Absorbing White

by Charlotte E Hart

  “What...?” Yes, it’s out of my mouth before I know it. The raised brow stops me in my tracks. It’s his don’t piss me off, too, face. The one he uses just before he launches, and while my groin might be asking for it, my brain very definitely is not, given his strange mood all of a sudden. I keep my mouth closed as he points at the other chair, and Pascal turns to sit in it, still gripping his own cane under his chin, perfectly.

  “Have a drink,” Alex says to me quietly as he looks out of the window and frowns a little. I tighten my belt again and raise my drink to my lips as I gaze at him and wonder what the hell that was all about. I suppose there will be odd goings on between us, but did he need to be so vicious about it? And what’s with the holding the cane thing? Is this a time for me to be fighting him or accepting his will? God knows, and the fact that Pascal is unharmed is clearly a bonus, so I decide to just let it go while I keep watching him. “Why do you question me?”

  “What? I haven’t said a word. I was just thinking.”

  “Your silence is louder than an order, Elizabeth. You want me to go easy on him, don’t you? Want me to let this evolve naturally?” he says as he turns those piercing eyes on me and asks me to drop my gaze. I can feel that, too, now, that small difference between challenging him and being told to do something that’s necessary. But he’s right, I do want this to happen naturally. I can’t see how it’ll work any other way, so I stare back in a semi challenge and hope it’s the right thing to do. “I won’t do that, not even for you. I have my reasons for what’s happening. You’ll understand why eventually.”

  “Okay,” I reply, because halfway through that, he pinched his brow and sighed. It showed me just how confused he is, too, how he’s trying to do the right thing in his own way, perhaps trying to guide us all down a path that we’ll just have to trust him on. And as he’s said before, he’s the dominant in the room. There’s certainly no room for three of us.

  “Okay?” he repeats in surprise.

  “Okay, Alex. Just do it honestly and I’ll trust you,” I reply as I close my eyes and rest my head back. Another vision of him fucking women assaults me. I’ll clearly never sleep well again. “I still don’t like that you screwed other women, though. I’m pretty pissed about that. And we are having a conversation about your past. There are things I need to understand.”

  “Hmm,” he responds cryptically. I don’t reply as I doubt I’ll be getting another apology, and I know I’ll get that conversation from him at some point when we’re all a little more rested, but I just know it’s going to be okay regardless. We’ll make it this time, won’t we? Now that we’re being honest and there’s no need to hide anything, we’ll be fine.

  We’ll all be fine.

  ~

  “Belle, we need to talk about this.”

  I’m shouting at her bedroom door, but it appears no amount of me lowering my tone, being nice or generally trying to work things out is making her any more likely to come out of her room.

  I got back about an hour ago, and the moment I put my keys in the lock to the apartment, I heard her door slam. So, after staring at the door for a few minutes, I decided on a shower and some comfy clothes in the hope that it might give her time to settle down. Apparently it hasn’t, and I’m just about ready to give up and go back to Alex’s, or boot the bloody door in. My eye catches the vodka set up on the kitchen surface, and I stomp over to it in the hope that a quick shot of the revolting stuff might calm my irritation. No good will come of me being overly defensive, and if I’ve any hope of making this right, I’ve got to tread gently with her. Alex will be on the phone with Conner by now, or maybe even at his place. I don’t know. He said he’d talk to him and see if there’s anything he can do to help. Where Pascal went off to, I have no idea, but when his driver picked him up at the airport, he was last seen getting into his car, still with the cane at his throat. Alex had stared at the car until he couldn’t see it anymore, and then chuckled to himself. Something was funny, it seemed, but what it was I don’t know because he wouldn’t tell me when I asked. He just waved his hand at the car and asked me if I wanted a ride home or not. And then there was the Andrews thing to deal with – he who smiled and called me ma’am. Arsehole. He so knows I’m angry with him. I snarled a little and didn’t reply to him, because regardless of whatever this has all been about, I’m not happy with him at all. I’m sure it will pass, but I thought I could trust him to help me out of random ‘Alex’ situations, and now I don’t think I can. I understand Alex is his boss, but I thought he was my friend of sorts, that he would back me up if I needed help. Maybe he still will. I don’t know, but I do know that I won’t be relying on him for a while. We didn’t even go back to Alex’s. He just asked Andrews to drive us straight here so that I could deal with Belle. How I’m going to deal with her, though, I haven’t got a clue. I just need to try and tell her the truth, or at least a version of it that she’ll be able to accept somehow.

  I swipe the vodka and glass, pour a double shot and down it as fast as I can. It still tastes revolting, and as my face screws up in disgust, I feel the burn hitting my throat and cough out the feeling as I put the glass down again. Good god, why does she like it? And how the hell am I going to get her out of her room?

  Sudden inspiration hits me as I consider having another drink. Lord knows I deserve one.

  “Come out here and have a fucking drink, you coward,” I shout as loudly as I can. That’ll piss her off. If there’s one thing she’s not, it’s a coward. I hear nothing in response, no sound or movement at all, so I decide to try again. “Belle, hiding in there like a fourteen-year-old is not going to solve anything. You’re supposed to be the big sister here and you’re acting like a fucking child. Get your backside out here, now!” Still nothing… I pour another drink.

