by Gemma Rice
Oh God. He's cut his wrists or something. Had too much alcohol and something else? Pills? I don't know. Don't tell me he's tried to end it because I refused to speak to him.
Full-blown guilt overload. Short circuiting brain, logic and everything else. I fear this is his last phone call. He's reaching out. Urgency pumps through me.
"I'll try."
"Hurry."
Click.
FREAK OUT!
"What? Stefanie, what's the matter?"
I look at Selene, "It's Gary. Something's horribly wrong. If Mrs Sinclaire lets me off, can you take me there now?"
Her eyes look alarmed, "Sure!"
She phones switchboard to inform Michelle that we won't be at our desks. Giving her the first inside scoop. I tell Sinclaire I have a family emergency. No problem she'll let Selene take me, I can take the rest of the day off. I am shrinking inwardly with panic and fear. It’s as if someone just diminished my nervous system with a Tazer. Selene can't wait for me when she drops me off, she has to cover for me at work.
"Call me if you need me."
"Thanks."
I watch her drive away, and turn and run for Gary's front door. My insides nearly bottom out when I see a note attached to the front door with my name on it.
With violently shaking hands I unpin the white envelope and open it.
First reading the bold ‘Stefanie’ on the front. My fear that this is a suicide note is making me dizzy and on the verge of hyperventilating.
I try the front door. It's unlocked. I push it open and call, "Gary?"
Nothing.
Oh God.
Chapter 15
I ran through the house looking for him. Not caring at all about the note. Eventually I ran outside. Gary was nowhere to be found.
A cold chill tap-dances up my vertebrae as a sinister thought floods my consciousness. Kristy's ex had tried to shoot her, saying she could never leave him. My eyes grow larger as my breathing gets shallower; it occurs to me this might be a set-up.
Damn it. Why do I always react without thinking things through? I try to suppress the gonging of my beating heart, so I can listen, my eyes scanning every tree, bush, car in the street. Nothing. Shit man! This is unhinging me.
My stomach is now firmly lodged in the base of my throat. I’m so scared, I feel ill. Finally, I take the note out of the envelope.
Follow the arrows
Frowning, I look for arrows. I’m so distraught that I didn't even notice them. Taped to the floor are arrows. Gulp. Am I following arrows to my untimely death? I want to cry. This isn't fair! Why me?
I follow the path slowly. Carefully. With fear induced palpitations. I'm jumpier than popcorn. Through the dining room into the sitting room, I follow them to behind the couch. (My fear, honestly, is that he's lying bleeding to death behind that three-seater.) What waits for me shocks me rigid. I stop walking and stare in disbelief. What? What is this?
I look up, panicked. Everything feels wrong. You know when your instincts are yelling at you? You feel like you're being watched, and you have no idea how far someone else could go. It could be innocent. But, it might not be. Doubt is clawing at me.
I’m staring at the row of arrows leading to the cutest, puppy dog plush toy, I've ever seen. I’m afraid to touch it. It could be a bomb. It could be laced with poison. I leave it right there and keep following the arrows.
They take me into the bathroom. I'm faint with fear. They lead to the closed shower. My dread resurfaces: that I'm going to move that curtain away and he'll be slumped there, staring up at me with accusing glassy eyes. My hands are trembling so severely that I almost rip the curtain out of those ridiculously pathetic rings. I become dizzy with relief. A box lies next to the outlet cover. I stare at it. It could be another trap. Breathe. Keep breathing.
Agitated, I keep on looking behind me. Images of Psycho and the dude with the huge knife (but it was his mom right?) stabbing her to death in the shower, keep on fading in and out of my mind's eye. I keep following arrows into the bedroom. I’m like a cop from TV as I quickly glance in and withdraw, looking behind the door and beyond the closet which obscures the entrance. In – out. Dash – dash. (It looks empty – at least he's not lying unconscious on the bed next to an empty bottle of vodka and pills.)
Heebie-jeebies hug me, I shift a glance behind myself again. Nothing. Fuckenhell. I am freaking out so badly I am three steps behind my shadow with fear.
