by Unknown
I frown. “But if I’m not doing anything wrong, why would my conscience be manifesting something so crazy?”
“Because deep down, you think you are. I think it’s the effect of being friends with Kelsey for over ten years.”
I can’t imagine what Kelsey would think about me being here. No, I can imagine. I wonder what she’d say if I told her I was having hallucinations about hot neighbors being angels.
“Hey, I think this could help you and Bryce. If you do decide for something to happen, then you can forgive him if you choose to and you both would basically be even,” she says casually.
“I doubt that Bryce would ever feel that way.”
“Who cares what he thinks?” she says as if I’m crazy.
I should care. He’s my husband. I should care… shouldn’t I? Regardless of what he did.
“I think I’m bringing down your mood. I didn’t mean to do that. You’re in New York City, hon. Ugh, I wish I were there!” she squeals.
My thoughts drift to Carter and my hallucination/dream. By the time her next client has arrived, my nails are painted and dried. We hang up, and I throw on an oversized chic sweater, some black jeans, and ballet flats. I give myself a once-over in the mirror and grab my purse, iPad, and phone. As I’m leaving, the television turns on, and I wonder if it’s some sort of setting Davien has set up like an alarm. I go over to turn it off, and my heart drops when I hear Sarah McLachlan’s “Arms of an Angel.” I grab the remote in a flash and hit the power button. Then the television in the living room comes on, blasting the same thing. I run and grab the remote and power it off, but it comes back on.
“I’m losing it. I really am,” I mutter while running out of the apartment.
I stand in the lobby, goose bumps still on my skin. Am I going crazy? No, that was just a coincidence. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for that happening. My Uber arrives, and I walk over to the little white Honda Civic and hop in.
“Chassidy?” the driver asks, confirming my identity.
“Yup,” I say a little breathlessly.
“Empire State Building?” she asks, and I nod. “Great, we’ll be there in a few. Traffic’s been great. Any particular station you want?”
“Anything but Sarah McLachlan.”
She giggles, not knowing how serious I am.
I don’t want to think about what’s happening back home, what happened at my apartment, or the weird thing that happened before I left Davien’s. It’s cliché, but I visit the Empire State Building first. I throw my focus onto the city, alive with its own personality. The people, food, and smells are all character traits.
From there, I head to the world’s biggest Macy’s. Retail therapy helps keep my mind off of Sarah’s haunting music and its connection to my dream. I’m officially referring to what happened as a dream, because the more I think about it, the more unrealistic and farfetched it is. By the time I’m out of Macy’s, I have several bags, a grumbling stomach, and a dead phone battery. At least I was smart enough to bring my charger.
It’s a beautiful day, so I decide to hike to a Chipotle I noticed a few blocks back. When I go in, I spot an outlet next to a table, so I set down my bags and get settled in. I grab a fountain drink and debate grabbing two tacos as I wait for my phone to power up enough to turn on, but I’d hate to eat Chipotle while I’m in one of the food capitals of the world. Not to knock Chipotle, I love it, but I feel like I should grab a hot dog or something off the cart. Bryce always says that when you’re traveling, you should never eat the same foods you would at home… I push him out of my mind.
Tonight I’m going to see the Statue of Liberty after dinner, then tomorrow, Central Park. When my phone powers on, I see that I have five voice messages and three texts. One text is from Davien saying his meeting's running late but he’ll meet me at his house and we have reservations for seven. Another is from my mom, and my heart skips a beat when I see a text from Bryce asking me to call him.
My heart pounds. His text is simple, short even. Just a “call me.” No “I’m incredibly sorry” or even a “How are you?”. I read it as a demand, and who is he to demand anything of me? I wonder if he came home and saw I’m not there and now he wants to know why? It looks like his text message came in before I posted my photos on my social media pages. Or crap, did my mother call him? I’m getting a headache. This is why I came to New York, so I wouldn’t have to think about things like this. I decide not to listen to the voicemails. Today isn’t about reality, it’s about escape.
