Julia's Journey (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 2) (9 page)

Evening finally arrives and now we are sitting in the tavern
for supper. I’m looking over the main course menu and Julia is scanning the
beverage menu. “You want to tell me what all of this is about?” I ask as I tap
the top of her menu.

“I’m thirsty,” she sasses without looking at me.

“Please don’t do this, Julia.” I use her first name, which
causes her to look up. But it only lasts a beat until she goes right back to
checking out the drink choices. She is running from something hard and I have a
feeling it isn’t any of Sawyer’s stupid crap. The man has no clue. He makes me
sick actually with how he uses and mistreats women.
Especially
Julia.
What makes me even sicker is that she’s been letting him mistreat
her repeatedly for years.

I end up ordering a porterhouse steak with a side of mashed
potatoes and steamed vegetables. And Julia shocks me even further when she
orders a hundred dollar shot of whiskey—no joke. She slings it back like a pro,
and I have the overwhelming desire to cry. I suck it up though. My girl is
running fast from something and I can tell it is bad on her heels. I just wish
she would talk to me about it instead of self-destructing.

My food arrives and Julia has enough nerve to gag at it.
Like food is the mortal sin.

“That hunk of meat looks like it needs some more time on the
grill. Look at all that butter on those potatoes. Do you think you can eat all
that?” Her pretty little nose is all wrinkled up.

“I’ll share with you,” I offer, pushing the plate near her,
and she recoils like just being near it will cause her to consume the calories.
I give up and begin eating my meal.

Julia can’t sit still so she disappears into the tavern room
after this and I know there is nothing I can do, so I set out to enjoy my meal.
The pretty waitress tries talking me into dessert, but I want no more repeats
of the whole overeating situation. My food capacity is growing, but I don’t
want to push it. After my plate is cleared away and the bill settled, I take a
deep breath and talk myself into going to find my drunken companion.

I don’t like what I find in the dimly lit room.
At.
All.
Julia, in those tight
little jeans and that lacy tank top, is looking gorgeous as ever and
vulnerable. The woman is smashed on top of that. She’s moving those tiny hips
to some twangy music by the bar. My heart races up several notches at the sight
of a group of guys circling around her like sharks smelling blood. I’m not up
for this—mentally or physically. I brave it though and move to the edge of the
crowd. “Let’s go,
Thorton
.”

She looks over at me with unfocused eyes as she is being
openly groped by some behemoth of a guy.
“Party pooper.”
She pouts out those full lips before turning away from me.

“Now, Julia.” I scoot a little closer.

This gets the attention of the guy whose hands seriously
need to keep to themselves. My hand itches to remove them.

“Look little man, this fine lady isn’t ready to go. So bug
off.” He reaches out and shoves me for emphasis. He’s at least a half foot
shorter than me, but makes up for that with outweighing me by I’m guessing a
hundred or more pounds.

I throw my hands up and declare, “I want no trouble. It’s
just time to go.” I move over to pull Julia out of his arms and that’s when the
crap not only hits the fan, it explodes!

I get my butt handed to me. I’m not
gonna
lie. One minute I’m grabbing hold of Julia’s hand and the next thing I know I’m
on the ground, having had my bell properly rung. It happens fast and in a blur.
As I lay here, trying to get my bearings, Julia staggers over to me and kneels,
nearly toppling on me.

“Oh no… Honey, you’re bleeding,” she slurs out.

I can only grunt at her. My mind is too jumbled to form
words. I dab at my throbbing lip and pull my hand away. Sure enough, I find my
fingers tinged red. This day has officially sucked. I don’t see how it can get
any worse. The dude got two punches in. I can feel my aching left eye swelling
shut as I continue to lay here. I go to sit up just as I notice Julia’s face
turning green. Before I can move out the way, all of that poison she has been
pouring down her throat all day spews out in a demonic flood and is now
covering my shirt.

Now
this day officially sucks.

Chapter
Twelve

Julia

Morning finds me all kinds of hung over and I’m scared to
open my eyes. I lay here, trying to piece the night back together, but am
distracted by the pounding behind my eyes—not to mention my mouth tastes like
something crawled inside and rotted. I pull the blanket over my head and try to
put off consciousness for a little longer. I’ve not done this routine in a
while and forgot so quickly how horrible it is. I think I’ve messed up in a big
way, and have pushed Greyson too far this time. There was just no getting a
grip on myself yesterday.

My nightmare with Evan happened a long time ago, but certain
times of the year, the memories rear their ugly heads and haunt me. Yesterday
had marked the day Evan’s affection had turned to hurt. And that’s all I want
to say about it or I’m going to be headed towards a repeat of yesterday and I
just can’t handle another.

Eventually, I gather myself up off the bed slowly. The room
is still spinning and I’m having a hard time centering myself. I think it’s
more of a dehydration problem now. I find a bottle of water sitting on my
nightstand, pick it up, and start to sip it slowly. Once the bottle is empty, I
grab my backpack and head for the shower to try to wash away the shame. This
little inn is cute with the whole country decor, but my bed back in the RV
sleeps better and the bathroom is actually nicer. It’s odd to find myself
missing the confines of an RV.

