Shattered and Shaken (20 page)

“You can't. It was a closed adoption."

He takes my face between his hands, brings his forehead to mine. His teeth grind and he hisses through them, “You know what I said about not giving up on you? Fuck that, I'm done.” He stalks to the front door, slings it open, and slams it behind him as he leaves. I snort between the sob that’s threatening to escape. He’s done it again, and I’m not surprised; it's what he's best at, leaving me behind.

What I need is for someone to hold me and tell me that everything’s going to be okay, but that will never be Wyatt; he isn't capable of comforting anyone. How could I have let myself be fooled!

When I hear Wyatt pull out of the driveway, I run to my room and jump into bed. I put in my earphones and go through my playlists on my iPod. I pick one without looking. As soon as I hear Ron Pope's voice sing “A drop in the ocean”, an ocean leaks from my eyes. This is not the song I need to hear right now. The words are like salt to an open wound. Can someone slice me in two and give half of me to Wyatt and the other to Blake? Can the two of them be combined into one? My decision should be easy because I'm having Blake's baby, right? And I love him. But it's not as easy as that. God, I wish it was. It’s so hard to let Wyatt go; I don’t know if I can. They both offer things I can't live without, but I can't toy with their hearts. It’s wrong on so many levels. I know this, and I feel like shit about it, yet I can't see my life without either one of them in it. How in the hell do I move on if my heart’s divided?

When you're born, the hospital should provide you with a manual, an instruction guide, something. Life would be a hell of a lot easier. My mind flashes back to the other night as I helped Wyatt up the steps and he muttered, “You can be with who you want, but he'll never be who you need.” Is he right? More than likely, yes. My heart aches at the thought of hurting Blake; he’s an innocent by stander in the middle of a gun fight. He’s done nothing wrong, yet he’s the one who may get harmed. God help me. I can’t hurt him, I love him, but do I love him more than Wyatt? Fuck! What do I do?
 I've never asked so many questions in my entire twenty-two and a half years. I’m so tired, tired of it all.

It's early in the evening and I'm physically and emotionally exhausted. I'm ready for bed. I lie here and stare at the ceiling as music flows through my ears. I try to
focus on singing along with the bands, but my mind won't shut off. Question after question arises, and there's nothing I can do to prevent them! I'll be damned if I start crying again, this emotional shit must be part of the pregnancy. All I seem to do is cry; it's played out. From here on out, water is my enemy. I refuse to fuel my tears.

I've tossed and turned for hours. Getting out of bed, I walk to my window to see if Wyatt's returned, but he hasn't. The clock reads 11:45pm and he should be back already. He must have gone to Willie's; that's where he went the night he came home drunk. I only hope he doesn't decide to drive home. Now, I’m concerned; I punch his number into my phone, but it goes straight to voicemail. I wait a few minutes and try again, voicemail again. Okay, now, I'm panicking; he always answers for me on the first ring, every time. Not that I call him often, but when I do, he answers immediately.

I'm still dressed in the clothes I put on earlier, so I tighten my hair tie, slip on some flip-flops, grab my keys and sprint to my car. Hopping in I fumble with my seatbelt in urgency, but I can’t get the damn thing buckled - fuck it.  I start the engine and speed out of the driveway.

The entire way to Willie's, I skim the road for any sign of him, praying I don't see his Jeep wrapped around a telephone pole. Finally, I pull into Willie's, but his Jeep isn't in the parking lot. Leaving my car running, I run inside to scan the bar, just to make sure I’m not missing his car; he isn't here. Shit. I hop back in the car and call him one last time. “Hey, you've reached Wyatt. Leave a message and I'll call you back,” followed by a beep. Stammering, I decide to leave a message. “Hey, it's me. I'm really sorry our argument ended the way it did, but I'm really worried about you.” I pause to catch my tears. “It's late and I haven't heard from you... Will you call me if you get this, please?” I hang up.

