Releasing Me

by Jewel E. Ann

  What the hell, it’s my birthday.

  After starting a fire in the pit out back, I settled into a patio recliner and watched the tide over a bottle of red wine. A few hours later, darkness surrounded me with the exception of a quarter moon and the few remaining embers in the pit. Standing with a slight wobble, the heavy numbness of the alcohol claimed my body. Looking down, I realized I was still in my dress.

  “This is the worst dress ever. It reeks of death and misery,” I slurred to myself.

  I unzipped the dress and clumsily stepped out of it. Wearing only my black bra and matching lace panties, I marched out into the sand. As soon as I reached the water’s edge, I tossed the dress into the endless sea. “Adiós!”

  Turning around, I drudged through the sand back to the deck. I grabbed the wine bottle and went to pour more in my glass but noticed it was almost empty. I set the glass down, lifted the bottle, and tipped it back until the rest of the wine slid down my throat. With little regard for much of anything, I tossed the empty bottle in the sand and reached for the door. Instead of the knob, my hand grasped an arm.

  “Holy shit!” I jumped back.

  My heart was racing as I worked to focus my intoxicated eyes on the dark figure standing in the doorway.

  Quinn.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I shoved him aside as I stumbled through the doorway.

  My eyes screamed in protest when I flipped on a light to find my way to the bedroom. I fumbled through my suitcase on the bed until I found my short pink satin robe. When I returned to the living room, Quinn was standing by the French doors looking at me. He still had on his black suit pants, but his tie was gone and his shirt was untucked with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

  “You’re drunk,” he said. It wasn’t a question because he knew the answer.

  “You would know,” I threw back in an irritated tone. “What do you want?”

  “My fucker of a little brother locked me in the basement during the luncheon until I sobered up.”

  I grabbed a bottle of coconut water out of the refrigerator and unscrewed the top. “Kudos to him, but that still doesn’t explain why you’re here.” I guzzled down half the bottle. “Especially since I. Don’t. Want. You. Here.” I’d hoped the words would resonate with him, but from the look on his face I wasn’t sure if he even remembered saying them to me earlier.

  “I didn’t have much of a choice. After I was released from the basement, Chase and Mitch threw me in the car and brought me here.”

  “Why?” I asked, not sure if he was being truthful.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Apparently, I didn’t play nice with you earlier today. Chase thought I owed you a ‘sober’ apology.”

  I finished my bottle of coconut water and slammed the bottle down on the counter. “Fine, apologize, don’t apologize, I don’t give rat’s ass. Just say whatever you need to say and get the hell out of here!” Not waiting for a response, I walked to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind me. My bladder was about to explode, so Quinn and his forced apology had to wait. When I came out, he wasn’t in the living room or kitchen. The hall leading to Elena’s bedroom was illuminated. I tiptoed down the hall and found Quinn standing at the foot of the bed with his back to the door.

  “Is this where she died?” His voice was emotionless.

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I promised her I wouldn’t.”

  “I see. So if your mother were dying and asked me not to tell you, then you’d be okay with that?”

  The wine was slowly wearing off, but my ability and desire to show empathy was still numb.

  “My mother was murdered and cut up into pieces by some psycho nine years ago. So if you’re asking if I’d have been okay with her being injected with so much pain medication that she didn’t feel a thing while she died on her own terms, then yes, I’d be okay with that.”

  “Jesus, Addy, I forgot how they––”

  “How they what, Quinn? How they died? Good for you. Wish I could, but I can’t. There hasn’t been a single day in nine … whole … years that I haven’t had the image of pools of blood soaking into the hardwood floors, grout, and wool rugs. I see it smeared on the walls, the banister, and the stairs. Then … then there are the images of their bodies, but not in one piece. No, they were cut up and strewn throughout the house the way a child scatters their toys!”

  By then my voice was loud and angry, very angry.

  “Get out, Quinn! Just leave.” My chest heaved as my head was still spinning.

