Crave

by Jennifer Dawson

  I ball my hands into fists.

  When I don’t speak Ruby continues, “He makes you so happy, please think about this.”

  I am thinking about it. It’s why I have to leave.

  Ruby’s voice softens. “I’m jealous, you know?”

  I laugh, a brittle bitter sound, and then, full of sarcasm, I say, “Oh sure, that’s me, living every girl’s dream.”

  The elevator shudders to a stop and I step out, heading toward the door, but Ruby grabs my arm. “Actually, in a way you are. I’ve never had anyone look at me the way Michael looks at you. It’s special. Some of us never get that, Layla, and you’ve gotten it twice. You’ve been given a second chance, don’t let it go.”

  She’s trying to jar me into some sort of perspective, and I can’t deal with it right now. I can only focus on my mission. “I’m going to get Belle. Are you with me, or not?”

  Expression creased in concern, Ruby nods. “I’m with you.”

  I open the door of Michael’s apartment and the second I do, Belle bounds out, her tail wagging wildly as she plants her paws on my stomach and practically knocks me to the ground. Relief storms through me and I drop to my knees, hugging the dog to me as she whines excitedly. I close my eyes and start to cry, thankful I’m finally with her.

  “She loves you,” a female voice says from above me and I look up to see Jillian standing there, Leo behind her.

  “Michael?” His name is a hoarse croak on my lips.

  Leo puts his hands on Jillian’s shoulders and gives her a little squeeze. “He’s awake.”

  “He asked for you,” Jillian says.

  Belle squirms in my lap as I pet her. I know what they want, for me to go to Michael, but I can’t. I clear my throat. “Why are you here?”

  “Your sister called,” Leo says, his gaze searching my face, for what I don’t know.

  Probably for signs of humanity. They can’t possibly understand my actions are the only way I can save him. To protect him. “I’m sorry.”

  Jillian, her coloring so like Michael’s I want to turn away from her, gestures into the doorway. “Why don’t you come in and we can talk.”

  I peer past her, biting my lip. Everything I desire is down that hall. My hopes and dreams, the future I’d started to believe in, Michael and all his strength.

  In a flash of insight, I realize that’s why I’d come. Yes, I need Belle, but also want to escape the cold, desolation of my apartment. I want to soak up his warmth, one last time, before I’m forced to close this chapter of my life forever.

  But I understand now that’s impossible. If I walk into his home, I’ll never have the strength to leave. I shake my head.

  “Layla,” Ruby says, her tone pleading. “Let’s just go talk.”

  I bury my face in Belle’s fur, wrapping my arms around her. I need her, but Ruby was right, she’s not mine to take. I squeeze her tight. At least I got to see her, to say goodbye.

  Because that’s what this is. A goodbye.

  Tears stream down my face as I suck in her scent, all that goodness. In this one thing I can be strong. “I can’t.”

  Jillian bends at the knees, forcing me to meet her eyes. “You’ve been through a lot, and I can’t begin to understand how you feel, but Michael needs you now. Please don’t abandon my brother.”

  It’s a low blow, and the strike hits me right in the chest, but I don’t blame her. “Tell him I’m sorry.”

  “You can tell him,” Leo says.

  Jillian cranes her neck to look up at him, and shakes her head, before shifting her attention back to me. “Michael loves you.”

  “I know.”

  “And you love him.”

  I nod.

  She takes a deep breath. “Sometimes it’s really that simple.”

  I gather all my inner reserves. “I used to believe that too, but it’s a lie.”

  “All I’m asking, all he’s asking is that you go and talk to him. Give him that one thing. That’s all he wants.”

  Of course that’s what he wants, and what he deserves. But he has hidden motives Jillian doesn’t understand. He knows, once I see him, I’ll never be able to leave. Since the moment we met, I haven’t been able to deny him anything, and this will be no different.

  But leaving is my only option. It’s the only way we’ll both survive. The only way to stay safe.

  I can see the hope shining in her eyes and it’s cruel for me to let it linger. Tears well in my eyes as I stand. “You’ll take care of Belle?”

