Fall From Grace (15 page)

Running back into her room, she emerged not even two minutes later with a pile of clothes for me.  I immediately dressed in the hallway, not wanting to do so in front of him.  If he looked at me with those hungry eyes again, I didn’t trust this body to say no to him.  Hormones suck.

Shane was still slumped over on my bed, but he at least looked up when I came back in.

“Did you wake up Conner?  Oh, God.  Grace, did you call the cops?”

I giggled at his absurdity.  “Shane, you are a real ass sometimes.”  I kneeled down in front of him and lifted his wet shirt over his head.  It stuck to him and he comically had trouble helping me get it off him.  “I have dry socks, boxers and pants for you too, but you need to dress yourself.”

Leaving him to get dressed, I went to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of bottles of water, then to the closet for an extra pillow and blanket for the couch.

He walked into the living room as I was making up the couch for him to sleep on.  His face was drawn and broken.

“What?” I asked him exasperated.  “There’s no way you should be going home this intoxicated in the snow with no jacket on.”

He ran a hand through his gorgeously tousled hair, “I really screwed things up with our friendship, didn’t I?  You’re standing here looking at me the way you look at Tucker.”

I stopped what I was doing to look at him.  Strangely enough, I had not felt the same after Shane touched me.  With Shane I wanted more, I had to talk myself out of saying yes.  With Tucker, I knew I never wanted him to touch me again. With Shane, the only real reason I held back were those ancient blue eyes that I clung to looking for.  That and the fact that Shane was a man-whore. I laughed at myself for the thought.

“Why are you laughing at me?” he asked.

“Shane, you can’t ruin a friendship if you were only pretending to be my friend to get into my pants.”

His face darkened.  He stormed toward me and grabbed my wrist.  His touch didn’t match his facial expression. It was soft and pleading.  He led me back to my bedroom.  When we reached my door, he stopped and brought my wrist up to his lips and softly kissed it.  Chills ran down my spine, his breath hot on my skin.  He lifted his lips from my skin and I swear I felt pain from the separation.  His hand still holding mine, he caressed the soft sensitive skin of my wrist, looking down at it.  My breath caught.

“You have a tattoo?”

I said nothing.  But, I watched as his features changed again; this time to drunk confusion.  He’d be too drunk to notice anything but my tat.  I hope.

His thumb lightly swept over my wrist and stopped.  His eyes looked in mine, flickering in and out of focus.  “It’s covering up a scar?”  He grabbed my other wrist fumbling for it, and I didn’t fight him.  Maybe if he saw what I had done, he’d think I was psychotic and he’d leave me alone.

“Why would you do that?” His voice was no louder than a whisper.

Taking my wrists back, I held them to my chest.  “You know, Shane, the people that walk around you every day?  Each of them has a life separate then you.  Pasts, pains, loves and losses.  You don’t know me.  I am a hell of a lot more than a fifteen-minute screw, and sadly, most of your other friends are too. You just don’t ever see that from between their legs.”

He softly traced the edge of my jaw with his index finger.  “Goodnight, Grace,” he said as he wobbled back to the living room.

I closed my door quietly and made sure I locked it.

Chapter 9

Shane was still sprawled out over the couch when I woke up the next morning at 10 o’clock.  It was still so early that it would be really mean of me to kick him out, but late enough that I was stuck alone with him since Conner and Lea were at work.

I peeked out the front door to see how much snow fell.  The sidewalk was already shoveled, the streets were plowed and a light feathery snow was gently falling.  I grabbed the mail and decided instead of running that I’d just make coffee and curl up and play my guitar.  Then I would tackle my laundry.

I threw the mail on the kitchen table, barely noticing the one piece of mail addressed to me.  Maybe, the size of the envelope was what made me look twice at it. It wasn’t normal size; a bit larger and thicker than the rest.  It might have been the color, a creamy peach that struck a chord with me.  Whichever, I picked it up and walked into my room.  I stuck my head in to check on Shane; he was still out cold.