  “Whatever, I need a fucking drink anyway.” He walked past me as I continued to stand in the doorway.

  “Of course you do, just like your father did,” I whispered.

  He came to an abrupt halt and turned back toward me. “What did you say?”

  I shut the light off and walked past him to the other bedroom because I was done talking.

  “I asked you a question,” he demanded as he followed me.

  I lifted my suitcase off the bed and set it on the floor.

  “I said you’re just like your father,” I growled at him.

  He charged toward me until he had me backed up against the wall. He cocked his fist back and then sent it through the wall only a couple of inches from my face. I stood frozen in place, barely flinching. The alcohol had apparently paralyzed my reflexes.

  “I’m not my goddamn father, so don’t you ever fucking say it again!” he roared in my face.

  I looked at him with no expression, no emotion. His warm breath brushed my face.

  He pushed off the wall and took a few steps back. “I think I’d better leave before I say something I’ll regret.”

  What?!

  I raised my eyebrows in disbelief. “No! Don’t you even think of leaving without finishing what you’ve started. I’ve been on the receiving end of the vengeful venom that comes from your drunken mouth. So please, don’t spare me now.”

  He shook his head. “I’m done here.” He opened the door and paused for a moment.

  “You’re such a pathetic coward,” I said just loud enough for him to hear me.

  He slammed the door shut again and turned around in another fit of rage.

  “I’m a coward?” He laughed. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Addy. You’re the one running from your past, not me. You’re the reason I have steel plates and screws holding my pelvis together. You’re the reason I can’t make it through one day without a drink. And you’re the reason my mother is––”

  He stopped short, but I could see the bitterness eating away at him. The twitch in his jaw muscles told me he was biting back the words.

  “Dead, right? That’s what you mean. I’m the reason your mother is dead.”

  Nothing he said surprised me, but how it made me feel did. I knew they were the words he needed to say, and I thought I was prepared to hear them, but I wasn’t.

  He exhaled an exasperated breath. “I told you if I didn’t leave I’d say something—”

  “Stop! Just––” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It’s fine, Quinn. I know how it feels to have everything in your life falling apart around you. I know how it feels to desperately need someone to take the blame … take the pain.” I wiped away a few lonely tears before looking into his pained eyes. “I never found that person and so I just lived with the pain. But I … I love you.” I nodded my head and bit my upper lip as I tried to blink back the rest of my tears. “So I’ll take it from you. I’ll take the blame. I’ll take your pain.”

  His eyes filled with tears as he shook his head. “Dammit, Addy! Don’t say that.” He bent over and rested his hands on his knees as a strangled sob escaped his chest. Then he fell to his knees and covered his face with his hands as months of emotions poured out.

  “It hurts … so … bad,” he cried.

  Closing the distance between us, I pulled his head into me, resting it on my abdomen. He wrapped his arms around my legs like a yo
ung child and sobbed.

  “I miss her so much,” he gasped between sobs.

  “Shh.” I stroked his thick, dark hair as my own river of tears overflowed.

  “It hurts too much, Addy. God, please make it stop,” he pleaded.

  He clung to me so tight it actually felt as if I was taking on his pain. Yet even amidst the pain, for a brief moment, his embrace made my heart feel whole again.

  When I could no longer hear his sobs, I held his hand. He looked at me with red, swollen eyes. I bent down and kissed the tear streaked skin on his face. He closed his eyes as if just the touch of my lips lightened his heartache.

  “Come with me,” I whispered.

  Without a word, he climbed back to his feet and followed me to the bedroom.

  Standing beside the bed, I began unbuttoning his shirt. “What are you doing?” he asked in a weak, fragile voice.

  “Taking it away.” I looked up at him. “Just for tonight.”

