Shattered Love: Book one of the Forever us series

by Nivia Borell

  Every sensitive person would have remarked about his snarl at my nearness, his flared nostrils, pursed lips, and failed attempt to hide the line between his brows and clenched jaw. How often did I want to shout to him to stop balling his palms into fists because he was making it harder for me to play off nothing was wrong between us? I had to raise my play using every trick in the book to balance the obvious riff so no one could see the war raging between us. I pleaded with my eyes to keep the farce on and not jeopardize our hard work achievements until he relented, rubbed his neck, gritted his teeth, and played along.

  How often did I crane just an inch more toward him as he sensed it, leaned in even though his upper body strained behind his jacket as if it might tear, and pierced me with a look full of conflict? A war brewed within him, and if I were to be honest, he was not the only one affected. There was also a crack in me he opened a little wider every time we would meet.

  But Sarah never snooped. Another reason I’m sure she’s successful in her business. I gave her a stick with all the pictures I had so she could pick the most appropriate ones. Maybe everything will look different now.

  My hopes die the moment photos of Damien and me flash by. My body shivers, and I feel the vibrations rattling the stool. The visual makes me toss in my seat. Alex grabs my hand, but it doesn’t calm me. So many are of us together smiling, playing, and kissing.

  Sarah, what did you do?

  Is this why you declined the invitation to my birthday party?

  My mouth hangs open. Then photos of the four of us, the A-Team in action, and of our two families together, always together. It breaks me all over again because I had forgotten how many pictures there were. All those images scream at me—you ruined everything! Are you happy now? The other snapshots of the guests and Monica’s frown in all of them, fade in comparison. Then, I see photos of my trips with Alex and Quinn. It’s like someone had cut my life in two before that night and after—happy and cheerful, and then earnest and cordial.

  When the last photo blooms on the screen, it leaves me immobile, and my eyes swim in tears. In its glory, the eighteenth birthday photo of Damien staring back at me. We were holding hands and smiling at the camera over our shoulders and doing what we knew best how to do—be in love. Some guests look at the pictures with sad expressions on their faces asking themselves what happened to us. Well, I happened. But there were also ones which were shaking their heads and scrunching their faces, and I’m sure it has everything to do with his engagement to my cousin. Tonight, I don’t care what others find appropriate anymore. Damien was my life for sixteen amazing years, and I can’t erase that just for social acceptance. He once was mine, and these innocent photographs are the only evidence left to prove to my fuzzy mind that Damien and I happened.

  I wrap my fingers around the necklace as the gold metal digs into my skin and utter, “I hope you enjoyed it. Now let the madness begin. Welcome to Oblivion!” I set the microphone on the bar as the music blares. It’s my party for them and numbness for me. Welcome to my world.

  DAMIEN

  My half-drunk whiskey glass cracks under my grip, and I rein myself to march over and shake some sense into her. How does she allow herself such blasphemy? But the moment I watch her holding the gold, barn owl necklace I gifted her, her face twisted, tears flooding her eyes, I freeze. I keep asking the same questions in my mind. What do you want to forget so badly, Bria? Our love, our past, me, or the night you slept with someone else? Hearing her speech and seeing the video, it is evident she will leave. Of this, I am certain. She’s telling us all goodbye, and anger manifests from within me. She has no right to abandon me. No, she must endure it like me, every single fucking day. Bria doesn’t get to bail on me because, God help me, if this woman leaves, I will ruin the empire I built for her. She owes me that. Her pain and darkness and emptiness are my fuel. She has to see me marry her cousin, and I will make her believe I adore Monica and love her as I have never loved her. Making Bria feel like nothing allows me to survive the darkness which she put me in when she cheated on me.

  I am furious with her, me, the video, and the damn world. My body trembles, and I wonder why the floor doesn’t jangle with the pep of my feet and the panels don’t rattle with my fury. My insides boil, and I count to ten.

