Never Look Back

by Amy Johnson

Overview

Amina’s life has changed for the better . . . and for the worse. Difficult work relationships are slowly turning around thanks to her deliberate efforts to improve them, and a surprising new connection at work causes Amina to rethink her relationship with Anthony. A monster from the past repeatedly rears its ugly head and prompts Amina to make an entirely selfish decision. Is this a decision that she can live with, or is it one that will destroy her new found happiness?

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781546202790
Publisher:	AuthorHouse
Publication date:	08/16/2017
Pages:	222
Product dimensions:	6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.63(d)

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

The Old Millennium

December 27, 1999

Dr. Branson,

It's hard to believe that a year has passed since that horrendous day when Victoria Miller terrorized me and Anthony at my house only to end with her taking her own life. I'm sure you are seeing all of the anniversary news features on television and in the newspapers. Because it was such a newsworthy story in the usually quiet town of Coronado, Arkansas, it's all anyone wants to talk about. You would think that people are discussing a blockbuster movie or something! The story has grown and even been exaggerated in the media. All I can do is shake my head because it just opens up the hurt all over again at a time when Anthony and I are finally trying to face the reality and get ourselves back on track.

She was your patient. Do you really understand why she did what she did? Not the medical explanation, but the human explanation. Can the brain be so intricately wired to and dependent on chemical balances that it can get screwed up enough to make a woman tirelessly obsess over a man who didn't want her, shoot up the home and vehicle of his innocent girlfriend, and then shoot herself knowing that the child she was carrying would ultimately die? Is the brain really that vulnerable, that sensitive, that complicated? Can missing medication or mixing medicine with alcohol really result in such radical consequences? Are we all simply ticking time bombs waiting for a chemical imbalance to detonate an explosion in our lives?

Do you think that perhaps you missed some warning signs? Do you ever wonder if there was anything else that you could have done? These are questions that Anthony and I have discussed, avoided or argued about in one way or another. Could we have prevented it from happening? Did we exacerbate the situation by ignoring her erratic behavior?

I saw that story on the news about Vickie's cousin Trevor and that other family coming together to file a civil lawsuit against you. I think it is absolutely ridiculous, but I just haven't said anything to you about it because avoiding all mention of her name and that situation seems to work in my mental favor. I am only bringing it up now because all the news stories and focus on it is creepily close to terrifying me. I haven't had a single anxiety attack since she died, and this shows me how mentally damaged I was and how severe my PTSD was. Could I possibly have ended up in her situation? Is there a chance that I could revert back to that fragile state but not be fortunate enough to recover? The possibilities take my breath away.

As much as possible, Anthony avoids all mention of her too. We have basically spent the entire year avoiding the subject as much as possible, working nonstop to keep our minds occupied, pretending that everything is fine in our relationship, and putting on quite a show for our friends and family who are now convinced that everything is truly back to normal with us. They think that we haven't missed a beat, that we are hopelessly in love, that we overcame an incredible obstacle with flying colors, without a scratch, and emerged better than we were before. They couldn't be farther from the truth. Our relationship is in serious trouble, and this time around I am not the only one who needs therapy.

I still see Dr. Branson, but our sessions progressed from weekly to biweekly to monthly to bimonthly to quarterly. Now, that's progress because back when I was seeing her once a week, I was a nervous wreck. In addition to my rapid progress, we ended up being pretty good friends. She joined my exercise group at the CFC – Coronado Fitness Center, and she fit in perfectly with my friends Evelyn and Sasha. Evelyn and Sasha are dispatchers at CPD, and they both knew Vickie quite well. Even in my exercise group, we avoided mention of her.

Although there have been many occasions when we wanted to talk about her, we all give each other a funny "let's not go there" look and change the subject. It's hard not to think about Vickie though, especially since there's a huge memorial plaque with her picture on it in the front lobby of the CFC. The minute you walk into the front door of the gym, there she is staring at you, reminding you that she used this facility quite a bit.

The plaque, courtesy of a benevolent foundation in Coronado, was also followed by a membership drive which awarded three lucky winners an annual free membership to the CFC in Vickie's honor. I never knew she was such a supporter of fitness, but then again, there was a lot that I didn't know about Victoria Miller, but Anthony did, and little by little, this information leaked out and blemished Anthony's heroic reputation.

She knew that he consumed a lot of alcohol, and she was perfectly okay with it. According to rumors, she was quite an alcoholic herself. I witnessed her drunken behavior firsthand on many occasions. As it turns out, Anthony wasn't completely honest with me about their relationship. As it turns out, he was not honest with me about a lot of information, and as I learned more about him, I questioned myself about why I'm with him.

