Those are my fucking tits and she is my fucking girl. It doesn’t matter to my mind that it has been well over a decade since I was able to enjoy them; someone else touched what was mine. If I hadn’t thought she would take off and run again, I would have killed that little shit.
All week I have thought about her. She has been a constant stress that I don’t need when I am trying to get everything in my life in order. Greg and I have been busy enough with all the legal paperwork and issues that keep popping up with the new company. Plus meetings and moving into the office space, then briefings with him and the boys, and consultations with new clients. I don’t have time to be strolling down memory lane.
It wasn’t until Wednesday evening that I remembered Greg coming to talk to me about his friend. Iz, with the threat and husband that did not want to let go. Livid, that would be the first thing I felt. I remember thinking, very briefly, when I first saw her, about the connection but it instantly fled when all hell followed our collision. I need more information and I need it yesterday. I don’t know what kind of threat she is under and I don’t even really know much about her marriage. I assumed for so many years that she was happy I was crushed and pissed because I couldn’t bring myself to barge into her life if she was happy.
Even now, craving answers as fiercely as I do, my main focus is figuring out what is happening with this douche bag. The time to get my answers will come, but first we will be talking about this husband of hers.
I waited for her call yesterday; anticipating some bullshit reason why she wouldn’t be able to meet today. I hadn’t expected her to pull some vanishing act and hide all day. I should have. When lunch rolled around today and I still hadn’t heard from her, I set off for her house. When I got there to find it locked tight and no one home, I was pissed.
I called Greg to see if maybe I could gain one fucking supporter in this fight, he said, “Not getting in this, she knows how I feel and she will talk when she’s ready. I don’t agree with this, but I will support her because she’s my girl.” He was not happy when I blew up in his ear. She is not his goddamn girl. It didn’t matter how many times I asked or straight up demanded, he wasn’t telling me where they were. Imagine my shock when I get a call, not even an hour later from Greg, spitting fire and giving up her location. When I arrived and walked into a tattoo parlor of all places, my rage joined his.
Fuck, those tits looked fucking hot, though.
After another five minute drive and sporadic soft sniffles from Izzy and I pull up to the security gate of my house. After entering the code, I pull the truck up my driveway. I feel like I’m looking at the house from a new set of eyes, trying to see how she will view my success. I might be a thirty-one year old man, but even that doesn’t stop me from hoping she sees how far I’ve come; how I have finally taken myself from orphaned and penniless, to this. Part of the plans we had once made together, only this isn’t the one bedroom apartment we had our eyes set on. As much of a douche that it might make me, an even smaller part of me hopes she feels just an ounce of jealousy for how good my life is; how much I was able to accomplish without her in my life.
How laughable the thought. I would have gladly given every single penny to my name away, if it meant I would have had my Izzy with me all these years. But, this Izzy, no. I don’t even know this Izzy.
The house I bought was over the top, I know this, but fuck if I would ever live cramped for space again. I’m sure there are plenty of shrinks that would love to get into my head; plenty of jacked up shit in there. I know why I bought this place and I don’t need anyone to tell me I am making up for my childhood haunts.
We clear the last of the Bradford pears that line my half a mile drive and the house is coming into view. Large and imposing. The deep red bricks almost look black against the night’s sky, the light next to the red double front doors beams bright and cheerful, almost inviting. Again, laughable. The colonial style house is made to be a home, not this farce I have going. The huge front porch looks cozy with the rocking chairs positioned between the large four columns and the flowers look domestic; it is just some huge juxtapose of my life. The outside doesn’t match the inside. The house is just as vacant as I feel right now and I don’t like it at all.
Time to get this over with.
Time to figure out whatever the issue is with her husband and find out what the fuck happened to her.
Izzy is still just gazing out her window, but since we are sitting in my dark garage, my guess is this is her attempt at avoiding me. How the hell she plans on doing that when she is in my damn house and unable to leave without me taking her, is beyond me.
I can feel my temper rising. I’m fighting myself for control, control against my own frustrations, control over the pain that has no place in my heart anymore, and control against my raging hard on that seems to be pointing right at Izzy. I have never had this many issues with controlling the situations around me.
She must feel my eyes on her because she finally turns to me.
“What now?” It’s barely a whisper and if I hadn’t been looking at her I might have missed it.
“Get out of the truck; we talk. Simple as that. It only becomes this giant mess of immature games when you become difficult. So, work with me, because I’m sick of fucking playing games.” I think that is nice enough, until the tears start rolling down her velvety cheeks.
Goddammit.
I climb down from the cab and start making my way around the hood to her side, fully expecting to have to pull her out and throw her over my shoulder. But, surprisingly she is waiting next to the door and is clearly pissed about her long climb down.
“This way.” The welcome is just rolling off my words. I’m sure she can feel the vibes choking her. It’s hard to miss when someone would rather be anywhere than with the person they are with. Hard to tell if I would even be going through all this shit if it wasn’t for Greg and his request to help his friend. My gut tells me that I should just leave her alone, forget about her and the answers I crave. My gut is screaming at me to let it die, pass it over to Locke or Coop and pretend I never looked back into those pale green eyes again.