by Ashley Logan
“Whatever, dude. Oh shit - what happened to your hands?”
“I ran with scissors,” Damon growls in response as if barely in control.
“You what?” Kyle says with a laugh. “How would you lose your hands like that? You’ve got that soldier-y look about you. Which war did you lose them in?”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“Man, who let you out front to serve. It’s meant to be a happy holiday, not the grumpy, old veteran interface program. You should go back to washing up and get the blond back out front.”
“Move along, you’re holding up the line,” Damon says in a cool, detached tone before welcoming the next person warmly. With his few snarled words fading, I know that Kyle is moving away.
Damon continues chatting with people a while longer, maintaining his position. Eventually, he takes a step back, but doesn’t bend down as he talks to me. “Alexa, in a minute, you’re going to come out from under there and stand directly in front of me. Then we’re going to slowly and calmly walk back to the kitchen, where we’re going to call the police and report that man for anything he has done in the past and his current stalking of you. Then I’m going to take you home. Do you think you can manage that?” he says quietly, but sternly. “Because I don’t want to draw attention to you by carrying you out of here.”
Those are the words that convince me to move. If Kyle spots me, I don’t know what will ensue, but if I can leave unnoticed, I’ll be free to run.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
DAMON
Flat out refusing to call the police to collect him now, while we know where he is, Alexa has me working over-time in an effort to persuade her how easily her problem could be solved, without actually jumping in and doing it for her. I will not play that role, and risk losing her because I’m trying to control her.
After some convincing, Alexa finally agrees to ring her friend Violet and talk to her cop boyfriend. It seems she does not hold much stock with law enforcement, but she trusts Violet and Violet trusts this ‘Sergio Moretti’, so it’ll have to do. In the progress of this discussion in the back cupboard with the tinned goods, Alexa’s whole demeanor changes and she becomes cool and collected, as if the decision to call was enough to ease her mind and pull her back from the ‘scared little girl’ trance Kyle’s presence put her in.
Watching her as she convinces Violet over the phone that she’s fine, but really does need to talk with ‘Serge’, I feel a weight lift from me as she takes control of her situation. As much as I wanted to knock the guy out, I wanted Alexa to be the one to solve this problem. I don’t need to reinforce her ideas about needing a big, strong man to solve her problems for her.
Ending her conversation with Violet, Alexa informs me that Vi and Serge will be picking her up shortly and would I please check to see if Sam is safe and stay with her until she finishes her meal.
“He’d go after Sam?”
“If he thought she could lead him to me,” she says flatly. “I’m sorry Damon. I’m only trouble.”
“I wouldn’t say you’re only trouble,” I joke, but it doesn’t even raise the hint of a smile. “I want to stay with you until you leave with Vi, if you don’t mind?”
Glancing out of the cupboard, at the kitchen doors that lead to the serving and seated area of the hall, Alexa wrings her hands. “What if she’s in danger now, Damon?” she says in a strained voice. “It’s all my fault.”
“Okay. You stay here and I’ll check on Sam. Don’t leave until I come back, okay?”
“I can text you when they get here, if it takes that long to find her,” she says, looking at my pockets.
“I can’t use my pockets without hooks, Alexa. And you’d be surprised at how dangerous that is because I can’t feel what I’m grabbing, if you know what I mean?” She stares at me blankly and my smile fades again. “Okay. It worries me that I can’t reach you with pinched-dick jokes, so I’m going to be back really quickly. My phone is in my bag out in the kitchen. I’ll grab it on my way past and I’ll come back when it beeps if I’m not already back at your side, yes?”
Nodding, Alexa smiles a little, but it’s small and forced and her mind is clearly elsewhere. Clenching my jaw, I kiss the top of her head and promise to be right back. Grabbing my phone, I commence my circuit of the hall. Kyle is happily stuffing his face as he chats with a group of what I wouldn’t like to assume are junkies, but they have the trademark sunken eyes and lifeless pallor of the long-term addicted. Wondering if Kyle partakes in the lifestyle, I scan the massive room again. Unable to find Sam at all, I return to the kitchen to tell Alexa that she must have moved on and that at least I can say with certainty that Kyle is not currently after her.
