Falling For Us

Prologue

Prologue

"Please, please, please, let me get home," I chanted and swallowed back the sour, bitter taste in my mouth. Beads of sweat dripped down my face and I used my bare arm to wipe, careful not to take my hands from the steering wheel. The car must stay on the road. "Please, please, please, let me get home before I explode," I muttered again to no one. "I swear I won't ask for anything again. Ever."

The temperature knob on the dash protested, but in the end, I won the battle. Albeit, not without scars. "Dammit all to hell!" I yelled. My finger throbbed where the nail ripped after catching on the stupid thing. A broken nail sucked, but I needed warmth more than pretty pink nails.

Heat would stop the shivering. Right? The moldy stench of the long-dormant heater shot out of the vents. Blocked sinuses were a small price to pay.

The odd, gurgling noises emanating from my stomach reached DEFCON volume. I refused to give in to the overwhelming desire to pull the car over and hurl my guts out. The traffic was unforgiving at three o'clock on a Friday afternoon, but I still had to get home, and fast.

Sour meat boiled up from the depths of my intestinal tract, but I forced it down. Damn my stupid cousin and her culinary ineptitude. My best guess was that she poisoned me with her horrible cooking last night. I knew better than to risk eating anything that idiot made, but I couldn't help it. The hopeful look on her innocent, country-bumpkin face got to me.

Uhg, stop thinking about that tepid roast beef. The memory was taking over my mind, and it was not helping my plight. Get home. Get home.

No time to turn off the vehicle or close the door. Instead, I rushed up the stairs to our apartment; my flats sliding on the old painted wood on the steps.

Instant panic flooded my body as I searched my empty hands for my purse and keys. Damn. In the car. Everything was in the fucking car. Infuriated with my stupidity, I kicked the apartment door and added to the variety of dents and scratches.

Hoping against hope, I reached for the doorknob. My sweaty palms slipped and slid against the warm metal, but I breathed a sigh of relief as it turned. Success! The reprieve, no matter how temporary, felt fantastic. Safe at home. Finally home. Dizzy and woozy, my hands landed against the wall. Bathroom. Get to the bathroom. Now. Mary-Jane's cheap, black high heels tripped me up and impeded my progress. What the hell? Wasn't she wearing those when she left this morning?

Not to be a bitch or anything, but even on a fabulous sale, I'd never buy such awful looking whore shoes. When I met Kenneth, I gave up on heels (much to my mother's dismay). He didn't like me being taller than him, and you didn't want to poke the bear. Trust me. Giving up heels was the easier fix.

Bathroom. Focus.

Two steps down the hall, a wailing of, "Oooooohhhhhh, Kenneth! Yes, yes, yes!" confused the crap out of me. Did Kenneth leave the TV on in our bedroom? Wait. There was no TV in our bedroom. What the hell?

Then it all became crystal clear as I stood in the doorway and saw Kenneth's scrawny, bare ass on top of Mary-Jane (the whore—minus the whore shoes...and everything else). He was still going for the gusto as my body stood there. Frozen. The next instant, my stomach fell, and air was no longer getting into my lungs.

Kenneth's deep, methodical grunts and the rhythmic squeaking of our bed forced reality to set in and I rushed out, just in time.



********************************



Hands cupped under the faucet, I splashed cool water onto my sweat-covered face. Black mascara dripped down my cheeks as I glimpsed myself in the bathroom mirror. Kenneth's round face appeared in the mirror above mine and he pushed his glasses up his tiny nose, a nervous habit he had.

"What the fuck are you doing home so early? I thought you were at work?" he asked, accusingly. As if him being inside of my cousin was somehow my fault.

I wiped my face, turned around, and scowled at the imbecile before me. He was wearing a robe, my Christmas present to him last year. "You couldn't get fucking dressed before coming to talk?" I flipped the towel out toward him. "I'm not talking to you while you're naked." The thought made me want to hurl again.

"We thought you were at work! We only do this when you're at work, Harper. I swear we thought you wouldn't be home," Mary-Jane chimed in, now cowering behind Kenneth. Good freaking God. Was this bitch for real? She reached for his arm, but he yanked it away and glared down at her. Maybe that was why he liked her; she was shorter than him. And dumber. Both being difficult feats to achieve, but Mary-Jane fit the bill. Congratu-fucking-lations.