  I finished removing his shirt, then his pants and briefs. He stood in front of me—motionless, pained, broken. After shrugging my robe off, I removed my bra and panties. The moment was raw. After so much pain, anger, and heartbreak, we stood inches apart, bared to one another—physically and emotionally. I think we both knew it wasn’t a surrender or the mending of our relationship, and it wasn’t forgiveness. It was just coming up for a breath of air before being pulled under again.

  The peace before the storm ended when I laid my hands on his bare chest. The connection was electric. His whole body quivered for an instant before he pulled me into his arms. His mouth attacked mine. The taste of him awakened a craving deep inside that I’d nearly forgotten. Every cell in my body screamed for his touch; the need to feel his flesh against mine was almost painful. We fell to the bed and our bodies entwined. Every move felt frantic and desperate. I could feel my skin bruising under his fingers as they gripped my body. Pain, pleasure, hate, love—a tornado of emotions ripped through us. Our eager and insatiable bodies lost all control. In that moment, I only needed to feel something, just a moment of reprieve from the numbness that had seized my body and emotions. My hands clenched and tugged at his thick hair with equal fervor. His mouth roughly explored my mouth, my neck, my breasts. It felt as if we were physically trying to consume each other. Lustful moans reverberated from his chest and mixed with sporadic whimpers that seeped from my emotionally overwhelmed body.

  “You’re fucking killing me,” he growled as he hitched my leg up and sank into me. I wrapped my legs around him and took everything he had to give. Memories of him … of us after his accident flooding my head as he relentlessly pounded into me. His face hovered above mine. I felt all his pain and all his anger. Then I closed my eyes and prayed for the tears to hold off. As the intensity in my core started to build, I opened my eyes again to meet his. The sadness in his eyes, the exhaustion in his breath, and the anger that came with each unforgiving thrust pierced my heart. I saw the demons of my past: the loss, the grief, the love, and the pain. But more than anything, I saw anger. Then he closed his eyes and every muscle in his face and neck contracted when he climaxed. As I felt the warmth of his orgasm flow into me, his hand moved between us. He circled his fingers over my clitoris milking my orgasm as I cried his name in painful ecstasy.

  The moment was over, and after he leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to my cheek, so were we. Without a word, he pulled out. The physical loss was excruciating, but the severed emotions were beyond unbearable. He stood and with his back to me, he proceeded to put on his clothes.

  “Quinn?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Quinn

  I kept my back to her as I buttoned my shirt. The sound of her broken voice saying my name fucking killed me. I needed a drink, and I needed to get the hell out of there. She wormed her way under my skin, but I didn’t want her there. My mind was such a fucked up mess, I felt bewitched by everything about her: those ocean blue eyes, her cherry lips, the way her long golden hair flowed down her back and over her fucking perfect breasts. Her smell, her touch, her voice … it was too much. I had only one choice––to let her go. I had to get out from under her spell. She made me feel things I didn’t want to feel. The truth was I didn’t want to feel anything.

  “Quinn?”

  “Just … stop, Addy!” I yelled in frustration as I shoved my feet into my shoes. Every nerve in my body was on edge. I’ve got to get the hell out of here.

  “Quinn, look at me—”

  “Goddammit! Just … shut up. You won, okay? You brought me to my fucking knees, stripped me of my resolve, and left me with nothing. We’re done.”

  All I needed was a drink. I slammed the door and dialed up Chase.

  “You apologize?” his smug voice answered.

  “Just get your ass over here,” I demanded.

  “Did you apologize?” His stubbornness grated at my very last nerve.

  “Fucking hell, Chase! Yes, she’s completely satisfied. Now get your ass in the car and come get me!”

  I ended our call before the little shit had a chance to say anything else. My mind was perplexed as to why I was the bad guy. Addy was the one with all the secrets, she was the reason I fell, she was the one who dealt out bits and pieces of her past to me like pins in a voodoo doll. I was the one dealing with the shit storm my father left behind. I was the one taking care of my family’s needs while my sister tended to her own life and my brother kept his own little secrets about our mother. It was all bullshit. I would have loved to have seen Chase handle everything I did without the occasional drink. I didn’t think it made me an alcoholic, and it sure as hell didn’t make me my father.

