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Chapter Twenty - Eight
Three Weeks Later...
Two months since a part of me died...again.
I lie in bed, staring at the same spot on my ceiling that I force myself to focus my emotions on. The white ceiling that hasn’t seen paint in probably twenty fucking years has a specific cluster that looks like a jagged heart with a crack running right through the middle.
Hurt, pain, and anger swirl together like a fucking twister on bad days, causing not one damn thing to go right.
One moment, I miss her. She’s the only thing that has been right in my life in years.
Confusion, defeat, and disgust taunt me, and that fucking heart that’s cracked incites rage. I fear I will lose control and need to beat it down. I promised her our time meant something yet, regardless of the fact, she and I will never be again.
The picture of her is etched forever in my memory. She somehow fixed something broken in me, and I did the same. She will live and smile and love again. Those thoughts make me want to tear apart that taunting heart and destroy it and her.
One moment I hate her.
How the hell did I let her use me? Why the fuck did I give in to her? She opened a part of me that I had sealed safely behind armor, and then left it bloody and raw.
Sadness, depression, and dread loom overhead in that heart, and it looks at me with pity, knowing how broken I feel inside. I hurt, I bleed, I am confined in a new way. A way without bars, but nonetheless rendered fucking useless because she used me up and left me empty.
Every moment I love her.
I love her, and it physically pains me.
I have the cage to train men, who I beg to let loose on me physically, yet it’s not enough. No hit, jab, or punch can hurt away the pain caused by her leaving.
Missing her is agony.
When she was here, I didn’t need a fucking pill to sleep. Now, jerking myself off to the thought of her doesn’t tire me. Nothing turns my mind off. Nothing gives me the freedom to breathe again.
When she was here, I slept, ready to face the next day’s challenges, because when she was here, I wanted tomorrows to come again for the first time in so many fucking years. Now, the only reason I want to breathe is because I told her I would.
No pain, no depression, no memory ever hurt as much as the one of her walking through the turn style and not coming back. Nothing besides death was ever as final as that moment.
I feel a wet tongue glide across my hand and look left.
Muttley, a big black shaggy dog I somehow became in charge of, has his big, black head laying on the mattress.
I owed Hendrix Caldwell a favor for making sure Tatum got back to the hotel the night my walk through hell began. Apparently, the favor came in form of taking on a stray male dog who knocked up his female dog, Floyd. Yes, he named his female dog Floyd and gave her a pink collar.
Muttley here is apparently a fan of the pooch.
I told him no. It didn’t matter to him. He walked out of the gym without the fucking dog.
I sit up, and the damn fool starts his morning dance, his nails tapping loudly against the hardwood floor. He has made himself at home here.
Well, I guess I can be happy someone feels comfortable. Since Tatum, I just want to crawl out of my own skin.
I throw my feet over the side of the bed and stand up. I grab a pair of jogging pants off the floor and step into them. With Buck here, I can no longer walk around freely. Putting on clothes to take a piss has become a new part of my day.
Standing at the toilet, I look left, and there is the dog, sitting damn near on my feet.
“You should learn to piss in the toilet. Then I wouldn’t have to freeze my balls off taking you out every damn morning.”
I shove myself back in and grab my toothbrush to clean my teeth before grabbing a hoodie and heading out the door.
***
Today, we run.
As soon as we step outside, I can tell both of us needed it. I allow him to lead since he is a stubborn fool. The big buffoon heads right toward the place he always does—Hendrix and Livi’s place. I know what he is looking for—the Pit Bull he knocked up and his pups.
He barks once he makes it to the corner, and then the damn fool sits. And he does so firmly in place.
“Mutt, we gots to go.” I give his leash a tug, but he doesn’t move.
