Deceitfully Damaged

by Abigail Cole

  “Meg,” Nixon’s harsh eyes relax as they gaze upon me and an unnaturally kind smile takes position on his face. “Let’s go inside, we need to talk.” My mom fiddles with the rope belt to her dressing gown and refuses to meet my eye, a rogue tear glistening in the moonlight as it rolls down her cheek.

  Following her inside, I see Nixon has taken his place at the head of the dining room table with his hands clasped on the glass surface. Busying herself making three mugs of coffee, my mom purposely keeps her back to me, which unnerves me the most about this whole situation. Sliding into a seat two down from Nixon, a mug is placed in front of me before mom sits opposite me.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know Megan-”

  “It’s just Meg, always has been.” I interrupt irritably, the clench in his stubbled jaw tells me he did not like that. Sipping my heavenly cup of caffeine, I wait for him to recompose himself and continue.

  “Well actually, we named you Megan. Although, I’m aware this is not how you’ve been raised.” His blue eyes flick across to my mom, an accusation held in their depths. Quirking my brow, I remain silent waiting for him to continue. “I need you to know that everything we have done, has been for your safety and happiness. I hope you will be able to see that.”

  “We?” I query, my eyes glancing between Nixon and my mom. Her throat bobs with a nervous swallow, her brown eyes filled with misery as they finally look up at me. Growing bored of being kept in the dark, I lift my hands and slap them loudly onto my outer thighs. “Oh, for goodness sake, will one of you just spit it out already?”

  “Fine.” Nixon takes control of the conversation, leaning forward on his forearms. “I found Elena 20 years ago at an infertility support group, after discovering Cathy was pregnant with twins. Both babies were girls, which wasn’t the blessing it should have been. For reasons you won’t understand, we had to hide the girls in plain sight and take in a boy instead – that boy being Wyatt. Unfortunately, the woman who promised to care for Avery went against our deal and fled. We lost track of her for years-”

  “Wait, no. Stop. Avery is your daughter, like actual biological daughter?” I hold both of my palms up to halt the story, trying to keep up. Nixon rarely speaks more than a few sentences at a time but I’ve had to interrupt him twice now. His nostrils flare in irritation as he replies through gritted teeth.

  “Yes, Avery is my daughter – as are you, Megan.” The following silence continues for so long, a ringing starts up in my ears. The room around us starts to tilt and sway around the woman that suddenly feels like a stranger, opposite me. Centring myself on her face, I stare at my mom, confused above all other things.

  “Explain to me the ‘reasons I won’t understand’,” I mock his voice with air quoting my fingers, not fully believing him but judging by my mom's rigid posture, I'm going to want to hear what he has to say. Nixon sighs, hanging his head forward. The man who raises his head is not the same one that sat there a moment ago. Distressed lines are etched around his eyes, his usually tense jaw slack for once.

  “There was a young girl, Sydney Perelli. Her father was, still is, the most notorious mob boss in Chicago. He is the head of the city’s biggest drug cartel and infamous for making people disappear without a trace. He has his hands deep in so many pockets, including the police force, that there’s never a shred of evidence that can be used against him. Until Sydney.” Mom leans over to place her hand on his arm, that one small gesture speaking volumes of their connection. Scrubbing a hand down his face, Nixon sips his coffee before continuing.

  “She ran away, fled on a bus hoping to leave her father’s expectations behind and start a new life. But he wouldn’t allow it. He sent armed men after her with the instruction to use any amount of force to bring her back, and that’s how she ended up in my car. I worked in New York as a stockbroker back then, before we came to Atlanta. I found Sydney hiding beside my car as I was leaving the office one day and I stupidly took her home. I didn’t know who she was, where she came from – I had just wanted to help.”

  I can see by the shift in Nixon’s demeanour every word he is speaking is the truth, and he hasn’t told this story in a very long time. His eyes are closed, the heel of his palm supporting his head. Mom keeps glancing at me nervously, but we can deal with our shit later. I need to hear the end of the story to fully understand.

