Heartless Few Box Set

by MV Ellis

  I realized months ago that she loved me, but getting to the point where she isn’t afraid to own that fact, and admit it to herself and to me, has been a long and hard road. We both carry scars from the past, but hers have prevented her from trusting me with her fragile heart, until now. Not that I’m blameless in that fact. When you have a reputation like mine, it stands to reason that people are going to assume the worst. The fact was, before London, they’d have been right. I didn’t have a rep like mine for nothing—I had earned my slut stripes fair and square. In fact, I had worked harder for them than most people, and I wore them like a badge of honor. Little did I know back then that even when I wanted to move on, they would come back and bite me in the dick time and time again with London.

  We always seem to be taking one step forward and ten steps back, and it’s killing me that we can’t manage to catch a break. I know this video fiasco is just another hurdle for us to jump, something we can and will move past. That doesn’t stop me feeling like shit, to have another stain on the blank page of our relationship. Especially as I know that this will put another dent in London’s confidence in me, and put another brick in the wall she has built around her heart. There are so many things I’d do differently with hindsight, but she’s even more of a bitch than timing. Even six months ago, I didn’t expect to be where I am now. If anyone had told me then that I’d be asking a woman I was in love with to move in with me, and contemplating more besides, I’d have told them to lay off the hard drugs.

  “Well, that’s true, but you know that any story about you is hot property. The press will try and spin whatever they have any which way they can to sell more copies or get more page views, and timing is everything. This video is a case in point. After the show last night and pretty public confirmation of you and London as a couple after months of feverish speculation, the timing is being made to look like you have a thing going with both women at the same time. It’s either being painted like some kind of harem situation, or that you’re cheating on one with the other. Unfortunately, after Marnie’s little performance at the launch last night, it appears to the uninformed observer that there’s truth to the rumor.”

  Fuck. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

  As well as all the speculation surrounding the photos, I had given that exclusive interview where I’d pretty much held my heart on a plate to the press for the world to feast on. It was meant to be a surprise for London—another grand gesture designed to make it clear that she was it for me, and I didn’t care who knew. Now even that would likely be tainted by a cloud of controversy, speculation, and rumor. Motherfucker.

  “What? That’s ridiculous!” I crack my neck from side to side in a vain attempt to release some of the built-up tension. I fix London with a steady stare as I continue, talking as much to her as to Paul.

  “Before last night, I hadn’t seen or even spoken to Marnie in months. I broke things off with her the moment I realized I had feelings for London. I even told her that I was falling in love with London, for Christ’s sake. It didn’t go so well. Not my finest hour, but it is what it is.” I speak slowly and deliberately, never breaking eye contact with London.

  “At this point, the way I see it, we really have two options. We can ignore it like we always do, or to try to get on the front foot with the public by putting out a statement.”

  “You know I don’t give a fuck what some lowlife paparazzo asshats and their gutter press ‘journalist’ cohorts think of me. I never have, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. I’m not playing into their hands by dignifying their bullshit rumors with a response. Let them think what they want, and publish what they want. All that matters to me is that the people I love—” I pause for a beat, making sure that London knows I’m talking to and about her. “—know the truth. Everyone else can go ass-fuck themselves with a ten-foot cactus.”

  “Well, that’s the reason I’m calling. It’s not just about you anymore, Arlo. There’s London to consider too. She may have additional concerns, especially considering the book launch and her…”

  I zone out a little. Why didn’t I think of that?

  This whole relationship thing is so new to me. I still really have my training wheels on when it comes to taking someone else into consideration. My life has always been about me. Even in the band. Yeah, it’s the five of us, and that does require some level of cooperation, and coordination. But on the other hand, I’m well known for doing what the fuck I like, and expecting everyone else to fall in line. Invariably, they do.

  That needs to change if I’m going to make things work with London. I am going to make things work with London. It’s going to be a steep learning curve to break the habits of a lifetime, but for her, I’m an old dog who’s more than ready, willing, and able to learn new tricks.

  I stop listening to Paul altogether as I watch the scene on the bed in front of me. London’s phone dings with a message. At this hour, it can only be someone filling her in on the unfolding drama. Fuck, what a shit storm. I watch her open the message and then frown sleepily, turning her head from side to side as though to get a better look at something, or trying to make sense of what she’s seeing. Then still frowning, she sits deadly still. Too still. After a few long moments, her eyes widen, clouding over from their usual rich amber to a deep burnt umber. The color quickly drains from her skin. She jumps up, slamming against the wall next to the bed and throwing the phone down as though it’s glowing white hot in her hands.

  “…hello…? Arlo…? Are you still there?”

  Fuck, I had completely forgotten about Paul. I hang the phone up without another word and move toward London while she shrinks back farther into the corner of the room with every step I take. She’s looking at me like I’ve grown a second head, and the condition is contagious.

