by A. R. Torre
CHAPTER 44
Past
SHE HAD PRETTY eyes. Go figure. Simon’s sister, with her painted nails stretched out for my boyfriend, had pretty eyes.
Well, so do I. So there. I narrowed my pretty eyes and wondered what to do. A person knocks, you answer. This girl knocks.… Answering seemed too passive, too subservient. I wished I could yank open the door and tackle her.
She knocked a second time. Leaned forward and licked her lips. Opened her mouth and spoke loudly, as if I wasn’t right there, as if she needed to call out through an apartment’s worth of space. “I know you’re in there.”
Of course she knows I’m here. What a dumb waste of five words.
“It’s Chelsea, Simon’s sister?” This girl should really just not speak at all. She didn’t seem to understand the point of meaningful communication.
“What?” I couldn’t help myself. The response fell out of me, half fueled by my desire to end the entire interaction.
“Has Jeremy come by yet?”
An incredibly rude question. Her casual use of his name, like she had ownership of it. The complete lack of mention of my door being locked, her idiot brother the cause.
“Yes.”
“He has?” She glanced at her watch, then up at my door. “Shit. I thought he came in the afternoon.”
“It varies. He came about an hour or so ago.” There are times when I am really and truly brilliant. I’d like to think, at that moment, that this was one of those times. This lie… it was going to be my crowning achievement of the week. I almost rubbed my hands in glee. Instead, I cooled my jets long enough to assume an irritated tone. “I couldn’t open the fuckin’ door, so he left.” The curse was the punctuation of my sentence, the underlined exclamation that said you messed up in gigantic capital letters. I would have patted myself on the back if it didn’t interrupt my view.
“Are you joking?” She turned her head, putting her ear closer to the door. Her ears were pierced up the sides, four baby rings in the one closest to the peephole. If I slid a pencil through them and ripped, her scream would be delicious.
“I’d love to be joking but I’m not. And thanks to whatever idiot didn’t unlock me this morning, I missed a package a hell of a lot more important than Simon’s drugs.” Redirection. The glitter that distracts an ugly lie.
She swore and I smiled. A moment of success before I realized I was still locked in the apartment. “Do you have the key?” A painful question to put out, one that put me on my figurative knees before her.
She chewed on her fingernail and that told me all I needed to know. I slammed a palm on the door. “Open the door.”
“I’m not supposed to open the door until I have the package.”
“Aren’t you a cop? What are you doing picking up drugs for your brother, anyway?”
She looked up. “They aren’t drugs.”
I laughed, hating the peephole for a brief moment. In its skewed view, I couldn’t tell if she actually believed the crap spewing from her mouth. “You know they’re drugs.”
“My brother has a lot of problems.” She looked down the hall. “It doesn’t make me love him any less.”
Problems? Join the freakin’ club. “Enablers don’t love. They ruin.” I know this. I enable myself every day, and look at me. A mess of indecision and barely controlled hell.
“Well.” She ran the wet fingernail down the front of my door, and I hated the action.
“Well.” I repeated. “Where’s the key?”
She glanced to her right, toward Simon’s apartment. “In the apartment.”
“Get it.” I should have added a please but I’m not good at pleases and thank-yous. Especially not for this chick.
She didn’t like it. I saw it in the narrow of her eyes, the step back she took. I closed my eyes and tried to relax my vocal cords. Tried to sound pleasant when my mouth opened and words came out. “Please. Do you mind getting the key? I’m going a little stir-crazy in here.”
She stepped closer, like a kid to an aquarium tank. She, the grubby toddler, I the lazy shark who stared through the glass and dreamed about eating everyone in sight. “Why do you lock yourself in, anyway? Simon says its because you sleepwalk.”
Why ask a question that you already have the answer to? I swallowed that question and tried to continue the ridiculous pleasantries. “I do. This isn’t really the neighborhood to wander around in in the middle of the night.”
She laughed, tucking her hands in her back pockets. Good lord, please tell me this woman isn’t wanting a friend. “You’re right about that. This place is a shithole.” She winced. “No offense.”
