Truth & Consequences

by Fiona Keane

  Liam’s call repeated at a more audible tone, suggesting our startling moment of passion was near its end. Julian’s forehead pressed against mine while his breath caught, the heat of his mouth fanning against my lips with interrupted longing, his pining suspended before me.

  “Aideen,” Julian panted, his voice low and hoarse, fueling the fire burning in me. His palms lifted to my cheeks, cupping my face while his mouth slowly lifted toward my forehead, placing a deliberate, gentle kiss against my furrowed skin.

  “There is so much I need to tell you,” he groaned before his hands grudgingly abandoned my body and the bathroom door opened at his command. Julian was quick to step out from the space, leaving me in a hauntingly rejected state. I heard Liam’s footsteps storm into the room, piquing my curiosity.

  “What the hell, Liam?” Julian roared, the wince in his tone evident. “Jesus.” Slowly, I wiggled down from the counter, the floor cold against my toes, reality sinking in. It happened again, the irrefutable plea tearing through our bodies, entwining and answering the longing within our bound souls. Holding onto the door, watching Julian struggle to stand without a hand clutching his right side, I didn’t hate him as much. As much. I felt curiously attached to him—connected. Guilty.

  The clamorous pounding echoing from beyond Julian’s bedroom forced my mind from the hazy memory of just a few moments before, swirling in my thoughts like a watercolor painting. Julian burned a hole in his hardwood as he quickly turned, running to my paralyzed body in his bathroom doorway.

  “Stay in here and don’t come out for anyone!” What the hell? I thought we were done imprisoning me. His right hand forced my shoulder, backing me into his bathroom while I clung to the door. It latched behind us, Julian tumbling against me as we fell into the bathroom. His hands caught my waist, capturing me before I could fall against the brutally hard floor.

  “Trust me,” he warned, “don’t leave this room.”

  “What’s happening…is this…is some…” My mouth and brain misfired. What is happening? My brain melted back into thoughts of my apartment only a week prior, the images scattered thanks to Mr. Riesling and fear. I had sobriety on my side, but I felt as pathetically vulnerable with the notion of being locked away in Julian’s bathroom. He’ll keep me safe. Right? I heard Liam shouting for Julian again, his eyes now burning into mine with warning.

  “I don’t care what you think you hear, babby. Don’t open the door.” I barely nodded, unable to move. Julian’s hands fell from my hips, again leaving a burning vacancy, before finding my face.

  “I’ll keep you safe,” he whispered, his knuckles grazing both of my cheeks as his mouth lifted to my forehead once more, the softness of his lips deceptive while he reached into a drawer behind me and pulled out a gun.

  His mouth remained against my skin as he effortlessly lifted the gun behind him. He swiftly turned from me, locking the door before hurried footsteps pounded across his bedroom. I crouched between the toilet and cabinet, waiting, listening. The first three gunshots were distant, the sound of shattered glass piercing the air. Each one tore through my confidence, breaking my resolve while I cowered next to the toilet. Julian’s toilet. He will keep me safe. That thought, those words, my heart quivered at the familiarity. Liam’s panting shouts broke my focus, his voice growing clearer with his approach.

  “Mother fucking…who the hell…” He struggled to speak, not because he had the Aideen curse and couldn’t think, but because he was short of breath. Something hard dropped against the floor, screeching to a halt at the bathroom door, rattling the panel and my nerves. Hold your breath. Don’t scream. Don’t even think. Not even of Julian. Where the hell is Julian? No. Don’t think of Julian. Where is Julian?

  “No,” Liam’s tone was rash. “I’m going to kill you!”

  “Where’s your pretty brother?” a raspy voice questioned between gasps of air, his heavy accent laced with more New England than clam chowder. “I was invited…for a play date.” Another thud. Scratching. Shattering glass. The space between the floor and bathroom door dimmed, Julian’s bedside lamp having been smashed in a scuffle. Please don’t come in here. Please. Please.

