Around three in the morning, Andrew finally crawled into bed. The smell of oil-based paint clung to his skin, which had a chemical undertone. His rigid frame was a dead giveaway whatever plagued him hadn’t been resolved. I waited for him to cuddle up next to me like he normally did. Tension coated the silence. The rhythmic sound of his breathing grew slower.
Before he could succumb to sleep, I rolled on to my side and faced him. “Andrew?”
He was staring at the beams of light dancing on the ceiling. As he turned his head, my breath caught. Behind his eyes, a war raged. For a moment, I rethought my decision about figuring out the truth. However, I wanted to help and I wanted him to let me help.
“Hm?” he murmured.
“As soon as we became a couple, we became a team so whatever problems or worries you have are mine as well,” I said.
“I know, babe. Come here.” He opened his arms and I rested my head against his chest. “I feel like I’m always apologizing for being an ass,” he said.
“Not all the time.”
“A majority of the time. Look, you aren’t the only one who has issues with letting people help them. I’m not sure if it’s a pride thing for you but it is for me.”
I snorted. “You and ninety-nine percent of the male population.”
“Smart ass.” I could hear a smile in his voice as he lazily stroked my hair. “Would you understand if I needed to process my feelings and thoughts before opening up?”
“Of course, just don’t act emotionally distant and cut off when doing so.”
“Understood.”
Our relationship back on stable ground, I snuggled into his side. Monica’s grandma had taught me communication was the key to forming a lasting partnership. Otherwise, lamps would have been thrown and insults exchanged. Sending a silent thanks to the heavens, my heart rate matched Andrew’s as we drifted off.
I was dreaming of a sandwich chasing a banana when a loud knock entered my conscious. Groggily, my eyes peeled open. Dusty light filtered in through the blinds, scattering across the floor. Andrew’s snores shook the mattress. The numbers 7:00 a.m. glowed from the alarm clock on the nightstand, a mere four hours of sleep. I groaned and threw my pillow over my head. Whoever was at the front door though was persistent. Another knock sounded, then another until it became one long continuous drone. Elbowing Andrew, he was dead to the world. Due to my run-ins with drug dealers and the alike, I didn’t feel safe answering it myself. Smacking Andrew on the chest, his snores halted as he bolted upright in bed.
He looked around as if zombies were on the attack. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
“There is somebody at the door.”
A minute passed before my words sunk into his thick skull. Rubbing his eyes, he stifled a yawn and covered his naked lower torso in sweatpants. “Stay here. I’ll check it out but if it’s Matthew, I’m totally gonna hit him in the face with a baseball bat.”
“What baseball bat?”
Andrew grabbed a wooden bat from the closet, answering my question. He smacked it against his hand as he exited the bedroom. A surge of lust coiled in my stomach at the sight of his rippling muscles and pure alpha maleness. When he returned, he was going to get jumped by a naked woman named Haven. Until then my legs spread across the mattress and I bunched the duvet against my chest. A sigh of contentment left my lips. Sometimes, I really missed living alone.
Raised voices, one in particular that sounded too high pitched to be a man’s, caught my attention. I tiptoed to the door and snuck a glance. Andrew’s giant like stature blocked whoever stood in the outside hallway.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I made a mistake.”
“It’s too late for regrets, Camilla.”
The air left my lungs at the mention of the ghost that had haunted our relationship since the beginning. Except, she wasn’t a ghost anymore. It seemed as if Camilla had been resurrected in flesh and bone. I was a fool to think Andrew and I had a shot at a fresh start. The past followed me around like a stray dog. Camilla ducked underneath Andrew’s arm, her fiery red hair matching her expression. The photographs tucked away in Andrew’s drawer didn’t do her beauty justice. She had blunt cut bangs that framed her hazel eyes, milky white skin and a smattering of freckles that dusted her bunny sloped nose.
Her hands went to her slender waist. “It has been six months, not six years.”
“That doesn’t matter. You left.”
“I offered you the chance to come with me but you declined so technically you left this marriage.”
