Pieces of Summer (A stand-alone novel)(49)

“I need an ambulance, at…”

Aidan’s voice trails off as I glance down at my stomach to where the small, shallow cuts are bleeding. I don’t need an ambulance. I need something to bottle this feeling so I can stay in this state forever, no longer worrying about the numbers, the urges, the constant unfinished things that never f*cking go away.

She said she’d be here at ten. It’s after twelve. What did she expect to happen? Lydia is never punctual, the bitch. And we were supposed to finish that puzzle. I can’t make the pieces fit by myself. They need to fit. They need to. Can’t people understand you can’t simply leave something undone?

“I can’t make it fit by myself,” I say aloud, sighing dreamily as the high continues to course through me.

“Damn it, Mika! It’s just a f*cking puzzle. That’s it! I’m calling Dr. Kravitz. You can’t f*cking stay here anymore because I can’t watch you twenty-four hours a day, and I can’t keep people here like they’re supposed to be f*cking doing no matter how much I pay them. It’s only getting worse. You can’t drive, you can’t eat without help, you can’t even give yourself a shower, Mika. This is…”

His words trail off, and I reach for the razor blade that’s resting on the tile, stained red by my own blood. One more cut. Just one more and I’ll be good.



That memory is from a year or so after the surgery that saved my life and changed it. The surgery that went wrong. The surgery that shouldn’t have been in the hands of a man who miraculously didn’t kill me.

At least the malpractice suit afforded my care so Aidan wasn’t forced to deal with the financial burden of my recovery.

Dr. Kravitz was convinced it wasn’t the surgery that messed me up. He still blames it on a psychological break that forced my mind to function differently. Others blame it on the surgery, especially since I struggled to relearn how to feed myself, drive a car and so much more.

It made me their science experiment to study, to debate, to question endlessly, and to push to my limits.

The curious case of Mika. That’s how they always referred to me.

All I know is that I found a way to cope without harming myself over and over. That’s in large part due to Dr. Kravitz pushing me past my limits daily.

Tears prick my eyes as I lower my shirt, and I swallow hard.

This is me. I’m not Whit. She’s normal and loving and Chase would be lucky to have her. I should have said something nice to them instead of making him feel guilty. It was obvious Whit was drunk, but it was also obvious he’d been with her.

What did I honestly expect? If Whit was a bitch, it’d be easy to want him away from her. She wouldn’t deserve him in my mind. But she actually deserves better than both of us and our ancient issues we left unresolved.

Moving toward the kitchen, I stare at the stove, wishing I was able to cook. It’s one of the things I lost the ability to do. Cooking involves numbers, times, and a lot of directions. I struggle to follow any directions.

It all used to be so easy. I cooked when I was looking for a stress release, and now I’ve had to find other ways to cope.

Writing.

It’s my one solace. It’s under my complete control.

Before I can head up the stairs, my front door swings open and slams into the wall. I squeal and remind myself to start locking that thing even if I have to resort to using sticky notes the way I used to.

When my eyes lock on a set of stormy blues, I swallow hard.

“I’m getting pretty sick of your f*cking disappearing acts, Mika,” Chase growls while slamming my door behind him. “What the hell is your problem?”

Swallowing hard, I study his soaked blue T-shirt and jeans, and his hair is dripping wet. Why is he so wet?

“Nothing is my problem,” I say instead of commenting on the fact he’s soaked.

He brushes his dark hair away from his forehead, and he narrows his eyes on me.

“Stop lying to me, Mika. What the f*ck is going on with you. Two days ago you were walking into my shop like everything between us was natural. You also straddled me and jacked me off at four that morning. Then you walk out of my shop without even answering me and haven’t called me since. Then tonight I see you, and you run off. Again. Start talking, because I’m not some bitch boy you can jerk around by his leash.”

“I’m not trying to jerk you around by a leash,” I bite out. “I just needed a few days… Then suddenly you’re carrying Whit home. Guess I’m not the only one who struggles with habits.”

He laughs bitterly, and I try to head toward the stairs, but the * blocks me before I can. Looking down at me, his eyes narrow.

“You know Whit and I are over. Don’t play like you don’t, Mika. I know exactly what’s going on with you right now.”

“Highly unlikely,” I mutter.

He steps closer, and I step back. “I did the same thing. Hell, I f*cking freaked out that first day I saw you back in town. It shocked the f*ck out of me. I ran, Mika. Literally. Went to a hotel out of town, cancelled my appointments, and spent two days trying to wrap my head around the fact you were in Hayden. Then I reminded myself over and over that you deserved a f*ck-ton more than I could ever give you. My business makes decent money; I have a house with actual windows and floors; I pay for my own shit and have extra left over. But it isn’t ever going to afford much more than that, Mika.”