People think working in a bar means you have to be social by nature, but they’d be wrong. Yes, you’ve got to make small talk and flirt, sometimes you’ve even got to pretend to listen when the regulars come in spouting about the newest chapter in their sad, lonely lives, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it, and you sure as shit shouldn’t be expected to play their therapist while you’re at it.
Not that I can talk, my life is just as sad and fucking lonely as theirs. The only difference is I don’t go around telling relative strangers all my problems. I don’t tell anyone my problems. That in and of itself is probably one of my issues, but as far as I’m concerned it’s no ones’ fucking business but my own what’s going on in my life.
If I wanted to confess all my sins, unburden myself of a ton of weight resting on my shoulders I’d have done it with Thomas. He’s the only person I trust aside from myself, always has been. I can’t tell you what it was like finding him gone when we were fifteen. At first Thomas taking off made me question whether I’d been right to trust him to begin with. He promised he’d stick by me, that we’d make it through together. I wanted so fucking desperately to believe him, to believe I’d finally have someone to rely on that wasn’t myself, but him disappearing made me have to consider the possibility he’d lied to me.
We both hated living with those fuckers, but what were we supposed to do? We were twelve years old when we arrived to live with them, too young to be out on the streets alone. Too old to be adopted. Too old for the group homes the younger kids, mainly five to ten years olds, lived in. But at the same time we were too young to make decisions about of welfare for ourselves. We were placed with who’d take us, no one bothering to make sure it was safe for damaged kids like us.
I wasn’t as lucky as Thomas. His brother and parents may have died, but at least he had a family at one time. He mightn’t have had many years with them, eight is nothing in the grand scheme of things, but he got something, and that counts for a whole hell of a lot when you had nothing.
I’d been in foster care for the vast majority of my childhood. The only time I wasn’t was from the age of one week till I was seven months old. The Jensen’s were nice family. Middle class working American’s that couldn’t have kids of their own. The reason I knew they were nice is because while I can’t remember them, I was only a baby after all, I’d heard some of the staff at the group home I’d lived in talking about them. They were also the people I went to when I aged out of the system.
With nowhere else to go. No money, and no prospects, I did the only thing I could think of to get by. I went to visit the two people that had apparently cared about me dearly but just couldn’t keep me. I spent three years with them, working odd jobs, waiting tables, learning my way round a car engine taught by Mr. Jensen who owned his own garage before I moved on. I loved getting to know them, loved feeling like I had somewhere to call home even if it was only for a short time. I also learned they were genuinely good people that had been plague for years by the decision to give me back to the unforgiving system I’d called home.
See, I was born with a hole in my heart. It was nothing major at birth, it wasn’t even picked up because it didn’t create any symptoms that would have be a cause for concern. It wasn’t until I was about five months old that shit started to go downhill, and with the Jensen’s living paycheck-to-paycheck, they didn’t have the cash or the time to spare to care for an infant with serious medical needs.
The doctors’ told them I’d require at least two surgeries to fix the defect. Most kids with ASD or VSD, (atrial septal defect and ventricular septal defect) are lucky and the hole closes on its own. They live to old age with very little chance of complications arising. Me on the other hand, well I was a different case altogether.
The two chambers of the heart are separated by the septum, which is the inner wall between the sides. The right side of the heart sends oxygen-poor blood to the lungs for them to re-oxygenate it, then the blood enters the left side of the heart where it’s pumped to the rest of the body. It’s pretty simple really. Good and bad blood don’t mix. If it does bad shit happens. The end.
Like I said, usually this isn’t a problem if it’s only a small hole, it eventually closes on its own, no harm no foul. But with me, the hole was so large it had torn the septum almost completely in half. My body was having to work too hard, specifically the right side of my heart that was pumping double the amount blood to my lungs, which turned out to be too much for my fragile frame to handle.
The right side of my heart started to fail, as did one of my valves, then, and only then did my condition get picked up by the doctors’, and I was rushed to the hospital for emergency surgery. That was when the Jensen’s got the news about the costs involved, the fact I’d need full-time round the clock care, and the follow-up surgery that was planned for six weeks later. They told my they spent a week agonizing over what to do, and at the end of it all there was no other choice for them other than to hand me back. Surgery and post-op care was going to run to around a hundred thousand dollars, a hundred thousand dollars they didn’t have and couldn’t get to save themselves, let alone me.
No one blamed them for their choice, least of all me. I understood, I really did. Did I wish they’d been able to make it work somehow? Sure. But did I blame them for what I suffered after I left them? Fuck no. A lot of people might let their bitterness, anger, and need for revenge eat away at them until they take it out on the wrong target, but not me. I placed the blame for my fucked up life squarely where it belongs. On the heads of two monsters long since dead and buried.
