Tayla
Ring, ring, ring
"Ugh."
Ring, ring, ring
"What?!"
Ring, ring, ring
"H-Hello?"
"Finally! Tayla, I thought you said we were going to talk over lunch? I went to your office, and you weren't there. What's going on?" Chris huffs.
"W-What- Yeah, we are. What time is it?" I ask, rubbing my eyes.
"It's 2:07 in the afternoon." He says, annoyance coating his vocals.
"What?!" I yell, sitting up from the couch.
The couch? Did I sleep on the couch last night? Wait, Noah! Where's Noah, Parts of that dream felt so real. My stomach churns, and my head rings from an apparent hangover. The sun blares into my eyes through the large glass windows—memories of the night before mixing with the erotic wet dream I had last night.
"Tay. Tayla, are you there?" Chris calls out.
"Yeah, yes, I'm here. Sorry, I just woke up. Is there a way we can talk after you get off of work?" I say.
Chris lets out a deep sigh.
"Fine. Where and what time?" He asks. I can tell he was getting frustrated with the sudden changing of plans, but I don't care at the moment. I'm too hungover.
"My place, say around seven tonight?" I answer.
"See you tonight." He says before hanging up.
Rude. He could have at least said bye. I roll my eyes at his passive-aggressive tantrum. I can't worry about that right now. I need to know what happened last night between Noah and me. I search my call history and tap on Noah's name.
Ring...
Ring...
Ring...
"Black and yellow?" He answers.
"Hello." I chuckle at the Bee movie reference.
"H-Hey, Noah. It's Tay-Tayla." I stutter.
"Um... Yeah, I know. There's this new thing called caller I.D." He chuckles.
"Smartass." I grin.
"I was just calling to see if... you left this morning or..." My words trail off, and I'm not quite sure how to word what I wanted to ask him. I want to say, "Did I bounce on your dick last night?" But those words would never leave these lips.
"I left last night after you fell asleep on the couch." He chuckles.
"You really are a light weight. Three glasses of wine, and you were gone. You fell asleep during my explainings on the new project I'm working on. I guess I must have bored you." He continues, laughing at his own joke.
Never. He could never bore me. I exhale, relieved that we didn't cross any lines, but also a little sad that we didn't.
"Is everything okay, Tay? You seem a million miles away." He asks. I can tell he is concerned, and I don't want him to worry over a dream of all things.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Hungover, but alive." I reassure.
"I left an aspirin and bottled water on the coffee table. I knew you would need it." He says with a chuckle.
I look down and see the bottled water and two aspirin tablets on a tiny saucer between my vase of sunflowers and match tea scented candle. A smile forms on my face, and I become even sadder that last night didn't come true. Well, Noah and me. Not the weird threesome thing.
"Okay, well, I have to get back to work. If you need anything, don't hesitate to give me a callback." He says.
"Thank you for everything, Noah," I whisper.
"Always." He grins.
I smile even harder. He is always looking out for all of us and asks for nothing in return. He is perfect.
"Bye, Noah," I say.
"Talk to you later, cookie." He says before ending the call.
"For fuck sake, not cookie," I mutter to myself.
I toss the phone onto the couch, swallow the aspirin and drink the water. I lay back, resting my head on one of my decorative pillows, and just stare up at the ceiling. Noah stepped in last night to protect me. If Chris would have brought me home, I have a feeling we wouldn't have stayed with our clothes on. I would have woken up regretting everything. No matter what, Chris isn't ever going to be mine. And right now, I am finally feeling okay with that. Why chase what I can't have? When what I want is right in front of me.
I turn to lay on my side, now focusing on the scattered magazines I have on my table. Nathan. His name catches my eyes. I quickly sit up and grab the gossip magazine. The title read, "Nathan Nicks is back in town" It was a photo of Nathan and another man they are at the airport walking through a swarm of paparazzi. His head is down, and the other man has his hand out in front of Nathan, protecting him. He must be a bodyguard.
"What the hell?"
I looked at the date, and it's dated last week. Nicks... Nicks. He did say his name was Nicks at the club. I didn't think anything of it. I read on. "Nathan Nicks award-winning director is back in town after the loss of his father, Roberto Vincent Russo." Oh my goodness! His dad died? He seemed so content, unbothered even. I would have never known that he lost a loved one recently by his attitude.
A ping of pity and regret runs through me. He is going through something and all I thought about throughout the week is sleeping with him. What is wrong with me? I continue to read the article. The journalist mentioned a few tv shows I love that I didn't even know Nathan produced and directed. I'm not up to date in the Hollywood stuff anymore. I haven't been for years, not since...
Darkness floods over me. Not today, don't think about that today. I close the magazine and place it back onto the table. I feel uneasy after hearing about his fathering passing. I scroll through my phone, searching to see if I still had Stefano's phone number logged. He had called me several times before to nag about a date. I declined every time, and he kept calling. He hasn't in a while tho. Marco must have finally told him to fuck off. It is his fault Stefano had my number in the first place. Shaking my head and giggling at the sight of Stefano getting knock out at Marco's family gym/boxing class. He would get distracted every time I walked in and would suffer one of Marco's deadly right hooks.
"Found it." I had it logged under the name "Never gonna happen."
I shoot him a text with my condolences for his family's loss. I asked how he was doing and If he had Nathan's number. I plug my phone up to the charger in the kitchen and head to shower.
Marco
"With physical therapy..."
