than normal with hollow cheeks and red-rimmed eyes that have bags underneath them. This is the first time I’ve looked at myself since Austin walked out of our apartment. It’s startling the physical transformation a person can make in such a short amount of time when they are completely distraught. I’m mentally, emotionally, and physically broken, and my appearance definitely reflects that. I feared getting attached would make this moment worse, but I never imagined falling so deeply for him, and it’s completely devastated me.
Thank God for Janey. She has been my saving grace through all of this and the only thing really keeping me going. She stops by daily to make sure I’m eating and forces me to choke down a few bites of food. She tries to start conversation, and even if I don’t respond a lot, I still appreciate the effort.
As I’m walking out of my bedroom, I hear a knock on the door followed by Janey’s voice. “Hello?” she sings.
“Hey, girl.” I give her a small smile before hugging her. It’s not much, but it’s probably the most expression I’ve had in three days.
“Slowly but surely, she’s coming back.” Her voice is light and happy, not at all matching my mood, but I know she’s trying to help me move past this. “I brought movies and chocolate,” she announces before heading toward the living room.
I follow after her, grabbing the remote and sit next to her on the couch. Turning the TV on, my heart sinks and all the color drains from my face.
They’ve never met, but they’re getting married!
Various clips flash across the screen. First, me in my wedding dress, then Austin standing at the altar in his tux, followed by images of the other couples on the show. I bite my bottom lip in an attempt to keep from crying.
In this social experiment, we’ll follow four couples who have been matched by
a panel of experts as they get to know one another.
Another clip of us kissing.
Will it be happily ever after, or end in heartache?
A frame of me shouting at him, no doubt over Chloe.
Find out on First Comes Marriage.
The commercial ends, but my focus stays trained on the television. A myriad of emotions runs through my system, but the final one is depression. This was the last thing I expected to see.
“Are you okay?” Janey asks hesitantly.
“Um, yeah.” I swallow and clear my throat. “I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting to see that, but I guess I should get used to it.”
“When does the show start?”
“In six weeks.”
“Are you going to watch it?”
I shake my head rapidly. I can’t. The memories alone are crippling. To see it would be absolutely devastating. I wipe the moisture off my cheeks and from my nose.
“It’s going to be okay,” she whispers as she hugs me tightly. I want to believe her, but I don’t know how.
Once she leaves, I’m lying in the guest room staring up at the ceiling. I can’t sleep in the master bedroom. He’s everywhere I look in there. Who am I kidding? He’s everywhere in this apartment. I can smell him, see him, and feel him. This was the place we made ours, where we built our beginning. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
I miss him so damn much it hurts. A small part of me thought Austin might reach out to me after a day or two, but with each passing second, my hope diminishes more and more. I just want to hear his voice. Hear his deep chuckle and sweet whispers. I’ll settle for him yelling at me at this point. Not able to resist anymore, I grab my phone off the night stand and pull up my text messages.
I stare at his name for the longest time. This simple piece of technology is the only lifeline I have to him right now. I know there’s a good chance he’ll throw it back at sea and let me drown in my misery, but I’m clinging to the hope he loves me as I love him. After a lot of doubt and deliberation, I type out my message and hit send, my gaze never leaving my phone as I wait for a reply.
Austin
MY HEAD RESTS against the back of my uncle’s armchair after taking a sip of scotch. I close my eyes and welcome the burn that slides down my throat. I want nothing more than to forget everything. Forget these last two months and erase Jillian from my fucking mind.
I didn’t want to believe it. There was no way this wonderful woman could have deceived me in the worst possible way. But as soon as I confronted her, I knew. She didn’t even have to say anything. It was written all over her disgustingly perfect face. In that moment, my heart stopped beating. There I was looking at the person I love, the one who owns my heart and soul, but at the same time wanting to hurt her as much as she hurt me.
I hate her.
I hate what she represents, what her family did.
I hate that I can see the evil that runs through her veins lurking in her fucking eyes.
But mostly, I hate that I love her.
God help me, but I do.
I down the rest of my scotch with that thought, hissing through my teeth as it goes down. Fuck her for making me fall for her.
A buzzing noise gets my attention. The alcohol coursing through my system makes my reflexes slow, so it takes a minute for me to realize it’s my phone. Searching in the chair cushions, I finally find it tucked away in my pockets. Blinking my eyes wide, it takes them a moment to focus in on the message waiting for me.
Jillian: I miss you.
Three small words. Individually, they’re meaningless. Strung together, they cripple me. I don’t want to hear that shit from her. Standing up with my phone in hand, I pull back and hurl it across the room. A thunderous roar erupts from me as I throw it with all my might, hoping to break it so I don’t have to see any more messages from that lying bitch again. The loud thud followed by clanking as several pieces crash to the floor is satisfying. With a deep breath, I sit back down.
“What the hell was that?” My uncle comes rushing in.
“Nothing,” I mutter, raising my glass to my lips, but realize it’s empty. Dammit.
