Fighting to Forget

by J. B. Salsbury

  All because of her.

  “Rex?” No more laughter in her voice, the breathy way she says my name fires my blood. She rolls her hips, grinding against me.

  My body jolts to life, standing at attention and ready to fight another battle. Confident, stronger and more capable than ever before.

  I nip her earlobe. “You’re not finished with me.”

  “Never.”

  Seventeen

  New beginnings

  Past is gone.

  Future possibilities

  We can’t go wrong.

  --Ataxia

  Rex

  It’s dark in Mac’s room. Our naked bodies are tangled together on top of her comforter. The room is quiet except for the sound of soft breathing at my ear.

  Did she fall asleep? I don’t know how long we’ve been like this. My head’s been all over the place with what happened tonight. I took the time to learn her body so intimately that when we finally got to having sex it wasn’t the violent crash of meaningless fucking that I’m used to. It was something else completely.

  It was Earth-shifting shit, the kind that leaves me a different man than I was when I walked in this room.

  I never thought I’d have the things I have with her. And even though the visions and the shame ride me hard when we’re like this, her presence dulls their effect. Most of my life sex made me sick, so I avoided it or shared it with someone who didn’t mean anything. But being with someone who means something makes it better.

  Thinking about it now, it seems so logical. I mean look at Blake and Jonah. Those guys went from a lifetime of playboy-hood to freakin’ marriage proposals, all because they hooked up with a good woman.

  If the girls were their cure, is it possible Mac could be mine?

  Could I be with her on a regular basis? Dinner dates, movie nights?

  A slow smile pulls at my lips. Hell yeah, I could.

  “Mac, baby?” I kiss her head, and she peeks up at me in the dark. “You sleeping?”

  “Nah, just thinking.” She kisses my chest.

  “About kicking my ass out of your bed?” I don’t think I could leave her now if she asked me to.

  “No, the opposite, actually.”

  Just when my chest can’t get any warmer, feel any fuller, it does. “Yeah?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “I tell you what. Let me hit the head real quick. We’ll crawl under this kick-ass comforter and you can tell me all about the opposite while I hold your naked ass in my hand.” Yep, no onset of the pukes. Amazing.

  A deep laugh rumbles in her chest and dammit to hell that shit is sexy. “Sounds perfect.”

  She moves to free herself from my hold, but my arms convulse around her. “Wait up.”

  Her body falls back into place with mine. She’s quiet.

  “About tonight, I know that wasn’t the sweetest experience for you. I uh . . .” I exhale and try to say what I need to say while sparing my dignity. “It’ll get better. With time, I think I’ll get better.” The sex was amazing; it’s the me-getting-better part I hope she gets.

  She shakes her head. “Not possible. Can’t get more perfect than perfect.”

  Perfect? My hand around her throat, my teeth biting into her skin, holding her so tight it left marks. She thought that was perfect? Heat rushes to my face and I turn my head to avoid her assessing eyes.

  “You may think I’m crazy, but I really like the way you are in bed. I like the way we are together.” She runs a finger from my temple to my jaw. “I wasn’t tolerating you, Rex. I was enjoying you.”

  How is that possible? I don’t allow myself to go down that road and instead choose to concentrate on the meaning behind her words.

  I’m wounded, not old wounds that have healed and left scars, but gaping gashes of blood and tissue. And she doesn’t care. Not only does she not care but she gets me.

  Her yawn drags me from my thoughts. “Shit, we need to hit the sack.” I roll over her and bury my face in her neck. “For the record, I enjoyed you too. A lot.”

  She runs her hand over my bare hip and up my back. “I noticed.”

  I grin and drop a trail of kisses from her neck to her clavicle. “It’s impossible to walk away from you.”

  “The bathroom’s only a few yards away. The faster you get gone, the quicker you’ll be back.” She hugs me tight, negating her words.

  My mouth forges a path to her lips. “Less than five minutes.” I push up from the bed with the intention of taking the quickest piss known to man and then pulling Mac back into my arms.