After dressing, I head over to the door that connects my
room with Greyson’s. It’s already a little after ten in the morning so I know
he’s up. I knock quietly before entering. It’s such a feminine room with a
floral quilt and lacy old fashioned curtains. Everything is way too cheery
compared to how I feel at the moment. He’s sitting at the small dinette table
sipping coffee and slowly working through a bounty of room service breakfast.
Even in his scrawny state, Greyson seems too manly to be in such a feminine
space. He is sitting with his back towards me. All I want to do is wrap my arms
around his shoulders and beg for forgiveness, but I restrain myself and take
the seat opposite of him. Breakfast meat odor lingers in the air along with egg
aroma. The smell recoils my stomach so I don’t inspect the plate, just focus on
the coffee instead. I help myself to a cup and nearly drop it when I look up
and see Greyson’s face.

“I’m so sorry, honey… I thought I had dreamt that up.” All I
can do is
stare
at him in pity. He has a hat pushed
low over his face, but the black puffy eye and split lip are very prominent. He
won’t meet my eyes so I know he’s embarrassed and more than likely pretty
ticked at me.

“I can assure you, it was no dream.” He talks slowly as
though he’s trying not to stretch his hurt lip. My insides pinch at this. I
can’t believe how bad I’ve messed up and dragged this angel of a man down with
me.

Sitting in stunned silence, I can’t look away from his
face—a beautiful face that I helped to get mangled. I’m so ashamed of myself.
He slowly works through his food as I notice he’s completely dressed for the
day with his shoes already on, so maybe he’s not going to let my hiccup ruin
his adventure.

I can’t stand his silence. I wish he would yell at me or at
least bicker like normal. “Greyson… please forgive me for last night. I sort of
lost control…”

“Yeah.
That was pretty jacked up.” He shrugs his shoulders.
“But no worries.
At least I can mark a bar brawl and being
kicked out of an establishment off my list.” He speaks quietly and still won’t
look at me.

Neither would ever be on a list belonging to Greyson Stone.
He’s trying to brush all of this under the rug. I think I may just let him.

“Wow.
Two for the price of one.
That’s good.
Right?”
I try to laugh.

He plays along with a slight nod of his head.
“Absolutely.
It’ll give Mom something new to fuss over next
week.”

My stomach knots up at this. “I’ll explain to Barbara that
it was entirely my fault.”

“Nah.
I’ll take care of it… I’m a big boy.”

His words cause me to cringe, because I know his ego took a
beating last night, too. Oh, how I wish life had a rewind button.
Or at least a delete.

I watch wearily on as Greyson finishes his breakfast. He
places his napkin on the empty plate and finishes off his coffee. He pushes an
envelope across the table over to me and stands up stiffly. I open it and find
a paid receipt for a train ride back to New York. Oh… So he
has
had enough of me. Well, I sure do
deserve it.

“I think it’s best we part ways now. I also paid for you for
another night’s stay in case you’re not up for traveling today.”

“Please don’t,” I whisper as I move around the table and
wrap my arms around him.

Greyson barely hugs me back. “I can’t do this right now,
Julia. I can’t save you. I wish I could, but I’m not even strong enough to save
myself.” His voice is thick and husky and laced with defeat.

“I’ll… I’ll do better. Please.” Tears are trickling down my
face as I beg.

He pulls away and stares at me with pity. “I’ve got to focus
on getting myself over some stuff right now. That’s what this trip was supposed
to be about.” He shakes his head slowly. “All of this stress isn’t helping. I
really think it’s for the best that you go back to New York.”

A lump forms in my throat at his rejection, but I manage to
screech out, “Okay.”
 

“Look, I’m already packed so I’m heading out.” Greyson
places a gentle kiss on my temple. “Please take care of you,” he says softly
before grabbing his backpack and leaving me stunned. This rejection from
Greyson hurts like nothing I have ever felt. He’s the only person that has ever
been a solid fixture in my life and I’m not only pushing him away, I’m beating
him away.

I eventually stumble back to my room and notice for the
first time that all of my belongings from the RV are here. I stare at my
luggage and scold myself out loud. “You did this. And there’s no one else to
blame.”

I notice my travel journal sitting on top of my suitcase and
pick it up on my way over to the bed. Wiping away my tears, I perch on the end
and flip through the last few weeks of my life. Greyson said it was a travel
journal to record our adventure, but as I scan through mine I’ve noticed it is
more about my life’s journey and how I’m not handling it very well. I reach the
last page with writing on it and the tears start back up. It’s not my
handwriting, but Greyson’s.

 
Come to me,
all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. –Matthew 11:28.

