Tainted Love (Book 1) (23 page)

The next morning greets me with a pounding headache and puffy eyes, all as a result
of crying so much. The last time I cried like this was the day of and months after Jared’s death.

I pick up my phone to check the time
. It’s 9:30.  Scrolling to my messages, I notice a new message notification. I freeze when I see it’s from Ben. I open it shakily and a flood of despair takes me over when I read:

I think we made a mistake in doing this.

Hot tears course down my face as I clutch the phone to my chest. I cover my mouth trying to stifle the sobs, but it’s impossible. I lost Ben before I even had him and it was my own fault. I fall to the floor and curl into a ball as I weep bitterly. It is like that time I first found out about Jared’s death all over again. I had cried until I passed out then.

Determined not to let that happen again, I steel myself, shakily fingering the buttons as I type a response.

I agree. It was fun while it lasted though. Please enjoy the rest of your conference days. Have a happy life.

I don’t wait for a response. Putting the phone on charge, I amble toward the bathroom. As I shower, I cry some more. The loss is overwhelming. How he came to mean so much to me is an anomaly in my fucked up existence, but I am strong. I have been through worst situations and here I still stand. Crying, yes, but standing nonetheless.

I get dressed and head downstairs with the intention of paying my tuition and maybe doing some consumer therapy. Buy some textbooks for school, maybe some shoes, even chocolate. Yes, I like the idea of chocolate. Chocolate and sad music is a great combination.

Outside the apartment I am shocked to see the Phantom dawdling on the side walk. Simon hops from the front and opens the door for me.

“Good morning, Miss Beal,” he greets, tipping his hat to me.

“What are you doing here, Simon?” I ask, confused; tears threatening as I remember that Ben had Simon follow me last night.

“Mr. Hayes asked me to make myself available to you in the event that you wanted to go out,” he replies.

I exhale
exhaustively. My chest tightens. So, Ben breaks up with me, but still orders his help to drive me around? How confusing!

“Thank you.” I step inside the luxury car and Simon closes it when I am comfortably seated.

When he enters the driver’s side, he asks, “Where to, Miss Beal?”

“The bank please, and then to UPenn,” I tell him.

Simon gives me a curt nod then sets off into traffic.

I sit in the seat, my head bracing the back of it, lost in thought. Why does Ben insist on having Simon take me wherever I want to go if he broke off our arrangement? And how the fuck could he break off our arrangement via text? I grow angry. That was cowardice. He didn’t even have the decency to call me, to let me hear him say it. If he’s going to be this adolescent about shit, I don’t want to be with him anyway.

Oh, but, I do. I miss him desperately.

I don’t know how many times I wished it, but I wished that I could turn back the hands of time and had never gone out with Brandon. My tuition wouldn’t have been able to get paid and I would have had to sit out the semester, but anything would have been better than the rest of my
life without Ben. The rest of my life? Yes, I can see myself with him for the rest of my life, but now, that possibility is gone because I couldn’t damn well keep my pussy in my drawers.

The ache in my chest grows and I grip at it, choking back a garbled sob. I swipe at the tears that trickle down my face, not wanting Simon to see me cry, but the soft moans that escape my throat betrays me. Looking in the rearview mirror, Simon shoots me a sympathetic look. Then, reaching into his coat pocket, he hands me a grey and white handkerchief, with Adonis printed in embossed silver threading.

I clutch the handkerchief and sob into it, grief setting in once more. Suddenly, I hear the radio tuning. Simon, as if he understood me, finds a radio station that plays alternative rock. Hoobastank rings through the speakers with
“Reason”
and I cry even more.

With the music playing as we sit in traffic, my mood gradually lifts. Simon is so much more different than when he’s around Ben. He is fun and a lover of music like I am.
Never would have guessed.
We sing out to Third Eye Blind, Barenaked Ladies and The Offspring. Simon and I talk music, finding out that Aerosmith is both our favorite rock band.

By the time we arrive at the bank, I have gathered myself together, hiding my swollen eyes behind dark brown Dolce and Gabana shades.

The last stop is the University. With my payment coupon in hand and my check ready, I successfully pay off my tuition; the last one I’ll ever pay.

“Hey Sullivan,” Lizzie hails as she makes her way over to me.

“Lizzie!” I hug her gladly as she faces me.

Elizabeth
Hauer is also a final year psychology honors candidate. I met her in the second semester of my freshman year, even though I had seen her in many of my classes before. Lizzie has waist-length black hair, olive skin, with a modelesque figure. She is a spoiled rich kid, but has a great head on her shoulders. We clicked immediately after we were placed on a group project in a one of our psychology classes.

“How’s your Independent study coming along?” she asks as we walk down from the Franklin Building.

“It’s going good actually. The research paper’s a pain in the ass, but it’s coming on. I meet with my supervisor next Tuesday and, as you know, our honors seminars are on Mondays. I’m looking forward to them this year,” I say.

She goes on to tell me about her challenges with her Independent Study and I promise to assist her as best as I possibly can. We part with another hug and I set off toward the car.

