by Evie Harper
I grab a bowl out of the cupboard and flick Kelso on the back of his ear to get his attention. He jolts alert, and then out of the corner of my eye I see Pacer frantically pocketing his phone and racing out of the kitchen.
Kelso rubs his ear, cursing under his breath before he pulls out his earphones and tucks them into the back pocket of his jeans.
“That ready?” I gesture to the stir-fry.
“Yeah. What, you hungry after spending the day hiding away in the garage?”
“Shut up and give me some food,” I reply, not in the mood to deal with my punk-ass little brother.
Kel fills the bowl while I grab a fork, and once he hands me back the bowl now full of food, I leave the kitchen without another word.
Starting up the stairs, I look to the door that leads to the woman who has given me my greatest happiness and my indestructible wall to keep out others like her. She’s my addiction, a dangerous obsession I can’t shake. She’s the most important part of me, even gone and unseen, she’s entwined in my heart deep enough that it beats solely because she still breathes.
I go to her room, feeling the warmth of the bowl in my hands, hoping she eats some of it, and also praying that when she tastes it she doesn’t start choking from the amount of spices Kel chucks in his food. I think about what I’m going to say. Don’t be a dick; get along for the next few minutes.
I don’t knock and enter. I decide she’ll see me whether she wants to or not. Christ. Okay, too late, I’m in the room. Don’t be a dick, starting now.
I search the room and find Lana on the bed, wrapped up in the blankets, fast asleep. I walk quietly to the side of the bed and then curse the moon. It’s soft light streaks across Lana’s soft features, causing her already beautiful face to appear angelic. Her blonde hair fans out over the pillow and her two hands press together under her left cheek. I know she hasn’t been asleep for long because I can still see the wet paths where her tears have fallen.
Quickly, I grasp the bowl with two hands, stopping my need to reach out and wipe away the tear tracks. My stomach churns as desperation creeps in. My biggest internal struggle is pushing Lana away to protect myself, yet longing to have her near.
What I said yesterday, that I hate to love her, it’s true. I’ve hated wondering what she’s been doing for the past five years. I’ve loathed the fact that I’ve looked for her in crowds and have been disappointed when I didn’t see her. I resent the fact that I’ve looked for pieces of her in women that I’ve dated. When they’ve shown me selfishness, I’ve thought about Lana’s generosity. When they’ve shown me vanity, I’ve thought of Lana’s modest, humble approach to her looks.
Worse of all was when they’d look me in the eyes and all I saw was blue, brown and green, no spark of fire lit inside of me, or them, and yet they were content to keep pretending. I couldn’t and never would be able to. I’ve held real love in my hands. I know with a simple touch my heart can beat at an unknown speed. I’ve felt the high of looking across the room, seeing the one person who makes me feel invincible.
I’ve always tried my best at everything, failing never used to scare me. That feeling went from being my normal confident nature to a euphoric sensation when I finally had Lana in my bed, head and heart. Knowing at the end of every day, Lana was mine. Knowing I was able to rest my head next to hers for the rest of my life, whether it was under a mansion or a crumbling shack, nothing else mattered. Failing with her beside me would never truly be defeat, I’d already won.
Lana cut me to the core. She demolished all we’d built. It was weeks later when I realized she hadn’t only taken my heart, but also my future too. Nothing had color anymore.
I willingly let her in, and she left a mark. She scarred me beyond repair, brought me to my knees and broke me. She gave me hope and then all I was left with was longing, agonizing craving for the woman who shattered my heart.
Five years later, and staring at her now, I wonder how the hell I held myself back for so long. How did my pride grow stronger than my heart?
I move quickly to the door and close it quietly. However, I’m unable to step away. I slide down the wall and rest my head against it. Exhaling loudly, I turn my head toward the room. I’m exhausted as if five years of heartbreak just passed through me like a ghost.
