But the bitch left as I pulled up. I tried to follow her, but I lost sight of her car by the time I had turned around, so I opted to go back and wait it out in the same spot I’d spied from before. Maybe jot down ideas I can utilize to help Brooks see what a misunderstanding this all has been.
Instead, I got a surprise. A fucking sweet surprise.
There’s an age-old adage that says, “If they’ll do it with you, they’ll do it to you.” I watch them chat on the side of the house—Mark and the tiny, black-haired woman who walked from next door in her yoga pants and pony tail. I am bored—yawning at what first seems to be a typical exchange as he climbs a ladder and helps pull a dangling piece of wood from her second-story vent. But when he climbs down, his skin sweaty, she pulls him next to a bush and plants one right on him.
No … no fucking way. Where’s the popcorn when you need it?But I have something better, don’t I? I pull out my phone. Snap a pic. Take a little video, and secretly cheer for their tryst.
Yes, Mark, yes! Get some!
I continue watching until it’s over, the entire physical exchange having taken less than a minute. Now, they’re chatting at the midpoint between their houses again, trying to act normal, but wearing cloaks of arousal. The sound of an approaching engine drags my attention toward the street. They must hear it, too, because the woman rushes to her backyard, and Mark wipes his mouth with his hand. He picks up some hedge trimmers that are on the ground, and goes around to meet his heavily pregnant wife.
I sigh, my excitement over this a little too sickening. The show being over, I upload the photos to a drugstore for printing. While I’m at it, I also upload the pix of Sarah and me.
I pick up all the pictures an hour later—laugh at the karma she’s facing. Gosh, she’s about to lose what little she has left, isn’t she? Then, I smile sweetly at Sarah, her bright red lips matching mine. I find Eliza’s baby registry in the car, check off an item from the list, and run by Babies “R” Us to pick it up. I stuff the pictures inside the package with a little note that says: Stay away from Brooks and me, you bitch, or you’ll have charges for shoplifting, assault, and, oh yeah … burglary. Congratulations, by the way. Kisses!
I get a thrill at not knowing when she’ll open the box and find them. It’ll be exciting, the wait. I have it gift-wrapped, and then I drop it off at the post office with her address, and also mail Sarah’s photos to the nursing home along with a little note saying I miss her.
Two birds with one stone. What a productive day!
When I get to my SUV, I browse Eliza’s Facebook and smile. Maybe she already knows Mark is cheating, and maybe that’s why they were arguing. Either way, it’ll be sweet satisfaction—her knowing I know. She’ll probably show up and try to kill me.
I laugh maniacally, then think of the things I could do to her if she dares to fucking try.
.
I grab lunch from Panera, and drive home. I think I have a good speech to help Brooks get over everything. I actually think I’ll lie—say Mr. Ronderful and I didn’t even fuck, that I knew he wouldn’t believe me if I said we didn’t. Maybe … maybe I’ll even hire someone to say they’re Mr. Ronderful, say we just made out. It could work, and it would soften the blow of everything.
I really think it would turn things around.
Shutting the door behind me, I call for Lucy. She doesn’t come. She must be asleep, I think. I walk around the couch. Set the Panera bag on the table when my heart stops. Literally, it skips a beat as my eyes focus on something beside it. I knock over the bag in my haste to pick it up, my soup container spilling out through the brown paper. I hold the picture in my hands, my jaw hanging open in terror.
It’s me. And Mom. And Dad.
How...
Uncontrollably, my hands begin to shake. “Lucy!” I turn slowly, my body frozen in fear as I know someone has been in my house again—someone who knows. “Lucy!” I go to grab my purse. I need to get to my gun.
“I wouldn’t do that,” a familiar voice says.
I swallow, but terror sticks in my throat. I turn, coming face to face with the enemy, her bright blonde hair swept up and covered with a hat—leather gloves on her hands.
“You...”
“Sit down,” Dr. Sanders says. “We need to have a chat.”
My eyes flit to my purse as I contemplate running for it, but she smiles.
