Rug Burns (Reviving Haven Book 2) Page 6

  I looked forward to the afternoon where I got to hear all the juicy details. She’d better have gotten laid. If spending the night with Eric was just a sleepover, Haven and I were going to have a serious talk. Somehow, I was going to modify this girl’s behavior. Okay, so it would be more along the lines of corruption. What are friends for?

  When she woke up, we did have a sit-down. It was more of me sitting down and her pacing. Yes, she had sex. Sound the trumpets. Cue the parade. But she appeared less than thrilled. Eric had wanted to do it bareback, and even though Haven had been on the pill since fifteen due to female problems, she’d said no. A fight proceeded, then the customary make-up sex. She’d not confessed to him he was her first. I think her disappointment had been major. She never spoke about the specifics, but I sensed her disillusionment. I blamed those romance books for her high expectations. I tried to tell her once. Those stories were written by women. Female authors who hadn’t been laid since the dawn of time. It was all wishful thinking.

  6

  Right before I turned twenty, all hell broke loose. Frankly, it would have been nice to just skip that age altogether. That fucking year would be life altering. It would end up taking a toll on my spirit and feelings. I had total control over my body, but my emotions—that was another thing. One spring day, I noticed people weren’t talking to me. They were whispering a lot. I was being shunned. Oh my God, we were in California, not Pennsylvania. I had no idea what the hell was going on.

  Haven found me that afternoon.

  “Weezie, Jesus, have you heard?” she exclaimed as she dragged me into the restroom.

  “Um, that would be negative since no one is talking to me. It’s the weirdest fucking thing. Did you watch that documentary last night on the Amish? It’s like that. Those fuckers are shunning me.”

  Haven stalled at the sink. She was washing her hands over and over.

  “Out with it. You know something. Spill.”

  “Joey Miles.”

  I hadn’t really talked about Joey or seen him in seven months. We weren’t even on each other’s radar. How could all this silence be because of him? “Okay, what did you hear?”

  “I’m not comfortable telling you this. It would hurt me so bad, and I don’t want to be the one to cause you pain.”

  “Haven, spit it out. No one else is speaking to me. It’s like high school all over again. Just tell me.”

  Haven tilted her head toward mine. “He got something. I’m not sure. Everyone’s saying something different; you know how rumors spread. I think he has some kind of venereal disease.”

  I was pissed and I could feel my face get hot. “Well, that motherfucker didn’t get it from me. We haven’t even been together for months, and he used a condom. Jesus, that asshole is a piece of work. Why me?”

  “For some reason, he doesn’t want to say who really gave it to him. Weezie, the guy is a scumbag. I think you could sue him for defamation.”

  Haven was serious. Oh, that court trial would be interesting. I could publically describe losing my cherry to that douche. Then there could be witnesses about me sucking their cock. I would be branded a whore and most likely burned at the stake. “No thanks, I think I’ll skip an attorney. Sounds like fun, but no. Hell no. Of course, you may have to get me a lawyer regardless after I pay a visit to Mr. STD, that piece of worthless, lying shit. Bring me a file in a dildo cake when I’m on death row for fucking murder one, would you?”

  Joey and I hadn’t been on the best of terms when he left that night, but how could he justify doing this to me? Was I an easy target? Currently, I was on the no fly list… which translated to the no cock list.

  Fuck, fuckety, fuck. I felt sad, angry, and betrayed. I’d never been one to bare my emotions. Just as Haven wore hers on her sleeve, I kept mine safely tucked away. My love life was hitting the skids, and I was just about to turn twenty.

  The silent treatment lasted about twelve days. I spent those quiet moments coming to class wearing ultra-provocative clothing, consuming tons of bananas in public, and using lip balm or gloss every chance I got. Nothing said do you miss me and my provocative mouth like moisturized lips. Frankly, it served them right. I should just blow them off… so to speak. When they finally broke their silence, I knew I was going to be busy for a long while.