  “L, come here. You heard me, I don’t know exactly when that video was taken, but I know for sure that it has to have been months ago. Before….” She’s shaking like a leaf, quivering even. She looks like she just saw a ghost, but she’s also eerily quiet, backed into the corner like a frightened animal. Her eyes, now wide as saucers, stare at me unblinkingly, filling with tears. As they brim over, she shakes her head, pointing to her phone discarded amongst the tangled bedclothes. I reach for it, not taking my eyes off her until the last possible moment.

  The phone is still open to a text message from a withheld caller ID. I press Play on the video. The image is grainy but it doesn’t take me long to work out what I’m seeing. It’s Marnie and me in the very same bed I just shared with London on our first night together as an official couple. I watch the entire thing. I can’t actually believe what I’m seeing. It’s all there, Marnie with her perfect jet-black bob and her alabaster skin, me in all my tattooed and buck-naked glory. As Paul says, it seems to have been edited across the course of a night, cutting between positions, even zooming in at certain points and on certain parts.

  My vision goes white with rage. Fucking Marnie. She’s the only person who could have done this. I can’t remember the night in question, but who else could have taken that video? We’ve never had a threesome—I’m pretty partial to the idea, but they were never her jam—so I can rule out that possibility, and I’m fairly certain the house isn’t bugged, so unless I’ve been sleep recording, that just leaves Marnie. I’ve never been good with temper—I mean, I couldn’t even live in the same house as my own twin brother for the majority of our teenage years for fear of killing him—but I’m angrier now than I have ever been.

  My mind swims, a thousand thoughts flowing through it at once. So much so that I momentarily forget London is there at all—until she sprints past me to the en suite bathroom. I fling the phone back onto the bed and race after her, reaching the threshold just in time to see her lurch for the pedestal and vomit violently into it. Oh God. I dash over and pull her long thick curls out the way of the stream of puke spilling from her. Once I have all of her hair bunched in one hand, I use the other hand to rub her back, speaking to her soft
ly.

  “I swear I haven’t slept with Marnie or anyone since you and I were first together. I told you that in Paris. It was true then, and still is. I don’t know how the fuck she made that video, or when she made it, but I’m going to find out if it takes a lifetime and every cent I’ve ever earned. If she thinks she can hurt you and get away with it, she’s deluded. After all these years, she obviously doesn’t know me at all. I’ll crush her like a bug without a second thought.”

  London tries to shrug away from my touch, attempting to speak, presumably to tell me to leave her alone. As she’s still barfing, it comes out as a strangled gurgle, causing her to cough and splutter. Having seen her puke once before, I’m yet again amazed how much she’s able to contain in such a small vessel. Unable to move out of my reach, she instead opts for swatting away the hand rubbing her back. I remove it, but keep my grasp on her hair. It feels like the very least I can do.

  When the bout of puking has receded to waves of dry retching every thirty seconds or so, London straightens up, pulling her hair from my hand. Looking me straight in the eyes, she speaks slowly and calmly.

  “I want to go home.”

  “You are home.”

  “No I’m not. I want Marko and my own bed.” It’s eerie how cold and robotic she is right now. It’s as though some kind of door has shut behind her eyes. She’s here, but not here.

  “No. We’re going to talk about this.”

  “No we’re not. There’s nothing to talk about, Arlo. I knew this was a mistake from the get-go. I fucking knew it, but I let you sweet-talk me otherwise, and I let myself believe this thing between us could be something other than my undoing. I don’t blame you totally for that, because I wanted it to be true. I really fucking wanted to believe that after everything that’s happened to me over the past few years, I could still have my happy ever after. It’s stupid, I know, but there it is. I’m over that now. I just want to go home.”

  “What do you mean? It’s not stupid. We can still have that. I can give you that. The happy ever after.”

  She laughs then, a hollow, brittle sound I’ve never heard from her before.

  “No you can’t, Arlo. You can’t give anyone anything apart from your toxic energy and the three-ring circus of your life that goes with it. Between the press hounding and speculation, the situation with Marnie, and God knows how many others, I just can’t deal. I’m out.” With that, she pushes past me and back into the bedroom.

  “Tog—”

  She whirls around so quickly at the sound of my voice, she nearly overbalances.

  “Don’t fucking call me that. We’re no longer a thing, so you don’t get to call me cute names or anything anymore, in fact.” Her voice is shaky, and her bottom lip trembles.

  What? Since we toured the world together, her as my photographer, I’ve called her Tog more often than I’ve used her name. It’s our thing. At least it was.

  As she slumps toward the bed, I catch her in my arms. “I’ll always be there to catch you,” I mouth silently, remembering the times I’ve promised her that in the past. In Paris. Before her gallery opening. I meant it then, and I mean it now. I rock her back and forth in my arms until the crying subsides enough for her to speak. She does. One single word.

  “Marko.”

  Sighing heavily, I reach for my phone and pull up Marko’s contact information. As I connect the call and pass her the handset, London looks surprised.

  “But how—”

  I shrug. It’s not the right time to tell the story of how I came to have her best friend’s number stored in my cell, especially since, as far as she’s aware, we’ve never met or even spoken on the phone. She was drunk, she had me come and collect her from Marko’s apartment, and I threatened to break every bone in his body if he didn’t give me his number in case of similar situations in the future.

