Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/152629.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      Multi
  Fandom:
      Twilight_-_Stephenie_Meyer
  Character:
      Edward, Bella, Alice, Jasper, Rosalie, Emmett, Tanya, Demetri, Aro,
      Victoria, Jacob, Carlisle, Esme
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Drama, Dark, Violence, Russian_Mafia, Lemons, Adult_Content,
      Sexual_Slavery, Drugs, Love, Alternate_Universe_-_Human, Canon_Pairing(s)
      -_Freeform
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-01-16 Updated: 2011-10-04 Chapters: 30/? Words: 146904
****** Stolen Souls ******
by Nayarit
Summary
     Twilight and Pixie are dancers at a prominent gentlemen's club in
     lower Chicago called Novolunie. This is the story of the two
     mysterious dancers' haunted existence as told through the eyes of the
     other lives that weave through them. And in one night everything will
     change. What happens when life as you knew it wasn't what you thought
     at all, and will never again be the same? Tortured pasts, jumbled
     futures, secrets, lies, betrayals, and salvation and love where you
     least expect it bleed together and all center around one thing--the
     stable. When life changes and pasts, presents, and futures all crash
     into another, who will survive? NC-17/DARK/OOC/Multiple Character
     POVs
Notes

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                       Awesome banner made by Julieblys.

     Stolen_Souls_is_also_on_Twilighted.net_

     Stolen Souls was featured on Southern Fan Fiction Review
     Stolen_Soulswas_featured_on_The_Little-Known_Ficster
     Stolen_Souls_was_featured_on_TwificPimps
     Stolen_Soulswas_nominated_for_a_Golden_Lemon_Award,_summer_2010,_for
     Best_Kiss_from_chapter_18.

     Stolen_Souls_now_as_a_Twilighted_Forum._Come_join_us_and_talk_some
     Russian_Mob_w/_me!
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     The_Stolen_Souls_video
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             http://i848.photobucket.com/albums/ab43/Nayarit1984/
                              StolenSoulsMen.gif

      small_version_of_Girls_Blinkie, and small_version_of_Boys_Blinkie.

            Both blinkies were made by the sextastic BeanFlikn247.
     Disclaimer: The Vory is a real and operative organization within the
     Russian Mafia. To my knowledge and research, the organization is VERY
     underground and prestigious. For the sake of my story I've
     embellished a bit and taken liberties from my research into the
     Chicago Russian families of power and the legacy that is the Vory.
     Together I've created my own form of Mafia—once again these are
     liberties and facets of my crazy imagination.

     PLEASE_NOTE: This is rated EXPLICIT for a very good reason. This
     story is very DARK. If you can imagine it, drugs, physical and mental
     violence, abuse and rape along with thoughts/acts of suicide and
     murder, it's in here or going to be. Please understand that it's
     never my intention to offend anyone or contribute to negative
     triggers. I will also put this message at the beginning of chapters
     with specifically dark scenes.

     Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of its characters. No
     copyright infringement is intended.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****

                   "V moem mire spasenie prihodit v grobu."

                In our world salvation only comes in a coffin.
Intro/Story Notes:

(SKIP THIS SECTION IF YOU DON'T WANT SOME SECRETS REVEALED.)
This is a story about finding salvation when it's least expected, when you
might not even know you need it and when the form it comes in isn't what you
may have wanted. The story is told from a multitude of various points of view
because each character is essential to understanding the story line, plot, and
interactions with the other characters. It gives it a fun twist, to tell a
story from the people who live it, as they live it through each other.
Everything happens for a reason, and everyone is twisted together—and through
their eyes we see it all unfold. There's A LOT of twists and turns, some that
will be expected and some that will come out of left field.
Basically this is a story about Bella and Alice Swan, whose souls have been
stolen—metaphorically—and their rise and fall to their own type of redemption.
Bella and Alice are sisters, though not biologically. Both are dancers at the
strip club Novolunie. Tragic events of their past thrust them into homelessness
when they were just fourteen years old, the same year that they were thrown
into the underground world of dirty money, sex, and drugs. They have an
unbreakable bond and are each other's only reason for survival. But one night,
when a bachelor party of seven shows up at the club, everything changes. What
is the stable?And why would escaping cost Bella and Alice their lives? Will
these two stolen souls find a way out of the storm? And when their bond is
tested, in a way that neither anticipated, when secrets are revealed that pit
sister against sister, will they survive?
Edward Cullen is a recent medical school graduate working in a busy Chicago
hospital Emergency Room. He's had a very privileged upbringing, but yet he's
dealt with depression and loss. A loss that has haunted him since he was
seventeen years old. When he met Tanya Denali in college he thought that he had
found everything he needed, but what he failed to realize was that sometimes
you couldn't move on if you didn't face the sins of your past. How will a sin
from his past and a sin from his present change him? How will he ever be able
to fix the damage he's done and find his own happiness?
Jasper and Rosalie Whitlock moved to Chicago with their family when they were
fourteen and twelve, respectively. They have a love-hate relationship that has
lasted as long as they can remember. Both live together as roommates in a
northern Chicago condo. Jasper is content in his life, but can't help feeling
that something is missing. Rosalie has started drifting away from Jasper and he
doesn't understand it. What secret is Rosalie hiding from Jasper, and what will
happen once it's revealed? When Jasper meets a waitress at the strip club the
night of Edward's bachelor party he can't get her out of his mind, but will he
be able to sustain a relationship that is doomed from the beginning . . . one
that could cost him his life?
Emmett McCarty is a bouncer at the club Novolunie. He's a laid-back guy who was
thrown into the Russian Mafia's world of underground sex, dirty money, and
drugs by accident. As an outsider he is given plenty of leeway; but leeway that
forces him to stay, no matter what secrets he learns. Will he be able to deal
with the weight of that on his conscience? What secrets is he privileged to?
And what about the new dancer at the club that he starts dating, what is she
hiding from him . . . or what is he hiding from her?
Tanya, Demetri, and Mike are all minor characters with MAJOR roles and their
voices will be heard as the story progresses. Through their eyes we learn more
about our major characters and we learn about interactions that help to weave
everyone's stories together. How will their lives change and why are they so
important?
Later on, as secrets are revealed and character motivations are discovered,
other characters will be introduced—characters that can't be ignored, like
Victoria, Alistair, and Jacob to say the least.
Disclaimer: The Vory is a real and operative organization within the Russian
Mafia. To my knowledge and research, the organization is VERY underground and
prestigious. For the sake of my story I've embellished a bit and taken
liberties from my research into the Chicago Russian families of power and the
legacy that is the Vory. Together I've created my own form of Mafia—once again
these are liberties and facets of my crazy imagination.
===============================================================================


                                 Stolen Souls

"Seriously . . . is this necessary?" I asked him for the sixth time since
exiting the car—his car—and more than likely the eighteenth time since leaving
work. He drove here tonight; he wanted to make absolutely certain that I would
have no excuse to leave early . . . or an excuse not to drink.
"No, Edward, it's not necessary, but it is customary.And you're just going to
have to deal with it. Why don't you take a day off from brooding? Hell, you
just might see that there is a world out there that might be worth your
precious time. I have no idea how Tanya puts up with you," tonight's event
coordinator said, shaking his wavy, dirty-blond head as we approached the
bouncer at the front door of the dimly lit club. Jasper had been my best friend
since he moved to Chicago from Texas when he was fourteen.
It was an awkward transition from the brightly lit parking lot to the dim
building. But most of Chicago, this time of night, wasn't about the "bright
lights." The only light coming from the club was from the open door but the
huge bouncer blocked most of that light. If his face didn't scream
authoritative he might have almost looked angelic with the light radiating all
around him.
I was tired of this song and dance.
It was almost daily that I was reminded of just how lucky I was to have someone
like Tanya. Just how much I didn't deserve her. And just how amazing and
understanding she was. The thing was, I knew all of that. Not a day passed
where I wasn't reminded of these facts, but it didn't change anything. We had
made our choices. We knew all the facts. And still, even after everything that
we have been through, here we were—faults and all.
"I need some identification," the massive boulder of a bouncer demanded.
His voice was low and the tendons and veins in his neck spoke along with his
words. Threatening had nothing on the big brown-eyed behemoth guarding the
door. Jasper quickly produced his wallet and nudged me to do the same.
"Alright, fellas, I don't need to remind you that this is a drinking
establishment, so don't touch the girls. This is the only warning you get.
Anything funny and I will remove you from the club." The veins in his neck
throbbed with the threat and it looked like he actually cracked his neck. I
gulped and Jasper pulled me through the door.
Shoving him as he dragged me through the entrance, I again felt the desperate
urge to complain. But once we were through the door, whistling called to us. It
was some of the guys from work. The triage nurse, Mike, and the
transcriptionist, Eric, flagged us down. There were two other guys with them
that I recognized from other outings but I didn't know their names; they didn't
work at the hospital with Jasper and me. The smell of alcohol and at least
twenty different female perfumes lingered in the thick fog of air that swirled
around the club. I pinched the bridge of my nose.
This was going to be a long night.
I haven't been to many strip clubs in my life, but this one wasn't too
different from the other ones. The first thing that grabs your attention is the
throbbing music that makes your head spin. The girls were very attractive and
many were tall and blonde. A leggy blonde turned toward Jasper and me briefly
before turning away; she had three friends with her and they were all looking
at our table like hungry wolves.
There was the standard stage with a bulb shape at the front and a curtain in
the back. I couldn't tell what color the curtain might have been because at
least three bright colored lights shined on it. There was a tall redhead
dancing around the pole in the middle of the stage. She had just removed her
top and her long curly red hair covered her breasts that were now exposed. It
was a clever trick, she was topless but you honestly couldn't see anything
under the long locks.
Next to the stage was a DJ booth and surrounding the stage were tables and
chairs. There was a bar along the back wall and a set of tacky gold-plated
double doors that led to somewhere that wasn't visible. Another massive
behemoth guarded those doors and I wanted to roll my eyes. This was one of
those types of clubs. I would just have a couple of drinks and leave. It would
have been in all of our best interests to leave sooner rather than later. Who
knew what sort of things went down here.
I followed Jasper to the leather booth that Mike, Eric, and their friends were
at. They were waving their beer bottles in the air and hollering at red to move
her curls. As we slipped into the booth both Jasper and I said our hellos to
the guys.
A tall head of blond hair caught my attention and I groaned.
"Jasper, you have got to be kidding me . . ." I began, just in time to see the
bastard wink and wave him over. Before I could finish speaking I was
interrupted.
"Edward, I'll have you know that your mother is going to kill me when she finds
out that we spent our night here," my father, Carlisle Cullen, said as he
clenched Jasper's hand in a shake and clapped one hand on my shoulder with a
good-humored laugh. Jasper joined him in the laugh.
"Dad, you didn't have to come. You reallydidn't have to come," I pleaded in the
middle of a groan just as Carlisle flagged down a waitress.
"Nonsense, Edward. I wouldn't miss your bachelor party, and did you honestly
expect anything else given that Jasper was planning it? I can't, however, stay
long. I did promise your mother that I wouldn't stay out late. I believe she
knows exactly where I was going." I sunk back into the leather seat and closed
my eyes. This was beyond humiliating—not only was my father here but my mother
most likely knew about it. Whatever happened to the sanctity of privacy?
Jasper and my father were engaged in a conversation about work while Mike and
Eric kept hollering at the dancer, when a sweet melodic voice caused me to open
my eyes.
"What can I get'cha, boys?"
Standing at the edge of our table was a petite girl who had spiky black hair
and a beautiful face. Her big brown eyes were shaped by long lashes and suited
her tiny nose and pink lips. Her smile practically took up her entire face and
she seemed to twinkle with energy, making her look young, very young. She
bounced from foot to foot and it was the bouncing that pulled my gaze lower.
She was wearing a black bowtie and a white bra but it was the small, black,
pleated skirt that didn't even cover the top of her thighs that drew my
attention. It drew the attention of everyone at the table. Even Carlisle had to
cough out and look the other way. The uniforms were, for lack of a better word,
arousing. She just bubbled on as Jasper engaged her in a conversation about the
drinks. She smiled and flirted heavily with him.
"What do youlike?" she asked as she leaned over the table and stuck her butt
out higher in the air. Her face was inches from Jasper's and he was eating it
up.
"A . . . a whiskey sour, darlin'," he coughed out and I couldn't help but choke
back a laugh. It wasn't unless he was nervous or ruffled that his southern
accent came out and his attempts at flirting under these conditions were
hilarious. She winked provocatively at him and turned her attention to
Carlisle.
"And for you, gorgeous?" Her hips swayed in the air and Jasper couldn't tear
his eyes away from them. I found the whole situation quite entertaining. And
for the first time all night I was smiling. Carlisle ordered a water, reminding
everyone that he wouldn't be staying long. She smiled genuinely at him before
turning to me.
"How about you, sexy?" She asked, and before I could answer Jasper blurted out
that this was my bachelor party. "Really?" she asked as she swayed more. "Well
then, boys, I think we will have to make this the best bachelor party ever
then. What do you boys think?"
And my traitor of a best friend since I was in high school smiled wider at her
and agreed profusely. I rolled my eyes and began to tell her that it really
wasn't necessary, but she was already rambling on about lap dances, private
attention, and bringing more girls over. She spoke so quickly and so profusely
that I couldn't keep up with her energy and just was amazed that she could have
full conversations without pausing to breathe.
She finished taking our orders and said that she would "take care" of us all
night; the innuendo and implication of those words didn't escape me. And for
the thousandth time that night I wondered what the hell I was even doing there.
This wasn't like me at all; I didn't even find this sort of thing entertaining.
"What's your name, beautiful?" Jasper asked her and I sat gaping; he was really
enamored with her.
I didn't know whether to feel sorry or excited for him. Jasper rarely showed
any interest in girls, especially any interest immediately. He was the type of
person to believe in the hype of soul mates and the "one and only." Jasper
would never pay any mind to a female unless he believed that she would have
that potential. And I was one hundred percent certain that this girl's flirting
was a job requirement. He didn't need to set his loving and longing heart up
for this type of letdown.
"Pixie. And what's yours?" Her answer just solidified my choice in feeling
sorry for him. He was setting himself up to get hurt and hard.
"Jasper," he replied. She smiled and ran her hand down the length of his cheek
before pulling his face toward hers. She let her lips run up his jaw before she
whispered something into his ear. Jasper's skin goosed and she giggled before
she skipped off toward the bar.
Both my father and I sat with wide eyes at the deer-in-the-headlights
expression that painted itself across Jasper's face.
"What did she say?" Both Carlisle and I asked quickly. But Jasper didn't
answer.
She returned with our drinks and kept them coming at a steady pace throughout
the night. Jasper tried to keep her longer and never took his eyes off of her
all night. She brought other girls with her to the table and the boys were
excited. Before too long, Carlisle excused himself for the night and reminded
me that this Saturday would be the big day; two days away. I told him I was
ready and that I couldn't be happier with Tanya. Not long after he left, the
lights to the stage announced the night's highlighted dancer. The music in the
background was eerie and mysterious, something you would imagine in a Vincent
Price parody.
"Alright, fellas, get out your dollar bills! Welcome to the main stage, the
mysterious, exotic, luscious . . . Twilight," the announcer said as a girl made
her way to the middle of the stage. She was wearing a long black hooded cape
that covered everything but her legs that she used to provocatively walk out.
I rolled my eyes, her whole act was seriously theatrical. Jasper turned to me
and mouthed, "Twilight?" I shook my head; I agreed that it was a strange stage
name. Just as she stepped up, Mike and Eric started hollering louder in the
middle of a hushed conversation between the two. I could only make out bits and
pieces of what they were saying, but from what I surmised, Mike claimed to have
"had" her. I rolled my eyes more. I knew this was one of those types of clubs.
Pixie returned to the table and brought some more drinks, drinks that I was
certain I didn't order. I knew that it was Jasper's intention to at least make
sure I was tipsy tonight but the fact that he wanted any excuse to keep
bringing Pixie back to the table meant that we were ordering drinks faster than
we could consume them.
She again leaned over the table and engaged in a deeply flirtatious
conversation with Jasper. I had to hand it to her, she knew how to milk the one
that paid her the most attention. Instead of watching the train wreck that
would be Jasper's hopes, I turned my focus back to the stage.
Twilight was using her cape alluringly. She would taunt the crowd with it over
her bare shoulders as she tossed her bra off from under it. Her long brown hair
was curled and swept to the side. It framed her pale skin beautifully. She had
deep chocolate eyes that complimented her face and hair perfectly. She was
wearing bright red lipstick and it only made her that much more striking. For
some unexplained reason she was now the only thing I could focus on. I watched
with meticulous detail as she swayed her hips or flipped her hair. I noticed
every curve, freckle, and dimple of her tantalizing flesh. And when she finally
dropped the cape, my breath got stuck in my throat.
She was breathtaking and not in the plastic way that many of the other girls
tonight were. This girl was completely natural and the curve of her small waist
and breasts were like sirens to me. Shockingly, I licked my lips. I was
completely confused by my reaction to her. I had dated many beautiful women and
Tanya was nothing short of stunning: tall, strawberry blonde, tan, legs that
any man would beg to have wrapped around his waist. The first time I saw Tanya
I thought she was gorgeous and I knew I was a blonde man. But now I didn't know
if I believed that. No brunette had ever caught my attention; no woman had ever
taken my breath away. But this petite brunette stole the air from my lungs. I
wanted her to have it; it made me feel like we had a connection if she had
something of mine.
Jasper nudged me and had a glimmer in his eyes that meant my drooling didn't go
unnoticed. Soon Pixie was smiling wider and giggling with Jasper as if they
were in on a joke that they wouldn't share.
"She's gorgeous, right?" Pixie said.
I didn't turn towards her but I think I might have mumbled an answer. I heard
whispering off to my right from Jasper and Pixie and then she scurried off. The
sounds of her clicking heels turned my attention to her departure and I watched
her skip toward the guard by the gold double doors. I then directed my
attention back toward the stage. I couldn't stand to be detoured for too long.
Twilight was crawling her way toward bills that men held out and giving them
specific attention, spreading her thighs in front of them and letting them put
the bills in her mouth. My blood boiled. I couldn't decide what upset me more:
that they were using her or that I wasn't. As she made her way around the men
and bills, I couldn't stop watching the way her chocolate waves caressed across
her creamy skin or how she licked her red tinted lips or how she ran her red
nails over the skin of her thighs or lower stomach. All too soon she was
leaving the stage and I had to physically tense to keep myself from getting up
and following her.
Jasper and Mike were engaged in a conversation across the table, all the while
trying to include me but I couldn't help but think about the beautiful brunette
that left the stage. I thought about what could have possessed her to work in
this type of place. I wanted to know what her name really was and how old she
was. I wanted her to tell me a story about her childhood and scraping her knees
learning to ride a bike. But most importantly, and most condemningly, I wanted
to know what it felt like to run my hands over her milky skin just like she
did. I wanted to watch her hips sway over me like they did over the stage. I
wanted to hear what her soft moans sounded like and if she screamed when she
came. A hand crawling up my knee brought me from my thoughts. As a reflex I
grabbed the culprit roughly.
It was a small wrist and the surprise brought my eyes quickly to the deep pair
of chocolate eyes that stared back at me. She bit her lip as she tried to pull
her small wrist out of my clutching grip. But surprise kept me holding on to
her and then desire to not let her go. Her small wrist felt perfect in my hand,
warm, soft, and tingling. It made me want to touch more of her desperately and
so I did. My hand caressed up her forearm, but in the loosening grip she
managed to pull her arm out of mine. Her deep brown eyes stared into mine
intensely. I couldn't make out her emotions from the fogged vision; there were
too many emotions brewing in those eyes. She coughed quietly before speaking.
"Follow me, baby," she said. Her voice was soft and seductive. It reminded me
of her eyes, her hair. Chocolate—milky, smooth, and delicious. I licked my lips
and got up. I would have followed her to hell if she asked. I wasn't even aware
of anyone around me. Nothing seemed to matter then but her and I was shocked
that she was right in front of me leading me with her.
She walked confidently in front of me and I noticed that she had the cape back
on. The cheers of Mike and giggles of Pixie rang in my ear as I followed
closely behind the mysterious beauty. She led me to the gold doors and said
something quietly to the massive man guarding them before turning back toward
me. Her tiny hand found mine and she intertwined our fingers as she pulled me
through the double doors.
A million thoughts ran through my mind as she stopped at a single gold door
down a hallway that had many doors. I thought about Tanya and about Jasper,
about the Pixie and what Mike had said, about her and my initial disgust with
the typeof establishment this was. But mostly I thought about what I couldn't
deny I wanted more than anything at that moment, what I hoped would happen once
we crossed that threshold and what I wouldn't regret no matter what. I thought
about the type of man I had just become in less than two hours. A man I
wouldn't recognize at all. A man who threw every moral and standard I held
myself to out the window the second I saw her creamy skin and chocolate eyes.
Diseases, infidelity, right, wrong. . . none of it mattered now. And as much as
a part of me wanted to blame this on the dozens of drinks I shoved down my
throat, I knew that inebriation had nothing to do with it.
The room wasn't very big and held the same low lit ambiance as the rest of the
club, but there were no tables in here. Just big cushion bags on the floor, a
cabinet and no windows. There was a red theme to the room. She let go of my
hand and walked to the cabinet to pull out a box. From the dark wood cabinet
she turned toward me and raised an eyebrow.
"Why don't you sit down, baby?" It was a question but she said it as an order.
A flat smile appeared on her face as she tilted her head toward one of the
massive floor cushions when I still stood there. Shaking my head of my
stupidity, I quickly sat and her flat smile lifted slightly at the edges. It
was then that I realized I hadn't seen her smile yet. She hadn't smiled all
night; she didn't look unhappy, but she didn't smile either.
She played with the string at the top of her cape and it flittered to her feet.
All she wore underneath was the same pair of black lace boy shorts she wore on
stage. Whatever she pulled out from the box she stuffed into the back of her
underwear and sauntered over toward the cushion.
"Your friend said you liked the show. He asked Pixie if I would be willing to
give you a private dance. Would you like that?" she purred.
My lack of an answer was read loud and clear. Yes.
When she reached the foot of the cushions she began to sway her hips in front
of me. She danced provocatively to music that I couldn't hear and bent over so
that I had full view of her luscious lace in front of me. For the life of me I
couldn't get words out of my mouth. I didn't know if I should speak to her or
not. So instead I just watched as she taunted and tempted me beyond reason. My
jeans were strained against my hardening erection as I watched her move with
fluidity. Her luscious scent left my mouth watering as it drifted towards me.
Strawberries—sweet, juicy, moist, tangy. I licked my lips.
After excruciating minutes of torture watching her run her hands over her hips
and breasts, she knelt down at my feet that were extended in front of me.
Slowly she began to crawl up them until she was able to straddle me. Then she
ground succulently down on my hard length with her hips. Soft moans escaped her
still red tinted lips and she grabbed my arms to hold herself steady as she
leaned back so that I had a perfect view of her long neck. I wanted so badly to
kiss it, to run my tongue over her collarbone, over her small round breasts
that pointed out toward me. My head rolled back in euphoria as a groan escaped
my tight lips at her grinding. I wanted to grab her hips and move her in a
rhythm that suited me.
Using her hands that were on my arms she pulled herself back up to me and ran
her tongue up my neck and to my ears. My hands clenched in tight fists at my
sides. The words that the bouncer said kept running through my mind as a chant
to remind me that if I messed this up, I would lose her. And I wanted to
prolong this as much as I could.
"Do you like that, baby?" she purred more in my ear before taking my earlobe
between her lips and nibbling on it. I hummed in response. "Do you want me to
do more?" And with that question she ran one fingernail over the length of my
straining erection. My eyes bolted open at the erotic stimulation; I knew what
she meant and I knew what I wanted. This was where my choice would be final and
I couldn't turn back. It was surreal how quickly the night had progressed and
how this moment with her seemed to eclipse every memory or thought I had about
the evening. Almost sensing my hesitation, she purred in my ear again. "Do you
want to touch me?"
She pulled my fist from my side and unclenched my fingers before bringing them
up to her mouth. Taking my first finger into her warm, wet mouth, she sucked
and nibbled on it enticingly before bringing it down her chest. She moved the
wet finger around her dark pink nipple as it pebbled at our touch and she
moaned. The sound of that moan sent shivers down my body straight to my cock.
And I couldn't take her teasing anymore. I roughly grabbed her breast and
squeezed it in my hand and brought my other hand to her other breast. Her dark
brown eyes widened even though I knew she had to be expecting that type of
response.
Pulling and kneading her breasts I brought her closer to me. "I want to be
inside you," I all but growled. Lust had overtaken every ounce of control I had
and I couldn't deny what I wanted anymore. I pinched her hard nipples between
my thumb and forefinger as I leaned toward her neck and ran my tongue up her
throat.
"I want you to be inside of me too, baby," she purred as she rolled her head
back and gave me better access to her neck. I kissed and sucked my way up it
before her hands came over mine that were still pinching and rolling her
nipples. She stilled my hands and raised her head to look at me in the eyes.
Her intense stare spoke more than her words ever could.
"It's going to cost more, baby, five-fifty more. Is that ok?" I nodded but
couldn't peel my eyes away from hers. I realized then why I couldn't make out
the emotions in her eyes before; it was because she hid them behind a curtain
of certain death. That's what it was; there was a type of death to her eyes.
And I hated myself more in that second for not caring enough to stop. I wanted
her and I wanted her now in whatever capacity she would let me have her.
Her hands let go of mine and she put them on my chest as she started to
unbutton my collared shirt. I dropped my hands from her breasts to let her push
the shirt off and then I grabbed the hem of my undershirt and pulled it over
and off me. I wrapped my arms around her small back bringing her flush against
my bare chest. The feeling of her warm, bare skin meeting mine ran succulently
down my body and I wanted more. I neededmore.
I crashed my lips to hers and greedily forced them open to mine. I wanted to
taste her.
Quickly she pushed on my chest and I opened my eyes to see hers wide. She all
but stopped my assault of her mouth.
"Lay back, baby," she said softly against my lips. I groaned when she pulled my
bottom lip in between her teeth. I let her lay me back as I propped myself up
on my elbows and watched her kiss and lick her way down my chest. My muscles
tensed as she blew warm breaths over the patch of hair just above the low
waistline of my jeans. She tauntingly unbuckled my jeans and pulled them down
along with my boxers, freeing my painfully hard erection.
Her small hands grabbed my balls and tugged on them gently while her tongue ran
the length of my engorged cock. I clenched my jaw and closed my eyes. A deep
moan clawed out of my throat when she wrapped her warm mouth around the tip of
my cock. She teased the hole of my tip with her tongue before taking me as deep
as she could go. Her soft hums sent vibrations down my thighs to my toes and I
pushed my hips up toward her, needing more.
"Fuck," I hissed through my teeth. The sweet sounds of her slurping and moans
had my legs trembling as I kept thrusting my hips along with her strokes. All
too soon, she pulled off and I opened my eyes.
I watched as she pulled a small package from the back of her underwear and
opened the crinkling wrapping. It suddenly made sense, what she had removed
from the box in the cabinet. And it didn't escape my notice that she knew this
would happen long before I asked her. Then she proceeded to roll the condom
over my willing cock and I again didn't care about anything else. She stood up
and winked as she pushed her underwear off her hips and kicked them away from
her with her feet on the floor.
I took in the sight of her, completely bare to me for the first time, and
drowned in the glisten off her bare pussy lips. I licked my lips subconsciously
and watched as she climbed back up me and positioned herself over my erection.
The tip grazed her entrance as she straddled me. Finally, torturing me no more,
she dropped down on my stiff cock. I thrust up to meet her and she began to
ride me slowly, succulently. My eyes rolled into the back of my head.
"Fuck, you're so wet . . . shit," I groaned out as she slowly lifted all the
way off my cock and left the tip lingering near her entrance before talking my
full length back into her completely. It was fucking amazing and torturing at
the same time.
"Only for you, baby," she said.
I grabbed her hips and guided her up and down my cock in a rhythm I liked
because that slow shit wasn't cutting it right now. The tension was already
building and when she leaned back elongating her torso and spreading her
breasts to me, I nearly lost it. I rose from lying back to meet her and wrapped
my arms around her back as I pulled one nipple into my mouth. When I bit it she
screamed and I smirked haughtily. I continued sucking and kissing her soft
flesh.
Soon both our thrusts were erratic and I kept pumping into her. The building
pressure was about to boil over. And she kept bouncing up and down on my cock
and I wanted to release so badly, but she wasn't anywhere near ready to come. I
wiggled my hand between our tight bodies and started to tease her clit with my
thumb. I needed her to finish with me.
"Come with me . . . fuck," I began, breathless, and abruptly she stopped moving
on top of me. She brought her head back to face me and it was the first time I
recognized an emotion in her deep chocolate eyes. Confusion. She bit her bottom
lip and narrowed her eyes. I couldn't take the fact that she stopped moving
above me and I thrust harder from under her, but she just kept staring at me in
confusion and something that looked like shock. It didn't make sense.
"I can't get off unless you get off too . . . fuck . . . come with me," I
hissed, as I rubbed her clit more frantically while thrusting faster into her.
Her eyes dropped a bit and the confusion didn't leave them before she closed
them tightly. Her teeth bit into both her lips before she let her head roll to
the back of her shoulders and she started to move again above me. Soon we were
both panting and moving frantically.
I pinched her clit just as I couldn't wait any longer, and she screamed and
trembled above me as I pumped my release into her. Both our thighs were shaking
as I slowed my thrusts, and instead of bouncing above me, she circled her hips.
I laid back and brought her with me so that we could both catch our breaths. My
hand went to her small head and I could hear her strained breathing over me. I
ran my hands along the length of her arms and rubbed soothing circles along
them. The sweat that glistened off our bodies made her sticky.
"Baby, thank you, that was amazing." She placed a kiss on my chest and sat up.
I couldn't speak well enough to form any type of response even though I knew
what I wanted to say.
I sat up with her and brought my hands to my face, trying to rub my eyes and
the crease in my forehead at her lie. It wasn't amazing, not for her; she faked
it. There hasn't been one time that I can think of that I hadn't got my partner
off. And I didn't like that she was lying to me about it. Just as I was about
to rub my hands over my face and tell her that she didn't have to lie, I
noticed something grimy on my hands; it felt thick. I looked at them and
realized it was makeup.
What the hell?
I ran my fingers over my inner palm, rubbing the weird substance on my hands.
When she caught on to what was puzzling me, she tried to scurry away from me. I
quickly grabbed her wrist and brought her arm to my face trying to see where
the makeup came from. Then I saw it.
The indistinguishable bruises, the scars . . . the track marks. She yanked her
arm back quickly and asked for her money. Disgustedly, I grabbed my wallet and
pulled out a wad of bills and tossed them to her. I didn't even bother looking
at how much they were.
She steeled her resolve and bent over to pick them up. A deafening sigh escaped
me and bounced off the walls. I shook my head as I watched her grab at the
money. Without looking up, she spoke to me.
"Don't you dare fucking judge me." The soft and seductive tone from her voice
was gone. Her shoulders rolled back and her red fingernails clawed at the bills
on the floor. Her anger and disdain seeped out of every pore of her body. When
she spoke again it was dark. "Aren't you supposed to be getting married?"
My breath caught in my throat. She was right; I had no right to play the self-
righteous card. I shuffled off the cushion onto the floor and grabbed one of
her wrists in my hand.
"I'm sorry. I just . . . I don't . . . why?" I couldn't even imagine how to
formulate words; so many thoughts were running through my mind. "It could kill
you."
It was the only thought that kept coming back to the forefront of my mind. She
was hurting herself. Her dark chuckle pricked up my spine and I let her yank
her arm from my grasp. She walked back up to me and put my chin in her little
hand and pulled it up to look at her from where she stood over me.
"Don't pretend to care about me, baby,"she all but spat the endearment at me.
The sickening way her hand caressed my jaw wasn't loving or caressing at all.
"Get out of here." She threw my face away from her and went to her lace
underwear to put them back on.
"What's your name?" I coughed out; I asked the only thing that mattered to me
then. I could hear her cluck her throat and turned harshly away from me.
"Please tell me your name?"
"Don't come back here anymore," she said as she went to the cabinet and grabbed
her cape. Wrapping it around herself she stopped and spoke to the wall. "I
don't need you to fucking worry about me." Then she stormed out the door and
let it slam behind her.
I was left in the room completely bare—literally—and it had never been truer.
Nothing made sense to me anymore. I didn't even know who I was; I had changed
so drastically in such a short amount of time. And I couldn't help the disgust
that built up in me.
Disgust with myself for hurting Tanya and not being what she deserved.
Disgust with her for loving me regardless.
Disgust with the beautiful addict for needing to supply her habit.
Disgust with her for faking her orgasm; but most of all disgust in myself for
not caring.
I didn't care that she faked it with me. I didn't care that her enjoyment was
second to mine. I didn't care that her eyes were lifeless and bleak. I didn't
care that she had a drug problem. I didn't care that Tanya loved me. I didn't
care that I broke a promise to her. I didn't care that I had become a pathetic
excuse for a man in less than one night. I didn't care that I had every reason
to want to stay away from the mysterious beauty.
Because it didn't matter; I didn't want to stay away.
And that disgusted me more than anything.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Ever have a dream so beautiful, so completely perfect, that you refused to wake
up for any reason? Any reason at all? You felt your bladder screaming at you
and the slow wearing effects of reality creeping in and yet still you clutched
to that dream as if it were water and you were stranded in a desert?
I have those. Every night.
Ever hear the alarm in the morning and the deepest most gratifying groan pitted
in your chest because you know it's going to be a bad day? A morning that you
knew the second you get out of bed the world will most certainly collapse
around you? A morning where your best chance of happiness—of survival—was to
stay tangled in the sweat and safety of blankets?
I have those. Every morning.
The only difference was that I didn't have the luxury of hoping that tomorrow
would be a good day, that today was just the occasional bad one. I didn't have
occasionalbad days; I didn't even have occasionalgood ones either. Days were
just that, days. A way of counting existence in the form of time to chart its
passage. I knew how old I was and I knew what yesterday was and what tomorrow
will be because of days, but other than those three simple facts there was
nothing else to look forward to during the day.
Nothing.
There used to be a time when I would have said survival. Survival would have
been worth getting up every morning and dealing with the bleak tragedy of my
days, but I didn't buy that anymore. It's sort of like last season's De la
Renta, not worth the price if it's the same thing that you were going to get
this season. Why buy something that would never change, but still cost you a
fortune—your life. This just wasn't worth it . . . not anymore. Nothing was.
A snort escaped my lips as I felt poking at my shoulder from the person
sleeping next to me on the tiny bed. It's too small to sleep two people but
that didn't matter. Plus you learned not to complain when you had no choice in
any matter, any facet, of your own life either way. When nothing you did, not
the clothes you wore or even the way you styled your hair was your choice, let
alone the important decisions. Like who would know what your naked body looked
like, what it felt like . . . even what it tasted like. Besides, a soft bed was
heaven compared to the ground, compared to . . . the alternatives. The weight
next to me shifted before she started trying to convince me that we should get
up.
"Alice, I know you're not asleep. Wake up," she whined next to me and I groaned
more in annoyance.
"No, let me sleep." The words were crusted with lethargy, just like my tired
eyes.
"Was it that good?" she asked quietly.
I rolled over completely to stare at the dull, brown water stains on the
ceiling. She laid back flat to stare up at them too before fanning our thin
blanket back over us, wafting the smell of a restless night out into the
crowded room. The smell of sweat, broken dreams and yesterday's hairspray.
"Yeah, it was, it was s-o-o good!" I practically giggled. She rolled over
fully, toward me completely, and wrapped her arm around my waist before
nuzzling her chin into my shoulder. Her warm breath tickled my skin and I
pushed at her. "Eww, morning breath!" she exhaled loudly against me before she
began a tickle assault on my sides.
"Tell me the dream! Tell me, tell!"
"Only if you . . ." My giggles and squirming caused her to tickle more. "Stop
it, Bella, stop!" I laughed out as she kept tickling more, doubling her
efforts. "Isabella Marie Swan!" I screeched at a pitch I was worried would wake
the other two girls in the room. She finally stopped her attack only to huff
and pull me closer to her.
"Fine, Mary Alice Swan, but tell me, please?" I looked down to see her big,
brown eyes pull the puppy-dog face. When we were little and our father Charlie
was still around, he used to be a sucker for the big, brown puppies and both
Bella and I knew it. Now, in a sort of memory of the life we used to have, a
life that was worth remembering, we both love to pull the big, brown puppies
out.
We did this every morning. The tickles, the dream, the big, brown puppy-dog
eyes. It was our way of pretending, of making the morning seem like something
worth waking up to. And if either of us were honest, it was the only part of
our day that was worth having.
"Ok . . . ok. It was . . ." A longing sigh flittered from my lips. "Ah! . . .
It was amazing."
Bella's thick, brown hair tickled my chin as she nuzzled her head deeper into
my tiny shoulder.
"Oh, Bella, it was beautiful. It was sort of like that one with the diner, do
you remember that one?"
"Of course I do. The one where you wore the beautiful gown and gloves and sat
at a stool. The one that was so reminiscent of the Forties?"
I nodded my head as I ran my left hand through her matted hair against my
chest. It was caked with hair product and the dismal sweat of our day's work.
She probably didn't have time the night before to wash it out. When you only
have a certain amount of time to sleep soundly—safely—in a bed, other things
lose their priority, things like washing your hair. Bella would cut it short
like mine; it's easier that way, except that the boss wouldn't let her. She
made more money with longer hair.
Bella lived for the stories of my dreams. It was a good night if Bella didn't
dream, but most of the time she would have the nightmares. Nightmares of the
past—our past, nightmares of our time on the streets, and worst of all,
nightmares of our eternal hell here.
"Yeah, the beautiful black dress that I looked amazing in, of course. It was
expensive, I bet vintage Chanel or something like that. I was sitting at the
bar on a stool and when he walked up to the bar I turned to him and told him I
had been waiting for him. Oh, Bella, he was beautiful. Ok, well I couldn't see
his face but his short, dirty-blond waves were gorgeous and he was tall. He
wasn't muscular like Emmett-steroid muscles, but more like well framed. And
when he smiled at me, I felt safe and happy and just knew that he was the one,"
I gushed into my side.
Bella laughed softly. I knew that she didn't believe in soul mates, twin
flames, or anything like that. Bella was the type of person who found security
and safety the most important things in relationships. She would always say
girls like us were lucky if we even got anyone willing to take us who wouldn't
lay a hand on us. In our world, a forced marriage or mistress-ship to a man who
didn't have a penchant for slamming a girl into a wall was heaven-sent, and
even better if he could provide enough to make us comfortable. Bella would sell
her soul for the opportunity that she could find someone willing to take both
of us out of this life and care for us. To her, that was her perfect partner.
However, our souls weren't ours to sell. Theystole them.
But if there was anything in this world that my sister loved, it was me—just as
much as I loved her. She would never kill my dreams and I believed in soul
mates and true love. It was a small hope that I clung to; a hope that was
getting harder by the day to nourish. Bella knew that my spirit was quickly
dying; this was the reason for the morning conversations. She wanted me to hang
on to the last bit of my heart that was pure still, the part of hers that died
long ago.
A silent tear slipped down my cheek and I stealthily tried to wipe it away
before Bella noticed.
"And when he talked to me, he had the accent—you know, the sexy southern drawl
that I love. That daddy loved," I told her softly. I felt her smile against my
shoulder.
When we were little we were exposed to Clint Eastwood mania. Our dad grew up
watching Rawhide and ever since had become a huge Eastwood man. He even went as
far as having his nickname being after Rowdy Yates—Charlie "Rowdy" Swan. Our
dad had the entire series box set and watched it all the time. Bella didn't
share in his love of all things western and all things Eastwood as I did. And
this was how my "good ol' southern boy" crush began. But Bella and I were
raised differently.
I was five years old when my parents died in a home invasion of our modest
house in Forks, Washington. There still have been no arrests made in the case.
I was discovered the next day when an associate of my mother's came to the
house to find out why she hadn't shown up to work. The police took me into
their custody where I met Police Chief Charlie "Rowdy" Swan, and the rest was
as they say—history.
Chief Swan fell in love with me immediately. He had a void from his daughter
that left with his wife when she was only two years old, three years prior. I
was the same age as his little girl and had big, curious, brown eyes just like
her. I had lost everything and everyone close to me. And so had he. And so we
would build each other back up. The next couple of months were spent in and out
of group homes and foster care systems as he tried to arrange the paperwork to
adopt me.
I loved my new dad, and he was the only dad I have honestly ever known. We
spent so many weekends fishing and I loved it; however, Charlie was amazing and
he would indulge my shopping fetish then. We were evenly paired and everything
was perfect. But better still was meeting my sister. Bella used to spend
summers with Charlie and me. She ended up living in Phoenix with her mother
Renee who had remarried when she was about nine years old to a man named Phil.
Summers were some of my favorite times of the year because Bella would visit
for three months; and since I was never allowed to visit her, it was the only
time we ever really spent together. Well, that was until Charlie was murdered
in a routine traffic stop when we were fourteen; the same year in a twist of
sadistic fate that Renee and Phil died in a car crash. Everything changed in
the short amount of time and both of our happy lives as we knew them ended.
That was three years ago. We're both seventeen now and the saddest thing about
our life was that in less than eight months—five for Bella—we would both turn
eighteen. Then there would be no stopping the hell that we lived in.
We used to pray that there would be a bust of the club or that cops would come
and find out that we were underage and take us away. It was our only hope of
escaping, the only thing that we clung to; but with each day, that hope died
more and more.
"I'm getting my period," I told Bella as I felt the signature cramping.
"Shit . . . what are you going to do?"
"I don't know, Demetri maybe?" I said as an afterthought.
"I'll take your business during the next couple of days," Bella said as she
rose from my side to look at me in the eyes. I shook my head but she continued
on. "No Alice, it's nothing. You know what happened last time. I won't let that
happen to you again." The spiteful edge to Bella's voice told me that she still
blamed herself for a situation that couldn't have been prevented. Guilt ate
away at me as I easily gave in. I knew what her offer meant to her, but I just
couldn't deal with what happened last time; if it happened again I wouldn't
survive it. My shoulders trembled and Bella grabbed me back in a hug as she
whispered loving endearments into my neck.
"It's ok, I won't let that happen again. You'll be ok. I can take the day work,
but you have to figure out what to do for the club because you know I can't get
you out of that one."
"I'm so sorry, Bella," I quaked as water slipped from my eyes. She squeezed
tighter to me and I could hear the pants to her strained breathing.
"No, Allie, no. Don't worry. Just figure out what to do tonight. I think
Demetri is a good idea. He can't resist you. He loves you, in his own way, and
you should consider—"
I cut her off abruptly. "I can't, Bella. I just can't. Don't ask me to do
that."
She just shook her head and sighed. I knew she thought Demetri was the best
solution for me, but there were just too many reasons that I couldn't accept
his offer. Bella didn't understand.
"We should get up. You know we only have a little longer until we're expected
out and around," Bella said after the stale silence as she lifted off my
shoulder and sat up. Her hands darted away from her as she stretched. I nodded
and poked her side trying to preserve our playful nature.
It was in our bestinterest to be awake before the guards or soldiers. The
better behaved we were, the less our skin took on the unflattering colors of
black and blue. It was a fact of our life. And we knew the routine. In the
morning we would have to clean the house—the stable—for the upcoming day along
with the six other girls who lived here. We needed to restock the alcohol, do
laundry and make sure the guards were "taken care of" before we set up for the
afternoon and evening clients, our clients. Then at night we had to go to the
club, Novolunie.
However, only four of us went to the club to work: Bella and I because we were
American and it didn't look so suspicious, along with the two girls that spoke
English the best. This was the routine to our day, every day.
                                     ~xx~
"Demetri, how are you?" I slurred seductively as I sauntered up to him and ran
my hands teasingly over his strong pecs. He grabbed my hand in his large,
tattooed one and pushed it under his collared shirt so that I could touch his
flesh, holding me to him.
"What you need, baby?" he roared in his strong, thick voice. It reminded me of
a lion; a Siberian tiger would be more fitting, as his accent was so heavy that
it coated the words like cough syrup. He let my hand go and the heady scent of
his cologne filled my nose. I stared up into his striking blue eyes just as my
fingers made their way over his cheek softly.
"You."
"You have me, baby, but the question is when will I have you?"
His strong arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me flush against him before
bending down to kiss along my jaw line. A soft sigh of mine encouraged him
further. Demetri could be quite seductive and charming, even desirable, when he
wanted to be. And on the rare occasion where I could play the cards in my favor
to give me a choice, I would choose him. Or at least that was what I told
myself to soften the blow that came with the fact that I had no free will. He
was tall and attractive with a proud jaw and a protruding nose. But the best
thing about Demetri was that with me he was the gentlest I've ever had. Demetri
was the closest I came to a pleasurable experience and that was nothing to
snort at. He had a horrible temper and he had blackened my eyes before, but he
at least cared enough to try to never do it again, to actually feel remorse. He
did it out of rage, not malice—and there really was a veryimportant difference.
I wished that sometimes I cared for him as much as he cared for me because he
was the best option I had. But the second I took up his offer would be the same
second that Bella would be left alone. And that could neverhappen. She never
left me and I would never leave her. It was just fact.
"I want you now," I whispered against his cheek. He pulled away from his hot
trail along my neck to look into my eyes; he needed to judge my sincerity. I
nodded softly. He let me go and led me toward the gold double doors that hid
the back rooms—the stalls.
We had a little over an hour before the club would be opened and a little over
three before the heavy business. It was a Thursday so there shouldn't be too
much of a crowd. I had a plan and if it went accordingly, I would get to
waitress tonight, even though it wasn't my week. And I would get out of taking
special "requests." Because there was one thing that hurt Demetri more than
most anything else: the notion that he willingly let someone else cause me
pain.
Once in the back room, I quickly undressed Demetri and myself. When he began
thrusting into me, the inevitable pain swelled and I cringed and cried back. He
swiftly withdrew from me and asked what was wrong. I told him that I didn't
know. Demetri knew my body well. He guessed that I was most likely starting my
period. He, too, didn't want a repeat of what happened last time. Demetri
offered to talk to the boss and have my week dancing to be swapped with another
girl that was supposed to wait the tables. Bella.
Aro, the boss—or for all intents and purposes, the dʹyavol—would hear Demetri's
request; but in order to punish me, he would have Bella take my place. That
meant that she would be tonight's main dancer. That also meant double the extra
"requests" and therefore by default her nightly requirement was higher. But
both Bella and I knew what would have happened. Demetri also promised that if
anyone asked to take me to the stallsthat I have to tell them to ask him first.
He would take care of me.
I sat up as I pulled my red tank top over my head. "Demetri, I am so sorry. I
feel so guilty. I didn't know," I sighed in a voice that was laced with guilt,
but only because I was never a fan of lying. But when you're pushed to your
limit in life you learn things about yourself that you would have never
believed possible before. In order to survive, in whatever means you're given,
you'd be surprised what you were actually capable of. I was at least.
He pulled me against his chest where he sat next to me and ran his thick hand
through my short, black hair. "Baby, it's ok. You can make it up to me later."
He winked. I jumped into his arms and placed a kiss on his cheek promising that
I would love nothing more than to make it up to him next week. A deep chuckle
resonated around the room as he finished getting dressed and then left to go
find Aro. Once Demetri left the room, I flew out to find Bella.
I told her that Demetri agreed and Bella was happy for me. She was blow-drying
her hair to mountainous heights for tonight; she already knew she would have to
dance.
"I guess Aro will want to see me soon," Bella said, stagnantly staring at her
dead reflection with eyes that looked over her own body like she didn't even
recognize it.
Bella had long since given up pretending to be happy here. At least I put on a
fake smile and energetic attitude to keep my face bruise free, but Bella
stopped caring about five broken bones ago. I tried to convince her time and
time again that playing the happy little submissive girl they wanted would only
make things easier for us. She stopped listening about the same time she
stopped caring. They had long since claimed her spirit. My heart broke for her.
It was because of her strength to keep us safe, her love for me, that kept me
clinging to the last of my spirit. Through the drugs, through the abuse,
through the sex (which we both stopped calling rape years ago because it no
longer mattered), I swore to try to persevere . . . for her. She only wanted to
give us a chance at being happy and even ifthat meant just me. And as much as
that hurt—her selflessness—I understood it. She meant everything to me too. So
I pretended for her, more so than anything.
Sure enough Aro called for Bella when Demetri returned. He told me to go start
cleaning around the bar and get the waitress uniform from the back closet. A
huge wave of relief overflowed me but the undercurrent of that tsunami was the
culpability that Bella would have to take what I didn't. Nothing was ever free;
I learned that a long time ago.
"What can I get'cha, boys?" I asked the table of seven.
It was my biggest table tonight and they all looked young—well, older than me,
but younger than my regulars. Hopefully they wouldn't get any ideas. Young,
drunk and this scrap of a uniform was usually a recipe for disaster later. I
took in the money around me. Two men sat in chairs off to the left talking to
two other men sitting on the leather sofa bench surrounding the table. They
were all talking animatedly amongst each other. I immediately recognized the
blond all-American boy as a regular and his scraggly Asian friend. The other
two I hadn't seen before.
Then there was the man standing behind me, the one who'd waved me over. He was
gorgeous. Definitely the oldest of the bunch. But he had a matured beauty about
him, like a vintage coat that never went out of style. The way he stood was
regal and his green eyes were very expressive. His light blond locks begged to
have hands run through them and he had a very sensitive gaze; it softened his
angular features. I took quick note of the ring he wore.
She's a lucky woman, I thought.
There were two other men sitting in the booth and they were closest to me, but
once I took in the one next to me I completely forgot about the other. He was
breathtaking, handsome, stunning . . . perfect. And his wavy, dirty-blond hair
made my heart skip a beat. I would recognize that hair anywhere. When his deep,
blue eyes—almost grey in their storm—found mine, I smiled wider than I have
smiled in the past three years. It was like with that simple gaze, everything
faded away and wrapped me in a thick warm blanket. His stare was comforting,
safe, warm . . . home. I found myself drawn to him. It was an inexplicable need
to be closer to him. I leaned over my crossed arms on the table to keep his
gaze and focus just on him. My hips swayed from side to side from the
excitement of his voice when he said hi to me.
It was him.
He had the good ol' southern boy accent; the one I had spent every night since
I could remember dreaming about. I was so wrapped up in his flirtatious
innuendos about drinks that I didn't notice his friends at all until one
coughed roughly. I quickly realized I had a job to do. I took the gorgeous
older one's order—a water. It made sense; he seemed very responsible.
The last man, the one I failed to notice, was slinking away in the booth and
didn't seem like he was having a good time. It looked like he didn't even want
to be here.
Well that makes two of us.
I decided to give him a little love to make up for his sour mood.
"How about you, sexy?" I asked. He looked up and I noticed that he had the same
striking green eyes as the older blond, but with distinct reddish brown hair.
It was unlike any hair color I had ever seen. But he was just as gorgeous as
the older man, just in a very different way. Where one had maturity, regality,
and responsibility, the other was striking in his mysterious ambiguity that was
a very youthfully sexy trait. What were the odds that there were three
completely different men at one table but all totally stunning? I didn't think
that sort of thing happened all too often.
But none of them had anything against the man of my dreams, and in a true
speak-of-the-devil moment he broke my attention from the bronze one to tell me
that tonight was his bachelor party.
Oh, she must be a lucky woman too, I thought before a more threatening thought
crossed my mind. What if the man of my dreams was taken too? The other two
gorgeous ones were, it would only make sense.
A pang in my chest throbbed at the possibility that he would be taken. I had
lived my life with the hope that he existed and now that I found him it would
be just like my luck, my life, that he wouldn't be for me. That he wouldn't
want me when he could have something so much better. Bella's words rang in my
mind condemningly, "girls like us . . . our only option . . . " And I couldn't
stop the despair that those true words brought with them.
Reverting back to my shell of happy servant, I chose to egg on the bachelor
with all the ways to make his night better. All the while my dream man laughed
and agreed that my ideas were some great ones. I promised to take care of them
all night, as if I could imagine doing anything else. When I lifted off the
table to go put in their drink orders my dream man called me back.
"What's your name beautiful?"Whatever you want it to be. I beamed at him; he
thought I was beautiful. Maybe . . . just maybe . . . Bella's words were wrong.
"Pixie," it was my stage name. Bella came up with it as a joke and so I gave
her the joke stage name she used. At least her name sounded mysterious and
alluring; all mine reminded me of was a bubbly, half-wit fairy. But it got a
good response. I batted my lashes at him. "What's yours?"
And he replied, "Jasper." I had a name to the face and it was perfect. It
sounded strong and safe. I smiled at him adoringly as I took his face in my
hands and kissed up along his jaw. I didn't know if I would ever get this type
of chance again and I wanted to make my every interest perfectly clear.
"I like your name, Jasper. I like you more though. And that accent is sexy as
all hell." I pulled on his ear between my lips before skirting off with a skip
in my step. I didn't look back; I didn't need to. Judging by the way I felt his
body tense and his breathing pick up before I left, I knew I had accomplished
the response I was hoping for.
When I returned back to the table with their drinks, Jasper gingerly tugged my
hand and intertwined our fingers before bringing our joined palms up to his
lips slyly. My eyes widened and my heart stuttered. I melted at the gentle and
loving gesture; it was so different than anything I was used to. I was used to
men pinching my ass, grabbing my arm roughly, and pulling me by my waist down
to their laps while wiggling their erections into me, and that was the nice
stuff. But never something genuinely tender. My heart swooned and after he let
go of my hand he quietly spoke to me. I hazily outlined a heart on my inner
palm where his warm hand had once been.
"I'm going to figure out your real name before we leave here." I couldn't even
respond, my breath was caught in my throat.
I spent the rest of the night flirting shamelessly with Jasper and attempting
to dodge his million questions about me because I couldn't answer them. Luckily
for me he was very responsive to my touch and it made him lose his train of
thought. About midway through the night, I saw Jasper's interest toward his
friend, who was named Edward, change and I drew my attention there. Edward
seemed completely focused on the stage and he was salivating. I turned to see
who was up there and I should have known. Bella was commanding when she was on
that stage; it was one of the very few things we had control of in our life and
she exuded it.
"She's gorgeous, right?" I asked Edward and he just mumbled a bit of a
response. I giggled at his change in attitude. It was like she was a
Porterhouse and he had spent the last year as a forced vegetarian.
"He's been in a bad mood all night. Do you think we could get her to give him a
lap dance?" Jasper whispered to me. I nodded. This was perfect; this was so
completely perfect.
"Yeah, she can take him to the back rooms and give him a private dance," I said
excitedly. Jasper frowned.
"Isn't that umm . . . ."
"Oh no, no," I lied, "It's just so that they will have privacy and he won't be
embarrassed with all of you around. He seems like the kind of guy who would get
embarrassed by a lap dance in front of all his friends."
"Yeah, he's pretty private. Are you sure it's ok?" he asked me quietly, hinting
more at his words and I felt so bad for what I would do and how I would have to
lie to him. But he wouldn't understand and I had to do what I could to help
Bella. It was only a tiny lie. And instead I decided to focus on the tone of
his voice that sounded like he actually wanted my opinion on the issue, like
what I had to say was important, could influence his choice. I smiled
brilliantly; I forgot what it felt like to have someone care about what I
thought.
"Yeah. I'll go set it up; it's completely safe." He agreed and then we giggled
conspiratorially.
I skipped off to Felix who guarded the stalls, my mood even better with the
great new change in course the night was taking. I told him that Bella would be
taking a zebra to the back room. It was the lingo that we all used to make sure
nobody besides certain staff knew what we were talking about—a language that
was forced down our throats like globs of sauerkraut since the day we were
brought here. And everything—everything—revolved around the stable.
A zebra was a full paying John—the works; it was black and white, cut and dry.
You knew what zebras wanted and they knew what they would be getting.
After making arrangements with Felix, I went to the back of the club to the
dressing area to find Bella and tell her what was going on. I wrapped my hand
around her and told her to go to the bathroom with me. It was our way of
knowing that what we needed to talk about had nothing to do with anyone else.
That it would be best if no one else heard. Once we were in the back bathroom
and we pushed the waste basket against the door, Bella sat on the basket and
looked up at me. She had thick black eyeliner on and blood red lipstick; it was
very alluring but also made her look paler. Almost ghostly.
"What's up?"
"How did it go with Aro?" I asked her cautiously. She just shook her thick
brown hair out and picked at her arm. Her eyes bounced around the room and I
realized she wasn't looking at anything in particular. And then I saw the newly
crusted scab and I sighed. "Bella . . ."
"No, it's fine . . . no, it's cool," she shook her head and bit her lip while
still looking around. "Just a blow job and he let me have a hit," she said,
darting her eyes around the grimy, sand-colored bathroom while she continued to
scratch at her arm.
"Stop," I warned, pulling her hand from her arm. "Bella, we were supposed to
help each other quit. We were going to be strong enough this time. You can't
let him keep doing this to you." The pain in my voice brought the volume down
tremendously. I quaked on my words as I watched her pinch back a tear from her
glistening, bloodshot eyes.
"Don't you think I would fucking quit if I could? Do you! Do you!" She spat so
loudly that I had to shush her and remind her to keep quiet. Violently she
pushed off of the trash bin she was perched on top of. Her leg caught against
the trashcan and she fell to the cold tile floor. I flew to her side and tried
to break her fall but her knee drove into the ground breaking her fall for her.
She curled up on the floor, pushing herself to the wall, and grabbed at her
knee as tears made their way down her face. Her quaking sobs filled the small
bathroom like the odor of a strong, fresh-cut onion and soon enough I couldn't
stop my eyes from watering too. I tried to wrap my arms around her convulsing
body and pull her to my chest to comfort her. Incoherent words and gurgling
sounds of the most painful type of anguish—hopelessness in life—fell from her
lips like the limp wrist of a dead person.
And that thought killed me because as much as Bella was alive, she was
figuratively already dead.
"It's ok, Bella. We'll be ok. We'll figure this out," I said into her side as
she shivered and sniffed in my arms. Silent tears ran along my face with her
loud cries.
"Don't you think they thought of that? Don't you . . I try . . . I do . .
.That's why they did this bullshit; make me a fucking addict . . . so even if I
could fucking leave I wouldn't . . . I fucking hate them and this shit . . . I
can't take it anymore Alice. I just can't." I hated that it wasn't just her
words that were broken.
"No, we're doing better, Bella. We really are." She shook her head against the
wall, her eyes closed off to the world and her hands picking at her arm.
"No," her voice was so soft that I almost missed it. It was almost as if she
was talking to herself. "You should just accept Demetri's offer and get out of
this while you can, Alice. There's no saving me. He's the best we can get
around here. Alice, take his offer and get the fuck out of this," Bella pleaded
sobbingly. Like rivers of death themselves, her tears mixed with her thick
black liner and stained her face. She kept pounding her head against the wall
as her hands tried to scratch at her arms. I had to continually pull her hands
down so that she wouldn't draw blood.
"Bella, we're doing better. We're going to figure this out, you'll see," I said
painfully—my voice breaking even though I tried to keep it strong. She tore out
of my embrace viciously and stumbled to her feet, banging her skinny knees
against the toilet.
"There is no figuringthis out, Alice. This is our life now and nobody's going
to save us. We waited for three years. THREE FUCKING YEARS. Where is this
imaginary knight in shining armor? Where were the police? It's not going to
happen. There is nothing for us! Damn it, Alice, open your fucking eyes! Take a
good thing when it's in your face." Bella trembled weakly; although her words
were meant to be loud, her incapacitating cries drowned them out, softened
them—defeated them.
"Bella, I came in here to tell you that I got you a Joe. He's good looking
too," I began, since I knew that there was no winning the other conversation.
So hopefully this turn in good luck would be better received than my pathetic
attempts to lie.
"He's completely gaga over you, Bella. He's a zebra, but HE doesn't know that.
I even told Felix that he's a zebra. So that can occupy you for at least until
the next dance. Bella, you won't even have to sleep with him. But you'll get
paid like you did. It's win-win," I offered encouragingly as I hurried to my
feet. She lifted her head to look at me, to finally focus on something
stationary in the room.
"What?"
"Yeah, he's getting married. He's with some good guys so I doubt he'll want to
even have sex but nobody knows that. Stay back there bullshitting with him as
long as you can so you don't have to take anyone else back to the stalls. Then
even if he wants sex, charge him again; that way you meet your requirement and
you only have to have one guy tonight. Think about it Bella; it's a good deal."
She nodded hesitantly, the idea rolling over in her head. After a pregnant
pause she said spitefully, "He'll want sex. They always want sex."
"Then charge him more; he'll pay it. I know he will. He's salivating out there
for you. You could probably even charge him double and I bet he wouldn't
notice. You could hide the money and you won't have to work as hard tomorrow. I
already have his credit card and Demetri ran it. It's good," I added quickly.
She nodded more as she stood taller and wiped at her face. I stood in awe as I
watched the breathtaking strength of hers begin to return. Bella was my rock
and I needed her to stay strong through this.
"I'll fix all your makeup, your arm too. We'll spray you so you smell good.
It's going to be ok, you'll see. It's going to be ok, Bella. Ok . . . Bella?" I
pleaded. I needed her to take this deal. It was easy. It was perfect. She
wouldn't have to blow men back to back or give dances to guys only willing to
drop the minimum. She could make everything she would need to tonight on this
one guy. Opportunities like these didn't come around often for us.
Bella nodded before pulling me into her and whispering she loved me into my
shoulder. My heart trembled and I clawed at her with all the need in my soul.
It killed me when she broke down because she was so much stronger than me and
if she broke I wouldn't know what to do. I needed her. She was my everything.
"I love you too, Bella. Let's hurry and get you cleaned up. He's at my table,
bronze hair. You can't miss him." She mumbled a soft "ok" before we pushed the
trashcan away from the door and went to the dressing area. I worked lithely,
getting her primped and primed.
I left her to finish up while I went back to the table. Soon enough she was
pulling Edward toward the stalls. I winked at Jasper while I went back to work.
Not even forty-five minutes passed before Edward stormed out from the stalls.
He looked pissed.
Shit. No. What happened?
The deafening sound of the glass I held in my hand that now lay shattered by
the bar boomed around me as my breath was stolen from my lungs.
Oh God. Oh God. No. . . . No!
I practically ran toward their table, with legs that refused to work properly
and a stabbing sensation in my chest that I had to clutch at roughly. The last
thing Bella needed tonight was a complaining customer. It would kill her . . .
they would kill her. I hoped that I could beg Jasper to smooth over the
situation. It couldn't be that bad. PLEASE let it not be that bad.
A million thoughts ran through my mind as water built up in my eyes. I prayed
he didn't make a big deal about whatever upset him. Piercing pain stabbed
through my flesh as my knees and thighs banged against corners of tables and I
ran to where they were, my vision hazed by the water build-up.
NO!
Just as I reached the table, Edward was storming off. I was trembling so badly
that I thought I would fall over. My stare glued to his retreating form. I
begged with every ounce of my soul that he didn't stop and talk to anyone. I
clutched to his retreating form like an oxygen line and I felt myself falling,
everything was so dizzying. Warm arms wrapped around me to hold me up and spoke
into my hair.
"Are you ok?" Jasper said softly.
"Where's he going; is he mad? Why's he mad? He won't start anything, will he?
What's going on? He's gonna—"
Jasper cut me off. "It's fine, he's just leaving. He does this often; he has
crazy mood swings. Are you ok?" The concern in his voice was jarring.
I watched, my heart tightly clenching my lungs, as Edward walked past Demetri
and out the door. When that open door shut it was like rain to a seven year
drought, like the final meal to a man on death row, like a pair of Christian
Louboutin boots for under a thousand dollars and I finally let out the breath
that I was holding. The sweetest shiver passed through my body and I reveled in
the delicious pang of that relief before I wiped my eyes. I silently thanked
every angel and star above me for the small safety; it was more than I could
ever ask for.
It was going to be ok. Bella was going to be ok.
I pulled out of Jasper's arms and smiled softly. My left hand trembled as it
reached up to caress his cheek. He turned into my hand and his compassionate
eyes spoke more than words ever could. They told me that they were here now and
that they understood. That they would protect me and I didn't have to worry. I
basked in their warmth and felt the urge to run crying into his arms and have
him protect me and make me believe that everything really was going to be ok.
That the lies I had been forcing myself to believe weren't lies at all, but I
just pulled my hand back and wrapped it around my waist.
"I'll get your check."
He handed me his card and I turned to leave him. "Wait, I still haven't figured
out your name." I shook my head at him and smiled sadly.
"It's better that way." I began walking toward the bar away from him, but
through the cheers and loud music I was still able to hear him say, "No, it's
really not."
As I swiped his card and pulled his receipt, I thought about Bella. I thought
about Charlie, my daddy, and how much I missed and loved him. I wondered if he
was watching over us right now. I thought about Demetri and his offer, about
this life that wasn't worth living. Then I thought about Jasper and the chance
at having a life that might be worth living, if only for a day. And if today
was that day then I did want it to be worth it. If I was only given a day then
I wanted to make it count. With a hopeful heart I pulled out my pen and wrote
on his receipt:
It's Alice.
 
