by S. Ann Cole
“We know,” I say, waving my hand impatiently. “Come on. Tell me.”
Sitting back down, his abs crunching, he runs his hand over his shorn head. “You’re safe, Lots. We got you covered. What’re you worried about?”
I fix one hand on my hip, eyebrow raising. “Oh really? Like how you have me covered right now? Do you know I’ve been walking around the city alone for the past five hours?”
His brows furrow. “What do you mean you’re alone? Mike’s been assigned to you. Boss has me on something else. Mike is supposed to be on you today.”
Hmm. Seems “boss” has been doing a lot of rearranging lately. “Well, Mike might be on something, sure, but it’s not me. I’m on me today. Yep, I’m feeling myself like that.”
Muscles’ eyes goes hard and serious as he grits his teeth, “His jealously is getting the best of him.” This must be about Noah. If so, I agree. “You know what, I’m re-assigning myself to you, whether he wants to pay me to or not. You can’t be walking around on your own until we find out what your ex is up to, Lots. He knows you run in the park in the mornings, but he’s done nothing yet.”
I take in a sharp breath, willing myself not to show fear. “How do you know that?”
“I caught someone tailing you while you were running one morning. Thought he was just another runner at first until I realized he was keeping on you. Backed off when you met up with Boss for your final sprints, but I called in two of my guys and we detained him. Said he was paid to deliver a message. He had a note. Just wanted to get close enough to pass it to you.”
Someone was tailing me. Someone was tailing me. I manage, “What—what did the note say?”
His chest heaves with a sigh, but he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet, opens it, and takes out a folded square of paper and passes it to me.
A shaking hand reaches out and takes it, unfolds it. Four sentences scrawled in Andrew’s childish penmanship.
You know better than to believe in fairytales.
Trying to live a life without me in it is unrealistic.
I’m your reality.
I OWN YOU.
Your only.
I read it, and read it again, and again.
“He’s smart. He knows you wouldn’t be out if you were on your own, so he’s testing the waters,” Muscles spares. “Testing to see if anyone will step forward in your defense.”
He knows. He knows about Andrew, about the abuse. Noah didn’t tell him, I’m positive of that, so it had to be Kiera. He probably seduced it out of her. “You made any moves?”
He shakes his head. “No. We want him to think it’s safe to come after you. The kid he sent was scared shitless. We gave him some cash and told him to let your ex believe the delivery was successful. We’re just waiting now. Haven’t seen him or any of his minions anywhere near Wells Height, so it’s likely he doesn’t know where you’re living.”
“Who’s we?”
He looks at me askance. “My security team.”
I wave the note. “Does Noah know?”
Another head shake. “He’s worried enough about you. He pays me to assuage him with a peace of mind, so I don’t let him in on every little thing we discover unless it gets dangerous.”
My eyes bug out as I wave the note again. “And you don’t think this is dangerous?”
“No. That’s a rat cautiously nibbling cheese while it’s in a trap. Like I said, he’s testing the waters. He knows you wouldn’t be running in the city unless you had some manpower behind you. We show him all our muscles right now; he’ll find a way to outsmart us.” Striding up to me, he places his hands on my shoulders. “Lots, breathe. Relax. As long as I’m around, I’ll never let him get to you, alright?” He pulls me into his chest, his arms wrapping around me, quelling the anxious tremors rushing through me. “You’re safe, Lots. He won’t hurt you. I won’t let him.”
Over his shoulder, Kiera nervously nibbles her lip. And I see it. Like me, she’s unconvinced.
It doesn’t matter how much muscle I have behind me, I know my ex, and he’s nothing if not determined. If Andrew wants to get to me, he will.
Much to Kiera’s dismay, Muscles insisted on bringing me home. Although he almost instantly made it all better by ordering her to pack an overnight bag. When she questioned why, he said, “You’re in my bed tonight.”
Kiera all but bounced up and down before rushing off to pack her bag.
