by JA Huss
So I start walking towards the Botanic Gardens, because at least I live next to a major landmark and there’s signs everywhere, hoping for a cab. But every single one of them passes me by. Because of course they do. This is like everyone-needs-a-cab day and they all have passengers already.
By the time I stumble through the gardens nearly an hour later, I’m dead tired.
But hopeful.
Hopeful that Ix is at home, waiting for me, perhaps out of his mind with worry.
But when I key in the code to the gate I feel despair washing over me. And when I get inside and look up at the chandelier bulb, I know. I feel it in my gut.
He’s not even here.
I drop my purse on the floor and only then realize… I left my gloves and scarf in the cab on the way over to the coffee house.
I walked all the way home uncovered except for sunglasses and a coat. And I didn’t even notice.
This should make me feel good. That finally there is something in my life that trumps my stupid fear of being watched.
But I wasn’t even seen today.
I was nobody.
Mike didn’t even see me.
Ix has left me.
And all I want right now is to be seen by him.
I go upstairs. All the way upstairs. Take off my clothes, lie on the bed naked, and then fish the blindfold out from under the pillow and tie it around my eyes.
I will wait, I decide.
I will wait just like this until he comes for me.
I wait a long time. Hours and hours. And in that time my mind goes wild with the things that have been happening here. Both under this roof and at the coffee house.
The suspicions form in my head, the clues leading me down a path. Several times I make up my mind and several times I change it.
But no matter how hard I try, the idea lingers.
Ix isn’t who I think he is.
Chapter Thirty-Eight - Ixion
By the time I leave Chella’s tea house it’s dark. I didn’t mean to stay so long. Didn’t even mean to go. Her text last night was vague, but it was enough to plant ideas in my head. Enough to make me question everything.
I didn’t mean to say so much to her. We’re not exactly friends and I barely know her, but she knows enough. More than most. And she had a bit of information she wanted to share with me. Just in case I wasn’t aware.
I was not aware.
Her information ripped my world apart in too many ways to describe, so I don’t bother summing it up in my head.
It’s just…sad. Sad that people can be so manipulative. So self-centered. So fucking filled with lies that they can’t even tell the difference between honesty and deceit.
I’m careful with Jordan’s Mercedes as I pull into the carriage house, even though I want to crash this motherfucker into the side of the house. Even more cautious as I peer over the gate to the garden, afraid Evangeline might be outside.
But she isn’t.
Even after what Chella told me today, I’m not mad at Evangeline. That girl doesn’t have a dishonest bone in her body. She had nothing to do with Jordan’s stupid fucking game. She’s not even a player. Just a piece to be moved around the chessboard.
Like me.
Fuck that, I’m not a piece, I’m a player.
In fact, this is my fuckin’ game.
Isn’t it?
Am I delusional? Crazy, like I thought Evangeline to be?
She’s not. But neither am I. Especially after what Chella told me today.
Fuckin’ Jordan. Now I remember why I hate him. Why I left and never looked back. Why I never wanted to come here in the first place.
I was suspicious, but not suspicious enough, apparently.
I walk down the path that leads to the back steps, take them two at a time until I’m at the bottom, and key in the code to get inside.
A huge feeling of relief washes over me as I close myself up inside. And for a second, I wonder if that’s how Evangeline felt all those years she locked herself up inside? Did she feel that relief when she came home?
If so, I can relate. I want nothing more than to block out the world right now. Just be alone in my aloneness.
Her body, lying prone on the bed up in the master bedroom, makes me look at the monitor. But the blindfold she’s wearing makes me deflate with anguish.
She’s waiting for me.
I can’t do it tonight, Evangeline. I just can’t. There’s too much bullshit rattling around in my head. And if I go to you, you’ll know. You’ll feel it. I’ll ruin all the good I’ve done and I can’t. I just can’t fuckin’ do it.
But of course I can’t tell her that. I can’t tell her anything. I could do the little intercom crackle, but that would invite more discussion on the matter. It would open it up and I want to keep everything closed right now.
I can’t.
So I just sit in the chair and watch, like I’m supposed to, and pick up the notebook to finish the story.
I don’t get far because she sits up in bed. “I know you’re here now. I felt something. The rumble of a car nearby. The vibration of a door closing inside this house. I know you’re here. And you had better come to me right now and tell me why. Why did you leave this morning? Why didn’t you finish the story? I had a poem for you! All written up in my head and I had nowhere to write it.”
Fuck.
“I went to see Jordan and he didn’t show up.”
Fuck again.
“But you were there, weren’t you? Mike.”
What the fuck?
“Was it fun? Watching me wait? Was it fun when you paraded another woman in my face? Was it fun”—she stresses the word hard now—“when I had to leave alone? Did you know I walked home? All the way home?”
She’s visibly shaking. And the image of her, wearing the blindfold, is disturbing.
I reach for the intercom, press the button, and say, “Take off the blindfold and go to sleep. I’m not coming.”
“Fuck you!” she yells. “If you won’t come to me, I’ll go to you.”
