Chapter 15
Amelia
“What do you mean, you stopped talking to him after that?” Jennie asked, slamming down her iced coffee. “Hell, I would have been asking him for more.”
I looked around worried that other patrons would look at us with Jennie’s outburst. I stared at her as I kept my voice down. “Announcing it to the world? Jesus, this is why I couldn’t tell you, you’re getting too worked up over nothing.”
“Nothing.” Sarah scoffed. “Amelia, you are wound up tighter than a nun.”
“And how would you know how wound up tight a nun is?” I raised an eyebrow.
Sarah shrugged. “Merely an idea. But seriously. Mia, a man that has been a decent patient, keeps making you eat, and apparently looks like he could take on a village without breaking a sweat, how are you not under this man?” She took another bite of her breakfast sandwich.
The one luxury I budgeted was my one morning where the three of us had off and got together to de-stress and be actual friends.
It was one thing to get along while we were working, but it was another to be able to hang out with work friends outside of work and stop sharing trauma work stories.
Aside from Melody and a couple of the club members, Sarah and Jennie were as close as my sisters when we weren’t bickering.
“Seriously. The man sounds like he’s ready to devour you in one sitting. Or maybe a few.” Jennie snickered.
I started to regret telling them, knowing that they would be on the side of “just let him dick you down” and I wasn’t completely.
“You want him then?” I asked Jennie.
“No, my man won’t share me. And we have four kids to prove it.” Jennie threw her hands up in defense.
I took another bite of the one warm sandwich I had within that week. I avoided Shooter like the plague, saying that I had been pulled into the hospital. Of course, Hound Dog was more understandable. Shooter on the other hand, got my number from someone and had been flooding my inbox daily.
Shooter: You can't lie to me. You already outed yourself. That's okay, peaches, I can be a patient man.
Shooter: Okay, I lied, I'm not that patient.
Shooter: Stray's not a good nurse. Come back.
Shooter: I will hobble my ass to the hospital.
Shooter: I don't regret what happened in the woods. I know you don't either.
Shooter: Amelia.
Every message I left on read. Every message I re-read because for the first time, I felt some love, some sort of kindness.
I told him that he didn't want me, and part of the truth was that I couldn’t trust myself again.
Everything seemed good when Chris and I first dated, then the moment he said his vows, it felt like a trap.
Shooter seemed like a caring man, a man that could shield me from the world’s darkness and only see his but knowing that his darkness wouldn’t break me. Or so I thought. I couldn’t trust my thoughts, they were full of fantasies, dangerous lustful thoughts.
The last message I knew I couldn’t ignore.
Shooter: Please, just let me know you’re okay. I don’t want you to hide from me or your friends. But mostly me. I see you, Amelia.
I couldn’t break from knowing he saw me. But a stray tear dropped down my cheek when I read that message at work. The pain in my chest riddled with guilt was too much. I didn’t want to hurt him, other than the occasional shove when he was being too cheeky or grumpy.
I broke down and finally messaged back.
Me: I’m okay.
Shooter: When are you coming back?
Me: After my next shift.
Shooter: Don’t run away from me again.
Me: I wasn’t running.
Lies.
Shooter: Want to try that lie again?
I deflected as fast as I could.
Me: Let’s just hope that Stray didn’t screw up our progress.
Shooter: I only want your hands on me. Among other things.
He stole my breath, the endless thoughts of what Shooter actually wanted sent a chill down my spine and a sudden tingle feeling down to my vagina.
Me: Shooter.
Shooter: Amelia. I can say your name too. Do it again.
I think my soul left my body when I thought of the one thing that my own chaotic, impulsive ass could do in that moment.
I played with fire, causing chaos in my mind. I pressed the record for a voice note, preparing to say the one word in a sultry voice that could seal my fate with Shooter.
“River.”
Once sent, I waited for the bubbles to appear, waiting for his warning of a message or maybe a picture of his dick or something. There wasn't an automatic response, and yet the slight disappointment was the only thing I felt.
Fingers snapped for my attention.
“Damn she got lost in her mind again,” Sarah joked.
“Oh my god, she was having a sex memory,” Jennie teased.
“Have to have sex for that memory,” Sarah egged Jennie on.
“Self-pleasure can count for that.” Jennie kept bantering with Sarah.
I smirked, knowing my friends were only trying to make me smile.
“I agree with Jennie. My vibrator has been plenty over the years, thank you very much.” I shoved a bit more of my breakfast sandwich before we started swapping stories of bad sex and horrible men.
And if we were counting horrible men's stories, I would win.
“But seriously girl, what’s stopping you?” Sarah asked, ignoring the dead stare from Jennie, whispering to her to shut the hell up.
The more times you tell a story, the less power it has over you. The memories and scars fade, although they are still there. Jennie’s dead stare aligned with my thought, because they knew, to an extent, why my mind put a fort up when it came to Shooter. Amongst other things.
“I mean we could go down the list of why.” I sipped on my large hot coffee.
Jennie started playing with her food, trying not to engage with this subject. Those who knew always gave their opinions, that I should have taken the risk and left him already. What most would never understand is that I wanted to be free with nothing chasing after me, that included money.
I gave everything I could. I survived this long; I could survive longer and happier.
“That’s still a fucking dumb reason,” Sarah said bluntly.
I snorted. “It’s a very solid reason.”
She just shook her head, her long ponytail whipping with it, “It’s an excuse to stop living. You have lived for others and now the one chance that a man is ready to crack that back, you run like a chicken because you think you’re not good enough.”
I blinked before I could even register her words. She was blunt but sometimes very truthful. I avoided Shooter for my own reasons, using my fucked-up life as an excuse. Shooter never backed down from me, he was always there, even when I didn’t want him to be. I was scared to want more.
“Fuck. Way to go Sarah, now she’s broken. You made her think,” Jennie teased.
“Well, she would need one or two brain cells to think.” Sarah snorted, leaning back in her chair and sipping on her iced coffee.
“So then how do you stop being scared then?” I asked them with enough sincerity to know I wasn’t joking around.
Jennie and Sarah looked at each other, probably contemplating what advice would work. Jennie reached out, took my hand in hers, and said, “Let him be what you need at that moment.”
Yeah, let him be what I need at the moment.
And at that moment, I needed to be folded like a pretzel, the signature on a long-standing divorce, and a million dollars to pay off debts and for someone to fold me over a couch or a counter. I needed a lot of things.
The question was, when was that moment going to come.