by K B Cinder
The coverage in Boston burned bright, but by the end of my first week in London, it had started to wane. More questions than answers plagued the Bold’s exposé, experts and conspiracy theorists poking holes in his words.
Soon Kee’s face disappeared from the news cycle, though horrible comments still popped onto past posts, threats sprinkled in here and there, appearing as fast as the sites could take them down.
I wanted to jump on a plane home to start the cleanup process but knew better than to step into that trap. They were still waiting to pounce, the security detail reporting paparazzi activity around Kee’s apartment despite the fact that she wasn’t there.
They even bothered poor Lil, though the stick of dynamite met them with fire and fury, dropping more f-bombs in a one-minute interview than I thought possible.
I only had to wait a little longer. Once the next act in the circus kicked off, I was free to move without fear. They’d be so busy chasing their own tails in Paris they would miss me slipping back into Boston entirely.
Until then, it was a waiting game.
One I couldn’t lose.
Keely
Luxury didn’t mean comfort.
Every inch of Ethan’s home was grand, and I spent a good portion of my first week exploring it, the rooms an intricate web of opulence. A gourmet kitchen. A bar. An indoor lap pool. A home gym. Everything a person could ever want within four walls.
Everything except for Ethan.
I was hoping he would be hiding somewhere inside, opening each new door expecting him to be on the other side. But he wasn’t.
Despite the beauty all around, I was alone. Not just alone, but alone and losing my mind.
A guard brought clothes from my place along with my laptop and textbooks, my cell phone charger the only item in the pile I was excited to see. I didn’t need to ask how they gained entry, knowing Ethan likely supplied them with his key.
My phone stayed glued to my hand as I paced the penthouse, willing it to ring, hoping for something from Ethan. But nothing came. So I texted him again.
Call me. Please.
It sounded desperate, but I was desperate. Desperate for calm. Desperate for him. Desperate for answers.
He said he loved me, but you don’t lie to those you love. You don’t leave them. Definitely not in times of need.
After nine days of nothingness, I found myself reclining in a leather theater seat watching reruns of game shows. I didn’t know if I was more surprised that Ethan had a theater in his home or that I didn’t know the price of laundry detergent, failing miserably in the latest round of the show. Who even knew winter mint was a scent?
My phone buzzed for the hundredth time, likely my parents still short circuiting after the short and sweet I’m fine text I’d sent. I knew the simplicity would drive Mom up the wall, but I needed to let them know I was safe.
But it wasn’t. It was Rick, replying to the message I’d sent days earlier.
Rick: Your anger is misdirected. Nothing I’ve published is untrue.
He was baiting me, I knew it, but dammit, I bit. Hard.
It takes a big man to publish lies to advance their own career, huh? What happened to journalism’s code of ethics?
Not only had he lied about me, but he’d lied about himself. About Ethan. He deserved more than a bite.
Rick: No lies, hon. Just love. Speaking of that, how’s your man? When’s his next release? I’d love tickets.
I was going to kill him. Not literally, obviously, but I would commit some sort of career homicide. Clean. Precise. Bloodless. Maybe I’d report him. There had to be journalism police or something. He couldn’t slap lies on the cover of a magazine about people and get away with it.
You’re going to feel like an ass when you have to issue a retraction. Good luck keeping your job, hon.
Dammit. The latest laundry detergent was way more expensive than I figured. Was I really that out of touch?
Rick: He didn’t tell you, huh? Bummer. If you want the details, give me a buzz.
The knife twisted deeper, but I wouldn’t take that bait. I knew a trap when I saw it.
* * *
More days passed with no word from Ethan.
Rather than throwing myself into schoolwork like I should have, I drowned my sorrows, literally, in the bathtub that had called my name from the moment I saw it, a deep stone basin I could disappear in forever. I filled it with the hottest water I could stand, steam overtaking the bathroom while I soaked away my troubles.