  “I need you,” she implores into the handset.

  With those three tiny words, it’s as though the knife that has been hovering between my ribs, waiting for the right moment to strike, finally makes its move, driving right into my heart and then twisting.

  Six

  As the dawn breaks fully on the day, I go into what can only be described as beast mode, and God help anyone who dares cross me. Nobody does. I guess everyone likes their heads firmly attached to their bodies. In actual fact, in a weird way, I’ve never felt calmer in my life, but it’s an eerie and detached calm. Like an assassin or black ops soldier. I’m clear-minded, focused and determined, and I know that I have London to thank for that. I once told her, “I’m a different guy now to the asshole you first met, and that’s down to you. It’s cliché, but you really do make me want to be a better man.” It might be corny as fuck, but it was true then, and it’s true now. I’m better for having London in my life. Or should that be for having had her? Fuck.

  First things first, I need to know that London is okay. I call her cell a few times throughout the day, but predictably it goes straight to voice mail. As much as it kills me, I call Marko. The phone almost rings out before he finally answers.

  “Yeah?” His voice is hushed and muffled, as though he’s speaking in a closet.

  “It’s Arlo.”

  “I know. What do you want?”

  “What the fuck do you think I want? I just tried to call London, and she’s not picking up.”

  “Of course she’s not answering. What did you expect?”

  I hold my tongue, biting back the litany of curses I so badly want to rain down on him. I need to at least tolerate him—he’s a means to an end.

  He sighs. “Okay, listen, I know we’re never going to be friends, but we’re not enemies, either. We both want the best for London—we have that in common, at least, even if we disagree about what exactly that is.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” So much for Zen Arlo. I want to kill this motherfucker.

  “It means I don’t think you’re good for her. In fact, I think you’re bad for her. I mean, she’s only just gotten over the ‘break’ the two of you were on—you saw her, she was a nervous wreck—and now this.”

  “The break was her idea, not mine. I went along with it because I wanted to respect her wishes and give her the space she needed, and because I hoped if I did that, she’d come back to me. All along, it was the last thing I wanted. I even told her so. She told me she was stressed about pulling together the book and the show, not about us. I mean, what the fuck was I supposed to do? You can’t force someone to be with you.”

  “Whatever, dude. If you called to try and make yourself look good while you’re wrecking my best friend’s life, you can save your breath, because it’s not gonna fly with me. I should have ended you when she came home bawling her eyes out after your first encounter. And to think that for a moment there I was actually on your side. I even told her you were one of the good ones. What a crock that turned out to be. What the fuck was I thinking?”

  Ten… nine… eight… I count slowly in my head. It’s either that or lose my shit with this fucker so epically he won’t answer my calls. Seven… six… five… four… three… two… one…

  “I’m not trying to justify anything. I just wanted to check on my girl.”

  “She’s not your girl.”

  “I just want to know she’s okay.”

  “She isn’t. She probably won’t be for a long time. She’s heartbroken, but she’s not slitting her wrists, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  I guess it kind of was, in a roundabout way. “Look after her for me. Please.” I try to sound humble, but even to my own ears my tone is rough.

  “Who are you to tell me what to do? You’ve been in her life all of five fucking minutes, and all you’ve done in that time is turn it upside down. You don’t need to tell me how to treat my best friend. Nic and I have been there for everything she’s been through in the last few years, and we’ll be right here when you’re nothing but a dim and unpleasant memory.”

  “I’ll be calling every day t
o see how she is. You need to answer my call.” I’m keeping a lid on my temper only because I need to.

  “Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?”

  “It’s not supposed to be anything. Just pick up when I call, that’s all.” I can just about make out his indignant response as I hang up.

  Next I send London a text.

  Me: I love you. Don’t push me away.

  There’s no reply. Not that I was expecting one.

  Next on my list is finding Marnie. Or at least tracing her whereabouts. Maybe for now it’s best that I don’t encounter her in person, I don’t want to make the situation worse than it already is, and I honestly can’t trust myself not to if I’m standing in front of her. First and foremost, I need to speak to her and try to get a handle on exactly what went down with the video—apart from her on me, and vice versa, that is. I call her cell, and of course it goes straight to voice mail. I leave her a short message, trying my best to control my rage.

  “It’s me. We need to talk. Call me when you get this.” I hang up before I say something we’ll both live to regret. I don’t want to spook her. I call her a few more times over the course of the next few hours, and send her a text, pretty much identical to the voice mail message.

  Where the fuck is she? She has very little family that I know of, if any. Her grandma was her guardian when she was a kid, and she’s been dead a number of years. I almost melt my brain trying to think of people I could contact in case anyone has any leads. I realize two things: firstly, she has very few friends—ones she talks about, at least. Secondly, after all these years of “friendship,” I know almost nothing about her except what she feels like wrapped around my dick and her favorite ways to fuck. Unfortunately, neither is of any use in my current situation.