Now, in the elevator up to Noah’s apartment, she’s hanging off him, his arms around her waist as she makes out with his neck and whispers all the things she plans on doing to him later, never mind that we’re in an enclosed space and I can hear every dirty word.
I don’t think Muscles is with her to make me jealous this time. This looks real. Seems he’s decided to let his “thing” for me go and move on. Probably figured competing with his own boss isn’t worth it. I don’t think it is either. “Boss” will win. Always.
The elevator doors open and reveal Noah pacing back and forth in front of it, his phone pressed to his ear, fingers shoved back through his hair, gripping the ends.
At the sound of the ding, he stops pacing and glances up with anxious eyes. Our gaze connects, and then he does a quick body scan of me. Shoulders visibly relaxing, he says into the phone, “She’s here, Mom. Call you back.”
He takes a step toward me, but before he can make a single utterance, Muscles steps out of the elevator, intersecting, and in a low, respectful voice, asks, “A word, please?”
Noah appears nettled at this request, irritated. He hesitates, stares over Muscles’ shoulder to me, agitation unconcealed. But then, reluctantly, he nods, and the two men walk into the apartment.
I’m about to exit the elevator, too, when Kiera grabs the hem of my tank and pulls me back. She waits for the doors to close and then pushes the stop button.
Puzzled, I turn to ask what her deal is, but pause when she holds up a finger and digs deep into the bottom of her monogrammed LV keep-all bag. Her hand reemerges with something in a black velvet pouch.
I eye the outline under the smooth velvet, understanding what it is before she even takes it out. A gun. A small black gun. Small enough to fit inside my coin purse.
Her expression, as she smooths her palm over the rubberized handle, is an amalgamation of grave rage and intense concern. “Dad gave me this on my eighteenth birthday last year, after I insisted I no longer needed a ‘nanny’ or whatever. It’s licensed. I want you to keep it. At least until Andrew is no longer a threat. I believe Muscles and his team can protect you. But I also saw Andrew after you left him, and he’s either in love with you in his own twisted, wrongful way, or he’s detrimentally obsessed with you. I don’t believe he’s going to stop until he has you again. So…” She presses the gun into my palm, the touch of cool metal immediately giving me a boost of confidence. “…hopefully this, if he does get to you, will stop him.”
My fingers curl around the object as I examine it, having never held a gun before. Kiera goes on to inform me there are five bullets inside, and shows me how to turn the safety on and off. Then she orders me to hide it in my bag as she releases the elevator stop button.
When the doors slide open, Noah and Muscles are standing in front of the elevator with narrowed, suspicious eyes and intimidating crossed arms.
Muscles makes to speak first, but Kiera beats him to it, “Before you ask, we were discussing period symptoms, tampons, yeast infections, and douching. Would you like a repeat of our convo?”
Noah grimaces, while Muscles glares, knowing it’s all lies. Yet he utters nothing, walking in as I walk out.
The doors close, separating us; I’m left alone with Noah. We stare at each other, mere feet apart, neither wanting to speak first.
I’m the first to avert my eyes, though, training my gaze downward, to the space between both our feet.
“Have you eaten?”
My gaze snaps up, because that’s the last question I expect him to ask. He studies me with
profound intent.
I shake my head. “Not since breakfast at your mother’s.”
“Come on, then,” he says, turning and walking ahead of me. “I bought us Thai food on the way home.”
A laugh comes out despite the tenseness of the moment. “Instead of firing me for boycotting work all day, you got me food?”
He gives off a humorless laugh. “You’re never getting ‘fired,’ Lotty. If you say yes, then this is your home. You take care of it whenever you want, however you want.”
Almost imperceptibly, his shoulders rise, as if in anticipation of my response to that. But I give nothing, silently following him into the living room.
There are white takeout boxes of Thai food on the coffee table, along with two large bottles of Vitamin Water. The television is paused on Graceland.
“I set everything up,” he explains when he notices me eying it all. “Was thinking we could do a Graceland binge…That’s before I realized you weren’t here.”
He turns to me. Crosses his arms. Uncrosses them. Crosses them again. Combs his fingers through his hair.
