“I am not your fucking father,” I scream. “I’m a goddamn Navy SEAL. With a job that takes me away. I don’t leave for bitches with wet pussies. I leave because it’s in my job description.”
Teala winces.
“I’ve never given you any reason to think I would do anything to hurt you. I’ve never done anything to indicate I would never come back to you.” I step out of the shower and grab the towel she’s holding out for me. Seething doesn’t describe how pissed off I am. I’m mad at myself for breaking my own rules.
“I gave up an entire life for you,” I yell.
Her eyes widen briefly, but then she shrugs and draws a heart in the steamed mirror. “You shouldn’t have.”
I’m going to break something. Anything. The urge to throttle her rises and I get the fuck out of that bathroom as quickly as I can. “I can’t believe this is happening,” I mutter to myself. “You’re fucking crazy, Teala. Crazy.” I hop into my dirty clothes quickly and rub the towel on my hair so it doesn’t drip. I laugh when I glance at the mess by the bar. Water is the least of the problems right now.
“Where’s your mom?” I ask when she ambles in to watch me.
She’s still naked and dirty. Teala looks through me, her big gray eyes searching for something she’ll never find.
“She’s out shopping now. She’ll be back,” she explains.
Rushing past her, I peek in the guest room and I’m relieved it does look like her mother is staying here with her.
“I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.” She rustles around in a laundry basket next to her, searching for something to put on.
I nod. “Looks like it.”
She seems unperturbed by my subtle dig.
“Do me a favor. Don’t text me anymore. It’s obvious you don’t want anything of substance from me anymore and that’s fine, but I won’t be your boy toy. I can’t.”
She crosses her arms across her chest and leans against the wall. She’s donned a new pair of workout pants. “Fine.” Crossing one foot over the other draws my gaze to the blood oozing through the fabric. “A relationship that began on false pretenses was never going to work out. You know that as well as I do.”
“We’ll never know now, will we?” I clap back, smiling wide, sending dimples and suave charm all up in her business. I’m pleased to see it still affects her. “You’re your own worst enemy. Get help. Please.” You can’t save someone who doesn’t think they’re drowning, doesn’t admit they need a life vest. I have to watch her sink, knowing the powerlessness I feel is preventable…by my own fucking hand.
“You’ve helped me. You could help me again,” she says, licking her lips.
I don’t answer her right away. I can’t. Because my fucking heart wants to take whatever she’s giving, but my mind knows better. The truth is staring me in the eyes.
“The world basically ended. Don’t tell me I’m crazy. Don’t tell me I need to talk to someone,” Teala rattles on as she sweeps up the bloody mess using a broom and dustpan.
With anger subsided, I try a new approach. “Yes, everything is different. The world didn’t end. I’m working on fixing it. A lot of people are. I know someone who you can talk to,” I tell her. The Team psychiatrists are probably overworked right now, but Teala needs help. Desperately. I keep my tone soft as I explain how I could take her to see someone, but she shuts down when I mention leaving again for another mission.
“I see it in my head anytime I shut my eyes, Macs,” she says.
“The attacks?” I ask. I keep my distance. Her gaze is fixed on the floor.
She shrugs. “Kind of. Mostly you leaving in the midst of it. I stayed at my mom’s for a while, but I wasn’t getting better. I figured if I tried to pretend my life was normal and came back here life would improve. It did for a little while.”
We’re getting somewhere.
“You knew what my job was. From the get-go. Before you told me how you felt about me. I was always going to leave. One way or another I was going to leave.”
“You forget I’ve never done this before, Macs. Let alone with someone who leaves for a job.”
I suck in a deep breath. “I can’t change that.”
“And that’s why we won’t work. I wish I were a stronger person. I’m not. Maybe one day I’ll change.”
I shake my head. “I won’t be here then. I’m here now. This is it.” I raise and lower my arms.
“Then go,” she whispers. “Solve this for both of us.”