  I glanced around the bathroom, looking for something with which to defend myself, but I couldn’t see anything. Julian pulled a fucking gun out of a drawer. Why don’t you actually try searching? I filled with fear, unable to control the scuffle rolling around Julian’s bedroom floor. More sounds echoed into the room. Footsteps, smashing glass, scratching metal, grunting. A warning shot flew into the air, blasting through the bathroom door before impaling itself into Julian’s bathtub. I wonder if he ever takes baths.

  “Where is she?” My heart stopped, blood draining from my face while I listened to the once-comforting hum that now left my body quivering with fear and remorse.

  “Put down your gun or I’ll put mine inside of you.” Julian’s words were calm, lethally void of emotion. His voice deepened with his threat, stopping my lungs. I am dying. Another shot rang out in the bedroom, the sound violently disabling, accompanied by a loud thud.

  Liam groaned as he fell against the bathroom door, rattling it again. I knew it was him by the sound of his voice. It echoed with each gasping breath he forced just feet away from me. I couldn’t mind Liam; my brain burned with terrified anticipation of the blind battle and Julian’s voice.

  “Put down the gun,” he hissed. “I won’t warn you again.”

  “Tell me where she is and I will. I just need to talk to her for a little bit. You know, clear up some things. Tell me, boys, have you done that with her yet?”

  “Shut the fuck up and put down your fucking gun.” Julian’s voice was a seething cloud of rage that oozed into the bathroom, radiating around the porcelain like an invisible anvil of destruction.

  “Fi—” His word was cut short, someone unwilling to allow a conclusion as a shot rang out, followed by a slow thump against the floor. No.

  “Handle it,” Julian growled, his words again hissing with the painful wince of his injury. “Get this goddamned trash out of my fucking house, Liam. Now!”

  “Julian,” Liam muttered, his footsteps echoing from the bathroom door, signaling my solitary confinement. Julian told me not to open the door for anyone, but nobody was knocking. The gunfire stopped, he told Liam to handle whatever needed to be dealt with. It had to be safe to leave the bathroom. Right? It had to be.

  I crawled from the nook between his toilet and cabinet, slowly maneuvering on my palms and knees, stopping at the door and listening. Silence. I struggled to stand, trembling as I reached for the doorknob. My heart knew before I turned the knob. I knew what happened. I comprehended the outcome, predicting his demise the moment I heard his voice. I needed to fight the bile rising from my shaking belly.

  Opening the bathroom door, my breath hitched as I observed the destruction in Julian’s bedroom. The once-attractive space no longer smelled of him or resembled his luxurious tastes. His television was torn from the wall, lying in pieces beneath the fireplace, which now gaped with shattered glass dangling along its panel. The air was humid, warm with their fight, almost stifling as I stepped further into his room. My passage was limited, my feet knocking into him. Oh my God. Both of my hands flew to my mouth as I crashed to my knees, the pain of the hardwood floor almost absent through my numb body.

  My right hand trembled with an emotional plague as it tentatively lifted from my face, hovering over the wet blood saturating his chest. It was a perfect shot, a practiced method of ending one’s life. Every. Single. One. Julian’s words, his threatening promise, repeated in my mind.

  The gray fabric of his top slowly turned a darkened crimson as the tide of blood left him. I barely heard the footsteps pounding into the bedroom as my head throbbed, its violent assault deafening me.

  “Shit! Aideen. Get out of there!”

  My weary eyes wandered from Elliott’s limp body to Julian, his face contorted with anger that pained me. I wanted to cry. I wanted to run. I wanted to
kill him. Watercolor painting officially destroyed, pierced with his actions.

  “What have you done?” My question fell without thought, the words entirely rhetorical as I imagined his rationale. Every. Single. One.

  “What I promised you I would do, Aideen. He came here to kill.”

  “What you promised me?” I pulled my hand from Elliott’s still body, shaking my head. “You’ve promised me nothing. The only thing you’ve ensured I have is fear.”

  I struggled to stand, my heart remaining on the floor with the corpse. Julian reached out for my arms, a pathetic attempt at chivalry, but I yanked my body clear from that prick’s grasp.

  “Don’t fucking touch me,” I screamed, “ever.”

  “Aideen.” He moaned with exasperation, biting his top lip with such force it would surely bleed. “Stop. Just think and listen for one minute.”

