“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“A lot of things,” I replied. “It’s been a wild few days and now here I am…”
I spread out my arms and flopped back against the seat.
“It’s a dream, right? I’m dreaming.”
He dabbed the back of his hand against his damp forehead and said “You’re not like other girls.”
I frowned and gave him a skeptical look.
“You’re not though, are you?” he continued. “You actually appreciate stuff, see the value in things. Maybe it was your brush with death or maybe it’s that you’re such a genuine person but you give off these vibes, these wonderful pure vibes.”
I shot him a worried glance. He was starting to sound slightly crazy.
“That sounds nuts,” he said and scrunched up his face. “I’m sorry.”
Going silent, he stood up and walked over to the railing and looked down over the edge.
“This place is incredible,” I said, trying to change the subject. “Your family must be so proud of you.”
Even in the darkness from where I was sitting, I could see him tense up, the muscles of his back pulling themselves taught as he stiffened.
“Don’t have a family,” I thought he said, his voice fading away as it traveled over the mountains.
“Sorry?”
“I don’t have a family,” he said, this time with a ferocity that too me aback.
“I didn’t mean to offend-“
“Family is a word that worries me,” he said. “Families leave you. They betray you.”
His voice was becoming sinister and suddenly, as I looked at his dark figure, I wondered if it was really him anymore. Then he spun round and ran a hand over his face.
“I’m sorry. Fuck. I-I- didn’t have the best childhood. Don’t have great memories of family life.”
There was pain in his eyes, a desperate, infantile look of despair. I desperately wanted to jump up and hold him but something in his voice held me back.
“I’ve never told anyone this,” he said, his voice quivering as he flexed his hands into fists.
My stomach flipped. Something told me he was not about to impart joyful news.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he said, shaking his head and clenching his eyes closed.
For a fleeting second, I thought I saw the twinkle of a tear in the corner of his eye, but it soon disappeared as he turned his head.
“You’re a nurse. You understand things,” he said, sitting at the end of my recliner. “You’ve seen the worst that humans have to offer.”
I didn’t know what he would say next. Without knowing what to do, I held onto his hand.
“You can tell me anything,” I reassured him. “When you’re ready.”
“I shouldn’t…. Don’t wanna…” he stumbled for the right words.
Taking my own glass, he knocked back the last of the wine and slammed it down.
"Okay, I'll come right out with it. I don't know what it is about you but you get me and you don't judge. You'll understand. I know you will."
Now I was really worried. I squeezed his hand tighter as I tried to anticipate what he'd say.
"Please, just hit right out with it."
He gulped and looked at me with wide, terrified eyes.
"My dad... he did things to me... When I was a boy. After my mom died."
My stomach dropped. I could feel his hand becoming damp in mine. Flinging myself at him, I held him tight until my arms ached, squeezing him until the breath was knocked out of the both of us.
"Shhhh... I understand. You don't have to tell me anything else."
I could feel his body relax against mine.
"Thank you. Thank you."
He pushed me away and leaned against the wall looking ten years younger. His face had softened and the pain had dissipated from his eyes.
"I feel like the weight of the world has left me," he said.
My mind was reeling. How do you act when someone tells you such a thing?
"It explains why you're such an old, wise soul in a young person's body," I said in a futile attempt at comforting him.
"I'd be lying if I said it didn't propel me forward, the pain, the heartache, it makes you tough, makes you want to escape into the middle of nowhere."
Looking out across the balcony, it certainly seemed as though his life's work had involved fortifying himself out here.
"You know, Lincoln, sometimes people create labyrinths to stop people getting inside of us, to stop people getting too close, but more often than not it just means we become lost and can’t find our way out."
He flinched as though I'd hurt him.
"That's the truest thing anyone's said."
For a few minutes, we sat in silence with only the whistling of the wind filling the silence. He lay back down and wrapped his dressing gown tighter around him. Beside him, the wine bottle lay empty.
"Would you like me to make you a coffee?" I asked and felt ashamed. It seemed like such a hollow gesture for someone who needed so much more. "You look like you need to sober up a bit, get some color back in your cheeks.”
He turned to me with exhaustion in his face like he'd just run a marathon.
"You're a real doll," he said. "That would be amazing."
I tied the bedsheets around me into a makeshift toga and headed inside. He gripped my arm as I reached for the door.
"Could you also be a real sweetheart and get me my phone from the bedroom?"
"Sure."
I kissed the top of his head and ruffled his hair playfully.
"Hurry back," he said.
Once inside, the weight of what he said hit me. I struggled to catch my breath and leaned against the kitchen counter, shocked and horrified. The poor man. He had all the money the world could offer, the looks, the charm and charisma, the education, but he was destroyed inside by his memories. It explained why he wasn't the typical rich guy and explained how he was such a compassionate doctor.
I looked behind me and saw him still lying still with his face cast up to the stars. All I wanted to do was hold him until his pain faded.
Upstairs, I searched the room for his phone but saw it nowhere. With nowhere else to look, I picked his jacket off the floor that lay amongst the rest of the discarded clothes. Thrusting my hand into the inside pocket, I waited for the sensation of a sleek, smooth screen but instead something crinkled between my fingers.
"Eh?"
I looked inside and saw a Ziploc bag with a small white cloth inside. As I looked closer I noticed the white lace trim and the department store label poking out the back.
"What the fuck?"
There was no denying what I was staring at. The panties were worn with a laundry name tag crudely sewn into the side. I recognized it immediately. Every girl in the house was given a stack of tags and a pen on arrival so our laundry wouldn't get mixed up. We were told to label everything, and this girl had even taken the time to scrawl her name into her G-strings. As I held the bag up toward the light, I squinted to see the scruffy handwriting and felt the anger swell in my chest when I saw the name, Isabel 'JET' Danziger.
About The Author
Brooke Kinsley has been in love with words since the day she took her first breath. She loves writing steamy, sexy stories with very strong guys who fall deeply in love with the women they flirt. Coffee and wine inspired her stories and she thinks every person should partake in! Brooke lives in Quebec, Canada with her boyfriend. When she's not crafting stories, she's probably playing with her two cats.
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Brooke Kinsley, Jewels and Panties (Book, Two): Jewels in the Night
Jewels and Panties (Book, Two): Jewels in the Night Page 6
