Aaron places my phone on the glass coffee table before he ascends the staircase and vanishes from my life…forever.
I could've told him that I wasn't the one to break the story. That I would never betray him like that. But it wouldn't have made any difference. I was still the woman who toyed with his emotions…and his body…just to get a story. And for that, I deserve this…all of it. Karma may be a bitch, but I am that bitch's queen.
Chapter Eighteen
Aaron
It's been exactly thirteen-hours eleven-minutes and thirty-four-seconds since I broke up with Nicole. That was the hardest thing I have ever had to do in my life. I didn't want to do it, but I had no choice. She was using me from the beginning. Which parts were real? Which parts weren't? Were any parts real at all? Or was it all just pretend for her?
I break out the Grey Goose Vodka bottle from my secret stash in a cabinet under the kitchen island, open it, bring the bottle to my lips, and chug my sorrows away. The vodka burns as it travels down my throat and into my stomach. The painful distraction is welcomed. And so are the disorientation, blurred vision, and blackouts from bottles number two and three.
I collapse onto the ground, staring at the ceiling as I watch the room spin out of control. My head feels foggy, but I don't give a shit. Feeling all of this is better than feeling betrayed by the woman I love. Scratch that…loved.
My phone keeps ringing nonstop, but I don't answer it. I've officially no more fucks to give. I'm sure it's probably Delores telling me how there is no way in hell I'm going to win this election now. Nobody trusts me. I'm a piece of shit. A liar. A womanizer. A scumbag. I've been called worse. But what stung the most was seeing Nicole stay silent as I accused her of backstabbing me. I mean, she was fucking silent. No denial. No crying. No remorse. No fucking emotions at all. Maybe I didn't know her like I thought I did. I scream out toward the spinning ceiling, as if the louder I get, the better chance she’ll have of hearing me from her apartment.
"Well, you're going to fucking miss Timmy's wedding now! Aren't you, gorgeous?"
Feeling the bile travel up my throat, I lean over to one side, open my mouth, and let it spill out onto the carpeted floor. The stench of the breakfast I cooked her this morning fills the large space. It's hard to believe that that was only this morning. It seems like an entire lifetime ago.
The loud chime from the elevator echoes throughout the penthouse. My vision is still fuzzy, so I can't quite tell who's silhouette I see standing over me.
"Oh, dear Lord."
"Hey, it's Lil' Timmy. Hi, Lil' Timmy."
Timothy's voice stabs at my eardrums like a toothpick. I can feel myself being lifted up and guided up the stairs. Once we reach the top, we enter what I believe is my bedroom. I am tossed onto my bed. As I flop around on it like a fish out of water, Timothy speaks again.
"Go to sleep, sexy."
I close my eyes and watch as the whole world fades to black.
* * *
I open my eyes, but I still can't see. My vision is messed up from the night before. I hear Timothy talking over the phone.
"He's a passed-out mess. He's been asleep on and off for three days now." Three days! What the hell?
"Yes, but I've never seen it this bad before. Three. I found three of them completely empty on the floor, along with vomit. I had to call my uncle, the floor guru, to come and replace his carpet. Yeah, and he's got a frickin’ beard now. As if he couldn't get any sexier, he pulls off the lumberjack look extremely well. No, his beard isn't lumberjack long per se, but it's longer than his usual stubble."
I reach my hands upward toward my face. Sure as shit, I have grown a beard. Did I black out or was I in a coma? Shit!
"Just get your ass down here. Oh, he's awake. Just come by. ASAP."
My vision returns just in time to see Timothy hang up his phone and slide it into his jeans pocket.
"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."
"I've really been out of it for three days now?" Timothy nods.
"How could she do this to me, Timmy?" He shakes his head.
"I don't know. I really didn't see this coming."
I must look extremely pathetic if Timothy passed up the chance to ream me out on calling him Timmy. What have I let her turn me into? A pathetic loser, that's what.
"Who were you on the phone with?"
"Delores, she's on her way."
"What? Delores is coming here? I haven't seen her in person since I interviewed her many years ago." Timothy shrugs.
"What can I say? You need a mother's touch to get you back to being yourself, and that is just what Delores is going to do."
"But she lives all the way in New Hampshire. I don't want her to make a trip just because I'm a fucking hot mess." Timothy smiles.
"Well, I heard she's like Beetlejuice, say her name three times and she will appear." Just to humor him, I do it.
"Delores, Delores, Delores."
"You called?"
I jump out of my skin from the sound of her voice. Holy shit! Timothy starts cackling like a witch…rudely and loudly.
"I'm just messing with you. I heard the elevator beep a couple seconds ago."
"Damn you, Timothy. But that was a good one."
I turn my attention to Delores.
"Delores. So good to see your beautiful face again. What brings you to this side of town?"
She reaches out her hand and smacks me upside the head.
"Your dumb ass. The way I see it, you have two options. Get up and move on. Or get up and get her back. Both options require you to get your lazy ass up and out of this bed. And a shower, because you smell like shit left out on the sidewalk on a sunny day." Timothy laughs and nods his head.
"See, a mother's touch."