My phone beeps as I come back through the doors and I see Alexa standing with a tall, slim brunette and a taller, very muscular man. As I approach, the guy, who must be Serge, holds his hand out to shake mine, which stops me dead in my tracks, because with my mind on other things, I wasn’t expecting it.
The vise clamps down, tightening on my phantom hands as the muscle memory of shaking hands hits some haywire nerve. Bile creeps up my throat and I reach out for the nearest wall as the crushing pain makes me lightheaded.
Alexa’s eyes widen and she knocks Serge’s hand away before rushing to me. As soon as her hand cups my face, I can breathe again.
“Thanks. I’m good,” I whisper, pulling back. “Handshake just caught me off guard. Shall we go?”
“Um, I thought I might do this on my own, Damon. I’m going to have to say things that you won’t want to hear. You’ve been so supportive and accepting and I know it sounds like I’m being unfair, but it’s my turn to protect you, okay? I’ll call you later.”
Considering her carefully, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more she’s not saying. Glancing up at Violet and Sergio, who are strangers to me, the uneasy feeling in my bones makes me restless.
Looking back to her, I search for what I’m missing. “This doesn’t feel right, Alexa. What aren’t you saying?”
“A lot of things Damon, but I’ll call you after, okay?”
My sweaty phantom hands scream this is not okay, but my eyes and my brain tell me that this is what Alexa feels she needs to do right now. Nodding slowly, I gesture to my bag. “I’ll join you in a sec and walk you out. If that’s alright?” I ask gently, trying to clarify my position. Hesitating briefly, Alexa nods and returns to her friends.
They seem very nice, and I’m pretty sure I remember Bruno telling me he plays racquetball with Serge, so he must be an okay guy. Violet watches me out of the corner of her eye in the curious way a health professional might observe to gauge my abilities. I pretend I don’t notice, and really, I’m too concerned about what’s happening between me and Alexa to worry about what her friends think my limitations might be.
Stopping at a Prius, they all look to me.
“My car is down the block,” I say, not even recognizing my own voice as I watch Alexa steel herself and realize it’s not for the conversation she’s about to have with Serge, but for saying goodbye to me. My mind reels. I think of all the terrible reasons why saying goodbye would be hard, and land on the same conclusion over and over again. Chest aching, I shake my head. Leaning in, I kiss her temple, lingering long enough to breathe in the scent of her hair. “I won’t stop loving you Alexa Carrington, so please don’t ask.”
Turning, I walk away before she can say anything, or see my pain.
SOMEHOW, I SURVIVE Thanksgiving. I survive the phone call in which Alexa confirms the worst case scenario I’ve imagined and refuses to see me anymore. This isn’t something I can wait out trapped between the doors until she caves like last time. She won’t cave. She’s too scared of Kyle. Fearing for herself, her friends and for me, she’s cutting ties in an effort to minimize fallout. Classic defense tactics that she doesn’t even deny when I point them out to her.
I’m yet to decide if she thinks Kyle will hurt me, or if she’s scared I’ll hurt Kyle.
Her insistence on my leaving her alone so that she won’t lose me, apparently makes sense to her, and has me raking those two options over and over in my head as I sit in my car down the street from Beyond.
My phone beeps, and I look at the text.
Bruno: How you doin, man? She’s still in her room and last I saw, she’d been crying something wicked. You still outside?
Tapping the screen with my stump, I call him back.
“Yeah I’m still here. I don’t think the guy knows where she lives, but I don’t want to miss her if she leaves and he’s out there somewhere.”
Sighing, Bruno mumbles something in agreement before telling me to go home and get some rest. “She’s not going anywhere today, and I’ll make sure she’s safe if she changes her mind and goes out. Did you even sleep at all last night?”
