Oreos for Breakfast: Chapter 28

Oreos For Breakfast: Chapter 33
By the Paperbag Princess and Pumpkin Coach

I squinted at the clock and rolled over again, hitting the pillow and trying to get comfortable. But I knew I wouldn't sleep. I couldn't close my eyes without seeing his face and wondering where he was. Was he looking for me or had he just given up and called that skanky Paris girl like I'd challenged him to?

What had I done?

So he was watching some girls dance. Did I really leave him over that? No. I left because I had to. Sooner or later it was going to be more than flirting with some stupid club girls. Hell, he'd come back to me with that hickey and I hadn't left him then.

But I knew that sooner or later it would be more, and I couldn't handle that. Maybe I never should have taken him back last year. Did I send him the message that it was okay if he just cheated on me a little? Flirting was okay, but only if he could stop there. And Nick couldn't. I'd learned a lot on the last year, and one of those lessons was that my boyfriend didn't really have much self-control.

Not that he was my boyfriend anymore.

But I wasn't quite ready to start adding Nick to the list of my ex-boyfriends.

Pulling the covers tighter around me, I tried to sink back into sleep, but it wasn't happening. I couldn't turn my mind off. I laid still, listening for James or JC in the other room. Nothing. I could hear the traffic faintly in the distance, but nothing else. It was too damned quiet here. JC lived on some private estate or something. The plane ride down here was a blur, but I remembered watching as JC flashed someone a key as we drove past a guard on our way back to his house. Privacy, he'd told me once. Looked more like seclusion to me. Then again, wasn't that the same thing? One clever stalking and no one would hear you scream.

Dammit.

I needed to turn off my brain. I dragged myself out of bed and pulled on Dad's sweater, along with my pink fuzzy socks. Maybe JC had some food in the house. When nothing else worked, you might as well medicate with junk food.

I hit the last stair and remembered the alarm. Fuck! What was the code? 1976… 1990…. 1982? I knew it was a James-ism. I ran over to the keypad and punched in 7609 and then 1 to disarm it, and held my breath until the green light came on.

James even had JC using Duran references in his life. Was that proof of his love? The melding of their obsessions that way? In the past several months, James had actually gotten a membership to MOMA, not that we were ever in New York long enough to really use it. And I noticed a shiny new bass sitting propped up against the couch in the lounge. James was teaching JC how to play.

What about me had rubbed off on Nick? Would he wake up tomorrow or next week or next month and feel this aching hole in his life because I wasn't there to fill it?

Damn, melodramatic much, Rachel?

I grabbed a pot from under the sink and set off to make hot chocolate. Walks around the Point at dawn with a thermos of Dad's secret cocoa recipe and just my thoughts were the cure for most of my ills. Somehow I thought I'd need more for this one, but I'd start with some cocoa.

JC didn't have any of Dad's ingredients, but he had the instant stuff and some milk. That would do until I got home.

Why hadn't I just gone home? I didn't like this strange house, with James and JC hovering over me.

Because the last time I'd been this shaken, I'd been home alone, and I almost didn't tell Nick that I was pregnant. I didn't need those memories right now.

We'd made it thought that, though. I closed my eyes, remembering him. I could almost feel the cold air in my hair, Nick's large hand in mine as we walked along in the dark, stumbling over rocks and listening to the water. I felt numb then, too. Confused and scared because part of me wanted to keep the baby. That same part of me wanted to run out the door right now, find Nick and beg him to let me back into his life.

That was the Rachel that had dropped everything for a man. The girl who'd let go of her dignity because Jeremy told her that sex was different from love, so cheating was okay. The girl who'd believed so fiercely that just having Damon would make her successful by association.

But I couldn't be that girl. Not matter how strong the urge was. How many times had I told Nick that? And he'd assured me time and again that it was my independence that he loved. He didn't want me to feel like I had to drop everything to be with him.

And I'd pushed him away anyway.

I poured my cocoa into a cup and went back upstairs, grabbing my bag along the way. I should call Mom and tell her. James had said he was getting me a few days free, did that mean he'd told Jeremy and Darien? How many people knew? Did we have to issue a statement? Would the tabloids even care that Nick and I had broken up?

