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I deserve his anger and his hate. What he dishes out is only a small fraction of what I feel toward myself. I don’t suppose it’s a good thing to hate yourself, but I do.
I think I always have.
I force myself to stand up, my knees weak as hell as I stumble toward the bathroom. I’m going to be late to get to the nursing home if I don’t pull myself together. The fact that I’m taking off early is going to be trouble enough. I sure as hell don’t need to show up late.
As I make it to the bathroom sink, I look in the mirror at the woman staring back at me. Bile rises in the pit of my stomach, but I force it back. Dark circles under my eyes—eyes that look dead—my hair needs washed, and I’m pretty sure this is the same outfit I wore yesterday and maybe the day before. With that thought, I pull off my sweater, ignoring the bruises on my arm. I sift through my closet and find another long-sleeved shirt to wear under my scrub top. I’ll wear the same bottoms. No one notices that anyway since they’re all the same color. I wince as I raise my arms too quickly and take a resigned breath.
I’m so sore. It’s not going to be fun working today. Still, there are bills to pay. I should wear some makeup, but I can’t find the energy to do it. The girls at work don’t care anyhow.
I walk to the bedroom and find my work shoes. I need to buy a new pair, but there hasn’t been extra money for them. Hopefully, these will last a little longer. I’m hoping to get a little breathing room after I get the vehicles licensed this month.
I grab my purse and head out, already mentally preparing myself to talk to people at work and the residents living in the home. I must psych myself up for it because dealing with people is extremely hard for me.
Pretending to the world that it doesn’t bother me is harder…
CHAPTER 3
Reed
“Mandie, what are you doing here?” I growl, feeling worn out from the day. It’s been a hard day at work and the last thing I wanted to see is Mandie here. That makes me a bastard, I know. Then again, I’ve been a bastard my whole life it seems.
“C’mon, Reed. I know how hard you’ve been working at the garage. Seems to me you could use a little relaxation,” she says, coming closer to me, her hand moving over my chest. The invitation in her eyes is clear, but it’s not one I want. It’s one I regretted taking a month ago—but I still did it. Mandie is a good woman. She deserves a man who appreciates her. I knew I didn’t. I knew it was wrong for me to take what she offered, and yet I still did. There’s a world of difference in drowning your sorrows in a woman who knows the score—especially when you do it imagining she’s another woman altogether.
It turns out I can be an asshole just like my brother.
“Mandie, I’ve told you before. I’m not the man for you.”
“Maybe I think you are. I care about you, Reed,” she whispers, and I can see the hurt in her eyes.
“I know and that’s why we can’t be together again. Mandie, I like you. You’re a sweet woman, honest, dependable—a good woman.”
“Jesus, you make me sound almost as exciting as shopping for a used car, Reed.”
I wince because I guess that’s exactly what it came off as. I thrust my hand through my hair. I do not have the patience to deal with this tonight. It has been a bad day, but then today always is. This is the anniversary of the day I found out Callie was pregnant with Mitch’s baby. It’s a fucked-up anniversary to celebrate. Still, it’s one that blew my world apart.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Mandie. I don’t want to be an asshole to you. I like you.”
“I like you, too,” she says with a sad smile.
I wish I could tell her how much I wish I could be what she wants. Hell, that I wish I could be normal and invest in another woman. I don’t know why I still hang on to memories of a woman that has never been completely mine, a woman that I know is completely off limits—but I do. It’s as if she’s seeped down inside of me and I don’t know if I will ever get completely free. I don’t know if I know how to survive if I was. Callie has become a way of life…
A fucking miserable, soul destroying, heart-wrenching way of life.
I’ve tried to run from her, but somehow, I always circle back.