For example, he agreed to attend the plaque dedication ceremony at the CFC. From what I heard, he had some pretty nice things to say about her. I wanted to leave it alone, but I had to ask him why he felt obligated to even attend, much less speak! His answer was one that I expected. "She was a cop, I am a cop. We support our own, no matter what," he explained. It's true that many officers attended that day, but it would not have been an anomaly for him to miss it. After all, she did try to kill him ... and me, the so called love of his life, the woman he wants to marry and bear his children.

So, now every time I walk into the CFC, there she perches like a vulture above the admission desk, the one place where everyone must stop and slide their identification card. You wouldn't believe how fast I zoom into the gym, slide my card, and motor to the dressing rooms when I go there. That plaque is overbearing! It should be at the police department instead of the gym! Oh wait! There is one at the police department! A big one! It's like she's watching me from the grave and warning me that she's not finished with her harassment.

An obvious way to avoid that self assured smirk of a smile of hers would be to just go to another gym, but guess what? CFC is the only full service gym in Coronado! Anthony goes to the gym regularly, and he hasn't complained once about the plaque. In fact, he started inviting me to the gym even more after the dedication. Sometimes he acts like the whole ordeal never happened, and other times, he drowns his sorrows in a bottle and it is all he wants to talk about. Long walks in the park were my escape when I couldn't bear to walk into the gym and try to avoid her face.

Dr. Branson, Lanita, invited Anthony and me to Coronado's Christmas with the Arts program. It was an invitation only event and quite a fancy affair. It was nice to get dressed up, go out, and hang with important people. Lanita's husband, Robert, is an orthopedic surgeon. They introduced us to all of their doctor and surgeon friends. We thought that we would go and be out of our element, but we went, we fit in, mingled perfectly, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. Robert, Lanita, and most of their professional friends were down to earth, and we got along fabulously. That night out was actually a breath of fresh air for me and Anthony because we had both been working nonstop to keep our minds off of the fact that the anniversary of the ordeal was looming near. That's what we call it: "the ordeal." We loosened up, naturally enjoyed each other's company, and had a great time.

Actually, Anthony had too much of a good time. Doctors, chiropractors, surgeons and many others in the medical field are also quite into the field of alcohol consumption. They drank until the cows came home. The only difference is that many of the other guests were driven to the event by limousines or hired drivers. I begrudgingly drove Anthony home that night, and struggled tremendously when I tried to get him into the house. Once inside, he threw up inside a large decorative vase beside the front door that I used as an umbrella stand. He thought the whole thing was funny, but he lost a lot of cool points with me that night. Shit, every time that I had to drive his drunk ass home resulted in a loss of cool points. Honestly, Anthony had almost depleted his supply of cool points.

I really wanted to, but I never gave Lanita that letter, and I have no idea why. Letter writing was the principle way that we communicated. I would write her a letter and confess everything that I might feel embarrassed about saying in therapy, and we would discuss the contents of the letter during our session.

Every time I looked at it, I felt like I was keeping a dirty secret from not only my doctor but also my friend. It would have sparked a great discussion, it would have lifted a heavy weight off my chest, and it might have led to a referral for Anthony, yet I kept it folded in half in the front cover of one of my journals. I repeatedly reread that letter for a variety of reasons: first, to analyze my current status with Anthony. Our relationship had fizzled from somewhat normal to completely weird; second, stare at the fact that perhaps Anthony is not the man of my dreams ... reality sucks – he has a drinking problem; finally, to remind myself that I should be thankful that things are so much better now regardless of the fact that they are messed up in a new way. Do I even want to deal with it? Is he even worth it? Why do I feel so bad for wanting to call it quits?

Perhaps, I should just stick it out and wait for the next guy – the one who doesn't already have a child, the one who doesn't have a drinking problem, the one who didn't have an obsessive girlfriend who tried to kill me? I have two "somethings" trying to tell me what to do.

Something #1 tells me that I need to walk away and continue to concentrate on my career. I'm young, I'm beautiful, I'm free, and the world is waiting for me to make my move and have fun while I'm doing it!

Something #2 tells me that it is too late to back out because my feelings run too deep at this point, my heart would break without him, and he's worth fighting for. Weighing my options is something that I shake my head and smile about now because I never had such an opportunity before that presented so many positive possibilities. I guess it's what one could call growth. I have grown a lot, but obviously, I have a lot more growing to do.

CHAPTER 2

You Should Have Been There

January 1, 2000

I tiptoed to the bathroom and tried to figure out a way to get rid of the man in my living room. Honesty. I would just tell him the truth. He would certainly understand my change of heart. I walked softly through my bedroom, out into the hallway, and I opened the door to the living room.

