Black Lies

by Alessandra Torre

  “You know me, I can’t stay away.” I grin at her, and there is a moment of sad connection, when I see the pity in her eyes and want to brush it away. Brant and I are fine. We are strong. I pulled back the roof of lies and we survived, are fighting, our anger focused on Jillian. We have love, the rest will get better or worse, and I would rather have worse than have any more lies. I hold the door and watch her leave, Brant’s arm wrapping around and pulling me close, his mouth soft against my neck as he bends down to kiss me.

  It is horrible for me to think, to wish for, but in that one moment of peace, of unity, the two of us against the world? A part of me really wants Lee to show up, to take me against the wall and fuck my brains out. No thinking, no analysis, just raw need fulfilled by both. I roll in Brant’s arms. Try to press against him and light the fire of my body, but there is nothing there. Not in this moment when he is broken and I am exhausted and the white hat is so heavy on my head.

  I would rather have worse than have any more lies. I just told myself that. I had loved Brant, had only gone after Lee for the purpose of keeping both halves of my man loyal, keeping him close. If he leaves, if the doctor has a cure, if he weeds out Lee and I am left with only Brant, that should be perfect, right?

  Right?

  I avoid the answers my heart pushes forward. The admittance, in my bones, that a part of me loves Lee. Needs him.

  Chapter 66

  TUESDAY

  Jillian’s injunction to push Brant’s custodial motion through is stopped, courtesy of our new team of legal representation: six attorneys rigorously opposing any and all attacks on Brant Sharp’s character for an enthusiastic eight hundred dollars an hour. Jillian has funds, so she can fight us tooth and nail, but I don’t think she will. Not when an end result will require months of broadcasted legal battles that will only hurt the public image of BSX, as well as any chance of a family reunion between her and Brant. Not when the test results showed that she had injected Brant with a cocktail of illegal drugs while keeping him prisoner. We haven’t heard from her since her arrival at our home yesterday. I am assuming she is licking her wounds while removing any trace of the imprisonment that occurred in her home.

  The hum of the highway rolls with a muted sound through the car as we head back from the office, my ring finger heavy with the weight of my new acquisition. I finally feel worthy of it, allowed Brant to drop to one knee on the carpet outside of his safe and repeat the question he has spent years perfecting. We had decided to wait until today, for any legal issues to be handled before showing up at the office, not wanting police awaiting our arrival, or some similar scene orchestrated by the control freak that is Jillian.

  “What are you going to do about her?” I look away from the window, my eyes catching the quick glance from Brant as he takes his eyes from the road to visit mine for a moment. His jaw tightens, his grip on the steering wheel working the leather as he flexes his hands.

  “I don’t know. I want to talk to the DID expert, find out my ability to run the company. Regardless, I don’t think I have a choice about Jillian. She has to be removed from any role of power.”

  I sigh. “The company’s her life. Has been for twenty years.” He won’t want to run a company. At least not old Brant. Financial sheets bore him, meetings drive him insane, and he can’t name ten employees off the top of his head. He likes to be in a room, alone. Working, fixing, creating. Jillian has done a great job in her role, even if she had been psychotic in her treatment of Brant. I have no desire to reward the woman but hate the waste of the situation.

  Brant’s hands move on the steering wheel and I glance over, see his fingers pull up the phone prompt and dial the number for BSX.

  A perky voice answers moments later.

  Brant clears his throat. “Hank Michen in Security, please.” I blink, surprised that he knows a name in security. Maybe he can name ten employees without pause.

  The next voice is deeper. More intimidating in its greeting.

  “Hank, this is Brant Sharp. I need to lock Jillian Sharp out of everything.”

  There is a long pause. Finally, the voice drawls back through the receiver. “At the risk of losing my job… is this a joke?”

  “I assume you have caller ID. Verify it against the internal corporate directory. I can also verify my driver’s license number or social security number, both of which I assume you have on file in some location.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Sharp. When you say everything, do you mean—”

  “Her office, her email, her remote ability. Anything that could give her an iota of access. Turn off her campus gate codes and transponder. I don’t want her to step on BSX’s campus without being flagged and stopped by a member of your staff.”

  Another long pause. “Is this a temporary or permanent situation?”

  “I’m not sure yet. For now, it is indefinite, unless you hear otherwise.”

  The man clears his throat. “You should know, Mr. Sharp, that we received a similar call from Ms. Sharp yesterday with the same instructions for you.”

  “And?”

  “And I refused. I attempted to call you at that point but you did not answer your cell. I left a voicemail for you.”

  “You did the right thing. How long will it take before her access is stopped?”

  There is the muffled sound of a receiver being covered, then he returns to the line. “Less than a half hour. We’ll have remote access cut before the end of this call, sir.”

  “Thank you. I’ll call you directly if there are any changes. Don’t accept orders from anyone other than me. And text me your cell phone number.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Brant glances at me. Appears to weigh something in his mind. “Hank, if I do call, or if someone else calls pretending to be me, don’t listen to my directives unless I verify my identity with a code word. I don’t care if I’m standing in front of you, don’t do what I say unless I verify it with the word.”

