Tragic Love (8 page)

Presley is leaning against the brick with the most haunted look masking her face. It’s a look I’ve never seen her wear, not even when she was healing from being held captive by Robert Stein. She knows. The look is telling me she knew the consequence to our relationship if she followed through with the abortion and yet she still did it. I’m furious. How could she do this to me…to us? My body is rigid and tight and sweating from the anger. Never once in my life have I ever felt this way; completely betrayed and broken by the one person who holds my soul.

I exit the car and move to the hood. I can’t go any further, I’m afraid of what I will do or say knowing she just killed our baby. The tears she has been trying so hard to keep in are now free falling down her cheeks. Then the most gut wrenching sob breaks past her lips and her legs weaken as she tumbles to the ground. I lift my foot to run to her. I could never handle watching Presley cry, but I make myself stop. I can’t hold her knowing what she’s done.

I force my feet to remain planted on the cement as my rage continues to burn. The silence between us is shattering, but I refuse to say anything to her. I don’t know if I will ever be able to say anything to her again. Wait, I take that back, I will let her know exactly how I feel. She deserves to know how much she fucked up.

I move past the Chevelle and walk to stand in front of her. She’s still crumpled on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest, but the sobs have softened to faint whimpers. I lock my arms across my chest, fisting them tightly into my sides. “Tell me why,” I seethe through gritted teeth.

Presley slowly makes it to her feet, but keeps her eyes locked to the cement. “I…I’m so sorry.”

“Save it!” I cut her off. “I don’t want to hear how sorry you are, Presley. I want to know WHY!” I don’t keep my voice controlled anymore. It’s physically impossible. The nurse sitting at the table puts down her book and takes a slow drag of her cigarette. She’s eyeing me suspiciously, but when I snap my eyes to hers she relents and picks up her book, pretending to hear nothing.

“I don’t want to hurt you; that was never my intention. You have to believe that.” She is sobbing again as my face remains stone cold.

“Believe what? If you’ve proven anything to me it’s that you’re a liar.” I keep my shaking hands locked under my arms, still too angry to step any closer to her. “And I don’t give a shit about your intentions. Because you were wrong. This is wrong, Presley, and you know that.”

I take a second to look at her, my eyes traveling from her tear stained face to her arms wrapped around her stomach and down to her shaking legs. This is the woman I’ve given my whole self to; the one person who has the only claim to my soul, and it feels like it’s slipping away from me. This has been a turning point in our relationship. If I can’t move past the betrayal I’m feeling inside me, then the only thing left for us is to face the end. The emptiness fills me at the thought of not having Presley in my arms every day. I’m feeling the anger begin to fade as the pain courses through my veins.

Presley finally meets my eyes; they are blood shot and broken. She whispers, “Because I can’t. I can’t be a mother, Drake. I don’t possess anything that would characterize me as a good mother. Every day is still a struggle for me to even function and if it weren’t for you I don’t think I could make it. There is nothing this baby will fix. And at our age, it’s impossible to raise a baby, especially here.”

Standing defeated, I lower my arms and grab onto her shoulders. Her body is still trembling from the severity of our situation. I connect my eyes with hers and I fall. With a simple look, I’m diving head first into her brown pools. Something I do every single time she pleads with me to understand. “But how could you do this without even telling me?” I ask, not hiding the sadness in my voice. “You know exactly how I feel about this. My birth mother did the same thing to me and now you are doing it, too. How could you throw something away without even giving it a chance?”

She takes a hesitant step forward and starts to wrap her arms around my waist, something she always does to feel protected by me, but I don’t allow it. I keep my hands on her shoulders and take a step back, keeping my distance. The sobbing starts again, making me think she knows exactly what she’s done and exactly how I feel because it’s written all over her face and mine. God knows I love her; I love her more than the air I breathe, although nothing is going to change the deceit she so obviously used against my heart.

My hands start to move down from her shoulders then slide down her quivering arms as she begins to cry again. I can feel the anger and hurt bubble up into my eyes, yet I reject the idea of letting it fall. I refuse to show her how she’s broken me into nothing. Sliding my hands down to hers, I give them a gentle squeeze then step away from her. Presley’s eyes meet mine, but I can’t look at them anymore. I need time away from her and away from this entire fucked up mess. The pain in my body and the brokenness in her eyes are too much to bear right now.

