Mad Love 2

by Colet Abedi

  But that’s a lie.

  Because I am.

  And I’m wondering what the future holds for Clayton and I.

  If anything.

  After spending the entire afternoon with my friends and Abby and Georgie, and listening to all the tears and stories about William, I need an emotional break and excuse myself to go lie down in my room. I’m devastated on so many levels. And honestly, just exhausted. I take a quick shower, curl up in bed facing the fireplace, and try not to think about what the coming hours will bring.

  The time has flown by and I know Clayton and his family will be leaving for London soon. Just as I’m drifting off to sleep the door opens and I know it’s him.

  I pretend to be asleep because he’s just lost a precious brother and I assume the last thing he wants to do is talk about it with me. And I don’t blame him. And after the look on his face this afternoon, I don’t know what awaits me and I’m not ready to find out. I keep my eyes glued shut as he paces around the room. Every step he takes makes my body tremble in dread.

  “I know you’re awake,” he finally says, breaking the painful silence.

  Shit.

  I open my eyes and am grateful to find that he’s not standing directly in front of me.

  Put your big girl pants on, Sophie.

  “I am,” I say.

  I sit up and turn around and take in his appearance. He looks haggard and sad. So sad. So much worse than he did when I last saw him. He pulls his sweater off and I feel guilty for even admiring his physique.

  “Clayton—” I begin as I try to come up with the best word to tell him how sorry I am.

  “Don’t,” he says. “If I hear those words one more time I won’t be responsible for what I do.”

  Fair enough.

  He is clawing at his hair and begins pacing the room like a caged lion.

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask him.

  “Can you bring my brother back?” He laughs, a cold and hollow sound, and I shiver from the lack of emotion in his voice.

  I try not to get angry. I try to think about his heartache and pain. I know it’s not him talking, that it comes from something deeper, something that you can never understand until you go through it. But the woman in me still balks at the offensive nature of his words. At the way he’s treating me when all I want to do ease his suffering.

  “I think I should leave you alone.”

  “Yes,” he says, the answer I dreaded.

  God.

  That hurts like hell. I can feel the tears well up in my eyes. I push back the covers to get up and he comes to stand in front of the bed.

  “Where the fuck are you going?” he practically snarls at me.

  “You told me to leave,” I tell him as I try to keep up with his volatile emotions.

  I watch as his hands curl up into fists at his side. “Goddamnit!” he roars.

  I don’t know where to go.

  “He was supposed to be here already!” he howls in anguish. His eyes are bright with unshed tears and I forget my fear and have only empathy for him. I watch him, unable to move and afraid to even take a breath as I wait for him to speak.

  He walks over to the table where he keeps his decanters of whiskey and pours himself a glass.

  “My father,” his laugh is empty. “My beloved father told him to stay and finish a goddamn contract.”

  He throws back the shot.

  “The gall of him, forcing William to stay,” Clayton continues. “And my baby brother always wanted to please him—”

  Then he grabs a decanter and throws it at the fireplace. I jump back as the glass shatters all over the room.

  “It’s his fault!” Clayton roars. “He killed him! He killed William.”

  I’m shocked into silence, but force myself to take a step toward him.

  “Don’t come near me,” he warns me.

  I stop.

  “I don’t know what you want me to do,” I whisper helplessly, then stand against the wall in fear as he systematically destroys the room. Seeing Clayton lose control like this is unreal. This man is always in check. Always. And I’m watching him break. The man I love is losing a piece of himself, a piece that he may never get back. And I ache for him.

  I begin to cry uncontrollably.

  When there’s nothing left to throw he punches the wall and I finally cry out. His knuckles are bloody from the impact.

  “Clayton—” I plead with him through my tears.

  He snarls as he takes a step toward me. I stand my ground. Even in this epic rage I know he won’t physically hurt me. Emotionally, maybe. Verbally. But he would never lay a hand on me. This I know.

  “Talk to me,” I whisper.

  “I don’t want to talk to you, Sophie. I want to fuck you.”

  I feel like he’s slapped me across the face.

  “No,” I tell him.

  “You like it when I fuck you,” he says.

  “Not like this,” I say. “You can’t touch me like this.”

  “Can’t?”

  The gauntlet is thrown. There is nowhere for me to go. He advances toward me, this angry, beautiful man, towering over me, and runs his bloody knuckles against my cheek.

  “I think you know I can,” he tells me in a heated voice.

  Before I can respond the door bursts open and Michael rushes in, takes in the scene, and grabs hold of his brother.

  “Clayton!” he yells, and shakes him, then turns toward my bloodied face in horror.

  “Are you alright?” he asks urgently, still holding on to Clayton.

  “I’m fine,” I tell him. “It’s his blood.”

  The look of relief on Michael’s face is staggering.

  “I think you should go, Sophie. Let me be with him.”

  I don’t argue.

  I walk past Clayton and see the raw pain in his eyes. I want to hold him but I know it’s an impossibility.

  Before I can close the door he utters two words that almost bring me to my knees.

  “It’s over.”

  14

  It’s morning and I’m in bed cocooned between Erik and Orie. I’m numb to the pain now.

