by Emelia Blair
Propped on my elbow, I curl a strand of dark black hair around my finger, unable to stop myself from touching her. These feelings inside me for Eve, I can’t find a label for them.
Initially, I called it love, but that word seems so whitewashed.
It is more than that.
It is something dark, something illuminating. Something so beautiful and twisted.
I will lay the world down at her feet if she asks me to.
I wonder if Eve knows how much power she wields in her delicate hands.
I tug lightly at her hair and am mildly amused when I hear her mumble something nasty under her breath as she refuses to wake up.
So many secrets inside her of her that she isn’t ready to divulge.
Her parents.
Elijah.
The man who hurt her.
Were they all linked? Or were they separate incidents?
Where are her parents? Where is Eve’s family? Nobody reached out to her after the incident at her dance studio was on the news.
She always had deep ties to her blood. Willful, rebellious as she was, she was always attached to her family. From what little I know, her father was a harsh man but loved her dearly. Her mother was a quiet woman who adored her daughter, while disapproving of her habits.
There was an adopted brother as well, or something along those lines.
A boy she grew up with.
Where are they?
I am drawn from my musings when Eve jerks in her sleep, a violent tremor and a hissing of breath.
“No,” the word is torn from her throat, fear in them, a half-broken sob.
“Enough. Please, stop!”
My blood runs cold at the words, and I still.
She is having a nightmare.
But I heard the words before when I was taking care of her during her fever.
“Not the baby, Tom! Please, no!”
She curls up into a ball, whimpering.
I smell the salt of her tears before I see them and I turn her over, pinning her thrashing form to the bed, growling. “Eve. Eve! Wake up.”
She struggles wildly and I tighten my grip on her, feeling helpless, unable to protect her from the monsters in her head.
“Eve!” I shake her.
That does the trick.
Her eyes open, blank and unseeing, still gripped in the throes of the nightmare. “W-what?”
“Eve,” her name is as soft murmur now as I release her shoulder in favor of stroking her face. “You’re here. You’re safe.”
Her eyes clear as she focuses them on me, still retaining that wild look in them.
“You’re safe,” I repeat.
She stares at me, mumbling something so softly that I nearly miss it. “I’m safe.”
The relief that replaces the stark fear in her eyes is so profound as she finally recognizes me. The remaining tear that slips down the side of her face goes unnoticed, and I let her watch me in silence.
“What…?” Her voice is hoarse from our encounter a few hours ago, and I try to keep the growing fury inside me from showing on my face.
“You had a nightmare.”
“Oh.”
She doesn’t say anything until: “Are you going to get off me or do you plan to crawl into my lap?”
There is no bite in her tone, and I make a small amused huff before moving aside.
However, I drag her with me till she is splayed over my form, her legs entwined with mine, her back to my chest as I hold her to me.
“I didn’t take you for a cuddler,” she says and I sense that she is trying to be normal, trying to hide the lingering fear that still surrounds her.
I can almost smell it.
I don’t say anything to her small jibes, just bury my face in her hair, breathing in the scent of my shampoo before murmuring again, “You’re safe.”
She doesn’t say anything, just grips my arm that is around her waist tighter as if she is trying to burrow herself into me.
It is hours later when I finally pick up Mila from school and the little tyke is tucked into my side as she makes me play Barbie doll dress-up games on my laptop with her that I find my eyes following Eve as she paces the room, her energy relentless.
“Daddy, you’re not playing!” My daughter gives me an insulted look, and I blink.
“Of course I am. Black dress and white shoes.”
Mila looks exasperated. “No! You chose that the last time as well. You have to choose something different.”
“What’s wrong with black?” I feel confused. “It goes with everything.”
“But it’s so boring.”
I stare at my own black t-shirt and then make a small complaining sound. “Eve.”
She looks over at me and shrugs. “I told you not to play that game with her. If it makes you feel better, she thinks I have worse tastes than you.”
Mila suddenly looks towards her as well. “Mama, when is Ron coming home?”
Eve stills, looking uneasy. “He’s staying with Mark. I told you.”
I didn’t know a child could actually deflate till I see my own pull it off with such skill. “Oh.”
Then she brightens. “Can I go play with him?”
Eve fiddles with her phone. “Not yet. But soon.” She glances at the clock. “Right now, however, you need to get your ass to bed.”
“Swear jar,” Mila announces piously and Eve scowls before taking out a five dollar bill from God knows where and looks around for a jar that she hasn’t brought along.
I see the panic on her face before she transforms it into a small smile. “Guess not this time.”
I watch Mila run off and then return seconds later with a small metal pig that jingles.
“You can use this,” she says slyly and Eve shakes her head at her before stuffing the five dollar bill into the gleeful child’s piggy bank.
Once Mila leaves the room, I ask. “What’s wrong?”
Eve’s blunt nails scratch at the cover on the armchair, a nervous gesture. “Ron was supposed to have landed four hours ago. He’s not answering his phone.”
“Did you try Mark?”
She nods with a frown before getting up and starting the pacing again, seemingly intent on burning a hole in my carpet.