  She huffs and I feel her body shift behind me. With a soft click, the room is bathed in light before she drops back to the bed with a grunt.

  I throw my legs over the bed and allow a second to get my bearings. Dropping my head into my hands, I rub my eyes. Fuck, this has been a long few weeks, training for the fight, dealing with my shit. I’m dead tired. After tomorrow night, I’m sleeping for a week.

  My toes flex into the carpet. Damn, even my toes are sore.

  Bracing my weight to stand, I catch something sticking out from under the bed. I blink then squint at the brown fur and tiny blue shirt. Partially hidden it’s hard to tell what—Is that a teddy bear? My arms go numb. I break out in a sweat. What the fuck?

  I lean forward and pick it up. It’s a stuffed animal that’s seen better days; its fur is clumped together with dirt and age. The tiny blue shirt has been stitched in places, and the words Las Vegas in red are faded and cracked. My chest is too small to accommodate my hammering heart.

  My hand shakes. I know this bear. I grip the toy so tight my knuckles burn. Visions. From dreams. This bear.

  Oh no . . . Heat flashes through my body. I drop my forehead into my hand. Breathe, in . . . out . . .in . . . out.

  “For me?”

  “Yeah, he’s really soft . . .”

  My breath hitches. The little girl. I close my eyes, reaching. Orange hair, gray eyes. Yes. There she is. I see her. We’re talking and . . . trying to hold hands. It’s tight. My body aches. Heart racing.

  “I thought it might help you sleep.”

  “Thanks, Gia.”

  That’s her name. Gia, the little girl from my dreams, she gave me a bear like this. Or this bear. But how’s that possible? Nausea swells into my throat. I swallow the flooding saliva. What the fuck is happening? I can’t let Mac see me like this.

  I push up off the bed and find my pants. I gotta get out of here. Dizziness knocks me off balance. The bear drops to the ground. I brace my weight on the bed.

  “Rex?” Mac’s voice, mellow with sleep, the complete opposite of what’s going the fuck on in my head. “Are you leaving?”

  I have my track pants on and I’m halfway to her bedroom door when a sharp peal blares in my head. “Fuck!” I cover my ears, but the sound doesn’t stop.

  Static plays behind my eyes. I drop to my knees. My heart explodes in my chest, kicking hard enough to break my ribs. I’m dying.

  Bright light spears the dark. A man dressed nice, walking down the stairs into a basement. Toward me. I’m scared. My palms sweat. I want him to like me. He tells me I’m pretty. Pretty . . . That’s not right.

  “Rex!” I hear her. She’s so far away.

  I rock on my knees. Make it go away. Don’t stop moving. Never stop moving. Stillness is death. God, I’m gonna die down here.

  “I’ll get you out of here.”

  It’s her. My Gia, she wanted to help me.

  I remember.

  I remember her.

  Eyes like storm clouds, hair like fire.

  Small hands. Reaching. Comforting. The visions burst in full color. Not dreams.

  Memories.

  Left alone in the basement, broken. Nothing to comfort me but the sound of my sobs. I’d write. God, I remember. I’d write everything down, hoping that pouring the shit from my head would keep it from poisoning me to death. So scared. Hurting. Then I’d hear her.

  “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here.”<
br />
  Her voice is so clear. She was just a kid.

  “Rex, talk to me, fucking talk to me!” There she is.

  She told me she’d help me, but help never came.

  Her parents.

  They called them visitors. One was on his way. I had to wash up, get ready. But I was finished waiting to be saved.

  It wasn’t a suicide attempt. I didn’t want to die.

  I wanted to be ugly.

  The rusty metal. It called to me, made promises. I didn’t want to be pretty. Once I started marking my skin, I couldn’t stop. The blood was addicting. The pain . . . a low groan rumbles in my chest. I loved the pain. Digging in deep, it was my answer. My rescue. Hands wet with my life-blood, shirt soaked, hair caked. I covered myself. Hiding. Protecting. Not pretty. Never again.

  Then the world went black.

  I left the bear behind.

  A sob rips from my throat, but it sounds far away in my ears.

