Frayed (Torn #2)(6)

Hospital? “f*uk, what the hell happened!” I freaked out. My eyes reread the message again, just to make sure I got it right. It was still the same and I was left completely confused.

“What? What are you talking about?” Lindsey jumped at my sudden freak-out.

With tears in my eyes, I shoved the phone at her so she could read it herself. Her eyes quickly scanned it, “Oh, f*uk! Damn it, Amber!” Lindsey stood up and I saw her press the call button. She started to pace until she got the voicemail. “Listen up, stop being a sissy and not taking any of our calls. We’re all worried about you. I can’t believe you always do this to us, each and every time. Damn it, we love you. Talk to us. Trista and I are leaving for Greece to visit Emma. Just in case you don’t know, she’s in a movie with Bass. Yeah, she’s with him now, just in case you didn’t know that, either. When you’re done getting your shit together, come back home. You’ll hear me bitch you out some more, but that should be expected. That doesn’t mean that I don’t love you. I bitch you out because I do. Over and out. Bye.” Lindsey sunk back onto her seat and flicked my phone back to me.

“She’s so f*uked up. I feel helpless,” she stared at the floor.

Heck yes, that woman was impossible. “I know, but we can’t do much about that. All we can do is be there for her.”

“Always. We’re all she’s got, besides her grandma.” Lindsey clutched my hand and gave it a light squeeze.

Yes, things might always fall apart around us, yet Amber could always count on friends to be there for her.





Chapter 3


About a month ago…

Trista



Those three days I had before the termination, I spent wallowing and pondering my situation. I declined all calls that went through my phone, including Emma and Lindsey’s. I was not in the frame of mind to speak to either of them. Maybe because if I did pick up one of their calls I would simply break down and I couldn’t risk that.

No, I needed all my energy and focus on what was to come. I had to keep it all in and get it together. I had to. I deserved it. It was my cruel punishment for being a selfish slut. I only thought about what I wanted. Any guilt I felt towards my family, and most especially to Becka, I had pushed away and never thought of it again. Yeah, I deserved to be in this cruel sentence. Being a mistress bitch was never the answer to have a happy ever after, though I hadn’t cared at the time.

Thinking about my pregnant cousin now hurt even more. Becka was five years older than I. She’s spoiled and gets whatever her little heart desires. She has a rotten personality and loves to demean people around her. She wants to be the only thing that matters, wherever she may be, and she never fails to make that point.

Ever since I was little, she would always make fun of me, most especially when it came to how I looked. Becka started to call me ‘duckie’ when I was about five years old. To this day, she still did. Her parents and her other two sisters, Brenda and Belle, followed suit. They made a light jest about it. On the outside, I would smile and pretend that it was fine. Deep inside, I was humiliated and embarrassed that I was ugly. The ugly duckling—Duckie.

My brother, Tristan used to defend me against their taunting, but my defender died when he was sixteen years old. A thrill seeker that thrived by living on the edge, he was surfing in the middle of a storm. The waves were violent and we were told that he fell from his board while he tried to ride one out, but it was too much for him to handle. When he fell, the waves kept pulling him down and it didn’t take long for him to drown. Some onlookers said that they called for help, however it was already too late by the time that help got there. My brother was beyond saving when they pulled his body out of the ocean.

My parents barely recovered from that, and my family was never the same. My mom took it hard, and to this day, she still gets panic attacks. My father, crushed as he was, tried to communicate with me, but it was difficult and it didn’t take long until the three of us retreated and started to deal with Tristan’s loss all on our own. My father worked more, my mom needed therapy and pills, and I found solace in partying. I was a full-blown party girl by my junior year of high school.

It’s been four years now since my brother’s death, and nothing’s changed. I’m still troubled, more so now.

I trapped myself in the cage of my reckless actions. The thought of my parents now gave me grief. My mother will never recover from this latest disaster, if she ever finds out. My grandmother and the rest of my relatives will positively disown me. They were the conservative sort and having Harry’s baby would be criminal.

Karma. It hurts like a bitch when it lashes back at you.





***



Harry called mid-noon on Sunday. I had to strengthen my resolve before I picked up my phone to answer him. “Hello?”

“What’s it to be, Trista?” he rushed out, straight to the point.

There was no mild mannered greeting or an inquiry about my condition… the Harry I fell in love with, the one who relentlessly chased me until I gave in to his advances, was gone. Hearing him this way made me feel absolutely horrible. “Go set the appointment.” My voice wobbled when I spoke. My tears were endless.

“Good to know that you’ve come to your senses. I’m pleased. The private clinic is going to be in San Diego. I can’t risk you running in to someone, so it has to be three hours away from home. I will text you once it’s all confirmed.” He didn’t even wait for me to disagree or agree, he simply just hung up on me.