Irreversible Damage (Irreparable 2)

I shoot through the front door after my appointment in a rush. The mountain of homework I have will definitely take longer than the two hours before I need to be at work.

“A package came for you. I put it on your bed,” Mom shouts from the kitchen.

“Thanks, Mom.” My sneakers pound into each stair on the way up to my room. I throw my backpack to the floor, plop down on my bed, and stare at the package next to me. It’s from Brady. I pick it up. It’s light as a feather. I give it a shake. Nothing. I stand and set it on my desk.

I can’t open it.

I grab my pack and sit down on my bed to start my homework. My gaze continually lands on the small box mocking me from across the room. Concentrating on schoolwork is futile. That damn box! I give up and head to the shower. I have work in an hour.

Once I’m at work, I’m able to forget about the box. It’s only Jolene and me working. She’s petite, smaller than me, even. I’m guessing she’s under five feet tall. What she lacks in height she makes up for with her mouth. She talks incessantly. She’s eighteen and in her first year of college. She has a boyfriend named Brad, but she’s not sure he’s the one. Her favorite color is purple. She didn’t have to provide that tidbit, though. The purple stripe in her hair and matching Chucks gave her away. She has a pet guinea pig, but she really wants a dog. She still lives at home, which is why she doesn’t have a dog. Her endless chatter usually drives me batty, but tonight I welcome the distraction from the tiny box on my desk.

When my shift is finally over, Jolene asks if I’d like to go out with her and one of her girlfriends. They’re going dancing at a new club in Minneapolis. I decline, though the thought of continuing to avoid the box on my desk is tempting.

As I drive home, I decide I’m being completely ridiculous about the box. It isn’t like whatever’s in it is going to jump out and bite me.

It’s a little after ten when I get home. My parents have already retired for the night, so I head up to my room.

My eyes land on the box the second I turn on the light. I find a pair of scissors in the drawer of my desk. My hand shakes as I slice the tape. After a deep breath, I lift the flaps. I can’t help the smile that sweeps over my face or the small sob stuck in my throat and choking me.

It’s a tissue.

With trembling fingers, I pull the tissue from the box and unfold it. It’s been cut into the shape of a heart.

I want my heart back. B.

I clutch the tissue close to my chest, lean back against the wall, and slide down, resting my forearms on my knees. When I finally manage to lift my head, it hits the wall behind me. I want to go back to him. The problem is, I want to go back too far. Back to when my little girl had a heartbeat.

That can’t happen.

Mona is dead.

He has Andrew and Annabelle.

He doesn’t want me.

I shred the tissue into thousands of tiny pieces until it turns to dust in my hands. I stand and drop what remains of Brady’s plea in the trash. He has his music, Annabelle, and Andrew, and I have a life here. That’s the reality of our situation. I have to accept it.

I think back to a time when Brady told me he was toxic, remembering how all I wanted to do was take his pain away. I tried so hard. I can’t stand not being with him, but being with him after everything that’s happened is impossible. I love him. I always will.

He’s my everything.

If he never slept with Annabelle, I might be willing to try. Despite what Tug says, I know what I saw the night I left. I know what I heard. I will never forget it. The memory is permanently etched into my brain. Brady took Annabelle to bed before I’d even left the house. It’s unforgivable. I can’t give him back his heart — it’s broken beyond repair.

Guilt nudges me. I slept with Tug. Is it so different? It is, damn it! For one thing, Brady and I were no longer husband and wife when I slept with Tug. I didn’t cheat on Brady. He didn’t watch it happen. It is different, damn it!

My guilt leaves, and rage quickly replaces it. This must be that angry stage of grief. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I’m suddenly ripping my room apart. I empty the dresser of clothing, throwing shirts and pants around the room. I swipe an arm over my desk, throwing its contents to the floor. I hate him for sleeping with Annabelle. I hate her for showing up with Andrew before Brady and I could lick our wounds and grieve our loss. She ruined everything. I scream until my throat constricts. The veins in my neck feel like they’re going to burst.

My mother tears through the door. Her face scans the room before she envelops me in her arms. I thrash against her, screaming.

“Stop it!”

I freeze when I hear the fear in her voice. I deflate into her. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”

She pulls me to the bed. Her arms fold around me, cradling me to her chest. We sit without a single word spoken for several minutes. When my breathing regulates, I look up at her and repeat my apology.

A small closed-lip smile touches her mouth. The worry creases around her eyes stay in place as she strokes my arm. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I sit up next to her. “He wants me back.”