Crazy Girl

by B. N. Toler

  When the employee left, I asked, “How are you so…together and I’m like a walking train wreck? I mean…look at what you’ve done here.” I motioned around the room.

  He tilted his head, his mouth flattening. “Just been fortunate.”

  My heart broke a little with his words. It wasn’t just good fortune. He’d earned this. And he should be proud of himself. But we’d learned early in life you should never grow too big for your britches. Our father’s name carried weight and in many ways still did. He was the high school football star, Vietnam war veteran, and the guy everyone loved to be around. He’d earned the respect he was given by so many.

  Bircham was a name people recognized.

  Everyone wanted to be us.

  Oh but how hard the mighty hit the ground when they fall.

  “No. You earned this, Taz. I’m proud of you.”

  “I’m proud of you, too.”

  I snorted. “I hope to make you proud of me. Some day.”

  “I’m not worried, Hannah,” Taz said as he stood. “You’ll make a comeback, kid.”

  He left my office. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. We were veering into the past. We were too sober for that journey. And I respected that. I smirked a little, thinking of what he’d said about making a comeback. He’d said that to me before. My smirk turned into a grin as the title of my WIP came to me.

  The Comeback Kid.

  My brother was a genius.

  I had the title.

  Now all I needed was to write.

  But my inspiration was dwindling the longer I went without my muse.

  I needed Wren.

  Reaching for my handy pen, I wrote another reminder to myself.

  Say you’re sorry.

  There were two hours until I got off, but I decided to ask Taz if I could sneak out early. I needed to go and get my muse back.

  Forgive and Forget

  With what felt like an endless amount of free time since I was currently without work for the month…and single…I put a massive amount of energy into working out. Exercising and lifting were like therapy to me. Outside of that, I fished, cleaned, designed a few videos, and hung out with Kegs a bit when he wasn’t working.

  It had been a week since I’d last seen or spoken to Hannah. She hadn’t attempted to contact me once, and I’d be damned if I’d contact her. She was actually doing me a favor by staying away. It reminded me what a piece of work she was. When I logged on to Facebook earlier in the week, photos of her readers had posted that she’d met with at the signing popped up on my timeline. It pissed me off to see her standing there smiling like she hadn’t a worry in the world. I knew it was bullshit because I knew the real Hannah was a train wreck, and her stellar outfit and pasted-on smile were nothing but a show.

  Seeing her that way made me so angry I hadn’t logged on since. As the week moved along, I focused on staying busy to keep myself from thinking about her, and what a dumbass I felt like for catching feelings for her. I knew she was nuts the first night I’d met her. Why in the hell had I kept coming back for more? I had no one to blame but myself. I told myself I was done with her. It was over.

  So when her car pulled in my driveway while I was washing my truck, I clenched my teeth in frustration.

  What was she doing here?

  Hose in hand, I continued to spray my vehicle down, not acknowledging her as she climbed out of her car and approached me. If I opened my mouth, I’d hurt her feelings for sure. Unleash all sorts of truths on her. She watched me for a few moments, quiet. Finally, she said, “Wren. You see I’m here. Would you stop for a minute?”

  I didn’t respond. I kept spraying. And inwardly begged her to get out of my face.

  “I’m here to apologize,” she voiced stepping toward me with purpose. “Would you talk to me for a little bit, please?” I had to give it to her. The confidence I’d wished for her since we’d met was front and center. Just my luck she brought it out when she demanded I accept her half-assed apology. She wanted to be forgiven just like that. Poof. A week of anger was gone. Didn’t think so.

  “I don’t have the time, or the patience for this, Hannah. You made it very clear you didn’t want to talk to me a couple of weeks ago. We’re not together, you don’t owe me a damn thing, and there’s nothing to talk about.”

  “I was wrong for what I said. Please,” she begged. “Just speak with me.”

  “So you’re totally cool with discussing your personal life?” She remained quiet. I thought so. I released the hose handle and dropped it on the driveway. Sliding my hands in my pockets, I faced her. “When I wanted to speak, you denied me that. All I was trying to do was give a shit about you. But now, when you wanna talk, I’m supposed to just drop everything and listen?”

