Lies In Rewind

by Tali Alexander

  Once I see them walk out together, back to their children, I will allow myself to finally close my eyes on Sara and the delusional fantasy I concocted with her. I am, after all, William Spencer Knight! No, I’m The William Spencer Knight! I am the last fucking Knight left. I don’t need her or anybody else’s love; I have responsibilities and obligations that I should be attending to, for Christ’s sake. It’s time I forget that only hours ago I was a normal bloke named Liam who promised a beautiful girl named Sara a fresh start and a real place to call home. She doesn’t need me; she already has a home.

  As the hours melt so does my resolve and I decide that nobody is going to save me, she won’t come running out looking for me. This is life, not Hollywood. I must cease looking for love when it’s all a bloody illusion.

  “Mark! Go! I’m ready to leave,” I say to my driver and he drives us into New York City traffic. He takes me farther and farther away from her and it stings like hundreds of knives piercing through me. It becomes tougher to take a full breath in as the distance between us grows. I can’t deny that I’m in pain knowing I have to leave her behind. The urge to cry slowly chokes me. It’s the kind of pain you feel when you’ve done your best and still failed the most important test of your life. I get enough air to say, “Goodbye Sara” out loud to no one in particular but myself. I’ve been thinking it over and over, but saying it to the universe makes it real. I’m doing the right thing; she deserves someone who can say goodbye to her beautiful eyes like a man, not in the backseat of a car to the ghost of her. I am beneath her, just a delusional coward.

  “We’re here, Mr. Knight. Your jet should be all ready to go when you are. Have a safe trip home.”

  One Month Later

  “Here I Go Again” by Whitesnake

  “Sara Klein, please initial and sign right here.” My brother points to an empty line at the end of a long contract he’s just spent the last twenty minutes reading and explaining to a room full of attorneys. I sign my name with a shaky hand and look up to see Jeffery studying me before meeting my gaze and looking away. Emily is at my side, squeezing my left hand, which she hasn’t let go of since the moment we arrived. I can do this… I’m not alone.

  This has been a difficult and tumultuous month in my life. Not that my whole life has been peaches and cream, but the last four weeks have brought a different kind of pain that I had to learn to endure—finally speaking the truth out loud and dealing with the consequences. There will be no more lies, I chant to myself. The biggest lie and truth of my life sits across a long table in a cold, opulent boardroom with his loving wife by his side. I finally understand that there isn’t always a clear winner or loser when it comes to matters of the heart. Love sometimes annihilates all involved and everybody loses. Our vicious, obsessive affair is finally over and brought to light. We’ve sold, or to be more exact, I’ve sold our apartment, which had legally been mine, thereby dissolving any remnant of our lies. Jeffery won’t have me as a crutch anymore, but he does get to keep his understanding saint of a wife, who, like me, has endured a hard road loving him. And he has our children to come home to.

  I sit ten feet away and watch them together, and strangely, I still don’t feel like a loser in this game. I look down at the document I’ve just signed and smile at having this small victory for myself: a gift, a sliver of hope, and acknowledgment at being named one of three legal guardians for my biological children. I’ve relinquished the opportunity to go meet my beautiful Jacob and Juliet because I want them to continue living a normal life. A life in which they come home to the loving mother and father they’ve known their whole lives. They will have the truth presented to them once they reach the age of eighteen; that Sara Klein and their father Jeffery Rossi are their biological parents. It may not seem like much, but it’s the truth and that’s everything to me.

  I get to start over, but I get to do it honestly. I’ve spent the last four weeks cleaning up the dusty shelves in my heart and making room for me. I choose me. I choose to love me and make sure that I will be good to me. I have everything I need, and most importantly, I have my friends and family to support me every step of the way. I look up and see my brother wink and smile my way.

  I have decided to return to London. I love it and feel most at home there, even more so than in New York. I will miss living close to my children and seeing my best friend, but ultimately, it’s the right choice for my future and my sanity. I am still a partner at my ex-husband’s law firm, and I will continue to practice law from our London headquarters, which are far superior to our New York offices. I’ve finally used my negotiation skills to reach a deal with Gavin for the transfer and ownership of the apartment in London, since he sold our New York digs right from under my nose. I have enough dirt on him that he agreed to almost everything. I will not be a victim any longer, I know what’s lawfully mine and I will from this day on, demand what’s best for me.

  My parents have announced their separation, which is also a kind of end to a lie I’ve kept all my life. If it weren’t for our babies, I’d be able to cut all ties with Jeff; well, almost all ties. I still can’t let go of his old grey T-shirt; I can’t fall asleep without it. But I’m proud of myself for the choice I made when Jeff was prepared to leave his wife and his home to start a new life with me, but I refused. I did enough damage and I own the role I’ve played in his bad decisions and I don’t want to hurt anybody else anymore, myself included. He finally chose me, but I chose myself. I’ve made amends with karma, because looking at my children, I understand they’re the reason Jeffery and I met and I wouldn’t change a thing, I love and will continue to love their father, but I love them and me more. I can leave JJ knowing that they have a beautiful, loving family, and I’ve made peace with the fact that at this point, their lives don’t include me. I will always be their mother and I will forever be here for them, and finally the world knows that I had a hand in creating them.

