Rewired (The Progress Series) Read online

  Charlie lay perfectly still with her eyes closed and tried to fall asleep.

  Part II

  Samuel

  Chapter One

  A week earlier…

  “Again, Sam! And this time, focus!”

  Grinding his teeth, Sam wiped the sweat from his brow and took his position again on the mat. He cracked his neck from side to side and took a deep breath.

  Bowing to Sifu Yang, he attempted to regain his focus, but wasn’t successful in burying his thoughts about Charlie.

  What a bitch. Of all the goddamned motherfucking all-time lows for a woman to pull. I ask her to marry me and she sleeps with the first guy she can get her sleazy little hands on.

  Overcome with rage, Sam began sparring with Yang; but the fluidity of Sam’s movements had vanished, replaced with frigidity, anger, and fear. The force he had charged Yang with was instantly used against him as Yang’s palm hit Sam’s chest, simultaneously sweeping his leg and crushing Sam down to the mat.

  “Who do you think you are? Bruce Lee? Don’t bring that energy into my house!” Yang offered up a hand to help Sam. He stood to catch his breath and looked toward the rafters nestled in the ceiling.

  “Samuel?”

  “I know, I know,” Sam said, slinging his arm across his chest to work his shoulder tension.

  “I can see that your absence for the past two months hasn’t done well for your concentration. However, your endurance and speed has tripled.” Yang raised his brow. “Is it really that bad?”

  Sam clenched his jaw and sniffed, wiping his forehead with his arm.

  “I’ve known you for over a decade, Sam. And I’ve never seen you like this before.” Yang put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go work it out on the bag? I just don’t think it’s wise for us to fight right now.” Yang laughed and continued, “Even though I’d love to kick your ass.”

  Sam walked swiftly toward the mirrored wall and snatched up his bag. He retreated to the showers and let the hot water pour down his back. Uncharacteristically, it had been two days since he had showered; he’d been trying to keep the warmth away and wanted all things cold, to keep him as numb as possible. With his hands resting against the shower wall, he dipped his head back and forth under the hot stream.

  I have absolutely no idea what to do. I have so many questions, but I can’t bring myself to see her yet. Nothing about her behavior makes any sense; this isn’t like her at all. First cheating, then leaving me in the parking lot? Where the hell did she go? And she started smoking again? Is she really that scared of commitment? Is she really that scared of me?

  I wish I had never gone to New York. Everything is fucked.

  After his shower, Sam quickly dried himself and threw on his gray sweatpants and black hoodie. He walked out through the gym, keeping his head down in order to avoid anyone sparking random conversation. His swift departure caught Yang’s eye and Yang jogged over to catch up with him.

  “Hey, Sam, wait.”

  Sam stopped before he reached the door but didn’t turn around.

  “Face me, Sam. I’m still your Sifu,” Yang demanded.

  Reluctantly, Sam turned and stood without dignity.

  Noticing a tear, Yang looked to the floor, respecting Sam’s grief. He bowed and allowed his student to walk through the door.

  *

  Sam woke the next morning, but remained in his bed concentrating on the rhythm of his breathing and listening to his heartbeat echo with every pound through his ears.

  Get up, Sam. It’s been a week since she left you in the parking lot. You have work to do. Stop trying to make sense of it all and get your shit together.

  His phone sounded the familiar tone. No matter how many times he had heard Charlie’s signature text alert over the past week, it never dulled the misery—it was like someone twisted a sword through his gut with every syllable in the chorus of Summer Breeze.

  I really gotta change that ringtone.

  He retrieved his phone from his nightstand and read the message.

  I still don’t expect you to forgive me. That time has come and gone. But please give me a chance to explain.

  Not good enough, Charlie.

  Sam didn’t return her text. He hadn’t made contact with her since she deserted him at her award ceremony. Trying not to care, he made every effort to keep everything in perspective. Leaving him in a parking lot was nothing compared to what she had done the week prior. He could forgive her for leaving him stranded, but was still considering whether or not he could begin to forgive her for everything else.

