24. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Charlie doesn’t understand.
I’ve tried to explain. Why can’t she see? She deserves someone better. Someone who’s as perfect as she is, who sees her for who she is.
Not someone like me. Battered. Broken. Crippled.
I tried to explain, but I fucked up. I hurt her even more by saying good people don’t deserve to be saddled with someone that’s all scarred up.
I completely forgot about her scars.
I don’t even see them most of the time. They’re there, but I don’t see them. I just see Charlie, and she’s beautiful. She’s always been beautiful to me.
She could never not be beautiful to me.
The only time her scars even register, they fill me with rage toward the bastards who dared to hurt her, and I’m glad I had a direct hand in meting out justice.
She thinks her scars make her less beautiful, less womanly. Why can’t she see that her scars simply prove her strength?
Lila doesn’t have many scars, not physically, anyway. There’s a tiny ridge on her cheek from a broken cheekbone from being punched, and she sustained a few cracked ribs. Of course, her scars from the capture and repeated rapes went much deeper than what’s visible. But physically, compared to Charlie, she escaped with relatively minor permanent damage.
Charlie, though – Charlie fought like a wildcat when she and Lila were first threatened, and it earned her their wrath. She never stopped fighting, in every way possible. That’s why her body bears their scars – because of her strength, her fire. The scars only accentuate her beauty, because they show her beauty is more than skin deep. She’s a beautiful warrior through and through, and she deserves someone equally beautiful, equally perfect.
Charlie steps in front of me, baring her scarred body to me, pleading with me to love her.
I know I shouldn’t reach for her. It will only make it harder to let her go.
But I’m powerless. I know from the moment she touches me that I’m unable to resist her. I’m lost in those sad green eyes.
The eyes of the woman I love.
I fought so hard to maintain control as she undressed before me, baring not just her scars, but her soul. I know she deserves someone better than me, but as I look into her impossibly deep eyes, I can’t fight it any longer.
I haul her against me and claim her mouth in a fierce kiss. We make love frantically, desperately, unable to kiss or touch or get enough of each other. The storm of our emotions over the past few days bleeds through our touches, and we satiate each other’s fervent desires one final time.
Our unbridled passion leaves me with a deep, hollow sadness, for I know what I have to do.
I have to let her go.
And to do that, I have to truly break her heart.
We lie there afterwards. I’m curled against his chest, smiling, tracing lazy circles on his chest with my finger.
I got through to him. We’re okay.
“You don’t need to tell Tom about this,” Mark says eventually, breaking the silence.
I raise my head, confused. “Why would I tell Tom anything?”
“I mean, so you can keep seeing him. This was just –” he hesitates, “Closure.”
My heart plunges into my stomach.
We’re not okay.
I bolt upright, clutching the comforter to my chest. “What do you mean, closure?”
“You know,” he says, studying my face.
Talons seize my heart, and my breath catches in my throat. My voice is uneven when I speak. “So you’re still breaking up with me.”
“I’m letting you go so you can find someone whole who makes you happy. Someone like Tom,” he adds.
I close my eyes and shake my head. “Tom and I aren’t actually seeing each other. I’ve been trying to make you jealous, to make you realize you have feelings for me.”
“Charlie, I told you, I don’t –”
“I know,” I snap. “Believe me, I’m painfully aware of your continued insistence that you don’t have feelings for me.” I kneel on the bed facing him, pulling the comforter tighter around me. “But I know you, Mark, the real you, the part you try to keep hidden. You’re only pushing me away because of your self-loathing. I know you well enough to know that you do have feelings for me, deep feelings. You’re just afraid to admit them, even to yourself.”
I remember what Tom said and push on. “If you and I keep our relationship at a friendship level, then we’ll always be a part of each other’s lives, and there’s no risk. But love carries risk, and it’s scary. If you admit you love me and things don’t work out, you could lose everything, and that scares you.” I pause, looking at him. “I get it. I risked everything telling you that I love you. But if you love me too, neither of us loses.”
Mark looks away without speaking.
He’s already made up his mind.