  “All of this is new to me and…scary. I’m not…perfect.”

  I snorted. That was an understatement. Her mouth curved down into a frown with my reaction. I’d hurt her feelings. I clenched my teeth again. I didn’t want to hurt her, or be a dick to her, but I was pissed. She was a grown-ass woman. Behaving like this was not okay. Pushing away someone who cared for you was not okay. And the truth was, I was more scared of her than ever. Yes, a man falling for a woman was hard. We didn’t like things that made us feel vulnerable. We didn’t like attaching ourselves to people that could knock us on our asses simply by walking out of our lives. She pulled then pushed. Let me in a little then threw my ass out. Hannah had hooked me, and then cut me loose. But there was more than that. She was volatile, and that concerned me too. Her inconsistencies in emotions, and the back and forth with her moods, had me on edge. It reminded me of someone. It reminded me of my sister. I didn’t think Hannah was completely unreasonable, but she seemed to have the ability to disconnect; to cut people off.

  The ability to just leave someone.

  I couldn’t handle that.

  I’d lost my sister, my mother, and brothers-in-arms. I’d lost so many people in so many ways, the idea that I could lose her simply because she was confused about who she was wasn’t something I could set myself up for. It hadn’t slipped my mind she hadn’t acknowledged discussing her personal life with me. Being with her came with conditions. Ones where she could hide from me when she wanted. She asked for me to hear her out, but refused to give me what I needed. All of her.

  “I’m trying here, Wren,” she pleaded, her lower lip quivering slightly. She was wearing a white tank top and cutoff jeans, making it hard to hold my anger when she turned me on so damned much. She looked so tiny, and even though I was hell-bent on turning her away, there was a part of me that wanted nothing more than to take her in my arms and kiss that trembling lip. She was like a vortex, and I had to stop getting sucked in.

  “You made it very clear what my trying was worth to you. Please go.”

  “Writing has the power to fill my soul with a radiant,

  unequaled beauty and peace. Or implode me from the inside out

  —complete decimation. It just depends on the day.”

  -Kim Holden

  Pride.

  Pride is an inwardly directed emotion that carries two antithetical meanings. With a negative connotation, pride refers to a foolishly and irrationally corrupt sense of one’s personal value, status, or accomplishments.

  I’d hurt him. I knew this. But I wasn’t sure if my offense warranted his reaction…at least not this extreme of one. It occurred to me that maybe in part, I’d touched on something, hit a nerve or discovered a painful memory from his past, and perhaps I was on the receiving end of anger that had been pent-up and bottled deep inside. I wasn’t going to question him on it though. At the time, all I cared about was that I had hurt him, and he was pushing me away. Pride stood at my side, like that friend you know always has your back, the one that saw you about to engage in a fight and they’re right behind you, rolling their neck and bouncing, ready to jump in and battle with you. But I pushed it back.

  My pride didn’t like that.

  I was a Birc
ham after all.

  “I’m not leaving.” I planted my feet firmly.

  “I don’t play games, Hannah,” he gritted. I stepped closer toward him. He stepped back, his hands still slid inside his pants pockets. My heart sank. He didn’t want to be near me. “When I cut someone off, it’s done. There’s no going back. Do you understand?”

  He’d cut me off? My mind raced so fast I couldn’t understand myself. I had to get ahold of myself. I studied his face; his gaze. It was emotional manipulation…he was threatening to never speak to me again, pretend we were strangers. He was wielding it like a weapon. I didn’t like that for several reasons. Somehow it broke my heart and angered me, all at once. I was here, pleading, trying to fix this thing between us, and this was what he said to me? I realized then that he hadn’t seen all the parts of me—only the ones I’d shown him. He saw a softness. He saw me vulnerable. He saw me at my worst. But he hadn’t seen what I was made of. He hadn’t seen that behind the romantic woman with starry eyes and a wounded soul that dreamed of love, I was a goddamned warrior. I was fierce. I was stronger than all the heartache I had and would experience in my life.