“Fuck you, Teala. I don’t need anything solved for me. I came here thinking I was going to see my girlfriend. Assuming I was going to make love to the woman who I’m in fucking love with. The woman I’m fucking crazy about,” I shout, my hands again fists by my sides. “I did get crazy. I’ll give you that much.” I snarl a breath and rake her body from head to toe in disgust.
She scoffs. “Awww. Is this our first real fight? Fuck you back. I am crazy. For thinking this would ever work.” She smiles, but I see the overwhelming sadness below the surface.
I shake my head. There’s no reasoning with her.
“I’m not leaving because you told me to. Or to solve anything for you. I’m leaving because I love and miss my girlfriend. And she’s not here.”
Teala collapses on the floor. I grab my shit, then turn to look at her. She’s crying real tears now. I get the fuck out of there as fast as I can.
I run into Viola in the hallway as she’s blowing out of the elevator, her arms full of bags. One look at my face tells her everything.
“She’s talking to someone, Macs. I’m so sorry you had to see her like that.” She speaks of Teala like she’s a ten-year-old. Not a grown adult woman. She explains how the attacks triggered repressed memories and emotions. How the doctor thinks she needs time to sort through her issues. In the meantime we’re supposed to let her cope in any way she sees fit. What does that mean? Let her fuck her way through the remnants of San Diego?
I listen to Viola talk. I do. And I even try to pay attention and let her words sink in, but I’ve already made the decision to cut ties. It’s not for selfish reasons. Not because I couldn’t handle seeing her like this. I’m a strong man. I’ve buried more friends and brothers than I can count. Men have died whilst staring into my eyes.
I’m turning my back now because what if this is her forever? I’m not ignorant to the way things like this work. Quite the opposite. I’ve seen it too much: insomnia, mistrust, agitation, emotional detachment, self-destructive behavior. Many times it doesn’t go away. It changes people down to their fundamental core. Viola is in tears as she explains how she watched it happen. How Teala got out of bed one day and wasn’t herself.
I cut her off. “Viola. I’m sorry you have to deal with this. And as sad as it is, I can’t stay around to watch it unfold. If I’m the trigger, me being around isn’t going to help her. I’ll be the reason for her grief personified. She made it quite clear about her feelings for me.” My tone is even, stoic, utterly terrified. Not for myself, either. For Teala. “I’m so sorry. She doesn’t want my help. She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
“Don’t apologize. I understand completely.” Her smile reminds me of the genuine one Teala wears after she tells a joke. A lump forms in my throat.
I sigh, unable to keep my fucking mouth shut. “Keep me posted on how she’s doing? I’ll be in town for a bit before they send me away on another mission. I know everything is twisted, but if you need me. Call me. I can’t see her, though,” I say, wincing. I swallow hard. “It’s too hard.” I want to fuck her. And throttle her until Teala comes back. “For her,” I explain when she looks upset.
She shakes her head. “You realize you’re doing what she thought you would. Her worst fear realized. The scenario she concocted in her mind is coming true.” Give her something to actually be upset about then.
Teala. Teala. Teala. No one understands I witnessed a fucking nightmare. One that will haunt me for the rest of time. This is what happens w
hen you fall in love with fire and life douses it with water instead of gasoline.
Chapter Twenty-One
Teala
He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not. I tap my big toe on each book on the shelf as I alternate my truths. If I land on a book spine that contains green, I’ll call him. He loves me. He loves me not. Red. Sighing, I roll onto my stomach and prop my chin on my hands. Mom isn’t letting me leave the apartment. I don’t want to anyways. It’s so scary outside these days. My friends come over and it’s easy to pretend I’m normal when they’re here. When I’m by myself everything falls apart.
Something shiny catches my eye. I hop up and walk toward the sparkle against the dark wooden floor. It’s a tiny piece of glass the sun is catching just right. After I put it in the trash I return to the floor in front of my bookshelf. I chose a book with a pink, worn out spine. It’s my favorite novel. I thumb through the pages and stop on a page about halfway through and read a few random sentences. Tears prick my eyes. I throw the book across the room. The kitchen is tidy. Mom must have cleaned all morning long. Everything in the world is starting to return to normal. Trash pickup resumed and the grocers have produce again. The malls and shops are still closed, but will open soon. I can’t even think about opening the studio again.
