Bent not Broken (69 page)

Cards.

A lump formed in my throat when I realized what they were. I picked up the first that wished “Get Well Soon,” and the tears began again, this time not from my heartbreak and anger, but from the love I felt. Opening it, I saw it was from Stacy. The next was a sympathy card from all the teachers at Springs High. Through misty eyes, I read through all of them, each one reminding me of all the people who cared about me—loved me—and I knew I wasn’t alone.

I gasped as I pulled the last item from the box, dropping it as I clapped my hands over my mouth to stifle a cry. My hands trembled as I reached for the picture that had fallen upside down onto the floor.

I couldn’t breathe.

Eva.

I’d never seen her, my baby girl, but there she was, tucked in her daddy’s arms. She was the smallest thing I’d ever seen. Even though Daniel had told me, I never could have imagined how tiny she really was. I knew she was broken, but I saw none of that. All I saw was how perfect she was. My heart rejoiced to have this piece of her, this moment in her short life captured forever.

And Daniel. I couldn’t see his face—he was looking down at her. But I could feel it, how he tenderly held her, loved her, took care of her while he could. I could also sense his pain, how his heart had broke as he held her in his arms, and I realized how badly he needed me.

I couldn’t wait any longer.

Chapter Fifteen

July 2000

I paid little attention to what I packed as I stuffed clothes into my small suitcase. Where was it—that simple red dress Daniel always loved? I would go to him in that. Pulling it from the closet, I quickly changed into it and slipped on my black flats.

My hands trembled with excitement. Rushing out, I dragged the suitcase behind me. I made it down the stairs faster than I ever had before, going straight for the phone in the family room and calling a cab.

“Melanie?” I tensed when I heard Mom behind me, her voice strained. “What’s going on?”

Slowly, I turned to her, bracing myself for what was sure to be a fight. “I’m leaving.”

“What?”

“I’m going back to Colorado. I can’t stay here any longer. I have to go back to Daniel.” I pushed past her, looking out the window for the cab, even though I knew it wouldn’t be here for another ten minutes.

“You can’t...you...you still have to finish therapy,” she stammered, searching for a reason to make me stay.

“I’ll do it there.” I turned back to the window, peering out at the heat radiating from the asphalt.

“Melanie, please don’t do this. You need to stay here a little longer. Please, for me. I’m begging you.” She clutched my arm. She seemed so—desperate and scared?

“I’m eighteen now, and I’ll do what I want.” I shrugged her off, unwilling to allow her to sway my decision. Right then, I couldn’t care less what she thought. It was obvious how badly she hated Daniel, and I refused to listen to anything she said. The cab pulled up and I made for the door, dodging her as she tried to block my path.

“Melanie, you don’t understand. Please, we need to talk. Just wait!”

Anything she had to say should have been said months ago if it was so important.

Throwing my suitcase into the backseat, I jumped in. “Airport.”

The driver hesitated, unsure of what to do with the woman yanking at the door and pleading with me to get out.

“Just go!” I yelled at him. He looked back at me before shrugging and driving away.

As he sped down the freeway, I couldn’t sit still as I fidgeted in my seat. I really was going.

“I’m coming,” I whispered to Daniel, promising him I would be there soon.

****

The first leg of my flight to Denver boarded, and soon we were taxiing down the runway. When we landed, I had to rush to my meet my connecting flight to Boulder. When the plane landed, I was still soaring. I nearly pushed through the aisle as everyone stood to exit.

I couldn’t remember one time in my life when I’d felt this excited—this happy. I couldn’t wait to see Daniel’s face when I surprised him.

I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address.

The closer we got, the faster I tapped my key on my thigh, the faster my foot bounced.

It was nearing dusk when I stepped from the cab. I breathed in.

Home.

My heart swelled with the few precious memories I had of this place.

I stalled when I noticed the little white, beat-up car parked out front on the street. I hoped he didn’t have company; I wanted this homecoming to be just between the two of us. Dragging my suitcase behind me, I climbed the two steps to the porch. I slipped my key into the lock and swung the door open.

I was prepared to run into his arms, but the room was empty—and filthy. Daniel had always been meticulously clean, but the house was trashed. A feeling of unease swept through me as I stepped inside. I tried to focus on the pull, relying on it to lead me to him. Everything was silent except for the distant sound of the shower running and pots rattling in the kitchen. The smell of canned spaghetti sauce stung my nose.

My attention was drawn down the hall—Daniel’s soul called out for mine. I started for him. I didn’t know why, but I hesitated, my curiosity winning out, and walked toward the kitchen. My kitchen.

At the archway, I froze when I saw the blonde girl in a tight red tank top and a very, very short skirt. Her back was to me as she stood in front of the stove. It took a second before I recognized her.

“Stephanie?” I whispered. Something tightened my stomach, the high from just moments ago knocked out of me. What the hell was she doing in my kitchen?

She whipped around, startled, her hand grasping her chest as she caught her breath.

“Shit! You scared me!” Her face went from stunned to irritated to determined in a second flat. “What are you doing here, Melanie?” She had her hands on her hips as she glared at me.

Was she—mad?

“Daniel.” It was the only word I could form—it was the only one that mattered.

She turned and stirred the pot.

“Did you really think he’d just be sitting here waiting for you, Melanie? After all this time?”

My head spun.

She turned back toward me, her voice patronizing, soft and sarcastic, as she tilted her head to sneer at me. “He really was heartbroken. You should be thanking me I was here to pick up the pieces you left behind. But it didn’t take long for him to realize what he really needed.”

From somewhere deep within, from a place where souls connect, a voice screamed that her words were impossible. He needed me as much as I needed him.

Not her.