Making love didn’t change a damn thing.
I’d thought he was finally acknowledging his feelings, but to him, this was simply one last fuck.
Closure, he’d called it.
My chest tightens. “So this really was just about sex for you all along. I hope I was at least memorable.”
He blanches. “Don’t say that. Don’t cheapen what we had.”
“Me? You’re the one who cheapened it. All those times you’d say, ‘Mine, only mine,’ while we made love – it was all a lie. You never really wanted me to be yours, so why bother saying it?”
He swallows hard, unable to meet my eyes. “I wanted you to feel special.”
I bark out a sharp laugh. “Lying to make me feel special, to keep me from realizing from the get-go that I was nothing but another piece of ass to you. Thanks.” The knife in my heart twists, and I close my eyes, fighting back tears.
His hands fist at his sides. “Please don’t say that, Charlie. You have to know that’s not true.”
There’s a long silence while I gather my pain and bury it deep in my chest. It’s going to take time for me to move past this, but I’ll find a way. I draw a slow, deep breath. “Fine. We’ll figure out how to just be friends again.”
“You know we can’t do that, Charlie,” he says quietly.
“Yes, we can,” I insist stubbornly. “No more hugging or kissing or making love. We’ll go back to eating dinner together and cleaning up the kitchen and watching movies and hanging out. On separate couches,” I add.
He watches me. “We’ll just end up in bed together again.”
“Why is that so bad?” I ask desperately. “What’s so wrong about you and me being together?”
“I’m not the right man for you, Charlie.”
I lower my head, and tears began to fall.
It’s really over between us.
And I don’t understand why.
I need to know.
I have to know.
I take another deep breath. “Help me understand,” I whisper, working hard to keep my tone even as I avoid looking at him.
“Understand what?”
I turn away, knowing if I look at him, I’ll never be able to get the words out. I feel my chin quiver and my mouth twist as I try to speak without crying.
“I don’t understand what I did wrong. Sunday night, you made me feel loved and cherished. I felt like – like I mattered. I don’t understand what I did that made you so desperate to end this. To end us.” I drop my head and cry quietly, unable to face him.
When I eventually glance up, his eyes are closed, and his face looks like he’s in terrible pain. “It’s not like that, Charlie,” he says hoarsely.
“All I know,” I say in a voice barely above a whisper, “is that because of whatever I did, now you’re telling me we can’t even be friends.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Charlie,” he insists.
I shake my head sadly. “Then why did it cost me everything?” I drop the comforter and stand, gathering my clothes to my chest and hurrying for the door. I’m about to shatter into a million pieces. I can feel it, and I have to get away.
“Don’t leave like this, Charlie,” he pleads.
I turn back to him, tears streaming down my face. “Tell me you love me.”
He looks at me, his blue eyes searching mine. “You deserve –” he starts.
I’m on the verge of a full-on meltdown, and my temper flares at his words. “I’m not asking you to tell me what I deserve,” I interrupt. “I’m fully capable of deciding who I want and what I deserve. I’m asking you to tell me how you feel.”
He swallows hard, his eyes pained. “I can’t tell you what you want to hear, Charlie.”
I meet his gaze unflinchingly. “No,” I reply quietly. “You won’t tell me. There’s a world of difference between the two. I can read you like a book, Mark. You’re in love with me, and you know it.” I wait, but he remains silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with my words.
When it becomes clear he has no intention of speaking, I take a deep, cleansing breath. “More than once, you’ve asked me not to give up on you. I hope someday you’ll figure things out. I love you, Mark.”
I turn and exit the room, closing the door firmly behind me, leaving my heart in tattered pieces on his bedroom floor.
Making love with Charlie has given her the wrong idea. I can tell by her tender touch afterwards that she thinks things are okay now.
But they aren’t. I have to let her go.
I have to break her heart.
So I do, feeling worse with each word I speak. Eventually, she looks like she resigns herself to it, though her eyes still shine with tears.
“Fine,” she says slowly. “We’ll figure out how to just be friends again.”
That will never work. My will is too weak. I’ve just proven that.