  He sat at the edge of his bed, raking his hands through his hair. Looking around the unfamiliar room, his eye fixed on Charlie’s coat draped across the back of a chair. He exhaled, rubbed his face, and stood up. He managed a shower, but didn’t shave and refused to eat.

  Sam was living with Gabe temporarily, and had to endure late nights filled with screaming orgasms from the bedroom next to his. But Gabe had been out last night, so Sam was able to get a good night’s rest.

  “Hey, you alone?” Gabe asked, knocking on Sam’s door.

  Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he said as Gabe hesitantly peeked in. “Did you think I’d have someone in here with me?”

  “I was hopeful,” Gabe said with a shrug. His stubble was shadowing his square jaw, but his face gleamed. “Still haven’t talked to—”

  “Don’t fucking say her name.”

  Gabe nodded and muttered, “Guess that’s a no.”

  Sam shot him a look.

  Turning toward the door, Gabe stopped. “Oh, I bought some donuts this morning at the grocery store. And I ran into your mom. She wants you to call her—she’s worried.”

  Just as he was about to leave, he turned back once more. “Can I ask you a question?”

  Sam’s gaze shifted downward with his brow pinched and he lay back on his bed.

  “What did she do?”

  At the sound of the question, Sam tipped his head back forcefully onto the pillow and rubbed his face again. “What the fuck do you think she did?” His hands flew up. “What would be so severe that I would choose to live with you over being with her?”

  “Jesus.” Gabe scratched his jaw in thought. “With who? I mean, how do you know?”

  “I just know. She’s probably with him right now too. She keeps sending me cryptic messages; not saying how she wants to get back together, but that she wants to explain.” Sam threw his phone at Gabe. “Take a look, there’s like a half dozen of them in the past few days.”

  Gabe scrolled through Sam’s messages. He read the one from earlier that day and then scrolled down until he had seen enough.

  I never meant to hurt you. Sent May 4

  Please talk to me. Send me a message. Anything. Just a number or a letter so I know you’re getting these. Sent May 4

  It’s not what you think. I know that doesn’t explain anything, and it doesn’t excuse what I’ve done. But I need you to know. I need you to understand. Sent May 3

  I love you and I’m sorry. Sent May 2

  I’m so sorry I bailed. I have a few things I need to take care of and I need time to think. I don’t expect you to forgive me when I can’t begin to forgive myself. I just need some time. Sent May 2

  “Oh, man. She’s stalking you!”

  Sam rose from the bed and snapped the phone from Gabe. “She is not stalking me.” I guess I won’t tell him how many times she’s tried to actually call.

  Gabe threw his hands up, not sure where Sam’s anger was coming from. “Wow. Now you’re defending her. Seems a little fucked up to me, man. Don’t get me wrong, I like Charlie and all, but if she’s fucking around on you…”

  “This isn’t like her. That’s why I’m so messed up. Nothing about this makes any sense, including the fact that I’m still hung up on her.” Sam looked down, fiddling with his phone. “I know it’s only been a few weeks, but when Tammy cheated I didn’t really care. I mean, I did, but not like this. With Tammy I was
annoyed, angry. With Ch… Well, now I’m just fucking obliterated.”

  “I can tell. You can’t even bring yourself to say her name,” Gabe mumbled. “Have you tried talking to her?”

  “Hell no. Even thinking about speaking to her takes my adrenaline to scary places. Look, I just need need a few days to figure all of this shit out. My entire future has changed now and I just need to get my mind wrapped around it all.”

  Gabe nodded. “Well, if you wanna talk, you know where to find me.” Gabe reached for the knob. “Oh, and if you wanna hang out on Friday, we can grab a few drinks somewhere,” he said, just before shutting the door behind him.

