“The fact you deserve more than me, Jane. That’s what.”
I look up to the ceiling, and growl. “Damn it, Malice. You tell me the answer, tell me what I want to hear from you, and then you take it all back with your denial. Stop teasing me. If you love me, then be with me. If not, then leave me alone. Stop trying to be a fucking martyr!”
I throw his own words back in his face before I burst into tears, and sob through his reply.
“I’m too selfish to leave you alone.”
“And you’re too selfish to let me help you, to let me love you.” I rub the heel of my hand into my teary eyes. “I don’t have anything left to keep me going, Malice, and if you keep playing with me like this, then maybe I’ll take myself out of the equation, and make your life a lot simpler.”
“How?”
“I’ll vanish. I’ll leave this place. I’ll make it as though I never existed.”
“Don’t . . .”
“Why?” I yell. “You said I deserve something better, although I’ve got no idea what that could be. So why not?”
“I want you to find a better man than me, Jane, but I don’t want to lose you. It would kill me to think of never seeing you again, even if do only see each other only as friends.”
“You’re damn well killing me,” I seethe. “I’m done having people play their games with me, Malice. I’m tired, and I’ve had enough. I want to go.”
I hang up on him amidst the protests I can hear as I drop the phone, and turn to Rocco. My tears still fall, but I’m past making any sound. The sorrow is empty, and resigned. I have nothing left to expel; my pity, and sadness are out in the open now. Instead, the tears symbolize how far I am from being able to smile again.
I loved, and I lost—twice.
The first turned my love against me, and tainted the woman I was. The second took what I had to offer, and still complained that it wasn’t enough.
Either way, I’m no good. If I can’t satisfy either of them, then what chance do I have at ever finding love? Maybe it’s not the men who are the problem, but me. After all I am the common denominator.
The tiny part of me that clings to my sanity knows I should be able to live content on my own, first and foremost. I shouldn’t need a man, a companion, or a lover. Except I’ve spent so many years broken and abused, that love is all I can think of to make me better.
I can’t love myself, so I need somebody to love me—to do it for me.
I am the sickness, and love is the cure.
I just don’t think there is a cure out there strong enough to withstand the ravages of my self-loathing. I love deeply, but I hate myself equally as harshly. Without the former, the latter takes over, and where do I lie then?
Alone. Without a future, and regretting my past.
I can’t deal with this any longer.
My body is tired. My mind is weak.
I want it over.
I want to be done.
I want the noise to stop.
THE NEEDLE sits on the red line of the rev counter. I’ve lost track of how many cars I’ve passed on this long fucking road, some honking, others jolting to the side as they see me approach in their rear-view.
Nothing will stop me undoing the damage I’ve done.
I can’t fucking lose her.
Especially not when it would be my fault.
She won’t answer her phone, and that doesn’t sit well with me. Her voice when we spoke was tired and resigned. I can’t help the anxiety that grips me, wondering if they were signs I should have read earlier. What if she’s done something stupid? Just like Dad did when he started to sound the same?
The pick-up fishtails around the final corner and I snake down the dirt road, battling the steering wheel to keep the car on course. I slide the machine into the driveway with the precision of a rally driver, and thank the stars the gate is open.
Saves me panel-beating out the dents if it hadn’t been.
The engine still running, I leap the front steps two at a time, and try the door.
Locked.
I hammer it with both fists. What’s she done?
“Jane!”
Rocco runs around from the side of the house, and I frown at the sight. She never lets him out front without her. He follows as I sprint to the back doors, and find one open, swinging in the afternoon breeze.
“Jane!” I holler through the silent house.
My feet thunder over the wooden floor as I check room after room. I round the corner of the bedroom I stayed in, and hesitate for a second before sprinting to the side of the bed. The carpet burns at the knees of my jeans as I skid to a stop beside her.
“Jane. What the fuck have you done?”
An empty bottle lies strewn next to the bed—I had no idea Ty kept medication here. I pick it up, and read the label. My heart-rate spikes, and panic takes over at what’s in her system. This shit isn’t over the counter stuff; it’s Ty’s special stash of E.