  All I needed was a drink. I had to get her out of my head. She always had to one-up me. She was smarter than me and had more money. At every turn she was making some charitable contribution of both her time and money, while I was the selfish, materialistic bastard. I sent her thirty-two bouquets of flowers for her birthday and she surprised me with a trip to Spain for mine. My parents died but hers were brutally murdered. Then for the finale, I treated her like shit after my mother died and she selflessly surrendered her body to me. She willingly accepted my pain while I took her for my pleasure … on her birthday that I refused to fucking acknowledge.

  All I needed was a drink.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Addy

  Journal Day 60

  Grateful to be alive.

  Some people cut themselves to get relief from pressure or emotional pain that is too overwhelming. To an emotionally stable person, this act seems insane. Not to me. I completely understood. In my own way, I had become a cutter¸ but Quinn was my blade and my scars were emotional. I wasn’t aware of just how alone and emotionally stripped I felt after losing my family until I met Quinn. He made me feel alive, equal parts pain and pleasure,but alive. I didn’t just love him, I loved my addiction to him. I loved the life that flowed through my veins when I was with him. I loved that he made me laugh and cry. I loved that he made me scream in pleasure and pain. And every time he cut me, no matter how emotionally crippling it felt, relief rained down to remind me that I was in fact alive.

  It had been one week since Elena’s funeral, and I was back to looking for purpose in each day. One day, one hour, one minute, one second at a time was how I lived. Mac drove to Milwaukee the day after I returned from Spain for another play-by-play of the fucked-up saga that I called my life. Then there was Jake … ah Jake. He was the fleeting rainbow after the storm. It didn’t matter how much debris was scattered from the storm, if you were looking at the rainbow it meant you survived it. And if there was one absolute truth in my life by that point, it was that I was a survivor.

  After dodging him for that entire first week after I returned from Spain, he showed up at my door with dinner.

  “Hey, gorgeous! Hungry?” His smile lit up the room and all I could see was the rainbow.

  “Starving.” I smiled and motioned for him to come in.

  He set the sack down o
n the counter and snaked his arms around me in a warm embrace. “God, I missed you.”

  I waited for more but that’s all he said. No “where were you?” or “why didn’t you call?” just an honest heartfelt sentiment. He pulled back and searched my eyes for a brief moment before his lips brushed mine. It was as if he was asking permission or testing the water between us. That small gesture of consideration was all it took for me to lean into his mouth. The kiss was soft and patient. He ghosted his hands over my arms and then interlaced our fingers before he ended our kiss.

  “Shall we eat?” His smile was infectious.

  “Absolutely. What’s in the bag?”

  He pulled out two covered bowls. “Ginger carrot soup.”

  I grabbed spoons and eased the lids off. “Mmm, smells amazing.”

  “I stole the recipe from this hot chef that used to mentor me.”

  Sipping a spoonful, I winked at him. “Oh my gosh, this tastes amazing. Your mentor must have been a culinary genius.”

  “Yeah, and real modest.”

  We enjoyed our dinner with casual conversation, mainly about the Café and some ideas Jake had for the holiday menu. Eventually my leave of absence became the elephant in the room.

  “Jake, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your patience with me. Any other guy … well, given our relationship over the past few months … would have been knocking at my door demanding answers. But you never called or messaged me while I was gone, and when I came home you waited a week when we both know you knew I was home. And even tonight, you have yet to ask—”

  “It doesn’t matter. I guess I assumed you were with … him. But now you’re back, alone, and—”

  “His mom died.”

  A grimace spread across his face and his posture wilted.

  “She had cancer and she asked me to take her home, to Spain. I stayed with her until she died.” The specific details weren’t important, but he deserved to know why I left. Jake was a friend, and we had been intimate, but beyond that our relationship was undefined. He also deserved to know what happened the night before I left to come home.