What I Meant To Say (Deceit Duet Book 2) Read online

  To everyone who has ever felt like they aren’t good enough.

  You are.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright 2019 M. Piper

  Cover design © 2019 Inked Imprints

  Blake

  When I was a kid my parents didn’t know how to handle my behavior. I didn’t have friends. I couldn’t keep them. I didn’t go to school because the teachers were scared of me. My own family didn’t really want much to do with me.

  The only friends I had were the ones in my head.

  The ones no one could see.

  And at the time I didn’t know those voices weren’t my friends at all.

  Then everything changed.

  I moved in with my uncle.

  I started a new school.

  I started taking a lot of medicine.

  I started feeling…normal.

  The routine and therapy I was enrolled in changed me into a woman I never thought I’d be. I know I’m not like most people. I’m schizophrenic, not stupid. But when I graduated high school and took the spot at my Uncle’s firm, I knew where my place was. Granted, I’m still working towards my degree. It’s a slow go…but I know I’m going to be a kickass therapist when it’s all said and done.

  Well. I would have been.

  Now I don’t know what the cards hold for me. Three days ago I took a test that changed the course of my life. I didn’t have to take a test to know I was pregnant. It’s not hard for me to tell when there is a chemical imbalance in my body, so when things started feeling wrong the last few days I knew.

  I also knew the minute that my uncle would try talking me out of it.

  It’s too dangerous.

  You’re too young.

  What about the medicine?

  But it’s not his decision to make. It’s mine.

  And only mine.

  “I’m telling him today,” I say through gritted teeth with my arms crossed in front of me staring at the man who’s sheltered me my entire life.

  My uncle. Evan Cleary.

  “I think you need to slow down, Blake.” He’s sitting on the couch, his ankle resting on his knee and a glass of bourbon in his hand. Relaxed while I’m anything but.

  “It’s my body,” I say, glaring at him.

  “You’re right. But your body needs certain things to make sure your mind doesn’t fritz out again.” He raises an eyebrow at me and I growl at him. “You know it’s not your body I’m worried about. You can carry a baby no problem. Hell, you can take care of it no problem. But what happens when you’re not you? What happens when your mind suddenly thinks it’s okay to let your baby take a nap in a three foot pool?”

  He’s never one to mince words when talking about my condition. I’m glad he doesn’t, but it pisses me off that he’s convinced this pregnancy is going to turn me into a crazy person who wants to kill her baby.

  “Maybe you should stop watching Dateline documentaries, Evan.”

  I’m not crazy. Trust me. I know what it’s like not to be okay. I’ve been ‘not okay’ plenty of times in my life.

  Like when the voices got so bad I tried taking my own life.

  Or when I ended up in the mental ward of the hospital for a month in high school because I couldn’t even see through the noise in my head.

  Or when I was nine and blacked out…

  I wasn’t okay.

  But I am now. I’ve been taught how to deal with my schizophrenia. I’ve learned how to deal with my triggers and I know I can ignore the voices that never quit. Can. And will.

  “It’s going to be fine,” I say with resolve, refusing to believe that this pregnancy will mess with the balance I’ve been perched neatly on over the last few years.

  “He’s a professional baseball player, for Christ’s sake,” Uncle Evan blurts, standing and heading to the bar to refill his now empty glass. He’s sure putting a lot down tonight.

  “So he’ll be able to take care of us.” I smirk and shrug, turning to walk across the room and grab my purse.

  I have an idea.

  “Or he’ll pay you off to keep your mouth shut. Don’t you think having a baby with a woman who has a severe mental illness will tarnish his reputation?”

  I spin and glare at my uncle, wanting to throw nasty words at him, but I stop myself.

  “I’m heading to the store to grab a baby shirt to tell him.” I snatch my purse and head for the door.

  “You’re setting yourself up for disappointment, Blake!” I hear him yell but I ignore him.

  He’s right, you know.

  My steps falter and I growl, tossing in my headphones as I make it out to my car. If I have to spend the next nine months fighting against the voices, I will.

  Because this baby is going to be the most loved baby on the face of this earth.

  ***

  “Mommy!” I cry. It’s hot. So hot. And the room is dark and it’s hard to breathe.

  I hear a man yelling my name, but I can’t find my mommy!

  “Blake!” the man cries out again. Uncle Evan? I cry out for my mom and there’s someone thudding on the front door. I glance at the locked door and back at the match in my hand.

  It was so pretty.

  How can something so pretty become something so scary?

  ***

  I park at Taylor’s apartment complex and get out of my car. It’s hard to believe I’m about to tell him I’m pregnant. I was able to find the perfect way to make the announcement but now the nerves in my stomach are making me want to puke. Either that or it’s the hormones already making me sick.