  “Once we realised the danger she was in, Cathy and I made the joint decision to help her escape for good. We managed to get her some travel documents and a passport under a new name so we were at the boating dock when her father’s thugs found us. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten involved but it was too late by then, so as they dragged her from the boat at gun point, I fought back. They kept coming out of nowhere, but I punched and kicked anyone who got close enough. Somehow, I managed to get the upper hand when a handgun fell to the floor. I crouched to pick it up when hands landed on my back so I turned and shot. I didn’t… it was an accident, but it was Sydney who lay on the ground dying. I tried to stop the blood flow, I sat pushing my hands over the bullet hole long after she stopped breathing. But it was too late – so when I heard the police sirens, I fled.

  It wasn’t long after, Cathy discovered she was pregnant and that’s when the threats started. ‘A daughter for a daughter.’ So, we came up with a new plan – find women who are desperate to be mothers, adopt a boy that needs a better life and watch our daughters grow from a distance. Which was the ideal solution until Avery… ” His voice trails off as he looks at the moon beyond the window. “After we finally found her again and discovered the life she was living, we had to bring her home. Elena agreed to be her therapist so we could finally bring you both together again, in the mansion where you should have always been.”

  The passenger door opening startles me, forcing me to focus on the man who is apparently my biological father as he shakes the rain from his umbrella and slides into the seat. Closing the door, he turns to face me in his pricey trench coat. Now I’m looking for it, I do see the resemblance. His pale blue eyes, Cathy’s brown hair. The truth seems so clear now I wonder why I never saw it before, but I had no reason to question it. My mom may have kept this huge secret, but she raised me with more love and compassion than I needed. So, for that reason, I can’t stay angry with her. We may not share the same genetics, but that doesn’t erase every bedtime story, kissed grazed knee, and cheering lacrosse games in the rain.

  “So, what now?” I dare ask already knowing the answer since my getaway vehicle has failed me. “You’re going to make me stay here, aren’t you?” I don’t need Nixon’s answer as the sympathetic tilt to his brow says it all.

  “Perelli is more determined than ever to have his revenge. After Cathy’s ceremony, there was a note pinned to her closed casket. It said, ‘Your girls are next.’ That’s why I had to leave. I thought they might follow me thinking I was going to collect the other twin. Or at least if I weren’t around to witness it, they were less likely to hurt Avery. I thought she’d be safer without me, but I was wrong.”

  Nixon’s words have drowned out, the word ‘twin’ sticking as the world fades away. Holy shit. I’d been so distracted with the story and bombarding him with questions afterwards, the truth has barely had time to sink in. Avery is my twin! My anguish starts to drown beneath the bubbling of excitement rising within. My hands grip the leather of the steering wheel tightly while I process the tide taking over, a smile spreading across my face that I’m sure makes me look clinically insane. It’s so obvious now. Our connection is instinctual, our bond created long before we even realised.

  Nixon is looking at me with worry so I quickly slacken my features. The rain outside has started to ease, the sun poking through the overhanging forest canopy. Watching droplets roll down the windscreen in wavy patterns, I start to put all of the blatant facts together. Nixon owns the beach house, in the middle of nowhere, with a panic room. I’ve been staying in a safe house this entire time and if this threat is as real as Nixon says it is, Avery should b
e here too. Besides, more than ever, I need to see her. I need to be reunited with my twin now I understand why I’ve felt like my soul has been floundering without her.

  “You believe this mob guy is going to hurt Avery?” I need to know the danger she is in, completely unaware. He nods slowly, his eyes filling with worry. “Then we need to bring her here ASAP.” I demand, leaving no room for argument.

  Avery

  Beginning to rouse from a sleep so deep, I wonder if I died briefly in the night. Painfully heavy weights are crushing my body. Finding myself completely immobile, I start to panic I have been buried alive as I crack my eyelid in the dark. Agony slices through my right eye at the movement and blooms around my skull, feeling like I’ve been hit with a sledgehammer. Unable to stifle my groan, the weights on me suddenly shift so I can take a full inhale. Where the fuck am I? Strobe lights flash beneath my eyelids making me wince, the thump of music pounding around my head as I remember the nightclub in my studio, and the alcohol. The image of green in a shot glass has me shooting up and covering my mouth, nausea flipping my stomach over and I swear I can still taste the overly sweet liquid coating my throat. My mouth feels like a sewer and I know I’m minutes away from hugging the toilet.

