by I. A. Dice
“Hey.” Claudia kissed my cheek. “Where is she?”
“She’s asleep in the living room. She made me watch Star Wars.” I led her into the kitchen, closing the door behind us. “Thanks for letting me have her today. I needed it.”
“I know.” Claudia dropped her bag on the breakfast bar. “Scorpio called me. You look… homeless, Thomas.”
Cheeky son-of-a-bitch.
“So, the story about your boss making you work late was bullshit?”
“Yup. I spent the afternoon shopping and getting my hair done.”
She twirled, showing off her dark locks, and I was about to ask if the hairdressers were closed, but I bit my tongue.
She took a seat, arms crossed. “I agreed when Scorpio said you need a reminder that there are still people you love and care about right here.”
I scoffed, but smiled a little, too.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure. And I mean, honestly, my pleasure. I needed a break. I can’t remember the last time I tried on a dress without Maya running out of the changing room with my top.”
Her smile slipped, replaced by two wrinkles that hid under…
Ah, that’s what changed—the fringe.
“You want to talk? I’m a good listener.”
A part of me wanted to tell her everything, get it off my chest and hear an unbiased opinion, but at the same time, I wanted to downplay the pain. At the end of the day, what happened between Nadia and me wasn’t anyone’s fucking business.
I put a cigarette in-between my lips and turned around to get an ashtray from the windowsill. Claudia helped herself to one as well. I lit it up without a question, even though she never smoked.
“Don’t give me the silent treatment, Thomas. I can’t help if you won’t talk. I know you won’t talk to Mel or Jane, so I’m the only chance you’ve got at hearing a woman’s point of view.”
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. If anyone could help me, then Mel being Nadia’s friend was the best equipped to do so, but I was scared to talk to her. I was scared of her half the time. She liked to yell, and I didn’t like to listen to her high-pitched voice.
“There’s no way you can help.” I breathed out all the air from my lungs. “She left. She went back to New York to her ex, and that’s that.”
Claudia clicked her tongue. She never had much patience and hated it when people played her for a fool. It would be wise to fear her, too.
“Scorpio told me that much. I want to know how you’re dealing with it—apart from getting alcohol poisoning every day.”
“I’m not fucking dealing with it. I feel like my life has stopped.” I tried to laugh it off, but it came out like a cry for help. “It’s nothing. She just caught me off guard. I’ll be fine, but I need time to fall out of love.”
Claudia took my hand, her eyes full of compassion. “Who are you kidding? You’re not fine. Why did she leave? Scorpio didn’t seem to know much… or maybe he thought it wasn’t his place to tell me.”
It wasn’t. It also wasn’t his place to tell Claudia that Nadia left or that I was slowly developing a drinking problem, but I wasn’t mad. He had my best interest in mind, as always.
“Nadia’s ex is not what you would call stable.” I pinched the ash from my cigarette. “She went back to hold his hand, because he tried to kill himself. It’s a long story, but the point is she’s gone. She left, and I can’t move on. I can’t hate her, because in a way I understand her, but I also can’t love her; I don’t want to love her, because she chose him.”
Claudia bit her lip, studying my face with an unreadable expression. She would make one hell of a poker player.
“What would you do if she came back today?”
The thought of seeing her did weird things to me. Relief came first but was soon replaced with anger and confusion. If Claudia asked the same question three weeks ago, my answer would have been “I’d do everything to make her mine”, but now that I had time to overthink it, something much different came out of my mouth.
“I think I’d be scared to see her.”
“Scared?”
“I’m not in the right place to face her. It’ll take time before I won’t have the urge to try and win her back somehow.”
“So, you don’t want her back?”
The sceptical note to Claudia’s voice didn’t slip my attention. She was calling my bluff, but as surprised as I was, I wasn’t bluffing. Not in that moment, at least. I couldn’t trust my mind lately. It never stayed in once place, changing a dozen times a day when it came to Nadia. I loved her, missed her and hated her on repeat… although hate was too strong of a word. I was just hurt beyond comprehension.
