Reflections Pt. 3

Shauna's POV:

I'm still standing here, hand on the door. 21 seconds ago, I was ready to bust back in and somehow work in a mix of raising hell along with apologizing for my slightly over the top defending of Four. But now I remain—the words of my sister playing in my mind like elevator music as I continue to listen—"I was raped...I was raped…I was raped…I was raped…"

The world stopped for a minute, or I stopped, and the world kept going—not really sure.

"Who else knows?"

I lift my hand off the door knob and lean in closer, for the first time being happy that Lynn didn't heed my advice to keep her windows closed.

"Tori and my therapist," she mumbles. "Well, and, uh, my mom."

I watch the goosebumps raise on my arm and feel the betrayal at hearing the words "my mom." Mom knew?

"So, um…I know you're slightly unstable, but…" Tris trails off, the combined chuckle between the two of them at her shitty comment making me nauseous. "…can I ask some questions? Just…don't answer if you're not comfortable."

"Whatever, I know there's no stopping you, so…"

"Okay, well, one of the few moments you have ever shown me empathy…ever… was when you found out I don't remember what happened to me. So, I take it…you don't remember…um…yours…either…"

"I remember…nothing. So, when you boo hoo to me about Four willingly torturing himself just to give you peace of mind—it made me want to kill you…a slow, slow death. Because while you, luckily, found out you weren't raped. I definitely was, and have no recollection. And it follows me…everywhere. Thus the pills…'cause ya know, leaving the apartment is a must."

"When did this happen?"

I lean my head in, feeling the need to soak in every emotion that my sister has been holding back from me for years.

"Week two of my freshman year at Eastern."

I cover my mouth, to hide the whimper that just came out of it, but it does nothing to stop my bullshit tears. Six years…six fucking years ago… That was when my sister changed. She became a different person. I never thought… I didn't… I…

"I didn't know you went to college."

"I dropped out…didn't make it through first semester. That shit tends to change you."

"And you're sure you were?"

The long pause actually gives me an ounce of hope. Maybe it was never confirmed! What if she just woke up drunk and thought…eh—coulda happened!? College kids, right?! I did some crazy shit! Maybe she—

"What the fuck kind of question is that, Prior?!"

"I'm so sorry… I wasn't trying to be insensitive. I—"

"When you've never been with a man, nor have had the desire, you know when you've been raped."

I watch through the crack in the window and the blinds as Lynn sits on the couch with her head in her hands while Tris clunks around in the kitchen. I've never wanted to hug my sister so much in my life. The shitty part is, I think it would be more for my own comfort than for hers!

Lynn looks toward the kitchen and then down at her hands—once, twice, three times. "Oh, yeah…" She shrugs. "…the added bonus of an unwanted pregnancy and what then turned out to be an unwanted abortion…was another clue."

There is a sudden ringing in my ears, like a dog whistle inches away from my face. I grab the wrought iron railing for stability. I can't hear anything, but I see my little sister, Madelynn, scrub the tears off her face.

"Oh, God, Tris. Now what?! Please don't tell me one of your sob stories, right now. Or…don't try to relate because I know you can't. It would be a pathetic waste of this already pathetic moment."

At this point, I see Tris standing there, stone cold, the mugs in her hand shaking a little.

"I… I wasn't or won't or…"

"You look like you're going to keel over. I'll warn you next time my language gets too explicit. Just…come, sit down. Geez…"

Tris hands Lynn her mug and sits down next to her. "So, you…uh…didn't want an abortion?... Sorry, you don't have to answer—"

"Fuck! Next time warn me before you deliver third-degree burns to my digits!... And, I thought I did...want one. Want…that's an interesting way to put it. Anyway, when it came down to it, I didn't."

"Sorry," Tris mumbles still in her own world.

Pay attention, Tris! My sister is TALKING! PAY ATTENTION!

"So why…why did you? Why did you…uh…go through with it?"

"Because I was already at the appointment."

Lynn's shoulders rise as if she's shrugging—brushing off this conversation. I finally collect myself enough to get the guts to knock. I'm bold. I'm brash. I'm bossy. I can handle this. She needs me.

"And my mom kept saying, 'Sweetie, it's an easy procedure.'… 'You're only six weeks.'… 'It's no big deal.' … 'Things will be better this way.'"

My mouth drops open as the awfulness of hearing Lynn says those words so flatly, my Mom's words without the soft yet somehow always confident nature of her voice. Lynn's interpretation—like she's purposely distancing herself from the emotion.

"Well, nothing ended up being better—I was still raped, I felt a hole in my uterus, and I still looked at men as if they were demons."

"Lynn—"

"Look, I'm better now. I see a good therapist; I know men aren't evil; I don't think the guy will try to 'find me.' How stupid was that? That I actually thought whoever did it gave me another thought?"

"That's not stupid."

"But…that hole is still there; I can't look my mom in the eye, and I'm still a shell of who I used to be."

"You mean, you weren't always like this?"

I watch in horror as Tris gestures to Lynn. What a fucking…bitch!

I come back to my normal self and unclench my jaw upon hearing Lynn's stifled laugh along with seeing Tris's soft grin. Relax, Shauna. That's what Lynn needs. YOU should be what Lynn needs!

"Nope. This is the way-less-improved me."

"Did you try to find out who did it? Or what happened?... Am I allowed to ask that?"

"At this point, you may as well come with me to my next gyno appointment—front row."

"No, thanks."

I rest my forehead on the front door, waiting for Lynn's answer. If I bust in now, she'll stop talking. And I haven't heard her talk this much since the summer she left for college when she was going down the list of everything she needed for her dorm room—telling me her roommate seemed 'super nice' and that she couldn't wait to start taking a 'real photography class.' God, she was a different person…

"Ya know, I just went to my dorm and…buried myself under the covers for days. My roommate called my mom and…she showed up at my dorm. Somehow I got the words out. I think I just needed to tell someone."

"What did she say?"

"She didn't believe me at first."

I feel like the saliva has been sucked out of my mouth.

"Only because I didn't remember, and I didn't exactly go into stark detail with her. Then she asked why I was at a party alone as a Freshman. She also asked what I was wearing. And when I told her a short purple skirt—well, that's all she needed to hear. Her exact words were—'What did you expect would happen? You get drunk at a frat house wearing that? Everything about you probably screamed easy access! Did you put your drink down? Tell me you didn't put your drink down, Madelynn.'"

My heart is racing. It hurts. It's pounding.

"Then she looked horrified—as if she couldn't believe those words came out of her mouth. So she gave me a hug and apologized. In all honesty, my mom has always been…well, a great mom. I knew she loved me and that she really only wanted what was best for me. Fuck, she was crying as much as I was. So when she said most people would react the same way that she did, I just thought how much I couldn't fucking stand for my family and friends to look at me like my mom did."

"What about your dad?"

"I was always Daddy's little princess, so…I couldn't ruin that for him. Well, turns out I did anyway." She laughs gesturing to her piercings and shaved head.

"What about Shauna?"

"Um…"

I now listen with rapt attention, the fog lifting just a bit in anticipation of her answer. The one I'd been waiting for.

"She was…or is…my big sister. Shauna's strong and confident and normal and…I always sorta wanted to be her—hung on every word she said growing up. She was athletic, pretty, down-to-Earth, funny. Everything just came easy for her. I was…just so…fucking mortified. I couldn't… … … Anyway, I dropped out of school and stopped calling. Moved to the city. And then, well, we ran out of things to talk about, so…we grew apart and…it's too late now."

"No," I whisper as I hear my sister cry for the first time in years.

"Ugh! I'm fine! Stop touching me, Beatrice!"

"Nudging your pinkie toe doesn't count as touching—"

"Get off my turf!" a voice seethes in my ear.

I stumble down the few stairs and stare at the crazy cracker bitch who just dared to lay her hands on me. I glance back to the door, to the place where my life just flipped on end—my world overturned. I can't handle this right now. I can't go in there.

"You're scaring away my customers!"

Instead of beating the piss out of the skank, I decide to take my anger out on her crackers. I wrench the plastic bag out of her hand, throw them on the sidewalk, stomping on them until they are practically dust.