  “I despise you.” I narrowed my eyes, glowering at Julian for the five seconds I had power over him. His promise of security failed, leaving my heart entirely open and vulnerable. I was exposed, and I hated both of us for it. I wanted to walk away, to abandon him and run like always. But he isn’t the one who keeps me running.

  “Stop.” His voice stiffened my soul. He was silent while he awaited my response, but I froze in my attempt to leave.

  “What happened,” Julian paused, groaning with pain, “between the bathroom and now? I killed someone again for you, someone who came to kill us.”

  “That’s exactly what happened.” I turned to face him, my shoulders sagging. “You destroyed my resolve with a single touch, and literally two minutes later, you killed someone. Whether it was for me or for us is insignificant. You don’t seem to understand how the world works, but that sort of shit is not how you remind someone they have your trust and security. Please…please let news of his death be dignified. We all go down a wrong path at some point in our lives.”

  Julian’s stare tore through me, but I continued my retreat. I had to. If I stayed in his room any longer, watching him crumple in pain from the explosion over a dead body, I might officially lose my mind. It wasn’t simply a corpse. It was Elliott. I hadn’t yet made peace with Julian’s truth, acceptance a faraway star in my midnight sky. Julian’s home was guarded; he owned the only unit on his floor. How did Elliott get in?

  I reflected on when I last saw him, his thin skin covered in a hue of gray, his trembling fingers, the vacancy behind his eyes. Something happened. Something changed him into a monster. I knew exactly who. Malcolm. Even so, Malcolm didn’t have access to Julian’s home. I couldn’t make a connection—the security, especially after a meeting of the Molloy elders, wouldn’t allow trespassers.

  “Aideen.” Liam grabbed my arm as I blindly walked through the hall, careful to step over shards of broken glass that once hung in frames. I spun around, jerking my arm from his hold. These two think they can touch anyone at any time. I’m going to kill them. Where can I find a gun around here? With a scathing glare at the second-most attractive human being ever to have roamed the streets of Boston, I entered my bedroom. My bedroom. What a joke.

  “He isn’t going to follow you,” Liam stepped in after me, his smile absent. “You clearly need your space, but don’t you wonder what actually happened? Don’t you want to conduct your research?”

  “No.” I walked into the closet, hoping he would be as irritated by his voice as I was. Alas, it was simply not my night. I need isolation. I need to grieve. Julian kissed me. I kissed him. We did more than kiss. That was…something…powerful. Shaking my head to rid myself of the memory despite the overwhelming power it held over my softened heart, I scanned the overcrowded space. Maureen went overboard. The closet was lined with anything and everything I could never want and would never use in reality. This is your reality now, babby. Ugh. Not only did it remind me that my lungs shared the same air as Julian, but the gowns dangling from their hangers were a mockery of the fact I needed to join the murdering-politician-wanna-be-mobster at a banquet the following evening. Screw my life.

  Perhaps there was a chance that, with Elliott dead, things would calm down and I could return home. Maybe Julian’s reputation would be safe and I could resume my regularly scheduled life. He could suggest to the media that I died in the explosion and I could start over. Right. Because that would all make too much sense. I fell flat against the hard floor within the closet, my right arm hanging over my eyes. Why aren’t I running? Why do I care so much to stay? Why do I feel…comfort?

  “Someone let him in,” Liam persisted, meandering to my closet where he casually sat as though he just made my breakfast. “That sort of shit doesn’t happen. Something’s amiss.”

  “Oh? What’s amiss is that you don’t get the hint I want nothing to do with you.”

  “Listen,” he began, his throat clearing. “Julian and I need to go away tonight. There are some things we need to…discuss. I’m going to take you to a hotel. You’ll be safe there.”

  “Safe.” I sat up, snapping at the idiot. “You have a terrible dictionary in that pretty head of yours if you think anything about this is safe.”

  “You think my head is pretty.” He grinned. “Thank you. I think yours is beautiful.”

  “Fuck off, Liam,” I demanded. “I only want to hear from you when you tell me someone is downstairs, ready to take me home.”

