Past Imperfect

by Alison G. Bailey

  “You can’t get down like this. Mabry and I need you. You’ve been doing so well. I don’t understand what’s happened.”

  “I’m tired of pretending for everybody. I’m so tired, Thomas. I just want it all to stop. Maybe things would be better if I left.”

  I waited to hear what my dad’s response was, but all I heard were the muffled cries of my mom. I assumed he was holding her. I went to the bathroom and did what I needed to do. I didn’t know what was making my mom so sad that she would cry like that. I had never seen her that way. She was always so happy. I was scared. When I returned to my room, I crawled into the bed and pulled the covers over my head. I wanted to block out the sound of my mom’s crying and the memory of her sad eyes.

  Over the past two years Mom got progressively worse. I never saw her smile again after we returned home from the beach. She didn’t make up songs or dance around. She didn’t bake. One day she didn’t get up to fix my breakfast or help me get ready for school. She still picked me up after school and soccer practice, but one day that stopped too. Everything about her just stopped. I didn’t understand what was going on. Dad said she was tired and needed to rest. She stayed in bed most of the time now. When my dad worked late I would fix dinner for myself, mostly sandwiches. I would always fix a plate for my mom, but she never ate it.

  Dad was working late today, so after soccer practice my friend and teammate, Sylvie, invited me to her house for dinner. It was fun having dinner at the Addison’s house. Sylvie had two older brothers and her dad was really funny. I’d been eating by myself for so long I had forgotten what it felt like to talk about what happened at school and laugh around the table.

  I climbed the steps to my front door. Before opening it, I turned and waved goodbye to Sylvie and her dad. I walked in and headed to my room. Since I hadn’t been home for dinner, I figured I needed to check on Mom and see if she was hungry. I knew the answer would be no, as usual, but maybe today would be the day she started to feel better and got back to being her old self. I sat my backpack down outside my bedroom door and headed down the hall to check on her.

  I knocked softy on the door, but didn’t get an answer, which was usual. She was probably sleeping. That’s about all she did nowadays. I knocked a little harder, but still no answer. I was sure she was in there. She hadn’t left her room in a long time. I turned the knob and slowly inched the door open. Mom kept the room pretty dark. There was a little light spilling in from the bathroom, but that was all. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. Looking over at the bed I could see there was a lump the size of my mom under the comforter. Dad always said when she was sleeping not to bother her, but I wanted to make sure she wasn’t hungry.

  “Mom,” I whispered. She didn’t respond.

  As I walked closer to the bed, I felt a squishing underneath my feet as if the carpet was soaked. I looked down and saw there was a large dark stain that ran along the length of the bed. There was a weird smell in the room like rusted metal. I raised my hand and pulled back the comforter. The weight of it surprised me. It was heavy like when I’d help my mom hang it on the clothes line after washing it. I pulled on it, revealing my mom laying on her back. Her arms were raised, palms up, and placed on either side of her head that was turned to one side. The same dark stain that was on the carpet surrounded what I could see of her. The rusty metal smell was a lot stronger since I had pulled the comforter down. She was really still. Suddenly, all the lights in the room flashed bright and I felt two hands grab my shoulders and shove me into the hallway.

  The door to my parents’ room slammed in my face and I heard my dad scream. “No!! Don’t leave me. Bren baby! I need you! Mabry needs you! Oh God, why!”

  I stared at the door unable to move. I heard my dad’s muffled voice. He was talking between gasps for air, telling someone our address. Then there was silence. I glanced down and saw deep red footprints on the carpet made by my sneakers. My entire body shook and tears gushed from my eyes. I was having trouble breathing. I took a step back, then another, and then one more before turning and running full force out of the house. I didn’t know where I was running to. I didn’t have anywhere to go. I picked up my pace when I heard the sirens and saw the ambulance speeding toward my house. I had to keep running until I got the picture of my mom out of my head or I collapsed from exhaustion, whichever came first.

