Pieces of Summer

by C. M. Owens

  Again, I don’t acknowledge that.

  As we pull up to the apartments, a familiar BMW catches my eye, and I study it as the girl who has been avoiding me steps out and walks toward the apartments. My jaw tenses because I have no idea what she’s doing here or who she’s here to see.

  The apartments are one story and in a large L-shape. She walks up to one and knocks on the door as I coast into a parking spot far down from her and turn off my truck.

  The door to the apartment opens, and I watch with rapt attention as Mika steps inside. Only, I can’t see a damn thing once she does.

  “Who the fuck lives there?” I ask Whit.

  Whit squints, trying to see, and she snorts out a laugh.

  “Old Mrs. Penderson. Mika must have gotten roped into picking up her meds. That cranky old bitch pesters anyone she sees in town because she’s banned from the pharmacy after she tried to shoplift four bottles of aspirin.”

  I visibly relax, and start to get out.

  “You’re going to have to carry me. My legs have that numb thing going on and don’t want to work,” Whit tells me, slurring a little now.

  Shit.

  Reaching over, I slide her across the seat, lift her, and shut my door behind us as I carry her toward her apartment. Mika walks out just as I reach Whit’s door, and Whit calls to her.

  “Mika! Did that old hag make you get her meds?”

  Mika’s eyes jerk toward us, and she stiffens. Ah, fuck. This probably looks really bad.

  “Tell that whore to shut her cocksucker!” Mrs. Penderson yells from the open apartment door.

  Mika just stares at me, and I start to speak, but Whit is on a mission to fight with an eighty-year-old lady.

  “Whore? I’m the whore? You shoplifted aspirin after you wore your vagina out at the Bingo party!”

  “You wore your vagina out before you even hit twenty! At least my vagina is still smiling at me. Yours is dragging the ground!”

  Fucking disgusting.

  “Mika,” I call out, trying to stand Whit up against her door, but it’s like my voice snaps her out of her trance and she walks quickly to her car.

  Whit slips and starts to fall, and I barely catch her in time, unable to chase Mika without letting Whit crack her skull open on the concrete. “Mika!”

  She still ignores me and gets in her car. She speeds away as Whit continues to goad the old lady who hasn’t shut her apartment door.

  “Hag!” Mrs. Penderson yells.

  “Bitch!” Whit retorts.

  “Slut!”

  “Wrinkly old cunt!”

  “Cooter funk!”

  At that last one, I pick Whit back up and fumble with her door, while cursing my night.

  All I wanted was a fucking beer with a friend while I talked to him about bullshit. Instead, I’m stuck in the middle of a name-calling war between an old lady and my ex, while the girl I’ve been obsessed with for the majority of my life drives away like she can’t stand the thought of seeing me.

  As if the universe wants to add a dramatic effect to punctuate my shitty night, thunder rolls across the sky.

  Fucking unbelievable.

  Every second that ticks by is just another second for me to get pissed. By the time I’ve put Whit into bed, I’m furious.

  Apparently Mika thinks I’m still the same sweet boy that I once was with her.

  Maybe it’s fucking time I show her I’ve changed too.

  Chapter 30

  MIKA

  My heartbeat drums in my ears as the rain drops go from barely there to assaulting my car without mercy. I whirl into my driveway and park in the garage, pressing the button to shut the door as I walk through the garage entrance to my house.

  Once upon a time, Chase James ripped my heart out. I was a kid then, and it felt like the world ended. I did a lot of stupid things after that night. I slept with anyone who paid me any attention. I drank and partied like my life wasn’t precious. And I lived from day to day with zero concern for the future.

  Now here I am repeating history like the fool I can’t afford to be anymore. Only it’s a different sort of carelessness, and the stakes are unimaginably higher.

  Whit is beautiful. She’s nice. She’s witty. I snort as I run that line in my head: Whit is witty.

  It’s a sad laugh though. Whit is everything I can never be again. She’s perfect for Chase.

