by Renea Mason
His eyes grew large; wonderment crossed his features. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m so glad everything worked out for the best.”
She cradled his palm in hers. “Thank you for all you’ve done for us.”
I needed to get her out of there before she begged him to sleep with me again. Or worse yet, told him just how miserable I’d been since our last encounter.
Pushing past Gretchen and through the doorway, I bid my farewell. “Nice to meet you, Monica.” I glared at the man who broke my heart, towering over me. “Doctor.”
I snatched Gretchen’s wrist and pulled her toward the door.
Before I made my escape, his hand clamped down on my elbow and squeezed. His words were forced, “Elaine. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”
I wanted to laugh and release the vitriol that threatened to consume me, but instead, gave a polite smile. “Goodbye, Doctor.”
He squeezed harder one last time.
I pulled my arm free from his grip and stumbled into the door, while my gaze remained fixed on the doctor.
As I fought embarrassment, so much bubbled through me. I loathed him and the Barbie wanna be. But above all, I hated my own weakness.
I stopped just outside the door, willing myself not to cry and secretly hoping he might chase after me. I took a deep breath and turned to see Gretchen peering through the glass door at the doctor. I inhaled a shaky breath. “Gretchen...can I take a rain check on our shopping trip?”
She crossed her arms, pursing her lips. “You can, but the distraction might be good for you.”
Shit. Now my distractions needed distractions.
“I’m so sorry. I need some time alone. I thought I was mature enough to handle something casual with Dr. Vincent, but I guess not.” The first tear escaped. I had to leave.
“OK, I understand.” She wrapped her arms around me. “But call me when you’re ready to talk.” She patted my back. “It’s not the end of the world.”
“I know. I just need some time to think.”
She gave me a quick squeeze. “When you’re in a better frame of mind, we’ll go dress shopping. I really want you to help me pick my gown.”
I gave a pained smile. “Sure. Sounds great.”
She kissed me on the cheek. “It really is his loss.”
“Nice of you to say.”
She stepped onto the edge of the sidewalk and hailed a cab. “Wanna share a ride?”
“Nah, the walk will do me good. I need to burn off some of this frustration.”
Another big hug. “Love you. Call me.”
“Of course. Love you too.” I patted her back.
She turned, opened the door to her cab, and slid onto the black leather seat. She waved as the car pulled away from the curb.
Watching as she drove out of sight, I took a deep breath. I willed myself not to go back inside and let him see what a mess he had made of me. I closed my eyes for a moment and clenched my fists.
Fucking Alaska. Fucking Doctor. Fucking leggy blonde. Fucking hope.
CHAPTER TWO
Fracture
My feet hit the pavement, setting a furious pace for the entire fifteen blocks to my apartment. Monica. Beautiful Monica. She even had a perfect name. How could I have been so stupid? The encounter made me sick. A night of wine and self-loathing would do me good.
With my hair damp from sweat and a hollow feeling inside my chest, I turned the key to my apartment building. I walked down the hallway and to the door labeled 1C.
I leaned my head on the door frame and undid the lock. Why did I care? Why should it matter? Shouldn’t I be accustomed to disappointment by now? The blonde on his arm made my acceptance harder.
After Paris, he took forever to find me. When he came to the office that day, reaffirming his love for me, I’d believed him. And then silence. What hurt most was that I’d believed in him. If he had been the only one present for our re-acquaintance today, I might have coped. But my constant companion—the ache in my chest that accompanied betrayal—assaulted me with each thought of him. I clenched my fists in anger. I had helped him realize a normal life, and yet was easily forgotten when he climbed into another woman’s bed.
I locked the door behind me and headed straight to the metal wine rack perched atop the counter in my small but efficient kitchen. I retrieved the red blend I’d become so fond of since...Paris. I fought the urge to smash the bottle; the relief from its destruction would only last an instant, but getting sloppy drunk would keep me occupied all night. I retrieved a glass from the rack and stared at the corkscrew on the counter—my metallic, spiral savior. With a few twists and turns, the cork pulled free, and I tipped the bottle, allowing streams of deep red to flow from the opening of the long neck.