It’s about escape.
When I get back to Davien’s house, I linger at the door.
“It was just a coincidence,” I tell myself.
This is ridiculous! I’m standing outside of the door, juggling my bags in both hands because I’m afraid to go in. So what if I go in and some old 90s pop song that happens to be about angels plays? I take a deep breath, swipe the electronic key, and go in. The televisions are off, both of them, and I let out a huge sigh of relief. I take my bags into my room and put my phone on the charger. I walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the city. I wonder how many people are here on vacation, or here to escape a person, a decision, a feeling. I wonder if they’re successful at it.
I have to be.
Even if it’s brief.
I don’t want to go on engulfed in pain, blame, guilt, and sorrow. I just want to be free. From all of it, even if it’s just for a weekend or a night. Tonight, I don’t want to be Chassidy Bell, a woman who’s unsure where she stands with her husband and who’s lost her most precious gifts.
I don’t want to be her!
I want to be someone different, like a character in one of my books. Strong, confident, desirable, fun.
I pick up the black BEBE bag and remove the dress that seemed to call to me the moment I walked in and saw it on the mannequin. It’s olive green and short, but the material is thick. It’s sleek and simple but the embodiment of sexiness. I slip it on and look at myself in the mirror. It clings to my skin, hugging all of my curves and sucking in the less-than-firm parts of my stomach, evidence of dreams and lives that never came to exist.
It erases the traces of my failures, my hurt and pain, and only shows the most flattering view of my body. I haven’t worn anything like this in a long time. Even at the last dinner with Davien, the dress I wore was more conservative.
I think back to the last time I got so dressed up, when I wanted to feel desired by my husband… I sit down and stare at myself in the mirror. It’s been so long… my birthday… two years ago maybe? No, it can’t be that long, but I wrack my brain for the last time I got dressed up just for Bryce, when I expressed my desire for him. I tear up and guilt climbs over me, spreading from my head to my chest like an infection.
Ugh! This is exactly what I don’t want. I need help getting into who I’m going to be tonight. A name, it all starts with the name… I’ll be Tasha… no, Veronica. I grab my cosmetics bag and look in the mirror. I want to look different.
After a few minutes, I have my hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. I put on makeup, but instead of my everyday face, I go heavy on the eyeliner and mascara and top it off with a red lip. I look so different, but that’s what I wanted. I don’t feel unusual even if the girl in the mirror looks so different from me.
I head out of the bedroom. My gaze lands on the wine bar, and I look through the bottles. All of them seem old and really expensive. I don’t want to open any without his permission—it’d be just my luck I pop open a seven-hundred-dollar bottle of wine. I search under the wine bar, find the spirits, and choose vodka. With the half-empty bottle and a glass, I search the fridge for something to tone down the taste and settle on lemonade. I hear my mother’s voice in my head telling me it’s not even six o’clock yet but ignore it.
“It’s probably not the smartest thing in the world to get drunk while staying in the house of a man who wants to sleep with you.” Carter’s standing in front of me.
&nbs
p; “What are you doing here?” I shout, and drop my glass in fright.
But he’s not alarmed and is surprisingly calm while my heart is about to shoot out of my chest.
“How did you get in here?” I yell.
“We’ve sort of already had this discussion.” He sits on Davien’s couch as I shake my head vehemently. “I’m an angel.” His tone is light and jovial as he turns on the television.
I grip my head. “No. No! That wasn’t real, that was a dream!”
“Things aren’t real just because you don’t want them to be?” he asks, turning toward me with a whimsical grin.
“I’m going insane. I’m really going insane,” I tell myself through frantic laughter.
“Chassidy, you’re not insane.”
His voice is calming, but I push my hands out in front of me. “Don’t come near me. Why are you here? I told you I don’t believe in God! I don’t want to. Just stay away from me.”
“Well, he believes in you, and he doesn’t want you to make the wrong decision, but I can’t give you help if you refuse it.”
