by C. J. Wells
“Abs, you look like your brain is about to explode. Should I be concerned?” Stacey asks, walking towards me from the stairs.
“Ahhh,” I look up to meet her painfully twisted gaze. “No,” the word is far too high-pitched and perky to pass for believable, so I offer a wide forced smile. “But, we do have a lot to do today, where would you like to start?” I look back to the list, preparing to make suggestions.
“Is this your way of avoiding telling me about how it went with your Ken Doll neighbor?”
“Actually no,” I slap her arm, ignoring her over-exaggerated open-mouthed shock, her arm darting to rub it away, “But thanks for the reminder that you deserved that. Everything is fine with Andrew.”
“Well, you’re welcome, bitch. At least that’s one thing off your dumbass plate. And you know what?” she grabs the list from me, “Maybe that quote wasn’t the wrong one after all.”
“What quote?” I look up, confused.
“The one I used last night. I think you should really think about it right now.”
“And you think calling me stupid again today is going to help us get through that list how, exactly?”
“Not that quote, stupid,” she grimaces sarcastically. “The one about painful endings being the start of new beginnings.”
“Okay, Stace,” I roll my eyes. “Even sober I don’t have any idea what you’re trying to say. And we don’t have time for riddles and games,” I stand from the sofa, snatching the list back, “We have too much to do.”
“No, you,” she points a finger in my face. “You need to pick up the damn phone and just call Alex already.”
“And say what?” I shout, begging for the answers to make everything better. I’m dying, with every minute that passes since seeing him again, touching him again. I’m dying.
Looking down, I swallow the lump in my throat, attempting to seal the well of tears that are building. The sunlight flickers through an opening in the clouds outside, its unshielded rays hitting Stacey through the window, her beautiful engagement ring sparkling. My best friend is getting married tomorrow, and I’m the only thing she’s worried about. After everything she’s done to be there for me.
Shame and guilt seep into the cocktail that fills my broken heart. “Stace…”
“Please, Aby,” she pleads. “Call him.”
“I want to, I just don’t know what to say…yet.”
“It will come to you,” she picks up my cell phone from coffee table, holding it towards me.
I just stare at it. My brain completely shut down, my broken heart suddenly racing at the thought of hearing his voice. An image of him hanging up on me stabs my chest.
“Fine,” Stacey snaps, opening the contact list to find his name, hitting ‘talk’ before shoving the phone in my face. “You can say something, or hang up on him. You decide,” she releases it just short of my grasp.
Shit! I struggle to right the phone, shaking as I draw it to my ear. Luckily it’s still engaging, and with each ring, I gasp for air as my lungs seem to close in protection against the pounding thunder in my chest.
The ringing finally stops, signaling his missed call message is about to engage. Voicemail, I mouth to her, even more panicked.
She gestures in sarcastic silence, rolling her eyes, and before I know it his recorded voice slams me in to la-la land. His silky British accent melts through me, gliding over every sensitive nerve. His delicious voice could tame a tiger, leaving it purring like a kitten in his hands.
The sound of the beep slams me back to the present akin to the alarm of an atomic attack. My heart leaps from my chest realizing it’s time to talk and I have no idea what I want, or need to say.
Completely lost to my panic, I hang up.
“What. The. Fuck. Was that?”
“What do you think it was?” I bite. “I…”
“You freaked out like a pimple-faced teenager calling the school jock about the fucking prom.”
“Yeah, something like that,” I scowl, folding my arms, flopping down on the sofa.
“So, would you like to discuss what you’re going to say when he calls back?”
“What?” I gasp, struck by the panic gods yet again.
“Caller ID, dumbass.”
“Humph-humph-humph,” I moan-pout dramatically, bouncing in place like a frustrated child. “Why did you make me call him before I was ready?” I lay my sour, venomous gaze on her, “You’re evil.”
“Look at you, for shit sake, you’re shaking like a candy crack-head in rehab. You have a disease, my little petal, and Alex’s dick in your vajayjay is the only cure.”
“One, I hate you, and, two, you’re disgusting.”
