Come Alive (The Cityscape Series)

by Jessica Hawkins

  “Hey,” he said. “What did you say?”

  I looked up and shook my head, a silent beg that he wouldn’t make me say it again. It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m not ready. But he waited until I couldn’t stand the silence another second. “I – I slept with someone else.”

  “When?” he cried, standing. “Who?”

  “It’s not important,” I mumbled. “I did it, and that’s it.” The smell of burning batter filled the kitchen, but I couldn’t tear my gaze from him.

  He fell back into his chair blindly. “This is some twisted way of trying to get out of the birth control thing.”

  If only. I shook my head at the floor, shrugging my shoulders helplessly.

  “Isn’t it?” His voice was hopeful, but it turned soft and despondent. “How? Who?”

  I continued to shake my head silently. Did it matter? Why make things worse with details?

  “When?” he asked.

  “About five months ago.”

  He laughed in a burst of dead air before dropping his forehead in his palm. “All this time, I thought . . .”

  My hands flew to my face, an attempt to hold in the tears. We sat that way for a long moment, not speaking.

  “Who?” he asked again. “Who was it?”

  I kept my face buried. “You don’t know him.”

  He snorted. When I looked up again, his elbows were on the table, his face in his hands. “I’m such a fool,” he said. “I feel so . . . stupid. Is this what you wanted? To make me look stupid?”

  “Of course not,” I said, furrowing my eyebrows. “It just . . . happened.”

  “Once?”

  I cleared my throat and looked away. “Twice,” I lied. I knew I could never bring myself to tell him the truth about the masquerade ball.

  “After everything that I’ve done for you.” His voice pitched. “How could you do this? And why are you telling me now?”

  “I’m so sorry. You deserve better.” I approached the table cautiously. My heart pounded as I eased into a chair. “I know it’s a shock. What can I do? To make it better?”

  “Seriously? What kind of question is that?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

  He shot up and overturned the chair. As he bent to pick it up, he said, “I have to get to work.”

  “Now?” I exclaimed. “We need to discuss this.”

  “I should take the day off because you picked now to tell me?” he snarled. “Hell of a time, really, Liv. Now I have to sit through work thinking about it all day.”

  I looked at him pleadingly, even though his eyes were fixed on the floor. “Don’t go. I’ll tell you anything, just stay.”

  “Yes, you will tell me everything. Later. Right now, I have to go to work.”

  “Call in sick,” I implored. “We have to talk about this now. Do it for us. Let’s fix this right now, today.”

  He gave me a lingering look. “I just really can’t deal with this right now, on top of work? Shit.” He rubbed his temples and muttered, “Why now?”

  “Are you going to leave me?” I whispered.

  He looked over my head and squinted. His chin trembled slightly. “No. I don’t know. Maybe.” He turned away and snatched his blazer from the couch. “And I want the truth tonight. No more secrets.” Not long after, the front door slammed.

  I straightened up and took an unsteady breath. I unplugged the grill and overturned the burnt pancakes into the sink. It was done. I sought relief, but I only felt ill to my core.

  I grabbed my coat and left for the office, replaying the morning over and over on the way until I thought I might vomit. Not until I was behind my locked door did I sink into my shame with the onset of rain. I had done to Bill what I’d shielded myself from all these years: I’d ripped the carpet out from under him; I’d shattered his trust. This would destroy him.

  I agonized over what would come next. Would he leave me? And what would I do? Where would I go?

  I tried to understand what I was feeling. At the thought of him leaving, I was sad and scared but not surprised. I almost felt relieved that the day had finally come that my marriage would end the same way as my parents’. As if I had known all along that I was cursed.

  But Bill’s belief in the bond of marriage was stronger than that. He might take this out on me forever, but he wouldn’t leave. It wasn’t him. It was part of the reason I’d agreed to marry him in the first place; he was constant and reliable.

  I couldn’t blame my infidelity on a bad marriage. What had happened between David and me was unable to be contained. Before I’d met him, I wouldn’t have classified Bill’s and my relationship as anything but stable. But if Bill didn’t feel like home, didn’t that mean something? I wondered shamefully if being with Bill was still what I wanted.

  And then I thought of David. Now that Bill knew, it was more than over. I had tried to forget him, but it was impossible. Nobody made me feel the way he did. He had awoken something, and I would never be the same for it.

  Despite the way he had crushed me on Saturday, I didn’t want him any less. If anything, our magnetic pull intensified with every minute that passed, regardless of whether we were together or apart. I still wanted him. And I wanted him all to myself. No Maria, no Dani, no Bill.

  I was an hour through revising an editorial that should have taken me thirty minutes to complete. I'd been stuck on the same sentence for five minutes when I stopped and took out my phone.

  I swallowed hard as I stared at it. I didn’t want to do it. But it was no longer about what I wanted. It was about making things right – no matter how painful that might be. Because Bill and I could not move forward this way.

  Maybe in some other life, we were meant to be. Soul mates, even. I smiled to myself at how he turned me into a believer.

  I didn’t know how I would end it once and for all, but it had to be done. David’s e-mail told me that it wasn’t over. If there was any doubt between us, I had to put it to rest. David and Bill both deserved the truth.

