Bent not Broken (68 page)

Oh, how I had missed this body.

I ran my hands over his shoulders and down his arms, his muscles firm under my touch. His lips were incessant, his tongue hot and wet.

Fisting a hand in my hair, he pulled it tight, exposing my neck. His movements slowed as he licked down the sensitive skin, seeking out the spot behind my ear he knew would ruin me. He sucked, tugging with his lips, lingering at the delicate hollow below my jaw. I drew in a ragged breath, and my emotions caught up with me. He remembered.

He kissed his way back up, found my mouth again. Fingertips caressed and massaged the back of my neck, the skin afire with his touch.

When he grabbed the back of my knee and hooked my leg over his hip, I gasped. His palm traveled up the exposed flesh of my thigh, his thumb rubbing circles, coaxing, persuading, demanding a reaction. I pushed back into him, my body deprived of his for far too long.

“Melanie, my love,” he whispered, the words vibrating against my lips.

“Daniel,” I breathed into his mouth.

He pulled back, hooded eyes flaming in their intensity as they sought mine. I couldn’t look away as I peered deep into his soul. The love I found there was never ending, but shrouded in vast regret, grief imprinted on his heart. He ran his nose along my cheek, murmuring in my ear, this time the words dripping in sadness. “Only you.”

Those words resonated in the air, and as much as I knew he wanted to convince himself that they were true, they weren’t.

The weight of what I was doing crushed me. Thoughts of his wife and child lay heavy on my heart, and I remembered how we had gotten here in the first place. He hadn’t chosen
me
. He didn’t want
me.

With trembling hands, I shook my head, trying to keep my insecurities from pouring out. It was impossible. The feelings of complete rejection I’d swallowed down and harbored for all these years came bubbling to the surface and spilled over, erupted as tears rushing down my face.

“You didn’t want me.” My words were barely audible, but I knew he heard them. I pulled back, desperate to remove myself from the spell he had me under. He jerked his head back, meeting my gaze, his eyes clouded with confusion.

I pushed against his chest with my hands. “You didn’t want me!” It was hard to speak. The words stuck in my throat and came up between sobs. “You have her!”

He had chosen a different life, and he couldn’t take it back.

“What?” He released my thigh and stepped back. “Melanie, please...don’t say that. I’ve always wanted you. Only you.”

Desperate to remove myself, I squeezed my eyes and flattened myself further against the door. I had to get away.

I had promised myself I would never become this person—someone who would steal the same thing that had been stolen from me. Daniel had a family, and as much as I would always love him, that had to come before my need for him.

I turned to flee, unable to be in his presence a second longer.

If I stayed, I’d only take more of what wasn’t mine.

I flung the door open, and Daniel tried to grab my arm and pull me back. “Please, Melanie! Please...don’t leave,” he begged.

I refused to look back. I hit the hallway, pushing myself forward and forcing myself away.

He was right behind me. “Melanie...please...just listen to me.” I shook his hand from my arm when he grabbed me again. My heels slid across the tile floor as I raced through the lobby. In my periphery, I was aware of his secretary jumping to her feet, shock freezing her face in a small gasp as she watched the scene unfold in front of her. Tears fell faster when I realized what I’d put Daniel through here in his office. I couldn’t even remain professional for five minutes.

My steps didn’t falter as I flung the glass door wide open, never slowing when I darted across the street. There was only the sound of car horns blaring and the echo of Daniel’s pleas fading into the distance.

I jumped into my car and slammed the door, chanting over and over, “You didn’t want me. You didn’t want me. You didn’t want me.”

July 2000

“Melanie, hurry up! You’re going to be late again,” Mom called up the stairway, her voice stressed.

“I said I was coming!” I yelled back as I tried to bend over to tie my shoes. My right leg was tight, the constant dull ache now a sharp pang in my thigh as I strained to reach my foot. I wiped the single tear that slid down my cheek. It was impossible to separate the physical pain from the emotional.