Sitting down on my bed, I glanced quickly at the return address on the letter.  It was from the hospice.  I ripped open the envelope and unfolded a handwritten letter.  Another smaller envelop slid out and fell to the floor.  Bending down, I picked up the fallen envelope and read the name on the front; Gracie.  It was in Jacob’s handwriting.

My knees buckled and I sat heavily on the floor, leaning against my bed.  I read the unfolded letter first. I think that’s what I was meant for me to do, since the other letter was still sealed.  It was from one of Jake’s doctors, Doctor Slaterman, whom Jacob seemed to grow very fond of while staying at the hospice.

Dear Grace,

I never got to give my condolences to you before you left.  First and foremost, I wanted to write that we held a small memorial for your brother, recalling how full of love and life he was, and how amazing he was with all the other patients.  What started out as a small gathering in the common room turned into a significant event.  I know that Jacob did not want a funeral or wake for his passing, but I felt we needed to celebrate Jacob, the patient we had for the longest period, who fought the hardest against his disease.

Before Jacob passed, he spoke privately with me, asking me to give you the letter from him that I have enclosed.

I hope all is well with you, Grace.  The patients and staff here miss your nightly musical tributes for your brother. Our halls have never been more silent.

Best Regards,

Martin Slaterman, MD.

Cradling Jacob’s letter in my arms I promised myself that I would record a few pieces of music on a CD for the patients there.  Looking down again at Jake’s handwriting, I traced the letters with my fingers.

As I opened it, tears spilled from my eyes.  How death takes everyone away, leaving me here, knowing where everyone goes, and knowing I would never be welcomed there; this is hell.

Gracie,

So, I guess I’m a goner.  I wish I could have stayed with you longer, but I couldn’t fight anymore, and for that, I am sorry.

I want you to know that because of you, I was not scared.  I knew that there was a heaven and that I will make it my mission to get you there one day too.

After your accident, when we lost Mom and Dad and I almost lost you, I really thought you were crazy. I thought that you had major brain damage from the accident, but your doctors assured me that your head was the only thing that was not injured.  It took me months, maybe years to see finally that my little sister did really die with my parents in that accident and your soul stayed.  But Gracie, I’m happy that you were here and I was honored with the chance to have you in my life, because without you, I would have died with my diagnoses.  You showed me what faith and what love was and if I can do anything where I am now to help you end your punishment, I will.

I love you, Gracie.  I promise you that I will see you again one day.

Jake

I folded the note back up so no one could see it.  I didn’t know if anyone who read it would understand what Jake had implied, but I couldn’t chance it.  Lea was the only other person who knew my secret. They were the only two people I had ever told about my past.  The reason was simple; this was the hardest life I had fallen into.

Usually, I fell into someone older who lingered on for a short amount of time. When they passed on, I would end up a lost soul in another shell.  I’d lost so many people, and I’d suffered so many sicknesses and diseases, it was beyond count.   I once woke up in a woman who had been attacked by a rapist. She was lucky enough to die in the beginning of his torture.  Me?  My soul showed up for the whole show. I begged him to kill me when he was done with her body and he did; slowly.

Each time that I could take no more of a person’s life, I would take too many pills, or forget to take certain medicine, or like in this life, slice my wrists open when I was sixteen.  I don’t condone suicide, but really is it?  These beautiful souls have gone and I’m just shoved into their rotting bodies.  My own personal hell, a lost soul on earth for eternity.

Jacob once asked me if I was a ghost.  I told him that I didn’t know.  I’m more of just a lost spirit, wandering around looking for the other half of me.

This was the only life that I had lived through ending it. Gabriel once said that maybe it was because he was here with me somewhere.  Gabriel.  I think I’m his personal play thing, I think this is his sick experiment on how much an angel’s heart can take before it turns its wings on the love of a human.