I take him in, his anxiety, his worry, his hope. His suit jacket and tie are gone, leaving just his suit pants and dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
“Are you done running from me now?” he finally asks. “Or should I expect more of this each time I open up to you?”
I set my sports-bag on the ground beside the couch, mindful of the weapon hidden inside, and then I locate Andrew’s note tucked into the waistband of my tights, handing it to him.
As he unfolds and reads it, I say, “I own you. Those three words, I hate them. I hate them with a raging passion. He used to repeat them to me whenever I did something he didn’t like, whenever he thought I needed to be punished. I own you, he would remind me. Today, when you said them, I just…it just…”
I close my eyes. Inhale. Exhale, slow are steady. Chasing off the old fear. Things are different now. I’m stronger. I can fight back. I’m not a karate kid, but the man in front of me has been quick and efficient in lessons on self-defense, so I’m a lot more capable now than I was before. In addition to that, I have a gun. Andrew will come, but at least I’ll be prepared. It’s petrifying not knowing when, but I can’t let him steal anymore of me by being perpetually afraid.
Calmer, determined, I reopen my eyes. Noah’s contrite expression makes me wince, apology and devastation in his emerald depths, this along with complete confusion. “Where did you get this?”
“Muscles. I was tailed one morning. My ex wanted me to have it. He wanted to remind me.”
“Lotty…Christ, I…I didn’t—”
Moving in, I cut him off by snatching the note from his hand, crumpling it, and tossing it aside. “Noah, I want to be with you. I’ve given it some thought and, although Gloriel won’t approve, yes, I would love to try starting over with you. But…” I sigh, wagging my head. “I don’t want to be owned. I don’t want restrictions on my freedom. I want to continue flirting because it’s a part of who I am and it makes me feel free, unchained. But it would be just that: flirting. I would never cross a line and get with someone while I’m with you. I would also like to reserve the right to say no to whatever, to refuse to do whatever. And when I have enough cash saved up, I want to have my own place, at least for a few years. If you can’t handle that, then I don’t think we can do this.”
Noah’s lips contort as he mulls these terms over. My terms are a bit on the selfish side, I’m aware, but fresh out of an abusive, restrictive relationship, a relationship where I had almost zero freedom, it’s all I can offer right now.
His gaze falls from mine, and he shifts, gesturing to the table. “Can we eat?”
I move two steps to the left, so I’m half in front of him, aiming to get his eyes, but he won’t give them to me. “Will we work?”
With a small shake of his head, he scratches his jaw, and then rests his hands on his hips. He gives me his eyes now. Torn and crestfallen. “I can’t…no.”
Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I step back, waves of disappointment engulfing me. We won’t work. We aren’t meant to work. We were pushing something unrealistic. His experiences have influenced his terms, and my experiences have influenced mine. And neither of us are willing to compromise. We’re both bat shit scared of taking the risk. Guarding our hearts. At a stalemate, we’ve no choice but to let this go.
“Well, that’s that,” I murmur through a nervous laugh. “I guess we can eat now.”
My hands are slightly shaking as I pick up one of the takeout boxes, and lower down to the couch. I don’t understand my shaking. I don’t understand my sudden need to burst into tears. I don’t understand feeling as though I’ve just lost something. Something monumental. Life changing.
Can disappointment feel this physical? Like a boa constrictor tightening around me? Seems I’m in a lot deeper than I initially thought.
Expelling a breath identical to my own, Noah, too, picks up a takeout box and lowers down beside me.
I get the remote and hit play.
We sit like that, stiff and awkward and wordless. Two episodes later, neither of us has tasted a morsel of our food. And I’m 99% positive, that if we should ask each other, neither of us would be able to tell the other what on earth happened in those two episodes.
I can’t sleep.
But tonight’s insomnia has nothing at all to do with Andrew’s imminent attack and everything to do with the fall through of mine and Noah’s relationship agreement. I don’t get why I’m so freaking cut up about it. I mean, shouldn’t I be glad at this outcome? Wasn’t it mere days ago I was adamant that a relationship is not what I’m about at this chaotic and confusing point in my life?
