Page 74 of Painting Her Fate

A blush tinged her cheeks as I pulled back and peered down at her. Just the right height to still claim her as being short. I adore this height. She wraps her arms around my bare midsection and sighs.Ahh, no counterattack to my complement. I might win her over sooner than I thought. Her smile is warm with a voice to match, “good morning, are you hungry? Or do you have to get going?” She releases her hold on me and starts for the coffee maker. “I made a fresh pot.”

“I have a better idea.” There is no way she will turn this down – okay, maybe, but my chances are pretty good. “How ‘bout you play for me while I make us breakfast?” I add a little tease to my tone, “I make a one hell of an omelet.”

She hums in thought and taps a finger to her chin, then she grins, “cooking is my kryptonite, so you, Alexander, have a deal.”

We laugh as I remember her mentioning she’s not big on culinary or baking but loves to eat. I do enjoy a woman who loves food and isn’t afraid to admit it. I would cook for her every day no matter what time it be – breakfast, brunch, lunch, linner, dinner, it could even be snack time for all I care; all for her to serenade to me, that is all I ask.

I want to watch as she loses herself in the lyrics, hear her sing a sweet melody and sooth my beast. Emma mentioned Lili plays a wonderful cello. Would she ever play it for me?

“I’ll take that as a big win.” I spin her into my arms, a small squeak escaping her as I steal another kiss, then another, and maybe one more before leaving her in a drunken daze against the counter, then I get started on pleasing her on other levels. Although, that glint in her eye has me curious to know if she might be up for something else. I wouldn’t take it any further than a slow, sensual, get-to-know-you-better make out session, nothing beyond. Yeah, I could go for that. The bar is closed today; what’s a few hours away from the pile of paperwork going to hurt?

Just as I open the door to the fridge and reach in for the eggs, she sucks in a sharp breath, her whisper sending ice through my veins.

“Alexander.”

My beastly scars. Fuck.

I skipped putting on my shirt, too caught up in making sure I wasn’t the thing that scared her off; my nightmares can be hellacious motherfuckers. I’ve never left my room, let alone pranced around my house shirtless, not since coming home. Not with these grisly wounds. They are my constant reminder of hell on Earth and of the brother who should be here with us.

After coming back from Texas with Ford in tow, I ended up in a very short-lived fling. Massively short.

There was a certain escape I wanted, at that time I thought it could be solved by having sex. Needless to say, fucking someone was not the remedy; we didn’t even make it to that point. That woman’s screams of terror and words of disgust will forever haunt me as she ran out of my house half naked, in the dead of winter no less. What a terrible scene for my neighbors to have to witness.

I never saw her again, thank fuck. She probably let all her friends know to stay away from me, that I was some kind of monster.

Because you are a fucking monster. Take a good look at yourself. Weak. Closed off. Filled with regret.

Lili’s body pressed flush to my back, her arms enveloping me and dispelling my darkened thoughts.

“I can put my shirt on.” I say through clenched teeth. I thought I’d have more time to mentally gear up for this moment.

“No. Please, do not hide.” Her lips touch one of the deeper jagged scars, making my body stiffen.

Doctors had to remove some of the muscle in the worst areas, as it was too embedded with shrapnel to save. The reminder is there, taunting me every time I look in the mirror, every time I shift the wrong way, every damn doctor’s appointment where I receive pitiful demoralizing stares.

Agony can strike when lifting something as light as a sleeve of Styrofoam containers or grabbing for Hank’s leash on the hook. Other times I can lift a jug of fryer oil or exchange one of the beer kegs and not have a fricken problem. There have been too many days of pushing through the pain, sucking it up and going untreated for as long as I have; it’s enough to make a man go insane.

Welcome to the party, it’s a riot here.

I was beginning to head in that direction when Lili uprooted my mental demise.

“Do they hurt?” She whispers, the same question I asked her last night that she dodged. I sigh and close my eyes. Shutdown mode might be the safest bet for me to crawl into right this second.

Heide your own words Zander. Don’t shut down. Let her in. If you want Lili to open up, show her you are willing to as well.

“They do on occasion.” I admit bitterly, my jaw set tight. I grip the door handle to hold back my trembling but I’m unsuccessful in my efforts. “There’s been better days as of late.” I force out, then my mind flashes with regrets of what I should’ve done all those years ago.

Whether it’s one week, or thirty years, this is never leaving me. I’m stuck this way, a shell of myself who will forever be reminded of what I should’ve done, who I couldn’t save.

She resumes her trail on the uneven lines of gnarly patchwork. There is no screaming from her, instead it’s empathy at its purest.

She knows what it’s like.

What if it’s pity she has for me?Pity, that fucking word. I will not allow that word the pleasure of entering my mind when her presence.

No. More.

When I can’t take anymore, I close the fridge then turn around to face her. Her eyes are filled with tears that begin streaming down her cheeks and I’m quick to wipe them away. I cup her face and sweep my thumbs back and forth, silently pleading for her to stop. It’s shattering my heart and tears me down because I do not fucking deserve her or her sympathy; it’s the men and women who have lost their lives, gave the ultimate sacrifice to thisGod forsaken warwho deserve these tears, not me.

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