“Don’t think about running. That would be stupid to do.”
Slowly, I walk to the couch, my hands visible as I don’t know what she’s capable of. “What do you want? What are you going to do?”
“You know … from day one of meeting you, I’ve been … let’s say … unsettled. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I knew something was amiss with you. Then, I was alerted to the fact that you were on a little surveillance video—snooping around in a place you shouldn’t have been. Do you remember that, Emily? Oh, around six months ago, close to Alpharetta?”
I swallow, recalling the day I followed Deacon after finding the random keys in his house.
“At the point I found out, a month had gone by, and there had been no trouble—you and Deacon were done. So, I didn’t think much of it. I figured you didn’t know what you saw, that you were just being a nosy bitch. But then your little friend Jared told me you started seeing Brooks, and I became concerned.” Jared? “I just knew you were an undercover cop, that you were trying to bust my son. You know why I thought you were undercover, Emily? Because Emily Brandt has no history. So, I broke in,” she shrugs. “Ransacked the place, looking for something—anything that could tell me more about you. I found that photo under the couch near the fireplace. At first glance, it was insignificant, but then … as I stared at it longer … at the tiny girl holding a panda drawing, wearing her little backpack with her art supplies poking out, I realized I recognized that drawing. Not the same one, of course, but those pandas. I’d seen them many times. I didn’t put two and two together, though. The homely girl in the photo looked nothing like you. But then I came across something that brought it all full circle. Aftercare instructions—aftercare instructions for your rhinoplasty, for your chin implant, for your blepharoplasty.”
Oh God. I’m really exposed. It isn’t a nightmare … it’s my new reality. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I grip my couch. Tears sting my eyes, my body trembling.
She laughs. “Well, after finding that, it wasn’t hard to find the rest. I had my husband do a little handiwork, and it seems you’re really just an ugly girl who, coincidentally, went to school with Brooks. Now, one can only assume, given where we’re at,” she motions toward the room, “that he was the goal all along—not some investigation into questionable activities. Did you really think you could get away with this? Did you really think Brooks would never find out? That you could just become this new person and use people as stepping stones to get to him, ruin people’s lives, live happily-ever-after? Ever since you came into my son’s life, he has gone downhill. Kara fucked him up, yes. But you have destroyed him. He’s allowing dangerous clients to store product on our property again, and it’s all to feed his drug habit that you helped create the need for.”
“You can’t blame me for his drug use! He’d still be a junkie, regardless of whether he met me.”
“That part is true. Deacon had a problem long before you came along, and that’s the point. He was getting better, finally healing from Kara, which is what started it all in the first place. Then you show up, and he can’t figure out what to do. The next thing I know, my son is messed up all hours of the day, risking his job, catering more than ever to the scum he represents. I will not see my son go to prison because he has a problem that needs medical attention, just like your goddamn craziness. He needs help, too. And he can’t get that when you’re rolling around in bed with his best friend. You’re going to push him over the edge, and if my son ends up dead, I will blame you.” Her finger points in my face.
“What do you want? What are you going to do? I
f you’re going to kill me, just do it.”
She smiles. “You little narcissistic bitch. You really think I’d risk jail to kill you? I’m not going to kill you. I’m not going to so much as poke you with a finger. Everything isn’t about you, Ivy. What I want … is for you to stay away from Brooks, stay away from my son, from all of us. If you ever mention anything that gets my son into trouble, I’ll make sure Brooks knows everything. I’ll tell him exactly who you really are, expose every nasty, dirty little thing you’ve done. And he’ll hate you. You can walk away now, and spare yourself of knowing that every time he thinks of you, he’s disgusted. You may be pretty on the outside, little girl, but it can’t hide the ugly that you really are. Thank God Mommy and Daddy are dead. They’d be so ashamed of you, wouldn’t they?”
I stand up and spit on her, the saliva landing on her cheek. She flinches. Wipes the wad of spit away, and rubs it on her skirt.