The liquid sloshed in the glass as I bent and retrieved the envelopes the mailwoman had shoved through the slot in my door. Craver Adams, my father’s attorney, was trying to reconnect. Well...fuck him. I had no desire to hear what the basement killer or his minion had to say. The day I discovered my dad moonlighted as a serial killer, I ceased listening. I tossed the mail onto the island and turned the corner to the living room.
The metal box resting on the dark oak bookcase reflected the light from the window. Xavier had sent me the trinket the night he crashed my meeting in Chicago after our return from Paris. The lid’s intricately woven knot work gleamed, demanding my attention. I gulped the wine while the container mocked me.
Productive focus of my anger would serve me well. I needed closure. I set the wine glass on the shelf and picked up the trinket. On my way through the kitchen, I retrieved a discarded Amazon box that had once contained a duvet. Reaching behind my neck, I unclasped the necklace with its dangling birdcage. I dropped the silver chain and pendant into the decorative box. He’d placed the necklace around my neck the night he first told me he loved me, before succumbing to his apocalypse. I felt stupid wearing it. Had he noticed? Did he see what a foolish child he had made of me? No matter, after tonight that girl would no longer exist.
When I closed the lid of the box, my heart fell. After all, it had contained hope. But I’d been right all along; hope unfulfilled was nothing more than sorrow.
A tear fell from my eye and fueled my determination. I stormed into the bedroom and ripped the clothes he’d bought me in Paris from their hangers. I wanted him gone. All of him. Any trace extinguished. I wanted what he’d promised me from the beginning—one week of sex, nothing more—to be all we’d had. France, and the interlude in my office, needed to be erased from existence.
I gathered the garments in my arms and tossed them into the duvet box. I returned to the bedroom and gathered the shoes I’d worn to Le Jules Verne, the pearls that bound his wrists that night at the Opera House, and the dress I’d worn when he gave in. Every painful reminder I found joined the others between the heavy cardboard walls.
The first flap, then the next, and the box was neatly closed. I opened a drawer and grabbed the packing tape. I wanted to rip out my heart and add the dying organ to the collection of things I never wanted to see again. What would be the point? He had already refused it with his silence. If Paris had only been sex... I was such a fool.
The tape creaked as I sealed the seams. My tears fell, leaving dark spots on the brown paper of the package.
I could have thrown the items away, but that wouldn’t have been poetic enough. I wanted him to know I’d closed the door, that I’d taken control. That he was no longer my king.
From the same drawer as the tape, I retrieved a Sharpie. I removed the cap with my mouth, held the black top between my teeth, and wrote: Dr. Xavier Vincent c/o Chatam D. Western Labs. My script muddled; the act—cathartic.
Long overdue for a new start, the doctor wasn’t my only memory to erase. I glanced at the counter and grabbed the envelope from my father’s attorney. I labeled the unopened letter: Return To Sender.
In that moment, my path crystallized. Decisiveness remained my biggest strength. Alaska. A new st
art with the only person who had never betrayed me.
I wrapped my hand around the wine glass and moved the red filled vessel to the coffee table next to my laptop. One last string to cut. I flipped open the lid and then clicked the mail icon. The screen popped up, and I typed:
Dear Lisa,
I am writing to regretfully tell you that I must resign my position at Western, effective today. Unfortunately, due to circumstances outside my control, I will not be able to give a two-week notice. Thank you for the opportunity. I wish you all much success.
Elaine Watkins
Maybe Alaska was far enough removed that they wouldn’t know my father. Surely, someone would need my skills. I picked up the glass, swallowed as much as my mouth would hold, and pressed send. There. Done. I did it. I couldn’t go back to the lab again. I couldn’t bear to see his image in the lobby or in the quarterly newsletter. I decided to pretend Xavier Vincent was nothing but a dream. A celebrity fantasy. Nothing more than sex.