I dropped my cell phone back into the bag, then climbed back into bed and pulled the covers around me as I leaned back against the headboard. I couldn't talk to anyone about it yet. Not even James. He didn't know any of the details. I felt so… what? Dumb, humiliated, sad, angry. Take your pick.

I'd cried a lot sitting on the floor in the hallway of his suite as we talked, trying not to cave and throw myself into his arms. I knew what would happen then. I'd get lost in his kisses and the feel of his arms around me as his lips slid against my bare skin.

I shivered, and took another sip of my cocoa. Someone else would get to feel that now. Another girl would be waiting for him at the end of the day. He'd take her back to his room and make her come so hard that she'd see stars.

I'd said no contact at all for 6 months and he'd fallen against the floor, crying out like someone had hurt him. Well, I had. But I just couldn't stop. The last time I'd seen him cry like that had been when he met me at the house and I'd told him I was pregnant. It kept coming back to that, didn't it?

I know that week would change both or our lives but I also sort of thought we could get through it, too. I hoped so.

In the end, maybe it made me too real for him. I wasn't Rachel the wanton sex goddess or even Rachel the innocent victim anymore. I was just me. "Just me" wasn't ever going to be enough for the golden boy of Backstreet. Part of me had always known that.

No, he needed a princess like Paris. She was beautiful and blond and rich and perfect. She'd never make him work so hard to earn her love the way I did. I was always setting tests for him and picking fights. No wonder he'd left.

"Why are you up?"

James' voice startled me, and I looked up to find him standing in the doorway. His short hair was standing on end and he looked exhausted. He should be. No one in my life had been allowed to get any sleep last night. I think JC had slept on the plane down here, but James had kept talking to me, trying to keep my mind off of everything. Not that it worked. But he'd tried.

I held out a hand to him, and he joined me on the bed.

"Cold?" he asked, nodding at my cup.

"It's Florida, James. It's not supposed to be cold."

"It's 80 degrees out and all the windows are open."

Was he implying that it was my imagination that I was cold?

"Too many damned windows in this house, too."

"Whatever, Rache. Why are you up? You should get some sleep."

I shrugged, closing my eyes and trying to steady my breathing. Whenever I was upset or angry, someone being nice to me just made me fall apart. "Dunno. Couldn't sleep."

Eyeing my bag on the floor, he leaned down for my cell phone. "Nick call yet?"

Hearing his name spoken out loud made me shiver and I couldn't find my voice. Even James expected him to call? I shook my head. "I didn't turn it on."

"Good girl," James smiled, but didn't hand me the phone. "You made the right decision, you know."

No, I didn't know that at all.

"Oh, hello, Nick!"

I turned around from staring at the door to James' apartment, forcing myself to smile at Mrs. Stein, his next-door neighbor. When I'd been staying here, I'd helped her with her groceries a couple of times and she liked me. Even offered to set me up with her granddaughter once. I was a good guy if you didn't get to know me, I guess.

"Hello, Mrs. Stein. How are you?"

"Fine," she said. "Better than you look. You look as tired as James was a couple of hours ago."

"Is he sleeping now?" I asked. "I rang, and no one answered."

Which probably meant that Rachel wasn't sleeping on his couch. The couch was in the living room, and she would have heard the doorbell. Yesterday she'd answered the door for me.

Had that just been yesterday?

Yesterday I was excited about seeing her and getting to spend time with her. And what did I do? Fucked it up, as usual. I should have just stayed in LA. She'd have been mad, but she'd still love me this morning. She'd still be mine.

Instead my grand fucking gesture had gotten me dumped in a hotel doorway at 2 am.

"No, he was leaving with a suitcase. Said he was going away for a day or two."

Just a day or two? Had to be going home. Yeah, I was sure of it. Rachel would need her family. She'd convince James to take her home even though they had a million press commitments today.

They'd had a good night last night, hadn't they? They'd won a couple of awards. Had I even really congratulated her? I couldn't remember. I remember being mad when she wanted to sit in the audience and watch Justin. Did she run to him last night?