"Get a damned job, Rosa!" I yell over my shoulder as I take off down the street, biting back the tears.

I flick off Nacho on my way past him, fully expecting some sort of smooth, creepy response, but all I get is "Respect" and a head nod—my face must be mirroring my rage.

My sister was raped. My sister was raped. I didn't know. How did I not know? No one told me. How did no one tell me? Why didn't Mom tell me? My sister. My sister. My sister had an abortion.

A sob from deep deep down comes out so loudly that I feel like my eardrums may burst. I grab onto a magical bench, trying to hold back my lunch from meeting the sidewalk. Things start to click in my head—Lynn's sudden digression from everything and everyone. She went from this innocent kid to someone I didn't even recognize anymore. I thought it was just her trying to distance herself from me—become her own person. I hated her for it.

Oh, she became some person, alright! She became a fucking hermit! Quit school!Quit friends! Shaved her damned head!

I push myself off the bench, rubbing my eyes along with whatever make-up is on them, and make my way to the gym.

Zeke's POV:

"I'm impressed, man. I would have thought several weeks out of the ring would have done you in. But I will admit—being a grown man who has recently learned to admit things; thank you, Shauna—that you haven't lost your touch."

"Yes, well you do make it pretty damned easy," Four replies even though he is slightly out of breath.

"Oh, really? What about that round house little nugget you didn't see coming?"

"What the hell are you talking about? I saw it from a mile away."

"Then why…did you not…block…it? Or make any move whatsoever to counter it?"

He shrugs and looks away all embarrassed. And I fuckin' love it!

"Oh, man! Yes! I do love makin' you look like a fool!"

"I still won, dick head."

"Hey," I put my arm around him roughly and shake his shoulders. "When it comes to you…small victories—it's all about the small vic…tor…ies!" I clap him on the back, and he laughs at me because let's face it…I am the one who is the fool.

But I have to say; I gave him a run for his money. Ya know, kept him guessin;' keepin' him on his toes—

"YOU!" A not-at-all petite growl echoes through the gym.

I turn, trying to prepare myself for what's going to happen, even though, I have no idea what's going to happen as Shauna storms our way. Four and I both back away by instinct, but my lady is fast…in more ways than one—

I hear the loud crack of hand to cheek before my face registers pain, and then I hear it again…followed up by a deep growl. I look at Four as he glares at Shauna and then I look at Shauna as she glares right back.

"YOU…" She smacks Four on the chest, making a noise as loud as when her hand connected with my face. "…do NOT get to look at me like that! Ever! Don't fucking try to intimidate me, you stupid prick!"

"And YOU…" I cringe before it happens—an equally hard slap to the chest. "…do NOT look at me like a fuckin' pussy! Man up, pansy ass!"

Just then, I see that she's crying—my Shauna…is crying. I'm out! I don't know what the fuck to do!

But Four seems to be better at this shit, for some reason, so he walks closer. "Hey, you okay—"

"Don't fucking talk to me!" She wipes her eyes like she's pissed at them or something. "You lost me my bridesmaid! I have no female friends! She was it!"

"And you!" She grinds her finger into my pectoral region as I suck in a sissy breath. "I knew you were getting her statement. But, I thought it was so HE could read what YOU wrote…or some shit!"

"And you…again! You lost me my bridesmaid! My only bridesmaid! Had to go all caveman and put your overprotective dumbass face where it doesn't belong! You lost me my bridesmaid! And the SHIT you said to her… Karma? You think she deserved to be raped?! WHO ARE YOU?! I would never forgive you, and I fucking told her she better not EVER FORGIVE YOU!"

My mouth drops open as Four looks at her like she's speaking a different language. Like he's trying to decode her. His eyes are fuckin', wild but he's not moving.

"You lost me my bridesmaid!" She smacks him on the chest again, but the dude remains.

And he's damned speechless. Fuck! So am I? What the hell did he say?!

"Do you know how many times I defend your stupid ass?! And since suddenly you're some Karmic expert…how about a dose, FUCKER! I'm kicking your sorry fucking ass out of our wedding!"

"Shauna," I interject, receiving a hard punch to the arm. "Ah, fuck!"

"No, Ezequiel! If he's there, then I'm not! I won't let a man…who disrespects WOMEN…stand up in OUR…WEDDING! So…all this shit, right here?" She circles her arms wildly, and I don't think Four's mouth has ever been wider. "THIS is Karma, bitch!"

She stomps off to her office as Four and I stand there.

"You lost me my bridesmaid!" she shrieks. Her voice has never been higher. "George! You're in my fucking wedding!"

"Indeed, I am," George bows his head in passing.

I look slowly back to Four, praying to the Lord Almighty that he said nothing like that. "Tell me you didn't—"

"I've…gotta…um…go." He drops his water bottle to the floor, spilling it everywhere as he stumbles forward a couple steps, but I catch him just as he rights himself. "Zeke, I…"

I wait…and wait… Nothing. No speech, whatsoever. I have never seen this guy at a loss for words more than in this moment. And he is without words…most of the time. He just stands there…staring at the floor.

"Man—"

"Don't." He suddenly stands taller as he bites his lips between his teeth.

I swear he grew a good six inches. I'm not usually this observant of him, but in this case… Holy shit!

"See ya," he mumbles, walking outside.

"What did you do, Four?" I say under my breath as I watch him break out into a sprint toward the lake.

"Ezequiel Aurora Borealis Pedrad! Get your ass back here!"

I close my eyes, taking a quick moment to pray as I head back to Shauna's office. "Dear Lord. Tell me she did not just shout my middle name… Please, Lord. Father, Son, Holy Ghost… Please…" I jog…limply…back to her office and watch her scavenge through piles of paper. She is not the most organized woman… "Hhhheeeeyyyy…" I whisper, testing the waters.

"Did your friend just teach a self-defense class without my permission?!" she asks as if he should be court-martialed if he had.

"Well, not exactly—"

"What the hell does that mean?!"

"He's helping some lady…on his own time."

"He doesn't get to use my gym to provide his own personal training sessions! I can get into serious shit for that! Not that he cares about people's feelings at all these days—"

"He's…not…charging…her…Shauna," I say clearly and quietly, closing the distance between the two of us.

"Well, then that's another problem. If she wants lessons at this gym, she needs to pay!"

"Shauna," I sigh, knowing this is a losing battle right now. "Hey, babe. Babe, babe, babe." I take her by the shoulders as turn her to face me. "So…uh…you saw Tris?"

I need to get to the bottom of whatever happened there. I am missing some serious pieces.

"Mmm hmm." She folds her arms and looks over my shoulder as if something on the wall is very, very interesting.

"Hey…" I tip her chin up even though she flinches away. "Did Four really say those things?"

"Mmm hmm." She shrugs, biting her bottom lips, tears building up again. "What? You don't believe me now?! Fuckin' typical, Zeke. Go on! Side with 'your boy!'"

"I'm not…siding. I—okay, maybe I'm siding because, no, I don't believe you," I say with 100% confidence.

The man doesn't even like it when I refer to Shauna as 'my lady' because it makes it sound like I own her and 'no woman should ever have to feel that way.' I can hear his serious and sure voice in my head. Plus, my fiancée is crying and…well, I've never seen that before, so something else is definitely up.

The look of I-want-to-staple-you-to-the-wall that she's giving me is…frightening.

"Shauuuuuna, ahem, I mean, Shauna, you're crying."

"So?" she growls.

"So, you don't cry—not even when your lady parts are participating in their monthly civil war."

"Well, I'm a girl whose going to be a bride, and Four is ruining my wedding," she answers through even more tears.

"Babe? You wanted to elope…in Vegas. The big shindig was my idea—"

"Your mother's idea!"

"My point being, all this…" I tuck her short strands of hair behind her burning hot ears. "This is the Shauna version of insanity. And I know Four. I know what he's been through, what he's seen people go through. He would never say she deserved that…ever."

"Well, he said something like that," she squeaks…yes, Shauna Meyers just…squeaked.

"What is going on with you? Babe? Please, this is not…like you—"

She grips my shirt and pulls me close sobbing, sobbing without any control. I feel her tears through my shirt before I even have the gumption to hold her.