  I stare in the mirror at the girl staring back at me. With shaky hands, I slowly pull my shirt up above my stomach, lifting it to be just below my breasts, and I stare at all the scars that mark my skin.

  “Mika! Mika, no! What have you done?”

  Aidan is yelling, but I’m in a cloud of euphoria, feeling the high of the pain as the blood trickles down from my waist. So much better. It all feels so much better. There’s no more pressure. I made it go away.

  “I need an ambulance, at…”

  Aidan’s voice trails off as I glance down at my stomach to where the small, shallow cuts are bleeding. I don’t need an ambulance. I need something to bottle this feeling so I can stay in this state forever, no longer worrying about the numbers, the urges, the constant unfinished things that never fucking go away.

  She said she’d be here at ten. It’s after twelve. What did she expect to happen? Lydia is never punctual, the bitch. And we were supposed to finish that puzzle. I can’t make the pieces fit by myself. They need to fit. They need to. Can’t people understand you can’t simply leave something undone?

  “I can’t make it fit by myself,” I say aloud, sighing dreamily as the high continues to course through me.

  “Damn it, Mika! It’s just a fucking puzzle. That’s it! I’m calling Dr. Kravitz. You can’t fucking stay here anymore because I can’t watch you twenty-four hours a day, and I can’t keep people here like they’re supposed to be fucking doing no matter how much I pay them. It’s only getting worse. You can’t drive, you can’t eat without help, you can’t even give yourself a shower, Mika. This is…”

  His words trail off, and I reach for the razor blade that’s resting on the tile, stained red by my own blood. One more cut. Just one more and I’ll be good.

  That memory is from a year or so after the surgery that saved my life and changed it. The surgery that went wrong. The surgery that shouldn’t have been in the hands of a man who miraculously didn’t kill me.

  At least the malpractice suit afforded my care so Aidan wasn’t forced to deal with the financial burden of my recovery.

  Dr. Kravitz was convinced it wasn’t the surgery that messed me up. He still blames it on a psychological break that forced my mind to function differently. Others blame it on the surgery, especially since I struggled to relearn how to feed myself, drive a car and so much more.

  It made me their science experiment to study, to debate, to question endlessly, and to push to my limits.

  The curious case of Mika. That’s how they always referred to me.

  All I know is that I found a way to cope without harming myself over and over. That’s in large part due to Dr. Kravitz pushing me past my limits daily.

  Tears prick my eyes as I lower my shirt, and I swallow hard.

  This is me. I’m not Whit. She’s normal and loving and Chase would be lucky to have her. I should have said something nice to them instead of making him feel guilty. It was obvious Whit was drunk, but it was also obvious he’d been with her.

  What did I honestly expect? If Whit was a bitch, it’d be easy to want him away from her. She wouldn’t deserve him in my mind. But she actually deserves better than both of us and our ancient issues we left unresolved.

  Moving toward the kitchen, I stare at the stove, wishing I was able to cook. It’s one of the things I lost the ability to do. Cooking involves numbers, times, and a lot of directions. I struggle to follow any directions.

  It all used to be so easy. I cooked when I was looking for a stress release, and now I’ve had to find other ways to cope.

  Writing.

  It’s my one
solace. It’s under my complete control.

  Before I can head up the stairs, my front door swings open and slams into the wall. I squeal and remind myself to start locking that thing even if I have to resort to using sticky notes the way I used to.

  When my eyes lock on a set of stormy blues, I swallow hard.

  “I’m getting pretty sick of your fucking disappearing acts, Mika,” Chase growls while slamming my door behind him. “What the hell is your problem?”

  Swallowing hard, I study his soaked blue T-shirt and jeans, and his hair is dripping wet. Why is he so wet?

  “Nothing is my problem,” I say instead of commenting on the fact he’s soaked.

  He brushes his dark hair away from his forehead, and he narrows his eyes on me.

  “Stop lying to me, Mika. What the fuck is going on with you. Two days ago you were walking into my shop like everything between us was natural. You also straddled me and jacked me off at four that morning. Then you walk out of my shop without even answering me and haven’t called me since. Then tonight I see you, and you run off. Again. Start talking, because I’m not some bitch boy you can jerk around by his leash.”

