Collided

  Collided

  Portia Moore

  Portia Moore Books

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Untitled

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  If I Break Sneak Peak

  Also by Portia Moore

  1

  I was only six the night it happened.

  I remember him being big, not tall enough to play basketball, but broad enough to be a wide receiver. A giant to me back then. He was my hero, my best friend. One of my mom’s favorite people. Until he wasn’t. And it all changed in one night.

  I was in my favorite hiding place, in the coat closet across from their room, the moment it started. The shouting, the clashing, curse words, ones that a six-year-old little girl should never hear, especially from her parents. I listened, attempting to understand what was happening, my six-year-old thought process working overtime and struggling to find the cause amongst the bad words. I grabbed phrases, trying to pull them out from the chaos.

  Another woman.

  Did he love her?

  How could he cheat?

  Leaving.

  I didn’t know what that meant, as being six I couldn’t understand how my dad could cheat if he didn’t go to school or play any games that I knew of. What was wrong with him loving another woman?

  He loved my grandma before she went to heaven. If he was leaving, where was he going and could we go too? But my mom was furious so I didn’t know if she’d want to go. Her tiny fists moved so fast while hitting his chest, her hands attempting to hit his face. I wanted to go out and say something, to make it stop, but I knew I shouldn’t. And I was afraid. I had never been afraid of my parents before. They always protected me, but I was terrified then. My parents didn’t yell and never fought, and from what I knew they were happy. He gave her soft sweet kisses that made me and Melissa cringe and snicker but we really loved it. When we watched movies she was always in his arms. They were perfect.

  At least I thought they were.

  Or maybe my six-year-old mind couldn’t process things as they were. As a child, I couldn’t see the cracks. Maybe I blocked out the hushed arguments. I never counted the times my dad walked in the next morning, after having left right after dinner, saying he wouldn’t be gone long.

  When it was all over, I scurried from my hiding place and saw Dad smiling but I could tell he was sad.

  “Are you okay?” I asked him with tears in my eyes. He scooped me up in his arms and hugged me, it was warm and tender and I didn’t want to let him go. It was probably woman’s intuition even at that young age…

  “Go to bed princess,” he said with a weary smile, and I hesitated until his smile brightened and he gave me his signature wink—one that was familiar and made me believe everything would be okay—but before I closed my bedroom door his feet hit the stairs and headed in the direction of the living room instead of past my room where their bedroom was. I ran out quickly, only to see him leave out the front door.

  He left with nothing but the clothes on his back.

  The next morning I could hear my mother’s sobs fill the void where the screaming had been. At breakfast my sister Mel asked where Daddy was. My mom’s eyes were usually the light green that Mel’s were, but they weren’t bright anymore—just puffy and dull and void. She took a deep breath and said it would just be us girls from then on. Mel looked at me confused and was about to start her endless stream of questions, which we both did when an answer didn’t make sense to us, but I kicked her knee under the table and shook my head. I knew my mom wouldn’t answer those questions, that she couldn’t, and I hoped Dad would be back to answer them himself.

  He didn't come back the next day, or the day after that.

  He never came back. Ever.

  The mother I knew before that day disappeared, as every day that passed seemed like her heart broke into even smaller pieces than the day before.

  He broke her.

  I promised myself I’d never let a man break me, make me a shell of myself, taking all the love I had to give with him, leaving barely a drop for his own daughters. The first and only man I’d ever loved became the first person I hated. I hated that I had his sky-blue eyes, and night-black dark hair. I used to love when people told me how much I looked like him. When he didn’t come back I wished I had my mom’s light brown hair instead of his, I wish I looked like her instead of him, and sometimes I wondered if looking at me hurt her, reminded her of everything that stole her joy, her peace, all the love she had. My father would be the only person I’d ever allow to break my heart.

  I wake up and shake the nightmare of the past from my thoughts. Sweat is covering my body, my heart racing just as it did that night. I glance at Ryan. He’s asleep and looks so peaceful. He never has night terrors. I guess that’s because he's never experienced anything world-shattering, like tiny earthquakes that rock your entire existence.

  His parents are still blissfully happy together.

  He doesn’t know what it was like to look at your front door every day, hoping and praying you father would walk through it. He isn’t paranoid about the person he loves deciding in an instant you’re not important, that you’re worthless. That they don't need you. He doesn’t believe it’s dangerous to love regardless of how many times I’ve told him. He always just squeezes my hand and laughs me off.

  I won’t be able to go back to sleep. I never am after this nightmare.

  My mind is too restless.

  I don't have a choice but to get out of bed. My feet carry me to the kitchen to see if chamomile tea will help. It doesn't.

  There's a need that's calling my name, it creeps from the deepest part of my thoughts. This familiar fear has taken ahold of me again and again.

  I'm its mistress.

