by Claire Adams
“It’s been going on a long time, hasn’t it?” I asked.
“Yeah. Too damn long. See, that’s the thing. The longer you wait to make up, the harder it gets. If this went on for years, even months, you’d never be able to fix whatever problems you’ve got between you two. Whatever it is, Jake, it needs to be squashed right away.”
“She won’t open up. She won’t even answer her phone.”
“Then it won’t work, and if it does, it will only get worse.”
“What’s going to happen to Haylie, Andrew?”
“I don’t know. I’m gonna fight, keep my shit together, and if she tries to get full custody, I’ll take her to court. But I don’t want to do any of this. I want my fucking family. Honestly, Jake, I wish I were you right now. Even if Mercedes doesn’t come back to you, you haven’t been with her as long as I have. It’s different for you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe not,” he said. “But you need to make sure that you get rid of any unresolved issues you might have with her. If you don’t, it’s going to get a lot worse, and I don’t want to see you go through something that you can’t come back from.”
“I won’t let things go on like this. You’re right.”
“Let’s go.” Andrew stood up and started picking up his napkins.
I drove him back to the house and had some of the staff help get him cleaned up. I went up to my room so I could decide what to do.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Mercedes
I felt the sun hit my blanket, and my eyes shot open. There was a dull, weary ache behind my eyes that wouldn’t go away. It had been there for days. It would’ve made me cry had my tear ducts not been drained already. Instead, it sat there, weighing my head down against the pillow while a sob rolled through me.
I’d screwed everything up. Now, there was nothing I could do to fix it because I made the right decision and there was no going back on it. Jake and I couldn’t be together. I should’ve listened to my instincts.
I never fell for anyone, even when I was younger. Life was always about my ambitions, like finally getting through school and getting a real job. I didn’t have time for men, but they kept popping up, so I taught myself a trick. Every time I found myself starting to get attached to a man, I started scrutinizing him. I’d focus on all their flaws and pick apart their head.
I looked at everything, from their career to their beliefs. Even their mannerisms. Then, I used what I found to stick a label on them. One guy was a washout. Another was a stoner. Nothing could possibly be enough for me because I simply didn’t have the time to deal with their crap.
My instincts were finely tuned. I could smell crazy on a guy. I knew when I was looking at a bad seed. I saw it coming. The second I took the money from Jake’s hand, I knew I was making a mistake. I shouldn’t have taken the money from him. I should’ve walked away. Instead, I let myself get pulled into a demented charade, and then I got attached to a liar. Someone that talked about me behind my back to his ex-girlfriend or whatever the hell Becky was to him.
Tears flowed out now. It was a neverending wave, stinging my cheeks and filling my pores. The grief was unimaginable. I thought I cared about him, that he really meant something. He was so sweet. He really wanted to do something good. He wanted to change my life and show me the world, and he would have, had I not come to my senses.
I knew why I was blind to his faults. He had that face, bright and youthful, and his eyes constantly gleamed. Then there was his smile, the most disarming thing about him.
He had the most beautiful golden hair. It seemed to glow every time the sunlight hit it. It was his defining feature, and I loved it. He was my golden god. It didn’t seem possible for the sun to keep shining now that he was gone, but it was, and I had to face it. Every speck of light peeking through my blanket was a ruthless reminder that he was gone.
His golden hair wasn’t a halo. He had the right intentions, and I had no doubt that he thought he cared about me. But I was the poor, innocent girl, and I was desperate for cash. My hesitation just made it better. He liked the hunt, and the worst part was that he didn’t even know what he was doing. He’d bought the lie that his love life was based on.
That’s what made him sick. I would’ve given into him if he were lying. That would’ve been so much easier. His façade would’ve fallen away, and the real Jake would creep out. But this was a real delusion. He bought into his own lie.
That stung.
People don’t choose the type of person they fall in love with. It’s like girls with a daddy complex, or men that choose women just like their mother. That’s not an intentional thing. It’s subconscious, sitting deep inside you, and in order for that sadistic process to start, there has to be something about the person they’re falling in love with that sets it off.
If he liked whores, he had to see me as a whore. Something about me must’ve set that instinct off. Was I just like all the other poor women that got stuck in that life? Was I vulnerable? Loose? That thought kept me in bed.
This was my fault. I should’ve been smarter; I was smarter, but he was the embodiment of masculine sexuality. Every time I saw him, I thought about what it was like to have him pounding through me with sweat dripping down his chest.
Those thoughts brought on an unbearable wave of guilt, so powerful that I couldn’t get up. I couldn’t face myself. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a self-destructive, callous fool with no self-worth and not one ounce of integrity.
I broke his heart. I led him on because I was blinded by a dick when I should’ve been focused on the man dying on the other side of my bedroom wall. It wasn’t just desperation. I was past that. I wasn’t there for the money. I was there because I was blind.