Andrew shot a look toward the door where I was standing. My back flattened against the wall as my heart hammered in my chest. They were married? That couldn’t be correct. Andrew had said they got engaged but he made it sound as if they broke up before they tied the knot. My head peeked out and watched the drama unfold further.
He grabbed the crook of her elbow. “Come on, let’s grab a coffee and we can talk.”
She jerked her arm back and narrowed her eyes. “This is my home too. If you don’t remember, my name is on the mortgage.”
“Yeah, but it was my money that bought this place.”
“God,” Camilla shook her head. “Why are we fighting? I missed you, Andrew.” An avalanche of love poured from her gaze. “We were good together until….”
Andrew’s spine straightened. “Don’t say it…” he said coldly. “Don’t you dare fucking say it.”
She closed the distance between them and placed her palms on his bare chest. Tipping her chin up, Camilla looked at him square in the eye. “When are you going to forgive me?”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You went behind my back.”
“I had to. It wasn’t the right time to bring a child into the world. We had so many more adventures left in us and I knew you wouldn’t see it that way but I’m ready now. I want to give this marriage a second shot, settle down, and plant roots.
My legs gave out underneath me. Tumbling to the plush carpeted floor, the world blurred. Andrew hadn’t painted the full picture. Camilla didn’t leave because of a cultural divide; she left because she’d terminated their child without telling him first. Their story was strife with tragedy and unresolved issues. Nausea rolled as I fought the tears that threatened to escape. The un-matching puzzle pieces clicked into place and I couldn’t help but feel like a moron. Andrew’s family not liking Camilla, Matthew eluding to Andrew’s year of hardship, and the overwhelming need to save me because he couldn’t save his child. My fist fit into my mouth to stifle a scream. Andrew’s and my love story, while one for the books, couldn’t continue—not until he closed the chapter with Camilla. Marriage was a legal binding contract and unlike my mother, I didn’t get involved with married men. Hanging on by a string, I hoisted myself to my feet and flung open his closet doors. My clothes and his were divided into two sections. The future we could have had stabbed me in the solar plexus. He was the first guy I would haven’t have minded living out the American dream with. White picket fence, a gaggle of children, and a dog named Spike. My numbness thawed and gave way to betrayal. It seeped into veins like a disease. Black spots floated in my vision. I blindly ripped my meager wardrobe off their respective hangers, forming a pile on the floor. Andrew had led me to believe that a happy ending was possible. He captured my heart with his Casanova lines, tantalizing kisses and his purer than gold soul that wasn’t so pure after all. Throwing everything into an opened suitcase, I clicked it closed. Andrew and Camilla’s voices had faded to a murmur. I looked around Andrew’s bedroom without a clue where to go. Monica had made it abundantly clear she didn’t have room while Mallory was planning a wedding. Fueled by despair and agony, a crazy thought popped into my head. Why wait? The road trip I was planning to take with Andrew could be pushed up to tomorrow, or tonight. Let’s face it, staying in a city that hosted my broken relationships, first with my mother and now with Andrew, didn’t sound appealing. I needed a do-over, somewhere where nobody knew my name. The
re was one problem: money. The nightclub had cut back on my shifts and I had three hundred dollars to my name. They owed me a check, which I had to pick up before I left, nonetheless, an extra two hundred wouldn’t be enough for gas, cheap motels along the way, and first and last month’s rent if I decided to stay wherever I ended up. Out of the corner of my eye, Andrew’s frat ring shimmered on the armoire. No amount of reasoning would lessen the guilt but guilt was a best friend of mine—heartache wasn’t. After Andrew, I was done with love. A thousand-pound elephant sat on my chest, crushing my internal organs. Swiping the ring into my pocket, I picked up the suitcase. With one last look around, I put one foot one in front of the other until the cold wintery Detroit morning slapped me across the face. The sheets ice of pouring from the sky disguised my tears. To everybody else, I looked like a girl about to go on a journey. They didn’t see the damage inside.
“Haven!”