“Hey!” I hear a male voice calling after me as I walk. I turn to see a tall man in blue jeans and a light green polo shirt. His ear length blonde hair is tucked neatly behind his ear. He is preppy looking, but very handsome. As he nears me, I am drawn to his pale blue eyes. He is sexy, not just handsome.

“Hello.” I drop the tone of my voice as I greet him, making it sultry and inviting. He is taken aback by my voice, obviously liking what he
’s heard.
How quickly I fall into old patterns…

“Wow, you sound even sexier than I’d previously thought,” he says, eyeing me wickedly. “My name is Dylan.”

“Sullivan.”

We stand talking for a while where I discover that Dylan is a frat boy studying business
management. Typical. He is very charming, pausing every so often to admire my lips, my figure, even asking me to take my glasses off to see my eyes. Thankfully, my eyes had gone down and they no longer looked red. He gasped when he saw them, calling them alluring. I rolled my eyes.
Like I haven’t heard
that
before.

“I’d like to invite you to a party. I don’t want you to think that I came over here just to invite you to a frat party. It has been the highlight of my day talking with you,” Dylan mutters.

“Okay, I’d love to go,” I respond. This is what I need. I have to get my mind off of Ben, and there is no better way to do so than to go partying. If it is a great party then I’ll be too hung-over to think about him the next day.

“You can bring a friend; hopefully it’s not a guy. And hopefully, you don’t have a boyfriend,” he babbles.

“No I don’t have one.” I respond with a chuckle. Ah, this will be easy. I will have him underneath me no later than Saturday morning.

I snarl at myself inwardly.
Sigh.
I never learn.

“And the heavens opened up and the angels started singing,” he announces at my answer.

I laugh, and in that moment, I have forgotten about Ben and all the crap of last night.

“It’s on Friday night by our frat house. It starts at 9. I look forward to seeing you.” He takes my hand and kisses it before he leaves.

I call Simone to invite her to the party and she is more than willing to go along with me; excited that we’d finally be hanging out. Soon, I am back in the Phantom and on my way home.

Rachel and I eat Chinese for dinner. After watching hours of primetime TV comedies, we head off to bed. That night I have another nightmare. The same one. I am being held down by men who are taking turns on me. Just when the room goes dark, I am pulled into the light, rescued by the man in the light. This time I make out his hair; ear length, dark-brown hair, neatly raked. I sleep soundly with that image.

The next morning I wake up to a note from Rachel attached to the morning paper.

Wish I could hang with you and Simone tonight, but we’ll soon have a real girls’ night out. You’ll be interested in what’s on Page 10. Use it as motivation to have as much fun as possible tonight. ILY, Lilah.

I flip to page 10 of the newspaper and my breath is knocked out of me when I see a picture of Ben with a leggy platinum blonde who reporters describe as his ex-girlfriend. He is laughing, open-mouthed, and he has his arm around her waist, while she rests her head languidly on his chest. The picture is from last night at a benefit dinner. The article insinuates that they are back together, but that reports are unconfirmed.

If he was getting back together with his ex, why didn’t he just say so? I boil with fury at his spinelessness actions. Breaking our arrangement via text?
Coward! Asshole!
I snarl at the picture and I throw it aside.

I am going to have as much fun as I can tonight and I am not going to give Ben Hayes another fucking thought. The fucking asshole
! Making me feel guilty when he was already moving on. And to think I was liking him! Well, I’m glad all this happened before I made a bigger ass of myself. This is why I stay away from relationships. I don’t want to deal with all the hurt that followed if they failed, especially if I’d invested in them. Look what happened with Jared? Oh, God, let’s not even mention Rick!

The day drags on slowly and my plan of not thinking about Ben doesn’t work. I listen to my
I Can’t Make You Love Me
playlist and drink wine coolers, while I blubber like a broken-hearted teen, whose first love left her for the big-breasted head cheerleader.

Ben moved on quickly, so I have to do the same. Tonight will be the last time I use Simon’s services. Cutting all ties, that’s best.

And who was this ditzy blonde on his arm? I guess he prefers blonde Barbie dolls to curvy black chicks – not that he knows of my ethnicity. He was looking for arm candy and a girl like me with a fucked up past was not the proper candidate. Ugh! Why can’t I stop thinking about him?

I’m just getting out of the shower when Simon arrives. Thankfully, I have already chosen my outfit for the night: short, worn jeans skirt, and an off-the-shoulder mini tee. I’d contemplated wearing heels, but decided against it and went with my favorite instead: black Chuck Taylor’s. Throwing my hair in a messy up-do, I head downstairs.

“This is the last time I’ll need your services, Simon,” I say resolutely as we drive to pick up Simone.

“Sullivan, please. It’s no problem,” he argues. “Mr. Hayes wants you to be safe at all times.”

“Why?” I shoot angrily at him. I wince a little as it isn’t fair of me to take my anger out on him, but I don’t back down. “He broke up with me. Making you my chauffeur is saying that he feels guilty and I don’t want his guilt. I don’t want to have anything to do with him as a matter of fact.”