Surveying the damage littering his floor, he says, “Look, when you showed up the other day, I didn’t ask questions, but this is getting out of hand. You’re drinking all damn day, you haven’t showered in God knows how long, and now you’re breaking shit. What the hell is going on with you?”
“I left my wife.” The word feels like acid on my tongue.
His head jerks back, no doubt surprised by my statement. He sits down on a chair in front of me. “Why? What happened? Last time we talked you seemed happy.”
“I was happy, until I realized she’s a damn liar. She’s been playing me and everyone else from the very beginning.”
He shakes his head several times. “I’m old. Break it down for me, will ya?”
I’ll need more scotch for this. Standing up, I walk over to the cabinet that holds my escape and pour myself another glass. I raise the bottle in offering, but Uncle Brian declines. He’ll probably rethink his decision after I drop this bomb on him.
The rich smell of the amber liquid fills my senses as I bring the glass up for a sip. “I don’t even know where to start.” I let out a deep sigh before continuing. “Jillian isn’t who she says she is. In fact, that’s not even her real name.”
“Okaaaay,” he drawls out. “Is that it?”
“I wish. I found out her real name is Cassandra Rhodes.” He squints his eyes and tilts his head. I can tell he’s trying to place the name. Suddenly, he becomes slack jawed and stares at me disbelievingly. I nod my head, confirming the conclusion he’s come to.
“How is that possible? Did she not know?”
“Oh no, she knew alright. That’s why she stopped halfway down the aisle when we got married.”
“How would she have known who you are though? That doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t know, I didn’t ask, but she admitted to knowing the day of our wedding. Remember awhile ago when I said it felt like I was one hundred percent committed to this experiment, but she wasn’t? There was always something holding her back and I couldn’t figure out why she wouldn’t let me in. It all makes sense now. She didn’t want to reveal her rotting soul,” I sneer.
He gets up and pours himself a drink. All this shit with Jillian—or Cassandra—has dug up old feelings and animosities. It’s like reliving their deaths all over again.
After several minutes and gulps of booze later, Uncle Brian breaks the silence. “So you’re just going to leave her?”
I throw my free hand up in the air. “What other choice do I have?”
“You have several.”
“You can’t be serious. Do you know how fucked up this situation is? My in-laws are the people who murdered my family! Mom, Dad, and Christine were murdered in cold blood by people I’m now related to. Knowing she shares so much as the same DNA as those pieces of shit makes me want to vomit. I want to break shit. I want to yell and scream. I want to hurt her,” I admit the last part quietly.
“She was just as much of a victim as you. She had nothing to do with the murders.” How he can be so calm right now pisses me the fuck off. Actually, I don’t know which gets to me more: him defending her, or that he’s not as angry and upset as me.
“No!” I shout, slamming my glass down on the side table. “She’s not the goddamn victim! She’s a selfish, manipulative fucking liar and is just like them!”
He holds up his hand to silence my outburst. “You weren’t the only one who lost them, you know? Kevin was my big brother—my hero—and I looked up to him my whole life. I wanted to be just like him. I was close to your mother too.” He looks down at his glass, swirling the liquid around before speaking. “I never told you this, but the first time he introduced me to her, I thought if he didn’t end up marrying her, I would. Sarah was amazing, and she quickly became the little sister I never had. And then there was little Christine.” He l
ooks off into the distance, a small smile on his face. “She had the world wrapped around her pinky finger, and I was the worst one. I adored her as if she were my own.” He brings his glassy eyes back to mine and his lower lip trembles. “I loved them and lost them too. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss them, but I’m not going to cast blame where it doesn’t belong.”
He places his scotch on the table and quietly walks out of the room, leaving me to process everything he just said. Once some of the anger has subsided, I can see what he’s saying. No, she didn’t kill my family and was just a child herself when it happened. I know I’m being unfair by putting all of this on her shoulders and comparing her to those monsters. The rational side of my brain understands all of this, but my heart says otherwise. How could I ever get past this? The answer is simple.
I can’t.
Jillian
“I’LL HAVE THAT interview to you tonight, Mrs. Van der Boor,” I inform my boss as she walks past my door.
“Good.” She barely spares me a glance, but that’s normal for her. Turning my focus back to my screen, I read over my interview with this amazing jewelry designer one last time.
It’s been two months since I text messaged Austin.
Sixty long days.
I stared at my phone all night after I sent it and hardly even blinked. My eyes burned from looking at the screen, willing it to light up with a message from him. I fell asleep early that morning with it still clutched in my hand. When daylight broke a few hours later and woke me, I sprang up afraid I had missed his response, only to be disappointed and heartbroken to find there wasn’t one. I tried to reason he just hadn’t received it yet, that I had sent it kind of late and he was probably sleeping and missed it. But as one day turned into two, and two days turned into three, I had to face reality. He wasn’t responding.
After two weeks and still no contact, I lost all hope. I wanted to fight for him—for us—but how do you fight for something that doesn’t exist? He completely shut me out of his life without looking back. He never even came by the apartment to pick up his stuff.
Hopeless Vows Page 16
