Still Into You (36 page)

How did she let her absent mother control her life, still after all these years? Of course what her mother did would shape her daughter. But Mia needed to learn from it, accept it. That one event no longer had to rule her life.

After pushing herself up, Mia made her way back home and headed straight to her office. Rifling through her desk, she found the piece of paper with her life plan on it. Smoothing it out, Mia sat at her desk with pen in hand.

I choose differently.

I choose Ethan.

With a careful hand, Mia scrawled Ethan’s name on the sheet along with the question of how to get him back.

As much as she wanted him right now, her life was about to become insane with all her responsibilities for the movie and her new album and tour. Ethan was also in the midst of his football season.

Now just wasn’t the time. She would wait until her tour and contract negotiations were over.

One step at a time.

In the meantime, she would flesh out this plan. If she was going to do this, she would do it right.

Step one: say goodbye to Josh. Mia knew she needed to do it, but hoped she could do it in a way to not lose his friendship. She cared for him—a lot. She might even love him, but what she felt wasn’t even a speck of what she felt for Ethan.

Step two: get back to Chicago. It just made sense to be closer to everyone. Her bandmates, her friends, Luke and Kaitlyn, and of course, Ethan.

Step three: talk to Ethan. See if he still meant what he’d said after her overdose.

Josh returned Sunday night full of ardor. He attacked Mia and made love to her all night long and she let him. This was the right decision. She had enjoyed her time with him, was so thankful he came into her life when he did, but it was time to move on.

The next morning, she awoke and watched him, peacefully lying in bed, his curly, dirty blond hair messy from sleep, not knowing when to tell him. Should she do it now? Or should she wait until they weren’t naked in her bed?

“I feel you staring at me, deep thoughts swirling in your mind,” Josh said, his deep voice startling her. Maybe he just took the decision away from her. “What’s going on, Mia?”

“Nothing and everything, if that makes any sense.”

“Uh . . . no,” he said, rolling over to face her. “Talk to me.”

“I went to my therapist while you were gone,” she began, not wanting to just blurt out that she wanted to break up.

“What did you two discuss?”

“My life plan.”

“Life plan . . .” he stopped, letting the words hang there as he thought about it. His face changed when it registered what that meant. “Just spit it out, Mia.”

She sighed. He let her hide for the past year from everything, but now, when it concerned him, Josh wasn’t having it. “I think we need to break up,” she said, the words spilling out of her mouth.

“Mia—”

“You don’t love me. And I don’t love you,” she continued, having to get it all out.

“I do too!” he exclaimed, bolting up into a seated position, the sheet pooling haphazardly at his waist, exposing his thick cock that had given her so much pleasure during that time.

“But it’s not the love that we both need. You love me like a friend.”

“Who’s very good in bed,” he said, smiling and trailing his fingers up her naked thigh.

“Josh!” she exclaimed when his hand slid between her thighs and pushed them apart.

“What?” he asked innocently as his thumb expertly awakened her senses.

“What part of breaking up did you not understand?”

“I heard it all,” he said, his breath hot against her face as he sighed. “So, we’re gonna be just friends?”

“Yeah,” she said breathlessly, as his finger slipped inside of her with ease, curling up just right, reducing her to a moaning, writhing mess.

“Can we start that tomorrow?” he asked, removing his finger and moving his body between her legs, positioning his hard cock against her pussy. He put her feet up on his shoulders, waiting for her answer. She tried to move, but he held her legs to him.

“Tomorrow,” Mia whimpered, wanting him to relieve the ache he’d built.

With a shift of his hips, he entered her and began the heated process of relief. Josh wasn’t quick; he took his sweet time, making sure they savored this last time together. Mia screamed out when the pressure finally broke and her release flowed out of her. Josh came a few strokes later. He leaned down and pecked her nose.

“Best break-up sex ever,” he said, pulling out of her and sitting up. He grabbed his discarded shorts from yesterday and put them on. Mia scooched back against the headboard, grabbing the sheet to cover her nakedness. They sat on opposite ends of the bed, staring at one another.

“Why?” he asked simply. From the look on his face, he knew the answer, but she had to speak the words aloud for him.

“I want Ethan back,” she confessed, the words lifting the weight she didn’t know she’d been carrying off her chest.

“But what if after all this he doesn’t want you back?” he asked. There was no jealousy in his tone. All Mia heard was support. She knew Josh only wanted to make sure she wasn’t going into something that would hurt her. From the beginning, that was what Josh had done—protected her from getting hurt. Mia didn’t want to get hurt, but she
had
to do this.

“I won’t know until I try.”

Mia

Walking into the therapist’s office that day, Mia sat down in her normal spot on the sofa and felt numb. She was going to do this. She’d taken some steps towards her future but the only one she could tackle now was facing her past. Accept it and put it behind her.

For good.

First up, discussing it with Simone. Only then could she even consider talking to Ethan. She needed to do this despite the leaded stomach and the heart that felt like it may explode at any moment. She would get through this.

“Mia, you look determined.”

“Today’s the day.”

Sensing what she meant, Simone took her seat and said, “Okay. Whenever you’re ready.”

Mia let out a quiet snort. She wasn’t ready, but it was time.