  The light drains from her face. “Michael said you could keep her.”

  More than my next breath I want to take her, it was my purpose in coming here. It was also a trap I set myself, a connection to Michael, a way back in. Because, of course, once he’s out of the hospital, he’d come to get her, and by default me.

  Even my subconscious is against me.

  I can’t even look at Belle, still standing next to me, wagging her tail.

  None of them understand, because none of them know the whole truth. Not even Michael knows my deepest secret, the one I won’t permit myself to think about.

  If they knew, they’d understand why leaving is the only option.

  A tear slips down my cheek and I shake my head. “No, she belongs with her family. Not me.”

  Then, for the second time that night, I turn and walk away.

  It’s been five days since that night.

  Five days since I saw Michael.

  Five days since I told him I loved him.

  Five days since I, once again, began measuring time in minutes and hours. Watching the clock tick by as I sit on my couch and sink into misery. My sadness and grief is like a long lost lover, comfortable and familiar, with no surprises.

  My nightmares have come back, but they no longer alarm me. After all, I know what to expect. I’ve been free of panic attacks, and maybe I’d view that as an accomplishment, but I haven’t left my condo.

  I’ve called into work, pleading a horrible flu that would keep me out of the office at least until the end of the week. I’ve turned off my phone, my cell, and refused to let anyone up to see me.

  I’ve shut them all out.

  They’re worried about me. I don’t blame them, and I’m sorry for the distress I’m causing, but I ignore them anyway. It’s wrong, but I can’t talk to anyone right now. I’m too susceptible, too vulnerable, because I live with the truth.

  More than anything, I want to go to Michael. Every single moment I’m awake, it’s all I want. This isn’t like John, who no matter how much I want him, is never coming back.

  No, in a strange way this is much worse, because I know full well I could see Michael. All I need to do is get up, get dressed, walk out the door and go to the hospital. As Jillian said that fateful night, sometimes it’s really that simple.

  I know he’s out there, waiting for me. Illogically, I convince myself I can feel his frustration at not being able to come for me. It nags me all day, pulls at me. I struggle not to concede to his silent demands every second. The only way to maintain my shaky resolve is to stay holed up in my apartment, locked away from the world.

  At some point, I understand I’ll have to work up the strength to manage life without him. I’ll need to get up off this couch, get dressed, go to work, and call my family and friends. And I will. Soon.

  Just not today.

  I curl the blanket tighter around me, pressing into the back of the couch, and close my eyes. If I concentrate hard enough, I can almost feel Michael behind me, his arm draped over my waist as he holds me. I remember the exact weight of him, the slide of his palm over my belly. I lean harder against the cushions in an attempt to recapture the warmth of his body.

  I replay the last time I was with him, his total destruction of me, the bone-deep satisfaction. The way my heart swelled with happiness and contentment. The look in his eyes as I whispered I loved him. The sound of his voice as he whispered it back. The belief that I would hear those words from him thousands
of times.

  When it’s over, and I’ve reached the end and I’m walking out the door, that sassy smile flirting back at him, I freeze frame on the grin he gave me. And begin again.

  Over and over, until I fall into a restless sleep.

  Loud banging rings through my apartment, and I jolt awake, disorientated.

  I blink, my gaze flying to my front door as someone pounds furiously away at it.

  Michael.

  My heart gallops at the mere thought. I’d been dreaming of him, vivid carnal dreams, and not my normal nightmares. I hate the hope that swells in my chest, the desperate, silent prayer that it’s him at my door.

  But that’s impossible. He’s still in the hospital. I’ve called every day, including this morning. I ask for his room, only to hang up during the transfer. I’ve also Googled gunshot wounds to the shoulder, typing in any key word I can remember from the doctor that night at the hospital. From my reading, I figure he’ll be in there for at least another couple of days.

  More pounding, as someone beats their fist against my door. But who could it be? I’ve refused to answer the buzzer, ignored calls from the security guard on duty. It’s been so long since I answered, I’m sure they believe my condo is deserted.

