I was once told I was unbreakable and I believed it.
But when everything I held dear was lost, I had no choice but to shatter.
Every day, Kat laces up her gloves and fights away her demons.
When fighting doesn’t subside the pain, scotch and promiscuity beckon.
Her life has no purpose.
She has no viable future.
And she wishes she’d never met Kevin Fitzpatrick.
He annoys her profusely.
He asks too many questions.
He follows her like a stalker.
But, strangely, she can’t seem to tear herself away from him.
There is something about him she can’t shake.
Kat has secrets, but so do the people who claim to have her best interests at heart.
When all is revealed and the dust settles, will Kat be knocked down for the count, once and for all?
Or can the pieces of her broken past help her become indestructible once again?
“Why are you here?” I ask as I sniffle.
“Have you been crying?” Kevin replies, setting the bowl down onto the coffee table.
Placing the backside of my hand under my nose, I lie. “It’s just a cold.” I reach for a box of tissues nearby.
“I don’t believe you.”
I turn back to him, raise my arm, and point toward the door. “You can leave,” I demand.
“Kat, please. Don’t shut me out. I thought…I thought we were in a good place with each other.”
I shake my head. “Don’t act like you want to be close to me. You and Jo are only using me as some sort of humanity project.”
“It’s not like that at all. We want to help you heal,” Kevin implores.
“I have Robitussin. I’ll be fine.”
“No, that’s not what I mean and you know it. We want to help you heal from what’s made you so bitter about life.”
“Why do you care?” I asked, agitated by his efforts.
“Because I do.”
I sit on the sofa with a huff. “I’m fine.”
“Kat, look at me. You are not fine. Just tell me why and I’ll listen.”
“I don’t need a protector.”
“That’s apparent from the ninja skills you performed the other night.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t need a babysitter either. I am a grown up.”
Kevin sits beside me, a little closer than I’m comfortable with. “I don’t want to protect you. I don’t want to babysit you. I want to be your friend. Maybe, more than a friend.”
My eyes go wide. I have no response.
“I care about you and I don’t care if you want me to or not. I do and it’s out of my control. And I don’t care whether you believe that I care about you. I’m not trying to use you. Neither is Jo. We’re not going to give up on you–” he points a finger to his chest, “I’m not going to give up on you.”
I take in his words but quickly reject them. “Sometimes, giving up is not your choice to make,” I say, sternly, trying desperately hard not to cry.
“Whose choice is it then?” Kevin asks.
I look at him. “Whoever controls fate.”
Zeia Jameson’s passion for writing compels her to get into the zone and type until her fingers go numb. When not submerged within her own stories, she enjoys curling up in her large reading chair, snuggling underneath a blanket, and feeding her addictions of coffee and reading. She is fond of humor and laughter and believes these are elements that keep the world sane and spinning.
Zeia lives in Georgia with her husband and daughter, where they spend most of their time exploring recipes, binging on Netflix, drawing chalk-art on sidewalks, and avoiding pollen at all costs.