Auntie B touched my hair and smiled. Her smile was huge, matching her big, brown eyes. She let out a breath and I smelled mint. Auntie B had been chewing mint gum. She only did that when she was writing a new book or when she was nervous. She told me she kept the two connected - writing and nerves because without fear, she couldn’t write. I could never work under the stress she put herself under, but it had done well for her for a long time.
“Writing a new book?” I asked, my voice cracking.
“Oh, baby, you know why I was chewing gum…”
“I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for? You were in an accident. It wasn’t your fault.”
It wasn’t my fault, to a point. I could have stayed at Thorns and none of it would have happened. Then again, if Auntie B hadn’t called me and I hadn’t bent down to reach for the cell phone…
“Who saved me?” I asked.
My heart thudded, knowing the answer. But I couldn’t say it. I could not mutter his name, not like that. My emotions were a wreck and my memory a little blurry. But I swore I could still feel his hands on my body. His now larger hands, stronger hands, carrying me to safety.
“A woman named Claire,” Auntie B said. “She was on her way to work when she saw you on the side of the road.”
“Anyone else?”
“Well, more people stopped…”
“No. Did anyone else save me?” I tried to push up on the bed and my body was sore, but manageable.
“Just relax,” Auntie B said. “There was nobody else involved, if that’s what you’re worried about. No other cars. No other people. Just you.”
“Just one woman saved me?”
“Well, she really didn’t save you, just found you.”
My car. The car. Down the embankment. Rolling.
“My car is gone,” I said.
“But you’re here. That’s all that matters. Do you remember… no, never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
“I sort of do. The car rolled. A lot.”
“You were thrown from the car,” Auntie B said. “It saved your life, Tessa. Were you wearing your seatbelt?”
“Yes,” I said. “You know that.”
“I know. Well, whatever happened, it was a miracle. You were thrown from the car before it went off the road. It was a twenty foot drop. You would have been there… for…”
Three times.
There were only three times I saw Auntie B cry in my life. The first was when I moved into her house. My dear aunt held me, rocked me, wanting to absorb the pain from me. The second time was when my father’s conviction came in. The tears were partially for him going to jail and partially because it wasn’t life in prison. The third time was the day I moved out.
Today… makes four.
“Don’t cry,” I said. “I’m fine. Just sore.”
“And without a broken bone,” Auntie B said. “A few scratches, you won’t even have a scar.”
“Not even a scar,” I whispered.
“It’s a miracle, Tessa. I can’t imagine…”
“Then don’t,” I said. I stared forward, down the long white bed to the white walls.
My mind raced, putting broken pieces together.
I know what I saw and what I felt.
But did I?
I remembered the road, the phone, the deer. The damn deer. I remembered reaching down. I remembered swerving, losing control, seeing the guardrail. The twisted part where it started. When I was a kid I wondered if it was a ramp.
Hey Tessa, it can be a ramp…
Yes, I remembered hitting the railing, the car rolling, going down, down, down. But I was still in the car when this all happened. I wasn’t thrown from the car. I was taken from the car.
Because… the seatbelt.
Yes.
The seatbelt.
I remembered it touching my neck, bothering me.
Then it was dark. All dark. But I was moving. Being carried. By him. By…
“Tessa?”
“Jack,” I whispered.
That’s who did it. A grown up version of Jack.
“Jack,” Auntie B said. She gasped and lowered her head.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was dazed.”
“Tessa… I have to know something, the truth. Why were you on that road? So far away…?”
I looked at Auntie B. There was no lying to Auntie B. Ever. She could sense a lie, and destroy it, sometimes with just the right kind of stare.
I had no reason to lie anyway because what I knew, so did Auntie B. I could see it in her face. Her drawn face, full of worry, care, concern, and nervousness. She chewed her mint gum like it was a piece of food and she hadn’t eaten in months.
“I saw something,” I said.
“What did you see?”
I thought about Jack again, the handsome grown up version.
There it was, again, thinking Jack was good looking, handsome, maybe even sexy…
“At work, I got the newspapers…”
“Oh, Tessa.”
“He’s out?”
“Yes. I made some phone calls and it’s true. It’s already done. But he’s not here. Not close.”
“Then where?”
“Tessa.”
“Auntie B, tell me. I saw that headline and I freaked out. I left the café and just started to drive. I had no intention of going anywhere, you know that.”
“I know, you did the same thing when you got your license at sixteen.”
I nodded. “Then everything just ended up wrong…”
Auntie B waited a few seconds, giving me a chance to actually consider if I wanted to know where my father was.
I did.
So I waited.
“Okay Tessa, I’ll tell you. He’s in upstate New York, okay? I don’t know where and I don’t care. That’s where he is. There’s an entire legal mess behind him too. Certain restrictions and other stuff. But he can NOT find you and he can NOT go near you.” Auntie B squeezed my arm. “I promise.”
“You promise.”
“Tessa, he has no right to see you. And legally, he can’t. He’ll go to jail for a long time.”
“Another ten years?”
“Don’t be upset with me,” Auntie B said in her classic big stern voice.