  Glancing around in the shadows, long silhouettes stretch either side of me, the faint outline of their naked bodies bringing me back to reality. Running my hands over their heads, I find Garrett snoring softly on my left by his silky hair and the shaved scalp of Axel on my right, flinching every so often. Well, that happened. I can’t deny I was wound tighter than a corkscrew so hopefully when this hell-sent hangover subsides, I’ll be much more relaxed. Shifting down the mattress, a dark smudge on the floor has me sliding from the bed to retrieve it. Garrett’s shirt, which smells of his musky cologne, is gripped in my hand. Shrugging, knowing I wouldn’t have had the energy to squeeze into my tight dress anyway, I slip the material over my arms and button up the centre, the hem falling to my thighs.

  Creeping across the soft carpet on my tiptoes, I crack the door and peer out. All is silent and still, so I step out and close the door behind me with a slight click. Not wanting to be caught on my walk of shame, I move quickly along the corridor, squinting through my half-open eyelids. Rounding the staircase, my door is in sight when I hear a sound further up ahead. Throwing myself against the wall and remaining statue still, although I’m as obvious as a pork sausage in the vegan aisle, Dax stumbles slightly as he leaves his room. His afro bounces with each step, his hand holding his forehead as he pads past on heavy feet. Exhaling and sagging my shoulders once he’s passed, I start to inch along the wall.

  “You can walk normally, you know.” His voice reaches me as he starts to descend the staircase, the deep sound jolting me. Shit. Hunching forward in defeat, I slump the rest of the way to my bedroom door which isn’t half as fun as playing invisible ninja was.

  Dragging my feet across the floor with each step, I enter my room and head straight for the top drawer of my vanity, pulling out a foil packet of Advil. Covering a wide yawn and scratching my scalp, I retrieve a glass of water from the bathroom and take the medication before slipping beneath my covers on the bed. The mattress welcomes me, its padding hugging my shape as I snuggle further down. Pushing my head under my pillows, the heaviness of the memory foam weighs on my brain to give it a minuscule amount of relief from the constant pounding within. Taking a mental inventory of my aching bones, the sensitive flesh between my legs, nausea coiling around my organs and the mother of all headaches, I pray the morning brings me solace as I drift back into the waiting darkness.

  ∞∞∞

  “Rise and shine!” I flinch violently at the shouting, my body protesting with stabs of pins and needles. Lifting the pillow, I glare at Garrett while yawning.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” My throat is desert dry and my voice croaky. His wide smile, damp hair and lack of dark bags beneath his eyes seriously piss me off. Pushing a glass of water towards me in his hand and producing more pain relief tablets in the other, I begrudgingly sit upright and curse the sun for shining so damn bright. Taking the items from Garrett, he sits on the edge of my bed as I pop the tablets into my mouth and down the drink. Half choking, I spray the clear liquid all over the bed as vodka burns my throat. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” I repeat in a shriek, coughing and spluttering but his stupid smile doesn’t falter.

  “Best way not to have a hangover is to never stop drinking.” He shrugs and takes the glass from my grip before I smash it in my palm. In a pathetic attempt to shove him from my bed, my limbs not fully responding to the ass-kicking he’s receiving in my head, Garrett chuckles and pulls me into his lap for a hug. I resist initially but it’s so much harder to push him away when he holds me like this and smells so damn good from a recent shower. After nuzzling in my neck, he lifts me and carries me into my bathroom where I find the tub filled with bubbly water.

  “It’s not filled with acid, is it?” I ask, although all venom has gone from my tone as he sets me down. It’s impossible to stay mad at him and I’d pay for the entertainment of watching anyone try. Unbuttoning the shirt I’d forgotten I was wearing; Garrett smooths his hands down my arms as he takes it from my body.

  “Not this time, I just wanted my shirt back,” he winks and saunters from the room. Smirking and rolling my eyes, I wonder how boring my life would be right now without these insanely hot guys living in my house. Slipping into the perfectly warm water, I wish Meg were here to enjoy their shenanigans with me.

