Annihilate Me (Vol. 3) (The Annihilate Me Series)

by Christina Ross

  “Your name is ‘Tank’?” I asked.

  “It’s actually Mitch, ma’am.”

  “I like to think of you as ‘Tank’,” Blackwell said.

  Her voice became unnaturally bright. She was trying to turn the conversation around to achieve a lighter tone. And while I admired her effort to ease my mind, I actually preferred how straight this man was being with me.

  “I mean, look at you,” Blackwell said. “It’s like the Army got hold of you as a child, ran some random experiments, jolted you with some sort of nuclear energy, and altered your DNA.”

  He didn’t respond to the joke. Instead, he looked at me and I was struck by the intensity in his eyes. “You’ll be fine with me, Ms. Kent.”

  Will I? And what about Alex? Will he be OK?

  Blackwell was no fool. She knew the situation was tense and she respected it. She backed off and turned to me. “Bernie will be ready for you at Wenn at six-thirty. He’s come through again, which means I’m going shopping tomorrow to buy him something that will send him over the moon for all of his help since we first began. He deserves it. I’ve told him which dress I think will work best for tonight, so he’ll assist you there as well. Stop looking at me like that, Jennifer. Bernie isn’t going to physically dress you—you’ll dress yourself. As promised, I’m staying here so you’ll know that Alex is in good care. That way, you can focus on what will be a challenging evening. But you’ll meet that challenge. I have no doubt about it. You’ll see some familiar faces at Peachy’s, but there will be many whom you don’t know. Though they will know you. You and Alex were just on the front page of the Times. So, expect many questions and a wealth of faux concern.”

  She jerked a thumb at Tank. “Tank here will be joining you—monkey suit and everything. Wait until you see him in that. Formidable.” She checked her watch. “You’ve got five hours before you need to start getting ready. What do you want to do now?”

  “I want to see Lisa,” I said.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When we arrived at my apartment building on Fifth, it was sunny and still warm. In the midst of September, this was unusual for me. If I had been back in Maine, I likely would have been wearing a light sweater and pants to transition into fall instead of the Capri pants and the pale blue T-shirt Lisa had dropped off for me the night Alex was brought to the hospital. Even though Manhattan and Maine were only an hour apart by plane, they might as well have been a world apart when it came to the weather conditions in September.

  Mitch stepped out of the car, I grabbed my bag, and he shielded me as we walked across the busy sidewalk into the lobby.

  “Thank you,” I said to him when we were safely inside.

  “Nothing will happen to you under my watch, ma’am.”

  “Please call me Jennifer. I mean it, OK? It’s Jennifer.”

  He hesitated for a moment, and then his stoic face softened. “All right. But I’m not supposed to.”

  “I know you’re not, so it’ll remain between us. And I refuse to call you Tank.”

  “I actually kind of like it.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at him. Men will be boys. “If that’s the case, then Tank it is. At least when it’s just us. Otherwise, it’s Mitch and ma’am, I guess. I don’t want you getting into trouble because of me.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “So I’ll see you at six-fifteen?”

  He nodded. “I’ll collect you right here. Don’t wait outside.”

  “No worries there.”

  When I stepped into my apartment, Lisa stood just beyond the door. Her blonde hair was hanging loosely around her shoulders and she wore no makeup—not that she needed any. Lisa was one of the lucky ones—her skin just seemed to glow.

  “I heard the elevator,” she said when she hugged me. “I thought it was you. I’ve missed you terribly.”

  “Have we ever been apart for two days?” I asked in her ear.

  “I think maybe in sixth grade. One of us got sick or something and we were quarantined from each other. It was awful.”

  We parted and screwed our faces up at each other.

  “How could our parents have done that to us?” I asked.

  “Heartless.”

  “Let’s not let it happen again anytime soon.”

  “You must be exhausted. Come inside. Let me take your bag. You can take a nap and then we can talk, or we can talk and you can go to bed early. Whichever you like, but you need your rest.”

  “Which won’t be happening tonight.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going to a dinner party tonight at Peachy Van Prout’s.” I saw a look of humor cross her face so I held up a hand. “Don’t laugh. If you get me laughing about her name, I’m only going to laugh inappropriately when I meet her.”

  “All right, but it’s still a stupid name.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Imagine being Peachy all the time.”

  “Lisa—”

  “Look at me being all Peachy. Look at the sun shining out of my ass. Oh, look—I’m a unicorn.”

  “Stop!”

  “OK.” She hesitated. “I think I’ll have the Peachy cobbler!”

  “Oh, my God…. I’m not going to be able to face this woman.”

  We walked into the living room. Everywhere I looked, I was reminded of Alex. He created this space for us. Just being here again was moving.

  “I’ll be good,” Lisa said. “What’s tonight about?”

  “Henri Dufort has invited me to come as his guest. He’s the guy I told you about who owns Streamed.”

  “You’re going alone?”

  “I’m going with Tank.”

  “What’s a Tank?”

  “A giant of a man, former Marine, very kind. He’s going with me to protect me. His real name is Mitch, but he prefers to be called Tank, which makes me like him even more. I took to him instantly.”