All I could find were Ethan’s products, so I lathered up with his scent while the scorched water soothed my tired muscles, body in knots from the emotional turmoil. Inside, I was equally gnarled, unsure of what to think. I thought I knew Ethan, a person I considered one of my best friends, but everything I thought I knew was up in the air.
Was he really in tech? How did he earn enough money to live in such a place?
With every pass of the washcloth on my skin, I felt like I was wiping away trust in him, more doubt creeping across the clean flesh. What if he really was Ever? He definitely could afford a penthouse if he had $123 million rolling in.
By the time I was done, I was set on getting to the bottom of it, venturing out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, opening every door I could find for traces of paint supplies. Room by room, I found nothing until I reached a locked door at the end of a hall, a pin pad sealing the door. I threw a shoulder against the door in an ill-advised superhero-wannabe move, but it held firm and I folded against the wood, likely scoring a hell of a bruise in the process.
“FUCK!” No one could hear me, but it felt better to get the frustration out. The lack of control about my predicament almost as jarring as the mysteries floating about.
With my mind and body bruised, I headed to the kitchen in defeat, making a bee line for the walk-in wine closet I’d discovered the first day. I didn’t know much about Ethan’s fancy-schmancy liquor, so I grabbed the nearest bottle that didn’t look like it cost more than a car, heading back to the white marble kitchen to start my own pursuit of happiness.
A loud pop signaled that my troubles would soon be silenced, the bottle of champagne opening easier than I thought. Rather than grabbing a glass, I headed back into the living room with the bottle in hand, letting the towel around me drop to the floor. Screw it.
I sipped straight from the bottle while I tried to figure out the stupid TV remote, the rectangle containing more buttons than any television could ever need. No matter how many times I hit the power button, it refused to turn on, and before I knew it, I’d downed half the bottle and still hadn’t mastered it, all while sitting butt naked on Ethan’s couch.
I flopped back, the cushions nearly swallowing me whole, just my legs and boobs showing as I sank in. It looked ridiculous, so naturally I took a photo and sent it to Ethan. I was never one for nudes, but I was never one for liars either and I’d been all about a six-foot-five one for two years.
The text back was almost instantaneous. Go figure. The turd couldn’t reply to any of my other texts, but a flash of titties got his attention.
Ethan: Are you naked on my fucking couch?
I giggled to myself, leaning forward to throw back another gulp of champagne before sinking into the cushions again, the bottle nestled between my thighs, the glass so cool it took my breath away. I sent another photo, this time of my legs bared from my thighs to my toes, the champagne bottle front and center.
So what? You’re not here to stop me.
Even if he was, I highly doubted he’d tell me to get dressed. Based on our last two encounters, he’d probably have me bent over the arm of the couch looking out at the city while he screwed my brains out. Not that I’d mind.
Ethan: Are you fucking kidding me right now?
I set the bottle on the coffee table before flopping across the couch on my belly, taking a quick selfie that included the length of my body, ass on display. Take that, sucker.
Ethan: You’re lucky I’m not there.
&nb
sp; I rolled to my back, crossing my legs to hide the goods. I snapped another picture and sent it over.
Bummer. When will you be back?
I waited for a response. And waited some more, finishing off the bottle of champagne before I felt my phone buzz again.
Ethan: Soon. And when I am, you’ll regret rubbing that sexy little ass all over my goddamn sofa.
Ethan
“Rick Gray has been doing some digging,” Terry grumbled, his one-fingered typing tapping away in the background. I could picture him hunched over his dinosaur of a computer, a cigarette in one hand as he pecked at its ancient keyboard, globs of ash embedded in its grooves. “On you and Keely Doyle. Has a whole bible of notes. Pictures and all.”
Goosebumps studded my arms, every hair on my body standing on end. How had I not seen or heard? Was I really that careless? What was he? A fucking ghost? “Isn’t that harassment? Stalking?”
Terry coughed, years of chain-smoking leaving him a wheezing mess. “It could be. I’m looking into the particulars. Slippery motherfucker, too.”
