Just A Woman (The Porter Trilogy Book 2) Page 2

  But then Charlotte came into my life, turning my world upside down and making me feel things other than rage and grief. She taught me how to open my heart and bare my soul, but only for her. I still battled daily with unbridled anger and frustration, but it seemed more manageable since she had come into my life. I wasn’t ready to give her up. I enjoyed not seeing the world through a red hue of violence and I reveled in knowing maybe the world wasn’t as fucked up as I had originally thought. Charlotte made me feel these things and I wasn’t going to stop until I got her back.

  I picked up my phone and called her again. I knew it was pointless, but I had to try as often as I could. Maybe if she could see that I wasn’t giving up, she would come around, but I knew in my heart that, next to her soft nature, her stubbornness was her greatest strength. She wasn’t one to take shit from anyone and I was incredibly proud of her.

  As predicted, her phone went to voicemail. I should have just hung up, but I couldn’t stop myself from listening to her voice. “Hi, You’ve reached Charlie! Sorry I didn’t answer, but you know what to do! Talk to you soon! Bye.”

  “Charlotte…..please.” I hung up. I couldn’t apologize again. I’d done it so many times. Her voice always sent a jitter through my veins, distracting me from leaving a coherent voicemail message. The chemistry between us was electric and primal. Within yards of each other I could feel her, even if I wasn’t facing her. Her soul knew my soul and it was as powerful as it was unrelenting. I felt lost in this moment of time. I needed her more than I needed my next breath.

  A ring startled me from my self-pity party. The intercom. I pressed the button and waited. I never said anything. I hadn’t when Charlotte was my PA either.

  “Your coffee?” She muttered.

  I grunted and pressed the end button. I watched as she stepped in with my coffee in her hands. The first time she had gotten me coffee, I made Bracks drink some first. Poison was a woman's murder weapon and I wasn’t gullible or naive enough to think Robert no longer had his claws in her. I still didn’t trust her, but I knew that Bracks kept an eye out for sneaky behavior, and since the initial outrage in my office, Brigitte had transcended into a feeble mouse, incapable of harm.

  I beckoned her forward, watching her knees tremble in her expensively high stilettos. She sat the drink down on my desk without a word and waited for me to acknowledge her. I looked up into her gray eyes that were forcing back tears and thought about Charlotte. She’d be so pissed at me right now for treating this girl like shit, but I couldn’t help it after what she had done. I couldn’t help the hate that reverberated around inside of me.

  Then again, look at what you did, my subconscious sneered at me. I winced at the harsh words echoing around in my brain. God, I had hurt her so badly. When she told me the story about what had happened to her eight years ago, my insides tightened to an unbearable pressure and my knuckles cracked at the rough treatment of my fists. I’d heard a version of that story already, except I had heard it from the attacker himself, and it hadn’t been so gruesome coming from his mouth.

  Robert had been my roommate for a short stint in college. I hated him so much. He was cocky and sure of himself, a pompous jackass, and everyone loved the ground he walked upon. His dad, at the time, had been a Junior Senator and Robert was his pride and joy. Steve Nelson doted on his son and gave him everything he could ever want, including paying his way into one of the top schools in Southern California. Robert may have had money, but he was as dumb as a box of rocks.

  I came to our room at the frat house almost daily to find a sock tied on the door, the bro code meaning ‘Don’t come in. I’m getting lucky’. Every night, it was a different girl and every night, I spent most of my time in the common room ignoring everyone around me and immersing myself in books. I never saw any of the women he had brought home; I just knew there were many.

  When Robert had come upstairs that night, I had been propped up on my bed studying for an exam the following morning. He was drunk, and probably high on something, while he bragged about drugging his naive girlfriend and then letting all of his buddies take turns with her. He said she begged for it and loved it. I remember my vision turning red at what he had done and asking where she was. When he nonchalantly waved at the window and said he didn’t care, I had gotten up to investigate.

  I looked out the window to see a hooded guy pulling her body out of the pool. It looked like her arms and legs had been tied to the pool chair she was in. I watched as the guy pressed his fingers to her neck to check for a pulse. He must have been satisfied, because he untied her and carted her off to the front of the house out of my vision.

