Pieces (The Breakaway #2)

by Michelle Davidson Argyle

  “His name is Finn,” Naomi lied, feeling like crap.

  “That’s a nice name.”

  Naomi couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not. “I’ll keep you posted,” she mumbled.

  “Alright, I love you, sweetheart.”

  “Love you too, Mom.” She hung up and walked the rest of the way down the stairs.

  “What was that about?” Jesse asked, standing to pull her into his arms as she reached him. Hugging him, she trembled with a mixture of fear and sadness and anger. It was a wicked concoction. Bitter.

  “My mom will never understand,” she said. “She won’t be happy until I’ve graduated with honors and married some perfect man who can make me forget about you.”

  Jesse pulled her away and looked her squarely in the face. “Do you want to forget about me?”

  “Never,” she answered, meaning it with every ounce of passion left inside her. “Sometimes I think you’re the only person left in the world who understands every single part of me. I’m tired of everyone manipulating me. I see it happening, but I’m too scared to do anything about it. I’m tired of avoiding choices and situations and people. I want to live. I want to move on.”

  He brushed some hair away from her forehead. “And Italy is the perfect place for all of that,” he said, leaning in to kiss her.

  She breathed him in until she felt drunk on his words and his mouth and everything he did to hold her together in one piece.

  “Italy,” she whispered.

  THANKSGIVING DAY, Naomi packed her last bag and stood at the open front door to wait for her and Jesse’s taxi to the airport. Becca had left a few days ago to be with her family, so the house was quiet and felt empty with all of Naomi’s belongings boxed up and sent to a storage shed in Cambridge. She had paid in advance for a year of storage and figured after that she could deal with getting rid of everything or paying for a longer period of time.

  “You’re sure about this?” Jesse asked, coming down the stairs with the last of his things. He approached her from behind and wrapped his arms around her waist. She snuggled into him and glanced down at the two bags she had packed.

  “We’ve paid for the tickets,” she said calmly. “I’ve sold my car, paid out my lease, cashed out my bank account, and told the school I’m not coming back. You’ve accepted the job. There’s no way I can change my mind now. Everything is settled.”

  Jesse slid a hand down her side and took hold of her fingers. “You’re white as a sheet and your skin is cold.”

  Swallowing a bitter taste in her mouth, she looked out the window as cars drove down the street. “I’m excited, I promise. It’s Italy.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She tensed and let out a sigh. “I’m nervous, okay? Scared out of my freaking mind.”

  Squeezing his hand, she focused on a maple tree in the front yard. Most of its branches were bare by now. The yard service had long since bagged up the leaves and taken them away. “In fact,” she whispered, “I’ve never been so scared in my whole life, even when I woke up in that motel room with you watching me. You had that poetry book, remember? I thought that was the weirdest thing Id ever seen—a kidnapper reading poetry.”

  Jesse let out a grunt. “I guess that would seem odd. I’m sorry, Naomi.”

  “For what? Reading poetry?”

  “No, for the motel room. That day. When you woke up, I wasn’t sure what to do. You’d been unconscious for two days. You’d woken a bunch of times, but only for a few seconds, then you were out again. Seriously, it freaked me the hell out. I thought for sure you were going to die from internal injuries or something. I didn’t want to be responsible for your death.”

  “I don’t remember that. Maybe a tiny bit. Maybe.” She shook her head, trying as hard as she could to reach the memory, but it was all so dark, like puzzle pieces made of shadow.

  “Eric was out selling what we’d stolen,” he continued, “so I was trying to pass the time reading poetry since it always relaxes me. Then you woke up, this time a lot more alert than before. You kept asking where you were. You wouldn’t shut up, so I told you flat-out you were kidnapped and we weren’t going to let you go—not that you seemed to hear me, but maybe you did.”

  She tensed in Jesse’s embrace as something clicked in her mind. For years she had tried to piece together the first few days she had been captive. There were only a few snippets—pictures in the fog, telling Brad she could walk home on her own, the parking lot, the headlights coming at her. Then blackness, the smell of leather, and finally Jesse.

