Visibly Broken

by Chelsea Camaron

  I punch the subway tiles of my shower. My knuckles split, but I keep hitting. I won’t touch her again.

  Little mouse, Tatiana Rand, now Caldwell, was raised by a monster much like mine. The night I took away all her fears, I promised myself this would be a turning point for her and for me. I would only use the fights and the gym for my aggression.

  The night I gave Tatiana’s father everything he had coming to him and more, I told myself that was it. If Jagger Caldwell could be his mother’s legacy of good in a world full of bad, then I could find a way, no matter how much Missy provoked me, not to put my hands on her.

  It has become a sick and twisted game between us, one I’m not proud of. I have to learn control. Underneath it all, we are two people who once had an undeniable love and passion between us. I need to remember what started it all before I lose it all. I need us to go back to the place before it all got shot to hell.

  Hit after hit, I pound away, knowing this is going to cost a mint to repair. When I have exhausted myself and my mind can’t think beyond the burn in my knuckles, I stop. The soap is fire to my open skin as I wash up. However, the physical pain is a welcome reprieve from the pain clawing inside of me.

  After losing my fight with the unmoving wall of my shower, I get out and towel off, wiping the blood from my knuckles. I look at the soft, white towel now stained with my blood.

  How many times have these towels been marred with the damages of Missy and me fighting? How many times has her blood been mixed with mine?

  I can’t even count anymore. Somehow, what was never supposed to happen, something that was never supposed to occur…I promised Missy I would never lose it no matter what she did. I would not overpower her. Yet, time and time again, she pushes, and I fall weak to my anger.

  This ends now. No more push and pull, no more anger and love all entangled in a mix of bad magic.

  Brushing my teeth, I listen for noises in the apartment. When I hear nothing, I make my way to our bedroom and get dressed for the day. As I knot my necktie, I step out into the living room to find Missy crying on the couch.

  I look at the mess of a woman on our sofa. I look at what we’ve done to each other, what I’ve done to her. I can’t help but blame myself, I’m the man. The once vibrant, smiling, confident seductress has been reduced to a puddle of tears and anger.

  “Baby,” I call out to her. Sad eyes meet mine. “Why do you push me? Push us?”

  She turns away from me. “This is the only time you see me, Jay.”

  My chest aches, and I fight my instincts to get defensive. “Missy—”

  “No, Jay. The only time you really see me is when I’m in your face. You’re gonna leave here now, and the best part of your day will be lunch with Caldwell’s woman. That’s messed up. I have never been the best part of anything for you.” She sobs, and I immediately feel like a douchebag.

  Going to her, I pick her up easily and sit down, pulling her into my lap as I hold her close.

  “I love you, Missy. You.”

  “Tatiana has a piece of you.”

  I sigh because she does. Tatiana Rand Caldwell has a twisted, dark piece of me. I killed her tormentor, and I don’t regret it one bit. She is in love with Jagger. We’re friends, sort of. That’s her boundary, and if I cross it, I lose the only person who can look into my dead eyes and find something good in me. I almost lost having anything with her when I tried to push for more.

  “You have me, Missy.” I kiss the top of her head.

  “I want all of you, and I’ll never have it.”

  How can I reply? She can’t possibly want to see all of me, otherwise she wouldn’t prod the dark within me. She doesn’t help me to fight back my own demons. She doesn’t make me a better man.

  Saying nothing, I hold her until I have to get up to leave. As much as I hate for things to be like this, I can’t be late for work. My job was given to me the day I earned my political science degree, and it came based on my last name alone. The only perk to being the son of James Stanley is having a solid career…not that it’s the one I would choose for myself, but no one ever asked.

  I leave her silently contemplating on our couch; I know that nothing will change, she’ll be there when I come home and we’ll be back at each other’s throats all over again. On the drive to work, I try to think of a way for us to come back from our demise. And like all of the other times I’ve tried to grasp at a solution, I come up empty-handed. I have no answer.

