I close one eye as I wait for his fist to connect with my face. But he suddenly stops in his tracks. Someone has a hold of his fist and is holding him back. I’m in a fuzzy alcoholic haze but I think its Henry. Henry is here! In his fancy tailored suit from the first and last time I saw him. He looks hostile and angry. He and the man in gray begin to grapple and I’m lifted off of my feet by an unseen force. I scream, and am about to fight him off when I realizeholyfuck amIintroubleit’s Vincent!
I recognize two more faces, Lurch and Dwayne. Fuckfuckshit. They storm into the room, hurling men away as they make their way towards me. Henry turns back and grabs one of my flailing wrists, and faces Vincent. Vincent’s eyes are a glacial blue as he stares Henry down.
Henry and Vincent face off, Henry’s fists are clenched, and he’s about to make a move, but then something in his eyes changes; a spark of recognition perhaps? Perhaps he see’s Vincent is not doing me any harm.
Henry backs away and disappears into the crowd. My head feels cloudy and I feel as though I’m ready to pass out, or throw up. I don’t know which. I feel sweaty, and the sounds surrounding me are slipping and fading away.
There are muted and muffled voices rising and falling. It feels as though my head is under water, everything around me is evaporating and dissolving. Vincent carries me over his shoulder and this time I let him. Dwayne and Lurch clear the way for us as Vincent forces his way through the crowd. Once we’re at the exit, I hear Dwayne’s raised voice as the security that was at the door starts to mouth off on him.
I black out, but I can hear the muffled shouts of various men, and I’m certain I hear the thwack of a fist pounding against flesh. Cold air stings my skin and soon I’m thrown into the back of the black SUV.
I make no attempt to open my eyes. I lie back, and knock out in an effort to avoid a fight with Vincent. I allow the alcohol and sleep to sweep over me.
Chapter 27
I have no idea what time it is when I wake. But it’s dark. My head hurts like hell, and I know that if I lift my head, I will most likely vomit.
I groan and roll over, clutching my stomach. Vincent is seated in a chair by the bed, staring at me with frosty, unwelcoming eyes. I close my eyes again.
I hear him get up and walk over to the bed, the mattress bending under his weight.
“Get up, drink this,” his tone is clipped and strained.
He tucks his hand behind my head and forces it up. I feel a cool glass press against my parched lips and I hastily drink down the fizzy water. Whatever it is, it’s citrus flavored. My mouth is dry and my head won’t stop throbbing.
“Go back to sleep, but when you wake up, Lenore, you and I are going to have a talk,” he threatens.
I don’t like his tone. But I don’t argue, I close my eyes and lay my head back onto the pillow and fall back to sleep.
This time when I wake, there’s light filtering into the room, but it must be early. Ugh. Why do I always wake so early when I so badly want to sleep in? I try to fall back to sleep, but it is no use. I need to get this fight over with. I glance at the clock and see it’s actually eleven in the morning. It’s another gray day. Perfect for my broody mood.
I rise slowly, and surprisingly my head doesn’t feel bad. My stomach either. On the bedside table there is a glass of water and two more tablets. I drop them into the water and watch it fizz and change color. I press my lips to the glass and guzzle it down voraciously.
I sigh, and reluctantly get up to use the bathroom before I go in search of Vincent. I tiptoe through the house. He never came to bed. The bed is perfectly made on his side.
I must really be in trouble.
It doesn’t take me long to find him, he’s in the library, at the desk. There are still a few boxes of books scattered throughout the room, I need to finish shelving the rest of the books in here. His files and laptop are open on the desk before him, casting an eerie glow onto his face.
He’s wearing his glasses, a white t-shirt and grey sweats. He looks yummy, but I can’t see how he’s feeling because the screen of the laptop is reflecting against his glasses. He’s concentrating hard on the papers before him. I tiptoe quietly into the room and stand before the desk, waiting for him to acknowledge me. He takes his sweet time.
