All of Me (23 page)

Nathan wanted to
smash something.

“That was a long
time ago, Stella,” he said tightly.  “And something I prefer not to think about
or discuss.  Period.”

“All of it?  Or
just the C’s part?”

“All of it.”

Stella made a
frustrated sound.  “Well, that’s not going to work for me, Nathan. I’m sorry,
but I need to understand you.  And to do that, I need to know everything about
who you are and where you came from.”

“Why?  What does
that accomplish?  I’ve never hashed it out with any other woman and they didn’t
seem too broken up about it,” Nathan said.  “The past is the past and that’s
where it belongs.  I am not looking to relive it or explain it or try to
fucking analyze it.  Not gonna happen.”

“I’m not ‘other
women.’”  Stella jammed a finger into her chest.  “I’m
this
woman and
this woman needs to know!  I’m sorry if it’s difficult or annoying or whatever,
but you need to talk to me, Nathan!”

Nathan jumped out
of his chair and loomed over a now wide-eyed Stella.

“Why?  So you can
pity me?  So you can ‘oooh’ and ‘ahhh’ and cry for the pathetic little
fuck-up?  No thanks!”

But instead of
cowering beneath him, Stella did her own jumping up. 

She stood on the
balls of her feet, trying to get as close to in his face as she could.  “Who
said anything about pity?  I have no intentions of pitying you, Nathan.  I just
want to know you.  All of you. And that includes the good, bad, and the ugly. 
I’ve shared with you, Nathan.  Hard stuff.  Painful stuff.  Stuff that only my
sisters know.  Stuff that I never planned on sharing with anyone ever again.” 
Her eyes welled.  “I
showed
you.  Everything.  The worst part of me. 
The best part of me, too.  I was scared and I wasn’t sure how you were going to
react, but I did it because I love you and I want to share everything with
you.  Because, if you want to be with me, you deserve to have all of me.  No
lies.  Nothing held back.”

Nathan stepped
back, stunned.  It took him a minute, but he finally found his voice.  “You
don’t have a ‘worst.’ You have a battle scar and a triumphant story and nothing
but good things.  Things you should be proud of.  You got dumped by a loser who
never deserved you to begin with and that sucks, but that is nothing –
nothing
– compared to my worst.  It doesn’t even come close.”

“You think I don’t
know that, Nathan?  You think I can’t see the pain in your eyes?  That I can’t
feel your muscles tense up every time I touch you?”  Stella gestured toward her
bedroom.  “That nightmare, Nathan…”

Suddenly, Nathan’s
legs didn’t feel strong enough to support him.  He sank back into the chair.  A
shaking hand reached out for the water bottle.  Because his mouth was really
dry all of a sudden.

“I’d have to be
blind not to notice how you struggle to eat or how you don’t drink alcohol. Or
how super sensitive you are to abuse of any kind.  I see all of it, Nathan, and
it kills me that I don’t know what’s causing you so much pain.  Or how to help
you.”

“I don’t want your
fucking help!”  Nathan stood up so fast he knocked her chair backwards.  “I
don’t want it or need it!”

“I don’t care if
you want it or not!  You’ve got it!  And you will tell me everything, Nathan! 
I swear to God, I am more stubborn that you are and I will never let it go!”

Nathan snapped;
whipping the water bottle left, into the far wall.  It smashed a dent into her
drywall and bounced to the ground.  He stepped closer to her, hands balled into
fists.  “What do you want to hear, Stella?  That my mother was a weak,
alcoholic, mess of a human being?  That my father was a sadistic, abusive
motherfucker who put out his cigarettes all over my body from when I was an
infant until I was 11 years old?  That he whipped me with belts and broken
broomsticks and slashed me with razor blades?  That he beat me every day;
breaking almost every bone in my body at least once, sometime more than once? 
That he strangled my mother to death in front of me and my two little
brothers?  That he’s in prison?”

When Stella
started crying, Nathan went after her even harder.  “Oh, but I haven’t even
gotten started, sweetheart.  I thought you wanted to hear
everything
! 
Don’t you want to hear about how, before he killed my mother, my father spent
all of our money on drugs and alcohol and left us starving?  That I had to go
into your father’s grocery store and buy whatever I could with the change I
found breaking into people’s cars and digging through garbage.  And, speaking
of garbage, I’m sure you’ll want to hear all about how we had to survive on
rotten food we picked out of the trailer park dumpster, huh, Stella?  You said
you noticed I have an issue with eating.  Yeah, cause every time I put anything
in my mouth, that meant it was less food for my brothers.  Which meant eating
food equaled guilt.  Which is why, still to this day, I have a hard time
choking it down, let alone enjoying it.