It shut me up and I nodded.
She was right, it wasn’t her fault. I blamed myself, for not being stronger as a teenager to stand up for myself and find the actual truth hidden inside me. That my father murdered Jack not out of defense but out of cold blood. He saw a boy near me and feared my freedom. He took my freedom and Jack’s life.
I hated him. So much.
I felt the tears fill my eyes and I lost it. I was in a hospital bed because of him. I would have never left Thorns if it wasn’t for the damn headline… and the newspaper… that moved.
I blinked and took a much needed deep breath of hospital air - oxygen and stale air. I tried to relive the morning, piecing it all back together. Auntie B held my arm and consoled me with kind words. She could switch from stern to kind faster than a person’s emotions could handle.
I ignored her, no offense to her.
I thought about the newspaper.
It had been on the rack, then on the counter. Then the other papers moved. Two of them. Something wanted me to see the headline. Something wanted to warn me. My protector. The real savior…
Jack.
Jack did it.
I went back further… to Brett. The struggle with him ended with Brett being punched hard enough to bleed. But I hadn’t punched him. No way.
Someone else was there, and Brett saw it too. Drunk, high, whatever, he saw it.
I pushed against the hospital bed and sat up, fighting against the pain.
“Tessa, what are you doing?”
“When can I get out?”
Auntie B laughed. “Honey, not today…”
“I want to go home.”
“Your room is waiting,” she said.
I looked at A
untie B, confused for a second. “No, not your house. My apartment. That’s where I live.”
“Tessa… if you’re not comfortable. Or worried…”
“No, I won’t live in fear.”
Yeah, right.
Auntie B would see through that statement in a second. But something was driving me at that point. Something deep inside, calling me, telling me that I needed to get home, to my apartment. I needed to be there for some reason. To bring closure to this mess.
That’s what I needed. I needed to go home, take a really hot bath, and work. I would live my life.
Somehow.
2
After hearing the same miracle speech a dozen times, I was finally able to leave the hospital. I walked out on my own, although my ankle felt tender and my ribs felt like someone had used them for a punching bag. Auntie B showed me a picture of my car and I felt tears build up in my eyes. I was going to miss that car. I purposely bought a used crappy car with cash because that’s what I wanted. And it was gone.
Because I had no car, I relied on Auntie B to take me home from the hospital. She said we needed to stop at her house for a few minutes, and I knew what it meant. It was her attempt to bring me back and subtly find a way to convince me to stay. I’ll admit, when I saw the large wrap around porch of her country style house, the large windows in the front, the old rocking chairs on the porch moving gently with the calm breeze, the large font yard with a few cherry trees, my heart twisted a little, wanting to stay. But if I stayed it would be a comfort thing, not a choice. It would be a way to survive in fear and hide from the world. That’s not what I wanted for myself.
Even when I stepped into the house and smelled fresh baked cookies, I still wanted to be home in my apartment. I loved the way my apartment smelled… my own fragrance mixed with the odors of my neighbors. Something fried. Something burned. The heavy smell of garlic from the old woman next door who cooked everything in garlic.
That was the smell of home.
The smell here was Auntie B’s house and nothing more.
“Drink?”
“Water, please.”
Auntie B rushed to the kitchen and I followed. I wasn’t going to let her get me to sit and settle.
She handed me a bottle of water and reached for a square wooden container. She took the lid off and showed me that it was filled to the top with cookies.
“Have some,” she said, “that hospital food had to have been horrible.”
“It was,” I said. I took a cookie and savored it. She made the best cookies and it was hard to not show how good they were.
“Do you have any questions for me?”
“Questions? About…?”
“Everything that happened. The accident. Your…”
“I don’t care,” I said. “It was my fault, everything.”
“No, it wasn’t. You did what you knew to do when afraid. You would have done the same thing if you lived here.”
“I wouldn’t have been on that road.”
“There’s deer everywhere, Tessa.”
I nodded. “I’m just glad I’m okay. Thankfully someone helped me.”
“I never thought I’d say this… but thankfully you were thrown from the car.”
My cheeks turned red and I felt guilty. I knew something Auntie B didn’t know and it was something she would never know, or understand.
“I’m going to leave in a few minutes,” I said. “Can you take me home?”
Auntie B puckered her lips and put her hands on her hips. I prepared for a long winded speech about what home really meant. I planned for her to dig up memories, stories, and maybe even throw in a few tears here and there.
But she didn’t.
She just shook her head.
“I can’t,” she said. “I have to get ready. I have a date.”
“A date?”
She nodded. “Yeah. A date. A hunky professor from the community college. Teaches English. Met him at a writer’s conference last month. Need to get…”
“I don’t need to hear anything else,” I said and waved my hands.
The last thing I wanted to be reminded of was that my aunt had a much more active sex life than me. Actually, to rephrase that… my aunt had a sex life and I didn’t.
I often thought about what would happen if I told her I was still a virgin. A few years ago she’d smile… but now…
“Wait, how am I going to get home?” I asked. “I’m not staying here, no way. Not to hurt your feelings.”
