Page 10 of Tear Me to Pieces
I don’t likethe way Myra’s looking at me. Like she can see the truth I work so hard to hide. The reality I crisscross the country to escape.
“Well...” I clear my throat, trying to buy myself time. The answer to her question is not an easy one, and I don’t enjoy discussing the history surrounding it. But for some reason, I made a confession that would lead us right here. Take us to this exact spot.
“Crap. I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.” Her eyes drop to her lap. “I don’t like people asking me those sorts of questions. I don’t know why I’m asking you.”
I know why Iwantto think she’s asking me these questions. I want to believe Myra would like to get to know me. Spend time with me. I don’t for a second believe that’s the case, but in a perfect world...
So, on the off chance my world has recently become a little more perfect, I take a deep breath, blowing it back out before starting the story I’ve been running from for years.
“I was with a woman a long time ago.” I slide my plate onto the small table at my side, appetite lost to the bitterness in my gut. “She had a son.”
I’d thought I finally found the family I’d been searching for. That my days of being discarded and alone were over.
I was very fucking wrong.
When I glance up, I could swear Myra is closer than she was a second ago, and it keeps my mouth moving in spite of the tightness in my chest.
“I got very attached to her son, so when she ended things, it was really hard for me.” I omit the majority of the story, focusing on the primary reason I’m not sure what my brothers have will ever grace my life. “Near the end, I liked that little boy a million times more than I liked her.” I meet Myra’s gaze. “And I would’ve stayed with her because of that.” It’s a shameful truth, but it is what it is. “I would have made both of us miserable to stay in that kid’s life.”
I know what it feels like as a kid when someone walks away from you without looking back. How much it can fuck you up when the people who brought you into this world leave you to fend for yourself. And I never wanted to do that to my kids. Including the one I didn’t have a part in creating.
When it was forced on me, everything I thought I could be crashed down. It left me broken. Doubting myself. Questioning my ability to be the kind of parent I swore I’d be.
And positive I’d never put a kid—or myself—in that position again.
I’m so wrapped up in the loss and guilt and regret of that time, I don’t notice Myra’s right beside me until one hand comes to rest on my arm.
“I’m sorry that happened to you.” Her words are simple, but filled with compassion.
I try to smile, hoping to ease the upset pinching her brows. Myra’s been through enough. She doesn’t need to wade through my shit too. “So am I.” I pull in a breath, trying to ease the weight on my chest. “But all I can do is learn from it and adjust my life accordingly.”
Myra’s brows weave closer. “Did you? Learn from it?”
I don’t know how to answer that. In some ways, yes. I learned I’m not cut out for anything except forever, especially when kids are involved. But have I figured out how to move forward with that knowledge?
No. In fact, I did the opposite of moving forward.
I ran the fuck away.
A bitter chuckle passes through my lips. “I did learn, but not sure how much good it did me.”
Myra’s eyes move over my face, tracing my features. “Learning is supposed to be the whole point of life, but not everything we find out is good.” Myra’s lips press into a flat line as her eyes drop to where her hand rests on my arm. One finger lightly traces the dark lines inked into my skin. “I was so excited to be free. To get away from the oppression. But it’s not as easy to navigate as I expected.”
I don’t like the sadness in her voice. It makes me want to comfort her. To reassure her. “It takes time, Myra. It’s only been a year.”
Her blue eyes lift to my face. “How long has it been since that woman broke up with you?”
Fuck.
I shake my head. “What I went through and what you went through are two completely different things.”
“Are they?” Myra almost sounds offended that I’m not comparing my little breakup with the complete dismantling of life as she knew it. “You lived your life one way, and in the blink of an eye, it changed.”
“It was only my life for three years.” I point out the huge timeline discrepancy, feeling like it’s going to win this little difference of opinions we have.
Myra’s eyes widen. “You were with her forthree years?” Her expression softens. “In her son’s life for three years? And then she just expected you to walk away?”
The outrage in Myra’s tone settles a little bit of the pain I still feel over all that happened. “That’s not exactly what happened. She decided we were done—that I wasn’t what she was looking for—and cut me off completely. It was at a time when I was leaning a little more toward the wrong side of the law, and I knew if I tried to push things—to fight to keep seeing her son—she could make life very fucking hard for me.” I knew this, because she flat out told me. If I tried to maintain any contact with her son, she would call the cops and tell them what I—and my brothers—were doing.
