Two Hearts, One Love
Five
I stared dully out the window. The sun was rising and it really was quite the view. It was lost on me, though. All I could think about was how I was ten stories in the air. A fall from this height would definitely do the job, with or without a good Samaritan. Bitterness filled me and I glared at the door. My anger for Ian Parker rekindled.
Who was he to judge me? Who was he to force me in a room like a prisoner? Who was he to-?
The door opened. It was the older woman, his mother. It took a minute but I remembered her name was Marie. She was holding a bowl of something and, despite my best efforts, my stomach growled audibly. She shut the door and pressed a button that locked the door. I scowled at her. She raised a brow at my uneaten sandwich.
“So, here’s the deal,” she said and I turned away to keep watching the wretched sunrise. “You can eat this oatmeal willingly, or I can force it on you.”
I scoffed. “Good luck with that.”
She stood in front of me. She was standing in a defensive stance and I realized she was being serious. Wanting to spare whatever dignity I had left, I snatched the bowl from her. She didn’t move until I was done and I thrust the empty bowl at her. I hoped she would leave but she didn’t.
“What do you want?” I snapped.
“Twenty-seven years ago I was pregnant,” she said and I laughed.
“Spare me any inspirational stories,” I said. “I know your history. Your husband left you, you worked hard and were successful, then your pretty son was discovered and now you’re living happily ever after.”
I had hoped to offend her. I hadn’t.
“But what most people don’t know is when my ex-husband tried to kidnap his son.”
I looked at her in shock. Her face was impassive.
“Ian doesn’t remember it,” she continued and put the bowl down beside the sandwich. She leaned against the wall, facing me. “He was maybe two at the time. I was living in this stupid rundown hotel, trying to get some work done. Ian had colic, the poor dear.” I swallowed thickly. “The hotel didn’t have very good security. The doors didn’t even lock. At about two in the morning, a very drunk and high man beat my door down. It was my ex and he was determined to take Ian. He wanted to cash in on any child support I would be forced to pay.”
“What happened?” I asked, my voice a whisper, when she stopped.
“I fought him,” she answered, her voice low as well. “I wasn’t a match for him if he was sober, so I was lucky. When he was unconscious, I took Ian and ran. That’s why Ian’s father hasn’t come to see him. He didn’t know where we were. By the time I got famous, I had several restraining orders and there were warrants out for his arrest. I imagine he’s still in jail and will stay there for a while.”
“Why are you telling me all of this?”
She sat beside me and I inched away.
“Because I know a mother when I see one,” she whispered and I shut my eyes. “What happened, Celeste?”
I gulped. “Miscarriage,” I managed and she put a hand on my arm. “No one knows why. My boyfriend wanted to marry me when he found out I was pregnant. We were going to have a great big wedding and he was already painting the baby’s room. Then the baby died. He said it was all my fault, that I failed him, the baby, and God. He called me a murderer, whore, slut, you name it and he called me it.”
“You’re not a murderer, Celeste.”
For some reason, I got angry again and shoved her hand off of me.
“Let me out,” I said. “I don’t want to be here anymore. You’re holding me against my will!”
“Ian wants to help you.”
“But why? He doesn’t even know me!”
“He’s always been a kind man. I think this is his way for making up for what happened to me.”
“If I want to kill myself, that’s my own business.”
She shook her head. “No. Now that I know what happened, I can’t let you do it, either.”
I jumped to my feet. “It’s not your decision! It’s mine! If your ex had managed to steal Ian and kill him, what would you have done!?” She sighed. “Well!? What would you have done!?”
“Want him dead,” she admitted.
“Exactly! I killed my baby! I deserve to die!”
“Celeste-.”
“LET ME OUT!”
Before I knew it, I was in a rage. I threw everything in the room: lamps, nightstand, dishes, the chair, all the bed clothes. Nothing was spared from my rage. The whole time Marie stood by the door, her face full of pity. It only fueled my anger more and I eventually flopped on the floor in exhaustion. I was sobbing so hard my throat was raw and I was starting to lose consciousness. I could see Marie kneel in front of me.
“The pain will go away,” she said as I swayed on the floor. She steadied me. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
“I can do it on my own,” I slurred but I nearly fell over when I was on my feet.
She got me in and retrieved the blanket from the floor. I turned away from her as she tucked me in.
