Annihilate Me

by Christina Ross

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  In the morning, I woke alone. I sat up in bed and was disappointed not to see Alex beside me until I got a look at the time on the clock on the bedside table. It was nearly eleven a.m. Unbelieving, I just stared at the time. Then, feeling guilty that I’d slept so late, I pulled back the covers, and saw the bloodstains in the center of the bed. Since I was naked, I quickly dressed into the clothes I wore the day before and stripped the bed, as well as the mattress pad.

  I did it all in shame even though I knew that the blood was only natural. Still, I didn’t need to see it, and neither did he.

  I balled up everything, and only when I saw in relief that I hadn’t stained the mattress itself, did I begin to feel the pain in my body. Every part of me was sore, especially one part of me that felt as if I should send it flowers, a sympathy card and offer it a heart-felt apology.

  I turned to put the bedclothes onto the floor, and saw that Alex was outside. He stood at the shoreline skipping rocks across the water. He was wearing tan-colored shorts and no shirt. Was this him as a young boy? Is this how he escaped from his parents?

  I’d done the same thing as a young girl, especially when my uncle took me to the ocean for a day of lobstering. The effect of skipping stones so they sailed and bounced off water was calming to the point of being almost hypnotic.

  I wondered how much else Alex hadn’t told me about his past, but it would come in time. It occurred to me that I didn’t know how his parents had died. How long had they been dead? How old were they when they passed? At thirty, Alex was relatively young for both parents to be deceased. Even if his mother gave birth to him at thirty-five, she’d only be sixty-five now. Far too young to be gone, unless there was an underlying issue with her health. The same was true for his father, but both dying so young? There was something there, but I shook the thought because I wanted him to tell me himself, and because I needed to move it if I was going to look halfway decent when I saw him.

  Seeing my chance for a quick shower, I dashed toward my closet, found something short and cute to wear for the day, and brought it with me into the bathroom. I closed the door, undressed, and stepped into the glass-encased shower. I turned on the water, but kept the temperature low. I was hot enough from running around.

  On the shelves above me were all of the Aveda products that I used at home. Lisa must have told him what to buy. Of course she had. But what I had before me was an even broader selection than I had at home. So like a kid in a candy store, I looked at the different types of face washes, chose an exfoliant, plunged my face and head beneath the warm water until I was soaking wet, and started to wash myself. Twenty minutes later, I was dressed and my hair was dry and pulled back into a chic ponytail. On my face, I used only the lightest touch of makeup because my skin was practically glowing after last night.

  When I stepped into the bedroom, I was surprised to find that the bed was made with new bedding, and that Alex was stretched out in one of the chairs. Without his shirt on and with his legs spread open wide, I had all I could do to meet his eyes.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  God, he looks sexy.

  “Good almost afternoon,” I replied.

  “How are you today?” he asked.

  I knew why he was asking, and I blushed at the thought of an answer. “I’m good.”

  “Just good?”

  “Maybe a little sore.”

  “Too sore for more?”

  “Definitely not too sore for more. Give me the afternoon, and I’ll be ready to go by evening.”

  I looked for last night’s bedding, and saw that it was gone. I didn’t want him to see the blood, but there was nothing I could do about that now. Somewhere in the house, he’d already started a wash while I was showering. Again, a sense of shame overcame me. I felt embarrassed.

  Damn it.

  I went over to him, sat in his lap, and ran my fingers through his thick hair before I kissed him. I put my arm around his bare shoulders while he caressed one of my legs with his right hand.

  “Last night was beautiful,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “Why are you thanking me?”

  “Because you knew exactly what you were doing. Because it could have gone a million different ways. And because it’s something I won’t forget.”

  “Neither will I.”

  He smiled, but the smile didn’t quite show in his eyes. He seemed distracted to me. “Is everything all right?” I asked.

  “Everything’s fine. Just some weirdness at work, but what else is new?”

  “Anything I can do?”

  “If you’re as hungry as I am, there is.”

  “You don’t know the depths of my hunger.”

  “By that, I’m going to assume you mean food.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  He patted my ass. “When we arrived yesterday, we passed a farm stand a few miles down the street. I thought we might take a drive there and see if we can find anything that inspires us for dinner tonight. All the crops are in harvest now. There should be all sorts of great stuff—corn, tomatoes, baby potatoes, broccoli, you name it. I also noticed that they serve some sort of lunch there, though I was going too fast to see what kind of lunch. I think cheese was involved.”

  “You wouldn’t know. You were going, like, eighty.”

  “So, I was. And who can blame me in a car like that? Want to give it a try?”

  “The car or the farm stand?”

  “The farm stand.”

  “Absolutely. The Whole Foods of Maine, only better. You’re on.” I patted his own ass as he lifted me out of the chair and stood beside me. “Grab a shirt—I don’t want all the local girls feasting on you.”

  He went into what was supposed to be his bedroom and came out with a white polo shirt that clung to him like a second skin and somehow made him look sexier, which made no sense to me since he was a god without his shirt on.

  “Don’t think I won’t be chasing off the locals boys if they come anywhere near you,” he said.

