“Don’t concern yourself with that. I’m fine.”
I smile, disbelieving. “London?” I repeat, struck stupid.
Benjamin so clearly thrives off of my lack of exploration in the world, wanting to personally introduce me to its wonders. And frankly, I’m tired and in a constant state of uncertainty, my moods fluctuating at the drop of the hat, but his enthusiasm is a plea.
He wouldn’t be suggesting this—leaving work, enduring the flight with the wounds he has—if he didn’t need it. If he didn’t think we need it.
We have the luxury of leaving, of taking some time to heal together and focus on something other than our losses, and for that, I will not deny us this chance.
“What do you say?”
I sweep my hands over his silky locks of hair affectionately. “Let’s pack.”
He lowers his head to kiss me. However, his ever-present phone interrupts us, blaring loudly on the counter. He picks it up and answers.
“Yes, Tiffany?”
The way he blanches, his blood draining under his skin to instantly make him pale and beaten down, when only seconds ago a smile was in place of this frown, scares me shitless.
Whatever Tiffany is telling him has shaken him.
Like an eruption within him, the blood reappears in a boiling rage, leaving him red-faced and shaking. His hand shoots up to his face, which he rubs in disbelief, turning away from me.
“Ben…?”
“Who released that information?”
He storms away, leaving me with only the option to follow. I find him switching on the television, flipping through channels to land on a station.
“I’ll handle it. Thank you for informing me.”
“What’s happened?” I ask when he hangs up. He doesn’t need to answer me. He stops on a channel, a news station.
On the screen is the scene of our accident, photographs taken by frazzled bystanders. Benjamin’s vehicle as a mangled hunk of metal, molded into a ball. I cover my mouth in horror as they rotate through a group of photos, each one more devastating than the next.
I’m not sure how we lived through that. I’m really not.
I spin around when a shaky recording shows people bent by the crushed window, dragging my limp body out of the smoking rubble. The sight of Benjamin’s arms, still trapped inside, physically sickens me. I have to sit.
“I can’t believe this,” Benjamin says.
I choke on nothing but air when the reporter mentions our unfortunate miscarriage, the loss of our child, like its breaking news. The lack of privacy is unnerving.
How do they know about the baby?
As if to answer my question, Benjamin’s mother appears on the flat screen.
She’s all soft words, the epitome of a doting mother who had the scare of her life. She divulges sitting at his bedside with worry, the unimaginable pain at the aspect of losing her daughter-in-law and the baby together. The eyes of the reporter she spoke to lit up and flickered to the camera as she provided the scoop of the century. He makes her confirm that I was truly pregnant, and she gives him the show. A big, disgusting, invasive show.
I simply stare at the events unfolding, only slightly aware of Benjamin’s frozen stance a few feet away from me.
Did she do this to spite me?
Does she even have a heart?
Benjamin shuts off the television, already tapping on his cell. He raises the phone to his ear, walking to the window.
“How dare you?”
I drop my head in regret and exhaustion. We didn’t need this.
“No,” he says gruffly, then bellows, “No! I don’t want your excuses! I don’t want to hear another word from you!”
The voice on the other end hums louder, but he talks over it.
“I have things to say, things that are long overdue, and you’re damn well going to listen,” he seethes, the lines of his back rippling with tension. “You’re going to listen because you deserve to hear that you aren’t a good mother. You abandoned me after Daniel died.”
It’s a bomb I’m not prepared to hear him utter. I can’t imagine how she’s taking it.
He huffs while she talks. I can’t make out what she’s saying, but it’s panicked.
“Neither of you could stand to see my face. You couldn’t look at me. I looked so much like him, and you held that against me. I was a fucking kid! And to make it worse, in a vain attempt to save whatever was left of your marriage, you adopt another kid when you couldn’t even deal with your own. You treated him worse than me, and that is the only reason I give a shit about what happens to him, because he’s learned his sliminess from you and from Dad. Bec and I got out of there as fast as we could. We couldn’t stand another minute with you.”
He pauses to listen to her ramblings. That’s what they sound like from here.
“Oh, come on, I know you’re not stupid. You knew what you were doing. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that would get onto the news. That was our personal business that you made known to the goddamn world! I don’t care if you don’t like her. I honestly couldn’t care less what you think about her. She is my wife, and you will respect her!
“I’ve supported you for years! Years! Dad took the money in the divorce, but that was your fault for being careless and getting caught with that architect. I’ve paid for everything. Your house, your bills! I was in a damn hospital bed and I agreed to give you a million dollars of money I earned. No more. You’re close with Alex now. He can pay for your expenses, as well as that million-dollar loan to start your company. I will not.”
He moves the phone away from his ear as she wails. This is twenty-eight years of anger unleashing in one conversation.
“You’re wasting your breath.” Something she says must stun him. He straightens and growls, literally growls, “What the hell has she ever done to you? She’s the best goddamn thing that’s ever happened to me. She cares—no, listen to me—she cares about me. She cares whether I come home at night, whether I’ve had a shitty day. She’s saved me from living my life like you did. I had no idea how to fucking love! You took that from me, you and my father. I’m done pretending that was okay. Do not expect that check. I would suggest saving the money I’ve already given you.”