***** Chapter 3 *****
A deep groan escaped my parched lips as I rolled over, trying to face away from
the blinding sun. It wasn't morning, it couldn't be. There was too much light
coming in from the window.
She opened the curtains.
My head was throbbing and I groaned once more, louder than before. Rubbing my
neck, I found the comfort of rolling my head and staring at the ceiling. I'm
never letting Jasper get me that drunk again. The taste in my mouth could only
be described as hairy monkey ass, as eloquent as that was. I pinched the bridge
of my nose before rolling over completely to the middle of the bed. Running my
right hand over the sheets, I was met with cold space. I was alone.Huh. Tanya
didn't work these weeks before and following the wedding, and considering this
was our last night together before the big day, I figured she would at least
stay in bed with me. I closed my eyes and rubbed them forcefully as I
remembered everything that happened last night. Exhaling deeply, I swung the
thick beige blanket back over me. There was no way in hell I was ready to face
this.
What happens now?
If ever there was a loaded question . . .
What would happen now? Did I tell Tanya? Did I try to hide it? Did I pretend
like nothing happened and go on with my life? Did she deserve that? What would
she want more: to continue pretending that we were happy or to know the truth?
Didn't she already know the truth anyway?
Fuck.
I lay there in bed for an immeasurable time plowing over everything in my head.
When the fog lifted I knew what I wanted to be done. It was a mistake. That's
all it was, a mistake. I messed up and it wouldn't happen again. It was a
onetime thing; everybody made mistakes. I was happy with Tanya and she had
stuck by me through everything. Tanya deserved the chance at the future she
wanted: marriage and children, the happy picket fence life that she saw herself
in.
After the accident, when I lost myself in high school, each day weighed more
than the rest. I thought I would never make it out alive. It felt like I had
nothing to live for then, but Tanya helped see me through it. After I met her
in college, she helped me as best she could. She became my best friend, and no
matter what, that fact had never changed. Over time I knew she wanted more, but
no matter how hard I tried I couldn't see her as anything other than my best
friend. Then in med school when I got into legal problems with a completely
unfounded harassment lawsuit, Tanya was my rock. And one night in a drunken
haze, I crossed the line of our friendship. It was good—really good; it was
easy. I didn't realize how easy being in a relationship with Tanya was and
suddenly it just made sense. She loved me and I would do anything for her. I
couldn't say I loved her as she wanted, but I could work at it. And love was
something I worked at viciously every day of my life, to give her what she
expected from me. What everyone expected.
I didn't have to look for anything else because she was my best friend; I had
everything I needed. And I didn't even realize just how much our relationship
impacted me. Everyone said they noticed a difference in me. I wasn't as
depressing anymore and that was because I felt I found what I needed. And when
she pushed the issue of us getting married after I finished med school, it just
seemed like the right thing to do. And so when I finished, I did the right
thing. I was twenty-nine and she was twenty-five; it was time. It made sense
that we begin the new chapter together. She had stuck by me this long and
worked her ass off to make me happy; I could give her what she needed to make
her happy.
But now . . . but now what? I would ruin her happiness?
I couldn't do that, not twice. I had already made one mistake; I wouldn't make
another. Guilt would build up inside of me like a filling sponge and I would
take it. I deserved to be pained and reminded of just what I did to her. I
would live with that and I would promise not to hurt her again. I could do
that. I would do that. For her.
With resolve, I got out of bed and went to the bathroom to shower, brush my
teeth, and prepare for the day. When I was finished, I pulled a dark blue shirt
over me and put on some dark jeans. My vacation for the wedding started today.
It wasn't hard to get time off, even though I have only been working in Mercy
Hospital's Emergency Room for about over a year and on my second year
internship, so I was still rotating. But it helped that there was another
Cullen on the payroll. My dad was Chief of Staff in the surgical department and
he helped pull some strings for the wedding. But I couldn't get nearly as much
time off as Tanya.
The smell of bacon clouded my senses and led me down the hall across our
hardwood penthouse apartment. Cold wood tingled my toes as I made my way to the
kitchen. I stopped in the living room after rearranging some of the items on
the coffee table that were out of place before deciding to see if we got any
new mail delivered this morning. Acceptance of our invitations were still
surprisingly coming in and tonight was the rehearsal dinner. We had so much to
do. Today I had to pick up Tanya's sister Kate and husband Garrett from the
airport where they were flying in from Alaska. Her aunt and uncle, Eleazar and
Carmen—who were like parents to the sisters—arrived earlier in the week and
were staying in a hotel.
This was supposed to be the wedding of the year, according to Tanya and the
wedding planners. Tanya and her family came from old money in Alaskan oil and
Carlisle had made quite the wealth for himself too. And since I was
figuratively their only child, there was always more than enough to spare even
after all they donated to charity. And this was all before I was able to work,
or Tanya for that matter, and we both earned well too. Tanya was a top junior
executive at The Chicago Times; her division was marketing and advertisement.
Our guest list was already at a confirmed two hundred, but it was at a
tentative two-seventy, and that was with the cuts I enforced because I didn't
want a damn circus. We were more than prepared for two-seventy. And with the
way acceptances were still pouring in, I was certain that we would make the
two-fifty mark easily. The dark mahogany table by the door where we held our
mail was empty.
Tanya must have already checked it.
I took a moment to stare out the floor length windows that swept the south end
of the living room. Tanya had already opened all those windows too. I honestly
wasn't a fan of so much sun, but she constantly felt the need to remind me that
if we had this beautiful view, we should use it.
It was a bright, early summer day in May over the Chicago skyline. We lived
about twenty minutes north of downtown Chicago, and from the south end of the
apartment we had a full view of the harbor and the mountainous buildings, the
architectural beauty, that Chicago was renowned for. There were a few clouds in
the sky and the weather for this Saturday was predicted to be perfect. The
wedding would go without a hitch. Taking a deep breath, I turned back away from
the window and went through the living room to the kitchen.
The marble kitchen and sleek counter tops welcomed my eyes as I scanned for
Tanya. I saw the bacon sizzling on the stainless stove along with two other
skillets, and Tanya at the sink on the island. She was still wearing her pajama
pants and pink tank top. My shuffling feet caught her attention and she looked
up and smiled at me.
The tightening in my chest and bile in my throat didn't escape my attention.
Everything about her beautiful face and deep blue eyes beamed love and loyalty.
Tanya was never anything less than amazing with me. And now, more than ever, I
didn't deserve her. The radiating love that beamed from her caused me to smile
even though it felt dishonest. It felt like I was again cheating her. I ran my
fingers through my hair as I watched her.
"I made breakfast," Tanya said as she nodded toward the stove. I took the
kitchen in less than five strides, which was saying a lot because it's a
spacious kitchen.
"I see that," I responded as I wrapped my arms around her from behind, pushing
her strawberry-blonde locks to the side so that I could kiss her neck. "I was
thinking about you this morning."
It was my vacation from work and so I didn't shave this morning because I would
shave tomorrow before the wedding, and my stubbled jaw against her soft skin
sent shivers down her body that I felt through my chest pressed against her.
"You were?" There was a hint of excitement to her dulcet voice.
"Yes, and just how good you are to me," I spoke in between nibbles along her
neck. She rolled her head to the side to give me better access while a pleasant
moan slipped from her moist, pink lips. I pulled her closer to me. My tongue
traveled down her shoulder tasting the clean skin there and she moaned more in
response. When I closed my eyes, the skin I was kissing was pale, not tan. It
was a split-second vision, but I opened my eyes and let Tanya go like she was a
hot iron.
Then I saw a small brunette in pajamas standing over the island of my kitchen.
I shook my head and closed my wide eyes. Opening them quickly, I saw Tanya once
more. I knew my subconscious was playing tricks on me. Anger at the idiotic
ruse built in my chest, rippling like a raindrop on the still waters of a pond.
Each ripple grew and expanded and I couldn't understand why this was happening.
Why now? When I chose to forget, to make it right. To be what Tanya deserved. I
wanted only Tanya. My subconscious needed a brutal reminder of that fact.
Tanya was my fiancée. Tanya was the woman that I wanted to be with. The person
I should be with.
With a stronger sense of determination, I pulled Tanya back against my body,
rougher than necessary. But I needed this, to know that she was mine, all that
I wanted. Needed. I pressed my hips into her ass and bent her slightly over the
counter. When my hand fisted into her hair to bring her lips to mine, it was
wrapped in soft, chocolate tresses instead of the blonde ones I was used to. A
deep seeded growl rumbled in my throat. I was so beyond aggravated that I
couldn't get that fucking girl out of my head. My lips went crashing to Tanya's
neck and I kissed her harder and each moan went straight to my cock, but they
weren't Tanya's moans.
Fuck!
I was caught in the middle of lust and anger and my darkened eyes were blurred
between gold and chocolate. The skewed lines made my head spin. This was
ridiculous. My teeth snapped and I spun Tanya around to face me. Predatorily I
devoured her mouth. I claimed on her what I couldn't claim from the girl last
night. My tongue sought out her taste, to own her. Tanya was mine and I should
only want her. She met my kiss with fervor and yielded to my tongue ruling her.
Her hands fisted into my hair and the pain was a shot of adrenaline.
"Harder," I growled against her lips. And when she pulled harder, my cock
twitched and I bit her lip before pulling it into mine. Sucking on the soft
flesh of her swollen lip savagely, I consumed her and the skewed lines trembled
and I felt them cracking. I felt elevated and I wanted more; I wanted to erase
those lines altogether. My hands clutched at her side and dove into her waist.
Panting, I pulled away long enough to look her in the eyes but not to let her
go. And when deep brown eyes looked back at me instead of soft blue ones, I
snarled.
This couldn't be fucking happening.
"Take off your pants," I demanded as desire coated and covered my thoughts,
words, like grey clouds over a once clear sky. Everything was grey now.
Tanya took a minute to compose herself from her slight hesitation or the look
of confusion in her eyes before she shifted in my arms to push her pajamas
down. When they were down far enough, I bent over and yanked them off of her.
Then I wrapped one of her legs around my waist. My cock was throbbing in my
jeans. Quickly my hands went under her tank top and grabbed her breasts roughly
as I squeezed them and twisted her nipples. I captured her lips in mine once
more as she wrapped her other leg around my waist and helped lift herself to
the counter. I ground my pulsating erection against her hot core.
"Ohh . . . please," she panted against my lips, the vibrations like branding
irons. Her wetness began to seep through my jeans and my carnal, consuming
desire that wasn't lust or anger, but a sinful mixture of both, caused me to
grind against her warmth more. Moans seeped from her lips like lava, scorching
everything in its path, and her hands blanched as she gripped against the
counter to steady herself. My grinding was met with wanton need from her
matching movements. And finally the coiling heat was too much and I was ready.
With one swift move, I pulled my jeans down and positioned my tip at her hot,
wet entrance. She moaned and closed her eyes as I thrust up into her. Her skin
skirted as I dragged her from the waist to the very edge of the counter. She
quickly wrapped her arms around my neck to keep from falling back in ecstasy.
Soon she was rocking against my stiff cock and it didn't fucking matter who I
saw anymore. Pure, unadulterated need coursed through my pounding veins and the
primal haze consumed me. All I wanted, all I thought about, all I felt was the
warm, tight ecstasy of her clenching walls around me. And the need to pound
deeper was so raw within me. With this position, it wasn't working. The counter
was too high and I didn't like having to thrust upward. The angle wasn't giving
me the depth I wanted—I craved—and I wanted to pound till I reached to the hilt
and she screamed in euphoria.
I pulled out abruptly and set her on her feet. "Get on the table."
Slowly she regained her balance before bolting for the table. Through
intoxicated eyes, I licked my lips as she situated her body on the table. I
finished taking off my jeans and went to her. She was sitting on the edge and I
pulled her by the hips to me. Pushing her to lay back, I wrapped her legs
around me once more. I entered her roughly and she arched up with a yelp.
"Oh, Edward," Tanya whimpered.
I fisted her hips in my hands to hold her steady as I fucked her. Her pants and
my grunts filled the air along with the sound of our skin slamming against each
other. The hot, dirty taste of sex lingered around me and coated my throat,
drying my lips and swallowing my voice.
"Fuck," I hissed as I closed my eyes and let my head roll back. Each quick
thrust along my cock was pure fucking bliss, and I was so glad that all I could
see was the strawberry blonde before me arched with her head rolled back and
hair fanned around her on our dining table.
"Oh, Edward . . . oh baby, that's so good . . . oh . . . fuck, Edward, more . .
. harder!" Tanya slurred and I lowered my head back to look at her. She licked
her lips when our eyes met. "Oh, Edward, please don't stop!"
Something felt off and I just couldn't stand it. I pounded into her harder, my
aggravation driving my cock to plow more and she kept moaning, telling me how
fucking great this whole thing was. And suddenly I was bent over her and had my
hand over her mouth as my thrust increased.
"Don't fucking talk," I grunted, clenching my hand around her heady mouth. The
silence of moans was heaven and all I concentrated on was the feeling of her
walls squeezing my engorged cock. Soon the pressure started to build and I
fucked her faster as the tension coiled my muscles and my breathing picked up.
I dropped my head to her stomach and bit the flesh there. Her muffled scream
under my hand fueled my release and I trembled in ecstasy as I exploded into
her.
"God . . . Fuck!"
Catching my breath, I let my hand fall away from her mouth and I pulled out of
her when I regained stability. She slowly rose to sit on the edge of the table
as she tried to pull my arm in her hand.
"Edward, is everything ok?"
I pushed her hand away from mine and then the world came crashing down. It was
like Atlas decided to hand over the job for a day, and I realized that it was
too heavy a second too late.
I stood in the middle of the kitchen half-clothed, staring around me but not
really seeing anything. I had a million thoughts in my mind, but they were like
a fog to me and I couldn't grab any of them. Nothing seemed real. I felt so
lost and I didn't understand what had just happened. One hand ran frantically
through my hair while my other arm clenched my waist and I discovered that I
was slightly hunched over. It felt amazing, every second of my cock driving
into her was euphoric and yet I hated every . . . fucking . . . second of it. I
ran my hand nervously through my drenched, bronze wilderness. But I just
couldn't look up to meet Tanya's stare. After what felt like hours of standing
there, running my hand nervously through my hair and clutching at my bent body,
I went to grab my jeans and put them on. Then I stormed out of the kitchen.
Somehow, through the eclipsing haze I managed to find the keys to the Volvo. As
I reached for the front door, Tanya came bolting next to me. She had managed to
get her clothes back on and she was trembling as she spoke.
"Edward, what's wrong?"
"I'm going to see Jasper," I mumbled. She wrapped her arms around me as if she
could melt into me, to comfort the anguish she saw written across my face.
Anguish that she didn't understand, and confusion because I didn't either. And
it only disgusted me more because after what I had done to her, she was once
again trying to comfort me. It sickened me and I wanted her away from me, the
reminder gone.
"Please talk to me, what's going on?" her trembling voice pleaded and I knew
what it was doing to her. The weight of that only made everything worse. But I
couldn't talk to her. With dry lips and a stone soul, I kissed the top of her
head softly as I pried her arms off me.
"I'll be back," I said to the torn woman staring at me as if her life depended
on my opening that front door. But either way, I had to go.
I needed to figure this out and the only person that could help me now was
Jasper.
                                     ~xx~
"I just fucked her and the whole time all I saw was the brunette from the club,
the dancer. It was the first time I didn't even care if she got off or not.
Hell, I didn't even care if she was there or not because I stopped her from
talking," I told Jasper as I leaned forward in the chair I was sitting in
across from his desk.
"You stopped her from talking?" Jasper asked hesitantly, as if he didn't
believe it or if he did he might not want to know how.
"Yeah, I wrapped my hand over her mouth. I can't explain it, like the sounds
she was making were ruining it for me. Fuck, this is . . . this is sordid . .
."
"Just say it," Jasper encouraged as he leaned back in his thick, black, leather
desk chair.
"It felt almost sadistic. I've never been like that before. And . . . it's just
if I heard her, then it was harder for me to see her," I said as I pinched the
bridge of my nose. My elbows were at my knees and my head was dropped. The
bleak reality of my words was like a plastic bag being placed over my head and
it was torture trying to breathe. I couldn't look Jasper in the eyes; my shame
was too heavy.
It was just luck that when I called he didn't have a patient. I really needed
to talk to him. Jasper was one of the most sought after psychologists in
Chicago, which was saying a lot because he only recently received the
doctorate, but he had been doing this a while. He started out as a therapist
and juvenile counselor, then worked his way up. He owned his own practice and
did pro bono work at the hospital, about a case a month. This wasn't the first
time that I have needed him as more than just a friend; I needed him as a
professional.
"You mean her. If Tanya didn't speak then you could imagine the brunette from
last night?" Jasper clarified. I groaned and still refused to look up at him.
"Edward," Jasper began soothingly, "Edward, many men fantasize about other
women when they are with their partners. Many women do as well . . .
celebrities, childhood crushes, even everyday people that they run into that
they find attractive."
"I've never . . ."
"The thing is you feel guilty that you're attracted to this girl. You feel
guilty for what took place in that back room . . ." he began before I shot my
head up to look at him.
"What?" I quaked, my eyes widening. Did he know what happened in that room? How
could he know?
"Yes, it was a very intimate experience with her and you feel guilty about
this. I blame myself fully for this. I just—"
"What? How . . . how did you. . ." I stumbled.
My left leg was bouncing subconsciously, and as soon as I caught it I
controlled it. I had no idea what was going on. Everything was so backwards and
I hated not even knowing who I was anymore. How could everything change so
abruptly? And now I was terrified that Jasper knew it too. . . just what a
disgrace of a man I was. How I could never be what they expected of me. Who
I should be. Jasper would know that I was nothing anymore, that I didn't even
know what that nothing was. Jasper had always been the type of person to be
very perceptive; it was one of the things that made him excel at this job. He
narrowed his eyes at me before speaking.
"The private dance, right?" I nodded quickly . . . too quickly. "Is
that all that happened in the back room, Edward?"
"What? Yes," I said, pointedly meeting his hard stare with my own in equal
amounts of tension. But he only narrowed his gaze further and I watched a
flurry of emotions play across his face like a botched action movie with a
million takes—suspicion, disappointment, but most of all the slow trickle of
understanding.
"What the fuck are you insinuating, Jasper?" I growled, not even realizing the
anger brewing in my voice.
"What are you hiding, Edward?" Jasper asked not skipping a beat.
My mouth hung open as if every possible word option were stolen from me. He
raised his hand to stop the words that couldn't come even if I tried. "You have
always been a very introspective person, Edward, and emotions seem to seep from
you like a leaky faucet, but this afternoon has been the worst I have seen from
you since high school. You've gone from guilty to angry, to confused to
resolved, and from desperate to longing—and honestly, everything in between. So
you have to understand that you have no obligation to tell me the truth, but
what you need to realize is that you need to accept the truth, whatever it may
be. This is what you need to focus on, understanding why you have done what you
have, or have not," he added the last bit as an afterthought probably only to
placate me. "And what it means to you. So, lying about it won't resolve
anything, Edward."
My head fell with the weight of his words as I rubbed my forehead roughly. Was
it possible to get an instantaneous headache that squeezed your brain so tight
you knew your eyes were bulging and dry?
"I don't know what to do, Jasper," I coughed out finally, not able to look up,
not able to do anything but let the vomit of the words that poisoned me slip
from my burnt lips. "I don't know what the hell is going on. I feel like I'm
walking around outside my body and watching this movie play out in front of me.
I know it's me, but in some twisted paradox it's not. Ever since last night . .
. Jasper, I don't even know who I am anymore, nothing makes sense. Everything
I've done in less than the past twenty-four hours has been completely unlike
me, but yet I've done these things. I recognize that they are my actions, but I
don't understand them. I really feel as though I'm in this haze and I can't
grab onto anything concrete; everything is just superficial. I seriously have
no fucking idea what to do here; nothing makes any sense at all. I haven't felt
like this since . . . since last time and . . . fuck, I'm so tired of this. I
don't like it and it fucking scares me. I thought it was over."
"Do you want to talk about it? Last time, I mean?" Jasper asked in a tone that
was an odd mix of compassion and strength.
"What . . . no, no I don't want to talk about last time. I thought that it was
over. I thought I was cured or something," I spat. I couldn't believe that this
was still hovering over me like the black cloud that it was. My forehead was
throbbing and I grabbed at it. I knew how what I said would sound but I just .
. . it didn't make sense.
"Edward, you know that there is no cure for things like this. Traumatic
experiences from our pasts will always be a part of our lives. We can only
learn to accept and grow from them. You can't clutch to it, Edward, it's not a
crutch or an excuse."
"Do you think I'm clutching to it?" I asked, genuinely interested in the fact
that maybe that was the reason I had done what I did. But Jasper had been doing
this too long.
"Do you think you're clutching to it?"
Fuck.
"Don't fucking psych me, Jasper. Of course I'm clutching to it. I have to. I
owe it to her." My voice wavered. I wanted to say her name; I wanted to say it
so badly. She deserved for me to acknowledge her name—at least that, after all
I've done—but I just couldn't. It hurt too much. Even now, even eleven years
later.
"It wasn't your fault, Edward," Jasper said immediately.
And I couldn't stop the bile that rose up in my throat; bile that, in its
acidic blaze, numbed the lining in my throat and my mouth. It felt like I was
seething, that saliva flowed from me like thick, lubricating venom hoping to
find words. I sucked in my lip through my gritting teeth, my jaw so strained
that it felt like the bone would shatter any second from the pressure.
Sinisterly, my head raised and I looked him dead in the eyes. There was no
bigger lie than that one.
He was wrong.
It was my fault. There was never doubt of it and nothing would ever change that
fact. Everything about that night could have occurred so very differently if I
had just stayed away. if I had just not fought with her, if I had just not gone
there that night . . . if I hadn't walked away.
But I did walk away and nothing would change that, ever. And in the sick
twisted fate that was my life, I was staring down the brutal truth that
ironically eleven years earlier had changed my life, and now was again doing
the same. Only this time the circumstances were different, but the parallels
were uncanny.
What if I hadn't fought with her? What if I hadn't gone there that night? What
if I did just walk away?
But this time I didn't and here I was.
And that was the truth of my pathetic life.
I walked away from the one person who needed me the most and who loved me more
than anything. The only person I had ever needed and loved, when I knew what
love was and I was capable of it. However, this time when I should have walked
away—I didn't.
It was all my fault. It was true then and it was true now. It always would be.
***** Chapter 4 *****
I groaned. My head suddenly grew infinitesimally and I couldn't support its
weight anymore. I rested it in my hand on my desk. This had taken a drastic
turn south and I watched the wreck in front of me like a car crash that I just
couldn't tear my eyes away from. I knew I shouldn't have said that, but it was
all I could do to not say it. There was just so much wrong here and he needed
to deal with his once and for all. He needed to stop hiding from it . . . or
replacing it. All of which he didn't even realize. And that was where I failed.
I failed as a friend and as a professional. I had to help him realize that he
wasn't helping himself, he never had been. I can't solve this for him, only he
can, but I could help him see that it needed to be solved. I just hoped I could
help him open his eyes before it was too late.
                                     ~xx~
Ever have one of those moments in your life when you knew, you just knew, that
something big was going to happen? You can't explain it but it grabs you by the
gut and twists viciously, stopping your breath dead in its tracks? It's not
necessarily a bad thing, it just begs to be acknowledged; it makes sure you
won't let the feeling go unnoticed.
That was what happened to me last night at the strip club. Whatever
happened screamed to be acknowledged and I could do nothing but yield to it . .
. to her.
Alice.
My fingers rolled the used receipt that they had refused to give up since she
handed it back to me last night. Ever since I got to work this morning I could
do nothing but sit at my desk and replay every second, every smile, every
caress, even the smallest of details about the night. Patients scattered
through my door, but I couldn't honestly say that they received their money's
worth. My mind was with the pair of soft, brown eyes.
Brown eyes that captivated from the second I held them. It wasn't the soft
flecks of a deep blue that rimmed the iris or the beauty of such an intense
color. It was what they held themselves. Those soft, brown eyes hid in them
more than I could ever understand. But she did a good job at hiding, though.
I had never in my life seen anything more breathtakingly beautiful. And it
wasn't just her appearance, not that it wasn't a testament to her beauty—she
was undeniably a goddess—but there was just something more. When she laid
across the table to stare at me directly in the eyes was the exact moment that
I clutched my stomach. My body screamed to take notice of that moment, that
that very moment was when something cataclysmic was taking place. I can't
explain what I found in those eyes and yet I could. It was completely obvious.
Home.
But not just home; it was my old blanket. The only thing I ever wanted wrapped
around me. The only thing I ever needed to keep me. It was the blanket that
smelled like my mother's love, felt like the warm Texan sun of my youth, and
looked like my own little piece of heaven.
When I looked into her eyes, I felt her soul welcome me home; it opened its
arms to me and I fucking practically ran into those open arms. It felt so good
to be home. But as I realized just how amazing it felt to have her back—because
I knew then that she was my twin flame, the other half of my soul waiting for
me—I discovered how hard it had been for her to be without her half. To have to
wait for me.
I saw it all there: the pain, the hurt, and worst of all the desperation. The
all-encompassing desperation that eclipses everything else, destroys hope and
slaughters spirit. My twin flame had lost her spirit. And my soul cried for
her, for everything she had to suffer without it. I couldn't imagine just how
badly she must have needed me and it clenched viciously in the pit of my
stomach. I knew that I would stop at nothing to get her back, to renew her
spirit. And I knew that I couldn't waste even a second waiting.
I would get her back.
And that was how my whole day had passed without my notice. I could only focus
on my Alice and what I had to do to get her back. I didn't understand her
situation, but I decided that it would be in my best interest to play the
situation smartly, by ear. I knew a lot about the truth to the streets, to
places like that, to the reality of the world that society hides. I had spent a
lot of time volunteering with juvenile services, with at-risk teens, and the
things I learned were not only invaluable but completely vile. I knew that I
would have to approach her situation with caution until I could better
understand what needed to be done to get her.
The sharp ring and clamoring of my cell phone vibrating across my desk broke me
from the haze that was my thoughts. I pulled the phone up and looked to see who
was calling. Edward.
"Eduardo, what can I do for you? Are you sweating bullets yet? You can still
get out of this and run to Mexico with me," I joked lightly with him before he
spoke. His voice however made me realize that joking was the last thing he
needed right now.
"Hey, Jas. Man, are you free this afternoon? I really need to talk to you."
                                     ~xx~
My eyes darted around my office for the hundredth time this afternoon since
Edward walked through the door. And it wasn't the first time I acknowledged
that I hated the light grey color of the walls. I would change it, but
thankfully the bright summer themed paintings that hung on the walls livened
things up. Well, that and I couldn't complain because Esme, Edward's mother,
had designed the office for me as a gift when I first got it. And Edward's
mother was like my second one; everyone loved Esme and nobody could say no to
her. And most especially after everything, it was a priceless gift.
But besides the wall color, I loved my office; she did design it with me in
mind, after all. She kept the whole old, rustic theme that I was so used to
when I was younger. The wooden furniture had an antique finish and there were
some worn metal and copper finishings to the bookshelf that included civil war
paraphernalia—a vice of mine. And the rug under my desk over the hardwood floor
was the color of a beautiful sunset that only the zealous Texas sun could
create—a majestic coral that bled into a sky of lavender.
Edward sat in the leather chair across from my desk and still hadn't said
anything since he walked through my door. But it was blatantly obvious that he
was struggling with his thoughts. Whatever was plaguing his mind was troubling
him immensely.
When he finally spoke, it all started falling into place—the guilt screaming
across his face, the shaky aversion to my questions, and most of all, his odd
and abrupt departure from the club last night.
But could he have really slept with the dancer? Edward was smarter than that.
It was prostitution, and it was illegal. He was engaged; granted he didn't love
his fiancée—everyone knew that, even her—but loyalty was a virtue that Edward
took very seriously. Edward wasn't the type of person to act irrationally; he
was the type of person to always overanalyze situations and act
responsibly—safely. But most especially since the accident.
And then before I could help it, I heard the words fall from my mouth, "Do you
want to talk about it? Last time, I mean?"
Of course he wouldn't want to talk about it. He still blamed himself. Hell, if
he were honest with himself he would realize that Tanya was only a patchwork
for the void that was left. But there was no telling Edward that. I had tried
to constantly make him understand that he would only end up hurting her in the
end.
His answer to the question only confirmed my suspicions: he had an affair with
the dancer. But not only that, it was impacting him just as drastically as what
had happened before, and he was projecting his guilt for this indiscretion as
his guilt for something he actually wasn't guilty of. And so I told him so,
that it wasn't his fault. His reaction was completely expected—the murderous
anger.
I took a deep breath and attempted to compose myself, to stay calm and not
resent his anger, because he felt that it was founded no matter how much I
disagreed.
"Fine, Edward, let's talk about last night. Did you sleep with her?" He
sneered. Ok. "Why?"
His angered, dark laugh seeped out like venom and I had no idea how to even
begin to classify that. "Because I wanted to."
Wow.
"Ok, that was honest, but you had to have thought about the consequences.
Right? The hundreds of negatives in comparison to the only one foreseeable
positive. And honestly, if you needed to get off that bad you could have jacked
off in the bathroom. It's illegal prostitution, Edward. What about diseases,
not to mention your emotional well being and that of Tanya? Did you think about
how this would affect Tanya?" I asked him as I leaned over my crossed hands on
my desk.
"I didn't care." Hmm . . .
I watched as he sat back in the seat for the first time and it was clear that
he did in fact take everything into account when he made his choice, and yet he
did it anyway. So the better question, then, was why didn't these things matter
to him?
"So, then let me see if I'm getting this." I tilted my head toward him and he
nodded for me to continue. "You knew what would happen when you made your
choice and yet you still made it?" He nodded. "You didn't think that maybe it
would have been easier to jack off in a bathroom, if you were already aroused;
it would have saved yourself from all this turmoil?"
"No, it was her. I wanted her. I just . . . I needed to be inside her." His
green eyes were wild with an emotion that I couldn't make out and he ran his
hand through his hair.
"Ok, what about this morning with Tanya?" I asked, trying to get down to the
root of this. There had to be a reason he would do this; it couldn't be just
lust. Granted she was a beautiful girl, but Edward wasn't one to just give over
to lust madly. He had an absolutely ridiculous type of restraint for that sort
of thing. Women threw themselves at him constantly; he wouldn't need to pay for
an indiscretion if that was what he was after.
"I needed to be inside of her too. I just. . ." His pregnant pause was stoic as
he shook his head. "I just . . . I needed to prove that I only wanted to be
inside Tanya."
I watched with cautious eyes as I took in his changed demeanor. It was radical
how different he was behaving. He was all over the place—his hand practically
pulling out his hair at the roots, his toe tapped madly with no rhyme or
rhythm, his fingers played with the hem of his shirt over the buckle to his
jeans. It was as if turmoil had dropped his facial features and he couldn't
grab them and shake it off. There was so much more that he wasn't telling me
and—quite possibly—more that he wasn't telling himself.
"Do you then?" His eyes rose in confusion and so I explained. "Do you want only
Tanya?" He narrowed his eyes and I sighed. "Edward, why are you marrying
Tanya?"
He quickly planted both feet on the floor and moved to the edge of the chair.
With steeled eyes he glowered at me. Edward's emotional changes no longer
affected me, but that wouldn't stop him.
"I'm not doing this again, Jasper. You have got to be fucking kidding me," he
shot back incredulously, no hint of spite to his words, just defensive.
"Why, instead of getting defensive, don't you just answer the question?" I
egged on, lifting my head to him. And I knew that he was hoping to teeter the
line between friendship and professional. When it came to Edward, that was
always a problem; and I established that most of the time if he saw me in my
office, it was always best to just try and stay professional and level-headed.
Since Edward refused actual help, this was the best I could do for him.
"Because she's everything I could ever want. She's been there for me when I
needed her and loves me. She's amazing and caring and understanding," he spoke
compassionately, longingly. And I knew it was his own desire to be those things
for her that came through his words. But desire wasn't enough. Want wasn't
enough. You couldn't just want to be something . . . you have to do it.
"Do you love her?" I knew the answers to all these questions. I had asked them
millions of times before, but he needed to realize that quite possibly it
wasn't the need to be inside the girl that drove him to his indiscretion, but
his insecurity for not being what Tanya needed.
"Don't fucking start, Jasper," he began in aggravation. "You know I can't love
anyone. I just . . . I can't. I loved her and it wasn't enough. I killed her. I
hurt the only person I loved. I can't do that again." The sincerity of his
words was crippling. He would never stop believing that it was his fault.
"It was an accident Edward," I began, before he jumped from the chair. The
sound of his fist slamming on my desk rang like a violent gong in my ears. His
eyes were lethal—no longer green but a dark fog—and inches from mine. His
breathing had taken a drastic spike and the veins in his forearm that was still
flexed from the punch were throbbing.
"It wasn't a fucking accident, Jasper! I KILLED her. Me, the person . . . the
other half of her, the only fucking person who understood her—who was her," he
growled lowly, the sound of thick tar over glass.
I rose from my seat to match his stance, pushing from my hands on the desk.
"Calm down, Edward. This isn't about what happened before. I'm trying to help
you understand why you cheated on Tanya," I spoke as controlled as possible,
sending a wave of calming energy towards him.
He only slightly loosened from his stiff stance, enough that at least the
throbbing in his forearm stopped. With his other hand he pinched the bridge of
his nose and attempted to slow his breathing. His eyes were closed and I could
see the sporadic flutter of his tumultuous lashes, still troubled.
"Edward, I truly believe that, given your behavior—past and present—that it was
only a matter of time before you would have cheated on Tanya. I don't think the
brunette had anything to do with it. Simply that she was the easiest access, a
way for you to justify just how hard it would have been to resist that
temptation; quite possibly, because she is so completely different from Tanya
in every physical way. You were setting yourself up for failure because you
know that you can't give Tanya what she wants, what she needs." I showed him my
hand, flipping the cards over so that he knew what I thought. just how I saw
the situation.
A deep sigh escaped Edward's tight lips before he finally opened his eyes. His
green eyes met mine and I saw the determination behind them. That was when it
became obvious he had only picked out what he needed from what I told him. I
shook my head and fought the urge to yell at him, to punch him, to just slap
some fucking sense into him.
But Edward clung to his pain like cancer to a healthy cell and it was eating
him alive. I didn't think Edward even knew how to be happy.
"You're right, it was a mistake, just me worried that I wouldn't be good enough
for Tanya. But when I marry her I'll finally be what she needs; it's all she
ever wanted. I know that will fix everything."
"Edward . . ." I groaned, but his mind was already set. He quickly scooped up
his keys and reminded me as his best man that I had better show up tonight at
the restaurant.
"I'll be there," I agreed solemnly. And I would. Edward was my best friend and
sometimes that meant letting him make his own choices, no matter what my
opinion of those choices was. Simply being there to support him along the way
was all I could do sometimes. And to help him pick up the pieces when he
crashed and burned. Besides, after today I could use a good stiff drink. More
often than not, dealing with Edward was harder and more consuming than my own
job. I dryly laughed and he nodded before torpedoing out the door.
                                     ~xx~
"Where the hell have you been?" I asked the bolting blonde as she carried
handfuls of clothes in her arms. The front door to our three bedroom condo
flung open as she exited it and was left creaking in her wake.
I was in the kitchen making a sandwich before I got ready to head out to
Edward's rehearsal dinner. I had learned long ago that having some sort of
substance in my stomach before drinking was like opening your eyes while
driving. Sure you could drive with your eyes closed, but you'd have to be
fucking stupid. And drinking on an empty stomach was just as idiotic.
It was a humble kitchen; in fact, the whole condo was. There were breezy colors
that swept the walls and a modern comfort that was both sleek and welcoming. Of
course, we had a few household touches between the leather sofas and plasma
screens, like pictures of our youth. And no home was complete without, true to
Texan fashion, a mounted longhorn above our front door.
Yeah, I was badass like that.
We lived in upper Aurora and it was a little less than an hour east of Chicago
which worked for us, considering the fact that we both didn't work in the
immediate city but wanted to stay close.
When I graduated high school, I knew that I wanted to work in the psychology
field. Hell, that could partially be credited to Edward. I mean, when you have
a best friend who spent the majority of his time as an emotional wreck, you
wanted to learn what you could do to help. But I had always had a knack for
understanding how others were feeling, how to sympathize with them and
empathize in ways that others couldn't. It was just natural. But I didn't want
to be a medical doctor; sure, I'd get my doctorate but I just didn't want the
extra weight of medicine on my shoulders.
So even though Edward and I had gone to the same college for both undergraduate
and graduate, we were never in the same course, classes, or timeframe. Edward
followed in his father's footsteps and the good Dr. Carlisle Cullen couldn't
have been any prouder of his son. I never had the opportunity to room with
Edward given the differences in our educations and family's net worth, and so
it only made sense that I would room with my sister. Although she never felt
the need to go to graduate school.
I was fourteen and my sister Rosalie was twelve when our parents moved us from
our ranch home in Texas to Chicago. My dad had gotten a promotion as head of
the marketing branch that would open in the windy city. I met Edward and the
rest of the Cullens sophomore year at the private school that we were both
enrolled in. The rest was history.
But after college I decided to start working immediately, to make a name for
myself, before I began working on my masters and then doctorate. And so I
rented an apartment and Rosalie moved in with me. It was easy, like second
nature. Sure we fought, like pecking crabs over the last scraps on the beach,
but we loved each other. And we had that bond that only siblings could have,
the same one that said, "Sure, I could kill you with my bare hands, but God
forgive the fucking idiot who thinks they could ever hurt you." It was an
oxymoron, but so was the love-hate relationship of all siblings. And Rose and I
were no different.
When I had enough money, I decided to buy a property of my own and Rose offered
to help with the rent. She bounced between jobs trying to figure out what
quenched her palate. She was a ball of fire and nobody could keep her down.
Rosalie was the type of person who got stir-fever and she needed action and a
way to feed her consuming urge for wild adventure and control. She had a sharp
tongue, thick skin, and a fearless attitude, all under the guise of the
timeless, gorgeous southern belle—long blonde hair, blazing blue eyes, high
cheek bones, a flush that glowed along her skin, legs that went on for days and
a body that made Helen of Troy blush. Rosalie Whitlock was the ultimate femme
fatale.
Sometimes I blamed myself, considering that she was raised with me and she was
practically the mirror image of me, just in a much more femininely attractive
package. That, and where Rose hardened with ice, I melted with warmth. We
clashed a lot, as do two people who have almost the exact same personality
would if they lived under the same roof. But our biggest arguments were because
I thought she was too hard and she thought I was too soft.
So I didn't mind helping her out then while she figured things out, which
didn't take that long after and we both were already set that it just worked
out this way.
My favorite blonde ball of fury blazed through the front door again, leaving it
swinging.
"Hey Betsy, this isn't a fucking barn!" I called to her as she went down the
hall to her room.
A muffled "fuck off, Jasmina" reached my ears. I hated that stupid nickname of
hers for me. It was hard growing up with a sister and no brothers, and
so maybe when I was younger I gave into games that she wanted to play
that might have included dress-up or pretend belle of the ball.
Grabbing my sandwich in my hand, I followed down the hall to see what she was
doing. Propping myself against the doorway to her bedroom, I watched as she
pulled clothes from hangers and stuffed them into her woven laundry bag with no
rhyme or reason. This had begun to grow into a routine as of recent. The only
time that I can remember seeing her in the past couple of months was with her
taking some of her stuff and then leaving.
"Where are you going?" I asked when my curiosity couldn't help it any longer.
Her dark eggplant themed room was strewn with clothes and miscellaneous things
of her life like beauty supplies, foreign language books, and martial arts
equipment.
"Nowhere, just out," she said, as she continued to stuff clothes in the bag.
Her long, golden locks waved with her movements and it made it look like she
was moving faster than she actually was with all the bounce.
I took a bite off my sandwich, just genuinely enjoying having her around even
if it was in the tornado she was throwing around. "I feel like I haven't seen
you in like six months. Where have you been? What have you been doing?" She
finally slowed down what she was doing to look up at me and smiled
reassuringly, which did nothing to quell my questions. A reassurance from Rose
was like picking up a lollipop that fell in the sand and only brushing it
off—you weren't getting anywhere unless you washed it. Useless.
"I've been busy—not the end of the world, Jasmina."
"Where have you been staying? Or with whom?" That was the better question.
She just went back to her busying task—purposefully dodging—and didn't answer
me. "Do you even still live here?"
She sighed in aggravation and it made me smirk. So far this had been the
highlight of my day. Like she was going to get away without my annoying her; I
hadn't really talked to her in what seemed like months. I lived for these sorts
of interactions now.
"I'm still paying my share, aren't I?" I rolled my eyes.
"You know tonight is Edward's rehearsal dinner; it wouldn't kill you to show
up. You know, think about someone else besides yourself for once."
She growled, "Fuck off, Jasper. I can't go tonight, I have plans. Besides,
Tanya is making a huge mistake marrying that idiot." I bit back my retort and
instead shoved another bite of my sandwich into my mouth. If I hadn't had the
conversation I had with Edward this afternoon, I might have defended him; but
now I couldn't honestly say that I didn't agree. "Whatever, I'm going to the
wedding. That should be enough. Plus it took a lot from me to get tomorrow off
with it being a Saturday and all."
I tilted my head slightly in her direction and narrowed my gaze. That didn't
make sense. She quickly grabbed her bag and pushed past me in the doorway and I
could sense that she was diverting. It just didn't make any sense; I thought
she was off. Just as I was about to ask her what she meant, she told me not to
worry and closed the front door behind her. A faint "see you tomorrow" drifted
through the now empty condo.
Oh yeah, she loves me . . . needs her big brother and can't live without him.
I finished the last of my sandwich and sighed before staring out at the empty
space before me.
What the hell was going on in my world?
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"Fuck, Lily!" I growled at the vixen riding my dick like a motherfucking rodeo
superstar.
The resounding smack as she slapped my chest felt smoother and more mouth-
watering than aged cognac. My fingers dove into the succulent flesh of her
thick hips to pinch her hard.
"Shit, Emmett," she cried in that sexy ass accent as she bounced harder. My
burning hand went to her full, creamy breast and squeezed that bitch before
rolling her hard nipple between my thumb and forefinger, because my girl loved
the rough shit.
"Mmmm . . . ride that fucking dick, Peony," I groaned before I slapped her
bouncing breast. Her back arched into me and her thighs shivered around me. I
knew she was getting close so I slapped her breasts again. Her long, golden
hair was tickling the tops of my legs as she rolled her head back and grabbed
my knees.
"Fuck you!" she spat, but it was an empty threat. I only did that shit to piss
her off anyway and she knew it; I wasn't about to change my habits now. So
instead I moved my thick thumb to her clit and began rubbing it in the circular
motion that drove her crazy—where I started in and then went outward, only
slightly where she wanted it most. "Ugh! . . . Ugh. . . Emmett, don't fucking
tease me!"
I smirked, quirking a thick brown eyebrow at her. My head rolled back as I
thrust up into her harder and faster. She met me thrust for toe-curling fucking
thrust. The sounds of my thick cock and balls slamming up into her hot, tight,
wet core was better than the purr of my bike. I could feel my cock throb harder
and my thighs tense and I knew that I was pretty fucking close too. So I
stopped that circular shit on her clit and went for gold—dead center on her
swollen nub. A long stream of profanities punctuated by juicy moans escaped her
luscious lips before she clenched around me and started milking my cock. And
with three quick thrusts I saw stars. My dick pumped its spurts into that
fucking pussy that owned me before I fell back to the bed exhausted. Not too
long after, my girl fell to my side next to me. I didn't even want to deal with
the damn condom.
"Sunflower, you can wake me up like that any time you want," I said as I pushed
her matted hair away from her sweaty forehead. Her baby blues narrowed at me.
Just as I leaned in to pull her lips between mine, she shoved me away and I
felt the shift of weight in the bed. I looked up with a cocky smirk, one
eyebrow raised.
"Fuck off, Emmett," she purred in a voice that was sex on fire. It didn't
matter what she said, they were the most delicious words ever and they're
always lust-laced in that fucking sexy Stalin shit that drove me crazy. The
door to the bathroom slammed and I laughed out.
"Carnation baby, don't be like that!"
I heard the curtain to the shower close and the water turn on. I would have
jumped up to join her in the shower but she locked the door. She always did. It
was some sense of hostility that let me know my place, but she'd be lying if
she said she wasn't wrapped around the cock. She was just as stupid for me as I
was for her.
Rolling over, I pulled the condom off and put it in the trash by the bed before
I stared up at the ceiling with a shit-eating grin. My hand rubbed over my
perfect abs that I worked hard for five days a week—two hours a day. Nothing
really plagued my mind except the satisfaction and post fucking stellar sex
glow that I was basking in. My hands went behind my head, under my dark brown
hair that was curly but nobody could really tell since it was so short. And I
thought about the leggy blonde in the bathroom.
I loved playing with her name because it pissed her off just that much more.
The thing was, guys couldn't always be sweet and docile otherwise they'd get
walked all over. And women would be lying if they said they didn't love an
asshole every now and then. And my girl loved this asshole. But I was running
out of flowers. Pretty soon I would probably have to use their scientific name
or some shit.
Wonder what the scientific name for Rose is? Wonder if she knows that shit. I
should Google it.
If I'd have asked myself one year ago if I thought that I would be here, seeing
the same girl for more than three fucks, I would have probably laughed. No, I
would have busted a nut from laughing so hard. I was never that kind of guy.
All I needed was a good day at the gym, my bike, an anonymous encounter, and
the token drink of the day—most of the time, cognac. What can I say? I was a
fucking pussy for the sweet, smooth shit.
I was born and raised in Chicago, the lower south side where every other
fucking block was like walking into a new fucking country. You were in little
Italy one minute, then little China, little Greece, little Mexico, little
Poland, but my mom and I were stuck in little Puerto Rico. She was a waitress
at a restaurant in little Greece. We weren't Puerto Ricans or Grecians.
It had always been just my mom and me and we weren't fucking slumming it in a
shit hole, but we knew what it was like to spend all day in a line down at
county medical or the federal building for food stamps. She worked her ass off
to make sure that the bills were paid and I knew the difference between
necessity and luxury. But fuck, I'd be lying if I said when I was a kid I
didn't sell my mom's fucking food stamps for real cash just to go to the local
arcade. I was pretty good at sports growing up, baseball and football. And if I
went to classes enough in high school to make a better grade than the passing
minimum, I might have gotten a scholarship to go to college. But sometimes shit
happens.
My mom got real sick when I was in high school and I ended up missing a lot of
days just to take care of her. It turned out she had lung cancer. Soon enough
she couldn't work anymore and well, I was old enough, so I began working. I
wanted to drop out and get a full-time job but my mom wouldn't let me. And
things were rough going those last two years.
I was already a big fucking dude by then, so manual labor jobs fell at my feet
like panties from a hooker. We do what we have to sometimes. She spent her life
giving me the best that she could and I spent the last of her life returning
the favor. It was hard losing her five years ago, when I was twenty-one, but
honestly I think I had prepared for that day since we found out when I was
fifteen.
But the last year was the hardest, and the medical bills were just piling up. I
was killing my body at jobs that didn't pay enough and one of the owners of the
construction company that I worked for knew my problem. He knew of a job as a
bouncer at a strip club, said it was easy. That I would only have to work
nights so that I could stay with my mom during the day. The best part was the
pay check; it was triple what I would have been making there. The only catch
was that two thirds of that check was buying my silence or to turn my cheek at
anything that happened there that wasn't my business.
I was fucking twenty-one with no options; I would have fucking made a deal with
the devil just to get out of debt and give my mom the best care I could. But as
it turned out, that was what I did—I sold my fucking soul.
And the things you saw in hell were never worth repeating.
Lazily lifting from bed, I decided to get things ready for today at work. It
was a Saturday; that meant that it would be busy. And I would have to deal with
some shit tonight. It was unavoidable, drunk stuck to stupid like white on rice
and I was the idiot who had to clean up after it. I sighed as I went to the
dresser and opened the drawer. A flurry of scanty panties in bright colors
popped out from the overstuffed drawers. Maybe this wasn't so bad.
Yesterday, when Rosie came over in the afternoon before work, she had her arms
overflowing with clothes and I knew what that meant. Our relationship just took
another step towards the real deal and she was quick to mark her territory. And
it felt right; after all, she didn't press for marriage or anything like the
other green card hungry girls where she was from did.
I had been seeing my Rosie for about four months now and almost three of those
were monogamously, so it felt right. I didn't know where she stayed before she
stayed with me and honestly I didn't really care. We all had our secrets and I
had never been the kind of guy to hold someone's past against them. I took
whatever someone gave me at face value and made my judgments on those facts and
those facts alone. And the facts were that my Rosie was a fucking smoking
badass who could keep my ass in line; not even my own mother could do that. I
knew my Rosalie was the real deal; she was a hard, cold bitch and she was
fucking perfect.
Speaking of my little devil, she came out of the bathroom naked and went to the
dresser. She bent her ass right next to me to pull something out of the bottom
draw and I grabbed her hips and ground my bare pelvis into her. My girl could
be such a fucking tease. But heaven shined a bright light on me, considering
modesty wasn't a word in her dictionary.
"Stop, you got go to work," she said in that same Slavonic sexy accent that
went straight to my cock. I bit her shoulder from where I was behind her and
playfully slapped her full ass.
"What are you doing today again?" I asked, honestly not remembering what she
told me she was up to. The girl, as involved as we were, still hid a lot of
shit from me. I was thinking that pretty soon it would be time to address that
issue. But then again, we all keep secrets and I knew I was keeping some
important ones from her too. Maybe not knowing is better than . . .
I know she asked for the day off from work, which was fucking hell to get.
Those fucking bastards were strict with their girls.
"I toll you. I promise friend I help clean house before she move." She didn't
bother turning around to look at me as she stepped into tiny panties that did
nothing to cover her full ass.
"Right," I rubbed my palm against my chin. "Who is this friend? Do I know
her?"I looked up at the mirror on the dresser to see if she would look up and I
could meet her eyes, but she didn't look up. Instead I sat on the bed and
kicked her ass softly. "Who is it, Daffodil? Tell me."
"Ugh, Emmett. That's not my name. And I work with her." Huh.
"There's no way they would let two girls have today off. Who is it?" My mind
was already doing deducing. It wasn't Pixie, Crystal, Autumn or Twilight; they
never let those bitches off work no matter what. Maybe it was Louisiana.
"I meet her at the restaurant, you remember. Where I work first?" Her tone was
genuinely neutral and I couldn't get anything from it. I did remember the
restaurant that the owners of the club also owned where they had "acquired"
Rosie from.
"And you gotta leave now?" I pursed my lips as I watched the gorgeous curves in
front of me cover themselves.
"Da, it going to take all day. Very big house."
"Leave the address," I demanded, not firmly, but wanted her to know I wanted
it. She abruptly turned around to glower at me and I smirked. Rosie hated
having someone show control over her choices.
"Simmer down, Bambi. Fine, call me please if anything happens or you need
anything," I said, raising my hands in the air in surrender. She rolled her
eyes before I saw the edges of her lips twitch.
"Bambi's not a flower, idiot. The little skunk animal was actually called
Flower." Now she was full-blown smiling so much that her gorgeous blue eyes
were sparkling. I stood up and pulled her to my still naked body and pressed my
head to her neck.
"What-the-fuck-ever, Bambi sniffed the damn roses, so it works," I laughed into
her side and she was shaking her head. When I started nipping at her shoulder,
she began squirming and laughing harder. And just like that, my flower's
favorite weed wacker was ready and raring to go. A saucy blonde eyebrow kinked
my way and I shrugged. It's a beast.
                                     ~xx~
The strong scent of lemon cleaner clouded my senses. I was wiping down the bar
when a loud pound on the side door outside caught me off guard. It was my early
day and I had no idea who would come here this early, especially through the
side door. All staff had a key to the back door. Leaning over the bar, I pushed
the door open to reveal some James Dean-looking motherfucker in a tuxedo.
"Sorry, bro, we're closed. Come back around four," I said as I pulled back on
the door to close it, but he stepped in between the space, and since I was
technically behind the bar, I couldn't stop him from entering. This only
further proceeded to piss me off. "Are you fucking deaf? I just said we're
closed."
There was nothing I hated more than fucking pricks who overtook the boundaries
of the club. First it started off as disregarding my rules, then it was pushing
their drunken stupidity until before no time they were touching the girls and
they were a fucking hop and skip away from a felony. And in my mind, nothing
was sicker than tainting the most beautiful fucking experience the human body
could have by fucking up its mind. These were good girls just trying to make a
living and nobody would lay a finger on any of my girls on my watch. I jumped
over the edge of the bench, not fucking Eastwood- smooth —damn that Pixie for
fueling my obsession—but I was able to get in front of James Dean quicker.
"Hey man, I'm not trying to start trouble. I was here Thursday night for my
friend's bachelor party and I gave his credit card to the waitress and he left
without remembering to get it back. His wedding is today and he's leaving for
the honeymoon immediately after that. I have to get his credit card back,"
James Dean explained, before he combed back his dirty-blond locks with his
fingers, almost nervously.
I narrowed my eyes at him but decided to give him a minute to explain more
before I kicked his sorry ass out of the club. "Look, bro, I don't handle any
of that shit. I'm just the bouncer. You got to come back later. Tough luck,
son." I put the towel that was in my hand over my shoulder as I leaned to the
door to push it open.
"No, look, you don't understand. I have to be at the church in less than two
hours and then they are leaving tonight. If I don't get his credit card back
he's going to kill me—"
"Listen," I cut him off because there really was nothing I could do for him. I
didn't handle that shit and I was smart enough to know that the boss would
fucking kill me if I stuck my business in anything that wasn't my job. I knew
my place in the fucking food chain. My job was keeping certain people out of
the club and, sickeningly, keeping others in. "You got to come back, that's all
I can do for you."
"Is anyone else here?" Dean asked again. His brows were starting to frown
together. He looked seriously frustrated and shit out of luck.
"Trust me, bro, you don't want anyone else to be here. Just come back later." I
was now pushing him toward the door, but he was strong for a thin dude. There
was definitely some brawn hidden under the penguin suit.
"No, please, you don't understand. What about the waitress? Her name was Alice,
what about her?" I groaned.
You have got to be fucking kidding me!
"We don't have an Alice that works here, bro. Look, you really need to leave."
This fucking idiot was going to get himself hurt—and that was if he was lucky.
Maybe we did have an Alice that worked here, maybe we didn't. But that was the
thing; besides my Rosie, I didn't know any of the other girls' real names. The
boss wouldn't allow it. If you weren't Vory, then you didn't know shit about
what really went on down here and that's just the way it was. I was an
outsider, one of the few, and they kept it that way. I didn't even want
to imagine the fucking shit they were hiding—I had already seen enough. I did
what I was paid to do: my job, and turn my cheek the other way. That was it.
There was nothing I could do now, no matter how disgusting a person it made me.
Soulless. I already had the fucking job. If I knew then what I know now, I
never would have taken the offer. But it was too late now. To leave here, for
any reason that wasn't death, would be signing my death certificate anyway.
Nobody quits working for the Vory. I knew that much. Once you were in, once you
knew something—even the tiniest bit of information—you were theirs and you
played by their rules. It was life and it was a fact.
"No, I talked to—"
I slammed my hand on his forearm and was practically fuming. I could feel my
nostrils flare; my grip on his arm tightened. But his thunderous blue-grey
eyes, that for the oddest reason seemed very familiar to me, blazed. He was a
fighter. He was a fucking fool.
"Shut the fuck up! And get the fuck out," I roared as I clutched his forearm
forcefully and dragged him the rest of the distance to the door. His resistance
was waning as he stared up into my eyes and registered the urgency there. The
pure terror for him.
"McCarty!" a boom called, approaching from the back. Demetri. Fuck. "What is
going on?" His thick-coated, accent-heavy voice carried as if he were standing
right next to us.
"Just letting this idiot out, bro," I called back as I almost finished shoving
James Dean, when Demetri told me to stop and to bring Dean to him. I gritted my
teeth. With a heavy sigh, I did what I was told.
As I deposited the unsuspecting penguin in the lion's den surrounded by empty
tables, I hoped that he had wised up in the last ten minutes. Because I wasn't
a fucking hero—I honestly couldn't be. There was no way I was putting my neck
out there for him. I valued my fucking life and I hoped he did too.
"What is problem?" Demetri asked, crossing his large arms over his chest,
rumpling his collared shirt and showing a bit of the tattoo there. All those
motherfuckers had tattoos; they were covered in them. Some more than others,
but either way it was a big deal to them. After seeing all that shit, I swore
I'd never get ink; in this world, it's enough to get you killed.
"I was here Thursday night for my friend's bachelor party and I gave his credit
card to the waitress. He left without remembering to get it back. His wedding
is today and he's leaving for the honeymoon immediately after that. I'm just
here trying to get his credit card back. I don't want trouble or anything, but
the bouncer said he can't give me the card back," Dean told him, his voice
surprisingly calm.
I think I might have underestimated Dean there; he had a good grasp of the
game—now. Sure he fucked up in the beginning, but I think he realized that too.
The way he stood strong and met Demetri's eyes was nothing but honesty. Maybe
he'd get out of here just fine. But I did fucking wonder just how much of the
initial conversation Demetri had heard. That was when I decided that I needed
to make myself useful, or at least pretend not to listen to what was going
down, so I started wiping down tables.
"It's no trouble. What's your name? I get you card back." Demetri dangled the
bait.
Be smart enough to see through that.
"The name on the card is Cullen," I heard Dean say conversationally. I smirked.
"Is you friend? What's your name?" Demetri asked as he pointed out with his
hand toward Dean.
"Look, man, I just need the card back. I don't want to bring a hassle to anyone
or have to go through the trouble of filing a police fraud/missing report."
I lifted my head from the table to move to the next one as I saw Dean run his
hand through his dirty-gold hair again. And I couldn't help feeling proud of
him. It was odd—like I knew him in some way and wanted him to play this smartly
and get out of here with all his organs intact. Fuck, a police/fraud missing
report wasn't even real, but shit if he didn't make it sound official.
Demetri nodded and raised his hands, palms out, before walking behind the bar.
"No trouble, no trouble." The sounds of papers rustling and plastic scratching
filled the stale silence and I decided to add to the tension and hum while I
washed the table. Why the fuck not? It was already tighter than a virgin in
here.
I could feel the daggers that both of them shot at my back, considering the
song stuck in my head was 'Don't Worry, Be Happy.' What-the-fuck-ever, it's got
a great whistling tune.
"You remember who you waitress?" Demetri asked Dean from behind the bar,
pointedly. There was no hiding Demetri's intentions. I waited on pins for Dean
to answer.
"Not really. Do you have the card?" Dean said in something that sounded like
genuine interest. But it didn't matter how indifferent he played, his answer
was the wrong one and I had to bite back my groan because I didn't need this
shit pointed at me.
"Our girls not pretty enough for you that you no remember who give you drinks?
This bill very expensive. Did you buy lot of drinks . . . or maybe something
more?" Demetri slurred insinuatingly.
Fuck.
"Demetri!" A female voice called from the somewhere in the back and I turned my
head in the direction of it. Twilight's long, brown locks swirled around her as
she ungracefully ran our way. Her eyes widened as she saw that there was
another person here besides Demetri and myself.
"I'm so sorry, Demetri. I didn't know that you were occupied."
"Da ne problema, what happened?" Demetri asked, actual concern lacing his face.
Her eyes darted between the three of us hesitantly as she stopped near us by
the bar. Then something flashed over her face and she went straight to Demetri
and pulled him closer. She whispered something softly in his ear. He nodded
along with her silent words.
Dean looked to me quickly and I recognized the worry in his eyes, but I just
shrugged. I had no idea what was happening; however, he should thank his lucky
fucking stars because I think Twilight just saved his ass.
Demetri pushed Twilight to the side, without saying anything, to move from
behind the bar. She followed him closely and stopped when he did, a few feet
from Dean. Demetri, however, was right in front of Dean and shoved something
into his chest. I'm pretty sure it was the card.
"Get out of here. Be—you help Emmett finish cleaning." He nodded towards
Twilight and she nodded back. Then Demetri stormed off in the direction
Twilight had come from. She was watching him leave intently, and when he was
out of sight she surprised the hell out of me. All I caught was the sight of
her brown hair flying as she launched herself at Dean, and then I heard his
indistinguishable cursing at her. She was letting him have it, her hands
slapping him hard across the face and anywhere that she could reach. That shit
was loud and sounded painful.
"Get the fuck out of here! Do you know what you've done? Get out of here and
never come back!" Twilight screamed at Dean as she kept swinging. Poor Dean had
no idea what hit him, literally. I quickly stepped between the two of them and
scooped her up in my arms, trying to stop the assault.
"Calm down, baby girl, just let it go," I said as I rocked her.
It made sense now. The only personal thing I knew about Twilight was that Pixie
was her kid sister. Pixie was waitressing Thursday night so Pixie was this
Alice. And I was sort of right in my first thought. Twilight did save Dean's
ass by coming out here, but she wasn't doing it for him—she was doing it for
Pixie. Twilight was viciously protective of little Pixie.
And Pixie was impossible not to love. Of all the girls here, besides my Rosie,
I got along best with Pixie. She opened up the most to me even though nothing
we ever talked about was of importance. She always told me she dreamed of
having a big brother and I didn't mind filling the roll. Pixie was energetic
and infectious and I liked our small talks together when she would just let go
and be herself; she was a good kid. I knew the kid was young; hell, Twilight
couldn't be that much older either, and they have been here for three years
already. Regrettably, there was nothing that any of us could fucking do about
it though. It really was each man for his own out here.
Twilight stopped swinging, but now she was crying into my chest and I just kept
rocking her. "He doesn't understand, Emmett. He has no idea what he just did. .
. what's going to happen to her now," she quaked in between sobs and I shushed
her.
"I know, I know," I said to her, holding her head in my hand. Turning to glare
at Dean, "You need to fucking leave now."
"What's going to happen to her?" His voice was like aluminum over the blade of
a knife. He had done a fucking three-sixty. I shot my eyes up at him and there
was nothing there but ferocious anger; it was lethal. But Twilight turned from
my chest to face him and matched his stare vehemently.
What the fuck?
They were like vicious jungle cats glaring each other down. Instinctively, I
pulled Twilight's hands behind her back to my chest, just in case. Girl was
sporadic, and the drugs that she'd shoot up didn't help the situation. My mind
didn't even want to wrap around the fact that maybe she didn't do drugs because
she wanted to; all I knew was that most of the girls had at least one addiction
here. Heroin was like fucking coffee. And it was common knowledge that Twilight
was one of those girls. She wasn't the worst . . . yet. But she got her fix.
"I need to talk to you," Dean stated sternly. Twilight shook her head. "How
much?"
If I thought the venom seeping from Twilight couldn't course any thicker, I was
wrong. The burning in her eyes and on her skin was practically painful, but now
I could fucking almost taste her hate in the air. It flooded my senses and it
was coming off of her in waves. Her body was so tense that I didn't know if she
was waiting to pounce or was immobilized by her boiling rage.
Shit, how the fuck did this happen? I was just the damn bouncer.
Dean looked at his watch. And when he looked back up at Twilight, his troubled,
water-rimmed eyes had determination in them. They were still laced with the
same anger that lingered in the air worse than smoke.
"I've got thirty minutes. I'll give you one thousand dollars."
Twilight practically spat at him, "I'm not fucking you! Get out!"
There it was: the truth.
I had my suspicions—fuck, I practically already knew it—but nobody comes out
here and directly says it: that this place is literally a prostitution ring. If
that was true, I bet my other suspicion was true too, that most of these girls
aren't here of free-will. This fucking place just kept getting better and
better.
Shit, my Rosie. Fuck. I'll have to talk with her the first fucking chance I
get. What did that mean? How would I feel about my Rosie willing to have sex
with men for money? One thing was taking her clothes off and dancing for them,
but this was a whole other thing. I swear, if they're forcing her to do shit
she didn't want, I'll take her away. We'll save money and run—and nothing else
will matter. No matter what would happen to me. We'll go somewhere, I'll figure
it out. Nobody will hurt my girl. A deep growl brought me from my thoughts, but
given the fucking atmosphere in here, I had no idea who it was from.
"Are you sure you won't fuck me? Why don't we go find your boss and tell him
that you're turning down a grand for thirty minutes and find out what he
thinks?" Dean said sadistically.
Who the fuck did this fool think he was?
I was starting to fucking hate him too. When Twilight began trembling in my
arms, my other suspicion was confirmed. I loosened my arms enough to give her
moving room against me as I internally cursed her fate. She wasn't here because
she needed extra cash for school, the story that both she and Pixie have used.
Fuck.
That meant that Dean knew. This fucking fool knew a lot more than he was
letting on. How? What the fuck? What the hell was he playing at? And if he knew
that shit, it was a fucking low blow to force her to fuck him. Was he that kind
of guy? If Twilight didn't kill him, which I doubted—she was out for blood—then
I would take care of him. But it was his next words that sealed his fate—I
wouldn't have to touch him.
"Or maybe I'll get your boss to give me Alice," Dean challenged, nothing but
steel, cold eyes. He had fists clenched so tight at his side that his veins
were like slithering snakes along his arms and his face was like stone.
Like a fucking bowling ball dropped on a glass floor, all hell broke loose.
Twilight began flailing in my arms and I had to tighten around her again. She
was kicking out in front of her and growling. I could feel the nails squirming
around to find something to claw and I was scared for my junk because she was
really fucking close.
"Let her go," Dean said suddenly, and I looked up at him like he'd just
sprouted two fucking heads. Was he insane? He was obviously her target to
inflict pain. He stared at her flailing form intently before looking up to meet
my eyes, and I finally decided that I needed to get involved in this—because if
he fucking laid a hand on her, I would kill him.
"Are you fucking insane? Seriously, get the fuck out of here. I'd fucking throw
you out, but as you can see I've got my hands full." My threat would have
sounded more intimidating if it wasn't punctuated by Twilight's growls and
pleas to be let go.
"I know what I'm doing. Let her go," Dean said again as he met my stare with
the same resolve.
I honestly hadn't known I considered letting her go until I felt her claw out
of my arms that must have loosened slightly. Almost immediately, she flew at
Dean; but he braced himself and wrapped his arms around her back clutching her
to his chest, arms pinned under him, then his face buried in her neck.
Was he fucking trying to make out with her? Who the fuck was this guy and what
was his deal?
There was no doubt my fucking eyebrows were sewn together in confused
frustration. I moved to pull her out of his arms when I heard her sigh. Then in
complete fucking lunacy, I stepped back and grabbed my head. I was going to
have a headache; I just knew it. He was whispering something to her and she was
slowly giving in to whatever he was saying. Then, to add to the fucking Rubik's
cube that this shit was turning into, Twilight nodded and he let go. It was
then that I seriously decided to give up; none of this made sense.
I wished I had popcorn to watch the drama that was unfolding here. This shit
was like a made-for-fucking-Lifetime movie. It wouldn't surprise me if fucking
Tiffani-Amber Thiessen herself walked up to them and accused Dean of fathering
her unborn child. This shit was beyond ridiculous. One minute she's going to
kill him and then the next she's calm and looking at him like he's fucking
Christ himself.
Women.
"The stalls, come with me," Twilight said and he nodded. "Leave the money or
credit card on the bar counter."
I wanted to throw my hands up in surrender when he opened his wallet and did
exactly what she said. I know a loud, exasperated sigh escaped my incredulous
lips, bringing both their attention to the third fucking wheel in the room.
Twilight turned and said, "Emmett, if anyone comes looking for me, all you tell
them is I have a zebra polchasa," before she wrapped her hand around Dean's and
led him toward the back rooms.
What the fuck does that mean?
And for what wasn't the first time, and I'm sure wouldn't be the last, I wished
I didn't fucking work here.
Chapter End Notes

