Irreversible Damage (Irreparable 2)

Brady pats him on the head. “Andrew, can you please go downstairs and help your mom pick up the kitchen?”

“Okay, but don’t think I don’t know you’re trying to get rid of me.” Andrew turns on his heels. I hear his feet thunder down the stairs.

We both laugh. “Smart kid.”

Brady glows with pride. “Yeah.”

I lift my hands from my pockets. My arms feel heavy, like the rest of my body. “I have to go, Brady.”

He runs his hand over his face before locking eyes with me. “If you leave, my heart goes with you. It belongs to you, like yours belongs to me. Leaving doesn’t change that — it only rips us apart.”

Why is it so hard to believe him? I want to. It will never work out for us if I stay. The worthlessness I feel will swallow me whole. I have to find my own worth, and I can’t do that here.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t listen to my heart this time, Brady.”

His lips press flat as he steps close to me. A violent tremor rolls through my body. He leans in next to my ear. I feel the anger radiating from him. “Well, you should, because your mind is misleading you.”

Oh, God. I run from him and race for the bathroom. I expect him to follow me. He doesn’t. I’m grateful because I’m out of strength to fight him. I’d stay. I lock the door and sag against it, sliding down the surface until I’m hugging my knees. Even after I hear Brady leave the room, I sit on the floor of the bathroom, sulking, for nearly an hour. I spend another hour pulling clothes from my drawers, deciding what to take with me while my heart battles with my brain, trying to convince me to stay.

I grab a suitcase from the top of our closet and set it on the bed. When I open it, a tissue sits in the bottom. It taunts me. I pull it out, smiling when I notice it’s the one Brady left for me when I first found out I was pregnant. He drew a heart on it. It says, All yours.

How can I possibly think I’ll ever be able to live without him? He’s absolutely right; my heart would never stop aching to be reunited with him. I’ve been wrong in my approach. I’ve been weak, withering away. I have to fight, for him and for us. The only thing actually standing between us for months has been me and my own pathetic insecurities.

How did this happen? Brady’s always been the one running from our relationship. He was never certain he could trust his feelings. I’ve always been the confident one. From our first kiss, I knew we could get through anything. The role reversal is almost comical.

It’s also a hundred percent my fault.

I fooled myself into believing if he didn’t act a certain way or say

what I wanted to hear, then he must not love me, when in actuality, I’ve been the roadblock to our happiness. I’m the one who’s changed. I’m the one who’s avoided him. I could sit in on practices, make him dinner, and reciprocate his affections. I’ve been pushing him away since the day Mona died, hell bent on sabotaging what we have. All so I don’t have to feel the love I so desperately crave from him, because feeling his love means he can hurt me.

Stupid, when I’m hurting me.

I’m hurting us.

I call my mom and leave her a voicemail to let her know I’ve changed my mind.

Now that I’ve come to the conclusion that I never want to live without him, I can’t wait to tell him that I want to stay. I want us to forget the past and fight for our future, and, more importantly, that I love him and I always will.

Filled with happiness and hope, I flee the bedroom and sprint down the stairs. I take the corner to the studio door, letting the elation I feel pour out of me.

My hand flies to my mouth, and I suck back a gasp. The exuberance I felt instantly disintegrates as shock takes over every cell in my body. How could he? Through the half-open door, I see Annabelle’s naked body straddling Brady in the chair. She giggles into his neck. Why isn’t he pulling away? I feel sick. My knees quiver. I should run. I don’t want to see this. Brady lifts her from the chair and holds her naked form close to his chest as she starts kissing his neck. I quickly move away from the crack so as not to be seen.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” I hear Brady’s voice as I turn and run for the stairs. I stop short, deciding I have to see more. I tiptoe back, peeking around the corner just as they slip into the downstairs bedroom.

Oh, God. He’s taking her to bed. She’s naked, they’ve been drinking, and Brady’s alone with her. I go to the door, which he didn’t bother to close all the way, just in time to see her flat on her back with Brady’s body covering her. His head is buried in her neck. One of her hands is in his hair while the other squeezes his ass as she moans.

“Oh, God, Brady, yes!”

My life has just been reduced to nothing, completely obliterated by what I’ve witnessed in the last five minutes. I want to scream or cry or punch something. It’s not worth the effort. I want to shout at them to stop. I can’t. My vocal cords are tied in a knot. Nothing comes out. Feeling numb and empty, I slowly walk away and climb the stairs to call my mother and finish packing.

I should go back and confront them, but that would take effort. I’m tired of having to work for Brady’s attention, for his affection. Pining after someone who doesn’t want me here is pathetic. I refuse to be desperate. I can’t stay here clinging to what we used to have. Instead, I’m choosing to wither away in my unhappiness. I guess that’s just as pathetic, but at least I can do it in the comfort of my parents’ house, where I know I’m wanted and loved. I’m going to Minnesota to start a new life for myself. I’m letting Brady have what I can’t give him. The family he’s always wanted. He hasn’t admitted it to himself yet, but his actions are crystal clear. I’m a distraction from the important things in his life. I want more than that.

I want my Brady back, the sometimes moody – always complicated – man who used to adore me. The one who always put me on a pedestal. I’ll never get him back. I have to leave. I don’t want to feel hopeless any longer. Sometimes I want to die. I think about ending my life. I feel the urge more than I should. It’s not right, but it’s there, and it’s strong. It tells me Brady would be better off without me. There are times when I sit in the bathtub, starring at the thin purple veins under the skin on my wrists. I’ve felt tears overwhelming me while I’ve held the razor close. I’m tired of fighting it. I could never bring myself to go through with it, but the detailed fantasies suffocate me. I have to escape it. I have to go and leave my despair here. It’s the only way.

Chapter 20

Tori