  I cornered Joey at a frat party one night and basically read him the riot act. I made sure everyone heard what a useless excuse he was for a man and how he lied about everything. I might have thrown in that he had a needle dick and his bedding skills were vastly overrated. He profusely apologized, and as unbelievable as it seemed, he tried to get in my pants that night. I made it clear to him that I wouldn’t fuck him with someone else’s dick. I was pissed. There were other men that had left an impact sex-wise, and he wasn’t one of them. I guess he never got the memo.

  A couple months later, my life changed forever. I held the letter in my hand. Frozen in time. Emotionless. Empty. Pleading with myself to cry but being unable to shed one tear. The dean had notified Haven. She’d come home to find me sitting in a chair, unmoving, barely breathing. She pried the letter out of my hands and read. She broke down several times, clearly crying for both of us. It was as though I was able to share my anguish through her. She kneeled in front of me. I heard her whisper my name. But for the life of me, I was unable to respond.

  I would not cry. Emotional outbursts were a sign of weakness. I’d always been strong. Besides, Haven had us both covered. We shared everything. I was so lucky to have her in my life.

  I felt her grasp my shoulder. “I’m so very sorry, Weezie,” she said softly.

  I was mute. Any response I had was stuck at the base of my throat. It was so tight I struggled for air. Was this a panic attack? Did I feel panicked? No. I felt decimated. The one thing I could count on always, gone. Expired. The letter was refined. It read both my parents were deceased when in reality they were dead. You could prettify the word, but it still meant dead, as in doornail. The attorney hadn’t wanted to call me. He thought a letter would be less devastating.

  My hands were shaking as I read it. Their yacht had gone down. They’d recovered my parents’ bodies and three of the crew. My mind began to assemble thoughts of their last moments, drowning. Did they know? Did they think of me during their final minutes? Did it go quickly? Did they suffer? At least they had been together.

  Inside, I was screaming. This was not happening. I was only twenty. They were supposed to be around for—what? I never planned to get married or have kids. They would have been witness to me becoming a success in business and a disaster in everything else. According to them, a life was only valued and fulfilling if you had a husband and family. I would have greatly failed them. Even though I was content with my life, I would have been a disappointment according to my parents.

  Their objections regarding my life choices would have been noted. They would have constantly reminded me of my shortcomings when it came to my less than prolific life. I could never have been what they expected me to be. My mom had once told me I was a free spirit, and she’d been right. I’m positive they wanted more for me than one-night stands and bragging rights in fellatio. Of course, they didn’t know about my nocturnal activities or my future goals. I always told them what I presumed they wanted to hear. They died thinking I was the consummate daughter. The one who would end up marrying the perfect man and give them grandchildren to dote on in their old age.

  “Please say something, Weezie. I’m so worried about you. I want to help. Let me be there for you.”

  I struggled to put breath and words together. “I’m just glad you’re with me. Can you take off classes for a week? I want you to come home with me. I need you to help me through the funeral.”

  “Of course. I’ll contact my professors now. I’ll let the office know what our plans are so they’ll be aware we’ll both be gone. They have bereavement leave,” she said as her eyes filled with tears again. “Weezie, it’s normal to cry. You don’t always have to be so damn
tough. You’ll feel better.”

  I stood and swallowed, pushing down the anguish and loss I felt. Losing it would accomplish nothing. There were things to take care of, decisions that had to be made. Businesses and property that needed to be dispersed and handled. I was the only family member left to do it. I straightened the hem of my blouse and patted the wrinkles out of my skirt. “I’ll book us a flight on the redeye for tonight. Pack for a week,” I said as I headed toward my room.

  The week surrounding the funeral and the reading of the will was frantic. Haven made many calls to my parents’ close friends, and the housekeeper Ena made all the others. I found out I really didn’t have to do anything but oversee. My parents had arranged everything years ago. As in the way they had lived their lives, everything had to be orderly and precise. They had covered the funeral, the will, my trust, and put all other holdings in charity foundations. I was to inherit a shitload of money ten months early.