I tried to teach a few classes in my living room, but it didn’t feel right and I couldn’t focus to save my life. I can’t focus on anything, actually. Water. I need a drink. Opening my fridge, I grab a water bottle and drain it completely. Zero calories. I don’t have to worry about burning zero calories. I drink another one as fast as I can and throw the plastic bottles in the recycling bin. I slide the button on my tablet to bring it to life and check my email. Nothing new since I checked ten minutes ago. On autopilot, I go to my favorite workout gear online shop to read the message about being closed for the time being. No new pants or tanks to look at still.
I meander down the hallway and work my way into my closet. I sort through the clothing and organize it first by color then by shape. I run my hands over the soft fabrics and try to envision wearing them once again. It’s impossible and it frustrates me beyond belief. When my shoes are lined up on their shelves, dusted and loved, I sit in the middle of my bed. Macs’ T-shirt is folded under my pillow. It doesn’t smell like him anymore, but I still remember what he looked like when he wore it. It hugs his muscles in the right places and stretches across his broad chest enough to let any woman know what he’s packing underneath.
I run it in between my fingers and get angry. Whenever I think of him it ends in anger. Every time. He left me. I drove him away, sure, but he didn’t even fight for us. He told my mom I’d be happier without him. He didn’t want to cause me any more trauma by going on work trips. After I’m finished being angry at him, I get furious with myself for being so stupid. For giving my father permission to destroy me. Again. That man really is an asshole. My psychiatrist comes over twice a week and my meds are regulated so that I feel like a normal person most days. Feeling normal only proves to show me exactly how much I lost while I wasn’t normal.
It’s a twisted game of guess what your reality is now! I did go out last week because one of our friends opened her salon for the first time since the attacks. I met Carina there. My hair doesn’t look like Edward Scissorhands got ahold of my head. It’s shorter than I’d ever want it, but I know it will grow back and honestly, in the grand scheme of things, what the fuck does hair mean anyways? Nothing. It sits on your head. You can put products in it or leave it be. It grows. You cut it. Rinse. Repeat. Short hair is easy. I don’t have to brush it. It exists all by itself. Like grown up hairs taking care of themselves.
I lean back on my bed and close my eyes. Did you know it’s impossible to will yourself to sleep? You can’t do it. I can’t take the drugs they give me to fall asleep because I don’t like the way they make me feel. I greet the dark every night with open arms and hope it will pull me under briefly. It rarely does. When I open my eyes in the morning I’m more exhausted than when I went to bed. If I sleep, the nightmares come. They’re vivid and life-altering. I can’t chance it, so I catnap during the day and play dark roulette at night.
I glance at my clock and realize it’s almost time for my doctor’s appointment. He’ll come in using the key my mom gave him. He’ll move the stool from the bar to the center of the living room and sit down like a man on a throne. I’ll perch on the couch, or lie down with my head on the nice blanket and I’ll spill my guts. All of them. My abs get sore from talking so much. It’s my cardio for the week. The one subject that is quite off-limits is Macs Newstead. I don’t go into any depths about my feelings for him, and the doctor knows not to broach it. He warned me we will have to talk about him eventually, but there’s so much baggage with my father, I doubt I’ll be alive by the time we make it to Macs.
I hear the door open and close, so I wait in my bedroom. When I’m sure he’s set up in the way he always is, I enter, plastering a huge grin on my face. Absentmindedly I run my hand through the ponytail that doesn’t exist. “Dr. Rhodes. How are you?” I ask, beaming. I offer him water, which he denies, like always, and gestures to the couch in front of me.
I don’t even want to know how much these in call sessions are costing me. Luckily I was savvy with my money. Responsible.
“How are you feeling today, Teala?”
I tell him I’m fine.
“Doing some reading today to pass the time?” Dr. Rhodes nods to the book on the floor—the beautiful people on the cover peeking up at me, like they’re ratting me out.
