by Tijan
My breathing comes in staggered pants as I look at my front door again and instead of seeing him, I see my sister sitting on the front step. Just as she was the last time I saw her. Bloodshot eyes full of fear staring back at me. It was the day she gave me the gun.
The image washes away as my eyes turn glossy, but the emotions are short lived.
Bright lights from a passing car distract me and the fear I can’t deny takes over. It lasts only for a second as the car continues on its way, never even turning down this street.
The sliver of strength I had pulling into the driveway is long gone.
The adrenaline doesn’t wane though. And I know there’s no way I can go back inside.
I can’t sleep here.
I’ll never feel safe in this house again.
My thoughts aren’t cohesive when I call him. I don’t even realize what I’ve done until Jase’s phone is ringing with my cell pressed to my ear. He doesn’t make me wait long to answer. Which is a damn good thing, because I nearly hang up on the second ring.
“Bethany.” He says my name with a quiet emotion I can’t quite place. Longing is evident though and somehow that makes me feel like it’s all going to be okay. But how could it ever be okay at this point?
Time goes by and words evade me. Jase doesn’t speak either.
“Are you angry?” I eventually ask him and I can’t fathom why. It shouldn’t matter if he’s angry at me or not. My life does not revolve around this dark knight. I won’t allow it. I don’t want this life.
“I’m disappointed.”
“You sound like my mother,” I answer with feigned sarcasm and not really meaning it. It just seems like something someone would say in response to, I’m disappointed.
All I can hear is a huff on the end of the line followed by a resigned sigh. “I keep having to remind myself that you’re going through a lot, but that doesn’t mean you can do this shit, Bethany.”
Shame heats my cheeks and my throat dries, keeping me from being able to swallow as I look back to the house. With every passing second, I’m sinking deeper into the dark pit of emotions that’s expanding around me.
“You don’t know what I’m going through,” I tell him simply. And all the voices I’ve heard before at the hospital echo in my mind. So many people think no one else feels the way they do when they’re mourning, when they’re sick. When life has got them by the throat and they have nowhere else to turn to but a mental hospital.
“I know people have it worse, people have more pain and more tragedy… but that doesn’t mean I’m not handling things the best way that I can.” Dignity is slow to greet me and I strengthen my voice to tell him, “I’m trying to just hold on right now.” As I finish, my words crack and it’s then that I feel as crazy as my patients. I’m losing it. I’m losing everything, watching it all slip through my fingers like the sand of an hourglass.
“Why did you run?” he asks me, not commenting on a word I’ve just spoken. Somehow, I’m grateful for that.
“I wasn’t in the right mindset to be bossed around and whisked away.” It’s semi-honest. At the very least, it’s not a lie.
“And now?”
“I don’t know what to do,” I admit, feeling the insecurity and the weight of what’s happened push against my chest. “And I’m scared,” I add. The confession barely leaves me; I don’t know if he heard me or not. Another car passes down the street that crosses mine, forming a T-shaped intersection. This time I’m not as scared, but I’m conscious of it. I’m conscious of everything around me.
“Do you want to stay with me?” he asks.
“No,” I say, and it hurts to answer him honestly. Physically hurts and drains me of what little strength I have left. I should add that I don’t trust him after what I read in the book. But without the book, I can’t be certain that I shouldn’t trust him. Which makes everything all the more complicated.
“Why is that?” There’s no hint of what he’s feeling in his question; it’s only a string of words asked for clarity. And that makes it easier, but not easy enough to tell the truth. How could I tell him I saw his last name in a coded message in The Coverless Book? I already feel like I’ve gone insane. I don’t need someone else to confirm it.
“I’m just confused and I want to be alone.” Nodding to myself although he can’t see me, I repeat the sentiment, “I’m not sure exactly what I want right now, but I think I’d really like to be alone.”
“I’d prefer you weren’t alone right now… And you still owe me time.” He adds the second statement when I don’t respond to the first.
“I can always say no.”
“I never should have put that in the contract.”
His response forces a weak smile to my face. It’s just as tired and sad as I am. “Your contract is bullshit.” Our quips are a quick tit for tat. The rough chuckle from the other end of the line eases a small piece of me. As if slowly melting a large sheet of ice that encases and presses against me constantly.
“You’re not going to be happy.” He pauses after his statement and I simply wait for what’s next, not responding until I know what he’s getting at.
“Seth is behind you. He’s parked a few houses down. I’ll have him flash his lights for you.” Thump, my heart squeezes tight, so tight it hurts and I actually reach up to place a hand over my chest as bright white lights shine behind me and then disappear.
“How long?”
“The entire time. Did you think I’d risk anything happening to you?”
Gratitude is a strange thing. Sometimes it feels warm and hugs every inch of you. Sometimes it strangles you and makes you feel rotten and unworthy. The latter is what I struggle with as Jase continues to tell me what to do.
Follow Seth to a hotel.
Stay there tonight.
Meet Jase tomorrow for dinner.
He ends the rattled-off list of things I’m required to do with, “We need to have a conversation.”
The pit of my stomach sinks as I take in my current reality.