  I played the stoic daughter well. I had no other choice. Grief immersed itself inside me, seeping into every pore. I had to be strong for me. If I allowed myself to feel any weakness, I would crumble, and I wasn’t sure if I would ever recover. It was in everyone’s best interests to push these emotions deep and bury them along with my parents.

  After the funeral, we had a houseful of arrogant-ass people. I’m surprised they didn’t start carting off the antiques. I didn’t care. They could take it all.

  I would no longer be getting a stipend. Within four to six weeks, my inheritance would kick in. My mind reeled with the amount. I could leave school and buy a real estate company. Hell, I could buy a state probably. But that wasn’t me. I wanted to work. If for no one else, I wanted to prove I was savvy enough to learn everything I needed in order to maintain my own company. People needed to know I had a head for business. Not just for giving head.

  Once we got back to school, things mellowed out. Haven and I really didn’t talk about my parents. She never asked about my inheritance either. The only thing I purchased was a car; neither of us had wheels before. It wasn’t a necessity since we rarely left campus. But with barely a year left in college, we would eventually require one. Haven hadn’t decided if she planned to stay in California or go elsewhere. I already had my sights set on upper-scale neighborhoods in Los Angeles. In order to know my real estate clients, I needed to know their prerequisites. Basically I had to become them. I hoped my bestie would be part of my journey.

  Life got back to somewhat normal. Except for the part where I was an orphan now. They didn’t have a specific name for an adult child losing her parents, so I considered myself parentless or an orphan. I spent weeks listening to condolences from many people I didn’t even know. No one knew what to say except they were sorry. Yeah, well, weren’t we all? I found some solace in the company of men I hardly knew, performing deeds I enjoyed but shouldn’t be doing. Not at a time like this. But truly, sex was the only way I could escape the deep emptiness inside. I’m sure many thought I was heartless, and I had to agree. The place in my chest that used to house that organ was gone. I’m sure it died with my mom and dad.

  Once we graduated, I purchased the single least expensive condo in the Hollywood hills. I never discussed my finances with Haven. I kept to myself the fact that I was filthy rich and set for life. She would have perished if I told her the residence cost me a million five, which wasn’t bad for a home in that area. My own place. Now I was an actual homeowner.

  I’d taken the real estate test and gotten my license. My end goal was to purchase my own company, but for now, I was finally working at an agency, learning the ropes, and I’d already sold one home. I was good. Really exceptional—especially with the men. I was the only woman in this current agency and quite happy about that. When I wasn’t working, I was “playing.” The more I gave, the more I got. At least listing wise.

  Haven had gotten an unpaid internship at a small publishing house. I never understood doing all that labor free, but her parents kicked in money every month. Her income didn’t matter to me, but she wanted to pull her own weight.

  I lied. Through my fucking teeth. She thought we were renting. So I took her generous seven hundred dollars a month and put it in a savings account—for her. I hoped when she needed it, the money would be there to help her. She wasn’t like me, though. I was a free and wild spirit. I have no doubt my parents thought it was adorable at sixteen. But even now, I could sense their disapproval.

  I enjoyed my job, but I also loved the Hollywood nightlife. I was familiar with the best clubs and the highest profile men. While I appreciated all men, it was a major adrenaline rush to be noticed by someone famous. I gravitated toward the rich executives, but I wasn’t immune to the charms of a rock star here and there. My little black book was turning into the Britannia encyclopedia.

  While I was having a wicked life, Haven became a workaholic. We both had goals. Mine included blowing the cream of the crop, and Haven’s were up for discussion.

  Everything was perfect until the night she came home and told me she was in love.

  7

  His name was Jared Stanton. He’d come into her tiny publishing house for a luncheon. Actually, from what she described, it was more like a buyout. He owned Stanton Publishing, one of the biggest companies on the West Coast. Obviously, he wanted to absorb all the smaller houses. It was an easy way to get rid of any future competition. I might have given tons of head, but I indeed did have my own head when it came to certain business practices. And I knew without a doubt what was taking place.