The doctor's voice fades to a muffle. My legs?! My fucking legs?! I'm taken aback at the realization that I may never walk again! I may never fight again! I may never fuck again! I look up at Kesha, who is nodding, listening to the doctor explain my injuries and his plans to get me "back up and running." She has stood by me through all this; they all have. But Kesh has been my rock. When I was under, it was her voice I heard the clearest. Her voice was stopping me from giving up, preventing me from walking into that bright light reuniting with my mother. Kesha is my angel, and after going through all of this, I couldn't be any more sure.
"Alright, Marco. We will keep you here for another week, just to be sure you are okay. You will start physical therapy within the next few days. A neurologist will be in tomorrow to speak with you and go over the results of your screenings. Okay?" The doctor explains.
"Okay." I nod. Staring down at my legs.
"You got this. Don't give up." The doctor says, patting me on the shoulder.
"If you need to speak with me, just have your nurse give me a buzz." And with that, he leaves.
Silence. Numbness. I feel numb. As numb as my fucking legs! I cannot do this.
"Hey, we got this," Kesha encourages, rubbing her hands up and down my back, trying to soothe away this inner pain I'm feeling.
"Marco." She says, lifting my face to meet her beautiful hazel eyes.
"We got this, baby." She smiles.
God, this woman doesn't know how much I love and appreciate her. I wish I could show her just what she does to me. She leans in and places a kiss on my lips. Nothing. Not a single wiggle, quiver from junior. This. Is. Bullshit!
"What do you feel like eating?" She asks.
"This hospital food is crap. There's a bodega a few blocks down; I'm going to grab a sub and some snacks. What do you want?" She continues tying her sneakers and slipping on her jacket.
"It doesn't matter," I answer.
My eyes scan over her; she looks beautiful with her lush curls and curvy figure. Any guy would be lucky to have her. But, she is in love with... a fucking charity case. Fuck! She deserves better! Taking care of me like a child is not what she signed up for. Not what she deserves.
"Marco?"
"Hey?" She whispers.
Kesha walks to me and sits at the foot of the bed. She looks down and grabs hold of my hands, her thumbs running circles around each palm.
"I'm sorry." She somberly says.
"What?" I ask, confused as to why she is apologizing.
"If I didn't block your number, I would have gotten your call. I would have told you we were safe." Her voice shakes. Her focus still on my hands.
"No. No, Kesha. This isn't your fault." I shake my head, grabbing hold of her hands.
She looks up at me, tears streaming down her face. My heart breaks. She has been living with this false sense of guilt for a week.
"Come here," I whisper.
She sits next to me and lays her head on my chest.
"This is not in any way, shape, or form your fault, Kesh." I kiss the top of her head; I feel her relax and melt into me.
"Luck hasn't always been on my side; you know that." I joke. She laughs and pats me on the stomach.
"I see it as a wake-up call. If this didn't happen, we wouldn't be together right now. We would probably still be mad at each other. Well, you would still be mad at me." I chuckle.
"You would have been mad too. You would be giving me one-word responses and blasting music early in the morning to piss me off." She says.
"Naw." I laugh.
"You think you're funny?" She chuckles.
"I think I love you. No. I know I love you." I whisper, pulling her closer to me.
"Warning, warning! Cornball alert." She laughs.
"Whatever," I scoff.
"I love you too." She says.
We lay there cuddling in silence. I soon hear light snores coming from her. I tighten my hold around her and kiss her on the head.
"We got this"
Tayla
"Chris, this conversation is over!"
"What?!" He yells, standing up from the couch.
"You must have lost your mind yelling at me like that!" I warn, matching his tone.
He paces back and forth, running his hands through his hair like a fucking mad man. His tantrums are getting tiresome. Ever since we almost did it in his office, he is more on edge, irrational, possessive.
"So, you are just going to walk away?" He asks, folding his arms across his chest.
We have been at this for over an hour—the conversation going in circles. I refuse to be his secret until he figures out what he wants to do. I'm NOT a side piece. I'm the main dish, or you don't eat at all! He glares at me from across the room.
"Yes. Yes, I am." I answer. He shakes his head.
"This is all fuck'd up." He spits.
"Fine. Whatever you want." He snarks.
"You know what? Yeah. This is what I want, Christopher!" I yell.
"I'm sorry, I have self-respect. I'm sorry, I don't want to be your meet me at a motel whore! So, yeah, this is what I want!" I snarl.
His bright green eyes turn black; his breathing is heavy and erratic. He busts out into a deep, devilish chuckle.
"An orphan, with damaged goods. Huh. Being a motel whore is all you are worth". He hisses.
I freeze. "Damaged goods," I told him my darkest secret, and here he is, throwing it back in my face! I trusted him! I-I-I... I couldn't stop them—the tears. I couldn't prevent them from falling. My heart shatters, piercing every organ in my body. I instantly feel sick. My chest is so tight I cannot get a single breath out. His face softens, realizing what he just said; regret washes over him.
"T-Tayla. Tay, I'm so sorry." He apologizes, walking to me.
"No. No!" I cry, shaking my head and holding my hand up.
"Get out!" I whisper, barely being able to get the words out. I point towards the door.
"Please, I didn't mean it. I'm-"
"Get the fuck out of my house!" I scream so loud I swear I feel the walls shake.
His head falls, and I could hear him sniffling. This son of a bitch has the nerve to stand here and cry after what he just said to me?! He wipes his eyes with his sleeves, turns, and walks towards the door.
"I'm sorry." He whispers before exiting.
As soon as I hear the door shut, I crumble. Sobbing uncontrollably on the floor. Several screams slipping free, cursing myself for trusting another man. I cry for what feels like hours before falling to sleep, cold and alone.