Broken Heart (Broken Heart #1) (15 page)

palm of his hand over my wet flesh as I lifted myself up, positioning his hand to touch me where I wanted him to. I could’ve come at any moment just by the touch of his hand. It’s been such a

long time since a man has touched me without me feeling guilt or shame, and I longed for this, but I had to stop myself. I was virgin, and I didn’t want to lose it this way. I grabbed his hands and

held them. I removed myself from his lap, slid over to the passenger side, and began to adjust my bra and fix my dress.

“Jenesis, dammit, what? What is it now?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, Carl. I have to go.” I reached for the handle, opened the door, and ran into the building.

“Jenesis! Jenesis!” he shouted.

I closed the door behind me, out of breath. I leaned against the door and inhaled deeply, letting out a sigh of relief. My heart was pounding, and I could see it thrashing against my blouse. I walked up the stairs slowly, feeling a little dizzy. I glanced at Dave’s door as I walked up the stairs. I

stopped at the top of the steps and bent over placing my hands on my knees. I didn’t know if I was having a panic attack or if I was just exhausted from the drama that unfolded earlier. Maybe his

kiss left me breathless. I opened the door and plopped myself on the couch. I turned on the television and flipped through the channels as I thought about how close I was to giving Carl my

virginity. Jesus, I didn’t want to lose my virginity in a fucking car. I have to get my head together. I’m not thinking straight, and that’s going to cost me.

I was meeting Jonathan at Hunter College, so he can give me a copy of his resume. I was adamant on finding another job and what went down with Dave on Sunday; I thought we both needed some

space. Jonathan offered to lend me his resume so I could copy the format. He was meeting his girlfriend at the library at Hunter, so I told him I’d meet him there.   I passed by the café near

Hunter College. I glanced through the window and saw Carl sitting inside with a woman who had two babies in a double stroller and a young girl about three or four years old sitting next to him

standing on the chair and playing with his sandy blonde hair, she looked just like him. I stopped and did a double-take as if my imagination had been playing tricks on me. I decided to peek in and

wave at him. Carl saw me and his eyes widened, he gave me a look of fear, you know that look…when you open your eyes really wide to tell someone to keep walking…that’s the exact

look he gave me. He reminded me of the troubled looks my mom and I gave each other when my father would start his drunken sprees. The woman glanced up for a second, looked at me, and then

looked away. I quickly stopped waving, and I continued to walk away slowly still trying to get a glimpse of the happy family eating together on a beautiful afternoon. 

How could I be so stupid? I was right, there was something off about him I couldn’t put my finger on…he was married. I felt so bad, and I actually felt repulsed knowing that after we kissed intimately, and I almost gave him my virginity, he was going home to kiss his wife or make love

to her. It was a deplorable thought. I was really upset with him, and I wondered why he was cheating on her. He wasn’t a drunk like my father. He was a well-respected professor with a good

reputation and a good head on his shoulders. Was it just the norm for every man to cheat? Was this what I had to look forward to when I got married? 

I went home feeling jilted. My heart hurt a little and it hurt even more that Dave was right about him. I laid on my bed, flat on my stomach, thinking about what happened with Carl. I got up feeling

panicked, and I walked over to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of white Zinfandel and drank a glass or two, or three…maybe four. I knew it seemed pathetic and sad, but I was hurt. Even though I didn’t love Carl…didn’t mean I wasn’t human.  Later that night, Carl called me and left me

countless messages on my voicemail. I didn’t bother to answer him. All I heard was “Jen, I’m sorry.” “It’s not what it seems.” “I don’t love her, I love you. I know you didn’t know that.” Blah,

blah, blah, blah, blah…love…He loved me? Wow…did he really love me? If he did, he sure had a funny way of showing it, by cheating on me with his wife!

The shock of Carl’s infidelity sunk into my brain quickly, and I was angry, but still…I was hurt. My nightmares had intensified, and I was hoping and praying they would eventually go away on their own. I was tired of having nightmares during the day, should I say day-mares now? I couldn’t

wait to see Dr. Logan again. Saturday couldn’t come fast enough. I was tired of working nights with Dave and reading gruesome cold case files. I wanted to find a nine to five job. I was tired of

filing papers, cleaning up coffee cups and cigarette butts, and answering phones. I was lonely, even at work. Dave was never there. I called in sick Monday morning, and Dave answered the phone.

“Hi Dave, I’m not feeling well. I won’t be in tonight,” I said as I heard the beep for the office answering machine.

“Hello?”

“Oh you picked up…what are you doing there so early? I was going to leave you a message on the machine and text you later on.”

“Oh, just catching up on some missed phone calls and messages, are you okay?”

“To be honest, I’m tired of working nights. I need a break, actually, I need to find a different job, Dave,” I said seriously.

“Do you want to switch to days? Or does this have to do with that asshole, Carl?” he asked disappointingly.

“No, I need to find my own job, you know, find out what I’m really good at. I have a degree in forensic psychology and science, and I don’t know what to do with it.” My voice trembled. “Dave…you were right about Carl.

He was married.” I sobbed over the phone.

“That son of a bitch! I should’ve killed him!” he roared over the phone.

“Fuck him!”

“Dave please, I’m already upset. I don’t really want to get into this.”

“Look, you’re really good at being my secretary, but I understand, I’ll try to help you out. I have some friends I can talk to.”

“Thanks Dave, but this time…I don’t want your help. You understand, right? See you, tomorrow,” I sniveled.

“Yeah. Sure. I understand. See ya,” he said as he hung up.