  I shake off my daze, and rub my eyes, praying whoever it is will give up and go away. That hope is dashed when an unfamiliar male voice, yells, “I know you’re in there, Layla, now open the fucking door.”

  My pulse doubles in speed as fear races through my blood. Should I call the cops? But the man on the other side of the door knows my name. So who? All I’m certain of is that it’s not Michael. His voice haunts my dreams, and I’d recognize it anywhere.

  On shaky legs, I get up and peer through the peephole, sagging against the wall when I see who stands there.

  “I’ll kick the door down if I have to, but you will be talking to me. Now open the door.” It’s a bark of a command, unrelenting.

  I weigh my options, and don’t see any. Or, at least, none that I want to see. I take a deep breath and slowly open the door to Leo. He’s standing there, all hard eyed, looking every inch the cop he is with his crossed arms, set jaw and menacing expression. Nothing like the affable guy I’d met before.

  I can’t fathom what he’s doing here. Suddenly, the most horrible thought enters my mind. What if something happened to Michael? What if he got an infection? Or had complications? Dread, panic and a horrible, unrelenting fear almost bring me to my knees. I croak out, “Michael?”

  He shakes his head. “He’s recovering just fine.”

  Relief. Thank god. In this moment I come face-to-face with the power of my love for him. How desperately I need him and want to go to him. How a world without Michael is no world at all.

  I place my hand on the wall to steady myself as a spinning vertigo overtakes me. I close my eyes against the dizziness as sickness twists my stomach.

  Leo grips my elbow and when he speaks his voice is calm and clear. “Are you going to pass out?”

  I suck in deep lungfuls of air and shake my head.

  “Are you sure?” he asks again.

  The steadiness of his words focuses me and I gasp out. “I’m okay.”

  He doesn’t let go. “When’s the last time you ate?”

  I open my eyes. I can’t remember. “I don’t know.”

  He sighs and frowns. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Now that the spell has passed, I lick my dry lips. “What are you doing here?”

  He juts his chin toward the entrance. “Let me in.”

  I peer beyond him. “Is Jillian here?”

  “No. It’s just me.”

  I’m not sure if I’m grateful or not. Stronger now, I ask, “How’d you get up here?”

  “I’m a cop. I flashed my badge.”

  “Oh.”

  We stare at each other for several long moments.

  He narrows his eyes. “Do you want to have this conversation in your hallway, or in your living room? Your choice.”

  I glance up and down the length of the corridor, buying time, even though it’s a lost cause. Leo clearly won’t leave until he’s said what he needs to. And deep down, I don’t want him gone. I’m too greedy for news of Michael, and Leo is a way to feel close to him. I stand back and let him in.

  Leo’s not as tall as Michael, probably around six feet, but his shoulders are broad in his distressed gray jacket, his legs long in jeans. I close the door, and ask again, “Why are you here?”

  He points to the couch. “Sit.”

  I bite my lip, unsure how to handle this situation or him. He was so good-natured the times I’ve met him, but he’s nothing like that now. In the end, I don’t have the energy to fight, so I sit down, huddling into the corner of the couch.

  Leo moves with purpose through my small condo, acting as though he’s been there a thousand times before. He opens my fridge, scrounges through it to pull out orange juice, before riffling through my cabinets. When he locates a glass, he fills it to the brim and returns to me, holding out the juice. “Drink it. Every last drop.”

  He reminds me so much of Michael, tears well in my eyes. I take the glass and a small drink.

  He sits on my coffee table, right across from me, and places his elbows on his knees. “More.”

  I hate how good it feels, to be looked after, to be cared for. The liquid is cool on my dry throat and I realize just how thirsty I am. I take a bigger gulp, draining half the glass.

  “Now the rest,” Leo says, his voice a bit softer now.

  If I close my eyes, I could pretend it’s Michael across from me, but that’s a dangerous notion. I don’t resist though, and swallow the last of the juice and hand the glass to him.