  In these seven years, I have seen Bria twenty-two times, but not at all for the first three years. It is always on the same dates—the annual Christmas party, the birthdays of our parents, and the birthday parties for Filip and Sophia. And the exception of her twenty-fourth birthday which I would do anything to change the outcome but can’t. She never had the decency to show herself at my birthday parties and declined all other social invitations. That’s why I have a mad fascination about seeing her at my wedding.

  In these last years, we have spoken only twice directly. We did our share of conversation with my fiery eyes and her pacifying ones, and I gave her my mind with full body language more times than I can count. She got the message every time as I intended. It amused me, her pleas to make me behave, and the calmness she tried to infuse in me to keep everyone satisfied with our civil and professional conduct. The irony you have to love as the condemner tries to take the place of the mender.

  Oh, and there is always that one event, the first time, and it was damn fascinating. I ranted, and she listened as she craned her face with an expression that said, ‘Do you think I’ll react, somehow, or care what you say or feel, Damien?’ She mocked me with her head and shoulders held high. It infuriated the hell out of me because it was the first time I’d seen her after everything went down. The woman I adored had switched to a robotic kind of human being. Bria was still the most beautiful woman in the world, but she had once been like an angel—warm and innocent—not frozen hazel eyes and stiff body movements. Now, every time I see her, I have to fight the urge to either strangle or forgive her and move on. I don’t succeed in either, so I quit speaking to her, and she never tries to approach me.

  It was easy for her to throw away sixteen years of memories along with me. So, no, she deserves nothing from me. I gave and gave until she took the final pieces of my life and heart, so why am I wrecked after seeing the pictures and her in such a state? Only Bria can break me, and twice in just this one evening, for what we could have had but never will. Everything I have accomplished feels shallow in comparison. I would give everything away to forget that day and live with this woman, who feels more like a stranger now but is the love of my life. With my eyes locked on her, I realize she is also the only love of my life. She burned me to my bones, so I have nothing more to offer anyway. Everything I have and everything I achieve will never satisfy me as this woman can with just one smile, one caress, one kiss, or three little words.

  I wasn’t transformed seven years ago when I caught her with someone else in bed. No, the former I tethered to her. I emerged as the ghost I am today—a rich, successful, and unhappy ghost of a man, soon to marry a woman I have never loved to make the woman to whom I gave my heart, react. Her response to my wedding invitation came in the post, addressed in her immaculate and curvy handwriting. I didn’t expect it, neither her response nor what she wrote:

  To the one who found love again. Congratulations, Damien.

  Bria du Mont

  I thought I had the upper hand, but then she laughed at me with her reply and emphasis on putting her last name in thicker writing and left me feeling like the idiot I am. I stare at her—my love and hatred, my happiness and downfall, my everything and nothing, my best friend and a stranger, my lover and tormenter, my light and darkness, my forever and never again, my angel and the demon in charge of my darkness—all in this beautiful woman. She was my sunshine once, and now she’s holding hands with another man. As I did the first time I saw them together, my vision twists to red. And as I coped with it over time, I bury my jealousy deep inside me. She is not mine anymore, and she never will be again.

  Cheers to my idiocy and for those who are a glutton for punishment. I raise my glass
to my mouth and gulp. I’m a fucking moron!

  BRIA

  I realize the night is flying by, and the tension in my muscles ebbs. My smile freezes on my lips as I tilt my head and monitor how Alex stiffens, his expression closed up. Something is wrong with him. On autopilot, my line of protection rattles in response to his behavior. I peer through my lashes as he cups my face, rests his forehead on mine, and sighs.

  “Bria, I can’t give you back your heart, your past, or your life, but I want to offer you closure, so please allow me to show you something.”

  There is something in his gaze… a fear that clouds his features, it rocks through me.

  “What are you talking about? Alex, what’s wrong with you? You’re acting so strange. To be honest, you scare me.”

  He runs his palm over his face as his eyes hold a certain caution as to decide how to proceed. And my shoulders once again weigh me down. And then I see it elevating from deep within him as his body spins toward me. He made his decision, and I wrap my arms around me.

  “Let’s drink, and I’ll show you a video so you can give yourself what you deserve… peace, forgiveness, and closure. So let’s toast to them, sweetheart.”

  I lift my glass to my quivering lips and swallow its content.

  “For peace, Alex. Forgiveness is not something I either want or deserve, and closure doesn’t seem in the cards either way.”

  He shelters my hands with his and rubs the flat of my palm. His eyes glance with affection. I bite my tongue at this gentleness as if I’m something precious and breakable—a porcelain doll that will shatter if he doesn’t support her. I pull my hands away as Alex’s face drops.

  “Bria, I hope what you see will set you free, and you’ll find it in you to let me smash the walls you have built around yourself because what I’m doing now will either bring you back, or I will lose you forever.”

  Something like a sixth sense has my eyebrows furrow at him as a cold shiver runs down my spine in answer to his words.

  DAMIEN

  I could throw up as my insides churn, so much syrupy bullshit. This bloke is not for real. Are we in a grotesque soap opera? Take a break, will you, Alexander?

  In the beginning, I don’t pay attention to the video. Then, I hear the jarring voice of the man I hoped never to see or hear from again, and once again, everything I thought was real is crumbling apart before my eyes. I spring to my feet, prepared to leave the private bar, and put an end to this night, but then the man recalls a story of how he got paid to act like he slept with a girl, and I halt on the spot, a cold sweat washing over me.

  BRIA

  My eyes widen as I glare at the image of the man beside whom I woke up that day, and I could smack Alex in the head. My first instinct is to bolt through the door, but he leaps and grasps my upper arm and pleads with his eyes for me to stay. Against my better judgment, I succumb to his plea and slump on the barstool, my hands folded against my chest.

  Even though I could feel nothing happened, I never had the certitude as I still was incapable of remembering how I got into that position. Monica convinced me to celebrate my eighteenth birthday one night early because she assumed as soon as Damien arrived from London, I would want to spend every second with him. I knew he would ask me to marry him, and I would nod like the love-struck fool I was. The implication of his arrival made me bounce and spring around. Going out seemed innocent enough. Well, it ruined my world. One tiny decision had the power to obliterate the chance of a future.

  We were all swaying our hips and partying in the booth of the nightclub Monica had rented. I got tipsy on just a half glass of wine, and fatigue engulfed me. I didn’t think it was strange blaming it on excitement or nerves. The girls still had fun, so I said my goodbyes. I wished to sleep as my vision became blurry. Then I slammed into someone, and everything went black. The next day was the beginning not of a future, but of an end, with nearly fatal consequences for me. My poor heart is the witness of it.

  Alex slips in the video. I take a deep breath, not knowing what I might see as I fight with myself to keep my eyes open and force my hands to remain tucked into my lap and not cover my ears.

  The video starts off with an interrogation in a light gray room, bare of everything but a rectangular desk and two metallic chairs. I scan the man behind the metallic table, his salt and pepper hair cut short. A dark uniform covers his lean body. His shoulders are held high, and his jaw is set into a firm line making the crow’s feet around his eyes pop up. On the other side is a man of pale complexion, deep, dark circles under his washed, dusty eyes. His dirty blond hair is unkempt, and his clothing is rather shaggy on his almost breakable, thin body. His whole posture reflects rigid acceptance as his body melts into the chair. He introduces himself as Patrick Kohl. And with this morsel of information, I can place a name to a blurry face which has been the star in my nightmares for so long. He is twenty-eight and a drug dealer. My insides burn with disgust at the image. This is the man I supposedly cheated on Damien with and slept with on my own volition? Everything in me hollers impossible, but I woke up next to a younger version of him, so what do I know for sure? Only what happened afterward.

  The uniformed man drills question after question while my tormentor answers them, legs crossed, with one leg dangling over the floor, his fingers pulling at the piece of jewelry decorating his earlobe. They are in this room, maybe an interrogation room, but I’m not sure. I mean, how should I? I have never been in a police station. Minutes into the video, my abuser throws his head back and shuts his eyes.