There's nothing open in Jacksonville, and outside of Jacksonville, there's numerous places he could be. I could search for him, but if he wanted to be found, he'd answer his phone, or at least have it powered on. My vision’s blurred and my eyes are heavy with tears; it's challenging trying to focus on the road. Sophie’s apartment is close, so I'll stop there and calm down, maybe spend the night. It's now one in the morning, but it's a Friday night and I'm positive my party girl is awake. I have to tell her everything that's happening. Even though I'm concerned about her telling Blake before I have the chance, if I hold it in any longer, I’m going to burst. Plus, Sophie's the friend that comforts me; she'll give me what I need. She's an amazing liar. She'll hold me, pat my hair, and tell me that everything's going to be just fine, even when we know it isn't.

Chapter Nineteen

PULLING INTO THE COMPLEX’S parking lot, I search for a parking space. Once I spot one in front of her building, I pull in, put the car in park, and silence the engine. I'm not ready. What if she gets angry with me for loving Wyatt and Blake? Blake's the brother she never had, and she's protective of him. Maybe I shouldn't tell her? She's a conflict of interest. I still feel utterly tired, so even if I don't drop my “P” bomb on her, I can crash on her couch.

I can hardly hold my head up. I can't make it an additional ten minutes home. Looking in the rearview mirror, I put myself together the best I can. I left my purse behind so I have no make-up. Pulling my hair tie out, I run my fingers through the ends and try to make it presentable. Using a napkin from the console, I dry my face and pinch my cheeks to give them color. All the vomiting has made me pale; it must be lack of nutrients since everything I consume never stays down. Taking in a few breaths, I step out of the car, and take my time up the concrete steps that lead to her apartment. The air is muggy and I don't want to look like a pig in heat when I make it to her door; I can't go any faster even if I wanted to. I'm weak. Jesus, that statement’s far too true on so many levels at the moment. My legs shake from the work it takes to climb two flights. When I make it to her level, I have to take a moment to catch my breath and stabilize my stance.

As I make my way to her front door, I see that it's ajar. I knock softly as a warning that I'm entering her space. I do not want to deal with her kung fu moves. Entering inside slowly, I call for her, “Soph, where are you?” She doesn't answer. Her clothes are scattered throughout her apartment. I check the kitchen. “Sophieee,” I sing. She isn't in the kitchen either. There are only two more rooms she could be in, either the bathroom or her bedroom. I eliminate the bathroom because the door's wide open with the light off. Her bedroom door’s ajar just as the front door was, and there's a candle-like flicker shining through the crack.

Before I open her door, I listen to be sure she's alone. I don't hear anything so I assume she's just drunk and forgot to close her door completely. Her clothes being scattered everywhere isn't a sign she's with someone; it's normally a sign that she's had one too many tequila shots. Slowly, I open the door. The Earth crumbles beneath me as my eyes rest on a man with a tattoo covering his back. It's a picture of a cross that travels down his spine, surrounded by uneven angel wings; where the cross meets, there hangs military tags. They represent my brother.

Wyatt stands with his back towards me, completely naked. His glut muscles contract with each thrust as he pounds my best friend doggy style. Sophie moans softly as Wyatt's balls slap against her; it's sickening and I gag. They don't even realize I'm here. He pounds her harder, faster. “Ah Cooper,” she moans. What. The. Fuck. Cooper? Oh God. Oh my God! Why didn't I put two and two together? The dark hair, eyes so blue you can see straight through them, the tattoos, and Cooper - his last name. In the military, they approach you by your last name; Wyatt Cooper is Sophie's Cooper. This can't be happening. No, no, no, no...

God please, please let this be a dream. But it can't be, because dreams don't hurt. My heart has shattered against the floor of my stomach, the floor beneath me shakes
as if there's an earthquake, and my body feels as if it's being sawed in half, and not by an electric chainsaw. No, it's the kind of handsaw that tortures you, slowly cutting you into tiny jigsaw-puzzle pieces. Wyatt pulls his hand back and slaps her ass, leaving behind a handprint. “Ahhh, yes! Yes!” she exclaims.