  After a well-needed long soak, my bones easing in the heat and my headache starting to shift, I wash the leftover hairspray from my hair and rise from the tub. Wrapping my body in a fluffy, white towel, I re-enter my bedroom a new woman to find a plate of breakfast, a tall glass of orange juice and my phone lying on a silver tray on my bed. My smile grows as I immediately know this wasn’t Garrett, this has Dax’s name written all over it. Grabbing some velvet tracksuit pants in a deep grey and purple tank top, I dress and twist my hair up into a towel turban before settling down to eat against my pillows. The scent of bacon makes my mouth water, the rashers nestled between hash browns and slightly salted scrambled eggs, the way he knows I like them.

  Lifting the fork, I eat with one hand whilst scrolling through my fully charged phone with the other. Opening my photos app, dozens of images from yesterday fill my screen. The selfie I took, the four of us beaming at the camera in our smart outfits before we turned into messy drunks, followed by a mountain of photos Garrett clearly took whilst I was living my best life. Amongst the blurred and shaky images my terrible cameraman took, there’s a few gems - Dax with his arms around me while we gaze into each other’s eyes, Axel and I head banging with our tongues out and gun signs blazing which makes me giggle to myself.

  My bathroom door opens, Huxley appearing with his chocolate eyes in full puppy dog mode. His hair is tied into a top knot and he’s wearing his basketball jersey and navy tracksuit bottoms. My mouth drops open quickly at the sight of him more dressed than I’ve seen in weeks and a glimpse that maybe my tough love has been for the best. Patting the space beside me, he enters and takes a seat, his shoulder brushing against mine. I switch off my phone and push it under my thigh, not wanting to ruin his progress with images of us having fun without him - despite it being his choice to miss out.

  “You okay?” I ask when he doesn’t speak. Instead of replying, he shuffles down to place his head on my shoulder. I suppose my question was silly considering everything he’s going through, and although I may not know the extent of it all, I will still be here for him regardless. Not because I’m the reason he got injured but because I care about him, about all of them really. Even Wyatt, the stubborn, non-existent jackass he’s being.

  Stabbing some scrambled egg with my fork, I lift it to Huxley’s lips and hold it there until he finally takes it between his teeth and eats. Flicking on the TV and leaving it on whatever channel is on, we spend the rest of the morning relaxing together as
I force Huxley to share half of my breakfast. By the time the third episode of some new show I like the look of ends, I dare to break our silence.

  “Did you want to go outside? We could take the playing cards out for a little bit, have a few games in the sunshine?” His head nods against my shoulder, unnerving me that he’s not speaking but I’m happy he’s actually up and moving around. Rising from the bed, Huxley lifts my tray and carries it downstairs for me, taking it into the kitchen while I grab a deck of cards. Reconvening on the brown wicker chairs in the garden with a matching table separating us, I inhale the freshest breath to have filled my lungs in a long time. The sun is beaming down on Huxley’s blonde waves, his brown eyes a shade lighter as they adjust to the light. He’s not smiling but his features are relaxed as he spreads his legs wide and settles into the seat. Repetitive splashing sounds from Axel swimming lengths in the pool, laughter floating on the light breeze from Dax and Garrett playing basketball in the distance. Shuffling the cards, I deal while explaining the rules to my own take on a game I like to call ‘Skinny Joker’.

  The day drifts into afternoon and I’ve almost managed to get Huxley to crack a smile. The others are hovering around for a glimpse at the old Hux, watching our games from a safe distance so as not to spook him. Even though we are treating him like a timid little mouse, in my mind Huxley is more like a cornered lion – his reactions are unpredictable since none of us understand what’s going on inside his mind and he won’t open up no matter how much I’ve tried. So, I’m going with distraction.

  There are two cards left in my hand, one is the 10 he needs to make his final pair and the other is the Skinny Joker he definitely doesn’t want to choose. Huxley reaches over, holding his hand over each card to try and gauge my reactions, little does he know I have a mean poker face. His fingers clasp into the 10 of spades and I lift my mouth ever so slight to trick him into thinking it’s the joker. As predicted, even though we’ve now been playing this for well over an hour, he changes to snatch the joker from my hold and I burst into a fit of giggles. It’s his turn to hold his two cards, his eyes keep glancing back to the left one. With a smirk, I pluck the right card and place my last pair of tens onto the table.