“I know you guys said you’d cover the night shift to make sure she doesn’t disappear on us, but I know she’ll want to run and I don’t know where she’ll end up. I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking. The hard meds didn’t even touch me. Once I get it all clear in my head, the sleep will come. Is she eating?”
“Are you?”
“Some.”
Bruno sighs again and I can almost see him running his hand over his buzz cut.
“Eat more and I’ll make sure she does too. Kat practically had to spoon-feed her breakfast, so I don’t think she’s running anywhere just yet. Go home, eat something nutritious and get some rest. I’ll call you if anything changes. Or I’ll email you if it’s non-urgent, so I don’t wake you up.”
“Thanks man. You’re a good friend.”
“Mmm. Well, I seem to recall some fingerless weirdo giving me a ton of advice and support not so long ago when I was out of my mind in love, so consider it a karmic balance.”
“How is your lady-love?”
“Concerned as fuck about Lexi and watching her like a hawk along with the rest of us.”
“And there’s been nothing from Serge?”
“Not yet, man. Go home.”
Rubbing my face, I stare out the windscreen. “Fine. If you can find out if she’ll be teaching at Madame’s tomorrow, it’d be a real help. Brad and I can go undercover at the gym.”
“I’ll let you know, man. Later.” Bruno hangs up and my phone screen fades to black. Donning my hooks, I drive the few blocks home and park in my building. Throwing my hooks in my bag, I hold the whole thing up to the security reader instead of fumbling around to find my key card. The light flashes green and I drag myself inside on heavy feet. Leaving my bag on the floor, I flop onto the couch, letting out a long, frustrated groan.
My laptop is on the coffee table and after a minute of staring at it, I power it up. Slipping on my headset, I pull up my emails and start dictating a letter to Alexa.
At first, it’s full of begging, but that won’t help at all. Deleting the whole thing, I start again, professing my love. Halfway through that, I start again, telling her off for acting as if she cared, and then rejecting me when things were only just starting to make sense. Deleting that too, I tell her how strong she is, and how much she’s accomplished in just a few weeks. Looking at it a moment, I delete it and lie back on the couch to think.
After much deliberation, I decide on keeping it completely free of emotion and avoiding any direct reference to Kyle, to our relationship, or to a future beyond our original terms of agreement.
lookma_nohands@: Alexa,
I am aware that current circumstances may be disruptive to your academic objectives, and I would like to extend an offer of math tutorials via email. I am willing to abide by any rules you might wish to set around this, and will not approach you beyond this email.
Please consider this offer carefully. It is my belief that you hold unlimited potential, and I would not want your progress thus far to be for nothing. As per our original agreement, my services will terminate on your successful completion of the mathematical section of your HSE. If you should have any further need of my tutoring services beyond that, you have my contact details.
Damon.
Hitting send, I stare at the screen for five minutes straight, before I convince myself to walk away, because the chances of her responding at all, let alone immediately are about as slim as my chances of becoming an expert juggler. Stomping to the kitchen, I open cupboards, slamming them shut when they hold no desirable items. Opening the medicine cupboard, I pop open my tray of meds. Taking the milk from the refrigerator, I wash down a sleeping tablet, even though it’s early in the afternoon, and toss the empty carton in the trash. Pacing the apartment, I slide open one of the large storage closets and roll out a soccer ball.
Dribbling it around the apartment, I kick it at the wall, making the paintings quiver in fear. For a moment, I glare at them, hoping they’ll fall, but then I get distracted by the thought of the painting in Alexa’s bedroom.
My painting.
I wonder if she’s looking at it and thinking of me, or if she’s taken it down and hidden it from view, or thrown it in a dumpster, or donated it to someone else who might appreciate creepy, broken motherfuckers in oil on canvas. Kicking the ball again, I watch the paintings shake as I line up my next shot.
Hitting the exploding sparkles directly, I watch the canvas drop to the floor with a bang. The ball returns to my feet and I stare at the picture lying face down on the hardwood. Walking to it, I turn it over, remembering the first time I kissed Alexa, and every time since then. Setting the picture back on the wall, I return to the ball. Flicking it up with my foot, I bump it with my knees, keeping it off the ground, while keeping count of each bounce. As I count past thirty-seven, the realization that I am sort of an expert juggler, is punctuated by the ding of my laptop, informing me that I have mail.
