“But Owen, I want to hold the cute baby!” I pout, staring at Holt as if he is about to disappear.
“No. Don’t make me unstitch you and stitch you back up for the hell of it.”
I gasp. “I’m not into that, Owen. How rude of you to ask.”
Everyone laughs, which is what I am looking for to break the tension in the air, but my soul is aggravated by the past. I grab the remote as everyone starts to chit-chat. I know Quinn, she’s thinking of a way to connect the dots and find romance, but there isn’t any. Everyone will see in time that Heather is a strong, independent woman who does not need a man like me.
When she leaves the Cliff House, she won’t look back to say goodbye.
The look backs are the most important too. They give hope that there is still a chance, but Heather has always made sure to make it perfectly clear that the last thing I have with her is a damn chance.
I flip on the TV, and the news comes on. A picture of Heather fills the right side of the screen, and the scene changes to Heather’s parents. They are standing at a podium. Her mom and dad are crying, and they can barely speak the words they need to ask the people to help find their daughter.
“Please. Please, just bring her home. We have a five-million-dollar reward for anyone that can lead us to our baby. Please,” her mom breaks, holding herself up on the podium.
I turn the TV off, and I feel everyone’s attention on me again. The situation is serious. They are going to have every cop looking in California for her. Every square inch of it and if they find her with me…
All hell will break loose.
Four
Heather
The shower is running, and the steam is fogging up the mirror in front of me, clouding my sad, pathetic reflection. I don’t know why I’m looking at myself, but I can’t help it. I’m addicted to it. As much as I don’t want to see what he has done to me anymore, every scratch, every bruise, I touch them every chance I get.
I replay what happened to me because I’m still finding it hard to believe. I’m in denial. Maybe I dreamed it all. I’m in a bad nightmare and I’m trying to find way to claw myself out of it, but every time I stroke my body and feel the damage he has done, the further I sink into despair.
I sit down on the toilet and spread my legs, whimpering when the bite of pain between my legs still throbs. The marks along my inner thigh are deep and they might scar. I lean my elbow on the counter, suddenly too weak to want to shower, but I know I have to. It’s been a few days and I’ve laid in bed enough. It’s time I start… trying.
Trying to do what, I don’t know. I have no idea where to start, but showering is a good step, right? I wipe my cheek and slam my hand on the counter when I realize I’m crying. God, I’m sick of it. I’m tired of crying. I’m so sick of feeling sorry for myself and weak. I feel so fucking weak, but I only get weaker laying in bed.
I open the curtain to the shower and step in, hoping this will be the shower that washes everything away. I stand there for a few minutes as the hot water hits my back, warming my tense, sore muscles.
“Heather?”
I scream when I hear my name followed by a knock at the bathroom door. My foot slips against the wet floor, and I fall. My hip hits first and then the back of my head hits the faucet used when the bath is on.
“Heather! Are you okay?” Jolie screams through the door and tries to open it, but I locked it.
“I’m fine,” I whisper, trying to be patient as my vision tries to focus back to normal.
“Answer me, Heather!” she bangs on the door, but I must have hit my head harder that I thought. Are you freaking kidding me? Is it bad to feel like the world is against me right now? After everything, I have to slip and fall and bust my head open. “Heaven!” she calls out for my beloved enemy.
No, not like this. I don’t want him to see me while I’m broken, battered, and used. If he sees me right now, he will never look at me the same again.
“Heaven! She fell. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know I would scare her.” Jolie explains, which means he must be right next to her.
The hot water sprays onto my breasts and as I try to get up, my arms slip against the floor. My shoulder smacks, and I’m so frustrated that this is happening and my emotions are as thin as a damn piece of soggy paper.
I cry.
I give up.
I fucking give up.
“You win,” I mutter at the man who is dead and killed my spirit. “You hear me!” I roar at the high heavens. Oh, no, wrong direction. I need to be speaking to hell. I curl in on myself and pathetically give into the worthlessness I feel. “You win,” I whisper, accepting defeat.
“Heather?” Heaven’s silky voice soothes through the door and he knocks. “You okay?”
No.
But I don’t want him to know that.
“Move back, Jolie. I’m going to break down the door.”
“What? No, you can’t—”
It’s too late.
The door crashes in and the curtain blocks the pieces of wood flying so they can’t harm me. The metal of the hooks slide against the shower rod and the water shuts off, then there is a towel laid over me before arms swoop under and lift me from the floor.
“You’re bleeding,” Heaven notices as he carries me to the bedroom. “You’re going to be okay.”
“I’m fine. I slipped. It isn’t a big deal,” I say. I’m mortified that he saw me like this. When we were younger, I imagined us naked a hundred times, but now? The last thing I want him to do is see me. I’m not strong and defiant anymore. I’m not the woman that caught his eye.
I wasn’t blind. I knew he wanted me because Asher always wanted everyone.
Now I’m a burden.
“It is a big deal. I’ll get Owen in here to look at the wound to see if you need stitches. He sets me on the bed, my back still wet and soaking the comforter. I scurry away from him and cover myself with the blanket so he can no longer see me.
Plus, being around him makes me nervous and I don’t know if it’s in a good way or a bad way. I feel both when it come to Asher. Men make me nervous. I know not all men are bad now, but right now, I don’t have the ability to decipher if they won’t hurt me.
“I’m not ever going to hurt you, Heather. Never. I know we have rough history and that’s another conversation for another time, but I’d never hurt you.” His eyes are frowned at the sides, almost as if the thought of me being afraid of him brings him agony. “God, I’d never,” he whispers.
I don’t say anything because there is more than one way to hurt someone. If there is one thing I know about Asher, I’d be left with a broken heart wanting more from him just like every other woman in his life that he leaves brokenhearted in a bed.
I’m not ready for that.
I shiver when the air kicks on and the water drips down my arms, reminding me that I’m soaking wet.
“You’re frozen. I’ll turn on the heat in your room.”
I figured he would walk out the door and into the hallway where most of the thermostats are for people in their houses. I shouldn’t be surprised that he stops at a white box on the wall near the bathroom and with a touch of a screen, the air stops blowing and it is replaced by warmth. I sigh when it warms my skin. I need to get up and get dressed, but my head is swimming and the effort it will take to get up is too much for me to handle right now.