Tapped (Totaled Book 2) (13 page)

You are not broken.

WE are not broken.

You can shatter a glass vase into a million little pieces.

But when you glue it back together, it can be any shape you want.

Tá grá agam duit, Drew.

I love you more than anything, and I will be here. Waiting.

            Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. She was okay. And she was forgiving me. She was actually forgiving me. How in the hell was she forgiving me for this? I felt sick. Sick for having ill thoughts toward her in my pathetic moment of blame. Sick for not having more faith in us. There was so much I wanted to say to her. So many feelings were bombarding my conscience all at once, yet all I could think about was writing my own letter. But not a letter in response to Bree. Rather, a letter to my father, just as Dr. Greiner assigned me. I couldn’t think of anything else but screaming, yelling, and angrily scrolling my curses at the man who made me this way.

            I frantically searched for a pen and any sort of paper to write on, soon locating an empty envelope from my cell phone bill. Scoffing at the humorous fact that I still actually received a paper bill, I flipped it over and started writing.

You son of a bitch.

You angry, miserable, drunken bastard.

You did this to me.

You made my life a living hell and then took from me the one thing that was positive in my life.

The one and only person that ever loved me.

You stole her from me and ruined me for everything
—
everyone—else.

I don’t know how to love.

I don’t know how to be loved.

Just when someone is trying to do that very thing, you haunt me, torment me,

force me to sabotage it.

I hate you.

I HATE YOU.

I

Hate

Me

            I slammed the pen down and ran out of my room and down the hallway, skipping a stair or two with every step as I descended down to the first floor of the house. Storming out the back door, I rushed out onto the back deck and took off. I sprinted straight ahead, ignoring the fact that it was quickly turning from dusk to dark outside, ignoring the fact that I had no shoes on, ignoring the fact that I had no idea where I was going. I just needed out. Out of that house. Out of my head. Out of this life.

            I ran until I couldn’t run anymore. I cried until my eyes had no tears left to give. I screamed so loudly that I swore someone a mile away probably heard. And when I thought I couldn’t breathe another breath, I ran some more. I pushed forward, scaling the fence when I came to it, just needing to go forward, ignoring any obstacle that stood in my way.

            Eventually I stopped. I abruptly halted my rage-filled journey and collapsed to my knees.

Tilting my head back to the darkening night sky, I wailed a guttural, unintelligible scream at the top of my lungs.

            “Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Whhhhhhyyyyyyyyyy?!”

            No one answered me. No one was listening. No one was there.

            No one was ever there.

            I screamed, and hollered, and barked inarticulate noises until my throat burned—until I could no longer yell—and then I heaved. My breaths were short and ragged and the warm night air, filled with thick humidity, burned my lungs.

            The pain was too much. All the pain I constantly carried around was way too much for me to bear any longer. I was there. This was the moment where enough was enough and I needed to give up. I needed to tap out.

***

            I wasn’t sure how much time passed before I made my way back to the house, but when I reentered the back door, I attempted to rush upstairs. I briefly heard Mick trying to say something to me, but Joan shushed him. I paused at the base of the stairs to hear her whisper, “Leave him be.” God bless that woman for knowing exactly what I needed.

            I grabbed my phone and searched in my contacts for Dr. Greiner’s cell number and pushed send, noting that it was already after ten o’clock at night.

            “Hello?”

            I hesitated.

            “Hello? Drew? Drew, is everything okay?”

            “Yeah. Sorry, Doc. I needed to call you. I’m sorry it’s so late,” I apologized, annoyed at how disingenuous I sounded. I felt like a selfish prick but I didn’t know what else to do.

            “That’s quite all right. I told you that you can call me anytime you need to. What’s going on?” he asked with concern.

            “I need to do that sleep study thing you were talking about,” I insisted.

            “Uh, yes. Okay. We can schedule a polysomnograph soon.”

            “No!” I barked. “Not soon. Like now. Can I do it now? Tonight?”

            “Drew, I’m sorry, but you can’t do it tonight. It doesn’t work like that,” he explained. “The sleep study has to be done at a sleep center specially set up to perform the tests. You have to schedule it and go in on that evening a few hours before you would normally go to sleep. They have to do a few things beforehand and then they watch you sleep all night.”

            “What things? What do they do?” I questioned. I had no idea what the sleep study even was.

            “They glue little sensors and electrodes all over your head and place leads with some other electrodes on your chest, torso, and legs.”

            “Why do they need to do all that?” God, I sounded stupid.

            “They’re trying to measure your brain waves, breathing patterns, dream sequences, heart rate, even how much oxygen is in your blood during different stages of your sleep,” he explained. “All of those things are important to make a proper diagnosis.”

            “It sounds awful. How am I supposed to fall asleep with all those awkward wires attached to me?”

            “It’s actually easier than you think. Everything is quite comfortable and while it may take you a little longer to fall asleep, once you do, they’re able to acquire the information they need,” he reassured. “May I ask why you sound so frantic tonight? Why are you insisting that we do this so soon?”

            “I don’t know. I’m sick of feeling this way. I just want to figure out a way to be better. I need to be better,” I answered, my voice cracking at the last of my words.

            “Okay, Drew. Just take some deep breaths. How about we have a session first thing tomorrow morning and we can talk about it and get your sleep study scheduled? Does that sound good?”

            “Yeah. Sorry, Doc. Sorry to bother you. That sounds good. I have to train tomorrow, but I’ll come straight over once I’m done at the gym. It should be between 8:30 and 9. Is that cool?”

            “That will work,” he acquiesced. “And Drew?”

            “Yes?”

            “Try to calm yourself down. I can hear the panic in your voice. Are you going to be okay?”