As the moan escapes her, my lungs shrivel, oxygen depleted, much like a wet sponge thrown into the desert. A sponge is useless dry, just like my lungs are useless to me. I can't breathe and my head's spinning. I feel myself slowly slipping out of consciousness due to lack of oxygen. I scurry through the apartment trying to escape before I faint. My body moves faster than I can keep up. Taking the stairs down to the car, I hold on the rail tightly. My toe catches against the step and my grip loosens from the rail and fall forward onto my knees. I try to catch myself with my hands, but I'm moving too fast. My body rolls over my arms; my back bangs against the concrete, and my head collides repeatedly against the steel railing. I try to scream for help, but I can't suck in enough air to yell. As I near the platform, I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself for the impact. My head hits the concrete hard, so hard it bounces. Instantly, I see spots, and my hearing decreases. Blake's face flashes in front of my eyes, the pregnancy tests, the betrayal of the people I trusted most.

My limbs are heavy and my head feels like someone's taken a sledgehammer to it. I'm dying and it doesn't bother me; it's what needs to happen. People continue to hurt me. The pain's more than I can tolerate. If I die, the pain will be no more; it'll be gone forever. Tears slide down my face, but I can't reach up to wipe them away, and if I'm paralyzed, I'd rather be dead anyway. I begin to fade in and out of consciousness.

“Allie!” Sophie screams in terror. I fight to respond, but darkness takes me.

…BLACK

“Fuck, Butterfly, wake up,” Wyatt commands. Fear choking his words.

And...BLACK.

Sirens blare in my ears, and they cause me to cringe. My eyes won't open and all I can see is black, pitch black. I hear snipping of scissors, but I don't understand why. I can't feel my body! Oh my God, I can't feel a fucking thing! There's a pounding in my head, my chest, my ears; the beeping in the background beeps faster, but the sound fades along with my thoughts. Darkness is taking over again...BLACK...

I hear the sound of doors opening, and I feel queasy from motion. “Twenty-two-year-old female, fell down two flights of concrete steps. BP 80/60, pulse as low as 50 and as high as 140. Head trauma, non-responsive,” a woman informs as we enter the hospital.

I hear shoes scuff against the floor. “Aw fuck, Allie, baby.” Blake’s voice pierces through my darkness.
Ahh Blake, my comfort. Hold me, please.

I will my eyes open, but they don't. What the fuck is wrong with me!
Ouch
, the pain, oh God, the pain. Take it away. “What happened to her?” Blake demands. I hear the concern in his words. I want to reach out and touch him, let him know we'll be okay. Suddenly, I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about the baby, but my mouth won’t move to tell anyone to check on our baby. Help the baby, forget the pain, just help...BLACK...

“Al, Allie.” I hear Sophie through her sobs. Fuck you bitch. You betrayed me. I hear the opening of doors again and cool air brushes against my face. “Dr. Andrews,
please, let us do our job. We'll take care of her, sir.” I hear a bang and I assume Blake's just punched the wall; whatever he hit, I'm sure he fractured something within his hand. A male gives orders for me to have a CTA immediately. I don't know what a CTA is, but it sounds serious. I hear Blake’s voice through the chaos surrounding me. His voice is like a soothing balm, instantly making me want to live. I need to be okay, for us, the three of us…

Light glares into my eyes, stinging them. They refuse to open; however, their refusal is different, I'm in control this time. It's not that they won't open. I give up fighting against the light. Bringing my hands above my eyebrows, I shadow my eyes, blocking the light. Holy crap, I can move my limbs! Oh shit! Why is there a bandage around my head? Fuck! Where's my hair? Oh my God, where’s my fucking hair?

“Calm down, dear,” a nurse soothes. The monitors go crazy beeping and dinging.

“What do you mean calm down? Lady, my hair's gone!” I scream in pure panic, my voice hoarse.

She looks at me as I force my eyes fully open. “Oh, honey, we didn't have a choice,” she says gently, trying to calm me. Didn't have a choice?

