This story was previously posted on this site. The text below has been re-edited.
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"You're a heartless bitch," he shouted as he stuffed his male parts into the jeans he had just snatched on over his legs. He yanked the fly closed and grabbed his T-shirt off the floor. Cramming his arms into the sleeves, he yanked it over his head, dragging it down to cover his torso. "They're right about you. You're the queen of glaciers." He dropped into a chair and pulled his shoes onto his feet without bothering to lace them. Picking up his socks, he stood and jammed them into his pocket, then raked his fingers through his hair and continued his rant. "
You're unbelievable!
For three months I've danced around trying to get inside that frigid heart of yours.
What a waste of time!
" He stomped down the hall. The front door opened and he yelled, "
Heartless bitch!
" Then he was gone.
That's me, the heartless bitch. I wasn't always that way. Once I was sweet and silly and full of life. I had a young girl's idealism and a young girl's ability to love, but I'm not a young girl anymore. Things happen that can change a person forever; things that can destroy all that is human in a personality, leaving behind a cold, heartless bitch.
The guy's name is Clayton and he is just another in a long line of men who found nothing but disappointment and discouragement in me. Poor Clayton had shown so much patience in trying to woo me and discovered what all the others had. I have no capacity for love.
Is it so much to ask that a man just give me what I need and not expect more than that in return? We made love. That should have been enough but he had to throw emotion into the mix. He wants to order the invitations and plan our future together when all I wanted was sex; thus his hasty departure in the middle of a rainy night. I knew that I would never see him again. At that point I decided that I would never allow anymore men into my life.
Memories of the past often come back to haunt me, usually when a moment like this occurs. How I hate those memories. Loss of trust to deception and betrayal can be detrimental to the female soul. Some of us never quite fully recover. And some of us never recover at all.
There was once someone that I loved, someone that meant the world to me. I was quite young when Billy and I met. We were in grade school when his family moved in next door. We soon struck up a fun association that developed into a real friendship by junior high. He was my escape from the endless hours of walking on eggshells when my father was in one of his moods. Those moods usually ended in beatings.
Billy was kind to me and helped me to forget the horrors of my home life. It was in my pre-teen years that my father put me in the hospital. Billy visited me every day. After several weeks I arrived home to find that my father had moved out. My mother was sad and cried every night and I knew that it was my fault he left and she was alone.
Billy helped me to deal with my guilt. I couldn't imagine my life without him. As time moved on our friendship became romance within the confines of our teenage lives and we planned to be together always.
He was a year older and went away to the University of Illinois my senior year. It's where I had planned to join him after my own graduation. It was just two hours away and many of my classmates would also be attending. I missed him so terribly when he was gone and when he came home for visits we spent every moment together.
That spring of his first year I decided to surprise him on my eighteenth birthday with a visit. I suppose I should have called him first. That way he would have had time to get all those people out of his apartment. As it was I walked smack into the middle of a sex party. There must have been at least twenty people there, all naked and screwing. I finally located him only to see he had two women on top of him. When he saw me he laughed insanely and kissed the girl nearest his mouth. I have never trusted anyone, including myself, since then.
Men have come and gone but none of them had been able to penetrate that veneer that I had so carefully constructed over the years. I could not seem to let down my guard with any of them. Perhaps I just hadn't met anyone that I wanted to let get close to me. Or perhaps I was incapable of ever giving anyone that part of myself again. Whatever the case, one man decided that he wanted in, no matter the cost. His name is Devlin Jeffreys and he went after me with a determination that I had never before encountered.
I met him quite by accident—literally. I was walking up the stairs of an apartment building, intending to visit a friend. She had been my best friend since our college days and I wanted to tell her about an opportunity that was offered to me at work. It would mean a transfer to the West Coast and I needed her advice. As I reached for the door that led to her floor it opened suddenly, bouncing off my cranium. When I came to he was standing over me, telling me not to move. I did as I was told, not because the eyes that were looking at me were filled with concern, but because they were the most beautiful and expressive eyes I had ever seen.
He was dabbing at my forehead with a piece of white cloth stained with blood and telling me how sorry he was for not being more careful. A part of me was angry at him for hitting me with the door, but the rest of me just wanted to hear his very deep, masculine voice speaking in that soothing tone. It was mesmerizing. I had to get hold of myself and remind myself that he was just another man.
I pushed his hand away, sat up and was struck by a wave of dizziness. He grabbed my shoulders to steady me. "You should lie back down. An ambulance is on the way."
I was embarrassed and hated to show any weakness. When I tried to stand he blocked me. Then my self-sustaining anger came into play. "Get off me. I don't need any help."
He released me and I pulled myself to my feet, putting my hand on the wall to stop the floor from hitting me again. That's when I saw Sara, my friend. She was reaching for me. I took her hand and she helped me to her apartment. After I sat down I was startled to see that this man had followed us.
"This is my cousin," she said. "Devlin, this is my friend, Amelia. The one I was telling you about. Melia, are you ok?"
"Aside from feeling like I've been hit by a train, yeah, I'm ok."
Tact was never my strong suit. Devlin looked mortified. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bag of ice in his hand. "Here," he said, handing it to me. "Put this on your head."
We all heard the ambulance siren at the same time. Sara went to the lobby to meet them, scoffing at me when I told her to send them away. Devlin knelt in front of me and looked as if he wanted to crawl in a hole.
"Stop hovering," I told him. "I'm fine. I've been hit in the head harder than this before."
"Maybe," he said, "but not by me. I feel like shit."
"Don't beat yourself up. I'll live."
He touched my face. He was looking at the bump on my head with deep concern and it was at that moment I noticed just how handsome he was. He had thick, dark hair that curled just enough at the ends; deep, hazel-green eyes; a strong nose and full lips. I let my eyes travel over the rest of him and saw that he had a well-defined, athletic frame. When he looked me in the eye again I was grinning at him.
"What's so funny?" he asked with a smile of his own.
"Nothing much."
His smile widened. "Go ahead; I could use a good laugh right now."
"I was just thinking about my bad luck."
"Bad luck? Oh you mean getting knocked out."
"No, I was thinking how it's just my luck to meet a good-looking guy like you and have an ugly, bleeding goose-egg on my head. I'm not exactly looking my best."
"I think you're gorgeous." His statement caught me by surprise. His startling gaze was boring into me. His expression, though sincere, held a peculiar quality to it, as if he was looking at a long lost friend.