“I can’t do this,” I tell her then turn to my Chevelle and drive away.

***

It’s been two hours since my Chevelle pulled into
The Slab,
two hours since my world was sucked into an alternate universe. The agony is screaming its way through my veins and feeding on my broken heart. The only thing I can think of to numb the pain is to get mind-alteringly drunk, and after two hours, I’ve succeeded. I’ve never been one to drown myself in booze to ease the pain living in my body, but I now see the reason why so many people I know do it. The heartache is excruciating; I want to feel nothing. I want to feel numb.

Reggie and Darcie have been staring at me since I arrived two hours ago. Reggie said nothing when I slammed fifty bucks on the counter, reached over the bar, grabbed a full bottle of Jack from the assortment of liquor tucked in the metal pocket behind the bar, and then retreated to the back corner booth, shrugging myself against the cool vinyl seats. I just want to be alone with my hurt and the whiskey.

The bar is pretty secluded this time of day. It’s only me and a couple of regulars, but as soon as the factories change shifts, the bar will fill up pretty fast. By that time, I’m hoping to be completely numb and passed out in the front seat of my Chevelle. I have nowhere else to go. I can’t go home. I can’t face her because that would mean I need to face the reality of our situation and I simply can’t do that right now.

I tip my head back and allow the whiskey to burn down my throat as it warms my belly and makes my head spin. When I feel the hurt try to escape my eyes, I don’t allow it, taking another long guzzle from the bottle. It runs out the corners of my mouth and down over my chin. The burn is making its way back up my throat, but I choke it down then wipe the drops away with the back of my hand.

I can barely keep my eyes open as the whiskey intoxicates my body. I must have started to pass out because, when I lift my head from the table, I see Reggie is standing next to it. His arms are crossed over his chest and his face is unreadable. This is the same look he has been giving us for years; where he demands answers without even saying a word. I’m sure my behavior is questionable right now,considering this is something I’ve never done—drowning my problems in whiskey like Jake does—so I can’t evade this look and the questions that follow. In my drunken state, though, I will try. I’m not ready to tell anyone what Presley’s done to me.

“What’s up, Reggie? Do you want a shot?” I ask, trying to keep the anger from my voice.

“No,” Reggie states calmly, waiting for me to start spilling my guts, but I refuse.

“Then what the fuck do you want because you’re standing over me and it’s starting to piss me off.” Through my hazy vision I can see his body go rigid. I’ve never talked to Reggie like this and I can tell instantly he’s ready to punch me.

He readjusts his weight on this feet and my blood begins to boil as well. Reggie is one intimidating son of a bitch, even now, when I stand almost as tall as he does. I know exactly what he’s capable of and he’s shown me his strength everyday as we spar with one another in the garage. We’ve had this routine ever since Grady knocked me out over two years ago. Right now, though, all he is doing is pissing me off, and as much as I love and respect Reggie, I will fuck him up just to get him out of my face. What’s going on now is none of his business. It’s mine and I’m man enough to take care of it. I don’t need him to intervene.

“Start talking, Drake, before Darcie takes you home.” Reggie’s voice is cold and demanding. I’m not sure if it’s the whiskey or the shitty day I’ve had, but all I can feel is the boiling rage in my blood and how I want to take out that rage.

I slap my hands on the table, causing the half full bottle of Jack Daniels to teeter and then make the attempt to stand. The anger of the last couple of hours is growing to an enormous beast inside me. I need to unleash it and it’s going to be on Reggie’s face because he simply wouldn’t leave me alone.

I meet his eye and then everything inside me explodes. With my right hand I swing viciously at his face, but he ducks then his fist comes straight to my midsection. Fucker! He fucking hit me. I pull back and take another swing, but Reggie quickly deflects my fist away.

Darcie comes around the bar and is now standing between us. Words are leaving her mouth, but nothing registers. Reggie spins me around, pinning my arms behind my back as I try to will all my strength to fight against him, however my body is too sluggish. That’s my eyes focus to the light shining through the entrance and Presley standing just inside the door.