Maybe you want to
hear that I was separated from my brothers at 11; sent to one wretched, abusive
foster home after another until a social worker finally bothered to notice my
new bruises and the fact that I was so thin you could count my ribs?  That I
was then sent to a juvenile home where I had to fight off predators and bullies
with my bare hands on a daily basis just to survive until the next day?

Or how about how
my one brother overdosed on drugs and died at 23 and the other one is serving a
life sentence for drugs?  That I couldn’t save them?  That I failed them, just
like I failed my mother?”

“
Nathan
…”

“Not enough? 
Okay, how about that I joined the Army the day I turned 18 and did four
horrific tours in the Afghanistan; watching my friends die one by one?  Shot,
blown up, and captured by the enemy?  Enjoying yourself yet, Stella?  Have a
good time?  Wanna hear more?”

Stella’s tears
spurred him on. 

“Maybe you’d get a
kick hearing about grown men crying out for their mothers and pissing
themselves and grabbing onto each other as mortars and bombs rained over our
heads?  That, even though I tried my damndest, I couldn’t bring my brothers
back alive.  That I had to live with the guilt of surviving when so many other
people died?  Of wanting to vomit the day they mailed me my medals?  Or does
the old stuff bore you?  Maybe you’d like to hear about all the fucked-up shit
I do now.

 I’ve never had a
real relationship with anyone.  I can’t.  I don’t know how because I’ve never
had a normal relationship with another human being except maybe for Danny
because we are the same type of person: 
Fucked.  Up.
 I will never get
married or have children because I would never trust myself not to abuse them. 
I don’t know a fucking thing about adult/child relationships that doesn’t
involve physical and verbal abuse.  Not that it matters because what fucked-up
relationship would I have that would last long enough to lead to marriage?  

I have screwed
tons of women and not cared about a single one of them.  I fucked them because
that’s what I was supposed to do, but I hated it. Every time.  With every
woman. I can’t remember their faces or what their names were.  I used them up
and spit them out and I fucking hate myself for it.  And after every time, I’d
do this fucked-up shaking and sweating thing that I’d have to explain away as
the flu or mono and then get the fuck out of there.  Oh, sure, I’d call them
again and when I couldn’t stand myself anymore, I’d eventually break it off
with them, but it was so twisted and sick and fucked-up.  It made me feel dirty
and angry and then I’d go home and get even more fucked up.”

Nathan barked out
a harsh laugh.  “You wanna know what’s wrong with my hands?”  He unwrapped the
Ace bandage covering his right hand and shoved the torn flesh into Stella’s
face.  “I did that.  To myself.  By purposefully not wearing a leather glove
when I lift weights.  I run and exercise and lift weights until my body is so
destroyed that I can finally relax.  I’ve ripped up my hands, pulled muscles,
developed a hernia, slipped disks, and sprained my own muscles.  But I can’t
stop.  Because I have no other outlet.  I don’t drink because I will never lose
control of myself like that and because I’ve seen the destruction that shit
causes.  I don’t do drugs because it’s against the law.  I tried fucking my
stress away, but, as you now know, that didn’t work.  I do still punch stuff. 
And throw stuff.  But that doesn’t really cut it and so I walk around all
fucked up and hope for the best. And you let this beast inside of you. Stella.
Still like me?  Still wanna save me?”

Nathan sneered at
her tear streaked face.  “Happy now?  Feel better than I got that all off my
chest?  Really loving me right about now, aren’t you, Stella?”

When she reached
for him, Nathan shoved her hands away.  “What are you, fucking stupid?  You a
glutton for punishment?  Maybe you’re one of those chicks that get off on this
kind of stuff.  Or maybe it that you just have a thing for asshole cops?  First
your ex and now me.  Sort of a pattern, huh, Stella?”  Nathan smirked.  “You
just a little Badge Bunny, Stella? Huh?  Danny was asking about you.  Maybe you
can go with him when we’re through.  Be kind of cool to say you fucked
partners, huh?”

“
Nathan. 
Please. Stop
.” 

Stella was sobbing
in earnest and, for once in his life, a woman’s tears failed to melt him. 
Instead, they pissed him off more.