  Liam still frequents my thoughts and dreams. I try not to dwell on him if I can help it, but my mind always wonders back to our short encounter. As much as my body longs for him, I’m glad he never came back for me. I’m sure someone more worthy than me is out there for him. I hope he finds the peace and the love he so desperately craves from a nice girl with a clean past. I pray that the universe has a good life in store for him after all the tragedies he and his family had to endure.

  I’ve watched the video of Louis and Isabella. I’ve watched it countless times, always learning something new. I wish for Liam to one day see this footage for himself; it would help him let go of some of his misplaced hurt and pain. Seeing Liam’s beautiful sister for the first time, knowing her tragic end, was an incredibly painful experience, but it brought closure to her story for me. Isabella Knight was, in fact, a stunning woman and in many ways reminds me of her beautiful brother. The footage clearly shows Louis having a fight with her in his apartment, telling Isa that he would not take part in any crazy orgy she’d orchestrated on his behalf. He pleaded with her, cautioning her to stop trying to get attention from the wrong people and start respecting herself more. He even threatened to call her father if she didn’t start taking better care of herself. He was worried about her drug use and the company she kept. He practically begged her not to get involved with men that proposed short-term affection and lived a despicable kind of life that involved drugs and unsafe, dangerous sex.

  The tape also shows Isabella’s plea-bargain with Louis, which was that if he declared to all his friends that he loved her, only then would she call everything off. It’s clear that Isabella Knight had tried to manipulate Louis Bruel to commit and become involved with her as more than just a friend. Louis apologized over and over and tried, but failed, to explain to Isa that he cared for her as a friend and not as a lover. He informed her that Phillip had real feelings for her and that she should stop taunting him and give him a chance. The footage clearly shows she had real psychological problems when she began threatening to destroy Louis’ career and kill herself
and him if he didn’t continue to have sex with her and tell her that he loved her. I believe that Louis was present at that private, debauched party that Liam had pictures of to make sure that nothing bad happened to Isabella, because he knew she wasn’t well. She definitely wasn’t his girlfriend, but he still felt responsible for her because she cared about him. Louis Bruel may be many things, but he’s still a good guy.

  I no longer speak ‘80s with Em since our language’s inception was the result of an alibi needed for my web of lies. We speak the truth now and I don’t need to hide behind lyrics anymore. We sometimes slip and digress back to our beloved lyrical dialect, but most of the time, we’re good. I’m excited for this new chapter in my life and I can’t wait to see what the future holds for me.

  One Month Later

  “Still Loving You” by The Scorpions

  I left London almost two years ago—a place I once called home. It won’t ever feel like home again, but at least I can go see my sister’s resting place whenever I please. I’ve had several meetings with my father now that we’re in the same country. He acts as if nothing has happened to our broken family, as if it’s no big deal that we haven’t spoken to one another since my sister was laid to rest. I can’t say that he treats me poorly; he just treats me like one of his employees and not like his only son. Not once has he gone off course to ask if I’m all right, or how I’m doing and what’s new in my life. My mum is always too busy for us to meet; she has too many obligations to try and fit her only child in for a visit. I’m not cross with her, and I love her enough to comprehend that she just can’t stand to look at me and see my sister’s blue eyes gazing back at her. I’ve been to Isa’s grave five times in the last two weeks because although she doesn’t ask after my wellbeing, she does listen, and I feel most loved being at her side.

  Two months ago, when I left New York, I immediately decided to head back to St. Lucia. It may seem juvenile and cowardly, but that’s the place I run away to when my life starts spinning out of control. I think about Sara every minute of every hour of every day. I allowed the most beautifully imperfect creature I’ve ever met to slip away. I was a fool and I don’t deserve her. I would’ve stayed in St. Lucia forever if I wasn’t the majority shareholder in my family’s empire.

  It’s a bit odd that there are over eight million people in London but I have a reoccurring hallucination of seeing her pass me on the street, which I realize is preposterous since I’m in London while she’s in bloody New York City, but my mind sees her everywhere. For instance, just this morning as I left my flat on One Hyde Park, I could bet my left nut I saw Sara cross the road. I am fully aware that I may require treatment for my overactive imagination, but I can’t fucking help it. I walk along shops on Knightsbridge and imagine Sara wearing dresses I spy in the Harvey Nichols store windows. I even took a liking to drinking tea with milk and two sugars, and my new dietary intake includes a chocolate croissant for breakfast. I regret not asking her more questions; I wish I knew more about her like what types of food she fancies, whether she drinks red or white wine, if she likes dogs. I try to keep her memory alive along with all her little idiosyncrasies; the small little nuances that help me keep her close. I don’t reckon I’ll ever find another person that will compel me to feel what Sara made me feel in a handful of hours. Allowing myself to think about her gives me a reason to go on, knowing she’s out there, hopefully happy. I found her Instagram account and I frequent it every chance I get like the proper stalker that I am, hoping I may catch a small glimpse into a life I yearn to be a part of.

