Beast

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  My mother sends me kisses over the phone and we hang up.

  Now, I feel a headache coming on. Speaking to my mother, though unpleasant, is oddly comforting. I need to be reminded of my roots every now and again. It keeps me grounded. But at the same time, it completely dishevels me emotionally. My mother knows that my birthday is a touchy subject. Why she continues to bring it up is beyond me. I know she doesn’t do it maliciously but some things are better left buried in the past.

  I hear a light tap at the door and my eyes dart in that direction. “Chess!” I drop my energy bar and try to discreetly wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

  “Hey, beauty!” he’s beaming as he pulls a big pink balloon with the words ‘Happy Birthday’ from behind his back.

  My stomach twists into a knot and a shiver travels across my skin. Fuck no! “How did you –”

  He chuckles. “Ruth told me.” I nod slowly with understanding. Of course Ruthie told him. I’m going to kill her.

  Chess stands there looking really proud of himself. It’s kind of cute, I guess.

  “So, I’m here to take you to lunch,” he announces. “There’s this amazing new French restaurant on the Upper East Side – L’ampoule – I made reservations.”

  Unease slips over me like a veil. Reluctantly, I find myself logging out of my computer and slipping into my jacket at Chess’s insistence.

  Before I know it, I’m sitting with him in a private booth at L’ampoule. My stomach grumbles a little as I scoop up the last forkful of vinegar-soaked arugula on my plate right before the server swoops in and snatches it away. I hate these pretentious, high-end restaurants, I think to myself.

  Chess is his usual charming self over lunch, telling me hilarious stories from the campaign trail. It should be easy to enjoy his company. Any woman in their right mind would feel lucky to be in my place right now. But a part of me is completely put-off by the fact that he ambushed me on my birthday.

  When the meal is over, Chess’s secret service detail ushers us through the parking garage to his black SUV and I’m whizzed across town, back to my office.

  As the car rolls to a stop in the building’s parking garage, Chess inches closer to me in the back seat. “I really like spending time with you, Jasmine.”

  I smile softly. “I like spending time with you, too.” And suddenly, I feel bad for the sulky mood I’ve been in since he popped into my office. He’s a nice guy and he was trying to do a nice thing by surprising me. He doesn’t know about all the dark, dark memories that are tied to my birthday, so I can’t blame him for trying to make my day special.

  He leans in and presses his lips to my cheek. He lingers for a while. I take a long whiff of him. He smells like power and extravagance and expensive musk. “If I try to kiss you right now, will you shut me down again?” His tone is flirtatious as he toys with a lock of my hair.

  I giggle at the sheepish smirk on his lips. I straighten up and my tone is soft but serious. “I’m not ready yet,” I whisper.

  Defeated, he drops his forehead to my shoulder and grunts in exasperation. “You’re killing me, Jasmine…But you’re worth it.”

  I pat the side of his face and he sits upright. “Goodbye, Chess.”

  His bodyguard escorts me to the elevator of the parking garage. I get off on the 7th floor feeling hungrier than ever. I plan to go back to my desk, quickly reply to a few emails that have come in over lunch and then go grab a snack in the staff break room.

  But when I get to my office, there’s a brown takeout bag sitting on the edge of my desk. I open it to peek inside and the delicious aroma of fried chicken greets me. I pull the carton out of the bag and find a generous serving of mashed potatoes and gravy with fried chicken, a buttery biscuit and a tiny apple pie.

  Southern comfort food. Just what I need right now.

  I smile slightly as I pull out the container, searching for the note. Happy birthday, it says simply.

  How did he know?

  I glance over at Liam’s office again. I see the slats rustling. He’s in there, watching me. I try my best to feel angry at him, to remind myself that he hurt me, but right now, I’m more drawn to him than ever.

  Chapter 22

  Just seeing his hands on her today made me want to smash his face into the photocopier.

  I step out of the shower and scrub my fluffy towel against my wet hair. I carefully avoid looking in the direction of the mirror. That is, until I remember that I smashed the damn mirror to bits a few days ago. Quite frankly, I have no intention of replacing it. I don’t want to see my ugly face anyway.

  I move into my bedroom and grab a pair of sweatpants from the drawer. I drop onto the edge of the bed and slide them on. My limbs still ache from tonight’s run. Thoughts of Jasmine haunted me as I moved along the path overlooking the river.

  I want her. More than anything. But she’s an angel. And I’m a monster lurking in the dark.

  And monsters don’t get happily ever after.

  Still, nothing could have prepared me for the devastation of seeing her walking down the hallway, her fingers intertwined with that Pretty Boy Politician or seeing him hold her face and kiss her softly on the cheek or seeing the smug grin that invaded his face when her eyes fluttered momentarily and red rushed up her neck…

  She’s my girl. Dammit.

  Or at least I wish she was.

  Fuck.

  I’m loosing my damn mind.