  “I’m not trying to jerk you around by a leash,” I bite out. “I just needed a few days… Then suddenly you’re carrying Whit home. Guess I’m not the only one who struggles with habits.”

  He laughs bitterly, and I try to head toward the stairs, but the asshole blocks me before I can. Looking down at me, his eyes narrow.

  “You know Whit and I are over. Don’t play like you don’t, Mika. I know exactly what’s going on with you right now.”

  “Highly unlikely,” I mutter.

  He steps closer, and I step back. “I did the same thing. Hell, I fucking freaked out that first day I saw you back in town. It shocked the fuck out of me. I ran, Mika. Literally. Went to a hotel out of town, cancelled my appointments, and spent two days trying to wrap my head around the fact you were in Hayden. Then I reminded myself over and over that you deserved a fuck-ton more than I could ever give you. My business makes decent money; I have a house with actual windows and floors; I pay for my own shit and have extra left over. But it isn’t ever going to afford much more than that, Mika.”

  Anger slices through me, and this time I take a step toward him.

  “Since I’ve known you, you’re the only one who has ever put a price tag on our relationship, so don’t put that off on me. I never gave a damn what your bank account looked like, Chase. Not even a little bit.”

  His look doesn’t soften. If anything, he looks angrier.

  “Think I don’t fucking know that, Mika? Imagine feeling like you had to be something far better to deserve the only fucking person you wanted. You don’t have to do that. You never have!”

  He has no idea. It almost makes me want to punch something, scream at someone, or just drop to the floor in tears. But I don’t.

  Instead, I stand there and stare at him and let him think he’s the only one who has ever struggled, because telling him anything means I’ll lose the way he looks at me. I was once his light. If he knew the truth, he’d know now I’m nothing but darkness.

  “So I went over all the possible things to keep me away from you,” he goes on, breathing heavily. “I tried to stay away, but one fucking thing after another brought me to you. Then you start pushing me away, doing the same shit I’ve been doing, searching for a reason we can’t be together because you know how much it hurts when we’re forced apart. Stop. Just fucking stop. I have. Stop looking for a reason to push me away and give me a damn chance.”

  My breaths are heavy in my chest, and my heart hurts a little. He deserves to know the truth… Deserves to know what he’s asking for. But telling him seems impossible.

  He steps forward, but this time I hold still as he comes closer and closer until he’s pushing me against the wall. He cages me in until his scent and presence consumes me and my overactive mind. Tilting my head up, I start to say something but he spins me around, forcing me to face the wall. My hands hit the sheetrock, bracing myself at the angle.

  A small, surprised breath escapes me when he reaches around and jerks the button of my shorts open, and his lips find their way to my neck.

  “All the games stop tonight,” he says against my skin, letting the heat of his breath lick across my skin, sending my nerves into a frenzy. “You taught me how to fuck, Mika,” he continues, kissing a spot just under my ear as his hands work my shorts down my hips. “Now let me show you how to do it better.”

  Just as my shorts fall to the floor, he turns me back around, and his lips come down on mine as he roughly tugs me closer by my ass. When I’m forced to grind against him, an impatient whimper leaves my lips. But he swallows the sound, devouring me as his tongue thrusts into my mouth, reminding me what it’s like to feel something. Love something. Crave something.

  Stepping out of my shorts, I lean into him more, threading my fingers through his hair as I get as close as physically possible, forgetting all the boundary rules. Forgetting all my rules in general.

  Chase lifts me up from the ground, and my legs wrap around his waist as he carries me away from the stairs. The rain grows louder, but I barely even notice it, because I’m too busy trying to keep from ripping Chase’s clothes off.

  Before coming back, it’d been so long since I actually had any contact like this, so every single touch is more intimate. Every graze of his fingers on my skin is like fire igniting within a touch, burning through the layers of ice I’ve had surrounding me for years. Layers I needed in order to be strong.