            “I’ll be fine. I really am sorry about this.”

            “It’s no trouble. Just relax tonight and we will talk tomorrow.”

            “Sure, okay. I’ll see you in the morning. Thanks,” I said, ending the call.

            I let my body collapse onto the bed, hearing a thump as the bed frame hit the wall with the force of my weight crashing down onto the mattress. I reached for the envelope that I had written on and reread it. I must have read it seven or eight times before ripping it up and throwing the pieces across the room. Sleep was going to be an adventure tonight for sure.

Chapter Seventeen

BREE

            “Jesus H, hold on! I’m coming already,” I heard her shout from behind the door as she approached. “Who the hell…”

            As the front door swung open and her eyes met mine, she stopped yelling and her expression quickly shifted from impatient and aggravated to concern.

            “Sorry. Can I come in please?” I pleaded, shifting my eyes left and right in fear of being seen. It was after all, broad daylight and I still looked like a battered housewife, even more so now with my knuckles raw and bleeding from my breakdown in the gym.

            “Yes, yes, of course,” Sue conceded, quickly ushering me into her foyer and closing the door behind us. “What’s wrong
now
?”

            She may not have meant anything behind her tone, but the way the last word of her statement rolled off of her tongue made me feel guilty, like my drama was a burden for her. Burden or not, she was the only person I could talk to about all of this and I seriously felt like I was going to lose my shit at any moment.

            “I just needed out. I can’t take this shit anymore. That house…the gym…my life. It’s too much. I…I need him. And I hate that I need him. I punched the…the bag and I hurt my hand and then I broke the mirror. And I can’t… I don’t even know if he wants me anymore. I sent him the…well, a letter…Oh God, I never should’ve sent…”

            “Whoa, whoa, wait. Hold on, Breezy girl. You have to slow down. I can’t even keep up with you,” Sue interrupted, placing her hands on my shoulders and forcing me to look at her instead of the floor. “Take a deep breath and start from the beginning.”

            I wandered over to the couch to try to sit and compose myself. Reaching for the box of tissues that were conveniently positioned on the side table, I wiped the drip of snot crawling down from my nostril to my upper lip. I was crying so heavily that I could barely catch my breath and it suddenly hit me that I didn’t even know if Sue was home alone.

            I glanced up to her with shocking realization and barked, “Oh God. Is anyone else here?”

            “Nope. You’re fine. Mom is at the shop and won’t be back until after dark. Just calm down and talk to me.”

            She came to sit beside me, smoothing my disheveled hair out of my face, and just waited on me to start. When I didn’t say anything for a few seconds too long, she probed.

            “You broke a mirror?” she questioned, confused by my ramble moments ago.

            “Yeah. A big one. Like wall-sized.”

            “Hmph. I was thinking your face was looking better, but damn.”

            I could do nothing but laugh, and she joined in. Her joking nature was right on time. When I felt relaxed, I answered.

            “Nice. No, it wasn’t my hideousness that shattered the mirror, just my stupidity. I just can’t handle this whole situation anymore. I sort of snapped.”

            “Well, in my opinion, I can’t believe you haven’t snapped before this. I’d say you’re doing quite all right considering everything that’s happened,” she offered.

            I knew she was probably right, but I wasn’t used to feeling so out of control. Control was practically my middle name.

            “And what did you say about sending him a letter? I thought you were just going to call him. Isn’t that why you had me get you the phone?”

            I never should’ve asked her to do that for me, but at the time I was desperate and helpless.

            “I was going to call,” I replied. “I still am. Maybe. Maybe I shouldn’t. I’m scared. Writing him a letter was less…I don’t know—confrontational. But he didn’t call. I thought he would call me. Ugh, I am so confused.” The sound of my whining grated on my own nerves. Like nails across a chalkboard.

            “Okay. I’m trying my best to follow along here but you’ve got to explain things a little better or I can’t help you. Can we start from the beginning, please?”

            I was just about to tell her about the shepherd’s pie and my note when she held up her finger, signaling for me to pause, and abruptly walked away, only to return eating something out of a tub with a spoon. She sat back down and with a mouth full of food, she garbled, “Okay, continue.”

            “Are you eating
Funfetti
frosting right out of the tub?” I stared with disgust on my face at first but swiftly felt bummed that I hadn’t thought of this ingenious delicacy before.

            “Bitch, don’t judge me! It’s Shark Week and I’m barely holding things together myself. If you expect me to listen to your woes and dole out advice, I need nourishment.”

            “I wouldn’t exactly classify that as nourishment, but okay. Do whatever you need to do.”

            “Thank you for your permission. Now, get down to it. What the hell did you do?” she demanded, egging me on to get to the point.

            I told Sue about my father’s little heart to heart on the deck the other night and about all of the restrictions he placed on me. She rolled her eyes like an insolent pre-teen and insisted that I could easily circumvent those “silly little rules,” citing loopholes and explaining that lying by omission whenever necessary was much different than lying.

            “I thought you didn’t want me to have any contact with him either?” I argued.

            “I don’t, but you’re obviously going rogue here with your secret note.”

            It was when I told her about his plan to travel to Macclenney and have a similar heart to heart with Drew that her ears perked up.

            “Hold it right there. First of all,
it hasn’t even been that long, anyway. Give the guy a minute to formulate a response. But, hello… That’s why he hasn’t responded to you. Your dad probably scared the living shit out of him. I’m sure he threatened to ruin his career if he dared disrespect his rules. Who knows what he said to him? I can only imagine. Your dad can be a scary son of a bitch when he wants to.”

            I absorbed her statement and chewed the words around for a minute, feeling a little idiotic for not even thinking about that angle before. It did make perfect sense.