She stands up, blindfold still on, and walks across the room like she can see without eyes.
She can’t. She trips over the rug and falls on her hands and knees.
“Evangeline,” I bark into the intercom, my voice booming, louder now than it’s ever been in her presence. “Take off the blindfold and go to bed.”
She just shakes her head as she gets uneasily to her feet. She stumbles over the rug again, but this time catches her fall with a hand on the bedside table. She feels along the wall, her fingertips now her eyes, until she comes to the door.
She pulls it open.
She stands at the top of the stairs.
And then she steps down.
Chapter Thirty-Nine - Evangeline
I slip, my heel skidding off the polished wood stairs, and land on my ass. The hit is hard, and bruising, and I slide down several more stairs before I catch hold of the railing and stop the fall.
Somewhere in the house, somewhere far away, I hear a door bang open, as if hitting a wall. And for some stupid reason I cannot fathom, I wonder if the doorknob made a hole in the sheet rock.
Footsteps echo after that. Coming up from below—so he’s in the basement. I hold on to the railing as I make my way down to the second floor, my fingertips gripping the wood tightly.
That fall really fucking hurt and I’m going to have a giant bruise on my ass tomorrow.
“Go. Back. Upstairs.”
He’s panting out the words, very out of breath. Which is why they come out like three separate sentences. They’re not mean, though. Not a command. More of a request. One I choose not to take into consideration.
“Come with me then,” I say, pretty calm for the circumstances. “I don’t want to be alone today. It was a rough day. I’m tired. I need…” I draw in a huge breath. “I need to be with you.”
“I had a hard day too. I’m tired too. And I need to be alone.”
I realize… t
his is the first time I’ve really heard his true voice. Without the static of the intercom or being whispered so low into my ear it almost didn’t count as speech.
It’s deep. And rough. Like his jaw under the touch of my fingertips that left the tender skin between my legs sore with a rash. Like the chiseled muscles of his stomach. The sculpted shoulders rounding out his arms.
But… I can’t help but shake the feeling that hearing him is very bad. Like he’s giving up a part of himself he should still be saving. Like…
“Then let’s spend the night together,” I say, desperate. It takes every bit of self-control not to lift the blindfold away from my eyes and look at him. But that would spoil the game for sure. It really will be over and I’m not ready to stop playing. Not yet.
“I can’t,” he says.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’re Mike.”
“I’m not Mike. Don’t be dumb. That guy is just another sad, in-it-for-the-money player. Fuckin’ tool. Just like Jordan.”
“Jordan didn’t show today,” I say, voice quivering. “I sat there and waited for him. He never came.”
Ix lets out a long breath, like he really is tired. “I’m not surprised. He had a lot going on.”
I am desperate to keep him here. I feel compelled to say something that will convince him. Change his mind about whatever it was that ruined his day and make him spend his night with me.
I consider my options. I don’t have many, but I refuse to spend tonight alone. I need him. Something. I cannot stand to be invisible now. Not after being seen by him for so many days. So I say, “Give me your story and I’ll go back upstairs.”
“I didn’t write it.”
“Liar,” I whisper. “That’s a lie, Ix. I know you wrote it. The only reason you’ve been writing it down at all was to get to the end. And this was supposed to be the end.”
“Evangeline,” he says. I can almost imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I can’t tonight, OK? It needs to be revised. So tomorrow.”
“No,” I say. “I’m going home tomorrow.”
He pauses. For several seconds. So long I start counting. And when I get to ten, he takes a deep breath. “Why?”
“Because we’re done here. I’m cured, I think.”
He huffs out some air. “You didn’t even play the violin yet.”
“I didn’t come here to play the violin,” I say. “And I don’t need to play it. I’m a prodigy. I know what I know. You don’t lose something like that.”
It comes out bitter and defensive.
“You don’t sound so sure,” he says.
I shift my weight onto my other foot. My hip is sore from the fall and I really want to sit down. But I refuse to go back upstairs and hide away in that bedroom.
“I want you to take me upstairs and stay with me or I want your ending. You don’t revise an ending. If you have to revise it, then it’s a lie. Are you lying to me?”
He pauses.
And that… that is what makes up my mind.
I stumble down the hallways towards him. I know he’s at the top of the stairs. And when I crash into his hard body, feel the softness of his t-shirt, I get such a sad feeling, I pull away, spin, and then my foot hits the top step and I fall.
Chapter Forty - Ixion
I catch her by the arm, jerking it hard enough to make her cry out in pain, and just barely prevent her from toppling over and falling head-first down the stairs.
“Stop,” I say, my heart beating fast at the near-fatal accident that almost happened. “Just fucking calm down and stop.”
“No,” she says, jerking her arm away. She turns and I see a massive bruise forming on her hip. It’s ugly. Already deep purple and swollen. “I’m going downstairs.”
“Then take off your fucking blindfold,” I say, reaching for it.
Her hand grabs mine. Hard. Well, I mean hard for such a tiny hand. “Do not,” she seethes, “remove my blindfold.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask. “Why are you being so fucking difficult?”