Andrew’s smoky voice wrapped around my throat, squeezing the last remnants of my sanity free. I whirled around, guns blazing. He slid to a stop half a block away. His shoeless feet and pajamas pants spoke to the fact he’d run out of the apartment in a hurry. For a half second, I was concerned he would catch hypothermia until it dawned on me his well being wasn’t my responsibility anymore. It was Camilla’s, his wife’s responsibility. My knees grew weak.
“You heard?” Andrew asked but it wasn’t a question. “Haven…” my name dropped from his tongue as a desperate plea. “I fucked up, please….”
I laughed bitterly. “You really think that’s all you have to do? Mutter a few apologies and the trust you destroyed will be regained. You’re MARRIED?!”
The people walking past gave us a wide berth. I was just another stupid girl who’d given her heart away to the wrong man.
Andrew shuffled a few steps forward, his palms pressed together. “Camilla and I aren’t married. We stop being married as soon as she stepped onto that plane.”
“Did you sign legal documents stating that fact?”
“No, but….”
I cut him off. “Then you are married.”
“I wanted to make our divorce legal but after what happened….” His voice grew thick and he cleared this throat. “It didn’t seem right to bring more heartache upon her—upon us.”
“What happened, Andrew? What’s the real story?” He crossed his arms over chest, shivering. The sleet had morphed into below zero snowfall. Sympathy broke through the anger. “Go upstairs and grab a jacket. I’ll wait here.”
“Come with me,” he said.
My eyes flicked upwards where Andrew’s wall-to-wall windows offered a view into his living room. Camilla sat on the couch, sipping a cup of tea. Her legs tucked underneath her, she looked relaxed and at home. Technically it was, making me the guest. A knife slid into my chest. My legs stumbled backwards and I glanced down, surprised there wasn’t a gaping hole.
Andrew reached forward as if to steady me. “Haven. Are you ok?”
The longer I stood here, staring at the only man who I’d ever trusted, the only man I’d ever loved, the deeper the pain cut. Whatever happened between Andrew and Camilla didn’t change anything. Andrew had built our relationship on a foundation of lies—there was no recovering from that.
“Go home.” Spinning around on my heels, I headed in the opposite direction. “Your wife is waiting for you.”
“That’s it?!” Andrew called after me. “You are just going to leave? From the beginning of this relationship you’ve had one foot out the door.”
I should have been the bigger man and kept walking but he had no right to place the blame on me. I was upfront with my faults from the beginning.
“And you were any different?!” I shot back, eyes blazing. “This entire time you kept a piece of yourself locked away. I thought maybe I was imagining things. That your words were proof enough that you cared for me, maybe even loved me.”
“I do love you!” Andrew declared. He ran forward and sunk to his knees. Folding my hands in his, he looked up at me with desperation. “I love you so much, Haven, that it scares the crap out of me. Camilla doesn’t own my heart, you do.”
Every ounce of my soul wanted to believe him and rewind this past hour. That’s not how it worked though.
His touch created a barrier from the mind numbing cold. Except that cold was the only thing tethering me to the sidewalk. Otherwise, I would have floated away in sea of heartbreak. Breaking our interlocked palms, Andrew’s lips thinned.
I breathed deeply, finding the words I didn’t want to utter. “You have been dealt a tremendous blow this year, Andrew—losing your wife and child. If anybody understands grief, it’s me but that doesn’t excuse the fact that you were dishonest. You made a fool out of me. Your whole family, Matthew, and your stupid frat brother knew you were married.
Andrew spoke. “My family understood the situation. They knew why I hadn’t divorced yet.”
“That doesn’t matter! It’s humiliating. You had a million chances to tell me, like last night for example. I’m guessing when Matthew came by it was to warn you that Camilla had returned.” Andrew’s gaze fell to the snow dusted ground, which said everything and explained nothing. A hollow laugh rose from my throat. “You know what’s the worst part? If you were upfront and honest, I would have broken every single rule I believed in because my love for you was blinding. Now that I can see again, it has become obvious to me we were just two broken people trying to find comfort in each other’s arms.”
Soaking in one last look at Andrew, I committed to memory the single freckle on the left side of his nose and the way his eyes changed color on a dime. Although I didn’t need to. His handsome face would be haunting my dreams from here on out.
