by Clara Reese
“Ah…” I can’t seem to find any words. Free accommodation and food sound pretty great right now. For a second, I’m hung.
It’s like being in one of those cartoons where there’s a fork in the road and one of them looks great but is in fact evil. The other side looks evil but is no worse than the current situation.
I’m not getting trapped like that. No way. It sounds like she wants a pet. I’ve already been one of those.
“Thank you very much.” I say firmly. “But tell Miss Monroe I’m not interested.”
We say our goodbyes. The woman doesn’t seem surprised by my response.
I sit quietly in my chair and think about what I’ve just done. I went in there wanting to change my life and it looks like the universe finally bent to my will for a change. A great woman appeared out of nowhere and offered me the deal of a lifetime.
Moving in with a billionaire sounds incredible. I wouldn’t have to worry about bills and there would be no way Grady could find me. She would have plenty of security around and I’d most likely spend my time sleeping and eating. That would be a far call from the reactive lurching around I do.
I feel like I’m on a sinking ship and the faster I plug the holes the more appear. Like I run back and forth constantly but I’m still sinking. It would be nice to put all that behind me and leave everything, even my fear of Grady, in the dust.
I feel something hard in my throat, slivers of ice in my chest. I want to trust Charlotte. I feel like there was something special about her, like we connected. Being around her didn’t seem like a chore.
But that’s how I felt about Grady, in the beginning.
Not to mention a few other people in my life. In the early days it’s all love and trust. It only takes a couple of things going wrong for you to see every friendly face turn their back.
I can’t stand the thought of Charlotte doing that to me. She was so cool, so aloof, that I’m sure there’s more to her than the friendly warmth that may not even have been there in the first place. I might have just wanted to see it. That’s always been my problem.
I’ve learned the hard way not to trust people. I can’t trust this. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but the rock and the hard place need to get closer together before I’m ready to trust another human being.
No. If it looks like absolution, it’s actually doom. I know it. I don’t need to run through the painful parts of the lesson again just to prove it to myself. I’ll just save us all the trouble and never go down that road at all.
6
Charlotte
That’s twice now she’s told me no.
Once, in person at the clinic. Now via the secretary after receiving an official offer. I get the call on my way home. I need to get to the office, but I’m not in a hurry. I need to linger on this unexpected turn in my life.
I just don’t understand it. Clearly, she needs help. She must have been willing to sell her body if she went in there in the first place. What’s her problem with me?
I’m not sure I’ve been told ‘no’ that many times in my life. Certainly not from the same person. No one refuses me twice.
But she did.
God, help me. It excites me.
I look out the window of my penthouse, not seeing the view. I pull on my lip a little. I’m very attracted to Katrina and I don’t know how to deal with it.
No one has stirred me sexually since Addy died. I was always a sexual person, but something changed when I met Addison. She opened me up, showed me what love and intimacy really was. Occasionally I’d get dominant with her and she didn’t really like it, telling me she didn’t feel loved when I was like that.
I was happy to tone it down. I would have done anything for her, even keeping my domme side locked up. I would never have hurt her and I’m sure she knew that. Addy just preferred soft touches, lingering lips and very enthusiastic tongues.
I realize my eyes are closed and my tongue is running slowly along my lip. I’ve gone too far into my memories. I can see the dusky sheets lit by candlelight. I can feel the comfort and the peace. Addy’s here and everything’s all right.
But when I let the thought expand the other woman in the sheets is not Addy.
It’s Katrina. Her red hair is fanned out across my pillow and her gray eyes are wide, not with fear, but arousal. I can feel myself throbbing as I run my hands over her breasts…
I drag deep breaths in through my nose, trying to stop the tears. I hate this. I feel so bad about this. I miss Addison so much it’s like a sharp wound in my chest. I haven’t seen anyone that I thought I could love since she died. Nothing could stir me.
But here I am, getting hot for a redhead I’ve known for all of two seconds. The worst thing is, even though I feel horrible, I don’t want to stop.
I feel alive for the first time in a long time. My body has been a cold, rigid shell for so long. Right now, I feel like Katrina has lent her flame to me and I’m finally burning again. My nipples, my clit and my cunt. I’m aching for her, my breath coming hotter and harder as I let the images come.
I can’t stop. It feels too good. Like I’m alive again, risen from my grave. I can see Katrina’s tight little body under my hands, I can taste her on my tongue.
I sit down and let my tears come. They just trickle down my cheeks while my body glows with the light I thought had been permanently extinguished. I don’t cry with great wracking sobs anymore. I just let the tears trickle out while my chest aches. I know I’ll never stop crying.
I decide I need to know more about Katrina, and I tell myself it’s just to test her suitability for being a surrogate. Nothing more.
Yeah, right. I want to know where she went to high school, where she lives now and what she just ate. Nothing creepy about that.
I shove the thought away and pull out my phone. I call Reggie, my contact in the police. He’s mostly off duty these days, an old dog that loves a bit of private investigative work.
I tell him what I need, and he rings off, promising to have information for me within twenty-four hours. He only needs her name and he can track down everything I need to know.