Taking a deep breath I tiptoe quietly into the bedroom. Now all but unhinged, I fling open every closet door defensively. Just clothes. I close them again, then stare at the arrows. Walking to my side of the bed I see another envelope. I pick it up off my pillow and open it. Looking at the doorway and the window behind me again in reflexive paranoia.
I sag onto the edge of the bed with weakening knees. It's a pink card. Relief and tears flood my veins. I am so relieved I'm not here to die. That he's not here to die. I open the card.
Stefanie, I love you!
I'm sorry!
Silent sobbing begins welling up. Gary never apologises, even when he's wrong. And I haven't heard him use my name for years. Except in the past two weeks of him phoning me. I gulp. I have to stay strong. It's not over yet. I'm not in the clear yet. He could be saying, ‘Sorry I have to kill you’. Sorry? Sorry! Yeah, maybe I should wait to make a judgement call to find out just why he's sorry. (Oh, I'm sorry, but I have to hang you up like a deer I just shot.)
Images of Gary turning into Hannibal Lector resurface. I am creeping myself out.
Then I notice another envelope. I pick it up and open it.
Keep following the arrows.
Cold whispers over my skin. My hairs stand on end. Right here, this is what I've been trying to tell you. Gary knows me better than anyone ever will. How did he know? How could he? That I would stop here and think it's the end of the arrow hunt.
Ready to make a break for it, I look up and scan the area again. I am so stressed out. Gary is like a psychic. He knows what I'm going to do before I do. (Oh wait, actually, the day I took my ring off and left, he never saw that coming. Yay! Thank you for that thought. Anger is a whole lot better than this soppy fear.)
I nearly shed my fingernails in fright as the phone starts ringing, jarring the oppressive silence. My heart is pounding. That's him! I bet it is.
I run for the phone next to the front door.
Oookay. Right. So I usually lose bets too!
"Hello?"
"Are you okay? What's happening?"
I swallow hard as I watch around me, skittishly, with large fearful eyes. "Selene, I can't find him. I'm flipping out. It's all weird. I'll call you as soon as I have news."
"Please. Dammit Stef: I can’t handle this!"
"You can’t? I'm freaking!"
"Just call me! I have to go, your phone is ringing."
"I'll wait. Maybe it's him."
"Okay, hang on."
I wait, twisting anxiously, keeping my eyes on everything. The front door is still open: (why did I leave it open? Now it makes me feel vulnerable.) From here I can see into the kitchen, dining room and lounge. I need a drink. And a cigarette, dammit!
"Stef?"
Relief at her voice. "Yes?"
"I have to go, this call is going to take a while. It's not him. Phone me."
"Okay. Bye."
Crud. Now I still don't know what's going on. I stare at the arrows leading into the kitchen and finally summon the courage to follow them. Next to the kettle are flowers waiting for me.
Okay? Now you see: a normal male would not begin to comprehend why I have a problem with any of this. I am totally losing my sanity, because this scares me witless. When you have known someone for four years and they have never bought you a soft toy or flowers, it sets off alarm bells in your head. Why now? What's different about today? When someone says sorry and they have never cared enough to say that to you before, it's Freddie Kruger scary. Premonition, suspicion, paranoia kick in.
"Stefanie."
I whip around. My legs have turned to jelly. They can't hold me up. God Gary, scare the shit out of me, why don’t you!
I'm gripping the counter with all of my might and mentally counting the steps to the knife drawer. I stare, afraid to say anything. I'm sure that right now I am paler than the white tiles under my feet.
He looks normal. He doesn't look like he's about to shoot me. What does someone look like when they're about to commit cold-blooded murder?
I watch him. My silence triggers something. His face is changing colour. He's wearing the same shirt he wore the day I met him. It still makes him look like a god. I watch his brilliant blue eyes flood and can't believe that I am witnessing Gary with tears coming out of his eyes. He’s like a robot. I forget he has emotions because he so seldom reveals them to anyone.
Did someone die? Crap. Maybe something happened to his parents?