Physical therapy again. I hated it. Hadn’t they tortured me enough? I’d spent three days a week, every week, for nearly the last four months in a gym, stretching, pushing, basically learning to walk again, and I was so sick of it. My mood was sour, and I definitely didn’t feel like cooperating as somebody “encouraged” me to push just a little bit harder.

“Melanie, now!” I cringed at Mom’s tone of voice. Things had not been going well here, and each day just got worse.

I had been so angry when my parents had forced me to come to Dallas. I resented them and I let Mom know it. I’d spent three full weeks in bed, unwilling to speak to her or look at her, and I’d barely eaten. The third week my new doctor demanded that I start physical therapy, telling me I’d never walk again if I didn’t. So I spent my eighteenth birthday at my first appointment, discovering just how grueling my recovery was going to be.

As painful as it had been, I’d done everything with a smile on my face. Even though my parents had demanded he not contact me, that he give me some time, I had been convinced he’d call that day. I was eighteen and free to leave. But there had been nothing. It was the day I felt the first real flicker of fear that maybe he didn’t want me anymore. Shrugging it off, I’d told myself he was just being respectful, giving me the space my parents had insisted I needed.

So I continued on, obligingly attending my therapy sessions every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and silently crying through the abuse. Diane, my therapist, tried to be kind, her own eyes usually damp by the end of the hour, promising it wouldn’t always hurt this bad. What she didn’t understand was that the physical pain had nothing on the pain in my heart. It seemed that as my body became stronger, my mind became weaker, a cloud settling in around me, heavy and ominous.

I missed Daniel so much. Each night I’d crawl into bed alone, succumbing to the ache I’d felt all day. I’d bury my face in my pillow to try to drown out my sorrow as I begged him to come to me. My body longed for his, needing to feel his love for me. For the better part of a month, Mom had rushed into my room each night, running her hands through my hair as she promised it would be okay. I’d cursed at her. Blamed her. She’d beg me to stop, saying she’d only wanted what was best for me. I had insisted that that was Daniel. She stopped coming the night I told her I hated her.

The days that passed only made it worse, each one a reminder that he still hadn’t called. I was in a constant state of despair, weeping behind closed doors and a total bitch to anyone who crossed my path. I never wanted to act this way, but I found myself unable dig myself out of the depression I was in. It had gotten harder to go to my appointments, harder to do my schoolwork, harder to live. It would have been okay had he done anything just to let me know he still loved me and wanted me. I would have happily lived out this sentence until I could go back to him. But he didn’t.

Four excruciating months, and still nothing from Daniel.

“Melanie!”

Didn’t she have any idea how hard it was just to put on my freaking shoes? I stood, the first step always the most painful. I winced as I began down the stairs, descending them as quickly as possible while Mom waited impatiently at the landing. Thankfully, I no longer needed Mark to carry me up and down. I hated being dependent on anyone, even though it was clear my step-dad didn’t share in my parents’ view of Daniel. He’d taken the moments of my vulnerability as he carried me up the stairs to tell me I’d be better soon and then I could go to Daniel. The only hope I had was Mark and the energy that pulled me back to Colorado, the tug on my heart that told me where I belonged—with Daniel.

And that was exactly my plan. I’d made up my mind that as soon as Diane discharged me, I’d go back to him. There was always an underlying insecurity I felt that Daniel might not want me anymore, but that wasn’t what I truly believed. I could still feel his love for me, traveling all these miles over all this time, and I had to believe in that.

Mom fumbled with her keys in her agitation, dropping them twice before finding the right one to bring her small red car to life. She looked over her right shoulder as she backed down the driveway and caught my eye.

“This is getting old, Melanie. You need to stop acting like some petulant little child and grow up,” she huffed as she braked in the street, switching the car into drive. Staring straight ahead, she held her jaw rigid as she chose her words carefully, her tone softening. “It’s time you moved on.”

“What do you mean by that?” I spat back at her.