  “Which is what, sir?” The man seems unaffected by the strange demand.

  “Sheila.”

  “Got it.”

  “Also, you may take instructions from Layana Fairmont, should I be incapacitated for any reason.”

  “I don’t really feel comfortable taking orders from someone who is not a BSX employee, Mr. Sharp.”

  “This is a unique situation. Just until we get this sorted out.”

  The man sighs, a sound thick with his feelings on the subject. “Does she have a code word also?”

  I spoke up, my voice caught easily by the Bluetooth. “I’ll use the same word, just to keep things simple.”

  “Okay. Anything else, Mr. Sharp?” The emphasis on the Sharp name made it clear his level of acceptance of me. I grinned at the snub, reaching over and running a hand over the back of Brant’s neck.

  “That’s it. Thanks Hank.” He ends the call and leans into my hand. Says nothing as the car screams down the 280.

  That night, in bed, the television turned down, his arms wrapped around me, I feel his worry. Feel the moment when his brain works through all of the possibilities the last three years has brought.

  “Have I cheated on you?” His voice is low against my neck, a thread of hope in it that I am asleep. I roll, staying close, looking up into his face.

  “Never.”

  “But… as Lee… I never had…”

  I lean forward and kiss him. “You did, but it wasn’t cheating.”

  “Don’t justify it, Lana. If I kissed… touched other women… I was unfaithful to you.”

  “I did some pretty despicable things to win you over,” I say. “Things I’m not proud of.”

  He frowns. “With men?”

  I slap his chest. “No!” The dark leaves his eyes and it is his turn to steal a kiss, this one deeper, his hands pulling me atop him as he rolls us over. “God,” he whispers, his hands sliding down my back and cupping the meat of my ass, squeezing it so hard it hurts. “There were so many nights I watched you sle
ep and wondered if you were cheating. Wondered what you were keeping from me.”

  I pull back, sat up on him, the flickering light from the television illuminating the torture of his face. “What? You never said anything to me.”

  “What would I have said? Accused you of cheating?”

  “Yeah. That’s exactly what you should have done. I can’t believe you didn’t confront me.” I frown, unsure why exactly my feelings are a little hurt over the omission. We have always been so forthright. So honest. At least about everything except the previous giant hole of deception.

  “I didn’t want to lose you, Lana.” He reaches up, running the fingers of one hand up into my hair, his brow furrowed as he pulls me almost to his lips, his other hand pulling me tightly to him, his need hard against me. “I was worried,” he whispers, “that you might—”

  “Never be worried.” I breathe, taking his kiss when he forces it on me, the crush of his lips as his hand grounds me hard, my hips moving underneath his push, rocking me back and forth against the heat of his cock, my panties sticking to me, the extra friction maddening in its delicious rub. I pant against his mouth. “You will have me forever. You always have.”

  He rolls us as a unit, his hand rough between our bodies, pulling my panties aside and the top of his underwear down, until the barriers between us are removed and the push of him is suddenly inside me. Oh my God. It is a first, Brant giving me himself bare. Even though I’d had it with Lee, it is different. Everything has always been different between them. Their kiss, their touch, their fuck. Brant shoves inside, I open my legs, pull him into me with greedy hands, and cry out his name as he thrusts in every bit of his possession with strokes that reprint his name on my soul.

  Without the lies, without the secrets… it is better than it has ever been. I break beneath his body and sign away the last bit of my heart to this man. This complicated, layered, brilliant man. Owner of my soul.

  Chapter 67

  WEDNESDAY

  Dr. Terra, the specialist, flies in to San Francisco from Dallas, arriving in the afternoon. Brant had spoken to him yesterday, stressing the need for an immediate meeting. The man has cleared his schedule for the entire week upon Brant’s mention of generous compensation. I guess DID billionaires are few and far between.

  We are waiting at the private airport when Dr. Terra lands, Brant’s frame rising at the sight of the jet. I can feel his nerves, the jump on his skin when touched, the shake of his knees that indicates an abundance of jitters. He is different off the medication. Reacts in new, unexpected ways. Talks more. Smiles more. Even on a day when we’ve had little to smile about. I loop my hand through his and we wait, watching a short black man limp toward us, his mouth curving into a smile as we make eye contact.

  “Good afternoon.” He beams. “Brant Sharp, I presume?”

  “Yes. This is my fiancée, Layana Fairmont.”

  “Pleasure to meet you. Thank you for coming out on such short notice.”

  He nods quickly, rubbing his hands together. “I’m anxious to speak to you both.”

  “My car’s out front,” Brant said. “Let’s head to the house. We can dive into everything on the way.”

  “My primary concern is fixing this,” Brant says the moment the car doors close and privacy is established. He yanks the car into drive, the Aston jumping to attention, the doctor quickly reaching for his seat belt.

  “Fixing… by fixing you mean removing excess personalities?”