For all I know she’s a criminal or a drug addict. There’s no point getting all worked up over her if she’s not going to be the one.
I get up from the table and head to the elevator. It takes a few minutes to get right down into the basement.
When I step out it’s silent and dark. There are echoes ringing off the concrete walls just from my shoes tapping the asphalt. I turn to the panel by the lift and hit every switch.
The lights flicker on in lines from where I stand right back into the shadows at the end of the garage. I start to walk down the lines, admiring each vehicle as I pass it.
I run my fingers over hoods and stroke the door handles. Gold Mercedes. Blue Dodge Viper. Red Ferrari. Purple Corvette.
I still love them, each and every one. I’ve loved cars and driving since I was very young. When I got in my first muscle car it was the most exhilarating moment of my life. I immediately made contacts in the racing world so I could take high-performing cars out on the track. Not in races though; I’m adventurous, not reckless.
I walk right up to the end of the garage, taking my time walking back down. I have a few vintage vehicles that Addison and I used to take to fairs or parades. She was always donating my stuff.
I smile as my fingers slide across the hood of the cream Jaguar. She once put my Porsche up as a raffle item for a charity ball, not knowing only a hundred of them had been made and it was a collector’s item. When it sold for several million Addy was so excited for the homeless shelter we were raising funds for, I couldn’t bear to tell her the truth about the car.
I walk back towards the lift, looking over my shoulder at the cars and feeling dark. I used to love to drive. I never had a driver.
Now I’m terrified of cars. Each and every one. I can’t get back behind the wheel. Not ever. If I even open the door to one of these babies and sit in the driver’s seat, I get the
shakes. I’m not sure why I came down here. It’s always the same.
I want this day to be the day. The day I don’t blame myself. The day where I can just get into a car and drive off without thinking about Addy.
I can hear breaking glass, tires screaming, and Addy’s voice. All I can see is blood and I can feel horrible stabbing pain in my legs. That’s when Addison’s voice stops and I know I will never, ever hear it again.
The tears come. As always, I let them flow. A few sobs hitch in my throat, but they don’t consume me.
It was my fault. I’m only crying for myself. I miss her. She was mine and I killed her.
I stab the buttons as I get back in the lift. I’m not just hurt and confused now. I’m angry. It feels like my veins are hot and my heart is trying to burn through my chest.
But that anger is all for me, too. There is no one else to blame. Addy died because of me. I miss her as if I lost half of my entire body that day, but there’s a whole world out there that’s now deprived of Addy’s grace.
I hurry through the building picking up my gear. I buzz my driver and get down to the ground floor.
Time to go to work. It’s the only place I can escape. Today I won’t just be running from Addison. I’ll be running from a cute redhead who’s enchanted me. It’s as if she captured my heart before I could even decide I wanted to give it.
Soon, I’ll know more about her. I’ll know if it’s safe to fantasize about her. Until then, bury myself in work, the only place I’ve found where not only can I run from the truth, I can keep on running as long as I like. The work never stops. There is always more money to be made.
7
Katrina
Never before in my 22 years have two words instilled me so much fear and anger simultaneously. My first hint this morning should have been the incessant hammering coming from the apartment hallway, and the booming voice that cursed my name. In my dreamlike state, I had attributed it to the remnants of a nightmare. But now, as I read and re-read the words "Eviction Notice" plastered to my door in black and white, I realize my nightmare has morphed into a cold, hard reality.
My head is spinning, and I realize that if I spend one more minute willing this piece of paper to disappear, I'm going to go insane. With tears of frustration stinging at my eyelids, I rip the letter from its perch and march straight down to my landlord's office.
I don't expect Alec to fold easily. In his defense, he has given me several chances. I've spent many a night pleading with him and his wife over the phone to extend the deadline, and each and every time they've told me it was the last. I have nothing else to offer them except my sincere apologies and a promise that I will have the money--I just don't know when, or how.
"Mr. Hartorian," I call, knocking fervently at his office door. "Please let me in, it's Katrina. We need to talk."
I'm met with the sound of papers shuffling, then silence. I know he's in there, and I also know he's smart enough to ignore me. If I were a landlord, I would be fed up with me, too. But the Hartorians are good people, deep down, and if I appeal to them just right, I know they will give me just one more chance.
"Alec, please. I just want to talk about the eviction notice, I have a few questions." The words burn as they leave the back of my throat, and I swallow to keep from throwing up.
After another few minutes of quiet, Alec stomps closer and opens the door. "Questions, you say? Or another ploy for more time?" His heavy accent jumbles the words, but I understand enough to know he won't be fooled. The older man keeps his door turned, a blatant sign that he won't allow me inside to beg for mercy.
"Well," I begin, racking my brain for something, anything that will keep this man from slamming the door in my face. "I just wanted to let you know that I have a new job, and that the rent money will be coming in very shortly." My lie leaves my lips feeling sour, but it's all I have to keep myself off the streets.
Alec strokes his greying beard, trying to decipher the truth in my eyes. "How come I never see you leave for work then?" he challenges.
