Almost Broken Up (Almost Bad Boys) (3 page)

I drag myself to the tiny bathroom. An off-yellow curtain is crumpled to one side, half of it drooping limply down, torn off the rings. Long, rusty stains decorate the bottom of the chipped bathtub. I open the toilet seat and I’m greeted with a matching rusty band inside the bowl.
 

An ant marches up the cracked toilet tank. I piss, flush, and don’t bother with closing the lid. The miniature sink is layered with grime. There is watered-down liquid soap in an equally filthy plastic bottle. I pump it onto my hands and turn on the water. I glance in the broken mirror and exhale. I look like shit times ten. I wash my face, scrubbing hard, as if trying to wash off the mask of exhaustion and tragic memories. My eyes are blood-shot, and the stitches on my forehead make me think of a monster. A monster that I am. Am I? Could I have saved her? Was it even possible to save her from herself and from her past?
 

I go back to bed and close my eyes. The sleep envelopes me right away, and I dream of my Faith; of the happy and careless Faith—the girl that she was before the drugs and booze.
 

I don’t know how long I stand in the shower. Hot water burns my skin, evoking red splotches all over me. But I welcome the sensation, because it lets me concentrate on something other than Faith’s death. I put my palms on the wall and hang my head down under the water. I watch the water run down the drain by my feet. Someone pounds on the door again, but I ignore it. Maybe the same girl as before? Or maybe another girl. I don’t care, because the only girl that I want to see now is dead.
 

“Colin!” I recognize the voice. It is high and melodic with a hint of something more in it… fear? Panic? God, Libby! My grandmother is here. How did she find me? I jump out of the shower, not worrying about turning the water off, and grab a semi-clean looking bath towel. It’s so small that I barely manage to wrap it around my hips. I pull the doors open. Two women stand there, their eyes huge with anticipation: Libby and her mother—my great grandma—Helga.
 

“Colin! Are you okay?” They both rush at me, wrapping their arms around me, hugging me fiercely.
 

I hug them back with one arm, holding the skimpy towel close to my body with the other hand.
 

Helga is very old and very tiny—maybe four feet two, that’s all—but she’s fierce and authoritative. Libby is all motherly love and wisdom. These two raised me since I lost my parents at the age of four.
 

They talk, shout, cry, ask questions. I don’t know what to do first, so I just motion them inside and close the doors.
 

“Wait, wait,” Libby quiets her mother and turns her worry-filled eyes to me. “What happened exactly? After I’d got your call last night, I tried to contact you at the dorm. Your friend Adam told me about the accident. But he didn’t know where you went. They only knew the police brought you back at night, but then you were gone… I traced your call to here. That’s how we found you. Colin… please tell us everything. From the beginning.” She sits next to me on the bed, and Helga sits on my other side, grasping my arm in her small, wrinkled hands.
 

So I tell them the whole story. I feel tears rolling down my cheeks, and it is embarrassing. I’m a grownup man, not a kid anymore, but I can’t stop. It’s infuriating, but it is good to talk; to get it all out of me; to uncork that barrel of pain and let it flow out and away. They cry quietly, wrapping their arms around me and around one another. And then they tell me that we are going back home to Seattle. For good. I don’t fight it. I don’t want to go back to UCLA. I can’t face it. If I do, that little part that hasn’t been wrecked inside me like everything else is, will shatter, and I will be a broken man with no hope.
   

ONE

“If you can find a path with no obstacles, it probably doesn’t lead anywhere.”

Frank A. Clark

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
This is such bullshit. If something is about to kill you, it will scar you for life. There is no strength coming from terrifying experiences. Maybe that saying should be more specific and read something like
What seriously kicks your ass makes you stronger.
Yeah, that makes more sense.
 

Did the car accident that took Faith’s life, but didn’t kill Colin make him stronger? Hell no. He will never really put it behind him; he will never recover; he will always be broken inside, blaming himself for what happened, for not stopping her, even if he had no chance to do so.
 

I watch him closely now and even though I see him becoming visibly more relaxed, as if a huge boulder has been removed from his shoulders, I realize the aftermath of the tragedy from his past boils right under the surface, ready to rear its ugly head and take him down.
 

I know Colin’s trying to control his panic attacks. A few years spent in therapy taught him how to recognize the first symptoms of an upcoming attack, and how to quickly disperse it. He’s really good at it, but I still keep an eye on him.
 