  Sam sat back down on the bed, his eyes traveling across the room again, finding a strange comfort in staring at Charlie’s lazy coat slung over the chair. Why, Charlie? Why would you do this to us? And should I forgive you? Did you just get scared of a lifetime of commitment with me? No, no, no. I saw your face when I asked you to marry me; you never looked happier. Maybe that’s the problem. She doesn’t think she deserves to be happy. No, that doesn’t sound right, either. Wait, maybe I’m looking at this all wrong. Who is this guy? What kind of pull would he have for you to lose your judgment? Are you still with him? Is that why you’ve been so cryptic with your texts?

  Fuck! I hate not having the answers.

  Chapter Two

  “I know, I know, Mr. Walker. I ran into a speed bump with the progress on your design,” Sam said over the phone.

  “What’s the speed bump?”

  “Well, I’m having issues contacting the person who owns the copyright to that specific stock photo you want to use. There are only so many times I can email the guy…”

  “We have a deadline, Sam,” said Mr. Walker, obviously annoyed.

  “Yes, and in our original meeting in New York you said I had until the ninth. That’s still four days away. It’s not going to be a problem, I can assure you. If nothing else, we can get a photographer to recreate the photo. Just give it until tomorrow.”

  “We’re counting on you, Mr. Bordeaux. I guarantee you, you don’t want to screw this up.”

  “No, sir. I’ll get it done.”

  After hanging up, Sam turned to his computer to check his email. No new messages. He picked up a pencil and began doodling on a sheet of paper. He drew circles, squares, smiley faces, all while ignoring Summer Breeze lightly singing from his phone. He turned his focus back to Charlie’s coat, this time glaring at it, hoping it would burn itself to ashes before him. And hoping his memories of Charlie would do the same.

  I can’t just sit here asking myself the same goddamned questions over and over. She doesn’t do anything without reason. She’s much too smart and calculating for that. None of it makes any sense. God, please…don’t let this be a girl I have to say ‘I used to know.’ I wasn’t ready for this. I trusted her. I believed her. I loved her.

  He stood, swiped the coat from the chair and grabbed his keys.

  “Fuck you. I don’t have anything to say to you,” Sam said aloud on the car ride over to their apartment. “No, there are no excuses. And please stop texting me.” He kept reciting all the responses he could think of to any question she might ask. “I know, I miss you too.” Back and forth, the spectrum of emotions flared—feeling sure he could let her go if he put in his best effort, and then denying something like that would even be possible. His love and infatuation for Charlie stemmed too deep to go without answers. I know she’s home. It’s a Tuesday night; she always stays home. Probably sipping on cocoa in her pajamas. I’ll just pick up the stuff I need for now and get the rest later. I probably shouldn’t even speak to her, not with my unstable mind.

  I just need answers. It’s going to drive me crazy. If I could just sneak into her head… His eyes shifted with a sudden thought.

  Making a mental list of items to retrieve from the apartment, he made sure to note his art supplies, a few books, extra underwear, and sneaking some of Charlie’s journals.

  He slowly approached the front door of the apartment complex. Reaching for the handle, he tugged on the door, trying to steady his breath.

  Arriving at their front door, he paused. Fuck. What if she’s not alone? He shook the keys lightly as a subtle announcement of his presence. Should I knock? He rolled his eyes. What am I saying? This is my apartment too. I’m just so fucking nervous.

  He turned the key and the lock clicked. He glanced in briefly and snapped his head back into the hallway again. Not seeing anything at first, he opened the door and stepped in. He instantly smelled Charlie’s perfume. A wave of pain and heightened awareness rushed through him, making the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

  “Cha…” He coughed and stopped to clear his throat. “Charlie?”

  There was no answer. Dammit. I’m pissed at myself for being disappointed that she’s not here. And, completely relieved.

  In a hurried panic, he retrieved his easel and pencils and started a pile in the entryway. He ran to the closet, where Charlie kept all her old journals, and grabbed a box filled with folders and an assortment of brightly colored spiral binders. Taking a trip out to his car, he filled the trunk with the first load and went back for some clothes. Leaving the apartment door ajar, he ran back to the closet.

  Just as he was setting down a handful of dress shirts and relief was setting in that he had avoided a confrontation, he heard her voice.