  I haven’t called a soul to announce my return to London; I don’t fancy being social and when I catch my reflection in the mirror, I don’t quite recognize myself. I’m not myself. I left my heart in New York, specifically in Louis Bruel’s penthouse, and I doubt I’ll ever get it back. I did my due diligence and tried to work her out of my system. I got pissed and high, tried banging a pretty girl as soon as I got back to La Spa, and still bloody dreamt of nothing but Sara and those fucking eyes. I know that she and Jeffery Rossi are not and have never been married. Jeff is married to some woman named Jacqueline and they have two offspring.

  There is no record of Sara and Jeffery being involved anywhere except in my mind as I reminisce about the night I watched him bang her. I replay that scene over and over in my head to punish myself for my careless callousness with her. She must surely be his longtime mistress and that would absolutely make sense with the few things she did reference about how the truth getting leaked would potentially harm him. I found out she was, in fact, married, here in London, but to some bastard named Gavin Masters. I battle with myself every morning and every night to stay put and not try to ring her, or go find her to try and save her again, but then I recall the stellar job I did the first time around. She doesn’t need a hero like me; she needed a man, not a coward. A real man would’ve waited to hear his lover give reason and not run like a child at the first sign of trouble. I’m left to drown in a sea of queries, but no one to offer any explanations to save me.

  It’s lunchtime and I’ve decided to take my second cup of tea with milk and two sugars and get some highly polluted air on Piccadilly Circus, right outside my office, which actually seems on the tame side today. I fancy coming here, especially early in the morning, and I take a seat by the statue of Eros. Eros, or as the Yanks call him, Cupid, is the Greek God of love and I’m the British fool of love; therefore, I feel we’re old mates and he must understand me above all other inanimate objects. I laugh to myself as I hear my name being called; my name is rather common so it’s usually someone other than me being beckoned.

  “Will!”

  I look around to see who has called my name and I see Emily, no longer my Emily, but Emily nevertheless.

  “Hey, mate,” I answer, getting up to go greet her and feel slightly at a loss for words. “Fancy seeing you here,” I offer. I feel silly giving her a peck on the cheek so I decide on a friendly hug, which feels a bit less awkward. It’s odd seeing Emily in London on fucking Piccadilly at the feet of Eros, no less. The last time I saw her, she was with her husband, crying while I ran away from my crumbling world. I wonder how her nutty prison ward let her out of his sight to come this far?

  “It’s nice to see you, William.” She smiles and I instantly want to ask her about Sara, my Sara, but I can’t and I won’t.

  “It’s lovely seeing you, too. What brings you to West End, or London, I should say?” I hope and pray she came to find me and bring me news of Sara. I hope Sara’s all right, I hope nothing bad happened to her. That stupid thought enters my mind and I unconsciously hold my breath.

  “Louis had some business here and I came along to see how Sara was doing back at her old position. I’m sure you know she lives in London full time now. She also got her place in Mayfair back and she’s working at the firm she owns with her ex. It’s on Fleet Street. I’m actually headed to her office to have lunch with her.”

  I listen to Emily and study her face as she smiles with a knowing, conspiring smirk. I’m still not able to breathe; my heart beats funny and I don’t reckon what this means. Should I ask Emily if she’s here with Jeffery? No, I can’t ask that. Should I ask Emily about their children? No! Truth is, I don’t bloody care if she has children or not, if she’d have me, I’d take her with ten kids and all her baggage as long as there’s a chance for us to get another try. I’ve thought of nothing but her. I close my eyes and picture her smile and I can’t help but be giddy.

  “You didn’t know she was here?” she asks while I shake my head repeatedly.

  I look over at the angel by my side, who yet again has brought me back to life. “What do I owe you?” I ask Emily, grateful for her existence.

  “You brought me home to my family and I brought Sara home to you, I say we’re even.” She comes closer, handing me an envelope, then she takes a few steps up on the statue to reach my height and plants a kiss on my cheek, whispering, “‘Broken Wings’ by Mr. Mister.”

/>   I look at her and answer back in her own tongue, clearly in reference to Sara and I, “Thank you for finding me, I can’t stop thinking about her. ‘Still Loving You’ by The Scorpions.” I’ve actually been studying and I think I got it right when I’m rewarded with an even bigger smile and nod as she proceeds to walk away chanting, “Yes, yes,” over and over to herself.

  “Will!” she yells, right before reaching her chauffeured Phantom waiting by the curb. “‘Every Breath You Take’ by The Police, remember that.” She makes the universal signal for “I’m watching you” right before entering her ride with none other than her husband, Louis Bruel, waiting, watching, and smiling from the backseat. He loves her, how could he not?

  I look down at the envelope Emily entrusted in my possession, imagining millions of options as to its contents. I don’t quite know what to do with my newfound knowledge of Sara being within my reach. I suddenly feel restless and my mind is already racing to see her. I smile because today is a good day. Today I was gifted with hope.

  Ten Months Later

  “The Winner Takes It All” by Abba