"Shauna…" I warn because now I know something so beyond wrong, and she can't hold that shit in! "No secrets. This whole no secrets business—that was all you. Your fault. I was fine with a few secrets. But, now you have to follow through—"

"Lynn was…raped."

All I can do is hold Shauna close and not let my anger boil up at what I just heard. No man, no man should…ever, ever, ever… And Lynn? I'm going to kill whoever—

"Her… She wasn't even… She was in school for two weeks! She… I didn't know. She just…changed. All of a sudden! She dropped out of school, moved away, closed herself off! She…got pregnant and she had—Zeke, I can't even. I just…"

"Okay, baby. It's okay." I run my fingers through her hair and sway her back and forth—I saw Four do this with Tris once. It seemed to work. "She's fine now, though, right? Is she okay?"

"I don't…know. I overheard…the whole thing. She…does not know that I…know. Don't say a fucking word, Zeke!"

"I won't." I kiss the top of her head.

"I always wondered where Madelynn went… Now I know."

Tris's POV:

I flip the card over and over between my fingers, grinning inappropriately—unsure if it's ironic or coincidental that the card Lynn literally whipped at my face was the same one that Evey and Tori gave me. It was definitely fate—Do I even believe in fate?

"Hey," I hear Tori's groggy voice, putting me on instant alert as she walks in behind me, making her way to her desk. She seats herself haphazardly on her chair, looking like the dark side of Hell. "Thanks for coming in, right away."

"You didn't make it sound like I had a choice."

"Just don't ask me how I'm feeling, okay?"

"Wouldn't dare."

"I'm feeling the effects of a round of chemo, radiation, and insomnia. Plus, my fucking hair is starting to fall out—No, I'm not getting a wig. But I need your help."

I sit up straighter in my chair, trying to hide the fact that she has just caught me totally off guard. Tori has never asked for help—she'll order people around, but asking isn't in her repertoire.

"With…what?" I ask carefully.

"I need you to manage the bar."

"You…what—"

"Lynn said you walked into Martineers and walked right out."

"Lynn needs to shut the fuck up."

Tori's penetrating stare along with the fact that I do feel guilty for bailing on the new job after she gave me a recommendation, makes me feel like I, at least, owe her some kind of explanation.

"Look, Osmar asked me to turn around so he could make sure 'the goods are in proper shape.' He tried to spin me like a top." The fact that I even let him still makes me feel dirty.

"He's a chauvinistic porker. I'm aware. So what do you say? Don't bother answering me unless it's a 'yes.'"

I sit there, not purposely not answering her, just trying to run through my mind how this would work out. I don't want to see ANYONE! But, Tori needs my help. Damn it!

"Tris, please?"

"Wow." It's the only word I'm able to say seeing as not only is she asking me for a huge favor, but she wants an answer now, and that answer has to be yes.

"Yes, it is a 'wow.'" She sighs and furrows her eyebrows at me.

Does eyebrow hair fall out when you have cancer treatment?

"Has your parents' property sold, yet?"

I chuckle at her question seeing as I had gotten off the phone with my realtor not even two hours ago, the shock in his voice was unnerving—"Well, Beatrice! Someone actually put an offer in on the property!"

"There was an offer for $30,000. That's less than half of what I'm asking for."

"Shit."

"Yeah. Plus, it was some company, an LLC or something…whatever the hell that is. They would probably just rip everything down and develop it. I don't know." I glance up at her feeling ashamed because my problems are minuscule. "I know it shouldn't matter, but—"

"It matters. I get it."

I nod my head, gracious for her understanding. I can't imagine someone subdividing the acreage and building crappy track houses on it—the rolling hills, the pond, the orchard, my barn. I really need to get back there to go through the house—

"I can't be here right now, Tris. I'm too tired, and I'm making mistakes—"

"I'll do it," I say hastily and without forethought.

The relief that appears on Tori's face brings me more happiness than I've experienced in weeks, the feeling of actually having a positive impact on someone.

"I'll make this easy on you—You only have to go in front if there's a problem. You can stay in the shadows, watch on the monitors. I'll still do payroll and accounting from home."

"Are you sure—"

"Tris, be quiet. Now, I need you to do inventory, scheduling and daily management bullshit, which you pretty much already know how to do anyway. I just hired a new bartender. You'll like her, but she only works weekends. So Myra's coming back to help Mark during the week, and I promoted Juan Carlos to bar back. His brother just crossed the border, so he's going to be our new bus boy. We pay him and Juan Carlos cash."

I raise my eyebrow in judgment at the illegality of that little tidbit.

"What? Should I fire Juan Carlos?"

"No. But isn't there a way—"

"Until we have a path to citizenship that actually makes sense, I will gladly pay hard workers cash to send home to their families, rather than pay spoiled white kids in checks for their double caramel Frappuccinos. Lynn and Molly still cocktail. Al still bounces. Three Chefs cater happy hour on Fridays. The rest is gravy."

"Um—"

"I can pay you $4200 a month. I know you're used to more, but you can afford it now that you live in Humboldt-your-door Park."

"West Humboldt," I reply with a smirk.

"Even better. So can you swing it and still pay your medical bills and live the life of a carefree millennial?"

I laugh lightly at her sarcasm—as if there were anything carefree about my life right now. I briefly do the math in my head. I still owe four more payments of 10,000. My mind wanders to my Roth IRA account where my savings of $20,000 sits. I can use it. I can replace it. Fuck.

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

I can see in her eyes that she knows I'm lying. Maybe I can get another job? What the hell would I do? Hotdog vendor? Barista? Oh! Maybe Grounds is hiring!

"It's a full-time gig so don't kill yourself and get another job. Oh, and Bud and I got married."

I sit back in my chair, my thoughts of getting a second job, flying out the window. Then the second part of her sentence resonates. Married?

"Why?" I ask in distaste because I know she always found the idea of marrying repulsive.

"Security of dual income. The tattoo parlor brings in a decent amount, and the bar does well. Also, the ALG Insurance is outstanding." She smiles with tight lips as my stomach clenches at the mention of ALG—Tobias in a dark suit; hair mussed up from a stressful day; his tie loosened; sitting at his desk; staring out at the lake. I miss his voice

Tori clears her throat, bringing me back to reality.

"He's cool with the fact that you married him for his money and insurance?"

"He understands. And it's very much for his benefit as well; trust me."

She flits her eyes around the room as I try to figure out what that comment means. But I soon realize, it's a lost cause.

"Okay… Well, congratulations…? I guess. Is that the right thing to say?"

She sighs in exhaustion. "I don't know."

"Guess that's not the way you imagined your wedding to be?" I joke, knowing full well, she had no intention of marrying…ever.

"Who says I wasn't married before?"

"Oh." I pause, not knowing how to respond. I had never even thought for a second that Tori even entertained marriage early on in her life. In fact, I know very little about younger Tori. "I didn't know—"

"So, I'll have better instructions for you tomorrow," she interrupts, rummaging through her desk drawers, leaving me hanging. "But for right now, I need you. Like tonight…like right now actually."

"I'm in sweats and a T-shirt. I look like a hobo."

"It's been your look for a while now. I'll have Mark take care of everything. Come out when the last customer is gone. Computer and tablet are at your disposal. There is a file on the desktop with instructions for closing out the registers."

"O…kay—"

"How are you? Make it quick."

"Fine." I resort to my typical answer, not missing a beat.

"Not that quick."

I untwist my pony tail holder, and shake my hair out, all while exhaling a long much-needed release. "Terrible," I whine, leaning my head back on the chair. "I did everything I was supposed to do…but did it all wrong. I'm not listening to my gut anymore. I feel like each person I talk to sways me in one direction until I talk to the next person and they sway me in the other."

"Hmmph. You have good instincts. 'Least you used to. You should find those again."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Quickly."

"Do you think he…Four…even realized that I was draining the life out of him? That I was making him lose himself?"

She crosses her arms, and I can feel her search my face. "No."

"I need someone to know, besides me, that I just didn't want that for him. I love him," I whisper, feeling the familiar bubble in my chest that rises to the surface when I think about Tobias. "I'm telling you this because I need to tell someone. I need to put it out there, and I trust you. I wanted him; I wanted us. But I literally am un-fucking-able to do it. He turned into someone he's not. I did that to him. Right now, I am incapable of doing anything selfless, and he is incapable of doing anything selfish."