My stomach growled. I had played with my food at lunch instead of eating. Gretchen’s news and my depression over Xavier’s empty words had left me without an appetite, but I would need to eat sometime. I reached into my pants pocket, dialed Gino’s around the corner, and placed the phone to my ear.
“Gino’s.”
“Hi, Gus. It’s Elaine in 1C. Can I get the usual?”
“For you, beautiful, anything. I’ll have it there in fifteen.”
“Thanks.”
I tossed the phone onto the table, walked to the kitchen to retrieve the bottle of wine, and returned to the couch. I couldn’t risk any thoughts clear enough to talk me out of my decision. The liquid gurgled and flowed from the bottle into the glass.
The knock on the door startled me. That was the shortest fifteen minutes ever. Gus had probably heard my stomach growling or perhaps they weren’t very busy.
I turned the lock. By the time my eyes adjusted to the sight in my doorway, Xavier had already pushed inside, kicked the door closed, and dragged me halfway across the kitchen. He pulled out a chair from the small kitchenette and with his palm on my chest, forced me to sit. It all happened so fast. A flurry of confusion. He grabbed my arms and forced them behind me. Something cold encircled my wrists and clicked into place. What the hell? Had he handcuffed me? Fuck, how much wine did I drink?
He backed away and squatted in front of me, so that we were eye to eye. With both hands, he cupped my face. “Let me explain what’s going to happen. You are going to sit there until you are capable of having a rational conversation.”
I pulled at the cuffs and closed my eyes, trying to clear my head. I tried to stand, but my arms could not slip free of the wide chair back. I sat back down and glared at him.
“If you shout, scream, or make any attempt to get anyone’s attention, I will gag you.” His voice rang out, calm and smooth, a direct contrast to his words. He loosened his tie, pulled the red fabric free from his neck, and looped the silk around each of his fists, stretching the fibers taut. “What’s it going to be?”
“Why are you here? What do you want?” My words were laced with the fear, frustration, and confusion that caused my muscles to tremble under my skin.
“Oh, Elaine...” He dropped one end of the tie and stroked his thumb along my cheek. “Don’t fear me. I’d never hurt you. But I saw that look in your eyes today. You’re not capable of reason in this stage of anger.” His voice, soft and calming, threatened to chip away at my resolve. He placed a kiss on my forehead.
I breathed deep through my nose and exhaled to clear Xavier Vincent’s effect on me. “This is bullshit. Un-cuff me and go back to your bimbo.”
He sighed. “Just as I thought. You’re not going to listen willingly.” He stood, expanding his tall form, reminding me of just how commanding his presence was, with the red tie dangling between his fingers.
No matter how beautiful he was, or how much his proximity lit a fire under my skin, I couldn’t afford to give in. “God, if this is how you ran your practice, no wonder you’re not seeing patients anymore.” Anger had me reaching for anything to hurt him.
“I get it. You’re angry. I was halfway here when the strength of your reaction struck me. I saw hate in your eyes today. There is no rational way to deal with your current state of mind, in my professional opinion.” He raised an eyebrow and shot me a condemning look. “Well...not in any reasonable amount of time—perhaps with months of therapy. That is something I learned from my practice. When I passed a storefront with those cuffs binding a mannequin in a bustier, I figured restraints might make for a nice shortcut...and well...here we are.”
“The delivery guy will be here any minute, you’d better un-cuff me.”
Bending at the waist, he placed another kiss on my forehead. “I’m fully capable of answering the door.”
“What if I scream?”
“You won’t.” He draped the tie across my lap as a reminder and then crossed his arms. He turned and walked to the kitchen. “Now where are they?” He began opening and closing my cabinet doors. The sight of Xavier Vincent in my kitchen, in his suit that probably cost more than everything I owned combined, was as bizarre as spotting a dinosaur in Central Park.
“What are you looking for?” I tried to focus my eyes and clear my head. Did I accidently drug myself? Surely, he wasn’t rummaging through my cupboards.