“You don’t hate me, and you know what I’m really saying is that you’re head over heels, madly, insanely in love with Alex Tate. The only cure, poodle, is to go get your man.”
“Go get him? I couldn’t even form words using the telephone. Stace, I’m going to need a little time.”
“And therapy, my little drama queen, but that’s neither here nor there,” she winks. “Okay, let’s make a deal…”
“I don’t make deals with the devil,” I retort sarcastically.
“Zip it. If he calls back, you can just deal with it your way. But,” she puts a finger up, “…if you haven’t heard from him by the time we’re done our errands, we stop at his place so you can talk to him in person.”
“Stace, the last thing you should be doing the day before your wedding is waiting who-knows-where while I beg my boyfriend to take me back.”
“Nonsense. There’s no place I’d rather be then supporting my best friend. But, if your little chat turns into bow-chicca-bow-bow, I’m outta there. Do we have a deal?”
Rolling my eyes, I wrap my pinkie around hers, outstretched. “Deal.”
“Good, now I’ll go grab a shower and make a few calls while you finish your speech.”
“My speech?”
“Are you kidding me? You haven’t even started it? And here I am helping you turn your painful endings into new beginnings,” she playfully gasps. “Get to it, slacker,” she winks, heading for the stairs.
Shit.
“DID HE CALL yet?”
“No. Will you stop with the kid-on-the-family-trip repeated question. If you ask me one more time, I’ll hurt you.”
“I’m just saying, maybe you should check your phone. Is it on mute?”
I glare at her until she turns my way.
“Maybe he sent a text,” she continues, ignoring my daggers.
“I. Will. Hurt. You,” I repeat with a second load of darts in my gaze. “It’s bad enough I’m still trying to survive your driving. Why on earth did Thomas let you use his car?”
“Let’s just say I had a head up in the persuasion department,” she winks, taking her eyes of the road for a millisecond - Shit, she’s as scared as I am.
“I think we would have been both faster and safer riding the tube.”
“I’ll have you know, I passed the drivers test six months ago - mind you it was the third test, but whatever,” she laughs it off.
“Oh, nice,” I grab the upper support handle dramatically to tease her. “What made you do the drivers test, anyway? You were never here long enough to necessitate the use of a vehicle.”
“Thomas, of course,” she glances at me, rolling her eyes. “He was insistent that I learn to drive like a proper British citizen.”
“Oh was he? Six months ago, hmmm? That’s interesting. He did realize that you were still freelance in the playgirl department back then, right?”
“I wasn’t,” she almost whispers, not taking her eyes off the road.
“What?” I turn in my seat, staring at her in shock. How did I not know this? “You never said a word, Stace! I knew he was ‘the one’, even back then, but I had no idea that you knew. Why didn’t you say something?”
“What, and ruin my perfectly good reputation?” she laughs, half-heartedly.
“Seriously, Stacey, w
hy didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was scared shitless, that’s why.”
Oh my God. “You are the most unselfish person I know,” I shake my head, guilt seeping through my pores at the idea that my best friend - who does so much for me - needed me herself, and I didn’t even know. “I’m sorry, Stace. You deserve a better friend.”
“Oh, shut it. You have no idea what having you in my life all these years has done for me,” her gaze remains locked on the road ahead, though I sense it’s to keep me from reading more in her eyes.
“Stace,” I rest my hand on her leg in a loving gesture.
“I mean it, Abs, shut it,” she smiles at me. “One nut job at a time, babe. We have to get you to your man. Those pretty manicured fingers of yours will look fab wrapped around his dick tonight,” she adds quickly, signaling the conversation has clearly changed.
For now. I plan on making it up to her very soon though. I’ve clearly let the ball drop, lost in my own issues. And that guilt is suddenly, and dangerously, mixed with the dread I feel at seeing Alex shortly. My stomach is in knots, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Okay, pookie, this is it,” Stacey flashes me a boosting smile, locking the gear into park. “Off you go,” she scoots me out of the car, leaning over to catch my terrified gape before I close the door, “Rock that apology like a sorry whore on a big juicy dick. Oh! And don’t forget,” she pauses for me to bend down to her gaze once more, “…Alex, a.k.a the sorry dick in this dumbass equation, already apologized for his stupidly, but not enough - make him work for the metaphorical orgasm, babe. You may have kissed the neighbor frog, but he left you out on the lily pad without a boat.”