  And I wonder if she’s with him tonight, on her birthday. In his bed. I wonder if he’s touching her body. I wonder if she’s whispering his name. The thought drives me absolutely crazy.

  I wander into the kitchen and peer into the fridge. Nothing there. I contemplate ordering a pizza but I don’t even have the inclination to deal with the delivery guy tonight so I quickly drop that idea. I glance at the whiskey sitting on the sink. I promised myself that I wouldn’t drink tonight. I lost control the other night and woke up the next morning hung over and lying in a dried-up pool of my own blood on the bathroom floor.

  A battle wages in my mind. To drink or not to drink. Finally, I push a heavy sigh as I reach for the bottle of whiskey. I take one huge gulp and it burns all the way down my throat. Then, I tip the bottle over the drain and watching the remainder of its contents swirl down into the abyss.

  No more.

  Chapter 23

  My apartment is silent and lonely.

  But I’m used to lonely, I guess.

  I drag the chair across the cheap linoleum tiles from the tiny kitchen to the tiny living room.

  I push the chair into my open closet and climb on top of it. I rummage around under the neatly folded bath towels and sheets until I feel the cold plastic sticking to my fingers.

  I don’t know why I do this. Every year on my birthday, I pull out this old family album. And it never makes things any better. It never makes me feel any sort of relief. I guess I do it in quiet homage to the things I’ve lost.

  I climb off of the chair and sink to the low pile carpet at the foot of my bed.

  I flip open to the first page and emotion knocks into me like a tidal wave. I stare at the photo of two baby girls dressed in identical pink dresses. One smiles at the camera while the other looks to her older sister for direction. Lily always did look up to me even though I was only six minutes older than her.

  I turn the page – a snap of us at the park eating ice cream cones with our Abuela. In the next picture, Lily and I are at our first communion, dressed in matching frilly white dresses.

  The tears sprint down my face and I groan, so much agony gripping my heart. I shut the album and squeeze it tight to my chest.

  Nothing compares to the pain of losing your twin sister.

  But I can’t keep reliving this each and every year. It breaks me apart birthday after birthday. I can’t sit here with this pain tonight. I feel like the walls are closing in on me and it’s getting harder to breathe.

  I need to call Nadia. Go out for a drink, maybe. Or call Ruthie.r />
  I get up off of the floor and wander over to the kitchen table where my phone sits connected to the charger in the wall. I swipe my finger across the scream and scroll through my contacts in search of Nadia’s name.

  When I get to ‘L’, my trembling finger hovers over the screen.

  Don’t you dare, Jasmine, I chide myself.

  But it’s like my finger has a mind of its own. It punches at the screen, dialing Liam Cartwright’s phone number.

  He answers on the first ring, his voice low and gruff. “Jasmine?”

  He insists that we should be friends. It’s time to put his theory to the test.

  I sniffle as I swipe at the tear rolling down my cheek. “I need to get out of here.”

  Chapter 24

  My mouth goes dry as I watch her push through the front door of her apartment building.

  Fuck – I’ve never seen someone so beautiful in a simple pink knitted sweater, plain blue jeans and sneakers.

  “Hey,” I say flipping up my visor as she approaches.

  She brushes a strand of dark hair away from her eyes. “Hey.”

  We just watch each other for a long while. I take in her long, silky hair, her smooth skin, the curves cloaked in her loose clothing. I’m gripping the handlebars so hard that I’m scared that they’ll melt off.

  I clear my throat. “Where are we going?”

  She shakes her head brusquely, seeming to snap out of a daze. “This was a bad idea.” She takes a step back. “I’m sorry I disturbed you.” She turns back towards her building.

  I call out her name. “Jasmine.” She spins slowly to look at me. There’s so much hesitancy in her eyes. “You didn’t disturb me.”

  I kick down the brake pedal and swing my leg over the side of the bike. I take long strides over to where she’s standing. I don’t want her to leave. When she called tonight, my heart leapt into my throat. She was the last person I ever expected to call me, but the only person I really want to talk to. I can’t go back to lonely tonight, especially if there’s a chance that she might be lonely too.

  “Where do you want to go?” I ask, leaning down to look into her eyes.

  She just shrugs and purses her lips. She seems to be fighting back tears.

  I don’t know what happened to her tonight but I can tell that she doesn’t want to be alone. Good thing I have no intention of letting her go.

  I stretch my hand out to her. “Come. I know someplace you’d like.”

  We move towards my motorcycle and I hand her a helmet. She fits it over her head before climbing onto the bike behind me. I peel away from the curb, weaving between cars and trucks travelling towards downtown under the city lights. Her arms are around my waist and her body is warm against mine. Her cheek is pressed to my shoulder as I pilot the motorcycle through traffic.

  And fuck, this feels good. It feels right. Jasmine clinging to my body as we roam free in the night.

  She touches me and I feel like a man again.

  We don’t speak. I just absorb the sensation of having her so close to me and I commit it to memory. I want to remember every second of this.

