Pieces of Me

by Tich Brewster

  It is in this moment that something inside me changes. My heart begins to warm and my soul cries out for more. I begin to picture a life with these two babies, one boy and one girl, just like Thaddeus and me, who love life and love each other.

  Two children that will grow up together with the same bond that I share with my twin. Their first day of school, first dances, first kisses, weddings. In the blink of an eye, this man is about to take that away from me, from us.

  A gunshot rings out and I squeeze my eyes tighter. No pain comes and there is no bright light welcoming me into glory. The arm around my waist loosens and the metal drops to the ground with a clang.

  Opening my eyes, I watch as my kidnapper falls to the ground with wide, blank eyes.

  A tap to my shoulder causes me to jump and I let out a blood curdling scream.

  “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

  Those three words, you’re safe now, repeat over and over in my head and I finally cease screaming.

  Shock settles in and I collapse in the officer’s arms.

  I’m not sure how much time has passed but I wake to the sound of sirens and voices shouting above the noise.

  Opening my eyes, I take in my surroundings. I am lying in the back of an ambulance, and a paramedic is pumping the bulb of the contraption connected to my arm.

  “Good, you’re awake.” The paramedic pulls the stethoscope from his ears and smiles down at me. “You’re going to be just fine.”

  I hear his words but my brain is frozen on the horrors of gunshots and pools of blood.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Eryc

  Deep into calculus homework, my concentration is broken by the ringing of my cell phone. Picking the device up from the coffee table, I glimpse the caller ID.

  Unknown.

  I never answer unknown numbers, they are usually those pesky salespeople wanting to sell you everything under the sun. Ignoring the call, I toss the cell phone back onto the coffee table.

  Two seconds later, the ringing starts again. Unease settles over me at the thought it could be Makayla calling about a broken-down car or some other tragedy. Answering the unknown call, I hold my breath as I wait for the caller to respond.

  “Hello, is this Eryc Delmonte?”

  Here it goes. Some salesman is going to try and rope me into purchasing siding, roofing, some cruise package, or offer me a free weekend vacation if I sit through a timeshare presentation.

  Ugh, I really despise these types of calls. “Yes, this is he.”

  “Sir, this is Officer Kirkpatrick.” Okay, so this isn’t a sales call. “I have a Makayla—” he pauses, most likely to look at his notepad for her last name, “Yasmeen.”

  My heart drops to the pit of my stomach. She has only been gone for a couple of hours. What in the world could have happened in that short amount of time?

  “Is she okay?” Jumping up from the sofa, I rush out the door and to my car.

  “She’s fine but I’m going to need you to come down to the station on 11th street, near 169.”

  That’s not far from here, I can make it in five minutes or less. “I’ll be there shortly.”

  Disconnecting the call, I drive to the police station. Nerves has me chewing on my bottom lip with worry. Makayla is in a fragile state right now. She does not need any additional stress.

  The parking lot is semi-deserted when I arrive. Cutting the engine, I jerk the keys from the ignition and run toward the building. A woman in uniform greets me when I walk in. Her smile is genuine as she gazes up at me.

  “I’m here for Makayla Yasmeen.”

  “Of course.” Standing from her desk she motions for me to follow her.

  We trek down a hallway to the only open door. Makayla is sitting in a chair with a blanket wrapped around her. Her knees are pulled up and she is hugging her legs. A tall and muscular officer is sitting at the desk across from her. He glances up when we step into the room.

  When his eyes land on me he stands. “Are you Eryc?”

  “Yes, sir.” I reach out to shake his offered hand.

  Makayla whimpers and we both turn our attention to her. She is rocking back and forth but her face is still hidden behind her knees.

  “Have a seat, Eryc.” The officer points to a chair in front of his desk.

  My body yearns to go to Makayla, to wrap her in the protection and comfort of my arms, but the frown on the officer’s face has me obeying his orders.

  Officer Kirkpatrick recaps the events involving Makayla and the details has my stomach recoiling. My heart aches to walk across this small office, to take her in my arms and carry her out of here.

