by Lexy Timms
What being around all that paint was doing to my body.
I leaned my seat back and took a deep breath in through my nose. Tears were still streaming down my face as I turned my head to look at Bryan’s home. I wanted him to be standing on the porch. To be walking over to make sure I was all right. I still believed he would come to his senses. I still believed he would realize what he’d done and try to come out to stop me from leaving.
I didn’t even expect us to reconcile. I just knew he deserved answers from a woman who was no longer hysterical over the situation.
But now, I had no idea how I could reach Bryan. I couldn’t call him, I couldn’t message him, and I couldn’t email him. And now? I couldn’t come by his home without the threat of the police looming over my head. Was he watching me from a window? Was he calling them now? It didn’t matter if he was. My migraine was taking over my body, and all I could do was sit here in my car with tears rolling down my face as I tried to recuperate.
The moment he had kissed me I felt myself let go. Even though the rational part of my mind knew we had to talk, he had me the moment our lips reconnected. The passion and the fury that poured from his body, it made me feel as if we were reconnecting. Rejoining ourselves by pouring out our anger and our frustrations into one another like couples sometimes do. I’d missed him more than I could stand, more than I was ever willing to admit to someone. The way his hips had slammed into me and the way his lips seemed to attach themselves to my neck, I could feel the love he had for me.
I could feel the desire that still erupted from his skin.
I knew it was there. I knew I couldn’t have been that far off with how he was feeling. If there was one thing about Bryan I adored, it was the fact that he wore his emotions on his sleeves. He didn’t realize it, nor did he want to acknowledge it, but there was never denying what he was feeling.
He had been angry, yes, but he had also been filled with a passion I don’t think I’d ever experienced from him.
Ever.
What I thought was our reconciliation was just a final goodbye for him. What I thought was him making love to me was really a stupid venture to screw me out of his system. The blank stare that had been in his eye after he’d thrown me out of his house shivered my body, and as my migraine finally began to lift, a realization dawned on me.
What if he’d accomplished what he set out to do?
I slowly leaned my seat up as the migraine dissipated, and suddenly my tears ran dry. I looked back over at the house, searching in his windows for any sign of him, any sign that he was still a little attached to the scenario that had happened. Even if he was waiting for me to leave, him looking out to see if I was still there would tell me he was at least curious about where I was and what I was doing.
But I saw nothing, and it ached my heart.
I toyed with the idea of going back up there and demanding we talk. At this point, I really had nothing to lose. I could stand to have the gallery shut down for a few days if he was serious about having me arrested, and for once, I knew what was actually good for him. He needed to ask questions and he needed to get answers, but his anger was still clouding his judgment.
As well as that alcohol, but that was a different subject for a different day.
If I demanded he talk to me, maybe he would finally relinquish and give into this power struggle. If I banged down his door, or even tried to see if I could pick the lock, maybe he would finally come to his senses and let me talk with him like we’d needed to before he robbed me of the only hope I still had that we weren’t done for yet.
I knew I deserved some of his anger, but this was too much. Throwing me out of his house after fucking me like I was some sort of toy was going too far. I felt tears welling in my eyes again as the scene played out in front of my eyes. I could see myself stumbling out of his home, still trying to get the zipper on my pants up while he stood there with his empty eyes.
His dark, empty brown eyes that had once been so full of love when they looked upon me.
I jumped when the door slammed in my mind again, separating us once again. Behind that door, he held all his anger and all his frustration and all his depression. I felt my lip trembling again as I drew in a deep breath of the cold air around me, but then I heard something that ripped me from my stupor.
The sound of sirens off in the distance.
I cranked my car and got out of there, racing out onto the road as I made my way home. A police car zoomed by me as it slowed down by Bryan’s home, and I lost it behind the wheel of my own car. He had been serious. He’d called the police on me because I wouldn’t leave.
In that very moment, I realized how hopeless the situation was. Bryan was willing to throw me in jail to get me to stop. He was willing to jeopardize everything in my life to get me to stop pestering him. In that very moment, as I cried myself all the way home, I accepted he really was done with me.
And I could still feel his arousal drying against my thighs.
I’d been so happy with him. I’d felt so complete. For the first time since my own parents cast me out, I felt like I was establishing a family again. Picking my own instead of trying to tolerate the family I’d been given. His touch had set my soul aflame and his kisses sent twinges of electricity through my body. Even now, thinking about it, I could feel my very own breath being robbed from my lungs. Silent tears dripped down my cheeks as I pulled into the parking lot of my home, and I sat there while I tried to collect my thoughts.
Images of us laughing together over dinner plagued my memories. Snippets of moments kept barreling through my head as I leaned my forehead against the steering wheel. Snippets of jokes he would tell me or surprises he would bring to me at the work site. Snippets of passion we had in that back room and moments of smiles that had been provoked by the mere sight of me. Bryan had cleansed me in a way I didn’t think was possible. His presence had pushed the darkness of my life right out into the cold, threatening to kill it with nothing but the starvation of my sadness.
