Alessandra Torre - End of the Innocence

“No. It’s about you and me. There was no one else who caused our breakup to happen.”

Were my words strong enough? Cruel enough? I wasn’t sure, the look in his eyes unchanged. Needy. Wanting. Desperate. I needed to find the aggressor role that I used to so easily command. The one that I had lost mastery of in my new relationship with Brad. I swallowed. Tried again. “Please go inside and pack. I need you to leave. I will pay for you to stay in a hotel for the night, but in the morning you need to head back home. If you ever cared for me, I need you to leave me alone. Move on with your life. I won’t—I can’t—come back to you. We are done.”

He looked at me, my gaze holding despite the shake in my heart, the contact horrific as I watched a piece of the man I once loved die in his eyes. Then he dipped his head, eyes avoiding mine, saving me from seeing any more pain. He nodded, his head down, eyes trained to the ground, foot falling off the railing and landing with a quiet thud onto the porch. “Okay Jules. I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” I whispered, hoping—as the words fled my mouth—that he hadn’t heard them. Worried that they reopened some window to the room I had just locked close. Then I leaned against the porch and crossed my arms, watching him walk inside. The moment the door closed behind him, tears leaked, running down my cheeks with wild abandon. I hated this shit. Hated dealing with him, hated the resurgence of feelings and emotions for a man no longer in my life. This was bullshit, this ache of hurt, not for me, but for him. And the worst thing was that my own ego was creating this tidal wave of pain. I was not that great. He could—and would—do better. Someone who appreciated him. Someone who loved him in the all-consuming way that I loved Brad. I contained the heaves of my chest, guilt wracking my body in silent sobs. I wiped my face, blinking rapidly and took a few deep breaths, willing the ache in my heart to dissolve.

♦♦♦

Luke, as expected, behaved. It took him almost fifteen minutes to emerge. Fifteen minutes when I went through a roller coaster of emotions and fought going inside to see if he was ransacking my room. He finally emerged, a duffel bag in hand. Evidence of my tears gone, I walked him to the driveway, to his faded red truck, every dent and scrape on it familiar to me. We had fucked in the bed of it, the hard metal floor painful to my knees. We’d spent another night inside of it, on a road trip to his parents’, both of us too broke for a hotel, the cab colder the later the night had gotten. I stared at the vehicle and tried to will the memories from my mind.

Luke heaved his bag, his muscles easily tossing the black duffel into the bed. Then he turned back to me, holding out his hand.

I stared at it blankly, recognizing that he wasn’t reaching for my hand, but waiting for some item. Right. Hotel money. I held back a comment and reached into my pocket, pulling out some cash and putting it in his palm.

“So who was that?” he asked suddenly. “The guy who dropped you off.”

I met his eyes, willing my voice to be casual, steady. “Someone I’m dating.”

He frowned as hurt quickly joined the complicated party of sadness and regret in his eyes. “Wow. That didn’t take you long, Jules.” He shot me a wry, sarcastic smile. “Went after money, huh? Shocker.”

I didn’t respond, watching as he climbed in the truck and slammed the door. He stared into my eyes through the windshield, and we stayed like that for a minute; I was unable to move. Then he shook his head, and his truck roared to life.

Eighteen months. One small diamond.

A life path extinguished.

I stood in the empty driveway for a moment, watching the taillights of his truck as it peeled out and down my parents’ street. It was done. I instinctively knew that he wasn’t coming back, that—while he might not disappear completely—he realized that I would not take him back.

I turned to the house, noting the absence of lights and glanced at my watch. 12:53 a.m. My parents hadn’t waited up, not a huge surprise given the hour. I called Brad.

“Hey babe.” His confident voice sent calming strength through me.

“Hey. Luke just left. How far away are you?”

“A few blocks. You finished quicker than I expected; I haven’t gotten us a room yet.”

“That’s okay. Come pick me up. I’m going to leave my parents a note and make sure the doors are locked, then I’ll be out front.”

“I’ll be there.”

There was no doubt Mom would be hurt when she found out I was staying at a hotel, but I’d have to face that battle in the morning. I jotted down a quick note, stated I’d be by around nine, then checked the locks, and headed outside to Brad’s car.

The morning brought with it the hum of an air conditioner, scratchy sheets, and the delicious feeling of having Brad’s warm body spooned tightly behind me. I ran my fingers lightly down his forearm before gripping it and tightening it around my body. He groaned behind me, burrowing his face into my neck, his stubble tickling me. He flexed against me, his hard cock ever present against my ass. I opened my eyes, taking in the yellow wallpaper, small television, and cheap coffee pot. I grinned. Brad had taken serious issue with our accommodations, unable to believe that my small hometown didn’t have at least a three-star hotel. Sex had been comical—the bed sagging pitifully beneath our weight, creaking and rattling with every thrust. We had finally taken the act to the wall—his strong arms holding me easily as he slid in and out until we were both satisfied. My eyes passed over the plastic clock, widening as they read its red digits. “Shit, Brad, we have to go.” I wiggled out of his arms, shooting across the worn carpet and flipping on the bathroom light. Glancing over my shoulder at his still body, I increased my tone. “Brad!” Leaning over the sink, I turned on the water.

♥♥♥

My mother was visible through the front window, her eyes scanning, processing, and reigning hell before we even opened our doors and got out. Any feisty part of my personality had undoubtedly been a product of her genes. I gripped Brad’s hand and whispered premature apologies as we climbed the front steps. The door opened, and there she stood.

My mother was beautiful; there was no disputing that. Slim and tall, she had curves where it counted, wrinkles noticeably absent despite her hours in the sun, and bone structure that models would die for. Her eyes skipped right over me and fixated on Brad. “Julia, who is this?”

Here goes nothing. “Mom, this is Brad. Brad, this is my mother,” I dutifully recited, squeezing past her and hugging my father, who waited patiently inside. He gripped me tightly, pressing a kiss to my cheek before surveying me approvingly.

“You look good, sweetie. It’s nice to have you home.” My father, thinning hair carefully combed into place, wearing a sweater from the seventies paired with pressed gray slacks, shook Brad’s hand with a friendly smile.

Mother, suddenly remembering her manners, ushered us into the living room, where we sat—me perched nervously on an ottoman, Brad relaxing easily into the couch. We had a moment of peaceful silence before she opened her mouth and flames came out.

“Julia, what’s going on? I wake up this morning to a note from you—you stayed godknowswhere last night—and then you show up with—no offense—a complete stranger! And Luke is nowhere to be found, his truck gone when I woke up this morning!”

“Debra, calm down.” My father interrupted her, reaching over and patting her arm—an action that earned him a glare of Arctic proportions. “Julia just got here. Let her relax for a bit.”