  With unsteady fingers, I crafted my message.

  Oct 4, 2012 4:06 PM

  Meet me at your office in 20 minutes.

  CHAPTER 21

  WHEN I ARRIVED at Pierson/Greer, David’s whole floor was empty. I peeked into his office but remained in the doorway to wait. My heart leaped when the door across the way opened. Arnaud Mallory, David’s unnerving colleague with a tendency for leering, stuck his head out. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping he wouldn’t see me.

  “Bonjour, Olivia.”

  “Mr. Mallory.”

  “Call me Arnaud. Expecting Dylan?”

  I nodded.

  “Such a shame. I would never leave a pretty girl like you waiting.” I shuddered slightly as his voice crept over me. “Come in, have a drink.”

  “No, I think I’ll just wait for – for Mr. Dylan here.”

  “But no, I won’t have it. Come, come.”

  David strode into the office then, and I was almost relieved. But seeing him again aroused a host of other emotions. Aside from the inexorable need I had to run to him, shame washed over me with the memory of the coarse tree and even coarser dismissal.

  “I got your text,” he said, stopping abruptly in front of me. “What is it?”

  “We need to talk.”

  He gestured behind me. “In my office.” In Arnaud’s direction, he asked, “Where the hell is Clare? Find her. She’s not supposed to leave this desk.”

  As he shut the door, I dizzily inhaled the intoxicating scent of his office; spicy, natural but refined. Him, but stronger. I remembered our moment in the crowded elevator. I remembered him at the edge of the roof in the dark as I pressed my cheek against his back. I remembered the first time I was alone with him, at Lucy’s engagement party. I remembered, I remembered, I remembered. “I can’t do this,” I uttered to myself, vibrating with fear and nerves. Just say it. We’re done. Bill knows, and we . . . are . . . done.

  He stalked in m
y direction, relief written on his face. “I’m glad you came. We need to talk about Saturday night. There’s no excuse – Jesus Christ, you’re shaking,” he said, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t do this,” I said, moving toward the door.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He jumped in front of me. “What’s going on?”

  I crossed my arms into myself. “I shouldn’t have come here. I thought I could do this, but I can’t.”

  “Olivia,” he said softly, but with authority. “Say what you came here to say.” The hopefulness in his voice pulled at my heart. “Don’t shut me out. Tell me why you’re here.”

  I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him that I’d told Bill, and that I could never see him again. I wanted to say that he’d hurt me on Saturday night. That I felt used and disgusting. I wanted to tell him that since I’d met him, life meant something different.

  My stomach heaved, and I felt suddenly hot and clammy. “I don’t think I can do this right now.” I ran the back of my hand over my slick forehead. Nausea struck my gut. “Everything is going to be fine,” I told myself.

  “Fine?” he repeated, his voice rising. “You’re going to pull that shit with me?”

  I blinked at him for a long moment. My knees may as well have been knocking together. Oh God, this is it. This is it.

  “You don’t look well. Do you need – ”

  “He knows!” I cried.

  “What?”

  “He . . . knows.” I wrung my fingers. “It’s over. This,” I clarified, motioning between us, “is so over.”

  “You told him?”

  “I don’t want to lose you,” I said, sniffling back tears. My breaths were short and shallow as I continued. “But that doesn’t matter. I can’t, do, this, anymore.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “If Saturday night proved anything, it’s that this needed to end.”

  A knife in my heart, even though he was right.

  “Not – I only meant that we couldn’t keep going like this,” he explained.

  I nodded and wiped away an invisible tear. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter anyway. I just thought you should know right away.”

  “You look scared shitless. Did he hurt you?”

  “He would never,” I said.

  “Tell me what happened. You should have come to me first. I would have told you with him so he could take it out on me.”

  “There’s nothing to tell yet. I told him right before he left for work.”

  “He went to work?” David asked, incredulous.

  “He said we’d discuss it tonight.”

  He rubbed his hand over his forehead, muttering something about a fool. “Fuck. He might ask for a divorce. Is that what you want?”

  “His family is strictly against it, as is he. He won’t.”

  “But what do you want, Olivia?”

  “I don’t know,” I said with blurry eyes. “I came here to tell you that you and I are done.”

  After a brief silence, he asked, “Don’t you want to know what I want?”

  “No,” I lied.

  “Things can’t just end this way. There’s too much here.”

  I closed my eyes and whispered, “Please don’t make this any harder.”

  “So that’s it?” he asked. His voice both rose and deepened. “Did you think you would just come here and tell me it’s over?”

  I nodded. “What else is there to say?”

  “Now is the time to say everything.” He came to me slowly and gently cupped my face. I felt myself melting under his loving gaze. “This was never a fling for me, baby. You mean so much more to me than that.” He swallowed audibly. “I’m not ready to let you go.”

  It he hadn’t been holding my jaw, it would have dropped. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying what I’ve always said. I want more. We can do this – ”

  There was a knock at the door. “Mr. Dylan?”

  “Not now, Clare,” he called irritably over his shoulder. He looked back at me. “I want – ”

  “Mr. Dylan,” the voice came again. He groaned and dropped his hands. “There’s a very important client on line two.”