  “The department received a call for a domestic dispute. Upon arrival, the suspect fled and officers chased him. I’m not sure when or how he came across Makayla but when we found them, he had her at gun point.”

  Gun point? Oh, God, no.

  What is wrong with people? You have to be one sick SOB to kidnap a young girl and hold her at gun point. Anger creeps into my heart and I suddenly want to stomp to this creep’s jail cell and pound his face until there is nothing left to pound.

  “Eryc?” The sound of Makayla’s weak voice brings me out of my murderous thoughts. She stands, drops the blanket, and runs to me. I stand and embrace her in a tight hug. “I thought I was going to die. He was going to blow my brains out in the middle of the street.”

  Jeez, my girl has been traumatized. If I thought she needed counseling before, I sure as heck think she does now. “It’s okay, I’m right here.”

  “Miss Yasmeen, can you tell us what happened?” Officer Kirkpatrick picks up a pen and opens a small notebook.

  She rests her head on my shoulder, fisting my shirt in her hands. The officer is kind enough to give her the time she needs to collect herself, which I’m thankful for. Blowing out a breath, she releases my shirt and turns to face Officer Kirkpatrick. “Yes, I’ll tell you everything.”

  The officer nods and readies his pen. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Sitting in the seat I vacated, she grips my hand with crushing force and tells the horrid events. “I was on my home when my gas light came on. I pulled into the QuikTrip on 11th, just off 169. This guy knocked on my window so I cracked it enough to talk. He asked for a couple of dollars and when I told him I didn’t have it, he left.”

  Officer Kirkpatrick nods his head and writes notes on his paper.

  “I prepaid and pumped my gas. There was no sign of him anywhere. When I got in the car to leave, he slipped in and pointed his gun at my side and told me that if I did what I was told then I wouldn’t get hurt. I didn’t want to get shot so I followed his directions and drove down 11th toward Garnett where he told me to take a left-hand turn.” Her grip on my hand tightens and her leg starts to bounce wildly.

  “What else happened?” The officer quickly gazes at her while his hand continues making notes.

  “While I was waiting for the light to turn green, a police car stopped next to us and he told me not to gain the officer’s attention. With that gun piercing my side there was no way I was going to get on his bad side.”

  Officer Kirkpatrick nods his head. “Good, you did the right thing. Then what happened? We found you not too far from there.”

  “I made the left-hand turn and while he was looking out the back window, I pressed down on the gas pedal and rammed my car into the back of a big diesel truck.”

  Oh, my word, Makayla could have seriously injured herself by purposely crashing her car. On the other hand, she was already in danger. Talk about a rock and a hard place.

  “Okay, and then what?” the officer asks.

  “The driver of the truck came to check on me. He pulled me out of the car and that’s when the crazy guy shot my rescuer. I jumped over the dead body and ran but he was faster. He caught up to me and pressed the gun to my head and told me to say a prayer. When that shot was fired I thought for sure I was dead…but it wasn’t me that was shot, it was him.”

  My gut
twists in knots over this information. This is the stuff you see in movies, not experience in real life.

  Makayla was just making progress with her depression and trauma, this will only set her back about fifteen steps.

  Come on universe, give my girl a break.

  Closing his notebook, Officer Kirkpatrick meets Makayla’s gaze. “Thank you for your cooperation. We’ll be in touch if we need any further information but I think you’ve given us enough.” He is quiet for a few beats, his eyes scrutinizing her. “Makayla, I highly recommend therapy. We can give you a list of therapists if you’re interested.”

  Tension causes her hand to stiffen in mine. “Is that really necessary?”

  I balk at her question. Of course, this is necessary. Why can’t she see that? Experiencing trauma such as this, messes with people. Therapy is nothing to be ashamed of.