  “Sing to me.”

  “What do you want me to sing?”

  I bury my head in my knees and wrap my hands around my head. “Anything, your voice is enough.” Tears pour from my eyes. My body quakes with memories. All of them.

  “I’ll get you out of here.”

  Her voice was my refuge.

  “Oh my God, Rex!” Arms wrap around me. Soul-wracking sobs in my ear. “I wanted to tell you.”

  There’s her voice again, but now . . . woman.

  I hold my breath.

  From Nothing, Arizona.

  Looking for peace.

  Watching me.

  It can’t be. She looks nothing like the girl I remember from under the door. Her eyes, her hair.

  But the bear.

  I push up from my crumpled position on the floor, and I focus through the blur of tears. Her eyes. Light brown. She’s wearing my tee, her black hair flowing over her shoulders. It’s not possible. They can’t be the same person.

  “Gia?”

  Her hands fly to her mouth. Eyes wide. A whimper escapes from behind her fingers.

  Time stops.

  Pale skin, those lips.

  The storage room at The Blackout. Her dreams.

  My cure.

  My refuge.

  My Gia.

  ~*~

  Mac

  The pain. I can’t feel anything but the pain. Ripping, excruciating. His eyes, void, empty. They stare me down from a few feet away.

  “Talk to me.” I inch toward him on my knees.

  He flinches, recoils, and scoots away. “No. Don’t.”

  I’ve lost him. “Let me explain . . .”

  “Your eyes. Hair.” He shakes his head. “You’re not her.”

  Agony slices through my chest. He loved her. Not me. And even though we’re the same, he doesn’t see it that way.

  I hold up my hands. “Give me a second to explain.”

  He doesn’t answer, but continues to stare through me with dead eyes. His body is tense, up on his knees, arms flexed, ready to bolt.

  I dip my head to remove my colored contacts. He shifts against the carpet. Please, God, let this work. Let him see me.

  With a deep breath, I close my eyes. I can do this. I have to do this. It’s my only chance to get him to understand.

  “I wanted to tell you.” I peek up from beneath the heavy veil of my hair.

  His eyes narrow on mine. All the blood drains from his face, even his torso looks pale beneath the myriad of ink. He shakes his head. “No.”

  I scoot closer; this time he doesn’t try to get away. He leans in.

  Making sure to keep my eyes on his, I stop about a foot away.

  A lone tear falls from his eye, racing down his cheek. “Gia.”

  “Yes, it’s me.” I hiccup on the relief, the need to talk but reluctance to do so. “I’m so sorry”—my heart cramps—“for everything. I was so young.”

  The tears come faster; his lip quivers.

  “You have to believe me.” I swallow and stare as conflict replaces the emptiness of his eyes. “I didn’t know.”

  His shoulders curl forward and he slumps in on himself. “But you know now.”

  “I do.”

  His eyes narrow and he tilts his head. “How?”

  I reach under my bed to the box I shoved there before Rex came into my room before we made love. This isn’t supposed to happen like this. Not after what we shared. What’s going to happen to us now?

  Pushing the old metal container that used to represent a connection between us, it now feels like the blade that’ll separate us forever. I move back to give him some space. “The box. Our secret.”

  He blinks up at me, recognition in his eyes, but makes no move toward the box. I brace myself, terrified of what he’ll do, confronting this part of his past. He stares down at it.

  “After they took you away, I thought you were dead.” The memory soaks my cheeks. Being so little, feeling responsible for his death, fourteen years later the devastation is so fresh.

  His eyes dart to mine, wide and terrified. He remembers. With a tentative reach, he pulls the box to him and flips it open. Taking out each piece of scrap paper, he runs his eyes over them just long enough to see but not read.

  One after the other he pulls out the yellowing pages and sets them aside. He tucks his arms under his biceps and glares at the box. “You’ve been watching me for how long?”

  “Ten months, two weeks, four days.”

  When he finally pulls his attention from the box to look at me, I find it hard to look back at him.

  His eyes are cold, chin high, and jaw ticking. “You moved here to find peace.”