  —

  My morning is like any other day at the office. Then lunch comes, and I happily escape, loosening my tie as I leave. The café Tatiana and I meet at isn’t far, so I walk. I grab a table outside and wait. It’s not long before the tall, skinny, raven-haired Russian makes her way to our table. She sits, and I know better than to hug her.

  Caldwell and I will never be friends. My respect for Tatiana is what keeps me from pushing for anything more. I tried to at one point, but she shot me down. Even after I admitted what I did for her, Caldwell still won.

  He will always be the better man and her champion. Still, I would rather have her as my friend than not have her in my life at all.

  She started out as a toy in a game between me and Caldwell. In the end, she changed me from the inside out.

  “Jason.” She smiles softly. “How are you?”

  “Getting by, mouse. Getting by.” I look over her shoulder to meet the brown eyes of Jagger “Hitmaker” Caldwell. She notices where my eyes are and turns her head to smile over at her man. There is love in her eyes. She then turns back to me and twists her hands nervously.

  “Sorry, Jason. Jagger and I do most things together.”

  I smirk and give a little taunting wave at my past enemy.

  I guess the only way to describe us now is frenemies. We will never be close. He will never trust me, and he shouldn’t. If I had a woman like Tatiana going to lunch with a man like me, knowing what the past holds between us, I would be sitting within earshot, too.

  “I get it, mouse. He’s got a good thing in you; he’s not going to let that slip through his hands.”

  “Back to you, Jason. Your answer—getting by. Come on, you can’t just get by. That’s not living.”

  The waiter interrupts us to take our orders. It doesn’t take long for our food to arrive. Tatiana eats quietly before putting her fork down and staring at me.

  “Tell me that came from a fight,” she commands as she looks at my busted knuckles.

  I shake my head.

  She gasps, and I see fear flash in her eyes. I hate that look. I hate that she knows all my secrets and knows exactly what I’m capable of—the monster inside me that can’t be held back. I told her everything the night I brought her back to my place after she was out looking for Jagger. I shouldn’t have, but something about her had me sharing. Part of me did it to try to scare her, but the dynamic between us quickly shifted from me trying to mess with Caldwell into me wanting to have something real, a woman who knew what I was but believed I could change, even if that ended up only in our friendship.

  She swallows hard. “How is Missy?” she asks on a whisper.

  “When I left, she was pissed off, but physically, she’s fine.” I rub my jaw, feeling the cut from this morning.

  I should probably explain to Tatiana that I didn’t hit Missy, but I don’t. In my mind, I beat the shit out of her. The only difference is, instead of it being her in front of me, I let it be the wall so I wouldn’t destroy her. In my mind it was her, a blow for every damn comment she made about Caldwell.

  Tatiana looks at me seriously. “Talk to me.”

  “There’s nothing to tell you that I haven’t already said before. I lose my cool with her.”

  I could whine and bitch that Missy pushes me, but in the end, I need to be accountable. I am the fucked-up son of a fucked-up man, and I can’t help hurting those around me.

  I look at the one woman who has been my only real female friend ever. “Mouse, you should go. Have your life wit
h Caldwell. I’m no good for you as a friend or a stranger.” I drop my fork onto my plate, no longer having an appetite.

  She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “You don’t scare me. I see the good inside you.”

  I laugh sharply. “Tatiana, you see the good in everything. It’s like in the Caldwell cocktail or some shit. Mouse, there’s nothing good inside me. You should go.”

  Her dark eyes glass over in unshed tears. “Jason, fight back the darkness.”

  “I have, mouse. I have. She pushed and pushed, and I gave the punishment to the wall,” I finally admit. “The thing is, my head was still there. My head was giving it to her.”

  “Do you ever stop to think you need a fresh start? You both have too much negativity shared between you, and maybe it’s time to move on.”

  “I love her,” I acknowledge, and I do. It’s all fucked up and twisted, but once, there was love, deep, fierce love or something.

  “Love isn’t supposed to be painful.”