How the fuck were people surviving that kind of emotional turmoil and still come out normal on the other side? I sure couldn’t imagine fully recovering. Even if I did, there was no way I would still be the same guy.
My relationship with Nadia was short and intense. I gave her all I had, but it wasn’t enough. She still chose Adrian, proving that we weren’t meant to be. She was just my wake-up call—a sign that pointed me in the right direction, showing me that I could live a happy life instead of letting the grief continue to consume me.
Too bad I couldn’t have a happy life without her.
CHAPTER 5
NADIA
Abracadabra
New York in October was lovely. Leaves turned gold, brown and red, transforming Central Park into a spectacular, post-card picture. It was my favourite place to be with a sketchpad in hand and a cup of take-away coffee on the bench. While my pencil scratched the paper, the hum of the city life was muffled by the music playing from my headphones.
Ty brought me here in the afternoon for some alone time. I missed the deadline to apply for university transfer and decided to take a gap semester. I was stuck in the apartment with nothing to do, and a remorseful Adrian crowding my personal space. It was exhausting, but I grit my teeth, slowly walking him across the bridge that lead from addiction to full recovery.
The same bridge led me further away from Thomas.
I closed the sketchpad when someone pulled the earphones from my ears and placed his warm hands over my eyes.
“You had better have a pop-tart in your pocket,” I muttered.
Adrian sat beside me, presenting a pop-tart. “Always, puppet.”
I reached out to take it, but he retreated his hand with a grin.
“Not so fast. This one isn’t free. I want to take you out tonight. If you say yes, you get a pop-tart.”
I scoffed, crossing my arms. “Where do you want to take me?”
“Out. I want to see you dance, puppet. I want to see you smile. What do you say?” He waved the pop-tart in front of my face. “I won’t drink. Ty will keep you company with tequila, and I’ll pester the DJ to play your favourite songs. Deal?”
We used to spend the weekends at different clubs. I missed jumping around the dancefloor with Ty, losing our voices to the cringiest songs Adrian could convince the DJ to play. My life had changed too much since then. Maybe it was time to grasp the good moments instead of just focusing on what was wrong.
It had been two months since I left London, but the hole in my heart wasn’t healing. Thomas remained the centre of my attention, always there, at the front of my mind whether I wanted him or not.
“Fine.” I snatched the pop-tart from Adrian.
He kissed my temple. “Come on. I’m taking you shopping. You need a nice dress.”
***
The club was busy, but ty found a vacant table near the dancefloor and left us there, heading to the bar for the first round of tequila shots. Back when Adrian and I were good, we visited a different club every week, looking for something to suit us, but we had never set foot in this one before. It wasn’t big, but I liked the music. The DJ played old songs in modern remixes, and strobe lights chased the crowd on the dancefloor, flashing to the rhythm.
Ty came back moments later, carrying a small tray with eight
shots and a glass of coke for Adrian.
“Come on, girl. Let’s get you drunk.”
“You haven’t seen me drunk, Ty.”
He bobbed his head. “It’s right about time we change that.”
There was no point in arguing. We agreed to disagree on the subject since the day we met. No one got me drunk yet, and Ty didn’t stand a chance, either. I adhered to my limits religiously. Watching girls puke behind the sofa, stick their tongues down strangers’ throats, or fall asleep on the floor at many frat parties I attended was a good way to learn the importance of not drinking more than I could handle.
We downed the first shot, and Ty urged me to take another one. “Do it,” he said, a shot raised to his lips. “You’ll relax faster.”
Adrian clapped his hands once.
“Okay, now I want to see you cringe, puppet.”
I raised an eyebrow when he walked away toward the DJ station. Seconds later, a remix of Subeme La Radio by Enrique Iglesias sounded from the speakers. Bass shook the floor. A half-smile, half-cringe twisted my lips. Adrian emerged from the crowd, dancing his way back to the table. He bounced on his feet, punching the air and fake rowing. My cringy smile morphed into laughter when he took a pop-tart out of his pocket, walking backward toward the dancefloor, calling me over.