“You get some rest,” she said. “I’ll be back in with dinner.”
“I don’t want it.”
As I suspected, she ignored me.
Who was he to judge me? Who was he to force me in a room like a prisoner? Who was he to-?
The door opened. It was the older woman, his mother. It took a minute but I remembered her name was Marie. She was holding a bowl of something and, despite my best efforts, my stomach growled audibly. She shut the door and pressed a button that locked the door. I scowled at her. She raised a brow at my uneaten sandwich.
“So, here’s the deal,” she said and I turned away to keep watching the wretched sunrise. “You can eat this oatmeal willingly, or I can force it on you.”
I scoffed. “Good luck with that.”
She stood in front of me. She was standing in a defensive stance and I realized she was being serious. Wanting to spare whatever dignity I had left, I snatched the bowl from her. She didn’t move until I was done and I thrust the empty bowl at her. I hoped she would leave but she didn’t.
“What do you want?” I snapped.
“Twenty-seven years ago I was pregnant,” she said and I laughed.
“Spare me any inspirational stories,” I said. “I know your history. Your husband left you, you worked hard and were successful, then your pretty son was discovered and now you’re living happily ever after.”
I had hoped to offend her. I hadn’t.
“But what most people don’t know is when my ex-husband tried to kidnap his son.”
I looked at her in shock. Her face was impassive.
“Ian doesn’t remember it,” she continued and put the bowl down beside the sandwich. She leaned against the wall, facing me. “He was maybe two at the time. I was living in this stupid rundown hotel, trying to get some work done. Ian had colic, the poor dear.” I swallowed thickly. “The hotel didn’t have very good security. The doors didn’t even lock. At about two in the morning, a very drunk and high man beat my door down. It was my ex and he was determined to take Ian. He wanted to cash in on any child support I would be forced to pay.”
“What happened?” I asked, my voice a whisper, when she stopped.
“I fought him,” she answered, her voice low as well. “I wasn’t a match for him if he was sober, so I was lucky. When he was unconscious, I took Ian and ran. That’s why Ian’s father hasn’t come to see him. He didn’t know where we were. By the time I got famous, I had several restraining orders and there were warrants out for his arrest. I imagine he’s still in jail and will stay there for a while.”
“Why are you telling me all of this?”
She sat beside me and I inched away.
“Because I know a mother when I see one,” she whispered and I shut my eyes. “What happened, Celeste?”
I gulped. “Miscarriage,” I managed and she put a hand on my arm. “No one knows why. My boyfriend wanted to marry me when he found out I was pregnant. We were going to have a great big wedding and he was already painting the baby’s room. Then the baby died. He said it was all my fault, that I failed him, the baby, and God. He called me a murderer, whore, slut, you name it and he called me it.”
“You’re not a murderer, Celeste.”
For some reason, I got angry again and shoved her hand off of me.
“Let me out,” I said. “I don’t want to be here anymore. You’re holding me against my will!”
“Ian wants to help you.”
“But why? He doesn’t even know me!”
“He’s always been a kind man. I think this is his way for making up for what happened to me.”
“If I want to kill myself, that’s my own business.”
She shook her head. “No. Now that I know what happened, I can’t let you do it, either.”
I jumped to my feet. “It’s not your decision! It’s mine! If your ex had managed to steal Ian and kill him, what would you have done!?” She sighed. “Well!? What would you have done!?”
“Want him dead,” she admitted.
“Exactly! I killed my baby! I deserve to die!”
“Celeste-.”
“LET ME OUT!”
Before I knew it, I was in a rage. I threw everything in the room: lamps, nightstand, dishes, the chair, all the bed clothes. Nothing was spared from my rage. The whole time Marie stood by the door, her face full of pity. It only fueled my anger more and I eventually flopped on the floor in exhaustion. I was sobbing so hard my throat was raw and I was starting to lose consciousness. I could see Marie kneel in front of me.
“The pain will go away,” she said as I swayed on the floor. She steadied me. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
“I can do it on my own,” I slurred but I nearly fell over when I was on my feet.
She got me in and retrieved the blanket from the floor. I turned away from her as she tucked me in.
“You get some rest,” she said. “I’ll be back in with dinner.”
“I don’t want it.”
As I suspected, she ignored me.