  “It could happen. Some young farming stud longing for a lass....”

  “I’m prepared.”

  “He might need me to break in one of his new horses. One of the big ones.”

  “I think that happened last night.”

  I giggled. He reached for my hand and we started to leave.

  “You know, Alex, you really should eat well today. Choose nutrient-dense foods. Here’s hoping that they have something with protein of some sort. You’re going to need it later tonight.”

  He stifled a laugh. “As if you’re not. Last night was just a primer. Tonight—or hell, probably when we get back—is when things will really get interesting.”

  “You’re such a tease.”

  “Really? When we get back, you’ll see that I’m just telling the truth.”

  * * *

  When we left the house and started to walk toward Alex’s black Mercedes SL Roadster, which was gleaming in the mid-afternoon sun like the shiny jewel that it was, I noticed two men I hadn’t seen before.

  One was standing to the right of the gated entrance to Alex’s property, and the other was off to the left. My first thought was that these were no ordinary men. They were guards of some sort.

  Dark glasses shielded their eyes. They were completely in black, and stood just off the street, near the wooded area, where the foliage partly concealed them.

  What alarmed me was that each man carried a gun in a holster low at his waist. Some sort of high-tech communication device was attached to their heads. Mikes were at the sides of their mouths. Each had an earpiece in one ear. They looked focused and serious.

  “Who are they?”

  Alex kept his voice light. “Security.”

  “Since when do we have security?”

  “They arrived not long after we did yesterday.” He turned to me. “You were just too distracted to notice them.”

  “Do you always travel with security?”

 
; He didn’t have time to answer, because the man at our right motioned him over and they began to talk. I stood by the car and tried to listen, but I couldn’t hear them. An annoying breeze rustled the leaves in the trees, and Alex and the other man were speaking too lowly for me to hear what they were saying. I looked at the man to my left, who gave me a curt nod.

  “Good morning, Ms. Kent.”

  “Good morning. Have you been out here long? Would you like some water or for us to bring you back something to eat?”

  “We’re fine, Ms. Kent. Thank you.”

  I leaned against the car while Alex continued his conversation. And then I saw another man. Across from me, down the road, was a black Range Rover parked on the side of the street. A man dressed similarly to the others stood outside the driver’s side door. He also wore a gun and the same equipment around his head.

  What the hell? I thought.

  “Ready?” Alex asked as he jogged back toward the car.

  “Absolutely. Top down?”

  “Let’s keep it up today. They’re calling for showers.”

  “It’s perfectly sunny, Alex.”

  “The weather in Maine can change on a dime. You know that. Come on. I’m starving.”

  We got inside and buckled up. Down the street, I saw the man next to the Range Rover step into it. When he opened the door, I saw another man sitting in the passenger’s seat.

  “So, this is unusual,” I said. “Four guards?”

  He started the car, put his hand on my thigh, and said, “Try to ignore them. They’re just doing their jobs.”

  “To protect you from what?”

  He was about to pull away, but then stopped and looked at me. “The entire time you’ve been with me, from that very first night at the Four Seasons, I’ve had protection with me. It’s just that out here in the wilds, it’s a lot more noticeable than it is when we’re in a crowded room. It’s something I do as a precaution. It’s done for a reason, and you know the reason. Because of my position and my money, I’ll always be a target. That’s why they’re here—to make sure I’m not a target. They’re doing their jobs. And in case anything happens—not that it’s going to—we’ll be protected. OK?”

  “That’s going to take some getting used to. But I get it. It’s just new to me, that’s all.” And then a thought occurred to me. “I hope they didn’t hear me last night. That would be pretty embarrassing.”

  He put the car into gear. “We’re a few hundred feet from them. I sincerely doubt that they heard anything.”

  “I hope you’re right because I won’t be holding back later.”

  He laughed at that, put the car into gear, and we sped off down the road, the Range Rover hot on our tail as Alex’s hand dipped between my legs, cupped my sex, and gently started to stimulate me to the point that I definitely knew that I was in for it later.

  * * *

  The farm stand Alex noticed when we passed it the day before was a boon that brought back fond memories of me and my Aunt Marion, who was married to my Uncle Vaughn, and who was one of the great delights of my life. At seventy, she had more sauce and swagger than Beyoncé did at thirty.

  She was gone now, and oh, how I missed her. When my Uncle Vaughn was out lobstering, sometimes my aunt would steal me away and, if it was late summer, we’d come to a place like this. We’d soak it all in while we walked around the fresh vegetables, fruits and herbs, and then we’d conspire on what we’d make for dinner.

  Just as Alex and I were going to do now.

  I looked off to my right as the Range Rover pulled alongside the Mercedes, a rush of dust spilling over it in a rolling cloud.

  Nice, I thought. And so subtle.

  I hoped to hell the men wouldn’t get out, but sure enough, one did. I turned to look at him, and saw that he was scanning the dozen or so people walking through the stand, baskets in hand while they selected all the fresh produce they could handle. Some looked back at him, but he didn’t seem to mind as much as they did. This was no place for the threat of a gun. Later, I’d ask Alex if they could tone it down and be more discreet.