     Author's Note/Translations:
     As far as the Russian goes, I would like it known now that its
     accuracy is jeopardized by my use of Romanization. But for the
     purpose of writing I have chosen to keep the translations in this
     form to make reading them slightly easier. I go on the record stating
     that Russian is written in Cyrillic as is still the tradition. My
     Latin translations are as accurate as I can possibly make, all things
     considered. Thanks all for understanding!
     Da ne problema-it's not a problem
     polchasa-half an hour
***** Chapter 6 *****
I had already screwed up twice, what was the risk in going for a third? Because
from where I was standing, the risk didn't outweigh the possible reward.
When Edward called this morning, frantic because he couldn't find his credit
card and so he called the company and had a thousand dollar charge to a pet
supply store, of all places, we both knew what that really meant. And I
couldn't help but wonder how the hell it cost him one thousand dollars. I
wasn't savvy to these types of things, but that was a lot of money and
something didn't sound right. I mean, seriously, what did he agree to back
there? Because all the drinks were on a tab that I paid. Now, I knew going to
the strip club this morning, in my tux no less, was going way above and beyond
the call of best man duty. But I was the one that started the whole thing with
setting up the lap dance, even though Edward easily handed over his wallet in
his daze watching the dancer on stage.
I was beginning to hate retrospection. It's worse than a fucking parasite. And
it was sucking me dry. But I was thinking that the whole "hindsight was twenty-
twenty" thing was spitting in my face. There was no doubt in my mind that I
messed up and if I even had the faintest idea of what I was getting myself
into, I would have come better prepared. I saw the game that the big, blue-eyed
one with the tattoos and accent was playing at. And I knew it was a trap, but I
couldn't do anything because I was already caught. And I had never felt more
stupid in my entire life. Part of me, and a part that I'm not too proud of,
wished I could say that if I knew what I was getting myself into, I might not
have come. But it was a lie. If I knew then just how dangerous this place was,
I would have come sooner.
Alice was here.
And now, quite possibly, I might have ruined that. I might have ultimately
sealed her fate, hurt my other half. I wanted to vomit, I wanted to scream, I
wanted to cry, I wanted to hurt something . . . I wanted to hurt myself. I
wouldn't be able to live with myself if anything happened to her because of me.
And when those words slipped out of the flailing brunette dancer's mouth,
causing my world to come crashing down, I knew it was because of me.
"What's going to happen to her now?" she cried into the burly bouncer's arms.
His thick bulging arms and huge frame seemed to swallow her and all I really
could see from her was her thick, brown hair and hear her cries. But I heard
enough.
And then the bouncer confirmed it. I had hurt her; it was only a matter of
time, but my coming here, my opening my mouth, had just hurt Alice when my soul
swore to protect her.
"I know, I know," the bouncer said, as his thick round face framed by
threatening brows and menacing brown eyes glared at me. "You need to fucking
leave now."
He had the type of appeal of a certain death, in the way that Max Payne or The
Punisher were attractive in their haunting persona. And he was attractive
enough that I was sure both men and women flocked to him, which meant that it
made him better at his job. I made the mental note; I had to take in any and
every detail that could possibly help me save her, get her out of this. From
this point forward nothing should be overlooked; I would never know what could
come in handy later.
And one thing I did note was that whoever these two people were, one fact was
obvious: they cared about Alice; they weren't the enemy, at least not where
Alice was concerned. But I think here, the line between friend and enemy might
easily be blurred. But I needed answers and I would have to take risks to get
them. I would have totrust someone. And as far as I was concerned, that was the
only thing that mattered now.
I had to make a choice. I had to do something.
My jaw clenched and I barely managed a hiss at her. I matched her fury and
anger with every constricted muscle in my body. She needed to know that I
wouldn't back down from this. My entire body jerked and my nerves were like
springs waiting to assault.
"I need to talk to you," I demanded of the ferocious brunette that I soon
recognized was the very same one that essentially caused all of this. Twisted
irony. "How much?"
And just like I expected, the offer was like a hot iron to her skin and smoke
fumed from her. She hated my very presence. She was just as threatening as I
was that I couldn't help but respect her. She practically demanded it of me
with her stance . . . strength. I knew she was spun down, coiled, and ready to
attack too. But I also knew that money was the only way to get anywhere here,
with her. I quickly looked down at my watch to make sure I had enough time to
talk with her. . . to get me that much closer to Alice, to figure out what I
could do for her. I had thirty minutes of free time before I needed to head to
the church. Edward had spent about an hour with her and his bill was a grand.
I'd offer her the same, and I didn't even want to touch her; it made sense. I
met her glowering eyes and spoke pointedly.
"I've got thirty minutes. I'll give you one thousand dollars."
The venom that shot from her mouth in the form of words didn't help me and only
further boiled my rage. "I'm not fucking you! Get out!"
I knew then and there, as I looked up at the throbbing muscles of the bouncer
wrapped around her to hold her back, what I had to do. My eyes met his and
hundreds of emotions passed through them—confusion, anger, fear, anguish,
resolve, and surprisingly, love was twisted in there too. I wondered how he
could be all over the place with his thoughts while the war in front of him
raged on. Dropping my gaze back to the blazing brunette, I spoke the words that
would also seal my fate. If I was wrong, if this last chance I took was wrong,
I knew I probably wouldn't make it out of there alive. My teeth ground so
painfully that I thought they were practically dust now. With the sadistic
determination of a man facing death and knowing that I only had one card left
to play, I spoke to her—my hands, my soul . . . my life clutching to my side
like a leech.
"Are you sure you won't fuck me? Why don't we go find your boss and tell him
that you're turning down a grand for thirty minutes and find out what he
thinks? Or maybe I'll get your boss to give me Alice." As much as it killed me,
I spat her name like it was a curse, as if she were beneath me. I needed the
brunette more riled up.
And like a shot from a cannon she exploded, her brown eyes black with hate and
rage and her skin a flaming red from the heat of her fury. Her hands clawed out
at me like a jackal and she had nothing but murder in her stare. She was
kicking everywhere and I could smell blood; she was biting her lip so hard she
was bleeding. My ears were ringing and I had to focus through the fog—haze. I
knew that I had to get through to her, through our rage, or the fog would get
too thick and we wouldn't get anywhere. We wouldn't help Alice.
"Let her go," I said steely. The behemoth bouncer's eyes widened like he spread
them open with toothpicks.
"Are you fucking insane? Seriously, get the fuck out of here. I'd fucking throw
you out, but as you can see, I've got my hands full." His words were a mix of
unbelievable and threatening, but it wasn't working in the midst of the girl
screaming in his arms to "let her at me." His words were just words; her fury
wasn't. I steeled my resolve completely and braced myself when I asked him to
let her go once more. The look of shock that crossed his face as she clawed
from his arms let me know that he wasn't even aware he had considered releasing
her.
Her clash against my chest was like a wrecking ball and she was kicking my legs
as I wrapped my arms around her. Then I squeezed her closer with all my
strength to immobilize her swinging arms. I had her where I needed her, where
only she could hear. But even under my arms, her fingers still managed to pull
at my wavy hair or dig into my back, and I clenched my eyes closed because it
hurt like hell. It made sense why women always went for the hair, it was
painful. And I was actually thankful for the tuxedo—extra padding.
"Stop," I whispered to her. "You have to calm down. What do you think would
happen if someone came out here seeing you behave like this? I know I messed up
and you have no idea just how sorry I am. No idea. The last thing I would ever
want to do is hurt Alice. I promise you; I can see that you care for her and I
need you to understand that I do too, deeply."
I spoke straight from my heart as I restrained her, speaking so low that only
she could hear me. The fury of her raging heart pounded like hoofs from a
cattle stampede against my chest and her breathing was frantic. But it was the
grand gesture I needed when I felt the clawing stop and she grabbed instead.
Slowly she gulped to help her breath catch up to her racing heart. Her voice
trembled and her broken whisper sent tremors down my spine.
"Are . . . are you . . . Jasper?"
It was like in that instant I was an infant and I took a breath for the very
first time. The air that filled my lungs in that relief-washed breath was
sweeter than sugarcane, smoother than silk, and was completely vital to my
wellbeing, to my life . . . to my soul. I closed my eyes and clutched tighter
to the girl in my arms, not because she was still fighting back—she had stopped
now—but because my heart needed to embrace something warm, something real. This
was real and I needed it like the oxygen from that first breath.
"That'd be me." My words were the subtle folding of pain and happiness, with
neither emotion surfacing but still tangible. Alice had spoken of me; she felt
it too. She knew that she was my other half. And the immense bliss that brought
me was indescribable. But with it came the realization that hurt surrounded my
other half and the torture that was her beautiful soul.
The brunette in my arms nodded against me. "Come to the back room with me.
Follow my lead, and no matter what happens, you can never say her name again
and show no special interest in her other than sex. Here, the only emotion
that's trusted in the eyes of the customers is lust. You have to look at all of
us through lust-filled eyes—that includes me; it's the only way to save
yourself, because you have to know that you are in danger now. Don't let your
guard down. Do you understand?"
I nodded. It did make sense. Sex was for sale here. You didn't go to a
restaurant unless you were hungry; nothing else made sense. And men who came
here for any reason besides sex were distrustful. It was like only buying
Playboy for the articles, a ruse, because sex was what you were really after.
She squirmed in my arms and I let her go.
"The stalls, come with me," she said, loud enough to get the bouncer's notice.
And I realized just how much of a show she put on, because her voice was
different now; it oozed seduction and lust. I stammered a bit as I nodded when
she told me to leave my credit card on the bar counter. Quickly, I pulled out
my wallet and put Edward's card back on the counter. I would have to explain to
him the expense later. I knew that there was no way I could leave my card; it
would have my name and that would have been idiotic.
She interwove our fingers and began leading me toward the same doors she led
Edward through Thursday night. Almost as if it were a second thought, she
stopped and turned back to the bouncer and said something about a zebra and
words in a language I didn't know, but her lack of an accent told me that she
didn't really know the language well either.
I didn't say anything as I followed her and neither did she. Instead I made
sure to take careful note of my surroundings. The tacky, black velvet walls and
coffee-colored leather benches caught my eye along with the plaid carpet and
thick, red curtain behind the stage. But the most important thing I did was
count doors. I needed to know all my exits.
There was the door I came in from, which was by the bar and on the side. One
door was on the other side of the stage, the one that didn't have the DJ booth.
Then there was the front door which was down a short hall across from the bar,
but I knew that door was locked because I tried it first. However, once we went
through the double golden doors, I was thrown through a loop because there were
at least ten doors down this hall, five on each side, and I knew those would be
dead ends.
She took me to the right side of the hall and the third door. The room was
small and had a purple couch pushed against the wall and a cabinet next to it
hanging from the opposite wall. There were curtains on the wall but no window.
"Sit down on the couch," she said softly, her voice nothing but sex, and I
moved to take off my blazer top. I knew that they would kill me if I got
wrinkles in the tux before the wedding. Once I was seated, I ran my hand
through my hair and wondered if I should just start asking her all the
questions I had throbbing in my chest, what I needed to know. But then she
yanked the breath out of my throat when she started swaying her hips and
pushing her short white skirt down her legs.
I opened my mouth to ask her what the hell she was doing, but she put her
finger to her lip telling me to keep silent. I had already made so many
mistakes today I decided I would trust whatever she told me. If she ended up
taking this too far or making this a trap, I would just get up and leave. Later
today when I have the chance, I'd just tell Edward to cancel his card.
Continuing to move to music that wasn't there—actually it was eerily silent
considering how loud this place was Thursday night—she pulled off her tiny blue
top. Her bare breasts bounced freely. I gulped and my eyebrows furrowed.
What the hell is she doing? This was a mistake. She was using me. Shit. I'm
such an idiot.
I began to stiffen, but before I could voice the words, she was moving on my
lap and straddling me. I was pushing her off when she pulled herself closer to
me so that her face was in my neck.
"There's cameras in all the rooms. Be smart; remember what I told you." Like an
epiphany that came slamming painfully across my face, I sat back. Right, the
only thing they trusted here was lust-filled eyes.
"This is the only way we can talk with the chance of nobody hearing. And you
are already on Demetri's radar. So it's safest this way." Then she began to
sway her hips over my lap, never actually touching, and putting her hands on my
shoulders to hold herself up. I propped one arm on the edge of the couch and
laid the other at my side, making sure that I didn't touch her.
"Ok," I whispered. "What's your name? And why do you care so much about Alice?
What kind of trouble is she in?"
"I can't tell you my name and if you ever do come back, Alice's name is
Pixie—you have to remember that. I don't think you should ever come back; but
then I know how it will crush her, and maybe if the only happiness she is
allowed is a visit, then who am I to demand it not to happen. Just please learn
to be smarter about this." Her hand wove through my hair and she brought her
head directly over my face to stare into my eyes. She needed me to see the
sincerity of her words, to acknowledge that she didn't approve but she
understood. Her deep, brown eyes conveyed a longing that I couldn't even begin
to grasp. Nonetheless, I knew that she was right; I'd been so foolish today and
in the future I'd have to think long and hard about what I needed to do to save
Alice. I couldn't just come storming in on a white horse and demand a battle.
This was the real world and sometimes there was no happy ending, just a living
within your means. And right now I had to live within Alice's. And that meant
playing by someone else's rules. So the first thing I would have to do was
learn those rules like the back of my hand.
"She's my sister."
I wondered if I knew the answer to that already. She was fierce in her loyalty
and it only made sense that they were related somehow. My vest crinkled as her
breasts rubbed up against them and this was by far the most awkward situation I
had ever been in, in my life. The girl I wanted to see, I couldn't, and I was
getting a lap dance from her sister. Not to mention that it was practically
impossible not to put your hands on her; it's natural instinct. And fighting
natural instinct wasn't easy.
"What do I call you? How did you get into this? Where is Alice right now?
What's going to happen to her?" I said as I closed my eyes and tried to imagine
that there wasn't a girl grinding against me.
"You have to understand that I can't answer all your questions. And can you
stop asking so many at once? It's Twilight," she whispered, and judging from
the breath against my cheek, her head was near my right shoulder. A soft scent
of strawberries wafted from her and I could understand Edward's appeal. It was
difficult, but it wasn'timpossible, to turn her down. I wondered what he was
thinking that night and I wondered if I should bring him up to her.
"How did you get into this?" I asked after composing my thoughts and filtering
out the most important.
"Our parents died and for many reasons we ended up on the streets homeless,
trying to figure out how to make things work. When you're young and ru—" I
could feel her shaking her head against me. I opened my eyes to find her biting
her lip and staring off into space with an anger in her eyes that I didn't
understand. Then she continued. "I mean, when you're young and things happen in
your life, you make choices that you don't fully comprehend, ones you aren't
prepared to make. Does that make sense? It's like if we knew, we could have
taken birth certificates or Social Security numbers, that sort of thing—some
form of identification. God, I was so stupid. I didn't even know my Social
Security number. You know, when you're fourteen that sort of thing doesn't
matter, and next thing you know we're homeless because we had no money and no
way of working."
"Why didn't you go to a shelter or find services that can place you in homes if
you were underage? They would have taken care of you. How old are you now?" I
asked quickly, not even realizing the urgency to my words. I hadn't even
considered how old they might be. It was natural to assume that they were the
same age as me, but I didn't think that was the case anymore. I opened my eyes
again to take in her face, to judge just how old she could be, and I assumed
that she couldn't be any older than twenty-three.
"You don't understand. Those places, they will only take you . . . I mean we
just couldn't go there. You wouldn't understand," she growled a bit and
whatever had angered her before had something to do with why she evaded the
question and believed that I wouldn't understand.
"So how did you end up here?"
"We were in Seattle when I was approached by a man who told me that I could get
a job at his night club, that I could get back on my feet that way. It was the
best offer I'd ever had. And at first I was so self-righteous thinking that I
would never take my clothes off for money, no matter what. Huh, I was young and
stupid. Well, two more weeks on the streets had me begging that man to give me
the job. He did and he paid under the table. I knew he took a big chunk of the
money, but it didn't matter. I was getting paid, and soon Alice and I were
having enough to stay at motels and have meals every day. And I was able to
keep her away from that place. Things were looking up until the owner got into
some money problems and these men came. One minute Alice and I were free and
the next we were in this house in Chicago. And everything was different. We
tried to get away—God, we tried everything, but it just doesn't work that way."
Her voice trembled and took on a raspy edge. I could only imagine just how much
editing she did with that story.
"You could give me your name. I could find those things, Social Security
numbers and birth certificates, get you guys out of here. It would probably be
easier than you think since you're citizens, which I doubt all the girls here
are. We could—" Her hand went to my mouth to silence me.
"They'd kill us."
Never had three words held so much emotion. It was so powerful, the way each
syllable was punctuated with hope that they didn't have, and each vowel bled
into her words thicker than wounds. And I didn't want to think how thick her
wounds truly were. In that second, I felt her pain and I was just as terrified
as she was. In that second, those three words made me her, and I felt all of
it—all of it.
"But . . ." I mumbled against her hand, staring up into her troubled brown
eyes. She shook her head.
"Why should I trust you anyway?" She didn't mean it maliciously; there was a
small lifting of the edges of her lips and it was the closest to a smile I had
seen on her face. She wanted to understand my reasoning. Something about the
way she asked it gave me a bit of insight to the other side of her personality,
the softer one, the one now that wasn't ferocious older sister, but protective
older sister. She wanted to know why I thought I was worthy of Alice.
"You've trusted me this far. Besides, honestly, what do you have to lose?" I
whispered against her hand and she actually let out a small laugh; it wasn't
whole-hearted but it brightened her face. She was breathtakingly beautiful. My
heart hurt for her as well. Her soul was just as lost as my Alice's. If I could
help Alice, then I would try to help her too.
She removed her hand from over my mouth and leaned to place a chaste kiss to my
lips. And I understood what she meant—it was a thank you. The water rimming her
eyes and warmth in her cheeks was heartbreaking.
I had no idea what she was thanking me for, I hadn't done anything for her, but
maybe it was that simple fact. Maybe it was the first time that somebody didn't
do something to her. But more so what I didn't do to Alice. Then I thought back
to Edward and I wondered if she even wanted to sleep with him. A million
thoughts flooded my mind and I moved to say them, but she jumped off my lap and
said:
"Your thirty minutes are over."
She pulled her short white skirt back over her legs and I rose from the couch
and pulled her to me from her bare waist. Wrapping my arms around her back, I
hugged her. With my action, something so nonsexual but completely intimate, I
wanted her to feel compassion and love. Then I wondered how long it had been
since someone hugged her for no other reason but to show that they cared. She
was shivering against my chest and I felt the sting in my own eyes, but I held
her to me for as long as she needed it.
Against the top of her head I whispered, "I'll be back. Please hug Alice for me
and try to stay strong." She nodded against my chest before pushing out of my
arms.
"Go." And with her word I turned back to the couch and took my blazer and left.
When I reached the bar, the bouncer stared at me warily. I didn't even bother
retrieving Edward's credit card.
                                     ~xx~
It was hard to look at Edward the same, as he stood under the altar and pledged
his fidelity to a woman that he wasn't loyal to in any way. She had never had
his heart fully, but at least he was honest when he could say that she was the
only one to have him physically. However, now even that was a lie.
And then there was that.
I knew in the pit of my stomach that Alice's sister wouldn't have slept with
Edward that night if the situation of her life had been different. But it was
so complicated. And I knew that Edward had assumed it was a completely
consensual encounter—how could he not—and for all intents and purposes it was,
and yet at the same time it wasn't. And that was the dilemma. As hard as I
tried to keep that mind frame about Edward not understanding, I couldn't help
but look at him differently.
There was so much more under the surface, and I could only imagine how much
worse this would have affected Edward if he knew what I now knew. I knew that I
wouldn't tell him anything—I couldn't. And that was saying very little because
I knew very little. I just had suspicions, vague details and cryptic messages.
The ceremony was like a blur. My mind was replaying every detail about the
morning and running over the million questions I had. I wondered how old Alice
really was, and her sister for that matter. I wondered if I could research the
deaths of their parents in Washington; it was a long shot. Hell, a long shot
taken in the dark, but it would give me something to do while I planned how to
go about seeing her again. I knew I would research the club and its owners and
patrons. Of course I'd have to tiptoe around eggshells when it came to this,
but I needed to be better prepared to know what I was dealing with. I wondered
if I could talk to Mike about what he knew about the club; he had been the one
to recommend it, after all.
Either way, I knew that I couldn't go back until I was better prepared. Like
Alice's sister said, I needed to be smart about this and the only way to go
about doing that was to be one step ahead of everyone else, mostly three steps
ahead at least. But there was no way I wasn't going back, not after today.
"You wanna dance with me or what?" I laughed as I was brought out of my
thoughts.
"You really know the way to a man's heart," I told her as I took her
outstretched hand and spun her into me. Her laugh was like bells to me and I
forgot just how much I had missed her lately. And how much I welcomed her
carefree attitude, taking me away from all the disparaging thoughts I currently
ran through.
"Well, you were my second choice tonight anyway."
She always had to have the last word.
We made our way to the middle of the dance floor at the reception. Her light
peach dress sashayed around her as I spun her again. Her long blonde hair was
pinned in an elegant up-do, as were all the bridesmaids' hair. Tanya was the
only one who wore her hair down. The color of the dress only served to make her
look tanner, but it was a lovely one-shoulder chiffon number. And the only
reason I knew that was because of her. When I spent our youth teaching her
martial arts, she spent it teaching me fashion.
"Rose, he's a married man. I'd have thought you'd gotten over that little girl
crush already," I laughed. She put one hand in the middle of my back over my
tux, in between my shoulder blades, and interlocked our fingers in my hand that
led her. Our legs moved of their own accord to the melodies of words I couldn't
make out.
"Ok, seriously, there is no—NO—getting over Carlisle Cullen. The man's a god,"
Rosalie said with a very honest look in her light blue eyes that were even more
attractive given the gown.
The only, and I do mean only, reason Rosalie supported my friendship with
Edward was because of his father. She was in middle school when I met Edward
and our parents forced me to "take her with me" wherever I went because we were
new to the city. So that meant that if I wanted to hang out with Edward,
Rosalie had to tag along. And thus began her infatuation with the good doctor
Cullen. It was very obvious to everyone concerned that Rosalie was "in love"
with Edward's father. She would hoard his time by lying that she was fascinated
with medicine and wanted to become a doctor. And her attitude towards Carlisle
with Esme was less than understanding. Luckily, over the years, she'd gotten
over the latter.
I laughed as she put her head against my chest, nuzzling. "You clean up good,
Jasmina."
"I'm shocked you even showed up. Where have you been lately?" I took any chance
I got. "Did you meet someone?"
"I think the only reason Tanya put me in the bridal party was to make sure I
did show up. Her only salvation is that Edward doesn't have any friends and so
I got to walk with Carlisle. Hey! We should tag team 'em! You get Esme to dance
with you and I can pull Carlisle into a dance and pretend this is my wedding."
I was fully laughing now. The innocent awe in her voice was hilarious even
though she meant nothing by it—and yet everything by it.
"Alright, I do owe Esme a dance. So why are you always evading my questions?"
She lifted off my chest and looked me dead in the eye; the twinkle of her
amusement was still present.
"Because you psych everything, Jasmina, and I'm not ready to explain my choices
to you. So let's go split up the perfect couple."
I narrowed my eyes while she still held my gaze. "Rose, you know that you can
tell me anything and I won't judge you as long as you're being safe." She
smiled and again didn't say anything. Instead she nudged me toward Edward's
parents.
The wedding and reception was everything the local papers made it out to be.
The picture perfect romance. Two of Chicago's elite finally tying the knot.
Tanya chose peach and a soft sage as her wedding colors. Rare Brazilian
orchids, gold vases and silk sage cloths were some of the few embellishments
that decorated the room. Esme, Tanya and the wedding planner spent a little
over half a year working on the finer details. The air in the hall was filled
with sandalwood and floral scents. And the sun was just setting over the
horizon; the reflection off the Chicago harbor only added to the ambiance.
The bride and groom where standing with Carlisle and Esme and engaged in a
light conversation.
"When will you return from Barbados?" Esme asked Edward, just as Rosalie and I
made our way to all the Cullens, and that now included Tanya Denali. Edward
replied with "two weeks" while both Esme and Carlisle pulled me and Rosalie
into welcoming embraces respectively.
"Esme, the wedding was lovely. You guys did an amazing job," I said as I pulled
the older beauty into my arms. There was never a question where Edward got his
looks from. His mother was the envy of many women, gorgeous with her soft
caramel tresses and golden eyes, but also the kindest heart of any. She was
wearing a light purple silk number that made Carlisle the envy of every man
there.
"Thank you, dear, and of course thank you for coming," Esme said in her velvet
voice.
"Rosalie, you look stunning as ever," Carlisle said to my little sister who was
in his embrace and smiling like she won the lottery. When her eyes met mine
they had a glimmer to them that clearly said, "See? Told you so." I shook my
head in good humor.
When I released Esme, Rosalie reluctantly let go of Carlisle to hug Esme.
Carlisle patted me on the back and we both turned to Edward. He had permanently
adorned to his hip, with his hand around her waist, the beautiful, strawberry
blonde in breathtaking white. I leaned in to kiss her cheek and whispered in
her ear that she looked amazing.
It wasn't her fault that this wedding wasn't in her best interest. She thanked
me and Edward smiled genuinely. I told Tanya that the wedding was perfect.
"It was," she beamed. "I only wish that all the Cu—"
In that instant the hand around her waist tightened along with Edward's jaw.
Both Esme and Carlisle exchanged wary glances before quickly changing the sour
subject.
"Edward, will you dance with me?" Esme asked softly, all the love and light in
her eyes.
"Of course," was all his tight jaw managed before he released Tanya with a
kiss. Once they were off to the dance floor, Tanya spoke.
"I'm so stupid. I can't believe what I almost said. I feel awful."
Nobody answered her, but nobody denied the truth to her words either. Instead,
Carlisle asked her to dance.
And that was how I ended up spending the rest of Edward's wedding listening to
Rosalie complain about how Tanya cock-blocked her.
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

                   "V moem mire spasenie prihodit v grobu."
He was hiding something. It was obvious by way he was lying. He was hiding
something and he was lying about it.
Coming into my club with fucking tuxedo, who the fuck wears tuxedo to a strip
club? I didn't like him and I didn't like when people lie to me. If you get
caught with your hand in the cookie jar you had better admit to it, otherwise
you're a fool. I've killed men for less and I wanted to kill him. It was sign
of disrespect and nobody disrespects boyetz. Nobody.
But, to insult Arlovskaya Bratva,you have to have a death wish.
He should kneel down and kiss the ground he walks on that I allowed him to
leave, but I had more important matters: Vovka.
Aro's fucking bastard son, Vovka—Vladimir—chose to stick his chlen where it
didn't fucking belong. And I was always cleaning up mess. Kodeks vorov v
zakonesaid to never question my captain; Vovka was my captain. Our code was
never to be questioned and our hierarchy was our order. And it is this fact
alone that has earned him my respect. But when I get my stars, I shall be the
one to get respect.
Isabella said that Vovka pristaval k moyei devushke. I put out word that nobody
touch my Alice this week and still he defiles me. The old man was only one that
I could say nothing to, but to Vovka I will say something. This wasn't the
first time he pull something stupid like this. And if he were smart man, it
would be the last.
The stablewas about thirty minutes from the club. It was a house in secluded
area to the east of city. Owned, on paper, by Aro's associate Marcus. The man
wasn't Russkiĭbut he was trustworthy. He had been the old man's attorney for
many years. He knew how to make the paperwork legit. The houses we own, the
restaurant, the factories, and even the club were all clean and that was all
thanks to Marcus. All Arlovskaya business passed through Marcus.
Aro was head of Chicago's most influential organization; it was hisname on our
Bratva—Arlovski. The man was Vor v Zakone, one of few—elite, prestigious . . .
dangerous. And he had been since the war in New York against Evsei Agron,
another Vor. The dispute was settled with the dividing of the nation, since
both men were equal in power. And Aro he took Chicago and left Agron to New
York. They were both pure Russkiĭfrom the motherland and blood like that can't
be diluted—too powerful, too strong—they would always butt heads. But even
Argon was assassinated in 1985; we are not immortal. We are not stupid; we know
the price that is paid on our heads. And nobody is more careful, more prepared,
and more feared than Vor Aro Arlovski.
There was always intimidation from all sides, legal and not. Even Semion
Mogilevich sees our organization as threat. It's a known fact that
ArlovskayaBratva wasn't the only Rus organization in power in Chicago—but we
werethe most powerful. All Rus business went through Aro. Why? Because Aro knew
how to run an empire. When the other fucking families waged war and hand no
organization, the Arlovskaya was prepared—and we were organized. We were smart.
That was why we had to have everything legitimate and the first step to that
was top Chicago lawyer Marcus Durant.
And Marcus made everything look good. All drugs, overseas accounts, businesses,
occasional legal problems, even our billing system for club and stable appeared
as legitimate expenses on the reports to customers. It was smart and that man,
Marcus, he was smart man. But he was also very wealthy one too.
Vory doesn't spit at the hand that feeds it. Our organization has been around
for decades and we are still surviving, growing stronger each day because we're
smart. Better to have our allegiance than bear the brunt of our anger. And
everybody knew this fact. Quarrels were unheard of amongst the Arlovskaya. Why?
Because he who complained or talked lost his tongue, among other things. And
Marcus was a kept man. He enjoyed pleasures of the stable, like all the others.
His palate was more toward Didyme, khokhlushka—Ukrainian bitch with big
breasts.
The old man's, Aro's, wife Sulpicia was an Italian bitch. Good for nothing but
seks. She had good pair of breasts and long legs but she looked too guinea—long
dark hair, big nose, and dark skin. Aro was king and his bitch wife was only
more proof of that. Sulpicia was daughter to Vincenzo Cleracuzio, head of
Chicago Cosa Nostra and a fucking idiot. But all fucking goombahs are idiots.
The proof to that was their women. They let them run around and have free
choices, and look what they do first chance they get. Fuck over their own kind.
It was beautiful, ultimate sign of disrespect, for Aro to marry guinea bitch.
And Cosa Nostra, who the fuck are Cosa Nostra? Nothing. We spit on their
bitches because Vory know how to control their women. Our woman would never
disrespect us.
But after the marriage, Aro tossed her aside because no son to fucking guinea
can rule Vory, and so Aro had to have bastard children with Russkiĭotherwise
his empire dies. Aro had two sons with Sulpicia, Andrei and Nikolai; they run
restaurant—Sumerki. But Vovka was the first son of clean Rus blood.
When I was twelve years old, my family lived in small village outside of the
Mozdok province, near underdeveloped Caucasus region, but Russian border, not
Georgia. It was a poor place of existence and jobs were few; old KGB ran city
and Krasnodar, which was biggest city near us to northwest. Our home was brick
and we didn't have heating but nobody really did. One day fucking KGB came into
my home, kicked down the door and asked for my father by name. I was sent to my
room and I hear yelling; my father never yell. Something broke and then there
were bangs. They pull him out to dirt street in front of home and executed him.
My mother wouldn't even let me go to him and bring him into house or yard to
give him burial; she just slammed door and said that we never speak of it
again. Three days later she was gone along with my two sisters. To this very
day, I have no idea where they are. If they're lucky, they're dead.
I've been in and out of Russian prisons since I was thirteen years old. It
started off as simple things, stealing to survive, then stealing for money.
Soon enough people take notice. I got my firstnakolka—tattoo—when I was
fourteen in a prison. And it was then that I understood the value of Russkii
nakolka.Mostly it is life story of men from prisons. Ones that have been
dragged from the ground up have all their crimes, sins, and incarcerations
marked on them forever. Mine started when I was fourteen.
On the top of my hands, below the knuckles, I bear saying, "V moem mire
spasenie prihodit v grobu."Half of the saying on my left and the other half on
my right hand. It is the mark of my kind. Any soldier—pekhota, once he is
admitted as such will bear this plaque. It is our promise that in this life the
only salvation we seek comes in coffin. For the Vory v zakone—Arlovskaya
Bratva—there are rules and initiations, for each rank a differentnakolka. But
to begin, to be pekhota, to promise your life to Arlovski, you must bear the
plaque on top of your hands so that it will never be hidden under clothes, and
all will know that your only allegiance is to Arlovski or to death.
That is order of things. When you are initiated you are pekhota, lowest on food
chain, soldier who will do anything to make Arlovski proud. If you have proven
self, then you are promoted to guard—boyetz,bloodied hands. It is the starshiy
that carry out all orders and responsibility falls ultimately on the captains.
Vovka was captain; they do not have ultimate power, only most of bottom. Svoyak
are highest for Bratva can be before becoming Vor. Nothing was higher than Vor;
nothing was more important. Aro was one of only seven Vor within United States,
and even he was in command of two of those Vor; they worked for him.
It was there, that first time in small cement cell, that I learned true meaning
of Bratva. Brotherhood. They kept me alive, but you learn value of life when
your back is against wall. And I learned that my life wasn't free. But when
your life is on line you discover that you're willing to pay any price, and
that price for me was blood. . . more often than not, not my own.
I came to find out that killing for me was easy. It was like going to the
dentist, only little uncomfortable but when I was done, it was done—over. No
need to ever think about it again. When I was twenty-three, I took a hit to one
of KGB's very own captains, a hit that left million dollar mark on my head. Aro
recruited his soldiers straight from Russian prisons—only from trusted sources,
with backgrounds he could prove; he wanted quality and loyalty and only way to
that was to pay. And Aro Arlovski paid well; he paid everyone well: the
government, the prison warden, the guards and the recruits. Warden himself
recommended me to Aro and told him that if I wasn't taken out of Russia within
next month, I would never live to see my twenty-fourth birthday.
I've been Arlovskiy for almost six years and in the third year I was promoted
to guard. It is my debt, my loyalty, to Aro that keeps Vovka breathing, because
I don't fear for my life. When my time comes, it will come. But don't doubt
that I would ever go without a fight.
"Ty ne znaesh, gde Natasha?" Vovka said as he rounded corner from back room of
stable.
"Net. Kakogo khrena ty sdelal s Alisoi?" I asked him, as I slammed him against
the wall in the hall. His thick eyebrows rose before he pushed me off of him
and glared his light brown eyes at me. I felt the fire burn in my face, but I
let him go. If he hurt her I would fucking kill him and plyunu na yego mogilu.
"I wasn't doing fucking thing with Alica, Dima. I'm looking for Natasha, you
fucking baboon. I don't touch you bitch; she's not even good fuck," he spat as
he fixed his black collared shirt. The star on his right shoulder came into
view and it reminded me that he was my captain.
"Natasha is at restaurant today," I snarled, no longer caring about him.
Turning roughly, I left him in the hall. When I reached the stairs I bound them
three at time to get to room that Alice and her sister shared with two of other
girls.
Stablewas six-bedroom house with two stories. Three of those rooms were rooms
that the girls lived in and other three were entertainment rooms. The room that
Alice lived in only had three beds because she slept with her sister, but other
two rooms all had four beds in them and one dresser. All girls shared clothes;
they were all similar in size anyway. Nobody but the girls and a few of Aro's
soldiers or guards, trusted Vory, saw those rooms; they were off limits because
it made stablelook cheap. But entertainment rooms had one giant king-sized bed
and were well furnished. All the walls were a light blue and downstairs was the
kitchen, laundry room, bar and living room.
Most of the girls usually came from Ukraine, Belarus, Latvia, or Russia. We
easily owned these girls and didn't have to worry about them escaping; they had
no papers. These were girls that were easiest to make disappear and they were
always most afraid. But all girls knew rules to stable—they were prostitutki,
nothing more. We owned them and they do exactly what and who we say, when we
say. They make no money; everything belongs to us. If they weren't whoring at
stablethen they were whoring at Novolunie. Some girls, the ugly bitches, they
worked at factories, house-cleaning business, or restaurant.
Five of our stable girls were American citizens and three of them came from a
strip club in Washington. The idiot guinea made deal he couldn't keep, so we
took his place and we take his girls. But Aro was smart; he only take girls
that nobody would miss, runaways. That was where Alice and her sister come from
and another girl, Angela. The other two American girls were runaways that
Marcus found when we needed to replace two bitches that disappeared for being
stupid.
The club was different. Novolunie had some dancers that didn't know anything
about stable or Arlovskaya or Vory. Aro was smart and did this in case any
trouble ever happened, those girls would be questioned and they would make our
business look legit, while the other girls would disappear. But even then, Aro
was very cautious with which of our girls he let work at the club, because they
didn't have to, since they made the money at stabletoo. So the girls at the
club had to be the ones he could control the best and they spoke the best
English, to not create suspicion.
And if Aro couldn't control them with fear, he could control them with the
heroin. He was even smart this way; if the girls ever escaped or were
caught—not that it happened off, but Vor Aro Arlovski was always prepared—who
would believe a fucking drug addict?
It was Saturday, which mean that earlier in day doctor would come. He give the
girls their tests; we kept our girls clean. And if three months pass, their
birth control. Aro paid doctor good; he was kept man too. But he was secretive
man; he had very important position in Chicago society that had to keep him
unknown. All I know about him was that he wasn't Russkiĭbut he was good
looking man and he had known Aro for years, almost as long as Marcus.
Alice was sitting on her bed staring out dingy window.
"Alisa!" She turned to me, shocked.
"Demetri, are you ok?" she asked, and I realized that I must have looked
haggard. She jumped off bed and ran to me, smiling. I pulled her in my strong
arms and began lifting her pink top and black skirt to see if there were any
bruises that I was missing.
"Did he hurt you?" Her small black eyebrows furrowed together and that didn't
make sense.
"What are you talking about?" she asked with confusion lacing her words.
"Isabella said that Vov—Vladimir . . ." I trailed off when I realized that she
had no idea what I was talking about. My suspicion steeled and she saw it. She
pulled my hand in her little one and led me to her bed.
"Oh right, I asked Bella to find you because he made me nervous, but he didn't
touch me. Thank you for coming," she said while she pulled me, not bothering to
turn around to look at me. It was so she didn't have to look me in eyes, so she
could lie to me. My skin slithered in anger like snakes crawled along them. Of
all people to lie to me, not my Alice.
Never I trusted anyone, not even my own shadow, but I had love someone. And all
I asked in return was her love, her loyalty. She denied me time and time again.
But to disrespect me, to spit at me like I didn't matter, to treat me as if I
hadn't risked my life and reputation to keep her safe. . . How could she? How
dare she?
She had to know how all the fucking Arlovskie made joke at me because of her,
that I was fool for falling for prostitutka. I should have married and then
taken Alice as my whore, but I didn't want no other girl. I wanted her; I
didn't care that she was fucking prostitutka. I knew what my pursuing meant. I
knew that I could never have her, not unless Aro give her to me, but he still
made money off her. However, I would wait. For Alice, I could wait. And I would
make sure that she was safe; nobody would hurt her like they used to. Alice was
safest of all girls and I didn't care what heat that brought me. All I wanted
was her to want me, no matter what anyone else think. And now she throw
everything that I give her, all that I risked in my fucking face like it didn't
matter what I fucking gave for her.
Once she was on bed, my anger reached its boiling point. I saw red in my eyes
and my forehead was pounding with my heavy heartbeat. She had disrespected me,
Alice who I loved and did everything in my power to keep safe. And this was how
she repaid me, by teasing me and playing games with me? Automatically my left
hand went to her throat and I squeezed as I pushed her to the bed. Her big,
brown eyes widened in fear, but all I saw was her betrayal. Looming over her in
fury, I squeezed tighter and the sounds of her gurgling breath was like music
to my ringing ears. The throbbing in my veins was like sledgehammer through my
body and pounding resonated in my head and ears. All I saw was betrayal that
she caused. When her small hands flew to mine to claw at the arm that owned her
breaths, I reveled in fact that she drew blood. The pain was like adrenaline to
me. The tears that fell from her terrified eyes were badges to fact that I
owned her. I choose if she lived or died. Me, because she was mine, no one
else's. And she needed to remember that. She could not lie to me.
"Why are you lying to me?" I seethed in voice that was darker than my voice had
ever been. She was shaking her head violently and trying to claw free. And
still she lied to me.
When your hand was caught in cookie jar, you would have to be a fucking idiot
to still lie about it. And she spit on my love and protection for her once
again. My teeth clattered as I brought my right hand slamming against her face
and then again and again. Anger was like a drug surging through me and I
couldn't contain it. I wanted her to feel what it feel like to be betrayed by
someone that you wanted to trust. She did this to me; she made me feel this
rage. Between gasping, tears, snot and clawing, she nodded her head. I flung
her from my grasp against wall the bed was pressed against. The boom her small
body made as it crashed with wall pierced my ears.
Her erratic coughing and pants filled room, but all I heard was her lie, all I
saw was her betrayal and all I felt was her spit that stung my eyes and dripped
down my face. How could she do this to me?
"How could you do this to me?" I demanded darkly, not even registering tinge of
actual pain to those words. She was cowering in corner and side of her face was
already swollen and red. Immediately my chest tightened; I hated seeing her
beautiful face anything less than perfect. But what killed me most was seeing
the fear in her eyes.
When she had first arrived three years ago, she was so young and innocent, so
terrified. She stared at all of us with fear and I swore that she would never
look at me that way. When she saw me, I want to look in her eyes and see
nothing but love there, and I did; she saw me through different set of eyes
than she looked at anyone else. When she pleased me it was because she took
pleasure in giving me what I wanted. That was what I wanted from her, for her
to want to please me. Not to fear me. But how could I teach her to obey and
respect me without fear? There was no way.
And so she would learn and I would make it up to her later. She was mine and
she would never betray me.
"I'm sorry," I told her honestly, as I extended my hand to caress her quivering
face. She tentatively gave into my touch, but not because it pleased me,
because she feared what I would do if she didn't. And now we were back to
square one again. Anger built up within me once more for her betrayal that
caused me to lash out at her. This was her fault for lying to me and forcing me
to teach her lesson hard way. And now because of her stupidity, I was forced to
deal with way she looked at me. Biting back the anger like a boil that
disgusted me, I spoke to her. Let her not be stupid three times.
"Why did you lie to me?"
"I-I'm . . . I'm . . . so s-sorry Demetri. Please . . . I-I just . . . I just
didn't want you to be mad at me," she trembled as she crawled to me and wrapped
herself against my chest. Her tears soaked through my shirt. I pulled her
closer to me, and through gritting teeth I demanded she tell me truth.
"I just didn't want to be alone today at the stable. Vladimir didn't do
anything, but I know how you dislike him so I asked Bella to lie for me. It was
my fault, it was all my fault. I promise. I'm so sorry, Demetri," my angel
spoke against me.
I knew that when I left here I would find her sister and make her pay for lying
to me too, the punishment far worse than any for making me take my anger out on
my Alice. I wouldn't stop until Isabella bled; she would have a permanent mark
to remember that it was her fault that my Alice was left with swollen face. Let
her know that because of her, her sister cried. That bitch better not be able
to walk when I'm finished with her.
"Baby, you never need reason to want me near you," I said as I lifted her head
in both my hands so that she would look into my eyes. Her soft, brown eyes were
still crying and I wiped them with my thumb. "But you must never lie to me
again, Alice. You understand?" She nodded profusely. I leaned in to place kiss
on her lips. "Baby, will you forgive me?" She closed her eyes tightly before
nodding again slowly.
I felt like the sun finally shined after rainy day. My smile couldn't be faked
as I leaned in to kiss her again, and against her lips I spoke. "Will you show
me that you do forgive me, baby?"
And with trembling hands, my moya lyubimaya devochka pull me to bed before
pushing me back against it. My eyes closed euphorically when her fingers undid
buckle to my pants. And when her small hand wrapped around me and she took tip
of my dick in her hot mouth, I knew that my girl forgave me.
                                     ~xx~
"Follow me," I said to Isabella once I made it back to club. I led her to
stalls, to her arraignment.
Chapter End Notes
     Author's Note/Translations:

     As far as the Russian goes, I would like it known now that its
     accuracy is jeopardized by my use of Romanization. But for the
     purpose of writing I have chosen to keep the translations in this
     form to make reading them slightly easier. I go on the record stating
     that Russian is written in Cyrillic as is still the tradition. My
     Latin translations are as accurate as I can possibly make, all things
     considered. Thanks all for understanding!>b
     "V moem mire spasenie prihodit v grobu."--In our world salvation only
     comes in a coffin. *Get used to this one, it will be used A LOT!*
     Vory v zakone/Vor v zakone/Vor/Vory--Russian Mafia/Thieves in Law/
     Thief in law/Singular in reference to a "thief" in the organization/
     Plural reference to the "thieves" in the organization.
     Arlovskaya/Arlovskiy/Arlovskie (Bratva)--this is Aro's specific
     organization. Aro's last name is Arlovski; and all are noun
     derivatives of that last name. Bratva is brotherhood. Not all members
     are Vory as that is too prestigious, but all members do hold ranks or
     positions and Aro is their leader.
     Pekhota--soldier. This is the lowest rank in the organization.
     Boyetz--warrior. But more than that it is a criminal term for
     Demetri's position of guard. Second lowest in the ranks, those whose
     hands run bloody.
     Starshiy--captain. This is the middle position in organization. Most
     won't move up from here, they hold the responsibility and power of
     those under them.
     Svoyak--superior. But more than that it is a term for the members
     within the organization being considered for the honor of becoming a
     Vor. It's very influential and prestigious.
     Kodeks vorov v zakone--Vory v zakone code
     chlen--dick
     pristaval k moyei devushke--mess with my girl
     Russkii--Russian
     khokhlushka--derogatory term for Ukrainian
     seks--sex
     guinea/goombah--derogatory terms for Italian
     Cosa Nostra--Italian Mafia/Our thing
     nakolka--tattoo, but specifically prison/Russian criminal tattoos
     Bratva--Brotherhood
     "Ty ne znaesh, gde Natasha?"--You know where's Natasha?
     "Net. Kakogo khrena ty sdelal s Alisoi?"--No, what the fuck did you
     do to Alice?
     plyunu na yego mogilu--spit on his grave
     prostitutka/prostitutki--prostitute/prostitutes
     moya lyubimaya devochka--my baby girl/loved one
     Alisa--Alice
***** Chapter 8 *****
"Back for more, baby?" I cooed as I closed the door to the stall.
When one of our girls, Angela, told me I had a man ask for me privately and
went straight to the stall, I knew it was going to at least be a mule. But when
I looked at his face, I knew he was a zebra. I didn't think we were in the same
room as the last time we were together, but then again it had been awhile since
I last saw him. And judging by the hunger in his light eyes, he had been
thinking about this moment for a long time.
Pushing my long, teased, brown hair to the side, I sauntered up to him, making
sure to sway my barely covered, red-laced ass.
                                     ~xx~
When I was two years old, my mother, Renee, left my father. And I think that's
where the course of my life fell off the tracks. If she had only stayed with
him, then maybe things would be different. Then again, maybe the moon was
really made of cheese.
It made sense if you looked at it geographically, leaving my father. Forks,
Washington was the pit of Satan's ass and a steep contrast to Phoenix, Arizona.
Forks was the type of place where the only public library was also used as the
local rest stop and restroom, right off the highway. And who said convenience
was inconvenient? Phoenix, however, had all but thirteen public libraries and
the central branch had a fountain, sculptures, and over five stories of the
beauty that was the written word. In Forks you were considered a bit of a
showoff if your street was paved; forget that paved roads made sense, since
three hundred and sixty-four days out of the year it rained. Phoenix put out
flood warnings and mass hysteria ensued when they barely got two inches of
rain, and God forbid they have anything but paved roads. Who wouldn't want to
leave the dark, wet, and abysmal for the bright, sunny, and beautiful?
It made sense if you looked at it theoretically. My mother had always been a
bit of a flight risk, an eternally petulant child, and my father was a "sow
your roots" type of modern, rustic cowboy who lived by the law and wasn't just
its long arm—he was its only arm. My mother's idea of clothing was tie-dyed in
bright, vibrant colors and my father wasn't seen in anything other than plaid,
Wrangler's, or his uniform. How could a woman whose idea of cuisine was exactly
how the box said to prepare the meal survive with a man who snorted at any food
group that wasn't potatoes or steak—let alone try to teach that man that
neither potatoes nor steak were actual food groups?
But did it make sense when you looked at it emotionally? Did it make sense to
their child? Did it make sense to me?
And that was how I came to realize, when I was two years old, that I had lost
my free will. The only difference now was that at least these captors made me
aware of it.
When I was younger, I used to be so jealous of Alice. Charlie doted on her;
Charlie loved her. And I was again shoved to the side. Every summer since she
made her appearance in his life, I did rotten things like put hot sauce in her
cereal or itching powder on her sheets. One time I stuck gum in her hair, but
of course when she cut it she only looked even more beautiful. Short hair
suited her. It was like she and Charlie had their own language. I tried to fit
in, I really did. But I couldn't.
I didn't understand their obsession with all things Eastwood or how fishing for
twelve hours straight was "a good time." And the worst of it was that that was
supposed to be me. I was supposed to grow up loving lazy Sundays, watching the
game with the local Reservation boys, and having father-daughter day at the
station.
It was supposed to be me.
And I wished every night before I went to bed that it was. But wishing was
about as helpful as reading Marx's manifesto as a means of understanding
democracy.
Charlie was an amazing father to Alice, giving in to her every whim. When she
wanted to go to Seattle to buy the latest fashion, they did. If she wanted to
go to a Mariners game, they went. She was capricious and Charlie loved her.
Alice had the best of both worlds—the freedom of femininity and the boyish
adventures of "Rowdy" Swan.
Don't get me wrong, I loved Renee. I honestly did. But sometimes the course of
our lives, what was thrown at us, left a sour taste where once something sweet
had been. And I wished I could say I had at least one parent, but Renee was
still reading up on the how-to books to really grasp the concept. And then when
Phil came into our lives, Renee lost sight of everything and she missed the
blatantly obvious.
Inside, her daughter was dying.
It was around this time, when I was eight years old, that I discovered the
magic that was reading. And with each passing day and book, I became more and
more introverted. Books were my escape. I could be the damsel in distress who
was rescued by the tortured, yet loving hero. I could be the vicious vixen who
spat men out like flies from a Venus Trap. I could be the robust explorer with
mystical creatures on my tail, threatening my life's ambition. Books were
nothing short of magic and I salivated to get my hands on a new story. Somehow,
years escaped me this way.
There came a point when Charlie stopped trying, and I couldn't blame him. We
were just too different. I was too introverted and he had Alice. Nobody really
understood me, what I was going through, and so I didn't fault anyone for
giving up on me. First it was Renee and then Charlie. I didn't even have
friends at school. But the one person who never gave up on me was little Alice.
And like the sucker fish to the shark, after awhile you were glad they were
around.
I grew to love that little sucker fish more than my own life. She was
everything I wasn't—vibrant, energetic . . . happy. She was my only friend. And
I swore that I would do anything and everything in my power to make sure she
stayed that full of life.
When the news of Charlie's murder reached us Phoenicians, I was destroyed. I
could only imagine how Alice was taking the news. She was staying with a woman
that he had dated, Sue something, while they sorted out his will. Charlie had
decided that Renee would be declared Alice's legal guardian, I knew that much.
I had overheard the conversation years ago because Charlie wanted to be
prepared; he knew the risk his job brought with it. For weeks following the
news, I stayed locked in my room crying nonstop. He was everything I wanted and
never had. And it was then, even after every other reason I had to loathe her,
that I decided to hate Renee. She took him from me, and now I would never know
what it felt like to live safely under the roof of a loving father's home.
During that time, all I could think about was Alice and what she must have been
going through. I made a choice because I knew what had to be done, and it was
then that I swore to never leave her side. She was my only link to Charlie; she
was the part of him I would never have and I would always treasure. And so she
would be a part of me. The events that happened after that were unforeseeable,
and I wonder to this day, if I knew then what I knew now, if I would have still
done what I did.
The answer to that was I didn't know.
Some days, when it was the worst, and I had to sit on a toilet all afternoon
with my nose plugged, otherwise the scent of blood would make me throw up—all
because yet another Vory pig didn't know the meaning of gentle anal sex—I would
think it was a mistake. Other days, when the nightmares of memories I wish I
didn't have consumed me so much that I woke up crying and begging for death, I
would think that maybe it wasn't. But every minute in between was a big
question mark.
It's interesting, you know, what we loved and remembered as children. How when
you were younger you thought the world revolved around you and everything was
the end of the world. How little things like hobbies and interests defined you
and you thought they always would. I loved to read and Alice loved fashion, but
if you asked us today how those things fit into our lives, we'd laugh—and not
in humor. Did the world still revolve around us? Did those things define who we
were?
What did define us as people?
This was where everybody got it wrong. Some people were defined by their
parents. Some people were defined by their interests—hell, others by their
dislikes. Some people were defined by their profession. And some people were
defined by how they treated others. But here was the thing, who defined us by
those things? Someone else. How did we define ourselves?
If I were to be defined by anyone else, I'd have a hare-brained mother and a
rugged father. I'd have been a clumsy bookworm who needed a good hit of heroin
to keep her going, and yet hated that fact with a passion, just as much as I
hated the rain. And my job, if it could be called that, was a prostitute. Hell,
you would think I loved dick with how often I had it pounding some orifice of
my body. I honestly didn't know how I felt about dick; I knew how I felt about
the bastards who wielded it like it was fucking Excalibur, but the dick itself,
I didn't really know. I'd have thought about trying pussy just to see how it
went and maybe as a comparison, but I didn't have free will for that. However .
. . I didn't define myself by any of that.
I was just a seventeen-year-old girl trying to survive with what's been given
to her. I was confused as all hell, lost like fucking Odysseus, and I was
seriously hoping it didn't take me ten years to find my way. Just a girl
willing to slit my own wrist with a dull butter knife if it meant that I would
save my sister from any pain. Hell, I wasn't even a good actress, but nobody
seemed to care; or if they did, they would beat me until they stopped giving a
rat's ass.
No more, no less—that was who I was and that was all that was important to me.
"Where do you want me, baby?" I asked the smug bastard staring at me like a
melting Popsicle. He was sitting in the middle of the suede couch with his arms
outstretched along the back. His legs were crossed in front of him and he was
wearing a polo shirt and jeans. A nice tan graced his skin and it looked like
he had spent some time in the sun recently.
I knew it was the summer, but honestly days just seemed to intertwine, and most
the time I couldn't tell the beginning of the month from the end of it. All I
did was try to survive each morning that I woke up and kept Alice safe. And the
only reason I even cared about surviving was because I feared what would happen
to Alice if I didn't make it. Everything else was inconsequential.
I didn't remember what we did last time, baby boy and I; after about the
thousandth fuck it begins to bleed together. But this had to have been about
the fifth time I'd been with him, so his face stood out.
"On my cock," was Casanova's witty reply. How romantic. Austen, eat your heart
out!
At least the men at the club weren't allowed to touch us, which meant only one
thing of importance: they couldn't hit us. It was "get on your knees and
genuflect" good, because in my world, where the sex was concerned, nothing was
better than a bruise-free tryst.
I even remembered a guy a while back, probably a month ago, wanting me to come
when he finished. It took everything I had not to laugh darkly at him. I don't
remember him at all, but I remember only that moment perfectly. It was almost
like he thought I wanted him inside me, like it was pleasurable. Don Juan must
have thought he was God's gift to prostitutes. Sex was loud, sex WAS money, sex
was wet, sex WAS control, sex was rough . . . but sex was never pleasurable.
I remembered looking into his eyes in complete confusion, because what I saw
there was honesty; he honestly thought I was enjoying it and he wanted me to.
It was something new, and I think I was stopped dead in my tracks when the
reality of that hit me. And for a split second, I thought that maybe he
actually might have cared about me—or what I wanted then—but instead, when I
stopped moving, he just drove Excalibur on home, reminding me of my place in
this world.
I licked my lips at Casanova on the couch to let him know that on his cock was
the only place I wanted to be. His blue eyes sparkled and, hell, he began
taking his own shirt off. I wondered how much Angela charged him, because it
was obvious that she could have probably got more out of the deal. With a heavy
sigh, I made my way to the cabinet—or as all us girls liked to refer to it,
"Dick-board," because anything the dick could possibly want was in that thing.
It had oils, crèmes, lubes, handcuffs, blindfolds, feathers, and most
importantly, condoms. I pulled out a condom and tucked it into the back of my
underwear before making my way to an already naked Casanova.
"Excited, baby?" I purred. He winked. "What was your name again, baby?"
"Mike, Mike Newton," my Casanova said.
"Well, Mike Newton, you'll make me scream your name, won't you, baby?" I begged
as I straddled his lap and teased his already hard erection against my slit
through my underwear.
"You bet, babe. You're gonna fucking scream my name so loud they call the cops
with a noise ordinance," he said as his lips made their way to my neck. On cue,
I moaned. It was obvious he was a talker.
The thing that I had learned about the way men liked their sex was something
you could pick up within the first five minutes. Men were probably the least
complicated beings on the planet, but when it came to men and sex, it was
Neanderthal. Simplest form. All you had to do was pay attention, observe—and
not well, either—during sex to learn anything and everything you would need to
know about a man. But for me, all that I was concerned with were those first
five minutes, because my only job was to make the rest of those minutes as
pleasurable for them as they wanted. And it was always about what they wanted.
And Mr. Mike Newton was going to want adventure and a lot of talking. I've had
rough and dominating before. I've even had men who wanted me to talk to them
like babies and nurture them. It was what it was.
"Oh, baby, you make me so wet," I slurred seductively in his ear as he twisted
my nipple.
Wet: that was by far the hardest thing to learn. It was hard to always make
your body ready for something you honestly didn't want. But Alice and I learned
early on, after countless broken bones and torn lips (in every sense), that if
we weren't ready for the boss when he wanted us to be ready, it would only be
that much worse. It was already painful, because even if you weren't ready,
they were and they would take it anyway. Then you got beaten for making it
"unpleasant" for them. But it was amazing what the human body was capable of
when completely frightened and fearing for its own survival. Now with the drop
of a hat, I can be ready for any Excalibur.
By the time Mike Newton finished, he had me in positions that a contortionist
would envy. Just as I was about to leave, he pulled me back to him against his
chest.
"You never disappoint me," he coughed. He was a bit winded.
"You never disappoint me either, baby," I said as I fisted his shirt in my
hand, bringing him closer to me, and ran my tongue up his lips. That was my
trick; Alice taught it to me awhile back to get men off the thought of kissing.
It made sure I took the reins, and they would think I was going in for a kiss,
but it gave me enough time to pull away. Little Pixie was genius when it came
to faking it perfectly; she was a great actress.
"I have something for you. I'm only supposed to tell you it's from Jasper. He
said you'd know what to do with it," Mike said as he slipped something small
and slightly weighty into the back of my underwear before he groped my ass. And
for the first time all afternoon, during the day really, emotion actually took
over my mechanical features and attitude. For that rare split second I was
anything other than a lifeless, hollow possession.
What the hell?
I'm certain that confusion seeped from me like it did from Alice tumbling
through that rabbit hole, but I didn't stick around long enough to wait for it
to catch up to me. I quickly left Mike in thestall and made my way to the back
bathroom. It was the only place in the entire club that didn't have a camera
set up.
The Vory didn't make tapes of anything because they weren't that stupid, but
they did have one soldier whose only job was to watch the cameras. They didn't
have audio because it would be wasted money considering how loud things got
here. The restaurant and factories all had cameras and audio. The only place
that had neither was the stable or the grange.
In the bathroom, I pulled out what Mike had placed in the back of my red, lace
underwear. My fingers were practically twitching as I held it. It could have
been anxiety, elation, or even dread, but it felt like a heavy-ass brew of all
of them. My lip was practically bleeding from the nervous gnawing.
It looked like a paper but felt like many papers folded into the size of a
condom wrapper. On the top was written "Twilight." I opened it and it was like
a present, in the shape of a very small envelope. In the envelope was a note to
me and two hundred dollar bills folded over a new little envelope with "Alice"
written on it.
I unfolded my note.
Twilight,
The money is in case the cameras saw Mike hand something to you. Besides, if
you slept with Mike, which I don't doubt you just did because I bought his
silence quite handsomely, then you earned the extra cash. That was probably an
awful joke—I'm sorry. The other letter is for Alice.
Keep faith and stay strong, please, for the both of you.
In awe of you,
Jasper
I hadn't realized that tears ran down my face until their salty taste pricked
my lips. It was mixed with the heavy, black mascara I was wearing. The
tightening in my chest was the sweetest burn, and I hugged the little note to
my body like he had once hugged me to his. In my entire life I had never met
anyone like this Jasper, and I would tell myself time and time again to not get
my hopes up about him, but I couldn't help it.
That late morning a little over a month ago, when he came into the club in a
tuxedo, was like he walked off the pages of one of my Austen, Woolfe, or
Lawrence's. He had a gorgeous air of ferocity about him and I didn't know
whether I wanted to kiss him or kill him. And never in my life had I wanted to
kiss a man, even though the context was anything but romantic. I had never
found the urge to express a deeper sense of caring for another person that
could only be held in a kiss. But when he talked about Alice, I knew who he
was; he was the man that Alice had dreamed about. The same man she couldn't
stop talking about since one morning a while back.
And she was right; he was everything she had said. But more than that was the
honesty that flowed from him devastatingly like the heat waves of Phoenix. I
almost fell to my knees and let the scorch overtake me in its beauty—its power.
He was beautiful in every single sense of the word, and I prayed that he wasn't
false. He couldn't build up my hope that Alice would finally find her salvation
only for it to be a lie. It was that thought alone that kept my heart on
lockdown, just in case he was only a hallucination. But he was real, and he was
her flame.
I couldn't begin to express the amount of relief and hope that left in me.
Alice's spirit could be saved. And there was nothing better to me than that.
Mine had long since died; I couldn't pinpoint exactly when it had happened, but
it did. They couldn't hurt me anymore and they all knew it. So they used Alice
to get to me. But the second she was gone and I knew she was safe and happy,
then I could finally let go. I would finally let the sweet, bleak blackness
overcome me in the serenity I yearn for. The serenity I begged God daily to
bestow on me one day. Everything would finally end. And for me, I couldn't ask
for anything more.

***** Chapter 9 *****
My Darlin' Alice,
I've missed you.
I've thought about how to start this letter for weeks—have rewritten it almost
twenty times—and in the end I decided to be honest with myself, and the truth
is that I've missed you. It feels like I'm living with a ghost, if that makes
sense. All I have done since meeting you has been to think about you. You, your
situation, and everything about your life has haunted me ever since. But the
reason that it feels like I'm living with a ghost is because, with all the time
spent thinking about you, I can't physically touch you. There's nothing to
grab. Sometimes I wonder if I dreamed you up . . . as if my heart got tired of
waiting for you, and so all its longing finally manifested into a vision.
And my beautiful Alice, you are a vision. I never in my life dreamed I could be
so lucky, in every sense. I've never seen anyone as breathtaking as you—or as
strong.
However, I know I didn't dream you up, because my heart could never be as cruel
as to leave you where it did. I wish I could storm those doors and demand to
have you released to me. I would pay anything, do anything. But I've learned
just how rash that idea was right away—the hard way. Without even realizing it,
I was knocked down on my ass because of it. So I know that I have to find
another way. But I WILL find another way.
And with that in mind, I ask you to please trust me and I will ask you one
favor. Can you please tell me your last name? I know you're scared and you have
every right to be, and I know what I'm asking you could do, but I have thought
so much about this and I have been diligent, if not thorough. That is the
reason that this letter was given to your sister by a third party. I can't show
my face at that club, not for awhile at least. I need the suspicion to die
down. It's killing me not to see you, but I know it's for the best right now.
This Saturday, Mike, the man who gave your sister this note on my behalf, will
return to the club with explicit orders to find you. Find him. You don't need
to do anything but say one word to him; he's expecting only that. I'm hoping,
with all my soul, that the word you say to him is your last name. That's all
that needs to be said: that one word.
Please Alice, let me help. Trust me.
I know that you don't know me well enough to ask that of you in a world where
the only person you can trust is your sister. Did I mention that I met her? I
hope she told you. It was an interestingexperience. But I can only say that if
there is any comfort to your situation, it is her, that you don't have to bear
this alone. She loves you so much; it's murderous and I know—I was on the
frightened end of it. She's amazing, and I can't even begin to explain the
feeling of relief to know that you both have each other. Tell her to stay
strong from me as well; she needs to hear it too.
I have nothing but your best interest in mind. I promise you that. I would
never ask of you anything that you weren't willing to give me. I want nothing
more than your happiness, and I hope that I can help you achieve it. I can't
explain the deep connection that I feel to you, except to tell you that I
believe you're my twin flame. And I know you have felt it too; I saw it in your
eyes that night. And I will do anything and everything in my power to reunite
our flames, I promise you this. Otherwise, I can't honestly say if mine would
survive without yours, now after having found you.
I don't want to scare you off too early, if I haven't already, so I'll end this
letter with what I started it with—hope and a bit of the truth:
I think about you always and miss you more.
Yours—more than you know,
Jasper
Oh, and Alice, I don't know if this goes without saying, but better safe than
sorry. Burn this letter.

***** Chapter 10 *****
How do you live knowing you've lost the one you love long before you've ever
had them?
If you can answer that question, you're a far better person than I.
Edward Anthony Cullen.
God, the name alone made my mouth water and thighs cream. Seriously, the man
had sickening dazzling abilities. What woman wouldn't do whatever it took to
keep her man—to keep thatman?
I remember the first time I saw him. It was freshman year at Loyola and it was
hard not to notice Mr. Cullen. He was a junior then and so very dark. His skin
was ghostly pale and the only color to his face was the bluish-black tinting
under his eyes. He looked so much older then. His green eyes held no luster of
life and his bonze locks were dry and dull. Clothing seemed to swallow him
whole. But even in sorrow, he was ghastly breathtaking.
He stole my heart the second I saw him; okay, it was my vagina, but whatever.
Did it matter, honestly, at least at first? When you were young, you were
hormone-driven. And nothing was sexier than a gorgeous build, strong arms, and
a jaw you just wanted to lick your way across. If men could do it, lust after
women solely based on appearances, then why couldn't women? The double standard
had always felt like a thorn in my perfect twenty-four inch waist.
I was a strong, confident woman who knew what she wanted and what she had to do
to get it. And as if that weren't enough, I was blessed with otherworldly good
looks. I'd have been a fool if I didn't put them to good use. After all, what
are women if not resourceful? And I used what I had to get me where I was. A
modern day succubus—but I've been compared to worse: whore, slut, bitch.
Really, they lacked the fire that was needed to keep my entertainment.
If men were careless enough to be used, then I was going to ride them long and
hard—and my rides were always worth the fee. It only seemed fair. That was
until I met Edward Cullen. A man I would have happily laid at his feet for, but
a man who didn't want me.
Now, I was a modern woman and knew that rejection existed, but it was just
that I had never been rejected before. The concept was so foreign to me. In the
beginning, I wouldn't have been lying if I said that all he was was a conquest,
my biggest trophy to date. For me it was always about the chase, and Edward was
one hell of a chase. But that was then. He was so much more than a conquest
now; he was the prize. And the more I got to know him, the more I recognized I
could never lose him.
He was so different compared to everyone else in my world, compared to any man
I had ever been with. He made me want to be a better person, a wiser woman. It
was Edward that made me realize just how superficial my world was. We were
elitists with no depth and it was Edward that helped me grow into a woman with
layers. A woman who didn't just rely on her beauty to obtain anything she
wanted; because in the case of Edward Cullen, beauty didn't get me anywhere.
Things like who wore last year's Yves Saint Laurent to this year's golf open
social didn't matter to him. As a matter of fact, even attending the annual
golf open social didn't matter to Edward Cullen. In my world, something like
that was blasphemous. He was a rebel . . . in the way that daddy's protégé with
a trust fund could be. But he was himself, and he didn't care about what anyone
else thought of him.
And if not attending the golf social was blasphemous, not caring what others
thought of you, in my world, was so far past sacrilegious that the whole city
was charged ten Hail Mary's.
It was our lot in life, practically our fulltime JOB, to care what others
thought of us.
But what started off as a plight in lust and conquest evolved into something so
much more. He became my world. I no longer cared what everybody thought. I only
cared what Edward thought. I only wanted to make Edward happy, superficial
world be damned.
In the beginning, he was the epitome of an asshole. We laughed about it now,
because he said that back then he referred to me as a relentlessly annoying
bitch. Each attempt at getting him to talk to me was shot down worse than the
fat girl with glasses and brown hair by the quarterback. It was my very own
dose of the brutal reality that, to Edward Cullen, something I had been riding
on the coattails of wasn't important.
And so one day, I gave in; I didn't use my beauty to get what I wanted. I just
laid my cards out for him to see. I went up to him while he studied in the
school library.
"Okay, I'm superficial. I don't have anything going for me other than a
gorgeous rack and set of lick-worthy legs. But what the hell do you expect,
Marie god damn Curie?" And he laughed; it was genuine and it was music to my
ears. I hadn't even seen him laugh with his friend Jasper; he was always
brooding.
"Your face isn't too bad either, Tanya."
"Right, well, I didn't want to sound conceited." And he laughed even more that
his green eyes actually held a bit of light in them. I gasped at how utterly
beautiful happiness made him.
"I don't know how anybody could ever think that of you." There was an actual
playfulness to his words.
"Nor I, Edward." And his lips curved into a delicious smirk. "May I sit?" I
motioned to the empty chair at the small table he was studying at.
"I'm sorry, yes."
I scooted my chair as close to him as I could possibly get it, and after ten
minutes of boring silence I asked him: "What are you doing?"
Again I was rewarded with his beautiful laughter. And it was then that I
promised to make it my life's mission to make this lost boy happy; in happiness
he was too beautiful to have any other way.
"Studying, Tanya," he answered. "I didn't just come to school to waste Daddy's
money because there was too much of it lying around." With a huff, I crossed my
arms over my chest and stared at the table in front of me. I might have mumbled
"jerk" under my breath. I could see him from my periphery watching me with that
same smirk and one eyebrow raised in my direction. "If you're going to sit
there, you might as well make yourself useful," Edward said after awhile of my
pouting. I turned to him with a doubtful eye and he just smiled broadly. It was
dazzling. "Here," he said, pushing a book my way and then a post it. "Highlight
passages on meiosis."
I knew my expression must have read, "You're kidding, right? Even if I knew
what the hell you were talking about, I would still have no idea where to
begin." He laughed more and pulled me closer to him by the back of my chair. He
leaned in towards me to show me what he meant. The strong scent of crisp linen
and cologne made my heart flutter.
That was the very first time Edward Cullen ever taught me anything. And soon we
shared everything—stories of our youths, our likes and dislikes, and everything
in between. We compared movies, literature, but Edward's favorite was music. He
could talk about music for days on end. I learned that I had an affinity to
math, and found my niche in getting the elite to purchase things. I was
practically born for advertising.
Or at least I thought we shared everything.
He didn't like to talk about high school, and soon enough I learned through his
family about the accident that he would forever blame himself for. I learned
about the devastating loss he suffered and why he was so depressed all the
time. It was then that I realized Edward wasn't the type to share everything.
He was the suffer-in-silence type and he didn't like to express his feelings at
all. He hid things from me, little nuances of his personality before the
accident, things that made him happy, as well as his pain. And after awhile, I
learned to deal with the fact that this was how Edward was. He would never let
anyone fully in. It hurt me so much to see someone with so much life in them
let it pass them by, and that was what I taught him: how to live again. Where
he helped me, I helped him.
He became my best friend, and it was so weird to have an actual friend who
didn't care about last month's Vogue or calorie counting and the benefits of
chewing celery. Edward knew everything about me and I knew everything about
Edward that he let me have. And I was fine with that; I promised myself not to
push him, that he would open up when he was ready.
And the day that I applied for an internship after I finished school was the
first time that I saw pride in Edward's eyes when he looked at me.
"My little girl's all grown up and even getting a job that doesn't pay," he
said that night when he picked me up and took me to dinner. His arm wrapped
around my waist in an embrace was more than I had ever known. But more so than
that, I was proud of myself too.
"You give me too much credit, Eddie. Daddy still pays the bills," I told him
with a coquettish wink. He hated that nickname, but I found it endearing when I
joked with him. And I loved more that I was the only one he let use it.
"Baby steps, Tanya, baby steps."
Somehow the years passed us by, as they do when you're having fun. Then one
night after my now paying job in the advertisement world, I went to his
apartment. I had called him countless times only to go straight to voicemail,
and given the current situation—then—I was very worried about him.
It was his second year of med school and one of his fellow students, a Stanley
woman—I didn't remember much about her except that she was rather easy—had
filed a claim with the school for sexual harassment. She stated that Edward,
who was their group's leader, had used his position to proposition favors from
her in order to keep her good standing within the class. When the school
investigated, they found the claim unfounded; but the damage was done, on both
their parts. Edward lost his standing and the Stanley girl chose to drop from
the school because of "irreversible emotional distress." It was this reason she
would later use to sue Edward for the compensation of tuition lost as well as
damages. His parents chose to settle out of court, but not before the Stanley
girl took her story to the papers and Edward's name was completely slandered.
Now, normally Edward wouldn't care what others thought, but it had impacted him
terribly since he was intending on pursuing Obstetrics and Gynecology. Needless
to say, with a very public sexual harassment suit he wouldn't be able to
specialize legitimately; it was tainted for him.
Edward took all of this badly, with good reason, of course. When I arrived at
his apartment, he was plastered; and plastered was probably putting it nicely
for his benefit. He was worse than Britney Spears circa the Kevin Federline
years. I helped him clean up vomit in places vomit really shouldn't be. Then
when he passed out, I stayed with him to make sure he didn't vomit more or hurt
himself. That was very important to him; it would have been unforgivable. When
he woke up he was still very drunk, and he made a pass at me.
At first I didn't know how to take it. I had almost all but given up on any
chance of an "us." He had become just Eddie to me. But there was that other
part of me, a part that I soon discovered wasn't dormant at all, that still
wanted him more than the secret, exclusive-clientele-only, unreleased Louis
Vuitton line. And that first taste was better than Godiva, but equally as
addicting. And, oh God, did I want more. Thankfully, so did he.
And we haven't looked back since.
It hasn't been easy. But really, if anything in life were worth it, it wouldn't
come easy. Edward was by far the hardest person to live with. He had meticulous
OCD tendencies which I didn't understand, considering his crazy hours at school
and then work. But Edward always had to be in control of everything. The first
time I stayed over and used his toothpaste and unrolled the specific number of
creases to the used tube, he flipped. Not to mention the alphabetizing of
EVERYTHING in his apartment, color coordinated scheme to folding all his
clothes, and hanging them in the closet specifically according to the hanger's
marker. But the worst was his fear of even numbers. Ridiculous things like his
underwear were only bought in odd numbers, as well as what he owed, the way he
organized. If I went to the store I could only buy groceries in odd numbers. If
I ate fruit from the bowl and it left an even number, I would come home to
Edward pulling at his hair, mumbling under his breath, and pacing around the
room. Edward hated even numbers passionately; everything had to be in odd
numbers—everything. I didn't know why, but through his family I learned to deal
with the issue as best as I could. And the number seventeen was unforgiveable,
but that one made sense.
Nevertheless, I've managed to adapt to his quirks, and when we fought, we
worked through it. And he really had to change for me and I knew what that
meant for him. I appreciated him—it—more than he could ever know.
Now, I knew Edward didn't love me, at least not that all-encompassing, move
mountains just to be near me way. But he did love me as much as he believed he
was capable of. Some men just didn't say it, some people couldn't say it, but
it was evident in their actions. And never had I doubted Edward's affection for
me, and he told me with his deeds, his loyalty, his trust, his support—him. And
if that was all that he could give me, who was I to demand more? I was blessed
to have even that. I would never push to change Edward. That was what love was,
acceptance of the person for who they were, for who they truly were. And I knew
that to Edward, he was trying his best.
I couldn't begin to count the times that I've been asked, "Why are you marrying
someone who doesn't love you?" Everyone has asked this, has tried to tell me
one way or another that I was making a mistake—Jasper, his sister . . . my
sister. To them I can only answer with my own heart and say that there are
varying degrees of love. Would Edward give up his job and move back to Alaska
to help me if I asked it of him? In a heartbeat. Would he try everything in his
power to make me happy? Yes, and he has. Who was to say what love really was?
It was an emotion; you couldn't measure it. And the thing was, I knew Edward
better than anyone else in his life—and that was saying a lot. And I knew,
without a doubt, that he gave me all that he possibly could. It was just more
complicated than anyone ever knew.
He believed his love was cursed. Long ago, he lost the most important person in
his life. It still, to this very day, pained him to talk about it . . . to talk
about her. She was his everything. Since birth, they were inseparable. They had
the rugged end of a love-hate relationship, and the one time that their
fighting escalated so severely that they were separated was the last time
Edward would ever see her alive. His last words to her were, "Fine, do whatever
the fuck you want. Don't come crying to me when this blows up in your face,
because I won't fucking care what happened to you." It was those words that
killed him, much like he believed they killed her.
She was who had stolen Edward from me, long before I'd ever had him. And this
whole time I had been fighting a ghost—a ghost that I was more than willing to
share Edward's heart with, but it was never that simple. Nothing with Edward
ever was. And I believed that I was winning this battle, but that was until
that morning, before the wedding.
Thinking back now, that was when it started.
I was losing him and it was killing me. One thing was to lose someone you've
always had, but it was another thing completely to lose someone you never had.
God, it was so hard because it was just that much easier for him to slip
through my grips.
Maybe it was something I'd done wrong. Maybe I wasn't as supportive of his
quirks as I should have been. Maybe I didn't listen to him enough, or try hard
enough to get him to open up. Maybe I tried too hard. Maybe I pushed him into
marriage too soon. I should have called off the wedding that morning. After he
left me, I cried on the floor of our living room for hours until I got a phone
call from my sister Kate. She was at the airport; Edward had forgotten to pick
her up. Edward never forgot anything. Elephants envied his memory.
It didn't make sense.
When I picked up Kate, she told me that it was just pre-marriage jitters. She
said that her husband, Garrett, went through something similar the night before
their big day. And so I wrote it off as such, and when Edward came home that
night, he assured me the same thing. He said that there was no doubt in his
mind that the wedding was what he truly wanted.
And so I married the man of my dreams. But what was the perfect wedding was
anything but the perfect marriage.
Our two-week honeymoon was a disaster and we had our first very real big fight.
It could have been attributed to my paranoia mostly. Whenever he touched me, it
was different; it was rough and so very different. Edward was never a "pound
the pussy" man. It was like he had something to prove, to whom I didn't know;
my vagina was all his. I thought he knew that. Then sex became like a drug to
him; all he wanted to do was drill for oil and I was starting to get very raw.
It was becoming painful. And that was when things turned sour, because slowly
it dawned on me that, all the while, he didn't care if I got off at all. And
more and more I realized he was trying to prove something. The hardest part to
deal with was watching the change in him. I would wonder if he knew just how
much he was starting to hurt me, not just emotionally, but physically. And I
hoped that he didn't, but a part of my mind pressed on. It reminded me that if
he did know that he was hurting me, then he just chose to ignore it. And it was
killing me; I didn't know who he was anymore, and slowly this man who wasn't
the man I married or fell in love with was starting to scare me.
Then during the second week, when my vagina went on strike because I couldn't
take it anymore—the worry, doubt, and even fear—he was never around. I would
spend all day without him . . . on our damn honeymoon. And this was when I blew
up, accusing him of only wanting me for sex, that he probably never cared about
me at all. And I asked him what he was trying to prove. And I might have
insinuated that he was "in the closet." In my anger, it was the only thing that
made sense; what else could he possibly have to prove? We fought so badly that
I threw things at him and he said he regretted marrying me.
This was the first time he had ever said that to me; never had I known Edward
to be anything but a gentleman. One would think with how many fights we've had
since then, I would have gotten used to the crushing blow of those words, but I
haven't. Each time they hurt worse, and I think it was because I was starting
to believe them.
I didn't understand what happened to us. We were so happy before, or as happy
as I had ever seen Edward; granted it was never easy, but we worked at it.
Marriage was the logical next step. But it was as if it ruined everything. I
didn't know what to do and I couldn't get through to him. Even on our good
days, he would only talk about how his day at work went. I got more of a
response from him when he was angry. He wouldn't talk to me; he stopped
touching me, but that was because I wouldn't let him. I refused to be his toy
for some unknown demonstration of something he needed reassurance in.
And with each day it only got worse.
I couldn't believe I had become this woman—a woman who let her husband treat
her like anything less than a goddess. But more than that, a woman who felt she
couldn't tell her friends what was going on; a woman who wasn't happy anymore;
a woman who was honestly beginning to fear her husband in every sense. And when
that reality hit me, I knew I needed to do something. I had to—for him, for us
. . . for me.
"I'm thinking maybe we should go to marriage counseling, but he refuses," I
said softly between tears and broken hopes.
"Honey, he refused the first time too," Esme said as she wrapped her other arm
around me in an embrace. She had to lift out of her chair to reach me and I
loved her even more for the gesture. Her warmth was comforting.
After two months of this, I couldn't take it anymore, and I knew I had to talk
to someone about it. My aunt Carmen was the closest woman I had as a mother,
but even then I couldn't come to her with this. I felt like a failure. It
wasn't even three months in and my marriage was a wreck. Edward's mother had
always been so loving and understanding. She also dealt with Edward's intense
emotions for longer than I had. I was hoping that she could provide some sort
of insight or invaluable advice. She agreed to meet me for lunch, and now here
I sat weeping in a napkin while the wait staff looked on pitifully.
"Edward's never been the type to deny he has a problem, but he's always been
sure to believe that he's the only one who can fix it. He doesn't know how to
ask for help when he needs it. Trust me, dear, both Carlisle and myself tried
everything in the beginning. Medication, counseling, holistic healing, even
martial arts as recommended to help him have a way to expel his anger and pain.
Nothing worked and he refused all of it," Esme said tenderly, her hand combing
through my hair soothingly.
"Then how did you and Carlisle get through it the first time? Because I knew it
was hard before, but I can't explain it Esme . . . this time it's so much
worse."
"Very, very slowly dear. It was a terrible loss for all of us, and Carlisle and
I both went to counseling to help in understanding coping and what to do for
Edward. We learned to give him time, that he would come around on his own, when
he was ready. And to reassure him that we loved him, didn't blame him, and were
there for him regardless. And eventually Edward came around. Eventually he will
again." Esme let go of me and lifted my face gently with her hand under my
chin. Her soft toffee eyes were like warm caramel and everything I needed at
that moment.
"Thank you, Esme," I whispered to her as I wiped at my tear-streaked face.
"Of course, dear, and know that both Carlisle and I are here for you with
whatever you need. It helped us when we went to counseling; maybe it would help
you to seek out counseling on your own. And Jasper knows Edward better than
any; if anyone could help you get a better picture, I'm sure he could."
And there it was, I could see it in her eyes. Although she wouldn't say the
words, I could see the sympathetic worry. Her tone acknowledged the fear I
tried to hide. In nonspecific words, she told me to get help for myself, to
bring back that strong woman I was—and only then could I get help for him.
Something had to be done; Edward couldn't keep denying help.
I nodded solemnly. It made sense, and I would do everything within my means to
make my marriage work. I had to; if not for me, then for that smiling boy I
fell in love with. He was in there somewhere and I would get him back. And that
promise I made to myself years ago rung in my mind: to make it my life's
mission to make him happy.