  I had almost gone down to investigate, but at the time I was selfish and knew I needed to continue studying. Owning my own business was my fucking dream and nothing was going to spoil that, so I flopped on the bed and forgot about the girl, until she retold her version right in front of my eyes.

  When she sat on the couch and told me exactly what happened that night, my first thought was to find Robert and rip him limb from limb. I threw my brandy glass and stormed out. She had thought I was repulsed by her, when really I was repulsed with my former self from eight years ago for not checking on her, and not turning Robert and his buddies in. I had never really known rage as I had in that moment, and hurting Charlotte because of my anger wasn’t an option. I wanted to hurt Robert, and myself.

  Shaking my head, I dispersed the fucked up thoughts and self-loathing as much as I could. Brigitte was still staring at me. I didn’t know if I had been down memory lane for two seconds or two minutes. Not that I frankly gave a shit what she thought. She was my employee and, if I asked her to stand there in front of me for two hours, she could either do it or quit, but I had made a promise to Charlotte. She wasn’t getting nice Alex, but courtesy went a long way.

  “Thank you, Brigitte, for the coffee,” I said to her.

  “Y-You’re welcome, Mr. Porter,” she said, backing away and exiting my office in a rush. I thought I saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes, but chose to ignore it.

  Only a fraction of a second later the door slammed open again. I looked up, expecting to see Brigitte and take back my thanks, but instead Bracks scrambled in holding a few pieces of paper. I stood up in a flash, knocking my chair backwards.

  “What? What did you find, Bracks?” I shoved my hands out, demanding the paper.

  “She started a blog, Alex. She started a fucking blog. Here’s the first entry, don’t worry, I didn’t read it,” he assured me, thrusting the papers into my eager claws. This was what I was waiting for. Something. Anything to quench my thirst. I couldn’t have asked for anything better. I would have been content with a less than 140 character tweet, but a blog? I had hit the jackpot.

  Taking the papers and shoving my hands in my hair, I sat back down in my chair and started reading.

  Chapter 3

  Daydreamer Musings

  July 6, 2015

  Followers- 2

  This is stupid! I’m writing an online blog to “write down my feelings and let it all out.” At least that’s what my shrink said. Yes, the girl whose words you’re reading is certifiably crazy. No, I’m not. Not really, although, sometimes I feel like I am. Crazy, that is.

  As prescribed by my Doc, I should write out everything I am feeling and act as if the people reading this have no clue what’s going on. Well, since I only have two followers, it seems that you’re the only person that doesn’t know what’s happening, Doctor. Hi, Danny!

  I don’t know what’s wrong with writing in an actual book with pen and paper, but the good Doc told me that when your feelings and thoughts come out, typing is faster than writing and your fingers can keep up with your brain better than trying to write it down. I guess he’s right. I can type over 60 words per minute. He also said I might be able to find some support from my peers. I don’t really have any peers except my best friend, and I doubt anyone is going to follow this stupid blog anyways.

  Anywho, I know why my d
octor wants me to write. I’ve been to see him three times since the day of the “UB” (that’s “Ultimate Betrayal” for those of you who don’t know me) and I haven’t said a word. I feel bad wasting his time and my money, but I’m just not ready to vocalize the events of the past few weeks. Maybe he’s right, though. Maybe typing it out will help. Besides, as I said earlier, it’s not like anyone is really reading this besides my doctor, so if this is the way I can open up and let him know my feelings, than I guess it’s what I will do.

  I also feel really bad that I haven’t told my mom anything. Nothing at all. I just can’t break the news and hurt her even more. I know she’s scared for me. Hell, I’m scared for me, but I don’t want my mom to be scared anymore. So, for now, I’ll keep her in the dark, unless she needs to know. Anyways, here’s the scoop.

  It’s been thirteen heart wrenching days since I spliced my soul into two pieces, taking one with me and leaving one with the man who completes me. (WOW! Talk about a flair for drama. Maybe I should be a writer. Future career, here I come).

