by Ella Fields
“But,” she said on an exhale, “the sheer fact that you are usually oblivious means there could be something. I mean, I’m not saying there is or isn’t, but your gut is telling you to listen.”
“So,” I mused, “I suppose all I can do is keep listening.” I stood, pacing the round blue woven rug as my free hand dug into my hair. “That doesn’t help.”
Hope cursed. “I’ve been discovered.” The sound of my nephews’ laughter as they no doubt opened the pantry to find their mother made me smile. “I know it doesn’t,” she said quickly, “but that’s all you have for now. Rely on it, but don’t freak out until you have to. You don’t wanna drive a wedge between you guys for no reason.”
All true.
I tugged at my bottom lip as the boys screeched, and then one of them started crying. “You go, but thank you. I’ll talk to you later.”
“’Kay, make sure you keep me updated.”
The line went dead, and I dropped my phone to the bed, eyes drifting over my bedroom.
A photo on my dresser caught my eye, tugging at my heart and feet until I stepped closer and picked it up.
Hope and I both looked like her with our dark brown hair and dark eyes. But whereas Hope had gotten Dad’s button nose, I’d inherited the strong bridge of Mom’s, one that stood proudly on my face. Such a thing would normally irk most girls, but I’d gotten a piece of her, and for that fact, I could only love it. Love what I saw every time I looked in the mirror. Not in a vain way; though I wasn’t insecure or self-deprecating, I knew I wasn’t bad to look at. No, it warmed my heart even as it squeezed it to see some of her staring back at me whenever I saw my reflection.
“What would you do?” I wondered aloud to the picture of a woman with long brown hair and a glowing smile that she directed to the two girls on her lap. “I’m so fucking confused.”
The picture stayed still. The perfect moment captured in time and sealed behind a wall of finger smudged glass was both unhelpful and soothing.
I placed it down, sighing as I went back to my perch by the window.
My phone chirped with a new text from Miles. He was probably asking where I was. I’d answer him. And I’d go home.
I looked at the woods.
Just not yet.
I arrived home in the dark.
No lights were on except for a lamp in the living room. The uncooked food no longer sat on the countertop.
My tongue wrapped around excuses for my whereabouts the whole drive home, yet even as I thought to hell with it, I’d just ask who he was talking to, I realized it wouldn’t be that simple.
Miles was asleep, his muscular limbs sprawled over our duvet as if he hadn’t meant to pass out, the moon highlighting the dips and valleys of his broad back. His snoring was the soundtrack I needed to brush off the events of the day and get undressed.
I’d shower in the morning, not wanting to risk waking Miles after I’d been given an out.
But as I laid next to him, not touching and staring out the same uncovered window to the night sky beyond, I couldn’t sleep.
I’d been given an out, but I didn’t need one.
He did, and I’d unknowingly handed it to him.
“Everybody pick five things each from your activity station to pack away.”
I returned to tidying my desk as the kids scrambled to grab five items and return them to their rightful homes. The fact I only needed to make it a game and they’d snap into action, no matter how grumpy, tired, and hungry they were, made a giddy smile appear on my face every time.
After they’d left, I finished tidying what little hands and eyes had missed and printed off fresh spelling tests for Monday.
Glowing sunshine lit the world outside Lilyglade Prep, and my eyes watered as I blinked at the brightness, almost stumbling down the steps with my folder and bag to the parking lot.
After offloading my stuff onto the passenger seat and closing the door, I turned and screamed.
Thomas scowled as if my fear was a pest he wished he could swat away. “Honestly, Little Dove.”
“It’s Jemima,” I said, my hand fluttering to my face. I hastily raked it through my hair and looked over his shoulder to his car, where I could see the top of Lou Lou’s pigtails through a dark tinted window.
“Same thing,” Thomas said, following my gaze. “She’s playing an iPad, and the A/C is on, so she’ll survive.”
I coughed over the laugh that tried to barrel free. “Okay then.”
Looking him over, in his pressed suit and dress shirt, I decided to kill one of my many questions. “What happened to her mother?” I waited for the anger, the scolding sure to follow such a personal question.
Thomas merely lifted a brow. “So she finally asks.”
“I know she’s not in the picture,” I muttered. “School records and all.”
Thomas nodded once, but otherwise, no part of him moved.
My fingers curled at my sides as I let my eyes meet his.
“She’s dead.” His voice held no trace of emotion, neither did his eyes.
Still, I said, “I’m sorry.”
His head tilted. “There’s no need to be sorry. She was a rotten woman.”
Well, shit. I couldn’t help it, and an incredulous laugh slipped past my lips. “I’m sorry,” I said again, breathing in a steadying breath. “That’s just …”
“It’s the truth.”
“It’s shocking.”
Thomas rubbed his lips together, and my eyes followed the movement. His bottom lip was fuller than the top but not in an overly noticeable way. No, you had to be standing close enough to see, which had me sliding along my car, heading for the driver’s side.
“Anyway, I better get going.” I had no idea why he’d hung around after picking Lou Lou up. Perhaps he was running late after work. Lou Lou waved when I glanced over at their car, and I waved back. “Have a nice evening.”