“What? What do you mean, y'all didn't have a choice?” I ask. My voice is stronger with each panicked shout. “Oh my God! Why is this in my arm? Get it out,” I shout. My head’s fuzzy, and I know something isn’t right. Shit. I pull at the IV in attempt to remove it. The nurse punches the red call button on the side of the bed rail. “Page Dr. Andrews for Miss Anderson, now,” the nurse orders.

I know I fell down and hit my head, but it's not that serious, so why do I have wires attached to me as if I'm a fucking science experiment? Instantly, I relax as Blake emerges into my room. “Blake, please get this shit off of me,” I plead.

He smiles. “Can't do that babe, not yet,” he announces, placing his stethoscope over my heart.

“What are you doing?” No offense, but he's no neurologist, and I'm pretty sure I'm here because I hit my head, not because I damaged my vagina.

“Checking you, now
shh.” Shh? He can't shh me.

“Blake, there's a bandage around my head, and my hair's missing. Where is it?” I ask, seriously. I’m freaking myself out by the calm that settles in my voice.

He motions for the nurse to exit the room; she follows his instructions. “I'll page Dr. Dixon,” she informs him.

He nods his head swiftly, and then averts his attention to me. “Allie, do you remember anything from last night?”

The worst parts, yes. I remember seeing Wyatt pound the hell out of my best friend, my sister. I clear my throat before answering, “I remember going to Sophie’s.” I can’t tell him what I saw; it’ll begin an argument I’m not ready to deal with.

He squeezes my hand. “What about the accident, the fall? You remember any of that?” Well, there's a pounding in my head that makes it difficult to forget.

“Yes. I remember hitting my head, but I'm not so sure why I'm lying in a hospital bed hooked up to all these monitors,” I tell him.

He looks at me with glassy eyes. “Allie, you have a serious head injury. You more than hit your head, babe; you slammed it into the concrete.” I can see that he’s forcing himself to keep it together. He looks tired. Concrete? Okay, maybe I do
remember something like my head kissing concrete. I remember the pain and how I just wanted it to end. “You had bleeding around your brain; they had to go in and drain it off, relieve the pressure. They had to rush you to the OR, Al. You don't remember that?”

“No,” I admit. I don't remember anything past tripping and hitting my head against the platform at the end of the steps. His eyes are searching mine for answers, but I don't know what he's looking for. “Look, I don't want to upset you, because you're still in stable but critical condition, but this can't wait any longer.” he swallows hard several times before he continues. “We had to do some routine labs before we took you into surgery, and something showed up that surprised the hell out of me... Is there anything you want to tell me?” His question causes me to gulp, preventing me from answering him. This is not how I planned on telling him that I ruined his life. “Were you going to tell me? How long have you known?” As I open my mouth to explain, Wyatt enters my room. The monitors explode as my heart hammers against my chest, trying to escape me.

Blake turns and meets Wyatt's gaze. “You sorry son of a bitch.” I hardly recognize Blake’s voice; it’s laced with venom. Blake jumps across the room, smashing his fist into Wyatt's jaw.

Wyatt stumbles back, but quickly regains his balance. He takes Blake’s arms and bends them behind his back. "You know nothing about me," Wyatt hisses, pushing Blake against the wall, pounding his forehead into the wall.

“Stop, please,” I plead, managing only a whisper. I'm terrified Wyatt's going to kill him; it's what he's trained to do, kill with his bare hands. Blake tosses his head back, plowing it into Wyatt's nose, and blood splatters around the room. At the sight of blood, I become nauseous. Wyatt losses his grip on Blake, and Blake tackles him to the floor.

"I know enough," Blake admits, pounding Wyatt's face. Wyatt pushes Blake off of him and pins him to the floor, his knee crushing against Blake's chest. "Fuck you, she's mine- she always has been," Wyatt claims, rearing his fist back.

"Please, no- don't. Please, just stop, for- for-" I'm fading, again. Blurred vision... black spots... cracking bones.... beeping, for fuck sake, the beeping.... and darkness...

BLACK

To Be Continued...