  He takes it and puts it on the table next to him. “Better?”

  Surprisingly, yes, I hadn’t realized how weak I’d become and the sugar races through my blood stream, waking me up more than I’ve been in days. I nod.

  Leo laces his fingers and pins me with a steady gaze. “I was there, when he went down. The shooter was a young kid, scared out of his mind, and he took a wild, aimless shot. Michael was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “I don’t want to hear this.” Irrationally, I want to slap him across the face. I don’t want the image of Michael’s shooting in my head. I’ve had enough violence to last me two lifetimes.

  Leo doesn’t appear impressed with my plea. “As soon as he dropped, he shook his head and said, ‘Layla’s never going to forgive me.’”

  His first thought had been of me. “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be,” he says, and my head snaps back at his harsh tone.

  I’m used to gentle. Used to being handled with kid gloves. I’m ill equipped for hostility. I stiffen. “You don’t understand.”

  “The fuck I don’t.”

  Anger fills my chest, and I can’t deny it feels good. So much better than the sickening knot of despair. “How could you possibly?”

  “I became a cop because my twin brother was murdered. I met Michael the first day of the academy and he’s been like a brother to me. So I sure as hell understand.”

  Instantly contrite, I look down at the floor and tuck my feet under me, as though if I try hard enough I could curl into a ball. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Leo moves closer to me, and waits in silence. When I finally lift my lashes to meet his gaze, he says, “You’re tougher than this. He needs you and you need him. So stop this shit and go to him.”

  Tears spill onto my cheeks. “I can’t.”

  Leo’s gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Don’t let them win, Layla. He deserves better than that.”

  I can’t look away and I blurt out, “I’m cursed.”

  He smiles, a soft understanding twist of his lips. “Maybe you are, but you’re a fighter, now fight.”

  “I don’t know if I can, not again.”

  “You can and you will.”

  I shake my head. I’m weak. “I’m not a fighter.”r />
  “Yeah, you are.”

  “He deserves better. Someone who’s not damaged and broken. Someone better than me. Don’t you understand? Don’t you want that for him?”

  “I want him happy. And you make him happy,” Leo’s voice is full of stubbornness.

  “But you can’t deny you’d want someone better for him.” Somehow, I think, if I can get him to admit that Michael deserves better it will shore up my resolve to do the right thing. That, if his friends and family want a different girl for him, I can stay strong.

  Leo sighs, long and heavy. “I’m not playing this game with you. I’m prepared to wait you out all day if I have to, but you’re coming with me.”

  My shoulders sag. I want to give in. I can’t even begin to describe the strength of my desire. Unable to speak, I shake my head.

  Leo studies me for long, uncomfortable moments, before he finally says, “Michael was pissed as hell when I started dating his sister.”

  My brows pull together at the change in the conversation, and I shift restlessly on the sofa until Leo grips my jaw, shocking me still. “And you know why, don’t you, girl?”

  I suck in my breath as my eyes go wide with understanding. Leo’s gaze is direct, hard and unmistakably commanding as I come to the truth about him.

  He doesn’t allow me time to process before he ruthlessly continues, “That hole inside you right now, that ache in your chest, that’s how Michael feels. He’s suffering. Not because he’s been shot. Not because he’s had surgery. Not because he’s in pain.” He lets go of my jaw, and points at my chest. “But because of you. Because he knows what this is doing to you, and he’s fucking helpless to do anything about it.” Leo narrows his eyes. “And you know how he feels about being helpless.”

  It’s tough love. And I’m riveted, unable to pull away. Because it rings with truth. I’m killing Michael right now. He’s suffering at my hands, and no one else’s.

  “You know what you need to do, Layla.” He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “You’ve fought through more than most people ever will in one lifetime. Now you’re going to fight through this. Understood?”

  I want to fight, but don’t. I’m too weak. I need Michael too much and the idea that I’m hurting him is more than I can bear. Alone I could pretend, but with Leo here, forcing me to confront the truth, the last of my resolve crumbles away. I nod my agreement.