"Are you wearing my robe?" My heart began to beat faster, and my face heated. "Do not tell me you're wearing MY fucking robe," I growled, shaking my head. My eyes squinted at my daft cousin, and all I could think about was wrapping my hands around her puny little chicken neck.

Unable to wait one second longer, I lunged in her direction. Kenneth anticipated my move and got between us before I reached her neck, but I seized a handful of her robe instead... MY robe.

Mary-Jane squeaked and ripped the material out of my hand as she backed up. "Are you crazy? What's the matter with you?" she screamed at me, clutching my robe around her unblemished neck.

"Get your hands off me," I said to Kenneth as I struggled in his hold. "I want my robe back! Give me my fucking robe!" Mary-Jane's face froze in terror, then she turned and ran back to my room and slammed the door. The little slut.

"Settle down, Harper," he grunted, dodging my swinging arms. The belt of his robe didn't withstand our tussle and it opened, revealing everything his momma gave him. Gross. His naked body, fresh from doing my stupid cousin, was more than I could handle.

I shoved him one last time with all my might. "Let go of me, you asshole! You and your hick-loving hands." His back slammed with a loud thud against the wall. Stunned, he stared at me as if he'd been shot.

My short burst of energy disappeared, and any minute now the floor would be my new best friend. "Go. Just grab your shit and leave," I told him, gripping the faux-marble vanity for dear life. My long hair stuck in clumps to my damp face and I tried my best to shake it away, unable to let go of the sink. "And take your hillbilly whore with you," I said to him over my shoulder.

The mirror reflected the sight of a scared stranger. She was barely recognizable—long, straggly blonde hair, mascara running down her cheeks. But what gutted me the most was the look of pure devastation in her eyes. Helplessness. What the fuck was happening? I gasped for air, but I refused to cry in front of this asswipe. I would not let him know how deep this cut was.

"Honey, it doesn't have to be this way," Kenneth said as he walked up behind me. He placed his hands on my shoulders and squeezed. Again, his round face and beady blue eyes appeared beside mine in the mirror.

A loud snort came out. "Honey? When was the last time you called me 'honey'?" I sneered at him over my shoulder, my hands still white-knuckling the edge of the counter. The touch of his filth on me was too much to take, so I shook him off. "The only time you ever acknowledge me is when you want a beer, but don't want to get up." My legs were shaking, and my knees were about to give out, so I risked the few steps to the side of the bathtub.

The cool porcelain comforted my burning skin, but only for a moment. So much for small pleasures. "I said, I want you and that fucking idiot out of my apartment!" I reached for the closest thing and threw it. He didn't see it coming and bobbled my blue squishy bath sponge with such uncoordinated clumsiness it would have been hilarious if it weren't so bloody pathetic. Loser.

He bent to pick it up and repeated his earlier mantra, "It doesn't have to be this way. Look, it was a one-time thing..."

I screeched at the top of my lungs, "I said to fucking leave! Are you deaf?" Oh God, now my head was splitting in pain. I cradled my poor pounding brain and rocked on the edge of the tub.

"Harper, we can work this out. She means nothing to me," he said, pointing his finger.

"Obviously, I don't mean anything to you, either," I said, peering at him through my fingers. "I wish you could be a better man, Kenneth. God knows I've been waiting a decade for you to change. A fucking decade." My voice cracked. "But no matter what I do, no matter what self-help books I read, you will always be...you." My shaky finger poked his leg. Even just that bit of contact gave me the heebie-jeebies, and my over-heated body shook.

Kenneth crouched in front of me and his man bits spilled out. Granted, he didn't have much to spill, but still...

"Gross," I muttered and frowned at his exposed self. That was not something these eyes ever needed to see again. "I need you out of my space," I told him and thumped his shoulder. It was just enough to send the tiny weakling ass-over-tea-kettle backwards onto the bathroom floor. What a pathetic loser. A real man wouldn't have budged. A real man wouldn't let TV shows and video games be more important than his wife. A real man wouldn't spend so much on a car that we had to eat ramen noodles and mac and cheese most nights.

A real man wouldn't have been inside my cousin, having the time of his life.

What the hell was wrong with me?