She nods her head. "Anything else?"

"No," I lie. There are more things than I can count running through my head at all hours of the day and night. Almost all having something to do with him.

"What's that?" Tori gestures to the card in my hand.

"My new therapist's card," I answer. "Turns out…she does payment plans."

"Don't expect me to pay you more."

Marcus's POV:

Flashback:

My father pushes me toward a group of women lounging on the veranda. Toward one, in particular—dark brown hair, caramel colored eyes, full lips, pale complexion, about 5' 7", slim waist, acceptable amount of curves. She flits her hand about lazily as if she's bored. I've been observing her from afar for a while now at the insistence of my father. If it weren't for his meddling, I'd have her laid out already. But the stubborn side of me feels the need to prove to him that I will date who I want, not who he tells me to. I realize full well what a good match is when I see one. And, yes, we would make a good match on paper. I'm just not sure what she has going for her apart from her wealth.

"You will go talk to Evelyn Johnson, and you will put on a brilliant show of affectionate wooing. Now go!"

I stumble and see that I have caught some of the women's eye from my fumbling, but not Evelyn's—she keeps her back to me. I now see that the dress she's wearing hugs her behind quite well.

"Um…hello, ladies. Evelyn, may I have a word?"

I see her shoulders sink as she turns to face me, a look of boredom on her face that is pretty damned annoying.

"Um… That's a lovely dress—"

"Lovely dress I'm wearing? Really, Marcus?" she asks, laughing. She's laughing…at ME?

"Why, yes—"

"Evey, let's just go."

Her friend pulls her back in retreat earning a glare from me.

"It's fine, Anna." She shakes her loose, pleasingly. "Jesus, could you be more generic? You're Marcus Eaton, your father wants you to 'court' me like this is the early 1900s because my parents are dead, I have no siblings nor family to speak of, so I'm worth millions."

"Um—"

"Let's just move on from this, shall we?" She pats my cheek condescendingly. "I'm free next Saturday. Meet me at the docks at noon. Bring your whatever-fancy-boat-you-have. If I have to be abhorred, I may as well be doing something that brings me pleasure. Run along now, Marcus." She flits her fingers in the direction of my father as she walks away confidently.

I feel the corner of my mouth creep up into a smile. She is…intriguing. Pondering the way she spoke to me, I come to the conclusion that it was almost a turn on—a challenge, a match. I know I'm handsome—tall, tan and fit, worth millions myself, educated, business-minded; girls lay themselves at my damned feet. But she led the conversation—made it so she's in charge. Intriguing. I may actually like this one.

"Your ass does look fantastic in that dress, Evelyn!" I yell over my shoulder, not looking back even though I know for damned sure she did, based on the laughter from her friends.

I hold my hand out for her to climb aboard the boat, to which she just rolls her eyes and pulls herself up. She stops short and huffs to herself, which is quite amusing to me.

"Sailing? We're going…sailing? Couldn't have warned me?"

"This is my whatever-fancy-boat. The one you told me to bring. So, this is, indeed, your fault."

"You're either taking me sailing to impress me or torture me, which one?"

"To impress you, of course," I reply, although it's a mix of both.

"Hmmph."

I watch her get situated. She immediately discards her shirt, and I'm pleased to see she's wearing very very short shorts to go along with her too-modest-for-my-taste one-piece teal bathing suit. I decide to join her in removing my shirt before signaling to the dock hand that we're ready. Her glance up at me not going at all unnoticed, followed by her surprisingly sexy smirk gives me nothing but confidence. Grinning, I walk to the starboard side of the boat and—

"Oooofff!" I find myself on the floor of the boat, sprawled out over the rope I tripped on, mortified—completely mortified.

I did not just fall in front of this girl! I push myself up before Evelyn can rush over to me, looking over my shoulder ready to brush her off. But I find…she hasn't even moved. In fact, she's laughing. Not just any laugh—an all-out condescending horrifically enjoyable laugh. I can't help but join in.

"Wow, Marcus. You were right. Definitely…impressive," she comments shielding her honey golden eyes from the sun. She smiles, and it's brilliant.

"I'd fall 1000 times today if I can see that smile again."

I look away scratching the back of my head in disbelief at what I just said, but when I dare to glance back, there it is—her smile with a tint of blush added as a bonus. And I feel lighter.

What the hell is this woman doing to me?

"Okay, okay, Marc… I already forgave you. Why are we out here?" she sighs swatting my hands away as I pat her perfect ass. I clear my throat at the reminder of my outburst last week, the one leaving regrettable bruises on both her arms.

"Stop throwing a fit and be quiet."

I urge her forward on the concrete, the prize approaching on our right. Then removing the blindfold, I turn her toward it—an 11,000 square foot plantation-style brick house, situated on five acres of lakefront property, equipped with an Olympic-sized pool, guest house, and tennis court. It's perfect for her.

"So what do you think?" I ask, my nerves suddenly catching up with me.

"It's a house," she answers without emotion.

"For us, Evey. I bought it for us."

"Marcus—"

"Marry me," I blurt out as her eyes widen. "I know I can be a pompous ass and I've made some poor choices, but…you make me want to be better. No, you do make me better. You make me laugh, which in and of itself is a feat. You're the only girl I've allowed myself to share an ice cream cone with. You're beautiful, and I probably don't deserve you, but…I'm in love with you. Say yes."

Her beautiful mouth opens and then closes while I pray to God this goes my way.

"I want to…but, just last week—"

"I lost my temper. That's all. It's never happened before, and it'll never happen again. You know it won't."

I see her eyes move back and forth between me and the house giving me a renewed sense of hope.

"Will you get help?"

"Help?" I ask hoping she's not suggesting what I think she is.

"Marcus, you slapped me and then gripped my arms so hard you left fingerprints. Do you know how humiliating that was?"

"I'm trying to propose, and you bring that up?" I ask, angrily.

"I want to lay everything out for you. I won't tolerate violence." She looks toward the house longingly. "No matter how much I love you."

"So, that's a yes?"

"Marc?"

"Hmm?" I look up as Evelyn sways into the room rubbing her lower back. I'm often at war with myself about her physically these days—sometimes I find it incredibly masculating that I made her like that, that my manhood can make a woman's change to that extent. However, it's also slightly off-putting, how she has changed. She's still beautiful, her skin is actually quite lovely—but, some of the weight has spread to other parts of her body apart from her rather swollen belly. And the fact that she won't let me go near her finally-sizable tits is infuriating.

"Are you coming to bed?" she asks with a small, tired smile. She's always tired these days.

"Soon," I remark looking down at the three portfolios in front of me. My father is pushing me to the brink to see what I'm made of, and I'm dying to show him.

"Can you come now?" she whines. "There's a spot right above my ass that I can't quite get to. This little man may just be the death of me." She laughs as if the image she just painted me were at all funny.

"Assuming it's a boy already?" I ask, putting aside my thoughts.

"Wouldn't you be pleased," she states with a raised eyebrow. "A male heir."

I nod my head in agreement. I've made it perfectly clear my desire for a boy and how I plan to knock her up right after delivery if it happens to be a girl. She usually laughs at my assumed jest while I laugh at the fact that she thinks I'm joking.

"Well, since you seem to be of little help, I'm off to bed. I'm meeting Anna at the club for breakfast—"

"Using our membership again, is she?"

"Marcus, we have enough money to buy an island nation. Why can I not bring my oldest friend to the club?"

I can think of about a hundred reasons why she isn't suited—her lack of status alone being at the top of the list. She doesn't even have any relations to speak of whatsoever, apart from her questionable ethnic heritage. But, she makes Evelyn happy, and you know what they say—"A happy wife is a happy life." It is true to some extent, even if my satisfaction is waning these days.

"She doesn't wear proper attire nor does she know how to act. Her attitude where you may find it bold and daring is actually disrespectful and unbecoming."

"Marcus, she dresses exactly the same as every other boring woman at that club. She just happens to shop in less than couture—"

"Since when is Walmart only 'less than couture?' And she may just want to shed a few pounds if she is going to walk around in a swimsuit."