  “Is he hot?”

  “Ummm, yeah. You could definitely say that Tank is hot.”

  “How hot?”

  “You could fry an egg on his ass.”

  “How old is he?” Lisa asked. “Is he single?”

  We both sat on the living room sofa. My right hip was sore, so I maneuvered myself so that I wasn’t sitting on it.

  “I’d say he’s somewhere around thirty.”

  “Perfect.”

  “No idea about whether he’s single.”

  “Unacceptable.”

  “That said, when you’re thirtyish and look like Tank, I think you pretty much enjoy yourself until you decide that you want something more in life. Like a girlfriend.” I shrugged. “But what do I know? Maybe he does want that. Maybe he already has that. I just met him. I can find out more later.”

  “I’m ready to date again, so if you find out that he’s single and think that he’s dating material, let me know.”

  “You’re ready to date again?”

  “Being intimate with my zombies has limited appeal.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “How is Alex?”

  “He’ll be fine. When he struck his head on the pavement, he received a fairly severe concussion, so they’re being careful and keeping him overnight. He’ll be out tomorrow.”

  “Jennifer, what happened that night?”

  I told her exactly what happened, and then what little else I knew.

  “Did you see the Times? Because half of what you just told me isn’t in their story.”

  “How could it be? Nobody from the Times talked with us. Alex wouldn’t allow it.”

  “I saved the paper for you if you want to read it.”

  “Maybe later.”

  “It’s on your bed. Are you and Alex back on track?”

  “We are. We worked it out before I left this afternoon. Blackwell was a big help to that end—she was tough but fair with me over lunch. She pushed me. In many ways, she reminds me of you in that way.” I paused. “If you bring me my bag, I’ll share something with you.
”

  She retrieved it for me, and I removed the letter Alex wrote me. I handed it to her. “Read that.”

  She did. When she was finished, she carefully folded it like the gift that it was, and then she handed it back to me. “That’s love,” she said.

  “I know it is.”

  “No one ever has written me anything like that. That was beautiful. How do you feel about it?”

  “Moved. Touched. Undeserving. The usual. My father really did a number on me.”

  A flash of irritation crossed her face. “He did once.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Just what it sounds like. Look, after reading Alex’s letter, I’m just going lay it out for you, Jennifer. You’re holding yourself back. You can let go of all of it whenever you wish—it’s up to you. It’s always been up to you. But you don’t let it go because, for whatever reason, you still believe everything your father ever said to you when he was beating you. Why? You’re twenty-five now. You’re hundreds of miles away from him. Let it go.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “Really?”

  “What do you know about being beaten?”

  “Nothing.”

  “So, you’re in a position to tell me how I should feel?”

  “Someone has to get through to you.”

  “Are we having an argument?”

  “Maybe it’s time for one. You’re not getting any younger. You’re wasting your life on your shitty past. You know perfectly well that all you were to him was an easy target, yet you continue to hold tight to what he did to you. Why? Here’s a guess—because it’s some weird sort of safety blanket you use to ward off other men. You know that everything your father said and did to you was fueled by booze, yet you won’t let go of it. Why? Why not just get rid of it? Why let it continue to hold you down and hold you back? Not every man is your father. Alex is deserving of your trust, but he won’t stick around forever. I can promise you that. And neither will the next man. Or the one after that. So, put your ugly past in a box, seal it up, throw it away, and get over it. It’s time.”

  I didn’t respond at once, but I knew she was right.

  “You’ve begun a whole new life here. Over time, we’ll each meet new and interesting friends who will become our surrogate families. I know you’ve made a lot of progress over the years when it comes to the abuse you experienced. I saw the lashings on your back when we were kids. You showed me the bruises on your neck and arms. I know you went through hell. I also know that you could have turned to drugs. You could have let yourself fail in school. But you didn’t. Do you get it? Even then, you had it within you to improve yourself so you could get the hell out of Maine and away from your parents. So, enough is enough. That letter I just read? You’re a fool if you don’t recognize the heart that went into it. You’re a fool if you don’t shake off the past and give this man the shot he deserves.”

  “I told him that I was his girlfriend today.”

  “Good! That’s progress. Now, let me ask you the tough question. Do you love him?”

  I looked at her. “Why is this so hard for me?”

  “You know why, and I know why, but it ends today. So, answer me. Do you love him? Either you do or you don’t. It’s not rocket science. Right now, you should know. Get rid of the security blanket and be honest with me and with yourself. Do you love him or not?”

  “I wouldn’t be going to this party for him tonight if I didn’t feel something for him.”

  “Just ‘something’?”

  “Something profound.”

  “What do you feel?”

  “Everything.”

  “What’s everything?”

  For a moment, I felt completely exposed, but then I just said it.