  I want to stop myself, I really do. There's no reason for me to feel like this. The tightness in my chest, anxiety gripping my entire body, demanding I take action for relief. There are answers I need to know, protections that need to be put in place, just in case. I don't trust.

  I can't

  Anyone or anything.

  I'm never vulnerable. I don't let myself get hurt anymore.

  Ryan could hurt me. He's broken down my walls…some of them. I'm not sure how he's done it, but every time he smiles at me it makes me not want to be skeptical of him working late hours. I don't want to think he's lying every time something comes out of his mouth. But I'd be lying if I said it wasn't difficult.

  Ryan's what I need.

  He's a good guy from a good home with a good job. He's safe, which is why I shouldn't be searching for anything. But I am. Some kind of red flag that things will go bad at any moment. He's done nothing to make me think he has. He goes to work at his accounting firm, hangs out with friends twice a month on the weekend, and then he comes home to me.

  This was never the plan, not mine at least.

  I still wonder how those soft brown eyes and easy smile hypnotized me into doing something I never imagined doing.

  I avoided commitment up until he came along, the only sixteen-year-old who didn’t want a boyfriend, who went to prom with a group of friends—not because of lack of options, but fear of anything that could lead to the curse of love.

  Sex is great but love is terrifying, and moving in together wasn’t planned. It just sort of happened, like a disease. It was naturally the next step to take, according to Ryan. After dating seven months and practically being at one another’s house every day, it seemed illogical for us to each be paying rent. That's how he convinced me, because I'm a stickler for saving my coins. Still, even after everything he's done for me...

  I don't trust him.

  I try, I really do, but at the end of the day he has a penis and I know that overrules everything.

  My feet carry me from the kitchen to the office space that Ryan and I share. He spends more time there than I do. I find creating in a designated place more stifling to my creativity than I thought it'd be, so it's more his than mine. I should crack open my laptop and finish the commission I have due in two days. But I won't. But that yearning need won't go away until I take a look around. Just a little. Not much. I attempt to stop myself, to hold myself back.

  If I was a sane person, I'd just go back to bed, or I'd talk to Ryan about how I feel. He'd no doubt listen and comfort me, and do everything a perfect boyfriend would. But I can’t do things the easy way.

  I swear just a minute ago, I was simply standing in the quiet office space. Now the room is just a blur of papers. I search through the room like a madwoman, systematically going through every inch of it.

  I'm not even sure what's driving me to this point, other than the dream. The dream I should be used to by now.

  The last time I felt like this, I was being cheated on by the one and only boyfriend I had outside of Ryan. I went through my ex’s things and found another girl's thong.

  My grandmother always said, “If you go searching for something, you’ll find it.” I think that’s a crock of shit. If there’s nothing there to find then you won’t find anything whether you search or not.

  Needless to say, I went out of that relationship in an intens
e blaze. I doubt he'll ever cheat on a woman again after the hell I caused. I always knew he was a manwhore, and admittedly I felt safe because of that—comfortable in chaos is what Mel calls it—but it's exactly why Ryan isn’t safe. Because he feels safe. It’s confusing and doesn’t make sense to anyone I’ve talked to, but it’s gotten me this far. And I know it’s insane but knowing this doesn't stop me from invading his privacy like a complete psycho. And yes I’m crazy because I've found nothing and didn’t really expect to, but the gnawing feeling is still there.

  Now, I have to put everything back perfectly or he’ll know. He'll know that I had another freak out.

  Yeah, this isn’t my first one.

  I turn around to walk out of the room when something catches my eye. His

  briefcase is lying by the door, untouched. I want to leave it be, but I'm not going to. I can't. I drop to my knees and instantly start to search through it.

  It's just a few papers, some folders. Nothing unexpected. I put the briefcase back onto the floor. That’s when I hear a dull thump and I know there is something else in there. My hands are instantly back inside, trying to find the mysterious object. I feel something soft and pull it out. I already know what's inside before I open it.

  SHIT.

  Nonetheless, my hands work on their own accord and open the box. Shit, shit, shit! It's an engagement ring!

  I can't breath.

  Fuck!

  Ryan isn't cheating.

  He wants to marry me.

  He's going to propose!

  I fight to breathe.

  Ryan knows this is a deal-breaker. He has to.

  It was like pulling teeth to get me to move in with him.

  What the hell is he thinking? When is he going to ask?

  I can't say no to him but I won't say yes. My heart is beating a hundred miles a minute. What do I do? I can't pretend I haven't seen it. I'm a terrible liar. I can't talk to him about it.

  I can't marry him.

  I shouldn't even be living with him.

  I'm not ready for any of this! I-I have to get out of here.

  I'm suffocating.

  I creep back into the room. Ryan is still sleeping the night away, unaware that his crazy decision has turned my life upside down. I frantically but quietly grab shoes, my phone, wallet, my laptop bag, and keys.

