Past Imperfect (29 page)
My entire body tenses as it braces for the blow. My head wants to bounce forward from the first strike, but I force it to stay in place against the hard surface. The pain starts in the center of my head and quickly spreads out to cover my entire skull.
“Mabry. I fucked women until I got tired and bored with them.
Becca was no different.”
I lean forward and thrust my head and shoulders back with greater force than the first time. My entire body jolts on impact.
“I’m sorry, Mabry. If I had known you were going to be in my future, I would have been a better man in my past.”
Closing my eyes tight, I lean over as far as possible, trying to get as much leverage and momentum to strike for the third time. Pain shatters through me. I slam my head back again, and again, and again, trying desperately to knock the thoughts and memories out of my head, but they just keep flooding in.
“Mabry, you know I love you more than anything else in this world, right?”
“Sure. I love you too, Mom.”
“She was just tired of being, sweetheart, so she finally made the choice that day to stop.”
I continue to throw my head back, the impact becoming weaker with my exhaustion.
“The note is pretty clear about her reasons for killing herself.”
I open my eyes to blurry vision. I’m not sure if it’s from the sobs or the blows to my head. I blink several times hoping to clear it up. My head swims on my first attempt at getting to my feet. I manage to stand on the second try and stumble to my sofa. I lie down and instinctively curl into a ball as I allow the sobs to take over my body and the darkness to consume my mind before drifting off into unconsciousness.
I can’t decide if I’m more worried or pissed off right now. I didn’t hear from Mabry last night. I was at the office until 11 p.m. Work kept me busy, but that’s not the reason I stayed. The idea of falling asleep and waking up alone caused my throat as well as my muscles to tighten. I shake my head, remembering a time when getting the girl to leave before the sun came up was my main goal in life. My goal is to never begin a day or end a night without Mabry by my side.
My phone stayed quiet, although I checked it every five minutes just in case her name flashed across the screen. I wanted her to ask me to come over, so we could talk about what’s going on, but she didn’t even respond to the handful of texts I sent. I decided to drive by her place on my way home. As I got closer, my chest ached seeing her car parked in the driveway and the lights on inside of her condo. In the back of my mind, I was hoping she had been out with Sylvie and wasn’t home yet. Obviously, she just didn’t want to see or talk to me.
Now I’m sitting at my desk pretending to work while keeping one eye on my door. I’ve purposely left it open, so that I can spot Mabry the second she steps off of the elevator. It’s a little after 8 a.m. and she’s not here yet, which is unusual. I’ve only known her to be late one other time since starting the firm. She’s always the first one here and the last to leave.
I get up, walk over to my door, and glance at Mabry’s closed office, wondering if somehow she snuck in here without me seeing her. I head to Tina’s desk. “Hey, Tina, has Mabry come in yet?”
“Not that I know of. I can buzz her if you like,” she offers.
“That’d be great. Thanks.”
Picking up the phone, Tina punches in Mabry’s extension. The ding of the elevator grabs my attention. As the doors pull apart, I see Mabry make her way through them even before they fully open. She quickly heads to her office without acknowledging or looking at the two of us. The action pisses me off, but I can’t deny the relief I feel seeing her. I give Tina a slight smile and follow after Mabry.
By the time I reach her office the door is already closed. I knock but don’t wait for an invitation before heading in. I click the door and eye Mabry sitting behind her desk, her head in her hands. I want to be pissed off at her and demand answers as to why she didn’t respond to my texts last night, but my anger melts away the longer I look at her. It’s obvious she’s not feeling well, and all I want to do is take care of her.
“Mabry.” Concern is evident in my voice. She doesn’t respond. “Mabry.”
Her head pops up and she looks at me with glassy eyes. “Hi, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Are you okay?”
Walking closer, I round the desk, heading toward her. She shakes her head as her hand rises, stopping me.
“I’m tired and have a splitting headache.” Her face lands back in her palms.
“Have you taken anything for the headache?”
“I took some Tylenol before I left my place, but it’s not helping,” she mumbles.
I debate whether or not to ask about last night now or wait to see if the pills take effect. It doesn’t take long before my impatience wins out.
Keeping the concern in my tone, I ask, “Why didn’t you call or text me last night?”
Looking up with confusion, she answers, “What?”
“Last night, I didn’t hear from you. You promised to let me know you got home safe.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” She massages her temples with the tips of her fingers.
I wait for a few seconds, thinking there’ll be more to her answer, but she just continues to massage in silence.
“That’s it?” I ask, a definite bite in my voice.
“I must have fallen asleep.”
“You drive the twenty minutes home, walk in the door, and immediately fall asleep? Do you have fucking narcolepsy?” Sounding more and more pissed.
Mabry looks up at me, obviously annoyed. “What’s your problem? So I forgot to text you.”
“Bullshit,” I spit out.
“I’m not doing this right now. I have work to do.” She turns her attention to her computer and flips it on.