“And what if I don’t? What if I go right down to the police station and tell them what I saw—that you’re nothing but a bunch of criminals, huh? Brooks is probably done with me, anyway. What if I tell?”
Her head tilts in consideration. “You could. You can. You’ll just be screwing Brooks and his family over, too.”
My head juts back. “Oh, yeah? How’s that?”
“The Jansens should be in prison for felony tax evasion. That’s why they were in France longer than expected, because my husband was busting his ass, risking his own freedom to make sure your precious boyfriend’s parents could come back to the country with clean slates and no cell mates.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “You’re lying.”
“Unfortunately for you, I don’t lie. The perfect, pure Jansens were in over their heads. Brooks’s father came to Rick, desperate for help. So, go ahead. tell the police—tell them everything. Because if my son ever goes down because of your big mouth, if something happens to him, Brooks’s family goes down, too. And he’ll blame you, he will, and then you can live the rest of your life knowing he hates you—just like everyone else.”
“You’re an evil bitch.”
“And you’re psychotic. I think I’m in the better position here. Good luck, Emily. I mean … Ivy.” She smiles. Pulls an envelope from her purse and flashes pages upon pages of undeniable evidence that I am not Emily Brandt—that I never was.
I lunge for them, but she tucks them behind her back. “Give them to me!”
“Don’t bother.” She laughs. “I have copies.”
She stuffs the pages back into the envelope, throwing a smile of accomplishment my way as she walks out.
I throw my car in park, and jerk out the key. I sprint for the access door. Take the elevator. Run the halls. I beat on his door, my palms burning as they slap against it, my feet kicking intermittently.
Jared opens the door, the quizzical look on his face enraging me beyond what I thought possible. This guy, this guy I’ve considered my best friend for the past five fucking months of my life has betrayed me. I push past him, bursting into the living room, the smell of alcohol following me as I do.
“Whoa. Hi to you, too.”
I spin around before shaking my head at him. “How could you do this to me, Jared?”
He stares at me for a long moment, his brown eyes darkening as he realizes that I know.
“Fuck,” he breathes. He closes the door, and walks toward me. “Emily, I’m … I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? You’re sorry? Do you know what you’ve done? Do you understand how you’ve fucking betrayed me?” A tear falls from my eyes, and I rub it away. “I thought you were my friend. You were the only fucking one I had.”
“Don’t say that.” He steps even closer. Tries to reach out to catch a falling tear, but I back up.
“Don’t touch me. I didn’t come here for sympathy or excuses. I just want to know why?”
“Look, Deacon’s mom came to me with money months ago. She told me to tell her if you started seeing him again. All I knew was she was some crazy old lady obsessed with her son. I wasn’t gonna tell her shit. I just wanted her money to kind of fuck her over. But then … then when you told me about Brooks, I got weak, and I called her up.”
My brow furrows. I shake my head in confusion. “I’m not following...”
He shrugs, his eyes closing. “I’m in love with you, Emily. Are you that fucking oblivious?” He holds his hands up in surrender. “There. I said it. I’m fucking in love with you, and I couldn’t stand the thought of you being with him, all right?” His tongue clicks as he looks down at his feet. “I was never worried about Deacon. I hadn’t fallen for you yet, but all the time we’ve spent together—it’s impossible not to love you. But every time I tried to show you or tell you—anything—I felt like you pushed me away. When you started seeing him, I couldn’t handle it. I was weak, and I knew with as crazy as Deacon’s mom seemed, she’d drive a wedge, make sure Brooks wouldn’t want you. But it was wrong. I can’t force you to love me, and I don’t want to, and I’m sorry for what I’ve done.”
“Do you even know what you’ve done? Do you have any fucking clue? You’ve ruined my life! She’s threatening me. She knows things that could—” I bite my lip, turn my head away, and take a long breath.
“Wait, she threatened you?”
I swallow, and rest my hands on my hips before raising them in a shrug. “What did you think she would do? Bring me cookies? Why would anyone pay someone to give them information like that?”
