Private Message (19 page)

So I passed the time in my small apartment, leaving only to walk down the block to the deli for food and coffee. I slept, cranked my music and attempted to paint. I know the way I acted or reacted was not the best. I bet he has forgotten about me. I tried to forget all about Ben Mitchell.

Epic failure.

It seemed like every song on my iPod reminded me of him. On Wednesday while listening to Blink-182, I thought about how if things were a little different that he could have fell in love with the girl at the rock show… instead of carrying her bloody body to the emergency room.

James brought me lunch and I caught him up. He was still hurt that I didn't call him first. But by the end of his visit, he seemed OK. But I have a feeling he will be checking up on me a little more now. Great.

On Thursday while listening to Good Charlotte, I thought about the secret I had held in for all these years. How we all have our secrets and want to hide them away. So no one will know we are weak. And you know what? Good Charlotte really seems to feel me right now, so I am screaming the songs out. Yes, this is my kind of therapy. Some people pray… I rock out.

By Friday, I can barely talk from scream singing my lungs out. Today, it's Pink. God, this woman is a goddess! It's late and I dance around my apartment in my boy shorts and sports bra. The lyrics make me cry, asking for reasons. Any kind of reason whether big or small just offer me something. I know we had something special.

By the end of the song, I am broken. I feel Ben everywhere. In my headphones, my speakers, the smell of him on my couch, and on my body. My heart. I need this man; I can understand what he did, even though I still need to hear it. But I feel like we have a connection that most people don't have. I haven't had any pain medication for twenty-four hours. I need a drink and I need my best friend.

I call Erin.

She arrives twenty minutes later, bearing booze. A lot of booze, I see as I read labels: "Vodka, tequila, lime juice, cranberry juice and whiskey?"

"Damn straight! I didn't know what you were in the mood for and I know you like your rum and cokes but I think tonight calls for something a little different."

"Well, my friend, you have no idea how much I need to get hammered."

She laughs. "Well, let's see, when we met you were a virgin. I have to ask; have you ever been drunk?"

I shake my head. And she hops around the room in a laughing fit. "So in a way I am busting your drunken cherry tonight?"

I laugh and give her a giant hug. "Aw, hey, what's wrong? No crying or getting all emotional UNTIL your drunk."

"Get to pouring, my friend," I tell her. And she eagerly gets to work on my first margarita…ever.

"So what do you think?" she asks after I take my first sip.

I scrunch my face with the burn of the tequila. "I like it. Bartender, I'll have another!" I say as I slam my glass down on the counter.

Erin smiles devilishly. "No. You, my girl, are taking a shot."

She pours tequila into a little glass. "Just toss it back, don't let it linger in your mouth and just swallow...but I am sure you know how to do that by now." She winks at me.

I pick up a spoon and throw it at her. "So not funny, Erin!" but I can't keep a serious face right now, and I think about Ben. Shit. This is why I wanted to get drunk. Here goes the shot. I do what I am told and it freaking burns!

I rasp out, seeking a clean breath. "How do people do these things one right after the other?" I ask Erin.

She shrugs. "Guess after the first couple, your mouth goes numb, that or you're too drunk to feel anything." Makes sense.

"In that case, give me another."

She does as she's told. "So, why the need to get drunk? Boy troubles? Is that why I am here instead of him?"

I slam back the second shot.

Gripping the counter with my one good hand, letting the gold liquid make its way down to my stomach, when I finally answer I can feel the alcohol hitting my head. "You could say that."

My lips unzip and I pour my guts out and tell Erin everything. By the time I am done we are on the red sofa and I have had three shots of tequila, and I'm working on a strong vodka cranberry.

Erin doesn't interrupt, but lets me get it out. When I am finally done she puts her two cents in. "I don't blame you for being angry with him. He saves you years ago and leaves you, but you didn't know each other then. Him, walking out on you a second time in the hospital after the time you spent together, is fucked up.

"He needs to get his shit together and make his choice, and if that choice is to stay away, then he needs to stay away forever. You don't need this crap, Tess. Oh! Can I got kick him in the balls or tip his bike and slash the tires?"

I love drunken Erin. I can't help but laugh; she has got me so drunk I can't stop laughing. This is what I needed, to let loose and laugh. We nearly finish the tequila and half of the contents in the vodka bottle.

We lay on my bed, talking about hot celebrity guys, and flat out pass out.

I wake up with what I am going to believe what is a hangover. I will never, ever pick on someone who has a hangover ever again. Erin is still passed out beside me. I decide to cover my head and go back to sleep.

Next thing I know, it's nearly two in the afternoon. Erin jumps up out of my bed. "Shit! I am going to be late to work at the restaurant! Shit! Shit! My boss said that if I am late one more time or show up drunk again he is going to fire my sorry ass."

