Page 7 of Hold Us Close
When I come to, I’m sitting on our bathroom floor, propped against the doorframe. Surrounded by broken ceramic tiles, a cabinet door I must’ve torn from its hinges, and my own shame.
What the hell?
My left hand hurts like a son of a bitch. Glancing down, I see it’s swollen and my knuckles are caked with dried blood. My right hand isn’t much better. Looks like I clawed my way out of a wooden box.
Jesus.
Groaning, I use the sink to pull myself up. My bloodshot eyes widen in the shattered mirror.
Because it isn’t my reflection staring back at me. It’s my father’s.
Before I have time to fully freak the fuck out, I hear the front door open. And there’s a gasp. I turn in the doorway as quickly as I can manage, hoping I can somehow shield her from the destruction.
But I don’t make it.
When I step over the pieces of busted lamp in the middle of the living room floor, she gapes at me. The horror and hurt shine from her face so brightly I can’t look directly at her.
“Baby, I’m…” What am I? There’s nothing I can say to make this any better. I watch her take in the evidence of my rage, watch her run her hand gently over the splintered glass covering the picture her friend Corin took of us when she and Skylar visited last summer.
“You’re broken,” she whispers, eying a vase of seashell pieces she adds to every time we go to the ocean. Miraculously, it’s still intact.
Am I?Pain shoots up my arms as I attempt to clench my fists. Yes, yes I am.
My soul tears in two as I watch her grieve for every piece of damaged furniture. I’m two men now. One of them loves her so much he wants to drop to his knees, beg for forgiveness, and make a million promises—whatever it takes to keep her here. To keep her from saying to hell with this. With me.
The other one sees past the most recent destruction as the older evidence of my temper comes into view. Small cracks and dents I’ve made over the years. I don’t deserve her forgiveness. I’m never going to change.
She needs to see.
She needs to understand.
I can’t do this.
Everyone can leave.I learned at a young age that nothing is forever. No matter how pretty and shiny your life is, it can all change in an instant.
If you ignore the small incidents, turn a blind eye to the tiny fissures spreading through the foundation, the smallest thing, the lightest touch, can send your entire world crashing down around you.
Standing in my living room, the one I worked so hard to make feel like home, I grieve for the splintered shards of what was once my life.
Glancing up, I see Landen, his eyes warring with darkness and light, love and hatred, anger and kindness. Sometimes it’s like he’s two different people, and I can’t help but wonder which version of him will finally win the battle for his soul.
“I’ll get a garbage bag,” I say softly, because someone has to say something.
“Wait.”
His voice is scratchy, almost like he’s been crying. Well that makes two of us. I turn on a sigh.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for this, Layla. For my temper. For the way I am.” He pauses to rake a hand through his hair. “But you need to see.Thisis how I am. Who I am.”
My throat constricts and I pull in my lips so my mouth doesn’t do the turning-down-about-to-ugly-cry thing it does.
His shoulders slump and he steps towards me, something snapping beneath his foot as he does. “God, I love you so much. I swear I don’t want to do this to you. To us. But…” He offers me a pleading attempt at a smile. “But I can’t be a parent. You see that, right?”
My heart beats so hard it throbs throughout my entire body. I close my eyes for a second and listen to the sound of my own breathing before looking into his. “Landen, we had a fight. You’ve been under a lot of pressure and this isn’t an ideal situation. I get that. You lost your temper and—”
“And you’re making excuses for me. Like you always do.” He’s so close his scent surrounds me, permeates my skin. It’s sharp and clean, cologne and soap, and just…him. Familiar. It takes every single ounce of self-control I have not to pull him to me and let him make everything better. But somehow I manage. Maybe because I know it won’t be enough this time.
“So what, Landen?” I choke out over the sob rising in my throat. “My aunt wants me to have surgery on Monday whether I like it or not and you can’t control your temper? So I have to have an abortion because the two of you don’t want me to have a baby? You must be out of your fucking minds.”