"Since when did you turn into such a damned self-righteous pig? Do you really think you're better than her? That we're better than her? Get off your high horse! Don't get me wrong; you've always been snobbish, but your turning into your father more and more each—"

She's on the floor, the palm of my hand stinging from the severe box to the ear I just delivered her. My heart races from immediate guilt, but also a slight satisfaction.

"Come on, darling." I lift her up, my arm under her neck and knees—she's actually fairly light for being eight months pregnant. "Are you alright?"

Her head lolls slightly, her hand moving to her swollen stomach.

"I landed on…my—"

"Off to bed for the both of us. Let's get you that back rub, shall we?" I kiss the top of her forehead that has developed a sheen of sweat.

"I'm leaving you," she says defiantly, turning away from me like a dramatic soap opera star—particularly because she's in her satin pajamas and robe, holding a rocks glass of scotch. It's actually quite comical.

"Please. And where will you go?" I purr, indulging her fit.

"Do you really think I would tell you?!"

"Fine, go. But you're not taking Tobias."

"The son you show little to no interest in?"

I grit my teeth at her insinuation that I don't pay attention to Tobias. Just because I don't dote on him, giving in to each and every one of his whims? Because I don't take him to the park? Because I don't take him swimming at the club? Please. He won't remember any of that. I'll be his greatest influencer when he turns old enough to give a shit.

"I'll show interest when he can talk, Evelyn. Now go buy yourself some new finger paints. Better yet, go to the club. Play tennis or whatever—"

"I…am…leaving!"

"And what reason do you have this time? These idle threats are painstakingly—"

"This Marcus!" She pulls her robe free, showing a scar where her arm slide along the bookshelf as I dragged her behind me. "And this, right here!" The residual leftover bruise above her left breast from my fist. "Here! And here." She points to two places where I see nothing. "Constant…pain. From you!"

I clench my jaw in understanding of her anger, but I feel no sympathy. She gets under my skin on purpose, I've decided. It seems to be the only way to get her to behave! The shameful part is the dark thoughts of satisfaction after I'm done with her. They're getting stronger.

"I don't… You aren't the same man, anymore! I don't know when you changed or if I was just blind and you surprised me by being semi-amusing when we first met, but…I'm done."

"What will you do for money?" I ask, humoring her again.

"I have…plenty of that, as you very well know."

"No," I correct. "I have plenty of that."

I smile smugly at her confused expression, relishing in her naivety. "You don't honestly think anything is in your name, do you? But, yes, if you choose to leave…just make sure to fire the nanny. I'll need a full-time au pair."

"Tobias is coming…with ME—"

"You can leave me Evelyn, but you'll never get custody of our son…ever. Good luck hiring a lawyer with your complete and utter lack of money."

I look her over—eyes sallow, lips dry. She's even thinner than before Tobias was conceived. I'm not even worried for a second that she'll leave me. I shrug my shoulders and walk around to the other side of my desk.

"When did you change?" she croaks.

"I've always been this way. Maybe you just surprise me by being semi-amusing. You always did have an amazing ass too. Well, at least…before."

"Evey—"

"Don't call me that."

"I'm just…checking on you—"

"Get out," she seethes.

I take a step back as she paces circles in our room. She left me for two weeks, and I had no idea where she went. I was, surprisingly, beside myself. It was a mix of embarrassment for my insipid wife taking off along with the fact that I missed her…quite desperately, in fact. It put my feelings in check. The relief I felt upon hearing her voice was worth the condition that she'll come home if I start seeing a therapist. So, I did.

It was humiliating and liberating at the same time. It was his suggestion that I be open with Evelyn about the plaguing thoughts and suppressed need that I was always too ashamed to even admit to myself. I invited Evelyn to attend one of our sessions, Dr. Rein being the facilitator. If she truly loved me, she would understand and help me work through it. If she truly loved me…

"Look, I was… I've had these ideas for a while," I say aloud, trying to explain myself. "If you would just listen, I can better express—"

"Your sadomasochistic…feelings? You can take those and shove them up your ass, Marcus Eaton. Did you really expect me to…participate in—I can't even say it!"

The dishonor and mortification I suddenly feel is suffocating. I just admitted my deepest imaginings—domination, pain, sexual oppression—and her reaction is unbearable. Opening up to her about trying to get to the bottom of these needs—Why I am the way I am—a seemingly wasted effort.

"If this is your way to spice things up…then you are as unstable as your father! Apparently the rumors of his sexual appetite don't fall far from the tree! You're disgusting. Truly vile! Years of this, Marcus, years! How can I have you around our child?! Around…our children? You disgust me—"

My hands are around her neck. I watch my fingertips turn white from squeezing—the juxtaposition of Evelyn's filthy purple face, a fascinating mix. I push lightly on the spot on the back of her neck that will put her into submission; she easily goes limp in my arms as I lay her face down on the couch. I march to the door to my office with purpose, en route to lock it. I step back quickly at the sight of my toddler son standing in the doorway.

"Mama's okay…? She seepin'?"

"I lost the baby," Evelyn deadpans, her eyes glassy and red, haggard looking as usual.

"Tobias is hardly a baby anymore. Jesus, you spoil that boy. Have Marta find him. He couldn't have gone far—"

"I was pregnant. I miscarried. It's the third time. I'm leaving for a while," she states lightly.

"Evelyn," I sigh holding her by the shoulders. "You never told me about—"

"Don't say a word to me. Don't say a word to anyone, in fact. Unless you want me to call the papers and show them these pictures." She lays out several photos of her stark naked form—bruises everywhere. It's so odd how numb I am to them now.

"You took nude pictures of yourself?!" I ask in awe of her crass behavior.

She shrugs and walks about the room, removing things from her dressers.

"So, you're leaving me," I say, stating the obvious, but trying to hide my unexplainable panic.

"You know as well as I do that I won't leave you, Marcus. You've turned me into a person I don't even know anymore. And I now have a body I barely recognize. Yet, for some reason… I still love you, even though, you've destroyed me. Hell, you destroyed yourself," she chuckles. "Maybe it was written in the stars, though. I've turned into my mother, and you've turned into your father."

I stand there…stunned. I had never wanted to be like my father. But I know I am. I fought it and lost. I wanted the power and the money and the name—I got it and then some. The part that got to me—"written in the stars." I had no control over who I was going to be.

"I'll be back in a few months."

"A few months?! Where on Earth are you going—"

"Marta will take care of Tobias. Just peek in on him to make sure remembers he has a father."

"To hell with Tobias! Where are you going?!" I grab her arm as she sucks in a pained breath. I instantly let go.

"You lost the right to know where the hell I'm going the second you almost broke our marriage vows." She rubs her eyes and shuffles into her closet.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Till death do us part?" she quotes.

I notice the very casual amount of clothes she's lining up—no formal wear.

"Seeing as you've just about killed me twice now…I think I deserve a little marital hiatus, yeah?"

I take a deep breath and try to meet her eyes. "I have a temper. I…I tried to go to therapy, but you made me feel like a fool!"

"Yes, you've rationalized the outcome of that argument on several occasions. I forgave you seeing as it wasn't in front of Tobias."

The memory comes back of him standing in the doorway…observing my every move as I laid his mother on the couch, readying her for unspeakable acts. He saved her that day—from me.

"But I'll never forgive you for any of the times since then. Your appetites were never quite suppressed, were they?"

I ignore her reference to my more coercive measures with her in the bedroom—they're the only things that bring me pleasure, although she seems to acquiesce with more readiness these days—resolving herself. It's both annoying and pleasing, both emotions that hold no pride for me.

"I've never lost myself in front of our son. Or anywhere near him!"

"So, you think just because he doesn't see it, that he doesn't feel it?"

"He's four years old. He doesn't feel anything as long as he gets his ice cream!"

"He's five, you ass."

You let you wife act like that! Get her a god-damned coffee or get her the hell out of here! Jesus, Marcus…keep her in check."

"I try—"

"Leaving behind that mess on her face! I may have lost my temper with your mother a few times, but I never touched her face. She is making you look weak! You don't think people suspect?"

