Walk Of Shame(39)

I stare at the picture until my eyes blur. I haven’t looked at this in almost a year. It hurts. It hurts so fucking badly that I can’t breathe . . . but there is something making it a little easier. Someone that makes me want it to be easier. That thought scares me.

I must sit there for about an hour, in the dark with my hands wrapped in my hair before I hear her mumbling and moving around. When I look up, I see that her eyes are opened and she’s staring right at me.

“Talk to me, dammit,” she says.

I feel an ache in my chest at the thought of talking about it. I’ve been holding in my emotions for so long; for too long. Maybe it’s time to get it out. She’ll be gone in a couple days anyways. Maybe this will help ease some shit in my head.

Here goes fucking nothing . . .

I jump to my feet, toss the picture on the bed and try to hold back the tears. “Her name was Helena Valentine. She was my fiancé and was carrying my child.”





OH. MY. GOD.

I feel an ache in the pit of my stomach and a part of me feels like puking. Was. He said was. I blink a few times to focus my vision before reaching for the picture next to my feet and rubbing my thumb over it. It’s moist and the color is smeared. It wasn’t like that last time I saw it.

“I really don’t want to talk about this, but it is starting to take every fucking thing in me to keep my shit together. I do everything I can to keep my mind busy. It’s getting pretty fucking exhausting. I don’t think I can take it anymore.”

I look up at Slade and suck in a deep breath while taking in the pained look in his eyes. They’re wet and I can tell it is taking everything in him to not cry. I can’t even speak. I don’t want to. I’m afraid to hear more. I’m scared to hear what he went through.

It’s silent as he starts pacing. The silence is getting me so nervous that my stomach hurts. Not that the liquor helps any . . . but I feel totally sober now; wide awake and alert.

“I loved her with everything in me,” he finally says. “I would have never left her or my child. Don’t ever think that. It sends a flood of rage through my body. I may be a piece of shit now, but I wasn’t always this way.” He looks up toward the ceiling and rubs his hands over his face, clearly frustrated with himself. “We dated all throughout high school and I had known her since I was ten. She was my best fucking friend and I never had the courage to tell her how I felt. I went years holding it in, afraid that she would reject me and it would ruin our friendship.”

He stops pacing, pulls out a cigarette and lights it before continuing. “She meant more to me than that. I couldn’t lose her. I wouldn’t allow it. Our freshman year I watched her date numerous assholes that always broke her heart. She always came to me for comfort and I was always there to take care of her. I promised her I always would be and I keep my fucking promises. One night after some asshole put his hands on her, I kicked the shit out of him and told her I couldn’t take seeing her hurt anymore.”

He takes a long drag of his cigarette and looks out the window as if trying to picture it all in his head. His voice is starting to break and I can tell this is tearing him up inside. I hate this.

“I told her I loved her; that I was in love with her. She was shocked as hell when I told her. I still remember that look on her face before she leaned in and kissed me harder than I had ever been kissed in my whole life. It was as if she were desperate; as desperate as I was. Come to find out, she had been in love with me the whole time and she was afraid of the same thing I was. From that day on she was mine. I took care of her.” He turns to look at me. “And I never fucking hurt her. She was my life. I would have given my life for hers.”

He places his hand over his face and looks down at the ground. I can’t be sure, but I think I see tears falling. He puffs his cigarette and clenches his jaw. “If I could trade places with her I would, dammit. Fuck!”

He crouches down, resting his elbows on his knees with his face buried in his hands. “It should have been me. We were both in that fucking car. Not just her. Both of us, dammit!”

He starts shaking his head back and forth, hitting his head against the dresser behind him, as the tears come out steadily, dripping down his face and arms. “I didn’t want to go anywhere that night. I tried so hard to get her to just stay where we were. It was New Year’s Eve and all though I wasn’t drinking, I knew others were. I told her. I fucking told her I didn’t want to drive her home with all the crazy people that would be out that night, but she was eight months pregnant with our baby girl and she kept complaining she was uncomfortable and needed to go home to sleep. Finally, I caved in.” He looks up toward the ceiling. “I’m so fucking sorry, Helena. I should have said no and put my foot down. You may have been pissed at me, but you and Hailey would be here right now. I would be taking care of you both; protecting you.”