I had the surgeries. It took time, but I recovered. My heart would always be weaker than it should be, and there’s a good chance I’ll run into problems later down the track, but for now it’s holding up so that’s all I can ask for I suppose.
Thomas took care of the only other major issue I had in my life, so I can honestly say I’m doing better than most. I’d always wondered if and when those two fuckers would show up again. It was only a matter of time before one of us, either me or Thomas, would come into contact with them, I’m just glad it wasn’t me. I wouldn’t have gone so easy on them.
Can’t say I’m surprised at what he did, the brutality of it all. Thomas had always been a hothead. He acts first, thinks later. It’s like his fucking motto or some shit. I just hope, after what he carried out, that he can live with himself. The other thing about Thomas is that he’s got so much compassion, misplaced or not, that this shit could eat him alive.
The day he came home after taking care of our mutual problem, he sat me down and told me they’d come here to blackmail him with the photos they took of him. He told me all the gruesome details of how he disposed of them, what he did, and how he did it. It might make me an asshole that I didn’t flinch at what they’d gone through in the end, but you’ve got to remember; what they did to us, for years, wasn’t just physical abuse, it was mental and emotional torture. That shit tore at your very soul. Left stains that couldn’t be washed away. I was still washing away their filth, and it had been fifteen years since I’d seen them, nearly eighteen since they’d touched me.
I was glad they had a taste of the cruelty they’d shown us. They’d never learn. They would never have changed. They were just two people born evil. Born with black souls, and even blacker hearts. There was no redemption for people like them. No salvation. And no mercy, Thomas made sure of that.
Was I sad I couldn’t have been part of the festivities? Yes. But the truth is, when I calmed down I realized it was for the best. I’ve already got enough scars on my soul, they didn’t need to add anymore, and they would. That’s just what people like them did. They were succubae. They drained the life out of people, took the good, the light, whatever they could get their filthy hands on and destroyed it. Until one day recently I thought they’d succeeded. I truly believed they’d stolen my ability to see beauty in anything, but I was wrong. Dead wrong.
Not long ago I met a woman. A w
oman I knew would change the course of my life the minute I laid eyes on her. Sometimes you just know when someone’s going to play a huge part in your life, when they’re going to change everything you thought were certainties. It’s a feeling you get deep down in the pit of your gut, a mix of anxiety, excitement, and fear.
I’m not going to tell you I loved her the moment I saw her, because I’m not even sure I knew what love was to be able to recognize it, but what I will say is I coveted her, and still do. The second I saw those long, toned, tanned legs walk into my field of vision I knew I had to get to know the woman they were attached to. When I caught sight of the rest of her, I was positive I would do anything to make her smile. More than that, I wanted to make her smile at me. Only at me.
She looked so sad, so beaten down and broken, I just wanted to scoop her up and hide her from whatever pain she was feeling. I wanted to be the one to heal her. The look of heartbreak written all over her face wasn’t meant to be worn by a gorgeous woman like her. I didn’t know her story, where she came from, who she was, but I did know that much.
The more I got to know her the more I wanted her to be part of my life. She is unlike any woman I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something because I’ve met hundreds of women, and spent quality time burning up the sheets with at least a third of them. This woman isn’t like them though. She isn’t cheap or easy. She’s not lick, stick, and flick material. And if she was, I don’t think I’d have had such a strong primal reaction to her.
She brought out something in me I saw in Glock when he was with Lexi, make that all the MC guys and their women, and that scared the shit out of me. I wasn’t used to feeling anything, let alone the flood of emotions I had around her. The most powerful reaction I had was also the most dangerous.
The need to protect her, shelter her from the world was fierce. It ate at my insides, threatening to take over my sanity most days. I hated the situation she was in. I hated I there was nothing I could do about it. But what I hated more was the fact it wasn’t my place to intervene in her life. I didn’t have that right, someone else did, and I hated him for it.
I knew I shouldn’t have pursued a friendship with her to start off with, the temptation to want more from her was always there. Now it’s reached critical overload. I can’t keep going like this, wanting her, craving her, needing her, and not being able to have her. Knowing there’s a woman out there, so close I could reach out and touch her, smell her, breathe in her scent is maddening. So much so, I want to hate her too.
I want to hate her for giving me a look at what I’m missing out on. I want to hate her for not being mine, for not choosing me. I want to hate her for not seeing that I could give her something, everything she needs. But wanting to hate someone because it’s easier than loving them silently from a distance doesn’t make it so, especially when there’s so much to love about her. I love that she’s sweet, kind, compassionate beyond belief, funny, and truly adores her kids. The truth is; I’m in so deep with her I can’t see straight. I know that it doesn’t matter what she does, or who she ultimately ends up choosing, I’ll never stop loving her.