  Dad and I were sitting at the kitchen table eating pizza. We ordered out a lot now that Mom was gone. It’s been two years since I found her. Dad tried to sell the house right after, but didn’t get any offers. Their room has been completely redone: new carpet, new bed, new paint, but we never go in there. He sleeps either on the sofa or in the guestroom. All he does is go to work, for groceries, and he takes me to the occasional doctor and dentist appointments. That’s about it. He moves and breathes. He exists, but he’s not living anymore. I knew he loved and missed my mom a lot, but so did I. He had forgotten that I needed him too. I lost both my parents in one day.

  “Dad, we’re supposed to be at the field tomorrow at 8 am,” I said, picking up another piece of pizza. He turned his head in my direction. The same glassy dazed look that had taken up permanent residence in his eyes met me. I knew he had no idea what I was talking about even though I had asked him a week ago if he would come to my last game of the season. “My soccer game, Dad. It’s the last of the season. I asked you about it last week,” I said, annoyance evident in my voice.

  “I’m sorry, Mabry. I completely forgot.”

  “So, we have to be there at eight.”

  “I won’t be able to make it. I have to work,” he said robotically.

  “Tomorrow is Saturday and you promised last week you’d do whatever you needed to do at work, so you’d be able to make the game.”

  “Well, I tried, but didn’t get everything done.”

  “You didn’t try. You just said you completely forgot, so how could you have tried when you can’t even remember you still have a daughter who needs you at her last game?” I stood abruptly, shoving my chair, causing it to fall backward.

  “Mabry, I’m sorry. It’s just been so hard. I’ll try to do better. I promise.” His voice was shaky. It sounded so weak and small.

  “No you won’t! It’s been two years since you’ve acted like my dad. I miss her too. I think about her all the time. I still smell the blood when I pass by that door. I can’t get the image of her lying there out of my head. You’re the dad. You’re supposed to help me get through this, but you left me just like Mom did.”

  We stared at each other for a few seconds. Tears streamed down both our faces. He made no attempt to reach out, to hug me, or to comfort me in any way. All he did was stare at me with his dead eyes. I ran to my room, slamming the door as hard as possible. As I paced, I felt the anger that had started building at the table double in strength. I tried to breathe deeply to calm down, but it wasn’t helping. I hated my parents for not loving me enough. I hated my mom because she didn’t stay around to take care of me, and I hated my dad for not being strong enough to take care of me.

  I had to focus on something else. I had to stop thinking about how much my parents hurt me. I needed some way to make this pain go away. I stomped over to my dresser, picked up my hairbrush, and started hitting myself in the head. With every slap of the hard bristles on my scalp came a little relief. I concentrated on the stinging sensation instead of my parents. After five hits my head throbbed, but my anger had disappeared.

  Stay focused on the throbbing, Mabry. Think only about the throbbing.

  I crawled into bed still in my clothes. I had to fall asleep before the physical pain stopped because once it stopped, the real hurt would be back.

  It’s been three days since Mabry ran out of my place. I decided to give her some room to breathe and recover. The look in her eyes that night just before she bolted was something I won’t forget. Mabry always has an underlying sadness in her eyes. They’re beautiful and mesmerizing, but sad. After a month of being together
I asked questions, hoping she would open up. I wanted to know everything about her, what made her happy and especially what had made her sad. That look held more than just a woman who was afraid of commitment, I just hadn’t been able to figure out what.

  Day one, post bolt, she managed to completely avoid me. I don’t know how she did it. I mean, my father’s firm is pretty big, but not huge. I thought at first she might have called in sick, but that wasn’t Mabry. She’s ambitious, and determined, plus being a first-year lawyer meant a sick day was not an option. Day two, the firm had an early morning breakfast meeting. This meant I did see her, but she wouldn’t make eye contact with me. She’s extremely stubborn. She was so dead set on not looking at me that she almost ran into the door on her way out of the meeting. Today is day three post bolt and I am done giving Ms. Darnell space.