“Fuck this.” He
stomped out of her house, slamming the door so hard behind him he heard the
wood frame split.

Chapter
Eighteen

“Hello?”

“Stella?  It’s
Danny MacDonough.  Nathan’s partner.”

Stella cleared her
throat.  “I know.  What’s up, Danny?”

“You sound like
hell.  Sorry.  Anyway, sorry to call so late, but need your help.”

“It’s 4 a.m.  What
could I possibly help you with right now?  If you’ve got a medical emergency,
go to the ER.”

“You sound like
you were up,” he said, weakly defensive. 

“I was.  What’s
up, Danny?”

Stella was
exhausted.  Emotionally and physically.  Her eyes were swollen and her throat
was raw from crying.  She’d been about to take a Xanax to sleep before Danny
called wanting God knew what.

“I don’t know what
went down with you and Nathan tonight, but he’s a fuckingmess now.”

“Good.”

“
Stella
…” 

She sighed.  “What
is his problem?  Exactly?”

“Exactly?   Well,
right now his exact problem is that he’s handcuffed in the back of a cruiser.”

Stella sat up on
Gigi’s couch.  “What?  Why?”

“Apparently, he
went to a bar downtown and drank himself into a fucking stupor.  Oh, and then
he started brawling with everyone,” Danny said.  “The cops down here are
friends of mine.  Thankfully they called me instead of arresting his ass and
throwing him in jail.”

“But Nathan
doesn’t drink.” 

“Yeah, well, he
decided to drop that little life philosophy tonight long enough to get
shit-faced on Jack Daniels and start swinging.”

“So take him home
and let him sober up,” Stella said, gingerly pressing her fingertips to her
swollen lids.  “Or haul him to jail.  What do I care?”

Danny whistled
low.  “Man, he must have really pulled some stunts tonight.”

“He insinuated I
was ‘fucking stupid,’ called me a Badge Bunny, and told me that, when I was
done with him, I should hook up with you because wouldn’t it be cool to ‘fuck
partners.’” 

Danny cursed under
his breath. 

“And that’s in
addition to throwing a water bottle through my wall and breaking my front
door.  So you can see why I’m feeling a little less than sympathetic toward any
of his BS right now.”

“Yeah, I’m seeing
where you’re coming from.  But, Stella, I really could use you down here right
now.”

“Why?  So he can
hurl drunken insults at me instead of sober ones?”

“He’s a wreck,
Stella.  He’s swinging on all of us and screaming and kicking at everything he
can in the back of the cruiser.  I’ve never seen him out of control like this
and I don’t know what to do. We can’t keep him handcuffed in the squad car all
night.”

“Take him to the
ER.  They’ll put him in restraints and sedate him,” Stella said, already
knowing there’s no way in hell Danny would do that.

“Stella…”

She sighed.   “I
still don’t understand what you want me to do.  I’m the last person he would
want to see.”

“Well, he’s been
screaming your name over and over again for the past two hours. It sounds like
a goddamned revival of
A Streetcar Named Desire
over here.”

Stella melted.  A
little.  “Fine.  I’ll come down.  If only to witness this shit-show for
myself.”

“Thank you,
Stella.  I’ve got a squad car on its way for you right now.”

“That was a bit
presumptuous.”  Stella shoved her feet into her Converse sneakers and threw on
her favorite OU zip up sweatshirt. 

“Yeah.  Maybe. 
But I was pretty sure you’d come.”

Stella
harrumphed.  “Well, I’m at my sister Gigi’s, so they’ll have to pick me up
here.  979 Parkwood.  I’m ready when they get here.”

They got off the
phone and Stella wrote a note out for Gigi and Marco so they wouldn’t freak
when they woke up and realized she wasn’t there.  About five minutes later, a
black SUV cop car pulled in.  Stella pulled the front door shut and skipped
down the front steps.

The officer, a
young, good-looking guy (naturally, considering Stella was a hot mess) got out
and opened the passenger door for her.  “Hey.  You must be Stella.  I’m Steve. 
Thanks for coming.”

They had a nice
fifteen minute chit-chat session on the way downtown, mostly centering on
Steve’s new Pug puppy.  Steve was a sweet guy, but Stella hardly heard a word
he said.  Her body was jittery from the fight, the crying, the lack of sleep,
and the adrenaline rush surging through her body.