Presley

Watching Drake drive away from me breaks the last piece of my fractured heart. I knew he would react this way. I knew it would kill him inside knowing what I’ve done, but to witness your only lifeline peel down the road and drive away from you is heartbreaking. There is no other word to describe it.

The nurse who was sitting at the picnic table finally gets up to intervene, but she’s too late and so am I. I wave her off and then start to run. My feet can’t move quickly enough as I run through the cars parked in the lot and down toward the sidewalk. I have to run. I need to escape what I’ve done because Drake left and regardless of the decision I have to make the truth is he left me. If I keep the baby, will he come back? Or will I be left alone? I can’t be here another second. The tears are pouring from my eyes as my feet are pounding against the sidewalk.

The humidity in the air is making it hard for my lungs to get in air, but that is exactly what I want. I don’t want air; I don’t want to breathe knowing I can never have the one thing that keeps me alive.

I keep myself moving, not really seeing where I’m at. The trees blend together with the sky and the cars are passing blobs of color as I run with blurry eyes and a broken soul.

I round the corner and come to a small park located on the outskirts of town. I’ve only been here a couple of times since moving to Sulfur Heights. Drake and I would come here to escape the chaos in the house. We’d sit on the swings, talking for hours about anything and everything. Connecting our souls with every word we spoke. Yet now, I’m here for a totally different reason. I’m here because I have nowhere else to go. All I’ve manage to do is ruin the one person left in this world who is capable of keeping my head above water.

I bend forward, planting my hands on my knees, sucking in humid air to expand my lungs. I’m not sure how far it is from the clinic, but I know it has to be miles away. I ran until I was about to collapse from exhaustion. I tilt my head up and see the old, rusted swings and then make my way through the brown grass. The only sounds around me are the rapid beats of my heart and the crunch of dry grass under my feet. I step into the sand pit and plant myself in the swing where I then wrap my fingers around the warm, rusted metal chain and allow myself to push off with my feet, moving slowly back and forth as I contemplate my decision.

The last words he spoke to me are ripping through my mind, cutting the only shreds of my heart that are still beating.
I can’t
. It’s a faint whisper in my head, but a heavy weight on my heart. Those two words are going to be my undoing and I know with every minute that passes by he will ask me to leave and it will be over. I can’t blame him. I’ve done what I said I never would do. I betrayed him.

In all honesty, though, I’ve been betraying him for the last two years; ever since I was rescued from Robert. Every day he looks at me and thinks I’m getting better has been a lie by omission on my part because I don’t allow him to see the black void still living inside me. I’ve executed masking my inner true feelings toward life and seizing the day perfectly, knowing Drake will pull my drowning head above water with one single touch. I can feel in my gut that if I have this baby, it will slowly drag me under. I don’t know if even Drake can save me from the blackness that will follow.

I sit there for hours, lightly swinging back and forth while, at the same time, noticing a dirty needle in the sand and trash strewn throughout the park. I raise my eyes form the ground and look around at my surroundings. A man with short, dark hair, tanned skin and a cleanly shaven face is watching me. He doesn’t look like the typical person you would encounter in this park. He’s not jittering, delusional or cracked out.

When our eyes connect again I watch him rise off the old picnic table and come my way. He throws a black backpack onto his shoulder as he strides toward me. I instantly get nervous, not knowing what he wants, but I can’t help being captivated by the anticipation of what will happen. The man is tall—a few inches shorter than Drake—he’s wearing black cargo shorts and a gray t-shirt. His black baseball cap is pulled down close to his eyes, making it impossible to see his face until he stands directly in front of me. Then I really look at him and he’s very good looking. His eyes are the color of golden topazes, his body is thin, though muscular, and he smells of cigarettes.

Without saying a word, the mysterious man sits down on the swing next to me and starts to match my speed. My hands are trembling and I am trying to make myself leap off the swing to make a run for it, but my body refuses to budge. Why am I so intrigued by this guy? This is completely out of character for me. I’ve never once spoken to anyone without Drake, Darcie or even Jake by my side. Now, here I am, willing my body to move, yet it won’t.