“Go,” Ty said. “Take a night off from worrying. Just have fun. Charge your batteries.”
I picked one more shot from the tray. Lemons and salt made tequila palatable most of the time, but tonight we drank it straight, and it was awful. Still, there was something about the terrible taste that made it worthwhile. Besides, my father always said, “It isn’t a problem when you don’t enjoy the taste of alcohol. The problems start when you do.”
Music was the best ad hoc anaesthetic to my troubles. It cleared my head and stopped the train of heavy thoughts the moment I stepped onto the dancefloor. A green skater dress Adrian picked earlier hugged my body. Five-inch heels coupled with light make-up added a few points to my confidence.
Adrian caught my hand, lip-syncing with Enrique. And just like that, for three minutes, I was once again an ordinary girl. We danced until he could no longer breathe, but instead of taking me back to the table, he waved Ty over when another great, remixed tune shook the place—It’s my life by Bon Jovi.
Before I left him, I was oblivious to the fact that Adrian didn’t allow guys to dance with me regardless of how harmless they were. It was either him, Ty or his good friend Justin who entertained me on the dancefloor—a perfect representation of his possessiveness.
Adrian was known around the campus thanks to his boxing career. He had a close group of friends who wouldn’t dare to disrespect me or him, but he only trusted Ty and Justin. Whenever we were out, he danced with me first, then delegated either of the two to take his place when he couldn’t keep up any longer.
Once he got hooked on PCP, he didn’t trust them, either. He didn’t trust himself half of the time.
Ty wasn’t just lip-syncing. He sang and screamed, owning a square meter of the dancefloor. If Bon Jovi was around, he could learn a thing or two about over-the-top performance from Ty.
“Like Frankie said, I did it my way!” he chanted, twirling me around his finger enough to make me dizzy.
Adrian joined us a moment later, still panting. Together, they were wild, forcing many people around us to join the party. By the time the song ended, twenty of us jumped around, singing and laughing.
“I need water,” I gasped when we sat down for a moment.
“On it, puppet.”
Adrian kissed the crown of my head and marched away toward the bar, towering above ninety-five percent of people. Ty and I drank the fourth shot. I wanted to get another round, but Adrian came back with eight shots, and three glasses of water.
“I won’t mind if you drink,” I said, leaning in closer. “Grab a beer.”
He shook his head. “No. No drugs, no alcohol, and no smoking, baby. I’m not taking any risks.” He pecked my forehead. “Hold on, I need to speak to the DJ.”
“I’m going out for a smoke,” I told Ty when Adrian disappeared to request another cringe-worthy song.
He nodded, pointing behind him in the direction of the back exit. I held my head high, ignoring heads spinning to watch me cross the room. The modest dress Adrian chose attracted more attention than any slutty outfit out there, which probably wasn’t Adrian’s plan.
Clutching a handbag, I rested against a wooden pillar that supported the patio roof and lit up a cigarette. Despite the open space, cigarette smoke lingered in the air like fog, the smell mixing with two dozen different colognes and perfumes.
A guy stopped in front of me, three feet too close.
“Hey, I haven’t seen you here before. I’ll take a guess and say you’re not from around here. Am I right?”
He licked his lips, sizing me up the way most teenage boys with fake IDs did. They were easy to spot thanks to an aura of impunity and pomposity. The supposedly irresistible I’m-the-King attitude was a giveaway, too.
My new companion wore white sneakers, loose jeans, a buckle on his belt the size of a dinner plate and enough chains around his neck to anchor the Titanic—classy.
“You could say so,” I replied.
“You’re British! Fuck, you girls have the sexiest accent. I’m Jax. You need a tour guide? I know all the best things this city has to offer.”
He took another step forward. My breathing hitched. Despite Thomas’s help and the progress which I had made with James, I was threatened when anyone got too close—especially ostentatious, hormone ruled teenagers. It was easier to control fear when I interacted with someone familiar, but with strangers, the need to run was harder to suppress.