Before I knew it the week flew by, and it was Friday. I called in sick again and stayed home working on my resume. My cell phone rang, and the name Jonathan was flashing. Jonathan called

me several times to see if I needed help with my resume. I think he wanted more than that; I know he wanted more than that. It just so happened the day I caught Carl with his wife, he caught his

girlfriend with her tongue down the bookkeeper’s throat in the library. I felt bad for him, but I was feeling even sorrier for myself once again. 

I was looking forward to a night of a do-it-yourself mani and pedi, maybe dark red? Listening to soft classical music, enjoying cheese and crackers, and having a nice tall glass, maybe two, of pink

zinfandel…different color could be a mood changer. The night wouldn’t be complete without my favorite peach throw blanket. Mom, where are you? I miss you. 

I was soaking my feet in the tub adding some soothing chamomile foot soap to the warm bubbling water. It felt so good that my feet were desperately disappearing underneath the bubbles. I stretched

my legs and lifted my feet above the water, admiring the bubbles that sat on my toes like little snowballs, when I heard a knock at my door. I slid my snow balled bubbly toes under the running

water and rinsed them quickly then shuffled across the bathroom to the living room. I almost slipped on the wet hardwood floor making a quick run for the door then I asked, 

“Who is it?” 

“Dave.” 

I heard faintly on the other side of the door. I looked through the peephole and opened the door. 

“Hey,” I said. “What are you doing here?” He was dressed so nicely, a black suit, with a white silk shirt and black bow tie. “Wow! Where are you going? Why are you so dressed up?” I asked curiously. 

“I was invited to the opening of some art gallery in SoHo or something like that. I don’t remember the name of it, but I thought it would be fun if you tagged along.” He stood casually in the doorway with his hands in his pockets. 

“Fun…look at my feet…I’m a mess, I’m not ready to go out!” I stressed to him. 

“Wear shoes that don’t show your toes,” he said laughing. “Come on, you’ll get to meet new people, maybe make some friends, and maybe a man?” he said convincingly. 

I sat on the couch and dried my feet with my throw blanket. I looked up at Dave who was waiting impatiently for an answer. His eyes glaring at my feet as he tapped his black just spit shined leather shoe on the hardwood floors. 

“A man, really? No such luck up this avenue…Okay, give me a half an hour or more, you know how women are. Make yourself at home…have a glass of wine if you’d like,” I said as I giggled.

I walked over to the bedroom and opened the closet. My infamous peach dress hung from my Joy Mangano hanger. I wanted to yank it off and shred it to pieces. So, I picked out my favorite all

occasion black satin sequenced dress with a pair of slinky closed toe silver pumps that would probably have my feet screaming in about a half hour. 

“How do I look?” 

I spun around to show off my dress and said, “Let’s go!” He laughed and grabbed my hand. 

“Let’s do this!” he shouted.

We went downstairs and hailed a cab down the block. The cabby drove down one of those tiny streets near Houston and Broadway. There were hardly any lights on the street, but the art gallery sign was bright with red light bulbs it said “Art Gallery.” How original, I thought to myself. We

entered, and we were greeted by women dressed in red with black stiletto heels. They took our passes and handed us a card that was stamped guest and read unlimited drinks. It was a quaint

place with interesting artwork displayed. The artist, Jolie Alejandro, had a vivid imagination for tragic and solemn themes. She painted distorted faces and bodies that seemed depressed and

deformed. She used defining strokes of dark rich colors, like black, dark gray, midnight blue, and surprisingly white, emphasizing their eyes; eyes that were placed in odd places around the faces

and bodies. I found the paintings bizarre and magnificent at the same time. She definitely was talented.

Dave introduced me to Jolie. I extended my hand to her, and she lifted her hands towards me and held my face and said, “Yes, you have beautiful eyes, they’re big, bright, and they seem to be hiding a tormenting secret.”   I grabbed her hands gently and slid them down off of my face. My

eyes widened in shock. I stared at her because I felt like her compliment was a side jab at me. I was embarrassed and insulted at the same time. She spoke very loudly, and a few people turned to

see who she was talking to. I turned to walk away and she said, “Just kidding,” as she smirked at me with a condescending smile, 

“But, you are beautiful.” She winked at me and walked towards Dave who left me to admire her work. 

My eyebrows furrowed, and my nose crinkled up. She undeniably noticed

I was uncomfortable with her remark, but she didn’t care. She smiled at Dave while turning her back towards me and waved to a group of admirers on the other side of the gallery. Jolie was a

short woman, with a very skinny, chiseled, pale face. She was wearing a kerchief around her platinum blonde hair. She seemed friendly at first, with her sheepish smile, but after her comment,

I wasn’t convinced. She looked at me again, winked, then excused herself and met up with her admirers on the other side who were waiting for her brooding presence. I was relieved. She was

strange, and I didn’t want to speak to her again. Later, wicked witch of the west! Dave grabbed me by my hand and laughed at the expression on my face. 

“I don’t know her, really, I don’t. I swear!” he chuckled loudly. “She thinks we met somewhere before; she obviously is very confused. That kerchief is way too tight. I would never talk to some

freak like that. She’s definitely not my type, but I just played along so I could get some free tickets to get in here. Come on, let’s take a look at this weirdo’s work,” he said as he smiled at me.

I gave Dave a crooked look, and he tugged at my hand to start walking. Dave and I walked around looking at her paintings, which were lit up with bright fluorescent white lights. The waitresses wore red, skin-tight body suits and passed around martinis and glasses of wine on a silver tray,

gliding through the floor in old-fashioned roller skates, four wheelers, no less. I looked at the martinis and shook my head no. Dave picked up a glass of wine. 

“Not drinking tonight?” he asked checking out the waitresses’ boobs and asses. 

“No, I’m not in the mood to drink tonight. I’m going to find a place to sit.”

I smiled indignantly and walked away. I didn’t like the way he was looking at those waitresses; it made me feel uncomfortable.