Unbreakable (39 page)

Through her sobs and hiccups, she plants herself directly in front of me. “Gabriel Garcia, there is no other man in this world that I will ever love as much as I love you. You loved me when I didn’t even love myself. I don’t deserve your love. But there is nothing in this world that I would love more than being with you for the rest of my life.”

Pulling her into me, I hold her. I remember the last time I cried—I cried when she left. Today, my tears are for new beginnings—for days with her I thought I’d never have.

“I’m home. Forever,” she whispers against my chest—and I know she is.

I can hardly believe it was three years ago that I packed up my life and moved to North Carolina. Driving away from everything I knew was the scariest, yet most liberating experience of my life. I was broken in every way possible and needed to find out who I was amongst the shattered pieces.

Reflecting on where I’ve been, I’m thankful for my experiences in North Carolina. I wish I hadn’t hurt Gabe in the process, but I learned important lessons about myself while I was there. The most important lessons I took away: it’s okay to hurt and to be broken, but it’s also imperative to forgive and heal. You have to
feel
to be able to love. But most importantly, every girl needs a tattooed bad boy to teach her to really
live
. That boy needs to kiss her like she’s never been kissed, to put her on the back of his motorcycle so she can feel the wind on her face and in her hair, take her for her first tattoo—and to let her go when he knows he’s not the man she really needs. Landon will always be that man, an important part of my life; my friend forever.

Dr. Peterson and I still talk weekly. We ‘Skype date.’ She helps me process feelings that occasionally surface, but I can say for the first time, I am truly happy. Finding a therapist to help me, talk to me, guide me, and ultimately teach me to love myself, was single-handedly the most important part of my recovery process.

A year and a half ago I rediscovered my love of running. I run with Gabe or a friend—always, never alone. It’s been my largest hurdle in my recovery. As for my attacker, he has never been found. The case is still open and active, and with the DNA collected and processed, it is still in the hands of the detectives.

Learning to forgive is the hardest barrier in any relationship, including the one you have with yourself. I had to learn to forgive my dad for not knowing how to grieve my mother’s death and throwing himself into his career as a way to cope. I had to forgive my rapist for taking trust and security from me. But the hardest person to forgive was myself.

I hurt Gabe in ways that are hard to comprehend. We’ve made amazing strides in our relationship, and now marriage. Gabe proposed to me on the beach in Santa Barbara a year to the date after I returned from North Carolina. We’ve been married for two years now. Gabe is the one person I trust with my life, but most importantly, my heart. Gabe is my everything. Well, one of my everything’s.

Olivia London Garcia was born eight weeks ago. With a full head of dark brown hair and intense, deep brown eyes, she is the love of Gabe’s and my life. There is a sense of peace that Olivia brings to us that words cannot describe. You never know unconditional love until you hold your baby in your arms, look into their eyes, and hold their little hand.

I spend hours on the front porch swing with Olivia, holding and swinging her while she sleeps and when she’s awake. I look at the beautiful house Gabe worked on for months and feel a sense of
home
for the first time in my life. I’ve never had a home that was mine, where I felt that I truly belonged, but this is it. My heart is finally home.

Every day, I thank the heavens above for Gabe and Olivia. No matter what the future holds, what is thrown our way, the love that binds us is unbreakable. That little white tattoo that reads ‘Infragilis’ across my inner wrist reminds me of that daily.

***For anyone that has experienced rape or sexual assault of any kind you can find information and help at 1-800-656-HOPE or RAINN.org***

Sifting through the clothes that are strewn about my darkened bedroom, I find my boxer briefs and slide them on, then start collecting her bra, panties, shorts, and shirt. This is never the fun part of my evening, yet I feel no guilt in asking her to leave. She fell asleep shortly after I fucked her senseless, and for the last hour I’ve been awake contemplating how long I should let her sleep before I kick her out.

Sideling up to the edge of the bed, I nudge her shoulder gently.

“Hey, Maria,” I call, nudging her until she shifts slightly. “Time to go.” I drop the pile of her clothes on top of her as she wakes and walk to the bathroom connected to my master suite so she can have some privacy to get dressed.

I lean down and splash my face with the cool water, repeating it again. I grab the hand towel from the hanging towel rack and dry my face, looking at the man staring back at me in the mirror, he looks worn. Hearing her moving around my room, I toss the towel onto the counter and open the bathroom door. The light from the bathroom illuminates the dark bedroom and I can see her sitting on the end of my bed, leaning down to fasten the straps on her sandals.

I rest my body against the door frame while she finishes up and collects her purse; I can’t help but feel nothing for her. This isn’t unusual for me; I don’t connect emotionally with women. I let a women ‘in’ once—to a place in my heart I really didn’t know existed, but I let her go, knowing she needed something I could never be. I don’t do romance, I don’t do relationships and I definitely don’t do love.

“Thanks for coming by—it was fun,” I offer as I usher her out of my house and out of my life for good. I never sleep with the same woman twice; it complicates things. I open the front door for her, holding it open so she can leave.

She plants herself in front of me and moves to kiss me but I turn my head, successfully dodging her lips—I rarely kiss women, either; it’s just not something I do unless I care about them, and there’s only been one woman I’ve cared enough about to kiss.

“Bye, Maria.” I nudge her towards the open door.

“Maria?” she laughs bitterly. “It’s Mariana, asshole.” As she says it, a hand connects with the side of my face.

Fuck.
I deserved it, I usually do.

“Mariana...Maria, same thing,” I say, closing the door behind her. For a brief moment, a flash of guilt washes through me. Then it all but vanishes and I feel nothing. Again.

There is not enough space on this page to thank everyone who deserves to be recognized, but I will try!

My family:
I love you all more than is humanly possible. Thank you for allowing me to chase this crazy dream of mine. Your patience and giving me ‘quiet time’ to write did not go unnoticed. I couldn’t do this without your love and support.

A.L. Jackson:
Thank you for inspiring me, and offering me endless advice and encouragement. In this cut throat world, your kindness and support mean everything. Love you friend.

My sprinting buddies
: A.L. Jackson, Molly McAdams, and Kristen Proby. Thank you for allowing me to wiggle into your little sprinting group. I’ve learned so much from all of you, and the laughs are endless. I love ‘us’.

To my beta’s:
Your feedback, guidance, and encouragement meant the world to me. Thank you for your brutal honesty.

Bloggers:
I can’t name you all, but thank you, thank you for believing in me, promoting me, and helping me! I adore you ALL.

My IC Girls:
The best part of our group is the friendships I will have for a lifetime.

Aleksandra Kirievskaya:
Thank you for giving me the beautiful cover photo. That photo inspired the most emotional scene for me to write. Thank you! Thank you!

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