I glanced down at my immobilized hand, the black and blue knuckles fading to an ugly swirl of yellow and green. “With a concrete jaw.”
“Speaking of which,” Terry started, clearing his throat harshly. “Stop punching people in the face, please. I have enough paperwork right now.”
“It was worth it.” I’d do it a hundred times over just to see him bleed.
“It won’t be when you wind up in a jail cell next to Bubba. I don’t bail fuckers out of the pen. I’m too old for that shit.”
I stared at the popcorn ceiling of the flat, the spring mattress pushing into pressure points I hadn’t realized I had. God, I missed my bed. Hopefully Kee was enjoying it. Naked. My cock fluttered to life at the thought. “You’re motivated when money is involved.”
“Don’t be foolish. Do you need anything else, or are you only calling to raise my goddamn blood pressure?”
“What’s being done about the threats?” I asked, the vile words still simmering in my mind.
“Service providers and websites have been served with papers. I’ll report back when they respond. You know how slow big tech can be unless something involves their bottom line. Several hundred were removed so far, as you know.”
It didn’t calm the storm in my gut, but at least it was a step forward. “We need to work on a will too.” It was morbid but necessary. If one of those monsters got ahold of me, I had a massive estate, one too complicated to sort out with its web of accounts. I could at least leave a how-to guide. Hopefully the money would make up for the lies.
“That we do, but don’t stress over the threats. It’s probably a few losers needing to blow off steam.”
“By threatening an innocent woman?” Detailed descriptions of brutalizing the woman I loved didn’t exactly sound like something not to worry about. Celebrities and their loved ones were targeted by psychopaths all the time. Ever was no different. If something happened to Kee, I’d never forgive myself.
Terry knew bits and pieces, but like everyone else, the complete picture was blurred. He knew of Ever and Ethan as separate people, figuring we were brothers or something similar, unaware he too was tangled in lies. But I didn’t feel guilty lying to him. He was a lawyer. He lied for a living. Just like me.
“Hey, people have weird kinks. They might get a big, fat hard-on from cyberbullying. Fear gets some fuckers off.” He laughed, which descending into a coughing fit. “Goddamn, I need to quit smoking.”
“No shit, Terr.” I didn’t need him croaking on me. Attorneys like him were hard to come by. That, and he’d become a friend over the years. One that I paid for by the minute like a high-priced, emphysematous, legal-lingo slinging hooker.
“Who’s this girl anyway? You sweet on her? I’ve never see you give a shit about anyone else. No offense.”
“She’s a good friend.” I wouldn’t dive into the details. It wasn’t like Terry would talk, but Kee was mine. Everything about her was off-limits, and I’d demolish those that had violated that.
“Just curious, Lothario,” he teased with a snicker in his voice. “I am an ordained minister, you know? I could draw up the pre-nup and act as your officiant when the big day comes. Bada bing, bada boom, double-duty doom and gloom.”
I held the phone out as he launched into another stream of laughs, a coughing fit sending it spiraling out of control. I could have slapped him when I heard the unmistakable sound of a cigarette lighter when I pressed the phone back to my ear. “Aren’t you on oxygen?”
He snorted up phlegm, the thick liquid gargling his voice. “Mind your business, bucks.”
“I am. You are my business. I don’t need my go-to guy blowing the fuck up.”
He met my jab with a watery chuckle. “Thatta boy.”
* * *
What the hell would a vampire wear?
I scribbled furiously on the napkin, my doodle of Manwhore Monte coming to life as I picked at my lunch. It was my new nickname for the bloodsucker that broke Kee’s heart weeks earlier.
So far, he had a crotch bulge that a horse would envy, but other than his tight, black slacks, I was lost. So I improvised. A tidy white button down, a streak of lipstick on the collar. Pointy boots. A fancy fedora. In the end, he looked like a transplant from the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. It was too good not to share. Especially for something drawn with my dud hand.
So I did.