  I slow the bike to a stop in the massive yard of the renovated warehouse where my loft is located. “We’re here.”

  Jasmine descends slowly, tentatively, removing her helmet and surveying the yard cautiously. “Um… what is this place?” she asks hesitantly.

  I chuckle deep in my chest as I dismount the bike and pull off my helmet. “You’ll see,” I say as I take the helmet from her and store it, along with mine, in the storage compartment. “Come on,” I say as I walk towards the river.

  She hesitates for a moment but when I start to get too far out, she sprints nervously to catch up with me. I understand her discomfort. This looks like the kind of place where the city’s unsavory types would lurk around. When I lead her into a thick brush of bushes, I can almost see the warning lights flashing in her eyes. But once we burst through to the other side and the Hudson comes into view, the look of apprehension in her eyes is replaced by awe.

  “Liam…” she gasps, her fingers covering her luscious lips.

  God – I wish I could touch them, kiss them, bury them under my mouth.

  Instead, I smile at her as I take a seat on my rock and pat the space beside me, inviting her to sit. “This is where I come to think.”

  She moves in next to me, bringing her flowery scent along with her. I feel warmth filling the pit of my stomach and radiating outwards. “It’s mellow here…tranquil.” Her voice is soft as she stares out over the water and at the city lights beyond.

  We’re quiet together in this tiny corner of New York City, tucked away from the noise and the bustle. Just two restless souls seeking refuge in the eye of the storm.

  There’s so much I want to ask her, so many questions that I want answered.

  Why is she so upset tonight on her birthday?

  Did someone hurt her?

  Why is she here with me instead of with the Pretty Boy Politician?

  But I choose to remain silent because sometimes the silence tells secrets that words can’t even begin to formulate.

  Jasmine pushes a heavy sigh. “It’s my birthday…” she says, her eyes never leaving the river.

  I already know this, but still I say “Happy birthday…” My gaze lingers on the side of her face as I try to gauge what she’s feeling.

  “How did you know?” she asks softly, still staring straight ahead.

  I shrug not wanting to tell her that I saw it stamped across the balloon that Pretty Boy brought her earlier today.

  She doesn’t pry for an answer. Instead, she smiles bitterly. “I don’t really celebrate my birthday…It’s too painful. Too much shit attached to it.”

  She reaches out and grabs a blade of the tall, green grass. She focuses distractedly on it, twizzling it between her thumb and forefinger. A million questions sit on the tip of my tongue but I wait patiently. She’ll tell me what she wants to tell me when she’s ready to tell me.

  After a long stretch of silence, she looks at me and says, “I had a twin sister – Lily. She died. On our 16th birthday.”

  A low, stunned “holy fuck” slips past my lips before my good sense kicks in, reminding me to sensor myself. “I’m sorry,” I mutter quietly, my eyes peeled to Jasmine’s face.

  She drops the blade of grass and folds her hands on her knees. “There’s no lonelier feeling, knowing that my twin sister is gone, that she’s never coming back and that it’s all my fault.” She wipes her tears away with her fist.

  I reach for her hand and it’s like grabbing hold of a livewire. Electricity shoots through my being. I ignore the overwhelming sensation and pull her hand onto my lap. I stroke my thumb across her knuckles.

  Now, tears are rolling down her face. “We stole the car and went on a joyride the night of our 16th birthday,” Jasmine hiccups. “I was driving. We were goofing around with the radio. I wasn’t paying attention to the road. I ran a red light. A semi truck slammed into the passenger’s side. I was barely scratched. But Lily…” Her words trail off. I don’t need her to finish the story in order to figure out how it ends.

  My heart clenches tight in my chest as she speaks the words, as she pours her soul out to me. I’m not one to enjoy physical closeness to other people. I cringe at bodily contact. But, with Jasmine, I crave the feel of her skin against mine. So, I tighten my grip on her fingers and pull her head against my chest so that she knows she’s not alone.

  Chapter 25

  I wake up in a bed that’s not my own.

  The dark cotton sheets smell of bland laundry detergent, spicy cologne and man. No curtains on the large, steel-framed windows, sunlight flows through uninhibited. No art or photographs on the unpolished concrete walls.

  “Liam…”

  My feet hit the cold floor as my eyes dart around the room, trying to piece together the happenings of last night. The shock of it all has me unsteady on my feet.

  We had sat by the wate
r for a long time, talking. Actually, I had been the one talking…and crying. Liam had sat there in silence, listening intently. When it got too cold, he’d draped his leather jacket around my shoulders but I shivered anyway. So, we had walked back to where his motorcycle was parked.

  But instead of climbing back onto the bike and taking me home, he’d led the way to the warehouse door. “Come inside,” he had said. It was more of a command than a request.

  A mixture of excitement and panic had zipped through my chest as he ushered me past the heavy metal door on the ground floor and onto the gated freight elevator, up to his loft.