Mostly, I just really didn’t want to be alone. I knew I would start thinking about things, and things tended to only go in one direction: right to Charlie. No, I needed to keep my mind off of him. I needed to be stronger than I had allowed myself to be these past few weeks. I needed to be comfortable on my own, without a man around: without him around.
“Hey Ma!” She opened the door seconds after I knocked.
“Hannah! You’re here!” She threw her arms around me. “I tried calling you last night, but your phone kept going straight to voicemail.”
“Oh, sorry.” In my drunkenness, I most likely had just continued to decline her calls. Whoops. “Well, I’m here now. And I heard your beau came home.” I gave her a friendly wink.
“Oh, he did, he did.” She grabbed my hand, pulling me through the foyer. “And he told me all about it. Their helicopter was struck down by unknown enemy fire, and his seatbelt was stuck, so Charlie had to help him. But he didn’t have time to get a parachute pack on, since they were already so low to the ground, so Charlie just grabbed a hold of him and jumped.” She shook her head with a sigh. “Isn’t that thrilling?” Her smile was exhausting.
Thrilling? Thrilling? I hadn’t heard any bit of this story. Charlie didn’t say one word about it. They had almost died, and very well could have if anything else had gone wrong. Why was she so into this? Why did this excite her so? Did she want to end up a widow for the second time?
I felt my cheeks flare, which only aggravated my hangover. My vision blurred and my stomach churned. It wasn’t pleasant.
“I have to sit down.” I turned into the family room, but my mom kept pulling me.
“Hannah, you can sit down in the kitchen. Everyone is here.”
“Everyone?” I perked up ever so slightly to hear her response. “What do you mean by everyone?”
Before stepping into the kitchen, where apparently everyone already was, she turned to look at me. “Max’s kids are here. Didn’t you listen to my voicemails?”
Shit. No, I did not listen to her voicemails. Or maybe, in my drunkenness, I actually did, and just forgot I did, and it was my subconscious self that brought me to her house that day, dying for one more chance to see Charlie, even if my practical side knew better.
Yup, that second one sounded more like me.
“Hannah’s here!” My mom announced my presence.
And yes, everyone was, in fact, there. Max, Mary, Maggie, and good ol’ Charlie.
“Hey, Hannah.” He weakly smiled at me, utterly ashamed and looking just about half as hung over as I did, which was still pretty much.
“Excuse me.” I turned around and walked back from whence I came.
I shot left; quickly darted into the bathroom, and appropriately threw up.
Chapter Eleven
Charlie
“Hannah, are you okay in there?” I quietly and painstakingly knocked on the bathroom door.
Unless she was really good at faking a vomit sound, I was fairly certain that my mere presence had made her throw up. Awesome. I had argued with the Command Sergeant Major about coming today. I told him I was tired. I told him I was hung over. I even told him I still had a girl in my bed.
Then he gave me some bullshit about being there for the family. Apparently my sisters were worried and really wanted to see us. Mary even flew back down from New York only two weeks after she had come down to celebrate my father’s impending nuptials. That’s how much she cared. Who was I to deprive her of seeing her baby brother safe and out of harm’s way?
When did my father become such a softie? It was plain crap, if you ask me.
But no one was asking me. I just had to be there. For the family.
“Hannah?” I knocked again, still awaiting the reply I knew I would never receive. She didn’t want to talk to me. And I didn’t blame her for that. I was a downright prick to her the night before, and I had no justification to even hint that I was hurting as well. I chose this path and I would have to live with the consequences.
The fucked up thing about it, though, was that I didn’t want to live without her.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I heard the swish of the toilet, the rush of the faucet water, and the unclick of the lock before the door slowly opened, and my red-faced, beaten beauty grimaced at me from the doorway.
“Move.” She growled as she tried to push past me without touching me.
“For Christ’s sake, I just came to check on you.” I didn’t want to have to deal with her attitude right now. I just wanted her to accept our fate and move on. Hell, we were going to be stepsiblings and very possibly co-workers. We couldn’t spend the rest of our lives hating each other.
Though I’m sure Hannah believed quite differently.
“Well, I’m fine. I don’t need you.” She half-heartedly lamented as I finally let her pass.
“Good.” I could feel my anger for the situation begin to rise in my chest. “I don’t need you either.” Fuck. Why did I say that?
Hannah spun around on her heels, apparently forgetting that she was still hung over and still on the verge of losing even more of her breakfast. She took a deep breath, absolutely about to let me have it, but before she could get out a single word of disgust, her hands flew to cover her mouth, and her feet flew in the direction of the bathroom. I was able to grab the door before it slammed in my face, so I snuck inside the bathroom with her, locking the door behind us.