“God, I’m … I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Emily. I wasn’t thinking? I just wanted a fucking chance with you, okay? And I can’t compete with Mr. Fucking Jansen Brewing, all right? I know that. I’m a regular fucking guy with a regular fucking job, and apparently, that isn’t good enough for you. But I never meant to hurt you. I swear to God. I don’t expect you to believe me. But I hope you forgive me one day.” He whispers the last words, his voice cracking with them.
“I don’t care about Brooks’s money. I never have. I love him, just like you say you love me.” More tears well in my eyes, but I don’t let them spill over. I blink them away. “This is just a big fucking circle of hurt.” I laugh. “It isn’t even your fault. It’s mine. This is all my fucking fault.”
“No, it isn’t. You can’t blame yourself for something I did.”
I wipe snot that begins to trail down my nose, and shake my head. “You don’t know how wrong you are. Goodbye, Jared. And I’m sorry that I couldn’t love you back, because I know how that feels.”
In a haze of tears, I exit his apartment. Close the door on this chapter of my life.
My legs cross, the ground slightly wet beneath me, Lucy curled at my feet in concern. The life Brooks planned for us—the life I tried to help him give me—it’s gone. It came and went in a blink, and I can’t believe it. I only thought my heart was destroyed before, but I didn’t know what it was like to need Brooks as a man—to feel him inside me, to love him through his indecision.
None of it matters anymore.
This is how it ends.
And not because of a book or another woman or Deacon’s mother, or even Jared. Really, this is how it ends because I’m fucked up. This is all my own doing, and I deserve to die.
I just want the pain to go away. Just want to erase what I’ve done, but I can’t, so I’ll lie here until I return to the dust I once was and allow the wind to carry away my mistakes. I could blow my brains out. I could go in the house, put that barrel to my temple, pull the trigger, put myself out of my misery. But that would be too good, too painless. I deserve to feel every bit of my slipping away, deserve to burn to a crisp, thirst until my throat is raw, hunger until my stomach eats itself.
It can’t take more than a day or two. I’ve already watched it go from light to dark, from blue to cloudy, from dry to wet. I’ve been rained on, bitten, and think my leg was shit on by a bird. It has stormed, and I prayed God would strike me—that the devil would pull me to hell, because that’s what I deserve, isn’t it? But I�
�m still here, heart still beating.
So, I’ll keep waiting.
I stare at the night above, wishing Brooks and I could go back to the innocent children we once were, and crying over the fact that we can’t. I used to stare at the moonlit night and see hope, see beauty, see a reminder of God’s love. Now, when I look at the shining dust blown across the night sky, I see us—Brooks and me. The stars, like the infinite bits of love that carried my dream, are surrounded with darkness.
I wish with all my soul things could have been different.
Above all, I wish I hadn’t failed.
I haven’t bought a pack of cigarettes since Eliza and I last smoked. Smoking is utterly disgusting. It’s mental, but I still smell her, still taste her, and can’t quit thinking about her. I have been in a perpetual state of panic since I left her house. Being away from her, it feels wrong, but I know it is for the best. Too much has happened between us to forget. Too much has happened for things to ever be normal.
I check Facebook, and see a message request from...
Jared?
Isn’t that—
I accept the request, and open the message.
This is Emily’s friend, Jared. I’m really worried about her. She’s in a bad place. Please check on her. I would do it, but she hates me now. It has to be you...
Another...
If I don’t hear from you in thirty minutes, I’ll have to send the police to check on her. She isn’t answering my texts or calls. I’m honestly afraid she might kill herself, but I think I would send her over the edge if I showed up myself.
My heart speeds up, and I drop my cigarette. I check the time on his message—seventeen minutes ago. I message him back, and say I’m on my way to her house, and I’ll get back to him. I don’t ask questions, I don’t take time to mull over why he would be contacting me.
The Evolution of Ivy: Antidote (The Evolution of Ivy, Volume 2) Page 23