There’s no cure for blindness. Throwing the blankets over me didn’t help, and the shower didn’t wash it away. I still missed him, and that feeling wasn’t going away. It took everything I had, everything, to keep from calling him. I had to block his calls just to keep from answering them, and even then, I couldn’t stop myself from reading his messages.
They got worse and worse over time. At first, it was just simple stuff, like, “How are you?” Then it turned into, “Are you okay?”
After that, it got worse. Frantic apologies. Bitter goodbyes. That hurt the most. Then he’d apologize, and he’d leave things alone. I tried to keep my phone off as best as I could, but I had to check. Every time I did, I had to put down the phone to keep from calling him. I was still sick. I still cared, and it was psychotic.
When I got out of the shower, I wiped the fog off the mirror and took a step back. I hadn’t been taking care of myself the way I should’ve. My hair was wild, and my eyes were puffy from crying. I was a good person gone wrong, and it was eating at me. I had to start taking care of myself, so I began with a brush.
I’d always considered the things to be torture devices. My hair was so fine that tangles became an irreparable disaster. I must’ve spent at least an hour trying to make it look somewhat presentable. When I was done, it was damaged and crimped, but at least it was straight.
My makeup was easier. A quick layer of foundation and the damage was gone. I even added a little lipstick and a smoky eye to complete the effect. I looked good. Not as good as I did when I was with him. I’d never have that glow back, but at least I could walk out of the bathroom with a little more confidence.
When I walked out of the bathroom, I heard the sound of my father’s breathing machine. I walked into his room to check on him. His head was propped on a pillow, and he watched TV. He turned the volume down as soon as I walked in.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” I walked around the bed and leaned down to check his heart monitor.
“You’re lying, and we both know it.” I turned around to walk out, and he started shifting around in his bed. “Ow, it hurts. It hurts.”
“What hurts?” I turned around to see him clutching
his leg.
“Please,” he whimpered and lifted up the sleeve of his shirt, where the dark outline of patch adhesive covered most of his shoulder.
“Dad, those fentanyl patches are a hundred times stronger than heroin.”
“I know, baby, but it’s the only thing that helps.” He had a strained look on his face.
“Fine.”
Under the TV, my mother kept a safe filled with all of his pain medication. He went back and forth between opioids until he couldn’t handle anything but the strongest stuff on the market. I opened the safe and stood up to help him put it on.
“What is wrong with you?” He lifted his sleeve higher.
“What are you talking about?”
“You had a good thing,” he said.
I took a step back. “You want your drugs?” I asked.
“I need them.” He widened his eyes and stuck out his bottom lip, like he was a puppy trying to get adopted.
“You’re faking, and we both know it.”
“I’m allowed two a day,” he said.
“As needed, and even if I did know what you were talking about, I don’t have time for this conversation.”
“Do I look stupid, Mercedes? I’m your father. Half the time I know what you’re going to do before you do it.”
“What are you saying?”
“You broke your own damn heart,” he said.
“What? No, Dad. I can’t do this now.” I turned around and walked out.
I didn’t want to think about it, but I just spent most of my free time for the day giving my father opioids. There was no way we could possibly pay for his treatments now. Jake wasn’t paying me any longer, and they didn’t pay me anywhere near enough at my new job. I only worked a couple hours every day and I couldn’t even live off of what I made.
I wasn’t sure why I took the job, not at first. The owner, Brenda, was sour and rude. She smoked every few minutes, and she always tried to talk to me and get to know me. But I admired her. People streamed in every day, and she changed their lives. So long as they listened to her, they could find work and a place to stay, even shelter from abusive partners. It was amazing to watch her at work. I didn’t mind being there or going to the coffee shop every morning for her before work.
When I walked in, she was sitting in her office with the door open. She looked up from her desk. “Oh my God. What happened? I was starting to think you were homeless.”
“Thanks.” I walked into her office and set the coffee down.
“How are you?” Brenda asked.
“I’m exhausted and pissy.”
“I’ll let you get back to your solitaire, then.”
I walked back to the front desk and turned the computer on. It was an ancient ‘90s model, barely capable of processing modern internet, so I wasn’t surprised when it locked up the second the desktop came up. “Jesus.” I pushed away from the desk.
“What’s going on?” Brenda was behind me with her hands on her hips.
“It’s nothing.”
“Come into my office.”
I walked in and sat down, and she pulled a peppermint shooter out of her desk. “Here.” She handed it to me.
“No.” I set it on the desk.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to go to that place. I’ll break down.”
“You’ll break down.” She nodded her head and snatched the shooter up. “It’s a guy. I can smell it. You know, I see it every single day. A woman comes in, dirty and crying like she’s ready to lose her mind. Well, you know what I say? Fuck him. If it hurts, it’s not love.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Can you keep it together?” she asked. “If you need to cry, you can always step outside.” She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her desk.
“No, I’ve got it.”
“Okay, but listen, I’m not coming down on you. I see too much to judge people. Mostly I’m worried about you, but I don’t want the clients to see you visibly upset. I hope I’m not being harsh.”