“I was a fool to think I’d outrun you, wasn’t I?” My words are whispered and as they leave me, Seth’s car comes to life. As he pulls up in front of my house, his eyes meet mine in the faint darkness. I rip my gaze away.
“You’re far from a fool, but running from me … it won’t be tolerated, Miss Fawn.”
Bethany
There’s a saying about life and how it can be anything you want it to be. I forget how it goes exactly. Not that it matters, because the saying is a fucking lie. You can’t just decide one day you’re going to change and everything will change with you. That’s not how it works. That’s not life. It’s more complicated than that.
Life is a tangled mess of other people’s bullshit and other people’s decisions. Even decisions they make on a whim.
Sometimes, you get to decide whether or not you care about them and their issues. If you do, you’re fucked. Their problems become yours and sometimes that means you fall down a black hole and there’s no easy escape. “Today I choose to be happy,” is a joke. You can’t be happy when there’s a rope around your neck and another around your feet. You can’t step forward, and even if you could, you’d just hang yourself.
Sometimes you don’t get to decide a damn thing at all. There’s not a choice you could have made that would have prevented what’s to come. My sorry ass has been thinking about that all day. Whether I had a choice or not. And if what I choose is what I deserve.
Because right now it feels like that rope is pulled snug under my chin with another wrapped tight around my ankles, scratching against my skin with every step I take.
As I stare at the slip of paper I’ve kept in my wallet that says, in a life where you can be anything, be kind, I don’t think twice about balling it up to toss the crumpled scrap in the trash can outside the restaurant.
I miss on the first try. Figures. It mocks me as it falls to the ground, daring me to pick it up and really discard it. Which I do, albeit spitef
ully.
A strong gust of wind blows the hair from out of my face, and without the scarf I left in my car, the chill sweeps down my collarbone and seeps into my jacket. The weather is just as bitter as I am.
I don’t know how long I’ve been standing outside of Crescent Inn, one of the nicer restaurants in this town. I’ve always wanted to come here, but I could never justify it because of the price. Pulling my coat collar tighter around myself I peek in through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, past the wooden blinds that only cover the top third of the windows and search for Jase.
He’s not hard to find. In the center of the room, filled with bright white tablecloths amid a sea of small cobalt blue vases, each housing an array of fresh flowers next to tea lights for ambience, he stands out.
Just seeing him does something to me. Even as a couple passes around me, giving me a disconcerted look for blocking the door and staring inside the place, I can’t bring myself to go to him. I couldn’t sleep without dreaming about him.
I can’t think without wanting to know what he thinks about it all.
It’s only when he brings his gaze to meet mine, as if he could feel my stare, that I dare consider taking the necessary steps toward him.
How did I get in this deep? How did I let the ropes of his life and my sister’s death wrap so tightly around my every waking moment?
More importantly, how the hell do I get out of this?
I tell myself the only reason I came is because he said he found my things they stole when he called this morning. They were all thrown in a trash can a few blocks down from my place. There’s no way it was a break-in. Jase is on my side; it was staged to disguise something else.
It’s easier to enter though, knowing I’ll get my book back.
“Good evening, Miss Fawn.” The host greets me the moment I walk in. Without another word, he graciously takes my coat from me, ignoring the shock and apprehension that must show on my expression. With my jaw dropped, and the air absent from my lungs, I don’t have a chance to ask him how he knew my name, as if the answer isn’t obvious.
“Mr. Cross is right this way. Follow me, please.” The skin around the man’s light blue eyes crinkles when he offers me a gentle smile. His suit is perfectly fitted to his proportions; his shoes are shined so well the chandeliers in the foyer of the restaurant sparkle against the black leather.
He’s professional and kind. Still, I don’t move. I stay where I am, knowing with every step I take that Jase Cross tells me to take, those ropes get tighter and tighter. Holding me right where he wants me.
The only saving grace is that if I don’t think about it, if I just surrender to him… it will feel weightless, easy and deliciously thrilling while it lasts. If only I could think of anything but the demise of what my life once was.
The polite smile falters on the gentleman’s face, emphasizing the lines around his eyes even more. The chatter of the crowded restaurant is what breaks me in this moment. There are plenty of people here, witnesses if anything were to happen. And I do need The Coverless Book. I need to know what Jenny said.
With her in mind, one imaginary rope around my ankle loosens. I’m all too aware that it belongs to her.
With every step I take, I think back to what’s led me here:
Jenny’s disappearance and how I couldn’t let it go.
Jase’s bar and how I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
Jenny’s death and how I need to have justice.
The gun Jenny gave me and how I shot at Jase rather than playing dumb.
The contract I signed giving away my time and body in exchange for a debt.
And the break-in I don’t know enough about. The book and the message inside I have to obtain.
They may have left the ropes for me to take, but I damn sure slipped them into place myself.
The host pulls the chair out for me as Jase stands, buttoning his jacket and pinning his gaze on me. A gaze I return.
“Thank you.” My words are soft and I’m not certain if the host heard me or not, but I’m well aware that my hand is trembling as I reach for the water. Even more certain when the ice clinks against the edge of the pristine goblet.