Two hours later, Shane’s soft touch on my shoulder woke me.  I had fallen asleep clutching Jacob’s words.  My face was still damp from tears and it hurt to blink them.

“Grace?  What’s wrong, are you sick?”

I sat up, the papers crinkling noisily around me.  “I’m fine.  How are you?” I asked curtly.

His muscular arm reached up, running his hand through his hair, a lost confused expression on his face.  “What the hell did I do last night?”

Laughter busted out of my mouth.  “That’s great, Shane.  No, really.  That’s perfect.  Why don’t you go home now, okay?  Goodbye,” I snapped.  Jerk.  I still felt the heat of his touch on me!

He stood there deep in thought, seemingly trying to remember any information from the night before.  “Grace, I know we didn’t, did we?”

I grabbed up all the loose papers around me, got up, shoved them into a drawer, and stormed out of my room.  I slammed the door in his face, but he just swung it right back open.

I bolted into the kitchen and he was right behind me.  I honestly thought about getting a sharp knife out of one of the drawers to scare him.  He grabbed me by one arm and swung me around.  My heart pounded hard and I could feel my pulse in my wrists.

“What did I do?  Why have you been crying?”  He asked with a soft sad expression.  His face leaned in so close to me that I felt his breath on my skin.

“You didn’t do anything, Shane.  You called me last night.  You thought I was with Ethan.  I hung up on you and you climbed up the fire escape in the snow, with no coat on and banged on my window until I let you in.  Now please, just leave.”

“No.”  He shook his head vehemently.  “No.  I’m not leaving until I know I’m not the reason you’re crying.”  He stopped talking and looked me intensely in the eyes.  “You were wearing a sheet?  You…you got me dry clothes,” he said, remembering.

“No big deal, see?”

“No big deal?  I leaned you up against a wall; I can still taste your skin on my mouth.  I can still feel your body against mine.”

For the life of me, I couldn’t think of anything to say.  What he just said was so intoxicating that I didn’t want to say anything to make him do it again, or make him not want to.

Gently, he took my wrists in both his hands skimming his thumbs against my scars once more.  My heart sped up from his touch.  I turned my head away from him; waiting for the insensitive questions people always asked when they noticed my scars.  Did you just do it for attention?  Did you have a plan?  Was there a backup plan?  Will you try it again since you failed the first time?  Instead, his soft gentle voice asked, “Why were you crying this morning?”

Dragging my hands away from his touch, I let them fall limply to my sides.  “I received a letter in the mail today from the hospice where Jacob passed away.  Inside was a letter that he had written for me before he died. It was just hard to read it.”

Taking my hands tenderly in his, his breath caught.  “Grace...”

The way he said my name made me ache. It shattered my already broken heart to dust.  The tears came, streaming like rain down my cheeks.  Shane pulled me into his arms and I fell into him.  He gently stroked my hair as I let my sadness overtake me.

He held me until my tears stopped.  I looked up at him, and smiled weakly, “I’m sorry, Shane.”

I tried to move away from him, but he gently held me tighter.  He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against mine.  It felt like last night all over.  Only this time, he wasn’t drunk.

He raised his head, just enough to look into my eyes, and breathed in softly.  His blue eyes were captivating.  He held himself there, almost touching my lips; just a soft breath between them.  I watched the inner struggle in his eyes as they looked down longingly to my lips.  Then, meeting my gaze again, he closed his eyes and trembled.  He inhaled deeply and stepped back; my disobedient body followed.  I had to ball my fists and force myself to stand my ground.  There was no way someone could have this effect over my body; it was insane; it was mortifying.

The shrill ringing of the doorbell made us both jump.  I gave him a small tight smile, thinking of the horrible mistake I could have just thrown myself into. I backed away.

“Please don’t be sorry, Grace,” his words were soft and gentle.  “I am your friend and I’m here if you need to talk about anything or need a shoulder to cry on.”

The doorbell continued ringing like a screaming child wanting attention in the background.