"I don't know what you're talking about—"

"You're my son," he says steadily, a knowing expression in his eyes—a kinship. "You do know what I'm talking about."

I clear my throat and raise my glass to a guest in passing.

"Son, look at your wealth, your power, your influence. People admire and respect you! Now, indeed, you harnessed a thoroughbred; however, you keep even a thoroughbred stalled for long enough, their bones become brittle. You know what to do with a lame horse, don't you?"

"That is the mother of my child you are speaking of," I remark, defending Evelyn. Also because I'm unsure of what he's insinuating.

"Indeed. And Tobias is taking after her! Where are you in your son's life? I made you the man you are because I was with you every step of the way! Now, go take care of your dispirited nag."

He pushes me roughly on the back, toward my blithering wife—the shell of the woman I used to know. The mother of my…child. There is darkness in me. I feel it…every day…more and more. My wife's smile, no longer pleases me. My primal desires being perpetually unfulfilled at her lack of willingness, the force with which I use becoming an inconvenience. The happiness and pride I felt on the day of my son's birth…a distant memory, disinterest taking over.

I look back at my father, as he raises an eyebrow and nods his head encouragingly. He makes me sick. I make me sick. The vomitus feeling of shame at the things I've done and the things I know I'll do make me shake on the inside. Suddenly I feel as if I'm bursting at the seams from anger. I make for the door, gripping Evelyn's arm as I pass, but only hard enough for her to know I mean business.

Pulling her out to hall, I grab her face. "Do you know that I loathe you? That I loathe…me?"

The vacant look in her eyes, as if she's given up on life, given up on me, makes me throw her against the wall to which she laughs lightly.

"Father…DON'T."

I look down at my son. He didn't even raise his voice, yet he commanded…no—demanded…my attention. For the first time, I see my eyes—just like mine are my father's. But his…Tobias's, have Evelyn's former vibrancy bursting at the seams. He looks like he wants to murder me. And it's in him…I've seen traces of it.

I let go of Evelyn, feeling, for the first time…pride. The words of my father suddenly ringing in my ears, "I made you the man you are because I was with you every step of the way."

I hate myself, I hate my wife, I hate my life, I feel myself slipping…every day. I wish nothing like that for my son. He's the future.

For the first time, I walk away from Evelyn and make a promise—I'm walking away from my son.

"Mr…Mr. Eaton, sir? Please, come upstairs. Please, please…just…please—"

"I'm God-damned busy!" I yell to whatever the hell maid is interrupting my search. "What the hell did Thomas do with—"

"It's Mrs. Eaton. She's, well…sir, she's—"

"Speak, for Christ's sake!"

"She's dead."

My skin burns as I feel the runner on the stairs meet my face—the rug burn from my harried trip up the stairs being a welcome distraction from the cold I feel inside.

"Did you call an ambulance?!" I shout to the maid as I push through the crowd of staff at our bedroom door. "Call 9-11! Immediately!" I rush to Evelyn's side and see her eyes closed. I grab her cold hand—she's freezing, poor woman. "Don't just stand there, you ingrates!"… "Evelyn?"

I notice the hardness of her hands—unrelenting, almost calcified. I grab her face harshly and shake it—it's equally as unforgiving. I lift her eyelids—they look no different than they have for years. My throat burns as heinous noises come out of me—years of anger and emptiness pouring out completely at odds with one another.

"GET OUT!" I shriek to the staff gathered, all whimpering pathetically.

They file out, and the door closes. I'm alone with her—her light brown eyes, becoming lighter in the sun, the way flowing dresses clung to her body, how her full bottom lip rested on her teeth as she smiled, her laugh, her joy…her spiral—my spiral. I did this. Keeping up with the pills she demanded in order to keep her quiet. I look at her again—lifeless, soulless.

"You made me do this to you! I hate you! I hate you so…fucking…much!" Her mouth falling open scares the shit out of me and I relinquish my hold on her neck.

I slump down to the side of the bed and sob. It wasn't her. I know it in my depths—my depravity now takes up my soul.

I close my eyes and reach behind me for her unyielding hand, cradling it on my shoulder. I picture her warmth, her smile, her laugh, the look in her eyes when she held our son for the first time.

"I hate you because of me. I'm sorry. I loved you, Evey. I did…love you."

The one night of the year I let the drink overtake me—torturing myself with the cheapest brand of scotch, hoping the hangover will debilitate me enough to purge me of further thought the next day, as it does every year.

Sniffing bravely, I raise my glass in self-deprecating honor. Standing up to my weakest of emotions like a man valiantly facing his true self.

"I lost myself, Evelyn. I…destroyed…you. Made you sink to…unthinkable lows," I tell her.

"I need to save…our son. I told myself that fate's been on my side. Didja know that? Oh, yes, yes—laid out all the cards for me…the stars aligning." I raise my glass and take a burning drink. "I'm full of shit. 'Cause as it turns out, fate has been on Tobias's side...and he doesn't even know it. The prodigal son who I talk myself…into hating, but…who I love…more than…anyone. That's not saying much…is it, Evey?" I laugh thinking of my shallow, shallow heart.

"I thought she was…no one," I whisper. "A fleeting…romance. So, I used her. I used him. And I…loved it!" I imagine the look on Tobias's face as he watched the concocted video in my office, and then in the guest house, followed by the subsequent paychecks and monetary goodness the betrayal gave me. "Because I'm FUCKED UP!" I wipe the snot accumulated under my nose readying myself for this admission. "But then…I saw you…in her. I saw it. 'Looked her…in the eyes—the fire, defiant, strong. But how quickly…her expression…changed—fear and weakness prevailing as I…" I scrunch my face up and make a squeezing motion with my fingers. "…ground her into the brick wall." I raise my glass again.

"Evelyn, he sees in her…what I saw in you. I'm a demon. I live every day…in torture…fighting my urges. I was…stirred when I had my hands on her. Scared the hell out of me," I whisper. "S'like I said—the stars were aligning…for a purpose. Jus' not the one I thought," I mumble to her. "Turns out I saved the damned girl...saved her from…who Tobias is destined to become. It needs to end…this curse." I sniff loudly, tossing back the last of my drink. "I'm keepin' him close, Evey. Don't worry 'bout that. So, he won't be…this." I gesture to the man I have become—a fiend, a hellion.

"Evelyn…my Evey… I did…love you…"

Tris's POV:

Floating on my back in water. It reminds me of home. What else reminds me of home? Corn on the cob with basil butter, the smell of grass…real grass, Mom's apple cider in the Fall—my favorite season…Indian summer. Caleb and I used to put rum in it. I chuckle to myself and wonder what he's up to these days.

I move my toes back and forth and swish my arms out like I'm making a snow angel. Lake swimming never bothered me—although, I always did wonder what the hell was floating in the murky water beneath me. Oh well. The back of my head hits a duck, and I swat it away. Fuckin' things are worse than mosquitos out here. At least, they don't bite. Although, one did laugh at me. I decide to stand, my feet squishing into whatever nastiness and sludge are on the lake bottom.

The moon is so damned bright. I swear it takes up half the sky. And the stars…I round my hands and put them up to my eyes like binoculars—just like I used to do as a kid, to block out all intrusions, pretending nothing else exists except me and the stars. The night isn't particularly black. It's more of a dark blue, and the stars look like flecks…exploding everywhere.

Something hard hits me in the back, and I look over, startled—another fuckin' yacht. I push it away like the damned duck. Annoying. Flopping back down on my back, I go back to my own version of heaven—burying myself in the dark blue and flecks of stars. I smile slightly as something else comes into view—a small spot…a planet? Yep. It's Mars—

Water pours into my throat as something wraps around my middle and pulls me under water roughly. I kick out and swim back to the surface, choking and flailing, but I'm wrenched down again and flipped over and over like a crocodile does to its prey. Suddenly, a stillness overtakes me…overtakes everything…as my eyes adjust to being underwater. I squint at something coming toward me—sparse brownish hair flowing around a face, hollowed eyes…and the screaming.