“He wasn’t there to help me when I really needed it! I don’t want his help now. Get out!” I shout.
He starts to say something, but the door opens and Carter disappears as if he was never there in the first place. Davien comes through the door wearing a magnetic smile, but it doesn’t send butterflies through my stomach like it usually does. I’m going to throw up. I must look ridiculous, tears staining my cheeks, with this stupid dress on, yelling like a maniac. I am a maniac.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
He approaches me, and I’m shaking but trying to calm down. He sees the spilled alcohol on the floor. The glass was too thick to break into shards, but it’s in two pieces at my feet.
“No. No, I’m not okay.” I take in a breath and grip the counter, trying to steady my thoughts, calm down my racing heart, and not think how ridiculous I look. What is happening to me?
He looks at me with sympathy rather than concern. He nods, picks up the broken glass, and cleans up the spilled liquid while I stand in the same spot, too embarrassed to look at him. When he’s done, he stands beside me. I’m surprised he hasn’t asked what’s wrong with me.
Instead, he grabs another glass, pours the vodka in it, and adds a hint of lemonade. I expect him to hand it to me, but he takes a few gulps, then puts it down and slides it in front of me. I down it as quickly as I can, ignoring the stinging, disgusting taste.
“You look delectable.”
I glance at him and remember what I’m wearing and how I look. I feel my neck flush as goose bumps break out on my skin. I only give him a lopsided grin in response and finish off the rest of my glass.
“I’d love to show you off tonight, but what if we do something different instead?”
I arch my brow at him, his pale grey eyes piercing mine.
“How about you go take a hot bath, and when you come out, we can have another one of these? I’ll order in, and tomorrow we'll sightsee.” His voice is warm and intoxicating, and that plan sounds amazing.
The anxiety and frustration that gripped me only a few minutes ago is disappearing. I’m at ease, like I’m floating, and by the time I draw my bath and settle into the deep soaking tub, I feel high, and I laugh at the events that transpired less than an hour ago.
None of that was real. I’m hallucinating and it should be a scary thought, but right now it isn’t, because I’m in New York in a gorgeous apartment with a man straight out of a book. Davien’s a sexy alpha male who makes you forget common sense, who entices you to indulge in things you never thought you’d enjoy. The vodka’s fully in my system, I’m floating, and my name isn’t Chassidy. It’s Veronica.
When I get out of the tub and head back into my bedroom, I hear some form of jazz and it sounds amazing, as if the notes are speaking to me, telling me to let go, to stop thinking and just feel. I dance to the music in my room as I put on my pajamas, which consist of a white T-shirt and small shorts, since I thought I’d be staying in my own room at the hotel. Everything is easy, easy.
When I come out of the bedroom, Davien is stretched across the couch. He’s not in his normal suit and collared shirt; he’s in a form-fitting T-shirt and jeans, and it shows an entirely different side of him. He’s lean with strong arms that don’t bulge, his dark hair is messy, and he looks perfectly beautiful. With a casual but inviting grin, he lifts a glass of what I’m guessing is the same drink from earlier. I sit beside him, making sure I’m close enough to take in his cologne, for my body to recognize his presence has its own gravity, sucking in everything orbiting around him. I sink into the soft sofa, hoping it will steady me and wondering if it’ll let me float right into him.
“One drink?” he asks, his smile innocent but his eyes daring.
I giggle and let my head fall back. “I think I’ve had enough.”
“You’ve barely had half a glass,” he counters, his voice deep and melodic.
“And I already feel as if I’m going to drift away,” I say while stretching my body out to mimic his.
“Don’t do that unless you’re going to take me with you.”