After minutes, or hours, he looks up at me, his face impassive. I swallow hard. Christ, why do I feel so guilty? I couldn’t have predicted what was going to happen last night.
He sighs, and leans forward, his hands tucked underneath his chin. He looks at me for a long while.
“I don’t want to fight with you, but I want to know why you ditched Dwayne, and why you went into that—room.” He tries and fails to reign in his frustration with me, I can tell because his jaw is clenched tightly, but anger seeps into his voice anyway.
I open my mouth to speak, and then close it again. I run my hands through my wild hair, it’s probably such a mess, I think absentmindedly. I clear my throat and decide to be honest.
“It’s annoying that he has to tag along, I don’t even know why he has to shadow me because you are choosing not to communicate with me. Also, you gave me a fucking curfew. As if I were a child. You didn’t ask, you just told me what time I needed to be home. I’ve never in my life ever been told what to do. I’m an adult. I—” Something in his expression halts me, I see and feel his stress and anxiety.
“I’d just like it if you would communicate with me more. It’s frustrating,” I finish, my voice weak and shallow.
I swallow and wait for his reply. He carefully removes his glasses and places them gently on his desk; too gently, as if he is trying desperately to control himself.
“So, just to get things straight, what I said—no—requested, upset you, so instead of speaking with me about it, you decided to teach me a lesson?”
Uh, was that what I was doing? He makes it sound so childish. I suppose it was childish.
“Essentially,” I whisper feeling contrite. Gosh, I’m an idiot.
He sighs, I gaze into his bright blue eyes, and they are cold as ice as he assesses me. He’s thinking. Whatever it is he is weighing in his mind is causing him stress. Well, he brought this on himself. His issues are now detrimental to my safety, if it’s causing him anguish, so be it.
Then again, he is doing everything he can to keep me from harm. This is confusing. I don’t even know if I have a real reason to be angry. And I wish I did. It might help my behavior from last night to seem more excusable.
He looks to his right and then back to me sharply.
“It’s for your safety, that’s why I sent Dwayne with you. It’s not because I don’t trust you to look after yourself, which now I have to reevaluate if you actually can. I have reason to believe the man who was shooting at the club” his eyes tighten imperceptibly; he swallows hard before continuing.
My stomach flip flops and I can’t tell if it’s because I’m nervous, or if it’s because I’m still hung over.
“I think he may have been the one to burn your shop down, Lenore. It’s it’s my fault. Bucky, your shop... It’s because of me and this, this garbage I’m trying to leave in my past.”
My stomach catapults to my throat, I can taste bile rising. I’m stunned; this is serious.
“What?” I whisper, my voice barely audible. I swallow convulsively as my mouth dries. “How? Why would you think that?” And why the fuck am I just hearing about it now?
He clears his throat nervously, looks down and thenup at me, his expression pained. “Ido you remember the night someone broke into your shop? The night before your shop?”
I nod. I’m completely numb.
“Well, that night I found a note. It was for me. It saidnever mind what it said. It’s just like the other notes that have been turning up. So you see…I need to keep you safe and know where you are at all times. They’re trying to threaten me.”
Anger rises through me, and I clench my fists at my side. I’m not sure whom I’m mad at. Am I mad at myself?
Vincent? The shooter? The whole fucked up situation? I knew I should have stayed away from Vincent. This must be why he felt compelled to help me, to give me a place to live. The whole attic, it wasn’t a genuine gift for me. It was guilt.
Ding, ding, ding! Bingo!
I close my eyes, and breath in and out slowly. I want to hit something. I’m hurt, angry, and I don’t know what else. Let down? Yes, a bit of that as well.
“Why didn’t you say anything sooner? Have you told the police? The arson investigator?” I haven’t opened my eyes. I can’t look at him. There is a lump in my throat, and my eyes are stinging, threatening to spill tears.
“I have. I didn’t tell you because you were already stressed. You lost your business, your dog, and I wanted to be sure.”