  And I'm gone. I'm out of the apartment and at the building on the corner waiting for an Uber to get me the hell away.

  2

  “So you just left?” my sister Melissa asks, her face somewhere between bewildered and irritated. I don’t know why she’s annoyed. I’m the one who just left my house in the middle of the night with a few things stuffed in a bag and now is in her little sister’s kitchen having to explain what happened for the second time.

  “What else was I supposed to do? There was a ring! A ring he was going to propose with, and what then? I tell him, ‘Hey I like you but not in that way and oh are you insane? You’re going to propose to me, the girl who you had to practically force into moving in with you? That’s smart!’”

  She lets out a peeved sigh and rubs her temples with a slight shake of her head.

  “I know. I couldn’t believe it either,” I say sarcastically, but my hands are slightly trembling as I stuff one of her homemade biscuits into my mouth. It’s sweet and fluffy and tastes like a piece of heaven in this little version of hell I’m sitting in. Melissa has been cooking since she could reach the stove, and she turned her passion into a lucrative catering business. The taste of these cute little biscuits almost makes me forget the screwed-up predicament I’ve landed myself in.

  “I can’t believe you,” she says with a self-righteous huff.

  “You can’t believe me?” I ask in disbelief.

  “You just left, you didn’t talk to him! You didn’t explain that maybe you aren’t ready, you just ran out like a five-year-old having a tantrum?” she asks, her big green eyes narrowed in on me. Such a contrast from the stark blue eyes that I hate to see staring back at me in the mirror.

  “It wasn’t exactly like that,” I say defensively, feeling the color drain from my face.

  “No Maddy, that’s exactly what it was like, because this is what you do.” She stands from the table like she’s about to declare war.

  “I’m not ready…” My voice is shakier than my hands were when holding that ring earlier.

  It was beautiful.

  “This wasn’t some one-night stand you just get to block out the next morning. This is a man you’ve lived with for months and who loves you, and after invading his privacy, might I add, with a Dear John letter you disappear?” she screeches. I don’t want to correct that it was a Dear John text.

  “What should I have done then, take the ring, feign excitement, and leave him at the altar?” I fire back. God, I get so tired of her self-righteous bullshit, but since I want to use her guest room as my home until I get my life together, I swallow my indignation.

  “No, you were supposed to woman-up and let him know that you’re still dealing with a whole lot of shit—that I thought you had gotten over a long time ago, but apparently you have not—and you need time to deal with things. You do this calmly, genuinely, maturely…not like a fucking teenager!” I suck in a breath and lock my eyes on my hands. I’m too embarrassed to look at her.

  “Yet, I’m just guessing you’re not going to do that,” she says furiously.

  “I can’t talk to him right now. I don’t want to hurt him.”

  This I mean, and it’s more genuine than anything I’ve ever said in my life. She shakes her head again in irritation.

  “You think this—leaving and sending him a shitty text—isn’t going to hurt him?” she asks sharply. “Not to mention he’s one of Greg’s good friends. Jesus, Maddy!”

  I scowl at her.

  “That’s what this is about? You’re worried about what Greg’s going to say?” I fire back. Of course this is about her long-time perfect boyfriend who sort of is the reason that me and Ryan are together. That should have been my first huge red flag. She huffs and throws a kitchen towel down on the counter.

  “Of course not, this is about doing the right thing!”

  “I’m just not ready, okay!” I bark back and she throws her head back in frustration.

  “How many times are you going to do this?” This time her tone is gentler but still sharp, like one of her carving knives.

  “Do what? This is the first time I’ve been proposed to that I know of!” I joke lightly, trying to ease the tension in the room. But she’s not backing down.

  “Terry!” she says, putting up a finger.

  “Terry was not like this at all. We dated for three months and he got super clingy and weird…” I explain.

  “Marcus.” She’s holding up two fingers now.

  “Marcus wanted kids, you know that’s nowhere in my future anytime soon.”

  “Clint…” She’s holding up three now, and I’m starting to feel panicked. I don’t need this shit right now. I came here to get away from the panic, the nervousness, the dread…and she’s making it worse.

  “Clint wanted different things than I did!” I yell. Which is the truth. He wanted commitment and I wanted anything but.

  “And now Ryan. I thought when you hit a year, you were growing up and outgrew whatever commitaphobia you had, but I was wrong.”

  “Jesus, I came here for a little support, some sisterly advice, not to get lectured into feeling like a selfish bitch!” I shriek at her, folding my arms across my chest, fighting the tears behind my eyes. Her expression eases just a tad. She walks over to me and puts a hand on my shoulder.

  “I know you don’t mean to hurt people, but you are. You can’t keep doing this. If you do, you’re going to wake up old and alone, and I don’t want that for you. I love you but you can’t keep making these stupid decisions based on one selfish prick’s choice to abandon us.”

  “This isn’t about him,” I murmur pointedly but she rolls her eyes knowingly.