I take an unsure step toward him, "Are your parents okay?"
He nods. (Okay, can I just say that it's totally NOT fair that men have such long legs?) He takes one stride and is standing right in front of me. I stare into his chest, unsure. Afraid. Shit, he's too close. I'm reacting. My body is tuned like a pitch fork to his tone. To his vibration. It's like my heart wants to fuse with his. It feels as though it's straining against my ribcage.
Gary grabs me and wraps his arms tightly around my shoulders, his face burying into my hair. He holds me tight like that for what feels like ages. I have no idea what's going on. Why's he so upset? But I can feel his pain. I'm flattered that when he needed someone, he called me. But this is bizarre and I'm afraid and my body just wants to jump him, and I'm fighting my libido about that too.
Tentatively, I put my arms around his waist. Soothingly, "Gary? Gary you're scaring me."
He lifts his head and looks down at me. Tears free-flowing out of eyes, some drip off his nose. I love him. I know I do. My instinct is to soothe his pain. To take it away. To distract him from whatever it is that has him this upset. Worry causes my own eyes to prickle, "Gary? Talk to me. What happened?"
He tightens his hold and I'm afraid he's going to crush me. He's much taller than me, and I only have a view of a white knit shirt and a few buttons. My heart breaks as his shoulders start shaking so much, that it dawns on me that he's stricken with tears. Gary does not feel like the rest of us. Life is one long game. We're all just pawns. He doesn't emotionally engage with the characters on the board. He just urges them to move, then laughs inwardly when they obediently follow his command or manipulation.
I know it's seriously, cataclysmically bad, for Gary to be crying. I cuddle him back, waiting for him to regain enough self-control to tell me what's bothering him.
I also hate myself for this. I am so weak. I'm thrilled he reached out for me. Of all the people in his life, he's here with me.
He pulls away and turns his back on me. (I am so confused.)
After a few moments, he faces me again, and seems ashamed of his own weakness, "Can I get you some coffee or something?"
What?
Wow, just hang on a second here. I am feeling emotional myself now. This entire experience has been surreal and outlandish and totally scary, he's in tears and now, he's offering me coffee?
And since when does Gary make coffee?
I nod. I have no idea how to respond. I'm surprised he even knows how to make coffee the way I drink it.
He walks to the kettle and stares at the flowers next to it. His voice is cracked and hoarse, "Did you get my flowers?"
My mind starts racing. Shit. Flowers! Three bouquets the same day. Two didn't have cards. Crap. I don't know which ones he sent!
I nod nervously, beginning to nibble my lip. I'm ready to flee.
He leans his narrow hips against the counter, folding his arms as he studies me. "Why didn't you phone me then?"
Because I didn't know you'd sent any! You never send flowers, ever. And after the way you reacted to those other flowers I never thought you would ever send me flowers.
I'm watching him and the hurt is obvious. He's made a real effort and expected recognition for it, at least acknowledgement, My eyes start flooding. "I'm sorry."
I wipe my eyes, bitter with myself for crying. I have to keep the upper hand here or I'll be handcuffed to that bed before the kettle has even started boiling. I manage with a shaking voice, "Thank you, they were lovely." (Did you send the pink amaranths or the roses?)
A vague smile flirts with his lips. I watch in silence as he makes coffee. This is the first ‘normal’, Gary and I have ever had. It leaves me feeling unstable.
He offers my mug to me, I take it.
"Will you stay long enough for a chat? I want to talk to you."
(I could argue and ask what was the bloody emergency?)
Instead, I nod. I'm in emotional carnage right now. I'm not sure I'm strong enough to do this. God help me but this boy is so sexy. My eyes watch him walk out of the kitchen. He's wearing grey track pants and white socks. He's still got the hottest derriere ever owned by anyone. Every man I've met in the past two and a half weeks pales in comparison with this one. He charges the room like a Van der Graaf generator. Every hair follicle I have stands to attention when he's present.
We sit down on chairs facing each other. My coffee is too hot so I place it onto the table next to my chair. His father made this table.
"Smoke?"
I nod.