  This comes from the innocence of one who has never had her heart ripped to shreds. “If only I could agree with that…”

  “Jason, I say this from a good place. You and Missy have a toxic relationship.” I raise an eyebrow at her, but she keeps going. “Once, you saved me from a dangerous place. I’ll never forget the freedom you’ve given me not to have to look over my shoulder. There is good in there. You and Missy, though…As my version of saving you, I beg you to let her go. This isn’t healthy, and it’s going to continue to hurt both of you.”

  I sigh yet don’t speak. She’s asking me to give up on the one thing I have given my all to other than when I helped fix her situation at home.

  Looking at my watch, I give her a quick goodbye, knowing I have an afternoon of work ahead of me.

  I know she has my best interests at heart, but I don’t want to just give up on Missy. We live together. This was supposed to be our life, our future, our time. But I know something has to change, too.

  After a long day at work, my right-hand man, Brock, meets me at the gym. Before we can start a workout, his phone pings with a text. Location set—pop-up fight. He nods to me, and then we gather a bag of necessities before leaving the gym.

  I need this: the release, the adrenaline, the blood pumping through my veins as my body fights for oxygen.

  Chapter 2

  Lo

  Henry Ford Hospital emergency room has been extremely busy today. I swear it’s a full moon. It’s six o’clock, five hours after my shift was supposed to end, but there is no way I am getting out of here anytime soon.

  All hope for leaving totally dies when a large, tanned man comes in through the ambulance entrance.

  “I need some help here!” he yells, carrying the unconscious body of a barely dressed man who has been brutally beaten.

  I grab the only spare gurney and rush down the hall toward them. Once he is on the bed, I yell for another nurse.

  “He gonna be okay?” the man who brought him in asks.

  “We will do everything we can. Have a seat in the waiting room. When we know something, we’ll let you know,” I tell him as we rush his friend to an examining room.

  Later, when one of the staff goes out to the waiting room to give an update and try to get the patient’s name, the man who brought him in is long gone.

  His injuries are pretty superficial, aside from the concussion. The bruising and cuts on his ribs and face are unbelievable. His hands are cut up, too.

  When we cut his clothes off and I see the lean, ripped, muscular build of his tattooed and naked body, I am pretty sure my assumption about him is correct. He is a fighter. Not just a fighter, but an underground fighter. For a month now, we have seen an increase in patients coming in looking like this. From what I have been told, the fights always increase in the summer months.

  Violence is senseless. At different times, it brings on different emotions from me: either fear or anger.

  As I sit next to him, even with the assumption he is a fighter, I can’t help wondering if he isn’t a victim. Maybe he was out for a jog, and some random criminal jumped him. Maybe some person with no conscience or consideration for human life decided he didn’t deserve his. Then I become angry. I am angry someone hurt him.

  As I carefully clean the blood from his wounds, I sigh and whisper, “You’re going to be okay. We’re going to make sure of it. You’re not alone.”

  After he is cleaned up, stabilized, and all vitals are solid, I sit next to him, making good on the promise that he won’t be alone. The entire time, I tell him repeatedly that he will be okay.

  After a while, his eyes begin to flutter and appear to be preparing to open. I quickly go out to the hall and grab a doctor.

  I stand on the patient’s left and the doctor on his right when his eyes open for the first time and he groans.

  “Do you know where you are?” Dr. Bennett asks him. He is my favorite doctor here. He is good with everyone and has a great bedside manner, which many seriously lack. We also have a close personal relationship since his son dated my sister.

  “Hell,” he groans. “Kill the light.”

  Dr. Bennett gives me a wink, then looks back at the patient. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

  “Not right now,” he grumbles in a sleepy, deep rumble.

  “Thank you for staying,” Dr. Bennett tells me. “Things have quieted down out there. You should take off; it’s way past the end of your shift.”

  “You sure? I don’t mind,” I say, looking from Dr. Bennett to the patient.