“I think I’ve seen everything there is to see, thank you.” My voice shook a little, the indifferent note clear, but Jax failed to notice.
“I meant the clubs, shawty.” His gaze slipped to my lips and lingered there too long before he looked back into my eyes. “I’ll show you some real magical places.”
Adrian appeared behind him out of nowhere, his nostrils flared, stance rigid.
“Abracadabra,” he seethed, slipping in between us to push Jax away. “You’re hitting on my girl. Back off.”
“We’re just talking, bro,” Jax said, but his tone changed from relaxed and flirty to reserved. “Chill out.”
Wrong choice of words. Adrian’s jealousy was his biggest flaw and consequently the biggest trigger. He couldn’t control it. He couldn’t control himself. He snapped faster than the naked eye could see.
I blinked, and that was enough time for Adrian to pin Jax to the nearest wall.
“You don’t want to piss me off, bro. You got a good look at her? Yeah? Then you know she’s way out of your fucking league. Beat it.”
The guy raised his hands to signal defeat. I breathed out when Adrian let him go, stepping back. I dropped my cigarette into an ashtray and took Adrian’s hand to take him inside.
“I’ll be here if you change your mind, shawty,” Jax hollered, his cocky attitude back on display.
He underestimated Adrian. He must have thought that if he didn’t hit him so far, then he wouldn’t. My body turned to stone when Adrian turned around, simultaneously pushing me back, away from the imminent brawl. A powerful punch landed on Jax’s nose.
I watched Adrian fight several times. He was unbeatable: a machine designed to inflict pain and collect the perks. It was different in the ring where the crowd cheered him on—it was just a competition. My chest filled with pride when he won another match. Pride gave way to fear when he served some twisted justice to anyone who dared to get too close to me.
Adrian had no breaks. He threw his fists at anyone who as much as looked at me the way he didn’t approve of. Next to jealousy, it was the main reason for our arguments.
Jax touched his bleeding nose, shaking his head as if to say he had enough. But I knew it wouldn’t end there. It never did. Adrian kept the punches coming
as if he were hitting a boxing bag rather than someone’s face. Two more guys jumped in, hitting Adrian to get him off the poor guy who coughed up blood and covered his face, whimpering. There was no stopping Adrian once he lost control.
I couldn’t move, my legs as if they were stuck in quicksand. Tequila came up to my throat, the thought of Adrian turning around to face me, wrath in his eyes brought me to the edge of a panic attack. Religion wasn’t a big part of my life, but I was ready to convert to any religion if praying could get me out of there.
“Adrian!” Ty roared, arriving at the scene. Instead of helping his friend who fought three guys, Ty caught my arms. “Look at me,” he said, his voice artificially calm. “You’re safe, girl. I’ve got you.”
His features changed, stubble appeared on his jaw, blue eyes turned cinnamon, his chest broadened, and the t-shirt he wore morphed into a smart shirt with two buttons undone at the top.
“I’ve got you.” Thomas wrapped me in his arms. “I won’t let go.”
I clenched his shirt, pulling myself in, inhaling his scent. He drew mw closer, the proximity of his body all I needed to calm down.
He laced his hand through my hair, kissing the side of my head over and over in a comforting manner. I kept my face hidden in his chest, my shoulders shrugging pathetically.
I needed more of him to calm down and feel safe. I pushed away from him and looked into his eyes, silently pleading, desperate to be with him as close as possible so I could forget. I fastened my lips on his, pulling on his shirt to take it off so I could feel his heartbeat against my skin, but he moved away.
“Don’t do this,” I whispered. “You said…”
“This isn’t me rejecting you.” He stroked my cheek with his thumb. “If you want this, I need to hear you say it.”
“Come on,” Ty said, snapping me out of the memory.
He draped his arm over my shoulders while two bouncers were on Adrian, pulling him away from one of Jax’s friends. Jax laid unconscious on the ground. Cigarette butts and ash were scattered around, covered with specks of crimson blood.