She opens her mouth to say something. Then pauses to take a breath and tries again. “It’s not over yet,” she whispers. “I want more time here.”
“No one’s kicking you out,” I say.
“No, but you’re leaving, I can feel it. So either help me down the stairs or get the hell out of my way.”
She shoves me to make her point and then her foot is hovering over empty space—
I pull her back a second time. “Fine,” I hiss. “Fine. I’ll take you down the stairs. Just… be fucking careful, will you?”
“I will.” Her voice is soft through her smile.
She steps very carefully as I lead her. Much more carefully than she was before. And the fear I had begins to fade. She will not fall and break her neck. She will not stumble into a hundred-year-old window and cut herself to pieces. She will be fine.
Unless, that is, I fuck her up again.
I hesitate when we get down into the grand foyer. “Where do you want to go now?”
“Outside,” she says. “I want to sit on that swing with you.”
“Evangeline,” I growl. “You’re completely naked. It’s nineteen degrees outside. We’re not going outside.”
“I’m kidding.” And then she giggles. Like… actually giggles. As if trying my patience was the cutest thing she’s ever done in her life.
I smile. Reluctantly.
Maybe not so reluctantly.
I’m going to miss her.
“You seem to think I need to practice, so take me to that violin. You might as well be the first person to hear me play in a decade.”
I stay absolutely still. Probably even hold my breath.
“Ix?” she says. “Did you hear me?”
I nod. Exhale. Then clear my throat and say, “Yeah. Yup. It’s down here. Stay close to me. I don’t want you to fall again.”
Her small hands wrap around my bicep, squeezing like she never wants to let me go.
I’m so sorry, I want to say. I’m so sorry you’re part of this game. If I could take it back, I would. But I can’t.
But I can’t. Because I’m a coward. And not only that, I’m playing as well.
I’ll make it up to you. I promise.
There are no more incidents as I lead her down the hallway to the library. And I can’t help thinking back to that first day I came here. How wrong I was to assume that her instrument would be the most interesting thing in this house. I pictured her unable to leave it behind when in reality she had almost no interest in it at all.
My intuition—my infamous intuition—failed me.
How many other things have I gotten wrong?
“Do you want to stand in front of the window?” I ask. Because I feel like… I have no idea who she is right now. I can’t even begin to predict what she wants out of this night.
“No,” she says. “I want you to sit on the couch. It’s yellow, right? Crushed velvet? Something my mother would hate because it’s too… romantic.”
I stare at the yellow couch and remember back to her first night here. When she was in a blind panic. When she raced to the bathroom to hide. When she came out, wandered around, and then crumpled to the floor after she saw the violin waiting for her. How she slept, shivering with cold, desperately trying to cover herself with a blanket that would never be able to cover enough. How she never came back to this room again.
How wrong I got it.
How badly I have already fucked this up.
How she might take the gift I’ll give her, but never forget why I gave it.
“I like it,” I say, referring to the couch. Because I do. It’s not something my mother would’ve liked either, and it hurts a little to think that. Because it means we’re different. That I was always different.
“Get me the violin,” Evangeline says, standing right in the place I put her in the middle of the room.
“OK,” I say, prying her fingers from my arm before walking
over to get it. When I pick it up I’m reminded of how light this instrument actually is. Mostly hollow, mostly air, nothing but thin wood and thinner strings. I take the bow and a little container of resin Evangeline will surely want, and bring it all over to the couch.
“Good,” she says. “Now sit.”
It’s not an order. Not a command. Not a request, either. It’s just… what she wants.
So I sit, because I want to give her what she wants tonight. And she sits on my knee, perched off to the side a little with her back straight, and her legs closed, and her hands reaching out.
I place the violin in them and it’s like… she inflates. Immediately. Her chin lifts to accommodate the instrument, her shoulders square as one set of fingers find the strings and the other set holds the bow. She sucks in a breath, like she’s about to play a flute instead of a violin.
“Now listen,” she whispers. “Don’t miss the gift I’m giving you.”
When that bow touches those strings the room is immediately full. The tone starts out deep as she begins some once-well-rehearsed Evangeline Rolaine version of a scale. Her fingers fly, picking up and coming down on just the right string, as her bow slices through the air in just the right way. And the heavens open up inside this almost-empty room as she proclaims that in this singular, elegant way, she owns the entire fuckin’ world.
She is poetry incarnate.
The beauty she creates makes me want to die from joy. The notes reverberate off the wood-paneled walls. The music takes over my mind, and my body submits to her spell, and there is no way anyone who hears her music could ever miss the fact that this girl, frightened as she was, lonely as she was, sad that she was, is nothing but a genius.
And with that realization I understand… she no longer needs me.
Chapter Forty-One - Evangeline
I feel his sigh the moment the music starts. I feel him give in. His whole body relaxes even as mine tenses up and it’s an analogy, really. How two people can be in the same room, experiencing the same thing, and discover two very different feelings lurking inside them.
