Past Imperfect (26 page)

Mabry huffs out an annoyed laugh. “So it was a pity fuck?”

“I don’t know what it was. I was a completely different person then. I did shitty things all the time to people. Becca was no different.”

“Do you have other ex-lovers that have killed themselves?” she bit out, sarcastic anger flowing through her words.

Defensiveness shoots through me. I jump up from the sofa, walking halfway across the room before turning toward her. I stand there, hands resting on my hips while I look down at the floor for a few seconds. I don’t want to sound angry and have this escalate into an argument. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Mabry. I fucked women until I got tired and bored with them. I didn’t stick around long enough to get to know them or give a shit about them. I had no idea Becca would do something like that. I wish I had. Maybe she’d still be alive.”

Her eyes soften the longer we stare at each other. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. We’ve both done things in the past we aren’t proud of. It’s just that she was my friend. When was the last time you saw her?”

I swallow hard before answering. “I saw her earlier that night.”

“The night she killed herself?”

“Yes,” I whisper. I watch as the tears build up in Mabry’s eyes. I know what she wants to ask me, but can’t bring herself to. “Mabry, I didn’t have anything to do with Becca’s death.” I can hear the pleading in my voice.

“I know,” she whispers.

Walking to me, she wraps her arms around my waist and hugs me to her. My arms immediately encircle her body as I bury my face in the crook of her neck. A deep sigh escapes from me and a wave of relief takes over.

“You’re not going to leave me?” I sound so pathetic.

She pulls away from me and rests our foreheads together. “No, I’m here, baby. I love you.”

Mabry is the first person to ever be in my corner without having ulterior motives. My parents have always been more interested in protecting their name and reputation, I rarely show up on Peyton’s radar, and as for “friends”
,
it’s always depended on what was in it for them. I hear a rush of breath escape as I tighten my arms around her. I’m completely at ease at this moment, knowing the most important person in my life is by my side.

Pregnant. I thought Brad was about to tell me he just found out he had gotten a girl pregnant back during law school. I never thought the name Becca Hyams would come spilling out of his mouth. We’re lying in bed, me on my back, leaning against the headboard with Brad’s arms curling securely around me as his head nuzzles deep into my chest. He’s asleep while I gently run my fingers through his hair. We’ve been in this position for the past forty-five minutes. Our night of hot sex was put on hold for obvious reasons. Brad needs comfort and reassurance that I’m not going to leave him. I’ll never forget the look of fear in his eyes when he told me the news. I’ve seen a lot of looks in those gorgeous sapphire eyes—confidence, cockiness, flirtatiousness, determination, hurt, and pain—but never fear.

He told me the details about his relationship with Becca. Well, most of them. I didn’t need a blow-by-blow description about the two of them having sex. I’m having a hard enough time trying to keep my own imagination from running away with thoughts of his hands and lips all over her and vice versa. Exhaustion set in and we both decided to call it a night. He stripped down to his boxers, I slipped out of my yoga pants, and we climbed into bed.

Becca Hyams had become a distant memory for me over the past couple of years. As the memories have faded, so have the triggering effects of her death. God, Duke is such a big school. It’s hard to believe that out of all the female students, Brad picks the one who was completely unstable, and my friend.

I’m trying hard to focus on external things like the pressure of his body as it presses into mine with each breath he takes in or how soft his hair feels on my fingertips, but it’s a struggle. My mind is all over the place. It flits back and forth between the past and the present. I look down at him, only able to see one side of his face, just like the day of Becca’s memorial service. I remember the pull I felt toward him, wanting to comfort him just like I’m doing now. Neutral expressions covered almost everyone’s face that day, except for Mr. and Mrs. Hyams, Stephanie, and Brad. Even though I didn’t know who he was that day, I remember sensing the sorrow and regret that radiated off of him. His words tonight didn’t match my memory of him. Basically, Becca had been just another girl, like all the other girls. Nothing serious. No emotional attachment. Nothing. But how was I, a complete stranger at that time, able to feel the strong sadness that he had? He wasn’t at the service just as a courtesy. He needed to be there. I didn’t ask him details about the last time he saw Becca. I’m not sure why. Maybe, I’m scared of the answer.

Becca left a note.

The Hyams I knew were not vindictive or opportunistic people. They wouldn’t do something like this without good reason. There’s obviously something in the note that has prompted them strongly enough that they blame Brad. My thoughts keep coming up with possible scenarios. Becca either read more into their relationship or Brad is downplaying it. What exactly had he said to her that night when he broke things off with her? Was she in a fragile state and he just walked out on her? By his own admission, he was a heartless prick back then. My mind drifts further back. I wonder if my mom acted differently the day she took her life. Was she more depressed or more agitated? Did my dad have a feeling that morning as he went to work that my mom wouldn’t be alive when he got home? She had been sick for so long.

I feel the slight pressure on the back of my head and realize I absentmindedly have been lightly tapping my head against the headboard. A prickling sensation takes over my skin as heat spreads over me. Suddenly, my chest is heavy and having Brad glued to it is suffocating me. I need to move. I need air.