***
Lana
I wake to darkness and a fresh breeze flowing in through the nearby window. Touching my left cheek, I remember the sting from my brother’s slap and the burning through my chest. A line I never thought would exist was crossed today, one that cannot be taken back.
My stomach grumbles, so I decide to head downstairs and get something to eat. I quietly walk to the door not wanting to wake anybody. I don’t want their looks of pity or worried glances. I don’t want a reminder of the day, just thoughts on how I’m going to move forward now, where I’m going to live and what I’m going to do for money. I have a bit in my savings, but not enough to rent a house and buy all the things that I’d need to live in it.
Turning the handle on the door, I open it slowly and peek out through the crack. My eyes widen in surprise when I spot Mack sitting against the wall next to my door, fast asleep with an empty bowl beside him. Opening the door wider to step out, I cringe as the door creaks. Mackson doesn’t stir, he stays fast asleep, and the look on his face is one of peace.
My heart twists when I realize I’d forgotten what he looked like when he was sleeping. His lips always parted slightly and pouted, his features softened, and his messy hair gave him an adorable look that anyone would have trouble pulling their eyes away from.
I sigh. What I wouldn’t give to be the woman in his life who was allowed to smooth down that hair and snuggle in between his legs and arms. I could sleep right there, in his arms sitting up, nothing in this world is more comfortable than being held by Mack. Trust me, I’ve tried to find other ways, other men. Nothing compares.
My limbs grow heavy and I wonder how I’ve gone on pretending so well for the past five years with this hole in my heart. I always thought the key was to ignore those feelings, the loss. But seeing him again, knowing my feelings are stronger now than years ago, moving away might be all I have left. So I can save the rest of my heart, and hopefully someone will accept what’s left of it.
My head lowered, I turn around and walk toward the stairs.
“Why?” a husky voice says out of nowhere.
Stopping dead, I don’t move. Was he awake the whole time I was staring at him? My face scrunches up as embarrassment floods me.
“Just tell me why?”
I turn around slowly. Mack’s expression is filled with defeat and sadness. I know he sees the same in mine because his eyes soften as my eyes finally meet his.
I exhale loudly and slide my body down the wall on the opposite side of the door. I turn my head left to look his way. My body begs me to crawl to him and take him in my arms. I want to remove the hurt from his eyes, I hate seeing it there, and I hate myself even more for putting it there.
“I was confused. At first, when Rex was threatening you all, I called you, I texted you, but you never replied. I held hope that you would contact me or come to my house when you thought it was safe. But you didn’t, and each day felt like a week and each week felt like a year. I grew angry. I hated you. I lost the only parent I had left, and my brother was slowly slipping away from me every day with hatred and revenge. But that’s not why I slept with Corey. Whether you want to hear this or not, I needed someone and he was there. Everyone around me was mourning my father’s death; Rex, our friends, and the people who lived in our street. Yet, I struggled to find one shred of sadness inside of myself for him. I felt terrible. I was in more pain over losing you than my own father.” I bring my knees up to my chest and say in an almost whisper, “I thought there was something wrong with me.”
“Dove,” Mack says my nickname in a hoarse voice.
I turn my gaze to him. “Corey was with me every day, he understood how much I was struggling.
He didn’t know why, but he was there for me.”
Mack turns away and pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters angrily, “I bet he was.”
“It was only the once. We fell together out of my pain, and when I realized Corey wanted more, I backed off straight away. I hurt him and unknowingly I hurt you, too. I’ve never had a bigger regret than that moment.” I sigh and face forward, wondering if now there will be an awkward silence while Mack rebuilds his walls and hatred for me.
“I love you.” Mack’s words and anguished tone causes my head to whip around to look at him. My heart begins to beat painfully against my chest, each thump filled with its own emotion—fear, confusion, hope and love.
“I needed to get that out,” Mack says as he exhales loudly. “I thought holding it in, ignoring it, would be what helped me through this week with you, but either way, it’s just painful.” Mack rubs at his chest. “I want a do-over. I’m so sick of fighting with myself to be with you.”