I shrug, leaning back on the couch. “It made me upset. It’s my favorite book.”
“I see. Why did it make you upset?”
I’m disappointed he went for the obvious question. How dense does he think I am?
“The man left his best friend and he shouldn’t have. He knows she’s in love with him. It’s more than friend love. It’s forever love.”
He presses his lips into a firm line. It irritates me. “What does she do to let him know she loves him? Is it obvious to him?”
I sigh. “Of course it’s obvious!” Then I think about it. Maybe it’s not. “Well, maybe. I don’t know. He’s an idiot if he doesn’t know, though.”
“I see.” It took therapy for me to realize I and see are the most annoying words in the English language. “Perhaps if she was more clear about her feelings he wouldn’t have left.”
I smirk. “You’ve read it, haven’t you?”
He smiles back, in a genuine way that lets me know I’ve caught him. “They find a way back to each other,” he says. “Eventually.”
“Listen. I’m not ready to talk about Macs.” Saying his name is painful. “It doesn’t matter anyways. He doesn’t do second chances. Hell, the man doesn’t do first chances. I’m not sure how I squeaked by with that one.” By lying to myself. It was never just a game or a bet for me.
“You can’t let what you think he’ll allow dictate how you feel.”
I know exactly how I feel. Heartbroken. Scorned. Angry. “It’s a moot point. It’s the past.”
“You know as well as I do that your past is pretty important. It affects the future whether you want it to or not. So do you think you’re ready to leave the house? Begin teaching at the studio again?”
“Maybe if I could sleep.” I throw an arm over my eyes to block out some of the light. I could take five or ten minutes right here and right now.
He clears his throat to let me know a nap isn’t in the cards. “Nightmares still?”
I grunt to confirm.
“What was your last one?”
I’d like to nip this in the bud. I’ve already spoken his name. Something I’d rather not do, and I remember the last time Dr. Rhodes brought up the dreams. He asked if I would have a meeting with my father. I told him I’d rather stab myself in the eye a thousand times, but that niggling DNA thread that binds us forever won out and I met with him. Righ
t here on this sofa. Something miraculous happened during the time spent questioning him. I understood. He gave me what I needed. Closure. I never realized something that seemed so insignificant could make me breathe such a sigh of relief. Was I magically healed? Fuck no. I’m still muddled by a cloud of confusion and suffocated by the what-ifs with Macs. The nightmares of my father leaving are gone, though.
Was my dad an idiot? Yes. So are a lot of men and women in this world who let fleeting feelings guide them to their destination instead of clinging strong to morals and promises. My life is a reflection of that, a mirroring image of what my father did without that one, very important facet. I never committed to anyone.
“Yes. Nightmares,” I confirm.
“Not taking the medication? It might be the only way you get rest, Teala. You look better. You’re putting weight back on again, but nothing can account for lack of sleep. You should try the pills again. Give them a chance to work. You may have a brand-new outlook once you wake after eight hours of sleep. The world will have a new hue.” It makes sense, but he doesn’t get it. Not fully, anyways. It’s my fault. “Tell me what’s bothering you right now.”
“I guess I’m just upset Macs didn’t check in on me after all this time has passed. It’s like I meant nothing to him. Granted, I pushed him away. Thoroughly. But he knew how much he meant to me and he didn’t try.”
“Ah, he didn’t chase. That’s not in everyone’s personalities, you know? From the little you’ve told me it doesn’t occur to me that Macs would be one to chase regardless of how he feels,” Dr. Rhodes explains.
I nod. “You’re right. I thought we had something more.”
He scribbles on his little tablet with the end of a pen. “Would it change how you felt if you knew he did care? That perhaps he was checking in on your progress from time to time?”
Sitting straight up and staring my doctor down, I say, “Did he?”
He has no tells. I’ve tried before. You know? Trigger an eye twitch or maybe a movement in his neck or mouth. Nothing. I bet he could go on a killing rampage and pass a lie detector test with flying freaking colors.
Hero Hair (The Real SEAL Series Book 2) Page 22