***** Chapter 11 *****
Twice in one week; man, Jasper was paying well. And I couldn't think of
anything more bitchin' than free sex with a hooker. Big Mike was getting more
ass than a toilet seat.
Who knew that meeting Cullen's high school friend would land me the mother
lode? I just thought it was going to be an acquaintance thing through Cullen,
but when Jasper called me and we started hanging, it looked like he wanted us
to be more than just acquaintances though. And I was all for it, but shit if it
hasn't been weird.
It's always the quiet ones. I should have known that shit; dude was creepy from
the get-go. Always watching everyone with shifty eyes and never saying much.
Plus, sometimes, the way he looks at you, you could swear he was planning some
weird Spanish Inquisition style torture shit. Bet he's got a Dungeon and into
whipping or something. Creepers! But to have been the type of guy to get his
rocks off arranging fuck sessions between two people, that was just some
strait-jacket shit. And he's the Psych?
But I guess I've heard of some freakier shit. Like boyfriends who hid in
closets while their girl fucked another dude, and even guys who sold their girl
for money. So I guess what Jasper was asking for wasn't too crazy. But the
second he asks to join, I'm out. Big Mike doesn't play doubles.
I just couldn't see how him setting me up to fuck that pretty brunette was what
he needed to get the general a-marchin'. Why wouldn't he want to just fuck her
himself? That made more sense to me. I mean, shit, she was good at her job.
But he said that sort of thing didn't turn him on. He just drooled over all the
details I gave him of the event. And I made sure to give him all the details.
Big Mike doesn't leave anything out. And yes, ladies, Big Mike would always
kiss and tell.
I'd be shocked if he didn't pull out his wang while I was telling him all about
it and rub one out. Sick bastard. It's always those rich, smart types that have
the dirtiest fetishes.
Just look at his sister.
I knew I recognized her from somewhere. Jasper didn't work at the hospital
where I worked; he only did weekend work about once a month. And I met him
through Cullen. Once we decided to throw the bachelor party, I just knew we had
to do it at Novolunie. It was the best strip club in all of Chicago and the
chicks were top shelf, Patron in a sea of Cuervo. And when Jasper introduced me
to his sister at Cullen's wedding, I thought she looked familiar, but I
couldn't place it.
Then two weeks ago, Jasper called me up with the new "business" proposition and
I gladly took it. Shit, seriously, three grand to go to the strip club, take my
brunette in the back and give her a taste of the Big Mike, drop off a note,
come back and tell him all about it, was fucking glorious. The only catch was
if anything bad went down, I had to take the heat, whatever that meant. And he
even made me sign a nondisclosure agreement; but, shit, for three grand each
time he asked me to do something for him, I'd probably sign away my soul. It
was like catching a fly ball, too easy. So after that first meeting, he loved
the story about how I had the brunette bent backwards all over the place so
much that he offered me the same deal. Only this time, all I had to do after I
got my rocks off was talk to the one named Pixie and she would give me a code
word or something, and I just had to bring that word back to him. This was easy
money. And it was at that meeting that I took another good look at the pictures
on his bookshelf and I realized that his sister was a dancer at the very same
strip club.
What were the fucking odds?
I wondered if Jasper knew that his little sister moonlighted as Akasha—stripper
extraordinaire. And little sis was very extraordinaire, how she got her rocks
off having men ogle her like food and stuffing dollar bills down her g-string.
I wondered if kinky fetishes were genetic in their family.
"How did it go?" Jasper asked from his big leather chair in his cushy office.
The excited glisten in his eyes was sick. I bet he did wank off to my stories;
probably doing it right now. Sick fuck.
"Good, man, I hit that shit hard," I told him. The vein in his forehead was
bulging and I think he might have just growled at me. He looked pissed and I
think I might have squealed. But that couldn't be right; I don't squeal, so
instead I just coughed out the knot in my throat. Shit, what did I do wrong?
"You touched Pixie?" His words were like glass being rubbed into more glass
with a rock. I cringed and had to look away. I quickly shook my head, peeking
at him through my periphery and one open eye.
"No, man, she's not my scene—the brunette, Twilight. I mean, if you want me to
hit that one it's not a big deal, but I thought the deal was Twilight?" I
asked, confused if we were changing things up. His eyes slowly lost the fire,
but that throbbing vein was practically cursing at me still.
Pushing the chair a bit further away from his desk, I sat back. This dude
looked lethal when he was pissed. Creepers McGee. "No, I don't want you to
touch anyone but Twilight."
I nodded my head, swallowing and turning slightly back toward him. But fuck if
my hands weren't clenched to the chair, coiled and ready to run if he got all
crazy ala Sling Blade shit.
That's what must have pissed him off: he liked that Twilight one and wanted to
hear all about her, so it upset him to find out I didn't tap that. Weirdos and
their specific tastes. Bet he was going to ask and come watch in person soon
enough. Maybe I could do an audience? Hmm. I'd have to think about it more.
"It's cool, man, she's the only one I want. So yeah, Saturday she played a
naughty nurse. It was fuckhott. I decided to take her from behind and I didn't
even want her to take that outfit off. She was screamin' all over the place and
telling me how she's never had it so good," I told him as memories of Saturday
flooded my mind. The little outfit that when she bent over the arm of the couch
didn't cover anything; the way she screamed my name and kept telling me how
much she loved my cock. Oh, Big Mike had her.
"Aren't you a nurse?" Jasper asked.
"Yeah man, I work in the emergency room with Cullen. And you have no idea how
many times I've fantasized about taking another nurse to the supply room. I bet
Cullen dreams that shit up too, but he could probably get his smoking wife to
act some pretty little scenes for him," I added. That new Mrs. Cullen was a
ten. Cullen was a lucky bastard.
"I'm sure he does. Did you talk to the little one, Pixie?" he asked me, his
eyes severely focused.
I shrugged. "No, man, I tried like you told me, but she didn't want to talk to
me. All she said was 'swan' and then left. I don't think she likes me very
much. We should probably stick to Twilight because I doubt that one would be as
fun to hit."
The fire returned to his eyes and his fists clenched. He closed his eyes
quickly and it looked like he was trying to control his emotions. This kid was
all over the place. Maybe that was why he couldn't get the ladies and had to
pay somebody else for him. I bet when he did get them, he couldn't get it up. I
bet that was it. That has got to be it; otherwise, he would be hitting it
himself.
A self satisfied grin plastered my face from figuring out his secret. This shit
was juicy; I wish I could tell somebody. I mean, shit, how do you keep
something like this to yourself? The big, powerful, rich man couldn't get it up
and had to pay another dude to do it for him and then tell him all about it.
This was like some fucking American Pie shit. I had gotta tell Eric, or at
least what I could. Nah, he was cool; he'd keep it under wraps for me. After
awhile, Jasper's words broke me out of my thoughts about how I could get Eric
to figure it out without actually "telling" him.
"All she said was 'swan'?" His voice said he didn't believe it either.
"Yeah, man, 'swan,' like a fucking bird. You know those geese-looking kind?" I
said, helping him out.
"'Swan' . . . hmm?" He was rubbing his chin and I didn't think he was talking
to me anymore. Then after awhile of running ideas through his head, he looked
up at me. "Thanks, Mike, that's all I need."
"Oh, right," I said as I got up from the chair. "You need me to go back next
week?"
"No, I'll let you know when I'll need you again. Thanks. Oh, and Mike, remember
our agreement," he said stiffly. I nodded as I turned for the door.
"Yeah, sure." I waved my hand behind my blond head as I left.
That meeting didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would. I still had a
couple of hours free until I had to get ready for the night shift at work. I
wondered what I could do to fill the time. Then another image of Saturday
night's naughty nurse uniform came to my mind. I guess I could rub one out; it
would take up some time and nobody loved Big Mike more than Big Mike.
Entertainingly, I chuckled.
If the boys back at the Fraternity could see me now. They used to say majoring
in nursing was a bitch move, but who's the bitch now?
                                     ~xx~
For an emergency room in Chicago, it was a surprisingly slow night. And that
was never really the case for Mercy. Usually, if anything, you could count on
at least one GSW or MVA. Maybe it was 'cause it was a Monday. This was pretty
lame and it was only fueling my itch to talk about Saturday with somebody. Then
like a sign from God himself, Eric asked what I did this weekend. Obviously, it
was clear that I was meant to tell the story.
I went behind the desk and told Eric that what I had to tell him was in strict
confidence and on a need to know basis only. That fool ate that shit up. Big
Mike was the man. In hushed voices, I told him what he needed to know.
"You remember that girl from the club, the smoking hot brunette with the perky,
full B cup?" He shook his head. "You know, the one that I told you I hit
before?" When he still shook his head, I decided to get specific. "From
Cullen's bachelor party? Her name was Twilight; she was wearing that black
cape?" Finally light dawned in his eyes. And I was nodding along with him.
"Yeah, yeah, what about her?"
"I fucking tapped that shit again, twice this week, fool," I boasted, and his
small, black Asian eyes widened.
"No fucking way?"Eric asked, and both his voice and eyes told me he doubted me.
"Yeah fool, I wouldn't lie; besides, she does that shit for a job." I shrugged.
Now he really didn't believe me. He was shaking his head and pursing his lips.
"So you have to pay her . . . to you know . . . boink her?" My laugh filled the
room.
"Eric, nobody says 'boink' anymore and, yeah, you gotta pay, but she's not too
expensive. The girl named Autumn is the most expensive girl there," I said,
remembering that she laughed at me when I couldn't afford her. Whore.
"So you paid to make love to her? I thought you were trying to save money to
get a new truck?" I rolled my eyes at Eric. And it was then I realized that the
kid was probably still a virgin, with his "never gonna get laid" glasses and a
twenty-year-old comb-over. No joke, kid was twenty and he already sported a
comb-over. Not to mention the kid actually had his pocket protector organized
by pen height. Some dudes were doomed and whores were the only way to go. I
wondered if I should bring him with me the next time I go to the club. Granted,
nobody wanted to say their first time was to a "paid professional" but it was
better than not having a "first time." I figured I'd take him. Big Mike would
take him under his wing and teach him the ropes. It was win-win for him.
"Dude, it's not called 'making love' either. The words 'paid' and 'making love'
should never go together. And I'm still saving for the truck. I didn't have to
pay for her . . . per se." I raised a blond eyebrow at him to see if he caught
my drift.
"What do you mean?" Damn.
"I'm saying I got a friend who's kinky and pays me to tap it and give her
secret messages from him. Then he wants all the details. He's a sick bastard
like that, but he pays good." I winked a baby blue at him and his mouth was
hanging open.
"Really?" Man he was hanging on every word . . . .
"Yeah, the only rule is we don't talk about it and I can't tell anyone, and he
pays me to have sex with her. Isn't that fucking awesome?"
"So is it like any girl, and then you just got to tell him about it later?"
Eric asked in an excited tone, and I hadn't realized that our voices weren't
whispering anymore. But that was okay, because Big Mike didn't care who knew
that Big Mike was king.
"No, just her, just the brunette, Twilight. That's the only one he pays for me
to screw. Sweet, right?" I wagged an eyebrow at him.
"Dude, that is so badass. Where did you mee—"
"Don't you two have work to do? Because if you don't, I'm sure I can find some
for you. And maybe then you'll learn to keep . . . your . . . fucking . .
. voices . . . down at work," Cullen growled from around the corner.
SHIT!
Both Eric and I cringed slightly in our seats at the threatening tone before
turning in the direction of his voice, where he was standing over us to the
right across the nurse's station. Crap, I had no idea anyone was listening. And
he looked fucking pissed. I guessed he was the lead doc tonight and didn't want
anything to make him look bad. But he was fuming so much that I swear it looked
like his jaw was about to pop from the tension, and his eyebrows were like one
fused together. Even his green eyes looked practically red with their fire.
"Sorry, Cullen, man, we were just catching up, you know?" I said
conversationally, trying to tell him it was not that big of a deal.
"Get. To. Work," he gritted through that tense jaw. I practically ran from
behind the desk. He looked like he was ready to kill somebody.
Ever since he came back from his honeymoon, he was on edge. It was like
everything set him off. And I had no idea what his problem was. Everybody at
work was starting to complain about working with him and he didn't seem to
care. It just made him more of a jackass to others. All the staff was walking
around on eggshells and it was ridiculous, as if our job wasn't stressful
enough. I guess Mr. Wonderful had to come back and face reality. Maybe his
honeymoon wasn't everything it was cracked up to be.
I smiled as I turned the corner away from Captain Buzz-kill. Guess not
everybody could be as good or as lucky as Big Mike.
***** Chapter 12 *****
"Magnolia, what time are you leaving for work?" I yelled toward the bedroom. I
had no fucking idea what she was doing in there, but she got aggravated during
play time and cut herself off from me. So she could stay cooped up in the
bedroom while I owned it out in the living room. The thing was, you just didn't
mess with a man and his Madden. Not to mention when a fucking eleven-year-old,
pubeless son of a bitch playing as the fucking Cowboys was beating you by two
touchdowns, a field goal, and a fucking converter. Who the hell went for the
second point? A fucking pubeless son of a bitch who thought the Cowboys were
god and called himself TPDATASS99 was who.
"Take it, take it, bitch!" I boomed into my headset as Cutler sunk a side
pocket, my left leg kicking off in the air in pure, sweet victory. It was
beautiful, better than a fucking wet pussy, a rolled joint, or a scoop of
Neapolitan. Yeah, I said Neapolitan. What, a guy couldn't have a thing for ice
cream?
"Who tapped dat ass, son? That's right, bitch, swallow! Gulp that shit down!"
Cowboy didn't say shit. And my hand was fist pumping in the air when the kick
was good. My Bears were making a comeback, baby, and my fifty-four inch plasma
was displaying the win proudly.
"Baby, I'm tying it up!" I yelled toward the room, my head turned to my left
and looking over my shoulder quickly. What the hell was she doing in there
anyway? "Hey, Sugar Plum, what the fuck are you doing?" Hmm, I wonder if sugar
plum is a real flower. "Babe, is a sugar plum a flower?"
"Emmett, shut up and play you little boy game!" she yelled back from the room.
God, I fucking loved her.
"It's not a little boy game. This is a fucking man's game. Now get your sweet
ass out here and cheer for me! Put on something short and skimpy."
"Then why a little boy beat you, idiot?" I wanted to have her children.
"Get the fuck out here!" And when I heard the door slam, I knew I won. But when
she stood over the micro-suede couch with her arms crossed over her bare chest
in nothing—seriouslynothing—on, I quickly realized that she won. I would have
fucking cut out my own kidney to give to her if she asked for it.
Licentiously, I let my big, brown eyes linger over every inch of exposed skin.
In my best innocent voice, I tried to talk her. "Aw, baby, so nice of you to
join me. Do you wanna play, Sugar Plum, flower of my eye?" I asked as I lifted
the controller up to her. Debonair-like, I batted my eyelashes at her and all
but forgot about the game; who cared, I was losing anyway. My tongue made laps
around my lips just watching her scowl and shift from hip to hip.
The sun from the open window outside to the left of the living room made her
skin glow, and I loved her even more. Only my Rosie would stand in front of an
open window butt-ass naked and not bat a lash. Modesty seriously wasn't a word
she knew; that, and she was an exhibitionist too.
"Emmett, what you want?" she asked, huffing in front of me with nothing but the
beautiful body that heaven blessed her with and that accent that drove me
insane. With a smirk and a mischievous glint in my insinuatingly sinful eyes, I
tossed the controller aside and lifted my left hand to flick her bare clit in
front of me. Her baby blues widened and I smiled when I did it again.
"Come here," I said in a voice that was already heavy, as I motioned with my
head for her to take a seat. Her long golden locks shook out around her when
she pouted her lips and mouthed 'no.' "Is that how you want to play this, Water
Lily?" And this time, I cupped her and then squeezed.
"Emmett, stop!" She even feigned trepidation, motioning to the open window with
her eyes.
"Then get your ass over here," I said, refusing to let her go, and the smile
she was trying to hide was fucking hilarious. She was so much more beautiful
when she let herself go. I wish she knew she didn't have to be hard all the
time. One of the best things about my Rosie was her hidden playful side; why
she felt the need to hide it was beyond me. I loved it. Again she mouthed 'no.'
So I squeezed tighter. And she squealed and her thighs quivered. The arms that
she had crossed over her chest were losing their grip, and I knew she knew that
I felt the wetness and warmth beginning to accumulate on my palm.
Fuck, I could even smell her arousal from where I was sitting, since I was so
close.
"I think you want to get over here," I said as I turned toward her fully on the
couch and brought my right hand to where my left was. Her eyes had darkened
considerably and all that was visible there was the desire. She was so ready.
But still she mouthed 'no.' So with both of my hands, I spread open her thighs,
which was entirely too easy for someone who was supposed to be resisting me.
"You want me to touch you, baby?" I asked sinfully.
She bit her lip and her eyelashes fluttered when I started massaging the top of
her thighs with both hands, only to lightly graze where she wanted me most with
my thumbs. She was so wet that her juices were already practically coating my
hands on her thighs, but I still only feathered past where she was aching. Her
hips were trying to find my hands when they weren't making contact. Her
breathing picked up and her hands were trying to slyly tease her nipples that
were already standing tall for me. My smile rivaled the Joker's as I continued
to torment her.
"Tell me you want me to touch you," I slurred, covered in my own lust for her.
I could feel my throbbing cock begging to be let out of the jeans that were too
tight now. Her head rolled back when my thumb lightly grazed her clit before
continuing to massage her thighs. My mouth was watering. The sight of her body
seeking out my hands and the smell of her desire for me was intoxicating, and I
wanted her.
"Damn it, Emmett! You already there, just touch it!" she growled, exasperated,
as she tried to push her pelvis into my fingers again, her hips moving in
circles to find the relief they desperately needed. Fuck, even my hips were
moving in the same damn circles as hers. Rosie drove me crazy. She was burning
to feel the pleasure and warmth from her core spread all over her body, and I
just kept smiling while I teased her more. With one hand still on her thigh, I
used the other to unbuckle and zip down my pants. My rock hard erection
couldn't take the confinement, and I had to stroke it once it sprung free. Her
glassy, blue eyes only darkened more as she licked her lips. I knew I had her.
"Just tell me you want me to touch you, baby, and I'll make you feel good," I
said while I stroked myself and continued teasing her with my thumb. "Say what
I want to hear and I'll make you feel real good, baby." Her moan had my cock
pulsating in my hand and I had to groan.
"God, Emmett, please," she said softly, practically breathless.
"Please what, baby?" Since she was playing along, I let my thumb finally rub
her clit once in a full circle. She quivered and her hips pushed against my
hand more.
"Please make me feel good," she begged. You don't have to tell me twice.
I shoved my thick thumb in her throbbing wet entrance. I pushed it in and out
while she panted along with my plunging. Before jumping up off the couch, I
removed my thumb from her warm center. By her waist, I grabbed her and threw
her down on the couch. She looked up at me for a split second before I draped
one of her long legs over the edge of the couch and the other on the floor,
opening her up completely to me. Her hand dove into her own hair and I watched
her pull it before closing her eyes.
Positioning myself in front of her soaking pussy, I plunged two fingers into
her aching entrance and she arched in the air. With my tongue, I teased her
clit, tasting her. A taste that drove me wild, better than fucking Neapolitan.
And her smell engulfed me and all I wanted was all of her. I sucked ravenously
on her clit while my hand pumped faster into her.
"Oh God! Emmett, like that . . . more!"
I growled and kept up the rhythm that was making her come undone, and soon I
felt the beginning of her walls clenching and I pumped harder before nibbling
on her swollen clit. She screamed when she came for me, but I didn't give her
time to catch her breath because I quickly pulled my fingers out of her to
drive my painfully aching cock into her tight hole. And I pounded until I saw
stars.
                                     ~xx~
"Hey!" she yelled after the blazing ball leaving the club. The girls never
usually came out of the club and so I took careful note of what was going on in
front of me. If I didn't have the group of guys trying to get in, I would have
gone to make sure everything was alright. So instead, I kept a watchful eye on
what Pixie was doing. "Hey, Edward!"
The redhead turned around; it wasn't really red hair but it wasn't brown
either. It was a douche fucking color. But he looked at her with hesitation,
like he had no idea what she wanted. The way he swayed as he turned around was
almost like he didn't want to stop for her but felt he had to.
When she caught up to him, all I could hear her ask was if some guy was okay; I
think she said Jason, or maybe it was Jackson. But the redheaded douche's eyes
widened, and he asked her how she knew or what she was talking about. Like a
true motherfucking "ah-hah" moment, I remembered that incident two months ago,
that same incident that I had been meaning to tell Rosie about but I forgot. I
knew I would have to do that tonight after work, before I forgot again. That
shit was important.
"Never mind," Pixie said clearly. One great thing about Pixie was that she was
loud, her voice carried. "Did you come here to see Twilight? Do you want me to
find her for you?"
He looked scared and angry all at the same time and mumbled something that,
from where I could hear a few feet away, sounded something like, "it was a
mistake to come here." She asked if he was sure or something, just as I waved
the two guys at the door in to the club. Raggedy Anne then put his hands on her
shoulders, and I made a beeline toward them through the dim, asphalt parking
lot. He saw me coming out of the corner of his eye and I was close enough to
hear what he said perfectly.
"It was a mistake coming here. Please don't tell anyone I was here." Then he
turned to leave. Pixie just stood there watching his back with a somber look.
"You okay?" I asked little Pix as I reached where she was standing. When she
looked up at me, she smiled weakly. There was a sadness in her eyes that I
hadn't seen before. It would be a lie if I said I had never seen sadness in her
eyes, but this sadness was different; it was like a longing. And I wondered if
it was because she wished she could leave too.
"Baby girl, you good?" I asked again, worried about my little fairy. She grew
on me and I found myself really caring about her like the big brother she
pretended I was. Unpredictably, she tried to wrap her small arms around me in a
hug; she didn't make it, but the sentiment was there. She put a chaste kiss at
the top of my stomach where she reached, and I laughed.
"Hey . . . hey, don't let my girl catch you fondling me. Don't get me wrong,
baby girl, fondle all you want, just not out in the open like this." She looked
up and giggled gingerly. I kissed the top of her small head.
"I'm gonna go back inside."
When she let go, I asked her again if everything was okay, but she just smiled
that fake smile that I knew too well and told me that if I didn't count her
sister, I was her best friend.
"Baby girl, let the dick breathe, shit." She rolled her eyes and went back
inside.
I smiled as I went back to the entrance of the club and thought about what poor
Pixie had to deal with in this life. And I knew I had to have that conversation
with Rosie tonight—there was no getting past it.
"Rosalie, can I ask you a question?" I began as I sat up in bed against the
black headboard.
She had just gotten out of the shower; she always preferred to take a shower
after work. Her blue eyes blazed with worry and hurt as she slowly turned to
stare at me from where she stood in front of the dresser. It was smarter that
she put clothes on tonight for this conversation. I bit the insides of my
cheeks before swallowing that perpetual lump.
This was going to be a hard conversation to have. I didn't know what her
answers would be and I didn't know if I honestly wanted to hear them. What if I
heard something that I didn't want to, could I hold it against her? Would I?
And if it came down to it, would she choose her job over me? My eyebrows
knitted together as I thought about how best to start this.
"Oh God, Emmett, what's wrong?"
"Have I told you that I'm in love with you?" I asked seriously. The shock on
her face at obviously hearing something she wasn't expecting was quickly
replaced by a beautiful radiance. She smiled genuinely before shaking her head.
"That's my fault, baby, but I want you to know that shit. You're it for me. And
even though I don't say it enough, I don't ever want you to doubt it's true. I
fucking love you, and that shit is real and it won't ever change. Do you
understand what I'm sayin'?" She smiled more, her blue eyes squinting, and
nodded as she made her way to the bed. Her long, golden hair was still wet from
the shower and it was dripping down her chest, making her nipples call to me
through the tiny, pink tank top, but I had to focus on what I wanted to talk
about tonight.
They were fucking perfect nipples though.
Her smiled curved into a smirk, like she knew what I was thinking about and
what had distracted me. Meeting my intense stare, she crawled up the bed, over
my outstretched legs in front of me. Her soft hands cupped my face and she
gingerly touched her lips to mine. And when her eyes closed and she leaned in
to deepen the kiss, I felt all the passion she was trying to express. My tongue
met hers with all the love I wished I could say that would never die for her;
the past seven months with her have been amazing and I never wanted to let her
go. And it fucking scared me. The headboard to the bed rubbed against my back
as I wove my hands through her wet hair, keeping her to me.
When I broke away, satiated blissfully, I placed a kiss on her forehead and
brought her head to my chest as I started talking once more.
"I just don't ever want you to doubt how much I love you, Rosie. It's real and
I want you to know that it's unconditional." She nodded against me. I gulped,
which I knew she felt from on top my chest, as I decided to go straight in for
the kill. "Have you ever slept with any of the customers at the club for
money?"
She bolted up from my chest to look me dead in the eyes—it was apparent that
this wasn't the conversation she thought we were going to have. There was
something unreadable about those blue eyes and the way they scrutinized me. It
was obvious there was a reason she was taking her time in responding. I hoped
it wasn't that she thought I would judge her. But a bigger part of me was
worried that if she had, she might not be willing to give it up. And I was
fucking terrified that if she was doing that then she was fucking lying to me
about it too. Still she hadn't said anything, just watched me carefully.
"Baby, hear me out," I started, since she wasn't going to say anything. "I
found out recently that a lot of the girls sleep with some customers for money.
I don't care if you did. I just want you to know that you don't have to do that
anymore . . . if you did. You can have my check if you need the money," I added
quickly, giving her an out. God, I hope she takes it. Those mysterious blues
continued to analyze me, still saying nothing.
It was in that moment that I learned, and saved for later, another facet to my
Rosie. She was calculating. I had no idea why she would apply that skill to me,
but it was obvious that she carefully planned things, and every step she made
was deliberate, every word she would speak had a purpose. And that shit worried
me because I wondered if she would only tell me what I wanted to hear.
I didn't know whether to be pissed about that shit or turned on. It was the
twitch in my boxers that made that choice for me.
"Rosie, there's something more important." I decided to lay it out for her—my
biggest fear about the whole situation. "Some of the girls are forced to sleep
with the customers even when they don't want to for the money. I just found out
and I want you to tell me if they've ever forced you to do anything like
that—you have to tell me. Because, baby, I swear we'll find a way, we'll leave.
I'll get you out of there. I don't care what the fuck happens or how much
trouble I'll get in."
There was water rimming her eyes as she contemplated everything I had told her,
and for the life of me I couldn't read her damn expression. I wish she'd say
something; I was going on empty here. Everything about her was almost blank, I
couldn't get a read—no facial acknowledgement to my words, no breathing
increase, nothing. A million thoughts, and almost all of them negative, were
fucking marching painfully through my mind and I needed to know that we'd be
okay.
At the end of the day none of this other fucking bullshit mattered as long as I
had her and I could keep her safe. We would make it through the rest. Finally,
something . . . she shook her head before closing her eyes. Her hands wrapped
around her waist as she pulled away from me to sit down on my legs.
When she opened her eyes, she turned her face away from me and spoke to the
window to her right. "I know about that stuff, Emmett."
"What?" I asked, lifting her head and curving it back to look at me, needing
her full attention, praying to finally be able to read her.
"Some of the girls, they're forced to work there, and they live at a brothel
that the owner has. They have sex there too. It's very bad, Emmett. They hurt
them." The weight of the world in her eyes and angst-laced voice made my chest
tighten.
"Pixie . . . her sister." She nodded. "Do they hurt you?" I coughed out, not
realizing that I needed to expel my words in a huff because my breathing had
peaked. This shit was fucking ridiculous. I knew stuff, fuck, I'd
even seen shit, but it was nothing like this. I was fucking naïve to think that
shit didn't happen. No Em, you were just fucking blind. What was it that was
your job description? Paid to turn the other cheek. This shit is just as much
your fault too.
My thoughts fucking cursed me and I knew they were right. I was fucking lying
to myself if I thought that I didn't know what was really going on there. No
matter what my job was, I couldn't turn the other cheek, not like this, not
anymore. Fuck, this shit just got worse and worse.
But if they hurt my Rosie, I didn't know what I would do if they did. My own
anger would probably sign my death certificate. No, we would have to leave,
that much was true; we could do that. I'd find a way; Rosie was my first
priority now, no matter what. Rosie would always come first.
"No, Emmett, I don't have sex with anyone but you. They never hurt me," she
said softly—almost pained. Then when I saw the silent tear slip down her
eye—one that she quickly wiped away because it would be a cold day in hell
before Rosie let anyone see her cry—I knew she wished, in some twisted fucking
sense, that they did hurt her too. It didn't make sense.
"Why the fuck do you stay there?" I asked, seething. Anger at the situation
consumed me. It was anger at all of it, the fucked up lives of my Pix and her
sister, and the bullshit fucking web that we were caught in. I knew I shouldn't
have taken that tone with Rosie, it wasn't her fault, but this shit was fucking
bleak. Seriously, what the fuck could we really do? She snorted dryly, pulling
out of my grip.
"The same reason you stay there. It's too late. You don't say no to the Vory—to
Arlovski. One day I was waitress at Restaurant and one day I'm at club. I know
what I risk—I know now what I risk. And you have no idea, no fucking idea, what
I give up because of this," her lips trembled slightly and her words broke. It
was the first time that I actually wondered what she had given up, what exactly
was she missing.
Rosie didn't have family, and I knew that before me she lived with another girl
that worked at the restaurant. I knew she was a citizen and wanted to go to
school and that's why she worked at the club, to save money. But for the first
time I really found myself wondering if what she had told me was the truth,
because if it was, what could she possibly have given up?
"But there is nothing I do about it now . . . nothing," she said it sternly
like she was saying it to someone who wasn't in the room or maybe just to make
herself believe it more. Fuck, maybe she was saying it to me, telling me in a
nonspecific way to back the fuck off—leave her secrets in the past. And it was
then that I was reminded that she wasn't the only one with secrets and maybe in
the past was where they best belonged. Lovingly, I pulled her into my arms and
rocked her softly, forgetting the black that surrounded us and just happy that
we were allowed these moments together.
As I scooted us down on the bed, I kissed her with everything I had. Rosie was
it for me, I wasn't lying. And she would never know just what I had given up
too. We were more perfectly matched than even we realized. My thoughts finally
settled down just as my breathing evened out, and I rested more into the bed.
But somewhere, in between sleep and delirium, I thought I heard her whisper in
a sob, "You have no idea what I will have to give up one day . . . ."
***** Chapter 13 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"You're dancing tonight," the d'yavol said from behind the open safe on the
wall—not the one that held the money. "Does that make you happy?"
I gulped as my throat simultaneously lost all its moisture and my heart's
screeching stabbed down said throat. The doorknob to the door behind me—the one
that sealed me in here, alone with him—pressed tightly into my hip, but I
refused to step any closer. The nude paintings, coffee walls, and leather
furniture was an expensive ruse. There was nothing welcoming about this office.
It was a rare occasion when I interacted with the boss himself, and his words
were enough to melt polar caps and cause tectonic shifts. My teeth gritted at
the recent change in luck. The boss never used to frequent the club; most of
his time was spent at the restaurant or even the factories.
It was common knowledge that besides the stable, one of the tiling mills was
secretly the grange, which was where all official Vory business was conducted.
But ever since Akasha started working here, he has been around more. It was
obvious to anybody that she had him under her thumb, and it was disgusting; but
worse still, she was ruining it for the rest of us.
"Did I not ask you a fucking question, suka? If you dance tonight, you can make
more money. Does that not make you happy?" I nodded as I tried desperately to
lick my lips and regain some moisture to speak. "Are you a fucking mute now? If
you're no good to me, then I should just get rid of you. Maybe sestra . . . ."
Fear flashed through me like lightning—strong, thunderous and electric. Alice.
I had to stay strong to keep her safe. Through the dry ache, I spoke up. "Thank
you, Aro. Please let me show you how happy that makes me." My eyes, not wanting
to meet with his but not allowed to drop, skimmed over his black hair peppered
with white and the noticeable first set of wrinkles around his mouth and black
eyes.
The slamming of the safe door echoed through every corner of his hidden office
above the club. I jumped from the coiling of my hectic nerves. A tiny thud on
his desk brought my attention to the small bag he tossed there. He sauntered—a
certain walk that demanded notice, a slight shift to the right, but squared and
proud, predatory—to his seat behind the desk. Although he wasn't tall, an air
of grandeur always floated around him. His experience, age—knowledge—was
visible by every single one of his actions; the silent stance, the reading
eyes, the curve of his thick brow . . . even the twitch to his thin lips.
Meticulous. His strong—pungent—cologne passed me as he did.
"Look what I have for you," he began as he leaned back in his large chair.
"What are you willing to do to earn it?"Reluctantly, I tore my eyes away from
the tiny, clear baggie that called to me like the drug it was.
"Anything, Aro." His black eyes lit his sinister face eerily as he minutely
nodded me toward him. From where I stood shaking, I dropped to my knees and
crawled to him.
"You know what I like. If I even feel your teeth, you will fucking lose them.
Do you understand me, bitch?" I nodded.
The finality of his zipper rang in my ears like a blow horn and was just as
cringe worthy. I pulled back my matted brown hair and pushed it over my bare
shoulder. Swallowing back the bile and instinct to bite, I licked my lips
feverishly and spit on my hands. The hollow and insupportable blackness that
surrounded my life like the cloud of death fogged my eyes when I took him in my
hands and mouth at the exact same time.
                                     ~xx~
"I want to talk to you," a man said when I made my way around the floor after
my dance. I put on the lustful eyes that he wanted.
"Of course you want to talk, baby."
"No, I really need to talk to you," he said in a no-nonsense voice. It was
gritty as if his voice were sore, but held a very commanding tone. Well, he
wanted to get right to the point. I guessed it was always easier that way. I
tried to look into his eyes, but his face was a bit blurry. He was definitely
wearing a green collared shirt though.
The music from the club throbbed louder than normal in a pounding beat, and it
was ringing in my ears annoyingly. Scratching at my ears to get the ringing to
stop, I tried to focus more on the money in front of me.
They really itched though, and since my hand wasn't working, I tried to rub my
ear on my shoulder. It didn't work.
"In private, right, baby?"I slurred as I fisted that green shirt and ran my
tongue lasciviously up his lips. I felt him tense against me and so I winked.
This close to him, I think I was able to make out his eyes; they might have
been green, or that could have been the shirt again. Blinking hazily, I tried
to get a better picture of the money in front of me. I saw him, perfectly
actually, but it was like that picture just wasn't registering in my head. It
kept shifting. Damn it, why wouldn't he just stop moving? Moving . . . right!
"Will you give me your credit card?"
When he handed it to me—roughly—I led him toward the stalls. It felt like we
were dancing. The room was sort of spinning and I kept trying to blink to get
my balance on the music. The music was nice. Oh, I like this song!
My laugh filled out around me at my stupid feet dancing to the loud music.
Grabbing Fred Astaire's hand, I let him spin me before I gave Felix the card
and told him just to run it. Later I would let him know what the man actually
paid for, but in the meantime, I told him to charge a mule. It sounded about
right, and I told Felix that if I took longer to just keep charging Fred
Astaire for as long as I was gone. "Talk" could be code for lots of things.
A mule was a John who wanted you on all fours with your mouth open wide; it
wasn't attractive, but neither were mules.
"Sit down, baby," I slurred as I went to the Dick-board. What room were we
in? I couldn't find the cabinet. This was weird, and I just laughed more. Would
somebody move it? I shook my head and tried to get it together; things were
still so damn fuzzy.
"Don't bother, you won't need a condom. I have no intention of sleeping with
you again," Fred Astaire said, and I turned toward his voice. Maybe he'd want
to dance more instead; that was fun. Oh . . . it could be like floating, or
maybe singing in the rain. I giggled as I picked my long, brown hair off my
neck and tossed it around. Smiling, my hand wormed its way in front of me,
trying to find my Freddie boy.
"Have we had the pleasure before, baby?" He snorted, and I tried to focus on
where that was coming from. All I saw was redwood and that didn't make sense. I
squinted my eyes, but he wasn't getting any clearer. I think I'm tired.
"I wouldn't call it pleasure—"
I cut him off. Aw, Freddie didn't like me. "Was I not good to you, baby?" I
pouted as I felt my body sway more to the music. Then my legs started to feel
heavy, like they weren't even attached. Almost as if they weighed hundreds and
hundreds of pounds—tons. Actually, so did my arms.
Where the hell did Freddie boy go?
"You should probably sit down. Are you okay?" I lifted one leg toward the
direction of his voice, but I felt that leg go out from under me, and the only
thing I felt after that was my face smack against the ground. And, of course, I
laughed; stupid Bella always falling all over the place. Then I felt prying
against my eyes, opening my mouth and pulling on my tongue, and I think
something collided with my face abruptly. What the hell? Why was I so damn
tired? I wasn't a minute ago, right?
"Your pupils are constricted . . . ." What was that? "Stop scratching . . . .
Damn it, you're high . . . . How much did you take?" said a voice I didn't
recognize. Was I scratching? I couldn't even feel my arms. I was so damn
tired. Who was that voice? Oh God. Was he going to hurt me? Oh God, he was
going to hurt me.
"Stop fighting me!" It was that voice again and it was so close to me. I just
wanted it to stop; I was so tired. And my eyelids were so heavy. I couldn't
feel anything, and when the black consumed me, it felt so very good.
                                     ~xx~
My head was throbbing, and there was a stabbing sensation on my shoulder as
well as the ache on the left side of my face. Why was my mouth so dry? I opened
my eyes and everything was so dark. Where am I?
Blinking continually, I slowly focused on a couch and windowless drapes.
A stall. What the hell was I doing there, laying on my side on the floor? My
hand went to my eyes to rub them, when a voice behind me startled the hell out
of me and I swung around and ended up making contact with a body. Judging from
the groan, I would guess I hit his chest.
"Who the hell are you?" I asked as I moved to sit up correctly, next to the
stranger. He shook his head as he looked at me through pitiful eyes. I watched
as he ran a hand through this forest of thick reddish-brown hair, sort of
copper-looking. There was a tenseness to the way his fingers wrapped around the
strands, almost in anger by pulling them. His eyes were heavy and he looked
like he had just given up on life. I remembered a green shirt as I looked at
him sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room. My tongue made laps out of
my mouth, trying to find some moisture; it was so dry.
"It's good to know that you can actually articulate a sentence that doesn't end
in the word 'baby.'" He actually growled at me. What the hell? My eyes
narrowed; I had no idea what his problem with me was, but it was obvious he had
one with me. I should probably go get Emmett or Felix. Shaking my head gently,
I tried to get my bearings about me before deciding what was safest to do about
this situation.
He looked pissed, and I didn't know who he was or what his deal was. But his
deep, green eyes drilled holes into me, and I found myself getting annoyed with
him. If he was going to hurt me or fuck me, he might as well just get it over
with. Then I found myself wondering again who the hell he was. I rubbed under
my swollen eyes to remove the gunk and caked black liner, while I watched him
disdainfully—the same way he looked at me.
"Who the hell are you baby?" I said sarcastically, and he laughed dryly.
"You just nodded out. I've been watching you to make sure you didn't vomit and
choke . . . or worse." He looked away when he said it, and I wondered what that
was about—if maybe there wasn't more to it.
What?
It didn't make sense. Nobody gave a rat's ass about me. Why didn't he just
leave or get his money back? Why was he still here? I sat up slowly, to match
him sitting in the middle of the room, facing him at an arm's length away.
Trying to make sense of this, I rubbed my face more and felt the all too
familiar tingle from the heroin. I knew I needed more sleep. Then I wondered
just how long I had been asleep for. This time, it had to have been bad if I
was at work. Then that reminded me of what he said.
"Why would you do that?" I asked suspiciously, my annoyed demeanor dropping for
one of confusion instead. He only shook his head more before looking forlorn
and running his hand through his forest again. His sunken cheeks—actually he
had a strong, chiseled jaw—pursed to the side as he was lost in thought.
Intrigued, I watched.
"It's complicated . . . a long story."
"I've got time. You said you wanted to talk, so talk." His green eyes darted up
to meet mine and they were so torn. I couldn't make out any one emotion in them
because they were fogged with so many—guilt, shame, confusion, pain . . .
anger. Wow, he was quite the conundrum.
And as much as that last emotion should have warned me, it was the first ones
that absorbed me too much.
"You remember? You know who I am?" His voice was tortured, and if it weren't so
pained it could actually pass for something rather soothing, seductive even. I
bit my cracked, lipstick-caked, bright red lip before answering.
"I remember, but I still have no idea who you are. And apparently we've been
together before, and it wasn't good enough for you," I told him, remembering
what he had said earlier. My eyebrows furrowed as I tried to picture when we
were together and why it was a bad memory for him. It was never an unpleasant
union for anyone but me. At the club, to my knowledge—and this was something
that I would have been made very aware of—I didn't have a complaining customer.
"That's not what I meant. I enjoyed it, I just . . . it's complicated." A
small, hollow laugh escaped me as I watched him run his hand through his hair
for the millionth time. His green eyes were so troubled, shifting and avoiding
mine. My tongue ran along my teeth as I thought about this, hands at my side
digging into the ugly, plaid carpet.
I didn't know what to make of this guy. But one thing was always true about
men: you could always tell what type of sex you were giving, what they'd like,
within the first five minutes, and the same was true with when they didn't want
sex. Although, he was a bit of an enigma, because he was the first customer
that didn't at least want a lap dance or hand job.
"I'm beginning to think you're a complicated person. But maybe everything's
complicated because you're just making it that way," I said with a shrug. Made
sense to me; life wasn't that complicated—we were the ones that thought it was
or made it out to be.
"Listen, you already gave me your credit card, so you might as well get your
money's worth. You said you wanted to talk, so talk, pretty boy. If you won't
talk, at least let me blow you; because if not, I'll feel guilty for
overcharging you." As the words fell from my mouth, I was shocked by them.
Never had I talked to a man like this. My eyes widened, and he watched me
perceptively.
What the hell?
The only person I was this comfortable with was Alice. But for the oddest
reason, there was a bizarre level of comfort with this stranger. There had to
be, because my words came out unfiltered and I actually was more myself than I
had been in a long time—with someone who wasn't my sister. I wasn't hiding who
I was to please whomever I was with or to prevent a beating. I just was. And it
was unsettling.
"You'd feel guilty?" he asked softly—incredulously. I nodded.
It was a job hazard and not one I was proud of, but I would feel guilty for
depriving him of his hard-earned money. I knew the value of a dollar very well,
and the men who came to the club weren't the ones I needed to worry about. They
weren't the ones who would hurt me. I saw the ring on his finger. Maybe he had
mouths to feed and needed the money to give his family a good life. He seemed
like the kind of person who would be good to his family. I furrowed my eyebrow
and bit my lip. This was the strangest interaction of my entire life.
Subconsciously, my hand went to my forearm and picked at it; his stare followed
it as if there were a neon sign pointing away. When he muttered the word
"don't" so low I swore it was almost a whisper, my jaw dropped. I rarely
noticed my picking, and Alice was usually the only one to care enough to point
it out. My brown eyes searched for his but were only met with the reddish
wilderness; his gaze was still on my arm. Nevertheless, I saw the contortion to
his mouth, the scrunch of his nose; it disgusted him. I disgusted him.
More than I knew, I wanted this awkward interaction to end. I didn't know how
to do this—to be me. And I didn't like it.
"So if you're not going to talk, can we get this blow job over with? I still
have to make money tonight."
"I don't want a blow job." His tone betrayed his words. I kinked my eyebrow at
him dubiously. "Okay, fine, I wouldn't force you off of me, if that's what
you're insinuating. But that's beside the point. I came with the intention to
talk ONLY."
I felt my lips twitch, and I enjoyed him being flustered. It seemed I wasn't
the only one that didn't know how to do this interaction; maybe he didn't know
how to be himself either. His honesty was nice too—refreshing. And it was
fascinating when I felt my shoulders drop—relax. He sighed and ran his hand
through his hair again.
"Hey, stop it or you'll go bald. And trust me, you don't want to lose those
gorgeous locks of yours." I lifted my hand to pull his away from his hair. He
looked up into my eyes, meeting them finally—intense wasn't a word strong
enough to explain his held stare—and gave a weak smile before nodding. "Good,"
I said, dropping my hand and looking away.
"I cheated on my wife with you," he began, and I watched the storm brew in his
eyes before he closed them off to me. Was this why he was behaving like this?
That explained the guilt and shame I saw in his eyes, probably even the anger.
Not the confusion so much though. I nodded my head, waiting for him to
continue, even though he couldn't see it.
"And I don't know what to do. Ever since that night we were together, my
relationship with her changed and I don't know how to fix it."
I sighed at his admission; it wasn't at all what I was expecting. Come to think
of it, I had no idea what I was expecting. I pulled my bottom lip into my mouth
and gnawed on it as I processed his words—as I processed everything about this
unsettling encounter.
When he opened his eyes, he raised one eyebrow at me. "Hey, stop it or you'll
bite it off. And trust me, you don't want to lose that beautiful lip of yours."
His hand went to my bottom lip to pull it from my teeth. I shook my head and
half snorted. He pulled back his hand like it was on fire and looked away.
This interaction only got weirder and weirder.
Finally, after some thought, I spoke to him, getting his attention once more.
"Lots of men cheat on their wives with me." To his benefit, that didn't seem to
surprise him, so instead he toyed with the sole of his shoe in his crossed lap.
"I have no idea how those men fix it. If I'm honest, and I'm sorry for saying
this to you, but if it's bothering you that much, you shouldn't have done it to
begin with," I told him with a shrug, again shocked at not trying to sugarcoat
it. I must really have been comfortable with him. How completely odd; but by
the look on his face, he seemed to find it odd too.
"You're so very different from that night," he said quietly, as if I wasn't
meant to hear it. My eyebrows knitted as I took in his hunched form from where
he sat in front of me. The turbulence radiated from the tips of his disheveled
hair all the way down to his twitching fingers on his shoes. And for some
reason, I couldn't catch the words before they slipped out from me.
"Do you want her back?" He looked up at me with curious eyes rimmed in
hesitance, before asking who. "The me you knew that first night. Do you want
her back?" I had no idea why I wanted to know that or why it slipped out from
me before I caught it. But for some unexplainable reason, I was hanging on his
answer; for some irrational motive, his response meant the world to me. It was
like my lungs took note of the moment and stopped, refusing to carry on without
knowing, and there was a tightening in my chest because of it. But instead of
answering, he asked me a question, and my lungs resigned to the fact that maybe
I didn't want to know the answer. Or maybe he didn't want to give it to me.
"Why do you do drugs? You have to know what you're doing to yourself." I
snorted and took a response from his playbook.
"It's complicated."
He nodded and I think we had a moment—an instant where time stopped and
everything just was and it made sense. It was like, with those two words, we
both sort of understood what the other was going through. It was haunting,
unsettling, and for the oddest reason . . . uplifting? I saw it in his eyes
too, the acknowledgement of this strange interaction between us. His eyebrows
lifted and his troubled eyes spoke the same words that mine silently did: "I
know . . . things have always been complicated . . . always will
be complicated."
And I understood that things had never been easy for me; but from the looks of
it, they weren't for him either, and he understood it too. It was then that I
knew I really wanted to help him.
"What are you going to do about your wife?"
His stormy eyes had lightened some, but they were still turbulent; and when he
ran his hand through his hair again, I got it. It was his security blanket—it
was his bottom lip. Then he shrugged honestly.
"I don't know. . . . She deserves better than me."
"Says who?"
His eyebrows narrowed. "Says me." I nodded and a soft "oh" escaped me. Scooting
closer to where he sat across from me, cross-legged, I took his plagued hands
in my mine. When he looked up, I spoke from the heart and told him what I knew
to be true.
"Says you. But what does she say? Maybe you should give her the option of
figuring that out for herself. Having a choice is priceless; don't take hers
away from her. Be honest and see where it takes you. And I wouldn't worry too
much. You seem alright to me. I mean, if you're not forcing drugs down her
veins or beating her senseless, how bad can you be?" I squeezed his hands and
then moved to get up.
He sat there as if my words had frozen him. And I still didn't understand his
deal or why he was so troubled, but I figured, if anything, I would make it
worth his while. After all, I can only imagine how long I had blacked out for
and just how much Felix had already charged him.
"You're sure I can't convince you on that blow job?" His green eyes popped up
to meet mine before he hopped to his feet and stood in front of me. He was
surprisingly tall and had a great frame working for him.
"Do you want to give me that blow job?" he asked in actual amusement, and it
was bracing to hear his voice sound so light.
"Honestly?" He nodded. And for the first time in my life, I thought about what
I really wanted and it made my heart skip. Never had anything meant so much to
me. I felt the water pooling in my eyes and I couldn't swallow the lump in my
throat. He wanted to know my opinion; but even more than that, he gave me a
choice. Nobody—nobody—had ever asked me if I wanted to. Not the first time,
when it hurt so much I bled, or the countless times where I gagged so much that
I was suffocated and thought I would actually die that way. Never once had I
been asked if that was what I wanted, or anything that I wanted—a choice in the
matter. I clutched at the hollow in my chest where my breath had been. My voice
broke when I answered him.
"No." And he actually smiled; he smiled. That smile broke the floodgates, and I
was a sobbing mess. Then he did something completely unexpected—he pulled me
into him for a hug. And I clawed at his green shirt—him—like he was the only
concrete beam in a hurricane—the only thing saving me, keeping me alive. As the
tears fell freely, I felt so completely serene and uplifted. It was the most
amazing thing I had ever felt in my life. The feeling was so foreign to me that
it scared me so much, just as much as it uplifted me, and I never wanted to
lose this feeling.
And I knew then that whatever he thought was wrong with him couldn't be that
bad. Nobody who could give the blind light in the dark, give hope to the numb
and lifeless who've lost it, could be unworthy of something great, something
amazing. And with every fiber of my soul, I said to him, against his chest and
in his arms, what I knew to be completely true.
"You don't see yourself clearly. You deserve so much more than you allow
yourself."
Chapter End Notes
     As far as the Russian goes, I would like it known now that its
     accuracy is jeopardized by my use of Romanization. But for the
     purpose of writing I have chosen to keep the translations in this
     form to make reading them slightly easier. I go on the record stating
     that Russian is written in Cyrillic as is still the tradition. My
     Latin translations are as accurate as I can possibly make, all things
     considered. Thanks all for understanding!
     D'yavol-devil
     suka-bitch
     sestra-sister
***** Chapter 14 *****
If I thought things were complicated before, then I hadn't even begun to
scratch the surface.
When I went there the first time—that night that seems irrevocably to have
changed my life—I never expected to return. But when I had, that second time, I
was barely able to make it through the front door before I castigated myself
for even having gone to see her again. I couldn't honestly say what I wanted to
happen. I just hoped that maybe I would see her and she would lose the
mystique, that inexplicable pull that I feel toward her. It was now vital for
me to get rid of her in my thoughts, to understand the rage that coursed
through me when I heard Mike bragging at work. I needed to know what was
happening to me. Most of all, I wanted everything to go back to the way it was
before she came into my life.
Because that was all I honestly wanted: for everything to go back to the way it
was before I met her. I wanted to be the husband Tanya deserved, but I have
been veering so far from that. It becomes worse by the hour. With each day that
we spend married, we are growing further and further apart and it is all my
fault. I see the resentment in her eyes. She may not know it's there yet, but I
see it. And it kills me.
It was never my intention to put Tanya through something like this, to have
things turn out the way they did. There was nobody I cared for more in this
world than Tanya, and I hated myself for what I had done to her . . . what I am
doing. I knew I had to try to fix it—for her.
So I manned up and faced the problem head on. I sought the dancer out. That
first time was hard. I almost felt as though I were being suffocated by the
perfume-drenched air in that club. I had to get out of there as quickly as I
could. My mind was searing in flashes of white and I didn't understand it.
Everything was so very wrong and it was consuming me. I never had a strong
grasp of things before—I recognized that—but now, NOW, it was unbearable.
Then the little spiky one ran after me in the parking lot and never had I
feared the weight of my actions more. She asked if I wanted to see the dancer
again and I wondered if I was so transparent. Did she know how horrible of a
husband I have been to Tanya? Did she know that I hurt everything that I've
ever touched? Why was she asking about her . . . did she know just how much
this had changed my life?
I ignored the glaring questions in my head . . . like I was starting to ignore
everything and everyone else. When she asked about Jasper, I was brought back
to the brutal reality of just how much I have been ignoring those around me.
Since the wedding, I hadn't spoken to Jasper but for a few phone calls where
our conversations were terse at best. He didn't push as much as he usually did,
and I remembered thinking that he must have been busy because he had never
really disappeared on me before or allowed my "brooding," as he puts it, to
consume me. When the little dancer asked about him, I wondered if she was the
reason he was so occupied. Were they dating? Did he see her often? How clueless
have I become?
It was when I thought about their possible relationship that I cursed myself
more. He would know I came. I didn't want a witness to my failure, not to any
of it. There was no way I could tell Jasper the monster I've become. I begged
her, pleaded with her, not to tell anyone that I had been there that night.
Silently, I prayed she would hear my secret emphasis, "please don't tell
Jasper."
Since that encounter with the tiny dancer in the parking lot, I decided I had
to stay away from the club. I couldn't risk Jasper knowing I had returned. He
wouldn't understand my reasoning—Ididn't understand my reasoning. And I had
been able to stay away, to live in the purgatory I deserved, until the night at
work when I caught Mike bragging like an ass to the transcriptionist Eric.
A whole new emotion erupted from me that compounded with the dozens that
obliterated me daily. I hated it; I couldn't live like that anymore. I couldn't
subject Tanya to living like this. And so I did the only thing I could think
of.
I went back to where this living nightmare started; I faced my fears head on.
That's what they were, honestly, fears. Fears of what I might come to find out
about her . . . about what happened that night . . . about life . . . about
myself.
The second time I went back to the club, I finally got up the nerve to approach
her. She was so different; it was almost as if I were repelled by her. I
couldn't figure it out, but I assumed that whatever magnetic pull I had toward
her was fading and I had to see it through. No longer did I find her seductive;
she was almost revolting. I felt vindicated. I knew I had made the right
decision in going there. But I soon realized that it was only because she
wasn't even there at all. She was high, probably to such an extreme degree that
she didn't even know what was going on around her. I had seen many overdoses in
the ER and I knew what to look for. She hadn't overdosed, but she was certain
to nod out any second. I thought she'd need to have at least her hour, but she
was out for two hours before my poking her shoulder resulted in any stirring.
I made sure to put her on her side, and as much as I wanted to leave, I
couldn't. That mistake wasone that I had learned from. Never again would I
leave someone when they needed me, even if they didn't know it. The whole time
I sat there in the middle of the room, I watched her lifeless body. I thought
about the reality of that image: a lifeless body. And surely my vindication
came through tenfold. She was a waste of a beautiful body, killing herself
quickly. There was nothing there to hold my obsession. I was so excited to
return home to Tanya and make things work between us and put this awful mistake
behind me. And I could have.
But that was all before she woke up.
Before she woke up, everything was just "complicated." Before she woke up, the
only thing I honestly wanted was to set things right with Tanya. Before she
woke up, I wanted to end this inexplicable, all-consuming pull I felt toward
her.
But after she woke up . . . none of that was true any longer. It still wasn't
completely false, but things didchange.
And everything suddenly became even more complicated.
She was honest and never once did she try to hide her brown,
lackluster—dead—eyes from me. It was like I saw all the turmoil and pain I had
ever gone through in my life through those eyes. There was something so
comforting in that. How awful to say something so absurd, but it was how I felt
at that moment. Comfortable. As if I could tell her anything and she wouldn't
judge me or begrudge me. She would just listen. And for some reason, when I
felt her look at me, I knew she saw me—the real me, the one I hid from Tanya,
from Jasper, from my parents, from everyone all these years. The one I hid even
from myself. It was liberating to not have to pretend to be utterly happy for
once. But most peculiar was that I finally accepted that, this whole time, most
of what I had been living was false.
God, it was so utterly complicated.
And when I left her with that embrace, I felt serenity, the kind of serenity
that only comes from freeing yourself. It wasn't that she erased my past sins
or told me it wasn't my fault for the thousandth time. She never once told me
if I was right or wrong in what I had done; she just accepted it and let it
linger between us, no longer hidden. And the peace that simple fact was able to
bring to me was tremendous. That embrace was more powerful than any human touch
I had ever experienced because it was so flawed, and openly so. There was no
doubt that she had her sins too, but I knew that she felt the same freedom that
embrace gave me and it uplifted her.
When she whispered that I deserved more than I allowed myself to have, two
thoughts rang true in my mind. The first was that she did as well. And the
second was that, in so short a time, she knew my biggest fear and she voiced
it, and it was daunting: that I felt I deserved nothing.
Leaving her then was harder than I ever could have imagined. I felt the loss of
her immediately, as if a vortex had sucked all the serenity and freedom I had
been feeling out of me and had now enclosed it in the tight, confined space
that was hidden somewhere inside myself, far beyond my grasp. And a part of me
wondered if she was the only one who knew where that hidden location was, if
only she could release that serenity that I no longer was willing to give up.
But she was right about stealing Tanya's choice from her; I had never thought
about it that way. And if anything, I owed Tanya the right to make up her own
mind about whether she wanted to be with me or not.
The house when I arrived home that night was still brightly lit, which was odd
because it was well over two in the morning.
"Where have you been?" Tanya asked as I walked into the bedroom. Her voice was
pointedly indifferent and I found myself wondering if she had now accepted that
resentment I could see in her eyes.
I tossed my shoes into the closet before looking up to find her in the middle
of the bed with a book in her hand. It was a pretext; her puffy cheeks, rosy
nose, and bloodshot eyes told me she had been crying. God, how I wanted to run
to her, hold her and tell her that she shouldn't cry. More than anything, I
wanted to make her pain go away. But I was the cause of that pain, and it was
this reason alone that I couldn't console her. Just another sin to tack on to
my ever-growing list.
"I went out to talk to someone about this. To try to figure it out," I admitted
half-heartedly as I went to the bed and sat on its edge. The atmosphere around
me was glacial and I knew it wasn't just the night air. With my elbows on my
knees, I pressed my forehead into my hands. She shifted in the bed but I didn't
turn to look at her. How could I? How could I honestly ever look at her again?
Tanya was so beautiful, everything pure and happy in this world. She was the
sun and I was a storm cloud of the worst kind. If I wasn't careful, I would
consume her, eclipse her, and then she would be lost as well. And nobody
desired the loss of the sun. My hands yanked in a silent fury at my face; maybe
I could pull off the mask and she would finally see me for who I truly was. A
monster; a storm cloud that took sadistic pleasure in eclipsing the sun.
"And did it work?" The hope in her voice was like a dull, rusted razor that ran
over every inch of me, digging into me repeatedly.
"It depends on your definition of work," I added sourly, staring at the floor,
my socks, the carpet, the bed spread, the wall—at anything but her. Her groan
in frustration was louder than she probably intended it.
"Edward . . . please . . . can't we . . . can't we just get past all this
evasiveness?" I nodded in my hands, a reflex really.
"Tanya, the night of my bachelor party, I slept with another woman."
In that instant, all the air left my lungs, but the pain of the razor didn't
cease. Each faint breath through her nose was a slap to my face; each attempt
to clear her throat hurled accusation at me.
So there it was: the pink elephant that had been in our bedroom all these
months finally decided to say hell and introduce himself. Unsurprisingly, his
name was infidelity. It was all I could say. I didn't want to sugarcoat the
truth by pleading my case or by offering her some outlandish excuse. Because
there was none. She needed to know the "cut the bullshit" unvarnished truth. A
soft gasp finally escaped her. Then came the sound of muffled sobs.
"You couldn't even look at me when you told me . . . ." Fuck.Of course I
couldn't. "Have I not at least earned that much respect from you, that you face
me when you tell me something like that? Am I that below you, Edward?" she
spoke in a broken whisper.
The pain that laced her words poured lemon on the vicious wounds left by the
razor's cuts. And I quickly looked up to contradict her words, even though we
both knew I couldn't meet her eyes. But the woman I saw before me yanked them
out of their hiding place. And then I truly saw. Her hair was matted and fanned
around her like a shield over the knees that were pulled into her body. She was
shivering and again I wanted to pull her into my arms and warm her, but I knew
that I couldn't do that. Then she looked up. Her blue eyes were a storm and it
was impossible to see through the water they held. She kept swiping at her
sniffling nose with her forearm and shaking her head. Her snort pitied and
condemned me. The sight of it hurt me so much and I didn't know what to do to
make it right.
"I'm so sorry, Tanya," I whispered, looking at her, refusing to tear my eyes
away. My face was contorted in a mixture of my shame, guilt and agony—both hers
and mine.
A dark chuckle pried from her lips, "For what, Edward, are you precisely sorry
for?"
"Tanya . . . ."
"No, please tell me. Tell me how you could take everything I ever gave you and
throw it in my face. Or how you could have the audacity to marry me knowing
what you had done. Or how on our honeymoon you didn't even care that you were
hurting me physically just to prove to yourself that it was me you really
wanted. Tell me how I spent every night since our wedding wondering what I did
wrong, if I pushed you too soon, if you were going through what happened in
high school all over again. Tell . . . me . . . how you're so very sorry for
all of . . . those . . .fucking . . . things, Edward." The spite that coated
her sobbing words I welcomed. She had every right to be angry. I shook my head
before running a ghost-white hand through it.
"I never meant to hurt you," I coughed out as water stabbed at my own eyes. It
was the truth, never had I meant to hurt her. Tanya was everything I strived to
be, everything I wanted. And now I ruined that for her. All I had ever wanted
was to be good enough for her, to be what she deserved, but I just couldn't
make it work. This was my failure, not hers. I had messed things up like I
always did. And I was hurting the one person who trusted me not to. It was
killing me to put her through this and I knew that it wasn't about my pain
anymore; it was about hers and what I had done to her.
The warm wetness that ran down my cheek cursed at me; the tears taunted me with
the cutting truth that I had never been good enough for her, and now the truth
was out in the open. I had hurt her, just like I hurt everything that was
important to me. My lips pressed together and my throat burned in dryness. I
stumbled on the only words that my soul could express. "I . . . I've never
wanted . . . God . . . I'm sorry, Tanya."
"Get out," she cried, her eyes drilling into mine, yet her words so soft that I
could easily have missed them. "I don't care where you go, but please leave. I
can't look at you right now because even now I want to comfort you and take
away your pain, but I can't. Not this time. So you have to leave . . . please."
I silently nodded my heavy head. Taking one final look at the havoc I had
wreaked, I prayed that whatever she chose, it would eventually make her happy
and give her the thing I had honestly tried to give her all along. To the dead
air that choked our bedroom, I whispered, "I'll be at Jasper's."
***** Chapter 15 *****
The internet was without a doubt this century's most amazing marvel. However,
in this case, I didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. One thing
did remain certain: it was necessary.
It took me forever to track down information about Alice, considering she
wasn't reported missing and all I had was her name—which turned out wasn't her
full name—and the vague fact that her sister said they were in Seattle before
Chicago.
Which brought me to the most important fact in my research: her age.
She was only seventeen. I didn't know how I felt about that—how I honestly felt
about that. Did that make me a pedophile? I had done nothing inappropriate with
her, but my thoughts were another story altogether; they were tainted.
God, now I'm psyching myself.
Part of me wanted to warn Edward because Alice's sister was seventeen as well,
and he had the affair with her that night of the bachelor party. It could come
back to haunt him and add yet another illegal charge to his growing list of
pains. Then I remembered how he handled the sexual harassment suit, and I
didn't think that this time he'd recover. He had too much on his plate; and the
fact of the matter was that if he were to be caught, it wasn't just his good
family name that would go down the drain—he'd be facing jail time.
Edward wasn't all there lately and I knew that I was failing as a friend, but
there was just something else more important. That hole Edward had dug himself
into wasn't top on my list of worries anymore, even though I had tried. I could
have tried harder, I know this, but with perspective came judgment . . . and I
knew this as well.
But then I thought of just how many men, as awful as that thought was, had
already been down this path with Alice and her sister. I doubted that Edward's
chances of going down, in the grand scope of things, would be high at all. And
so I pushed my Edward worries aside and focused on what needed to be focused
on.
Age brought with it the very sad truth to their existence: just how young they
were, and everything that both she and her sister had to face for so long; to
have to be that strong when most kids their age were defying their parents,
hanging out with friends . . . not trying to survive.
God, when I was fourteen, I was pissed that my parents had to move to Chicago
and I'd have to leave my band behind. To me, then, that was the end of the
world. We weren't even a good band and I had only been playing guitar for two
years, but back then no one could tell us that; we thought we were the second
coming.
But one throbbing question bothered me more than any: why wasn't Alice reported
missing?
She was fourteen and for some reason she seemingly fell off the face of the
earth. However, her sister, who I learned was named Isabella, was reported
missing.
It seriously made no sense.
I steepled my fingers together and pressed them to my chin. Taking a deep
breath, I looked back over the information I had acquired. I'd already been
over this information dozens of times; I could practically recite it verbatim.
But I didn't want to miss something. It was going on four in the morning and I
was still up at this. Sighing profoundly and wiping the sleep from my eyes, I
turned back to the computer screen in my home office.
It flashed to life when I moved the mouse, and the first thing that was on the
screen was a news clipping from nearly four years past. It was from a small
place called Forks, Washington, whose local gazette—thankfully—kept immaculate
internet archives.
                      POLICE CHIEF SLAIN ON LOCAL HIGHWAY
                                17 October 2006
  This morning, at 3:31 A.M., Police Chief Charles Swan was declared dead by
  Forks Hospital. As The Gazette reported yesterday while sources were still
coming in, Police Chief Swan was hospitalized following a gunshot wound to the
                                    chest.
 Monday night, Police Chief Swan was dispatched to Rainbow Liquor Store on the
  corner of Fifth and Bradley due to a disturbance. Mrs. Margaret Forest, the
store's night cashier, has stated to The Gazette that Chief Swan arrived around
 seven that evening. She called the police due to a suspicious car with Oregon
plates parked in front of the building for over three hours. Deputy Alex Sierra
  informed The Gazette that Chief Swan was on his way home, off duty, when he
chose to take the call since it was on his route. "Chief was always going above
      and beyond, even when he wasn't on duty," Sierra remembered fondly.
  According to Mrs. Forest, as soon as Chief Swan pulled onto the corner, the
concealed, silver, four-door sedan pulled away. Mrs. Forest had no interaction
with Chief Swan or the unidentified person in the suspected vehicle. It wasn't
   until approximately thirty minutes after Mrs. Forest's last sighting that
                         anyone heard from the Chief.
 His distress signal called in for paramedics to the 101, North of Huckleberry
Ln. Paramedics were dispatched to the location and immediately attended to the
 Police Chief, who was found on the side of the highway with a severe gunshot
wound to the upper chest. The Oregon vehicle, whose owner was suspected to have
inflicted the injury upon the chief, was nowhere in sight. "He was in critical
condition, we rushed him to county and worked nonstop to keep him with us," EMT
   Taryn Bergman accounted on the stressful situation within the ambulance.
  Police Chief Swan was rushed to the Emergency Room of Forks General at 8:47
P.M. He was declared in critical condition and scheduled for immediate surgery.
Hospital staff and local citizens rallied behind the Chief, having been a long-
               standing civil servant to the residents of Forks.
 Police Chief Charles Swan was a highly respected and decorated member of the
   force, loved by both the men and women he worked with, but also the fine
 citizens of Clallam County. Chief Swan was a twenty-three year veteran on the
 force. "He was one of the best, and this has impacted so many lives. I don't
 know how we're going to bounce back from this," Deputy Sierra commented early
this morning from the waiting room, where nearly half of Clallam County waited
                anxiously for any word on their fallen comrade.
  Chief Swan is survived by his daughter Isabella, fourteen, and his adopted
 daughter, Mary Alice, also fourteen. Neither Isabella nor her mother could be
 reached at this time; both reside currently in Arizona. But a source close to
 the fallen Chief, Ms. Clearwater, spoke of his undying love for her and hers
for him. "Bella spent every summer in Forks with Charlie and it was obvious to
anybody who knew him that summers were his favorite time of the year. And Bella
                         loved them just as much too."
Chief Swan's second daughter, Mary Alice, was adopted by the Chief when she was
   only five years old after the "Brutal Brandon Slayings" almost ten years
 before. It was the most horrific crime reported in Forks history. Both Lucas
   and Karen Brandon were found slaughtered in their Tilicum home. The only
survivor was five-year-old Mary Alice who was discovered by Mireya Tuma, a work
  associate to Karen Brandon. "It was horrible," a source close to the Police
 Chief reported, remembering the gruesome murders that still remain unsolved,
                 "but he fell in love with that little girl."
 Police Chief Swan will be terribly missed. His impact on our small city will
 never be forgotten. "He was one of the finest Washington had ever known. Our
sympathies go out to both his girls and we promise that whoever is responsible
  will be brought to justice," Mayor Brennan Burke said in his public address
   this morning. We at The Gazette couldn't agree more, and we pray that the
families involved in this tragedy find the strength and support of a city that
                 loved its Chief like he was their own father.
Shit.
My eyes were watering from the strain of sleep deprivation and staring at
computer screens practically nonstop for the past couple of weeks. I closed
that window on my desktop and moved to the next article from the same local
newspaper.
                DUBBED THE MOST HIDEOUS CRIME IN FORKS HISTORY
                                  05 May 1997
  Police Chief Charles Swan took the helm over the press conference regarding
   this weekend's slayings of residents Lucas and Karen Brandon in their two
   bedroom home. In attendance were state dispatched District Attorney Lynda
 Stephens, Clallam County Police Commissioner Liam McConnell, as well as Mayor
                              Lauren Austin-Luke.
"It's disgusting. We've never seen anything like this and we're working around
 the clock to find out who did this. This has got to be the most hideous crime
 that Forks has ever experienced. I know I haven't seen anything like it in my
          fourteen years," Chief Swan told the members of the media.
   Saturday, May third, Mireya Tuma went to the home of her associate Karen
 Brandon after she failed to appear at their small art studio for a scheduled
showing. The studio was showing pieces in Seattle that morning and so Ms. Tuma
   wasn't able to make it out to the Brandon's Tilicum home until late that
   evening. What she discovered there was nothing like she expected. "It was
         awful, there was blood everywhere," Ms. Tuma told the press.
According to the coroner, the approximate time of death was late Friday night.
    Both Lucas and Karen Brandon were found slaughtered in their bed, both
sustaining several fatal knife wounds. The Forks Police Department declared the
  slayings a result of a burglary, but more information at this time is still
                                    scarce.
What is known is that the Brandon's five-year-old daughter, whose name is being
  withheld at present time, was found unharmed in her parents' room. Ms. Tuma
immediately removed the young Miss Brandon from the area and phoned the police.
 "We're looking for any family that the little girl may have, both here or in
 other parts of the country. Finding her a safe home is my first priority, but
 don't think for a second that whoever did this will go scot-free. We'll find
            them and they'll be brought to justice."(continued A4)
My thoughts always reverted back to my Alice; I couldn't imagine what she had
gone through as a child. But most disgustingly was where she found herself now.
What happened during those missing years, the three from when her father passed
away? And why the hell wasn't she reported missing?
I rubbed my eyes with the palm of my hand as I clicked out of that window and
was about to click on the missing person's report for Isabella Swan, when a
loud knocking on my door stirred me from my research.
What the hell? Who the hell could that be at this hour? Rose has a key . . . .
I quickly closed the screen to my computer and went to the door. Peering
through the peephole, I was met with a forest of bronze. Unbolting the door, I
opened it to a very disheveled—in every way possible—Edward. When my eyes met
his briefly, I saw that he had been crying.
"What happened?" I asked, fear beginning to lace my words and features.
"Can I come in?" he said more than asked, and I quickly moved out of the way of
the door. His hand ran through his hair. "I'm sorry, I would have called but I
didn't think to grab my phone and . . . sorry, it's late. I just—"
"What's going on, Edward?" I cut him off from his stuttering ramble as I closed
the door behind him.
He stood against the bar counter in the hallway that looked into the small
kitchen. I decided to make my way to the kitchen to get him something to drink.
Water made sense, but then on second look at him, I held out a bottle of
whiskey and he nodded. Edward wasn't a whiskey type of guy or even a social
drinker really, so whatever had happened must be bad. Taking out two glasses
and some ice from the chiller, I poured us our drinks. Standing on the other
side of the bar in front of him, I waited as he composed his thoughts. But if
his eyes were any indication, this was going to be complicated. His emotions
teetered on the brink, and I sincerely feared what this might do to him,
because Edward was never "firmly" planted anywhere. Any push in one direction
would literally send him falling.
The guilt and loss in those troubled green eyes was crippling.
"Can I stay here for awhile? I'm trying to give Tanya some space."
I nodded quickly without even thinking about it. Of course he could stay here.
But what had happened? I know my eyebrows were sewn together because he just
shook his head, acknowledging my unasked question.
"I told her." The way he said it spoke volumes; it sounded like a death
sentence. I pursed my lips and took a drink.
"You want to head to the living room?" He shook his head.
"No, I need to stand. My body feels like it's going crazy. Just driving here
was impossible." I nodded in understanding and took his glass from him to