Humph. I walk away shaking my head. Very well said, but somehow the butterflies in my stomach are still twisting into a swarm of bees, and I’m not sure I’m ready for the big sting.
Taking a deep breath, I knock on the door, waiting half a second before trying again. There’s no answer and I look towards Stacey in the car.
What? she mouths through the closed window.
“No answer,” I whisper, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it - it’s not like she can hear me.
She starts pointing frantically, and I have no idea what the hell she’s trying to say. What? I mouth, putting my hands up, shrugging my shoulders.
See if it’s open, she mouths, her finger jabbing towards me, poking the air. I’d laugh out loud at the intensity of her communication struggle if I weren’t so out of sorts as it is.
Turning back to the entrance, I weigh the idea. Okay. I’ll just try the knob, but this is silly. I reach for it and turn, Alex never leaves it op…“Oh. Humph,” I whisper to myself, walking inside. “Alex?” I peek into the kitchen before making my way down the hall, looking into each empty room as I pass.
Footsteps from the floor above stop me in my tracks. I literally freeze, bracing myself for when he comes down the stairs. I still have no idea what to say first. Shit. Everything seems to go wrong with us lately. Can whatever pops out of my mouth be right for a change?
For a moment, I hear nothing, realizing he obviously doesn’t know I’m here. Pursing my lips, I make my way towards the spiral staircase, pausing at the bottom for an extra breath of strength. Time to fight for my man...
With light steps, I make my way up, delicious visuals of what I might find at the top filling me with a renewed fluttering of butterflies. The bees have left the nest, leaving me anxious, but pleasantly, just for the sight of him. It’s a giddy nervousness. Like we’re back at the very beginning, when every breath is filled with tingly anticipation.
Dusk is setting in, chasing away the light in the upstairs hallway, and the glimmer from under the bathroom door catches my eye as it dances with the shadows on the floor in front of me. Stopping to listen, I hear the shower.
Oh, gawd, he’s in the shower. My heart pounds faster, threatening to burst from my chest at the instant visual of a naked Alex on the other side of the door. That would certainly save me from having to think of what to say, since I know I would simply jump him on the spot.
The attacking echo of a woman’s laughter stuns me in place, frozen in pained confusion with no time to recover as the bathroom door opens. My palm darts to my mouth to stifle a gasp at the sight of a naked Helena Adelaide emerging.
Giggling, her attention is drawn back inside before her gaze is suddenly locked on mine. Cold, sparkling eyes hold me hostage sending a shiver of horror slithering down my spine.
My hand drops to my side at the eerie curl of her lips, her killer glare enough to turn me to stone - my only salvation being the doleful cry of my heart that escapes on a silent gutted breath of defeat.
Pain-filled seconds of time pass in the blink of a snake-eye before she’s pulled back inside, her returned giggle stabbing me over and over, shattering my hardened heart.
“THAT WAS FAST,” Stacey mutters in surprise as soon as I open the car door.
“He wasn’t there,” I lie quickly, and flatly, fighting to disguise my trembling hands reaching for the seatbelt.
“He wasn’t there? But the door was open?”
“I guess he’s a dumbass and a prick for all those times he reminded me to lock my door,” I bite, quickly realizing my sudden unshielded wrath. “There was no one home,” I add, my inner actress returned in top form as I evade looking directly at Stacey. No need to add to my slip of rage by letting her see the hurt and pain in my eyes.
“A prick? Aby, what’s going…”
“Stace,” I interrupt her firmly, but cautiously, turning to face her with every ounce of Oscar-worthy composure I can muster. “I held up my end of the deal,” I smile, fighting the quiver in my lips, “…now it’s time to get the Bride-to-be home. You’re getting married tomorrow!” I add a little extra pep of excitement to my performance.