“None taken.” I fought the urge to ask for the key again, society’s prerequisite for idle chitchat not quite fulfilled. “How long are you staying?”
“Not sure. I’m looking for a place now.”
“Do you mind getting the key? I’ve got to get to the pharmacy.” I shouldn’t have said the pharmacy. That would remind her of the drugs. I should have said the grocery store… or the post office… or wherever normal individuals head on Saturday afternoons.
She tilted her head, pulling down on the front of her shirt, the move deepening the V of her cleavage. Hooker. “Sleepwalking isn’t that big a deal. I mean, people do it all the time. There’s got to be something else you can do.”
“You’re right. My mistake. I’ll stop this arrangement with Simon and let him get his drugs somewhere else. I’ll be sure to tell him you suggested the change. Thank you for clearing up my night issues; this conversation has been so helpful. Now, since he’s not locking me up anymore, I won’t need to pay him with pills. Unlock my fuckin’ door or else I’ll call the cops and tell them you’re keeping me against my will.” I tried to be friendly. I really did. But the woman had it coming. Refusing to unlock my door. Making stupid suggestions about things that she knew nothing about.
Hooker didn’t like my response. She stepped back, her face hardening.
Then I heard the elevator.
CHAPTER 45
Past
JEREMY RODE THE elevator with two packages, both with Deanna’s name on them, only one that would go to her. He shook the smaller of the two, the rattle inside causing his frown to deepen. Two floors before he’d have to deal with that punk. He rolled his head back, the pop in his neck doing little to alleviate his stress. Deanna needed a new system; there had to be another option. Hell, he’d offered ten times to do it. Better him than Simon. Just the kid’s name gave him the creeps.
When the doors opened, the first thing he noticed was Chelsea. He hated that he already knew her by name. Hated worse the small lift that hit his step, the surge of testosterone that quickened his heart. Sexual attraction, that’s all it was. Nothing that compared to Deanna. Nothing that tugged on his heart the way her smile did. It was only a man’s ingrained reaction to a female, pure human nature. He didn’t see Simon, and smiled for that reason. Only that reason.
Closer, he saw her scowl, her eyes drop to his parcels, heard the low hum of her voice as she said something toward Deanna’s door.
“What’s going on?” He stopped a step away, pulling his arm out of reach when she reached out, an aggressive move, his body turning to keep her at bay.
“Don’t give it to her.” The growl came from Deanna’s door, and was laced with venom. He turned his head, surprised. Deanna wasn’t exactly the kind to hide behind a door.
“Is that the package for Simon?” Chelsea stood on his other side, her hand still reaching for the parcel, a finger pointing toward it accusatorially. “I thought you said he already came.” That comment she directed in Deanna’s direction, and he went from confused to completely lost.
“I lied.” Satisfaction in Deanna’s tone.
“I’m not unlocking you unless he gives me the package.”
Whoa. What? Jeremy turned his focus on the blonde. “She’s locked in?” He stepped forward, and her face blanched a little in response.
“Simon told
me not to unlock her. That she had a rule about being unlocked—”
“Liar!” The scream through the door was so livid that Chelsea jumped.
“Jeez,” she huffed. “I’ll go get the key. No need to get your panties in a wad.” She looked at Jeremy, holding up her index finger. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” She stepped backward, holding eye contact with him.
“Hurry,” he spit out. When she shouldered open the door to the apartment, he turned his head to Deanna’s door. “What the hell did I just walk into?”
“I’d have convinced her to unlock the door.” Deanna’s voice had dropped ten octaves in anger. “But this works too.”
“You shoulda called a locksmith. Or me.”
“I don’t have anything else to do today. It’s been mildly entertaining. But yes, a locksmith was my backup plan.”
He leaned a shoulder on her door. “This reminds me of old times.”
She laughed, her muffled voice closer, and he imagined her leaning against the frame. “Our courtship? Miss it?”
“I’d say yes, but the sex is too good.” He grinned and heard her laugh. Yes, having her in person was ten times better than from afar.
“Good point.”
Three doors down, Chelsea reappeared, a key chain in hand. Her face stony, she came to a stop, dangling the keys out, waiting for Jeremy to step out of the way. He stayed in place and held out his hand for them.
“Let’s trade.” She nodded for the package.
He tilted a head toward Deanna. “The boss says no.”
She laughed softly. “And… you always do what she says.”
He smiled. “Pretty much.”
She smiled back, and he regretted the connection as soon as it happened, their eyes meeting as she dropped the keys into his open hand. “I’d let you take control.”
“Good. Gag her for me, Jeremy.” Deanna called out, a muffled thud following the angry jiggle of the knob.
He laughed despite himself, flipping the key ring over and inserting the lone key into the lock. It turned easily, the dead bolt loud in its motion, and the door flew open, a hundred and twenty pounds of fury acting on the other side. There was a blur of pink and black, Deanna’s hair streaming behind her as she launched herself onto Chelsea.
“Shit,” Jeremy cursed, tossing the package of pills inside the apartment and going after her, his girlfriend’s weight now on top of the blonde, Chelsea kicking and screaming underneath Deanna’s concentrated effort to, from all outward appearances, strangle her to death.
CHAPTER 46
Past
IT’D BEEN OVER six months since I had last had my hands around a throat. Since I had felt the bend of tendons and the puff of breath. I didn’t have the hand strength to squeeze a throat to death; it takes a good minute of concentrated effort, but GOD it felt good. I straddled her waist, wrapped my hands around her throat, and whispered every curse I’d held in to her face as it darkened underneath my grip.
Jeremy broke the moment, his hand tight on my arm, his fist rough when it gripped my ponytail and ripped backward, hard enough to bring tears to my eyes and a yelp from my throat. “Jesus, Deanna. She’s a cop.” She’s a cop. I knew that, somewhere in my mind. Had forgotten it once, twice, a few times since Jeremy had first told me. But I heard it that time and stumbled back, into his arms, the heat of his touch grounding me, the strength of his chest against my shoulder blades comforting, the black dots in my vision fading as I found my bearings. My breath was too loud, panting like a rabid dog, my hands shaking as I grabbed at the wall and stood to my feet. I pointed at the girl, watching her feet find carpet, her hand at her neck, wincing as she touched her throat, her eyes cutting across the thin space at me with a look that could kill. Ha. Right back at you, sweetie. “Stay away from me,” I spat.
“You crazy bitch,” she swore, the curse diminished by her fit of coughing that followed. “I’ll have you arrested for that.”
Jeremy stepped between us, his hands up. “You provoked her, Chelsea. I’m pretty sure imprisoning someone against their will is a crime.”
“Not to mention bartering with illegal narcotics,” I called out from behind him.
“You’re just as guilty of that as I am,” she said.
“I’m not a cop.”
“Both of you, go back to your apartments.” When my man spoke, it had bite. Bite that turned me on. I flashed him a grin and he glared at me. Reaching forward, I grabbed at his belt, hooking two fingers underneath the top of his pants, and kicked open the door, pulling him in with me. He didn’t resist, pushing the packages inside before stepping into my apartment, his palm swinging at the door and slamming it shut.
When Jeremy turned to face me, he was mad. I saw it in the lines of his forehead, the rigidity of his shoulders, the strength of his stance. He was mad, which was inconvenient, because I was horny. Dr. Derek would find issue with that, with the correlation between a violent outburst and soaked panties. But it wasn’t my hands around her throat that had made me horny, it’d been the force in Jeremy’s tone, the aggression in his vowels, the order. Both of you, back to your apartments. On the plus side, a woman being aroused by her man’s dominance is entirely sane, so maybe this was an item I could share with Dr. Derek. Omitting the strangulation incident, of course. Dr. Derek doesn’t seem to respond well to slips.
“Jesus, Deanna.” He stepped forward and I stayed in place. When he gripped my arms, the squeeze hurt, the intensity of his grip painful. I looked up into his face, the pinch of his features saying as much as the fear in his eyes. “You can’t do—you can’t fly off the handle like that.”
“She locked me in. She wouldn’t unlock the door.”
“No, Simon locked you in. Like he always does. You created that. That’s your doing. She should have unlocked you, yes. But you are the catalyst for this situation. Own that.”
I tried to step back and he held tight, the second time that day I was in a place I didn’t want to be. I looked down at his right hand and he released me. Stepped back and ran his hands through his hair. Spun away from me, and that hurt more than anything. This wasn’t my fault. This was her fault. I was just defending my freedom, asserting my opinion, giving her what she deserved.
“She’s a cop, Deanna.” He spoke toward the pile of boxes, his head down, back tight, shoulders hunched.
“I know that.”
“Do you? ’Cause I don’t know a hell of a lot about your secrets, but I’m pretty sure that the one thing you don’t want is a cop getting pissed at you.”
I turned away, walking to the fridge and grabbing a water. Didn’t offer him one while I twisted open the top. There, take that. My shun via poor manners went completely unnoticed, and a small part of me mourned.
“I don’t have anything to hide.” My lie came out white and confident and beautiful. If it were on paper, I’d have had it framed.
He didn’t even laugh, just shook his head. Pulled out his keypad and scrawled my signature on it. “I’ve got to go.”
“Just like that?” I set the water bottle down.
“Yeah. I can’t… I just can’t deal with this today.”
I just can’t deal with this today. I just can’t deal with you today. That’s what he was really saying, in between his pauses and tight muscles, in between his eye contact with her and his curses at me. I watched him walk out and said nothing to stop him.
It was a quiet moment when the door clicked shut behind him. Too quiet for the magnitude that it was.
CHAPTER 47
Past
IT TURNS OUT that worries over my relationship are stronger than thoughts of death. I was free, my door unlocked, Chelsea licking her wounds in some dirty corner of Simon’s apartment, and all I could think of was Jeremy.
“I can’t… I just can’t deal with this today.”
He can’t deal with this. And then he left. It had been eleven hours since I stood at my window and watched his truck pull off. In eleven hours I hadn’t thought
about killing once. Not even Simon, the very thought of whom made my blood boil. All I could think of was what I’d put in jeopardy. I ignored the late hour and picked up my cell. Called the person I knew would answer, and who would ground me.
He was asleep. I heard evidence in the rasp of his hello, the soft clear of his throat, his second hello, which sounded more professional than the first. The first spoke of messy sheets, a dark room, a bare torso, cock semihard in his boxer briefs.
“Hey, Doc.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I wet my lips. “Everything.”
“You red?”
I laughed. “No. For once, I’m not red.” I was black and blue from years of emotional beatings. Gray as dust from solitude.
He sighed. Not one of exasperation or relief, but the gentle exhale one makes when they relax back in bed, their head settling into the pillow, their eyes closing. “Tell me.”
I told him everything. About the lockout. The fight through my door. Jeremy’s arrival. My break.
“Did you really want to hurt her? Or were you just expressing anger?”
I slid my back down the wall until my butt hit the floor. Considered the question. “Are you asking if I was in control?”
“People lose their tempers all of the time, Deanna. Normal people. I lose my temper. Most people’s don’t turn physical, but a lashing out is normal. I’m asking you if that’s what this was.”
I closed my eyes and tried to return to that moment, to that place. To what I felt when that door finally broke open and I had the freedom to move. How Jeremy wasn’t even a consideration, his audience to my actions inconsequential. I had stormed, I had grabbed, I had screamed and wrapped my hands around her neck and wanted to kill her.
But would I have stopped? In an empty setting, in the middle of the day, with no one there to pull me off, no night urges to combat… would I have stopped before her skin lost its heat?
I think… I think I would have, which is… surprising to say the least. Especially considering how much I really hate that bitch. I’d never really asked myself that question before. Not that I’d had my hands wrapped around too many throats. It wasn’t my ideal way to kill, took a lot of hand strength and endurance. We’re talking about consistently squeezing a cord of struggling muscles for a good minute or two. It’s difficult. A knife was so much easier. And fun.