refill it, making a mental note to watch him if he was drinking that quickly.
"So what happened exactly, Edward?"
His hand went to his face to rub it roughly. "I didn't bring anything with me.
I'll have to go back tomorrow while she's at work and get some stuff." It was
almost as if he hadn't accepted my presence and he was just running through
things in his mind out loud. My eyebrow raised and I tried again, pointedly.
"What happened, Edward?"
When his troubled eyes met my confused blue ones, I decided to soften my tone.
He looked so lost.
"I don't know. I just . . . it's been so bad Jasper. The things I've done to
Tanya. I've just . . . it's been so fucking bad. I felt like I couldn't do
anything right." There was a pregnant pause but I didn't say anything,
encouraging him to talk more with the understanding I tried to express
nonverbally through my face, eyes and stance.
"Ever since the wedding, all we've done is fight. And I know it's my fault, but
I couldn't stop it; it was like I needed it—for her to be mad at me. And that's
when we were outside of the bedroom; what happened there I can't even tell you.
Tanya . . . I . . . . I couldn't get that damn girl out of my head. I fucking
hated that girl. Every time I touched Tanya I saw her, and I was so disgusted
with myself, and I fucking hated her for screwing me over like this. I just . .
. I just couldn't take it anymore. Tanya hated me; I hated me; I hated that
girl, and it was all so fucked up. Then I just had to do something; I couldn't
take it anymore. So I went there a—"
"You went to see her?" I asked incredulously, stopping his words cold. My eyes
widened and I ran my hand through my dirty-blond locks. This was getting too
complicated too fast. "Did you sleep with her?" I don't know what possessed me
to ask it, but I was actually feeling worse for her than I was for him at the
moment. His head rose from where it was staring at the drink in his hand,
watching his fingers absently swirl the ice. There was a fierce glare in his
eyes and I tried to understand the quick change in his emotions, but anger at
me for saying that didn't make sense.
"No, I didn't fucking sleep with her," he growled, and I watched the fire burn
in his expression and tight jaw. I pursed my lips and nodded my acquiescence.
"I went because . . . I don't know. I felt like I needed to . . . like to get
her out of my mind . . . for Tanya, to do the right thing. If I saw her now
after how much I hated her, then I could get her out of my mind. I just went to
talk to her. I had no fucking idea what I was going to say her. Part of me
wanted to yell at her for ruining my life; part of me wanted to tell her how
much I hated her. But the bigger part of me just wanted to know why. I just
needed to know how the hell something like this could happen to me."
His tone returned to the frustrated pain that it was when he first walked
through the door. Pursing my lips, I tilted my head in his direction.
"So what happened when you were there?" I tried my hardest to keep my tone
neutral.
It wasn't easy given that all I had been doing for practically the past two
months was thinking about Alice and her sister. I decided to save my feelings
to what he was telling me for later analysis. So much had changed and I really
cared about their welfare. Yet, I was willing to basically pay Mike Newton to
sleep with her just to get to her sister.
What did that make me? Who was the worse evil here really? I knew what was
going on—Edward was still ignorantly blind.
Shaking my head at my own disgusting sins, I focused back on the breaking man
in front of me.
"She thought I wanted to sleep with her, and if I had to pay to get her alone,
then I was going to do it. It was so different; she seemed distant and it
didn't make sense. I was actually happy because there was no attraction there
at all. I felt vindicated; it almost made me feel high . . ." he trailed off
and laughed darkly before continuing. And briefly the thought of cynical
manifestation crossed my mind.
"But that was it, she was fucking high. I was so disgusted. You know how I feel
about that . . . all the cases of overdose by kids that come in the ER. It's
ridiculous when the facts are out there. But she nodded out and I had to stay
with her to make sure nothing happened. And then when she woke up . . . ."
Edward stopped talking at the same time his hand stopped swirling the warming
drink in his glass. When he looked back up at me, his eyes softened minimally;
the pain was still dominant, but they had softened. It was perplexing, and I
wondered what had changed his attitude from anger and hate to something that
almost resembled peace.
"What happened when she woke up, Edward?"
He shook his head and that odd serenity in his eyes only brightened more. "I
don't know. It was . . . unexpected. She was unexpected. I remember wanting to
let her have it as soon as I woke her up, since I had to wake her up. But she
was so different. It wasn't the same girl at all from that first night. This
girl was smart and guarded and . . . philosophical? It wasn't like I thought it
would be, and I couldn't stay mad at her; as a matter of fact, my anger just
seemed to float away the moment she spoke to me. And I had never been so honest
with someone in my life, even with what I didn't say. It was like she knew.
There were millions of unspoken words and she heard them all. There was a lot
of pain there in her eyes, but it was almost as if they mirrored my own. And I
felt so comfortable with that thought, that I didn't have to pretend with her.
And she saw my evil, the part of me that everyone denies I have but is always
there lurking under the surface. She saw all of me and it was . . . uplifting."
He ran a hand through his hair and looked up at me to judge my grasp of what he
was saying. There was a need in his expression to have me acknowledge what he
was saying—to understand.
I couldn't stop the small smile that took residence on my face. It sounded like
her; given my interaction with her, I knew she was multi-faceted. But more than
that, I had already known just how selfless she was . . . and briefly I
wondered what it would have been like for Edward to have met her under
different circumstances. She would have been good for him, reality in all its
ugly and beautiful glory. She would have so much to teach him too. And I knew
the pain that lingered in her eyes like a sunburn . . . and maybe he would have
something to teach her in return. Edward's lips lifted with my smile before
continuing with his recount.
"I told her that I didn't deserve Tanya because of what I did with her, and she
told me that maybe that was just my opinion. She told me to go home and talk to
Tanya and try to figure things out, but that I wouldn't get anywhere if I
didn't tell her the truth or let her make up her own mind about me. And I don't
know . . . it just felt like it was me saying those things, but only coming
from her—because it felt like she was me. Those pained eyes were my
reflections. It was what I needed and I didn't even know I needed it. And so I
did; I went home and told Tanya. Of course, it went awfully. I never expected
this to go over easily. But seeing her hurt like that, Tanya didn't deserve
that . . . doesn't. Tanya loves me and she had never been anything but amazing
with me. So she asked me to leave, and I'm trying to give her what she needs
until she's ready." The guilt and shame returned to his eyes and a thin line to
his lips.
"So you're staying here until she figures out what to do about all of this?" I
asked, just clarifying really. He nodded half-heartedly. "And what are you
going to do during that time?"
He looked up at me suddenly over his drink, confused. I tilted my head
downwards and narrowed my eyes pointedly. A deep sigh escaped him and pierced
the air that I hadn't realized was so heavy.
"I don't know." My own sigh echoed his as my hands rubbed my head.
"Edward, you know you can stay here as long as you need. You don't even have to
stay in the pullout in the office, you can take Rosalie's room; I doubt she'll
be back. But I really think you need to take this time to figure out what you
want too . . . not only this, Edward. You need to realize that you aren't
without fault in all of this, and you need to come to terms with what you've
done wrong and why," I said gravely.
His incredulous stare met mine but he didn't say anything. And in one gulp, he
finished his drink and told me that he'd like to try to get some rest because
he had to work the night shift tomorrow, and he still had to go back to his
place and get some things. I nodded and led him to Rosalie's room; he probably
would have protested, but I left him before he had a chance.
Walking down to my office, I thought about what was right and wrong. What was
right for Edward and what was wrong. What was right for Tanya and what was
wrong too. The same for myself, and for Alice, and unsurprisingly, Isabella.
This twisted web somehow caught us all in its tangle and that didn't make
sense—how could this affect all of us? Just how deep did this web have its
treads woven?
But there really wasn't any changing any of this now.
***** Chapter 16 *****
"Andravida in stall eight," Akasha whispered into my side, as I finished
handing the burly man with very prominent and curly dark chest hair his
cosmopolitan. I turned to her, gaping. My heart literally felt like it had
stopped beating. I clutched the drink tray to my chest. She nodded with her
head to get me to move away from the table. "Demetri run card, it good, I take
you tables."
My body didn't even reach the fact that I was nodding. There had only been two
prior occasions when I had an Andravida, and neither time was something I
wished to repeat.
An Andravida was one of the rarest breeds of stallion left on the planet, very
exclusive—very expensive. And in our world, an Andravida didn't pay for one
service, they paid for them all for as long as they wanted—whatever they
wanted. It was rare and it was terrifying.
The very first Andravida I had wanted his friend to join us. I had never been
with two men at once and if I didn't want to be with one at one time, two
definitely didn't make it any better. They used every orifice I had for as long
as they wanted until I could no longer walk. It was painful and it
was long. But even that was better than my second Andravida. The second time,
the man brought his own bag of toys with him. He was a personal friend of
Aro's, a family head in the hierarchy of the Vory, and I didn't even make it to
the club that night; he kept me at the stable for over thirteen hours with his
"equipment."
"It okay," the newest of the girls said to me. It didn't even register that she
had taken the tray from me.
I looked up at Akasha—I still hadn't learned her real name—with spiteful eyes.
It wasn't her fault, but I couldn't help but resent her words. She
would never know the meaning of Andravida. She was probably the only girl that
worked here who honestly did it only for extra money, and she hadn't even been
here for eight months. Granted, she was Russian too, like everyone else working
here. Well, that was a lie; there were girls from other parts of Europe, but I
didn't know where exactly and none of us were really friends, just companions
in pain. But American, I think it was just Emmett, Alice and me. There were
even a couple of Cuban and Dominican girls that worked at the club, but those
girls knew nothing about the stable.
Alice and I weren't allowed to talk to those girls.
But Akasha was so very obviously Russian, not that her speaking the language
and accent weren't dead giveaways. She looked like the perfect Russian model
with luxurious blonde hair, blue eyes, legs that were so long it was
ridiculous, a small waist and dangerous curves; that's how they got her,
because she was so gorgeous. I heard through some of the gossip at
thestablethat she started working at the restaurant and that Aro was taken with
her beauty and the fact that she was Russian. He offered her as legitimate of a
job at the club as could be, since she was an "outsider." She didn't know all
the workings going on in the club, but it was clear that Aro wanted her to
learn them so that he could make extra money off of her. I knew she took mules
every now and then and all the girls knew that Aro had a taste for her. She was
VERY obviously his favorite, if someone like Aro even valued women. And it
wasn't that he did, it was simply that he appreciated her.
But it was just that she had a choice; it wasn't complete free will—that's just
a fantasy here—but it was more than the rest of us could ever ask for. And I
hated her for it.
Her blue eyes looked sympathetic to the fear she registered in mine, but I
nodded my head and took off toward the stalls. I felt like John Coffey from The
Green Mile, innocent in the world of sin but charged for the crimes regardless
and about to face the executioner. My legs quivered with each step, and when I
turned the knob to the eighth stall, my heart was beating out of my throat;
it's like it wanted to climb out of my body and run away from the inevitable
fate. I kept swallowing but it wouldn't go down.
When I closed the door behind me and turned to face the bag cushions on the
floor, the man sitting there wasn't at all what I expected. It did nothing to
quell my screaming nerves, but it only added confusion to the list of my many
erratic emotions.
He stared at me with a furrowed eyebrow as I stood against the door with one
hand firmly clenching the knob. There was still the tumultuous turmoil storming
in his green eyes, and he looked up at me in as much confusion as I'm sure he
saw written across my own face.
"Are you okay?" he finally asked as his hand did its familiar lap through his
bronze tresses. I gulped and felt my eyebrows weave together in further
hesitation and uncertainty.
What is he doing here? What does . . . he want?
He was sitting on one of the floor cushions with his legs crossed out in front
of him, his back against the middle of the right wall.
"What do you want?" I said in a voice that surprised even me; it was stronger
than I expected, given my nerves. He shook his head and closed his eyes. I
heard him mutter something under his breath but I couldn't make it out. He was
just as perplexing as the last time I was with him, but I felt my fear floating
from me slowly. And I didn't know if that should have relieved me or worried
me. It was too confusing where he was involved.
"Which me do you want, baby?" I added the "baby" in a tone that would let him
know what I meant. His green eyes opened widely and he looked at me severely.
"I want you . . . I mean . . . the real you. All that I'll ever want is the
real you." His soft attempt at a genuine smile told me he was telling the
truth, and I nodded in response. When I felt most of the fear leave me, I made
my way to him in the middle of the room. All the fear would never leave me—fear
kept you alert—and so I could never fully let my guard down; but with him, I
let it down more than with anyone. And I really didn't want to stand against
the door trying to figure out just why that was.
I sat on the bag next to his.
"My Mr. Complicated, how are you? How is your wife?" I asked when I was fully
seated next to him, folding my legs under me. His eyes dropped and he pinched
the bridge of his nose. It actually did hurt to know that he was so broken.
"It's Edward," he said softly, and I almost wanted to smile. Of course it was
Edward, he was textbook Austen and Brontë—gorgeous, mysterious, troubled . . .
complicated. Although, I don't know if the ladies would have written him as a
lying adulterer who got his rocks off with a whore; but then again, this was
the real world.
"It suits you, Edward." He smiled meekly.
"I haven't talked with or seen my wife in two weeks. I have no idea what is
going through her mind or what she wants. God . . . it's just . . . I . . . I
don't even know what will happen." My head tilted towards him as he spoke his
heartfelt words.
"I'm so sorry, Edward, but if it counts for anything, I'm proud of you for
giving her the option of making her own choice in the matter." He shrugged and
his hand went to his hair. He closed his eyes and didn't say anything for a
while.
The silence was eerie, tense . . . charged. I had to break it. "Will you tell
me about her?" I asked after our silence became too much. And he smiled, and if
I doubted he cared about her before, which I didn't, that smile would have said
it all. He cared about her very deeply.
"I met her when I was a junior in college. She was so annoying." He chuckled at
some inside joke. I encouraged him with a head nod. "She was just like everyone
else, well, every other girl I had ever met. No depth and devastatingly
gorgeous that she felt all she needed was her beauty. She pursued me like I was
the last piece of chocolate in the candy shop. I literally had to fight her
back with a stick." He laughed more and it was musical—velvet and rich.
"Then finally one day, she conceded and dropped the chase, and I discovered
this genuine innocence about her. The way she perceived the world and her place
in it was only because it was all she ever knew; she never really tried or was
exposed to anything else. And before long, I was exposing her to everything she
had missed, and she was like a sponge with her interest in discovering these
things. She was my best friend—is my best friend—and things were so easy with
her. I was in a bad place and she was such a refreshing ray of light. And
things just progressed, as things do. And she was always the type of girl to
get married and want a family, the pretty little perfect society papers picture
family. And I wanted to give that to her."
"Then . . . but why can't you give that to her?" I asked, not understanding
where this all went wrong for him; it sounded perfect.
"I sincerely don't know. I tried, or at least I thought I did, but I realized
only too vividly that I've failed."
"Hmm . . . ." His dark chuckle stopped my train of thought from wherever it was
leading. I raised an eyebrow, silently asking him what the dark chuckle was
for.
"Aren't you going to ask me if I love her?" That took me back and I bit my lip.
His eyes only looked on curiously, almost as if my answer to that question was
the most important thing he would ever hear.
"Umm . . . I wasn't planning on it, no. But do you want me to ask you if you
love her?"
"Everyone does," he mumbled. I nodded.
"Oh." He closed his eyes and ran his hand through his bronze forest. I waited
for him to process whatever was weighing on him currently. When he did finally
open his eyes, they were cloudier than before and I didn't understand what had
changed more. But once I had his eyes, I spoke to him.
"I had no intention of asking you if you love her. It's very obvious that you
do. And that you care about her deeply. I just . . . I don't know how to
explain this, but I sort of believe that sometimes love doesn't matter . . . .
in the grand scheme of things. Love doesn't put food on the table and it
certainly doesn't stop someone from breaking your back." I bit back the urge to
apologize for my words; I know that not many people agreed with that thought. I
had spent my entire youth reading novels that preached about the magic of love.
Wars were forged because of the concept. I knew that in the hearts of many, it
was supreme; and maybe it was my life that made me cynical, but I couldn't
accept it. To me, it wasn't the most important thing. In my world, it wasn't
even top five.
He looked up at me and the glimmer in his eyes told me that he actually agreed.
It was so oddly surreal, and I was reminded of the last time I was with him. He
was so comforting to me in the anomalous way that we understood each other.
"I feel the same way; sometimes I feel as though I'm under obligation to love
others because it's what is expected of me. But they don't understand that I
care about them enough to do anything to make them happy, why must it be love?
Why do I have to love them? My love only brings pain but no one seems to
understand that, and I feel like I'm expected to be something that I'm not."
His words ran rampant in my thoughts. Did he believe he was incapable of love?
How was that even possible when it was so very obvious that he was more than
capable of the emotion? Why would he have to fear his love of someone? I may
not agree that love is supreme, but I do know that it exists and that everyone
is capable of it. But it was his next words that stopped my thoughts and
brought on a whole new set.
"And I try so hard to be that person for them, because they deserve the best.
My parents, Tanya—hell, even Jasper." My eyes widened.
Oh my god.
Could he mean Alice's Jasper? I found myself wondering how common the name
Jasper was. What if he did mean Alice's Jasper? How small was the world? How
many coincidences were really just "coincidence"? But if it was Alice's Jasper,
I doubt that he wouldn't accept Edward for who he truly was, given both my and
Alice's situation; and what I've learned from Jasper firsthand, I know that he
doesn't judge others unjustly.
"Maybe you only believe that these people expect this of you. They might
believe something else entirely. Maybe if you gave them the choice too, they
would want to accept you for just who you are," I said softly, thinking of
Jasper. If Edward knew Alice's Jasper, then I knew in my heart Jasper would
accept Edward just as he was—no pretenses.
"Possibly," he said more to himself than to me. He didn't believe it. It was
clear he was only saying that to placate me, which was odd because nobody had
ever felt the need to do something for my benefit before. It was amazing, and I
felt a wave of blissful serenity pass over me. In the short time that I had
known him, he had cared more about my opinions or desires, even comfort, than
anyone had in a very long time. And it actually made me smile softly at him.
"Possibly?" I egged and he looked up wide-eyed. He could hear the smile in my
voice.
"I've never seen you smile before. You should do it more."
"I know, but I don't have much to smile about, Edward," I told him truthfully,
but not willing to let go of the air of amusement I found myself in. His deep
gaze that was now lighter narrowed at me. He licked his lips and watched me
carefully.
"Why not?"
But fantasy is only short-lived.
I couldn't answer him, not honestly at least, and he had been so honest with me
that I only wanted to return the courtesy. So instead, I diverted; it wasn't
safe to talk about me, and if I were honest with myself, I didn't know if I
wanted to. I really enjoyed this time with him, it was like an escape. For once
I didn't have to dwell in my dark world. It had been so long since I had read a
book that I forgot what it was like to see things through others' eyes, to know
their stories. I actually found myself hoping that our time would never end,
that he would find a reason to want to see me again.
"Can I ask you a question, Edward?" He nodded, accepting that I wouldn't answer
his. "Have you cheated on your wife before? I mean to say, before me."
"No, never." Hmm.
"I just . . . I'm sorry, Edward, I just don't understand then. It would have
been different, if this sort of thing was like a hobby for you, but just once
doesn't make sense to me. You obviously lo—care about her . . . so . . . why?"
I bit my lip as I stumbled to find the right words, and I hoped I wasn't being
too intrusive or forward.
He looked off to the side before returning his stare to me. Then he took
careful note of the floor cushions we sat on. And my eyes too drifted to the
ugly plaid carpet and then the large suede bags that looked brown in this red
light of the room. When his eyes met mine, they were shameful and a bit
embarrassed. I pursed my lips and waited until he was ready to explain.
"This was the room, you know." My eyes widened. No shit. Of all the luck. I
looked around the room just as he had to see if something jogged my memory of
my night with him, but nothing did. But for the strangest reason, I suddenly
felt very self-conscious. And my mouth seemed to salivate. What the hell? I
could feel my cheeks warm and I was thankful that I had the waitress uniform on
with a full white bra and short, pleated black skirt; it was still scrap for
clothing, but it was one of the least revealing outfits I wore here.
When his eyes found mine, they held an emotion I had never seen in them and he
seemed pleased. "That blush becomes you."And damn it all to hell, I felt my
skin redden even more. What the hell was going on with me?
Trying to refocus our discussion, I said, "You didn't answer, Edward."
"I don't know how you'll take this . . . but I . . . wanted you—that night. It
was unexplainable, the desire that I had to be with you. Nothing mattered to me
then, only touching you. I physically burned to have my fingers touch your
skin. It wasn't about a last fling because I was getting married or anything of
that sort, it was simply you. Something about you captivated me and I . . . I
had to have you."
My jaw dropped. That was very honest. I had never actually sat down with a
customer and conversed, save Edward. Granted, some men did love to talk before
getting to business; for some it was a sort of foreplay for them, and some
talkers wanted to set up scenes they had fantasized about, usually the
regulars. But I had never actually talked to a customer like I talked to
Edward. So I didn't know if that was a natural reaction to the show I put on—to
the sex I was selling. I had had men tell me that they "had to have me" when
they took me. Maybe that was what he was experiencing, like a chemical reaction
to all the pheromones in the club from all the sex that you could practically
taste on your tongue, and I'm sure endorphins are involved in some way.
"Should I be flattered?" I asked after a pause. He snorted and shook his head.
"I don't know, you were the only woman I had ever considered cheating on my
wife with and then did . . . all too quickly. It was instinctual; there was no
hesitation on my part," he said as he yet again ran his hand through his hair
and looked down at his lap where his legs were extended out in front of him.
"I'm sorry, Edward," I told him honestly after remembering what he had said
before.
"What? For what?" His eyebrows knitted together as he waited for an explanation
to something I thought was obvious.
"For causing you all this turmoil and not even being worth it," I said. His
confused eyes rose, asking silently for further illumination. "The last time
you were here, you had said that it wasn't a pleasurable experience for you
and, well, I feel guilty because you got nothing from it except all this
anguish."
His hand took its marked path through the wilderness before he looked at me
severely. "That wasn't what I meant." Almost in frustration, he pinched the
bridge of his nose as I watched, perplexed. When he met my eyes, I could tell
he read the curiosity there. "It's just . . . this is so awkward." He tried to
lighten with a dry chuckle. I bit my lip and my eyebrows wrenched together.
"You don't remember anything about that night we were together?" he asked
hopefully, as if I could ease his struggle. I shook my head sympathetically.
"Okay, well, it wasn't unpleasant. I was just mad at you."
What?
"Why were you mad at me?"
"Because I enjoyed it, I enjoyed it immensely, and I wanted you to enjoy it
with me. I asked you to and then you faked it. But what was worse was that
after you faked it, you thanked me and told me it was amazing—it was a slap in
the face of sorts. I knew it was a lie, and it angered me so much that you
would lie to me about it. What bothered me the most was that I had never been
with a woman who didn't get off from being with me, and you didn't and then you
lied. That's why when you said 'we'd had the pleasure before,' I said 'no.'
Because it wasn't we, it was just me." He looked into my eyes intensely the
whole time, and I could see that he really had wanted me to enjoy being with
him.
My eyes widened when I thought back to a couple of months ago when a man wanted
me to come with him. It had to have been Edward.
"Oh, Edward, that was nothing against you. I'm sure you're great in the sack
and I'm sure your wife loves sleeping with you," I said before he interrupted
me with a mumbled sarcastic "Thanks." "Let me finish, it had nothing to do with
your inability to get me off or anything like that. It's just that sex isn't
pleasurable for me—at all."
"What?" The incredulity in his voice was strong; it was like I just told him
that Santa Claus didn't exist and he'd believed his whole life that he had. I
shook my head and shrugged. "How's that . . . not any part you like?" I shook
my head and he continued; I knew this would be dangerous and very hard to
explain to him. "What about kissing?" He had actually pulled his legs back to
him and sat up against the wall.
"I've never honestly kissed anyone, but no, Edward, it doesn't work like that
for me," I said truthfully to his doubtful eyes.
"What do you mean?"
I thought long and hard about how to explain this without giving anything away
that could be detrimental to my safety, and therefore indirectly Alice's.
Because no matter what, Alice's safety was my number one priority and I had to
be cautious always. I bit my lip and thought of a way that might make sense. My
eyes found his deep green ones and they were waiting.
"It's a job for me, Edward. It's like a gynecologist or a urologist, I would
think. Like, let's say you were a gynecologist; you didn't choose to do that
job because you wanted to see all the free pussy your hands could get a hold
of. And you don't get off with each vagina you see. Does that make sense? Like,
you're not jacking off fifty times a day because you saw fifty vaginas. And
it's your job, so you sort of have to draw the line somewhere. Did that help?"
"Sort of," he said flippantly. "It's just, this isn't flipping burgers at a
restaurant, where you get nothing from that job that's enjoyable. It's sex;
it's intimate, it's intense, it's pleasurable. I would think the only reason to
want to do this for a living would be because you enjoy it on some level. What
other reason could you have to do this for a living if you don't enjoy it?" He
sat closer to me, and it was almost as if he could physically pull the answers
out of my head. His clouded eyes stared deeper into mine.
"But to me, it's none of those things, Edward," I said through thin lips.
"Then why do it?"
A deep sigh fell from me and I left his stare to look around the room. To take
in the reality that was my life. Then why do it, indeed. But I could never tell
him that, the truth. I could never tell anyone the truth—nobody—no matter what.
She would never forgive me—this, it was all my fault. After another long sigh,
I spoke softly to the room in front me, not bothering to face him again. "It's
complicated."
And we sat like that, him against the wall with his legs stretched out in front
of him and me sitting with my legs crossed next to his knees, in silence. It
was comfortable, as was all my time with him, and it felt so good to not have
to worry about anything else for awhile. To know that he didn't expect anything
from me. Then I thought about his wife and what a lucky woman she was to have
someone so understanding and caring like him. I hoped that he could find what
would make him happy enough that he would stop feeling like he had to live up
to false expectations of others.
"You know, I wanted to be a gynecologist," he said after awhile. It was
conversational, and I lifted my head to look at him. My fingers were absently
playing with his jeans around his knees, and I didn't even realize it until I
returned my gaze back to my lap. I quickly pulled my hands back into my lap.
"Really?" I asked him in genuine interest. And then I wondered what he did for
a living. "What do you do to earn money, Edward?" He smiled.
"I've never heard it put like that, but I guess it makes sense. I'm a doctor,
just general right now because I'm in my second year interning. But lately I've
been leaning toward trauma; it's where I've been leading for the past year and
I'm content with it."
"Wow, I don't think I've ever been with a doctor," I said offhand. He smiled
more.
"Should I be flattered?" he asked in an amused tone, but it only brought a pang
to my chest.
"No," I said quickly. My sexual history was nothing flattering and I know he
meant the joke, since I had asked him the same thing before. But I couldn't
explain to him that this wasn't something I was proud of; that if I had a free
choice, like he thought I did, I wouldn't have chosen this life—this job. And
so the joke was nothing but cringe-worthy. His eyebrows narrowed and I knew he
sensed my change in attitude, so I tried to bring the subject back to him.
"So if you're a doctor, then why didn't you just end up a gynecologist? I mean,
you're already there practically," I encouraged.
"I can't." He shook his bronze head.
"Why not?"
A sigh fell from his soft pink lips and I caught myself staring at them. They
were thin but suited his face and strong jaw. He had very bold features that,
when taken in individually, were too strong but as a whole suited him. A thick
brow, deep green eyes, prominent nose, high jaw line with a rough edge. When
his eyes captured mine after my discovery of his insanely attractive face, they
held a hint of mischief. I wondered what that was about, and when I felt my
cheeks flush, I thought I would lose my mind. It didn't make sense why I was
blushing more now than I had in my life. I didn't think I had anything to be
embarrassed about. And if I wasn't embarrassed, then I didn't understand why I
would be flushed; what other reason could there be?
His eyes watched me curiously and one corner of his lips picked up into a sort
of crooked smile. It was just as mischievous as his eyes. And I found my lips
twitch in response and that damn warmth in my cheeks again.
"Your blush really is quite beautiful," he said, only further causing the red
to darken. And I spoke the only thing I was thinking.
"I don't like it. It makes me nervous." He cocked an eyebrow at me.
"Why?"
"I don't know; I don't understand it." And then I was graced with a full-blown
smile. He mumbled something under his breath but I couldn't hear it, and when I
waited with wide eyes for him to explain, he didn't.
"During my second year of medical school, there was this girl, Jessica Stanley,
who I dated. Well, dated is a bit of an embellishment; we had a couple of
steamy encounters in the bathroom stalls to the library. It was completely
consensual; she pursued me after for more, and I took her to dinner once or
twice. But it didn't work; we were just two very different people. I had
absolutely no interest in her after that. I explained to her the situation and
even though it did affect her negatively, I thought that we both came to an
understanding that it was just something we tried that didn't work out for
either of us.
"I was a group leader to my class—that meant like an assistant to the
professors. I had responsibilities of grading the regular work, not the big
papers, but our weekly assignments, and I also scheduled our rotations at the
hospital for interning. Of course, the professors double checked my work, but
it alleviated some of the load for them. Jessica was in my group and about two
months after our failed attempt at a relationship, she filed a sexual
harassment claim with the school board administration. I was shocked when they
brought me in for questioning. I admitted to the failed relationship attempt,
which would only harm me later. When they take you into those types of
inquisitions they don't tell you the charges brought against you; they simply
ask you to explain your relationship with the complaining party. So basically,
I had admitted to sleeping with her.
"It turned out she had said that I was asking for sexual favors to change her
grades on assignments, and that if she wouldn't, I would negatively grade her
assignments. So it took over three months for the investigation to produce a
ruling. They found that her claim was unfounded as evidenced by her grades the
previous year and a comparison to the work she produced that one. But all the
while the investigation took place, my name was slandered. The position of
group leader, which is one of actual caliber, was stripped from me; and
everywhere I went, I felt like people where whispering about me.
"In the public's eye, I was already guilty; an attractive man with a position
of control, of course I would use her to get what I wanted. Needless to say,
the situation followed me around. Jessica dropped her course load and I thought
it ended there. Things were fine, or at least tolerable, for the next four
months after the ruling. I simply chocked it up as a lesson learned against
casual encounters, since it was my first and it ended so horribly, even though
it wasn't that 'casual.' I had never been a one night stand guy, but workload
was heavy then and I gave into the tension, lust, and release. It was the most
causal I had ever been, and it was the biggest mistake I had ever made until
that point.
"Then I was served. It turned out she was suing me for irreversible emotional
damages resulting in the loss of actual monetary value. Somehow her wack-job
attorney figured the sum of five hundred thousand sounded about right. And
instead of just having my name slandered at school, it was all over the Chicago
papers. My family has a long standing reputation in the city and it wasn't just
me that went down, she took them with me. It was awful, and my father decided
that the best course of action to solve the problem was to settle outside of
court and get her to sign legal documents claiming that she made up the entire
thing. It ended up costing close to a million. I ended up actually paying her
more just so that this would be swept under the rug and never brought up again.
"But the damage was done. I couldn't honestly take a job as a gynecologist
anymore. Seriously, who would let me be their doctor when they had seen my face
plastered all over the news for sexual harassment? And I would probably
honestly question that person's integrity if they let me work on them knowing
that fact. It would fester in the back of my mind: 'Is this person going to
file a sexual harassment suit because they know they'd win?' Truthfully, there
was a point when I worried about my career in medicine as a whole. I almost
gave up on it entirely.
"You know, the worst part, though, wasn't the whole gynecology aspect; it was
the obstetrics. I wanted to deal with pregnancy and birth. That was what I
wanted to do, deliver babies. We wanted—it was what I had always wanted since a
young age."
The whole time he told me his story, he played with the seam down his jeans by
his knees, the same one that I was subconsciously playing with. There must be
something soothing about playing with that seam.
I ran over a couple of things he said through my head, like how he made a point
to say it was his biggest mistake up until that point. And it made me realize
that he considered me to be the biggest mistake overall. I can't explain how
that thought made me feel and so I decided not to dwell on it. It made sense
why he would think that and I couldn't blame him entirely, but still it caused
an unknown unease in me.
So instead, I thought about how she ended up getting over a million just to be
quiet; that was a lot of money. It put the whole Andravida in perspective.
Maybe tossing that kind of cash to the side just to talk to someone wasn't
important to him. And then I thought most about his reconsidering what he
wanted to do with his career. It was so sad; he already felt he had to live up
to all these false expectations, I couldn't imagine him doing it with something
that made him unhappy. It was really disappointing.
"What are you thinking?" he asked, and I looked up from my idle hands on his
jeans. His face was closer to mine than I expected it and I was enveloped in
the scent of clean linen and cologne. It was refreshing—crisp. And I felt his
presence so close, it was surrounding. The intensity of his eyes this close to
my face was jarring; he was folded over his legs and waiting for me to say
something. I hadn't realized I was caught up in my thoughts for so long.
Again, the unfounded reddening of my cheeks appeared and he smiled. Well, for
some reason that confusing physical attribute amused him, so it couldn't be all
that bad.
"I'm sorry. I guess I was thinking that I'm glad you didn't give up on being a
doctor. You should do something that you really want if it makes you happy," I
said finally, but instead he just pursed his lips.
"That's a bit hypocritical, don't you think?" I shook my head; I didn't think
that and it didn't make sense why he would. "That you want me to have a job
that makes me happy, and yet it's quite apparent that yours doesn't." I closed
my eyes; he kept getting dangerously close to this topic and I didn't want to
end our time together, but I would have to if he persisted.
Taking a deep breath, I thought about the best way to answer that.
"No, it's not. I didn't go to school; I didn't even finish high school. I can't
do anything else. Trust me when I say that this is all I know. I don't have
the opportunities that you have," I said to him, biting my bottom lip. He
looked back into my eyes in a sort of understanding.
"You're very articulate and intellectual for someone who didn't finish high
school. And you're sort of philosophical too." My eyes smiled at him before I
gave him a flat grin. He shook his head.
"I used to read a lot, and when I say 'a lot,' I mean it. When I was younger, I
craved the escape. I would go to the local library every Sunday and check out
four books, not caring about the length, and I would have them finished by the
time I went back the next Sunday. It was all I did back then. I loved all of
it, Romance, Fantasy, Action, Adventure, Crime, Suspense, Mystery, Classics,
even Modern—anything I could get my hands on," I told him honestly.
"Have you read any good books lately?" he asked, intrigued. And the small smile
that was beginning to form fell quicker than it began.
"I don't really read anymore." My tone was colder than I expected and I felt
awful for using that tone with him.
I dropped my head to stare at my idle hands, when I felt his hand on my chin.
He was lifting my face to look at his once again. When our eyes met, I saw the
compassion in them. And the intensity in his compassionate eyes inches from
mine made my breathing pick up.
The warmth from his hand under my chin spread to my cheeks, and it felt natural
for me to close my eyes, to absorb the sensations. There was something in that
touch; it was as if I could actually feel the compassion and comfort of it,
like a sort of current of emotions that passed from it through me. That felt so
calming, and yet I was anxious all at the same time. It was so completely
foreign to me; it was like my skin was tingling. I could even feel the heat
from his breath on my face and it made my heart rate speed up.
No touch had ever felt like this before. And I had touched hundreds of people .
. . they had touched me. But none of them felt like this. It was like the
igniting of a fire; I felt the singe and the adrenaline and warmth spread over
me. This didn't make sense, but yet I was so alert to everything—every touch,
smell, sound, sensation—that when he let go of my chin, my eyes bolted open.
It was like water to that fire . . . one second I was blazing, the next I was
freezing. And my chest clenched.
I wanted those feelings to come back; they were so warm and comforting and I
wanted more of them. When I found his eyes, they had darkened considerably;
they were eclipsed with an unreadable emotion. And when he spoke, his words
were darker too—heavier—as if they had spent more time than necessary perched
in his throat.
"I should go."
Those words crushed me and nothing had ever been as honest. They destroyed me.
I didn't want him to go, to lose this newly afforded comfort—feeling. It felt
as if my world was crashing down and I couldn't begin to fathom how to pick it
back up. I felt the water build in my eyes and I hated that I was reacting so
unfoundedly. So instead, I quickly closed them and nodded at him. I felt him
stir next to me and get up to leave. When he was at the door or somewhere near
it, judging by his voice, he called to me.
"Thank you . . . for this."
I couldn't open my eyes; I couldn't respond. When I heard the door shut behind
me, I finally opened them and the water fell from my eyes like rivers to
oceans. I felt so stupid for behaving this way. But I felt like I had lost
everything in that moment; and as much as it didn't make sense, it felt so real
to me, so intense.
I had allowed myself to enjoy my time with him, to look forward to the comfort
his companionship provided—his voice, his words, his compassion, his smell . .
. his touch.
I had allowed myself to hope. And I never should have done that because it only
left open a space to hurt more. Because all good things must come to an end,
and all that it would leave me with was the memory of how beautiful my small
taste of freedom was when I could no longer have even that. And it would be the
memory that would kill me slowly because I had had that taste.
And now I wanted more.
I was an idiot because it made me hopeful in a life of hopelessness. It made me
feel secure where my safety was always in question. But worst of all, it made
me careless, and I dropped my guard when my guard should have always stayed up.
It was a soap bubble floating casually, waiting to be popped. And now that I
had been inside the bubble, I didn't know if I could survive outside of it.
And nothing had ever been more foolish. Because the only place I belonged was
outside that bubble.
***** Chapter 17 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"Will you tell me about it?" I asked her excitedly as she rolled over and
groaned. My elation was bouncing from my lips to the tips of my fingers.
Bella never had dreams unless they were nightmares, and so I can't even begin
to explain what the last week has been like. It was so much better than the
monthly editions of Cosmo or Allure that Emmett would buy for me.
Lately she had been saying a name at night during her dreams. Bella had always
been a talker while sleeping and it used to kill me to have to hear her scream
or mutter things like "stop, please . . . no, I said no" in her sleep. But now
it was so different. So very different. You could almost hear the happiness in
her voice as she said his name or things like "you came back."
I leaned over her more, throwing my leg on top of hers and nuzzling her waist.
My big browns were in full puppy mode this morning. I wasn't taking any
prisoners. This was huge. This was incredible. And I was so completely happy
for her.
"I don't wanna!" she said in the middle of a yawn. I smiled more at her. She
frowned. "Alice . . ." she whined, and it made me laugh. Because when she
wanted to, Bella could be quite the little whiner. And some would think it was
an annoying habit, but I adored it. Because in a life where you can't complain,
it's moving to know there is still that spark of fight left.
"Please, Bella!" I rolled over completely on top of her and nuzzled my chin
into her chest to the point of discomfort, and she laughed as she tried to roll
me off. "Is it who I think it is?" I asked in a high, taunting voice.
She paled, if that were even possible, and stuttered as she questioned me.
"What . . . what are you talking about . . . ? Who do you think it is?" My
smile grew and she rolled her eyes beforesmushing my crazy, black, morning bed
head over my eyes. The flakes from the hairspray floated around us and the
smell stayed with it. I stuck my tongue out at her.
"W-e-l-l . . ." I began drawing out the word and wrapping one of her long brown
tendrils around my finger. "You did say 'Edward' last night, and I was thinking
that maybe it was Jasper's friend Edward that you were dreaming about."
Her gasp shocked me, and I felt it rumble in her chest from where my head was
more than I heard it. I tilted my head up toward her face and she was staring
at me wide-eyed.
"Is that true? Your Jasper . . . he had said the name 'Jasper,' but I just
assumed it was someone else. I mean, how could it be that they know each other?
What are the chances?" I laughed slightly.
"Well, Bella, pretty big, considering they're friends and came on the same
night. Don't you remember?"
She shook her head and moved to sit up. I followed her, and we pulled the sheet
over us as we sat against the wall. "No, I don't . . . what are you talking
about?" My brow furrowed at her question, and her big brown eyes were
frustrated. It looked like she was trying hard to remember something. I smiled
warmly at her as I started to braid the strands I was still playing with.
"That night, remember the first night I met Jasper? He came here with Edward
for his bachelor party. That was the night you took him to the stalls. Isn't
that what you're talking about?"
She sighed on my side as she leaned. My lips pursed as I watched her.
"No, not at all. I mean, honestly, Alice, do you remember who you had in
the stalls two weeks ago? Could you pick them out of a sea of men?" She looked
at me, and I shook my head. Bella was right; I would have no idea, I shut down.
And I knew she did too. The stiff sheet scratched my chin as I rested my head
on her slouched shoulder.
"So then it wasn't that Edward?" I don't know why my voice sounded
disappointed; I didn't know anything about him. For all I knew, he could have
been a horrible person. No, that couldn't be the truth; he was friends with
Jasper. Jasper wouldn't keep bad company. But then why was I so interested in
him caring about Bella? I felt her nod against me before she wrapped her right
arm over my shoulder.
"It was . . . is, surprisingly. I saw him again, Alice. He's so lost. He came
to see me about his wife because things aren't like he planned and he doesn't
know what to do. It's very obvious how much he cares about her and hates that
he can't get a grasp on what's happening."
"Oh . . . ." I said, still unable to mask the disappointment. "Then why were
you dreaming about him?" I heard what sounded like a soft chuckle from her.
Looking up, I noticed that she actually had a small smile on her face before
she bit her lip.
"I think I care for him, Alice. It hurts me that he's so unhappy; it's like I
can see myself in him. It's an odd feeling. And he makes me feel so comfortable
when he's around. It's like an escape almost. But I really feel like when I'm
with him he doesn't expect anything of me. I don't have to be fake with him . .
. or blow him." We both stopped to smile at that. "He hasn't asked me for
anything, just to talk. I know it's going to disappear soon, but it's so nice
to have while I can. Does that make sense?"
I watched her intently and shook my head slightly. This was such a different
side to her, and I couldn't deny that part of me worried. "Sort of, Bella. But
so . . . you've seen him again and he didn't want you to have sex?" It was
unbelievable.
What if . . . . My thoughts were wrapping around every worst possible scenario,
but when I looked up at her, they practically vanished. How could I even think
anything negative when she looked like that? Her head dropped to look at me and
I saw the small fire of excitement in her eyes. A brilliant smile painted
across my face to see something other than the sadness.
"No, he hasn't asked, and I've seen him twice since. And when we talk, he
doesn't even touch me." I couldn't smile any grander upon seeing her face; the
awe in her voice had my heart fluttering.
"And in my heart . . ." she began in a voice that had mine clenching, but
because of something I hadn't felt in a long time for her. Hope. "I think he's
my friend, but that thought scares me so much. I can't afford to get my hopes
up, not about something like this. But I can't help thinking that he has to be
my friend, right? Isn't this what friends do? They talk and understand each
other; they care about the other and want what's best for them? Oh, Alice, I've
never had a friend, and I want so badly for him to want to be mine . . . and it
scares me."
My head nuzzled more into her chest under her arm, water rimming my eyes.
"Yeah, Bella, that's exactly what a friend is."
She was nodding softly against me, and the energy buzzing around the small room
was uplifting. In that brief moment, I felt like we could do anything, be
anything. I wanted him for her so badly. Even if it was a lie—and I prayed it
wasn't—I wanted this for her.
"And I think he does like you and wants to be your friend if all he wants is
your company. That's so amazing, Bella. You know that you could always talk
with Emmett too; he was my first real friend, especially here. And Emmett is
really funny. He makes a good friend . . . " I said excitedly, before softly
saying what I feared the most for her, too. "And Emmett won't leave us."
Bella never missed the reality of a situation. And her sigh hung in the air
like the snores of the girls in the other beds—the other lives owned. "I know.
That's what scares me the most. I'm getting too attached to someone who can
leave at any second, who doesn't live our life. When he knows what this is
really like, he'll leave. I can tell he's already frustrated that I don't
answer his questions. I just can't afford to get attached like this, to have
something that could hurt me. To give them another reason to hurt me. Not to
mention what could happen to him." After a long pregnant pause she continued.
"I like Emmett. I'm not as close to him as you are, but he's nice. And he
really does care about you." I smiled and nodded.
"Do you want to talk about something else?" She looked down at me and squeezed
me closer to her before nodding and whispering that I always knew just what she
needed. "Umm . . . okay, will you tell me about yesterday?"
A stale laugh escaped her. "I think he's getting too comfortable with this
arrangement. You know, liking it too much. It makes me wonder how much Jasper
is paying him. Yesterday he wanted me to role play as this girl who was in love
with this vampire who was supposed to be super gorgeous. And I had to tell him
every ten seconds just how gorgeous I found him. I got pretty creative with it.
I think I even used words he didn't understand. Mike said it was from a book,
but I don't remember any fables where vampires sparkled. And he wanted to bite
me a lot. I think that's why he chose that fantasy, as an excuse to bite me.
Oh, and he would say that I 'smelled' good to him. But doesn't sex always smell
good to men?"
I couldn't stop the laughs that came out of me. Most guys were just here to
pound it; most people who paid for us didn't want to waste time with
"scenarios" or "fantasies."For them, just being with a prostitute was fantasy
enough, and they didn't want to wait to get down to business. Plus, time was
money, and nobody knew that better than both a whore and the man who bought
her.
"That's the all-American, right?" She nodded.
"Newton, Mike Newton, not to be confused with the dashing Bond, James Bond."
And now we were both laughing. When some of our laughing died down, Bella
continued talking. "So what did this letter say? 'Oh, Alice, your hair is a
midnight waterfall that makes me wish I were Poseidon himself, and that each
star in the sky would be lucky enough to have fingers just to caress your
magnificent skin. I know we've only met once, but my soul recognizes its own
and we are meant to be together forever,'" she said in an annoyingly swooning
voice. I shoved her and she laughed more.
She could mock me all she wanted; I knew she was excited for me. Bella wanted
nothing more than for Jasper to be real, to really have the interest in me that
he showed. She hoped that he would take me away from here, and I hoped the
same. But what Bella forgot was that I wouldn't go anywhere without her. No
matter what.
Before I was able to answer her, to tell her all about the letter, one of the
other girls in the room stirred, and I decided that it would wait. Bella
lamentably pushed the sheet off of us and moved to get out of bed. I followed
her.
                                     ~xx~
My little sugar,
I miss you still, probably more than yesterday.
It multiplies like cells, my longing for you. How have you been? Not too bad, I
hope. I wish that I could see you—your beautiful smile again. Look into your
deep brown eyes and feel the warmth that only you can wrap me in. But we both
know that it's still too soon. I wait, with bated breath, until I can go back
to see you.
As you should last remember, I've been researching. I've come across some
gazette articles from Forks, Washington. And my Alice, I'm so sorry. Just when
I thought your life couldn't be any harder, I learn about your childhood. Or,
well, you're still a child, I guess. I know that you don't think that, but it's
because your childhood was stolen from you.
I remember when I was seventeen. Edward and I would go to parties from some of
the guys on the baseball team. We didn't have a care in the world. And here you
are, seventeen and fearing for your life day in and day out. I can't even begin
to imagine what that is like.
I've thought about your age a lot. It scares me that I have such strong
feelings for you and yet you're so young. Part of me worries that if I were to
be able to help you and take you away from that life, wouldn't keeping you to
myself be just as bad? I wouldn't be giving you all the opportunities you
missed, things that we experience as children that help us find ourselves in
the future. Wouldn't I be depriving you of your childhood too? And then what
does that make me?
And I can't even begin to tell you the inner turmoil I've faced with knowing
what I've done and am continuing to subject your sister to. Who really is the
villain here?
Maybe I've just spent too much time over thinking this.
It's hard, this one-sided relationship. Is it even fair to call it that? I wish
I could hear from you, see you. And then there are the million questions I
still have for you that I wish you could answer.
I don't understand how you weren't reported missing. Your father was a police
chief, you were a minor. It doesn't make sense. Yet your sister was reported
missing, but I'm unable to ascertain by whom or where. This is my next focus.
The contact numbers are to the missing children's agency. Who could have
reported your sister missing but failed to report you? And why did you leave
Forks? I know that your sister, Isabella—I've learned from my research, said
that you were in Seattle before being brought to Chicago. So why not stay in
Forks? Why didn't you at least attempt to find social services or child
protection centers? There are agencies out there meant to help people in your
situations; I know, I've worked with them before.
I just don't understand. And please, don't misunderstand me; I'm not judging in
the slightest, just simply trying to get a better picture of what happened. I
wish we could talk, or that there was a way for us to communicate, so that I
could better focus my efforts.
I learned about your parents. Oh, my Alice, I can't imagine what that was like
as a little girl. Do you even remember them? That was amazing of the police
chief to adopt you; he sounds like a very special man. And to have lost him too
. . . I'm so very sorry, my Alice. So very sorry. I wish I could hold you and
comfort you, help to erase some of the pain of your life.
My Alice, please stay strong. I'm doing everything I can from my position and I
won't stop until I have you safe in my arms. I promise you this; I promise
myself this. Because I need you too, Alice, more than I can ever explain.
Forever yours,
Jasper
A soft wistful sigh floated from my lips as I reread his letter one last time
before flushing it, as I always did. I had hidden it under the sink in the back
bathroom at the club; nobody ever checked there. It was then that I made a
decision; I had to. And I wouldn't let the "what ifs" bother me; I had to be
strong in my plan. This time I would be the strong one. I could do this . . .
for me and for her, most especially after seeing her this morning. She deserves
this just as much. If he was willing to risk everything to help me, then I
could afford a little risk on my part as well. I knew I'd have to be careful
and lie to the only person who trusted me faithfully, but I just had to do
something. He was worth it.
And in the end—really, what else could go wrong?
"Akasha," I called to the gorgeous blonde as she continued fixing her hair in
front of a large mirror in the dressing area. She turned to me and smiled. I
was leaving the bathroom after having flushed the remains of my only connection
to Jasper. Luckily she was easy to find. I didn't want to have to search for
her in the stalls because once you accidentally walk in on a job, you just
don't want to do it again. But it happened all the time, a lot of times we
forget to switch the light.
"Tinkerbelle, what I do for you?" she said, her soft Russian accent hugging
around her words. I couldn't help but feel the small sting of jealousy. She was
one of the few girls here who didn't know the truth of what really went on down
behind the veil of strip club. And she had impeccable taste; I saw the designer
tags she wore. Plus, my Emmett was completely in love with her. She had
everything. And if Emmett loved her, then I would too, even though she made it
very hard.
Not that this was a friendly environment, but she always kept others at a
distance. And she was always watching me or Emmett or Bella . . .
or everyone, really. It was like she was hiding something or thought that maybe
we were.
"You sestra? She okay, no?" she asked as I hesitated. I looked up at her
wondering what she could possibly be talking about. My furrowed eyes led her to
continue. "Andravida three nights past?"
My eyes widened. How did she know that word? What was she talking about? Bella
had never said anything about an Andravida. Oh, God.
Bella wouldn't have said anything. She hid that stuff from me. She didn't like
me to know when they hurt her. I knew that she hated nothing more here than
that one word. My throat was scorching and the smell of burning hair from
Akasha's curling iron filled my senses and seemed to make everything worse.
"I didn't . . . I don't know . . . I can't," I began. There was no way I could
have this conversation with her. A million different punishments flashed
through my mind; ones that I've been subjected to and ones that I've seen
others suffer.
As if she could read my mind, Akasha answered me, "I know . . . I know many
things." I stood gaping. What do you say to that? Really?
"I just didn't know . . . and Bella . . . how? Who? Oh, God," I stuttered.
Akasha looked at me through the mirror, but her face was blank. I was reminded
again of her ice exterior.
"It fine. I don't see who man. Demetri he come find me and tell me to
tell sestra about man in stall. But I see her later in night, she seem fine.
You see her every night, she is fine, yes?"
I swallowed the burn in my throat as her words sunk in. She was right, not very
nice about it, but right. I had seen Bella and she seemed fine. Better than
fine, lately. But who could have been her Andravida then?
"You need something, da?" My eyes darted back to the mirror to meet her steel
blue ones. I hadn't realized that my thoughts caught me drifting.
"Yeah, I was wondering," I began as I took the curling iron from her and began
the back of her long, blonde locks. A little gentle enticing wouldn't hurt. She
nodded encouragement at me through the mirror. "I was hoping you could do me a
favor." Her shoulders stiffened slightly.
"What is favor?" I swallowed hard.
"I was hoping that you could buy me a journal and maybe some pens. You know, so
that I can have a journal to write in. Please, I would give you money, but I
don't have any." She met my eyes in the mirror and nodded slightly. There was a
softness in her eyes, almost as if she were holding something back. A softness
I rarely saw in her. But her emotions were always unreadable. Sometimes I
thought she was a very cold-hearted person, but Emmett said it was just her
defense mechanism. He said that she actually had quite a big heart.
"Konechno sladost', I will get you diary. You need something more?" She asked
gently, but it was testing me. She was always doing that, trying to see what
more you would tell her. And just when I had a good impression, it was back to
not knowing what to make of her. Instead, I just smiled wide in the mirror at
her before wrapping my arms around her from behind.
"Thank you. Thank you so much!" I squealed, letting my excitement of my plan
get the better of me. She smiled before returning back to her ice queen
exterior.
"Da, da, don't burn me! Calm down, it just diary." I gulped and brought the
curling iron back out in front of me. She rolled her eyes, but I couldn't stop
the smile that formed across my face.
I would have to keep the secret from Bella; she wouldn't approve. But a plan
was beginning to formulate in my head, and I would be able to communicate with
Jasper. It would work, I knew it. I just knew it. And if I was careful, no one
would know. I could be careful—I'd be so careful. Bouncing on my toes, I
thought about the next step in my plan. Now I just had to get Emmett to go
along with it.
My excitement couldn't be contained. I had a really good feeling about this.
Chapter End Notes
     Author's Note/Translations:
     As far as the Russian goes, I would like it known now that its
     accuracy is jeopardized by my use of Romanization. But for the
     purpose of writing I have chosen to keep the translations in this
     form to make reading them slightly easier. I go on the record stating
     that Russian is written in Cyrillic as is still the tradition. My
     Latin translations are as accurate as I can possibly make, all things
     considered. Thanks all for understanding!
     Sestra- sister
     Konechno sladost'- of course girlie
***** Chapter 18 *****
When I left the house that night and Tanya broken, I was so confused. I only
wanted to make things right with her. But I now realized that there wasn't
always a happy ending to life. And that where we started was not where we would
end. But the worst of what I've come to realize was that sometimes good people
would get hurt without any good reason at all.
I recognized that it was my fault; I was not trying to refocus the blame or
lesson the blow. On the contrary, I took full responsibility for my actions.
Actions that I could and would never be able to take back. I hurt her: a good
person—an amazing person. I'd been so foolish; I wished I'd realized earlier
just how I would never be able to give her what she wanted, then I wouldn't
have hurt her as bad as I had. That was my cross to carry, to know that where
Tanya was concerned, I had failed, but not from the point I first believed. No,
I had failed from the very beginning, and it was time that I atoned for these
mistakes.
I knew that, to some, I might not deserve my happy ending and that, to others,
it may sound like just a trial that life threw our way. Both could be right,
just as both could be wrong. The reason was because there was only one person
who reserved the right to judge us: the person we sinned against.
When a man is charged with murder, the public condemns him and demands his
punishment, but there is only one person who can grant his redemption or
condemnation: he whom he sinned against. When that same man faces parole, it is
the family of his victim that he begs forgiveness from, no one else. As people,
we forget this because of our trials or our sympathies; we believe that we have
the right to condemn a man for his faults, when in reality, we don't. Has that
man sinned against us? What gives us the right to charge him for a crime that
he didn't commit against us personally? If he commits a crime against all of
humanity, then let humanity judge him. But most men are content enough to sin
against each other; they don't have the mind to sin larger than that.
I've learned that I can't judge a man when I have not been in his shoes, but
moreover, when I have not been in those of whom he's hurt. The opinion,
redemption, and condemnation of the public won't matter. I knew that all too
well. There was only one person who could choose my fate; and whatever
punishment she decided was fitting for my sin against her, I would gladly take,
even if it destroyed me, because that was the price I would have to pay for
admitting and accepting my guilt. That was what came with taking responsibility
for your actions: the preparation and acceptance of any fate that was bestowed
upon you.
There was a magnitude to those words: accepting full responsibility for your
actions that only someone who laid themselves at the mercy of another would
understand. Many people could claim that they accepted full responsibility for
their actions, but it's simply an escape for them. A way of giving them a faux
sense of maturity . . . of relief. You've only truly accepted the full weight
of your choices when you were willing to lay your fate—your life—at the feet of
the person you've sinned against. Otherwise, you were simply going through the
motions to save yourself the pain. It was selfish.
And I was going to stop being selfish now.
This was the biggest revelation I'd come to: just how selfish I truly was. To
my parents. To Jasper. About everything that mattered. But most importantly, to
Tanya. And I was aware that there was entirely too much I was missing because
I've been so trapped within myself. I also knew that a lot of this revelation
came from spending time with someone who clearly put others before herself.
There was so much I could learn from her . . . so much I wanted only her to
teach me. She'd opened my eyes in so many ways, and I wouldn't miss what was in
front of me any longer.
I think part of me has always known this fact: that the only person who can
grant me redemption is the same I have sinned against. It was the reason that
the accident that happened eleven years ago tormented me still, because she
wasn't around to forgive my sin against her. I've been living with the weight
of her death on my shoulders, and she could never grant me the redemption I
needed to let her go.
But I've also learned that accepting full responsibility before you were
willing to place yourself at the feet of another and to give them everything
you have could only be achieved if you forgave yourself first. Because if they
would have chosen to grant you redemption, but you didn't believe that you were
worth it, then again you were being selfish in denying them what they had
chosen for you—their choice. Choice: something else she taught me. And I would
no longer be selfish enough to deprive any of that privilege.
Growth and acceptance can only come from forgiveness of self first; that was
something I had to teach myself.
It was not an easy road to enlightenment. Far from it. But, and as cliché as
this was, it was well worth the trouble.
And for the first time in my life, I have forgiven myself for everything. I
stood bare before my sins and knew that I was only a man. I was imperfect and
foolish. But never would I forget the sins of my past, because forgiveness was
the exoneration of a fault; growth, by that definition, meant that I would
never again commit the same fault. And by never forgetting, I knew that I
wouldn't, and so I was free to forgive myself.
I was free. If that held anything, this was it: I felt free.
One day soon, I would be ready to face that past sin and lay my fate at the
feet of those I sinned against; since she was no longer living, it would be her
family. I wasn't ready yet, because I had yet to resolve what I had done to
Tanya. But one day, after Tanya had chosen what she felt worth charging for my
sin against her, I would then ask to be charged for the sin that haunted me all
my life. And when that day would come, I would be ready.
But first, Tanya was a more pressing matter.
I called Tanya; she wouldn't answer my calls, but I let her know that I would
be ready to talk to her whenever she felt she was ready to talk with me. And
when she was ready, I would lay my fate at her feet. Whatever she asked, I
would give her—no matter what. And I had considered everything that she might
charge me for what I had done to her. I thought about a divorce, my financial
assets, my reputation, my integrity; all of it was hers to choose what to do
with. But most of all was my happiness—that was in her hands as well.
And I knew that there was a very real chance that she would ask that I make our
marriage work and that I stop seeing Twilight, and it was this thought that
killed me.
I accepted the fact that there was something more to her, a connection that I
wanted more than anything. A connection that I needed more than anything. She
was what I really wanted in life, and it took me a while to admit it to myself,
to even understand it. But it was true. She was everything I didn't realize I
needed. She helped me find myself . . . my way. She stayed with me long after I
would leave her; everything about her stayed with me. I thought about her
constantly and her words changed my world. And I couldn't imagine going at it
without her. I even dreamed of what, one day, the future could hold for us, how
happy I would make her and in turn know what that happiness felt like to bask
in. If I were honest, it was the only thing I wanted—to be lucky enough to bask
in her happiness.
She might not want me. That was a very real possibility. I wanted to believe
that even though she may not see it yet, we did have a stronger connection than
either of us could have ever imagined. And if that weren't the case, I could
dream at least. And it wouldn't change the fact that my happiness lay in her
future, in whatever capacity she would have me. It was her choice after all.
But if Tanya deemed that I wasn't allowed that happiness, then as much as I
knew it would kill me—because it was so clear that it was what I wanted—I would
let it go.
And I could never hold resentment towards Tanya if that were her choice,
because it was part of the full acceptance of my responsibility. And so here I
was, waiting for my atonement at Tanya's hands.
It was with this mindset that I returned to the Novolunie, the club where it
had all began. I couldn't even last a week without wanting to see her again.
And I decided that if this was the small happiness I was granted, then I would
suffocate in it until it was taken from me.
Until Tanya decided my fate.
One of the men who worked at the bar, Russian with tattoos and a deep voice,
the same who took my credit card last time, met me last time. I had told him
that I wanted to talk with Twilight for as long as I wanted. He laughed at the
term "talk," and I decided it was probably best not to correct him. When his
darker chuckle told me he'd make sure I "got my money's worth," I was hesitant.
And when I called the company later about my leather outfitters expense of
practically triple what I paid that very first time, I decided that he had
overcharged me.
But this evening when I brought the "issue" to his attention, he told me that
was the "unlimited" price. I didn't know whether to be happy or disgusted.
I didn't know there was an "unlimited" option when it came to my time with her.
But if that were the case, I was severely undercharged. And the notion excited
me . . . I would spend every second in her company until they kicked me out.
I waited for her in the same room that started this, sitting against the wall
with my feet crossed in front of me, on top of one of the giant suede bags. My
jacket lay strewn next to me with the gift I brought for her under it. I knew
now to ask for room eight when I came. The golden-door guard and I were
practically on a first name basis; it turned out they got a lot of repeat
business, because I started to recognize faces of the men leaving the hall when
I entered it.
And I didn't know, again, if that should have disgusted me.
Never would I have imagined that I'd become this man. But yet here I was, and I
couldn't care less. She was more than worth it.
As I waited, I found myself wondering if she had regular customers too. And
then sadistically, Mike came to my mind, and I hated him for touching her, for
tainting her. But even though my body longed for her like the first drop of
rain in a desert that had been in a decade of drought, I couldn't find it in
myself to be jealous that he still had her body when I didn't. It was different
now, after knowing how much she despised what she did for a living. I couldn't
even watch her dances anymore. I patiently waited back here for her to finish.
Because even though she didn't say it out loud it, wouldn't verbally admit it,
it was apparent that she hated what she did for a living.
And I wanted no part in anything that brought her pain, that she hated. That
was why I had left so abruptly the last time. I had almost kissed her, and my
entire body burned to press my lips to hers. The singe on my lips was
unbearable and it was as if she was the only cure, and I felt my face lean
closer. When she blushed, the heat radiated off of her and it sent chills down
my spine; it was quelling my fire, and I wanted to bring her closer to keep the
sensation alive. Her breath on my face was intoxicating, and I gladly got drunk
off her.
Then I remembered what she had said and, reluctantly, I pulled back; I didn't
want to force her into something she hated. I had to pull away, because I knew
if I kissed her, I would have taken her choice away and she would have felt
obligated to reciprocate or worse. And from what she has let on, having a
choice in the matter was important to her. Therefore, I promised myself that I
wouldn't take hers from her, not ever.
When she finally walked through the door, she had the same terrified and
confused expression as last time. She was wearing the waitress uniform again
with the black bow tie, white bra and barely-there skirt. I forced my eyes back
up to her face, knowing that I was a man—a man who was incredibly attracted to
her—and I couldn't stop the reaction my body had to her, so it was best to
limit any stimulus. This wasn't about that, and I didn't ever want her to think
that just because I couldn't keep my reactions under control. She had been
standing staring for awhile, and now I could see a bit of sadness in her
expressive eyes. I furrowed my eyebrows as she finally gave in and walked
toward me to sit cross-legged next to me like she always did.
"Which me?" she asked, not looking up at me but instead at my jeans which she
had taken to playing unconsciously with. I couldn't even begin to explain how
the action made me feel; it made me feel as if she were trying to have a closer
connection to me, but she didn't realize it or wasn't even aware of
how to accomplish that. I ran a hand through my hair before I sighed.
"I thought you knew." She bit her lip and then looked up at me. "I don't want
anything but the real you." Her lips lifted slightly at the corners, and I
realized just how much I missed the rare beauty of her smiles. "Speaking of
which, I was wondering if you would tell me your real name, not that Twilight's
not interesting. I just would really like to know your name."
"I can't tell you. I'm sorry, Edward," she said softly. Her deep brown eyes
were always so expressive, like an open book. I was honestly expecting that
answer, but I knew it wouldn't hurt to try. And for the very first time, I
found myself wondering why it was exactly that she couldn't tell me her
name. Was that standard procedure at these types of places? Did it have to do
with the legality of prostitution and what she did?
Sighing, I decided that that was most certainly what it was. She obviously
didn't trust me well enough yet to know that I would never get her in trouble.
I would just have to work to build up her trust in me. And I was certain that
when I had it, she would share more about herself.
Her fingers fiddled with the seam of my jeans by my knee, and I smiled.
"It's okay, I expected that answer, but I thought I would take the chance
anyway." She nodded. "Hey," I started enthusiastically, and she looked up with
a twinkle in her eyes and an innocent curiosity. I turned to my jacket and
pulled out the book I brought with me. "I brought you something. It's a little
worn, but it's my favorite."
I handed it to her and her head turned down to look at it, but she didn't move
to open it or read the spine, or any action that would have shown interest in
the book.
I stumbled over my words, trying to explain the gift. "I don't know if you've
read it already. But you said you don't read anymore, and then you had stated
that you wanted me to do something that made me happy. And, well, I want you to
do something that makes you happy as well."
When she looked up from the book to my waiting eyes, there were tears running
down her face. The sight of it shocked me and brought a pain in my chest with
it. I felt my throat grow dry, and I didn't understand why there was so much
agony in the depths of her brown eyes. Her face was so forlorn, almost as if in
these past ten minutes, she had aged years. Sorrow hung her delicate eyebrows
and an unknown longing paled her skin. I felt my lungs grab my heart in a vice
grip, squeezing everything out of me tightly. And the intensity of her pain
pricked at my eyes. I couldn't stand to see her like this. Yet the water ran
down her eyes freely.
"I can't take this, Edward," she finally said. I felt my dry throat swallow my
hopes, dreams, and words.
"Why?"
Her hands fell to her lap with the book still clutched in them, tighter than
necessary, and she looked back at me with a steeling in her eyes. "What are you
doing here, Edward?" The ice in her words took me back and I was so confused.
There was a genuine anger in her tone and manner, but yet the hurt still
lingered in her eyes.
"What?"
"It's a simple question. Why are you here? I mean here, sitting with me giving
me gifts . . . books, when you have a wife who loves you at home—a woman you
love as well?" My eyes widened at her brutal honesty, and I didn't think I was
even ready to answer that question.
"I don't know . . ." I paused, and she shook her head before sighing. She
shifted on the ground to move to get up.
"You don't know?" Her words weren't spiteful or pained but a very deep mixture
of the two. She continued shuffling, and my hand shot out to her arm. She
looked up into my eyes and her tears had stopped, but the pain glazed her eyes
as a new anger burned. She shook away from me. "Let go of my arm."
"I'm sorry. Please, stop. Sit back down," I said, and with clenched teeth and
closed eyes, she did. I waited until she was sitting back just as she had been
before. "I don't know how to honestly answer that. Please understand that all
of this is so very new to me. And I've only recently come to terms with just
how capable I am of messing everything up. And I'm sorry for the wrong that I
have done. But there is so much inside me that I question now. I can't say that
our meeting was conventional or even appropriate, but ever since that day, I've
been drawn to you. And even though that pull has evolved, it never lost its
strength. It actually grew. I need you. As incredible as that sounds after only
having known you for such a sort amount of time, it's become paramount. I think
about you always, and I physically hunger for the comfort I get when I'm with
you. It's like my entire being knows that you're the only one who truly
understands me and it searches you out. And as far as Tanya's concerned, well,
that's for her to decide, and so I'm biding my time."
She nodded hesitantly, slowly, before finally bringing the book to her face and
examining it. It was as if hours had passed as I watched her read small
passages and flip the pages before hugging it to her chest and closing her
eyes. The action sent my heart soaring. She was quiet again for a very long
time, lost in her thoughts. I watched her in quiet awe, wondering what she was
thinking about. Finally she spoke.
"I dreamed you'd come back to me," she said with a small smile forming at her
lips, and I couldn't stop the euphoria that multiplied throughout my body. Her
eyes stayed closed while she spoke, but it only made her look serene and even
more beautiful than she was. "I hoped that you felt it too, the pull, the
comfort . . . the need." I do, I breathed silently, but she continued talking.
"And, Edward, that dream was so beautiful, it was everything I've ever wanted
and more. Everything I was afraid of admitting to myself that I wanted . . .
that I needed. I imagined it all, like a little girl daydreams of her future. I
saw us going to this lake in Forks that my father loved and sitting under a
tree, and we would read to each other or talk, like we do now. And I had never
felt happier." Her voice started to break and her lip was quivering. I saw the
glisten at the corners of her closed eyes before the slow stream of silent
tears fell, black tainting them. I swallowed the pit that lodged in my throat,
because it dawned on me all too late. This wasn't some beautiful retelling of
something we'd one day share; this was the agonizing account of what we
couldn't.
"I've dreamed of going back to that lake, Edward. God, how I've dreamed of
going back. And this time, I would fish. I would fish and I wouldn't complain,
not one bit. And in my dream, you loved my lake and we were happy together. I
wondered if you would meet Charlie and if he would approve of you for me. I
thought about how he would show you his shotgun to intimidate you. He would . .
." her voice broke, and there was so much emotion in her words that they alone
stung my eyes. "But in my dream, he was there, and he loved you because you
made me happy." She trembled on her words, and the longing in them stabbed
through the air. I wished that I could give her those things, but my fate
wasn't mine; and for the first time, I got the distinct impression that hers
didn't belong to her either. What all have I been missing?
"I . . ." I started, before she put her hand on my leg and opened her eyes,
effectively pulling my words from me. The storm in them was cataclysmic, and I
couldn't tear away from the millions of emotions there—agony, despair, longing,
love.
"I want to thank you for the book and for the dream—the bubble—it was
beautiful. But this isn't a dream or a bubble, Edward, and it has nothing to do
with you or Tanya. I'm not allowed those things, and the longer I hold on to
the dream and the bubble, the worse I will be. I can't do it anymore. I just
can't. If it was just me, Edward, I would. God, I would give in to this. I
would gladly float away in that bubble, but I have to stay grounded for my
sister. I can't allow myself to become blinded by dreams and hope for things
that I will never have." I stared at her with wide eyes, blinking unbelievably
until words finally formed in my mind.
"I don't—" She shook her head and rose to her knees. "I don't understand . . ."
I began again, before my words drifted off by her straddling my extended legs
and sitting fully on my lap. "What are you doing?"
None of this made any sense.
"I don't know when it will finally get taken from me—I'm lucky I've lasted this
long. So I thought that if I could have free choice, just once, you know, that
I would choose you to be my first," she said softly, looking up at me from
under her lashes inches from my face. It was innocent, and there was genuine
fear of rejection in her eyes, but I didn't understand it or what she feared.
"I still don't understand . . ."