“And you’re clearly upset that you didn’t get to talk to Alex. I’m sorry, Abs. Maybe he’ll call later tonight, or in the morning.”
The look of empathy in her eyes is like a knife in my heart, and all I want to do it tear it out and slice every beautiful memory of Alexander Tate.
“ALEX,” I MOAN, my eyes closed in the pleasure of his perfect kisses along my neck. No…why are you here? How could you run to her?
Turning around, I see him on the bed, his hands gliding along my trembling body, smiling, gliding his lips along my skin. I look so happy, but I feel…pain. Agonizing pain. My heart is breaking as I watch our tender, sensual embrace.
A bird chirps, my eyes closing at the sudden hum, before opening to the evil sneer of Helena Adelaide, held in Alex’s arms. It’s her flesh he’s devouring, her body he’s worshipping. “No. Why Alex? To get back at me...?”
My eyes flash open to darkness, my breaths coming in a pant, my heart aching with each beat. It was just a dream. No. Not a dream. Biting reality haunting me in my sleep. It’s pain very, very real.
I jump at the chirp of my cell phone, its reminder alert of a recent message sending it vibrating along the top of the nightstand. Begrudgingly, I reach for it, the bright light burning my eyes as they adjust to the screen…A text from Alex. Why? Why is he doing this?
Subject: I’m trying
Please answer my calls. We need to talk about Andrew. About everything.
Everything? No need to explain everything, Alex…I know what you did. And I’m not ready yet to talk about it, let alone listen to him fill me in on something I already know. It’s painful enough without his words. His guilt - if he even has any.
I’ve ignored his repeated calls, finally switching the phone to mute before falling into bed. Since I’m not ready to hear anything he has to say, it wasn’t too difficult - painful with each ringing stab to my heart, yes, but the pain quickly recoiled into resentment. Resulting in rage-filled painful glances towards my phone with each unanswered call. Stupid me for leaving his contact settings for messages on over-ride.
What could he possibly have to say anyway? Would he even tell me that he
was with her? Or would he leave that part out? If he did have the balls to admit it, would he tell me that he ran to her just to get back at me? Ironic since he questioned if that’s why I kissed Andrew.
Screw him, I grimace a little at the harshness of the thought. Yes, my reasons for visiting Andrew that night were innocent, but I’d be lying if I said the question of why I crossed that line wasn’t lingering at the hands of Alex’s suggestion. Was I desperate for an escape? Or simply trying to hurt Alex in return? Maybe both.
Well, cheers to Alex for shining light on the double-edged sword - its razor edge now dripping with the blood of my broken heart.
“WHY DID I agree to get married in London again?” Stacey pouts dramatically, fluffing her mane of red tousled curls, cringing at her reflection. “Damn humidity in winter. I mean, what the hell, Abs?” she spins around holding up her mass of hair on either side. “If I’m going to look like the goddamn Lion King, I could at least be sitting on a beach getting drunk before I pledge an oath to the last man that will ever stick his tongue in my box.”
“You mean the man you love dearly?” I smirk.
“Yeah, that too. I’m marrying him aren’t I?” she shakes her head in exasperation, her expression screaming, DUH.
“Stace, your hair will be perfect. You will be perfect. You have a full staff, for heaven’s sake, coming to transform you into the most beautiful bride Thomas has ever seen. Stop freaking out.”
“I. Am. Not. Freaking. Out. I’m getting married. I’m getting married. Oh. My. God. I’m getting married,” she’s suddenly panting and gasping for air, stumbling to sit down.
“Okay, just breathe. In…and…out,” I demonstrate for effect, as though that’s going to make a difference.
“Fuck you, Aby. You breathe. I’m freaking out here!”
“You just said you weren’t!” I glare at her in panic. Frantically turning towards the bar, I start opening and closing cupboards and drawers in search of something to help her.
“I lied!” she shouts. “What the hell are you doing? I need help here.”
“I’m trying to help you. I’m looking for a paper bag or something, you’re hyperventilating!”