“Maybe the flight was delayed,” I suggest.
“It wasn’t.”
“Would you like me to—?” My words are cut off by the sharp trill of her cell phone.
It is the way she answers the phone, a desperate look in her eyes, along with relief and a tremor of her hands that makes me realize that Ron is more than just a friend to Eve.
He is family.
“Where the hell have you been?”
I lean back into the couch and watch the expressions flit across her face from relief to anger to shock and fear.
“Are you okay? Where are you?”
After a few moments, she leans forward. “No—No! Go with Mark. Stay with him. Don’t go home. We’ll come to you.”
Whatever Ron says on the other end, she isn’t very pleased about it. “Well, then tell him to stick that up his ass. We’re coming to see you.”
We.
When she closes the phone. I eye her. “Where are we going?”
Eve runs her hands through her hair, and as she walks towards me, I grip her by the hand and pull her towards me till she is standing directly between my legs. Her hands come to rest on my shoulders.
She looks troubled but leans into my touch, which is a very promising sign.
“Somebody drugged Ron at the airport and left him in the women’s bathroom. He says it was a woman. He didn’t see her face, but he swears it was a woman.”
“Which airport?”
“Chicago Midway. He landed.” Her eyes are dark with worry and fear. “Zayn, why is this happening? First Lorraine and then Ron. People around me are getting hurt.”
I want to reassure her, but there is nothing I can say.
Just then my phone rings and I frown as I see the
caller ID.
Still holding onto Eve, I answer curtly. “Elijah.”
My father sounds cold, furious in a way that tells me that someone is going to be in a lot of pain tonight. “Where is Eve?”
“With me. Why?” I reply sharply, a hint of unease crawling down my spine.
“Don’t let it out of your sight. Her apartment’s on fire. In the parking lot, the intruder placed a bucket of blood and threw on half of hers and Mila’s clothing.”
My left hand, which is holding onto Eve’s hip, tightens as fear and fury make a bitter taste in my mouth. “What?”
“Keep her with you at all times,” Elijah warns.
I hesitate, struggling for clarity in the rage that has engulfed me before saying, “We’re going to see her roommate. He was attacked at the airport. Drugged.”
“Ron Christenson?” Elijah’s tone is sharp.
“Yeah.”
“Is his boyfriend, Mark, with him?”
I dimly wonder how Elijah knows about Mark. “Maybe. I don’t know yet.”
“Leave Mila with friends. In fact, bring her to me.”
I am about to scoff when I realize that the one place safer than my own home is Elijah’s home. Eve and Mila would be untouchable in there.
For a brief moment, I flirt with the idea but discard it, knowing that Eve might not be on board with it. Convincing her to stay here is a hard enough task.
“I can look after my family,” I say, my voice thin. “But if the time comes, I’ll avail that option.”
Once the call disconnects, I find myself telling Eve what happened.
Watching the blood leech from her face till her eyes look too big for her face, fear so prominent that it makes me feel useless. And yet I know that fear isn’t for herself.
It is for Mila.
It is for Ron.
And it is for me.
When she tries to pull away from me, I grasp her tighter, giving her a mild look. “I don’t think so.”
“I don’t think this is a good idea, Zayn. You need to stay away from me. I can take Mila and—” Her sentence trails off.
“And what?” I ask. “Where will you go?”
She tries to say something, but she just lost her home. Her business was destroyed in a way. She has nowhere to go but here.
I see the panicked look in her eyes, the despair, the look of a caged bird.
“You have nowhere to go, Eve. I don’t know what happened with your family, but you don’t seem to see them as an option anymore. I am all you have.”
This time when the tears well in her eyes, it infuriates me.
It makes me want to wash the streets with the blood of the person who had caused this strong, unbendable woman to break.
She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes to stop herself from crying, and amidst all the rage inside of me, I feel pride at how strong she is.
I pull her into my arms, into my lap. “Eve.”
She stares at me, her eyes dull yet shimmering. I force her hands around my neck.
“I’ve got you,” I tell her. “Thick or thin, I’ve got you. And I’m not letting go.”
She doesn’t say anything for a few moments, leaning forward till our foreheads touch, her eyes closed.
“Everything in the world that I owned was in that apartment,” she tells me, her voice so unbearably sad.
“Things can be bought,” I say letting her sink her head into my shoulder. But I know what she means.
“I feel like somebody just erased my presence, the proof of my existence. They took away my livelihood. They’re trying to take away people I care about. What if the next person to go is you? How am I supposed to…?”
She breaks off her sentence midway as if realizing what she is about to say.
A part of me knows how that sentence was going to end, but a part of me desperately wishes she finished it.
However, this is beyond my feelings right now.
“We’ll get through this. With Elijah and me, there is no one who can get to you or Mila. And once, this matter is put to bed, I’ll help you rebuild your foundations.”
“It’s not that easy, Zayn,” she says in a low voice, and I kiss her neck, making a humming sound.
“I’ll make it that easy,” I promise her.
Mila is beyond excited that she is going to a sleepover to her Aunt Agatha’s. Even more so when she discovered that Jake and Sam, Ian’s twin brothers, would also be there.