"A kiss . . . . Will . . . will you be my first kiss, Edward?" My eyes widened,
and I looked at the sincerity in her deep, brown eyes and almost immediately
complied. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth nervously, and the fear
of rejection was still evident—prominent. A million thoughts ran through my
mind, but the only one that mattered at that exact moment was that there was
nothing I wanted more than to have her in a kiss. To be able to express just
how intense my emotions for her were. Even if I still didn't understand them
fully, I felt them and couldn't deny how profoundly they've impacted me.
"Please . . ." she trailed off, and I realized that I still hadn't responded.
Softly, I nodded, and she smiled. A deep sigh escaped my lips as I closed my
eyes; I gave myself time to compose as much as I could. I couldn't explain it,
but something told me, deep in the pit of my stomach, that this would change
everything.
Trembling from emotion I didn't even know I hid, my hands went to hers where
she was still clutching the book. I made sure to caress her hand as I pulled
the book from her. Gently, I set it to the side, and my hands went to her waist
to pull her closer up on my lap until she was pressed against me. The hollow of
her breathing ricocheted off our chests as our bodies began to fuse together.
Then my hands softly trailed up her arms until I reached her neck. Gingerly, I
massaged her nape by her scalp, letting my skilled hands heighten her sensation
to my touch. I needed every part of her body to want this . . . to need this .
. . to enjoy it.
Of their own accord, my hands moved to cup her face. My thumbs rubbed circles
on her cashmere cheeks, wiping the black streaks from her tears that tainted
them, and I was rewarded with her beautiful blush. The warmth that radiated
from her flush skin sent waves of igniting passion through my body. Her big,
brown eyes bore into mine, and all I saw in them was longing. Whether it was
longing for me, for desire, for understanding, for a moment of serenity, it
didn't matter much; it was a longing I mirrored more than she'd ever know.
And never had I seen anything more beautiful in my life than those profound
brown eyes. I smiled gently at her. My thumbs ran across her fluttering
eyelashes, and she closed them to me, surrendered to the sensation. A soft moan
drifted off her lips, and she tried to bite it back, but it was there. And I
didn't want her to bite back anything; I wanted her to let herself go and
finally enjoy what was meant to only bring pleasure.
"You're the most overwhelmingly beautiful being I've ever had the pleasure of
touching," I said softly to her, lust lacing my words, longing lingering on my
lips, and need nestling deep within the pit of my core. She smiled slightly,
and her fluttering lashes were like butterfly wings against my fingertips.
My hands moved lower on her face so that my thumbs could trace the outline of
her soft pink, lips. Through my fingers on her neck, I could feel her strong
pulse pick up—almost fighting against the pounding of my own. When my thumbs
ran along her lips, she parted them gently to me, and her warm breath against
them was the sweetest torture. The moist warmth that escaped from her quivering
lips was quickening, and I could hear her trying to control her breathing. Her
scent—the succulent strawberries that I remembered that first
night—incapacitated me, clouded my mind, and then there was only this moment.
Nothing but those soft lips under my thumbs mattered. When my thumbs had
memorized every cell of her lips, I leaned forward, determined. I would finally
have what I didn't even know I had waited forever to have.
Lightly raising her head, I closed the distance between my trembling lips and
hers. She was my blank canvas, letting me paint the scene in my own artistic
interpretation, never hindering my stroke and only enhancing its beauty. As
soft as a feather to silk, I pressed my lips to hers. I felt more than heard
her gasp, and the vibrations it sent from her lips to mine sent a ribbon of
need throughout my body, centering in my core and warming me from the inside
out. I tilted her head to me and pressed our lips together once more, firmer,
longer than before, and again gave her time to adjust. The soft serenity of her
face was breathtaking, and my eyes devoured every detail of her euphoric face.
I couldn't close my eyes, not now. Then I parted her lips with mine, tasting
the soft flesh there with every part of my lips. Giving her every ounce of
passion I held for her, my hands wove into her long, brown locks, bringing her
crashing to me fully. It was the spark that set the flame blazing—succulent
tremors of electricity that tingled across my every pore—and I kissed her
zealously. My tongue ran along her lip's edge hesitantly, almost as a last
ditch effort to stop something stronger than me. But there was no stopping it;
and sometimes in the middle of chaos, amidst sin and despair, one finds
something they didn't even know they were looking for.
She succumbed to my longing as the soft tip of her tongue met mine—electricity
submerged . . . consuming . . . quenching. Soon they were caressing each other,
challenging each other, needing each other, and she met my kiss with just as
much fervor. What started as a gentle kiss of longing and exploration capsized
into a heated kiss of pure desire and want. My lips devoured hers greedily, and
I knew she felt their yearning. Almost madly with her own fire alit, her hand
dove into my hair and tugged. She rose to her knees to push me against the
wall. She was driving all her need into me so profoundly that I didn't think
she realized the extent of her own need. Just how strong this really was.
Finally, my eyes closed, too heavy with her breath, sensations . . . all of
her. At last, I surrendered to the feeling of her wanting me just as much as I
wanted her. Her enjoyment was the scorch to the sweetest burn that left every
inch of my skin singed in a maddening paradox of icy and hot sensations, where
I teetered on the brink of longing but never quite falling off the edge. Every
feeling drove me to the height of passion and need—her pulling on my hair; her
tongue seeking to own mine; the warm, rushed, and moist breath from her nose on
my cheek; her heady pants and moans. And together, we moved in perfect
synchronization with each other, our bodies knowing what we needed without
direction. It was primal, instinctual . . . perfection.
Before too long, her hands loosened their grip on my hair and she pulled away
from me breathlessly; I let go of her hair just as I opened my eyes to her. I
found her brown eyes almost black with need, and I smiled. I felt drunk; it was
the only way to describe it.
She bit her swollen lip as she sat back on my lap and stared at me. My hands
went to her arms and I rubbed them up and down. Then her beautiful blush graced
her face again. I smiled wider and honestly at her.
"Thank you . . . umm . . . really did enjoy that," she said, still a bit
breathless, before bringing her hand to her lip and sighing, another soft
"really" escaping her swollen lips. Her finger danced over her lips softly, and
I was entranced by her serene exploration of what she had just felt. And for
the first time since I met her, she wasn't the confident vixen, but a shy and
inexperienced girl. My heart chuckled. This was her; the real her that I just
knew only I got to see.
"I did too, very much so," I acknowledged. Stumbling, as if her legs were only
recently an attachment to her body and she had no idea what to do with them,
she got up from where she was sitting and retrieved her book. Then she went to
stand in the middle of the room. She was sucking on her bottom lip, and this
time, I didn't think it was her nervous habit but to continue tasting me on her
lips. I almost offered to help her with that, until her eyes found mine and I
recognized the pain there again. It was almost a toss of the coin, how quickly
her features had changed.
"I don't ever want to see you again, Edward. Please don't come back here. Go
home to Tanya and make things work with her. I truly hope that you find real
happiness together . . . . Thank you . . . for everything," she said, and the
shock of her words left me without a retort to stop her from leaving. I got up
quickly to chase after her, but when I reached the hall, she was nowhere to be
seen.
How could I tell her that my happiness now was directly attached to only her?
As I sat there alone for an indeterminable amount of time, everything that had
happened in my life played like a movie—the past couple of months being the
starring piece—and I found myself wondering more than ever just how my movie
would end.
Pulling my jacket off the ground, I turned to leave a room that had, for the
second time, changed my life. And as much as I wanted to chase after her, I
didn't; I couldn't, not with the fate of my sins still looming over me. Only
until I resolved things with Tanya would I be free to pursue her or have to
leave her behind forever. I wouldn't know until I had spoken with Tanya.
Either way, this room had become a staple in my memory, and no matter what
happened, I would never forget even one second of what I had experienced here.
***** Chapter 19 *****
Once a year Barneys New York has a super sale. Well, a sale within the means of
"we're never going half off, so if you find something for fifteen percent,
you've been touch by an angel." It was held at the New York store location, and
it was by invite only. It was a sort of underground sale because they knew that
whoever shopped would spend, at the very least, a good couple grand.
The first time I heard about the sale, I was ten. My mother and father weren't
around much, and my Aunt Carmen and her husband Eleazar raised me. I lived in
Alaska at the time, but that was only where the mail came. Carmen and Eleazar
traveled quite a bit and took both me and my sister, Kate, with them. They were
our parents. Neither Kate nor I ever set foot in a school; we had private
tutors of the best caliber that traveled with us also. It just so happened that
we were in New York during the sale. I remember walking past the store windows
and seeing a pair of red shoes I just had to have.
I was a capricious ten-year-old—that's putting it lightly. Anything I wanted
was easily bestowed upon me. Except those shoes that one day during one of our
many trips to New York. Carmen tried to get into the store, but it was the day
of the sale and we weren't invited. By the time we returned the next day, the
shoes were gone. I had never been so heartbroken; I had actually cried for days
after leaving New York. It was the very first time in my life that I wanted
something so badly, but yet it'd been denied to me.
And that trip fueled a lifelong obsession.
Almost for an entire decade, I waited for that sale to finally go. Every year
at the same time as the Barneys sale, I had a "shopping party" with my sister.
I spent the entire month purchasing things off the internet from the Barneys
website or at the other store locations. Then on the day of the sale, I
recreated a store scene and both my sister and I "went shopping." I had never
obsessed over and wanted anything more in my entire life. That Barneys once-a-
year sale became the very blood that pumped in my veins.
Carmen was never interested in the Barneys sale, but as a gift for my
acceptance to Loyola University in Chicago, she made sure we were invited to
the Barneys sale the year of my eighteenth birthday. And I may have gone crazy
that first time I finally smelled the open doors of new clothes on "on-sale"
racks in an invite-only sale, spending at least half the price of my tuition to
Loyola in just that one day. But I had never been happier than that day. And I
never thought any other day would compare.
That was until I married the man of my dreams.
When Edward asked me to marry him, I was shocked. It was perfect; he was
perfect. He flew me to New York—the weekend of the Barneys sale, of course—and
after a full day of shopping, we went to dinner and he asked me to spend the
rest of my life with him. Edward had never accompanied me during the Barneys
sale, and I was surprised to see him survive it, let alone want to spend even
another minute with me afterwards. I'm not the nicest person during the sale.
Fine, Ursula from The Little Mermaid was more attractive than me during the
Barneys sale, but that's neither here nor there. But when I stood under that
alter with him in his tux, looking sexier than Antonio Sabato Jr. in a pair of
Kleins—but oh so just as mouth watering—I knew that nothing could ever be
better than that moment.
I had no idea then just how true that statement would be.
That day seemed like years ago, and I was a different woman then. Sadly, I was
a happy woman then. Never—god, how stupid do I feel—but never in my life would
I have thought that the problem that had torn Edward and me apart would have
been infidelity. Granted, Edward wasn't a virgin when I met and had been with
him, and he had hands so skilled that all they had to do was run down my arm
and I had two orgasms immediately. I knew I sure as hell didn't teach him those
tricks, so I wasn't an idiot.
But . . . .
Sex was something that Edward and I didn't see eye to eye on, especially in the
beginning during our platonic friendship. He didn't understand how I could
actually enjoy countless casual encounters, and I didn't understand how
he couldn't.
That was just another effect of that missed sale. If I was capricious before,
well, after having my ten-year-old heart broken over something I wanted so
badly, I swore that from that point on, anything I wanted—no matter what—would
be mine. And as a young girl my tastes were for pretty things. As an adult my
tastes were for pretty boys. But still, whatever I wanted I got.
But then again, Edward had always had this weird taboo about sex. For him it
never came without some sort of commitment, some higher level of connection. He
was old-fashioned that way. Edward was actually the person to insist on waiting
until the sixth date, instead of it being the other way around. And really, the
sixth date, who did that anymore?
I remembered making fun of him constantly for his "prudish" demeanor. He would
just counter with, "How can you possibly meet anyone of quality if they don't
respect themselves enough to wait?" And it was this train of thought that
condemned me.
He had to have known her. And he had to have known her well. Just how long had
this affair been going on? Months? Years? Edward didn't do casual. Then that
brought me to the worst of my thoughts: did I know her?
God, did I even truly know him?
It ate away at me, and again I was that ten-year-old girl whose world was torn
apart. But now it was real and this wasn't just a pair of shoes that were taken
from me. It was my husband; it was my life . . . it was my future.
I wanted to kill him. I wanted to kill her. I wanted to run into his arms and
have him tell me it was a joke. I wanted to go back to that day at the altar
and tell him that I didn't choose him; I wanted to ruin him first. I wanted to
hurt him. I wanted him back.
But what would happen now?
For the past two weeks I stewed in a bed that reeked of betrayal, decay, and
despair. I didn't shower, take visitors, or calls. Nothing seemed real, and all
I could do, against my better logic, was replay every moment of our lives
together. It was like an old 1940s flick in black and white. There was no color
now. My sister couldn't take it anymore. She flew from Alaska and forced me to
brush my teeth. And "for the love of god," she begged, "do
something, anything."
Fine, I thought—fine—I would.
"Tanya . . ." he stuttered when he opened the door. Quickly catching his
manners, he moved out of the doorway and opened his arm, signaling me to enter
the office.
"Did you know?" I didn't know what my voice sounded like to him. To me it was
emotionless, dead, cold. Whoever this woman was now, I didn't like her. And,
sadly, a bigger part of me resented Edward for turning me into someone I didn't
like. Because if there was ever any person I did love in this world, it was me.
And he even took that from me.
When Kate told me to leave the house, even if I sat outside the condo with my
back against the wall, just that I get out, I knew there was nowhere
I needed to go more. He had an appointment, but I waited.
"Please sit down," Jasper said softly as he went to the seat next to the one I
sat in, on the other side of his desk. I did and I waited again. He'd better
not make me ask it twice. A frustrated sigh from his lips hung in the air just
like my stench of scorn. I felt like Susan Seaforth Hayes, and these were "the
days of my life."
"I did." I raised my eyebrow at his sorry excuse for an answer. I think—no,
I know—I deserved more than that. He nodded, his deep blue eyes pensive and his
wavy dirty-blond hair falling into his eyes before he pushed it back. His
nicely pressed, deep green collared shirt crinkled as he turned toward me.
"Tanya, yes, Edward did tell me. But it wasn't—it isn't—my place to tell you.
This is something that needs to be discussed with him. I can tell you that he
has been waiting anxiously for you to contact him."
My betrayed eyes watered, and I didn't even know if it was from the pain
anymore; it just seemed like that was all they did now. I didn't even try to
hide it anymore. "How long?"
He took a deep breath and tried to bring his hand to my lap in a comforting
gesture, but I moved out of his touch. Wrapping my arms around myself, I
narrowed my eyes at him.
"How long what, Tanya?" Jasper asked, and even I had to think about that one.
What did I really want to know—how long Jasper knew, how long this had been
going on . . . how long would I feel like this?
What did matter now?
"How long has this been going on?" Apparently my words chose themselves before
even my mind . . . even my heart.
"Once, the night of his bachelor party, and to my understanding that was it,"
Jasper said, and for some reason my eyes widened, and disgust just piled onto
my stench.
"Oh my god, was it a stripper? It was a stripper, wasn't it?" I spoke in the
middle of a shiver. My skin itched all over. "Did he pay someone? Oh god, what
the hell is wrong with him? It's just . . . what about the diseases? What if
she was dirty and he gave me something?" My arms in my grip were trembling. I
looked up at Jasper, whom I hadn't bothered to make eye contact with since
walking in, as he took a sharp intake of breath that caught my attention. His
blue eyes looked disturbed before he closed them off to me, pressing his lips
into a thin line.
"Tanya, only Edward can answer your questions. Are you ready to see him? If you
are, then call him because he is waiting; he doesn't want to push you. If you
are not, then take whatever time you need. For you," Jasper said determinedly.
Was I ready to see Edward? Was that what this was . . . my coming here?
I looked up at Jasper again, and he simply tilted his head in my direction
compassionately. I believe I nodded before rising to leave. It was so hard to
tell, so much of my sensations felt . . . detached.
I knew I wouldn't call Edward because then I didn't know what would happen, but
I knew where to find him. Not even bothering to thank Jasper or say good-bye, I
left his office. He told me to call him if I needed anything further, but it
was obvious that Jasper's fidelity lay with Edward. And that thought made me
want to vomit.
It turned out everyone's fidelity lay with Edward. But where the hell did
Edward's fidelity lay?
It definitely wasn't with his wife; I could vouch for that much.
The first place I would try was the hospital, since it was close to Jasper's
office. They told me that Edward worked the night shift.
Good, I thought, I'd wake him up. And so I drove to Jasper's house. Why I stood
outside the door for over twenty minutes without knocking I may never know.
But, hell, I have no idea why I sat in my car for almost an hour before even
walking up to the door either.
Maybe I wasn't ready to see him. And just as that thought hit me, the door
swung open.
Then there he stood, in all his disheveled glory—the man I pledged my heart to,
my soul, my vagina . . . my life. How he could do this to me, I didn't
understand. Commitment was something that didn't come easy to me, but it was
like second nature to him. If anyone were to question our friends on who would
be the first to stray, most would have probably said me. I would have said me.
But I had changed for him . . . and I truly gave more for him than even I
realized. But watching him in that doorway, all my thoughts circling around
me—all our memories—I was made aware of who I once was and who I would never
again be.
It reminded me of the first time I had ever seen him, because even in sorrow he
was jaw-droppingly gorgeous. And even now I wanted to throw my arms around that
gorgeous neck and run my hands through his wild bronze locks and kiss him . .
. love him. But I also wanted to claw his drooped green eyes out. I had no idea
if these emotions were even sane, but that's because I wasn't me anymore. That
much I was aware of.
"I didn't know if . . . you were just out here for so long . . . and . . . I'm
sorry," Edward began, his eyes closed, an arm teetering on closing the door or
slapping himself. I didn't say anything but instead pushed past him and into
the house. He smelled like alcohol and cigarettes, and I hadn't known he
started smoking again. "Do you . . . I mean . . . are you thirsty, or can I get
you anything?"
"A husband who doesn't cheat on me would be nice." It fell from my mouth before
I even noticed it. The slamming of the front door made me acknowledge the words
that were coming out of my mouth. It was like I was on autopilot or something.
A mannequin really.
I heard noise in the kitchen to the effect of cabinets being opened and closed,
glasses clinking, and groans punctuated by the occasional "fucking idiot."
Somehow I made it to the living room and was staring at the empty Grey Goose
that sat on the wooden coffee table and, randomly, a stethoscope. Did he need
to check and see if his heart was still working?
My vision was deterred from the random articles of Edward's life when a glass
of cranberry spritz was placed in front of me on the coffee table. It was my
favorite. I wanted to spit in it. There was also a bottle of water placed next
to it. I was minutely aware of the fact that Edward sat in the chair
perpendicular to the couch I was sitting on.
The air was stale and heavy, but I did nothing to alleviate it. And to Edward's
good sense, neither did he. Hours could have passed sitting there staring at
nothing in particular and yet everything at once. My eyes tended to focus on
the massive belt buckle that Jasper won at a square dancing competition. I
remembered the story that Edward told me of when they were seniors in high
school. When things were still good. All of them snuck into a bar that didn't
card, and Jasper entered an all-night square dancing drink-'til-you-fall-over
competition. And the reward was a gaudy silver belt buckle that was bowl—it
literally looked like a bowl—and adorned with turquoise and ivory of some sort.
Twitching in my eyelids drew my attention to the fact that I hadn't blinked in
a while and water was running down my cheeks. I had no idea if it was from the
lack of blinking or from the lack of happiness. Probably both. My hands were
swiping at my runny eyes, nose, mouth . . . soul. It didn't matter much which
one. My breathing picked up, and I heard the strain in my breath before I felt
the pressure in my chest and scratching down my throat.
God, why did this have to hurt so much?
"Tanya . . ." he said, but I didn't look over at him. I just kept swiping at my
face. When would this ever stop? How much water could eyes actually hold?
"Tanya, please . . . ."
"Why?" My scratching-knife-for-a-larynx voice said. It hurt so damn much, my
fingernails clawed into my arms, apparently thinking that ripping off flesh
would be less painful.
"Please, Tanya, I don't . . ."
And then for some strange reason, I had a lot to say. Or at least my Saharan
throat did; my mind didn't seem to make the connection.
"You don't what, Edward? You don't know why you did what you did? That's
bullshit, you know. Or you don't think I deserve to know? Did you ever even
care about me? Because I assure you that I have no idea if you ever did. It's
such a joke."
His sharp intakes of breath were piercing, but still I refused to look at him.
He was off to my left and I felt him move so that he was leaning, probably with
his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Stress always took that pose
in him.
"Tanya, I don't know what to say. I can't make this better. I will never make
this better, and I will never be able to make this right. I know—trust me when
I say I know—how much this has hurt you. And if I could change anything, it
would be that, to have saved you from all this anguish. You don't deserve it at
all. But they're just words, and I'm so terrified of saying the wrong thing
here and hurting you more. But I don't want to lie to you either. I just don't
know what to do here, Tanya . . . I don't. And I'm so sorry for . . . for
everything." It was a broken speech if ever there was one.
"Why don't you just answer the question, Edward? Why don't you just tell me the
truth, whatever it is? Because at this point, really, what's the worst you
could do? Tell me it was with Kate? Do I know her? I mean, I'm guessing it was
with a female, but I just don't know anymore. I have no idea who you even are."
At this I actually looked up, although my eyes were still clouded with the
waterfalls that never seemed to cease.
Luckily, he was staring down at his hands. But he shook his head, and his voice
was strained between aggravation and guilt when he answered.
"Yes, Tanya, it was with a woman. I've told you a million times I'm not gay.
You don't know her. Who she was wasn't important when it happened. And I don't
know who I am either, Tanya. But the thing I've discovered through all of this
is that I never did. And I'm just beginning to learn who that person is; and,
sadly, he's not the most upstanding person."
"What the hell are you saying, Edward?"
"I don't know, Tanya. I honestly don't. Just that who I am truly is someone
very dark and lost. Someone I've hidden far too long . . . . Everything is so
complicated," he began before taking a pregnant pause, and I felt my anger
faltering through the haze of confusion.
"I don't understand you, Edward."
And almost as if an afterthought, he whispered, "I know." As much as it
shouldn't have, those two soft words killed me. I had dedicated my life to him.
I wanted to make him happy, to give him everything. And now I was left with
nothing, and he made it seem as if all my efforts were in vain.
Breaking, I spoke to him. "Haven't . . . haven't I given you enough? What do I
have to do? What the hell have I done wrong? Why . . . you still haven't . . .
you didn't tell me . . . why?"
He lifted his head, and it was then that I realized I was still staring at him.
His green eyes met mine and they were red-rimmed and shimmering from the water
they held in them. My hands clawed at my chest because the pain was just too
much.
"Tanya, please, it was never you. You haven't done anything . . . damn it. It
was me. God, it was me in every damn sense. Nobody understands me, but the
fucking joke was that I didn't even understand myself either. And I'm so sorry
that it's taken me this long to realize just how unworthy I am of everybody. I
can't make anybody happy until I fix myself. And I'm so sorry because the whole
time I thought I was fixed, that I was fine. I thought that if I gave you what
you wanted that it would all just work out. But the truth was I was giving you
this false version of me. God, and you have no idea how sorry I am, Tanya. But
I can't ever take it back, and now I just have to wait . . . because I'm
putting my life in your hands."
I think I might have actually snorted more than once at his words; because,
truly, what did words mean now? My eyes closed and everything was just too
heavy. It was too soon. I shouldn't have come here. I couldn't deal with this.
I didn't think I ever would.
Oh god. It's like an epiphany. I didn't think I would ever be able to deal with
this. I didn't want to, and I didn't ever want to see him again.
Did that make me a horrible person?
That when Edward obviously needed me the most, I wanted to leave him?
I wanted to wipe my hands and throw the towel in and say I'm done. I was done.
I just couldn't deal with this. I'd tried everything to make him happy. I'd
given him the best of me, and he only brought me down with him. Maybe
he was right; there was no fixing this.
He was still holding on to the past, and I couldn't continue competing with
that damn ghost of his. I just can't do this anymore. He never loved me, and I
should have been strong enough to know—to realize—that I deserved someone who
would. Damn the pain in my chest; it was constraining my lungs, and breathing
just hurt too much. My throat was so dry, and I hated that my eyes were using
up all my water supply, leaving the rest of me aching.
"What does that mean, Edward?" Again, some part of me spoke without my
knowledge, and I found a larger part of me hating him again for doing this to
me. Not the infidelity. Not the pain. Not the future . . . but for stealing me
from myself.
"Tanya . . . it's yours . . . I'm putting my life . . ." Edward began, not
looking anywhere, but yet everywhere but at me. And from somewhere deep in me,
anger found purchase. He still couldn't look at me. What had I done to deserve
this?
"What—"
Edward cut me off with words. "I'm sorry, Tanya, and I'll do what I have—"
"No!" I yelled, but in my dry voice it was hardly any louder than what I'd been
saying. And still his eyes wouldn't find mine. Rage gripped my hands and
clutched them to the glass on the table in front of me, and before I registered
what the fusion of anger and pain and detachment did to my body, the resounding
shatter of the glass and the cupboard echoed throughout the room. "No."
Fury lifted my legs and soon I was standing over him, trembling. And though my
eyes still watered, I knew the anger in their river too. "NO. I don't
want or NEED your apology."
But just as quickly as the rage found my body, it left me weaker than I had
ever been, using up all the energy I didn't have in a defeated sigh. And I was
again all too aware that I shouldn't have come here, that it was too soon. I
was so weak, more than just physically, and this—whatever this was—wasn't right
for me. Edward's sigh stung my skin, and I just couldn't do this.
"I can't . . . god . . . I can't do this anymore, Edward. I'll never be good
enough. I'll never be able to give you what you need to let go. And I'm so
tired; damn it, I am so very tired of it, Edward. You're the most selfish type
of being, and you don't even realize it. You're like a real life vampire
because you take what's beautiful and you kill it; you drain it of life. I
can't anymore. I just can't.
"And I love you, god, how I love you. I love you so damn much, and you're
killing me and it hurts so much . . . . I don't want to give up—I don't, I
swear—but I just can't . . . . I've worked so hard, and I have to let go. I
have to get out before you kill me completely. I can't drown with you, Edward.
I won't let you kill me.
"Please get help this time. Don't you see what you've done to Carlisle and Esme
. . . to everyone? Just please help yourself so you don't kill anyone else." My
sobs were only broken by the sounds of his.
"Tanya, I'm so sorry . . ." he spoke in a voice that wasn't even close to a
whisper. But I had already begun moving away. I really wasn't ready for this.
My thoughts and memories swirled around me. The years I'd spent trying to help
him, trying to make it work. Then those disastrous months after the wedding
when I'd lost him but still clung, fighting.
"I'll call Jasper and tell him when I've finished moving out so you can return
home. Please don't call me, Edward. This was too soon. If or when I'm ready to
see you again, I'll contact you. I just can't do this," I said to the broken
man quaking on the chair. His stare rose to meet mine—finally—barely, and in
the most sadistic turn of fate, I realized I didn't want it. Not this time. I
had no idea what he found there—when he met my eyes—if he knew that this time I
didn't want him; but whatever it was, it made him shake his head. He held his
arm out to me, but I moved for the door.
The whoosh of air from outside the house was welcomed from the stale air of
defeat inside. Everything about that room was overthrown. The empty alcohol
bottles, the stench of cigarettes, but worse was the way finality hung around
and nipped at your skin. I left my pain and my past in that room, broken
somewhere between Edward's. My heart followed me out that door, slowly because
it was still so torn, but it followed; and maybe one day it might find me
again, but that remained to be seen. Right now all I could acknowledge was the
hollow in my chest where it once was. Lethargically, another apology fell from
his lips and clung to the air. And before I closed that door and wiped my eyes,
I breathed one final whisper.
"I'm sorry too."
***** Chapter 20 *****
"Um . . . Luke Skywalker and Captain Picard?"
"Oh, baby girl, Picard hardcore!" She laughed, nodding.
"I KNOW! That Luke was so puny, and Picard was just dreamy," she said, swooning
through her big brown eyes. Those bad boys were huge, they made her face look
just that much younger. It wasn't the first time I found myself wondering
just how old she really was. I laughed at her reaction though. Everybody knew
that the reason Picard was badass wasn't because he wasdreamy. I rolled my eyes
at her and she snapped the towel in her hand at me.
"Okay, Rowdy and Texas Ranger?"
"Nah, I gotta go with Norris," I told her, amused that she always found a way
to bring things back to Eastwood. She told me once it was because of her dad,
and I saw the longing in her wide eyes. So I indulged her little Eastwood thing
because it was obvious thinking about it brought back good memories for her.
"WHAT?" my little Pixie squealed. I knew she would have that sort of reaction,
but her face was priceless. It was contorted in doubt and her eyelids had taken
on a personality of their own. They were blinking furiously at me. Pix had
always been a very animated person.
"Listen, I mean, when the Boogeyman goes to sleep every night, he checks his
closet for Chuck Norris. That shit right there, that's proof," I said with
finality as I swatted her arm with my towel.
It was our early day today and it was a Thursday, so we had to get things ready
for the big weekend—Labor Day weekend. The club always did these military
salute things. And with a Navy base not too far from here, the military
appreciation weekends always were a huge hit. It was midafternoon and we both
had pretty much finished cleaning up the club. I swept out the bathrooms while
she had vacuumed the plaid carpet out here. The stage had been wiped down and
all the chairs and booths cleaned. Now we were just getting things done behind
the bar. Currently, I was wiping down the bar and cleaning out the storage
closet, since a new shipment came in this morning, while she was setting things
up outside around the counter.
"What . . . did you just make that up?" There was amusement in her tone and I
saw her shaking her spiky little head at me. I full-bellied laughed at her.
"You're kidding, right?" I came and sat on top of the bar counter. She picked
some ice from the cooler and threw it at me. Her brow was twisted in confusion
and I couldn't believe what I was experiencing. "Pix, tell me you're kidding.
C'mon, everybody knows the Norris facts."
"The what?"
"HOLY SHIT! Okay, well, no wonder you're all stuck up on Eastwood's junk.
Norris is the man, the baddest motherfucker around. That's why they came up
with the Norris facts; these are just facts about how awesome the man is."
Pixie scrunched her lips to the side and put her little hands on her hip. With
a chuckle, I smiled more as I swung my leg at her to catch her. And I felt a
bit of a pang as I remembered why she was so sheltered. I tried my best to
catch her up on what was going on. When I realized just how much the girl liked
things like fashion, I started buying her magazines so she could read them and
she loved them. But I'm not lying if I said I didn't sneak a couple comics and
sports magazines in there too. I had to diversify my little girl.
"Okay . . . you'll love these. I don't remember a lot, only the ones I like."
She was trying exceptionally hard not to smile. I winked at her. My Pixie was
such a sucker for the charm. I think she might have mumbled something under her
breath. And it was moments like these that I loved about her, where she was
free. Not many people were blessed with her smile or even what her real
personality was like, and I would never take it for granted.
"Chuck Norris can touch MC Hammer."
"Wha—" she began before her Charlie Brown grew and I laughed along with her.
"That one was good."
"Hold on, baby girl, I got more and they get better. Okay . . . Chuck Norris
has never blinked in his entire life. Never!"
"More . . . ."
"If you want a list of Chuck Norris's enemies, just check the extinct species
list." I paused for dramatic effect and she was genuinely loving them.
"Alright, so the number one reason that you know Chuck Norris is the man, the
baddest motherfucker ever, baby girl, is because when Chuck Norris masturbates
he only masturbates to pictures of Chuck Norris."
Her eyebrows rose before she joined me in laughing full-gut. She shook her
spiky little head at me. When she was truly done enjoying the moment, she told
me I was a big doofus. I, of course, laughed at her because nobody said
"doofus" anymore. Jumping down from the counter, I made my way back to the
supply room before nudging her shoulder.
A bit later I turned around to find her at the doorway, looking hesitant. I
furrowed my
expression at her, wondering what was on her mind. Because I wanted my Pixie to
know that she could tell me anything, no matter what. But deep down, in a part
that I would hate to admit out loud, I really wished she wouldn't tell me
everything because it would kill me to know what she really went through and
know I couldn't do anything about it, even when I should. Even when I could. I
hated the fucking situation I was in, the situation I was put in—fuck, the
situation I put myself in—but it was too late not to care about Pix, and that
knowledge only made things harder.
"What is it, baby girl? A fucking nickel for your thoughts." A small grin of
hers lifted.
"Isn't it supposed to be a penny?" Her arms were crossed across her little
chest as she stared at me. I put the box I had in my hands down and wiped my
hands on my black jeans. The look of hesitance was still there and I wanted to
know what that was about.
"Nah, baby girl, I don't roll with the copper. It's all silver." She called me
a doofus again. "Seriously, Pix, what's going on? You know you can tell me
anything, right?"
Pixie nodded. "Emmett, we both know that I can't tell you anything; that would
only make things worse for you. I'm . . . well . . . I was wondering if you
would do me a favor?" She was biting her lip, and in that moment she reminded
me of her sister. Twilight was always biting that damn thing; sometimes I was
surprised she still had a bottom lip. That was probably why it was so plump
though, always swollen and that scar tissue.
A deep sigh rooted in my chest. I knew by the way she was fidgeting and asking
me the question that her favor was something that could potentially get me in
trouble, but more so it could get her in trouble. But as much as I wished I was
smarter sometimes, usually I thought with my heart. And once a motherfucker had
my heart, they had my undying loyalty. And little Pixie had my heart.
It wasn't that I wasn't smart . . . it was just that life had taught me a
different way to live by. I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't hip to the game;
I was. I just chose to turn my back. But just because I didn't acknowledge
things or just because I ignored them didn't mean I didn't see them. It was
jaded, and it was fucked up, I recognized that, but sometimes I saw it as the
lesser of two evils.
But lately all this warring in myself brought with it the realization that I
couldn't keep choosing to ignore shit that was right in front of me because I
had a job to do or I was willing to only save my ass. A lot had changed
recently and I had to reevaluate what was important to me. And fuck if I wasn't
surprised by the outcome.
"What do ya need, kid?"Her eyes lifted a little and excitement danced in them.
She came into the supply room fully and closed the door behind her. It was then
that my suspicion was confirmed; this could get us both in some serious shit.
"I was wondering if you could give this letter to a guy that comes to the club
sometimes." Her pleading eyes were wide and her fingers twitched.
And I was a motherfucking fool.
I mean, I really was an idiot. I took the job seriously. I had to. Fuck, I took
both jobs pretty fucking seriously. But when I was told to turn the other
cheek, I really fucking let the important shit slide. And maybe I wasn't
catching what I really should have been, instead of what I was looking out for.
It was that incident four months ago, that motherfucking James Dean, and he had
said Pixie's real name and left with her sister. The same one that I had had my
talk with Rosie about. The one that started this all and changed my fucking
world.
Who the fuck was he? And more importantly, why? Why the fuck did this matter?
Because I knew; I felt it deep in that place in your gut that tells you to stay
back when you walk alone in a dark alley. That same place that curled along
with a scream.
The whole thing was a slap in my face. Because here I was focusing on something
else, what I was supposed to watch out for, and I was missing something even
more important. I found myself wondering if it came down to it, which outcome
would need to be protected, which one I might choose. And shit if it wasn't an
easy choice.
And well, Rosie complicated things.
That shit wasn't meant to happen. Not that I wasn't on board for the ride, but
all my life I'd flown solo and the one time when I really shouldn't—when the
job really was more important—have found an attachment, I did. But not just any
attachment—she fucking worked here. How the hell could I explain that one?
Would I even need to? If it came down to a choice . . . which would I pick?
She didn't make this shit easy either. Rosie didn't think I noticed when things
were misplaced in my room or when she went looking through things that she
really didn't need to look through. I had no idea what she was looking for, but
I knew I'd have to be even more careful with my stuff because if she found out
. . . .
Fuck, when did my life become this?
When had I stopped being an observer and started being a player in the game?
But worse still—when it would come down to it—which fucking side was I playing
for, and who was on my team?
Shit.
And it was that fucking James Dean incident. I should have paid more attention
then to him and what it all meant. Fuck, what name did he call Pixie? Shit, I
knew I should have written it down, but it all went by so quickly and I was
more scared for Twilight than focused on Dean. Fuck, what did he call her? Amy
. . . Alina. My brows furrowed as I brought my huge thumb to my temple and
rubbed. I had him against the counter, pulling him out. He asked about a credit
card. What fucking name did he use . . . Al . . Alicia . . . Cullen? Fuck,
Cullen was the name on the card. He told Demetri that too. She was his waitress
. . . he was in a tuxedo, had familiar blue eyes and he was . . . Alind . . .
Alice. Fuck. Alice. That was it.
She was watching me intently, waiting like her life depended on my answer.
"James motherfucking Dean," I said as all my thoughts came full circle.
Confusion crinkled her face and then I decided to try something. "Can I ask you
something, Alice?"
Just as I suspected, her eyes widened and it was almost as if her voice was
caught in her throat and so she only nodded, meekly. So it was her real name.
"So it really is Alice?" I didn't mean for it to come out so chastising. She
gulped.
"How do you know that?" I nodded, knowing that I would have to pretty much go
all in here, and hope that she would too. This might be something I needed to
know. Fuck might—I was starting to notice that all of this would change
everything.
And would that change be for the better or for the worse? I just wasn't fucking
sure anymore.
"Baby girl, I'm gonna lay my cards on the line here and I'm hoping you'll do
the same," I said, narrowing my eyes at her. She tilted her head slightly.
"Okay, about four months ago a kid in a tux came to the club and he asked for
you by name. Demetri had it out for him, but I don't know how much Demetri
heard. Then your sister came out and talked to him before leading him to the
back rooms. Then a month later you're running out into the parking lot chasing
some Raggedy Anne-looking fool. This whole thing is pretty fucking suspicious,
Pix. And you know that you shouldn't be doing these things. So who's that
guy—Dean—and why's he know your real name? You know no one is supposed to know
that shit."
Her face blanched and I could tell she was remembering something. Then her hand
subconsciously rubbed her neck and I watched through hooded eyes, trying to
figure this thing out.
More and more I wondered just how many secrets this fucking place held. I also
wondered about the house that Rosie told me about. The one where Pixie and her
sister lived. I knew about the factory. I knew way too much about that fucking
factory and all the important shit that went down there and that Aro's people
were hiding, but I had no idea about the house. There was so much more to this
then I knew or even began to suspect. I needed to know more . . . when or if
the time came, I needed to be better prepared since I was already knee deep as
it was.
"I . . . I don't know how he knew my name," Pixie said, not even bothering to
sound convincing. I glared more at her, bringing my focus back to the here and
now, before crossing my bulging arms over my chest. "Okay . . . I told him. Oh,
Emmett, please don't tell anyone, please . . . I just . . . I had to, and he
was so nice, and you don't—"
I lifted one hand to stop the ramble, because once Pixie started she rarely
stopped. "Baby girl, do you honestly think I would say something to someone?"
And I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little hurt. But the change in her
expression took away all my self-sympathy. Water rimmed her eyes and she was
shaking her little head.
"No . . . no, Emmett," she said, her voice quivering. "I didn't mean it like
that. I just . . . ." She trailed off as she tried to wipe at her face.
I took the supply room in two strides to pull her into my arms. She practically
dove at the chance. Pixie was very affectionate. She was the type of person who
needed human contact like oxygen, even if it was something as simple as a
touch. Part of me hated that ninety-nine percent of the contact she did receive
wasn't what she deserved or needed. Her sister was the complete opposite; she
shied away from every type of physical contact. But it was a testament to how
much the sisters loved each other: watching them interact. Because Twilight
always spoke her love to her sister through touch and Pixie through words. They
knew what the other needed.
But sometimes it was more than that. I'd watch Twilight with Pix and you could
see the guilt in her eyes. Something about her love for Pixie wasn't entirely
pure, and there were times when it was painfully obvious in the way she
sacrificed herself for Pix or the way she took to the heroin. It was almost
like she deserved the pain. And I knew what self-inflicting pain looked like
when it stared its heavy-ass, dead, black-lined and mascaraed eyes at you
better than most. Twilight had more secrets under those dark eyes than even
Pixie knew.
Pixie burrowed into my arms—my compassion for her—as she explained what hurt
her, what she had intended to say. I brought all my attention back to her.
"Emmett, it's just . . . sometimes in our life—this life—no matter how much we
may not want to hurt another, we have no choice. We both know what people are
capable of when their back is against the wall. And I'm just saying that . . .
that I would understand, I guess, if one day you might say something. Because
maybe your life depended on it. I just—" she said softly before I stopped her.
"I know what you mean, baby girl. I do and it's fine. It's not something that
hasn't crossed my mind from time to time. It's the truth, baby girl, I'm sorry.
I think about this shit all the time . . . should I be doing more with the
information I got. Or should I be doing less because of the information I got."
She nodded against my chest. Nobody knew this reality like us. I just stared at
the rack of bottles in front of me as I thought hard about all of this shit.
When her sniffles lessoned, I asked her tell me the truth.
"His name is Jasper. And he's amazing. He wants to help me . . . . Emmett, I
sort of . . . I love him."
"WHAT?"
Instantly my eyes were brought down to her, and I didn't fucking mean to push
her out of my hands, but this was ridiculous. My hands clutched her shoulder,
almost as if to shake some fucking sense into her. With her chin in my big
hand, I brought her sight to meet mine, trying really fucking hard not to
squeeze it through the haze of red I was seeing.
I knew some fucking shit like this would happen. These girls were vulnerable;
of course they would fall for the first fucking loser who seemed to show an
interest in them. They would pour their hearts out and pray that it worked. But
this was the real world. Not some fucking fairy tale. Men didn't come to this
place to find love or the girl you could bring home for Christmas. It just
didn't fucking work out like that. Nobody would stick around for this, risk
their life to help some girl they didn't even know. Unless they had something
to gain. How could she even think she loved him—honestly, did she even know
what love was? Did she have a basis for comparison? And I hadn't seen that fool
come back since that one time.
It was such bullshit, all of it. And, again, my poor Pixie was caught in the
middle—too trusting to know the difference and always thinking of happily ever
afters to realize that sometimes what looked like a knight in shining armor in
the moonlight was just a fucking scarecrow in the morning.
Whatever the fuck this was, I was going to put a stop to it.
"Pix . . . listen to me, baby girl." My voice softened tremendously as I pulled
her gaze tighter to me and kneeled so that I could look her in the eyes. She
furrowed and I pulled her little head into both my large hands; it seriously
was like holding a baby chick in your palm. "I don't . . . I don't want you to
get your hopes up about this."
She was shaking her head as tears started to assemble again. But I stopped her
with my words. "No, Pix, I'm serious here. Don't fall for him, not like this.
You're going to get your heart broken. Not to mention, I don't even want to
think about what you may have already fucking told him."
"Emmett, you don't understand . . . ."
"Pix, please don't . . . I just don't want to see you get hurt. I can't . . . I
can't put another life on my hands. And if anything happened to you . . . it'd
be over."
"Please, Emmett, just give the letter for me?" Her deep brown eyes conveyed the
last of her hope, and I was such a fucking fool.
Shaking my head because this was completely wrong and stupid on every fucking
level, I spoke to her. "One letter, Pix, and know I'm reading it and somewhere
in that fucking letter it better say 'I can't send you any more fucking letters
and if you hurt me or do anything fucking stupid, Emmett McCarty, that's
spelled M-c-C-a-r-t-y, will find you and you'll be fucking lucky if he only
castrates you.' You feel me?"
"Emmett—"
"Those are the terms, Pix. I don't care either way. It'd be better for you, for
the both of us, if you didn't agree to the terms and I didn't have to give some
fool a letter from you." She closed her eyes and paused for a long moment
before nodding. Placing a kiss on her forehead, I brought her into my chest
again, thinking how fucking crazy this shit was. She told me the details of the
rest of her plan. How a blond named Mike Newton would pick up the letter. A
part of me wondered if maybe Dean wasn't a complete fool, but it was all just
so fucking complicated. "God, baby girl, don't make me regret this."
She shook against my chest before I heard her small sniffling, and I just held
her as she cried and whispered about never knowing what she would regret in
this life. And that maybe that was because she didn't know if you could regret
what was never your choice anyway. My grip on her tightened as I wanted to
punch something and block her from everything that hurt her all at once. She
was too fragile for all of this.
It made me think of my Rosie, not that she deserved this life—no one did—but
she was so different from Pix or Twilight—stronger. I got it then. It made
sense: having a choice brought strength with it. It was obvious that Rosie made
the choice to come here, but as much as I asked her she'd never give it to me
straight as to why. And it made me wonder if Rosie regretted anything in
life—in all of this shit. I knew I did.
She'd have to be an idiot not to.
***** Chapter 21 *****
My knee was bouncing from where I sat on the floor waiting for her. I knew this
wasn't going to be easy. This wasn't some tale Bloom or Dumas wrote, where you
had a little drama and then everything worked itself out. There wasn't any type
of comparison; I had no idea what this wasexactly. I wouldn't tell her that my
wife was leaving me and that she was the one I wanted to wake up next to every
morning before we both rode off into the sunset.
Byronic Hero wasn't synonymous with me. I couldn't regale her with flowery
prose like, "you are my life now" or "death that hath sucked the honey of thy
breath hath had no power yet upon thy beauty" and expect her to fall at my
feet. Expect everything to magically absolve and the clouds to part and my life
to finally make sense.
I wasn't a fool; I knew it would not work like that, most especially not with
her. But we could make it work; I was willing to go as slow as needed. I knew
she kept secrets from me; I was aware that there was so much we didn't know
about each other. And I didn't even know how to broach sex with her . . . all
things considered. But she was all I ever thought about. I was willing to give
it a shot—to try anything. There was no denying my "reputation" considering
relationships and fidelity; I would not doubt any trepidation on her part to
embark on something other than a friendship at this time. Most especially with
me. But I'd be lying if I said that was all I wanted.
I would not lie to myself. Not anymore.
As much as I knew I shouldn't, as wrong as it was, I couldn't help feeling
free.
There was so much to that feeling. Everything based around it. I didn't know if
it was even permissible to feel this way. Yet still, with the guilt it brought,
it wasn't enough to stop the actual euphoria that built within me at a chance
at things I had never dreamed of experiencing. The most radical of them was
happiness. Because I thought I was happy; there was never any doubt of this
before, but to actually think you were happy and be happy were two very
different concepts completely. That entire notion was something I wasn't aware
of. Since you could not truly be happy until you let yourself be, until you
realized that you deserved it and you wantedit.
And I did want it. God, how I wanted it.
I would have an honest chance at having an honest friendship with her, and one
day, quite possibly, if I played my cards correctly—if I were fortunate
enough—something more. Maybe I would ask her to a movie or dinner on a night
that she didn't work. I wondered if that would seem too forward so soon.
If she were away from all of this, maybe we could finallytalk. She could tell
me what her real name was and why she was working in a place like this when
clearly she didn't want to be. I wondered about her family. Quite possibly, she
had bills to pay and she felt trapped. Whatever the issue was, I could slowly
help her with it, if at least to provide support. Whatever aspect of her life
that she would let me have, I would take and make myself of service to her. But
I didn't want to press too soon, too quickly.
I didn't want to make her feel as if I demeaned her, that I was somehow above
her because of her choices. If anything, I knew all too well the repercussions
of ill-made choices. But if in any way I were able to slowly become a permanent
fixture in her life, then we could find solutions that didn't deal with this
type of environment—these choices. And even if she wouldn't say it, I knew that
was what she would want.
More than anything, I recognized that I needed to deny my desires. As much as I
could play the gentleman role, there were a vast number of other things I
wanted with her . . . things that weren't gentlemanly in the slightest. My
fingers burned to touch her again; my lips were as if they had lost all
moisture since our kiss and she were the only Chapstick around. Not to mention
what one look at her body did to mine. However, I had already made so many
mistakes—not just with her—that I knew I would have to ignore those reactions
and instincts.
Just . . . one step at a time. Friendship and support.
My knee kept bouncing from my anxiety and nerves as I tumbled through the
constant thoughts that I'd come to entertain as of recent. Not surprisingly,
most—if not all—revolved around her. Excitement rippled from me like waves. How
could I not be excited? It was liberating; this would be the first time I could
be with her without strings, without guilt, knowing that I wasn't hurting
anyone. I had to mentally scold myself in a reminder not to sweep her into a
bone-crushing hug . . . another kiss . . . the minute she walked through that
door. And I would do it, if it weren't for the fact that I didn't think she
would approve of it.
Slowly, my thoughts wandered to the first time I had had her, as that was what
it was. I certainly couldn't say the first time I had met her, because that
night was not her at all. She was so very different than the role she played
here at the club, and I knew that I wouldn't ever want that from her. Something
false and unresponsive, dormant . . . dead. I remembered it then, clear as day,
the look in her eyes as she rode me that first time: there was a death in them.
And I swore that I would bring her back from that; that was something I never
wanted to see from her again. I would hate myself for allowing it to continue,
regardless of what I had allowed that first time. Then, I knew and I didn't
care. My eyes saw the detachment in hers, and yet I did nothing. Just another
error I'd have to eradicate.
Wiping my mind of any negative thoughts, I smiled, as this wasn't a time to
think of anything negative. Not when the future had so many possibilities.
Those thoughts brought with them the look of her face. I remembered her smile,
seeing her perfectly and utterly captivating in my mind. Nothing had ever been
as beautiful. And I honestly couldn't think of anything that ever would again.
When the doorknob turned, my smile grew exponentially, and I had to physically
restrain my knee in my grip. I made sure to wear jeans; I think she liked
them—always subconsciously playing with the seam. Her eyes met mine as she
entered. God, those eyes. Like an open book.
She stayed by the now closed door with her hand still on the knob, almost as if
she was clawing into it—or it into her. Confusion and disappointment scrawled
across her face, and I hated that she still doubted that I would want anything
but the real her.
But what left the air screaming in my lungs was the look of actual pain that
crossed her face briefly.
What happened?
"You, I just want the real you," I said quickly, as a reminder, ignoring the
tightening in my chest. Something was off . . . but it had to be just my mind
playing tricks on me. It had to.
I stared back at her small figure against the door as if my life depended on it
. . . my world. My eyes roamed over every facet of her body, her skin, her
face, her hair: Her. Yet she hadn't moved, and my stomach clenched along with
my chest.
There was a shift of something indistinguishable in her deep brown eyes as her
jaw tightened. Her face was glacial and unreadable as she turned from the door.
But instead of heading toward me and sitting across from me like she always
had, she went to the wall across from me. I was so lost in what could possibly
be different this time that words escaped me. She opened the cabinet along the
dark wall and was looking for something.
"Wha—what are you doing?" I asked out of the curious hesitation that was
building. Whatwasshe doing? She couldn't . . . .
The muscles in her back visibly tensed and the small, pink vinyl outfit she was
wearing crinkled. She was a dancer tonight. I never watched that anymore and
hated it on so many levels. The fact that she hated it being the biggest reason
not to watch; instead I would wait back here for her to finish.
"I'm getting ready for you baby." Her voice oozed seduction.
No.
The world fell off its axis. My world . . . my hopes . . . my stomach . . .
dropped. And like a bolt of lightning, everything was illuminated, and the
scorching pain shocked my nervous system. She was reverting back. She was
pushing me away. My elation plummeted, and I felt my throat constrict in a way
that left me gasping.
"Stop it. Just . . . stop whatever you're doing. And come sit with me," I
pleaded, my words, my voice . . . my soul begging her to not do this. Not now,
not to us.
"If that's what you want, baby," she purred. But it didn't escape my notice
that she had already slipped a condom into the back of her skin-tight, hot
pink, practically nonexistent shorts.
"Why are you doing this?" My eyes searched hers frantically, willing to pull
her back. Needingto. But instead she quickly pulled off her slinky top. And I
gulped roughly.
Don't look. Don't look. Don't look.
Of course, I fucking looked. Shit.
My hand flew to my eyes to offer some barrier to what my eyes wouldn't have
torn away from otherwise. The rubbing from my thumb did little to mask what was
happening.
"Don't do this," I breathed helplessly. My eyes bore viciously into my palm,
trying to find some form of clarity. I had honestly felt helpless; I didn't
understand why she was doing this, and I didn't know what to do to make it
right again . . . but I wasn't jumping to leave either.
Roughly, I shook my head.
Fuck.
She didn't answer me or even acknowledge me as she made her way to where I was
still sitting. Cautiously, my hand fell, and I watched with doubtful eyes,
trying with all my might to stare only at her face. It left me vulnerable
because I didn't know what her hands were doing. Soon enough, I felt them on my
ankle removing my shoes and socks.
I wanted to groan when her fingers touched my skin, not ignoring the way her
rub insinuated so much more. I wanted to scream becauseher fingers insinuated
more against my ankle.
Her eyes, that dead lackluster from before, never tore from mine. Yet they were
different this time. There was a twitch to her cheek, a snarl at the tips of
her lips. The intensity of her anger and hate clawed at my throat. Why hate?
What had gone wrong? What had Idone wrong? Then I wondered just who she found
herself hating more in that moment.
"Just . . . just . . . STOP," I said, pulling my leg up and away from her. I
brought the other with it and sat against the wall.
Her jaw tightened. With a sharp condescending nod, she rose and glared my way
before she started dancing.
I couldn't say with any truth what exactly passed through my mind. My body,
however, was on high alert. My own jaw clenched; my stomach jumped; my heart
raced; and my cock twitched.
Fucking shit. What the hell was going on? Why this; why now? Whywas it wrong?
Why did it have to feel so wrong and yet so right?
This wasn't right. It was a fucking labyrinth and I was lost as all shit. I
wanted this, didn't I? My tongue licked my lips, and I only then realized how
dry they were. Somehow—and I have noclue how—I knew my entire being rejected
this vehemently. I couldn't understand why she was doing this. Had I given her
any indication that was what I wanted, like this? Why was she pushing me away;
was that what this was?
Why?
When her breasts passed in front of my face, her nipples so close to my lips
that I could have easily tasted them, everything shattered. All the conflicting
emotions running through me, what my mind and body wanted, the thoughts that
were incomprehensible just explodedlike a bowling ball to a glass floor. I'd
had enough. Abruptly, I pushed off the wall and stood, pushing her away from
me, probably rougher than I intended since she stumbled. She stood in the
middle of the room, shaking her head, before she returned to swiveling her hips
and bending over in front of me.
Moving out of the way of her ass, I turned and grabbed her shoulders roughly,
pulling her to stand, to meet me dead on.
"Why are you doing this?" But as those words passed from my lips, something
flashed before her eyes that left me speechless.
Resolve.
I dropped my hold on her instantly, as if she were a hot plate scorching my
fingers. My breathing increased and I stood gaping. Resolve. Why?
How did this happen?
Not an hour ago, everything seemed to be finally going right in my world, and
now nothing made sense. Of all the possible emotions that I expected to find in
her expressive brown eyes at that moment, resolve never crossed my mind. What
would she have to guard with conviction . . . this firm purpose?
What was she playing at? Was she toying with me?
Doubt crept in like the morning fog over Lake Michigan. Was she toying with me
the whole time? Was any part of my experience real with her? Crushing me in an
emotion I didn't want to acknowledge, I thought about our kiss; that had
feltreal. How could things have changed? And why?
My hands went to my hair and pulled at the roots. I had no idea what to do.
What doesone do in a situation such as this? Hands calloused in guilt and shame
rubbed my face, and yet her hips still swayed. I wished more than anything in
that moment that I knew her name. As I refused to call her by her stage name.
Somehow I knew that would only fuel this fire she had started.
What do I do?
Should I leave her? What would that solve? I needed to understand why she had
chosen to do this to me now, to us. And then it hit me like a crash landing
that there never was any us.
My frail grip on everythingloosened, and I felt as if I was falling. There had
never been an "us." Simply my thoughts of what could be. Was this her way of
telling me that she wanted nothing more than this from me?
If this was all that she would offer me, could I take it? Would I? I wanted to.
So why not?
But she had said herself this brings her no pleasure. Then why? I couldn't
understand it. Nothing was making any sense.
"Talk to me, please . . . . Is this . . . what you want? This . . . this isn't
you," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. I didn't necessarily trust them.
"You don't know me, baby."
My eyes widened. Yeah, I definitely had enough.
She was lying. It honestly didn't matter to whom. . . to me, to herself. Either
way, she was lying. "You're lying. You know it. I don't care what your reasons
are; at least don't fucking lie about it."
Anger stopped her from swaying, and her dark brown eyes covered in black make-
up met my stare. The veins in her forearm grew from the tension in the fist she
made. "Get out." She threw her hand up and pointed toward the door.
"I've got no intention of staying. Not when you're like this," I said as I
searched for my shoe. Not even bothering with the sock she removed, I put the
shoe back on and stuffed the sock in my pocket.
"THIS is how I am! You should get used to it." Her anger, her lies were a match
to the spark that was growing in me. Even though I knew anger probably wouldn't
solve anything, she brought such a reaction out of me. I doubted everything.
But more than anything, I was just as enraged with her for taking my simple
happiness from me when I had just found it.
"Continue lying to yourself. I don't care. I'm fucking leaving." I moved toward
the door as I heard her kick the floor bag on the ground. And I found myself
wishing she'd just let me in—tell me something. Why was she so angry at this—at
us? What was going on? "I hope tomorrow you'll be back to normal. Because I
don't want to fight with you."
"No. I told you I don't want to see you again." Her thick brown hair bounced
off her shoulders as she spun around to face me, her eyes narrowed. That
stopped me.
"Is that what this is?"
"Don't ever come back here again. I've already told you."
In four steps I crossed the room to stand over her. She tilted her head up to
glare at me and I burrowed into those deep brown eyes, my heart, my hopes, my
anger, any fight in me left at the door that I almost exited. "Is that what
this is?" I asked again, softer.
Her hands wrapped around her bare chest that she stuck out. Everything about
her stance defied me, challenged me, conveyed strength in her resolve. She
didn't want to ever see me again. And I would have believed it if it wasn't for
the tremble of her lips and the lower of her eyes that I loomed over.
Gently, I grabbed her shoulder, closing the distance between us, my eyes
pleading as I continued to try to read her. Her breathing picked up, yet she
didn't back away. She stood her ground, her heart racing as she looked up at
me, defiant still. Softly, my hand that wasn't on her shoulder traced her
cheek.
"Do you not want to see me anymore?" I heard the knot in her throat as she
tried to clear it. Her breath caught, as sticky as everything in the room. And
everything became warmer. My fingers continued to run along her jaw to her
chin. A soft flutter of her eyelashes and her strong stance wavered. "Tell me,
and I'll leave."
She leaned into my caress; it was subtle, but it wasn't imagined. Her eyes
closed and it was almost as if her body leaned into mine. It was a fact that
she had been lying before, and still I wondered why. But before I could ask,
she opened her eyes and abruptly pulled out away from my touch.
"Get out. I don't want to see you anymore." Her words lacked the fire from
before, but she still held that resolve that she first had. She was stronger
than anyone I ever knew. What she had to be strong for, I didn't know. And I
only hoped that one day I would, but it was obvious today wouldn't be that day.
"Okay. I'm leaving. But please don't lie to yourself . . . to me. Not about
this, about us. I know you feel it too."
Nothing in her stance or expression acknowledged my words; she just stood
stiffly in the middle of the room, waiting. With a knot in my throat, I turned
away and headed for the door. As I made my way to the door, I knew that nothing
was as it seemed. There was now no doubt in my mind that she was lying. But why
would she feel the need to lie? What reallywas going on? And just what would I
do to make it right?
However, it was her last words that stopped me once again.
"Don't ever come back this time."
Turning to her, I was gaping. "Wha—how will I see you again?"
"You won't." The fight I had thought I lost apparently wasn't as far gone as
imagined.
"No."
"What?" It was as if that one word were millions. It was "are you kidding me"
and "get out" and "fuck you" all in one, and she practically spat it at me. My
eyes narrowed.
"You heard me. I'll come back when I want, after you've had time to get over
whatever this is," I said, waving my hand in front of me, dismissing whatever
behavior she was exuding.
Like a bullet from a gun, she shot at me. Her small hands left her chest and
shoved me in mine. The force from it was unexpected, and the thud against the
door echoed even over the music.
"What is your problem?"
Your lying. Your attitude. Your behavior. Take your pick,my mind answered her.
But I said nothing as I met her glare for glare.
"What part of 'I don't want to see you again' do you not understand?" she spoke
through gritted teeth.
"Apparently the same part of 'you're lying' that you don't." She shoved me
more; her small breasts swung in the fury. Something in her eyes sparked as she
caught my stare. It was dark and I knew that it wasn't going to be something
good.
"Why come back if you can't even fuck what you pay for?" My eyes widened just
as my jaw tightened. A look of complete contempt passed over her face, and I
wanted nothing more than to shake it off of her. Rage built deep in me and I
wanted so badly to unleash it.
"Fuck you," I said, shoving away from her and reaching for the door again. I
wasn't going to continue playing whatever game she was. I should have left
before. My anger was reaching lethal levels. Before things got out of hand, I'd
need to leave. Blindly, I clawed for the doorknob.
"You've done that already. And if I remember correctly, not even well."
The fierceness with which I clutched the knob would have broken it if it
weren't metal. My back clenched and every muscle in my body constricted. I
stopped and took one deep breath before opening the door and leaving. The slam
that announced my exit shattered the hinge.
***** Chapter 22 *****
Jasper,
I'm only allowed to write you one letter. I'm sorry. And I'm also supposed to
tell you that if you do anything stupid or hurt me that Emmett will hurt you.
Ok, Emmett, I wrote it. Can you stop reading my letter now?
I love your letters. When I get them
Getting your letters always makes me smile and feel happy and protected inside,
which isn't something that comes easy here.
I know you're probably really worried about my age. And I don't know what to
say about that. I really don't Jasper. There is nothing I can do about my age
or yours or how we met and how old we are. I guess I can just tell you that it
doesn't matter to me. It really doesn't. And I hope it doesn't matter to you.
Just please believe in me Jasper. I know what I want and I'm not worried about
us. I worry about a lot of things in life. A lot. More than most people, but
you and me isn't something that has even crossed my mind as a worry. I just
know that we're right for each other. That there really isn't anything wrong
with what we have or how strong my feelings for you are so soon. I can't really
say how I know, but I feel it. I feel like I've been waiting for you forever.
That sounds stupid, right? Gosh, I hope it didn't 'cause that's how I feel.
With each letter you send me and the more and more you open up about your life
and your feelings I know that they are the same feelings I have too.
Your stories about you and Edward make me laugh. He seems like such a good guy
which makes me happy 'cause Bella needs someone great in her life. I think
he'll be great for her. You can't imagine how shocked we were to learn that the
guy visiting Bella was the same Edward that is your best friend. Why don't you
send letters with him? He talks to Bella a lot and then you wouldn't have to do
that with Mike anymore. I know you were worried about that. It'd fix that
problem. I've been trying to talk to him, but I never get the chance. I don't
even think he knows who I am. Hopefully I can talk to him. I'm excited to get
to know him because Bella likes him.
Isn't it crazy that Bella likes him and I like you? I think it's destiny.
I don't know what to tell you about our childhood Jasper. I know you keep
saying things don't make sense and stuff, but you don't know what it's like. To
not have anyone and to only have each other. It was really hard for us. I trust
Bella with my life. She's loves me just as much as I love her and we were all
each other had. Maybe we didn't make the right choices and maybe we could have
tried harder to find some help but Bella did all she could and I helped when I
could. She was older and made most of the decisions, but it was only because I
didn't know what to do. I mean, I know she didn't either, but she was always
stronger than me. And people always tried to take advantage of me, I mean I
know I'm naïve sometimes. So it was easier for Bella to do things like take
care of us. And she did. She always did the best we could.
I don't understand why you keep saying there was something wrong. We were all
we had and we did the best we could.
I don't know what else to tell you real We were from Forks, Washington. Like
you know, I was adopted by Charlie Swan. He was a policeman and everyone loved
him. He made me so happy. I was so lucky to have him. Bella lived in Arizona
with her mom and stepdad and she only visited every summer when school was out.
She didn't really talk much, she still doesn't. But we got along ok. After
Charlie's death we got along better. It brought us closer. For the funeral
Bella and her parents came to Washington. I was supposed to go back with them
when it was over but I wasn't ready to leave and my dad's girlfriend said she'd
take care of me for a bit while Bella's parents got everything ready for me in
Arizona. They let Bella stay with me in Forks. Then one day after Bella and I
got back from hanging out at La Push Sue asked to talk to Bella. When Bella
came back she told me what Sue told her about her parents' accident. It was so
crazy. Bella was even more quiet than she usually was. And she asked me if we
could just not talk about it for until she was ready. I didn't want to hurt
Bella more than she was hurt already, so I gave her the space she needed.
So nobody really talked about it because it was too much pain to handle. Then
like two weeks later Sue takes us to the airport to go back to Arizona. For the
funeral and stuff I guess. At the airport after Sue left Bella said she just
couldn't go back, not to nothing in Arizona. I asked her what we were going to
do, Sue already had two kids and she couldn't afford to take care of us. She
already told us that. I mean we never really talked about it, Sue just always
said we'd be going to Arizona with Bella's family. I didn't know if Bella had
grandparents or aunts or something in Arizona. But at the airport Bella said
she had nothing in Arizona. And she said that we'd be living alone anyway so if
we were gonna live alone we might as well do it in Charlie's home. We were
already in Seattle because of the airport, so we were gonna stay there a little
while, until we could go back to Forks.
One day turned into two and then more. When I called Sue she would ask about
Arizona and I felt so bad for lying to her and I thought she'd be so mad when
she knew that we weren't in Arizona so I didn't say anything. We were staying
at a motel, Bella had a lot of money saved, but not enough 'cause it was
already like two weeks that we were in Seattle. We were just kids then, you
know, and we didn't think these things through. I didn't want to get in trouble
with Sue. Bella didn't want to go too far away from Charlie and neither of us
knew what things cost and what all went into living on your own and stuff. Like
I said, we made some stupid choices, but we always thought that then they were
the right ones.
So Bella said since she was older she would get a job. That wasn't easy. Soon
enough we weren't even living in the motel anymore. Sometimes we would stay at
a park or the airport 'cause they were open all night. Finding work was really
hard, food and showers too. Sometimes we'd go to those shelters and Bella would
ask them about programs and stuff but they told us they'd split us up. And I
didn't want that, Bella neither. She was all I had and she always took care of
me. So we had to find another way. Then one day we were in the bad part of
Seattle, we tried to stay away from there, and there was a guy who talked to
us. He offered Bella a job in his club.
We both knew he wasn't a good guy, but like looking back he was a whole lot
better then what we've got now. He gave us our own money. Bella wouldn't let me
work there at first, but then he learned about me and told Bella the only way
to keep her job was if I worked there too. So I did, I told her it wasn't that
big of a deal and we never had to have sex with the customers there, it was
just dancing. And we didn't really have to take off our cloths, like this is
really silly, but we used to have bikini tops and we'd stuff them to make it
look like we had bigger boobs 'cause we really didn't have anything. It really
wasn't that bad.
But that guy got into trouble and then one day these guys came to the club, we
didn't know any of them. They took all of us girls who worked there. Then they
split us up. Bella and I begged to stay with each other. We never saw those
other girls or Seattle again.
Those new guys were so mean and so scary. They did things differently. I don't
even remember when I learned we were in Chicago, we were kept so far away from
most people and there was only one other girl that came with us from Ted's but
we weren't allowed to talk to her. We weren't allowed to talk to anyone. And
they'd do things to make sure we followed the rules. It was hard at first,
because everything we did was against the rules and well we tried to escape a
couple of times and they didn't like that. But over time you learned what to do
and it got easier, never better . . . just easier.
I guess that's it.
But I don't want to talk about the bad stuff. You make all of that go away.
When I read your letters or think about you it's like I'm not here anymore and
everything is better . . . beautiful. I like having that in my life, something
that makes all the bad stuff go away. Someone who makes me want to have good
stuff.
I wish I could see you. Do you think you'll come back to the club again soon? I
wonder why you don't come back but Bella said that it's harder for you and that
Demetri might know who you are. That's scary because I never want you to know
Demetri or anyone here. They'd hurt you. And that's only if you're lucky,
they'd probably do worse.
That scares me. That I've put you in this position. I'm so sorry. I wish I
wasn't here and you could date me like a regular guy and you didn't have to do
all of this to talk to me, to risk anything.
I'm sorry. And the only thing that I can say is that I hope I'm worth it for
you. Because I know what it's like to want something and think that they're
worth it. I think you're worth it and I'd do the same thing for you. If you
doubted that, then please don't. I know you worry about my age and my feelings
but my feelings are the only things that are mine, that I can keep and make my
own decisions about so I don't take that lightly. And I feel strongly for you
and I'm very proud of this Jasper.
I hope you know that. I miss and think about you all the time and I care very
deeply for you. I can't wait to hear from you.
Alice
***** Chapter 23 *****
"When she gets in, would you mind having her call me back? It's important. It's
about Alice and Isabella Swan," I spoke as sincerely as I could, given the
circumstances and my lack of all the information.
"Yeah, I'll tell her," the man on the other end said. He sounded like he
couldn't be any older than his late teens.
"Thanks again."
The dial tone clicked me off before I replaced the receiver on the desk. I
didn't have any patients the rest of the afternoon, and I had made sure that I
wouldn't have any tomorrow either.
Because I wasn't sure if I'd be going in to work or not.
Actually, not much of my future was certain anymore. Nothing really was. But I
wasn't completely in the dark. Not anymore. There was more going on here than
anyone was letting on. And it seemed everyone was hiding something; and
everyone had their little secrets.
No matter what, I decided that tonight I'd uncover what was really the truth.
                                     ~xx~
Alice's letter wasn't anything like I had expected. Not that I had expected
anything, honestly.
The part that concerned me the most, although given all the information
shouldn't have been my biggest worry, was just how young she really was. I knew
her age, it wasn't a surprise, but knowing something and coming face to face
with it was something else entirely. When I had met her it was obvious she was
young; however, her height and size led to a youthful appearance. So I had
assumed that she just looked young because of those things, not because she
actually was young. Her letter, though, was a different story. It was written
by a young girl. There was no denying that.
I was again plagued by the thoughts of pedophilia and right versus wrong. If
she weren't in such a situation, would I pursue her? If she were with her
parents, would they allow me to? I'd assume no, and that could only enforce
that this wasn't wholly right. And it was a disgusting and hard pill to
swallow. But thinking about all the negatives led to disillusionment, and that
was something I couldn't afford; because without my help, I had no idea how
those girls would make it out of there. And so I would push aside my ethics and
morals . . . and feelings, and only concentrate on the most important issue:
getting them out of there.
The first thing I should have done was go to the police. But many factors
stopped me. The most troublesome was the mention in Alice's letter of two
people involved where she works. When I went to research them, as I did every
piece of information, I was able to come up with that one of them had ties to
the police. That could only mean one thing: crooked cops.
Things just got more tangled as I dug deeper.
Shaking my head out of my thoughts that were running in circles around
themselves and double looping, because everything was twisted together, I
thought back to the facts.
Mike had delivered the letter a week ago, and ever since then I'd been
narrowing my research. I divided it into factions of Alice's life before
Chicago and Alice's life after Chicago, knowing that anything I turned up would
be of importance. No detail should be overlooked.
My father had been a military man before entering the commercial workforce and
he ran a regimented household. I had always had the mind of a soldier because
that was what my father raised. Rosalie was the same, but where she rebelled as
a little girl, she embraced later on in life. The biggest lesson: any mission
required reconnaissance first and foremost. You didn't walk into a battle
without a weapon, and there was no weapon stronger than knowledge. And I needed
all that I could get. I would know everything about Alice, about her sister,
about the club, about its owners. Anything I could get my hands on, I would.
The hardest of these things actually happened to be Edward. When Alice's letter
had said that Edward returned to the club to visit with her sister, I wanted to
say I was shocked. But a bigger part of me wasn't. He'd been acting strange for
the past . . . actually, since the marriage—however, the past two weeks had
become noticeably worse. Granted, I knew the distance we'd both been
experiencing was double-sided. I had been too wrapped up in Alice to really do
anything else. I knew I hadn't been earning my paycheck, and that's a disgrace
to my patients as well. But Edward had completely withdrawn.
I now knew why.
He'd been cheating on Tanya, continuously.
But that it had been with Bella changed everything.
As soon as I got the letter, the first phone call I made was to Edward. This