  I watched as he stalked away, pinching his nose. I waited with bated breath. What did he want? What would he say? Did I want to hear it? Did I ever. I was aching to hear it.

  He wrenched the door open. “Where have you been?” he yelled at her. “Reception was empty for over twenty minutes.”

  “I’m sorry, I had to make a quick call,” Clare said. “But there’s – ”

  “You’re fired.”

  My mouth fell open.

  “What?” she asked. “No, it was an emergency, I’m sorry!”

  “Do you have emergencies every few hours? I’ve told you before, no personal calls in the office. Pack up your shit. You’re fired.”

  As I watched her through the sliver of doorway, I had to look away from her shocked expression. I considered interjecting when something on his desk caught my eye.

  “It won’t happen again,” she pleaded.

  “If you’re not gone by the time I finish here, I will escort you myself.”

  Their voices faded into the background. I leaned over and slid a stack of papers closer. My heart began to thump as I stared at the address on the sales contract in front of me. No. It can’t be . . . . It can’t . . . . I flipped the page to see the signature. Lucas David Dylan.

  He slammed the door and turned back to me. “I’m sorry,” he said. “As I was saying . . .” I made a sound as I scanned the document, but it was getting harder to read with the tears that were pooling in my eyes. “Now that it’s all out – ”

  “What is this?” I whispered, turning to face him. I held up the contract. “What is this, David?”

  He stilled. His face became anxious as he stared at me, unmoving. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” he mumbled.

  “You bought the Oak Park house?”

  He sighed deeply and swiped a hand over his face. “Yes.”

  A vicious tremble overtook my body, and the papers rustled audibly in my hand. “You asshole,” I fumed.

  “Let me explain,” he started.

  “You lied to me?”

  “I didn’t lie, I was going to tell you.”

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it! How could you do this to me? You know how I loved that house!”

  “Hang on, let me – ”

  “Was this just a game for you? Did you get some sort of sick pleasure from destroying my marriage?”

  “Of course not, Olivia, if you’ll just be quiet – ”

  “How could you?”

  “That’s enough!” he demanded.

  “It doesn’t matter. None of this matters. You’ve made yourself very clear,” I said, waving the papers at him and throwing them on the desk. “Thank you for making this easy.”

  “Goddamn it. Stop running away!” he boomed. “For once, just stay and face the truth!”

  I whirled toward him. “Why’d you do it?”

  “Sit, and I will explain everything. I’m not going to tell you through a screaming fit like a couple of teenage girls.”

  “And give you the chance to think up an excuse? I’m not stupid,” I said smugly, picking up my trek across the office.

  He stepped to block me from the door.

  “Don’t you dare come near me,” I said with as much venom as I could muster. “This time I mean it.”

  “You listen to me,” he snarled, pointing at the exit. “Walk out that door, and that’s it. I’m not coming after you anymore. Everything I’ve let you get away with – you owe me the chance to explain. So sit down.”

  I was frozen to the spot by his forceful tone, but no less infuriated.

  He gestured at his couch. “I said sit the fuck down. I will explain everything, I will give you everything, but I’m no fool. I will not chase you anymore.”

  There was no doubt in my mind; what he’d done couldn’t be exp
lained away. It was unforgivable. I gave him a pointed look before whipping open the door and slamming it behind me. Clare looked at me with huge eyes and started throwing her things together faster.

  Alone in the elevator, I ordered myself to curb the tears. It wasn’t worth it. I didn’t know what perverted satisfaction he got from buying the house out from under us, but I didn’t want to know. Do not cry, I instructed myself. It’s not worth it. But it didn’t work that way. By the time the elevator hit the ground floor, big, dense tears were leaking from my eyes. I was drowning quickly, and there was only one person I could call.

  ~

  “Hey, girl!”

  “Hi,” I said with a clogged throat. I held the cellphone away from my cheek for a moment until the urge to cry passed. “I need to talk.”

  There was a moment of silence before Gretchen spoke. “Okay, yes, let’s talk. Now?” Her voice was excited.

  “Now. Can I come over?”

  “I’m just leaving work. Meet you there.”

  I wondered if she’d still have ice cream from when Lucy and I had been there, but the thought of eating made my stomach lurch.

  When she opened the door to her apartment, I instantly hugged her tightly.

  “Oh my God, what?” she asked frantically, peeling me off by my shoulders. “What is it?”

  “I did it,” I said calmly. “David Dylan.”

  Her face fell visibly. “Oh, Liv. No. You didn’t.”

  I only nodded.

  “Come inside,” she said, coaxing me over to the couch.

  And on the couch, I told her everything from the beginning. I told her about the first night at David’s apartment – how I’d lied about going home sick and the months of rock-bottom despair that followed. My hand clawed into a decorative pillow when I told her how being with him in his hotel room had changed everything. Our connection had solidified and powered through me like a tornado. My feelings were strong and deep-rooted, I said, and I didn’t know how to handle them. Everything was out of control. I hung my head as I recounted the ball; how we’d had sex against a tree, and he wouldn’t even look at me afterward.

  “And that’s how it ended?” she asked after a long silence.