by K. A Knight
I yank my head back with a disgusted sneer of my lips. “Get the fuck out of my house. I’m done being nice to you,” I order, pointing at the door as if he doesn’t know where it is.
He moves so quickly I don’t have time to defend myself. His hands slam into my chest, throwing me back into the wall with a smack, forcing my breath from me with an oomph. Instantly, my back and shoulders start to ache as I grab my chest and watch him with wide eyes. My body is screaming at me to run, but I can see in his gaze he wants that or for me to fight back, so I do neither. He would use it against me, saying I hit him back, that I wanted it.
No fucking way.
He snorts as he glares at me, his eyes landing on my heaving chest for a moment.
“Pfft, you’re not fucking worth it. You will be here all alone because no one will ever love you, you fucking whore, all you are is a fuck and toss. You’re pathetic.” He spits and it lands on my face. I jerk back as he laughs and heads down the hallway.
Grabbing my aching chest, I stay plastered to the wall until I hear the front door slam behind him, and then I rush down the hall and throw the lock before sliding down the wood and pulling my knees to my chest, wiping my cheek on them as tears fall.
I start to get angry then. Fuck him and his stupid ego, which couldn’t handle me turning him down. Why is that women are always blamed even when a man fucks up? Their defence is to fling words like whore or slut, reminding us of our past like we aren’t allowed to enjoy life or use or own bodies, but they are? They are hailed as heroes and boast about conquests, but my own sexuality is used against me like a weapon and tossed back in my face.
Men fucking suck.
Twenty-Four
The next day, I go to my parents’ house. I’m done feeling sorry for myself, but I can’t bear to explain over texts what happened to my mum who keeps asking every two seconds. So instead I head over for dinner. My dad is in the garage next door when I turn up. I can hear the music blasting from here, so I leave him to it and step through the small wooden gate to the detached cottage they live in.
The front door is a bright red with a wreath on the front and a mat that says, “Welcome to the madhouse,” making me snort. It’s cute inside. They bought it and the attached garage next door after I moved out. It suits them though, all countryside style with big wooden beams and exposed brick, two floors and a huge back garden. It’s their paradise, something they wanted throughout their lives.
I don’t bother knocking, just let myself in and take off my boots and place them on the grey wooden shoe rack next to the door. The rug leads down the long hallway to the open kitchen and dining room. To the right is the living room with big, comfy leather sofas and an open fire. The stairs are through there, near the conservatory, and curve up to the second floor. I know where she will be though. When Mum isn’t at work, she’s usually baking or reading in the conservatory.
So I go to the kitchen, grinning when I hear the sounds of the radio and the banging of pots and pans. I asked her once why she loved baking so much, and she said it helped her think and de-stress after a hard day. Can’t say I complain when she drops off cupcakes and cookies all the time.
Leaning against the doorway, I watch as she dances around the kitchen with a spoon in her hand covered in batter. I can’t hold in my snort when she starts to shake her ass though, and she spins with a grin. “Hey, sweetie, didn’t hear you come in,” she calls, as she drops the spoon into the sink, and shuts the oven door with her hip as she places some cookies on a tray on top of the oven.
“Sorry, thought we could catch up. It was easier than trying to reply to the forty-five texts.” I laugh and she beams as she plates some cookies and flicks on the kettle.
“It’s a mother’s right to be nosey. Take these to your dad, will you, and I’ll make us a brew and you can tell me everything.” She passes me the plate and I nod, heading across the kitchen to the back door. I slip on my old shoes there and walk across the grass of the back garden to the gate and the garage. I step through and into the open door, seeing my dad’s legs sticking out from under a car, the music so loud I can barely think.
I grab a stool and scoot closer. “Dad!” I yell, and he grunts as he drops a tool with a clank and scoots out to see me. When he does, a giant grin covers his face as he grabs the closest cloth and wipes at his grease-covered hands—not that he can ever really remove it or the smell that he always wears, but it comforts me and feels like home. I spin around and turn down the music so we can hear each other talk before facing him again.
“Mum baked cookies.” I pass him the plate and he dives in.
“Thanks, sweetie, good to see you back. How was the holiday?” he asks with a mouthful of warm cookie.
I nod at the plate and he passes one over for me to munch on as he gets up and, with a signal to be quiet, grabs two beers he’s hidden in here. I laugh as he opens one and hands it to me.
“Thanks, Dad.” I grin as I sip it and eat my cookie, looking down at the still melting chocolate as I think on where to start.
“That good, huh?” he teases, sitting down on the other stool and watching me, his beer next to his booted feet. I glance up at him, analysing his face. What I said to Logan about him was true, he’s the best father I could ever ask for. His once black hair is greying at the edges, spotting with salt and pepper. His eyes have laugh lines around them, so does his mouth, his cheeks rosy from always smiling. His bulky body pulls at his overalls, stained with years of grease. He’s such a hard worker, always trying to give me and my mum the world even if it meant him being tired and working more than he slept. He did it without complaint, even now looking after us.
“Dad,” I start, as he looks up from the cookies to me. “When you met Mum, did you know she was it for you? Did you ever have any issues?” I query, picking at the beer label as I wait.