  “Hello?” she called out, remaining in the hallway.

  He snapped up, hitting his head on the shelf above the kitchen table. “Ouch.”

  Charlie slapped open the door and her face flushed. “Sam?”

  Rubbing his head, he looked up with bloodshot eyes. “Hey, I…er…I’m just picking up a few things.”

  She ducked her head and began fumbling with her keys. “I—”

  “Where were you just now? It’s Tuesday, I thought you’d be h—” He shook his head. “Sorry, that’s none of my business.” He sighed. “I’m going to go. Sorry I didn’t call first,” he clipped, keeping his eyes down. Oh, a real warrior, Sam. I had a million things I wanted to say to her and all I come up with is… ‘Um, sorry I didn’t call first?’

  I just didn’t realize how hard it would be to look at her.

  “No, that’s fine,” she whispered. “Can I… I mean, how have you been?”

  He gave Charlie a long hard look as his stomach fell. Shaking his head, he softened. “I’m leaving now. I’ll be back in a few days to get the rest of my things.”

  “Wait, Sam. Can we talk?” she pleaded as he walked into the hallway with a bundle of clothes, hanging off their hangers, wedged into the corner of his arm.

  Turning back, he tenderly lifted his hand to cradle her cheek, but never finished the gesture. With her eyes still closed and waiting for his touch, he whispered, “Not now, but when I’m ready, you’ll know.”

  Chapter Three

  Sam couldn’t get back to Gabe’s fast enough. Having blown through three red lights, completely ignoring courtesy for other cars on the road, he screeched into the driveway. He dug out the box of journals from his trunk and carried it up to his room.

  He was more than disappointed to find that the journals were dated from high school. Pulling out each one, he thumbed through their contents. He had hoped to get some insight to her actions over the past few weeks, but these journals weren’t going to tell him anything.

  Taking trips back and forth, Sam gathered the rest of his belongings from his car, passing Gabe, who was making out with an unknown brunette on the couch. He ignored the couple and got to work setting up his easel in his room.

  He carefully taped the edges of a new piece of canvas paper. His homemade charcoal was reserved for certain projects—for the drawings he knew would always be special and portray the heaviest of emotion. He would add watercolor later, but for now he’d work on Charlie’s face.

  With each soft stroke, he focused on harnessing the beauty of her profile. Remembering to include the tiny beauty mark under her li
p and the perfect downward swoop at the tip of her nose, her hair dark, shaded and soft, Sam made sure he used the smearing pencils and worked the highlights perfectly. He took his time, precious time he knew he shouldn’t be spending. But his forever had changed, leaving him to constantly question things to which he didn’t have the answers. Drawing Charlie was the perfect distraction, yet the perfect way to excuse away his thoughts of her.

  After spraying a fixative on the charcoal, he dipped the paintbrush into the blob of red paint on his palette, mixing it with the perfect amount of water. Testing the hue on a separate piece of canvas paper, he swiped the brush twice and removed the excess red. He wanted to make the coloring as soft as possible, truly executing her glow and velvety skin.

  The entire piece would end up in tones of scarlet, rose, peach, and gold. It somehow represented all the things about her: her naivety, her patience, her selflessness, her timidity, her strength, her goddess, her mind, and her soul. Her posture was slightly slouched, the way she always sat on their bed on lazy Sunday afternoons—trying to act as though it didn’t bother her that parts of her body were exposed, fighting with the thought of grabbing the sheet to cover herself. Her arms were strategically placed to cover one of her breasts, with her fingers wrapped around her ankle. Legs in front of her and knees bent, she tried disguising her torso. And with her head down, a shy smile covered her blushing face.

  It was perfect.

  And it was everything Sam missed about her.

  Nine hours after he began, he stripped off the masking tape and set the canvas flat to dry. Leaning over the bed, Sam stared at his painting from above, able to watch her again when she was unaware. Allowing himself to stare through her—at all the precious things about her—without caring who would judge him for admitting he was still wildly in love with this woman.