  He set his sights not only on the small publishing house, but on my best friend. I knew the minute I met him he was a prick. Seven years older than her, and he’d been around. I could smell a womanizer. Personally, it was a characteristic I admired, but not in the man my BFF was head over heels in love with. The minute his eyes met mine, I saw a challenge. I should have called him out that first night for the pig he was, but I let it slide. I never saw Haven as happy as she was at that moment, and I didn’t want to be the one who threw a wrench into her nirvana.

  The air between Jared and me was always thick with animosity. I knew he would hurt her, and he thought I would defile her with my lifestyle. He’d actually profiled me. At one point, I swore he attempted his version of seduction—with me. I would never blow him, even if he were the last prick on the planet. He pretended to be cultured and seasoned—an expert in all and a master of nothing. God, I loathed him.

  I hated the fact that I wasn’t able to save her from him. It still makes me retch when I think of what she went through. She never confessed everything, but I knew. And the verdict was in. He should die or at least be hung by his tiny nuts on pay-per-view.

  Haven was ecstatic when she told me he’d asked her to move in. She knew my opinion of Jared. I never came right out and said he was trash, but she knew I hated him. I think, in her mind, she pretended it was jealousy. Haven was so blinded by what she assumed was love, but I knew he would end up destroying her.

  It took five years. He literally took everything from her. Her body and mind. The fucker even took her soul. I’d spent the prior two years considering a revolving door in my condo. They would fight. They would make up. I watched as she became someone I no longer knew. She was a puppet, and Jared was the puppet master.

  After tales of his whoring surfaced and the promise of marriage was pushed back time after time, Haven was done. She’d spent years living in hell while I pursued everything with a cock. We never lived far apart, so I was her constant ally. I begged her to move back in with me all those years ago, but she always said no.

  She didn’t want to give up on her first love. It felt like failure to her. In my mind, she should treat it as a learning experience. Get over it and go to the next one. Of course, I never said that.

  Jared had molded her into the image that suited him, but the one thing he couldn’t control was Haven’s lack of sexuality. Oh, and he couldn’t control me. We had a war of words for days following her departur
e from his home. He’s lucky I wasn’t into chicks, because filleting him with a knife was tempting. Surrounded by pussy in a women’s prison, not so much.

  My bestie was gone. Not only mentally, but everything that had made her Haven disappeared. She was too thin, too blond, too tanned… He’d created a Stepford Wife version of my girl, and I hated it. She stayed with me for two weeks, then went home to Colorado. As much as I didn’t want her moving away, she needed her parents and probably therapy. I couldn’t give her the kind of help she required. She was shattered. He’d stolen Haven’s self-worth and left her emotionally battered.

  I gave her fourteen months to get her shit together. Then I went out to visit. It was fucking cold in Colorado. In more than one way. Haven was still a mess. Although, now she was a quiet mess. She’d been seeing a therapist. But was still locked up tight. Her descriptions of what happened had been carefully edited. She refused to let anyone in. I spent nine days, eleven hours, and twenty-one minutes coming up with valid reasons she should come home. Regardless of what had occurred, living in Los Angles with me was home for both of us.

  She finally relented, and I promised her parents Haven would continue therapy in L.A. I absolutely knew that was a must. Jared had done something terrible to her. I felt like a stranger when we spoke. The flight back to California was solemn and silent—two things I didn’t handle well. So I drank my way to exuberance all the way home.

  There were times I truly felt I shouldn’t have forced her to come back here. She was obviously unhappy and kept to herself. Maintaining our relationship was fatiguing. Depression ruled her, and her behavior didn’t quite resemble anything close to normal. Even though I had a roommate, most of time, I felt like I was living alone. I found her a good shrink, and once they put her on medication, she began to respond to her surroundings.

  I wanted to do something for her, something that would give her a reason to get out of bed every morning. I found a bookstore for sale through my real estate listings. I made the down payment, and she paid rent to the holding company. Okay, so that holding company was actually me. I added those payments to the condo rent she paid. By the time she found out the truth, she would have a nice nest egg of her own to do whatever she wanted.