My nervousness faded as I stopped to smile at the sight that greeted me. Rashad, stretched out on the couch, was fast asleep and snoring. I listened to him and watched his muscled chest rise and fall. Shaking my head and smiling, I tiptoed back down the hallway to the closet and found a blanket, covered him with it and stared at him for a few seconds before turning off the light. Yep, he's one fine chocolate specimen. He looks like Morris Chestnut or maybe even Omar Epps? Heavy sleeper though. He didn't flinch or change positions when I covered him, or when I stood there staring at him like an idiot. Myself, on the other hand, I tossed and turned for the remainder of the night and even laid awake staring into the darkness.

Extremely tired from the busy day and night that seemed to never end, I should have fallen asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow, but that just did not happen. I considered going into the living room to see if Rashad was suddenly lying awake as well, but the bright neon numbers on the clock told me that I should remain exactly where I was. Plus, after the evening we just shared, I didn't want Rashad to get the wrong idea, which might surely happen with me wanting to talk at this time of the morning! Finally, I drifted off to sleep and dreamed about the events of that evening.

*
"Come on now! There's no reason why you should spend New Year's Eve at home alone!" Rashad coaxed.

"I'm okay with it, really! I can watch other people celebrate on TV. I don't have to be out in it," I answered.

"Amina, when was the last time you went out?"

"Umm ..." I wondered aloud wanting to avoid mention of that night out last week.

"See! That's too long! Most of our coworkers will be there. At least join us at Boudreaux's for dinner. What ya plan on eating tonight anyway?"

"Popcorn," I mumbled.

"Come on girl! Don't make me beg!"

"You are begging. I already told you no!"

"But I can tell you want to go! What's holding you back?" he pressed.

"I don't know. I always want to ring in the New Year with my boyfriend, and for the past few years, it hasn't happened that way," I explained.

"Well, maybe it's time for you to find a new boyfriend," he suggested slyly.

"Stop!" I giggled, "Okay, I'll go! But, I don't want to stay out too late because I have a lot to do tomorrow," I bargained.

"Okay, no doubt. Me too. Want me to come and pick you up?"

"Oh, you are going to be the DD tonight?"

"Yeah, I can be! That means that I can get you drunk! And you really act up when you get drunk!"

"Aw hell no. I'll drive!"

"Girl, you know I'm joking! I'll come by at 8:30. Will that be good?"

"Sure," I said and envisioned his gangster smile with that gleaming gold crown.

As soon as I got out of the shower, Anthony called. He explained that it would be a busy night at work, but he would call or come by later to check on me. I told him that I was going out with Rashad and some other friends from work.

"On a date?" he asked incredulously.

"No! A group of us from work are going to Boudreaux's for dinner then to the Steppin Out Club to ring in the new year," I explained casually.

"Dinner and dancing, huh? That sounds like a date to me baby," he deduced bluntly.

"Well, it's not," I countered, "we're just hanging out together. I wish I could spend the evening with you."

"Well, duty calls," he answered without emotion, "we went to that nice party last weekend."

"Yes, we did. I guess I'm just greedy," I supplied facetiously.

"Whatever! Behave yourself during your night out with your friends," he cautioned.

"Always baby," I agreed with a smirk. We hung up, and I finished getting ready to go out. I plowed through the closet for thirty minutes looking for something to wear. Nothing seemed appropriate. A dress seemed too sexy, and pants seemed too casual. Finally, I called Katy and Whitney and asked what they were wearing. Whitney wasn't going. Katy said that she was wearing a sweater, jeans, and boots, so I decided to wear the same. I had a cute off the shoulder sweater that looked great with jewelry, jeans, and boots. It was cold enough, so whatever I chose to wear would be covered with my coat anyway!

Dinner was fabulous, but it did seem like Rashad and I were on a date because everyone was paired up with their significant other. When we toasted to our friendships, Rashad was staring a bit too deeply into my eyes. At the club, Rashad kept insisting that we slow dance, but opted to mingle with people in the raucous crowd during the fast songs. Every time a slow song came on, he spotted me, grabbed me, pulled me out to the dance floor, and held me close. Once, he even pulled me away from Devondrick, his good friend and roommate and explained that he couldn't give up any dances with me tonight.

"I'm just doing your boyfriend a favor," he explained when I asked him why I couldn't dance with anyone else.

"Oh really? How is that?"

"He can trust me. I'm not going to be rubbing all over your sexy body or whispering in your ear while we out here slow grinding, but another man would definitely do that to you!" he said as he pushed me back at arm's length just to prove his point. I burst into a fit of giggles, and he smiled, pulled me back close to him, and looked down at me. I stopped laughing and looked up into his intense brown eyes. I thought that I sensed a kiss coming toward me, but thankfully he just smiled down at me, looked away, and continued our dance.

The song ended, and the countdown to the new millennium began. People ran out and crowded the dance floor, and Rashad and I were trapped right in the middle. We were squished together, so Rashad put his arm around me so we could comfortably join in the merriment.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "Never Look Back"
by .
Copyright © 2017 Amy Johnson.
Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
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