“You know we can’t do that, Charlie,” I say quietly.
“Yes, we can.”
She’s being stubborn, but I have to put my foot down. I know I’m not strong enough to resist her. I’ve proven it over and over in the weeks since my surgery. If I’m with her, near her, I’ll break down and tell her how I feel, and she deserves someone whole. I shake my head. “We’ll just end up in bed together again.”
“Why is that so bad?” she cries. “What’s so wrong about you and me being together?”
She lowers her head in defeat.
I’m hurting her.
The hatred I have for myself rockets to an entirely new level.
I hate myself for putting her through this.
I hate that I’m too broken to be who she needs.
I hate that I’m half a man.
I hate that I ever kissed her that night in the kitchen, because all I’ve done is cause her even more pain.
She takes a deep, shuddering breath, her head still down. Her words are so quiet, I can barely hear her when she speaks. “Help me understand.”
I’m puzzled. “Understand what?”
She turns away, her shoulders small and hunched. “I don’t understand what I did wrong. Sunday night, you made me feel loved and cherished. I felt like – like I mattered. I don’t understand what I did that made you so desperate to end this. To end us.”
She’s crying so silently that if it were anyone else, I might not even know. But it’s Charlie, and even if I didn’t recognize it in her posture, I’d feel her pain, because we’re so interconnected.
I close my eyes, anguish washing over me, her pain and mine combining into one awful searing fire in my chest, slicing through my heart like a hot knife through butter.
“It’s not like that, Charlie.” My voice is hoarse. I’m struggling to speak over the lump in my throat. I try to explain that it’s not her, but she doesn’t believe me.
She drops the comforter and gets to her feet, gathering her clothes to her chest.
She’s hiding her body from me.
Protecting herself from me.
I want to pull her close, tell her how much I love her, and stop her pain, but I can’t. I have to let her go, because she deserves the best.
God, this is hard. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
“Don’t leave like this, Charlie,” I beg quietly.
It can’t end like this, with her believing what we had together meant nothing to me. Believing I saw her as nothing more than another piece of ass. Believing she’s the cause of our breakup.
It’s not her. It’s me.
I’m the one who’s not good enough.
The one who can never be good enough.
She turns back to face me. “Tell me you love me,” she says, watching me.
I’ve never wanted to do anything so much in my entire life.
I gaze at her, lost in her tear-filled emerald eyes. “I can’t tell you what you want to hear, Charlie.”
It’s the most heartbreakingly true thing I’ve ever said.
She looks me squarely in the eye. “No. You won’t tell me. There’s a world of difference between the two. I can read you like a book, Mark. You’re in love with me, and you know it.”
She’s completely right, and we both know it, but there’s nothing I can say.
She waits long moments for me to speak, but I remain silent, because while she’s right about my feelings, I can’t admit them.
Charlie deserves someone better.
Finally, she takes a deep breath. “More than once, you’ve asked me not to give up on you. I hope someday you’ll figure things out. I love you, Mark.” Her expression is bleak as she turns and leaves the room, closing the door behind her.
Fuck.
I bury my head in my hands, more miserable than I’ve ever been in my entire life.
The night is endless. When I finally hear Charlie leave for work, I pick up my phone.
“Tucker, I need help. Can you come over?”
It’s a long night for both of us. On the couch, I toss and turn, my handgun on the table, the television on but nearly silent. I hear Mark moving around in his room, rummaging through his drawers and flipping channels on his television.
Once again, I don’t sleep.
Once again, I shower, make coffee, and go into work before daylight, because without Mark to keep me company, I have no reason to hang around the house.
Lila corners me in my office to find out how things are going. I’m too miserable to even speak. I simply shake my head. Lila pulls me in for a long hug just as Tom stops by. Lila shakes her head, and he responds with a disappointed look, leaving her to console me.
“Mark just needs time, Charlie,” she says, laying a soft hand on my cheek.
“I don’t know, Lila. I think he means it.” My voice sounds hollow. “He said people who were broken and scarred didn’t deserve to be loved, and that no decent person deserved to be stuck with someone who was all scarred and damaged.”