He lights my cigarette for me after I take one from his packet. (Gary does not light my cigarettes. What is going on?)
This day goes down in Stefanie and Gary history. He's charming. He's a gentleman. And he cries.
Chapter 16
He smiles across to me. It's disconcerting.
"I missed you."
Like hell you did.
I arch an eyebrow and watch him. Choosing silence until I know what I'm doing here. I have a certain amount of satisfaction at his obvious nervousness. I've never seen him nervous before.
"Did you like the hound?"
What?
I gather my expression conveys the dumb blonde moment, because he reaches behind his chair and picks up the fluffy dog and presents it with obvious glee, "I thought you'd like him. Don't you think it's cute?"
So it's not a set-up. Get to the point, Gary.
"Yes, he's cute." I stare at the dog that reminds me of a Basset. Forgive me for my reservations but I don't trust Gary.
I watch him falter and place it awkwardly next to his leg. Track pants, eh? Clinging to toned thigh muscles from playing squash. I sigh slowly, exhaling smoke, as I appreciate the view.
My eyes travel back up him to meet his. He's watching me, waiting.
"What am I doing here, Gary? I'm supposed to be at work."
I enjoy satisfaction at the twitch at the corner of his mouth.
"I'm sorry, Woman."
My free hand tightens, "I beg your pardon?"
"Stefanie. Shit man! I'm no good at this. No matter what I do I'm going to fuck it up."
I stare coldly at him, anger simmering at being reduced to a gender again.
I watch his own hand curl into a fist, glistening with golden hairs. Midas hands.
He pleads, "I need you. Please ..."
State your case: this is your only chance. I arch an eyebrow. Tears escape his eyes again. I swallow the lump in my throat.
"I fucked up. I can't ... please come back."
He unfurls the clenched hand that was assisting him in containing his self control and it reaches across and glides over my knee to my thigh.
Breathe. Just breathe, dammit. Aladdin is unleashing the genie I had tightly corked in her bottle. My veins become sluggish as they pump the rising mercury. I pick up my coffee and sip it, watching him over the rim of the black edged mug. Slowly exhale.
"What happened to your girlfriend?"
He reacts as though I slapped him. He pulls away sharply and folds his arms. Outlining biceps and triceps. Gulp.
"She's not interested."
&nb
sp; "Uh huh."
"Stef ..."
His voice chokes and I watch him fighting himself. He looks away, out of the window, as tears escape his simmering eyes. I'm already back, but I'm not going to make this easy. I can feel his magnetism from here. It's calling me. I can't resist the pull. I'm fighting myself as much as he's fighting his own weakness.
He looks back, his shoulders moving with silent sobbing. "I'm sorry. I don't know how else to say it."
I nod, and exchange my coffee for the fading cigarette in the ashtray on the table next to me. Nonchalantly, I demand, "Gary, we can't go back to the way we were. Things are going to have to change."
I flick the ash and look up at his desperate expression. He nods enthusiastically.
Waaaaayhaaaay! Finally, my opportunity for a few rules.
I smile, I can't stop myself. I'm deriving a certain amount of pleasure from this one-eighty about-face turn.
"My name is not ‘woman’. It's Stefanie."
He nods.
"If you ever go out, or are late, I will phone you and check up on you, even if it's two in the morning. If you don't answer, it's over. If I have to wait ten minutes to get hold of you, it's over."
Ha! What a grim expression!
"Okay."
"And I want normal. Gary, you are going to take me out for dinner. I am not here to serve you. And it's time you stopped the weird shit. I can't do that anymore. I want love. I want to feel that you love me. If you love me, then make love to me. What we do isn't love, Gary. I need you to give me that."
He nods. He's looking calmer. More confident.
"And tell me you love me."
"Why?"
Oooh, that is so the wrong response. "Why?" Grrrr.
My adrenalin has just overpowered the spell of his charisma. I grind out with unrestrained anger, "Because if you love someone, they need to hear it. How can I tell when you're lying to me if you never say it? Because you didn't love me when you went behind my back to fuck that teenager!"