I try to pry his arms from around me, not wanting to wake him. I manage to set one arm free and then wiggle out from under him. Brad stirs a little and I feel his arms tighten once more around me.

“Brad.” I push on his shoulders, needing him to roll off of me. He doesn’t respond. “Brad,” I say a little louder. He’s still holding on. “Brad!” I shout at the same time I shove him off of me.

“What? Is anything wrong?” he says, groggily.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I sit there, my chin to my chest, trying to breathe. I flinch when I feel a hand touch my shoulder.

“Mabry, are you okay?” Brad asks, concern lacing his tone.

I raise my hand indicating I need a minute. “I’m fine. I must have been having a nightmare.” I lie.

“I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” The word bursts from my mouth.

I bolt up off of the bed when I feel his arms wrap around me again. I head toward the bathroom. “I just need a glass of water and a second,” I say over my shoulder just before closing the bathroom door.

Leaning against the door, I inhale a couple of deep breaths. Heat pricks at my skin like a thousand tiny needles being pushed into me all at once. I want to bang my head so badly. The urge has never completely left me, but the intensity of it has lessened to the point that I’ve been able to control it. I feel my throat closing and I gasp for air. I haven’t hurt myself since Brad and I became an official couple. My legs are restless and twitch as my arms tingle. I try to steady my now ragged breathing, but my chest is so tight I can’t take in enough oxygen. I look at my reflection in the mirror, trying to will myself to go back to bed. But, as I hide in my bathroom, my body instinctively goes into self-harm mode. I feel my heels push against the tile floor and my nails dig into my palms. I close my eyes, taking in another deep breath, and hold it. Forcefully, I push off from the door and head to the sink. I grab a washcloth and drench it in cold water. Covering my face with the cloth, I keep reminding myself that Brad is only a few feet away and could hear me if I give in to the urge. I push the wet cold into my face harder, hoping it will take the edge off, as I fight the pull of my addiction.

Before my eyes even open, I turn on my side and reach for her. All I feel is a cold pillow and empty sheets. By the time she came back to bed last night, I had fallen asleep and didn’t feel any movement when she climbed in next to me. Since we’ve been an official couple, I’ve started each day with her scent of vanilla and her warm soft body pressed against mine. I hate waking up without her next to me. I let one second tick by before I jump out of bed and go searching for her.

I find Mabry in the kitchen standing at the counter with her back to me. She’s already dressed for work in a pair of black pants that wrap around her hot little ass perfectly and a matching black jacket that stops just above the aforementioned hot little ass. I feel the front of my boxers move. Mabry’s ass is calling me, demanding me, really, to fondle it. I glance quickly at the clock on the stove to see if I have enough time to answer the call. Who am I kidding, there’s always time for a morning grope. I walk up behind her and press my chest to her back. Her hair is done up into a ponytail giving me clear access to that nape, so I place a soft kiss on it. Planting my face in her neck, I inhale as my hands run up and down her ass, squeezing gently along the way.

“Mornin’, Sweetness,” I say, my lips grazing her skin.

Her body jerks when my hands land on her. She pulls the mug of coffee she’s drinking away from her mouth. “Brad…,” she says, sounding a little annoyed. “You shouldn’t sneak up on someone like that. I’m holding something hot.”

“So am I.” I smile against her neck and squeeze her ass a little harder.

She shrugs her shoulders and steps away from me, walking to the counter opposite from where I stand. Facing me, she leans back, and just before taking another sip of her coffee, says, “We don’t have time for nonsense this morning. We’ll be late.”

I pop a K-cup in the Keurig and flip it on. Mimicking Mabry’s stance, I lean against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest, and say, “You. Me. Naked. Hands, lips, and various other body parts sliding all over each other. That makes a whole lotta sense to me.”

She tries to force the corners of her mouth to remain neutral, but they manage to quirk up just a little.

We stand in silence finishing our coffee. Quiet mornings aren’t unusual for the two of us. Mabry’s not a morning person, at least as far as talking goes. She does enjoy certain activities when she first wakes up that help get her blood flowing. Usually. Something feels off to me as we drink our coffee. I notice she doesn’t look at me for very long before her eyes dart to somewhere else in the room.

“Everything okay, Sweetness?” I ask.

“Mmmhmm.” Her eyes making quick contact with mine.

“Then why won’t you look at me?” My question causes her gaze to shoot directly to mine. “That’s the first good look I’ve gotten of those gorgeous azure blues today.”

Without commenting, she walks to the sink, rinses out her mug, and heads out of the room. “I’m going to leave for the office now.”

“You don’t want to ride in together?”

“There’s a few things I need to catch up on.”

I grab her upper arm as she passes by me. “Don’t do this, Mabry.”

“I’m not doing anything. I have work…” She still doesn’t look at me.

“Fuck that. You’re shutting me out and I want to know why. Last night you seemed okay with things.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m just tired. Plus, I think I’m PMS’ing.”

PMS, the mortal enemy of all mankind.

Her hand covers mine as she tilts up on her toes and places a soft kiss on my lips. “I’ll see you in a little bit,” she says warmly.

“I love you,” I tell her.

“I love you too.” She gives me a weak smile before heading out of the room.