Looking at Mack, I’m desperately trying to understand what he’s saying. I hear his words, but going by his body language he seems exhausted, defeated, not a man who’s confessing his love to someone.
“I love you, I always have,” I say as my hands shake.
Mack turns his whole body to face mine. We aren’t touching. However, every nerve inside me comes alive at our closeness.
“I believe you,” Mack states. “I’ve spent so much time convincing myself that you never did, that I missed how badly I’d fucked up. How much we both did.”
My heart kicks into high gear. Mack’s words cause a spiraling in me that I haven’t felt for five years.
“I want you, Lana. I fucking breathe easier just by having you close to me. I know being with you will open up a whole new world to me again.”
My breath catches and my pulse quickens as I savor the words I’ve longed to hear.
Mack shakes his head, struggling with his words. “You scare me. No one can break me like you can.”
I’m letting go of the controls and hoping by being honest with Mackson he’ll understand that he’s not the only one here with a lot to lose if we fail at love again.
“Seven months after the last time I saw you, I took Rex’s gun from his top drawer in his room and went to Fourteenth Street Bridge. I didn’t go there thinking I was going to kill myself. I wanted to decide when I got there when I had some peace and quiet to think.”
Mack’s body snaps straight and his eyes widen.
“I was in a lot of pain. Rex was distant. I’d lost you and hated myself for sleeping with Corey. My father was dead, and each day that went by that was peaceful and free of his taunts, was a good day for me. I was conflicted over my feelings and I had no-one to talk to.” I speak quickly so Mack doesn’t interrupt, and then slow as I continue, “And then, I’d brought a letter in from the mailbox and it was addressed to Rex, and on the back was my mother’s name. I opened it and she was reaching out to him, asking to see him, only him. Nowhere in the letter did she mention my name or ask how I was.” I shake my head. “What was left for me? I felt unwanted and discarded, by everyone who I’ve ever loved and thought loved me.” I lean over and show Mack a scar behind my ear.
He jumps up on his knees. “What the fuck, Lana! You tried to kill yourself?”
“Actually, no. I also took a bottle of Jack with me to the bridge and drank half of it, and ended up knocking myself out waving the gun around and screaming toward the sky. A lovely lady found me and took me to the hospital…” I pause, inhale, exhale, and continue in a whisper, “I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t able to kill myself. Nobody valued my life, but I came to realize that I did.”
Mack’s face pales. “I would’ve died with you that day had you done it.”
“I didn’t know that then. Everything has changed for me now, and I hate that I hurt you so badly.”
“I love you,” Mack says in a determined tone while moving forward and softly pushing my hair behind my ear.
“And I love you, but where do we go from here? We’re both still so angry. I don’t want this. I want what we had, I want our innocent and carefree love back.”
“We talk, like this, we work through it. I believe if we want it enough, we can forgive each other and move forward. Our relationship won’t be what we had before and it won’t be what it is now. But it will be new and exciting, and better than our first if we fight for it. For me, I don’t have a happy future without you, Lana. The possibilities far outweigh the risks. And I’m not one to shy away from a fight, not one I know will be worth the blood and bruises.”
“I can forgive you,” I whisper. “I doubt I ever had a chance at trying to fight it. You own my heart, Mackson King. You always have.”
Mack grasps my face with his hands and kisses me. It obliterates every thought in my mind. The past and its pain evaporate. The soft caress of Mack’s lips becomes firm. My fingers dig into his arms.
Never will I let him go again.
Mack slows and whispers, “Is this real?”
I exhale, it’s small, but it feels as if a huge gust of wind should have come from my chest. “Yes, it has to be because I can finally breathe again.”
Chapter Nine
Two months later.