Delores jumps into the air and latches onto Timothy's ear, bringing his head down to her four-foot-eleven height. She flashes him the I'm-watching-you fingers.
"Don't kick him while he's down, or I'll kick you in the spot that brings you down. Ya got me?" Timothy nods as Delores releases his ear from her death-grip clutch.
"Ah, you boys make me feel thirty again. Good times."
I take Delores' advice, slide off my bed, and hop in the shower. But as I let the hot water fall onto my body, I can't help but think of her. How she sneaked up behind me and begged me to fuck her against the shower wall. Just the slightest memory of her makes me hard. I switch the water temperature from hot to cool, hoping it will make my erection disappear. It works. The memories of her hurt too much. They’re still too raw. The wounds she inflicted on me are not even close to being healed yet. Quite frankly, I don't know if they can be. My life is now separated into two parts: Pre-Nicole and Post-Nicole. And the in-between is the pain that I want to forget.
Chapter Nineteen
Nicole
It's been one month since Aaron broke up with me. Since he took my heart, ripped it out of my chest, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it with brute force.
Like I suspected, I have been blackballed from every newspaper company in all of New York. Not to mention, I can't afford this month's rent and I'm already on my third extension. So, I'm jobless, and pretty soon, homeless.
Sherri has tried to contact me to make amends, but I don't want to talk to her. It's her fault he found out about how our relationship started. She's the dumb bitch that didn't suspect anything when a deeper voice than my own answered the phone. I know it's not fair to blame her for what happened between Aaron and me, but I'm not ready to accept all the blame myself just yet.
I still can't believe that it's over. His memories haunt me all the time. In the morning. In the afternoon. At night. In my dreams. In my nightmares. I can't get a break from him. Not to mention, he is all anybody on TV ever talks about.
He hasn't made any appearances lately, but I know he will tonight. Tonight will be the first night he and I are going to be in the same room since it happened. I don't know how that is going to pan out, but I’m trying not to think about it. T
onight is all about Isaiah and the people who suffer like he did. That's what should have my full undivided attention. Not Aaron Hunter and whoever he is banging now.
The thought of him being with any woman who isn't me is sickening. But if his track record tells me anything, it's that he will only be with her for one night before he moves on to the next one.
I force all thoughts of him out of my head. I have bigger problems than Aaron Hunter. Like finding a job, for instance. I've been on exactly twenty-eight interviews since I quit the Daily Yorker Gazette. And every one of them ended in one disaster after another. This is my life now. I knew life after him would be an adjustment, but I never suspected it would be like this.
Even though my life has turned to shit, I still manage to stay headstrong and positive. For instance, do I really want to live in a crappy place that still hasn't fixed the frickin’ elevator? No.
Over the past week, I’ve been packing all my things into boxes. Where I'm taking these boxes, I still don't know. What I do know is I will not, under any circumstances, let Aaron see tonight how much of a train wreck my life has become. Just like I never let him know that I didn't leak his origin story to the press. He needed somebody to blame, and I let that somebody be me.
I just hope now that he’s moved on with his life and is doing everything in his power to salvage this election. Even if I can't be by his side through it all, I want him to win. For himself, and for his mother. Despite how things ended with us, he still has my vote.
Timothy reached out to me a couple of weeks back, letting me know that I'm still invited to his wedding. And as much as I didn't want to, I had to decline. It just wouldn't have been right. Or feel right.
Other than that phone call, all remnants of my brief life with Aaron have deteriorated, leaving nothing but wonderful memories in their wake. As I chug down another cup of coffee, there is an obnoxious knock on my door. Probably just another eviction notice being hammered to my door. As if I don't know I'm being evicted.
With my coffee cup still in hand, I walk toward the door and swing it open. Nobody is there. Instead, on the floor lays a large golden square box. I poke my head out into the hallway and look in both directions, trying to see if I could spot the messenger who dropped this off. Nobody was in sight.
I grab the box, carry it into my living room, and place it on the coffee table, next to the box I was packing before this distraction. I slowly lift off the lid, anxious and nervous about the box's contents. On top of the mountain of gold-colored tissue paper is an envelope. Quickly, I grab the envelope and flip it over to see Parker written on the front of it. Without wasting any time, I dig my hands into the envelope and pull out the letter. It reads:
Dear Parker,
I know we ended things abruptly and awfully. And even though we aren't together anymore, I still want to be there for you during this difficult time. I know tonight won't be easy for you as you remember him and the devastating loss you had to endure at such a young, impressionable age. Although I don't apologize for ending things, I do, however, apologize for the way I ended them. You deserved much better than that. Nevertheless, I wanted you to have these. This cause is as important to me as if it were my own, so I can only imagine just how important it is to you. I want you to show the world tonight that you are a force to be reckoned with. Blow them away like you did me. Knock them dead. See you tonight.
-A
P.S. Timmy picked them out, as if I had to tell you that.
I can't help but tear up at his words. As I read them, I heard his voice echoing off the page. It was as if he was standing right next to me, whispering them into my ear. The guilt wrenches in my stomach, churning and twisting until it makes me nauseous.