distance needed to stop. I didn't know how deep he was involved, but it needed
to end. If it wouldn't, I could always use help. This wasn't going to be easy.
He'd moved out two weeks ago, once Tanya had told him that their condo was
clear, and that was the last time I'd seen him. When he didn't answer my phone
calls for two days straight, I started to worry severely. What was he doing?
I showed up at his condo and found everything was a mess … well, by Edward
standards, which could be considered untidy to everyone else. It was a known
fact that Edward was a neat freak who didn't just believe in the benefits of
bleach and rinse and repeat, but his "issues" with even numbers was enough to
push the compulsive nature over the edge. So the first thing that drew my
attention and my worry was the two bottles of tequila on the table. Edward
didn't even like tequila. And he had started smoking again; I was able to
contain it at my house, but judging from the cloud leaving his door as he
opened it, he had let that go too. Pushing past the mail that had overflowed to
the floor and his gym bag, I stared at a face that looked like it hadn't seen a
razor in months.
When we talked, he was curt and evasive. He wouldn't give me any answers and
told me it was none of my business what he did with his free time. I told him I
wasn't there to judge him, but he'd checked out of the conversation long before
I even started it.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I demanded, standing up from the couch.
"Nothing. I'm busy. I can do whatever the fuck I want with my time. Who I visit
is my business. I don't need your shit, Jasper."
"It's not my shit, Edward. It's your shit and you need to get it fucking
together."
"Did you come here for a reason?"
Pissed, I kicked under his legs that hung crossed from the couch to the coffee
table. The table gave and all the alcohol bottles spilled onto the carpet as he
stumbled off the couch before jumping up to meet me face to face.
"Don't be stupid, Edward."
"Get the fuck out," he growled, his green eyes glaring against my blue ones, so
close that our noses actually did touch. Anger seeped from the both of us like
sweat.
"Grow the fuck up," I said, pushing him out of my way. He stumbled slightly,
but I didn't wait for him to return.
My head couldn't wrap around what the hell was happening. He had changed so
drastically since the wedding, all those summer months ago. I don't even know
if he realized it. Part of me had hoped that the change would have been for the
better. It was obvious now that it wasn't.
I hated that I had so many other things to worry about, things that were
actually important. More important than Edward's self-destructive tendencies.
But fuck, why did he have to pull this shit now? Briefly I wondered what had
changed and what needed to be done. However, I beat those thoughts down;
there were more important things to worry about.
Turning to leave, I called back at the door. "You've finally become the man you
thought you were. All these fucking years, you've been so selfish, but everyone
let it go because you were having 'problems' and now you've finally thrown
everything everyone has ever done for you in their face. What a waste. Tanya
did the smart thing. "
The sound of something shattering in the living room could be heard over the
slamming of the front door. But I didn't care; I had other things to worry
about. People who actually wanted help. I couldn't help someone who didn't want
it, not anymore.
Even then, I called him multiple more times during the week. He didn't know
what he was getting himself into in that club. If anything, I had to warn him.
But Edward always knew best for Edward, and so he wasn't taking my calls.
I didn't know if he had gone back to the club to meet with Bella. That was what
Alice had called her in the letter; it must have been her nickname. I thought
it suited her even though her father wasn't Italian from what I'd learned.
But that didn't mean that her mother wasn't. I was only able to pull up driving
and criminal records for her mother, minor shoplifting in her twenties. Jenks
said he could get me more, but I wasn't willing to wait. Not after we had
learned everything we could about where Alice worked.
The Russian Mafia.
Well, circumstantially. Which was as good as true.
Of all the places to end up, she had to end up in the worst hands of them all.
Apparently, the owner of the club was a Marcus Durant who coincidently owned a
couple of other properties and yet wasn't a fulltime practicing attorney. He
was an affluent man with friends in all sorts of influential positions:
political, judicial, law enforcement. According to Jenks he only had four
clients, all of whom were Russian, and one of them was a man named Aro
Arlovski.
Born in Novosibirsk and immigrated to the United States in the late seventies.
He had been building his empire ever since. Four children, three sons and one
daughter. Seven grandchildren and plenty of investments to keep his family well
taken care of until the apocalypse. Owner of a very prominent and successful
family restaurant in downtown Chicago and two textile factories. On paper he
was practically the perfect model citizen. But Aro Arlovski wasn't what he
appeared to be on paper at all. He had been investigated over a dozen times for
a multitude of charges ranging from something as simple as laundering and
evasion to something as severe as conspiracy to commit murder. However, most
charges were dropped. In 1984 he was charged with three counts of tax evasion,
but all he got was a slap on the wrist, and ever since that charge he has been
untouchable.
But not all his employees have been so lucky. In 1989, the same case that
Arlovski was investigated under, two brothers, Ivan and Grigory Safronov, were
found guilty of voluntary manslaughter and fourth-degree murder, accordingly.
The charges weren't enough to even convict on first-degree. One will be
available for parole in a couple of years.
The case was a big media ticket item in Chicago and it brought Arlovski under
the microscope. But he came out unscathed and has ever since covered his tracks
so well you'd swear he turned a new leaf. If it weren't for a seventeen-year-
old girl and her sister of the same age being held in that club, I would have
believed the paperwork.
One of those seventeen-year-old girls would turn eighteen in less than three
days: September 13th. She would no longer be considered a missing child. And
the benefits and resources available to her would stop. I didn't even want to
think what that would do to her psyche. Being surrounded by murderers, thieves
and rapists—from everything I've come to know about Alice—and still survive. If
she reached her eighteenth, would she give up?
And if I had doubted their safety before, well, now I knew for certain this
wasn't just some little mess that they had gotten themselves into. This was the
real deal. And it would put a lot of people in jeopardy.
One thing was certain, though—these girls were far stronger than anyone knew.
Sadly, probably stronger than they gave themselves credit for. But strength
wasn't everlasting, especially the emotional kind; I had to get them out of
that situation soon.
My only chance was Bella. I was thinking of a plan, but until I knew everything
for a fact, I couldn't make assumptions. What if it went deeper than just an
abduction . . . as the facts pointed to? Considering Bella's options, why would
she have ended up where she did? What exactly was she hiding, and why? Whatever
her reason for hiding, for keeping secrets . . . for lying, would make all the
difference; it had to.
I would give her the chance to explain herself. Maybe she could justify her
choices.
But what terrified me the most was what if she couldn't. How could someone lie
about something so important and for so long? What did she have to gain?
There was so much that didn't add up when it came to their story of how they
ended up in the hands of a strip club in Seattle. It was almost as if what
Alice told me and what I'd discovered were two different things entirely. And
if Alice didn't know the truth, then Bella had to. Which could only mean one
thing . . . .
A ring from my phone brought me out of my thoughts of earlier in the week. I
hoped it was a returning phone call from the young man in Arizona.
"Whitlock."
"Jasper, your package arrived," the building's concierge secretary said.
"Perfect, Heidi. I'll be down in a couple seconds. Thank you."
"No problem."
Getting up and grabbing my keys, I headed down to the elevator. My fingers
twitched as I ran them through a few dark brown waves. Hopefully this time they
got it right and I wouldn't have any problems. It was a Friday night, and I was
counting on a full crowd at the club to provide some much needed cover.
I couldn't put this off any longer.
After small talk with Heidi, that took longer than I had time for, I made my
way back up to my suite. I didn't even wait to make it through the door to my
office before I was opening the manila folder. Two IDs and a credit card popped
out along with a note from Jenks. I checked the IDs first, making sure they
were perfect—the false name, picture, address, personal facts. Then the credit
card that was made out in the name on the IDs.
These should be good to go. If you have any problems call me right away. I'll
wait for your phone call, if I don't hear from you before 4am I'm calling the
cops. –Jenks
Jenks was an "associate" of my father. They met while they both were in the
service, and he was Rosalie's godfather. He was a good man and a man I never
thought I would need, but one that I was glad I had on my side. Lawyer didn't
even begin to cover his job title, and I honestly didn't want to know exactly
what my father needed an associate with Jenks' connections for.
A snort stuck in my throat. It appeared that everyone actually did have secrets
of their own in this world. It really put my job in perspective. A lot of what
I was doing lately put my job in perspective. I honestly didn't know if that
was a good thing or a bad one.
My morals, ones I'd held firm to all my life, seemed to disappear the second I
walked into that club. This was part of the reason I couldn't blame Edward
wholly. Morals were subjective—something I had come to learn all too clearly.
Making my way back to my desk, I took out my wallet and switched out the ID,
leaving my real driver's license and the second copy of the fake one in my
desk. I took out everything in my wallet but that false credit card and ID. I
locked up the drawer and made sure to double count the stack of bills in my
wallet.
Taking a look at the clock across from my desk over the door to my office, I
decided that it was time to go. With a heavy sigh, I allowed myself to think
one last time about what might happen and if I was making the right decision or
not. But all I saw was Alice's face, her handwriting on that letter, and I
shook my head.
There was no other choice.
I would stop by the house and change, something less distinguishable from my
collared blue shirt and khakis.
A pair of jeans and an old Bob Dylan t-shirt and I figured I'd fit in with the
normal college customers that were sure to frequent the club tonight.
Everything was ready. I couldn't be more prepared. I had taken every precaution
I could think of and then some. It had been over four and a half months since
the last time I'd been in that club. I hoped it was long enough.
Just in case, hidden under my sock I'd stashed one of Rose's pocket knives. She
always had the best. How she turned out as two extremes of the coin—feminine
and lethal—was beyond me. But she was fascinated by hand to hand combat and
weapons. Handheld weapons were her expertise; she wasn't a fan of firearms.
I honestly thought she had too much time on her hands. Although for as much as
I've seen Edward, I've seen my sister even less. There was no way I even knew
what that was about. I wondered if she took a trip or vacation out of state.
She was known to do that from time to time without saying a word. She would
just not be around and then I'd get a phone call from her saying she was
somewhere exotic and that she didn't know how long she'd be gone for. Sometimes
it was months at a time. With Rosalie Whitlock you needed to expect the
unexpected. Nobody and nothing could tame that girl's free spirit and passion
for adventure.
Smiling slightly, I thought that if there were anything to be thankful for it
was the fact that she was far away from this. If anything happened to me, at
least I knew she'd be safe and that she wouldn't know what happened. She didn't
need that. At least I'd be able to keep her safe.
Because there definitely was no going back now.
                                     ~xx~
It was a chilly, dark September night and it looked like it might rain. The
wind whipped at my face as I made my way to the front entrance of the club. It
looked just like it did that first night I came here with Edward for his
bachelor party. A large parking lot that was very well lit in comparison to the
actual club was almost welcoming. The only light that emanated out of the club
was blocked by the massive bouncer. He was the same one from that night.
But worse still, he was the bouncer that was in the club when I went to pick up
Edward's credit card.
Shit.
A group of guys were heading towards the entrance, under the small neon purple
and blue sign that read: Novolunie. In the middle of the group and nudging one
of the guys like he'd just said something to me, I handed my ID to the bouncer.
A fake smile knew who I was immediately. His tongue ran over his front teeth
under his top lip as he narrowed his eyes."You fellas know this is a no
touching establishment." It wasn't a question, and with a nod he let the men in
front of me in and the one behind me. How he was able to angle them in and
still squeeze me out was a real skill. He must have been working this job for a
very long time, not to mention that he was almost half a foot taller than me
and I was already pushing over six feet. Large—very large—muscles bulged over
the arms he crossed and the black t-shirt he wore with a stiletto shoe in
purple on the corner and the name of the club on the sleeve.
"Jasper . . . Jasper Hale?" he said, eyeing my ID like a ravenous animal,
memorizing each printed line as if it were meat of a fresh kill. "I've got a
pretty fucking good memory. This address, is it yours?"Standing as confident as
any prey could in the clutches of its predator waiting for the slightest
movement-excuse-to tear it limb from limb, I met his glare. It was obvious, if
not from what he said, but the look in his eyes, that he wasn't a man to
underestimate. But he was probably the type of man who did get underestimated a
lot and used it to his advantage. I knew I couldn't make that mistake, not with
all that I was risking. I held out my hand, silently asking for the ID against
the doorframe, he effectively trapped me. "You changed your hair color. I
wonder what the fuck else you've changed, Jasper Hale."
What the hell? What was his deal? If he was going to do something to me, he
would have already done it. So he wasn't—
"I know about your fucking letters," he began, effectively cutting me off from
my thoughts. I knew he saw the skepticism in my eyes. But he'd have to keep
searching if he thought he would intimidate or scare me. I would do whatever it
took to get Alice safe again and I wouldn't regret any of it.
"So, you're Emmett then." His eyes widened. Two could play his game. The
gritting of my teeth tensed my jaw. He pushed into me, closing what little
space I had, and glared down at me. My fists clenched as I tried desperately to
control any urge to fight back, because I knew it was what he was looking for.
To stop me from going inside. No matter what I wanted to do or say, he had the
upper hand here. I'd have to grin and bear it.
"You do ANYTHING to hurt that girl and I will personally fuck your shit up, you
understand me? I don't give a fuck if this isn't your name or address. I will
find you. Don't doubt that for a second," he breathed down my neck before
roughly shoving the ID into my chest and backing off me.
For an unknown amount of time I held his stare, fuming, letting him know that
if he thought I would just bend over and take shit from him, he was severely
mistaken. Every inch of my body was a live wire ready to strike, contorted and
coiled, and I'd never go down without a fight. And just like he shouldn't be
underestimated, neither should I. I knew who I was and what was in my heart; I
recognized the monster I was. And for Alice I was willing to kill. I would
kill. It was plain and simple. Something in his expression told me he
recognized it too, but he was just as willing.
It turned out the monsters really did come out at night.
If the circumstances were different, I'd probably benefit from having him on my
team. Would even want him on it. But there were no teams in this. It really was
every man for his own. With a sharp turn I went into the club, leaving the
charge in the air as a reminder that I wouldn't bend or break on this.
The loud music throbbed in my ears and the smell of sex was in the air—that
moist smell of sweat and perfume that actually stuck to your skin. I looked
around the club and caught the sight of three dancers on the stage at different
poles. My eyes went to the door on the other side of the stage from the DJ
booth. And I made sure to remember all the exits that I'd studied last time.
Hopefully, I scanned the open floor. But I didn't see Alice. My heart was
waiting to catch just even a small glimpse of her. She wasn't out on the floor
or on the stage, and I prayed that she wasn't in one of the private rooms. But
this was the type of place where prayers went unheard.
My eyes caught Bella, though, and that was fine. I did come to speak to her
after all. With a sigh that stung my bones, one that I didn't realize held that
much hope, I gave up looking for Alice. I made my way to a booth right behind
where Bella was dropping off drinks to the table. One of the men, the one
closest to the edge of the booth, had his hand on the back of her knee and
slowly rubbing up higher. Quickly she turned away after dropping off the
drinks.
I stepped into her sight and she froze and took a step back, adjusting her
eyes; they were wider than I remembered. And she was blinking a lot as she
leaned into me and looked up at my face.
"What . . . Ja—what are you doing here?"
Her shifty eyes darted around, not helping her non-suspicious look at all. I
grabbed her shoulder and noticed that she was colder than she should be.
"Are you sick?"
"No. You've got to go."
"I came to talk to you. I need to talk to you," I said, looking her straight in
the eyes.
"Really," she began, bringing her tray to her chest and shrugging out of my
grip, "you need to go. I don't think it's sa—"
"I can't; we need to talk. I'm not leaving until we do." My touch, the
tightening of my fingers, and the determination in my eyes told her that I had
meant what I'd said.
"Umm . . . yeah. Yeah, okay. I'm just gonna go put this away." I stared at her
with hesitant eyes. She started to walk away just as I was about to ask her if
she was sure she wasn't sick. Halfway to the bar she turned around, swayed a
bit, and then waved me with her. Shaking my head, I followed. Abruptly my eyes
caught the man behind the bar; he was the same one that morning that I'd
returned to the club. Without risking him seeing me, I turned and headed toward
the back golden doors. I wouldn't risk the chance that he might recognize me.
A soft hand tugged on my elbow, but I didn't want to turn around because I
couldn't let the Russian bouncer with the tattoos and light brown hair
recognize me.
"Hey, I need money," Bella said from behind me.
"Right. How much?" I pulled out my wallet as she said six hundred. As soon as I
handed her the bills, she ran off. I barely had time to ask her anything, but I
realized that I was overpaying Mike if it was only six hundred. I was going on
the assumption that it was a grand, as that was what she charged Edward that
first time. Why had she charged him so much and me so little? Then I found
myself wondering if she still charges him and how often he had visited. I
didn't even want to think about his bill, because I could only
imagine—considering mine with Mike was already over twenty-five grand. When a
soft hand tugged my elbow again, this time I didn't hesitate.
Once she led me through the gold doors, I asked her if the price had always
been the same.
"What?"
"Are you sure you're alright?" She nodded, or what I think was a nod but looked
more like a cross between a twitch and a shake. But it was when she started
scratching her arms that I knew she wasn't alright. She wasn't even entirely
here.
She knocked on a door and then pushed it open without waiting for an answer to
the knock. The little light above the door number was off, so I assumed that
was why she didn't wait for the answer. I just followed her, closing the door
behind us. She pointed to the couch and I took a seat as I watched her head to
a cabinet along the wall and pull something out before closing it.
Last time I was with her she had said there was video in each of the rooms, but
I wondered if there was sound. And if there was, how good it was, because there
was music playing in the room as well as you could hear the music from outside
the room. The music outside of the room carried a heavy bass beat, but the one
in the room was softer, only slightly. So I didn't know how "accurate" we'd
have to keep up the ruse. But from the looks of it, she was going to stick to
the dance and stripping thing.
Hesitance started to brew over me, because the last time I was with her was in
the middle of the day and there wasn't any music, but this time it was
generally pretty loud, so I didn't think that the whole ruse would be necessary
to talk. She would be able to keep a distance from me while we talked, and I'd
be most comfortable with her at a distance. I was still a man after all, and
she was very attractive in the business of getting a rise out of men. But as
she crawled up my lap without the small white waitress top, I hoped that she
knew more than I did about the whole situation and was doing what would be best
for us in the end.
Her hands caressed my chest as she moved over my lap in the couch. My hands
were on the arm of the couch and the back to keep this as impersonal as
possible, if that was even an option. She looked into my eyes and hers were
bloodshot and her stare was completely gone.
"Hey, listen, I don't think this is the best idea. Something's off."
"You don't like it, baby?"
What the fuck?
"Bella, listen," I said as I gently put my hands on her shoulders. Her eyes
widened as she started shaking her head.
"How . . . ho-h-how do you know my name?" Her hands trembled against my chest
as for the first time I saw genuine fear pass through her. It stole my voice.
I'd never seen her look so fragile. Fear made her look her age, and—God—she
looked so young. She stiffened above me and I tried not to make any sudden
movements. I would have removed my hands from her shoulders, but I didn't want
her to fall back.
"Do you know who I am?" I asked very slowly. She was trembling. My voice was
like a knife in my throat. Her fear was so palpable that it cut at me; the air
around us had gone completely dry. "What's going on? Please calm down." Slowly
I tried to rub circles in her arms. "Please calm down. It's okay." Her eyes
darted around the room but her head stayed locked in front of me as she tried
to rub her arms as if she was cold; considering the only thing she was wearing
was a small skirt, and hopefully something under that, it made sense.
"I kn-now you. I'm . . . I'm sorry. I just . . . ."
"No, it's fine. Calm down, sugar. Just breathe," I said as I did some deep
breathing to show her. "You don't have to explain, but you need to look at me,
Bella." She nodded—too violently—and her eyes wearily met mine. I continued to
rub her arms slowly, trying to offer whatever comfort I could without pushing
her over. It felt like I'd aged years and it didn't really make sense;
everything was heavy.
After what felt like decades, her breathing evened out. Our stares were able to
meet and hold. A deep sigh escaped me and it was a huge relief. "Good. We're
okay . . . you're okay. I need to talk to you. It's really important and I need
you to stay here," I told her as I signaled between the two of us, "with me."
My eyes burrowed into hers, trying to show that "staying here" didn't mean
physically. She nodded.
"Okay. We're okay. I would never hurt you—you need to know that. It's
okay." Shit. How she worries me. If this was a session or a patient, I wouldn't
have continued down the path I was determined to tonight.
As that fact hit me, I knew that when it came to Alice's sister Bella, I had
wronged her in so many ways. I just kept stacking up all the things I'd done
wrong to her. But this was important. And I was a bastard enough to justify my
actions; just as I had with Mike, I did it now. Determination swallowed the my
morals and what guilt I did have—should have—as I spoke to her.
"I've been researching things and a lot of things aren't making sense, Bella."
Slowly she started to pull out of my grip. I tightened on her shoulders,
knowing that once I spoke up she would try to get out of this conversation.
"I . . . I . . . I don't want to talk about it."
"We have to. You've been lying and Alice has no idea."
"No, no. You can't tell Alice. She'll . . . no . . . just make it stop." Her
shifting eyes picked up their search and she still tried to pull out of my
grip, and the squirming in my lap wasn't helping matters.
"Bella, I've called your family in Washington and Arizona and—"
"What?" She stopped me abruptly and started shaking again. The fear, the one
before that made her look so fragile, was back and I knew I should have
stopped, but I had already began and I didn't know when I would get another
opportunity like this one. The truth needed to come out. If at least for
Alice's sake.
"Bella, stop. You need to tell me what else you've been lying about. Why? I
need to know why you'd lie about Renee and Phil's death to Alice. Why you lied
to Sue Clearwater when Alice was staying with her. But also why you're lying to
them too. They've all been searching for you, and each person has a different
story. Nobody knows what's really going on or what happened. Only you. What's
really going on here . . . how did you end up here?" I motioned to her, ran my
hand down from her shoulder to her forearm and rose it up so she'd see her
track marks. "Like this?"
She shook off my arm and closed her eyes. "Please. Please," she spoke in a
broken sob as tears made their way down her face. Everything about this
fragile, terrified girl in front of me pleaded. But I had no idea what she was
pleading for: to make it all stop, to keep her secrets, to leave. Without her
help, her truth, I wouldn't know what to believe or what to do. And the way
things were looking now, they weren't stacked in her favor.
No matter how you looked at it, this was all her fault.
"I . . . I did-didn't think all of this would happen, Jasper. Please believe
me. I was just a kid and I was thinking I was doing the right thing, you know?
Please. You don't . . . you don't know . . . and now Alice will never forgive
me. I can't tell her . . . . I just, I can't. You don't understand." Tears were
flowing from her face in rivers now. Everything in my soul screamed to just
hold her, to make it better. I had never seen anyone look so broken.
"Help me understand, Bella."
She trembled in my grip as those condemning tears ran down her face—a black
river of anguish and heavy makeup. I pulled her into my chest and wrapped my
arms around her as she cried more. However long she'd need, I would wait.
Rubbing her hair and telling her that, whatever this was, we could figure it
out; but in order to do it, I'd need to know the truth. I couldn't help without
it.
Eventually, she started to talk, not pulling away from where I held her in my
lap. And as she spoke, I knew she wouldn't want to look me in the eye as she
told me the long and disastrous story about how she made a choice that ended up
landing them where they did. How one lie became dozens and she didn't know what
to do to make it right anymore. I learned how complicated this whole thing
really was, and how she had no idea where to begin to set it straight.
Time seemed to pass in a blur around us as I held her sobbing body against
mine, trying my best to comfort her, but not willing to say anything as she
told me her story. It wasn't my place to interfere, to judge. I'd just listen,
and I knew then that this was the first time anyone had ever just let her be
free, even for a minute.
Later I would decide what needed to be done; later we would talk about it, all
of it. But for now, all I could really do was give support in whatever means
she needed. Somehow, noises faded and her cries became the same boom of the
beat outside the door and her talking the same lyrics over the song played in
this room. Her body, as relaxed as I'd assumed she had ever let herself
become—which wasn't saying much—slowly lifted off mine, and without thinking I
brought her head in my hands to look into her face.
She held my stare briefly before closing her eyes to me, but she stayed in
place. And the fact that she did nothing to hide her bare chest was yet just
another reminder of just how little her nudity bothered her, how she felt that
it was natural. That it wasn't hers to cover up. I found myself hating this
situation and truth more than anything again. She didn't deserve this, no
matter how wrong her choices had been and where they led to. Neither of them
deserved it and there were so many things wrong with all of it.
And it was time for her to try and fix what was wrong so that we could change
things. I would help her every step of the way, but she would need to want it.
She would need to take steps with me. I simply couldn't watch her turn into
another Edward. It would kill Alice . . . and me.
"Bella, you have to tell Alice the truth. She needs to know that Renee and Phil
are still alive; she needs to underst—"
In that second the room went from a place of simple buzzing silence to crashing
chaos. The door slammed and a very familiar "what the fuck?" resounded around
the space. My eyes quickly darted up to see Alice standing stricken in the
doorway and a blur that was Edward as he lunged after me. Abruptly, I pushed
Bella off my lap and out of his way as I tried to stand, but before I could
make it, a fist came colliding with my face. The last thing I saw before the
pain burned my skin was the look of betrayal, anger . . . and hurt on Alice's
face as she stared at Bella.
***** Chapter 24 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
I hadn't heard from Jasper in almost three weeks, not since his last letter. He
hadn't even replied to the one I sent him, which I thought he would do right
away. When I asked Emmett about it, he'd just get grumpy and tell me that it's
not his fault; he did what I told him. But part of me was starting to wonder if
Emmett did really give Mike my letter for Jasper or if he was just saying that.
It wasn't that I didn't trust Emmett. That wasn't true at all. I trusted him
with my life, pretty much literally. But Emmett did whatever he thought was
best, always. And I had to know that Emmett might not give them the letter
because it was a big risk. For all of us. I talked about Emmett and Bella in
that letter. If anyone were to find out about it, we were all as good as dead.
Maybe that was a risk Emmett wasn't willing to take. I know he read it, though,
because he asked me questions about Charlie more and about Seattle. He had said
something didn't make sense.
That was weird because Jasper, in his letters, kept saying the same thing. But
it made sense to me. We were in trouble and then tried to get out and get a job
but found the wrong kind, and then we ended up here. It wasn't some big made-
for-TV movie production, just dumb, stupid luck. Emmett asked why we didn't go
to any shelters or children's protection places, and I told him how we tried,
how Bella went almost every day. He asked me if I ever went, and I told him not
really because Bella was worried something would happen to me, and so most of
the time I just stayed behind. But everything she found out wasn't going to
help us. They just wanted to split us up, and we couldn't live like that. So
when Bella found that job, we both thought it was such good luck. We never
thought it was actually the opposite. You just never knew these sorts of
things.
Even with everything that happened to my parents and Charlie being a policeman,
I never thought that these types of things really existed. I always thought
that it was the stuff of bad movies or Law and Order, or even in China, but not
here. Not in the United States, and definitely not in Seattle. I was blind. And
sometimes I wished I could say if I knew then what I knew now, I'd have
prepared or done something differently, but what could I have done differently?
Never leave the house because of fear? It was just a series of unfortunate
events that caused this to happen, and there was nothing any of us could do.
Both Bella and I knew that better than anyone.
If there were some sort of way—any way—to have prevented this, I knew that we'd
have done it. We had to. Who wouldn't do anything in their power not to end up
here?
It was this thought—these feelings—more so than the ones I held for Jasper,
that made me send that letter. We were already here, but I'd do anything in
mypower to get us out. Even if that meant taking a risk that could kill me. But
I wouldn't blame Emmett if he felt the risk was too much.
So after asking a couple of times and him telling me that he did give the
letter, I had to wonder if maybe it was too much of a risk for Jasper to take.
Did Emmett add his own little message to Jasper? Did Jasper discover something
that made him change his mind?
I was going crazy just waiting. But that was all I could do, and I was pretty
good at waiting at least. This life made sure of that.
"What more you need, el'f?" Demetri asked as I watched him buckle his pants. He
always called me that, and at first I thought it was just plain mean; but he
thought my reaction to it was hilarious, so now he did it just to be funny. I
didn't know how to tell him that he's not a funny kind of guy.
Demetri was so . . . difficult. Even though I knew I should hate him, I
couldn't. I didn't. I didn't love Demetri, that much was true, but I didn't
hate him either. Sometimes I wondered why I couldn't love him—that would make
everything so much easier—but I'd come to the conclusion that it was mostly
because of Bella.
Demetri was a very solitary kind of guy; he didn't like having anyone to care
about, in any type of way. Even family. I knew he thought his entire family was
dead. To Demetri, the thought of "family" made him weak, and I worried about
what he would do to Bella if I ever did accept him. I honestly didn't think
he'd help her, and that had always closed me off from him entirely. Because I'd
do anything to keep Bella safe, and I knew she'd do the same.
"I'm worried about Bella," I said softly, not sure if I wanted him to know or
if it just slipped out. As I ran my fingers through my short, dark hair, I
thought about why I had even said something. I knew it was dangerous, but
sometimes I would just get so lonely. There wasn't anyone I could talk to.
Things were different with Bella lately and Emmett too, and I felt so lost
without them. I just . . . I just didn't understand.
But it was true; I was so worried about her. She'd been worse lately than I had
seen her in a long time; it was almost like when we first got here and she'd
given up. She walked around like that again, not talking to me anymore and
either high or trying to get high. When I tried to ask her to talk to me, she
would just blow me off. I was really scared that I might not be able to reach
her anymore. It was killing me slowly to watch her go through this all over
again and not know why or be able to at least try and help.
"Devochka," Demetri said as he looked up at me from just putting his shirt on
over his wide chest. It was covered in tattoos. Some were pretty. There was
this church in the middle of his chest and it was huge. There was a cross along
his right ribs and a whole bunch of Russian words and some symbols that I
didn't understand. I had asked him about his tattoos once, and he told me that
he didn't even think about them anymore and that I shouldn't either.
"Isabella is idiot. Don't be stupid like sestra. She will kill you."
"What? No, Demetri, I know you hate her—" My tired brown eyes looked into his
blue ones as he cut me off. I didn't know why I felt so tired lately; I just
was.
"Nah," he said as he came back to the bed and put his hand under my chin to
look at him. "I don't hate you sestra. How I hate someone who do nothing to me?
She mean nothing to me. But she is idiot, devochka; she will kill herself and
it will kill you. Do you no die right now? You don't go with me because of her.
You stay here because of her. What can I do? What you want me to do? Don't be
stupid, you will die, she will die for being stupid. I try to help you, you
don't want me. So what I do? You don't think if I want I could take you with
me? Hmm?" He pulled my chin tighter to make sure he had my attention. And he
did. "So I wait, but if I must choose between you life and life of sestra . . .
I will not be stupid. If you not stupid, Aliska, you would choose same thing.
Remember this."
I closed my eyes and he let go of my chin. The door closing made me open them.
How was I supposed to answer that? He knew what Bella meant to me, and there
was nothing else to make of it. But part of what he said hit home harder than I
expected. Bella, lately, did look like she was accepting death, which was scary
as hell. She had always been a fighter, if only emotionally. She never let them
win; they all knew it too. But that seemed like it wasn't the case anymore, and
I wondered what had broken her. What did they do?
The beds in the rooms for clients at the stable were so much nicer than the
beds in our rooms that I laid back down for a bit. If I was comfortable I might
even have taken a nap, but no matter how much actual comfort the soft mattress
and silken sheets provided, it was never enough to mask the truth of the place.
The pale blue walls and picture frames of landscapes in the fall lied. There
wasn't a serene inch in this place. But I let myself give into the comfort of
the bed, the exhaustion I felt lately, and the heavy feeling in my chest as I
thought about Bella and then Jasper.
When it was time to leave, I went to the Dick-board that we had in every room,
just like at the club, and flipped the inside switch. It was to this little
light outside that, if on, said the room was occupied. There were the same
switches in the stalls too. But so many times the girls forgot to flip them. I
knew I forgot sometimes . . . that's why it was by the condoms so that we
didn't forget it.
Like every Friday for the past three years of my life, today wasn't any
different. Stable, club, and stalls: in that order. Tonight I was dancing. The
first two spins earned me two lap dances, which for me wasn't bad at all. I got
that I was a particular taste because I was the only girl that actually looked
too young to work there. If it wasn't my super small frame and height, then it
was my face, soft lines that practically screamed "I'm underage." That was why
I had to keep my hair short; long hair made me look younger, if that was
possible.
It was common knowledge I was the cheapest girl and the least earning.
Demetri's words came back to me then: You don't think if I want I could take
you with me? When he had said that, my first instinct was to tell him that Aro
would never let me go, not a money-earning girl, but then I bit my tongue
because the truth was I wasn't much of a money earner.
I knew what I was: collateral to keep Bella in place. Because Bella was a money
earner. Not the top girl, but she definitely wasn't a "wasted investment"
either, sort of like classic black heels, bound to suit everyone's taste.
Dancing for me was rare; I would usually just waitress and earn my money by
adding a couple of drinks and tabs here or there to customers who I knew
wouldn't notice. As a matter of fact, something you learned in this sort of
place was that not many people did check their tab. They either expected to get
ripped off or just didn't care enough at the end of the night. And I doubted
that once they left here, they would check over it again; besides, if they did,
what would they do, come here demanding a refund?
Most morals were something everyone checked at the door . . . and something I'd
lost quite a bit ago. But like I've always said: when your back was up against
a wall, you'd learn things about yourself that you never thought possible, and
you would learn just exactly what you were capable of—willing to do.
"Switch dances with me?" another dancer, Ina, asked. She was small like me;
well, not as small as me and she was definitely older than me, with black, wavy
hair and pale golden skin. It was obvious that she wasn't like the other girls
and she wasn't from the stable either, which meant I couldn't really talk to
her.
"Okay."
That meant that the next girls on the rotation were Naughty Meenx, that was
Ina's name, Delicious and Akasha. I sat back against the mirror, trying to hide
the dark circles under my eyes, as I watched as the next girls got ready to go
up. Akasha was doing her regular routine; she was so weird. She would go to the
back, probably to the bathroom, but she disappeared for longer than a bathroom
break. Then she'd come back out and look out of the curtain to the floor. I
never knew what she was looking for. Maybe Emmett. Sometimes, even though it
was her dance, she wouldn't go out there. She'd just tell some other girl, like
she was in charge of us. But nobody dared question her, because what if she was
in charge? We all knew she was Aro's pet.
Tonight she pushed back the heavy black curtain and apparently didn't like what
she saw again. She turned to one of the older girls with blonde hair and
sitting in a chair in front of the long mirror. The music was always too loud,
so you could never hear anything that wasn't being directly spoken to you, but
from the girl's face it looked like Akasha just told her that she'd be dancing
again; she had just gotten off the stage. It wasn't fair.
Nobody really liked Akasha, and it was things like that that made her even less
likeable. I watched her walk away and into the back like always. Doing whatever
she wanted, whenever she wanted. She was so hot and cold, sometimes doing nice
things, but most of the time all her other actions cancelled out the few good
things she did for others. Emmett deserved someone better. He really thought
she was this angel and that she wasn't with anyone but him. Maybe I should tell
him that he was wrong. He should know.
Standing up, I decided I couldn't just hang out around the girls. I needed to
try and make some money tonight, so I'd walk the floor and see if anything came
from it.
Passing some round tables that lined the private booths on the side of the
club, I watched the customers. If any of them gave me a second look, I'd make a
move. But most were focused on Autumn on the stage; she was the highest earner.
Akasha could be the highest earner if she actually danced or worked more.
Tables were centered, with a pathway that circled them, and then more tables
edging the pathway. There were stools along the stage and most of those
customers were the regulars. It was sort of like VIP seating, in the sickest
way.
Demetri looked up at me from behind the bar and our eyes met. His eyes softened
and I smiled weakly at him. He looked at the circles under my eyes, the pallor
of my skin, and the lines across my face. It wasn't the first time I'd seen
judgment of my appearance in his stare or his words. Demetri probably knew my
body better than me, and he knew when I wasn't getting the sleep I needed or
when something was off. And like always he blamed Bella for it and, in a way,
this time he was right.
He shook his head and went back to talking to the two girls behind with him.
Wrapping my arms around my shoulders, I continued walking the ugly plaid
carpet; for how well they kept the place, you'd think they could afford better
carpet, but nope. After a bit I realized that, with all my scanning, I hadn't
seen Bella. She was waiting tonight, so I wondered where she was.
Thinking I might have missed her, my eyes did another thorough scan and were
met with a bushy head of bronze hair.
Holy shit.
My mood instantly perked up. I had been waiting so long to meet him. Quickly, I
darted my way toward him as he looked around. He was scanning the space too,
and judging by the way he was running his hands through his hair, he hadn't
found what he was looking for either. His legs twitched, almost a sway. He
didn't know whether to sit and wait or to leave.
I knew he was looking for the same person I had been looking for not just a
couple of seconds ago. But from the sway and the shifting stare, I wondered why
he seemed so antsy. Did he think she might actually not be here? Huh.
When I reached him, I put my hand on his arm. "Hey."
"Oh, no thank you, I'm looking for someone else."
Not so subtly, he pulled out of my grip and then started to walk away, still
looking around. I skirted behind him to catch up. His face looked as tired as I
had felt. But even then he was just as gorgeous as I remembered. And my heart
did a little swoon for Bella as I smiled. "Yeah, I know."
"Oh?" He kept walking.
"Yep. I'm excited you're here!" That got him to stop walking and turn his head
to me; he had to lower it when he realized the massive height difference. One
of his eyebrows arched my way in a silent request for more information. I
placed my hand back on his arm again and he looked at it hesitantly, like he
didn't like my touching him or something. But I wouldn't take my hand off of
him. "Twilight," I whispered softly to him, as if we were both in on a little
secret. Honestly, I doubt he heard me with the noise around us, but he
responded nonetheless, so maybe he read my lips.
"Has . . . has she talked about me?" Incredulously, his other hand went to his
hair. I smiled and nodded. Slowly, like a tree in the distance that a car was
coming up to, a smile made its way to his lips. It brightened his face. He was
still just as attractive as that first time I saw him, but it was different.
That first night more than four months ago, he looked healthier; now his face
had obviously lost weight and his eyes weren't that bright. Not to mention he
probably hadn't taken an iron to his clothes . . . ever, from the looks of it.
He was a mess.
"Is she here?"
I nodded before closing in front of him and pulling him to sit at a table next
to us. Grabbing a chair, I pulled myself up closer to him. My elation at
finally getting to meet him and talk to him was bouncing all around me.
Extending my hand, I said, "I'm Pixie."
His eyes widened a bit. Then recognition crossed them. He leaned across the
distance and took my hand; his were cold.
"Right, you're Jasper's girl. I remember that night outside the club; sorry I'm
not all there lately. And Jasper and I . . . well, right. I'm sorry. I should
have known immediately. I'm Edward." My excitement made him nervous; it was
obvious from the way he sat on the edge of the chair, not knowing whether to
bolt or not.
"I know who you are, Edward. Twilight's my sister." I smiled, shaking my head.
His mouth opened and closed a couple of times with words he wasn't certain of.
Watching him intently when he finally turned toward me fully in the chair, I
smiled more.
"I wasn't aware she had a sister."
"Uh huh."
"Why do you allow her to work here?" he said softly. After all the words that
almost slipped out of his mouth, that was what he asked?
"What?"
I leaned closer over the table with wide eyes as I watched this man that had
changed Bella's life, and I wondered if he knew just how much. He was so
beautiful. And I knew it wasn't just the way he looked, but all that he had
done for her. It might have been just my perception, but I swear I saw him
glowing. His eyes narrowed at me, and even though the glowing didn't stop, he
didn't seem to look at ease at all. There was so much going on, from the way he
never sat still to the way his eyes wouldn't focus on anything, not in a lack
of focus sort of way, but in an attempt to keep others from holding his stare
for long enough. Almost as if he were uncomfortable meeting others' stares. Was
he afraid of what he might find in my eyes . . . or what I would find in his?
I smiled more at him, to which he just shook his head.
"You apparently are content working here? How can you allow her to work here
when she hates it so much?" My reaction deadpanned. Stumbling for a bit, I
stared at him, but again his eyes drifted elsewhere.
Huh?
I thought he was Jasper's best friend. Did he not talk to Jasper at all? How
could he have things here so completely backwards? Or was Jasper choosing to
keep things from him on purpose? My eyes took in everything about him as dozens
of thoughts bothered me. The most important of those was that this conversation
was pretty much over. I knew that Bella couldn't or wouldn't tell him things,
but for some reason I imagined that Jasper had. It was obvious that that guess
wasn't right and I couldn't just say things. It was different if he knew what I
was talking about, but since he didn't, I'd have to explain; and that was
something that I couldn't do, especially not out here in the open. A sigh
escaped me and pierced the air of sex and perfume all around me. This wasn't
what I expected at all, and I couldn't help but wonder why he didn't seem to
know anything.
"You should talk to Jasper." Something about that statement made him glare at
me. Huh. Apparently, if he was angry he had no problem meeting someone's eyes.
"Is she working tonight or not?" I shook my head sadly as I got up from the
chair. He really had everything wrong; but I guess at the end of the day, what
did it matter? It felt like a part of my heart was breaking; I had hoped in
some way that he would be Bella's salvation, but maybe I was wrong.
"I'll take you to her," I said flatly as I rose from the chair.
Felix stopped me at the stalls and spoke to Edward, using his name. I stood
there gaping. How was it possible he was even friends with Jasper and he was
being so careless? He asked Felix for room eight, like they were regular
acquaintances, and I wanted to be sick. My hands dug around his wrist, pulling
him away from Felix.
"I'll take care of him, Felix. Just charge the usual," I said as I dragged him
with all my might.
"What the hell?" he said, trying to pull out of my grasp.
"I can't believe you gave him your real name. Just, don't . . . I had to get
you away. You don't talk to anyone. Whatever . . . we'll just wait in here," I
said, pointing to one of the unlit rooms. "And then I'll get her and you can go
where you need to."
My jaw had dropped and all my thoughts were scrambled. How could he
just do that? What the hell was he thinking; was he trying to make friends
here? He could make this a million times worse. What the hell was going on?
I didn't know what to think about this guy as I pushed him into the room next
to where we were. My thoughts and emotions were in other places that I didn't
bother to notice what room it was, or the fact that when we entered there were
people already in the stall. My eyes widened and a blush made its way to my
cheeks as I opened my mouth to say I was sorry for interrupting.
"Bella, you have to tell Alice the truth. She needs to know that Renee and Phil
are still alive; she needs to underst—"
Just as quickly as my mouth opened to say something, it was sealed shut. That
voice. I knew that voice. A cold wave blanketed me as my eyes drove into the
scene in front of me. But it was the pulse in my hand that began racing that
scared me the most. My hand was still wrapped around Edward's wrist, and I felt
every clench of his fist and screaming throb of his heart pumping. My chest
tightened and my stomach crashed.
There on the couch sat Jasper, with Bella pressed completely against his chest,
on his lap, topless. One hand was on her face and the other around her back.
"What the fuck?" Edward growled; it was literally a growling sound—low,
menacing, with a rumble of a strained breath in his throat. Before I had time
to blink, he tore out of my grip and made his way towards them. Horror and
absolute confusion painted the scene in front of me.
Yet all I heard was that phrase over and over again in my mind: Bella, you have
to tell Alice the truth. She needs to know that Renee and Phil are still alive.
It was as if everything else was muted. I didn't hear the music. I didn't hear
Bella cry out as she fell off of Jasper. I didn't hear Edward's fist make
contact with Jasper's face. I didn't hear the couch fall over as Edward dove at
Jasper again. I didn't hear Jasper's head hit the floor. I didn't hear Edward's
groan as Jasper kneed him. And I most certainly didn't hear the door slam when
Bella ran out of the room.
I stood in the middle of that room with my arms wrapped around me, as if
shielding myself from all of it; I watched both men take shots at each other.
Blood found its place on both Jasper's nose and Edward's lip, and it was
impossible to tell whose was on which of their hands that were now pretty red
and cut up too. All I felt was the stabbing in my chest, as if they were
punching me and not each other. I clutched at my small, pink lace top because
it was suffocating me.
Bella had lied to me.
Jasper had lied to me.
When tears fell from my eyes, I didn't even notice them, just that I couldn't
see as well through the haze. It was all in slow motion. It felt like I wasn't
really there. I couldn't be. I just couldn't. Bella had lied to me?
This . . . this couldn't be happening. I was certain that both Edward and
Jasper were saying things in between the fighting, but I didn't hear anything
except the ringing in my ear of Bella's lies.
"What are we going to do?" Bella had cried when she got off the phone. She
threw it across the room we shared at Sue's since the funeral. "Alice, they . .
. they just . . . it was a car accident. What are we going to do now?"
My face fell; my heart; my stomach. How could they . . . wasn't losing Charlie
enough? This too?
"Stay here . . . stay here while I talk to Sue," Bella stuttered as she mopped
up her tears with her sleeve and went to the door. "I don't know if I can talk
to her with you around . . . it-it just hurts too much." The sadness in Bella's
eyes as I had looked at her broke my heart for her . . . for us even more.
"Of course," I said, nodding. "Anything, Bella."
It had been a lie. And it was all that I kept hearing in my ears.
"Anything, Bella," when she asked to talk to Sue alone.
"Anything, Bella," when she told us that it would be easier to just get a hotel
in Seattle and stay there since we had nothing to go home to in Arizona.
"Anything, Bella," when she said that we couldn't go back to Forks, because Sue
thought we were in Arizona and she'd get so mad because we lied.
"Anything, Bella," when she said that it would be better if we looked for work,
because children's services would only make things worse and would separate us.
"Anything, Bella."
It had all been a lie. And as I clutched my chest, my waist, anywhere my
clawing hands could reach, I realized I had been so stupid. I really was naïve.
Emmett was right, Jasper was right: something didn't make sense.
And it was because I was an idiot who went along without asking questions and
trusted people too easily. Just like I had trusted Jasper, and just like he sat
there with Bella with nothing but love in his eyes and his hands on her cheeks.
A scream pitted in my throat and it hurt so much that I couldn't let it out. It
burned me from the inside. It knocked me to my knees. I couldn't even stand all
the pain. My sobs were louder than the lies that kept ringing in my ears. Tears
flowed like rivers from my face and it was so hard to keep my eyes open. It
just hurt so much.
I didn't hear when Emmett came rushing into the room. I didn't hear when he
threw Jasper off of Edward and dragged him kicking out of the room. I didn't
hear when Bella's knees hit the floor next to me. I didn't hear Edward try to
call to her. I didn't hear Bella push him away.
But I did feel when she put her trembling hands on my shaking body. It was like
a leech, a black disgusting leech, and it was sucking the life from me in that
single touch. And finally that scream escaped me. It sickened me to feel her
hands on me; they felt calloused and wrong. They felt like a lie. And I hated
it. Roughly, I pulled out of her hands. And when my hand drew back and through
the haze of my tears I slapped her, I felt nothing except contempt.
I didn't realize I had pulled back to slap her again until I was restrained. My
glare looked up to find it was Edward holding my wrist. Snapping out of his
grip with a push, I turned to Bella.
No words found me, but I knew I had said everything I needed to say with the
look in my eyes. Her eyes were red and water flowed from them just as they fell
from mine. She was shaking and hadn't stood up. Finally, when I was just tired
of all of it—her sad stare that hurt me in more ways than one, the screaming of
her lies in my ears, the cold of my skin, and the lack of feeling throughout my
body except for the pain in my chest—I turned to leave.
I didn't hear Bella stumble to her feet. I didn't hear her push Edward away to
chase after me.
As I ran away from that stall, clutching my chest and dragging my feet, I
wondered if all I'd be able to hear from now on was the sound of her lies.
Chapter End Notes
     Author's Note/Translations:
     As far as the Russian goes, I would like it known now that its
     accuracy is jeopardized by my use of Romanization. But for the
     purpose of writing I have chosen to keep the translations in this
     form to make reading them slightly easier. I go on the record stating
     that Russian is written in Cyrillic as is still the tradition. My
     Latin translations are as accurate as I can possibly make, all things
     considered. Thanks all for understanding!
     El'f-pixie
     Devochka-little girl, babe, sweet little girl-basically a term of
     endearment
     Sestra-sister
***** Chapter 25 *****
If I saw it, then sure as fuck someone else noticed this shit too.
                                    ..xx..
"The hospital called," Rosie said from her perch on the sofa, against the
window, millions of miles away from where I lay on the bed. If the distance
didn't scream the words we weren't saying, then those cold blue eyes of hers
did. I'd have half a mind to care if she wasn't, at that very moment, rolling
up pantyhose on one of her luscious legs. I fucking loved watching that shit.
So, like everything that had been going on recently, I put it in the back of my
mind and let my thoughts drift towards things I'd rather entertain.
My arm swung to the right until it came crashing with the nightstand and the
lamp on top of it. When I felt the alarm clock I was searching for, I brought
it back with me to my face: noon. I'd slept in and I didn't hear the phone
ring. A slam of frustration put the clock back where it belonged. "What
hospital?"
"In California?"
A groan escaped me as I rubbed my eyes clean of lethargy. I didn't need this
shit on top of everything else. "It's not a hospital, Orchid. It's a clinic."
She narrowed an eye at my irritated tone, but I didn't even care to bother
hiding that shit. The last thing I needed right now—most especially right
now—was to deal with this. I couldn't get the time away from the club with the
way things were currently. But the fact of the matter was that call only came
in when they wanted one thing . . . .
"You going to go?"
"Like I have a fucking choice."
She watched me briefly as she stood up, something indistinguishable in her
expression, before she turned away from me completely. The clattering silence
of the dressers opening and closing spoke for her. Just like with her distance
and stare. And I hated when she did this shit. Rose was a master of nonverbal
communication, but what made it worse was that when you called her out on it,
she could easily feign ignorance since she said nothing; but the implication
was always read loud and clear even if, for whatever reason, she denied it. It
was all beginning to wear very thin. I'd been so on edge lately, and my
frustration was clawing at my skin, begging for a release. If she had something
to say, she should just fucking say it. "Just say it."
Her eyes met mine in the mirror over the dresser and held them too long. A
simple twitch of her lips and narrow of her eyebrows judged me and found me
guilty all in the same instant.
"Is your father, Emmett . . . ."
"Don't fucking start with me, Rose," I said in exasperation. Quicker than a
blink a shoe came flying at my head, the crash clattering against the headboard
behind me. If that shit wasn't intended to hurt me, I might have been impressed
with her fucking aim. But the only reaction I had was to duck out of the way.
I had fucking slept in, had to wake up to a lovely reminder that I needed to be
in California this month around the 30th for shit I just didn't want to deal
with right now—why it was even necessary so often was ridiculous—not to mention
the fact that she seemed to be judging me for shit she didn't understand. Shit
that she had no fucking right to even call my ass out on, and she had the
audacity to throw something at me? Automatically, I grabbed the shoe and threw
it back at her, without the same purpose she had, my jaw tightening as it left
my grip. "Don't fucking throw shit at me, Rose."
She didn't flinch when the shoe collided with the mirror, almost as if she
anticipated it, knew where it'd strike, and how much force was behind it. I had
no idea how she could have known all of that from just looking in the mirror.
"Then don't be asshole. I just asking question. Is you only family—you could
care more."
I watched her continue to get dressed in front of the mirror, my neck straining
with each turn to catch her movements as if the weight it carried had doubled
overnight and I just couldn't hack it anymore. And double standards weighed
more than anything.
"You know, Rose, if you want to talk about that shit, let's talk about it," I
said while sitting up and attempting to bring a level of interest to a
conversation that was becoming more and more apparent we'd never have. "How's
your family? Your parents? Do you"—I gritted the words through the hypocrisy
that coated them—"even fucking have parents, Rose?"
She spun around to face me dead-on. I nonchalantly tilted my head up at her
with a shoulder shrug as she crossed her hands over her chest; the challenge in
her silent glare flipped me off. Those ocean-wide baby blues tore me apart
piece by piece like only her stare could, telling me that she wouldn't answer
anything, like always. There was always something authoritative and instinctual
in that stare, militant almost in its discipline and lack of waver. And I'd
seen men double her size not come close to achieving that type of look, even
the men I worked for. It could simply be just a Russian thing—I mean, who the
hell was I to know the difference—but something about it felt like it was
something more.
"My family still in Russia, Emmett—you know this. Don't take you problems out
on me."
My back straightened. Fuck her challenge. "Do I, Rose? Do I know that? Because
you haven't fucking talked about it. Don't pull your hypocritical, lying
bullshit on me."
Purposefully she crossed the distance of the room, each measured step of her
long legs like a guillotine slamming down. Just as meticulously, she dropped
her arms to the bed to lean closer to me, seething through every pore of her
perfect body. "Lying?"
I met her glare for fucking glare; I didn't know what type of weak ass men she
had dated before, but this shit just wouldn't fly. "Did I stutter?"
It was her next action that spoke more than her words ever would, not that her
words weren't ice enough. But the way she hovered over me, face directly in
front of mine, stare piercing, jaw clenched, eye slightly twitching to the
racing pulse she tried to rein in, told me that I didn't know her half as well
as I thought I did. And that thought fucking destroyed me because it would
figure that when I did finally fall for someone, it would prove to be the worst
fucking decision of my life.
And I was good at making poor choices.
"Watch how you talk to me, Emmett." Each stilted word was deliberate; her
breathing wrapped around them like the firm grip of a suffocating hand around a
frail neck, completely wiping out her accent so that only those words remained.
She kept my stare for mere seconds longer before turning to leave the room,
grabbing a few things she'd need first.
The front door didn't slam when she left. The control she had over her emotions
was something to be envied; I saw the look in her eyes, felt the fire radiate
off of her. There was no doubt in my mind that she was ten times angrier than I
was, yet the only thing that gave her away were those blazing blue eyes.
We were going to have to have a serious fucking talk soon, because all this
suspicion was poison.
Yet it was such a fucking double-edged sword—and the biggest reason I hadn't
pressed her lying before—because I wanted her to be honest with me, but I knew
there were things that I could never tell her. Even now, no matter what, nobody
could ever know. So, in reality, who was lying to whom here?
                                    ..xx..
I didn't know just how many red flags I'd missed tonight . . . or plain fucking
ignored because all the drama lately with Rose was playing like a never-ending
Nascar loop through my head, speeding by so fast that I hadn't felt the draft
and wasn't able to grab ahold of any of it.
First, I'd let that fucking Dean in the club. Jasper Hale. I knew from the
letter that Jasper was his first name, but I also knew from that first time I
saw him in the club in a tuxedo that he wasn't an idiot. There was no way that
was his last name—which meant that there was no way that was his address
either. So instead I made sure to memorize the code engraved under the scan on
the back; if anything could be traced, it would be that.
He even dyed his hair darker. That I found a little fucking funny. Your hair
color didn't mask who you were. And I knew who the fuck he was from the second
I saw those blue eyes. There was something so familiar about them, like I'd
been staring into them for the past six months. No doubt it could have been my
fucking subconscious; that shit was known to play tricks on me time and time
again.
I knew I shouldn't have let his ass into the club. But I did it for her, which
only brought me to the second thing.
Second, something was bothering Pixie. She wasn't her usual, well, Pixie self.
Bags were forming under her eyes and I knew a lot of it had to do with that
letter. That fag with blond hair and a shit-eating grin that I gave the letter
to, Mike Newton—he was the type of idiot to use his real driver's license and
it checked out—hadn't come back to the club. So I knew that meant that Pix
didn't get a response to her letter. I couldn't help but feel partially guilty
for that. Maybe my threat passed down to Mike Newton did make a difference; I
honestly doubted it, having remembered just how fierce Dean was with Twilight
when he was in the club that time. But it didn't change the fact that he didn't
answer the letter, and Pixie asked me almost daily, wide-eyed and hopeful, if I
knew anything, if either Dean or the fag came back to the club. I had nothing
to report back to her, and had to watch from the sidelines as each day those
wide eyes dropped and their glow faded.
Third, that fucking letter was a sore that no matter how much I scratched
didn't stop aching. Her story in Seattle just didn't sit right with me. I knew
for a fact that as a daughter of a fallen police officer, there were resources
available to her. Survivor's funds, government assistances—not to mention he
had to have life insurance on the job—and so many other things. I had no idea
her dad was a cop. In all the times she talked about him, she never said what
he did for a job, just what he did with her and their hobbies together. Which
was the only thing that made sense; you didn't go around screaming in a place
like this that your old man was a uniform.
But everything else . . . it didn't make sense that they were put into a
situation where they had nothing available to them. It just didn't work like
that. And depending on their ages—which I still wasn't too clear about since
the letter didn't specify and Pix wouldn't tell me the exact number—they'd had
to have been taken care of by the state. They'd have gotten assistance from the
state in foster placement, or that woman that was the girlfriend of her dad
could have gotten lots of help financially to keep them; all she'd have to do
was apply for them. Then what happened to her sister's parents? There should
have been insurance from the car accident, the liquidation of assets, not to
mention someone had to identify the bodies . . . so if they didn'thave family
in Arizona, who identified the bodies? It was highly unlikely that the police
in Arizona just ignored all procedure. How did everyone miss all of this?
I knew she was young, really young, when this shit happened to her, but she
wasn't alone. Her and her sister had to have had help. It just didn't make
sense. Someone had to have denied the help—that was the only thing
that did make sense. And if that were the case, why? Why the fuck would they
deny help only to end up in this shit?
There was so much fucking wrong with Pixie's past that I made sure to take
careful note of. I wasn't missing any details later. I tried to talk to Pix
about my suspicions, but she was so gloomy lately that I didn't know what to do
for her. I asked her all the time if she remembered talking to anyone from the
state after the accident, or if the woman she was staying with had. And at the
time she said that it was because they were going to go to her step-mom's. But
after the accident, she didn't know what happened. I tried to explain to her
that the same thing should have happened. People would have contacted them, and
got the ball rolling on things. When I didn't get much out of Pix, I even tried
talking to her sister—Bella, said the letter. Which brought me to my next red
flag.
Fourth, Pixie's sister was a fucking mess. I didn't know what the hell happened
to her, but if Pixie looked sadder every day, her sister was fucking
disappearing—those eyes hollowed out and didn't look at anything, just past
everything. Not to mention the fact that she was high more often than not. On
the outside she looked decent enough, and maybe that was why she was high so
often, but those big brown eyes were fucking gone; and considering how much
weight she was continually losing, her eyes swallowed her face. I was certain
that her behavior was influencing Pixie's as well. Pixie was a sort of needy
person, and companionship was something she really needed. But her sister was
pushing everyone away.
It was a train wreck watching that shit. I had no idea what happened or which
one affected the other more, but it was obvious that what happened to one was
reflected in the other. Those sisters really were half of the same soul; it was
too fucking much sometimes.
Fifth, Rose's enigmatic shit was getting worse. Actually Rosie was always
number one, but I tried to keep that shit on lockdown.
Maybe about half an hour after I had let Dean into the fucking club, Felix came
out from the back to give me my lunch break. Immediately I went looking for my
desert bloom, to at least smooth things over from earlier; I hadn't seen her
since she left. She was dancing tonight. But I couldn't fucking find her
anywhere. And I fucking looked everywhere.
Frustration rose like a pulse in my body, ringing in my ears with doubt.
Obviously we didn't drive together, but we never did. Rose had said that she
felt it was best if we kept our relationship as hidden as possible while we
were at the club. Which was fine—she was probably right. I could play platonic
at work. But even though we hadn't driven together, I had seen her here not too
long after I had arrived—though she wouldn't stop and talk to me. Which was
only more reason for me to go looking for her during my break. She was here;
yet I couldn't fucking find her. There were only a few places that I usually
wasn't allowed and none of them were places she should be.
It was driving me fucking crazy. I couldn't stop thinking that she had to be in
one of those places. Which meant she had lied to me.
She had been fucking lying to me, again.
I wasn't a hard bastard to deal with. I was pretty chill, not controlling, and
didn't pry into people's secrets. But when I asked a straight up fucking
question, then I expected a straight answer. It wasn't even about lying; it was
about respecting the other person enough to not want to lie to them. When we
had that talk months ago, I poured my heart out to her. And, yeah, I'd fucking
noticed that she hadn't said she loved me back. But I didn't need to hear the
words; I was a believer in "actions speak louder than words," and I could feel
it in the way she touched me or the way she stared when she thought I didn't
notice.
I did notice.
But if actions spoke louder than words, what the fuck were her actions
screaming now?
And it was that shit that ate at me like some parasite. Her actions left a
lot to the imagination. Just like tonight. I wasn't a suspicious person, until
provoked. And I fucking hated that she was giving me a reason to doubt her,
because this was all too complicated to just wipe my hands clean now.
I knew I would have to talk to her again. My mind couldn't even wrap around
what would happen if she continued lying . . . if I caught her in a lie.
Yet, as much as I dwelled on the Rose issue, I couldn't ignore one of the most
important red flags of the night.
Sixth and last fucking red flag was Raggedy Ann. He was a regular. There were
plenty of regulars; fools who obviously couldn't get it on their own so they
came and paid for that shit. He wasn't an ugly-looking dude, but the ring on
his finger didn't lie. He was the type of idiot that got his rocks off on
cheating; if I had a fucking dime for each one of those I saw walking through
the front door . . . . All things considered, I didn't pay too much mind to it
before, until that letter.
I was almost one hundred percent fucking certain that Dean's friend that Pixie
was talking about in the letter had to be Raggedy Ann. An Edward Cullen, said
the license he showed at the door. It just fit. His coming to see Twilight, the
way Pixie ran after him in the parking lot that one night, and just a gut
feeling that he was involved in all of this somehow. So I made sure to memorize
his license, most importantly that address, because I had a feeling since he
was a regular that I'd have a much better chance with this one not being a fake
like I knew Dean's was.
Sadly, though, it wasn't until Twilight came to the door to get me, looking
worse than I'd ever seen her, that I realized I should have seriously paid
fucking attention to those red flags.
The girl looked like death, a complete mess. I'd have fucking worried about
her, or maybe the guys at the club like Demetri or Felix or Oleg, but that
chick was always flirting with the Reaper; lately, however, she'd full-blown
fucked him. And he literally screwed her shit over. There wasn't one guy in
here that gave her a second look anymore; it was obvious the baggage under her
eyes wasn't the only shit she was carrying around. Not to mention the fact that
bones were only attractive to the dogs.
I honestly had no idea why they let her continue coming into work. Or . . . I
guess "let" would be the wrong phrasing there, but in my mind it'd only deter
customers—not entirely what they were going for, I was sure.
"Emmett . . . Emmett," Twilight said as she pulled on my large forearm. Her
voice came out in a haggard whisper, somewhere between the Reaper clawing at
her throat, closing off her air supply, and an attempt at not drawing
attention. There wasn't anyone at the door, so I ducked inside and took her
with me, shielding her from any possible eyes looking in our direction. Her
eyes darted everywhere in a red-rimmed haze. I had to shake her a bit to get
her to focus.
"What happened?"
Judging by the look of genuine fear in her eyes, this wasn't the run of the
mill reason for her to come and get me. It was a club after all; I could count
on my fingers and toes how many times Iwasn't needed.
"I . . . didn't know . . . came and hit him . . . she wasn't saying anything .
. . you have to help," she stammered. I wasn't too sure if it was because she
was out of breath any more than her frantic nerves. My hand flew to my temple
and eyebrow to squeeze; that didn't help me at all.
"Okay, okay. Calm down," I said as I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her
a little bit. "Gimme a sec." Quickly I made my way to the bar and nodded to one
of the guys. We'd all worked here so long that words were no longer necessary.
With a tilted nod I said, got a problem—take care of the front. His eyebrow
raise was you need help? My final upward nod reassured that I could handle it
and thanks for taking over. It's part of the job, he shrugged.
While I made my way back to her, I hoped that the brief time away was enough to
get a grip on whatever the fuck was going down. She knew she shouldn't act like
this. The last thing she needed was for someone to notice the way she was
behaving. And judging by her deep breaths, her clenched fists and eyes, she
knew this fact too.
When Sasha got to my post, I followed Twilight to where she was heading, not
ignoring the fucking brick in my gut that told me this was my fault. And it had
something to do with a fucking Dean. If he had anything to do with this, I
would kick his fucking ass. Twilight was trying her best to not run to wherever
we were headed, but it wasn't that successful. Her stampede was pretty fucking
fast, one leg twitching to go faster, while the other dragged along to try and
slow her down.
She led me past the golden double door, and Felix just nodded. It wasn't the
first time that I'd been led back there to stop something, and we all knew it
wasn't going to be the last time. Hell, it wasn't the first time Felix had been
dragged back to pull some dipshit off the fucking floor he'd puked on, or
something equally as fucking disgusting or stupid. He didn't envy Twilight
coming to get me instead of him.
The pounding of the music from the speakers in the ceiling of the hallway was
always louder than the speakers out in the club, and it wasn't much of a
surprise as to why that was. But the second we reached closer to a door, there
was no doubt in my mind that was where we were headed. I was able to pick up
the unmistakable grunts of men fighting and slamming against walls. Pushing
Twilight to the side, I stormed in. The scene in front of me wasn't anything I
would have expected. And in that moment there was only one thought that kept
ringing in my ears.
What the fuck was Oleg doing back there?
How the fuck was he missing this on the cameras? Did he just jack off to some
of the shit he saw on one screen and not catch the stuff on the others?
There was a thrown-back couch in the middle of the room; Pix off to the side of
the door with black tears covering her face; and in the midst of all of it was
Raggedy Ann pressed against the left wall with his arm wrapped around Dean's
neck, head shoved into his chest. But Dean was ramming his fist into Ann's
side. There was a thick smell of anger and adrenaline in the room, a fucking
idiotic combination that fell from fools like sweat and blood.
I made a beeline for the fighting idiots. Whatever kept Oleg from seeing this
shit on the camera couldn't keep him that long. Lady Luck was a teasing whore,
and this shit was about to run dry any second.
Pulling my arm back, my elbow connected hard with Ann's jaw, throwing him back
and stunning him, causing him to loosen his grip on Dean. Then the same elbow
dove into the center of Dean's back, causing him to arch away from Ann, giving
me enough time to pull both of Dean's arms into a lock behind his back. It
didn't even faze me that I used way more force then I needed, or that I knew
how to place elbow blows in a fashion that wouldn't hurt me but would have them
regretting it in the morning. These two were already on my fucking last nerve
anyway. Ann's bounce back was a quick reflex, though I knew it had to do mostly
with the adrenaline coursing through his hyped-up blood system. I pegged him
with a dead stare. "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY CLUB!"
Dean began to try and break free, but I wrapped one leg around his, bending my
knee against the contorted way I had captured his leg, making him give into the
pain and stopping any fucking attempt from leaving. "Don't be fucking stupid.
I'm taking your ass out of here." To emphasize my point I bent my knee more.
The anger in his tight stance melted away quicker than wax in a blaze and might
have drove my knee deeper once more, just fucking because.
My stare pegged Pix. "You okay?" She didn't even look up. Her eyes were fixed
on her sister who was standing—barely—off to the left of her. I would have to
come back and check up on her, but I didn't have time to waste right then.
"Make sure she's okay," I said to Twilight.
"Wait five minutes, then I want you to leave the fucking club too. I'm going to
come back and you better pray I don't find your ass still here." Ann met my
glare with nothing but pure rage in his eyes.
I shoved Dean, reminding him to not fuck this up for Pix; if he had some sense,
he'd walk out of here on his best fucking behavior. There was no way I was
playing around or wasting any time with any of this shit.
His body was finally feeling the effects of the fighting as it limped against
mine. Once we were out of the room in the hall, I let go of him and he walked
out of there with a head held higher than I would have ever believed. But I
wasn't an idiot and shoved him towards the back exit; we weren't pressing Lady
Luck any more tonight.
My eyes never left the back of that head, though, and I was never more than a
step behind him. It was obvious he was being escorted off the premises, and the
blood on his face and swelling wasn't going to deny any suspicions, but the
fact that he wasn't being forced out worked in all of our favors.
The cops were never something we wanted involved in the club, and so we took
whatever measures we could to prevent that. My eyes darted around the back
entrance; to the left was the girls' changing area for the dancers, and it was
an open space. I took careful note of who was around and who was watching the
show. The regular workers, which wasn't a blessing or a curse . . . yet. Only
time would tell. And I fucking hoped for that broken girl crying back on the
floor of that room we just came from that time would ignore this one little
hiccup in its routine. Because the fact of the matter was that it needed to
fucking ignore this shit.
"I better not see your fucking face in this club again, you hear me?" I said
from behind him as he continued walking. We'd made it out of the club and were
walking along the side of the building towards the front parking lot to
whatever piece of shit car he drove here tonight. He didn't acknowledge my
words, but the twitch of his head and fingers as if he wanted to make a fist
told me he heard that shit.
And because I was a fucking dick, I continued to tell him all about the ass-
load of trouble he was in, or that I'd get him in if he ever returned, as I
walked too fast for him, clipping his heels every other step. I made sure to
let him know just how much of a fuck-up he was and that he'd never be allowed
within one hundred feet of Pix, and how he'd better not even consider sending
another fucking letter, because there were connections at this club that he
couldn't even dream.
Once I was tired of staring at his back and was sure I'd said enough, I turned
and headed back toward the front of the club. Not but a couple of feet away,
Ann was heading with purpose toward the parking lot. I slowed my step and
memorized the swing of his arm. When he came within reaching distance of me, I
pulled him into me from that swinging arm, slamming his chest against me.
"Whatever fucking shit you've got going on, you take it somewhere else." I
didn't bother hiding the fact that I couldn't care less if he and Dean beat
each other to death, just not on my shift or in my parking lot. He glared as he
tried yanking his arm out of my grab, but he was trapped. "I better not fucking
see you in this club again either." That glare widened before he turned his
head away condescendingly like he had my fucking number, when I was the one who
was calling the shots now.
His lips opened to say something but stopped. When I was done with him, I
forcefully pushed him away from me. I watched as he walked through the parking
lot, and just before I turned away I caught sight of Dean leaning against his
car with his arms crossed over his chest, just waiting. It wasn't the first
time that the thought that that motherfucker was insane crossed my mind.
Once I was back in the club, I had to dodge questions from Sasha first, telling
him that I needed him to man the post for a bit longer, and then Felix who was
just as much of a gossiping bitch as Sasha.
When I went back to the room, it was empty and the couch was sitting upright;
the thin drapes that were decorations on the wall were back where they should
have been. There wasn't a sign of anything out of the ordinary in the room. And
I didn't see Pix or Twilight anywhere.
My hand made laps through my hair and over my forehead as I tried to figure
this whole fucking thing out. Then the thought that Oleg hadn't seen any of
this crossed my mind once again, and I decided that was the best place to
start.
I left the room, turned off the lights, and made my way to the last door in the
hallway for the second time tonight. The door was at the end of it, instead of
the sides, leading to the back changing room, bathroom, and the back stairwell.
At the top of the stairwell were two rooms. The furthest down the hall was
Aro's office, but the first one at the top was the control room, where all the
video feeds led to.
Very few workers at the club were allowed on the second floor of the club, and
even those people were only allowed if they were specifically asked by Aro or
had urgent business.
As I made my way through the changing room, I saw Rose by the mirror. Her eyes
caught my reflection in the mirror and she turned up to look at me. The
downturn of her lips and the eerie softness in her eyes stopped me for a
minute. There was something in her eyes that looked a whole lot like regret.
But I had to be wrong, because there was no way my girl was sorry for anything
she'd ever done. She was too proud for that shit. We both were. Maybe that was
where we started to go wrong with all of it. But before I could think anything
more of it, she turned her eyes away from me and continued fixing her hair that
was a mess.
Again I was reminded of all the fucking reasons I was pissed at her this night.