Originally, the plan was to go underground entirely, but I couldn’t. I missed Kee. I missed her laugh. Her smile. The ridiculous fits she’d throw over the smallest inconvenience like Manwhore Monte and his philandering ways.
And I knew she’d love the drawing.
Kee: Is that supposed to be Monte? Because if so, that’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.
I grinned, throwing a fry to a particularly pathetic pigeon a few feet from my table, the little guy too slow to compete in the feeding frenzy a few tables away, an elderly woman doling out hunks of bread. His buddies didn’t notice the potato treat, allowing him to gobble it up in peace.
Even better than me? :(
God, I couldn’t wait to be home. To see her. To smell her. To start sifting through the bullshit wedged between us. To hopefully repair what had been blown apart.
Kee: Currently, yes. I’m glad you have time to draw but not to call me.
I tossed another fry to my new feathered friend, focusing on his happy coos as he ate, rather than my text blowing up in my face. I should’ve known Kee wouldn’t let me off that easy. She was no pushover.
For what it’s worth, I miss you. Terribly.
I ached for her, but the timing wasn’t right. The Bold article might have been scrubbed from their site, but the damage was done with the original prints in circulation. The official retraction was still in the works, the back and forth of lawyers dragging it out. My only hope was that the next stunt would speed up the process.
Kee: So much that you can’t reach out? That you leave me with no explanation like your own personal Rapunzel in your tower? I don’t even know who you are.
Fuck. I earned that, but it didn’t make it sting any less. I crumbled the drawing and threw it on the mangled remnants of my sandwich.
You do know me.
A group of American tourists wandered into the sidewalk cafe, their twangy accents and loud talking announcing them a mile away. It was a family - a mother, father, and a pair of young girls, the unit sitting at the table beside mine, as they chattered about the sights they’d seen that day. The smaller girl loved the London Eye, while the preteen preferred Hyde Park, both parents listening with smiles. It was the idyllic upbringing I’d longed for, a family vacation I’d never had.
In Briar, heading to Portland for the day was a big whoop, and it was, as we’d never ventured more than a few miles from the town until our grandparents took us in. Even then, money was tight, two seniors on a fixed income suddenly faced with raising three boys that could eat them out of house
and home. Especially Luke. I would be forever grateful for their care, but I longed for a mother’s touch. A father’s stern, yet loving, guidance. The way the Southern duo looked on as their little girls babbled about anything and everything. I’d never know the feeling.
Kee: Do I though? Really? I thought you were my friend. I thought you cared about me. This was your friend’s place, right? The one whose bathroom you were painting? Funny. Pretty sure that was blue paint on you. Every bathroom I’ve found in this place is white.
I sucked down what was left of my pint, wiping the foam off my lip with the back of my hand, eyes drifting to the happy family again, nothing but smiles and laughs around their table. Even my pigeon buddy abandoned me for them. I didn’t blame him.
I didn’t deserve him.
I didn’t deserve anyone.
Keely
Ethan never replied to me cornering him with the lie.
He never replied, period.
All I had were questions. Questions and a drawing of a vampire with a baseball bat of a dick. A drawing that made me laugh every time I looked at it. A tiny bandaid on the gaping wound on my heart.
I tried to bandage it further through cooking but every dish seemed to taste like ash, flavor as absent as feeling. Naturally, I attempted to patch the rest with junk food. Veggie burgers bigger than my head. Bean burritos. Death by chocolate cake. All delivered by the guards since Fort Ethan apparently didn’t allow takeout.
Lil and Jorge were my only contact with the outside world, our video chats keeping me sane in luxury solitary confinement. I wanted to smuggle Lil in somehow, but without knowing any door codes it was pointless. Besides, she might accidentally lead the paparazzi right to me if they were watching.
It’d been two and a half weeks, but there were still blips on the radar if I looked. An article about me. Another about my family. One surrounding the mystery man they believed to be Ever. The same man I’d let screw me blind, literally. Blind to his lies.