  “I think I see what you mean about the lunches they serve here,” I said to him, now determined to ignore the guard so I could spend quality time with Alex. “Looks like fresh artisanal bread paninis, and they have iced tea. I’m way down for that. You?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good, because I’m famished.”

  I went over to an older woman behind a counter and smiled at her. She was somewhere in her sixties, thickly built, and was wearing what was obviously a homemade dress made from a patterned fabric that looked light and comfortable. She had blue eyes and wore no makeup, and her graying hair was pulled away from her face in a kerchief.

  “Hello,” I said.

  She nodded at me while I looked up at the chalkboard above her, where their menu was written. It didn’t just list paninis. In the glass cooler I stood in front of, they had everything a Maine girl could want. A traditional potato salad. Macaroni and cheese they’d likely warm before serving. A French potato salad that looked divine because it was loaded with herbs and scallions, and was likely tarted up with fresh lemon and vinegar. There were heaps of sliced heirloom tomatoes, basil and rounds of homemade sheep’s milk mozzarella on one large platter. And desserts were everywhere. Take your pick. They looked glorious.

  Alex put his arm around my waist.

  “Did you make all of this?” I asked the woman.

  “Some of it. I made the salads. My sisters made most of the desserts.” She pointed down at a basket filled with chocolate brownies. “Except those. I made those.”

  “They look delicious. It’s the French potato salad that has my name on it.”

  “It’s my mémère’s recipe. I also made that.”

  “I’ve lived in Maine my whole life. It’s been a while since I’ve been down to the Point.”

  “How long have you been gone?”

  I didn’t tell her that I’d left. What did she see in me that made her make that statement? How had I changed since I left Maine that made it so noticeable? “Just a few months.”

  “Still a Maine girl,” she said. “And a beautiful girl. You remind me of my sister when she was young. She was the pretty one. Always off to dances. Always with a beau on her arm. It’s your hair and your eyes that remind me of her. No one could keep the boys off of her. Our father didn’t stand a chance.”

  “That’s why she has me,” Alex said.

  The woman looked at him with a sly smile. “You’re not from Maine. I saw the car you drove up in. Showy. And I can tell in other ways. So, good luck with the local boys when it comes to this one.”

  “Noted,” he said.

  I could hear the agitation in his voice, so I pressed forward. “What would you like?”

  “Where do we even begin? It all looks good to me. You tell me,” Alex said. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here.”

  “You used to come here?” the woman asked.

  “I did,” Alex said. “When I was a boy. I summered here for fifteen years.”

  “Live on the Point, do you?”

  “I do.”

  She glanced at me, and in that glance I saw a world of concern that wasn’t unfamiliar to me. Alex and I were of two different worlds. She knew that. Being so close to the Point, she probably knew that better than I did. On this part of the coast, where the rich collided with the poor, he was what was known as a summer person, something the locals were wary of. To her, he was one of the spoiled, rich boys. And that never went over well with the locals who had to do their laundry and buy their food in order to make a living. She didn’t hide her disapproval from her stony face or her eyes, and I kind of loved her for it. Her honesty was what I missed about Maine. New Yorkers were direct, but Mainers could say more with a look—or just by lapsing into silence—than by saying anything at all.

  Alex and I continued to talk and to make our decision. When we were ready, I said, “OK.” I looked up a
t the woman, who had a bemused look on her face as she watched us. I wondered if we looked like a new couple to her. I wondered if she had ever been with one of the summer boys when she was young. Is that what I saw in her eyes? A memory? A moment ago, she was engaged with us. But now she seemed to be at once looking through me and back to another time. She didn’t hear me when I spoke, but I knew why. I could tell that seeing Alex and me together had brought her to another time in her life. It was right there on her face, and I saw her expression go through a mix of emotions—first happiness, then a kind of longing, then a distinct sadness. I wondered where she was and whom she was with. Where had her life taken her to bring her to this point now?

  Who was the one who got away?

  I gently cleared my throat, and I saw her come back into herself. We ordered our lunch—two tomato and mozzarella paninis on their artisan wheat bread, two portions of French potato salad, two unsweetened iced teas—and then we were on our way to one of the picnic tables outside.

  We sat down, and Alex cast me a look. “She was odd,” he said.

  “Really? I thought she was great.”

  “Hmmm….”

  “Don’t you remember her?” I asked.

  “From where?”

  I picked up my panini before leveling him with a glance. “From your childhood. Maine women haven’t changed that much, especially here on the coast. If you go into Bangor, it’s different. Even more so if you make the mistake of going into Portland, which just aches in its soul to be Boston, so we won’t count them as part of Maine at all, because they’re not. But here? Here, it’s the same. She must be familiar to you.”

  “I remember women like her. I also remember them not liking me very much.”

  “Well, you were rich. They were poor and struggling to make it. You wore fancy new clothes. They wore hand-me-downs and cleaned your new clothes so they could get a paycheck and put food on the table. They feel an ownership to the coastline they lost to those with money. They sold out for financial reasons, and because of that necessity, the coast is no longer available to them in many places. It’s complicated, but as a result, years of resentment have built between the two classes.”