Beautifully Broken 1: If You Stay

“It was a long time ago,” I answer simply.  “I’ve put it to bed.”

“Have you?” he replies, his eyebrow raised. “You must be talented.  Sometimes, the past doesn’t want to sleep.”

“That’s true,” I admit.  “You’re right.  Sometimes, at the least opportune times, the past is an insomniac, alive and well.”

He nods as if he understands and I wonder if he actually does.  But he doesn’t say anything more and I let it go.

In fact, I stand up, picking my purse up off of another hospital floor.

“I’ve taken up enough of your time,” I tell him politely.  “Thank you so much for humoring me and letting me see that you are doing okay.  You’re going to be just fine, Pax.”

I don’t know if I’m trying to convince him or me.  He looks like he isn’t sure either, but he smiles and holds out his hand.  It is slender and strong and I take it.  He shakes it, like we’re businessmen.

“It was nice to meet you, Mila.  Thank you for saving my life.”

His voice is husky.  I gulp and stare into his eyes and I can’t tell if he really means it.  Somehow, it seems that he doesn’t really want saving.

But I smile anyway and I turn around and walk away.  When I am partway down the hall, I turn and glance back into his room. He is still watching me, his eyes intent and fierce.

I swallow hard and turn back around, putting one foot in front of the other.  Before I know it, I’m in my car.  And I still don’t know what the heck happened.

Chapter Five

Pax

A week in the hospital is one f**king week too long. That much is certain.

I slowly curl up out of my pillows and sit perched on the edge of my bed.  I wince a bit as the movement disturbs a cracked rib and I try to take shallow breaths so that it doesn’t hurt.  The chest compressions from the paramedics did a number on my ribcage. I know they were trying to save my life, but shit.  Did they have to crack four ribs?

Fuckers.

As I wait for the pain to settle and for my eyes to adjust to the light of day, I stare out the windows at the large lake that looms in front of me.

Lake Michigan is huge and vast and gray, and my loft-style home is perched above it on the edge of a bluff.  Each room facing the lake has floor to ceiling windows so I have a good view no matter where I’m at.  And I never worry about who might be walking on the beach below and might see me walking na**d through my house.  It’s my private beach.  If anyone is trespassing, they deserve to see my ball-sack.

I reach for the vial on my nightstand, wincing again.

Running my thumb around the metal rim of the lid, I absently let my mind wander as I try to clear the blur of sleep from my head.  And then I give up on that and dump a little white pill into my hand, something to help me with that process because I’m too impatient to wait.

I’m slacking off the other stuff for a while, though.  Regardless of what my father thinks, I don’t need to take it.  I’m not a f**king addict.  And since it’s not fun to get my stomach pumped and my ribs pummeled, I think I’ll refrain from that particular activity for a while.

I knock the pill back with a swig of water from my nightstand, ignoring the fact that I wish it was beer.  It’s only 11:00 a.m. and I’ve decided that I’m not going to drink until 5:00 p.m. on any given day and I’m not going to have any of that “It’s 5:00 somewhere” bullshit.  I’m not a f**king pu**y.  Regardless of popular opinion, I can restrain myself when I want to.

I stumble from my bed, stretch as carefully as I can and make my way into the bathroom, stepping down into my shower.

My shower is one of my favorite things about this house.  It’s a huge tiled expanse, completely ensconced in stone and has four shower heads hitting me from all different directions.  It was custom made to fit my tall body because I hate having to duck down to get clean.  There’s room for a party in here, if I wanted. And I have had many a party in this very shower with groups of willing women.

The memories of those bare, wet br**sts and long thighs all crowded into this very shower makes me instantly hard and I slather soap in my palms before I take things into my own hands.

As I do, Mila’s face appears in my head. It’s unexpected and sudden, but I focus on it, on her soft voice and full tits as I take care of business.  I close my eyes and pretend that my hand is hers.  I picture her soft skin, sliding against mine.  I picture slamming her against the wet shower wall and f**king her until she screams my name, all while her legs are wrapped around my waist.

It doesn’t take long until I am finished.

With a satisfied sigh, I wash myself and grab a thick towel, drying off gently.  And I’m still thinking about Mila Hill.  What the f**k?

On the one hand, I suppose it’s normal.  She did save my life, after all.  And for the life of me, I can’t remember if I thanked her.  Normally, I wouldn’t give a shit, but there is something about her that makes me think about things that I normally wouldn’t.  Something soft and sweet, something real and genuine.

And now I’m acting like a f**king pu**y.

I grab a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and pull them on.

I’m going to put this to rest right now.  I’ll simply ask around and find out where she works, tell her thank you and get on with my life.  She definitely isn’t the kind of person that I should invest time in.  There’s no way that my lifestyle or my personality would ever please her, not in the long run. And I’m not in the business of changing myself for anyone.

As I jam the key into my car, I think about her again, how the dark red shirt that she wore the other day was pulled so tautly across her perky, full boobs.  It makes me wonder what they look like naked.  Her ni**les are probably pink and tilted toward the sky.  My dick gets hard again.

Fuck.

********

Mila

“Why are you giving me such a hard time about this?” I demand of my sister.

Madison looks up from where she is sitting at a small table in my shop, browsing my latest black and white prints of the lake.

Her blonde hair is draped over her slender shoulder, her body curled up into the chair.  I had gotten our mother’s dark hair, while Maddy had inherited our father’s.  She is taller than me, model tall.  Lanky, thin, gorgeous.  I’m the small and dark one.  The baby of the family.   Only now, she and I are our only family.  The Hill family, party of two.