I start to shake, but I'm not scared. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," I sob as they screaming gets louder. I cry because I'm sad. This…thing is sad, desperate, longing, despairing—misery in its purest form and it's drowning me. I let it. I absorb it. And then I find out what's on the murky bottom of the lake—life's leftovers, everything unwanted and undesired sinks to the bottom, right? Life purifying itself. But I look up anyway, and I can still see the dark blue and the stars—so, at least, I have that still—

"…. …. ….up! … …. ….the hell up! Tris! Jesus, don't make me punch you!"

I sputter and wipe my soaking wet face, body, and arms…especially my arms because they burn.

"Tris Prior! What the actual fuck?!" Lynn's horrified face appears inches from me.

I cough and push her away sitting up. A chill hits me hard, and I start shaking.

"What's happening? What's going on? Are you having a seizure? Is this adult onset epilepsy? You do not want to go to the clinic! Trust me!"

"I don't know. I was." I feel my burning cheeks and the tears that accompany it. "I just… I'm…sad," I eek out crying uncontrollably.

"Yeah…we've been over this. God, was I way off with the whole no nightmares thing—"

"This wasn't a nightmare!" I protest…weirdly because it was kind of like a nightmare. Huh…

Lynn seats herself on my prison cot. "The screaming…may have been a dead giveaway."

"I don't know why I did that. I'm not scared. I don't even know…what it was…about. I'm…sad. It's not me! It's not…for me!" I say desperately with the humiliating knowledge that I'm making no sense. "What the fuck time is it?"

"2:20-something."

"I'm sorry for waking you. You can…go—"

"You should be a TV show—Crazy Person Confidential."

"Good-night, Lynn."

She stands and stretches, before shuffling her way back to her room—wearing a thong. "Hey, you made that appointment, right? With Dr. Ramos?" she asks over her shoulder.

I nod my head at my impending appointment with a…psychologist. UGH… Pulling at my t-shirt to cool myself off, I look down at it and feel ashamed that I'm even wearing it—It was Tobias's, the one I never gave back from the hospital. It doesn't smell like him anymore.

I clutch at my heart and puff out my ribcage because my chest feels like it's going to collapse all of a sudden. I can't put my finger on my unexplained sadness. Maybe tea will help. I hate tea.

"This shit better sooth the fuck out of me."

Tobias's POV:

The damp chill of September air at the lake should be one of my favorite things about Fall—joining the rest of the Midwest, loving their fuckin' sweater weather, football season, burning leaves, drinking homemade cider—shit I never really did. But, all it does is remind me of the worst thing that's ever happened to me—the one thing that's made me…me. The one thing that made me lose one of the best things in my life—my mother's death. I know I never got over it. I know I never will. I just hadn't thought it had tainted me to the point where I would destroy any and all possible emotional attachments. Alienating my friends…strangling whatever it was I had with Tris until the life left its body. I laugh at myself thinking about how desperately I tried to hold onto something because it gave me attention for a few fleeting weeks.

I lean forward and clear my throat, hanging my head to crush the clenching in my chest, adding to the pain—punishment for my parting words to her, words I'll regret until the day I die. Words that gave me official proof of my cruelty. I'm my father when I don't even know I'm my father. I drove myself insane all afternoon trying to come up with a reason why those words came out of me. It was a reflex, my first words of anger—unplanned, kneejerk, reactionary, authentic—referring to her abuse as Karma. I didn't think I meant it like that. But, I said it. It came from somewhere…somewhere buried, innate.

I'm reminded of Marcus's words to my mother when he was in the heat of anger—telling her she deserved what she got, that she brought out that side of him. It makes me wonder if half the things that came out of him at the height of anger were intentional…or if there was something else behind it, something uncontrollable in him. Everything else I said I can lay claim to—her lack of funds, her house, her therapist. Those were my daggers. I used them. I knew it. Turns out, the irreparable damage had already been done.

Where at the time, Tris's strangulated cries were music to my ears, now the memory is like a guillotine to my nerve-endings. A bizarre pinch felt every time it crosses my mind…so, basically, all day.

I bite my cheeks, a re-instated habit I had started from the day of my mother's funeral—a way to stave off emotion. The habit broken when I broke down, the night I broke Tris's heart—which has now been deemed the official day I lost her, seeing as I never really got her back. It's funny how I now look back on that night almost fondly—fondly because I still had her. She still loved me then. I ruined us, in that bed. I…ruined…us.

Or maybe not. Maybe it was always that way. What is that bullshit saying Pinterest 'alerted' me to—"One person always loves more deeply than the other." Thanks a lot, Nicholas Sparks. Whoever the fuck that is… He can take his spot-on quote and eat shit—

"Tobias…James…Eaton."

I hold my breath until it hurts...then let it out slowly, closing my eyes along with it.

"Not drinking, I see?"

I let out a sigh as I feel the warmth of a human body uninvitingly grace me with its presence.

"I promised you I wouldn't."

"That was years ago."

"I keep my promises."

"Indeed you do, my boy. Indeed, you do. Show some damned respect and look at me."

I smile slightly because I can't help myself and look into the dark, wise, hardened from years of raising boys, eyes of Hana Pedrad.

"Hi, Hana."

"Hi…Hana? That's all?"

I lean in for a brief hug, but all I get it a smack up the backside of my head. "Ow!"

"I don't want your damned hugs! I want an explanation. You don't return my calls, and you disregard my dinner invitation. Now you know I look at you as a son, so when two of my own damned sons don't show their faces for dinner, I get a little…perturbed. I should knock you on your ass right now."

"I'm sorry," I say semi-honestly.

"Hmmph."

"What are you doing here? You don't need to do this anymore. I'm…fine—"

"You're fine? I'm not sure you've ever been less fine."

I scrub my face with my hands, knowing exactly her source of information. "Uriah," I growl. What the hell, Hana? Why would he—"

"Because he loves you and because it was time," she says with strong finality.

"Time?"

"Yep. Your time was up."

"What does that even mean?"

She laughs and looks out at the lake crossing her ankles in front of her. "You think I don't know that you helped Uriah when Jo died? That you didn't tell him you'd keep quiet unless things got out of hand again?"

"How did you know—"

"Because I'm a damned mother who has been cursed with boys—boys who don't talk. So I get to be ultra-observant. What, suddenly, you two are stayin' in every night, eating me out of house and home? No hood rat friends anymore? Don't think Uriah had ever worked out a day in his life, yet, suddenly he's at the gym every day and keepin' his grades up like never before." She smirks and shakes her head. "So, I asked him what changed. And for once he was honest—You told him, 'Unless you prove to me, that this can no longer be just a secret.' Am I right?" She nudges me with her shoulder, expecting me to respond. "Well, he is now repaying that debt because apparently this…" she flits her hands at me. "…can no longer be just your secret."

I stare out over the lake, the lights from the stagnant boats, dimmed and unmoving. I toss another piece of stale bread in the water…willing a lone duck to fuck with its migratory habits and come my way. It hasn't happened in years.

"What do you want me to say?" I mutter.

"That you're going to get off your butt and deal with the cards you've been dealt in a more productive way. But I know you won't say that."

"I am dealing with it—getting on with my life, concentrating on my job. And…yes, I understand drinking isn't productive, but it's providing a much-needed purpose. I am fully aware it is temporary—a distraction, but, right now, it's what I need." I take a cleansing breath, fully aware I am pouring my heart out to Hana Pedrad…yet again. "Thinking about…Tris…is…both a relief and a curse—"

"What makes you think I give a monkey's uncle about some little hussy who broke your heart?"

"Uh—"

"I don't want to hear a damned word about her. I only…want to hear about you."

I open my mouth to protest, but I have…nothing to protest because I flat out don't understand.

"Separate…yourself…from her. Name three feelings swimmin' around in your brain…right now. Ingrained feelings—no surface level."

"Haaaaaanaaaa," I moan into my hands.

"Do it now, boy."

"Alone. Angry. Confused…Guilty."

"A bonus feeling? That's a first." She chuckles. "Now take each of those feelings and own them. Don't place them on anyone else. People don't make us feel a certain way. Alone? You're not alone, and you know it. Angry? You've always been angry. Confused…now to me that's an evolution—you're questioning yourself. And...guilty? Well, let's face it—in your world...tonight is the night for that."