“Please forgive me for being such an asshole. I just wanted to make sure the woman I love was safe.”
I head toward the door. Reaching out, I grab the doorknob, but Mabry’s words prevent me from twisting it.
“Brad, I’m sorry for last night and for just now. I’m irritable,” she says, her voice soft.
I don’t want to fight with Mabry. All I want to do is hold her until she feels better. Trying to lighten the mood, I give her a flirty response, “You can make it up to me tonight.”
Her answer comes quick. “I probably should go home and try to catch up on some sleep.”
I let my forehead fall against the door as my stomach sinks hearing her answer. “Yeah, okay.” My words are clipped and abrupt as I jerk the door open and walk out.
I fight every impulse to turn around, barge back in, and force her to talk to me. But I’ve learned from experience that when Mabry is pushed, her instinct to bolt shifts into high gear. I take several deep breaths, trying to calm down as I head into my office, slamming the door behind me.
Over the course of the next two days, Mabry becomes more withdrawn from me. Whenever I suggest spending time together she repeats the excuse, “I’m tired and need some time alone.” My patience is completely spent at this point. I can’t concentrate on anything and my muscles and nerves are so tightly wound up, that the slightest annoyance sets me off. I’ve barked at anyone who has come within a five-mile radius of me for the past couple of days. I knew something had to give when I made Mrs. Stevenson cry. She’s the older lady who owns a local sandwich shop that we order lunch from once a week. I walk in the lounge as she was setting up our order. She smiles at me, says hello, and then it happens. I completely flip out.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Brad, but the real estate firm downstairs cleaned me out of Cape Cod chips today. I have Doritos, though,” she says apologetically.
Looking at the petite, gray-haired, sweet grandmotherly lady who speaks in the softest voice, I shout, “Who the fuck eats goddamn Doritos with a fucking turkey provolone sandwich covered in fucking honey mustard sauce?”
The shock on her face is quickly replaced by trembling lips and tears. It’s not until she lifts her glasses to wipe the tears away that I realize what I’ve done. I apologize and give her a hundred bucks, hoping no saliva will make it onto my sandwich the next time we order from her. Peyton witnesses the entire exchange. After calming Mrs. Stevenson down and walking her to the elevator, he shows up in my office, informing me that the two of us are either getting drunk, laid, or both tonight. Since my lay-ee isn’t having anything to do with me at the moment, getting drunk is my only option.
I take another swig of my beer as I watch a few sailboats float by in the Charleston Harbor and then disappear from sight under the Cooper River Bridge. I’m sitting on one of the small sofas that line the outside area of The Rooftop Bar at Vendue Inn. The sun is fading and it’s peaceful right now. Peyton and I ducked out of the office a little earlier than usual in order to beat the crowd. He’s sitting across from me, playing with his phone, as my thoughts fluctuate from nothingness to Mabry. I wish she was sitting next to me, our fingers laced together, while the lights of the city flicker on. I’m trying hard to give her what time she needs, but I’m so lonely without her, I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out before I break.
“Dude, have you seen this app called Nipple?” Peyton’s eyes are fixated on his phone screen.
My brother giggling like a school girl catches my attention. “What?”
“It’s an app of an animated nipple that you play with. The entire screen is just one big nipple. You can rub it, pinch it, and make it jiggle.”
“Why would you want to play with a cartoon nipple?” I ask, astounded by his stupidity.
Looking up at me in confusion, he answers, “Because there are occasions when you need some nipplage time and the real thing isn’t within reach.” Holding up the phone, he turns the screen toward me and smiles proudly. “Nipple in your pocket is always ready, willing, and perky for ya.”
I stare at him, thinking there is no way we share the same DNA. “You’re an idiot.”
“What’s your deal lately, little bro? I mean, I know the lawsuit shit has been stressful, but from what Dad says, your lethal dick might actually earn us some money,” Peyton says, chuckling.
I take a swig of my beer as I narrow my eyes at him before commenting. “A young girl died, man.”
“I know. People die every day. She’s in a better place now.” He raises his glass and an arrogant eyebrow in a pathetic attempt to pay honor to Becca. Peyton and my father are a lot alike. Both dickheads. “So, tell me, how’s sweet cheeks in bed?”
“Who?” I ask, already pissed. I know exactly who he’s referring to.
Peyton and I are only four years apart. We had some of the same friends growing up, we both played baseball and went to the same parties. I followed after him at Duke, and we work together, but we are almost strangers to each other. We don’t have brotherly heart-to-heart talks about life and love. When Mabry and I first started sleeping together, we kept things quiet. Once we became an official couple, we didn’t hide from curious eyes. We’ve never made some big announcement, but people know we’re together.
He motions to the waitress to bring us another round and says, “Don’t get all alpha male. I’m not challenging you to a pissing contest. Just curious. I won’t make my move until you give me the all-clear signal.”