Scarlett Limerence

by K. A Knight

  “On my way, do I need to bring a gun, ice cream, or new panties?” she asks, dragging a snort out of me, which makes me hiss in pain.

  “Ice cream,” I tell her and hang up.

  I lie there on the floor like a hot mess waiting for her.

  While I wait, there’s a knock at the door. Dragging myself up, I answer it and frown at the delivery driver who thrusts a brown bag at me and rushes away, obviously busy. Scowling down at the bag, I take it into the kitchen and peek at the contents.

  Inside is a mixture of my favourite foods, pizza and Chinese, obviously from Max. It only sets me off again and I slide down to the floor like some pathetic fool and cry into my knees, while my fucking food goes cold next to me.

  When her knocks sound on the door, it isn’t much later. As I wipe my face and climb to my feet, she gets bored. “It’s me, open up, I brought ice cream!” she calls, and I snort out a laugh and swing the door open.

  She takes one look at me and rushes towards me, opening her arms and bringing me close. I gasp in pain, my ribs protesting her embrace, and she pulls away.

  “What the fuck happened to you? Whose apartment is this?” she demands, and I just stare at her, lost on what to say.

  Instead, I back away and let her in. Nadia comes in, watching me with sorry eyes, and shuts the door behind her before quickly glancing around and looking back at me. She takes it all in then blows out a sigh. “Got some spoons? I feel like this is going to be a long one.”

  After putting the ice cream in the freezer, we end up sitting on the floor with the coffee table between us, eating the food Max sent. She doesn’t ask any more questions, but I can tell she wants to, especially when I take my antibiotic and pain meds.

  She waits as I chew and swallow methodically, the food tasting like cardboard in my mouth with all the worry and pain running through both my head and body.

  After we have finished eating, I lean back against the sofa and she watches me again, demanding with her eyes that I tell her what’s happening.

  I know I shouldn’t tell her, it could put her in danger, but she’s my best friend, my sister, and I need someone right now. I need her opinion, so when she narrows her eyes on me, I let it all spill out, and when I’m done, and my chest is empty and my tears have dried up, I know I made the right choice.

  “Wine, I should have brought wine,” she whispers, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “What do I do?” I whisper back, begging her.

  “You carry on, you put one foot in front of the other. You wake up every day and keep fighting, you take it as you need to—a minute, an hour, a day, or a week at a time. You keep on moving. We’ll get you unpacked, we’ll make this place home. I think you need to speak to someone about what happened though, and babe, I don’t think you made the wrong decision. I don’t think there is a wrong decision, you made one that felt right. You will never be alone, Scarlett, you always have me.”

  And that’s what it boils down to, doesn’t it?

  Fear of being alone.

  Even in my mother’s house, I was never alone. The company wasn’t great, but it beat the cold, nightmare inducing feeling of loneliness.

  I filled my nights and days with men I didn’t love because I couldn’t have the one I wanted…and when I did, he overwhelmed me. Our time was so fleeting yet full, and now it feels like a dream.

  I think everyone, deep down, is scared to be alone, but there is a difference between being alone and loneliness, and I need to find that difference. I need to love myself like I told him he needs to.

  I need to make my own life before I open it to others.

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  “Okay,” she replies, “let me clear this up, then we binge eat that ice cream and start to get you unpacked. We’ll write a list of what we need to buy, and tomorrow we’ll go shopping. Do you need any other drugs, pain relief, sleeping tablets? Hell, any non-prescription ones? I know a guy.” She wiggles her eyebrows, making me laugh.

  “I got you girl, always, let’s do this!” She throws her coat off, collects the remains of our takeaway, and rushes to the kitchen, coming back with the ice cream and a spoon, passing it to me. “You sit there, be good, I’ll sort through some boxes.”

  “Nads, you don’t have to,” I say, the ice cream chilling my hands. She brought my favourite, chocolate brownie.