She upchucked again as the tears of pain and tiredness slipped down her face. Slowly, I lowered to my knees, pulling a few strands of hair back from her soaked cheeks. She was heaving, unable to bring up anything more. I took my free hand and lightly placed it on her back, rubbing in comforting circles. I was sure not to seem too domineering, as I wanted to let her know that she was safe in my presence. Never in my right mind did I believe she would actually feel safe in my presence, but I was just trying to help. It was the least I could do. I wasn’t stupid or naive: I knew I had done this to her.
Hannah finally pushed back from her knees, landing fairly gracefully to her ass, and then leaning her back against the cool wall. She closed her eyes and reached up, grabbing the hand towel from the rack, and bringing it to her face.
“Wet this for me.” She held it out, giving me orders while still refusing to look at me.
I did as I was told; I didn’t want to rock the boat. After a few more moments of silence, as I watched her face return to a more human color, I rocked back as well, finding comfort against the opposite wall. And then I just stared at her in utter sadness.
“I’m fine, Charlie.” She whispered with her eyes still closed and the hand towel still draped over her head. “You can go back to your little welcome home party.”
“And if I don’t want to?” I whispered right back.
Her eyes opened wide, and then shut. Her lips tightened together, and her cheeks dimpled. She wiped her nose, brought her knees securely into her chest, and then allowed her head to rest back on the tiled walls of the small bathroom.
“Fuck you, Charlie. You know that?” She still refused to look at me. “Fuck you.”
“I know.” She had every right to say it. How could I argue?
“So why?” Her hands moved to her eyes, wiping away any residual tears. “Why couldn’t you just be an adult and talk to me?”
Now it was me who couldn’t look at her. I had thought about all the scenarios. I had played them out in my head. I knew that my approach was the only thing that could make this staunch end of our relationship stick.
So why did I now doubt everything I had done the night before? Why did I hate myself so much?
“I needed you to hate me.” Honesty was the only thing that seemed to make sense. Fancy that.
“Well, success, Charlie.” She stirred ever so slightly, but came back to a rest in the same spot she had started. “You can leave now.”
“I’m not leaving.” I confidently refuted.
She huffed out a big breath. “I alread
y fucked you in a bathroom. You’re not getting me to do that again.”
Wow. It hurt. Did she really think I was only in there to see if I could land me a lay? After all the work I had done to ensure that any physical or emotional relationship between us would absolutely cease to exist, did she truly believe that I would jump right back in and force myself on her?
Maybe she didn’t understand why I had done what I had done after all.
“That’s not why I’m here, Hannah. I’m here as a friend.” I tried. I really tried.
“A friend?” She choked out with a spew of laughter. “You’re here as a friend? What makes you think I want anything to do with you, let alone want you as a friend?”
“I just…” I started, but she wasn’t finished.
“No, Charlie. You wanted me to hate you, and I’m sorry, but you got your wish. I don’t want anything to do with you. I want you to leave me here to wallow in my own self-pity, and then I want you out of my mother’s house by the time I stand up, splash water on my face, and emerge back to the party. And then… and then…” She was getting fired up again. “And then, I never want to see you again. Does that make sense to you?”
For the first time in that entire conversation, she looked at me. She looked me square in the eyes and told me that her life would be better off if it was completely void of me.
“But you will see me again.” I tried to be practical about the whole thing, fearing if I let any emotion into the conversation, I very well might break down. “We work together. Our parents are getting married.”
“I know that. Believe me, I know that.” Her eyes stayed glued on mine. “I’m just letting you know what I want. Now get the fuck out of here.”
Her eyes closed again, and I knew she was waiting for me to leave.
I wanted to explain to her why I thought my actions from the night before were justified. I wanted to tell her that I had been on an emotional roller coaster for the last two weeks. I wanted to tell her that I was hurting as much as she was.
But she wanted me gone. And I wanted her to be happy.
And so I left, knowing that I had brought this whole thing on myself. I had made her hate me.
I would have to suffer the consequences.
Chapter Twelve
Hannah
I had two questions spinning around my mind as I found myself curled up on the bathroom floor.
First off, what the fuck was wrong with him?
And secondly, and probably the most pertinent, what the fuck was wrong with me?
I had known the boy for a month. A month. What is that, even? Is it enough time to find myself in such turmoil? Is it worth this much heartache, stress, and self doubt?
I am strong, confident, independent… and hurting.
I hurt so badly.
It finally occurred to me that the whole confidence thing might be a façade that I showcase to the rest of the world, but I forget must come from within. Since my father died, I second-guess every decision I make, and rightfully so. He was such a driving force in my life and the lives of so many people. He sweat confidence and still had so much to spare.
And yet, even with all that certainty and conviction, he went and got himself killed. It did him no good. So what does that say about being so utterly sure of yourself? The only conclusion I could form was that he was wrong. Without doubt, without questioning every action you take, you wind up dead.