"What time do you need to be at work?" I look at my clock.

She throws on her shoes and grabs her jacket. "Like thirty minutes ago. I am sorry to just run out on you like this, Tess, but I need this job. I will call and check on you later, OK?"

"Yeah, I am fine. Go on, don't get fired!" I yell as she closes the door behind her. Now what?

Then it hits me. I texted Ben. I DRUNK texted Ben.

Oh no.

Coming back to me I fuzzily remember, Erin cheering me on, I remember her telling me to request a booty call. I don't know what I am going to say, but I feel the need to say something. So I log back into the Chatz chat room.

What did I say? I go on a mad dash for my phone. Opening up to the chat room I read:

Punky_Painter: "
Ben
"

That's all I seem to type out and he didn't reply. I think I am going to be sick.

Back to bed and to never come back out.

It's been nearly a week, and I have managed to keep my distance from Tess. I think it's for the best, considering how much of a letdown I am. Yeah, mum would be so proud of her son…

Then she texted me late last night, I wanted to call her. I wanted to go right over there and tell her how wrong she is and what she means to me. But I also think she needs time to heal and figure out things for herself. I just hope I have the self-restraint to let her…

The night of the Maroon 5 concert was the most amazing night of my life. I have had sex with a lot of women, I'll admit that, but none have been in my home, and none were remotely like Tess. I feel like an asshole for letting her trust me and to take something as special and private as her virginity, only to walk away. I did nothing but reinforce her doubts and fears. When I tried to contact her, she never replied. Then she texted me late last night, I wanted to call her. I wanted to go right over there and tell her how wrong she is and what she means to me. But I also think she needs time to heal and figure out things for herself. I just hope I have the self-restraint to let her…

Well, I did manage to get her photos off her camera that night while she was sleeping. Adam did say that he wanted to see them, so I e-mailed them to him directly and while I was at it, because they were amazing, truly amazing—even without any editing—I e-mailed them to the photo department at the magazine. She deserves to have her dream, even if I don't get to have mine with her. I also kept a copy of the photo we had taken with her. And I with the band...I just cropped those wankers out.

It's been one week since the second worst day of my life, but then maybe it was the worst, because I had feelings for my hero when he chose to leave that time. And to add insult to injury, my mom set up my follow-up appointment with Dr. Mitchell without telling me. So I am heading back the hospital. Oh, joy.

My mom begged to go with me, but I insisted that I was fine and wanted to just go in and get it over with. That, and I didn't want her in on the drama. I don't know if Dr. Mitchell will bring anything up about Ben, or keep it professional. I'm hoping for the latter.

My hand doesn't hurt as bad as it did a week ago, so that's a plus. But everything else hurts. Men like Ben don't change. He got what he wanted and he got out. I am hoping the doctor isn't in, or is on call at an emergency.

I pick at my cast and look around the soft blue room. The chairs are deep cherry wood with dark gray cushions. There's a waterfall cascading down a stone wall, which I am guessing are to calm me…Yeah, right that's so not going to happen.

The door next to the receptionist window opens and my name is called. A moment later, I'm in an exam room. It has the customary exam table, a table I never wanted to lay on again, not after the sort of exam I had to endure three years ago.

After that night, when the same doctor I am about to see now had reset my arm and bandaged my face, he suggested I get an internal exam because I was knocked unconscious and had no memory of what happened. So I agreed. I wanted to make sure that dick didn't get what he was so aggressively trying to take from me.

The nurse in front of me right now took my height, weight and blood pressure and my temperature. "Dr. Mitchell will be in a minute to see you, Ms. Martin."

Great, so he is here. What, no other young women saved by your amazing son? What a shame. Shit, what am I going to say if he brings up what happened? Does he know about everything? Does he know about me and Ben? I need to calm down before I have a panic attack. Just as I practice my calm breathing, I hear a light knock on the door.

"Hi, Tess, how are you?" He takes my right hand in a shake.

I return the gesture, with slight hesitation. His accent is just so familiar and I can now see and here where Ben gets it all from. "Hi, I am doing much better. My hand barely hurts, ready to get this bandaging off for good."

A moment later, I'm on the exam table He starts to cut my bandaging, but notices me cringing.

"Are you all right? Am I hurting you?" His voice is kind. It reminds me of how caring and compassionate Ben was our first night together...

"Uh, yeah, just didn't turn out so well the last time I had a sharp tool near my hand."

He laughs lightly and his smile truly reaches his eyes.

"So how bad of a scar are we talking about?" I ask.

Taking my hand to start cutting the threads, he begins. "Not too bad, my dear. Once these little buggers are out, you will start to see improvement shortly." Feeling relieved, I take in a deep cleansing breath. I just wish he could stitch up my heart.

"You and my son, are you dating? I know it's not exactly my place to ask..." I hold up my right hand to stop him.