Lila’s eyes widen, appalled, because unlike Mark, she makes the connection immediately.
“He was talking about himself, but when I pointed out the fallacy of his argument, he refused to back down.”
“This is all about his body image,” she grumbles. “I wish he were still in therapy.”
“I talked to Stubbs. He suggested a veterans’ support group for wounded soldiers. He said if I could convince him to go, thinking he was doing it to support me, it might help him. I found one at the VFW last week, but with everything that’s happened, I never brought it up. I doubt he’d be willing to go for himself. He’s too busy spouting his half a man bullshit. That psychiatrist, the one we tried to set Kip up with?” My eyes burn at the memory of the sweet kid with dirty-blond hair and blue-green eyes. “He’d probably do Mark a world of good if he were willing to listen, but he’s not. Not right now, anyway. Maybe someday, though. Even if –” I swallow over the lump in my throat “– even if he and I never work things out, I want Mark to find peace.”
All day, off and on, I recall the determination in Mark’s eyes last night, and it’s unsettling. Fatigue and misery combine to make my nerves feel raw.
Three o’clock comes and goes, and Mark doesn’t show up for PT. “He’s just upset,” Tom assures me. “Don’t worry. He’s motivated. He’ll be back.” But I can’t shake the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Lila leaves just after four-thirty. I stay a few minutes longer, trying to get through the paperwork I’ve been unable to focus on. I finally surrender and head home, letting myself in the side door.
“I’m home,” I call, but when there’s no answer, I sigh. I guess it’s back to the silent treatment.
I head for the front door to collect the mail, noting as I pass through the foyer that Mark’s door is ajar. At least he hasn’t locked me out. Maybe he’s had time to think. Maybe we can talk, work this out. I grab the handful of envelopes from the mailbox and come back inside.
I pause in Mark’s doorway, my unsettled sensation of the past several hours turning to stunned disbelief. The mail in my hands cascades to the floor.
His room is empty, the bed crisply made. The closet door stands open with nothing but empty hangers inside.
My heart stutters.
I cross to the dresser and yank open the drawers. They’re all empty. His bedside table is empty as well, the basket on top holding only the remote controls for the television and fan. The framed photo Tucker took of us kissing the day we went hiking is gone from my bedside table.
I can’t catch my breath, and my mouth is suddenly dry.
This can’t be happening.
I snatch the bathroom door aside just as my cell phone buzzes. His toothbrush is gone, along with his toothpaste, his deodorant, even his walker for the shower. A bottle of shower gel stands in one corner of the shower, still covered in water droplets. Apparently Mark forgot it in his haste to escape. Even the laundry hamper is empty. The towels are all washed, put away in the linen closet in neat stacks.
Except for the shower gel and dried steam trails down the shower doors and mirror, it’s as though he was never even here.
My cell phone buzzes again. I ignore it as I hurry to the living room. His book is missing from its usual spot on the end table. The remote controls are tucked into the basket, and everything has been tidied, the throw pillows and blankets precisely placed.
No. Please no.
I move numbly into the kitchen as my phone buzzes again. My coffee cup from this morning has been washed and dried, and the dishwasher is empty.
Mark’s cleaned up like my house was a vacation rental and he’s trying to get his deposit back.
My phone buzzes a fourth time, and I pull it out. It’s Lila. “Mark’s gone, Lila,” I blurt. “He left me.”
“He’s here,” Lila says. “With us.”
“What?” I ask, bewildered.
“He called Tucker this morning, I guess. He said he needed help. I don’t know. I haven’t heard the whole story. But he’s here, and he’s safe. Don’t worry,” she assures me, “we’ll talk some sense into him.”
“No, you won’t,” I murmur. “He’s made up his mind. I’ve lost him.”
“Don’t say that. He’ll figure things out. I know Mark,” she says urgently. “He loves you, Charlie.”
My chest grows tight, and I struggle to stay upright. “I have to go, Lila. Someone’s at the door.” I hang up and sink to the floor, utterly heartbroken and completely alone.