I watched her standing there in my spot and I knew she could never replace me. She didn’t fit him the way I did. I was made for him. My head shook of its own accord. “I don’t believe you.”

She let out a small, condescending laugh, and my body recoiled. “Then why do you think I’m here, Melanie, in your kitchen, making dinner for your boyfriend?”

Had she been staying here? Visions of the two of them in our bed flashed through my mind before I could stop them. They nearly brought me to my knees. I braced myself on the counter.

She laughed is if I were stupid and naive. “What do you think, Melanie.” Maybe I was.

I choked back the sob that crawled its way up my throat, my fingers trembling where I pressed them against my lips. Slowly, I backed away, my attention darting around the room, landing anywhere but on Stephanie.

Would Daniel really do this to me? I could still feel him, and I didn’t believe I would still feel the pull on my heart if he had given up on that love. He had to love me. But what if it wasn’t enough. What if he wanted more? I had to get away from Stephanie and…just clear my head.

Think.

I fumbled out onto the porch, curling in on myself, clutching my stomach as I fought the dread the welled up inside me.

Shaking my head against it, I murmured, “He loves me,” just as I was hit a rush of energy, his presence wrapping its arms around my body. “He loves me.”

Slowly, I turned. He stood in view of the window, his sandy blond hair dark from his shower. A midnight blue T-shirt clung to his toned body, his jeans hung low on his waist.

“Daniel,” fell from my mouth as a whispered plea, my knees weak with relief. I reached for the door, but stopped short when I caught sight of his face as he turned toward the kitchen.

It was beautiful and perfect, and it broke my heart because he was grinning as he gazed into the kitchen. My stomach turned when just her hand came into view, extended to him.

He was happy—with her.

I had to look away, to protect myself from the image that would surely sear itself into my mind forever. Still, I couldn’t seem to move, my feet glued to the peeling wood beneath me.

How could I just walk away from him forever?

The notion made me physically ill. I almost didn’t make it to the railing before I vomited over it. My fingers curled around the handrail as I willed myself away from this place. I squeezed my eyes and tried to ignore his pull and deny my need for him as I forced myself down the steps.

All I’d ever wanted was for him to be happy. Of course, I wanted to be the one to make him that way, but I had to accept that I couldn’t anymore. He needed more. He deserved more.

Leaving him was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but I had to because I loved him. I’d give up everything to make him happy.

My heart died as I walked away. My blood felt stagnant, soured, poisoned, no longer filled with life. I was numb. The only feeling left was the distant tug calling me back to him.

Blindly, I walked the streets, having no idea where I was going. I found myself in a shopping center and called a cab to take me to the airport. I bought a ticket for the first available flight—L.A.—stared straight ahead as it took me away from my home, from my love, from my life. Only now, my life was over.

We landed in L.A., and I eventually found myself in the airport lounge, sitting alone at the bar and sipping on a soda that burned as it traveled down my dry throat. It was the only thing open, and nobody seemed to care that I shouldn’t be there. I was so tired. All I wanted was to find a place where I could fall asleep and never wake up.

I ignored the movement beside me as a stool slid back, its legs creaking against the floor. I continued to stare into my drink. Words were exchanged, but I was unable to care enough to listen. A shoulder nudged me, partially pulling me from my daze.

“Having a bad night?”

I looked up to see a man grinning from the seat beside me. He was older than I was by probably twenty years. His black hair was meticulously combed against his head, his cold, almost black eyes curious as they took in my expression. Grimacing, I gave him no response, just turned away.

“You’re awfully pretty to be sitting here all alone.”

I cringed. I knew I was—pretty. Daniel used to tell me all the time. It was sweet and had made me feel good. But something about the way this guy said it made me feel dirty.

“What are you drinking there?”

Couldn’t he see I didn’t want to talk to anyone?

“Um, a soda.”

He chuckled beside me before calling to the bartender, “Can you bring us another of these?” The ice clinked in his glass when he lifted it in the air. The woman set a short glass down in front me, the dark liquid somehow suddenly appealing. I’d never drank liquor before, but I figured this was a really good time to start. I brought the glass to my lips and tipped it into my mouth, taking in more than anticipated. I choked against the terrible taste, my gag reflex kicking in as I tried to swallow. I finally forced it down, chasing it with some of my soda.

Again, the chuckle beside me. He was amused.

I refused to acknowledge him as I brought the glass to my lips again, this time carefully, and I sipped a small amount. It tasted awful, but I found comfort in the warm trail it left in my throat. I knew it was wrong to drink to feel better. I just couldn’t make myself care. I finished the first glass before he handed me another.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispered near my ear.

My skin prickled against his breath on my face, warning me, telling me something wasn’t right, but the mixture of alcohol and despair clouded my judgment.

I glanced at him. His left elbow was propped on the bar, his head resting in his hand, his face hard and curious.

“So where are you headed?” He squinted as he waited for my answer, bringing his glass to his lips once again.

I shrugged. I had nowhere to go.

Laughing under his breath, he tilted my chin and looked over my face. I got the impression he was inspecting me.

I knew I should shrug him off, probably even run, but I just sat there, unable to make myself care.

“You have nowhere to go?” he asked, his tone harsh, doubtful. I shook my head. He snorted through his nose, his chest shaking, no sound coming from his mouth.

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen.” It was only a whisper.

His eyes narrowed, and he looked me over again. He stood and put out his hand. “Come.” It wasn’t a request. It was a demand. Somehow I knew it was a test to see if I would obey. I felt nauseous when I touched him, my body repulsed by his. Yet, I followed him out of the airport and into a cab, knowing I was giving away the only part of me I had left. But the alcohol in my system argued I had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. It insisted I couldn’t run back to my mother; she would only laugh in my face and tell me she’d been right all along.