Jesus Christ.
He falls quiet, listening.
“Stop crying. You don’t mean a single word you’re saying. You’re afraid because I’m cutting you off.” He laughs, near hysterics. “You can tell me you hate me all you want. I don’t care. I don’t want to hear from you again. Don’t call me. Don’t call my assistant. You can relay the news to my father as well. I don’t suspect he’ll care anyway since I haven’t heard from him since before the accident.”
He flinches at whatever her response was, not completely immune to her venom.
“Always the final say, huh, Mother? Well I’m done. I’m hanging up now.”
He throws the phone on the couch and stalks toward the hallway.
I gape stupidly, standing. “Ben—”
He holds up his hand, which is shaking. “Please.”
He heads to our bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
***
Benjamin is on a phone call when I enter the bedroom twenty minutes later, doubting that I have given him enough time to digest the separation of him and his parents, but it’s not in my nature to retreat or to let him experience this alone.
He hovers by the window, speaking in low tones. At the word loan, and cancellation, I realize he’s talking to a banker. Whether or not he minds that I’m hearing this, he continues, without a glance back. I sit at the edge of the mattress.
“I’m sure. All direct deposits will cease by the end of the week. Whatever she has previously received from me can remain. From now on, I want her off my account.”
He’s really doing it.
“I’m going out of town, so I’m leaving it to you to see this done. If she contacts the bank, relay to her you’ve been given strict instructions by me regarding her
cease of funds. Yes, thank you for your discretion.”
He hangs up and I expect him to speak, then it occurs to me that his mind is so occupied he hasn’t realized I’m here.
“Ben?”
My suspicion is correct. He whirls around, showing me the tempestuous storm within his eyes. The chaos clears, and he sucks in a deep inhale.
“How long have you been there?”
“A few minutes.”
“Let’s start packing.”
He crosses the room, removing our luggage from the closet with a grimace.
“You still want to go?”
He flashes me a look of confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Ben.”
“That woman will not impact my life any further than she already has, Darcy. I’m going to London with my wife.”
His tone is not one I’d willingly argue with. I take one of the bags, unzipping it. Benjamin sighs when his phone rings in his pocket.
“It’s probably Dimitri wanting the itinerary,” he says.
“Go on. I can pack this.” I extend my arm and caress the slope of his stubbled jaw, wishing to offer him a moment, just a moment, of understanding.
I don’t know much about parenting, having lost mine when I was young. However, I do know about loss and toxicity. It’s a hollowness that forms within you, a small, sometimes big portion of your body that hollows out in order to let it go, to continue without bitterness.
It’s never an easy task and cannot be fixed or filled overnight.
It takes caution, and care, and love to replace what’s been lost.
Benjamin’s repairing starts in this marriage and under my soft hand.
Neither of us speak, force words that don’t need to be said.
He’s hurt. I’m sorry for him.
Words won’t change that. My touch seems to do the trick.
He holds me there long enough that the phone stops ringing. We share a look, a moment of calm, and then my hand slips from his face so we can carry on.
***
“Please buckle up. We will be beginning our descent in a few moments,” the flight attendant whispers to us. First Class is dark and quiet, considering it’s the middle of the night. Dimitri is seated opposite us in an aisle seat, wide awake. A book rests in his lap, but he’s not reading.
In order to save Benjamin the movement which could impact his wound, I buckle him in and then do mine. We’d been sharing headphones, listening to classical music, which calmed him over the course of the seven-hour flight. The unhinged man who boarded the plane with me is gone, tucked away so his bitterness won’t eat him alive.
As his wife, I have the option to try and take his mind off of the stress or have him confront the feelings. I feel I’d be failing him if I allowed him to bury the pain. I don’t want to be a person he fronts for. He has enough of those.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
His shutdown is clear and telling. Well, that’s that. With an understanding nod, I turn my gaze to the window, to the endless night. No stars are visible, the sky shrouded with heavy clouds.
“Do you think I’m being cruel?” he asks.
“To her?”
His features, dimmed under the light overhead, only show interest, curiosity to hear my thoughts.
“I’m biased.”
“Still. I want to know.”
“No, I don’t think you’re being cruel. Benjamin, ever since I met you, the only time your mother has called has been to ask for something. The only time I saw your father, he had zero faith in the man you know you are…which is a good man. A great man.”
His eyes slant disbelievingly. “You’re right. You are biased.”
“I told you.” I shrug. “I’m right, though.”
“I’m tired of never being enough for her, for them. I could own the world and it still wouldn’t make her love me.”
His openness is dauntingly transparent, an unheard of action for the infamously collected Benjamin Scott. I don’t want it to stop, and keeping an open ear seems like the best option for that.
“I never got to explore. I knew from a young age how important money was in our world. It infuriates me that they programmed me to be like them, to repel anything resembling human affection. I’m nearly thirty, and I only just learned to want more, with much difficulty and with way too much resistance. I don’t blame it all on them, but…”
“I think we are who raises us.”