“No, not at all.” I kept my head low. “This is all me. I should’ve known.”
“You’re right, but you can’t blame yourself. He’s the prick who hurt you.”
I threw my hands up. “You’re right. I fell for the wrong guy, and you know what the sickest thing is? All I want to do is call him.”
“Of course you do. You fell for him. That doesn’t just go away. Part of you probably likes the things that make him so crazy.”
“You think?”
“Oh, yeah. You have an abusive father? Your man will hit you. You have a crazy drunk for a father? Your man will drink. It’s the same thing with fathers that cheat. We develop complexes about our parents when we’re young, and we act them out when we get older.”
I shook my head. “I should’ve known.”
“We all do it,” Brenda said, laughing. “The sooner you accept that, the closer you are to finding Mr. Right.”
My head fell, and tears started welling up. “I thought that’s what he was.”
“I know, but he’s not. And you’re going to have to accept that because it can get worse. You don’t have any visible bruises now.”
“No,” I sobbed. “I don’t.”
“But you could.”
“Yeah, I could.”
“Don’t go back, Mercedes. I know you think he’s the one, and you’re ready to explain away all of the things he’s done, but you’re blind. You need to know that before you get hurt.” She leaned forward, and I looked up to meet her eyes. “Can you promise me that you won’t take him back?”
“Yeah.” The sobs crashed through me. “I can.”
“Good. You sure you don’t want that shot?”
“I’m fine. Is it okay if I step outside for a bit?”
She nodded and gave me a smile before I walked outside. She knew what she was talking about. Every single word she said hit home. I had a complex about my father, always had. He was never home. I used to wait up and talk to my mom at night while she stayed in the kitchen smoking, and we both waited for my father to come home.
We hated that he wasn’t there. My mom would cry about how hard life was, and how difficult it was that he couldn’t be there with us. It hurt, and I spent a lot of time thinking about that. There was obviously something inside Jake that reminded me of my father, so I attached myself to him. It was just like Brenda said.
I had to stick to my priorities. I wasn’t taking care of my father like I should’ve, and my mother was still losing her mind.
“Shit.” I slammed my foot against the window and pulled out my phone. I had to pay my financial aid bill. They found my cell phone number, and I was behind on my payments. If I didn’t start sending something soon, they were going to call over and over, and that was the last thing I needed.
I dialed the number and leaned against the front wall. The automated voice came on the line with a long list of menu options. Once I’d finally found the one, the voice came on again. “Your current balance is zero dollars and zero cents. To pay your bill, press one. To repeat your balance, press eight.”
I pressed eight. This was an accident. I owed more than a house to these people, and they were saying that my balance was zero. Bills didn’t pay themselves.
The voice came on the line again. “Your current balance is zero dollars and zero cents.”
My breath caught in my throat, and a sob rolled through me like a steamroller pressing pavement. I couldn’t believe that he did that. He actually paid my loans. I had to talk to him. I couldn’t just let him do this and walk away from him without saying something.
I dialed his number, but before I could hit the call button, my mother started calling. “Hello?”
“Mercedes?” She was frantic.
“Mom, what’s going on? Is Dad okay?”
“Listen, I don’t know what happened. I-I’m sorry.” She was sobbing.
“Mom, is he okay?”
I heard her sob again, bu
t I couldn’t make out what she was saying.
“Mom?” I was shaking. “Mom?”
“I’m here.”
“Where is he? Is he alive?”
“Yes, he’s alive,” she sniffed.
“What hospital is he in?”
“He’s home.”
“Then get him to the hospital. What are you calling me for? Now.”
“It’s not your father. I mean, it is, but it’s not what you think.”
“What is it? You’re driving me crazy.”
“Some angel, I have no idea who. They won’t tell me.”
“What are you talking about? What angel?”
“Someone paid for his treatments.”
My heart jumped. “Did they?”
“Yeah.” She laughed and cried at the same time. “They did.”
I went silent. The sobbing laughter was too overwhelming. Then she started crying again. “How did this happen?”
“I don’t know, Mom, but whoever it is, he’s a saint.”
“Yeah,” she said. “He is.”
All I could think was how I didn’t deserve this. I broke it off before he could hurt me, and now he was the one that got his heart broken. That wasn’t fair. He just spent nearly a million dollars on me.
When I got off the phone, Brenda stuck her head out the door to check on me. “How are you?” she asked.
“Okay,” I sniffed. “I don’t want you to have to worry, Brenda. I know I’ve been trouble.”
“What happened?” She stepped out.
“I just called him and broke it off with him.”
“Good. You did the right thing. Come on, get yourself cleaned up.” She held the door open for me to come inside and sighed when she walked back into her office. It was starting to become clear that I couldn’t keep this up at the office. She was probably ready to fire me.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jake
The days went by like a prison sentence. I felt a sense of hope and even a little excitement after I spoke with Andrew. When he left, I showered and put on my best clothes, then walked back down to the garage.