  “Hmm…nope.”

  Glaring at Liam, willing my eyes to turn into destructive lasers that would burn him into dust, I thought about the last thing Julian told him when we were all in the room together with Elliott’s corpse. Handle it. Elliott. Handle Elliott.

  “Is it your job to clean up the people your big brother murders?” I probed, staring at him expectantly.

  He sighed, an arrogant smile parting his lips. “No, Aideen. That’s someone else’s job.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “You’re quite brazen,” he proudly gloated. “I’ll be back in five minutes and you’ll be ready to go. You see, in this family, Aideen, we follow our orders.”

  I stood, pulling myself away from Liam, disappointed my eye lasers hadn’t developed. “I’m not in this family. The second you fix whatever damage control there needs to be for your brother’s reputation, I’m on the next flight to Canada.”

  “We have family there.”

  “Fuck you, Liam,” I groaned, leaving him to linger in the cloud of his arrogance.

  My bed was disheveled, just as I left it before catching the Molloy brothers confirming a news report. Remind me never to go to Southie. Better yet, remind me never to wake up. Liam silently stepped around me, but he stopped as he approached the door, his left hand slowly lifting the sapphire ring from the dresser. He twirled it in his palm, setting it back down to spin like a frantic top along the surface.

  “I would’ve spent more on you,” he muttered, his tone remorseful before exhaling. “Five thousand dollars on a ring is an insult. I’ll see you downstairs, bird.”

  The ring clattered as its spinning quickly ended, and Liam left the room. Five thousand dollars on a ring? He would have spent more on me? Kill me. Now. That dress and ring were almost twenty thousand dollars! No wonder someone tried to kill me tonight. Twice.

  Constricted and weighed by torment, I fell against the mattress. The ceiling quickly became my best friend, its crisp white paint the only thing I could focus on. Except for Julian. That bastard snuck into my mind like the pestering, violent charmer he was. I was hopelessly lost, unable to fight the warmth that pooled in my heart when I reflected on my response to his touch. Every unspoken thought was bound so tightly within a single kiss, exchanging its message with my soul while he consumed and devoured me. And I, the same to him. I battled my mind, warring the variants and sides of that man and myself, quickly addressing the fact he killed my ex-best friend. Killed him. Murdered him. In cold blood, without question, Julian again took a life. For me. For…us.

  Chapter Seven

  I stood in the doorway of my room and scanned the dest
ruction of the hallway once more, aware I kept the driver waiting outside. I glowered at his door, the panel creating a wall between us. I wondered how long Elliott’s body was lying on Julian’s floor, if he even knew what he was doing. That wasn’t my friend. I had so many questions for him, but the time to ask vanished the instant he admitted his truth to me—despite it being only half of his story. I had a feeling there was more to come, more information to divulge from the secrets of Elliott’s plans. With Malcolm. I doubted I would get the answers I sought now that Liam more or less confirmed my appalling assumptions. Fucking research. Curiosity did kill this cat.

  The space between the door and the hardwood was dark. The room was empty of the living or dead. It was handled, and Julian left. And I left him. What had I done? Julian’s hands, his mouth, the unforgiving way my body responded to his so naturally, as though we fit, our souls were pieces of a lonely puzzle desperately finding the security of its counterpart. It ended with trauma. The fleeting moment that rang with vivid potential, burned with passion ignited throughout my soul, was interrupted by abrupt violence.

  I told him not to touch me. I didn’t want anyone near me. I hadn’t come to terms with Elliott. I panicked. I seemed to always do that around Julian Molloy. His smile, his face, the heady sincerity that echoed in the vast pools of sapphire always blazing into me; and I ran from it. He broke his promise. But what did I expect?

  I was losing it, allowing myself to fall further into the farce we created to protect his reputation. His reputation, as though mine no longer mattered. What did these people want from me? They stole my independence, murdered in front of me, filled my heart with the constant tidal flow of trepidation, and left me…wanting. I peeled away from staring at the door, moving toward the front entrance, and refused to look back. In the unlikely chance he was still there, I didn’t want him to see me. Not until I was ready to apologize.