  Nerves flutter like butterflies in my stomach as I hit the elevator button to his floor and adjust the headphones in my ears. They’re working. For now. Which is a good thing, because what I’m about to tell Taylor may ruin us. I have no clue how he’s going to react. I hope he’s happy, but this is all so new for us. I feel like we’re finally finding a footing in our relationship. It was rough with him being gone for so long, but it taught me what I feel for him isn’t just a lust filled craze that makes people think they’re in love.

  It’s real.

  The way he smiles at me like I’m his world tells me whatever he’s feeling is more than sexual. He watches me. He cares for me.

  Granted, he doesn’t know me. Not the real me. But we’ll get there. I know I need to tell him about my condition. And I will. But there hasn’t been a good time to bring up the whole ‘hey, you’re dating a crazy person’ topic just yet.

  He cares for me. He’ll understand. He won’t judge me for it like so many people in the past.

  Bullshit.

  I shake my head and try to ignore the voice but it gets louder the more scared I am. I know Ta
ylor will be happy. He has to be. He’ll care for this baby, too. And if he doesn’t… Well, I don’t want to think about that.

  I make it to his floor gripping the bag tight and take a deep breath.

  Here goes nothing.

  I yank out my headphones and go to knock on his door, breathing evenly and trying to calm my nerves.

  It’s going to be okay. He’s going to be happy.

  God, I hope I’m right.

  When my fist bumps against the door it pushes open with ease. Whoever came through it last didn’t even bother latching it. What the hell?

  I slowly open it and when I don’t see anyone, I step inside.

  Then I hear it.

  “Ten year old Blake Cruz is currently being held at the mental hospital in Pasadena, but is scheduled to be released to the care of her uncle, Evan Cleary, within the week. Authorities say there is no cause of the fire.”

  My ears start to ring and my heart begins to pound out of my chest.

  No.

  You didn’t think he’d find out? That raspy deep voice chuckles like it loves my pain.

  “Shut up,” I hiss, squeezing my eyes shut.

  “Fuck. Man.” I hear Damien mumble. Tears start to build, the knot in my throat threatening. I count to ten, take deep breaths, but nothing’s calming me. As I stand in the kitchen, frozen, listening to the news loop replay and listening to the two of them as they realize my past.

  All I can hear is laughing in my head. Laughing because it likes it when I hurt.

  “No.” I hear Taylor say and whimper slightly. I’m sure this isn’t going to help my cause here. I’ve been holding back the most important part of me. Hiding myself from him because I’ve been terrified of what’ll happen when he finds out.

  Well. He found out.

  Slowly, I step into the living room and see the two of them, Taylor and Damien, staring at the computer screen.

  “Taylor?” I say timidly, my body shivering and tears threatening.

  “How’d she get in here, man?” I hear Damien say.

  God, if I didn’t already look like a crazy person I bet I do now. Breaking and entering would be a great thing to add to my track record.

  “Taylor, what’s…” I trail off as my eyes hit the computer screen where he’s reading the article that ruined me. I’ve read it a hundred times or more over the years. I’ve been forced to ‘remember’ things a different way than what I remember happening.

  Sometimes, at least.

  The entire thing is a blur to me but I know one thing. I didn’t do it. I…don’t think I did at least. But here he is, reading and probably believing that I killed my family.

  You did, Blake.

  “Oh my God.” The bag falls from my hand and I feel about an inch tall. “I can explain,” I blurt. “That’s not…” I huff and swipe away the tears. “Don’t…read that.”

  He’s looking at me like he doesn’t even know me. He’s looking at me like…like he’s afraid of me. And it’s crushing me. My ears are ringing as the man I love is looking at me like he’s scared of me.

  “How’d you get in here?” Damien asks, stepping between the two of us.

  “The door wasn’t latched. You guys didn’t hear me come in?” There’s an unmistakable tremble in my voice.

  “We were a little preoccupied,” he says, glancing back at the computer screen.

  “Damien can you leave us alone, please?” I hear Taylor say from behind him. He hasn’t moved from his spot. He hasn’t walked over to me like he would in the past. He’s just…staring at me.

  Damien nods.

  “Sure. I’ll be right down the hall. If she tries murdering you just scream.” He eyes me and I growl.

  “I’m not a murderer,” I say, tightening my fists at my sides as he stalks down the hall and slams his door. I look at Taylor who’s wearing an unreadable expression on his face and step closer to him. “Taylor,” I whisper.

  “Is it true?” he whispers, not moving towards me like I need him to. I need him to make it better.

  He makes everything better.

  See…all this time at our sessions he thought I was helping him. But the reality of it all is that he’s been the one helping me. He keeps my mind busy. He keeps me in his world as opposed to slipping into one of the darker worlds they try to drag me into.

  He’s been my light this entire time. And right now, when everything feels like it’s crumbling around me, I need him more than ever.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, tears streaming freely. He curses and I see the battle in his eyes as he steps towards me and slowly wraps his arms around my trembling body. I can’t believe this. I was going to tell him. “I’m so sorry.” I sniffle again then pull back. “We need to talk.”