Greyson has always been so in tune with me. He’s absolutely
right this time. I am burden and so, so very tired. All I feel like doing is
crawling back in the bed and drowning in my humiliation and misery. So that’s
exactly what I do.

~~~~

Two weeks back in New York feels like years, or decades, or
centuries. Regardless, it’s way too long. I feel all itchy and nothing seems to
alleviate it.

Leeza
wasted no time booking me and I’ve already knocked out two
photo shoots and have another one on the books for tomorrow. So here I am back
to my normal routine. Yet it’s not sitting right with me. Nothing feels normal
anymore.

The train ride back to New York had given me enough of a
chance to get my act together. By the time I arrived at the train station, I
had a car waiting to whisk me away to my full-service salon. I had the works
done, too. I even had my stylist add some golden low lights to my nearly
white-blonde hair. The driver delivered my luggage to my apartment before
returning to pick me up. As I waited for my freshly manicured nails to dry, I
had my assistant bring over a new designer outfit. It’s a simple kelly-green
wrap dress that I accentuated with gold hoop earrings and thin gold bangle
bracelets. By the time I had the strap of the tan wedge sandals
secured,
Julia Rose was ready to be seen.

The town car delivered me to my apartment and I wasn’t
surprised the word had already gotten around of my return enough to bring out
some paparazzi. I had my façade securely in place by the time the driver opened
my car door.

A supermodel living happily and contently in New York
stepped out on the sidewalk with a phone to her ear. She laughed into the dead
phone and said her goodbyes before slipping it into her new designer tote.
Julia Rose sought out the lens of the half dozen cameras and gave each one an
award-winning yet subtle smile.

My strategy worked, too. Those jerks were disappointed that
they did not find the train-wreck their pockets were counting on. Good. People
shouldn’t make money off of others’ failures or personal problems.

It still didn’t turn them off from me. The headlines the
next day declared NYC’s SWEETEST COUPLE TURNS SOUR. The stories say that Sawyer
Helms broke Julia Rose’s heart for a younger model. Pictures of us together
with the dramatic tearing effect between us accompany the headlines. Of course
there are shots of the new couple together as well, with Sawyer looking
stunningly handsome and
her
looking
infatuated with how she is hanging all over him. She looks pathetic and it
makes me wonder if that’s exactly what I looked like, too. It makes me
disgusted with myself. The paparazzi idiots are slow to the show, though.
Sawyer has already moved on and the newly brokenhearted younger model has moved
to California. Ignited sent her to their sister agency out west per Sawyer’s
request. The agency has always treated him like royalty and won’t do anything
to harm their relationship with their golden boy. Greyson could hold that
title, but he has always declined it and the superficial illusion of this
celebrity life. He has always kept this world at an arm’s length, staying just
close enough to get his job done and nothing more.

Sawyer has called me several times.
Wanting
to hook up with his favorite rose.
Listening to his messages in a sober
state makes me gag and question my sanity for putting up with him in the first
place. I think it’s time to sever our
friendship
once and for all, so I’ve not returned any of his calls. I’ve also told the
agency that I will no longer pose with him in ad shoots and they have no
problem with it as long as I agree to stay with them.

Men have hurt me all of my life and, sadly, I openly let
them. I’m miserable with or without their added hurts and I’m starting to
realize just how tired of it all I truly am. Julia
Thorton
is tired of pretending to be Julia Rose. The make-believe is no healthier than
the reality. Each night I pull out my journal and reread the Bible verse
Greyson shared with me. I feel the words resonating in me. I go to bed in tears
over not knowing how to let go of my burdens.

Tonight as I reread the verse, I finally pick up a pen and
let some of it pour out on the page.

I have an
addiction. Yes. I admit it. But not with what anyone suspects. I’m addicted to
pain.
Pain from men using me and breaking my heart.
Pain caused by substance abuse. And pain from my anorexia. I thrive off the
stomach ache I live with on a daily basis. I know how to eliminate the pain in
my stomach but I hold on to it for dear life so that it out-hurts the pain of
my soul. I’m not addicted to the highs caused by drugs. They aren’t even close
to what they are cracked up to be. No. I’m addicted to all the hurts that
accompany me in the aftermath of the high.

I had a
pain take up residence in me before my sixteenth birthday. This was the age I
had my first heartbreak. Evan Grey was twenty-two, and I was on the cusp of
sweet sixteen. I was in love and felt so lucky to have found the love of my
life so young. Naïve was I. Oh how naïve. I thought I had found someone who
adored me as much as my dad adored my mother. That man worshiped her and I was
so jealous of it. Evan showed up and lavished me with attention I was so
starved for and I became addicted to him. I was so blind that I didn’t see the
reality. I was too consumed with looking through my rose-colored glasses until
it hurt too much to keep my eyes open.

One night
in early May of that year, I snuck out of my house and met Evan at his beach
cottage. We made out and it was great until I refused to have sex with him. I
earned my first bruise from him that night, and it continued for almost two
months with no one noticing. I was guilty for not noticing things as well. I
never saw past my own pain to realize Evan was hurting my younger sister
Savannah too. My first love also ended up being mine and my sister’s rapist.

I will
always carry the guilt of it. If I had given into him that night and had sex,
would it have saved my sister? Some days I feel nothing could ever have been
enough to fulfill his sickness, but most days my conscience says different.
Could I have prevented her from being raped?
Guilt.
So much guilt.