  The officer steeples his fingers. “It will help you greatly. As officers, we see therapists after we’ve been in dangerous situations. Trust me, it will be the best decision and it will help you.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Officer Kirkpatrick’s lips pull into a thin line. His gaze lifts to mine, silently pleading with me to make her see reason. Tugging Makayla up from the chair, I wrap my arm around her protectively.

  “We’ll take that list and consider our options.” Consider our options my butt, she is going to counseling if I have to drag her there myself.

  “Great.” The officer pulls a sheet of paper out of a folder and hands it over. There is a list of ten therapists on this recommendation sheet. “And thank you again for your cooperation,” he directs at Makayla.

  The entire ride back to Makayla’s, she holds my arm in a death grip, her head is down, and she is refusing to even look out the window. I can only imagine what she went through and how she is feeling.

  Her sniffling is the only sound in this tiny space and that sound shatters me. I don’t know how to help her through this.

  Pulling into the driveway, I cut the engine and pull out my cell phone, sending a group text to my aunt and Thaddeus.

  Me: Makayla needs everyone ASAP.

  Aunt Rene is working so I know she may not see my message for a couple of hours, but hopefully Thaddeus isn’t drunk already and reads his bloomin’ message.

  Makayla needs her brother right now. Hopefully this incident will not cause him to slip further into the bottle.

  Why do bad things happen to good people? I just don’t get it.

  Opening the garage door, I walk her into the house and she settles in at the dining room table. Pulling down a coffee mug and the cocoa, I set about making her a cup of hot chocolate. Adding a dollop of whipped cream and a peppermint stick, I hand her the steaming mug.

  She plays with the stick of peppermint, twirling it around in her drink.

  Her body trembles and tears flow steadily down her face. Scooting a chair next to hers, I wrap my arm around her and hold her close. Whimpers escape her and the mug hits the table with a thud. Burying her face into my neck, she sobs with everything in her. Loud heartbroken cries echo in the room and her hands fist my shirt.

  My own tears fall but I do my best to keep strong for her. Keeping my cries silent, I allow my tears to fall noiselessly.

  Clutching me tightly, her cries turn to wails and it’s enough to do me in. My heart has officially shattered like china hitting concrete.

  The front door opens and shuts with a soft bang and I almost don’t hear it.

  Thaddeus jogs into the kitchen and falls to his knees next to us. “Sis?”

  Seeing his sister in agony sets him off and he sobs right along with her.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Makayla

  Thaddeus rests his head on my shoulder and I angle my body so I can clutch him as well. Here I sit with Eryc’s arm around me, holding me tight while I rest my head in the crook of his neck and fist his shirt with my left hand, and then Thaddeus is hugging my other side while I fist his shirt with my right hand.

  My guys. The only two men in this world that matter to me.

  My brother’s sobs mirror mine, though it’s not a surprise, we are twins. Our souls are linked in a way only a twin can understand. When one of us hurts, we both hurt.

  When there is nothing left to cry, I release both of them from my clutches and lean back.

  Eryc keeps his arm around me and Thaddeus takes my hand in his, and then asks, “What happened, Makayla?”

  The last thing I want to do is relive the events from earlier but my brother needs to know. I just pray this will not drive him to drink any more than he already is.

  Eryc hands me a tissue and I dry my eyes then blow my nose.

  I give my brother a play-by-play of my encounter with that creep. His face blanches at the mention of a gun being pressed into my side.

  “Oh, God,” his voice is just above a whisper. When I mention the creep pressing the gun to my head and telling me to say a prayer, Thaddeus jumps to his feet. “I’m going to kill him.”

  Tugging on my brother’s hand, I urge him to sit. “Thad, sit down and listen.”

  Shaking his head, he crosses his arms. “Forget that. Where is he? I will find a way in his jail cell and strangle him with my bare hands.”

  Eryc eyes my brother. “My thoughts exactly but it’s too late, the cops shot him before he could pull the trigger on her.”

  Thaddeus slumps back down. “Good.” Meeting my stare, my brother says, “I cannot lose you. Not to a crazed maniac and definitely not to suicide.”