  “Obviously,” he mumbles, cursing again and running a hand over his head stressfully. He steps back to the couch and sits on it, glancing at me then at the bag. “Want to start with the bag?”

  “Oh,” I mutter, feeling like a fool now. “I uh…” I bend and lift the bag, trying to calm my hands. “I’m um…” How this feels insignificant considering everything else going on in the room right now is crazy. We’re bringing a baby into the world!

  “Pregnant.” He stares at me and I feel like I’m an inch tall. I can’t read his expression, but it’s not as excited as I thought it would be.

  But then again, I didn’t think I’d be walking in to him finding out about my past.

  “Yeah.” I nod and hold the bag out for him. “I got this…to tell you.” Cocking my head. “But you already knew, didn’t you?”

  He nods slowly and takes the bag from me. I watch him silently as he pulls the tiny jersey from the bag. His face brightens as he reads his last name on the back. A small smirk forms on his lips.

  “This is probably the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” His eyes hit mine. “Blake…” He puffs out a deep breath and I watch him struggle for the words.

  So I help him out. See, when I’m talking the voices can’t. When I’m listening and focusing on people, the voices aren’t as loud. That’s why it’s been so important for me to keep this job with Evan’s firm. I need it just as much as the patients do.

  “I should have told you.” I sit on the couch next to him and start playing with the strap of my purse.

  “Yeah,” he chuckles and leans back. “Blake, this is… This is fucked up.” He lets out a stressed chuckle and I feel my gut twist.

  “It’s not true,” I whisper. “I… Those articles aren’t true.”

  “So your family didn’t all die in a fire that you set?”

  Go ahead and lie to him, he’ll figure out the truth eventually when you kill your baby.

  “I…” I curse and shift, unable to find a comfortable position to tell him this. Everything hurts. This stress can’t be good for the baby and I know it’s not good for my mental state. Forcing away these voices is setting my anxiety on high alert right now, so I blurt the only words I know that’ll get this conversation over with. “Taylor, I’m schizophrenic.” Fuck, those words are hard. I haven’t said them out loud for…well…years. I let it sink in as he nods and stares at his hands. I wish I knew what’s going on in his head. I wish I knew what he’s thinking. “I’m not crazy,” I blurt. “I’m stable. And I was going to tell you.” My hands are trembling and my stomach is in knots. I need him to talk to me. I need to know we’re going to be okay.

  “But you didn’t because every time we were together you were more focused on my sessions and my issues. Did listening to all the issues I have make you feel better about yourself?” He shoots to his feet and I shake my head, pleading with him to sit back down. “Did you fucking trap me on purpose?”

  My eyes well with tears as his words slice through me. It hurts. It hurts more than any physical pain I’ve ever been through.

  “No,” I whisper. “I swear to you that’s not it.”

  He starts to pace.

  “But it could be.” He pauses and looks at me. “Because you
never thought ‘oh hey, maybe I should tell him I’m nuts!’” He laughs harshly. “Holy shit.” He sits in the chair across the room and buries his face in his hands and groans.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. I want to go to him. Touch him. Console him. But I don’t, because I don’t even feel welcome here anymore.

  You’re not.

  I furrow my brows and shake out the voices in my head. They haven’t been this loud in years, but with stress comes the need for my mind to tear itself down even more.

  He thinks you’re a mistake.

  I look at Taylor and my heart breaks. He isn’t excited about the baby. He’s not happy that we have a future together. His eyebrows are furrowed and he looks…mad. He’s stuck on my past, just like everyone else who knows about it is.

  “I’ll go.” I manage to bring myself to my feet without wobbling, though my entire body is trembling. He doesn’t say to stay. He doesn’t try to stop me. He’s shutting down as he stares at the floor, gripping that onesie tight and not bothering to look at me. “I’m sorry.”

  Somehow I make it down the hall without breaking down. I feel the tears threatening and manage to hold myself together until I get to the elevator doors. My head’s shaking. My hands are trembling.

  The voices. They’re there. They’re loud. And if Taylor’s not going to support me, I won’t have the strength to hold them at bay any longer. As hard as I try to drown them out, they’re loud. And they’re angry.

  Taylor

  What. The. Fuck.

  I hear her footsteps leave my apartment, but what I did doesn't register until after the door slams.

  Or more like what I didn't do.

  I didn’t support her.

  I let her think I believed she was crazy.

  Fuck!

  “Blake!” I shout, dropping the outfit she bought and running for the door. When I see her waiting for the elevator my heart crushes. She’s covering her mouth with both of her hands and the way her shoulders are bouncing, it doesn’t take an idiot to know she’s bawling.

  Because of me.

  “Baby,” I blurt, rushing over and wrapping my arms around her. She tries to resist but it doesn’t work. She hiccups and turns, letting me hold her as tight as I can against me.