Braxton

I never had a choice in the matter. I now know that tugging in my chest was her stealing my heart, even as it beat in its cage. I just didn’t know she would repeatedly step on it.

I knew the risk I was taking last night. I just expected Heather to be real with me. I didn’t think she would try to sell me bullshit. I know my temper can be short, but I just couldn’t sit there while she tried to sell me a lie.

I mean, come on. I could almost taste the energy that was pulsing between us. I saw it in her eyes, she felt it too. Not just in the guesthouse. I felt her reaction to me, when I hugged her the day she first got back.

Still, it’s Heather, so I would never point any of that out. I damn sure won’t rush her into anything. Although, if she wants to play games, she can play them by herself.

I know what I want. I’ve been ruined for years. It’s Heather or nothing for me. I’m always honest when I hook up with chicks. It means nothing to me, it’s a good time and a way for me to perfect my skills, that’s all.

Now with Heather back home. I don’t even want that. Ruined, I tell you. Ruined and feeling like a straight pussy.

* * *

Heather

I panic at the thought of even going on a date, the expectations it all leads to. Knowing I have to share control or release the control I’ve created for myself, the thought freaks me out. I don’t have that kind of trust.

I always feel like guys are only nice for one reason. For four years, I tried to tell myself I’m being crazy. Dad gives Faith the world. Uncle Joe treats Aunt Cass like a queen. I’ve seen healthy relationships, but it’s the one toxic relationship that’s made the biggest imprint on my life.

Watching my mom with Ernest, along with seeing the person Ernest truly was, fucked me up. It goes beyond him being a perv. In my head, gifts and affection are given to excuse hurt.

Ruined, there is no other way to put it. I can’t even think about a relationship with someone four years younger than me. No, Braxton turning eighteen or twenty-two wouldn’t make much of a difference. I’m damaged to my core, ruined beyond repair. I still fear my own reflection at times, thanks to Ernest.

A relationship requires confidence I don’t have. I could never trade in my most trusted friendship for something I’m so unsure of. I loathe the hurt I saw in Braxton’s eyes, but its far better than the hurt I know I’ll put there later.

Hell, I pray every day that people continue to assume they know me. It’s easier to pretend, rather than to have to be a part of what people perceive as normal. To pretend is to hide my damage.

The truth gives hope, and I’ve had hope snatched away. That’s the real reason I’m back home. The truth, I got a call from my mom. Or at least, I thought it was my mom.

Her name came up attached to the number. When I answered, it wasn’t my mom’s voice that greeted me. It was my sister’s. The sister I’ve never met.

“Please don’t hang up,” she said softly into the phone. “I’d get into so much trouble for calling you, but I had to.”

“Who is this?” I said slowly, not putting two and two together quickly enough.

I was so crushed not to hear my mother’s voice. After all these years, I still hold out hope that she does miss me and think of me. I may not show it, but I miss her and it still hurts.

“It’s me, Amanda,” the girl whispered. “I’m your sister.”

I think the wind had been knocked out of my chest. I just sat on my bed, staring out of the window, onto the busy New York street below. I’d heard mom had another kid. I knew I had a sister, but hearing her voice made it real.

“I…I just want to get to know you. Mom says you’re in New York, away at school. I think that’s so cool. I just want to be friends. We can text or something. You’re my sister,” the sadness in her voice tugged so hard at my chest.

I spent an hour on the phone getting to know my ten-year-old kid sister. We started to talk every Friday after that. I accepted the truth of having a little sister. Somehow, talking to her gave me so much hope.

Until one day, her call didn’t come. That hope I had slipped through my fingers, as one week, then another week passed. I haven’t heard from Amanda since.

The sane part of me, told me to stay in New York and forget about her. The masochist in me, dragged my ass back here to California. You see, ruined. I had freedom, light was at the end of my tunnel, but I turned back to the place where my demons have been awaiting me.

Ruined.