“Wait,” he said in a tone that conveyed no urgency, only gentle command. “My text messages.”
With my back to him, I let my eyes shut. Then slowly, I turned, acting about as nonchalant as a bumbling elephant. “Oh yeah, about them …”
“Don’t contact me.”
I wasn’t planning to, but his quick words pulled me up short. “What?”
“Trust me when I say it was a foolish move on my part. I’ve since discovered the error in my ways, and you can’t contact me.”
A little bit stung, yet unsure why, I felt like saying I didn’t even want to. But meeting his gaze again, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. He exuded professionalism, a little too much, yet beneath that hard exterior, something simmered that I didn’t trust, something I feared to upset. Whatever that was.
“No worries.” I opened my door, watching as he turned for his car. “Hey, but you never did tell me how you got my number.”
“And I never will,” he said, then climbed into his car. I was about to do the same when his window wound down, and his next words stunned me. “Are your eyes open, Jemima? Because things are never as they seem.”
“Babe,” Miles cooed in my ear as I prepared a salad at the kitchen island. “I missed you. Where’d you go last night?”
He stole a piece of carrot, pecking me on the cheek and chomping down as he leaned his hip against the countertop.
“Went to Dad’s.” I drizzled the dressing in, then tossed the salad.
The sound of his chewing, even with his mouth shut, grated like nails down a chalkboard.
My skin prickled.
“Where’d you go?” I asked before he could drill me on why I went home.
Home. Funny how that hadn’t changed even after I’d been living here with Miles for months.
“Got called out to a job. Someone found a snake in their yard, and I wasn’t about to turn down five hundred bucks.”
“A snake?” Grabbing two plates, I set them down before removing the chicken from the oven.
“Uh-huh.”
Miles would pro
bably gripe that this wasn’t enough food for him, but I wanted chicken and salad, so that was all I cared about. His eyes danced hot on my profile as I readied our plates.
Once served, I dumped the oven tray in the sink, snatched some cutlery for myself, and went into the living room to eat.
Miles followed a minute later, carrying half a loaf of bread in one hand and his dinner in the other. He sat on the other couch and kicked his feet up onto the ottoman.
I’d just about finished eating before he finally asked, “Are you going to tell me what’s bugging you yet?”
“You are,” I said, shocking myself and him.
Ignoring his pinched expression, his mouth stuck mid chew, I took my plate into the kitchen and began cleaning up. He wisely let me be, or maybe it wasn’t so wise as my frustration only grew.
I slammed plates into the dishwasher, almost cut myself on a knife, and when I tossed the food into the trash, half of it landed on the floor in front of it.
Fuck it, he could pick it up.
At that moment, I could barely discern what was eating at me so much. Miles and his lies, or Thomas and his weird vibes.
An odd combination of both.
I stomped down the hall, ripping off my dress, panties, and bra, then tore open the shower and stood under the cool spray until the water warmed, hardly feeling it.
Miles came in as I was working conditioner through my hair, his arms looping around me and pulling my back flush with every hard part of his chest.
Sliding his tongue over my shoulder to my ear, he breathed, “Talk to me.”
“I don’t know if I can.” And the truth in those words hadn’t registered until then. I didn’t know if I could talk to him. I didn’t know if I could handle knowing, or if I could survive the frustration and anxiety of not knowing.
When his hands glided over my stomach and wrapped around my breasts, he started rocking his hips and sliding his hardness over my ass and lower back.
“Do you need me?” His teeth plunged into my neck. I squeaked, and not totally in pleasure, but in pain. “Let me fuck you better.”
A coil wound tighter than any knot unfurled in an instant, fraying and snapping as I spun in his arms, shocking him enough that I was able to shove him back into the shower wall.
“Who is Shell?”
I watched his eyes, watched the way his pupils dilated and the whites shrank even as he kept his expression tight with confusion. “The fuck? Who?”
“I heard you on the phone yesterday.” I was past the point of wondering if I sounded like a crazy, paranoid fiancé. If it would quell the shaking terror that quaked higher every day my worries festered, I was giving myself a pass to be as crazy as I needed.
Miles seemed to fade into the tiled wall, his gaze turning down to where the soap-clouded water swirled around our feet.
After a minute of only the running water to drown out my stalling heartbeat, he met my eyes again. “She’s my sister.”
“Your sister.”
He nodded, and I stepped under the spray to rinse the conditioner from my hair, my eyes never leaving his as I digested his blatant lie.
It wouldn’t go down easy, no matter how much I longed for it to.
And so I left him in the shower, dried myself off, and retreated to the living room.
Thomas
Little Dove’s eyes were reminiscent of a pair I’d seen before.
As soon as I saw them in person, I’d faltered.
Her lithe little body was innocence swathed in guilt, though she had done nothing to warrant that guilt in the first place.
She was merely a fly tangled up in a web of retribution.
Then she looked at me.
Smiled at me.
Talked to me.
Laughed with me.
Unknowingly, she began to flatten my precariously erected plans.