  No, but seriously, in all honesty, the last thirteen days have been utter agony. I feel like some magnet for betrayal. First, from a girl I thought was my friend and then ‘him’. I can’t call him by his name. I just refer to him as ‘him’. It hurts too much to think about him. My best friend likes to call him other names, and before I may have laughed, but right now, I can’t laugh. I don’t have the strength in me. And nothing really feels funny at the moment. I’ve never really experienced heartbreak before, and I’m not being dramatic when I say, it’s excruciating.

  I don’t know if I’m ready to divulge the entire encounter of my life or exactly why I am the way that I am, but I will say this. Eight years ago, I was attacked, raped and left for dead, and my unborn baby, conceived of rape, was figuratively ripped from my womb by the same man that put him there. I spent eight years trying to patch the hole in my soul. It didn’t work. I was broken for a very long time. Sure, I laughed and seemed normal, but inside, I was a shell.

  Until the day I had a job interview with ‘him’. I couldn’t stand him at first. He was an arrogant, pompous jackass, but I could never deny the electricity between us. Anytime he was near, my heart palpitated and my hands were clammy. After such a short time, he started stitching me back together. I fell hard for him. I fell hard and fast. That was probably my first mistake. I shouldn’t have let him in, but I did, and for a short time, my life felt whole.

  But then, I found out he had delivered the ultimate betrayal and he crushed my world. Thirteen days ago, the hole within me ripped wide open, raw and bloody, and threatened to tear me apart. Thirteen days ago, I died a little more inside. I never thought I would experience something worse than the shit I dealt with in the past, but I was so wrong. Getting your heart broken is worse than anything that can happen to your body. This damages your mind and your spirit and your emotional wellbeing.

  Tomorrow would be two full weeks living in this hell, but tomorrow will be the last day I grieve. Tomorrow will be the last day I live in this hole of mine. I will dig myself out and find myself. I may need a goddamn ladder, but I refuse to fall. If not for me, then for my family. I can’t live in this hell anymore. I need to start feeling again, and I need to move on. It may be with only half a heart and without the ability to fall in love again, but it’s what I need to do, and, before anyone chimes in, I have no desire to fall in love again; I don’t care how young I am. This is not something I will ever bounce back from.

  I may have found my soulmate, and loved him more than words, and he may have hurt me more, emotionally, than anyone ever had or ever could, but I refuse to let that define me. At least I had the privilege of giving out my heart and getting someone else’s in return. I’m Charlie, I’m a fighter, and I am strong. I don’t know what will become of me and him, but I can’t focus on that. I’m focusing on me, and THAT Doc, is what I’m feeling! I’m sure you’ll want to talk about this when I see you in a few days. Be prepared, I’m ready to spill. (You’re right, this felt good!)

  Chapter 4

  Alex

  Well, it’s official. I’m an asshole. After what I’d just read, I couldn’t even stomach looking at myself in the mirror, and although I didn’t consider myself vain, I knew I brought some good looks to the table. She was in so much pain and it was all because of me, my past, and my stupid omission. All because I was a coward and couldn’t tell her what I knew. I dropped my head into my hands and tugged on my unruly dark hair. It hurt to think she couldn’t even call me by my name. A name she had said and screamed out in love and in absolute ecstasy. She had to refer to me as ‘him,’ but at the same time, no matter how much I was hurting, I was incredibly proud of her.

  She had been through so much, even prior to meeting me, and yet here she was, dealing with the “Ultimate Betrayal” and still holding her head high with dignity and grace. She was completely right, she was a fighter and she was strong. A lot stronger than I was, or ever would be. I admired her so much and my heart thumped faster and stronger for her. It was strange to think about my heart as anything more than a beating organ, pumping blood throughout my body, but ever since Charlotte walked into my life, I thought about my life force with more clarity and much more fondness. It beat for her.