And the one that held the most weight right then was the fact that when I
wanted to smooth things over, I couldn't find her ass anywhere. The suspicions
were poisoning all of it, and I was seriously one argument away from calling it
quits with her.
When I reached the top of the stairs, the door to the control room was wide
open and Oleg was toying with some switch.
"What the fuck were you doing?"
His body jumped and his hands fumbled all over in front of him. He was probably
one of those fucking geek losers who spent all his time alone in a room with a
screen than with real people. The glow from the screens on his glasses made his
eyes look wider.
"What you talking about?" His voice was grainy, like he'd just woken up . . .
or gotten off.
"The shit in room ten. Did you even see that shit?" His eyes darted to the
screens in front of him, looking for room ten's, no doubt. Thin hands made
their way to his shirt and then his jeans that were unbuttoned. And I fucking
knew it. He was some sick Peeping Tom and jacked off to the footage from the
cameras.
Disgusted—because did this shit ever not fucking repulse me?—I slammed the door
before reminding him to do his fucking job instead of whatever the fuck he did
back here alone in his dark room.
As I looked down the dark hall on the second floor, I decided now was as good a
time as any. Aro was in the club tonight and I needed to talk to him about my
time off to go to California. Since I already needed to speak to him, I'd tell
him to put that fucking Dean on the list.
It wasn't my fucking fault. I'd warned Dean, but it was obvious that he was
more fucking trouble than the effort was worth. And if my threats weren't
working, maybe making sure that he was on the list would get the job done.
There were two running lists of people that the club had. There was a list the
bouncers had that we didn't really share with anyone, since these were just
lowlifes that didn't cause too much of a stir. But then there was the list that
Aro was aware of. People who'd run tabs into significant financial zones,
people who'd caused damage to the club or involved the authorities, and then
those that weren't allowed to return.
And if I went to Aro with Dean, I'd make sure that he wasn't linked to Pix. I
could keep her safe and still make sure that he never returned to the club. I
was done with that shit, and it was time I put it out of my hands. And while I
was at it, I'd add Ann to it too. If anything, I just knew his address was
correct on the license, and it wouldn't hurt anyone if both of them were made
known to Aro.
The echoing boom of my steps on the landing down the hall to Aro's office
engulfed me as I made up my mind that I'd just cut the problem with these two
off at the source. There was no doubt in my mind I was making the right choice.
***** Chapter 26 *****
Bella.
He had called her Bella.
Bella.
He knew her fucking name—knew a part of her that I didn't.
Bella.
Rage blanketed my stare—overtook me and became venom in my veins, poisoning me,
seeping out around me, fogging the air that I breathed. A suffocating cycle I
found myself in and intended to obtain release from.
It wasn't the position I had found them in. It wasn't the look of actual
serenity that was on her face, a look that wasn't something she had ever graced
me with. It wasn't even the look of worship in his eyes, or the nurture in his
touch as he combed his hand over her hair.
It was that name; it was screaming inside my skull, pulsating viciously,
drowning everything else out.
He knew her in a way she would never let me know her.
My fists, my jaw, my thoughts . . . my world clenched, and every muscle in my
legs constricted—coiled—preparing to spring; there was no rational thought.
Predator—prey. And I was going to tear him apart.
                                    ..xx..
When I finally came to, it was a blow to the face that did it.
The red that had clouded my vision twitched as my mind tried to grasp what was
in front of me. The pulsating ring of that venomous word
flowing—pumping—throughout me vibrated, like a glass before shattering, and
slowly let other sound seep in. I realized that there were more people in the
room than just Jasper and me; when throughout it all he was the only concrete,
tangible thing in the storm and I had wanted him just as fucking broken as I
felt.
But now my vision let in colors: hues of browns and blacks and purples becoming
a bleeding background on walls and the floor and skin. Different faces in masks
of disgust, fear, and anger—mirrors of my own. I knew those looks well because
they bruised every thought I had had.
The bouncer, the one from the front entrance, was now in the room. He had
Jasper in a lock, growling threats down his ear and throat. Jasper looked
dreadful: swollen eye, blood caked, yellowing patches of skin in between an
array of purples—the Jackson Pollack of faces. I could only imagine what I
looked like, because this was not the first time Jasper and I took to blows,
especially when we were younger, and he always came out looking the better of
us two.
The second that thought crossed my mind, everything stopped: all the bleeding
colors, all the sounds seeping in, and all the faces condemning me.
If the bouncer was in here, this was more serious than I realized. What if I
became banned from the club? Instantly, like the hope of things I still was not
ready to address, my arms fell, along with my adrenaline. My back
straightened—as much as it could—and I breathed deeply, calming the rest of my
body along with my mind.
However, the second that the adrenaline left, the pain kicked in. And
everything hurt, magnified to a degree unimaginable. The last time I had been
in a fist fight was senior year of high school. Although the circumstances were
different, every muscle echoed those stinging pains from before, putting a very
different meaning to the term "muscle memory." This time, though, I was glad
that the bouncer didn't have pepper spray with him or that the police were not
involved. At least I hoped they weren't. Abruptly, a memory I hadn't thought
about in years overcame me.
"Your father's here," the officer said. The blue of his uniform matched his
eyes, down to the starch creases of order and discipline. The way he sucked in
breaths through his teeth wasn't even contemptuous anymore, it was simply how
he breathed. After spending over three hours with him breathing that way, it
became a metronome to the passing of time in here.
My eyes scanned the room again: nothing special—grey walls, floor, ceiling, and
a table pushed up against the wall with three metal chairs where I sat across
from Officer Starch. It wasn't anything like the movies, where I expected to
have this glass window in the room and people watching me. I didn't know if all
the rooms were like this or if those were only for the "special" criminals.
"So are you gonna let him in?"
He glared for at least a good minute before deciding to get his fat ass up and
go answer the door; his chair groaned, or more likely sighed in relief once he
was off it.
"Wipe that smile off your face, kid," he sucked out before leaving the room. My
dad immediately came in. The good doctor looking worse for the wear, probably
just coming off another extra five hour day on top of the thirteen he regularly
put in. He didn't say anything until the door closed.
"What the hell were you thinking, Edward? Your mother is worried sick. I've
spoken with my lawyers and they've informed me there isn't anything they can
do. You will be charged as an adult and it will go on your record. I've tried
speaking with Jane, but it was also out of her hands. They will be pressing
charges. He said you attacked him without provocat—"
"Bull, fucking, shit. James knows what he did. Fuck him for thinking he could
get away with this," I cut my father off. Because I'd take whatever punishment
came to me; I didn't care at this point. But nothing was a bigger lie than
James saying that he had no reason why I would come after him. He damn well
fucking knew, and he was lucky that his mom just happened to be home—an
oversight on my part—and called the cops. Yeah, it didn't look good for me that
I'd gone to his house and sought him out, but he knew I had it out for him ever
since he came between us, ever since he changed her and took her from me. The
accident was just as much his fucking fault as it was mine, and he didn't even
seem to fucking care.
"This has to stop, Edward," my father said, coming to stand over, his nostrils
flaring. He'd been pushed so far past his limit these past couple of months and
I couldn't even find it in me to care. All my efforts went to her; nothing else
mattered anymore. And James got what was coming to him. "You are going to get
yourself together, or so help me . . . You're lucky that it was only a couple
of broken ribs and a nose from what I've been able to ascertain. But this," he
slammed his hand into my chest roughly, "is over, Edward. It is time you grew
up and realized what you're doing to your mother because of this. You will to
fix this, if only for her sake. This road of self-destruction ends now,
Edward." His knuckles drove into my chest, emphasizing his point before he
stood up and made his way to the door. Disappointed eyes washed over my face,
assessing each of my injuries, which were nothing compared to James'.
Before he left the room, he left me with the words that did, in fact, reach me
and make more than enough of an impact to alter my behavior from then on. "So
that you are aware, I will not bail you out anytime soon; spending some time in
jail is just what you need."
I didn't want this altercation to end with spending a night in jail, flailing
around trying to get air to burning skin to squelch the pain. The burn from the
pepper spray made far worse by open wounds from my throbbing split lip, cheek
and knuckles. I couldn't go home and get a shower; even when I did finally make
it home intent on bathing in milk for an entire day, my dad made sure that
didn't happen. The entire ordeal was not something I had any intention of
repeating—but most especially with a body that was ten years older, and as much
as I hated to admit it, too old to have the crap beat out of it.
Raising my hand in surrender, I backed off of the wall and away from the
bouncer as he pulled Jasper with him. He said some things to me that flew in
one ear and out the other. All I was focused on were the glaring blue eyes that
drilled into me from inside a lock between the massive boulder's forearms,
telling me that they weren't done with me in the slightest.
Well, neither am I, mine said back. Neither am I, Jasper.
The words "stay here for five minutes, then leave," however, did pierce the
frozen glares and my subconscious. My body automatically acknowledged the
demand with a nod.
It was his pushing Jasper that jolted my feet into action. As they left the
room, my eyes followed them only to land on her.
Bella.
Suddenly everything came flooding back. It was as if the past moments were a
complete out-of-body experience, as if my brain checked out at the door the
second I stalked through it.
Yet seeing the wilting mess in front of me was enough to snap anyone out of any
stupor.
It was as if they were two wilting saplings alone in a desert through a storm,
all thin, quivering limbs, dying out and searching for any shelter or source of
survival. The first, with arms practically as thin as twigs trembling in
frailty, searched out that second sapling. How had I not noticed how thin she
was; was she always this thin? The second sapling closed in on itself as if
preserving the only thing it had left. Both were quaking and swaying, too frail
to survive the storm, too strong to give in to the force of their imminent
destruction. Both needing the other to withstand the torment but not knowing
how to bridge the black river that ran from them—dividing them—and both too
afraid to.
I didn't know what the fuck to do, but it was a scream that finally chopped
that first struggling tree down, brown hair spilling like dead leaves on the
ground, with no way to ever find its way back to the vibrant foliage they may
have once been.
When the little one slapped her—Bella—I felt it through the ache in my own
muscles to somewhere deep in my soul. That slap's sting left a mark worse than
any physical pain ever could, and there was not a doubt in my mind that it was
the type of scar that would take years to heal and disappear . . . if it ever
would.
She kept pleading through dying limbs and broken branches, haggard breaths, and
tears that didn't only seep from eyes with the little one to please forgive
her—to understand that she loved her beyond anything and she had never meant to
lie and hurt her.
The words resounded with me heavily, because it wasn't but months ago that I
had stumbled through those same words with Tanya. I knew what it meant to make
a choice that hurt another so profoundly that it destroyed you as well; even if
that was never your intention, that was what had occurred. The weight of
everything around me came crashing upon me, dropping my shoulders and eyes, my
breath and understanding of things that still escaped me. But one didn't need
to know the how, or the why, or the when, or who; emotion was a universal
language, and it was suffocating the air around me.
Just as it was destroying them.
When the little one raised her arm to slap her again, it was my own soul that
answered. My hand shot out and captured her wrist.
"Don't."
There was more feeling in that one word than I had put in the millions I'd used
before it. No matter what I saw or felt or believed, it wasn't what was
important in that moment. I saw it now, clear as fucking day.
That fragile sapling was barely weathering the storm; she wouldn't survive
another slap. She was hanging on by the very last root in the dirt that was
anything but life-sustaining, and hadn't supplied nutrients to flourish for
years.
I knew now, more than ever, that I had it all wrong.
"Don't touch her again."
The little pixie one glared up at me in a frozen stare before she yanked her
arm out of my grasp. Callously she turned her stare back to her.
"Twilight's my sister." My eyes widened as the little one's words echoed
through my memories. With fresh eyes I was seeing everything. Everything.
Sisters.
She had lied to the little one about something. About the death of someone, two
people. I couldn't remember the names, but I wondered about the significance of
those people. Not only that, but the little one was dating Jasper. She had to
be equally as hurt at what we had walked in on. Things had just become so much
more complicated.
Jasper.
He had some serious fucking explaining to do. He got on my ass about coming
here, but it turned out he was doing the same damn thing. He was the epitome of
hypocrite.
The pixie one got up and turned her back from her—Bella—before leaving
silently, as if she had never been there to begin with; just the freezing draft
of her despise lingered.
I made a move for her—Bella—and then I couldn't help it. "Bella." It slipped
from my lips like the ribbon holding a flying balloon. The twitch of her
shoulders was the only acknowledgement of the name. Somehow, without even
picking her eyes up off the floor she moved out of the way. Receiving the
message loud and clear, I pulled my hand back to my chest and watched the
ribbon float off away from me.
"What the hell is going on?" It was just a whisper. "I told you never to come
back," she had said at the exact same time, eclipsing my barely spoken words.
The only thing that distinguished the words was the confusion behind mine and
the reproach behind hers.
Immediately, running on strength that was reserved somewhere deep—which shocked
the hell out of me considering what I just saw—she got up and went to the door,
her eyes never picking up off the floor, right next to where I was certain she
left her hopes and heart.
The irony of déjà vu to this situation was beyond fucking disgusting.
"I'd . . . I'd tell you not to come back, but obviously you don't listen to me.
So just . . ." She picked her head up and looked at the closed door, her hand
slowly closing around the knob. Her frail body concaving with the deep breath
she took before speaking again. "I don't know . . . please? Just . . . just
forget I ever existed—forget all of this. Please . . . . Go home to Tanya,
Edward."
With a soft shake of her head, she opened the door and ran from the room, even
though she had no need to. I wouldn't chase her.
It wasn't just the ache in my limbs or the tremendous exhaustion that
accumulated from watching dying saplings try to weather a storm and fail; it
was that I felt the weight of everything come down on me. I don't think I'd be
able to ever move again the same.
She was right; I didn't listen. Well, fine, what other choice did I have now?
She wanted me to leave her alone, so I would.
I had already tried with her. I'd tried harder with her than any other
relationship I had in my life. What more could be done?
I wanted to rub my eyes, but when I tried to find them I discovered that my
face was more swollen than I expected. With a sigh, I focused on the one area
of this mess I would get control over.
                                    ..xx..
He was waiting for me outside of my car, arms crossed, blood caked in his ear
and hair, smeared across his face.
Good.
Everything about him seeped disdain and anger, and I knew we were well in for a
round two in no time.
"How fucking long?" The words were out of my mouth before I had time to think
about them. The smug look on his face as he waited for me was enough to get my
anger to find purchase wherever the release allowed: my fists, my breathing, my
words . . . everywhere. I stalked towards him with only one purpose; the cars
blurred into the dark night around me. The only thing I saw was that
condescending smile, like a red flag in front of a bull.
"Grow up, Edward."
"Don't you fucking dare; you know what she means to me!" He fucking had the
gall to laugh.
"Do I? I happen to have no fucking idea what you're doing here. As far as I was
concerned, you were doing your own thing. Every time I tried to talk to
you, you had better things to do."
"Don't bullshit me, Jasper; you weren't even the slightest bit surprised to see
me here. Look at you." I threw my arm up in his direction. "You're still not
all that fucking surprised."
"You're right; I'm not shocked. This is just like you. Of course you'd be
idiotic enough to put everything that matters into danger and not give a shit
about anything but yourself."
With a shove I gritted out, "Fuck you."
"I'm sorry, aren't you married?"
My body responded by diving for him. All I could think about was wiping that
fucking smug look off his face; the way his hands were in her hair, the way he
held her . . . I wanted to wipe all of it off. I wanted to wipe the floor with
his face. I didn't even care that I had known him practically all my life.
But Jasper was always one step ahead of me, of everyone, especially in a fight;
it was as if he trained for this type of thing, putting himself in the position
of advantage always. When I dove, he moved at the very last second, grabbing
onto my shoulders in a lock before pinning my face down onto the car.
The steam from my breath against the window pissed me off more than anything,
but all his weight against my back caused a serious lack of words. He pushed
more, telling me that I needed to calm down otherwise whatever this was was
going to be a million times worse.
His words didn't make sense, but my arms were sore; I was burning rage and had
no outlet. The situation wasn't going to get any better for me anytime soon.
And, regardless of what my behavior lately might have implied, I was not an
idiot.
I don't remember what he said to me to get me in the car. I don't remember what
I said to him after I slammed the door to his car and fumed in the parking
garage of my place. I don't remember what he said to keep me from taking
another swing at him. I don't remember what he said when he entered my home. I
remember glares and slamming, blood pulsing in my ears and ringing. I remember
teeth grinding, the deep calming breaths he took when I took a cheap shot and
shoved him. But of words, I don't remember a single one.
Because every single word before "she's a seventeen-year-old sex slave" didn't
matter.
I'd like to say that those words stole the breath from my lungs, that I was
shocked and fell to my knees with the weight of the truth. I'd like to say that
I was the sort of man who, when faced with the disgusting realities of the
world, made a difference. Who acted out of an intense desire to right a wrong
or become emotionally destroyed because I was but a man, and I couldn't right
every wrong. I just could not . . . I was not that man. There was a part of me
that knew it—all of it—somewhere where I didn't want to accept it. And so, when
faced with the vicious truth, I was the type of man to deny it.
All of it.
Seventeen days. How very fitting. And I detested that fucking number.
The first day I yelled. The second day I screamed. The third I drank. That
third day turned into the eighth. The ninth day I broke things: glasses, a
table, bottles that piled up around the house, even a TV. On the tenth day I
started back at the first day.
I was most certainly the type of man who found more comfort in denial and
destruction than I did in the beep of a heart monitor after a flatline or the
smell of sterility in an operating room. Jasper called relentlessly. Who knew
ignorance was my pair of scrubs, and I wore them quite faithfully.
By the thirteenth day my mind replayed everything Jasper had told me, a never-
ending cycle of the poor excuse of a man I was. My selfishness knew no bounds.
Even now, when I should have focused on what I could do for her and her
situation, I focused on what I hadn't done . . . what I did.
On the fourteenth day I realized I had raped her. I replayed every conversation
I had ever had with her. She didn't enjoy sex; she never wanted to have sex
with me. Yet she had. On the fourteenth day everything came crashing down. She
was seventeen. She was fucking seventeen. She was taken from her home,
somewhere in Washington, and was working for the Russian mafia—supposedly. She
and her sister. She was forced to have sex for money. She was forced to have
fucking sex for money. Money that I highly doubted she ever saw a penny of. On
the fourteenth day I finally realized what sort of man I was.
I was that man. The one that had sex with a seventeen-year-old sex slave for
money, money she never saw and sex she never wanted to have.
God.
For the next three days, I stewed in a bath of alcohol, cigarettes, misplaced
tears, anger, guilt, and regret before I finally picked up the phone. To have
said that Jasper was shocked was an understatement.
This time when he talked, I listened. It all hit me on so many levels. The age.
The sex. The legality. The morality. Each tier was bad, but the one that
superseded it was worse, and I was climbing an uphill battle. When I told
Jasper as much, he told me that he intended to get them out, Bella and her
sister Alice.
He did know things about her, so much more than I had ever imagined. And he
shared everything he knew with me. I offered to go to the police; I decided to
turn myself in. His head shook tersely as he told me that none of that mattered
now; what mattered wasn't what was in the past, but what we did with this
knowledge in the future. He had plans, and ideas, and hopes, and goals. Disgust
built inside of me, bubbling like the vomit that came up on more occasions than
I cared to remember the past two weeks from the copious amount of alcohol in my
system. All I had done was dwell on the fact that she was seventeen. All I had
done was try to get her to date me and sleep with me. God. I had thought she
was at least in her twenties. Closer to my age than not.
Jasper had said that I needed to come to terms with it; he said it took him a
while too. But that time wasn't something we had. So while he spoke, I
listened. It was the very least I could do, and I needed to start somewhere. He
said something needed to be done, and I agreed. But what?
That was where I found myself for the past couple of days. What could I do?
What could I possibly do . . . what could anyone do? They had crooked cops on
their side; they had years of skirting the law. In fact, they were above the
law. I was a doctor, and Jasper an office man. We were privileged, private-
school-bred elite; what the hell did we know about anything like this? How the
hell could we even have a clue what they were going through, and even then how
to get them out of this problem?
It was impossible. Each night I kicked off covers that were suffocating me in
their fine Egyptian cotton, flailing over right and left without being able to
find sleep. All I could think about was how impossible this was, how
incredulous. How I couldn't do anything; even Jasper, who was the less
privileged of the two, had no experience with anything like this.
Sure, he may have thought he knew a thing or two because of his job, but we
were both way in over our heads. Which brought me to the next most logical
thought: this was going to kill us. There was no way we would make it out of a
situation like this alive.
I needed to reconcile the fact that there was no way I would survive. Not too
shockingly, that did not seem to bother me.
Sickeningly, like some form of reverse irony, it was when I was willing to
accept that I would give the ultimate sacrifice for her that the answer to all
of this came to me. I wanted to punch something, because the answer was so
fucking obvious, it was absolutely disgusting.
If you couldn't beat them, you'd join them.
                                    ..xx..
"I like you. Turn around, go home. She not here anyway." He stared at my still
slightly swollen face and scars with hesitation. With wiser eyes, I watched
him. I knew now what he was, with his arms crossed over his huge chest. The
tattoos clawing up his neck rippled along with each shake of his head.
I had been so blind before.
"I don't care then, Felix. Do this for me." He pushed off the wall next to the
gold doors that he was always guarding. And part of me was disgusted with what
I knew about him now, even if I wanted to believe he was a good person. Being a
"good person" was probably pretty subjective in a place like this.
He towered over me, breathing down my face, glaring. When he wanted to impress,
he was quite good at it. "You fucking dead man. Are you sure?"
"Yes. Take me to Aro Arlovski."
***** Chapter 27 *****
"Joshua . . . ."
My eyes met his, vibrating the determination I knew he responded to, and the
kind I needed to get him to give in. He needed to give on this. It was
important.
Pulling the packet up in front of my face, I waved it for more emphasis before
putting it down on his desk, right in front of him and leaning over it
determinedly. His eyes narrowed and I only batted mine more. He was a sucker
for the goods. And if one tactic didn't work, I wasn't the type to be above
doing whateverit took to get what I needed. To give him a push in the right
direction, I spoke his name once more, softer and insinuatingly.
"You catch more bees with honey," my mom used to say.
She was a walking quote; her blue eyes, the same ones that Jasper and I got
from her side of the family, sparkled as she preached this or that. No matter
what the situation called for, she was prepared with some little bit of insight
that she thought applied or motivated.
A smile perched itself in between the strong angles of my stunning face. It
wasn't often that I thought of my family—at least not my parents—and most
especially not lately. I couldn't afford it. Then, in that minute, I realized
how much I missed them; how much I missed my mother's small little bits of
wisdom and my father's encouraging, toothy smile as he humored her.
My dad and I were so much alike. Jasper and my mom were the dreamers. My dad
and I had our feet firmly planted on the ground. Opposites, each pair of us,
but we fit together perfectly. I was never one to believe any of those
ridiculous phrases people told themselves when they needed a little positive
reinforcement, the kinds Jasper dished out to patients just like Mom had dished
out to us.
The only motto I chose to live by was fidelity, bravery, and integrity.
Mottos or even positive reinforcements weren't necessary because I alwaysgot
what I wanted. It wasn't because I had a positive outlook, or because I was
this great person and people liked me. I'm sure everyone has heard that crock
of shit time and time again in their lives when things weren't going their way.
A friend would say, "It's okay, you're a good person, and good things happen to
good people."
The truth was, I wasn't a good person. There wasn't anything I did that didn't
have an ulterior motive. There wasn't an ounce of selflessness in my body. And
there wasn't anything I wasn'tcapable of.
As true as that fact was as a bullet to the brain, or that I was a natural
blonde, I looked at Joshua.
I needed him. I needed this. He was the only one who could do this for me. I
could count on my fingers the people I trusted, and he was one of them.
Joshua coughed out a "sit" in between shaking his head. His thin grey glasses
fell lower on his nose as he picked up the folder. The sunspots near his
greying sideburns were like my own personal Rorschach test as I watched him
study the contents of yet another manila folder I had laid in front of him in
over two weeks. That interpersonal test wasn't something I was willing to delve
into just yet, so I turned away.
Joshua was a hard sell, and if anyone were to make me take a deeper look at
what was going on around me, it was him. It was those sorts of self-analysis
things that kept our once close relationship on a strictly professional level
as of late.
His chronic bronchitis was like a distant tic-toc of a clock; it counted the
passage of time and you only really noticed it when you had too much on your
mind. Then it became the only fucking thing you could notice. It was maddening,
and I didn't know why he was taking so long to look through the file. This
wasn't the first time he'd gone through its contents. But we were both
thorough, if anything—it was one of the very things I loved about him."How did
you get this? Rosie . . . some of this, this I can't—""You have to," I said,
cutting him off. "Trust me, I've thought about it, more than you'll ever know.
But the fact is that it's the truth and the truth needs to be known, most of
all now, Joshua."Lethargically he nodded, as if the facts in front of him in
black and white weighed him down. I knew that feeling all too well. When his
old, weathered eyes—eyes I loved so very deeply—found mine, the amount of worry
in them was jarring. My voice caught in my throat, and I lifted off from the
chair across from him I was sitting now . . . he couldn't pull this shit now.
We had to separate our past from this—he knew this. He couldn't just pick now
to grow a conscience and start caring, not when I wassoclose."How?""It-it
doesn't matter. He's too fucking trusting. How else am I supposed to handle
this? Do you think I wanted it to turn out this way? He thinks he's walking
around with his eyes wide open but he isn't seeing shit . . . . So I did what I
had to."
..xx..
I've always known Edward was an idiot. How that's possible considering he's
Carlisle's son is beyond me, but he's a fucking idiot. And I always knew he'd
get my brother caught in something that would screw him over. Hell, they barely
scraped by in high school; karma was bound to catch up with them. It was like a
series of fists to the face: you could duck the jabs all you wanted, but sooner
or later an uppercut was going to clip your ass and knock you out.
If anyone were ever unaware of that incoming uppercut, it was Jasper. Now my
brother was just as big of a moron too.
It was just like Edward to drag Jasper down with him, but I never counted on
Jasper changing up the game. I should have known, and now everything was so
jumbled up.
Jasper had always been the good one. He was the child that parents bragged
about and sent over to elderly neighbors' homes when they needed help. Then
when he chose to start off his career with the state working with youth
services, my mom's pride was as radiant as her smile. He was perfect, and there
wasn't any man on this earth more genuine and amazing than Jasper. Women loved
him, men respected him, parents admired him, and everyone was blessed to have
him in their lives.
It didn't change the fact that he was a fucking idiot though. Now, because of
him, I had to do everything differently . . . and the risks were higher . . .
and the chances of survival were lower.
..xx..
My thoughts lately always seemed to find themselves back at that afternoon with
Joshua, because I knew then the significance of it, just as much as I do now.
Yet I couldn't help but wonder, still, if I made the right choice. What wasthe
right choice? Was there ever only one; were we floating in a sea of wrong
choices always looking for the right one? Or were they like the perpetual life
raft to that drowning priest, and I just kept saying that the right one would
find me, when all along it was in front of my face and I let it drift past me.
Either way, one thing was certain: I'd never know. So all that I could do was
replay over and over my many conversations with Joshua in the hopes that if
things did go sour, I was aware of exactly where it started.
"I need to know what he's got," I had said as I leaned over his desk.
"Rose, you know I can't give you that."
My teeth had gritted and I had to restrain a fist from pounding on the polished
wood. "Listen, Joshua . . . you know you're bound to my secret because of your
oath. Attorney privilege and all that," I had said in a flippant wave that he
snorted to. "Now I need to know what he's dealing with."
A long and drawn-out sigh had told me I'd won that one. "Well, he doesn't have
much."
I knew he'd go to Jenks. Jasper was like Old Yeller: faithful, predictable . .
. good. Plus, if there was anything he took from Dad, it was that "knowledge is
power" mentality Dad used to have—no weapon was better than knowledge.
I chose to differ on that. Actually, it was a fucking crock of shit. I've seen
weapons, and they come in all shapes and sizes. But there are weapons that you
can't ever plan for . . . things you need to just accept like intuition and
common sense.
And I had been right on the money about Jasper. He had come straight to Jenks.
His paper trail was easier to trace than a children's coloring book.
Had I not taught him anything?
That was how I found myself stepping in where I had never considered stepping.
After Jasper left Joshua's office that Monday night, the thirty-first of
August, he sent me an email—our preferred method of communication under an
alias—that Jasper had just ordered some fake IDs and credit cards.
He was going back.
Everything Jasper "knew" about the club was spoon-fed to him through Jenks . .
. from me, making sure that he didn't "stumble" upon anything that might have
included me by controlling his source of information. I remember with perfect
clarity the conversation and argument Joshua put up when I gave him documents
that he shouldn't have ever gotten his hands on. One of several packages I had
been leaving with him. But the truth was, I was Joshua's favorite god-daughter,
like his very own daughter, and there wasn't anything a good pout didn't get
me. Plus, he was my lawyer. Nine times out of ten, I had Joshua exactly where I
needed him.
And Jenks had been right: Jasper's research was flawed at best. He wasn't going
to uncover much.
"Give him this," I had told him as I placed the packet on his desk. Quietly I
had waited while he fingered through it. A stiff gulp hadn't escaped my notice.
While he had fingered through the papers, I had gone to pour him a scotch. I
remember thinking he was going to need it.
"This . . . this is . . . you can't just give him criminal records, Rose . . .
."
"I can't, but I am. Look, Jasper has NO idea what he is getting into here. He's
playing with fire . . . at least he should know how badly he could get burned."
"But then why do you allow it, if you know?" I had sighed, rubbing blonde hair
away from my eye; it definitely wasn't my fucking choice to allowit.
"I'm in between a rock and a hard place here. A really hard place. I can't blow
my cover, most especially not now; there is too much at risk.
"I'm being pulled in two places now . . . watching out for his back and between
finishing my job. Because we both know he needs the help. Jasper's all heart,
no logic sometimes. You know that. So if it means I have to break some rules,
I'm going to break them. I have to. Both are too important to me, and I'm going
to do everything in my power to make sure that I succeed here."
He had nodded. "Don't you feel he's going to become suspicious? There is no
possible way for me to explain having access to these types of files, records
of special investigations."
I had shaken my head before looking into the face of one of the most
compassionate men I knew. And I had a thing for men with big hearts and amazing
souls. . . I always had.
"No, he won't catch on. He's too narrow-sighted right now to see the big
picture. Let's be true here—he's fucking lucky he has me. So is his idiot
friend," I had confessed. Whether I wanted to or not, I had taken a lot of shit
for Edward too. "Besides, Joshua . . . you're the infamousJ. Jenks . . . nobody
questions your sources."
And at that Joshua had smiled, a glow coming from every inch of his face and
through his thick glasses. I remembered how it reminded me of when I was a
little girl and I would sit in his lap while he and my dad talked about things
that didn't matter to me then, but he would lean in and "translate" the
conversation for me, making up fantastical stories.
Joshua had told me that the upcoming Saturday was the day Jasper planned on
returning to the club. This would be his third trip. The first time was a
complete fucking surprise to me.
If I had been smarter, I would have looked into where Edward would have been
having his bachelor party, but it was Edward for fuck's sake. I thought they'd
go to a museum or sip tea and eat fucking scones.
My surprise hit the roof when I was walking out behind the back room curtain to
the floor with two other girls and I saw Edward and Jasper walking through the
club. I quickly darted into some man's lap and gave him the free dance of his
life, my face buried in his neck the whole time. After a good portion of time
had passed, I made sure to scope my surroundings and make sure I would go by
unnoticed.
What I saw at Jasper's table was quite interesting. He was completely enamored
with one of our girls—the youngestof our girls.
Aro wasn't in the club that night, so I took the opportunity to become very
familiar with Oleg. Luckily, the night went off without a hitch.
I wasn't there for Jasper's second time at the club. But as I rewound feed from
the cameras that took me three months to tap into—feed that was sent to a
special account, recorded, saved, and researched—my shock was beyond palpable.
It was actually Jake that brought it to my attention the next Monday night
during our weekly phone call. I couldn't believe it, but there he was, in
grainy black and white, the day of Edward's wedding and in his tux, no less.
That was the first time I ever really took note of Twilight, rewind after
rewind. The girl kept to herself more often than not and I didn't care much
about her. But I saw it there, because I knew what I was looking for, in the
same grainy playback that I watched Jasper. In between the lap dance and
caresses, she was talking to him. There wasn't any audio, and I could only see
his lips move because her back was to the camera. However, it was the feed from
the floor where Demetri had cornered Jasper that rounded out the story enough
for me.
She protected him. I didn't need to know what her reasons were; the fact of the
matter was, clear as day on the feed, she intervened and helped him.
And I was always one to repay my debts. She had taken care of Jasper; I'd take
care of her. So when that idiot Edward came by and she sat with him and
talkedin a fucking strip club—yeah, because that wasn't suspicious at all—I
made sure that Oleg was entirely occupied.
Lucky for all of us, they never recorded their feed; they were meticulous about
making sure not to leave any trail. All it took to hide their little chats was
a spread thigh or open mouth and an hour of my time . . . easy in the scope of
the big picture.
When Joshua told me that Jasper was headed back to the club on Saturday, I was
prepared. But fucking Edward had to step in again, and between the two of them,
they kept me on my toes. While Oleg kept me on his dick.
I made sure to never remove any article of clothing when I was with Oleg,
because I needed to be able to fly out of there at any possible second. Usually
he just got blow jobs, but with the fight that Jasper and Edward were throwing
down, I had pushed Oleg on top of the desk with his back toward the cameras and
rode him for everything I was worth, making sure my eyes never left the cameras
and his never left my body.
The second they cleared out, I made some excuse about having to go pee and left
Oleg hanging—or standingas the case may be. I ran to the room and set the
couches and drapes straight; I used my top, and surprisingly some of the lube
from the Dick-board, to wipe the small traces of blood off the walls and make
sure that the room looked exactly like it had before the accident. Then I
quickly got out of there and went back to Oleg to make sure he hadn't seen
anything. Once I got that he was good, I made my way topless to Aro's office,
just in case someone else caught wind of anything.
He was on the phone with one of his contacts in Russia. I didn't have time to
indulge him, so I gave a quick nuzzle up the side of his face that wasn't
holding the phone with my bare breasts while I waited to see if any late word
came in. It didn't. I promised him some action later and left his side. It was
in my best interest—everyone's—if I didn't leave his side tonight, just in
case.
Everything was in the clear . . . that was until I met Emmett's eyes in the
mirror. Just because I was okay with what I saw reflected back at me—what I
really was—I hated that he had to see it too.
That night after I was sure I could take leave from Aro's side, and since I
didn't want to go straight home because I was still in the middle of a fight
with Emmett, I went to a payphone across town and called Jake.
He was up at all hours for my calls, no matter what. I told him the watered-
down version of the events that night; after all, he'd no doubt watch it on the
feed at least ten times later.
Jake knew about Jasper . . . he assumed about Emmett.
Once again Jake reminded me that I had yet to make the infiltration. But I was
doing the fucking best I could; this was the hardest assignment I'd ever had.
It obviously wasn't enough to have the boss eating out of my hands; that
bastard was ingrained to trust no one.
The next step of the operation was that I needed to get into that house—the
stable.Once there, I could plant a bug, and we would have a better chance of
getting these bastards for a charge that would stick, because we weren't
getting anything from the feed that implicated the key players explicitly, and
it was impossible to bug Aro's office.
And there was no way I was wearing a fucking wire.
We had to get that bug in to that house.
I'd been blowing and fucking Aro for months and still getting nowhere. Aro
didn't get where he was today by being an idiot. Slowly I was starting to
realize what it was going to take to get me in there: the only way to get a
girl in was to get another out. One of their girls needed to disappear, and
soon.
Whatever it takes, right?
..xx..
My cover was impenetrable. I had been preparing for this for well over a year
now. When I visited my "hometown," I made sure to cover every angle. I spoke
with the people who would have been my teachers; I walked down the uneven
street where I skinned my elbow skipping as a little girl; I learned the
nicknames of the surrounding villages; I achieved to perfection every
inflection of the Russian dialect of where I was from; I amplified my hand-to-
hand combat and arms training; I staked out all known Arlovski establishments
and those of any known associates. Most importantly, I made sure there wasn't a
link between Rosalie Whitlock and Rozalia Novikova.
It was all in the details—as any lie was. Details were my bread and butter, and
I wasn't a starving girl.
In 2003 Operation Innocence Lost took wave. It was the start of a trend among
the Criminal Investigative Division, along with the National Center for Missing
& Exploited Children. That was how I met Jake. My handler and the first and
only man I ever fell in love with.
Our careers, which ran on completely different tracks, came crashing together
by coincidental circumstances. He had been in Washington, and then Phoenix, and
then finally in Chicago. Jake had been working with NECMEC for the greatest
portion of his career; like most people on the job, he didn't start with the
bureau. First he did some beat work in a small city in Washington, then
Seattle, and then he transferred to NECMEC and did the coinciding training and
quals to become an agent as well.
From the start of my career, I had worked my way around CID. Other than my
training at Quantico, and field operations in NYC, Miami, Houston, and
Connecticut, I'd pretty much stayed in the field office in Chicago and had
called CID home. My niche had always been organized crimes/gangs and
prostitution/trafficking rings. And undercover was just part of the whole gig.
Since there was no denying I was one hell of a looker, I used what God gave me
to the best of my ability always.
But it was never anything like this.
The longest undercover assignment I had been on was an eighteen-week one, part
of an M-13 bust. We took down nine of their key players with the help from the
Miami office. They'd been passing drugs and girls across state lines; I was one
of those girls—Rosa, a brunette Cuban American.
After the M-13 raid I had used my established connections in the Latin
community to target 2-6, who were more centralized, as opposed to national M-
13. It was nice to live a somewhat normal life during that time. I did the
brunette thing and had an alias, but for the most part I was relatively unknown
outside of the ring, and I could go back home on the weekends and live my life.
The thing about my undercovers was that I made sure they weren't back home. I
wanted to separate my home life from my job. There was a reason horror stories
popped up on the nightly news or in movies. My family was too important to me
to take a risk so close to home. I was content with working behind the scenes
on most operations, and on the field when my particular skills were of use.
Travel was definitely in my job description, and that wasn't something I minded
at all.
But in 2009, my sixth year in the bureau, that all changed. When Calabrese was
sentenced to life for a few gangland murders, organized crime did a complete
three-sixty in Chicago. It turned out that was just what the Russians were
waiting for: the Italians to be out for the count.
And if there was one thing any SA in CID hated, and not just in Chicago, but
nationwide, it was an uproar of the Russian Mafia. They were a breed of their
own: vicious, calculating, and impenetrable. Unlike with other organized
crimes, they didn't recruit kids off the streets or have and use connections in
the community to stay intact. They outsourced, straight from the fucking
motherland itself. But not only was the organization itself impenetrable, but
the leaders practically had immunity in everything. Legally, Russia allowed
dual citizenship for those naturalized in the US. So say a naturalized US
citizen kept their Russian citizenship—something obtained by birth and a
certain amount of time having lived in Russia, maintaining a residence, and
paying a fee—and then became involved in criminal activity. If they were to
flee the country back to Russia, Russia doesn't extradite their citizens to
other countries. Something the Italians did do.
These were massive holes in the system, ones that all of us in conjunction with
the Consulate and Foreign Operations were trying to patch up, quickly and
covertly.
It was as simple as a potential target catching wind of a legit suspicion and
being able to flee. As if that wall in the road wasn't enough, if an agent went
in and infiltrated, that agent wasn't ever heard from again. They were just
tootightknit . . . and, at the present, too untouchable. They were quickly
claiming power all over the city.
The biggest of these was the Arlovski Bratva. They had their hands in every
fucking pot imaginable.
I was aware of the missions to infiltrate, the success of them—or lack thereof.
It was a huge case within my division, but I was content with my operations
involving the 2-6. However, I soon came to realize that I couldn't ignore the
situation much longer.
Because of ASAC Jacob Black, who had recently transferred from the Phoenix
office, and who carried around a personal vendetta. Apparently he'd been
working a NECMEC case from Seattle, two years cold . . . and he finally came
across a lead, in one of the Arlovski-owned clubs.
After mission after mission of hitting walls, he came to me. I had a
reputation, one I earned tooth and nail. I wasone of the best . . . but I
wanted nothing to do with this operation.
It was too close to home and too intimate. For months he kept hounding me,
pouring sob stories down my ears, showing me pictures, and telling me about
some info he'd obtained on his own reconnaissance. Nevertheless, I had to draw
my boundaries. Tough luck, kid, this was one.
That's the thing, I wasn't some vigilante for abused women. One thing I
learned, above all else, was that in order to survive in this life you had to
be honest with yourself. I could lie to everyone, but the second I lied to
myself, I failed. And since failure wasn't an option, I knew who I was.
I knew the black that coated my soul in an impenetrable hide. When I looked
into the mirror, I wasn't surprised by what I saw, warts and all. The blood
that stained my hands wasn't something that would ever wash off, and I was okay
with that.
Beauty really is only skin deep.
I didn't do this to help those poor women or young girls that found themselves
in this situation. Sure, I sympathized on some level, but the fact of the
matter was, I didn't care about them. I couldn't afford to. If I cared, I'd get
involved and become reckless. It was a downward spiral that I wasn't willing to
take part in. My fidelities were already etched in stone, and there wasn't room
for more. If I watched a girl get beat in front of me, I could turn the other
cheek; hell, if fucking asked, I could be the very same one to hit her.
That's the little secret they don't tell you: what it takes to excel at the
particulars of my job. As fucking sure as my LEO 300 qual, having a bleeding
heart only got you so far. For me, I didn't do it for that crying young girl. I
did it for the power. I thrived on power; it was the oxygen that I breathed.
And as much as I needed oxygen, I needed to be the one to be instrumental in
bringing the big boys down, those that thought they were untouchable—above the
law—I wanted to be the very same one that kicked them off that high horse . . .
and that's what I did the best.
Yet, no matter how hard I fought, I was only human.
And I had a fucking Achilles' heel, like the rest of them, which was something
that I hated and loved in equal parts about myself. I wasn't blind, though; I
knew in the end that Achilles' heel would be my ruin.
It was just like that saying went: "You want what you can't have." And all my
life I was drawn to bleeding hearts. I didn't understand them, but I loved them
and respected them and admired them and needed them in my life. They became my
central focus, my true north, because of their purity and incredible souls. I
wasn't that person, I could never be that person, but, God,did I love that
quality in a man.
I was my dad in every way except that I was born a female.
When I first decided that I wanted a job in law enforcement, I had spoken to my
father about it. To this day he was the only one who knew, outside of work and
Joshua, that I was not a photo-journalist by profession. He had been a Chief
Master at Arms in the Navy. To say that he was proud was an understatement, but
the best thing about my dad was that he was neverone to gloss over the ugly
stuff. He always told it like it was. Yet another trait I got from him.
My mom was in the Peace Corps in Ethiopia when his division did a tour there
for the opening of a new hospital. The rest was history. He loved her madly; to
this day he still does, and she's the polar opposite of him. He didn't
understand her desire to put her life on hold to help others, but he lovedthat
quality about her.
I first noticed the Achilles' with Jasper. Growing up, he was my world. There
would never be anyone better than him. He always understood you on a level that
nobody else could; he made you feel like the world revolved around you, not the
other way around. I'd swear up and down I'd marry him, as little kids do. But
once I grew out of that phase, and we moved to Chicago, I met the dashing
Doctor Cullen. Who was remarkably caring and compassionate and genuine. He had
sacrificed so much for those he loved . . . for his deadbeat son.
Yeah, the rumors were true: growing up, I despised Esme. But who wouldn't? As I
got older I grew to respect her; we were never close, but I understood her. I
would fight tooth and nail for Carlisle too.
Then in 2009, in the midst of a standoff in operations, Jacob Black's amazing
soul weaseled its way into my world. And for the first time in my life, I felt
whole. In all the adventure and travelling, and games, and power, I never
seemed to find something to center me. To say I was flighty was an
understatement. But that was because I hadn't found what I needed: fire to my
ice, the sun to my shadows.
He was six years older than me, and smarter, and obviously more generous and
compassionate; he put his life on hold for others, always. And Jacob Black most
certainly wasn't a quitter; the man would not take "no" for an answer.
Slowly but surely, he won me over with his passion and commitment. Until
finally I truly listened to that sob story he'd been shoveling down my ears for
over six months. As it turned out, that NECMEC case was two girls, two girls
that in a little over a year's time wouldn't be considered missing or exploited
children any longer. He was on his last thread, and barely hanging on.
So I went against all of my own rules and agreed . . . for him.
But if we were going to do this, we were going to do it my way. A fact that he
was more than okay with. I immediately immersed myself in a year-long training
and preparation to make sure that this operation went off without a hitch.
My price: I wanted Aro Arlovski.
I'd get Jake's girls out for him . . . but I wanted the bigger prize. I was
after blood and power, and if I was doing this, then I wanted to take the whole
fucking organization down with me.
Somewhere along the way, in between late hours working and screaming arguments
and steaming make-up sex and passionate declarations and crying fits of pain
and longing, it turned out that even the sun wasn't enough to unfreeze me.
I drove him away.
It killed me.
I almost pulled out of the entire thing, but then I remembered the reason I
fell for him in the first place was becauseof that glorious soul of his and his
needing to save those girls. In remembrance of what we had, I pushed through.
I never fucking saw Emmett coming.
God, he was just a good fuck to pass the time. He was my rebound. He was my
toy. He wasn't supposed to be so complicated.
I made him days after having known him, and I had always been a resourceful
girl. I was going to use him to the best of my advantage, to gain anything I
could. At first glance he wasn't anything like Jasper or Carlisle or Jake. He
was involved in this mess, so my steeled heart thought he'd be the "safe"
choice. Emmett was crass and disgusting and annoying . . . and perfect.
Because under all of that there was one of the biggest hearts I had ever found,
and I think what made it so big was that you didn't see it coming. He actually
played up the part of the dimwit, he wantedto be underestimated; it was his way
of controlling the game. After all, nobody expects to find a wolf where they'd
seen a sheep for so long.
Never in a million years would I have thought I'd find myself in this current
situation . . . with him. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. But somewhere
in between amazing sex and playful teasing and ridiculous fights, he grew on
me. I fought like fucking hell to keep my emotions out of it when it came to
him; he was just too much of a hassle, and I knew what this job required of me.
When push came to shove, I was never blinded by what I saw in the mirror.
In more ways than one, this would be my last job. It had to be. If by some
miracle I survived this, I needed to get away from all of it, take a step back
and re-evaluate, because the fact of the matter was . . . each day it was
getting harder and harder to keep Emmett at an arm's length.
I was losing sight and focus and what made me the best at what I was.
The sickening truth of the matter was . . . Jasper was here too, and he had
changed everything. I found a part of myself hating Jake for doing this to me,
for taking this mission for him. Because if push came to fucking shove, which
liability would I choose?
Emmett, Jasper, or Jake.
And that reality destroyed me.
***** Chapter 28 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Three loud knocks on door took my attention away from the desk with two piles
of receipts and one pile of money. Aro raised eyebrow in my direction.
When I opened door Felix was standing outside in the hall with a man I never
see before. Both of them looked at me, but the other one with green eyes and
ugly hair hide his eyes quickly like scolded animal.
"He wants to see Aro," Felix started. I cut him off with a narrow look and
quick head raise. Did he think we let any fucking animal off the street up
here? "Ty prikalivaeshsya, Feliks? Chto eto za hernya?"I snapped at him.
"Fuck you, Dima. I toll him and he still said he want to see Aro."
"I asked Felix—" My eyes stalked to him and his ugly fucking red head. Did he
just open his mouth? I don't know if it was glare emanating from me or hand
from Felix that slammed into his chest, but he shut his mouth immediately.
He had to be crazy, or stupid. There was no way he was anywhere near bigger
than Felix or me, yet he steps in. A fucking cat wanting to bark with the dogs.
My fingers curled and uncurled at my sides; a habit when first reaction is
attach, but it isn't smart first reaction. Let us hope this was one lesson he
would not need to learn again.
"You don't fucking talk unless we ask you to. You understand me?" His green
eyes widened and he nodded. Good.
Felix stepped in front of him and hand me two cards while whispering, "On
chasto prihodit v klub;Andravidas Izabelloĭpo krainei mere dva raza."
I told Felix that I didn't care how much he fuck Isabella as I took cards and
slammed the door. Aro was sitting back in his black leather chair watching me
with his arms crossed over his chest. Those wise black eyes always taking
everything in, but saying very little.
Aro didn't ever need to say much. When you live as long as he has, doing what
he has done, seeing what he has seen, you choose your words carefully—not
because you wanted to make impression or knew how to use words to motivate or
control. But because most words were just a waste of time. Why say in four
sentences what you can say in one? Why speak when actions were better received?
It was never about words, or what was said. It was how it was said. What was
done after all talking stopped. Something Aro taught me; a lesson I would not
soon forget.
He stuck his hand out and I gave him the cards: a driver's license and credit
card. While he studied the cards, I went back behind the desk and continued
sorting piles.
I hadn't been to club all week, except for occasional visit—the rest of time I
was at the grange.After visit two weeks ago where Emmett come to Aro about
fight that happened in club, I was given job of getting information. The first
couple of days was spent looking for this Jasper Hale.But I couldn't find
anywhere that he existed. No trace.
It was impossible situation, to have someone come up as not existing. Which
mean a lot of things. None of them good for us. Most important was that this
person made sure to clean themselves out, so they knew something about us and
were being careful—stupid, but careful.
Many things were obvious then. It wasn't police. This Jasper Halewas an
amateur. Did he really fucking think that we wouldn't look in his background?
Nothing was bigger red flag than no background. Even idiot police come up with
some story or history for the fake IDs.
Emmett said he break up fight in hall to stalls.Story check out since Oleg see
nothing on cameras in room. Emmett didn't see any of the girls in hall with
this Jasper Hale;he was only called from front to stop it. Sasha checked out
story, saying that Isabella come to get Emmett from front.But neither of them
know what girl take Jasper Haleback to stalls.
That picture, though, I recognized it, there was something very familiar in
shape of face, in color of eyes, in stare of control. When I show fake ID that
I pull for file to Felix, he say that Isabella took him back to stallwith her.
Her name come up twice in one problem from two different people. This was no
coincidence. There was no such thing as coincidence, and in our world, even if
there was, it would be taken care of to make sure it not happen again.
No bigger mistake than to ignore coincidence.
More important was that I saw Aliska later that night, and she was crying. I
had never seen her look so destroyed. It would not take genius to figure out
that her sister did something stupid, because there was only one person here
who could hurt Aliska like that. By Emmett coming and telling us about the
fighting, he only make my job easier; but if he come or not, I would still find
out what happened for her. It was only matter of time.
I had all I needed and brought evidence to Aro. He give final order to get all
information Isabella know and then make her disappear; she was becoming too
much of liability.
The other man in the fight that Emmett bring to our attention was Edward
Cullen.Now, this was interesting. How he slip under our radar for so long, on
both sides, was a good thing and bad thing. Good because he ableto slip under
radar, so he didn't cause problems. Bad because I didn't catch him sooner. This
was my mistake; one I had no intention of making ever again. Everything about
him checked out. But most interesting still was the name on the top of the
driver's license Felix gave that Aro was now holding in his hands:
Edward Anthony Cullen.
The narrow of Aro's eyes told me he knew exactly what this meant; he was
thinking the same exact thing as me:
The doctor.
Aro picked up the phone, and when one of our cops pick up, he gave him the
credit card number and told him to fax a recent history.
While we waited for fax, Aro asked me what I knew from the week I spent looking
into him.
"How long has he been coming here?"
"Four months." He shifted his head as he thought about this.
"Why the fuck haven't I been made aware of it yet?"
My eyes lingered around the room, landing on the couches, bar, and the
paintings that hide safes. It was a good question, and it was mistake on our
part that we didn't catch it sooner. We went over the receipts twice every
week, catching anything that stand out. That name should have stood out.
"We missed it." Aro glared up at me. "I missed it, Aro. He didn't cause any
notice; and nobody but you, and me, and Vladimir would make the connection.
Felix, which was only who he did business with, wouldn't know."
"What has he been doing?" Aro asked just as the fax came in. I went to the
other side of office to get it and put it on his desk.
"Isabella."
The pen and calculator on his desk made quick work of charges on statement.
There were many of our usual ones that stood out: pet store, leather store, and
even bed and breakfast up north.
Number Aro circled in red was enough to make us both take notice: $38,000.00.
"In four months," he said. I nodded back. His hand rubbed along the lines of
eyes before he look at me. There was something dark and even excited in his
eyes. "What do you think he wants, Dima?"
We both knew the answer to this—it is obvious. No man would spend so much money
and then see his investment lost. All man, it is in his blood to win. The
higher a man bets, the more demanding he will be of his reward.
"Have you got what you need out of her yet?"
"Net." He brought his fingers together in front of him on the desk as he nodded
his head to himself, thinking about what he want to do with situation.
I knew what the orders had been; I knew what I would do. But this new situation
provided different opportunity. He would have to be fool not to consider the
rewards . . . and the risks. If there was one thing Aro Arlovski was, it wasn't
fool.
"Tell Felix to return to stalls.You will take him back when I'm through with
him."
After I put the bills and receipts in the safe and cleared off Aro's desk, I
went to door and told Felix to go back. I let the cat in and took my place
standing behind Aro. It was good to see this Edward he learned his lesson. He
stay standing when he came in. Aro have no reason to ask him to sit.
"What is it that you want, Mr. Cullen?" Aro asked, his fingers still tented in
front of him, and he pushed his chair in closer to the desk.
The fucking cat looked around the room as slyly as he could, but it didn't
escape my or Aro's notice. He cleared his throat before answering. It was lower
pitch of his voice that gave him away; he was scared.
This was good. He should be scared.
"Twilight." Aro nodded.
"You think I can do this for you?"
"Can't you?" There was hesitance, even a bit of anger in his words that stood
out against the calm tone Aro always used, like cat among dogs he was.
"Ah . . . " Aro brought one hand to his chin before opening it out to the cat.
"Young Mr. Cullen. What, exactly, you think it is that I do?"
He gritted his teeth; it was just like the fucking cat to think he knew how to
bark, when truth was, cats had no business running with the dogs. The anger was
more prominent in his words and eyes and voice and arms; I knew Aro saw it too.
This cat had a temper and problem controlling it, both very stupid qualities
when cornered.
"Can't we . . . can't we just stop with all this evasiveness. I want her and
I'm willing to pay. That's my statement right there on your desk"—he leaned
closer to the desk to point, but when I took a step forward, he pushed
back—"you know that I'm good for the money. What I want to know is how much."
He was shifting from foot to foot, his energy building, and not finding an
outlet.
"You think I sell girls?"
"Come on," he fumed as his hands flew in the air. Frustration wasn't something
that he covered easy; it wasn't something that he needed to show in front of
us. The cover of calm that Aro always wore only pissed off the cat more, and he
wasn't smart enough to know how to hide it. He didn't cover any of his emotions
well, making it obvious when he jumped around from one emotion to next one. I
stalked forward, but Aro put his hand in the air telling me to stay back. The
cat was just kitten after all; Aro saw it too. "What the fuck have I been
paying for for the past couple of months? Because it sure as hell wasn't pet
food."
I am no business man. At his outburst I would have told the kitten to get fuck
out and stop wasting my time if he knew what was best for him. But Aro, he was
a business man, and therefore he was always more patient than me.
When I first work here. When Aro find me. I was cat among dogs. He told me to
better learn to control my emotions or I would be of no use to anyone, or
myself. But most important was to be patient. He would always say that options
always present themselves when you wait. "Patience, Dima. Only an idiot rushes,
acts without thinking. Fools will make their mistakes without your help, and if
you wait, you will have your chance to take what you want."Aro wasn't wrong.
As far as I was concerned, I was done with him. Next move he made, he would
regret.
"You would know better than I what it was exactly you paid for, Mr. Cullen.
Wouldn't I have heard a complaint or known of you before this moment if you
were not a satisfied customer?"
"You're kidding me, right? I'm"—he breathed heavy, pushing his frustration out
more as his hand went to his hair—"I'm drained of this game. You have my ID;
you know my address, my financials. I'm sure you have looked into everything
about me; I was waiting outside the office for almost an hour." He took pause,
and it was obvious that he was decided on a different approach to getting what
he wanted. For him, hopefully a smarter one.
"I'm obviously not unaware of the risk or my involvement in it. I know what I'm
asking for, and the position it would put you in . . . andme in. What I am
saying is, I don't care. I'll keep discretion—I have to.Not just because it's
convenient for you, but because it's essential for me. I knowyou can make this
happen for me," he said as his shoulders rounded out and he leaned closer to
the desk; the kitten was finding the cat's confidence again. "Just like you
know I'm willing to pay handsomely to make sure it does happen."
Aro sat back, his black eyes taking in everything about the cat in front of us.
The cat kept Aro's stare for a while then moved on to meet mine. I would have
to admit that the cat stood taller than I would have expected.
When Aro pulled back to desk and sat in the same position as before the cat
turned his stare back to him. "I'm sorry to tell you that I can't do this for
you. She is no longer here."
"WHAT?" he yelled, and this time he did cross the small distance and put his
hands on Aro's desk. When I stalked forward this time Aro didn't stop me, not
that it would have mattered too much. I pulled him off and shoved him against
the wall, knocking the wind out of his chest. My eyes drilled into him, his
angry. I felt the pounding of his heart in my hands and when I shoved him more
he let his head fall back and slam against wall. When his face came back down
his whole expression changed, his eyes dropped, his face fell, and his breath
took hours to leave him. In a broken whisper he said, "Where is she?"
Isabella was more than fuck to him, and I know Aro saw it too.
"Hvatit." With another shove, I pushed off and went back to Aro's left side.
"She was fired. She was involved in . . . an altercation on the premises."
"How . . . how do I find her?" he asked as he fixed his shirt and went to stand
back in the front of Aro's desk. Aro shrugged and lifted an open palm. Glare in
the cat's eyes that he tried to control said more about what he suspected than
what he was saying. "You have to have her address or some contact information,
or something?"
"I do, but surely you must understand that I cannot give this to you. It is her
privacy."
Under his breath he muttered, "That hasn't stopped you before." Just when I
thought he was just a kitten wanting to be cat and nothing more, I realized
that it was simply that he was an idiot. He walked right here into Aro's hands
from very start. What had he expected?
Aro's back straightened, and his neck tightened as his head shifted down.
Through dark voice, the one that reminded you why he was who he was, Aro
challenged him. "Are you accusing me of something?" The cat's eyes widened.
"You come to myplace of business asking for things I cannot give you, things a
young man like you shouldn't be asking for. And now you question my integrity?
I would have thought that the son of the good Doctor Carlisle Cullen and his
beautiful wife, Esme, would have been raised better. Or maybe . . . it is your
wife, Tanya, who is to blame for your disrespect?"
He paled, turned fucking green in front of us. "Fuck." Don't play with dogs,
kitten. "What . . . what do I have to do to make this right?" His hands were
pulling at his hair and there was sincerity in his eyes, along with terror. He
recognized the meaning behind the words and if anything was going to put him in
his place, this was it. The cat didn't stand so tall anymore. Aro smiled and
sat back.
"Apologize. Where are your manners? And if I accept, to show you that I am not
this man you accuse me of, I will make you an offer."
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to offend you . . . I just . . . I
just—" Aro's laugh cut him off. He lifted his hand in my direction, smiling at
me, shaking his head. I knew what he was thinking. It was the same when he
taught me the value of patience. Thiswas what he meant by the fools who were
impatient. It was his proof; it was his opportunity—his lesson. I shook my
head, knowing that I was once such a fool too, as Aro got up and went around
his desk.
"Yes, you want the girl. You are young, impulsive. You will learn with time
that in certain company a particular behavior is expected of you." Aro made his
way to his bar on the other side of the office and poured himself and the cat
glass of vodka. When he came back in front of him, he handed him the glass and
took a drink, staying on that same side of desk with the cat. "Here is what I
can do for you. I will talk with her and offer her the job back. Since I fired
her, I will have to offer her a good enough reason to return—a large enough sum
to convince her. And for my service I will ask for a fee . . . you understand."
He nodded and Aro continued. "Once she returns to the club, you can make
negotiations with her for whatever service you want."
The cat took this in before taking a drink and looking back at Aro. "And if I
want to see her outside of the club too?"
Aro brought his hand to his chin, taking a long pause. "Is my gift not enough
for you?"
Cat quickly tried to fix his error. "No, I meant, it's just—" Aro cut him off,
not interested in what he had to say. If anything, Aro was probably making sure
to keep cat in his place.
"Remember your place, Mr. Cullen. It is fine, for now. But don't ever forget
that the hand that feeds you won't easily forgive the scar from your teeth." To
this cat stayed quiet, even as Aro paused—testing. There wasn't anything
amusing or genuine about smile that spread across Aro's face. "To show you I'm
in good spirits I'll do this for you. When I discuss with her about taking her
job back, I will tell her that a client has also requested her services beyond
the club. I have a place, a discreet location you can use, one many of our
clients use, for another fee. That is, of course, if she agrees."
"Of course," he mumbled before catching himself and staring straight at Aro.
"How much?"
"For you . . ." Aro trailed off, taking a moment to calculate, sitting half-
down on edge of his desk. "Eighty-five."
"Wha . . . thousand?" Both Aro and I shook our heads. No, kitten, he obviously
meant pennies."I . . . I—"
"You do realize," Aro said, cutting him off, "that this price isn't a
negotiation. I am doing you a favor, after all. Am I not?"
For second time, cat turned green. With trembling hands he put the drink down
on Aro's desk. Aro and I both watched his movement with different eyes of
disapproval. "How do I know you'll keep your end of the deal?" Aro shook his
head as he made his way back to his chair.
"I am a business man, Mr. Cullen. I will have my attorney contact you with a
contract. It is confidential and includes what we discussed here today, keeping
my end of the deal. If you agree with the terms, sign it; if you do not, then
don't. It is of no difference to me. If you sign it he will provide you with
information of where to send the money; once it has cleared, I will make
contact with the girl. Once we come to agreement, we will contact you. If she
requires more money to come back to work for me, I will cover it. If you do not
sign, we are done. Don't return to my club." He paused to make sure he had
cat's complete attention. "Do we understand each other?"
The cat nodded before wiping his hands on his jeans. "Yeah. I'm sure I don't
have to tell you how to reach me." Aro shifted his head from side to side
slowly, agreeing that he didn't need to know how to find him if he needed to.
"If that is all . . ." The cat took message and made his way to the door. Aro
gritted his teeth as the cat put his hand on the knob. "Aren't you forgetting
something?"
It was obvious by the length of time cat stay there with the door half-opened
and eyes wider that he had no idea what Aro was talking about. "Your gratitude
for my favor . . . ."
"R-i-g-h-t," through tense lips and jaw he said. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Aro's words, like cat's did little to hide the aggravation
that covered every letter. "I look forward to seeing each other again soon."
With that the cat closed door and left.
"Fucking children, "Aro muttered, "so much disrespect." His hand picked up the
glass that left a ring on his expensive wooden desk like it was dirty rag.
Quickly, I was by side of desk, taking the glass from him and putting it back
at the bar.
"It appears our Isabella is worth more to me alive now. Get what you can out of
her, remind her of her place here, but don't leave lasting injury."
"Her back already needs stitches, and her hand is broken." Aro's head snapped
in my direction, his eys on fire.
"No more injuries. The longest I can make him wait will be a month; she needs
to be healed by then."
"Da."
"Good." Aro sat back and thought about deal he just made. Cat would never know
just howgood of deal Aro got out of his coming here.
In this life nothing was certain. Everything could change within blink of an
eye; many things did. But there was something that you could do to prevent
certain outcomes, to play dice in you favor. And the most important of those
was collateral.
The best type was breathing kind. To hold the life of those you needed to
control in your hands was important, but to hold life of someone they loved
over them was priceless. Collateral was really only way we kept in business.
Alice was Isabella's, and now, Edward Cullen would be the doctor's. It was
perfect.
With smile Aro said, "I want to see Carlisle."
Chapter End Notes
     As far as the Russian goes, I would like it known now that its
     accuracy is jeopardized by my use of Romanization. But for the
     purpose of writing I have chosen to keep the translations in this
     form to make reading them slightly easier. I go on the record stating
     that Russian is written in Cyrillic as is still the tradition. My
     Latin translations are as accurate as I can possibly make, all things
     considered. Thanks all for understanding!
     "Ty prikalivaeshsya, Feliks? Chto eto za hernya?"- -Are you fucking
     kidding, Felix? What is this?
     "On chasto prihodit v klub;Andravidas Izabelloĭpo krainei mere dva
     raza." - -He comes to the club a lot; Andravida with Isabella at
     least twice.
     "Hvatit."- - Enough.
     Net - - No (I'll use this one a lot, so I won't leave the translation
     around much)
     Da - - Yes (same)
     Aliska - - It's an endearing way of saying Alice
***** Chapter 29 *****
Edward rolled over so that he was on his stomach. Normally he was so pale, more
so than even me, and I was pretty pale. But out here, with the contrast of the
bright green grass under him and the sunlight kissing his skin and shining off
the hair on his arms, almost the same color of his head in direct sunlight, he
had a natural glow to him that radiated warmth off his skin. I had a passing
thought that I wanted to touch it to feel the warmth: would it be warmer than
my skin?
I raised my hand in front of me as I rolled onto my back, the crisp grass under
my neck tickling me. The warm breeze braided through my fingers as I watched
them reach for the clouds. Each clipof the water from the lake hitting the
rocks made me smile. But it was the smell that was incomparable . . . fresh
grass, summer's breeze sweeping a medley of flowers together to become one,
clean air: freedom.
As Edward read more, that rich, mellifluous voice lulled me with each word like
my very own personal lullaby. I could hear the smile in his voice, just as sure
as I felt it in his eyes as he stopped reading and turned toward me slightly.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm catching the wind."
He laughed, and it was sunnier than the day outside, brighter than sky above
us, more comforting than the feeling of safety I had in this moment. Without
looking at him, but keeping the smile that I hoped would never fade, I spoke to
him. "Don't stop."
Another soft laugh escaped him. "Okay." The rustling of his turning the page in
the book was sweeter than the birds chirping and the bees buzzing. When he
continued reading from his favorite book, I closed my eyes, and the utopian
world around me became the same one that captured José Arcadio Buendía.
"'At first curiosity increased the clientele on the forbidden street and there
was even word of respectable ladies who disguised themselves as workers in
order to observe the novelty of the phonograph from first hand, but from so
much and such close observation they soon reached the conclusion that it was
not an enchanted mill as everyone had thought and as the matrons had said, but
a mechanical trick that could not be compared with something so moving, so
human, and so full of everyday truth as a band of musicians. It was such a
serious disappointment that when phonographs became so popular that there was
one in every house they were not considered objects for amusement for adults
but as something good for children to take apart. On the other hand, when
someone from the town had the opportunity to test the crude reality of the
telephone installed in the railroad station, which was thought to be a
rudimentary version of the phonograph because of its crank, even the most
incredulous were upset. It was as if God had decided to put to the test every
capacity for surprise and was keeping the inhabitants of Macondo in a permanent
alternation between excitement and disappointment, doubt and revelation, to
such an extreme that no one knew for certain where the limits of reality lay.'"
I hummed along with the words, my heart soaring. "Pay attention, Isabella."
"I am."
"Look."
Edward's words opened my eyes and I faced him. He was sitting now, and so I
followed suit, much like we had so many times at the club. Those green eyes,
like the grass beneath us, darkened; it was almost like an eclipse that the
world was centered on, because as they lost their light, so did everything
around me. Fading in a bleeding haze.
All too soon I was cold, dark, and dismal. Nothing surrounded me and everything
at once; the clipping of waves against the rocks weren't waves at all, but the
sound boots made in a small puddle.
But there was something methodical about the timed clip, each a measured step.
Edward shook his head in front of me. My sight was losing focus in the pools
that were growing fast, everything about his glare was frozen, indifferent . .
. lost.
"I—I'm—"
"Don't say anything."
"Please . . . ."
"Pay attention, Bella. DON'T, SAY, ANYTHING."
"Edw—" Before I could finish, my throat gave out as if Edward took it with him
as he rose abruptly, his back speaking for him. Don't leave me.
I watched him walk away from me and off to the side.
And he kept walking: slow, methodical, and threatening.
He stalked in front of me like a lion in front of fresh kill, his body
contorted . . . distorting.
Nothing could have been more accurate: I was fresh kill.
It wasn't Edward at all, but Demetri. I couldn't remember when Edward left and
Demetri came down, or when we got back from the lake. But somehow Edward had to
have brought me back and left me here. I wanted to ask him why he would leave
me with Demetri, but Edward didn't stay long enough. He just walked away.
My head hurt so much it was throbbing. I'm so very tired. If I just close my
eyes—
Time seemed to have buried me down here. I had no idea just how long I'd been
down here. My throat was hoarse: from swallowing, from crying, from screaming .
. . it didn't distinguish anymore. It was inflamed beyond reason and I'd swear
my tonsils were closing off my air circulation as they tried to claw out of my
mouth. Breathing through my nose became vital, but even then it caused me to
choke up on excess amounts of mucus or crusted blood.
Through the swollen slits of my eyes, I barely made out the room around me. It
was my other senses that became paramount and gave me a better idea of where I
was.
I heard the stomping of feet around me. During my time here it had been many,
at least three pairs, and then now it was only one pair left. A pair I knew all
too well. My skin was sticky from the dampness in the room, and goose bumps
spread across it from the cold. I could smell the air: wet clay.
I was at the tile factory—thegrange. I had to be. The one Aro owned.
It had been years since I'd been at the factory. It was where they first
brought us after they took us from Ted's. Eventually we had our blindfolds
removed and we were in a dark, cement room. There weren't any windows or
flooring or paint. Just grey and cold and wet.
When we first got here, we spent months in that room that only had a staircase,
a hose, and a drain. They were kind enough to bring blankets and pillows for
Alice and me. This time I didn't get either. But they had used the hose on me.
It was the memories of this place that made it all the more worse.
This was where they trainedus. Where Alice and I learned that there was a price
to disobedience, to what Aro called "disrespect," and trying to escape. One
that we learned through torn flesh, starving stomachs, and bloody vision.
However, if in terms of learning something, that did the trick.
And here I was again. I honestly couldn't say I didn'tsee this coming. What
with how wonderful my life had been up until this point. This had to be like
every Tuesday for me. There was nothing different about it. There was nothing
unexpected or even more vicious.
This was what it always was. Did that make it better . . . or worse?
The only difference from then and now was that I no longer cared. Not after
what happened; I lost her.
I just wish they'd get this over with quickly.
"Baby . . . look at me." My one working eyelid twitched; my blue lips trembled,
causing new blood to flow into my mouth from trying to tear them apart. The old
blood had fused them together, or they were already cracking from the cold and
dehydration.
Somehow I heard myself respond. Whether it was out loud or in my head, I
couldn't tell, only that I felt the warm air from my breath trying to claw
through the confinement of my lips. "I can't see."
"You can, baby, just look up. I'm right here." And sure enough he was, as
beautiful as the day I'd last seen him. For the first time in a longtime, my
heart breathed a sigh of relief; my whole body lifted, as if finally
weightless, and I tingled all over. He hadn't changed at all. There was still a
twitch to the right side of his mouth when he talked, almost as if his mustache
were a marionette controlled by his words. