by Marian Tee
Fuck. Knowing that he was treacherously close to destroying his friendship with Christien di Luca, Derek said levelly, “Hear me out this once, and we’ll never speak of it again.”
There was a moment of tense silence before his friend gave him a curt nod.
Derek didn’t waste a second after that and dove right into the heart of the matter, saying bluntly, “I realized you were right when you said that nothing will change the way you are. But it doesn’t mean you’re without hope, di Luca.” Something flashed in the other man’s eyes, and Derek’s tone became fiercer. “I do believe this. Nothing may change how you are now, but someone else could---”
He saw Christien’s lips twist in distaste, and Derek raised his hands in a gesture of acceptance. “Yes, I fucking know how clichéd that sounds. But I also know it’s true. You can’t feel the way you’re supposed to because the right person hasn’t come along yet to teach you how to feel---”
“Enough, Christopoulos.” Christien’s tone remained mild, but his blue eyes had turned icy with disapproval. “While I appreciate your sentiments, you must know that not all of us can be as lucky as you---”
“But if that person does exist---”
Christien shook his head. “Even if she did – it might not make a difference. Don’t you get it? How fucking wrong I am? Even if I were to find a woman who’s my ideal match, the way you believe Jaike Hepburn is for you – it doesn’t mean I can care for her the way you care for Jaike.”
Derek watched his friend pour himself another shot and down it in one gulp. Lowering it back to the table, the other man stared sightlessly at his reflection, and that was when he spoke.
“Let’s just accept I’m a lost cause.”
Derek didn’t even have to think, saying grimly, “I’d be an asshole if I did, and you a coward.”
Christien stiffened, but Derek met his friend’s gaze head on. “That is what you’ll be if you give up this early---”
“I just don’t think it will make a difference whether I meet someone---”
“You don’t think, but you don’t fucking know. So at least wait, di Luca. Just goddamn wait and give that anonymous girl time to find her way to you. Wait until she stumbles into your life, wait and see if she can have you feeling something strong enough to make you look uncool. If that girl came into your life and you still don’t change---” Derek drew a deep, tense breath. “---I’ll kill you myself if that’s what it takes to free you.”
Chapter 2
Depression was a curse, in more ways than one.
For many, it was the go-to reason when one couldn’t get it together, a face-saving excuse for those who had failed simply because they hadn’t tried hard enough. Most people no longer cared to remember depression was a medical condition. Instead, depression had been reduced into something colloquial and mainstream, a status rather than an illness. It had become a socially acceptable blanket term for everything that was not right but normal. And most people were fine with this. Most people were too tired to argue and think differently, and antidepressants had become their placebo.
And that was fine, if only depression was what Christien di Luca truly felt.
But then – that was the problem in the first place.
Christien di Luca did not feel.
Or rather, he could not.
For as long as he could remember, he had found himself going through the motions, his emptiness buried deep, unnamed and unacknowledged. Out of sight, out of mind. He had done his best to live by this simple code, and when he had been younger, he had genuinely believed that in time, he would get better.
In time.
But he did not.
He had lost count of the therapists he had seen, quietly and discreetly. All of them had said the same thing; all of them had looked at him with the same eyes. He was depressed, and it could be cured.
He wanted to believe them.
But he did not.
Even with his mind working, his heart beating, his body moving, Christien knew that he was dead inside. Even though he had people in his life whose friendship he treasured – he knew it was not enough, knew that he didn’t care for them as much as he made them believe.
Eventually, he had come to accept that something would always be wrong, and he was drowning in that sea of wrongness.
He saw nothing in his life able to save him and wished he could make himself care that it was so.
But he did not.
Every so often, the thought of giving it all up brushed against the moral barriers of his mind, a temptation that grew more tantalizing with every unremarkable second of his existence that passed. To die was to free himself, but the young billionaire also knew that it couldn’t be so black and white. He was tired, but he was not selfish or callous enough to hurt those who persisted in believing he was worth saving. And the harm would both be irreparable and unforgivable, if he were to welcome Death with open arms.
So what then, the dark shadow in his mind asked. Do you stay in this world for them, but not for yourself? Is that how morality is defined?
These imaginary conversations with Death were the one thing that he never spoke of to anyone, not even his therapist or his confessor. Christien knew that the moment he did, a suicide watch would immediately follow, no questions asked. And he didn’t want that. Even he knew he wasn’t there yet. He might be on the brink of falling, but something was still holding him back, rooting him to this world.
Something…or maybe someone…
Try as he might, Christien hadn’t been able to shake off Derek Christopoulos’ words. That perhaps the absence of meaning in his life was all tied up with another person’s existence was, to the billionaire, equal parts irresistible and implausible.
He had everything in this world already, and yet it meant nothing. No matter the time, no matter the place, the days that had gone past and lay ahead of him were all the same. It had been so from the very start, but could all of this truly change if that woman Derek Christopoulos so fiercely spoke of walked into his life?
Death knocked on the door of his mind as the billionaire closed his eyes and made a half-hearted attempt to sleep. Are you certain you’re not coming with me today?
The words drifted to him, soundless but heavy, intangible but able to permeate the darkness of his bedroom and color it with morbid tension.
He opened his eyes, but his gaze was lost in the empty darkness of his soul.
It was so easy, the billionaire couldn’t help thinking. So damn easy to just take what Death was offering and be done with it.
But sheer force of will held him back, and he said finally, Not just yet, old friend.
Death snorted, the sound rather incongruously funny coming from so gravely dark a silhouette.
I know what you’re thinking – or at least what you’re trying to delude yourself into believing. But it’s a lie. You’re lying to yourself. You’re not like them. You can’t ever be like them. Your friends have women they love because they know how to love. Someone was there to teach them how to love.
But you’re different.
You pretend you know and understand love, but you don’t, not really, and not ever.
Your parents died before you could find out what it is, and now it’s too late.
You’re different.
You’re better off with me.
Dead.
Christien closed his eyes.
Maybe.
But if there were a chance – the smallest fucking chance – that everything would change…
You’re tired, Christien. Too tired. Why not join me and end your suffering?
Why not indeed, the billionaire thought. The hollowness inside of him flared and begged to be extinguished by Death’s touch, but his honor – the one and only thing in his life that he knew wasn't wrong – was so repulsed by the idea of giving up, Christien knew he simply couldn’t do it.
Yet.
And so he repeated more firmly, Not this time.
Death sighed. You’re waiting for nothing---
Christien didn’t bother answering. His mind believed the same thing, but even so---
He would wait.
Even with the barrenness of his life threatening to devour his soul completely –
He would wait.
For as long as he could afford to wait without breaking –
He would wait.
And it was like chasing rainbows.
Christien started traveling more frequently, attending more parties and saying yes to all the invitations that came his way. Throughout it, he met countless women, gave them all a chance, and fucked most of them, but nothing happened. More and more, he was beginning to think she was merely an illusion or worse, something Derek Christopoulos only made up to keep him from doing the unthinkable.
On the day he boarded his private jet and flew to Angel Falls, Connecticut, his good old friend Death was particularly mocking. That desperate now, are we, boy?
I’m heading there for business, Christien answered his imaginary companion calmly enough, but you’re free to think what you want of it.
I choose to think of the truth, Death retorted. You think because all the big cities in the world couldn’t yield who you wanted, you think you’ll find your rainbow here?
Christien didn’t bother to answer. Death would think what it wanted to think anyway.
Angel Falls has, what, a population of 500?
Two-fifty actually, Christien thought but refrained from mentioning the figure, knowing it would only make Death happier.
And you think out of that 500 – Death’s irritating cackle followed the billionaire as he entered his private room on board. You think one of those country bumpkins is what you’re looking for?
Christien began taking off his cuff links. Who’d have thought Death would be quite a bigot?
I’m not, Death answered hotly right away. I’m only speaking plainly here. I’ve been with you from the very start. I know where your taste in women runs---
The billionaire started unbuttoning his shirt. You don’t know everything about me.
Oh, but I do, boy. Deny it all you want, but I’ve seen it all and I know that rainbow you’re looking for---
Stop it with the fucking rainbows.
That rainbow won’t come in the form of a simple lass from Nowhere, Connecticut.
Christien switched the lights off in his cabin. This conversation is over.
Like your life can be, Christien---
Christien’s body became very still.
And very, very softly, Death whispered, Like you want it to be---
Don’t breathe, don’t think, the billionaire told himself, and maybe the temptation will go away.
But it did not.
Chapter 3
Seven days, Christien thought. For a small town, Angel Falls had a surprisingly complex process for property acquisition, and long story short, it would require him to stay in town for a week.
Seven days, the young billionaire thought again broodingly. What the hell was he to do here for seven days?
Last time he checked, the town only had country pursuits to offer. A year-round fair rather than a theme park, weekend markets rather than a mall, and park concerts and outdoor plays rather than a movie theater.
These were the reasons he had wanted the Elm Street corner lot in particular. He had envisioned his future club, which would be aptly named Nightmare, as part of a total destination package. Aside from his horror-house-slash-club, he had also partnered up with Swedish rockstar-slash-sex-god Staffan Aehrenthal to build a hotel. And for those who were coming with children in tow, well, that was what Angel Falls’ rural delights were for.
Life in the country was always a unique experience for the rich, but experience here was the keyword. It was good only for a day or two at the most, but beyond that?
I guess I have no choice but to find out, the billionaire thought with a grimace.
By early evening, Christien had finished his work for the entire week, and everything about Angel Falls was beginning to rub him raw. A silent, deep type of tranquility seemed to envelop the place – pleasing to many, no doubt, but for the billionaire, it only made him feel more alone than ever.
At six o’clock in the morning the next day, he still found himself wide-awake, his mind weary, his soul restless. He had rented what was supposed to be the local inn’s best room, but it was still much smaller than what he was used to, leaving him claustrophobic and tense.
He tried pacing the length of the room, but since he could cover it with only a few strides, it wasn’t much help. The tiny curtain-covered window next to the TV caught his eye, and he lifted the curtains on a whim, a part of him wanting – needing – to see something.
Anything.
But when he did see it, Christien couldn’t believe his eyes.
He stared, and when the sight remained, he found himself shaking his head in sheer disbelief.
A rainbow.
A fucking rainbow.
It was like a full-sized message from the heavens, painting the skies with pastel shades as the rainbow arched over Angel Falls’ scenic landscape.
The sight beckoned and beguiled, an unspoken invitation to be chased.
Christien found himself rising to his feet, thinking, Why not?
What did he have to lose anyway?
He had come this far, and maybe – just maybe – that “rainbow” Death so mockingly referred to was here.
After taking a quick shower and changing into something casual, Christien bypassed his sports car and opted to set out on foot. It was unlike him at all since the young billionaire despised wasting anything that was inefficient – why walk when you could afford to drive? Why drive when you could afford to fly?
But since he was in the country---
Might as well go around the way locals do, Christien thought.
The rainbow remained in his sight as he walked, fading into the horizon – and right behind what seemed to double as the town’s local diner and bar.
So this was it then?
Neon lights spelled out the word HOWDY on the signboard above him.
This was where he was supposed to find his rainbow come to life?
He leveled a cursory glance inside, the tinted glass windows revealing a saloon-themed interior. Its furniture was a mix of dark wood and leather, its staff dressed in costume, with men in cowboy hats and boots while the women wore tight-fitting corsets over cotton shirts and dark leggings under ruffled skirts. It was refreshingly conservative, and by the time he entered the place and took one of the vacant seats by the counter, the billionaire’s entrepreneurial side had taken over.
The way everyone had fallen silent and turned to stare at him didn’t register with Christien at all. Work was one of the few things in this world that could make the billionaire forget about what he was not supposed to think of, and as the possibility of incorporating the themed establishment in his business plans started taking shape in the billionaire’s mind, his surroundings faded from his view –
And with it, thoughts of rainbows gradually disappeared as well.
“Howdy, sir. Can I get you anything?”
It was the most god-awful imitation of a Texan accent Christien had ever heard, and it was enough to distract him from his thoughts. As he looked up, something was thrust to his face, nearly poking his eye, and he found himself speaking straight to a giant-sized menu.
“Oops, sorry.”
The menu was snatched away, leaving the billionaire staring straight into a lovely pair of big brown eyes.
Unfortunately, that was the only lovely thing he could see.
Holy shit!
The woman didn’t seem to notice his shock, much less his initial horror. “Here you go again.” She tried to offer the menu back to him, but when he shook his head, she blinked at him owlishly. “You don’t want to order?”
“Just coffee and pancakes if you have them,” the billionaire heard himself say. Th
e truth was, he couldn’t be bothered to glance at the menu. Her face was just so damn horrifying it ended up mesmerizing as well.
“The best in town,” the waitress boasted.
“Then that’s what I’ll have.”
“Gotcha. Would that be all?”
“Err, yes.” Christien was still unable to tear his gaze off her. “Thank you.” Did she really not know how hideous she looked?
In the act of leaving, the woman caught the billionaire staring and instead of acting offended, she only asked with a friendly smile, “Anything wrong?”
The words left the billionaire torn between bemusement and appall.
Was she kidding?
Her makeup was absolutely ghastly. She had so much of it – so damn much – that her features were no different from a clown’s. Eyebrows made thick and bushy because of the deep slashes of an eyebrow pencil, eyes turned monstrous by the purple shade of her eye shadow, huge orange blobs on her cheeks, a garish shade of red on her lips---
And on top of all this, the billionaire observed in reluctant fascination, a thick layer of glaringly white foundation that made her look like she had painted her face with chalk.
Clownish was the only word one could think of when looking at her, and since Christien used to have nightmares of clowns after watching Stephen King’s It, the waitress’ appearance had the most terrifying effect on him.
He could barely look at her, but at the same time he couldn’t take his eyes off her either.
She was just so…remarkably dreadful.
Did she really not know she looked like someone’s worst nightmare?
And if she did – how was it that she had the ability not to care?
Even Karolina, the only woman whose company the billionaire enjoyed in and out of bed, had her moments of vanity and insecurity. Despite being an extraordinarily beautiful and successful host of a lifestyle show, there had been a number of occasions Karolina had been forced to plead illness, preferring to skip an event rather than show up in public with last season’s handbag.