“Sowhat have these notes been saying?” I know what one said, but I won’t tell him. I need to know what other lies he thinks he can tell me first. I can feel him shaking his head. My eyes are still closed, my body radiating tension, my fists still clenched at my sides.
“I can’t tell you, Lenore. It doesn’t concern you. He’s trying to force methe thing is they thought they could trust me. I infiltrated their operation. I hacked into all of their accounts, accessed everything needed to bring them to justice. Somehow one of them managed towell; he’s on the run. But he’ll run out of places to go soon. He has no money, no connections. He’ll have to surface sooner or later. Don’t worry about it. This is my problem, Lenore. Not yours.”
I can no longer reign in my temper. I open my eyes slowly, burning through his icy blue penetrating gaze that now looks upon me with trepidation.
“It is clearly my fucking problem, Vincent, because it affecting my life very much.”
He sits up in his chair, his posture defensive, I can see the hurt in his eyes, but I do my best not to feel sorry for him.
“My dog was killed, my home and only source of income.”
He opens his mouth to interrupt me, but I hold my hand up gesturing for him to stop. He wisely holds his tongue.
“Not just that, Vincent. I trusted you. I thought you sincerely wanted to help me. To be here for me, but now I know this has all been because you feel guilty. The attic...me living here with you...all of this, it has been because you feel guilty. I’m not saying this is all to be placed upon your shoulders, I’m sure you had no idea what this fucking person had planned, but you failed to communicate with me. You made me believe you cared enough to help me. How. Fucking. Dare. You?” I’m breathless by the time I finish. My heart is pounding aggressively inside of my chest.
Vincent eyes go mega glacial on me.
“Lenore. That’s not true. You know I’ve been unable to be away from you since the first time I set eyes on you. None of this has been because of guilt. I do admit, I feel terrible and I do feel responsible. But I want to help you, I want you to live with me, for no other reason than because I. Love. You. I love having you here. I love waking up with you.
“I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t want to worry you. Stupid. Yes, I’m aware. I also wanted to be sure, and I wanted to have this damn problem handled before I opened up my mouth. I don’t like keeping things from you, but legally, there are things about this that I’m unable to disclose. Also, I just don’t think you need to know.”
I don’t need to know? I stand motionless. Can I believe him? Did he truly, genuinely ask me to move in with him because he wants me or was he motivated by guilt?
Yes. Of course I believe him. I don’t want to believe him and I don’t know why I do, given the fact that he is keeping things from me, but deep down I know there is more to this. I know he does want me here. I know perhaps guilt may be a small factor, but I also believe him when he tells me he loves me.
It’s me. I’m the one who has trouble accepting it all. I can’t even reciprocate the way he wants me to.
I can barely even accept his help, his attempts to keep me safe, let alone his love. It’s completely foreign to me. I feel undeserving of it all. I’m blowing this. I can physically see the stress this has been causing him. Do I blame him? Can I? No. How could he know things would go this far? That I would be dragged into this? I close my eyes again. I’m still pissed.
“Vincent, I’m not sure how I feel right now. But I know I want to be alone. At least for a few hours.” I turn on my heel and head back to our bedroom. I wish I could just go back to sleep. We haven’t even talked about last night, and my monumental fuck up. I feel so stupid. I should have listened to Jordan and Kazumi. That’s a difficult thing to admit. I should have known I wouldn’t be able to handle all that. I honestly don’t know how the hell Ginger and Jill can put up with that kind of shit.
I close the door to our room and sit on the chaise lounge and contemplate calling Jordan and Kazumi. But, because I’m a coward, I opt for a text.
*I’m so sorry about last night. I didn’t think
things would get so out of hand. I hope I
didn’t cause you too much trouble...*
Jordan is first to reply:
*I hate to say I told you so... lol*
*But seriously, how was what happened
last night your fault?*
His response makes me smile. I’m not entirely sure how it was my fault, but for some reason I feel guilty; like things wouldn’t have gotten so out of hand if I wasn’t there. I’m an amateur, and I’m not equipped to deal with perverted assholes. My head feels fuzzy. How did it all happen any way?