Don't be stupid, Nick. That wasn't like Rachel.

"Well, no one wonder he's not answering the door, then. I'll see if I can call him on his cell phone. Need any groceries brought up?" I asked her with my best Carter smile, and she smiled back.

"You're such a sweet boy. No, not today."

"See you soon, Mrs. Stein."

Maybe. I hoped so. I could go up to the Point house and see Rachel and we'd talk about this again. James wouldn't want me to, but screw him. I didn't want him back. Just Rachel.

Mrs. Stein waved as I started down the five freaking flights from James' apartment. He had money now. Couldn't he move to a building with a freaking elevator?

I looked at the keys in my hand. I still had a key to James' place, but there was no reason to use it. If Rachel were there, I'd know it. I'd sense it or something, right? I had the key to the Porsche, too. Was it parked in James' spot in the basement garage? Would they have taken the Porsche or her old car up to the Point?

I hoped for the old car as I hurried down the stairs. Otherwise I'd have to find a car to get up to the Point.

We just had to talk this through again. Last night taking a break had sorta made sense. But Rachel was with me then. Now she was gone, and it was real, and this could not be happening. I just didn't fight hard enough last night. That's what she wanted. She wanted the grand gesture and for me to fight for her. I could do that. I could do anything to make this horrible feeling in my stomach go away. This hollow feeling and nagging voice that kept telling me what a complete fuck up I'd been all summer.

I'd drive up the Point and make the grand gesture and she'd forgive me for some stupid flirting. I mean, Paris was practically throwing herself at me. What was I supposed to do?

Score. The Porsche was right where it should be. They must have taken the other car. In the Porsche, I could be up there in under two hours, and we'd work this out and everything would be okay again and I could go back to LA and the rest of my life.

I was driving by the vineyard before I thought that someone might see the car. It was sorta noticeable. Did she already rat me out to her whole family? The entire way up here, I kept turning on my phone, hoping that she'd have called. That was my fantasy. She'd call just as I was getting there, telling me that I had to come back. She was wrong and I was right. Six months was too long. Hell, six hours without me was more than she could stand.

In my fantasy I'd speed into the driveway, spitting gravel as I stopped the car and she'd run out to greet me, her pretty hair blowing in the wind. I'd have her in my arms again. I could almost feel her weight against me, her arms holding onto me tightly as she kissed me and told me how wrong she'd been and how much she loved me.

I pulled into the driveway slowly, holding my breath as I heard the gravel move under the tires. Stopping the car in front of the house, I finally let myself really look at it. Nothing moved. The wind wasn't even blowing the leaves in the trees. The water was calm, and front door closed. No car. No movement.

Silence.

Rachel wasn't here. No one was here.

No!

She had to be here. Rachel was a creature of habit! She needed the Point. This was a big thing and she needed her family. They'd help her through it and comfort her and… before I knew what I was doing, I was pounding on the door and looking around for her key. She always hid it in the rocks…

Finding it, I fumbled with the lock, finally giving up and punching the glass by the door as hard as I could. She had to be here! She couldn't just leave me. I had to come and find her. I'd beg her to take me back and we'd make love upstairs in her big bed, the warm breeze cooling our bodies as we moved against each other quelling the need that only the other could satisfy.

The sound of breaking glass didn't register. Neither did the pain as it cut my hand and my arm. Reaching in, I unlocked the door and finally stepped inside calling her name.

Bates lunged for me, swiping at my leg and probably drawing blood. I pulled my leg back and nearly kicked him, but something stopped me. She might forgive me for flirting with that tramp in New York, but she'd never forgive me if I hurt her cat. She loved that stupid furball more than… anything.

Me?

I ran upstairs, still calling her name and collapsed on her bed. The tears came then. And the pain registered as I felt the warm blood soak through my t-shirt. Shit. I needed to clean that up. As soon as I stopped crying.

Disclaimer | Sudden Silence Website
Feedback to Authors | Tragical Fiction (home)

Subscribe to receive an email when this site is updated!

Powered by groups.yahoo.com