  “I must have heard you,” she whispered, “even though I don’t remember it. All I remember is opening my eyes and seeing you there. Everything was fuzzy in my head, but somehow I knew you had kidnapped me and you weren’t alone. There was something about you—the poetry—it was all I could hold on to.”

  His hand tightened around hers. “You didn’t come out of it completely until I started asking you to remember things. Eric and I wanted to feel justified in taking you. That’s why I kept asking what you’d seen that night.”

  Before now, Jesse had never spoken so frankly about kidnapping her. It sent a strange feeling down her spine, as if her muscles were tying themselves into complicated knots. She kept her focus on the bare branches outside.

  “That’s all over,” she whispered. “It’s over and this is my choice now—to be with you. You aren’t forcing me to do anything. Eric is in prison. I’m not ... I’m not kidnapped anymore.”

  Jesse let go of her hand and turned her around to face him. He almost looked angry, the way he lowered his eyebrows and clenched his jaw. “Of course you’re not kidnapped,” he said, emphasizing each word. “Why would you say that?”

  She looked down at her luggage. “I don’t know.”

  “Naomi, answer me.” He took her face in his hands and forced her to look at him. “Tell me why you’d say that. I need to know if there’s any way I can help.”

  His eyes were so green, so intense. She thought of every counselor she had ever spoken to, every lie she had told herself about feeling free, every disappointed look her mother had given her. She thought of every time she had imagined the bedroom and the locked door and Eric asking her if she would stay—and how she could never tell him no.

  “Because,” she said, her voice cracking, “I’ve never felt free since that day you took me. I’ve felt lighter, more in control, but never free.”

  His hands dropped from her face, confusion and disappointment filling his expression.

  “It’s not you,” she cried, “it’s not you. It’s something deeper I can’t shake, no matter how many counselors I talk to, no matter how many times my mother tells me I should be over it ... I can’t do it.” Her body shook with her sobs now, each one so strong she thought it might bring her to her knees. Jesse wrapped her in his embrace, not squeezing, and she sensed he knew she might break into pieces if he did.

  “Italy,” she said, calming herself down enough to speak again. “That’s where I can start over.”

  Jesse kissed the side of her head. “I hope so,” he said as Naomi heard the taxi pull up. “I hope so.”

  XVI

  “TRASTEVERE IS THE HEART OF ROME,” JESSE explained to Naomi as she stepped out of the Italian taxi. “It’s one of the untouched cities, they say.”

  She looked up at a towering apartment building covered in limp ivy. Across the narrow street a similar building stood. Everything seemed old here, almost crumbling. A few shiny bicycles leaning against the buildings were the only things that made her believe she hadn’t been transported back in time.

  Blinking from the light drizzle of rain, Naomi wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. This was not how she had imagined Italy—cold and ancient.

  “Heart of Rome, huh? Well, it’s beautiful,” she said, giving Jesse the warmest smile she could despite the cold. It was at least fifty degrees, but the rain and thick, humid air made everything seem colder. Despite all of that, she liked that Je
sse had rented out a place in a part of Rome almost untouched by modern architecture and changes. It almost felt medieval.

  “I already love it here,” Jesse said, sweeping her into his arms and kissing her. She laughed and let him twirl her around until the taxi driver cleared his throat and opened the trunk. He said something in Italian and Jesse let go of Naomi to help unload the bags. When everything was unloaded and Jesse had paid the taxi driver, Naomi grabbed what she could and followed Jesse to the door, where he pressed a buzzer and said his name. The door clicked and he opened it wide for her to walk inside.

  “Everything smells wet,” she whispered, scrunching her nose as Jesse led her to a front desk. An older woman with a sun-weathered, wrinkly face looked up. Her thick white hair was pulled into a loose bun. She smiled when she spotted Jesse, a string of Italian flowing from her mouth as she looked at Naomi and clapped her hands together.

