A Distraction of Lies

by Charlotte E Hart

  She looks back out of the window after that, no other words as we keep travelling, and begins twirling the gold around her fingers again. I close my eyes rather than keep tempting myself with these selfish thoughts I shouldn’t be having. She’s not mine, and I’m not hers either. Never will be. We are separate, and I am simply a support mechanism while we’re here.

  A guide into a distraction we both need.

  Chapter 15

  Hannah

  I can’t feel Rick anymore. He’s not with me now. I’m alone, but for Gray’s company, and nothing seems as it was. I’m lost in a maze of unanswered questions and thoughts. They’re questions that will never be answered. I don’t even know what I’m doing now as we travel to god knows where, but what does that matter? The dress is nice, the heels nicer, and the coat is lavish, shrouding me with warmth and a sense of care. Gray doesn’t care, though. Why would he? He doesn’t even want to fuck me. I don’t know what that means, regardless of planes and cars and luxuries.

  The car’s effortless speed through the snow finally begins to slow, eventually coming to a stop. It’s all snow and darkness out there, no signs or lights to guide the way or tell me where I am. I clutch the gold chain absently, as if it’s something to cling on to, and stare out into the night. It’s like my life now. Barren and empty of content other than the ground we’re on passing us by. Maybe this is life now. Endless not knowing. Constant dismissal of the world around me.

  I watch as the driver gets out and disappears from view. Gray’s door opens and he gets out, his frame leaving me dwelling in the confines of this luxurious interior with nothing but this chain to hold on to. He said he could be that for me, someone for me to hold on to. Not those words exactly, but that’s what he meant by giving me this chain I’m holding. The connotation was that he’d be here for me if I put it on his wrist. Maybe I will if I need him, but not yet. Alone is calming. Reassuring in some way.

  My own door gets opened, Gray’s hand reaching for me in a show of chivalry. I don’t take it. I step out on my own and look around at the snow cleared path, bare legs sensing the frost and ice. I’m alone now in life. Single. Widowed. I’ll take my chances with my own judgements and desires instead of leaning on a man I hardly know. I’m sensible most of the time, or was before I found out my husband was fucking the entire world behind my back. Maybe I’m changed now. Different than the dutiful housewife I used to be. Thoughts are circulating in me, memories of a time before Rick. Dirty. Harsh. Wild.

  Wanton.

  “What do you want to be called?” he asks.

  “Hannah.”

  That’s it. No Mrs Tanner. No made up name. I am Hannah. I’m a new Hannah. A Hannah that was part who I was before Rick, and is now learning who I am without anyone. He nods at me and smiles slightly. Not enough of a smile for me to see the man I saw briefly earlier, the one who was enthused about my story telling, but it’s enough for me to keep following his lead.

  “Hannah it is.”

  It’s the first time he’s said it directly other than questioning. I smile in reply, enjoying the sound of it from his mouth. Nothing like Rick used to say. It’s stricter, more clipped. No drawled Han, or softly spoken sound. Far more relevant to the new me. I gaze at him as he stands there, wondering who he is other than the information I found online, just like I did in the plane while he left me alone.

  It was all very discrete regarding his personal life. Barely any facts at all after his school years. Still, whoever he is, he’s been here with me, held me up in my time of need. And now I’m here with him, in a country I don’t know, ready to go into something I’m not even remotely questioning because he’s next to me. Maybe I should be scared of that, or of myself for doing any of this.

  I’m not, though.

  “Shall we?” he says, flicking his gaze to the pathway.

  I slowly turn, still clutching the chain, and begin walking down an incline I can barely see. Eventually a low blaze of colour begins to creep into my vision. Torches start lighting the way, all of them about five metres apart. I watch as they blaze burnt orange at me, and listen to Gray’s strides on the hard floor dominating the echoing space around us. Odd. There seems as if there’s nothing here but the torches and perfect tarmac under our feet.