“Ah...there they are.” He removed the glass and placed it under the water dispenser on my refrigerator.
He walked to me with a clear tumbler in his hand and extended the liquid to my lips. “Drink.”
“No, thank you.”
His eyes narrowed at my refusal. “It wasn’t a request.”
Just then a knock sounded. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep quiet.” He set the glass on the table beside him, turned, strode to the door, and opened it.
“Hey, beauti—wait, where’s Elaine?” I couldn’t see Gus, only the doctor’s back, but his voice was filled with bewilderment.
The doctor reached into his pocket. “She’s a bit busy at the moment. How much is it?”
“Ahhh...eight-fifty.” The doctor pulled several bills from his wallet and passed them to Gus on the other side of the doorway.
“Thanks, man. You her brother...or somethin’?”
“No. I’m her lover, and you are?”
“Hey, don’t mind me. I just work ’round the corner. Tell her I said, hey.”
Xavier closed the door, turning his attention back to me. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes. You have some cooling down to do.”
“Lover? Did you just tell Gus that I’m your lover?” I let out a bitter laugh. “By the looks of things today, that title belongs to someone else now.”
He set the food on the stand, retrieved the glass, and raised the water to my mouth again. “No, it doesn’t belong to someone else. Now drink.”
“I’m not thirsty.” I pursed my lips.
“Fine.” He placed his lips on the rim and sipped.
“Why are you here?” I let out a huff, exasperated by his games.
He stood and fumbled with the takeout container. “That is an excellent question. Because I shouldn’t be.”
I finally understood the handcuffs. Had my hands been free, I would have punched him.
To make matters worse, he continued. “I shouldn’t be anywhere around you. Especially not here, but today...” He flipped open the takeout lid and speared a piece of pasta with a plastic fork and offered it to me. “What I saw in your eyes was so final. I thought I was prepared to deal with your disappointment. I’m a failure for being so weak.” He nudged my lips with the fork. “Open your mouth.”
I kept my lips sealed.
“Come on. You must be hungry. You ordered this.”
I turned my head away, trying to hide the tears welling in my eyes.
He dropped the fork into the pasta, set the Styrofoam container on the table, and grasped my face in his hands.
I closed my eyes, causing wetne
ss to roll down my cheeks.
“Elaine. I swear I can explain...everything.”
I squeezed my lids tighter in an effort to will him away. “Maybe I don’t want your lies. I’m tired of all the words.”
“Fine.” He scooted closer, settling between my spread legs. His mouth closed over mine. Tiny caresses against reluctant lips. “Nothing has changed,” he breathed against my skin.
More tears slipped from the corners of my eyes and a sarcastic laugh escaped. “How can you say that?”
“Because I still love you.” His lips moved against mine, but I refused to give in.
“Please...stop,” I whimpered against his mouth. The heaviness in my chest grew.
“No. I was wrong. I don’t know what I was thinking. I know now—I can’t lose you.” He trailed kisses along my jaw and stopped just below my ear. “Like it or not, I will always love you.”
“I can’t do this.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I almost lost you today. I foolishly believed you’d wait for me. That somehow, when I was done, you’d still be there, as profoundly in love as I was. I’m changing the rules.”
“What rules?”
“Are you ready to listen to me?”
“No.”
“OK. I have time. Sure you’re not hungry?” His posture relaxed. He wasn’t leaving until I was ready to listen, but I wasn’t sure I was even capable of hearing him out.
The tears still flowed, and I couldn’t answer him. There was nothing he could say that would change my mind. If I had any chance at a life, he needed to take his box and leave.
He packed the pasta away and placed the container in the refrigerator. When he rounded the corner, he kicked the box of dreaded reminders, causing it to thud against the island. He tilted his head to read the writing, and then his gaze darted to me. “Since this is addressed to me, I might as well open my package.”
I couldn’t watch. I hung my head and closed my eyes.
The sound of peeling tape filled the room. His inhalation was audible after he pulled the last of sticky plastic away and opened the flaps.