  “What is she saying?” Naomi asked through her teeth, not wanting to appear rude. She would have to learn the language here if she was going to survive.

  Jesse nodded at the woman and answered her in Italian. His words came out carefully. The woman nodded, motioning to Naomi.

  “I speak English, for her sake, your lovely wife.”

  Naomi almost choked. “Oh, we’re not married. We’re—”

  “Nonsense!” the woman interrupted. “Your Jesse here tell me much about you when he lease apartment. You lovely girl. You love Trastevere!” She opened her arms and raised them high, as if embracing the entire city. Then she lowered them and clasped her soft-looking hands below her chest. “If you not married in two months, I be a’surprised. Come now, let us sign final paperwork so I give you keys.” She tapped the top of the desk and sat down.

  Naomi waited beside Jesse as he signed some papers and paid the rest of his deposit to the old woman, who told Naomi to call her Lalia.

  “Laa-li-a,” Naomi pronounced, trying to place her accents in the right place.

  “That is correct.” The old woman smiled and handed over the apartment keys to Jesse. She wished them both well as they gathered their luggage and trudged up the concrete stairwell to the third floor.

  “There’s ... no elevator?” Naomi panted as she dragged her bags up the final set of steps.

  “Um, yeah, sorry. It was the most affordable place I could find when I was looking.” He glanced back at her, grinning. “At least every time you come up the stairs you won’t be hauling eighty pounds of luggage.”

  “Right,” she gasped. “Well, it’s charming.” They walked down a short hallway to apartment number fifteen. Something inside of Naomi was sparking to life. Everything might have smelled old and ancient, but in her mind it was turning into a good thing—a solid thing so foreign it was almost comforting. Here, away from everything she had ever known, she might be able to truly live for the first time in her life.

  Jesse unlocked the door and they both stepped inside. Naomi dropped her luggage. “It’s a lot smaller than in the pictures you showed me.”

  He laughed. “I expected that. It’s cozy.” He turned to her, frowning. “If you hate it, I’ve only signed it for three months.”

  Naomi slid her gaze over the worn but clean furniture. The couch was upholstered in a yellow-orange color that made her almost giggle it was so hideous. There was a desk near a set of rickety-looking doors leading out to a balcony big enough for one person to stand and hang laundry on the wire strung up between buildings. The kitchen looked manageable, at least, with lots of cupboard space and a refrigerator. There was no dishwasher, no television in the living room, hardly anything modern at all.

  “I remember seeing a washer and dryer in the pictures?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at Jesse.

  “I’m sure we can find them,” he answered, taking her hand and leading her through the front room and down a hallway. He opened a closet door to a tiny room stuffed with a newer-looking washer and dryer. Naomi let out a sigh.

  “As long as I don’t have to wash our clothes by hand, I’ll be happy.”

  Jesse grunted. “You’ve never lived in anything less than finery. This will take some getting used to, I suppose.”

  “Are you saying I’m spoiled?”

  “Possibly.” He smiled and twirled her around once again, bumping her against the wall. “Whoops, sorry.”

  “I don’t mind.” When she looked into his eyes, she saw life and love and excitement. It seeped into her like a ray of sunshine. With him, everything was possible. She would live in a cave with him if she had to, even if she had to scrub clothes by hand.

  “Where’s the bedroom?” she asked in a sultry voice, tracing her finger down his strong, firm chest. She wanted him so much her knees were starting to tremble. “I feel like I’m going to die from jet lag, but I think I need something before I sleep.”

  Looking eager, Jesse led her down the hallway. “Can’t be far.”

  ALL NAOMI did for the next two days was eat at odd hours and sleep. Every time she woke, there was sun peeking through the thin bedroom curtains. Groaning, she threw the blankets back over her head and closed her eyes. Finally, Jesse rolled her out of bed, undressed her, and made her get in the bath.

  “There,” he said, looking down at her as she soaked in some hot water scented with salts, “now you can start waking up at the right time.” He looked at his watch. “It’s nine a.m. You’re not allowed to go back to sleep until ten tonight.”