After witnessing his panic attack for the first time, I start to do my own research, pouring over the Internet and books, learning everything I can about his condition and how to help him. Colin teaches me what to look for and what to do in case he fails to restrain the attack. So far, over four weeks from the initial incident, he hasn’t succumbed, although I’ve seen the first signs of an upcoming attack twice.
 

He tells me that he’s getting better; that this is just a residual of the past and not something new; that it doesn’t have anything to do with me. This, in his own words, is a good thing. I feel relieved but far from being completely at ease.
 

The fear of Colin walking out of my life is still quite present in my mind. The recollection of him acting withdrawn because I brought back the panic attacks hunts me. Despite his assertion of wanting me… no,
needing
me by his side, I keep remembering the feeling of us being almost broken up. And it scares me that we still might end up broken up.
 

There is also that dreadful, nagging thought about Faith—Colin loved her deeply and unconditionally. I keep speculating if he feels about me as strong as he had about her. Is he capable to love like this again? I chastise myself for being so insecure and needy. I can’t help but torture myself with doubts. What the hell is wrong with me?
 

We’ve been dealing with a lot of stress lately, and so we decide that we deserve some fun. Going dancing at the Doors to Hades nightclub in downtown Seattle is on our agenda tonight. Parking is non-existent around the club. Besides, we are planning to have a few drinks, so a taxi is the only option.
 

I dress in my little black dress that I snatched at the Nordstrom’s semi-annual sale last year. It hugs my body, emphasizing all the right curves, making me feel super sexy. I fix my hair into a messy bun, and then rummage through my little jewelry case. I have a pair of cute dangling earrings that sparkle just enough. I put them on and start on my makeup.
 

Colin enters my bathroom and leans against the door jam with his shoulder, ankles crossed, hands in his pants pockets. I meet his eyes in the mirror. There is an unmistakable pure appreciation in his eyes for what he sees. One corner of his mouth lifts up just a notch, and he tilts his head to the side. His gaze travels up and down my body, and my heart skips a beat. Or more like five.
 

“What?” I laugh.
 

Slowly, he brings his hand to his mouth and absentmindedly traces his lower lip with his thumb. Such a small gesture, and I start to melt inside. My boyfriend is a sexy beast without even trying to be. Colin pushes himself off the doorframe and, biting his lip, unhurriedly moves closer. He stands behind me and wraps his arms around me, bending down to press light kisses to the back of my neck.
 

I take a sharp breath and feel that familiar slow, lazy heat starting to spread from my chest all the way down to my sex. “You’re going to mess up my hair,” I whisper feebly.
 

“I’m afraid so,” he whispers back. His lips burn a trail over my shoulder. He cups my breasts and pinches my nipples through the thin fabric of my dress and bra.
 

I moan and close my eyes. Screw the hair. I press my back against his growing erection and I know where we are heading.

It feels so natural, so right. Colin and I belong together, no matter what demons from the past we are battling. I turn around and look at him, my palms over his chiseled chest. He is so beautiful, with his dreamy eyes, sparkling with anticipation. He leans in, and our lips crush.
 

A hurricane of our sexual energy is unleashed. We are all lips, and hands, and tongues, and impatient, short breaths. My dress flies off me, and the hairpins slide out of my hair. Colin’s fingers loosen down what’s left of my bun, and I feel my hair tumble down to my back and shoulders. He lifts me up and sits me on the bathroom counter. His lips are on my nipple, and I feel his teeth grazing it through the thin fabric of my lace bra. The sensation is exquisite. It forces any thoughts out of my brain, except for one: I want this man so badly; right now; right here.
 

His mouth moves to the other nipple, and I scrape my fingernails over his back. Impatiently, I undo the buttons of his black shirt and push it down over his shoulders. He takes the hint and quickly shakes the shirt off, grinning at me.
 

Colin’s tongue is back on my nipple, torturing me sweetly. He moves down, pushing my already spread legs even more to the sides. Unhurriedly, he slides my underwear out of the way to reveal my folds, and then his mouth claims me. I can’t contain the scream, so I let it out. It’s like crying out my thanks to heavens for sending down this angel. He mercilessly works me into an explosive orgasm, and then quickly unzips his fly and in one swift movement enters me, slamming hard; again and again. And again, and more, until I’m pushed over the limit once more.
 

“God, Natalie!” Colin rasps in my ear right before finding his own release.
 

We stay wrapped in each other for a while, panting. He kisses me long and deep. I squeeze my eyes shut, my fingers lost in his hair.
 

I pull back and somberly stare in his eyes. “I love you.”