I choked on a mouthful of tears. “Goodbye.”
Andrew slumped forward, raw devastation heavy on his shoulders. I lifted my chin and picked up my suitcase. Not looking back was the hardest thing I ever had to do. Halfway around the block, I ducked into an alleyway and slid down the brick wall. Sobs racked my body as my happy ending came to a resounding close.
Dear Andrew,
My whole body aches as if I’m coming down with the flu. According to Monica and Mallory though, it is simply a standard case of broken heart. You see I wouldn’t know that because this whole experience is new to me. No man has shattered my defenses like you did.
For twenty-three years, I never understood why my friends would come to me crying, saying they were going to die because their boyfriends left them. I chalked it up to overactive hormones but now that I’m in their shoes, it has become clear. You really do feel like you’re going to die or at least you feel like the world has been leeched of color. God, I sound overdramatic, don’t I? It’s your fault for turning me into this person. It’s your fault for a lot of things. I’m so mad at you, Andrew, my hands are curled into tight balls when the sun rises. I’m also sad because you aren’t sleeping next to me. Who knew the five stages of grief applied to an array of tragedies?
Excuse the randomness of this letter. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since my 1986 Honda cruised off the used car lot back in Detroit. Since there isn’t a stereo and only a tape deck, the nice sales guy loaned me a couple of tapes. Tina Turner kept my company along the confusing number of freeways I had to navigate. One song in particular, ‘I Don’t Wanna Lose You,’ was played on repeat. My mother would have a heart attack if she heard that. She raised me listening to Aretha Franklin and thought Tina Turner was too whiny.
I’m currently in St. Louis at a run down motel called the Seashore Inn, which is weird because it’s nowhere near water. Although, my room does have a beach theme. The walls are colored this awful foam green and the woven sea grass headboard smells like a moldy sponge. You would laugh at the singing fish above the TV, but let’s be honest. If I were with you, we wouldn’t be staying here. It was obvious when we were (the past tense still doesn’t sound right to me) together you liked your luxuries. Fancy car, big loft apartment, and an art studi
o with million dollar views, yet your personality didn’t match up. You are an enigma, Andrew.
Remember that time we were lying in bed, legs entwined and you told me that the moment I walked up to your table at the strip club it was fate intervening? That I was the girl you were destined to be with. Did you really believe that? Because sometimes I would catch your eye across a crowded room and think the same thing. Man, did I love you, still do.
Love. It’s an emotion that has the power to destroy you or lift you up. Right now, it’s ripping me to shreds, but you already knew that. As I sat down to write this letter, your name lit up my call screen. You have rung a half dozen times since yesterday morning. I haven’t picked up any of them. I can’t—not when you are my drug, my salvation. When it comes to you Andrew, I’m weak.
Monica encouraged me to change my number but then my only connection to you would be cut off and then this nightmare would become real. I guess that is why I’m writing this ridiculously long note. It’s my way of staying close to you. After all, you were the one who said you preferred old fashion letter writing. Although, I know I’ll never send it. I don’t want to run the risk of Camilla reading my word vomit.
Camilla. Her name makes me want to a punch a wall. At night, thoughts of you together keep me up till dawn. If I could wish on a thousand stars that our paths had crossed earlier, I would because then maybe you would have married me instead of her. Playing the ‘what if’ game won’t do anything, I know that, but a girl can dream.
It has been thirty-six hours, nine minutes, and twenty-five seconds since I left you kneeling in the snow.
Love, sincerely, best wishes
Goodnight,
Haven
Dear Andrew,
I almost fucked a random stranger in the restroom of a dive bar off highway 44 near Santa Fe, New Mexico. The old me would have and not batted an eye. The itch was so strong that my skin crawled. Everybody has their own vices. For some it’s chocolate, for others it’s alcohol, for me its sex—or it was sex. My last one-night-stand was December 9th, 2012. It wasn’t anything partially exciting nor something I want to revisit. From that day forward, I’ve stuck to cheesy romantic comedies and pasta. Last night though, carbs couldn’t erase the numbness that has sunk into my bones, only carnal pleasure could.
Jagged Love Page 18