  “I moved here to find you.”

  “You moved here to fuck with me.”

  “No. I thought you were dead. When I found out you were alive, I needed to see you for myself, to know you were okay and say I’m sorry for—”

  “To know I’m okay? Do I fucking look okay to you?” He shoves his visibly shaking hands into his hair.

  All my reasons for chasing after him seem so selfish now. Talking about all this, rehashing the past, none of it is bringing peace. It’s breeding destruction.

  “I need to get out of here.” He jumps to his feet and grabs his keys from his bag, leaving the rest behind. Throwing open the door, he stalks down the hall.

  “Please, don’t leave like this. Give me a chance to explain. I know who’s responsible for what—”

  He spins on me. “Responsible! Yeah, genius, so do I.” Towering over me, he leans into my space. His nostrils flare and his face is red. “Your sick piece-of-shit family!”

  I close my eyes, hoping to block out the hate in his words. It wasn’t me. I’d never hurt him. The air shifts and when I open my eyes he’s gone. No, I can’t lose him again.

  My feet hit the cold tile of the foyer, and I dart out the door. He’s halfway to his truck and gaining speed.

  “Don’t leave.” I race to him and make it just as he’s climbing in. “If you’d hear what I have to say.”

  “I’ve heard enough, Mac or Gia, whatever the fuck your name is. Leave me alone, you hear me? Fucking psycho bitch.”

  My breath slams into my throat, and I stumble back at the blow of his words. “Why . . .?”

  He hops out of his truck and comes around to get in my face. I’ve seen Rex do a lot of things, but I’ve never seen him look this terrifying.

  “You don’t get to waltz into my life and start ripping everything to shit just to relieve your fucking conscience. From day one you knew exactly who I was; you followed me, manipulated me.” His arm darts out and points to my house. “Fucked me! All for what? So you could write me off as a success and move on?”

  “No, I missed you and the rest was just an accident.” I cringe. Dammit, fuck, why can’t I say what I mean?

  His lips curl back over his teeth. “Not an accident. Exploitation. You used me and you fucking know it.” He steps toward his truck then turns and points in my face. “You come near me, I’ll call the
cops and tell them everything I know. Put your whole damn family behind bars. You’re sick. All of you.”

  I drop my head. “Not me. I would never hurt you. I . . .” I meet his eyes, wanting to see the blue even if what’s working behind it reminds me nothing of the boy I used to know. “I love you.”

  Stumbling back, he recovers and glares. “I trusted you.”

  It hits like a sucker punch to the stomach. I double over, gritting my teeth through the raw pain of the truth.

  “I opened myself to you, and the entire time . . . You listened while I poured my guts out and—no. No!” He gets close and shoves a finger at me. “You, stay the fuck away from me.” He turns, hops into his truck, and screeches out of my neighborhood, taking my heart with him.

  I stand in my driveway, wearing only Rex’s T-shirt.

  That’s it. He’s gone.

  Now he knows I’m a liar, that I exploited his memory loss and kept his past from him in order to suit my own desire to be with him.

  Silent tears stream down my face. My purpose for living has been ripped from my hands. It’s over.

  Eighteen

  They can lock me up, but they can’t keep me in here forever.

  I’ll find my way back to him.

  Always.

  --Georgia McIntyre, age 10

  Rex

  “Pick up, Darren. Pick up!” My phone pressed to my ear, I throw my truck into a spot and put it in park.

  “Hey, you’ve reached Darren Gale—”

  “Fuck!” I throw my phone into the passenger seat. My head throbs, heart aches, lungs burn.

  I can’t breathe. I push open my door and stumble through the parking lot. The concrete twists and rolls beneath my feet. I grip my head and walk faster. My stomach lurches. If I can just make it to my place.

  I push through the door and race to my bathroom, tossing my keys somewhere along the way. Dropping in front of the toilet, I gag and cough.

  Hands, strong and unforgiving, grope me from inside. A surge of bile pushes to unload. I gasp over the bowl. The memories flood from the caverns of my mind.