  He was going to cut me off?

  I stuck my chest out, refusing to let him break me. “So that’s it? You’ll never speak to me again?”

  He shook his head and pivoted away from me. “I can’t set myself up for this, Hannah. You don’t know who you are, or what you want. I don’t need this bullshit in my life. I’ve lost enough people I cared about.”

  And there it was. My pride melted away, not even contesting its departure. Even it knew I had been a giant asshole. Wren had always been a riddle to me. I had felt a deepness in him that wasn’t visible to the rest of the world. To everyone else he was hard and in control. But I had seen the softness under his hard shell. He didn’t like to lose people because he’d already lost so many. He’d opened himself up to caring for me and actually being with me, and I’d turned a cheek to him in an attempt to avoid my own problems; in an attempt to pretend I didn’t feel about him the way I did.

  “I’m sorry, Wren. I am. Please. Don’t do this.”

  Lifting his chin, giving me the perfect view of the flawlessly cut lines of his face and well-kept beard, he didn’t look at me. “You didn’t push me away because of me, because of something I did wrong. You pushed me away because you don’t trust me or the feelings you have for me.” I dropped my head in shame. He knew. “Look at me. Engage, damn it.” Narrowing my eyes, I snapped my head up and stared at him. He twisted his neck and fixed his dark eyes on mine. “You wanna stay in your fucked up little world, where you hide out in an empty house and have nothing, go ahead. Protect it all you want. But let’s be real, Hannah. You’re a coward. Plain and simple.”

  His words snapped out at me, lashing me like a whip. Even being called crazy by him so many times hadn’t been as insulting as him calling me a coward.

  “You’re scared of yourself. You’re scared of men. You’re scared of your reality. You’re scared to move, Hannah,” He raised his fisted hands and shook them. “Like, really move in your life.”

  I was speechless. His tone was scornful and his words were meant to cut. The man was a specimen of sharp steel in most ways, slicing through life, and his tongue was no exception. He chose to show me affection, and I’d rejected it. I got that. Still, it burned. I knew Wren wasn’t all soft. I knew he could be brutal when he wanted to, but it still shocked me seeing it then. Hearing him say those things to me.

  “Go, Hannah,” he uttered dismissively, already walking toward his garage. Panic set in. He wasn’t listening to me. He wasn’t letting me apologize. I was sorry. I was. He had to believe that. I thought I could handle whatever he threw at me. I was wrong. So fucking wrong.

  My insides twisted as he neared the bay door. His ascent into the house felt ominous—like once he crossed the threshold we were done, and there was no going back. What could I do? Cry? Beg? Crawl on my knees? I needed him. I couldn’t finish my book without him. I hated my thoughts went there as a first reaction. But it was so much more than that. I loved him. I didn’t want to, and I hadn’t meant to, but it was there, burning inside of me. It couldn’t end this way. I wouldn’t let it. I’d make him listen. I’d make him hear how sorry I was. I just needed to get his attention, and I knew with every fiber of my being it would take something drastic to turn that mountain of a man around. I knew it.

  Glancing to my right, I spotted a loose piece of cement from the driveway about the size of a golf ball. I’d played softball as a kid, and it had been a while, but I bet myself I could hit him with it. He’d turn around after that. Hitting him with a rock was extreme—insane really, considering the man could dismantle me with little effort probably—but it was a chance I’d have to take. I’d officially lost my mind. I was about to bend and pick it up when my eye caught on something else.

  The water hose.

  I knew what I was about to do would enrage him to some degree. I could very well be about to make him loathe me more than he already did. But I would fight for him, make him snap out of it. And sometimes fighting meant pulling some really crazy shit, but he already knew I was crazy, so it shouldn’t be that surprising to him.