Lana
Every inch of Mack’s fit, sweaty body is draped over mine. He slams into me. I moan as my back arches and my body squeezes and pulses around him. It doesn’t matter that Mack’s taken me every day for the past two months, the burn and sensation of Mackson King stretching me continues to feel as if every time is the first, the best.
The past couple of months I’ve felt like a well, a dried up abyss that’s being replenished with rain and each drop is better than the last.
“Shit,” Mack breathlessly whispers into my ear.
He cups my ass with both hands and lifts my bottom off the bed. I moan as he drives deeper, thrusting in and out at a deliciously punishing pace. He’s aggressive and dominant yet the soft, lengthy kisses he places along my jaw and neck speak of devotion as if he’s worshipping me.
“Fuck. I missed this. Your tight, hot pussy,” Mack growls out.
Clenching my eyes closed, a blaring white light floods my lids. It’s calling to me, promising me bliss. I bite down on Mack’s shoulder just as ecstasy crashes over me and a moan rips from my shaking body. Mack’s spine locks up and he growls low and deep right next to my ear, the vibrations of his masculine tone sends shivers all the way through me.
Mack releases my ass and wraps his arms around my waist, flipping us over until I’m resting against his chest. Sated, I melt into his embrace, feeling heat on my back from the early morning sunlight, breaking through Mack’s bedroom window.
“We’ll clean up in a second,” Mack says in a rough, exhausted voice as he gently tucks my head into his neck. “I want to feel your heartbeat against mine for a while.”
My heart races and also squeezes painfully, not only from Mack’s sweet words but from the pain in his tone as he said them.
The past months have been incredible. We’ve fallen back into the Lana and Mack we used to be. Except now, there’s no what-if’s, there’s only us, forever, but that doesn’t take away the five years of heartache we’ve already experienced.
I kiss Mack’s chest, over his heart and rest my head back on his shoulder as I close my eyes.
“I know you’re still hurting, so am I. But trust in us, Mack. We will break through the pain.”
Mack turns us to our sides and he lowers his body so his arms wrap around my middle and his head now rests against my chest.
I wrap my arms around his neck and snuggle into him.
Mack positions his face into my body and inhales deeply. He turns his head back to rest on me and says, “My Dove.”
“Always,” I reply.
***
Staring back at myself in the bathroom mirror, I skim my hands down my arms, feeling the soft material of the black, deep v, long sleeved t-shirt. My eyes then fall to my dark, rip
ped denim jeans. I sigh and cross my arms over my chest. Pressing my lips together, I wonder how many times I’m going to look into this mirror while wearing my new clothes and remember I brought them here because I can’t go home or haven’t had the guts to, yet.
Eight weeks.
Sixty days.
And too many broken moments to count.
The longest I’ve ever been away from my brother.
My sight blurs and I quickly straighten. Shaking out my hands, I regain control over my emotions. Being upset and angry does me no good. No matter how many tears I’ve shed my brother still hasn’t reached out to me.
Or is that asking too much of someone lost in a world of drugs?
My heart tells me yes, but my mind can’t fathom how any amount of drugs could pull my brother away from me. How they could be strong enough that he would let his little sister go.
My father was a drunk, a capable one. He went to work, paid bills and managed to have friendships with others at work and people on our street. He’d go to work, bring home a carton of beers and not one of those beers was left in the morning. He’d go to bed when the last beer was gone and not a second earlier. Then he’d get up no matter how little hours he’d slept and go to work and act like a normal person. As if he didn’t get drunk, scream slurs at his daughter all night until his son got home, and then they’d muck around and laugh until he passed out on the couch.
My brother would open my door every single night to check on me. Rex protected me from everyone, but our father. Boys at school weren’t allowed to disrespect me without payback from the Parkland Poison Boys, yet my father could call me every name under the sun and I know Rex knew what was going on when he wasn’t home because I told him, begged him to be home more often. He always shook it off and told me, ‘He’s our father. They’re only words, ignore him.’