At the beginning, I assumed he was the worst person in the world. I listened to all the rumors, speculations, and tabloid stories…some of which I even penned myself. But in the end, I held that title. Nicole Parker, Worst Woman in the World. Even despite all of that, he still does this. Writes me this beautiful letter and sends me gifts, just so I can honor Isaiah's memory properly. The way it should be.
The entire time I was with him, I was only thinking of ways to destroy him. I didn't fully get to enjoy being wrapped up in his arms at night. Or waking up to his face in the morning. And in retrospect, that is my biggest regret. Not that I wanted to destroy him. Because without that motive, I never would have given him the time of day. And I never would have experienced his abundant love first-hand.
As I carefully push aside the tissue paper, the tears that formed in my eyes from his letter come falling down. This is the most beautiful and elegant gown I have ever seen. On the gown rests an index card with words scribbled on it. I pick it up and read it aloud.
"White Pandora Prom Dress from Windsor, Crystal Statement Necklace by Deepa Gurnani, and a pair of gold Strappy Knotted Metallic Sandals by Gucci. Kisses, Timothy."
I take the gown out of the box and hang it over the doorframe. I look at it in its entirety. It is perfect. I wipe away the tears on my face, hoping I'll be able to salvage some of my makeup. Fat chance of that.
The practical thing to do would be to sell all of these gifts and use the money to pay my rent. Hell, the necklace alone is enough to pay my rent for six months. But I can't part with them. Not because they are beautiful beyond all belief, but because he gave them to me so I could honor my brother's memory. And I will not jeopardize that just to stay here in this crappy apartment.
Chapter Twenty
Aaron
"How is she, Timothy?" He shakes his head and wrinkles his nose.
"You don't want to know."
"What the fuck does that mean?" Timothy seems to be contemplating whether or not he should tell me, so I make it easier for him.
"Tell me, now!" My voice is stern and commanding. A shocked expression forms on his face as he raises his eyebrows.
"There’s just so much you don't know." I'm starting to get annoyed. I reply to him through gritted teeth.
"Then, enlighten me." Timothy sucks in a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds, and exhales before he finally answers my question.
"Well, Sir, the day she left the apartment, she quit her job."
"She what? Are you sure?" He nods.
"She not only quit. She told her boss off, cursing up a storm. Needless to say, when she did so, she signed her name on journalism's blacklist. But there's more."
"What else?"
"She didn't leak the story about your real mother." I furrow my brow in confusion and frustration.
"Then, who did?"
"Delores told me not to tell you until I thought you were ready to hear it. I'm still not sure you are, but you did, Sir."
"I did? How?"
"During the Charity Gala for the premature babies, you told a story about your uncle. Well, the mother who raised you was an only child. So, the press just did some digging."
My heart sinks as I recall that evening at the gala. It was all my fault. I was reckless, stupid, and horny. I was so busy thinking of ways to get rid of Marcia that I slipped up and told the uncle story. Worst of all, I blamed Nicole for it. And she just stood there and took my accusation. She didn't even try to deny it, even though she didn't do it. What have I done?
"Why did she take the blame for it?" Timothy shrugs.
"I don't know, Sir. But there's something else I have to tell you." There's more?
"What is it?"
"When I dropped off the gift, I couldn't help but notice the eviction notice on her door."
"She's being evicted? I ruined her life. I'm the horrible asshole she always thought I was." Timothy shakes his head.
"You didn't ruin her life. She chose to quit her job. You didn't force her to."
"She quit because they wanted to use her to get dirt on me. But I flipped out on her. I fucked up the best thing that ever happened to me. For nothing."
"It's not too late to get her back, Sir." I shake my head.
"I'm afraid it is. She’s to
o prideful and stubborn to come back to me after the horrible things I said to her. Once again, I jumped to the worst case scenario conclusions and made asshole remarks that I can't take back. You know why I put the shit in my coffin?" He shakes his head.
"No, Sir. Why?"
"Because I was getting too attached to her. And that scared the living shit out of me. So, naturally, I sabotaged the best fucking relationship I've ever had. I should have let her tell me her side of the story. I can't fault her for starting us just to get a story. The truth is, I gave her many opportunities where she could have leaked the scoop. But she never did. I told her Marcia was fake. I told her about my father. And then I told her about my real mother. And all three times, she kept her lips sealed. God, I'm such a fucking dick. Where's the gin?" Timothy shakes his head.
"Oh, no. We’re not going down this road again. Delores and I rid this entire penthouse of all alcoholic beverages since your drunken heartbroken bender. I will not have you relapse now. Now, get your ass out of this apartment, find her, and win her back!" I shake my head.
"No. There is no unfucking this fuck up. Not this time. Delores can't work her magic and sweep this one under the rug. I fucked up, and now I must live with the consequences."
Chapter Twenty-One
Nicole
I spend the next several hours doing my hair and makeup, trying to make sure everything looks perfect for tonight. It just has to. This is the last good thing in my life I have left to cling to. And I refuse to fuck it up.
After everything is to my liking, I glance at my reflection in the mirror. Timothy sure knows how to make a woman look classy and sexy at the same time. This dress is exquisite. And it hugs my curves in all the right places.
Double Agent Page 12