“You’re a far cry from the man who raised you.”
“He didn’t raise me. Without my parents, I raised myself.”
“I can’t imagine how badly you wish it could have been different.”
“I wish they were here, yeah. I wish I hadn’t been given to him, of course…but I wouldn’t be here without all the rest of it. In New York, let alone with you.”
He laces his fingers with mine. “You put up with a lot from me.”
“Ben, I wouldn’t have you be any other way. On the outside, you may resemble them, work like them. On the inside, you are so far from that. You have to know that.”
“I do now. The man they raised couldn’t love you like I do. It’s stronger than anything I’ve ever known.”
***
No sleep on the plane means an entire day is required in bed to recuperate, an unfortunate side-effect of flying—jetlag. The day is gone when we rise to an untouched hotel room, our bags still parked at the door where we left them.
The night is not lost on us though, and instead of trying to sleep while the rest of England does, we ready ourselves for a dinner out on the town. We’re poor excuses for twenty-somethings, moving like tortoises over the sidewalk. Dimitri follows behind, alert as ever.
Benjamin is constantly recognized, but Brits have far more reserve than New Yorkers, watching mostly from a distance. I’m sure Dimitri is glad for it. It was only a few weeks ago our faces were plastered on news stations, magazines, social media, survivors of a near-deadly wreck.
London is wet. The ground is scattered with puddles of water after a day of rain. Even now the dark sky looks ready to burst open. Hopefully it won’t, since we have no umbrellas. We find a quaint pub with dark lighting and seclude ourselves by the end of the bar, hovering close to each other in order to remain inconspicuous. Although I can’t imagine we’d stop traffic halfway across the world, there’s honestly no telling.
There’s a rowdy group of men a few stools down, occupied with a re-run of a soccer game. Benjamin’s medication prevents him from drinking, which would help shake off this unnerving tic that seems to be affecting us both, but he orders me a beer along with wings for both of us. Whether it’s just jetlag or something more, perhaps what we’ve been struggling to overcome for weeks now—the pain of losing someone who would have changed our very foundation in life—I’m not sure, but with this uneasy haze over my emotions, I’m not turning away the chance to dilute them a bit.
What it is about London I don’t know. I thought we’d arrive and fall into the same excitement we did in Bali, but we’re quiet, both very far away from fun or even escapism.
When Benjamin finally inquires about Kevin, it’s confirmed for me. This trip might not be all roses and sunshine. If anything, this foreign place could unload it all.
I embellish Kevin’s recent tale of woe, a visit to his mother’s with Doug, which he described as a nightmare through fits of laughter. I relay it to Benjamin with just as much enthusiasm until our drinks arrive. Dimitri allows sufficient distance, seated at a table by the window, and won’t touch the beer Benjamin has sent over.
It’s strange to be together like this. The past weeks have consisted of hospitals and dire situations, stress beyond measure. Lately, the only chance we’ve had for downtime has been spent trying to reestablish and repair the bond that severed between us the day of the accident.
I think we’ve forgiven each other for the wrongs committed that day, but just as I can’t forget the words he uttered in
his anger, he can’t forget my betrayal, my failure in trusting him with the conditions I was enduring.
Spotting has stopped, and yet I haven’t reached for him at night.
Maybe that’s the reason we’re so disjointed. Sex has always been a saving grace in our relationship, from the beginning. Through fights, separations, it’s brought us back to each other, providing us with a release, an absolution to distance.
He hasn’t reached for me either, meaning he hasn’t felt healthy enough to or he doesn’t feel ready for it. Or perhaps he’s unsure whether I’d welcome it. So many questions, with hardly any answers.
The weight of the revelation is heavy and makes me instinctively need to touch him. I place my hand on his back, on the soft cotton material of his t-shirt. Shifting my legs, I twist in my stool to face him, laying my head on his shoulder.
I wonder if Dimitri can tell, if it’s noticeable. Dimitri’s seen us at rock bottom before. I think we’re handling this much better than we did back then.
Even after our food arrives, I find a way to consistently touch him, look at him. Benjamin’s phone rings, which he glances at and ignores. In New York, it’s just reaching evening. Within a minute, it’s going off again, and he sighs.
“It’s Tiffany. I should get it.”
He dismounts from the stool, exiting the bar to answer the call. I smile at how intently Dimitri watches him from his seat, having been given instructions to stay with me at all times.
The sound of elbows slamming into the counter startles me. “I’ve definitely seen you around before.”
He’s one of the men from the rowdy group. Strangely enough, he’s American.
“Have you been waiting for my husband to leave so you could come over here?” I ask him, smirking.
“Husband? Damn.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“I was hoping he was a boyfriend or even a fiancé. That I could have worked with.”
“Oh?”
“When I’m not intoxicated, I’m quite the date. I bring flowers, hold the door open…”
My eyes shift to Dimitri, who has stealthily crossed the room in a matter of seconds and is now seated at the bar beside me. The man is too tipsy to notice. His boys are calling him back over now that the commercials have ended.
Possessed By You (The Consumed Series Book 3) Page 15