  The thoughts have me peering sideways, looking out at the expanse of snow and ice in the murky light. It’s almost haunting, like a part worn world that offers nothing but despair and grief. I shiver and stride onwards, wrapping the fur around me tighter, and wonder what time it is here? Morning, still night? What does it matter? No sleep. No care.

  “Cold,” I remark.

  “It won’t be in a minute,” he replies, coming to a stop. “Stand still.” I do, waiting to see why. He turns slowly in a circle, his arms outstretched to the side, and then winks at me before walking backwards. A wink? I half laugh, apprehensive of this new version he’s presenting. A wink is nothing like the normally gloomy sense of dispassion. “Stay there,” he says, as he approaches a rock face. His hand goes onto it, fingers spread out, and a blue light flashes under his palm.

  “Fuck,” he snaps, slowly drawing his hand away.

  I move forward, watching as he shakes his hand out and then starts rubbing it. “Painful?”

  “Hmm. Malachi’s idea of a joke, I assume.”

  “Pain is a joke here?”

  “Something like that. Are you ready? Last chance to change your mind.”

  The rock starts opening, a puff of warm air suddenly flooding the area around us. I startle slightly and jump towards Gray, eyes raking around him at the illuminated interior showing itself. It’s just a tunnel, more blue light leading the way into what seems to lead underground, or into a mountain. “Well hidden,” I utter, walking around him to cross the threshold. “I know what ‘it’s a secret’ meant now.”

  Heat hits me the second I step inside, swathes of it dancing across me like a wave. I loosen my grip on my coat and slip it from my shoulders, choosing to carry it rather than swelter, but it’s taken from my grip. Gray nods and walks beside me, leading us deeper into wherever we’re heading.

  It’s not long before a sense of anxiety starts to build in me. I don’t know why. I was feeling capable a while ago, ready to take on anything, but this blue light seems ominous now, as do the contoured lines of Gray’s face the deeper in we go. Shadows play on his skin, highlighting the hollows and ridges of his features. What was simply morose now looks brutal, cruel again even.

  Noise begins to build somewhere in the distance, rumblings and grumblings from what I can make out. I try listening more intently, intrigue making me quicken my stride regardless of my hesitation, but it’s still nothing but a distant clattering of ambiguous sound. I seem alone in my haste, though, his strides near me quietening.

  I turn to look back at him and find him reaching for a bottle of water inside an enclave discretely hidden amongst the rock. He drinks and looks me over, enough interest in the stare that I find myself thinking of my apartment, of the look he gave me as I let my top slip down my body.

  “Do you still need the tux?” he asks, handing me the half-drunk bottle.

  “What?”

  “The tux, Hannah. You said I should be dressed more appropriately.”

  “No. Onwards. I want to see.”

  “Hmm. Drink the water then. All of it.”

  I do, tipping the bottle up as I start walking again. The ground begins to vibrate the closer we get. I can feel it under me, all around me actually as we keep moving. My hand touches the walls as we go, letting the dull vibration rattle my palm. There’s a beat. A deep, dull throb that passes through me, as if sending a primitive drum ricocheting around my whole body.

  “It’s a party?” I laugh and look at him, amused. “You’ve brought me to a party in my despair?”

  My feet skip on, every part of me ready for a party. Grief or not. My butchered life or not. A party is exactly what I need. I’ll get drunk, fall about and laugh and not give a damn about
outside these walls. I’ll meet people and pretend life isn’t what it is. I hold my hand out to him, suddenly remembering I’m not allowed to drink. The pills will do. What were they? Different colours for different stimulants.

  “The pills?” I ask, waggling my hand. “You’re my chemist for the night, Mr Rothburg. Hand them over. Which one first?”

  A door is in front of me before he answers. Solid, black steel barring my path. Both my hands go to it, my palms pressing against the cold metal. Again, the vibration flows through me, making me desperate to go in. I want it all. I want the sound around me, the feeling of nothing behind me, and the doors locked and bolted so I can forget what’s happened to me out here.

  A hand suddenly touches my exposed shoulder, his grip warm and firm on my skin. I gasp slightly as he turns me back to him, watching as his height looms over me. He’s so still. So impossibly still. As if none of this noise affects him or pulls him deeper. I waiver under him, unsure why he seems so severe in his gaze. This is a party. A way of forgetting and moving on.