  She rolled her eyes and grabbed a round jar of bath salts that had appeared in the bathroom the day before. Jesse must have bought them while she was sleeping. For some reason, that made her smile. It was one of the reasons she loved him—the little things he did for her. She lifted the jar to her nose and sniffed. The crystal-like salts smelled rich and mysterious, like a combination of flowers she couldn’t identify.

  “I’m sorry!” she laughed, returning the bath salts to the edge of the tub. “I’m not used to this kind of thing. My body thinks it’s been tipped upside down.”

  “It’s okay,” he answered, getting on his knees by the tub. He rolled up his sleeves and traced a finger through the water as he studied her nakedness. She blushed a little and touched his fingers.

  “So everything is going to work out?” she asked, every nerve in her body awakening as Jesse moved his hand up her arm.

  “Of course,” he said, laughing. “Why wouldn’t it work out?”

  “I mean, I haven’t told anyone I’ve come here, except Finn—and even then, I never told him for sure I was leaving. I told the school I was moving, but I didn’t say where. Becca thinks I moved back home. Somebody’s going to catch on.”

  Jesse winced. “I wish you hadn’t told Finn, even indirectly, but it’s alright. When we’re more settled, you can tell your parents you’ve decided to move here.”

  She sat up, bathwater sliding down her shoulders. “Why can’t I tell them now? It’s all over. You’re free. There’s nothing they can do.”

  His hand stopped near her elbow. “Let’s wait,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her bare shoulders. She closed her eyes. “Thanksgiving break is barely over and they won’t know anything is wrong for a while.”

  “Wrong?”

  “Not wrong,” he said, lifting his lips from her skin. “Changed, I guess, is the right word. They’ll need to accept you’re independent now. Let’s give it some time, okay?”

  “Okay.” She leaned her head back and Jesse moved his kisses to her neck. “I like the way independent sounds,” she said, her breaths coming faster as she turned her head to give him better access to nibble on her ear. She stared at the bath salts and lifted her hand to scoop some out of the jar. They were rough and smooth at the same time. Jesse moved his way to her cheek and then to her lips. She dropped the salts in her hand. They plunked into the water and sifted down around her legs.

  “Free,” Jesse said, his lips caressing hers. “Free.”

  LATER THAT morning, she and Jesse walked around Trastevere, buying essentials for
the kitchen and the bathroom, more blankets and sheets for the bed, and a few books from a shop Jesse didn’t want to leave. With their arms full of bags, they meandered up and down narrow alleys overgrown with vines and low-hanging trees. All the plants seemed limp, as if the humidity in the air made them heavier. The buildings were the colors of the sunset—terracotta browns, deep wines, and honey-yellows. Even on a cloudy day the city seemed alive with color. Tourists were roaming the more popular areas, creating a constant buzz of activity. In the dead of winter the buzz felt almost lazy. Naomi guessed in the summer it would swell and pick up momentum, but she didn’t want that to come. She wanted to wander Rome forever, just as it was, losing herself in quaint restaurants and shops with Jesse by her side. She knew it couldn’t last.

  Two days later, Jesse began leaving every morning for work, and Naomi found herself sitting on the couch for hours at a time, staring at the front door. It was painted a soft eggshell blue and had a brown coffee-colored stain along the bottom, shaped like a turtle. She stared at that shape forever, thinking about turtles gliding through a perfect sea of blue. Calm. It was a place in her head where she didn’t have to worry about anything.

  Finally, she realized Italy itself was not going to spark her to life. She was going to have to beat down the wall of fear she had built around herself. She would have to begin by leaving the apartment.

  Gathering her courage, she walked to the entryway and put out her hand to open the door. There was talking down the hall, the muffled sounds of a couple arguing. She undid the chain, her fingers trembling, and then turned the handle and opened the door. The hallway smelled damp and musty. Whitewashed walls. Weathered wood floor. The man and woman arguing one stairwell down were speaking in Italian, their words like bullets firing at each other in the otherwise quiet atmosphere.