  “I don’t have to, I want to, you would do the same for me. Let me look after you this once, babe. Tomorrow you can rebuild yourself, but tonight you can just be…you…broken, whatever the fuck you want to be. Scream, cry, rant, whatever you want.” She grabs a box, sits on the floor, and starts going through it, noting stuff down on her phone as she goes. She eyes the ice cream pointedly, so I start eating, watching as she unpacks for me.

  She even makes my bed, and when she’s done, there is only one box left, which she opened and shut without a word, and put to the side for me to sort. She flops on the sofa behind me, blowing out a breath.

  “Well, shit, remind me next time to get some helpers,” she jokes, and I laugh. “I know what we need to buy tomorrow, but for now it’s late, and you need sleep with everything that’s happened.”

  She’s right, my body is screaming at me.

  “I’m scared,” I admit, without looking at her.

  I hear her sit up behind me. “Of what?”

  “Of closing my eyes, of my dreams, of sleeping alone,” I confess with a wince.

  “Bitch, you aren’t sleeping alone. I’m staying, and if any crazy ass boys come here trying to hurt you, I’ll kill the bastards. You sleep, I’ll keep watch over us, babe,” she declares, wrapping her arms around me from behind and dropping her head on my shoulder.

  “Deal?” she murmurs.

  “Deal,” I whisper, so grateful she’s here with me. I don’t think I could stand being alone tonight.

  I lock up using the new system before Nadia shoos me to get washed and dressed. I find all my toiletries put away and smile at her thoughtfulness. I quickly get ready in loose, comfy pyjamas and slip into my freshly made bed. Not five minutes later, Nadia comes in. She’s in her long t-shirt and panties and jumps in next to me. Her phone is plugged in on the floor, and the room is almost completely dark until she flicks on her torch and angles it to the ceiling so it’s like a lamp.

  “Figured you might need the light tonight, that way when you wake up, you won’t be so confused,” is all she says, as she snuggles down in the bed. “Hey, at least now we can have sleepovers,” she teases, and I feel a smile quirk up my lips. She gives me a sad-looking one back.

  “Life isn’t always what we thought it would be, babe. Sometimes people we believed would be in it forever come and go, and those we thought fleeting stay forever. We change, we grow, but it always gets better. Every challenge is something you get back up from to prove your strength. It’s not always about winning those fights, but getting back up. So, get back up, babe, you have the world at your feet and me at your back. It’s never too late to start again, Scarlett.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Maximus

  Two weeks later.

  Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since I’ve spoken to her…I’ve seen her only from afar when I got weak and broke down and stalked her like some kind of crazy person. She seems to be doing okay, good actually.

  Sighing, I stroke Milo as he eats. It’s been a busy two weeks for me as well. I’ve managed to erase all traces of Randy and Reggie from her life. Their families have cried and buried them, believing they died in the car accident we framed it as. Her mum and Jeff are buried too, though not legally. We made it look like they ran away. That Jeff knew he would be caught for his prior offences, so they took off, which made it easier to get the house signed over to Scarlett for whenever she decides what she wants to do with it.

  I’ve convinced Donald to leave her alone, to leave her out of this, though he won’t let me go back to work yet—I have to be signed off by a doctor. My leg is healing, and with each pas
sing day, it only reminds me of the time I’m spending without her. The stronger I get, the more my resolve to give her peace wanes.

  But she was right, I kept secrets, I didn’t trust her completely, and I needed to work on myself. That’s what I’m trying to do, I even met up with Keanu and went for a drink. We might have punched each other at the end of the night, but I feel like something is starting there. A friendship of sorts.

  Now, there’s something else I need to do, something Scarlett mentioned that got me thinking. So, grabbing my phone from the top of the table, I stop wasting time and dial the number, listening as it rings. My heart pounds nervously as dread curls into my stomach, but I force myself not to hang up. This is overdue, and I need to see it through no matter what happens.

