Crushed (Torn #7)(15)

Standing in the middle of his room that had one lamp on the side of his bed, the nautical-themed ambiance did little to comfort me. It wasn’t the first time I had been in there. In fact, I had been there mostly every time there was a get-together in his house, always surrounded by friends. That day would be the first one-on-one with him without any distractions.

If I was in my regular state of mind, I would probably start sweating and maybe even freak out over the possibilities of being alone with him in his bedroom. Of course, since I was mighty high and had a serious dose of cynic in me, the thought did little to give me a thrill. In fact, if he came up there to verbally attack me, I would bite right back.

Perhaps I had gone mad. Then again, maybe I was simply sick of it all, most especially with the men in my life in general.

Deciding to wait on him in the very same spot in the middle of his room, I folded my arms as I stared at the door, impatiently awaiting his arrival.

True to his word, he didn’t keep me waiting for long. Just before I was about to sigh, the door swiftly opened, and in came Mister Broody Man.

Upon seeing me standing in the midst of the room, he barely blinked at me as he leaned against the door, blocking it as if I was going to escape or something, before he directed me another one of those cold glares that had been rather abundant downstairs.

“What?” I snapped at him. “You have nothing to say after the shit you just did downstairs? They might not know me, but what you did was still f*uking embarrassing! Who the f*uk cares what I do? I mean, f*uk, you don’t see me lecturing you about STDs and shit when you sleep around with random women. What I do or don’t do really is none of your damn business!”

From my standpoint, I could see his thunderous face, but I was shocked he wasn’t saying a damn thing. Maybe it was his tactic to let me go wacky. Well, it had worked.

“I snorted for the first time, and that shit was amazeballs,” I smugly declared as I stood my ground. “It’s my life—my body—so if you have nothing better to say, I’d rather be around people who would be less judgmental about my actions.”

He snapped.

“Judgmental? Me?” he barked out a dark laugh before shaking his head at me, gradually pacing towards me. “What the f*uk, Amber! Why do you have to be so f*uking rebellious all the goddamn time! If it’s not drinking, you get into deeper shit! Is this the kind of life you want to lead? Heck, if you want to be a reckless crackhead, then f*uking say it instead of skirting around shit that doesn’t really matter.”

Aw. Hell. To. The. Mother. f*uking. No.

My proverbial gloves were off. Claws out.

“What the f*uk do you care, huh? Look at you! You have a solid family; you’re a soccer stud; you hop on and off different beds; and no one seems to care. You’re f*uking hot, smart, funny, and annoyingly stupid and stubborn at the same time. You have everything—every damn thing that’s not going on in mine—so don’t give me this bullshit! You have the perfect life, all except for you holding onto a torch for Lindsey. Apart from that, your life pretty much is perfectly sickening to think about. So, no, you don’t get to f*uking watch and judge me because I don’t act the way I should be acting to please you. I’m done with you! I’m done pleasing anyone. From now on, I’m going to do me and do what makes me comfortable and happy. So, f*uk off!”

“I give a damn because I care about you.” His nose flared as he peered down at me like some hot beast ready to blow his gasket. “I care enough to want you to be better than this. I care enough to not want to see you in the hospital, hurt, or fighting for your damn life. I. f*uking. Care.”

He didn’t even address my insults, and the rawness of his words and his tone got to me. He cared. He cared enough to put our friendship on the line. He cared enough to voice it, even though he knew it was going to drive me crazy.

He cared.

That was quite a lot to say compared to the other people in my life.

Just like that, the whole thing—what made me spiral out of my emotions—flashed right before me. Disconnecting from his gaze, I felt no shame, only sadness that could be acquired through deep hurt and suffering.

“He has a newborn baby, and I have never seen him smile like that, like he loves that baby.” My voice came out shaky, breathless even, as I recalled the entire scenario that would be forever tattooed in my mind, and in came the gutting pain that tagged along with it. “He never smiled that way to me. Never. Not once. Not when I begged for his love, not when I cried for him to give me a hug at least, a kiss, or any sort of affection I craved; he never gave … not an ounce.”

“I don’t understand…” He frowned deeply, completely puzzled. “Who’s he?”

“My dad,” I uttered it as if the words were being wrenched out of me. The memory of him holding the tiny baby in his arms, gazing at it with unconditional love, was still afresh in my mind.

“f*uk, I’m sorry.” Brody seemed perplexed about my revelation. “I had no idea.”

Neither had I, but apparently, some people went through the world living double lives just like my father. No wonder he was always out on business trips. I bet it was one of his top excuses to cover his tracks.

“Do any of the girls know?” he asked lightly as he directed a soft, worrying glance at me.

Shaking my head, I took a deep breath. “No, I can’t tell them yet. I’m not ready. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be.” Admitting this out loud surprised me. I hadn’t planned it, nor did I realize I was actually capable of saying it out loud.