He sets down the plate and grabs his beer, taking a swig as he watches me. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”
“Just—did you?” I press and he sighs, taking another drink as he leans forward, surveying me intently.
“I guess I never really ever told you how I met your mother. The truth is, I was dating another girl at the time. Her name was Denise, your mum was a year younger than me in school and I was in the middle of leaving when I met her at the local pub. I was with Denise and she walked in.” He grins, his eyes lighting up. “It was like being hit by lightning. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Your mum had this serious look on her face. All her friends were laughing and joking, but she looked—above it, you know? But when she caught my eyes and saw me staring, this little smile curved her lips and I knew, then and there, I would marry that girl.”
“So what about Denise? What did you do?” I ask, enraptured by his story.
He laughs a little then. “She saw me staring all night at this other girl, got mad, and dumped me. I wasn’t even bothered. I headed straight over to your mum who watched me coming like she’d been waiting all night for me. All her friends warned her about me, but she didn’t listen. She said she only judged someone when she knew everything about them. We spent hours talking, and then I walked her home where she kissed me goodnight. I had been just existing until then, never really knowing where I was going. I wasn’t good at school, I was a bit of an asshole, but one night with your mother and her determination, her drive influenced me. We spent all summer together and she believed in me, showed me that I had potential and I wanted to. I wanted to succeed, not just for her, but for me as well. She helped me all the while, never asking for anything in return. She worked hard, never once embarrassed about the fact I had dropped out of school. When we spent those days when she was at university away from each other, it was long hours on both our ends because we knew. We knew we were going to make it, and once it was better for us we would settle down, start a family. Have a future. We were always meant to meet, and it didn’t matter who came before her, there was no one after her. There never will be, it’s me and her, sweeth
eart, until the end. And you of course, our shining star.”
“Wow, Daddy,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I’m so glad you found each other. I never say it enough, but I love you both and I was so lucky to have you as parents,” I murmur, and his eyes shine even as his grin grows.
“Now, sweetheart, are you going to tell me why you wanted to know that, or do I need to ask your mother?” he questions, and I laugh.
“God, no. Okay, well, I met someone,” I start, and blow out a breath. I’ve never spoken to my dad about boys, but he always has an opinion, one that means a lot to me. “He’s amazing, Daddy, an author, but he worked super hard to get where he is from a bad place, his family was horrible. He’s kind, caring, and—”
“And?” my dad prompts.
“And doesn’t love me,” I finish, choking on the words. “I love him, but he doesn’t feel the same, and now I’ll never see him again or hear from him and it hurts, Daddy. Why wasn’t I good enough?” I whisper, tears falling again. I wipe them away, throwing back some of the beer.
He sighs and scoots over, taking my hands in his greasy ones covered in calluses.
“You will always be my little girl, Ryan. Your mother and I always have your back, and we are so proud of the amazing woman you have become. Don’t let anyone ever question how you see yourself, my girl, because you are incredible, and if he can’t see that? He doesn’t deserve you. It hurts now, baby girl, but it will get better. I promise. I’m sorry he didn’t feel the same, but maybe he was scared, maybe he was stupid. It doesn’t matter, if it’s meant to be, Ryan, it will be. Until then, focus on you. You are the controller of your own fate. Write the rest of your story, keep going, my girl, because you are going to go far. Love starts in you, if you don’t love yourself fully, how can anyone else? I’m not saying it will fix everything, but life is pain, my girl. Living is the hardest thing you can ever do. It hurts and sometimes it’s shit and you want to throw in the towel, but there is still so much to see, to do, and you have a whole world of people out there to meet. Love doesn’t come just once, and next time you will be ready.”
“Wow, Daddy…” I start, lost for words.
He squeezes my hand. “Want me to beat him up? Big shot author or not, I will.” I finally laugh and he grins. “There you are, my girl, give them hell.”
“Thanks, Daddy, I needed that,” I reply, and he nods, gesturing at my beer.
“Better drink that down and get back to your mum before she comes looking for you and finds me drinking. Woman is obsessed with my blood pressure and health,” he mutters.
Grinning, I do as bid and add it to the bin before slipping past him. I stop and drop a kiss on his cheek. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, Ryan,” he replies, and I leave him to the cars as I head to the house to get grilled by my mum, but my dad’s words actually helped me see it in a different light.
If Logan and I were meant to be together, we will find a way. Until then, I still have a life to live and it doesn’t stop just because I got hurt. I have to get back up and keep fighting because that pain? That ache? It lets me know I’m alive.
“Mother!” I gasp through a laugh.
“I’m just saying, he must have a good...package to make you all googly eyed.” She wiggles her eyebrows and I giggle again. We are sitting in the conservatory, the afternoon sun heating the air as we recline in the chairs with a cup of tea and talk. I sigh then. “It doesn’t matter, it’s over.”
She snorts, the sound so unladylike that I gape. “Sure it is, whatever you say, you want another?” she asks, nodding at the cup of the tea as she gets up with her mug. I follow after her.
“No thank you, and it is!” I protest, and she turns after putting the mugs in the sink.