"Hana," I begin, feeling the need to pacify her. "You're not a therapist. Don't act like one. When Jo died, if I had asked you why you're angry, would you not have said 'Because my husband had cancer, didn't tell me, and died shortly after on his own accord?'"

She doesn't answer, which makes me feel pretty damned good.

"You can't honestly tell me the anger you felt had nothing to do with how he made you feel."

"I see your point. But you have to see mine. That anger…" She grabs my hand. "…holding onto it. "...that was my choice, and it was wrong. These decisions you're making... You're going to ruin yourself. She may have planted the seed but you…are giving it sunshine and water, boy."

"I thought you didn't want to talk about Tris," I mumble.

"I wasn't."

"Fuck," I say under my breath, running my hand down my face, yet again—visions of my mother coming at me.

"She loved you, Tobias. She told you…she told you all the time."

"Didn't love me enough, I guess." I shrug.

"Ya know, I'm sad for the way I handled my boys when Jo died."

"Yeah?"

"Uriah and Zeke…idolized him…unnecessarily. And now they both…resent him unnecessarily because they saw what it did to me. The truth is—Jo just didn't have room in his life for pedestals and smoke. He never thought he was a particularly good man, and definitely knew he wasn't the father my boys needed. It took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that Jo knew he had cancer, he knew…and didn't seek treatment and...didn't...tell...me. What you just said about your mother—I said that for years about Jo. He didn't love me enough… Truth is, I'm not sure he loved himself enough." She takes a piece of bread from the bag and throws it in the water. "My actions rubbed off on my family. That happens, you know?"

I instantly pick up on her underlying meaning. She always worried about her boys. "So, I'm rubbing off on your boys?"

"Hell no! They're grown-ass men making their own dumb ass decisions. You don't rub off on them…you affect them. They don't learn from you anymore. They feel for you. I feel for you." She rests her hand on her heart, right over the heart and cross pin she always wears. "I know you think, I helped you…" she adds, clearing her throat. "…when you turned eighteen and moved in."

"You did," I say confidently.

"No. You helped me. You helped me see that people were hurting…all around me, in different ways—my grief wasn't exclusive. You letting me in—letting me help you… Tobias James Eaton, you saved my life."

I laugh under my breath at her ridiculous statement because I was at my most selfish back in those days. Although, I think my heart may have just warmed a degree. Apparently, I like helping people.

"Now, people can affect you…but they don't own you. You are the only one who fills that role." She inhales, slowly and deeply, and I feel it coming on. She's about to say it. Here it comes. "Are you prayin' these days?"

"Hana."

"Are…you…praying?"

"No. But feel free to send a shout-out for me."

"I'm not going to bring disgrace on myself from our Lord and Savior because your stubborn ass is too proud to spend some time with Jesus! Lord have mercy, I swear, the audacity of you boys is eternally infuriating." She fans herself, just like she does every time she gets worked up. "I help, you know. You'll feel closer. Closer to her."

I want to hold onto that fact, but the one biblical tidbit that Marcus instilled upon me lingers—suicide is equal to murder. Not sure she's up there hanging with Jesus.

Hana leans in and hugs me tightly which I return fully—she's one of the few who is allowed to do this.

"I love you, Tobias." She always waits a beat for me to say it back; I never have the guts. But she knows I love her too. "So, at this rate, I suppose the next time I'll be seeing you will be Ezequiel's wedding?" she asks sarcastically.

"If I'm even invited," I murmur, cringing after I said it. Shauna's words have been gutting me all day. Definitely shed a tear over that one.

"Lord…I know you're in a bad place, but, I'm certain the gates of hell wouldn't even stop you from—"

"I'm not in…the wedding," I say honestly. Lying to Hana Pedrad never got anyone anywhere.

"You said no? What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"I, um…fucked up and…just—It's deserved, okay?"

"Deserved?"

I throw another piece of bread in the water, unable to meet Hana's eyes. "I told Tris that she deserved her abuse—that she asked for it…aaaaand…then she backed out of the wedding. So, yes, I now deserve to not be in her wedding because who the…hell…talks to a woman that way?"

"My, my, the webs you weave and the tales you tell. Tobias Eaton, you said no such thing. Get your head out of your ass and tell me the God-damned truth."

I chuckle at her hypocrisy with constantly using the Lord's name in vain.

"Look, I've been reliving my blunder—well, I've been reliving many things today, but that…that…one is particularly special. I'd rather not rehash it. Talk to Shauna."

"Miss thang thinks she gets to choose who Ezequiel has stand up for him in HIS wedding. Well, doesn't she just have another thing coming!"

"Hana…" I groan. "He's a grown man—"

"He's my son…my son! You both are! And no one messes with my boys!" She points her finger in the air and hastens away power-walking like a crazy woman.

"Damn it…"

I open my mouth to yell, but she's long gone, now practically running down the street toward the red line. There's no stopping that woman anyway.

I sigh and pull out my phone…doing what I haven't had the guts to do sober—looking at pictures of Tris. They're mostly just random absentminded shots I took at advantageous moments. I deleted most of them. But some…I don't know; I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I run my thumb across the usie I took when she was sleeping—she always passed out, almost immediately when I held her, resting her hand on my heart.

I don't know what makes me do it, but I select her contact info and hit call. I know she won't answer, I don't want her to. But I just need to—

"The number you dialed has been changed, disconnected, or is no longer in service. Please check the number and dial again. Thank you."

I bite my cheek, tasting the warm metallic flavor of a reopened wound. She changed her number. But, I don't hang up. I decide to put something out there for the universe to pick up on.

"I understand why you hate me. But, I don't think it's possible that you hate me more than I hate myself. I want to apologize…for everything. I let you go, and I shouldn't have. I didn't protect you, and I should have. I took what could have been amazing…and twisted it until it was unrecognizable. You saw that. You knew it. I was blind. I'm sorry for almost taking you down with me. And, there aren't words in any language that exist today that can express my regret for what I said to you. You didn't deserve that kind of treatment from someone who loves you. And I do…love you. And I'll always be sorry."

I end the call and stand, suddenly realizing my cheek biting technique failed me. I wipe at my eyes, trying to push aside the enticing thought of ripping them out and throwing them to the fish. Then I walk to the water's edge and check the time on my phone 2:27 am. I glance back at the bench. My mom used to sit on the left side—always the left side. And I would chatter away, back when I thought I was a normal kid. Just hearing the "mmm hmm" of her voice, as I threw stale bread, making it known that her presence was there, was a comfort I took for granted—someone was actually listening to me. So, I do what I only allow myself to do once a year—I talk to my mother…and just like when I was a kid…I don't look back at her.

"'Time of death: approximately 2:30 am Thursday, September 13th.' I didn't know who said it at the time. But now I think it was the coroner…or some tactless doctor who didn't realize a nine-year-old was in the room. Either way…famous last words. The last words I heard about you—you ended for me there, at those words. It's funny, as a kid, I thought 'how did they know it was 2:30? Someone was there? Why didn't anyone help her?' I never had the courage to ask, though. I was such a…feeble kid." I wipe under my eyes. "Feeble kid turns into a feeble adult, I guess. I mean, just me calling myself feeble makes me weak, right? You should hear the shit that goes through my mind these days," I mutter to her.

"Let's see… Upside? I'm a partner in an architectural firm now—Never saw that one coming, but, somehow, it happened. Zeke and Uriah are good. Hana is too. Marcus is fucking with my life, like always." I pause and lifting my head to look at the stars, a huge gust of wind hitting me hard.

"Ya know, this is the first year I truly found out how much I didn't know you. Those specifics I will not be going into right now," I laugh lightly. "But I also found out what it feels like to love someone…and then lose them. Fuck that, though, right Mom? I'm all too familiar with that shit, as you know."

I close my eyes, picturing both of them. Memories…so many memories with my mom, not as many with Tris, yet somehow more meaningful.

"Loving someone one-sided is…unquantifiable pain," I choke out. "And I've now felt it…twice. Sooo…as it turns out, I'm the one who seems Karmically doomed. That is…total irony."

I stand and glance at where she would be sitting. "Happy Anniversary, Mom." And, like every year, I can't bring myself to say, "I love you."

I sigh and pick up the bag of bread, just as a duck swims by.

Double post! See you soon!