  “Love,” I said. “I’m in love with him, and I’m scared to death of it. I know it’s irrational because, with the exception of the one blip that night at the Met fundraiser, he’s been nothing but wonderful to me. And still I feel insecure. Still I have trust issues. But the truth is that I am in love with him. He’s come to mean everything to me. I think about him all the time. I worry about him constantly. I can feel him when he’s not with me, and I can smell him when I go to sleep. He’s always with me. And I sure as hell don’t want to lose him because of my goddamned hang-ups.”

  “Then lose them.”

  “I’m going to have to.”

  “As in now?”

  “As in now.”

  “Let’s put that to the test.” She got up and went into the kitchen. When she returned, she had a legal pad and a pen in her hands. “Everything you just said to me? About how you feel for him? You’re going to answer his letter and put it all down into words. Then you’re going to give it to him. No later than tomorrow. He’ll be out of the hospital by then. You can go to his place, relax together, and when the moment’s right? That’s when you give him a letter of your own that says exactly what he’s come to mean to you.” She gave me the pen and the legal pad. “So, write to him from your heart. It doesn’t have to be perfect. In fact, it shouldn’t be perfect. It should be raw. Tell him what you just told me. You’ve got to respond to him before it’s too late.”

  “I love you, Lisa.”

  She held a hand to her ear. “How was that?”

  “I said I love you.”

  “Oh, do you now?”

  I smiled at her. “I do.”

  “Was that so hard to say?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Because I love you, too. I know you don’t need any more stress piled on top of you right now. But before you lose Alex, someone has to get through to you. Someone has to make sure that you don’t one day look back at this time in your life and regret any decisions you might have made because fear held you back. I’m happy to be the person. I bet Blackwell also was happy to be that person, and bless her for it.” She started to turn away from me, but then stopped. “While I’m in my bedroom writing about the misery of the undead, you write your letter about the joy of being in love with Alex.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  By six o’clock, I was showered, my hair was still lightly damp, and I was ready for Bernie’s magic. That’s when Lisa came out of her bedroom looking better than I’d seen her in weeks.

  I just stared at her. When Lisa put it together, she put it together. And right then, she was a knockout.

  Her hair was pulled away from her face in a neat ponytail. She wore dark skinny jeans and a saucy white tank top that revealed pretty much everything since she wasn’t wearing a bra. She wore a pair of my red Prada pumps, no jewelry, and just enough makeup to make her look even prettier than she already was.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Just downstairs. I wanted to make sure you made it out safely.”

  “You didn’t need to dress up to bring me....” My voice trailed off when I realized exactly what she was up to. “Oh,” I said. “Oh, really? So this is how you’re rolling now?” I cocked my head at her. “You’re going downstairs to present yourself and the twins to Tank, aren’t you?”

  “Tank?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Twins?”

  I nodded at her breasts. “Cool in here, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, leave me alone,” she said. “So, I want to meet Tank. So what? I’ve been single for too long. You said he was nice and that he was hot. I need nice and hot. I’ve been stuck with those chilled zombies for so long. I need a man. Preferably a live one.”

  “Well, he’s nothing if not all man. Wait until you see him.”

  “Is he better looking than Alex?”

  “No one is better looking than Alex.”

  “If you weren’t madly in love with Alex, would he be better looking than Alex?”

  “He’d come pretty close. Just add fifty pounds of muscle and about six inches.”

  She winked at me. “Where am I adding those inches?”

  “You’re ridiculous. And Alex is hardly lacking in that department. I need to
run.”

  I grabbed my handbag and we left the apartment and started moving down the hallway to the elevator.

  “Did you write your letter?”

  “I did.”

  “How did that go?”

  “Let’s just say it’s all out there now.”

  “I’m proud of you. How did it feel to write it?”

  “In a weird way, it felt liberating. I brought the letter with me. I’m going to put it in my clutch tonight so he’ll be with me.”

  “Now I want to puke. Who are you?”

  I lifted my eyes to the ceiling and sighed. “A woman in love.”

  “I hope I haven’t created a monster.”

  I pressed the call button for the elevator. “I believe that’s what you do.”

  “Not like this.”

  “Then be careful what you wish for.”

  The door opened and we stepped inside the car. Within moments, we were in the lobby. And there was Tank, standing in the center of the room in a tailored tuxedo that somehow made him look larger and more intimidating than he was before. I thought he looked polished and handsome. As for Lisa, I heard her take a sharp breath.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered.

  “I told you,” I said as I smiled and waved at Tank.

  “My nipples are going to burst through my shirt.”

  “That would be interesting. Come on. Shoulders back, but please try not to put anyone’s eyes out. I’ll introduce you.”

  “Can’t handle it....”

  We closed the distance between him and us.

  “You’re early,” I said to him.

  “Just in case you were,” he said. He glanced quickly at Lisa, and then looked back at me.

  “I appreciate that. This is my best friend and roommate, Lisa Ward. She also has my back and wanted to make sure I made it to the lobby safely. I think I’m protected from all fronts. Lisa, this is Tank. His real name is Mitch, as in Mitchell, but he prefers Tank. You might see why.”

  Lisa held out her hand, which he gently shook. Never once did his eyes go to her breasts, as outrageous as they were at that point. Instead, he held her gaze. A gentleman.