Launching myself over the couch, I stare at the screen.
lexicon3000@: Damon,
I appreciate the offer, and your ability to think beyond the current situation. I find myself in such dire need of distraction, that even math appears to be attractive. While I suspect your email has some deeper meaning, I do not currently have the capacity to unravel it. I’d like to accept your offer, so long as the tone of your emails continues to display neutral emotion and zero references to anything but numerical concerns - I can’t study if I’m trying to read between the lines. If that is manageable, then I eagerly await my first email tutorial.
Alexa.
Reading it through at least nine times, I pull on my headset, ready to start listing outrageous concerns in numerical order, but I soon deflate, because humor won’t work this time. Only keeping consistently to the rules will earn and keep her trust. Throwing my headset onto the table, I lie back on the couch, devising a teaching plan through which I can convey secret messages of love and hope.
I WAKE UP ON THE COUCH feeling groggy. My mouth is dry; my body sluggish. It takes two attempts to rise from the couch, before I give up and roll off instead. Crawling to the bathroom, I turn on the shower, knowing it’ll help wash away the dampening effect of my sedatives.
By the time I’m dressed and functional, I remember that my life is not nearly as cool as I want it to be. Eying my laptop, I retrieve its cord from the drawer and plug it in to charge as I check my phone. Several text messages await my perusal.
Mom: Hey Damo, thinking about you. Is everything okay? Call me when you get a chance.
Bruno: Lex is teaching dance. Benji’s dropping her off and picking her up. He offered to stay, but she refused, so if you’re planning on a stake out, keep it on the down low. Later.
Harriet: Hey Damo, I was thinking about you and Alexa dancing the other day. You were both in sync with my music, but I just clicked that neither of you could have heard it. You’re weird, and I love you. Do you even want to know what song you were dancing to in my ears?
Brad: We going to the gym today, or what bro? Get your lazy ass out of bed and come pick me up, bitch.
Checking the time, I jump into action, because it’s already close to nine
and Alexa will be getting to class at ten. Grabbing a protein bar, I quickly send an email to Alexa, promising her the first of many tutorial installments this afternoon. Rushing around to fill my gym bag, I fly out the door, jump in the car and head for Brad’s, calling him when I’m on my way.
“Get your ass outside on the curb, turdburger. I’m only gonna slow enough for you to grab the wing mirror and hang on for dear life.”
“Already outside and waiting, shitstick.”
I pull up and jump out to throw his chair in the back. Straight back to my seat, I have my hooks on, am belted up and am pulling away from the curb before Brad’s door is even shut.
“You trying to kill me?” he cries, wrestling the door shut against the force of a turn and throwing an accusatory glare in my direction. “Because some fucker already tried and failed. Even I tried and failed, so fuck you Mr. High and Mighty. Falling out of your death-wagon isn’t gonna do anything more than scrape me up and piss me off. I’m invincible like the fucking Hulk and you do not want me revenge-seeking your ass.”
“I don’t want you seeking my ass, period,” I say with a laugh as I make a sharp turn that has Jenkins gripping the handle above the door.
“Would you at least slow down? Her class won’t start for another twenty minutes.”
“But she’ll be there sooner, and we have to be hidden by then.”
Brad sighs and looks out the window. “Hasn’t she already got a stalker? Or did the police nab the guy so a position opened up for you?”
“Fuck you. He’s still out there, and she doesn’t want me anywhere near her. This is just the current solution that everyone can live with. It keeps everybody happy.”
“Happy?” Brad asks, looking at me sideways like a punk.
“Not more fucked up.”
“That sounds like a more accurate description.”
“What are you? The fucking authority on definitions now?”
“Hell no. I’m wingman on this fucked up mission and it’s the most excitement I’ve had in weeks,” he says, rubbing his hands together with what might actually be glee.