  “Why so serious, Mr Rothburg?”

  “Don’t forget who you are,” he says, solemnly. “Remember the chain. It’s all I’ve got to help you with.” I frown and look back at the door, one hand slowly lifting from the surface. “The temptation to never leave again is …” He stares at me, looking deep into my eyes. The depth of the moment sends a shiver over me because of his inability to finish whatever he’s trying to say.

  “You’re worried?”

  “I’m …” He chuckles lightly and pulls in a long breath. “Feeling …” He lingers on the end of the world, as if questioning what it means to him. “Protective. I’m feeling protective.”

  “Are you my hero?”

  Even I laugh at that, somehow filled with hilarity at the thought. Gray Rothburg isn’t my protector. He’s my dead husband’s boss. And, bizarrely, he appears to have become something real to me in a world where actual reality is nothing but pain.

  My finger taps the steel, bouncing under the pressure of the dull bass still bounding through it. That’s real too. It’s solid under my finger. Genuine and sincere. I can feel it. “Would you feel better with the chain on?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “Tough, I’m no longer manageable just because of a man’s wants. Open the door, Gray, and give me a pill. Live a little. You brought me here to watch. So, watch me.”

  Minutes pass us by as he keeps looking at me. I don’t know or care what he’s thinking. I’m here to forget and move on with my life, be distracted as he said. Enjoy whatever I can so I don’t have to remember. But then something unexpected happens. He leans in and presses his lips to my forehead, lets them linger there. The door moves the second he does it. It slides under my finger, inching its way somewhere.

  A breath puffs out of me because of his lips. They’re such soft lips. Barely a real feeling at all, and yet so real because they belong to him. I close my eyes under the loose pressure of them, part of me desperate to reach for him and cling on, but he moves away the moment I think about it. It’s only then that the noise assaults me.

  I swing my gaze to it, unsure what I’m about to see, and am met with his chest blocking my view. “You’ve already had your pill, Hannah. Enjoy it,” he says, unmoving. “Everyone’s clean here. Including you. Tested.” Five seconds of him staring at me, and he backs off a few steps. “And remember the chain. Call if you need to. I’ll be watching,” he shouts.

  The sudden eruption of the crowd appears as he goes, hundreds of people revelling and partying, the air thick with the smell of heat and arousal. Clean? The connotation drops into my mind like a bomb. Tested for sexual diseases. Unexpected nerves bounce around in me, especially as he keeps moving into the crowd and throws the fur coat into the masses. My feet move forward in his direction, my bravado dissipating as quickly as his presence near me does. He’s gone from view before I can manage even a few steps towards him, sucked into the mass of bodies undulating without a look back at me.

  Every single thing in me that was feeling in control folds inwards. I steady my hand against the open doorway and look at the sight before me, wondering what this is, what the pill’s about to do to me, and how he would know if I’m clean of disease or not. Maybe the medicals we had to take? Who knows? Don’t care.

  A sea of bodies move, all of them barely dressed and not giving a damn about that fact. I flick my eyes around, checking for a bar area, anything that I can get to so I can settle and watch what’s happening around me. There’s nothing that resembles a bar, though. There’s only a dark arena filled with bodies writhing to the sounds booming out. Doors lead off to the left and right, several of them holding firm in the walls regardless of the pressure of heat and sweat in the room.

  The steel I’m resting on begins closing and I edge sideways, keeping my back pressed to the wall to avoid touching anyone or anything that’s in my way. What clothes I can see are sparse and odd. They seem like they’ve come from a comic store. Some leather, some rubber. A man passes me in a t-shirt and jeans, reasonably normal dress, but the heat of him radiating at me as he goes sends wafts of sex my way. It’s musky, heady even. I gulp and let go of the wall, as he passes by, damn sure I’m not going to look like a little girl lost in here. I’m not lost. I’m new. I’m searching for distraction and ready for whatever this is.