  “I know,” I choke out.

  “You have to get better, sis. For me, for Eryc, and for mom.”

  Eryc squeezes my hand, letting me know that he agrees with my brother.

  I nod.

  As much as I hate the idea of seeing a therapist, I know it is necessary in order for me to get better. My depression has lifted some since Eryc has been in my life, but I still struggle.

  There are moments when the urge to slit my wrists is strong. The last thing I need is for this incident to add to that and push me over the edge.

  Sometimes life just sucks donkey butt.

  After my meltdown, which was embarrassing by the way, I made myself comfortable on the sofa with a fuzzy blanket and my reheated hot chocolate.

  Thaddeus is upstairs filing the claim with our insurance company about my wrecked car. My little Nissan is totaled, and I am out of a car until I can afford to purchase a new one.

  Rene is sitting on the coffee table, knee-to-knee with me, and talking but I am not hearing a word coming out of her mouth. My thoughts are a mix of what Brandt did to me over the summer and the kidnapper that tried to kill me. My skin is crawling and I want nothing more than to peel away my flesh to rid myself of this demonic fear swimming under the surface.

  Standing, I start walking toward the staircase. I think I mention that I will be back down but honestly, I’m not sure if I said anything at all. My mind is a scattered mess and I feel like I am slowly drowning. Voices are floating around me like the static on a radio station that isn’t getting a signal.

  Closing the door behind me, I go to the bathroom adjoined to my bedroom. Automatically, I reach for the box of razors I keep in the medicine cabinet, but the shelves are empty where the razors and pain killers are normally kept.

  Oh, that’s right, Thaddeus confiscated those the other night.

  Pulling the drawer open, I reach to the very back and retrieve my compact mirror. Opening the tiny contraption, I tilt it and let the cold metal razor slip into my palm. Unfastening my jeans, I slide them down mid-thigh and lean against the counter. Gripping the razor between my thumb and index finger, I slit the tender flesh on my upper thigh.

  One, two, three thin lines bead with crimson.

  The pain sears through me like hot lava and I let out a sigh of relief. Relief because this is a pain that I can control and one that will push the pain in my heart away, even if just for a little while.

  Some people inj
ect heroin to forget their pain. I inflict pain with a razor to forget mine. Deep down I know this is wrong. It will not fix my problems or take away what has happened to me, but just for a few blissful moments I can focus on something other than those horrid things that plague me.

  Cutting myself was never something that I intended to get mixed up in. In fact, I used to call those girls who cut themselves, attention seekers. But July 4th I learned the truth.

  Cutters do not cut themselves for attention. The truth is, they don’t want anyone to know that they inflict pain on themselves.

  No, it’s not attention that I seek but rather the relief of the pain that constantly crawls under my skin like a thousand maggots eating away at me.

  A gasp sounds next to me and echoes off the tile in the all-too-quiet bathroom. I open my eyes to find Eryc standing in the doorway with large round eyes.

  “Kay?” He advances slowly like he is afraid I might jab his eye out with the razor I hold in my hand.

  Embarrassment warms my face. I never wanted him to see this side of me. This was a secret I had hoped to take to my grave. Releasing the razor, it drops to the tile floor and bounces before landing next to my foot.

  The fact that my jeans are down mid-thigh and my pink panties are on display seems to have slipped my mind. Not once does it dawn on me to pull them up and cover myself. Eryc is still staring at me with wide, frightened eyes. The scene he has walked in on has stunned him and he looks as though he may breakdown and cry.

  Embarrassment, anger, and fear all simmer on the surface, choking me. At this very moment, I want nothing more than to die so I don’t have to see the disappointment on Eryc’s face. Using the heels of my hands, I press on my temples to relieve the building pressure in my head.

  No amount of wishing will rewind time. My secret is out and now I have to deal with the fallout. I never used to be this weak, there was a time when I was bold and brave but that girl is long gone. Now I am exactly the kind of girl that I used to frown upon.