That was also when I knew I’d finally fallen in love for the first time…and with a woman that isn’t available emotionally, or otherwise. I fell in love with her quickly, completely, and irrevocably. There was no denying it to myself, and I only managed to hide it from her this long because I knew she wasn’t in the position to return my feelings. Now that everything’s changed, I’m not holding back anymore.
The connection we have she feels too. I’ve seen it in the way she glances at me when she doesn’t think I’m looking at her. Her shy retreats from me when I hold her, the way her breathing speeds up, and her pulse starts to race tells me everything I need to know. Because if she can’t say it with words, I’ll trust her body to be honest with me and give me the reassurances I need, and I do need them. Not promises of a future, or her pledging her undying love, although that’d be a fucking sensational bonus, but the reassurance I have a chance with her. Even if it’s just a slim chance, a chance however slim is still better than what I’ve got now.
I can promise you one thing…I will not stop until I have the woman that’s become my reason for existing in my arms. I don’t care who I have to go through, what I have to do, or how hard I have to fight, I won’t give up on making her mine.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Tallulah
“I might look sweet, but I have a long memory,
an evil streak, and a lot of patience. Remember that.”
- Rotten eCard
My name is Tallulah Annalise Phillips, but you can call me Tilly for short. I am a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, and a friend. I work, I go out with my friends occasionally, and I take care of my family. But what I don’t know is who I really am behind all the titles and many masks I wear. I have no idea who I am as a woman, you’re guess would be as good as mine, but we’re about to find out.
Sometimes it’s even hard to remember how I got here, how I let this happen to myself, but then I wake up and realize I played a huge roll in allowing myself to get to this point. That realization is what brought all of what you’re going to hear about. It is why I decided I wouldn’t sit idly by while life went on around me anymore. Previously I may have been happy to sit on the edges of my world, merely coasting through, but now I can see the main event is passing me by and I refuse to allow that to happen. At least not without putting up a damn good fight.
For years I’ve stood by listening while people describe me as meek, timid, weak, shy, introverted, and two thirds of my life has been spent not bothering to deny their assessments of me. You can’t argue what happens to be true. I may not have liked what they were saying, in fact I hated it, but that doesn’t detract from the honesty of their words. There were times I let their words sink in, I let them affect me so deeply I truly believed who they described was who I am, and I let that go on for far too long. Again, that was my fault. It was absolutely in my control to do something about their misconceptions of me and I didn’t. So in essence, I have no one to blame but myself.
But now, enough is enough. You could say it’s the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back, or that I’ve heard all the ‘poor Tilly’s’, and ‘she’s just too sweet for her own good’s’ I intend on listening to, but whichever it is the end result is the same, I’m done. Finished. Over it.
I’m sick of being looked at with pity. I’m tired of having to pick up the pieces of my life with a fake smile plastered on my face, because that’s what everyone expects from me. I’m angry I’ve been put in a situation that doesn’t have a happy ending. Well, not as far as I can tell. But what hurts the most, what destroys me is the knowledge I can’t do something as simple as keep my family together. When those looks of pity turned into ones of accusation, I knew it was time for me to make some changes, big ones.
I don’t want to be in this position to begin with, but I don’t suppose anyone who’s facing a fork in the road does. This choices I’m facing don’t have happy endings for anyone. Someone will get hurt it’s inevitable, it’s unavoidable. And as much as I’d like to say it won’t be me for once, I have a sinking feeling it will be.
That’s usually how it works out isn’t it? The person with the power to make the decisions is invariably the one who stands to lose the most. To make it even more complicated, this isn’t a simple matter of choosing between two evils. That would be easy in comparison with what I know I’ll be faced with in the months to come. This is much bigger than that. My choices will decide the future of some the people I hold nearest and dearest, and that is a huge responsibility to bear.
Apparently animals can sense danger, they know when something is lurking around the corner lying in wait. Well, that’s how I feel right now. Like something is lurking just around the corner just waiting to throw my whole life off balance. The anxiety surrounding my future, my children’s future is overwhelming. There are some days I don’t even want
to get up to face the days and weeks ahead, thinking it would be easier to continue to stick my head in the sand and let it pass me by. But the storm is coming and my options are limited as to how I handle it, so for once in my life I have to stand up and fight for what is right for me. No one else, me.
Life might not have dealt me the easiest hand of cards, but it certainly hasn’t been the hardest either, however I have a feeling that’s all going to change shortly, very shortly, and I’m going to miss the less complicated life I used to live. If I’m honest with myself, maybe that’s not such a bad thing, maybe everything should change. It’s time for me to grow up and make some hard choices. Ones that will hopefully make my life better. They will force me to get off the bench and into the game instead of sitting by watching from the sidelines. I have no doubt that what I do next will redefine me in the eyes of my friends and family, and not necessarily in a good way, but that doesn’t change my mind as to what I have to do. If anything, it make me all the more determined to follow through with it.
Broken: A Devil's Spawn MC Novel Page 27