  When I left Clayton’s bedroom last night I hurried to my friends who were thankfully in their room and cried my eyes out. For once, neither of them told me I was delusional or acting crazy. They just held me and didn’t say a word. Their silence spoke volumes, which was perhaps even worse than their usual censure.

  Michael found me hours later and asked to speak to me privately. We went to Abby’s dressing room, Just thinking about the conversation makes me sick to my stomach. He looked haggard, like he had been crying forever and was just so worn out.

  “He’s not good, Sophie,” he told me solemnly. “No one is, but he’s taking it the hardest. He’s the oldest, and always took on a caretaker role—especially with William.”

  Clayton had told me that he protected William from experiencing what his father had done to him. If only Michael knew the half of it.

  “How can I help?” I asked softly.

  Michael gave me a sad smile. “You can stay away.”

  I was floored. That was not what I was expecting.

  “What?” I shook my head. “No. I want to be with him. I need to be there for him-“

  Michael stopped me. “I saw his eyes, Sophie. I know my brother and I don’t want you to get hurt. God only knows what he said to you before I got there. You were scared.”

  “I’m not afraid,” I told him, even though I was.

  “But I am, for you,” he said gently. “He will tear your heart to pieces. There’s a part to him—you saw it—I just—”

  He searched for the right words.

  “I just don’t want you to be broken.”

  I knew the part he was referring to. The wolf in him. The animal side that didn’t think. Only attacked.

  “Everything is different now,” he went on. “We, the
immediate family, we’re leaving tonight to arrange my brother’s—” He couldn’t go on.

  “I know,” I said to him. “Abby told me.”

  I stepped toward him and he gladly embraced me, welcoming the comfort I offered. So different from Clayton.

  “I keep asking God why it couldn’t have been me,” he said in agony.

  “Don’t say that,” I whisper. “William wouldn’t want you to say that.”

  “He was so special,” Michael said through his tears. “He was good. He didn’t deserve this.”

  No, he didn’t. But these things, these tragic things that happen never have rhyme or reason. They just occur without warning and change lives forever.

  I had lived a charmed life until then, never experiencing such horrible grief. And watching this family mourn a man I never even knew was a horrific thing.

  Michael had pulled away from me and kissed me on my cheek.

  “Take care of yourself.”

  Those were Michael’s last words to me.

  As if that would be so easy to do.

  And so they had left.

  And I’d stayed hidden away with Erik and Orie in their room. We’d gone to bed and decided to deal with our flights and departure from the chateau in the morning. The day had been too emotionally exhausting. A small part of my heart had hoped that Clayton would seek me out and take me with them, or at least say goodbye. But that hope died when Abby informed us that Sergei had taken the family to the private airport and they had departed.

  Now this emptiness.

  Heart broken by Clayton Astor Sinclair. Again. For different reasons. Ones that seemed irreversible in a more profound way. As Michael had said to me, everything was different now with Clayton. Opening up about his childhood, talking about his father, finally allowing me in, it all seems like a dream now. Like it never even happened.

  “So Erik and I have made an executive decision,” Orie tells me, interrupting my sad train of thoughts.

  He rolls to his side in the bed and takes my hand.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  Erik leans into me on the other side and rubs my arm.

  “Should you tell her or should I, Erik?” Orie asks with a mischievous grin.

  “Go ahead, you can give her the news,” Erik offers but before Orie can utter a word Erik spills the beans.

  “We’re taking you on a whirlwind tour of Europe,” he exclaims happily.

  “Unbelievable,” Orie says to Erik. But he’s smiling at him with love. I’m glad to see that everything is back to normal between them. I’m sure William’s passing had something to do with them letting things go.

  “You’re what?” I ask.

  “It’s a gift, Sophie,” he explains. “We are going to get on a plane, then a train, and do the whole we’re poor backpacking thing, except not in a poor way, because god forbid we stay at a hostel and catch some goddamn disease. We’ll do it at hotels. Five-star ones. And eat well. Really well. And drink. Heavily.”

  “I think she gets the picture,” Orie says as he rolls his eyes at me.

  “And we’re going to pay your way,” Erik continues. “Because we love you. And it’s our Christmas present to you since that’s coming up even though it doesn’t feel like it right now. And most importantly, because you are poor.”

  Goddamnit.

  The guy actually makes me laugh.

  “You are unbelievable,” I say.

  “You are lucky you know me. And that I call you my best friend.”

  “I am,” I tell him as I take his hand and squeeze it. I take Orie’s as well. “And you,” I say.

  “We’re like Three’s Company,” Erik explains. “It will be shit hot. Think of all the Instagram posts.”

  I smile.

  “Sounds great.”

  But it doesn’t. Not really. At all.

  “This is going to be hard, babe. There’s no way around it.” Orie is the one to address the elephant in the room.

  P.S. it’s a giant fucking elephant. It might be a dinosaur even. Like a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

  “I don’t have a choice,” I say to Orie.

  “Can I be real with you for a moment?” Erik asks me.

  I roll my eyes.

  “Like you pretend with me or ever sugarcoat?” I ask him.

  “You like my honesty,” Erik says unaffected. “Remember?”