She also adores the gray tabby cat that Agatha owns.
I am starting to wonder when I will be asked for a cat.
It is about an hour later, with our daughter safely tucked in a house that has military-type security due to Ian’s weird friend who likes to get him to test run his products, that we reach Mark’s apartment.
Since I picked up Mila from there once, I know the location.
Mark greets us at the door, and I see two detectives in the living room. The gallery owner doesn’t look upset. His mouth is tight, and the look in his eyes is dangerous, enraged even.
“Ron!” Eve pushes past him into the living room where tired green eyes light up in happiness at the sight of her.
Eve all but throws herself at him. “Shit. Fuck. You’re okay!”
They hold onto each other and Mark frowns. “He’s barely out of it. Don’t suffocate him, Eve.”
“Fuck you, Mark,” Eve doesn’t even bother looking in his direction, and the man visibly stiffens.
“Do you have any leads?” I ask him.
Mark doesn’t look like any art gallery owner that I know. He seems to be struggling to maintain this persona that he can’t quite manage today.
“I took my eyes off him for two minutes, and he vanished,” Mark grits out. “He’s saying that he saw a woman struggling with a suitcase. Long blonde hair and very pale. And he went to help her. And the next thing he remembers is waking up in the toilet. There were cuts on his arms. Similar to the ones on the girl that was attacked.”
That is a very specific thing to remember or relate, I think, considering that Mark shouldn’t have any knowledge of that, and I tuck that away for future use.
“There’s a pinprick on his arm. Ron doesn’t do drugs. At all.” Mark sounds agitated, a distressed lover. And under that agitation simmers restrained violence.
“It was the woman,” Ron croaks. “The pretty one. I shouldn’t have helped her. You usually don’t expect women to go around drugging strangers at airports.”
“It wasn’t random though, was it?” Mark points out, his eyes fixated on Eve.
My tone deliberately calm, I ask, “What do you mean?”
Mark moves over to pick up a paper that was upside down on the couch.
A paper and a small polaroid picture, I realize.
He offers them to me, and my teeth clench at the contents of the photo.
The full-blown picture on the paper is of Eve and Ron, with Mila in between them. It is the same one from her office.
The second one is of Ron lying unconscious on the bathroom floor.
Eve crosses over to where I stand, and I hear her sharp intake of breath before she meets her eyes.
My tone grim, I say, slowly, “If there was ever a confirmation, this is it. You’re definitely being targeted.”
Eve gives me a stark look that conceals anger as well.
She does not appreciate being made into a victim.
She glances at Mark. “Ron will have to stay here indefinitely.” At the question in Mark’s eyes, she proceeds to tell him what happened to their apartment.
I find it interesting that the composed gallery owner doesn’t betray any sign of shock.
Almost as if he already knew.
Despite Ron’s devastation at losing everything in the apartment, his concern was predominantly for Eve and Mila, and despite the jealousy that burns through me at how much of Eve’s heart the flamboyant man seems to occupy, I can’t help but feel grateful for the way he provides the support that Eve see
ms to need.
“So,” Ron drawls out, his eyes on me. “You and Eve, huh?”
My hands are in my pocket as I eye him, warily. Eve went to the bathroom.
“You got a problem with that?”
Ron grins at me, his smile still a little woozy. “Nah, man. I told her to give you a chance. You don’t come across somebody who looks at you like they worship you every day.”
The sly look in his eyes makes me want to both laugh and sigh.
“I don’t trust your boyfriend,” I say, quietly.
The laughter fades from Ron’s eyes, something troubling flitting over his face before he forces out. “Mark loves me.”
His voice wobbles as if he doesn’t quite believe it himself.
Mark, who is in the kitchen, isn’t close enough to overhear our conversation, and I step closer under the guise of leaning over and picking up a magazine. “Is he really just a gallery owner?”
Ron’s is quiet. “He owns a gallery.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I love him.” There is steel in Ron’s eyes, which tells me all I want to know.
Mark is hiding something, and Ron is determined to protect him at all costs, despite not knowing what exactly his lover is hiding.
When Mark enters the room, his eyes automatically go to Ron, and he sees the way the latter chooses not to maintain eye contact.
An accusatory look burns into the side of my skull, but the gallery owner keeps his cool, walking over to sit beside Ron, yanking up the blanket to cover him. “You should lie down now. You’ve seen Eve. You have no more excuses not to rest.”
I nod. “It would be for the best.” And because Ron is so important to Eve, I hand a card to Mark. “My personal family physician. If you need a discreet house call.”
I see the shift in Mark’s eyes when he sees the name on the card.
Son-of-a-bitch.
Mark knows him.
My suspicions grow, and I suddenly have a bad feeling about this. As if somebody is pulling all of our strings and I have a sickening feeling I might know who.
Just then, Eve walks out, and I decide it is time to leave.
It is when we are in the car that Agatha’s name shows up on my cell phone. Putting her on Bluetooth speaker, I hear her voice, thin and angry. “Zayn, it’s on the news!”