“Ry, I see the way you’re talking about him, you still care, still love him, right?” I nod and she steps closer, cupping my cheeks and staring into my eyes, making me feel like a child seeking their mother’s comfort. “Then trust it. Now, are you finished moping? It’s not a good look for you.”
“Gee, thanks, Mum,” I mutter, as she grins and lets go, busying herself by tidying up.
“How’s work?” she queries.
“Good, I start back Monday. I’m hoping I only need to spend another year there then I’ll have another opportunity to start out somewhere else, or maybe even work for myself,” I answer and she nods.
“Good, you can do it, Ryan, nothing ever stops you.” She offers as she is cleaning.
I can tell that she’s busy now, so I grab my stuff. “Thanks for dinner. I’ll talk to you later, love you!” I call on the way out.
“Love you! Let me know when you’re back with the author hunk!”
Rolling my eyes, I slip on my shoes and head to my car, deciding to text my friends to see if they are going out tonight. The best way to get over someone is to have fun, right?
Twenty-Five
Six months later...
“Wonderful, I’ll get that implemented and in place for you. Thank you again for allowing me the chance to represent you.” I hang up the call, spinning in my new office. I’ve been working for my new firm for just over a month now after being headhunted for the position as Marketing Manager and Brand Organiser. They are really good, and the position comes with a great wage, good benefits, and the office is astounding. It’s in London, though, so I ended up moving down here for it. My parents supported me even if they did miss me, but they come down every now and again to see me and I go back to visit them.
Standing from my leather chair and rounding the wooden desk, I open the glass door to my office and head through the other cubicle, smiling as I go as I walk to the break room to make a coffee.
I’m scrolling through my phone as I wait for the kettle to boil, and suddenly, I stop. My heart skips a beat and the rest of the world is forgotten as I stare at the announcement. Logan Hemsworth has a new book... I click on the link and blink in shock at the red and pink cover with a girl and a suitcase. What the…? I read the interview with him as he explains how he decided to dive out of his comfort zone and write a love story.
Romance...Logan?
I haven’t spoken to him since I got back. He texts every now and again, but I’ve been so busy it didn’t seem good to bring myself down by responding. My mum still believes we are soul mates, I almost snort at that.
I keep reading the interview, leaning back against the cupboards as he explains it’s a romantic comedy, something he started a few months back on holiday and it just had to be written. He convinced his publishers to let him have a go at it and it releases today.
They ask what made him come up with the idea and I freeze at his response, re-reading the sentence a million times before it sinks in.
“What made me write it? A crazy girl tumbled into my life and it hasn’t been the same since. She made me believe in love and light again, and I just had to get it down on paper…”
I stop reading, dropping my phone to the counter as I brace myself there with my hands. What the fuck? He wrote a love story? Did he…base it on me? Is that why there’s a suitcase on the cover or is it just a coincidence? I have to know, so I rush back to my office and grab my bag and coat, letting the others know I’m off to lunch.
I leave the building and find the nearest book shop using maps. I trawl through the racks, looking for the book in question. Come on, they have to have it. I finally find it at the front with new releases, of course. I pick it up and turn it over to read the blurb, and it stops me short, my eyes filling with tears.
Based on the true story of how a bestselling author fell in love for the first and last time.
I stop reading and buy it, not wanting to be in public as I break down. What does that even mean? He didn’t love me, he made that clear, so why has he written this... I put it in my bag, and for the rest of the afternoon, I can feel it burning a hole in that bag. I’m distracted, and when it’s time to go home I sigh in relief. I have to know what he’s written, if it’s based
on...us? But what does that mean? Did he fluff it up to make it a happy ending, saying that he loved me for his readers? It would make sense, our ending wasn’t exactly good, or was just some of it based on me?
When I get home, I curl up in my pyjamas, and not being able to put it off any longer, I open the book and dive in, ready to have my heart broken all over again by Logan. I flip open the cover and stop at the dedication. I gasp in pain.
“For Stripes, the one who got away and the woman who made me realise this world is filled with more than just horror - Your Bookworm.”
Tears fill my eyes, why is he doing this? Does he tell the world how he broke my heart? How a foolish girl fell in love with him, made him care, and then he left?
I flip through, reading as quickly as I can. My heart races and stomach clenches with nerves. It reads like a love story and all of it is exactly what happened. I flip to the last few chapters, landing on a paragraph about the morning when everything started to go wrong, the morning after I told him I loved him.
“I left her in bed, it was the hardest thing I had to do. I stood there, above her, hovering for a while, soaking in her beauty in the morning sun, and then forced my feet away, knowing if I stayed there with her I would never want to leave and my heart was in danger of being stolen. What I didn’t know then was that she had already stolen it…”
Sucking in a breath, I go to the last two pages. Does that mean what I think it means? D-Does he love me? Or is it all just words?
“I watched her walk away from me, back tall and head held high. She looked like a goddess leaving a battle, determination in every line of her body as she left me there broken and screaming in pain. My heart begged me to chase after her, my head told me it was too late. That like always, I was not enough for her. Never would be. She deserved better, she deserved someone who didn’t stumble over words of love, who could admit what they were feeling. She deserved someone who didn’t live in death—but in life.