“I haven’t seen my mother in over twenty-three years. The last time I saw her was on Christmas when I was eight years old,” she paused, closing her eyes, that night playing in her mind so damn clearly, like she was still that little girl going through her mother leaving her. The thing that sucked though was that this scene too often played on repeat.

“Mia,” Simone spoke her name softly, just loud enough to pull her back to the present. Mia locked her watery eyes on her therapist. “You can do this. It’s history. It’s not happening right now. You’re just telling me the story. What do you remember of that day?”

Everything.

Determination filled her. She would tell this story and not leave out any detail. That also meant she couldn’t hold in her emotions; she would fully feel the pain of what her parents did to her. That right there so often stopped her from recounting her story.

Not today.

“My mother spent most of Christmas day up in her bedroom while I celebrated with my father downstairs. It had been like that a lot. My mother stayed away from me. She . . . uh . . . she was very emotional when she saw me, which really wasn’t very often. There would be times I wouldn’t see her for days, but I knew she was just up in her room. I did try to see her, but after a few times having her scream and yell at me to leave, I basically stayed away too . . . that is, until Christmas. My dad and I opened presents together, and while he made breakfast, I snuck upstairs to give my mom a present. This time, I had hoped because I had a present I’d made for her at school, it would be different,” Mia paused, shaking her head back and forth, desperately trying to tell her eyes to not let the tears fall. “But it was worse. She took the tree I made her in art class and threw it across the room, pieces flying everywhere. Her screams were wails—painful, sorrowful noises. My father came and ordered me out of the room. I ran down to my father’s library and hid under his desk. I have no idea how long I was there. My father eventually coaxed me out and somehow got me to the piano. He asked me to play a song that he’d had me practicing the past month or so—‘Raindrops’ by Chopin. I did not like this song. It hurt to play, but Papa seemed to need it so I played my heart out for him. Afterwards he held me in his lap. I should have known something was wrong . . . I—”

Mia took a deep breath to calm herself. The soft cries of the persistent notes of “Raindrops” the soundtrack to her story.

“After dinner, he sent me to my room and told me lights out at eight. I did as he said, but I’d snuck my new Walkman into my room and played with that. It was between songs when I heard my parents’ raised voices. I stopped the tape and tried to hear what was going on. Then their voices were louder. I knew they had left their bedroom and were now in the hallway. I heard my father ask my mother why she was doing this. His voice sounded so different. He was scared and that frightened me. If Papa was scared, I knew something pretty bad was happening. I remember him telling her that they could work it out, that they could fix this. I didn’t know what he was talking about and that frightened me even more.”

Closing her eyes, she let out a sob and grasped her shaking legs.

“It’s okay, Mia. Go on,” Simone urged. Mia opened her eyes and saw her therapist give her an encouraging smile and nod.

“My . . . um . . . my mother then told my father that she loved him, but she couldn’t be a mother anymore, that she’d never wanted to be a mother. She said that she loved him with all her heart, but she couldn’t even bear to be in the same room as me. I remember his response: ‘What am I supposed to do, Isa? Just leave Mia? She’s our daughter. She’s just a little girl!’ With those words, I started to shake uncontrollably. I really don’t remember if anything else was said. I heard the slamming of the door and I cried. My mother didn’t want me. She’d never wanted me. I felt so cold. So alone. Abandoned.”

This was more emotion than she had ever shown Simone. It overwhelmed Mia to the point where breathing was difficult. Her shallow breaths were many and were only making things worse.

The only disruption to her panicky breathing was Simone’s calm, but commanding, voice breaking through the thick haze that surrounded her. “Breathe, Mia. One, two, three . . . slowly let it out. Feel it enter your body; feel it leave as you expel that breath . . . that’s it. Now, do it again.”

Once Mia calmed down, Simone sat back down to continue. “Mia, it wasn’t your fault that your mother left,” she began, but Mia quickly cut her off.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? My mother said she never wanted me. She wanted my father to leave
me
so he could be with her. How is that
not
my fault?
I
was the reason!
Me!
” she yelled, hitting her chest with the palm of her hand. “If I wasn’t a part of the picture, my father and mother would still be together. My father wouldn’t be disgusted by my mere presence. I wouldn’t have caused so much heartache because I wouldn’t have been around.”

“Your father chose you, Mia. He stayed with you. Think about that.”

“I have! But it’s obvious he didn’t want to. He changed after that night. The father who loved me left with my mom. His heart went with her. His love. His happiness. All I got was the skeleton of the man he used to be. He left too, though he was physically there with me,” she paused, desperately trying to control her emotions, but she failed, buckling under their weight and sobbed. “I lost both of my parents that night. I was an eight-year-old, little girl and they abandoned me!”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“So fucking mad!” she yelled.

“What else?” the therapist pushed.

“Sad,” she said quietly, wiping at her tears with one hand and pulling a few more tissues from the always-present box to her left with the other.

“Why, Mia?”

“Because I miss my dad. I miss the way he used to smile when we played in the backyard. I miss the way he would read to me, the way he would sit by my side as I played the piano. Always humming along, always encouraging me. We were always so happy together. I want that again. I want my dad to love me again.”