‘Yes,’ Rational Lotty answers for me. ‘Which shows that you have compromised and he hasn’t. You went from wanting ‘just sex’ to wanting him but nothing serious, and from that to agreeing to something serious if he would just grant you a handful of concessions, considering your last relationship. You are not the one being unreasonable here. He is. The only thing you did wrong was fall for him. That’s why it hurts so much, that’s why the disappointment cuts so deeply. Because you made the mistake of falling.’
‘And without sex, too!’ Reckless Lotty pipes in with a whirl of irritation. ‘I mean, who does that? Who falls before having sex?! How do we know he’s any good? Ugh.’
‘Ahem,’ Rational Lotty clears her throat. ‘I’m thinking that good and proper head we got earlier is a really strong indication.’
Reckless Lotty goes quiet, and then her eyes hood, moaning as she remembers just how fantastic this afternoon was. ‘I say we still try having sex with him and forget all this relationship and serious commitment crap.’
‘He’ll never go for it.’ Rational Lotty shoots down the suggestion. ‘The man’s been unambiguously clear about what he wants. Us. All or nothing.’
But Reckless Lotty is already shaking her head in refutation. ‘He tasted us today. I bet that’s all he’s thinking about right now. No way he’ll turn down seconds, no matter how much self-control he thinks he has. And I agree with him, if we can’t be serious, we can’t be anything. Sex, though, isn’t serious. Sex is fun. So let’s just put a big green tick on sex, and big red X on everything else. This way everyone walks away satiated.”
Rational Lotty crosses her arms in defiance. ‘I vote no. It’s too risky. Feelings are already involved.’
Reckless Lotty rolls her eyes. ‘You can’t vote; it’s just the two us. It’s either your way, or my way—which is so totally better, by the way.’
There is silence in my head for a moment, until, ever so slowly, they both train their expectant gazes downward. To me. After all their bickering, in the end, the final decision is left to me.
Expelling a sigh, I stare up at the ceiling. Feeling blindly around for my phone, I touch the screen to check the time, a square glow of light illuminating my face. 10:32 PM.
Noah and I haven’t exchanged many
words since our disagreement. At the beginning of the third episode of Graceland, he excused himself and went up to his room, and I, after sitting there unseeing for another ten minutes, switched off the television, stowed our untouched food in the refrigerator, and retreated to my room, too.
Worst part is, I can’t even bring myself to orgasm anymore! Three times I’ve tried and stopped because some inane thought that I’m cheating and breaking a rule keeps blocking me.
That, too, is contributing to my insomnia, because bedtime orgasms are like essential sleep-aids to me.
Flipping over onto my side, I fluff my pillow, attempting for the umpteenth to fall asleep, when movements at the crease under my bedroom door catches my attention. Like the shadow of two feet. The shadows hesitate, and then they’re gone.
As I start to slide of out bed, the shadows return. Hesitate.
I pause. But I don’t feel fear. Somehow, I feel and know the energy effusing on the other side if the door, the unquenched desire, the indecisiveness. I feel the energy down to my bones, down to the tiniest ventricle of my heart.
The shadows move, hesitate again, and again they’re gone.
Jerking out of bed, I trek swiftly across the room and swing open the door.
Noah is retreating down the hall, fingers raking back through his hair, and it sounds as if he’s mumbling to himself. He abruptly spins, as if belatedly registering the sound of the door opening. His weary gaze sweeps over me, lingers on my mouth. He then blinks heavenward and scrubs both hands down his face.
Self-consciously fiddling with the hem of my silk pajama shorts, I say, “Hey.”
He laces his fingers behind his neck, eying me strangely. “Hey.”
To ease the tension, I assume a relaxed, unperturbed posture, even though I’m anything but, and lean against the wall by my door, giving him a raised eyebrow. “Doing a late night hall patrol, Mr. Van Der Wells?”