  Having drunk two more double shots, I find myself feeling particularly drunk and collapse into the sofa for some much needed comfort. The room spins a little as I try to focus on the green wall by her doorway. Memories of walking the dogs when we were younger enter my brain from somewhere, and I giggle to myself at the thought of us both getting wrapped up in the dog leads when they went hurtling off after a rabbit or something. Long, gangly legs and red hair flew in every direction as we tried to untangle ourselves from the mess we’d gotten ourselves into, and she shouted at me because it was my fault. It had been. She’d told me repeatedly to keep the leads from crossing over each other so if anything went wrong, we’d be able to control the dogs separately.

  Separately.

  Keeping them on their own leashes and separate from each other.

  Untangled. Not getting yourself into a mess. Keeping them separate.

  Alex. Pascal.

  My mind whirls again as I begin to question what the hell I’m doing. More vodka, that’s what I’m doing. I scramble my way back up, and rather than try to walk, I succumb to crawling because I’m quite good at that, aren’t I? Ridiculous it may be, but it gets me to the vodka safely, where I manage another triple shot of the stuff and sit on the floor to sip at it. It’s now got that ‘not quite so bad’ taste about it, and I’m pretty sure after this one, it’ll have that ‘can’t taste a fucking thing’ going on that I’m hoping for. My confusion over why I’m actually drinking it only fuels my confusion over why the hell I’m here and not in Alex’s bed, because that’s where I want to be, letting him touch me again and remind me about us, letting him put his hands in all those familiar places and show me that this is going to be alright, that we’re going to be alright, that we can make this work regardless of his past. Killer he may, be but I love him. I need him. Fuck, I need this to work. I can’t do it again, not like before. I can’t deal with him having strange moods and kidnapping me, and not knowing who the hell he is. I just need to keep that connected feeling and be one with him. I need to feel him in my bones and understand what he needs before he does. We had it in that room, all three of us, that bond of total understanding and acceptance. I want that back. I want that co
mfort and safety back. Now. I don’t want to be somewhere I’m not wanted, not accepted for being just who I need to be, who I want to be. And I’m certainly not going to be judged by someone who has no clue what real love is all about, who won’t even give someone like Conner a chance at happiness because she’s still too messed up over a man who has long since left her. Yes, he was a monster, but she needs to get over her fucking self-righteous attitude and grow up. Life goes on. Life is complicated. People are strange and unusual. We all have our problems and issues, but we find a path to happiness and we grab it with both hands to make sure it stays close, safe and happy.

  What the hell am I doing here?

  Taxi. Yes, a taxi is required, I think. I crawl my way over to my bag and dig out my phone. I could call Andrews, the twat, but he’s probably driving his boss around being all subservient with his ‘yes sirs’ and ‘no sirs’. What an arsehole. If I could hit him, I probably would.

  “Shit, fuck!” I hear my own voice saying in my mindless fuddle as I feel the blade slice through my finger again. For fuck’s sake, could I be any more ridiculous? Mafia wife material I am not. I need to give this bloody thing back. Why he ever thought I needed it is still a bloody mystery. I pull my finger out to find another cut about two inches below the last one. I stick it in my mouth to try and stop the bleeding, because according to Pascal, sticking it inside myself will achieve this. I’m still not sure which hole he meant if I’m honest. Three slightly blurred taps at my phone later and I think I’m calling a taxi when her door finally opens. All I can see is feet, with a very nice shade of blue nail varnish on, kind of like Alex’s eyes really. I stare at them for a while in the hopes of getting some cognitive function back for the battle that’s surely coming in the next few minutes.

  “Calling the dick, are you?” she says as the feet wander off in the direction of the kitchen. If I had control of my eyeballs, I’d roll them.

  “No, taxi. I’m leaving,” She can sod off with her holier-than-thou attitude.

  “Hello, hello, Ching tong Szechuan,” a voice sings into my ear. Fuck it, wrong number. I hastily end the call and stare back at my phone again, hoping for some miracle to save me from my idiotic, fumbling attempts.

  “Well, I’m ready for a fucking drink now,” she says. Really? What utter joy this will be.

  “Right,” I respond as I try to get myself together and aim my face towards hers. It feels like the first time I’ve seen her in weeks, and all of the pain and anguish come racing back to me. The whole nightmare hits me in an instant: Tara, kidnapping, screwing other women, Conner’s face covered in bruising, murdering people. My heart instantly screams at me with undiluted emotion, every piece of which I’ve been trying to hide, push to the back of my mind and pretend doesn’t matter. It all reminds me how much he’s hurt me, how much I’m not the in-control person I need to be. My stomach turns at the thought that I can’t do this. I can’t be what he needs. I’m not strong enough for him, let alone them. One look in her eyes and I can see the fire he needs, and I haven’t got it. That look that she wears permanently is the type of woman he needs, the type of woman who can dismiss emotions and simply be, with no thought to the whys. She wears it so easily, like she’s owned it since she was born, that natural ability to shine her way through any situation and hold her own against any enemy. I know it’s because of Marcus. I know he made her this way, but it just sits so comfortably on her now. How does she keep that up? How does she continue to be so strong all the time?