  The phone clicks on and a happy sounding voice answers, a familiar female one.

  Lydia.

  “Hello?” she asks. I hear the TV on in the background, a game show that she always loved to watch. I hear her bird chirping from close by, and the feeling of loneliness and home hits me.

  “Hi, it’s me,” I reply, then don’t know what else to say, so I start blabbering. “I’m sorry, I know it’s been a long time and I should have called. I shouldn’t have ran like that but—”

  “Don’t you dare apologise to me, Maximus. I knew you would find your way back to us, darling, when you were ready. I never held that against you, I just wanted you to be happy. Are you?”

  “Am I what?” I question dumbly.

  “Happy!” She laughs, a sweet tinkling sound she used to make when Milo and I visited.

  “I was, I am,” I stutter. “I met someone,” I admit.

  “That’s good, does she make you happy? Or he, I ain’t fussed,” she offers.

  “She, and she does. I’m crazy about her,” I tell her, sitting back in my chair.

  “That’s good, you bring her by to visit… course, only if you want to.”

  “I’d like that, if you’ll have me?”

  “You’re always welcome here, darling, you always were. We’re family after all. No time or distance will break that, love is too strong. Now, tell me about your life, what are you up to?”

  So we talk for hours, and as we do, something clicks into place. Something that was missing, fragile, and broken. With Scarlett, I felt a huge piece of myself rebuilding and putting itself back where it belongs. This is a small chunk, but it’s there, and I know I’m on my way to healing.

  To forgiving myself.

  To loving myself.

  When I hang up with a goodbye, it’s with a smile on my face. I wish I could tell Scarlett, share this with her, but I remember why I can’t and my smile dims.

  I bring up her texts, obsessively rereading them, unable to help myself. I miss her so fucking much. Even though I know this isn’t forever, it feels like an eternity.

  Fuck it.

  Standing up, I grab my keys, and give in to the need to see her, to check on her, but just as I’m leaving, my phone rings again and I answer without looking.

  “Want to come help me kill some sex traffickers?” Keanu asks.

  “What, you can’t do it alone?” I tease, hesitating at the doorway.

  “Fuck you,” he snaps, then breathes heavily. “There’s too many of them and I need to cut the power at the same time, you want in or not?”

  “You going to split the pay with me?” I laugh.

  “Fine, 60/40?” he grumbles.

  “50/50,” I counter, and he groans, his chair creaking under his weight.

  “Fine, but no more or I’ll tell Donald you’re working,” he taunts and I growl.

  “Fine, send me the address, I’ll meet you there.”

  “Good, see you in thirty, and oh, Max? You can buy the drinks after.” He laughs as he hangs up on me. What an ass, but even now a smile curls up my lips. Is this what it feels like to have friends?

  Do you want to stab them all the time? I don’t remember that, but who knows.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Scarlett

  A month later...

  I add the grey lamp, the final finishing touch to my living room, and step back with a smile. There, all finished. I bought lots the day after I moved in, but it was missing some bits and pieces, which I picked up over the last month. The days and weeks passed in blur of working long shifts and designing my new brief at university.

  Max is never far from my thoughts, nor is what happened to me.

  In fact, I started talking to someone about it. A doctor, one recommended by Donald, Max’s boss. It means I can be completely honest, and she’s helping me untangle the web of my mind and come to terms with what happened to me, starting me on my journey of healing. It’s relief to talk to someone, someone who doesn’t judge me and can offer me help and her opinion.

  The music is low, crooning through my apartment from the speaker on the coffee table, one made to look like an old-school radio. I added a comfy, wing back chair near the shelves, a bent floor lamp, and a new rug there to make a cosy reading area. My bookshelves are almost full now—ranging from astronomy to dirty reads. It feels a little more like home with each day and each touch.