My phone pings and it is Kazumi this time.
*The Mercuries are no longer performing at
The Speak Easy. I’m also no longer in charge of
booking their shows. Huge blow out. Not your fault.
Let’s have lunch and talk.*
Jordan and I both reply simultaneously:
J: *Shit! Where? What time?*
L: *Oh, no! I’m so sorry Zumi. Where
n what time?*
K: *12:30, Uptown Cafe.*
Shit! Poor Kazumi, I feel responsible for this. I’ve just cost her her job! I get up from the chaise and head to the bathroom. I need to soak in the tub. I let the hot water continue running as I step in. It stings my skin, and makes me feel lightheaded, but I desperately need to relax. I need to be able to think clearly, and in order to do so; I need to sweat the alcohol out. I vow silently to never drink whiskey again. It’s the devil, I’m sure of it.
I close my eyes and lay my head back. I feel gross, grimy, guilty...horrible. Which is exactly how I deserve to feel. I can’t quite place things in order, the chain of events from last night feel like clips from a movie trailer. I can’t quite remember how it all fits together. I just know that the men in that room were aggressive, and one of them assaulted poor Ginger.
Then there’s this whole matter with Vincent.
How can I trust him? What more is he hiding? What is this whole business he’s dealing with? Does he genuinely want me here? Why the hell does he even love me?
I can’t help the vague doubt nagging in the back of my mind; you’re a pity case, Lenore. Nothing more. I hate this. I hate this uncertainty.
How do people believe? How do people have faith? I don’t understand it. I’m not just talking religious people, but people who are married, families...everyone. How can people so simply believe, and trust one another?
I can’t be the only person who has difficulty with this. I want so badly to believe Vincent, to believe that he loves me. But how can I accept it? How can I be certain?
Perhaps he does feel responsible for what happened to me. I guess on a certain level he is slightly responsible, but not really. I feel guilty and responsible for what has happened to Kazumi, I’d hate for him to feel the same way about what’s happened to me. It wasn’t within his control.
But then again, he was practically stalking me before all that happened. I think back on these past few weeks. I barely know him, but for some reason I feel ike we share an extensive history together. We’ve already been through so much.
Is this how it is for everyone in a relationship? Or is it just us?
This being my one and only experience, it’s difficult for me to say. But my instincts tell me that he wants me, just for me. It’s my nagging subconscious that is whispering otherwise...I guess I still don’t feel worthy of his affection. Maybe I should talk to Kazumi? No. I need to sort this out, and I will. I need to stand by him.
I get out of the tub carefully; my body still feels achy. I take special care to oil my dehydrated skin. I drink water straight from the faucet after I brush my teeth.
I French braid my long hair and begin rifling through the closet. I find a pair of comfortable leggings. I pull on a white cotton V-neck t-shirt, and grab one of Vincent’s cardigan sweaters. I need to feel warm and comfortable today, to help soothe my ravaged soul. I take a moment to admire the closet. I look at my clothes and his clothes, co-mingling together, in one shared space. How did I get here?
A tingle sparks in my chest, and then melts through me like warm butter. This is intimacy. Something I’ve never known. Sharing this space together...this home. Will I ever get used to this? Does anyone?
I gently close the closet doors, and slide on a pair of white Converse. I look up and Vincent is standing in the doorway. His hair rumpled, he looks as though he could use some sleep. I don’t think he’s gone to bed yet. The thought that he won’t let me in on what is happening not only upsets me because I’m left in the dark, but because I’m unable to soothe and comfort him.
That’s it. I think this is what is bothering me most. I want to be there for him in the same way he has been for me. I want him to trust me, with everything... After all, I opened up to him and told him a little about my past. Why can’t he let me in?
Black Burlesque Page 48