  “Why are you so good at that?” I mumble. She picks up her full glass of vodka and sits on a stool at the counter, still just staring, obviously thinking about how to respond.

  “What?” she eventually replies. I sniff back my ridiculous impending tears and shake my head in the hope of sorting my shit out.

  “Being all strong and stuff. Staying strong,” I reply as I heave myself back toward the sofa.

  “I don’t put up with shit. I did that once, and he hit me for it. I won’t do it again.”

  It’s all she appears to want to say on the matter and I can’t say I blame her. I saw the bruising, witnessed the after affects, and watched her turn into someone new overnight, someone who would never let that happen to her again. I wish I had just an ounce of that ability, to be able to turn into everything I need to be to be one hundred percent happy with what’s happening in my life.

  “Are you happy, though?” I ask as I put my drink down and hear her sigh. She walks over towards me and sits in a chair opposite me.

  “Happy? Depends on what you consider happiness. My conscience is clear, my mind is at peace most of the time and I’m comfortable with who I am. Business is good, and I have a great family, even when my sister is being a stupid cow. Is that what you mean?” I chuckle a little at her and tuck my feet up under me. At least we’re talking again. It’s a good start, I suppose. She smiles a little but keeps her eyes fixed on mine. She’s not finished by a long shot.

  “Everything you said was right to some degree, but I love him, Belle. And no matter what you say in here, I will still love him tomorrow. I can’t begin to explain to you the whys but I need you to accept him. I need you to accept us. This is it for me. He makes me happy. I’m not like you. I can’t just breeze through life and pretend not to feel, not to need someone.”

  “You can, Beth. I chose to do it, so you can, too. You can choose to leave him, choose to find someone who will treat you like a princess and look after you for the rest of your life,”

  “But he will, Belle. That’s what he wants. It’s what I want. Just because he had a rough start in life and is confused about some stuff, it doesn’t mean I should abandon him, or us, does it? I get that you don’t understand it, and if I could make you see the reasons why he makes me feel what he does, I would, but-”

  “Beth, stop. Stop. Do you realise how much I loved Marcus? Do you know how he felt like a part of me? How every morning when I woke up, after his last attempt at control, I made myself sick because I couldn’t bear not to feel his skin on mine, no matter how fiercely? I wanted that more than you can imagine, regardless of how bad he was for me. Don’t think I don’t know how you feel. I do. I’m trying to save you from feeling like I do now. How I felt then was nothing compared to how I feel now. I feel fucking empty most of the time. I just want you to truly be happy, be able to live your life with no fear of uncertainty or stupid dramatics. To be able to wake up every day and get the same man in your bed, one you trust with your life, with your children’s lives. I will never have that because of what I’ve been through. I will never trust enough for that – never give it a chance, and we both know it. You can. You can go and find a good man, and you can let your feelings guide you, but you can’t with him. He will rip you apart. He already is doing, isn’t he? And while that will make you stronger, it will also turn you into me. Heartless and cold – that’s what you’ll need to be and you know it, don’t you?” It’s all true, and I think I already am in some ways.

  “So you’re not happy then, are you?”

  “I’m content.”

  “That’s not happy, Belle. What about Conner? He makes you happy, doesn’t he? You said yes. You said you’d marry him.” I quickly scan her finger, and there’s no ring. “Why would you send him away?”

  “Whatever may have been isn’t important anymore. I’ve made my choice. I chose, so stop trying to make me better because there’s nothing wrong with me.”

  Really? The somewhat drunken sigh that leaves my body at her abrupt tone and clear ending of the conversation is only furthered by my complete inability to stay upright anymore. I’ve drunk far too much vodka. I roll back down onto the sofa and stare at the ceiling, trying to find some way to make this all okay again. Her happy, me happy, Conner happy, Alex happy. There really isn’t any way when she’s in this mood. There’s no way to make her understand or even forgive any sort of strange behaviour. Alex is my only hope this time. If he can make her listen then maybe we’ve all got a hope, but
I really don’t envy him the task. I turn my head towards her to find her fidgeting with her ring finger and looking blankly at the wall. She’s so not done with Conner yet.

  “He wants to talk to you,” I say quietly.

  “Who?”

  “Alex.” I say even quieter for fear of her biting my face off or something. Her head snaps up and anger flares across her face again.

  “Does he now? And how do you think that’s going to help? His poor little boy fucking blue story won’t mean anything to me, Beth. I’m tired of picking you up when he fucks up. Can’t you see how wrong he is for you? What on earth do you think he can say to make me trust him with your life again?”

  That he’d kill for me, that I’m wearing his collar around my neck, not that she’ll have a clue what that means. That he’ll give me the world and his emotions for my acceptance of him and his past… Surely she’ll understand that. That ability to be honest about your whole life, about all the hurt and pain that you took and know that someone actually loves you, really loves you and still does even after the bad things you’ve done. She might get it if he explains that. She didn’t go through half as much as he did and look how it’s made her. She’s got to understand when he tells her. She’ll have to see why he’s the way he is.