  “Umm, sometimes it would be nice to have some things laced with a bit of sweetness to take out the sting,” I reply honestly.

  “But that’s boring and fake,” he tells me. “Like designer handbag fake. Like if you’re carrying a Valentina instead of a Valentino. Or a Channel instead of a Chanel. Or a Hermeez instead of an Hermès. Or a—”

  “Would you get on with it,” Orie interrupts dryly.

  “Fake is so rock bottom,” Erik continues .

  “Okay, be real. Go ahead,” I say as I lean back into the pillows with a sigh and prepare myself for whatever onslaught is coming my way. “You’re going to anyway so I might as well give you permission.”

  “This situation is fucked,” Erik says bluntly. “Like F-U-C-K’ed—fucked.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” I retort.

  “Oooh. I like that fire, Sophie,” Orie says appreciatively.

  “Give her a second, babe, and she’ll be in goddamn tears again,” Erik waves off Orie’s comment.

  “Maybe not—” Orie replies.

  “Watch,” Erik turns to me. “You and Clayton are over, babe.”

  Fuck.

  My eyes start to fill up. Goddamnit! They’re welling. The tears. One slips. Erik nods knowingly as the flood is unleashed.

  “That’s not fair,” I say as I wipe them away. “That’s devastating to hear.”

  “It’s reality,” Erik says harshly.

  I sit up, in anger.

  “That’s a terrible thing for you to say.”

  “What did you expect me to say? You want me to lie to you?” Erik goes on. “He told you it’s over—”

  “Erik, don’t be so harsh,” Orie chimes in.

  “She needs harsh,” Erik snaps back. “She needs honesty. She needs real.”

  “But there’s a way to go about things, and a right time—” Orie’s voice becomes background noise to everything going on in my head. I hear them arguing but I don’t actually hear their words. Because for whatever reason something starts to take over inside my heart. Something profound and moving. And life-changing.

  Hope.

  “I don’t accept it,” I blurt out.

  “What?” Erik and Orie say at the same time.

  “I don’t accept it.” I say again. More forcefully. With conviction.

  “Say it, babe.” Suddenly Erik has a knowing glint in his eyes.

  “That’s it over between Clayton and me,” I tell him.

  “And why would you feel that way?” he asks.

  “Because how can something so special be over? How can something that moved my soul and made me love so much be done? I felt him the moment I saw him. I knew him,” I say passionately. “Everything about us is different, unique. Once in a lifetime. How can once in a lifetime ever be done? It’s supposed to be forever.”

  Erik smiles at me with respect and it dawns on me. I understand his game. How he pushed me into this.

  “There it is,” he says proudly. “Your fierce.”

  And it is here. I don’t want to let go. Or give up. I want to fight. For Clayton. For me. For us. For our future. For everything that life is supposed to be. A fairy tale. Where you meet your true love and you live happily ever after.

  Why can’t that be my story?

  It can.

  I just have to believe it.

  “You’re so brave,” Abby says.

  She’s in my room watching me pack . She looks forlorn. Devastated. I don’t know what is causing it—William’s passing or Michael leaving. Or the Russian oligar
ch she still has to deal with. She’s got a whole list of awful that I don’t envy. After I had my revelation with Erik and Orie that morning I sought out Abby and told her I was going to pack up and go find Clayton. She was getting ready to leave as well but she would be going through Paris with Georgie to stay a few nights there with some of his friends.

  “I’m not,” I tell her. “It’s all a façade.”

  “I don’t believe that,” she says.

  “You’re the brave one,” I reply as I fold a pair of jeans. “I don’t think I could ever be a runaway bride. I would have married into misery. Especially if I had a houseful of guests and my parents watching my every move. If I had gone as far as you have down the road, I would have forced myself to the finish line. And then regretted it after.”

  “But we don’t know if that’s the decision I would actually have made at that moment with my dress on,” she says back.

  I raise a brow.

  “And I still have to end it with him,” she goes on. “Of course he understands why everything has been postponed, but now I have to actually break off the engagement.”

  “It will be easier than being a runaway bride, Abby. Trust me.”

  “Will it?” She doesn’t sound like she believes me.

  Which she shouldn’t. I think about how hard it was for me to break up with Jerry face to face. Not a situation I would like to relive. Running away might be a better bet.

  “I don’t know,” I sigh. “It’s not going to be easy. But it’s better for you. In every way. That I do know.”

  I hope she believes me now.

  “What about you?” she asks.

  “You know what I’m going to do.”

  “But what if he rejects you?” Abby asks, voicing the question that I’ve been wrestling with in my head since I made the decision this morning to get on a plane and go to London and not accept the generous vacation that Erik and Orie offered me. I was going to find Clayton and fight for us. To help him see through the grief and sorrow of his loss. To be there for him. To hold his hand. For him to know that he has someone who loves him and will help him through this awfulness. And any other he might face in his life.

  “Well?” she insists.

  “I don’t know.” I shrug. “I haven’t thought about that. Honestly. I guess I’ll just have to deal with it as it comes. I don’t have a crystal ball to predict what he’ll do. I can only hope.”