Pieces of You (Pieces Duet #1)

by Jay McLean

I hold on to pieces of her. Segments of the life she lived, fragments of a girl I’d fallen in love with. She flew in like a hurricane, forcing me to drown in her depths while shaking my foundation and tearing down my walls. And then came the aftermath: the never-ending storm—like constant cracks of thunder and blasts of lightning that paved a path toward our destruction. She was frustratingly defeating, and devastatingly desolate. Completely unforgiving. And beautiful. God, was she beautiful.

Even when shattered to pieces.

and before I can blink, she’s slapping a sticky note on his forehead with a single word in thick black marker: LIAR.

Tweedledee and Tweedledipshit

which is bullshit because she doesn’t even know me.

bro you literally make fun of her every single day at school. why are you surprised

“Contrary to what you think of me, I actually enjoy talking. Just not to morons who think their dick activity defines their worth.”

I’d have to bend my knees to kiss her. And where the fuck did that thought come from?

“And there’s not a single piece of me that sees you the way you see yourself.”

I laid them both out and slid them in my desk drawer.

“Neglect is a form of abuse, Alice.”

She’s like… a riddle. A paradox. An incomplete picture. It’s as if she only gives people fragments of herself. Pieces. I can’t help but smile. Jameson Taylor is like a puzzle. And I’ve always liked puzzles.

I don’t meet up with the other girl. I don’t give my mom the picture either. I put it in the drawer, along with the other two. Now I have the first three pieces of the puzzle. I just need one more to have all four corners. And then everything else will fall into place.

“It will get easier,” she said. “I promise.”

“Are you my grandma?” “No, darling.” She shook her head, her eyes sad as she took my hand in hers. “But I can be your Gina.”

“Your hugs hit different,”

“And I like you because you challenge me.” And I like the way you look at me. The way your eyes hold mine. The way you can read me without forcing me to be an open book.

“I’m going to text you, so you have mine, and if at any stage you feel even the slightest bit uncomfortable, I want you to call me. I’ll drop whatever⁠—” I kiss him. On my toes, hands flat on his stomach… My mouth is on his… And I’m kissing him.

I shut my eyes tight, too afraid to see his face. Even when he’s the one kissing me.

“Because when you look too closely at anything, you always see the cracks. And your mother was nothing but imperfections.” I hated him at that moment. And I’d forgiven him the next. Because he was right, and it made me wonder how people saw me.

“Say it,” I beg, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my eardrums. “Please.” He gives me what I want. What I need. “I chose her.”

I was no longer my mother’s keeper.

“She’s way too much for you to handle.”

“No.” The lie falls effortlessly from my lips. “Not even a little.”

I make it two steps before Holden grasps my messenger bag by the strap, tugging it loose from my shoulder until it falls to the ground. I look up, eyebrows bunched. “What the fu—”

That’s all I can get out before his arms are around my waist, and I’m flying through the air, squealing, arms and legs flailing until I’m surrounded by nothing but cool water.

Because I’m so many levels of fucked-up, he can’t even begin to comprehend. I don’t tell him that. Obviously.

hand rising to grip at his nape. I flinch at the movement—an

I want to say so many things, reveal so many truths, but then his hand is on my jaw, fingertips digging into my nape, and he’s pulling me toward him. His mouth crashes down on mine,

“I’m here because I can’t seem to keep the fuck away from you.”

Because he’s at his desk, slamming the drawer shut and turning to me with wide eyes, and is he… blushing?

But… I’m an only child, and I’m not good at sharing. Not that Jamie’s mine, but… I don’t know.

“You kind of smell like home to me.” Yep. That came out just as creepy out loud as it did in my head.

“No.” I don’t even know what she’s talking about anymore. I can’t think straight when she’s this fucking close. Physically. Mentally. No other girl affects me the way she does, and it’s been this way for days now, ever since we kissed. It was instant—these fucking feelings. And pathetic, really. But no matter how much I tried to deny it, or how hard I tried to fight it, she was always there, on the forefront of my mind, wreaking havoc on all other thoughts, all other senses. It’s why I went to Esme’s this morning—to clear my head. Or maybe to somehow feel closer to her.

“Honestly, I just like trying to make you laugh. It’s kind of my new favorite hobby.”

“The rules don’t apply to you,” I manage to say, grabbing her ass—hard—forcing her to stop moving.

you have absolutely no obligation to justify other people’s perceptions of you.”

Maybe Holden Eastwood isn’t the flame to my moth. Maybe he’s the moon. The light. Guiding me out of my darkness.

“It’s late, Jamie. And this area⁠—” “Is where I live,”

OOOOO YOU FUCKED UP, HOLDEN

I might never get the chance.

“It’s uh…” It’s everything all at once. And then… “It’s nothing at all.”

there’s no way I’m going to let some guy, or two of them, be the reason I fail to achieve the only substantial thing I’ve set out to do with my life.

And so I quickly moved on to the next stage: anger. I think I’ve been stuck there ever since.

I turn on my heels, stomp toward the bedroom. Over my shoulder, I snap, “Why are you knocking on my door like you’re the goddamn police!” Or a violent, jaded ex-boyfriend looking for his punching bag.

“Fuck this.” And then his hand’s on my wrist, pulling me away, replacing it with his mouth.

“I don’t know what the fuck this is,” he says, “but it’s sure as fuck a hell of a lot more than lust.” And then he’s kissing me, sinking into me, deeper and deeper. Not just physically, but in every other way possible. Deep into my body. Into my mind. Into my soul. He replaces my emotional pain with our physical pleasure. And it’s terrifying. And delusional. And destructive. And perfect.

For now…

foreshadowing

“I’m just trying to figure out why my dick gets harder for you the more you hate me.”

We did nothing but hold each other and sleep, and it did things to my soul that being between her legs did to me physically.

“You know, Jamie thinks that Bethany hasn’t told everyone because she’s ashamed that you cheated on her with a girl who scrubs dishes at a truck stop and lives in a trailer…”

“You’re nothing to me, Eastwood,” he deadpans. “You never were.”