  The hose nozzle had been set on jet stream. That was unfortunate for me. More so for Wren. Probably should have checked that first, but I was in a bit of a hurry with him trying to walk inside his house and out of my life forever. Checking minimal details like that didn’t matter. When I aimed at his back and squeezed, the water shot out like a bullet nailing him between his shoulder blades. I almost laughed when he whipped around, his dark eyes wide, but when his gaze filled with shock and rage, my desire to yuck it up quickly evaporated.

  Well, the good news was I’d definitely gotten his attention.

  That was for sure.

  The bad news was…I’d definitely gotten his attention.

  It was the blink of an eye between the time I squeezed the nozzle and the moment he was fighting me for it. “Are you fucking crazy?” he shouted. He was far stronger than me, but I managed to hold the nozzle in my death grip. Water sprayed above us and around us as we struggled for control, both of us grunting and cursing. As we fought, the jet stream hit my bare skin, ripping across it, burning from the pressure.

  “I just wanted to talk. You made me do this,” I stammered as he yanked me sideways.

  “That’s the phrase of deranged attackers and abusers. I didn’t make you do a damned thing. Let it go, Hannah!” he shouted, the spray hitting him in the face. “God damn it!” He groaned, wiping at his face with his free hand.

  “Not until you talk to me,” I yelled back.

  He stilled, and brought both hands down, holding his hands around mine, the water spraying straight up and raining down on us, catching on our lashes and dripping from his beard. Looking me dead in my eyes, he inhaled a breath I knew was meant to steady him; calm him. The muscles in his jaw twitched as he closed his eyes for a long moment. Then, his tone stern, he uttered, “Please let it go.”

  I searched his face, his gaze, for some sign I’d brought him back to the table; that maybe he’d hear me out, but I wasn’t sure. So long as I was holding the damn nozzle, he might stay and talk to me. But I feared though my intentions were only to get him to hear me out, I may have only made it worse. I’d made my point…a very loud and obnoxious point, and it was time for me to abandon my efforts. I nodded and relaxed my hands giving him control of the hose. He jerked his arm hard, tossing it aside, the metal nozzle clinking against the paved driveway.

  We were both soaked. His gray T-shirt was plastered to his body, accentuating every curve of the muscles of his chest. I couldn’t see myself, but my clothes clung to my skin, heavily. Placing his hands on his hips, something I noticed he did often while he was thinking, he looked at anything but me. “Leave.”

  Warm tears pooled in my eyes. “I’m not leaving.”

  I swallowed, second-guessing my actions. Maybe hosing him down wasn’
t my best idea. He seemed angrier now. I was busy processing, predicting the outcome in all of this, when in one swift move, he lifted me off of my feet and threw me over his shoulder.

  I shimmied, grunting as I adjusted as best I could in the awkward position so that his shoulder wasn’t jamming me in the gut. “What are you doing?”

  The cast iron gate that led to his backyard creaked as he opened it and walked through. “You wanna play in the water?” he laughed haughtily, anger and frustration laced in his tone. “Let’s play in the water.”

  It took me a moment to realize he was going to throw me in the river. I immediately started squirming. “Let me down, Wren! I’m wearing white clothes! It’ll stain my clothes.”

  “I have my cell phone in my pocket, which is now probably ruined after your little hose down bit, Hannah,” he answered calmly as he hoisted me up, getting a better hold on me. “You wanted my attention, crazy girl. Now you got it.” He gave my ass a hard smack making me yelp.

  “Stop this!”

  He smacked my ass again, harder this time. “You want to act like a child, I’m going to treat you like one.”

  I squealed and squawked and wiggled, but Wren only tightened his grip. “I told you I’m a goddamned man, Hannah. I’m not some pushover pansy you’re going to treat like this and I’ll just turn the other cheek because that’s what a gentleman would do. You poked the bear, babe.” When he hit the pier, his sandals smacked against his feet and the wood as he walked what I was now considering the plank. I managed to kick my shoes off as he walked, at least, sparing them from getting ruined.

  “You’re going to throw me in? Really, Wren?” I attempted to reason with him. There was no point in both of us being unreasonable. I knew it was hypocritical of me, but I didn’t care. “What is the point in this? I’m already wet.”