  I stifle a grin, biting the inside of my cheek as Brant comes to a rough stop at the exit of the airport, waiting impatiently as the gate slowly opens. Patience is Brant’s weak point, in all areas of study. He will be frustrated with the need to catch this man up on the clusterfuck of our situation. He will be frustrated with gates and traffic and the inconveniences of taking care of things Jillian previously handled. Money will help. It always does. More employees can be hired; the situation will iron itself out. But money can’t walk Dr. Terra through Brant’s past. Money can’t massage the fact that, right now, my man feels broken.

  “Dissociative Identity Disorder is not an easily fixed affliction. While other psychiatric disorders can be controlled by medication, DID is not a ‘curable’ disease. The original medication you were given as a child, I have to assume, was depressants, given to a level that would have dulled any personalities to a point where they were undistinguishable. Obviously, that is not a solution worth exploring.”

  Brant’s hand tightens around the pen in his fist, the flex of his forearm distracting. I place a hand on his arm, squeeze the muscle there. “So what solution is worth exploring?” he asks quietly.

  “Therapy. It’s not sexy, and it takes time, but it has the highest probability of success. I’ll set you up with a local doctor and you’ll have to come in a few times a week. Go through a lot of hypnosis. The doctor will speak to you and Lee. Counsel you both through the process. Eventually, Lee will either fade away, or parts of his personality will merge with yours.”

  I see signs no one would ever recognize. The slight pull of the skin around his eyes. The whiten of the back of his hand as his fist tightens. “It just doesn’t feel like someone else is inside of me. Could she be wrong?” He doesn’t look at me. We sit next to each other, our legs touching on the couch of this temporary office, yet are a hundred miles apart. Could she be wrong? A question that really means ‘Is she lying?’

  The man smiles a smile that dips itself in sadness and comes out with understanding. “You may not know Lee yet, but you will before this process is over. Assuming you participate in my suggested therapy program.”

  “I’ll participate. I want to do whatever I can to get it out.” The bite in his voice puts me on edge. As does the word ‘it’ in regards to Lee.

  “It’ll take both of you. I’ll need Layana’s help to speak to Lee. Convince him to leave.”

  I look up. “Convince him to leave?” I have never convinced Lee, in two years, to do anything. Every interaction was a struggle, my only success the manipulation of him in regards to the Molly breakup.

  “Yes. We can’t force him out of Brant’s life. It will only be successful if Lee is willing.”

  I nod though it contradicts my inner thoughts. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.” The words are expected, so I say them. Inside, I try to figure out how I feel about Lee leaving me forever.

  Brant speaks, “And I don’t want you to refer me to a specialist. I want you, here. For the next few months at least.”

  I smile politely, the false paint of a face I thought I had abandoned. Smile and search through the dark recesses of my soul in an attempt to unravel the thoughts that are clouding my brain. Try to understand how I feel about this.

  Stop. I force the action, force the turn of my mental gears to skid to a halt. It doesn’t matter what I want. Who I love. My happiness is sacrificial in order to save Brant. I watch the doctor’s mouth. Try to decipher its movement and catch up to the current place in the conversation.

  Chapter 68

  2 MONTHS LATER

  “You’re breaking up with me?” Lee stares at me, his hands tight on the chair before him, his face hollowing as he bites the inside of his cheek, a nervous gesture I suddenly miss. I will miss that tic. Miss the way he sometimes drops his eyes when he asks a question, as if he is afraid of the answer. Miss the way his smile pours through his eyes, like the sex that comes off his body. Miss the way that he is the sexiest, most confident man I have ever met, yet insecure in a way that hurts. He has been terrified of rejection since the day I met him. And now, in a room he doesn’t recognize, the psychiatrist’s new office cold and impersonal, his fears are becoming a reality.

  “Lee, try and relax,” Dr. Terra says, speaking from behind us.

  I close my eyes at the sound of the doctor’s voice. He needs to shut up. He shouldn’t be here. I told him that. Told him that this is a private moment. That it will go over better if there isn’t a party to Lee’s rejection. Especially not a
party who feels the need to interject. But they—the doctor and Brant—worried about my safety. Thought the doctor and his sedative should be present, in case it needs to be used. In case Lee gets violent. He won’t. I know he won’t, not to me. But they wouldn’t listen. So now it is Lee and I… and the doctor. A doctor Lee just turned his full attention to.

  “I’m sorry, who the fuck are you?” In three steps Lee has his throat in his hand, the doctor on his feet and backed against the wall. His face close to the doctor’s, his entire body trembles as he glances over at me, unmindful of the delicate throat grasped by his hand. “Are you fucking serious, Lana? You’re breaking up with me? For that rich dick?”

  I stare into Lee’s eyes the whole time. During the fumbling moment when the doc reaches into his pocket. The instance when his hand withdraws and the syringe stabs through the thin cotton of Lee’s shirt. I hold the stare when Lee’s eyes flinch. When betrayal seeps through them and he glares at me like he hates me and loves me and misses me, all at the same time. I stare at him and watch as his eyes close and he slumps to the floor.

  Chapter 69

  Brant

  Ever since finding out my condition, I have read everything I can find on Dissociative Identity Disorder, my research hampered by the fact that there is little available on the subject. But what I have read is troubling, made more so by the apparent omission that my mind will not reveal.