I know it’s a bit extreme, but I formed this conclusion as a teenager, when everything in the entire world is black and white. It is rich or poor, love or hate, and kill or be killed.
That was my life, and yet somehow in the last month, I had spent so much energy on the program, making sure that I succeeded, that I forgot about my love life.
With Charlie, I allowed myself to fall through the cracks. I allowed myself to be killed. And I didn’t even see it coming.
I tapped my fingers on the ground, making the decision as to whether I wanted to spend the rest of the day wallowing in self pity, or if I wanted to get up and go on.
I wasn’t perfect, and I wasn’t about to pretend to be, or force myself to be. I had gone through struggles that could shake the strongest person, but I had come out the other side. And now, I was only one of twenty-six women left in a Special Forces training program. Because of my actions, my strengths, and my desires, conclusions would be formed about the fate of all women in the elite squads of the military. That was quite an accomplishment. Sure, when I was accepted, I told myself I was doing it for my dad; I wanted him to be proud of me. But I had forgotten to be proud of myself. I had done it. I am part of something so much bigger than me. Why was I being so hard on myself? I didn’t need to be. If anything, I should be allowing myself to celebrate my successes.
I deserved that.
I felt slightly better after permitting my mind to race and tackle some of these worries. Everything had been so rushed lately that I forgot to take any time for myself. I had forgotten how much I needed that sometimes.
“Mmm…” I mumbled to myself as I pushed the floor away from my face. “Get off your ass and be a person, Hannah.”
With a head roll, a few cracks of the knuckles, and one more splash of water on my cheeks, that’s exactly what I did.
“Sorry about that.” I stepped into the kitchen. “I went out with a friend last night, and I guess I overdid it.” I made a joke of my extreme hangover. After all, it would be silly to lie to them. I wasn’t fooling anyone. “Where’d Charlie go?”
I pretended to seem concerned, though, I wasn’t. I wasn’t concerned or upset. I was actually somewhat… happy.
Interesting.
My mom wrapped her arm around my shoulder, brought me tight to her side, and kissed me on the cheek; very similar to the way she did when I was a child and not feeling my best. Although I was trying to make it seem as though I was feeling better and wasn’t hurting, she knew. And she knew I needed that hug. It felt so good, so warm, and so right. “He had something at work he had to take care of, so he ran out of here pretty quickly. I’m sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” I shrugged my shoulders, letting it seem as though I was disappointed for a brief moment, before I briskly joined their little party.
I told him to leave, and he did just that. I affected him.
Hmmm, maybe I had a possibility of killing Charlie after all.
Chapter Thirteen
Charlie
I kicked some things around my apartment. They were mostly old shoes and laundry that had been strewn about, so nothing was breakable. I wasn’t that angry- just annoyed. Kicking things served its purpose.
And then I cleaned everything up. Well, “cleaned” might be a pretty impressive word for what I actually did, which was really just shove the piles in corners to tackle later… or never… whichever suited me best.
I don’t know what I expected following Hannah into the bathroom, but when I left the house, I soon realized that I had let her take away all the power. I listened to her. My sisters had come into town specifically to see me, and yet I let her ban me from my welcome back party. That’s pretty pathetic.
I made myself a sandwich: Peanut Butter and Jelly. It was really all I knew how to make, but it was fucking delicious. There isn’t much better in this world than a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It calmed me, soothed my nerves, but then, six or so bites later, the sandwich was gone and I was back to feeling alone, abandoned, and unloved.
So I went to make myself another sandwich. It was the only logical solution to my dilemma.
“Do you have enough bread to make me one?”
“Fuck me!” I turned around suddenly to see my father standing behind me. “I’m sorry, Sir. You just startled me.” I quickly rescinded my outcry.
“Charlie, for the love of God, just call me ‘Dad’.” He shook his head in combined disappointment and amusement.
“Sure.” I shrugged, going back to my sandwich. “Double decker?�
��
“Is there any other kind?” He came in closer and leaned against the counter.
I didn’t have many fun memories of my father from childhood, but the one I do remember quite distinctly is how he always made his sandwiches. He’d put the peanut butter on the bread first, and then wipe the excess off the knife and onto the other piece of bread before diving into the jelly. I asked him once why he did that, and he looked at me dumbfounded, before explaining that it’s much better to get remnants of peanut butter in the jar of jelly rather than the other way around. You know, I never did ask him why it was better. I just agreed and let him continue.
Then, he’d get a whole new knife. My mother hated that. She didn’t understand why he would need to dirty two knives in order to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but she always chuckled and shook her head rather than yelled, obviously finding it more endearing than anything else.
Embrace The Suck (A Stepbrother Special Forces Novel) Page 13