  My nails split the skin in my palms. I don’t even flinch neither of the pain nor the visual as I look mesmerized at the blood droplets painting the lines of my palm. The video pauses, and I crane my neck to look at Alex as he forces a lungful of air into his body. With utter care, he takes my hand in his and assesses the damage. The twitch in his jaw eases, and then he wipes the fine blood away with a tissue. His probing eyes meet my little nod, and the images spring to life again.

  They keep talking, but it’s nothing worth remembering. All I can do is exhale and inhale in an alleviating cadence, and then I hear an interesting question, and my ears pick up. “Mr. Kohl, do you regret anything at all in your life?”

  His torso bows, and he crosses his ankles, handcuffed hands tapping his knees, tongue sliding down his lower teeth.

  “Well, I’ve got nothing more to lose or win, and there is one thing... this innocent, beautiful blonde girl. I’ll never forget her expression, the shock in her wide eyes. Terror overtook her face when she saw me. Her reaction gave me nightmares afterward. There was a moment in which I wanted to tell them the truth. Both looked paler than fucking ghosts, but I left when my job was done, not before thanking her for the most amazing night of my life. Ha, ha, I lied. If we had fucked, it would have been, if you know what I mean, Chief.”

  When the meaning of his words hits my foggy brain, I hear my heart crack. I guess the magnitude of it didn’t leave my normally comatose heart immune. I gasp in horror as it feels like buckets of ice dropped on me, drowning me under them. What is this? I wonder. I look at Alex, but he stares straight ahead, and so I am left looking at how his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. This is the only reaction I get from him as my attention rivets back on the screen.

  “I didn’t even touch her. I wanted it, but I’m not into unconscious girls under me, and I was freaking out the sleeping drug I put in her wine would kill her. It’s what stopped me from finishing the job I was given… some sort of sick consciousness I still owned back then.’”

  If anything could still surprise me, it was the sincerity I sense coming from his mouth with his confession. His limbs thump on the cement floor, and he supports his head between his hands. After a deafening silence, he goes on. “Of all the shit I’ve done in my life, this screws with my head. And although I got paid, her beautiful hazel but lost eyes will follow me for the rest of my life. But still, am I guilty of being paid so someone else can find their pleasure?”

&nb
sp; Strangely enough, the moment his consciousness accepts the excuse of his behavior, he switches once again to being relaxed. The tricks of our minds. You have to love them.

  “Do you know what is truly sick? Her own cousin hired me. She had this crazy look in her eyes and rubbed her palms together. What a crazy chick. I bet she got what she wanted.”

  “Monica?” Her name tastes bitter on my tongue. I wail and with renewed determination, I grab his hand and stop Alex from pausing the video. “Don’t!” I clutch my hands together and grit my teeth. I have to hear it all.

  And then the man from my nightmares finishes with, “But I was interested in the money. I needed it.” His incredulous black and empty eyes focus on the camera. Did he somehow hope someday his confession would reach me? If so, I forgive him. He was a pawn in this case like myself. A toast to the schemers and perseverant ones who so viciously deny the happiness of others but are the first in line to take it as their right.

  The video ends, and with it, my life essence. I wait for the heart attack. It doesn’t come. I wait for salvation. It eludes me. I wait for tears to roll down my face, but they are frozen behind my eyes. But then, the protective walls I built, smash and crash as I wave goodbye to them, and anguish overwhelms me. What can I say in such a situation? My mind is blank space like the electricity shut down, and I can’t detect the switch to light it up again. I scream and scream in my head, but there’s no one to guide me through the darkness. I breathe out a dejected sigh and stare into nothingness. Whatever Alex notices makes him shake me as his desperate pleas penetrate the haze I’m in.

  “Bri, please say something. Just look at me. I’m sorry, but I thought this would help to maybe offer you some peace and the proof you were innocent. Remain here, with me.”