  I added a matching chair to go with the sofa and a big TV opposite it. A desk now sits between the windows with my laptop, printer, and tablet set up there. It has an L section with it to add a painting and drawing section. A chill goes through the apartment and I pad over to the open balcony doors, shutting them reluctantly. I love the breeze coming through as I work, and the sounds of the city below. Who knew I would love it so much? Sometimes, I wish it was a bit quieter, but it helps me fight off the feeling of being alone. It can be busy in the city, but this helps, makes me feel like a part of it and a little less small.

  My paintings and pictures of Nadia and my other friends now line the hallway…I even had a few of Max and me blown up, but I can’t bring myself to hang them yet. It makes me miss him too much and reach for my phone to text him, just to see how he is.

  I did get the one with Milo in his costume blown up big and hung it up though. I miss my little fluff butt.

  My laptop pings with an email and I head over, sit in my big, comfy leather chair, and open it before the notification disappears. It’s one of my clients, one of the few, I should say. This new start and the encouragement of Josh and Nadia saw me setting up my own website, my own part-time freelance business on the side for design. It was slow at first, but word of mouth soon got around and I got my first client—designing a new logo for her ice cream shop. After that she kept coming back—new menus and promotional materials—and she told her friends.

  I now have a job to rebrand a coffee shop, and an independent letting agent. I’m working on their updated logo as we speak, so I return their email with an update, attaching a proof, which they reply instantly to, seeming happy with the progress and the direction it has taken.

  I love this and it’s given me more income. I even dropped some shifts at the bar to take more jobs. I’m still going to university, and we’re breaking up soon for Christmas, so I’m putting the final touches on my second brief to design a children’s story book. It’s taken me a lot of hours, which my sleepless nights have helped with, because when the nightmares and memories get too bad, I settle down with a cup of tea, my headphones, and draw.

  It’s all hand painted and drawn then scanned in. I’m working on a few tweaks, then I need to compile it and get ready to present at the end of the week. I’m feeling confident about it. I got my results back for the book cover the other day, top marks, I was thrilled, but I before I knew it, I had reached for my phone to tell Max.

  This month apart has given me nothing but time to think, hell, I even went on a date but quickly regretted it and called it off before we ordered the main course. I miss him…

  …and I still love him.

  That much is clear, but do you ever really stop loving someone? I thought it would be easier without him here, but every day something happens that I wish I could tell
him about.

  I miss his voice, his scent, his smile. The way he would hold my hand, the stories he would tell me. I miss sitting and watching TV with him and Milo, or working out with him. I miss him, I miss us, so much sometimes that it staggers me.

  Does he miss me too?

  He kept his word, he has stayed away, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I think about him at least every hour of every day, and the feeling of missing him, of this apartness being wrong, settles into my bones.

  My therapist told me that I reacted well at the time, that I outlined what I needed to be able to function and heal, but she also said the first reaction isn’t always permanent.

  Is this permanent?

  No, it can’t be.

  But why does it feel like it is?

  My life is moving on without him, I’m moving on, but my heart is still his and aches for his rough words and careful hands. Has he found someone else, has he moved on, or does he crave me like I still crave him?

  My obsession has never once waned, our love still strong even now with time apart. Doesn’t that mean it’s real?

  I wish I knew, but I’m fumbling in the dark here. Most of all, I hope he’s okay. I hope he doesn’t blame himself. I hope he’s happy and well. I have an unnatural need to find out, but the simple truth is I’m scared.

  I’m scared to find out if he’s happier without me, if he has moved on, if he no longer loves me, so instead I exist in this limbo.

  Unlike my heart, I’m healing. It’s slow going, but my body is my own again. I’m laughing once more, something that seems wrong after the horrors I’ve faced, but my therapist says that’s okay and it’s called something like survivor’s guilt.

  Laughing means I’m happy, happy is good…happy, is that a feeling I would use to describe me?

  No, it can’t be. Because my heart still hurts. I jump at voices and scan crowds for him, always searching for him, but true to his word, he let me go…