But now, there was nothing.
I threw open my car door and slowly dragged myself up the stairs. The tears had stopped falling as his smell followed me to my home. The first thing I had to do was throw away these clothes. I’d never be able to keep them without thinking about our last time together.
How it had been the moment he threw me out like a sack of garbage like my parents had.
I brought my key up to the lock of my door, but suddenly, I felt heavy. I leaned my body against the door and sighed, trying to figure out what I could do to forget all of this. Forget tonight. Forget Bryan. Forget John. Forget Los Angeles.
What the hell could I do to forget all of this?
“Hailey?”
Her voice wafted into my ears as I slowly panned my gaze over to the side. My jaw dropped as tears clouded my vision once again. She took a step closer to me, sniffing deeply before pity fluttered over her gaze.
“Oh, Hailey,” Anna said.
I threw myself into her arms and sobbed into the crook of her neck. She held me closely, swaying my body in front of my little apartment as her hands rubbed up and down my back. I sobbed for the hurt I was feeling, and I sobbed for the ache that was still in the back of my head. I sobbed for my heart that had been shattered, and I sobbed for the mistakes I made with Bryan. I sobbed for John’s demise, and I sobbed for my responsibility in it all.
But mostly, I sobbed tears of joy at the fact that Anna was here.
My sister had flown in from Phoenix to comfort me.
“Let’s get you inside,” she said as she peeled my key from my fingers.
Chapter 9
Bryan
It was time for dinner with my parents, but even as I sat there, I couldn’t bring myself to talk about anything. We silently spooned our soups between our lips while my parents mindlessly talked about bullshit subjects, but my mind was totally blank. My bones were heavy from all the alcohol I had been drinking, and every time I jumpstarted my brain, her fuckin
g face would be right there.
Hailey fucking Ryan was still in my thoughts.
“So, Bryan, have you given any more thought to developing that commercial property branch of your business?” my father asked.
“Not really,” I said.
“Oh, you should really consider it. Bringing in rent and things like that would be a good monthly stipend for your business,” my mother said.
“Then I’d have to open a branch of the business that deals specifically with rental properties, too,” I said.
“Well, trust me, son. It’s well worth the new hires and the development of your business,” Dad said.
“I’ll look into it soon,” I said.
We finished our soup, and our bowls were promptly taken away. I knew I was distracted, and I could tell my parents were picking up on it. I was always a bit distant from them during these dinners, but this time was different. They were trying to get me to talk about things, so I would open up to them, maybe start spewing my guts to them like I used to when I was ten.
But I wasn’t ten anymore, and John wasn’t alive anymore, and Drew was thinking about leaving the business, and Hailey was just another lying, manipulative bitch.
“How’s Drew?” my mother asked.
“Why do you care?” I asked.
“She’s just trying to make conversation,” my father said.
“Drew’s fine. Thinking about opening his own tattoo business,” I said.
“Is that why you’re holding up on the development of that branch?” Dad asked.
“Not really, though I was going to hand that over to Drew. That was more his passion anyway,” I said.
“Still like hiring the hobos?” Mom asked.
“If you’re going to address the homeless community in my presence, please do so with a bit of respect. Otherwise, keep your opinions to yourself,” I said.
“Don’t you talk to your mother that way,” my father said.
“Then tell her not to talk to me that way. I’m not the only insulting person at this table.”
The silence descended back upon the conversation again as the main course was set in front of us. Grilled chicken breasts stuffed with cheeses and an array of different types of apples with a honey-apple glaze. Roasted vegetables and garlic mashed potatoes donned the plate as well, and a glass of wine was promptly set in front of me. I grabbed the glass and chugged it down, raising it high in the air to signal I wanted another one. My parents stared at me for a moment, surely taking in the way I was acting, and then my mother did it.
She asked the fucking question.
“How’s Hailey? I half-expected her to be here with you this evening.”
“With the way you talked to her last time? Not a chance,” I said.
“Bryan,” my father warned.
“But it doesn’t matter because we aren’t seeing one another anymore,” I said.
“I was wondering. We met her back in July, and you hadn’t really talked about her since,” my mother said.
“Well, there’s your confirmation,” I said.
“What happened, son?” my father asked.
“Don’t act like you care, Dad. I don’t want to talk about it. It’s why I haven’t been talking about her.”
“You know we’re here for you if you need to talk,” my mother said.
“Like you were there for John when he needed to talk?” I asked.
“And here we go again,” my father said, sighing.
“Nope. That’s all I have to say on it, actually.”
I held my mother’s gaze, and I thought I saw tears brewing behind her eyes. She dipped her head and started eating, and I could feel my father’s gaze on the side of my face. But I wasn’t letting them have the victory this time. I was staying for this entire fucking meal, and whatever was said at this table would be said. I had the strength to fuck Hailey from my system, mostly, and that meant I had the strength and the maturity to say what I felt needed to be said to my parents, no matter what they thought of it.