  He nips at my lips, smirking when he pulls back, but I’m still clinging to him, desperate for more. As he lowers me to the ground, I look around at the sunroom we’re in as the rain continues to pummel the house. The rain windows are closed, keeping the rain from breeching our sanctuary.

  When I turn back to look at him, he peels his shirt over his head. My eyes drop to the ink and long lines of muscle that remind me he’s not a boy anymore. That V at his hips disappears behind his jeans, taunting me with a part of his body I got somewhat reacquainted with a few days ago.

  Even that part of his body has matured.

  The loveseat and dining table in here aren’t surfaces I want to be on, but when he grabs a blanket and spreads it out on the floor, I realize where he’s going with this. Nervously, I bite down on my bottom lip as he walks toward me. My nerves disappear when his lips find mine again, hungry and bruising, as though he’s as desperate as I am.

  When he lifts me up, my legs go back around his waist, and he slowly lowers me to the floor. My back hits the ground gently as he tears his lips away from mine, and starts pushing my shirt up while kissing down my neck.

  His lips and hands are so distracting that I forget all about why my shirt can’t come off until I hear his sharp intake of air as his body freezes against mine. My eyes dart open, but it’s too late to cover them up. My shirt is gone, Chase is sitting up between my legs, staring in horror at my abdomen that is marred and hideous, marked by dozens and dozens of scars.

  Tears spring to my eyes, and I panic, trying to grab for my shirt, but he catches my arms and pins me beneath him as his jaw tics and he stares into my eyes.

  “The fucking hell happened, Mika?” he growls. “Who fucking did this?”

  The heat of my tears singes against my face, and his look softens even though I can tell he’s still furious.

  “Please don’t look at it,” I whisper hoarsely.

  His eyes grow colder, and he leans down closer, putting his body almost touching mine as he keeps my hands pinned above my head.

  “What fucking happened?” he asks again, quieter, almost deadly calm.

  Swallowing against the knot in my throat, I stare him in the eyes.

  “You have your dark past. I have mine. Can’t we just let it go?”

  He grinds his teeth, but he slowly releases my hands. Immediately, I grab my shirt, but before I can pull it on, he jerks it out of my hands and t
osses it aside again. Without saying another word, he bends presses his lips to my stomach, and I stiffen against his touch.

  “Don’t,” I whisper harshly, hating being touched there with his lips. He shouldn’t have to kiss that.

  “Tell me what happened and I won’t,” he tells me, dragging his lips from one set of scars to another, continuing to kiss the disgusting marks and angry red lines that never faded.

  “Chase,” I plead.

  He ignores me, still kissing each and every jagged or precise line, every white scar or red mark… Every. Single. One.

  More tears fall, and he works my panties down, slowly kissing his way down my legs. “You’re going to tell me, Mika. Then I’m going to fuck up whoever did this to you.”

  “Trust me,” I whisper as he starts to come back up, leaving my panties at my knees as he kisses my hip bone, “they fucked themselves up worse than you ever could.”

  “I doubt it,” he murmurs, once again tracing some of those disgusting marks.

  When I try to push him away, he doesn’t budge. Instead, he lowers his head again, this time kissing down my middle instead of to my thigh. When his lips brush my clit, it pulses and throbs, and I moan.

  “I’m going to make you forget it’s even there,” he says before latching on.

  I try to spread my legs wider, but my panties at my knees keep me restrained, causing the intensity of his mouth to be so much stronger as he works me over, owning me as primal sounds rumble from his chest.

  My hands go to his hair, holding him there as his body stays just off mine in a push-up position. It doesn’t feel like enough but it feels like too much at the same time.

  My back arches, pushing into him, pushing me closer to his mouth as he continues to drive my mind into a frenzy. Everything on me gets too tight, almost leaving me on the verge of breaking, or so it seems. Then suddenly, it explodes, and ecstasy washes over me as my body trembles—actually trembles.

  Chase doesn’t stop until I’m begging him to because it’s all too sensitive… almost painful. Finally, he tears his mouth away from me and lazily kisses his way back up, slowly dragging his lips across my skin.