His smile is dangerously flirtatious and my breathing speeds up. The little voice in my head that usually tells me to step back, to ignore his charms, is quieter than normal, almost a ghost of a voice. I squint at him, and he shifts toward me. His eyes roam my body, but it’s not as if he’s being coy about it, and it makes me tingle all over. He sets his glass down in front of him, and when his hand lands on my stomach, I stop breathing. His fingers slip along the edge of my T-shirt and glide above my belly button. He grips the hem of the shirt and pulls it down, covering the skin. His hand rests there. I should make him move it, but it feels good. My skin is on fire and I know my goose bumps are giving me away if my flushed skin hasn’t. I don’t need a drink; he’s intoxicating by himself.
I close my eyes and let out a much needed breath. I know I’m giving myself away. If this was a poker game, I just let him see my hand.
Are you really doing this? The voice I thought was fading gets louder, and I tell it to shut up.
“Just one more.” I gesture to his glass. I know a drink will quiet the voice down.
He hands me his glass, full of straight vodka.
“I can’t drink this. You didn’t cut it with anything,” I say with a small laugh.
“No, you’ll like it, I promise,” he says, his eyes smiling at me.
I arch my eyebrow in disbelief.
“Trust me.”
I don’t drink anything straight, but I don’t want to be me. I’m Veronica, and Veronica doesn’t find it disgusting. She’ll enjoy every drop. I take a deep breath and prepare for the disgusting taste, but it’s not as bitter and terrible as I expect. It still has the distinct taste of alcohol, but there’s a sweet undercurrent.
“What is this?” I ask.
He grins at me, and it’s glorious. “Apple vodka.”
I grip the glass tighter, feeling a chill come over me. Apple. My body stiffens. Why, of all the flavored drinks, does it have to be apple? I smile tightly and tell myself not to freak out.
It’s just a coincidence. But my mind flashes to Ms. Lewis, the Sunday school teacher with long red hair and a PBS smile, explaining to us about Adam and Eve as she read from the big white book in her lap.
… she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat.
“Not a big fan of apple?” he asks, his eyes on mine.
I sit up on the couch, set the glass down, and rest my head in my hands as I look at him. “I think I’m going crazy, like seriously crazy.”
He pulls his lips between his teeth, and heat spreads through my body. The doorbell rings and he lets out almost a groan as he gets up and answers it. I’m assuming it’s the food he ordered, but I suddenly don’t have an appetite. I’m going crazy. I am seriously losing it.
But what if you aren’t?
“Let’s eat, beautiful.” He looks so tall and long,
standing in front of me. He offers his hand, and I take it. He pulls me up like a feather as I ignore the electricity in the air.
“I’m going to go to the bathroom.”
He nods, looking amused as I rush out of the room. I shut my bedroom door, making sure to lock it.
“Get it together, Chas,” I mutter. I look at the ceiling. “Hey! What do you want from me? What? Am I going crazy? If you’re really out there listening, I need you to talk to me right now okay? Right now!”
I wait about half a minute for something to happen. I’m not entirely sure what I’m expecting: Carter to appear out of thin air, a voice to boom from above, a flash of lightning. I don’t know, but it makes me angry when nothing happens, and I shake my head.
“It’s typical. You never answer when I ask for you. When I need your help,” I growl, balling up my fists, wanting to hit something as tears come to my eyes. “I asked for your help. I begged you for your help. I begged you to save my babies, but you didn’t. You give me these screwed up visions because now you care about my decisions? Or no, maybe you don’t, because you’re quiet again. Whoever you are, whatever you are!”
I grab my cell phone off the bed and look to see if there are any more missed calls from Bryce. There aren’t, but I have two messages from numbers I don’t have saved in my phone and a text from my mother, which I don’t open because it’s the last thing I need.
“Why is this happening to me?”
I scroll through my contacts and decide to call the one person who could tell me if all of this is real. I pull up Carter’s name and call him, but I get a message that the number is no longer in service. I laugh—of course his number won’t work anymore.
Davien knocks on the door. “Are you okay in there?”
I don’t know how to answer his question. I don’t really feel okay, but what do I tell him? That I feel as though I’m on the edge of a nervous breakdown?
“Yeah, I’m just… I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Okay.” His footsteps move from away from the door.