“Well, I for one am glad you aren’t dating her anymore,” my father said. “She was definitely a different one.”
“She would’ve never fit in around here,” my mother said. “I’m glad our input helped you to come to your senses.”
“Oh, is that what you think happened? You mean she was different like I’m different?” I asked.
“No, no, no,” my mother said. “You just have those wretched things on your body and a job that makes you work too hard, but you aren’t different. She, on the other hand—”
“Was a free soul you couldn’t stand because she silenced you with her reasoning and put you in your place,” I said.
“Sounds like you’re not quite over this little girl,” my father said.
“She’s far from a little girl.”
What the hell was I doing? Why the fuck was I defending her to my parents?
“And I’m glad Drew’s thinking about leaving the company,” my mother said. “It seems like life is finally trying to push you in a direction you’ve refused to go for a long time. It parts you from all that rabble he caused in your life. I know he was the influence behind those wretched things on your skin.”
“You could even liquidate the business and use the money to look into something a bit more profitable for yourself. I could even help,” my father said.
“You mean like how you wanted to help John?” I asked. “You think you can assimilate me back into the world of social calendars and investment firms and gossip?” I asked.
“Oh, no. You’d never find your place there anymore,” my mother said. “But that doesn’t mean you still couldn’t attend a few of the functions with us.”
“No, thanks. I’d rather starve on the street,” I said.
“Don’t you dare say things like that to your mother,” my father said.
“Or what? You’ll cast me out?” I asked. “Good, because these dinners give me hernias anyway.”
“Then why in the world do you come to them?” my mother asked.
“Because I still foolishly believe I could actually fix you guys,” I said.
“Have you ever stopped to consider that we aren’t the ones who need fixing?” my father asked.
My eyes connected heavily with his as I set my fork down. The anger I’d come to know as a familiar companion was welling within my chest again, and I rolled my shoulders back. I knew I was posturing. Preparing for a fight over this meal. But I’d had enough of the bullshit in my life. It was time for me to take a stand and try to get the reigns back from this horse that was running wild and free underneath my legs.
And I was starting with my fucking parents.
“No, it never occurred to me that I’m the one who needs fixing because my heart isn’t icy. You and mom constantly have your nose in the clouds thinking and assuming you’re better than everyone else when you’re not. You throw around your money, and that’s why people treat you with respect, but if you lived a basic, average life and acted the way you two do, the whole of society would cast you out. You’re a dick, mom’s a bitch, the two of you have tried to forget about your druggie younger son because it doesn’t fit into your perfect lifestyle, and now you’re trying to reform your only living son to try and quell the pain in your heart.”
“You shut your mouth this instant, boy,” my father said.
“Not a chance. I know the two of you hurt. In your own empty ways since John died. Just understand that simply hurting doesn’t make you good parents. Simply allowing that ache to exist doesn’t make you family. It’s what you do with that hurt and that ache that makes you family. That makes you worthy of being his parents.”
“Shut up, Bryan,” my mother said.
“You take down his pictures, and you try to erase his memory because why? You’re ashamed? It’s too hard? Tough. When people walk into this home and see absolutely no pictures of your dead son, do you know what they think?” I asked.
My parents were staring at me
as if they wanted to kill me, but there wasn’t an ounce of me that truly cared.
Not anymore.
“They think you’re the ones who are worthless,” I said breathlessly.
“Get out. Now,” my mother said.
“I will never liquidate my business, Father, because my business allows me to do some real good, which is inspired by the life of my brother. I have a chance to really help these people in his name to alleviate some of the guilt I carry around for the circumstances surrounding his death. And I know you think I could help the homeless better by making more money and giving donations, Dad, but that’s not the help they need. The cause doesn’t need money, but the people do. Poverty isn’t a cause. It’s a state of living. Homeless people aren’t a charity, but they are a group of individuals in need of a rope to be cast to them. And does it work every time? No. Sometimes they show up to work high, and sometimes I find them right back on the street after blowing the money they earned, but I ran some figures.”
“I don’t want to hear another word of this,” my mother said.
“Sit down and shut up,” I said to her.
“You watch your mouth in this home,” my father said.
“I will do no such thing. I ran the numbers of successful homeless individuals who have been cleaned up, rehabilitated, placed into homes, and successfully pulled off the streets. Want to know our success rate?” I asked.
My parents were panting with rage as I slowly stood to my feet.
“Ninety-one percent,” I said.
I watched my father slowly rise to his feet as his cheeks colored with the anger I knew as a child. There were a handful of times I’d ever seen my father this angry, and I watched my mother reach over and take his hand. She was trying to get him to back down in her own silent way, but I was determined to stand toe to toe with them.
I was determined to get them to see before I walked out of here and never came back.
“You might want to take a good, hard look in the mirror, son, and figure out if you really want to help people or if you just want to assuage your guilt.”