She almost imperceptively shook her head. “Melanie, Daniel hasn’t even tried to contact you in four months. That isn’t exactly the kind of behavior you’d expect from someone who says he cares about you. He hasn’t even checked to see how you’re doing. You could still be in a wheelchair for all he knows.”

Anger burned, fueled by my fear that her words might be true. I could feel my face flush, my fists curling around the sides of the seat. “If you remember correctly, Mom, I’m here because of you, and you know exactly why he hasn’t called.”

She was quiet for a moment before breathing out heavily through her nose. “If you want to blame me for all of this, Melanie, then fine, you can do that. But being angry with me doesn’t change the fact that he hasn’t called or...or even had one of his parents call to check on you. Doesn’t that seem a little odd after all of this time?”

She looked at me, but I refused to meet her gaze, staring into my lap. Of course I thought it was “a little odd.” I was tormented by it, but I wasn’t about to admit that to her.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt any more than you already have, sweetheart.”

I squeezed my eyes tight as an exasperated yelp escaped my pursed lips. She didn’t want me to get hurt anymore than I already had? How dare she?

“Now you don’t want me to hurt, Mom? Was the pain you caused me just enough, and now you want to protect me from any more? Is that how it works? Was it okay for you to take me away from the one person I love the most, right after our baby died, so I had to grieve for her without him? Was that just the right amount of pain for me? Tell me, Mom, because I’d like to know just how much pain you think I should have!”

As if my words were suffocating her, she struggled to catch her breath. I knew they stung, but I refused to take them back. “Melanie...I...I never meant to hurt you.” She sniffed and her chest jerked as she tried to hold back her cries. “You’ll never understand how sorry I am.”

“Sorry doesn’t take away what you did to me...to us.”

Maybe someday I would forgive her, but not now. I’d always been quick to forgive and never hold a grudge, but what she’d done was cruel, especially after giving me her blessing. I still didn’t understand her reasons.

Neither of us spoke as we drove; the only sound was Mom’s whimpering. I felt guilty for upsetting her so much, but she needed to understand how much she’d hurt me.

She pulled into the parking lot, and for the first time, she didn’t get out. She just stared straight ahead as I struggled to stand from the seat. Then she left me standing alone, watching her drive away.

Another pang of guilt washed over me, before I pushed it away and subjected myself to one more day of Diane’s torture.

Diane assured me that I was doing great and that I probably had maybe three or four more weeks of therapy left before I could do the exercises on my own. I really didn’t think I could wait that long.

After the session, I pushed the door open, not sure how I was going to get home. Mom was waiting outside. Through the windshield, I saw that her face was flat and void of all emotion. The only evidence of our argument was her red, splotchy cheeks.

Neither of us acknowledged the other the entire way home. Slowly, I took the stairs to my bedroom, feeling terrible for ignoring my little sister who tried to talk to me, and locked the door behind me. I’d already had enough of this day and it wasn’t even noon.

It went against my nature to say such nasty things to Mom. I was so angry with her for putting me through this. And if I was being honest with myself, I was angry with Daniel. Angry that he had forgotten me.

No.

I didn’t want to allow myself to think that, but couldn’t extinguish that deep-seated fear.

Falling to the floor, I clutched my chest and buried my face into the carpet. What if Mom was right? Had he moved on? Had he decided I couldn’t give him what he wanted in life?

But Daniel loved me. I knew he did. I could feel it, even here in my old room a thousand miles away from him. But just because he loved me didn’t mean he wanted to be with me.

I sobbed on the carpet for what seemed like hours, releasing everything that had built over the days and months we’d spent apart.

Curled into a ball, I tried to comfort myself, rocking as I shed every tear I could find. When they finally started to slow, I turned to wrestle myself to my knees, when I saw the little box tucked under my bed.

It was the same box I’d seen on the counter in the hospital. I’d noticed it once but forgot it right away. I pulled it out and sat up, propping myself up against the side of the bed. I lifted the lid and peeked inside, unsure of what I’d find.