  I laugh and step further into the masses, finally finding a spot where I can lean against a table and watch. A couple bound by me, the man laughing as the woman hits him with a long thin wire, repeatedly. It whips across his skin, leaving red marks. She only seems more enthused each time it lands, as if this is normal and customary for the venue. And then four men pass me by, two of them on the floor covered in a black sticky substance. I stare, almost enchanted at the look of them down there as the other two hurry them along on their hands and knees.

  More people follow, three of them dressed as I am and two men in tuxedos.

  “Hello.” I jump a little and turn to look at the woman behind me. She looks me over, a straw in her mouth as she drinks what could be a margarita through her wide lips. “So you’re Gray’s little thing.” It’s only when she’s said that, and narrowed her heavily kohl lined eyes, that I realise she looks like Catwoman. She’s even got the flick going on to elongate her eyes further. Black rubber coats her skin like a second layer, thigh high latex boots finishing the look off.

  “You seem to be missing your ears,” comes out of me. “Where are they?” I laugh again, wondering what part of wonderland I’ve just landed in.

  “Mal ripped them off earlier. He’s turned aggressive tonight. Wasn’t until he knew Gray was coming, but then … Ouch.”

  “Who’s Mal?”

  “Malachi Jones. My husband. And the host of this little venture.” She backs off a step and walks a circle around me. “Why did Gray bring you with him?”

  “I don’t know. I think he’s trying to fix me, or distract me.”

  “Do you need fixing?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  I let my gaze drift away from her back to the masses of people milling around. They’re not milling really. They’re doing anything they want to do. I move my gaze from something happening in the corner I’m staring at, not quite ready to admit I’m looking at actual sex, and watch a couple reaching into a large ornate bowl in the centre of the table instead. Their fingers pull out a handful of what seems to be pills like Gray had. The man takes a blue one, the woman a white one.

  “Is that alcohol?” I ask, looking back at the woman and her drink.

  “No, we don’t drink on the floor. It’s virginal. About the only thing that is in here.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Why?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Why do you want to know my name?”

  “I …” I don’t know how to answer that. Because it’s polite conversation?

  I laugh lightly and tip my gaze away from her again, unsure how to even speak in h
ere now she’s questioned me. My eyes blink, vision changing. Things seem blurred, indistinct, but then sharper the moment I focus on any one particular situation. A tall man laughs from across the room, his head tipping back as a women grinds on his leg. I can hear the sound of his laughter over the din in here, the rattle in his throat. My feet move of their own accord, fingers falling from the table they were resting on absently, but a sharp hand lands on my wrist.

  I twist to look back at the woman, a harsh glare directed at her for touching me.

  “Take your time, little thing. You have a lot to learn while you’re here,” she says to me, fiddling with the gold chain on my wrist she’s holding. “Call him if you need him. No one else will care.” The words out of her mouth seem muffled to me, almost incoherent, but the sound of the man’s laughter still booms loud and clear behind me.

  I pull my wrist from her and move again, cutting through the crowd to get to him. Dirty blonde hair, most of it ruffled on his head as if countless women have run their hands through it. Shirtless, tattoos spread across his frame. Everything about him draws me closer without any thought as to why. I’m just pulled, towed by something other than sense.

  My skin heats the closer I get, thighs clamping and aches forming within me that I can’t explain. And then I’m there, standing three feet away and watching him move and grab a woman closer to him. Their lips meet, his tongue licking across the wet seam she’s offering. Everything’s so loud from him, so resonating. I can’t even hear the music or the other people anymore. It’s just him and the sound of his breathing, his laughter. Even his heartbeat means something to me, as if it’s drowning out everything.

  He turns his head away from her mouth and looks sharply at me, hooded eyes raking their stare across my face. I smile, a slight curve of my mouth conveying curiosity in him alone. Nothing else matters now. Just him and the sounds he makes. I can feel them reverberating around me like I felt the music when we walked in here. Enough so that I can almost feel his rippled muscles moving on my skin. They’re not. Not yet. But they will be because I want them.