  It’s 6 pm on Friday and the office is deserted except for myself and Ms. Overachiever, who I just saw walk into the firm’s library. I follow her and stop at the door. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I lean one shoulder against the doorframe and watch her. We are so perfect for each other, we’re even dressed similar. She’s wearing a black skirt that hits right above her knees and glides over the curves of her hips and ass as if it’s painted on. I have on a pair of black suit pants. The sleeves of her gray silk shirt are pushed up to her elbows, same as my gray button-down shirt. My black and gray tie is loose and the first couple of buttons of my shirt are undone. Her shoes are the same black stilettos that I love piercing my flesh when her legs are wrapped around me. She walks to one of the tables and starts flipping through the case book. While searching for what she’s looking for, she raises her hand and pushes some hair behind her ear. I watch as the tips of her fingers graze the shell of her ear and then return to flipping pages. Her lower lip slowly disappears into her mouth as her teeth hold it in place. As if on cue, my dick starts to twitch. I close my eyes and take in a deep breath.

  Clearing her throat, voice shaky, she says, “I’m almost done in here if you need to use it.”

  I open my eyes and see the same look I saw the other night. She wants to bolt, but the overachiever in her is keeping her sweet little ass glued to the chair.

  “I don’t need to use the library.”

  “Then did you need something?”

  “You,” I say.

  I push off of the doorframe and head toward her as she gets up to leave. I block her and she backs up from me, but the built-in bookshelves stop her from moving farther away. I get directly in front of her, placing my hands on either side of her shoulders. I lean in as close as possible without touching her. Her eyes are frantic. She doesn’t want to look at me.

  “Brad, I need to go. I have a lot of work to do.”

  “It’s Friday, you have the entire weekend to work. Stop doing this,” I say.

  “What?” She still won’t look at me.

  “Avoiding me. Talk to me, Mabry,” I insist.

  “I don’t have anything to say.”

  “Then you listen to me.” Her eyes inadvertently dart up to mine and I capture her gaze. I lean in so close that I’m within a hair’s-breadth of her face. “I’ve given you space for the past couple of days because I know when I told you I loved you it freaked you out.”

  “Stop saying that.” She tries to shift her gaze away, but can’t.

  “Why should I?”

  “Because we had a deal. We were supposed to stay casual, fun, and breezy. Nothing serious. You knew that going into this.” Her breathing picks up.

  “Things change, Sweetness.”

  “Not for me.”

  “Bullshit.” The look of surprise on her face almost makes me smile. “I know you have strong feelings for me, Mabry.”

  “Of course I like you, Brad. I wouldn’t have had sex with you if I didn’t like you somewhat.”

  The corners of my mouth turn up into a slight grin. I lower the tone of my voice like when I talk dirty to her. “You more than like me somewhat, Sweetness. I see how your eyes immediately dart toward me when I walk into a room.” I feel a shiver radiate off her body and I feel myself growing harder.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I have a nervous twitch.”

  “I see the way your talented tongue slowly slides out and over your bottom lip while you watch me eat during the weekly breakfast meetings. You can’t keep your eyes off my mouth. Tell me, are you thinking about how much pleasure it’s given you?” Her gaze quickly zeroes in on my mouth as she releases a deep sigh.

  “I have severely dry lips. I’m not thinking about you. I’m thinking about Chapstick.”

  “I bet I can help you get moist.” She takes in one extremely deep breath that pushes her hard nipples against the silky material of her shirt and my chest. It takes my eyes a second to decide where they want to land, her lips, her eyes, or down her shirt where I can see the swell of her tits. I swallow hard before continuing. “I see the way you squirm in your chair when I walk by you.”

  “I have hemorrhoids. The condition runs in my family.”

  I can’t help my laughter as I say, “I love your mouth.” Mabry breaks eye contact and focuses on my chest. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Nice tie.”

  “Thanks. Do you recognize it?” Her eyes meet mine. “It’s the one I used the night we played Fifty. Remember, I tied you to the headboard and ate ice cream off your body?” I watch as she bites her lower lip slightly and swallows. “You have one more day, Mabry.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before I become relentless.” I look into her eyes to make sure she understands what I mean before pushing away and walking out of the room.