I can tremble as much as I need. I’m in this mess of tangled lies and secrets, the violence and the need for vengeance. Even if it ends up killing me, I would have taken every step just the same if I had to do it all over again.
“You didn’t sleep.” Jase speaks first and I shake my head, staring at the cold drops of water that drip down the goblet as I set it on the table.
When I lift my tired eyes to his dark gaze, I answer him, “Maybe an hour. I was in and out.” I swallow and place my hands in my lap before continuing. “Just couldn’t stop thinking about everything.”
He nods once and doesn’t speak; instead he searches my expression for answers. Or maybe for where my boundaries lie with him today.
“What you did yesterday is unacceptable.”
The tremors inside of me tense with irritation. “Which part exactly?” I question and the defiance is clear in my tone.
“The part where you ran from me.”
“Who are you to me where that is unacceptable?”
His fixed stare narrows. “Your lover.”
“Do all of your lovers owe you thousands of dollars?” I dare to question him, feeling the anger simmer from his taut skin. It’s so much easier to be angry. It’s easier to yell than listen. Easier to hate what’s happened, than to suffer through the aftermath.
The muscles in Jase’s shoulders tighten, making him look all the more dominant and I don’t stop pushing him. Maybe I have a death wish. “You’re a man who coerced me, a man I fell for when we both know we shouldn’t be together. And whatever’s between us will end when the debt is paid. I will not listen to your every command because you happen to give one to me. If I don’t want to be with you… I won’t.” His chest rises and falls quicker as his jaw clenches at my final words. “You’d be wise to remember I am not interested in being told what to do. This agreement was for information. That is all I want from you.”
Thump, my heart wrenches inside of me knowing it’s a lie. All I can do is remember CROSS in the hidden message of The Coverless Book and it stops its furious beating, but the beat it gives me in return is dulled and muted, slowing more and more by the second.
“I’ve already told you, I don’t like it when you lie to me.” He hardens his voice further as he adds, “Knock off your bullshit.” Jase speaks through clenched teeth and before I can answer, a waitress appears with a bottle of wine draped with a white cloth napkin in an ice bucket and two glasses. It’s a dark red with a silver label although I can’t read what the label says.
I could use a glass of dark red wine. Then a long nap. One that lasts forever and takes me somewhere far away from the hell my life’s become.
“Drink,” he commands me when the waitress leaves and I smirk at him.
“If you thought I wasn’t going to drink, you’re just as much of a fool as I am.” Some spiteful side of me wants to deny the wine, just because he told me to drink it. But fuck that. It’s the only good thing I have going for me.
I take a sip and time passes with neither of us saying anything. The first breath is tense, but the next comes easier. With every second that passes, the hate and anger wane, leaving only raw ugly feelings to fester inside of me. When that happens, I don’t want to think. That’s my harsh reality. I’d rather get lost in him when I don’t have the anger to hide behind anymore.
“What changed?” he asks casually, breaking the silence.
“I don’t trust you,” I reply, and my answer slips out just as easily. An anxiousness wells up inside of me. I didn’t mean to say it out loud. He doesn’t know about the message in the book. That’s really what changed although without it, I can’t even say for sure what it says. The table jostles as I plant my elbow and rest my forehead in my hand while I refuse to look at him. I can’t look him in the eyes; I can’t take this
shit. A moment passes and another.
“Is there anything you do trust about me?” he asks, not bothering to question why it is I don’t trust him. Maybe he has his own reasons.
Peeking past my hand and then lowering it altogether, I answer honestly again, only this time it’s a conscious decision. “I don’t think you’d hurt me. Not physically… which is truly ironic considering how we met.”
Only after I answer do I look into his eyes. And I see turmoil raging within them.
“I would never hurt you. Not in any way if I can help it.”
“And what if you can’t?” I ask him with the sorrow that’s buried its way into my every thought finally showing. “What if there’s no way for me to come out of this undamaged?”
“That’s what you’re afraid of? That’s what you don’t trust?” he questions.
I hadn’t expected to be so transparent with him. I don’t even think I was cognizant of what I’d said until the words were spoken. I could blame it on the lack of sleep or the wine. But a part of me wants him to take it all away. A part of me thinks he can make me believe he’ll fix my problems. I don’t even care that he can’t. I just want to believe that he can for a moment. Just a single moment of peace. That part of me is so tired of fighting. I hate that part of me.
“I’m scared in general, Mr. Cross.” Emotions tickle up my throat, but with a short clearing of my throat, they’re gone. “I’ve found myself deeper and deeper in a hole that I don’t know I’ll be able to get out of.” My eyes feel heavy, as does the weight against my chest.
I don’t know how I’m still sitting upright at this point. That’s the truth.
“The debt? Is that what you mean by the hole?” he asks although the look in his eyes tells me he knows that’s not what I’m talking about. I shake my head, no, confirming his assumption.
“It’s because of the break-in?” he asks and I don’t answer, swallowing down the half truth and hating that it’s all I’m willing to give him. “Bethany?” he presses and I finally speak, “Yes.”