  I love my job. It is my reason to get up every day. I swear, if they let me, I would live at the hospital. Helping save lives, fix breaks, clean wounds, ease pain, and comforting those in need are what make me feel something other than tragedy. It’s odd, I suppose. Who finds comfort in crisis?

  “Take off.” He nods to the door. “Get some sleep, because who the hell knows what we’re in for tomorrow.”

  “I have the afternoon shift; I’ll be fine.” I can’t help looking at the patient, battered, beaten, but still breathing. There is no greater moment in my profession than when I see a patient’s eyes open, since in all reality, it’s never a given it will happen.

  “Take off. I promise I can handle it,” Dr. Bennett jokes.

  I walk into the nurses’ lounge and wash my hands before grabbing my purse and coat out of my locker. I make sure to fish my keys out before I leave the building.

  I head out into the parking lot and make my way to my little white Ford Focus. It’s not yet dark, and I am grateful for that. If I hurry, I can be home before the sun goes down.

  —

  Twenty minutes later, in a suburb outside of Rock City, I pull down my street toward my house on a cul-de-sac in a once middle-class neighborhood where kids played in the streets until after dark, riding skateboards, playing basketball, riding bikes, or skipping rope.

  Four years ago, that all changed. Now, as I drive slowly toward my two-story colonial, childhood home, I see security system signs in every yard, bars on windows, and no children playing outside. Yards are not immaculately landscaped anymore; there is debris in the gutters; and darkness seems to have settled over the house at the very end of the road.

  I hit the garage door opener and race into the garage, quickly hitting the remote to close it behind me. I wait until it is completely closed, look around the well-lit garage, and see Boots, my gray cat with four white feet, sitting on the stairs, waiting for me.

  I take a deep breath and get out, closing, then locking, the car door behind me.

  “You happy to see me?” I ask as I stand in front of the entry door to the kitchen, allowing him to walk in a figure-eight pattern between my feet as he rubs against my legs. “That’s a fine welcome home, Sir Boots.”

  I squat down and scratch under his chin, behind his ears, and then run my hand down his back a few times before standing up, grabbing the bat that sits by the door, and then punching in the code to unlock the house.

  Th
e lights automatically go on inside, and I take a deep breath and step in.

  I scan the room as my heart beats against my chest, then close the door behind me. Without turning around, I lock the door, using the three dead bolts, and then punch in the code so that the security system’s call center knows I am in for the night.

  I walk around the kitchen to make sure each window is locked before walking into the dining room, then across the hall to the family room, doing the same. I then peek my head in my parents’ old room, seeing the closet doors are wide open and empty, as is the room.

  After checking all their windows, I check the bathroom, making sure to look behind the shower curtain. Everything looks good.

  “Come on, Boots.” I call him to the bathroom.

  He walks in and sits by the tub, licking his paws while I lock the door and dead-bolt it.

  I undress fast, then start the shower. While waiting for it to heat up, I brush my teeth and wash my face. I use the toilet, close the lid, set a towel on top of it, and Boots jumps up and sits while I get in the shower.

  I wash and condition my hair quickly, then shave my underarms and legs even more quickly. I scrub my body with a swiftness that I have grown accustomed to and am out of the shower in seven minutes flat. I then dress in the nightclothes I brought from my room this morning and towel off my hair before brushing it.

  I take a deep breath, grab the bat, and unlock the door. I open it, holding my breath the entire time. When I walk out, I look ahead at the stairs. I hate the stairs, which is why the entire stairway is enclosed in plywood and secured with enough screws and nails that it would not go unnoticed if someone went up there without permission or a sledgehammer.

  I grab an already prepared salad out of the fridge and a bottle of water. Then I look at the clock and start to feel anxiety rise. I grab another water bottle, knowing I need it for both of the cats’ water dishes.

  “Come on, buddy,” I call to Boots as I walk to the doorway and punch in the code to the thick, steel door. As soon as I open it, Boots heads down the stairs, knowing the drill.