“No, my feelings aren’t hurt,” Auntie B said. “You’re going to drive home. Doctors said you could, so drive home.”
“With what?”
Auntie B smiled and nodded towards the garage door.
I walked to the door slowly and opened it to find a car. A new car. A dark red car with four doors, no dents, and it wasn’t a crumpled, tangled mess of metal and glass.
“You didn’t…”
“I did,” Auntie B said. “Bought it yesterday. It’s not brand new. I know how cheap you are.”
I looked over my shoulder and stuck out my tongue.
“It’s yours, it’s paid for, and the keys are on the counter.”
“I could buy myself a car,” I said.
“I know. But I bought you one. Something nicer, newer. Time for you to get a man, Tessa. Enjoy yourself.”
I waved my hands again. I didn’t want Auntie B imagining me on a date, being with a guy, or anything else.
I hurried back to her, hugged her for what felt like an hour, getting lost in her expensive and potent perfume, her one hand squeezing my back, her other hand touching my hair.
“Thank you for helping me,” I whispered.
“Of course. If you need anything, call me.”
“I will.”
“And Tessa… don’t worry about anything. He can’t hurt you.”
I nodded, but I didn’t believe it.
Auntie B half smiled, telling me she didn’t believe it either.
Shit.
I took the keys and started my new car. It smelled clean and started on the first try. I backed out of the garage and left Auntie B’s house, feeling sort of like I did the first time I left. It had to be done though. I needed to find my sense of normalcy and survive. Go home, take a real shower, a hot bath, and write. Close the shades, lock the door to my apartment, and embrace home. I had already been bothered all morning by people texting me - and sending me messages and posts online - wanting to know how I was feeling and how they were sorry for the accident.
The only person I responded to was Bridget. She came and saw me at the hospital once and I promised her we would have a girls night soon.
When I got to my apartment I put my key in the lock and smiled.
I opened the door and thought about my father murdering Jack. The image was vivid and painful. I shook it off and closed the door behind me. I leaned back against the door and realized I had never seen Jack’s grave. In fact, I didn’t know where he had been laid to rest. Maybe I needed to see it, to see him. Maybe that would chase away the last few annoying ties.
“Home sweet home,” I said.
I locked the door and walked to the kitchen. My fridge was mostly empty and there was no way in hell I was going to a grocery store. Not today. Today would be the kind of day where delivery drivers could bring me food. I wasn’t driving. I wasn’t leaving. I wasn’t doing anything outside the apartment. Sometimes the best inspiration to write came from tragedy, so I planned on opening the floodgates and getting words to paper.
I shuffled down the small hall to my bedroom, skipping the bathroom, although I peeked in there, smiling, knowing I would be in there soon enough. My bedroom door was shut. I touched the handle and then stopped.
I never shut my bedroom door.
Ever.
It was just something I didn’t do.
Ever.
Maybe Auntie B had done it… did she come to my apartment?
My hand started to shake as my grip tigh
tened on the door handle. My heart pounded. I held my breath.
I turned and pushed the door open.
My eyes scanned the room and I saw nothing at first. I flipped the light switch and let out a gasp.
There he was.
Sitting on my bed.
He put a hand up and said, “Tessa, just wait a second…”
My mouth fell open and the room started to spin. I swayed and my eyes struggled to focus on him.
“How… you…”
“It’s okay, I’m not here to hurt you Tessa.”
He stood up.
He was tall, much taller than me. Wide shoulders. Beautiful eyes. An innocent, familiar face. He took one step and I let out a cry and then the room was gone.
Darkness came over me again, only this time I wasn’t in a speeding car.
He was in my apartment.
He was in my room.
He caught me as I fell.
Jack.
Wasn’t Jack supposed to be dead?
3
I opened my eyes and I was on my couch under an ugly green knitted blanket. The television was turned on and I hurried to sit up and look around. The apartment looked empty.
I listened.
Nothing.
I couldn’t hear anything but the television.
My mind instantly came up with a perfectly normal explanation.
A dream.
It was just a dream.
I had come home and decided to take a nap on the couch. Then I had a dream about…
“Tessa, are you okay?’
“Jack!” I cried out.
There he was, again.
He didn’t manifest from nothing, he walked from the kitchen carrying a glass of water. He put the water on the small table in front of my couch and stepped back. His hands were at his sides and he stood there for my taking, for my eyes to memorize him, for me to comprehend him, and for my body to long for him.
It was ten years since I had felt this way, ten long years…
I forced myself to fully sit up and I reached for the water. The glass was real. The water was real. But Jack…
“How are you real?” I asked.
No need to beat around the bush.
“I mean, you are…”
“It’s me,” he said. “Jack.”
He opened his arms wide and smiled.
When he smiled his dimples showed, giving him a boyish look that made my heart jump a little harder, a little faster. When he opened his eyes wide, I could still see the sixteen year old version of Jack. The one that snuck into my basement. The one that sat next to me making up names for our future. The one that made me feel so strange… so warm, so lust filled…
Hurt Like HELL (new adult contemporary romance) Page 8