Then, even though it took more time than I’d care to admit, I became aware of his.
Now we were all tangled up.
Did she blind me to the obvious? Or was my mind playing tricks on me to keep me sharp?
Either way, it was as clear as a cloudless sky now.
It was just too bad, really. Too bad that I never could’ve predicted how difficult this would be. And not for the reasons it should’ve been.
Was this what happened when you were controlled by your dick?
I mean, I’d heard it countless times before, but I’d never been ruled by lust. No matter how pretty the Little Dove was. Lust was incapable of fooling me and thwarting my schemes.
No, it was something else. Something unnamable yet smothering. The way it took up space in my brain. The way she did.
I wasn’t equipped for this.
I didn’t foresee this.
I couldn’t walk away from this.
As much as it didn’t bother me—they’d never fucking bothered me—it did involve me.
Everything and anything to do with her very much involved me.
In fact, everything that’d happened and would likely happen was because of me.
Miles went to bed after I’d left him in the shower, and he woke early for work the next morning.
Are your eyes open, Jemima?
Armed with a plan and riddled with tension, I ignored the usual chores I’d do around the house on a Saturday and decided I could take a day for myself.
And I made good use of it by tugging open drawers, ripping away blankets, and searching between the mattress and bed frame. Though if Miles had a second phone as I thought he did, then I guessed he’d likely taken it with him.
It was lunchtime when I forced myself to set everything back in the right order and take a time-out.
After eating a whole bag of peanut M&M’s, I washed them down with half a bottle of water, resigned to the fact that I’d either need to be more persistent in getting him to tell me the truth, or I’d need to quit this witch hunt and chill the hell out.
I went to the study where my books still sat dust covered and lonely in boxes.
Miles had bought shelving for them, which sat in flat packaging by the wall, but he’d never gotten around to setting them up. I’d thought about doing it myself, but Hope had warned against doing such things when I’d whined about it, saying it made some guys feel like less of a man when we took tasks like that from them.
Well, fuck his manhood.
I ripped open the packaging, more so for something to do than anything else, and froze when something clattered onto the white pieces of wood inside the cardboard box.
Peering into the dark interior, I saw a black lump near the bottom, and sent my hand in to fish it out. It latched around a familiar shaped object.
A phone.
My heart raged, in both triumph and despair, as I stared at the phone I’d first seen weeks ago.
I sniffed back tears, turning it to its side to see it’d been set to silent, so you couldn’t hear it buzzing or ringing.
So I couldn’t.
The screen lit up, displaying a new message from six this morning.
S: I’ll be there in ten.
My hands shook, my chest inflating as I took a deep breath and investigated further, opening a stream of messages.
There weren’t many, but the few there were all from someone named S.
Shell.
His supposed sister.
S. It feels like this will never end.
S: I miss you.
S: Don’t you dare forget about me.
The last one had me throwing the phone at the wall.
After leaving a dent, the casing flew off the phone, and all of it fell to the beige carpet between two boxes of my books.
Time passed in eerie stillness as I stared at the phone and tried to comprehend everything it meant. As I absorbed the reality I’d gone hunting for.
Once it registered with the force of a sledge hammer to the chest, the tears arrived, and I curled into myself against the wall.
“Jem?”
Draggin
g my eyes open, I wiped beneath my mouth, almost smiling, almost forgetting, as Miles knelt in front of me, concern crinkling his features.
“Hey, what happened?”
I scooted away and stood, my legs jelly from having been on the floor too long. Miles tried to steady me, and I snarled at him, “Don’t touch me.”
“Babe.” He took a measured step back, hands raised as if he was dealing with a feral animal. “What the hell is going on? Talk to me.”
His eyes skimmed the room as he waited.
It was either tell him, or leave him, or both. Or … I didn’t even know what to do. There was too much happening inside me to decide a damn thing.
“I found your phone,” I said. “The other one.” Dragging my wrist beneath my mouth again, I sniffed. “I was going to set up these bookshelves, finally, and what do you know?” My hand waved at the dent in the wall, his eyes following and seeing the phone and its case in pieces on the floor. “A phone appeared.”
“Jem,” he started. “This isn’t what you’re thinking.”
“Don’t you dare.” I stepped forward, hissing, “Don’t you dare tell me I’m crazy or that I’m wrong, when for weeks, weeks, I’ve been slowly losing my mind, wondering if I’m insane.” A crazed laugh left me, which only made me laugh harder at the ironic timing. “I don’t want to be fed any more lies, Miles. I want the fucking truth.”
He opened his mouth, more lies about to spill, and I scoffed, heading for the door to the room.
His next words stopped me. “It was after we’d first met. We’d only been on the one date …”
My hand shot out, clenching tight around the doorframe.
The one date.
He said it so clinically as if that time spent together, no matter how small, meant nothing to him. Not in the way it meant to me.
Turning, I raised my hand, not hearing anything else he was saying, and asked with more calm than I thought I’d ever have in this kind of situation. Not that I’d ever expected to be in this situation, though I guess I’d gone looking for answers. I couldn’t lose my shit or complain too much about finally getting them. “How many times?”