"It's freelance." I don't know when I became so good at lying. "I promise, if you just give me one more month I will pay everything I owe you."
"No!" I jump at the volume of his voice. "My wife needs to buy food for the family, tenants like you with late rent payments mean we do not eat. I've had enough! No more time!"
When he begins to close the door, I press against it. "Please, Mr. Hartorian, Arlaine will be able to buy groceries I promise. If not a month, than how about a week?"
He mulls it over, eventually shaking his head. "Too long. Prove to me you have your new job, and I will think about it."
My heart races at his offer, and I nod my head excitedly. "Proof of a new job in a week, got it."
"24 hours."
The counter offer gives me pause, and I bring my hands to my mouth in shock. "But Mr. Hartorian…I--"
"Final offer. No job in 24 hours, no apartment. Goodbye." The resounding echo throughout the hallway as he closes the door rings in my ears. Did I hear him correctly? If so, I'm screwed, and living on the streets is about to become my new reality.
All the way back to my room the tears flow, and I struggle to wipe them away with my pajama top so I don't cause a scene. Alec and his wife are known for meaning what they say when it comes to rent payments, and I've seen several tenants before me leave their office in tears. There is no way I could possibly find a new job in 24 hours, so I solemnly plan to start packing once I return to my room.
I pass my reflection in my hallway mirror once I throw my keys on the counter and remove my shoes. She looks like a corpse: black bags beneath the eyes, sallow lips, hunched shoulders. Even my scarlet hair, usually bright and full, has lost its luster. I blame the stress and years of living each day trying to figure out how to survive the next.
I head to the kitchen and turn on my laptop; if I'm going to be living on the streets, the least I could do is sell my remaining belongings for a little bit of pocket cash. The thought itself depresses me beyond reason, and I let out a sigh as I settle for apartment hunting for cheaper options instead.
Before I can find anything worth looking into, my email notification goes off. It's from Jana, the case worker who helped me after Grady's imprisonment. It grabs my interest immediately, especially because I haven't heard from her since that monster was locked up.
A sickly feeling settles in my gut, and my eyes go wide. There's no way she would email me unless...No. It can't be. Could it?
With trembling fingers, I click on the email, my eyes scanning from left to right haphazardly. "Hello, Miss Stone, we regret to inform you that Grady has been...released from prison." My stomach drops and I clench my eyes shut, the tears already beginning to fall.
Horrifying flashbacks take charge of my brain, and the macabre images of myself in the mirror with blood dripping down my back from Grady's rage chills my pulse. The scars are still there. One from when he threw the rum bottle, another from when he put his cigarette out against my skin; too many to remember without being overcome by complete and utter fear.
It takes all my willpower to refrain from losing my mind. This evil man, this absolute demon, is now free. And with me living on the streets…Even though I've been on the run from his fury for a while now, there's a good chance he will find me.
The email continues to issue false hope by assuring me that the police have it all under control, and that I should "let them know" if he comes after me again. Everyone with good sense knows that the cops can't do anything unless harm has been inflicted or he violates his restraining order, in which case it will already be too late. The only chance I have in this world of remaining safe, is keeping this apartment. And with the landlord's deadline of 24 hours for proof of a new job, I'm as good as dead.
In my fear and desperation, I consider running again. I can leave town, change my name, and exist as a new person before Grady has a chance to find me. I laugh darkly at the thought; you need money to go on the lamb, and
money is something I am grossly lacking at the moment. Just then, another escapist fantasy crosses my mind.
It's one I've considered before, and one I've almost gone through with: the surrogacy. It's my only hope of escaping Grady's clutches, and by accepting the position I would be agreeing to live with Charlotte. Though I don't fully trust her yet, the move is an instant solution to my housing problems, and it would get me further away from my ex. I quickly dial the agency and smile for the first time in weeks.
With the feeling of hope finally spreading through my entire body, I address the woman on the line with reinvigorated excitement. "Hello, this is Katrina Stone. Yes, I came in the other day and left my number at the front desk. I'm calling to formally accept the position."
8
Charlotte
I’m sitting in the garden admiring the roses when Ben appears beside me and drops a large manila envelope on the bench. Ben has been my PA for years now, and he’s very good at keeping me in line and arranging anything that needs to be done. Most people dance around me as though they’re worried about what will happen if they get too close, but Ben usually isn’t afraid to be sassy when I deserve it. He is, hands down, my favorite employee, even when he gets grumpy after the security team have been teasing him for being “boss’s favorite.”
I flick through the contents of the envelope once he leaves. It’s the background check I ordered for that woman, Katrina, and it makes for some pretty grim reading. She hasn’t been having a great time of it thus far and I feel pangs of sympathy deep in my chest. She reminds me of Addison when we first met, and my eyes flutter closed with the memory.
Katrina is quite similar to Addy in a lot of ways, but perhaps most similar of all is that Addy was a stubborn, feisty, poverty-stricken artist when we first met. There’s no doubt Katrina is feisty, and she’s definitely down on her luck too. I wish she had agreed to my proposal and given me the chance to help her out.