  I stay completely still until I know he’s out of the room. I slowly let out a breath and try to pull myself together. I have been with a few guys. Well, more than a few over the years, but no one has ever affected me like Brad. Everything about him turns me on, his body, his charm, his intellect, and his humor. Since the first time I saw him my body had a chemical reaction to him. I had been attracted to guys before, but what I felt toward Brad was different, deeper.

  Obviously, the first thing I noticed was his physical appearance. I remember my first day at the firm. When I walked into the meeting he was in, I felt a charge of electricity even before laying eyes on him. Standing by the window, he was talking to a colleagues before the meeting started. He wore black dress pants, a crisp white button-down shirt, with a sapphire blue tie that matched the color of his piercing eyes. His dirty-blond hair was cut short, but not tailored. It looked as if he ran his hand through it a few times and let the strands land wherever they wanted. That coupled with the always present stubble that ran along his strong chiseled jaw gave him a bit of a bad boy edge even while wearing a suit. His chunky watch and Duke University ring caught the sunlight as he raised his coffee to his full lips. Brad screamed masculinity and sex. Even in his business attire I could tell his body was unbelievable because of the way he moved and the confidence that radiated off of him. The first time I saw him shirtless confirmed my suspicions. There was no part of his body that wasn’t cut and toned. It was all a beautiful sight, but my favorite parts were his torso and arms. From the top of his shoulders all the way to his V was perfection. Just thinking about every ripple and indentation got me hot.

  When we started working together there was a continuous charge between us. The first time he flirted with me, I nearly melted. The first time he kissed me, I knew I needed more. The first time we had sex was the first time I felt every part of it. With other guys I simply went through the motions. Sex was another way to numb myself from the hurt in my life. It helped a little, but at some point during the act my mind drifted back to the reason why I was lying under the guy. The very first time I was with Brad, I stayed focused on the present, on him, and how incredible he made me feel.

  I could feel his intense gaze on me earlier even before I looked up. My body reacts to his presence. Just his voice almost made me come undone. I need to put a stop to things g
etting more out of hand than they already are. I need distance. I was stupid to have thought I could have something casual with him seeing as how he affects me, mind, body, and soul. There’s something between us, a deep connection, as if we were supposed to find each other in this life.

  At first, I thought I was safe with him because I had heard how he used women to pass the time away. When he was done he was done, nothing messy. Our relationship was supposed to be only physical, a release, and a distraction. Somehow it has never been just that, though. We go out to dinner, concerts, and movies. I’m not seeing anyone else, nor do I want to, and neither is Brad.

  Jesus, are we dating?

  My intention was to keep turning him down until he got bored and moved on, but he was relentless with his flirting, his sweetness, and charm. He turned out to be more than I expected. Brad makes me feel special, wanted, and connected to someone. I haven’t felt any of those things since before my mom got sick. One day I gave in and kissed him. Since then it’s been a constant struggle to keep him at arm’s length because I crave him and I’m scared to death I’m starting to need him. But I can’t have him.

  Self-harming helps me keep my emotions under control. Since Brad and I started being friends with benefits, it’s become harder to keep my emotions in check. Only a couple of weeks into our “arrangement” we were ending a meeting with a very attractive middle-aged female client. As we left the conference room I noticed she slipped her hand under his jacket and placed it on his ass. He didn’t react at all. He simply stepped away from her reach. The intensity of my anger and jealousy surprised me. I hadn’t felt anything that strong in a long time. My first instinct was to grab her and start yanking her bleached blond hair out. Of course, I didn’t. I went into the bathroom and plucked as many strands out of my head as needed until I calmed down. I pull my hair when I’m away from home instead of banging my head. It’s a quick fix and takes the edge off of my anxiety without drawing attention. I just pop into a restroom or close my office door, and pull as many strands as needed to get numb. I knew I should have ended things with him before now, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.