  I also knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if I was to ever get her back and stop my own heart from shattering, I needed to move quickly. Not that I thought she would stop loving me, or I her, within a specific time frame, but I couldn’t let her move into the acceptance phase of loss, because then I would fucking lose her. She was strong enough to move on, but I wasn’t. Every minute of every day I loved this woman more, and I could never go back to the lonely life I had been living. The anger within me would eventually explode to epic proportions without her love healing me and putting me back together. I needed Charlotte. She was the only one who could fix me, and I needed to help fix her. We were two broken pieces of the same puzzle, begging to be put back together, and just like a puzzle, once the picture was complete; it was beautiful, even with the crevices clearly outlined.

  I also knew that she still loved me. She called me her soul mate. If you had asked me two months ago about soul mates, I would have bitterly laughed at you and called you a fool, while simultaneously crawling into the bed of whatever willing woman was on the agenda for the night. Now, I didn’t feel that way, at all. Charlotte was my soul mate, and my heart knew it before my brain did. My body knew it as well, sparking to life anytime I felt her presence. She was my light.

  I stood up and paced the floor of my office in front of my desk, moving swiftly, hoping that the faster I moved, the more rapidly the ideas would formulate in my head. I needed to find a way to earn her trust back and bring her back into my life. I had to find a way to connect with her, to make her listen to me, to fall to my knees and beg her. I wasn’t one to beg, to anyone, but I would for her, I’d do anything for her.

  I’d already been shot down by her ignoring my incessant calls and texts, and a face to face encounter at her house wasn’t working either with Danny and Jerry to protect her. I needed to find a way to isolate her in a public setting where she couldn’t keep a locked door between us, but with her living an hour and a half away, the likelihood of a chance encounter at Starbucks or the dry cleaners was an improbability. There was no reason for me to leave Los Angeles to travel two counties over for coffee that I could get two blocks from my apartment.

  I stopped pacing and walked over to the windows, letting the sun momentarily blind me. I wondered if I could see her apartment from here. I knew it was impossible. Southern California was famous for thick gray smog that hovered at almost all points throughout the day, but that didn’t stop me from gazing in the direction of the Inland Empire, searching for the other part of my soul. I sighed, as a rogue thought flitted through my subconscious, I’ve got it bad. With a rush of determination, I returned to my desk, picking up the printed blog post and plotting a way back into Charlotte’s life and b
ack into her heart.

  **********

  A full week later and I was still lost as to how to approach Charlotte. After the initial blog post, I hadn’t heard anything about her and I was starting to drive myself crazy for any scrap of news again. Bracks had no new information from the team he had scouring the internet. No Facebook status, no logging into Netflix, and she hadn’t responded to any emails she had received. I felt like a stalker, but I couldn’t help it, and honestly I was starting to get angry. I wished I could blame my anger on her, and I guess, in some ways, I did blame her for her lack of communication, but in truth, I was to blame. I had hurt her deeply with my omission of truth, but all I wanted was a conversation with her. Just a small fix to calm me. Jesus, I sounded like a crack addict.

  I sighed, willed my emotions to relax, and my anger to cool. This empty feeling was not something I was used to and I didn’t like it one bit. In fact, I hated it as much as I hated Robert. I needed to regain control of my life and my temper. Last night I had even considered fishing out my little black book and calling a willing female, but my heart flat out refused to listen to my brain, not that my cock would have complied anyway. The thought of any other female made my stomach churn. I only wanted Charlotte and the thought made me shiver. What if she never took me back? No, I refused to even let that be an option.

  The evening resulted in me spilling into my own hand in the shower like a virgin teenager. I had come, but it had felt hollow and worthless. It hadn’t even felt physically good, which was surprising since it had been over three weeks since my cock had seen any action. I hated that, without Charlotte, I couldn’t even use sex as a release. Something I had loved before was empty without her now. I really needed to convince her that I was a good person and worthy of her before I went crazy, or my balls exploded.

  Shortly before lunch, Bracks came with news of Charlotte. I felt my chest expand and my eyes widen with hope, and with fear, when he walked into my office. He looked as if he had news to share, but wasn’t sure how I would take it. My heart constricted, thinking that maybe she had posted something about moving on, or finding someone new. I wouldn’t survive if she started dating again, so soon after me.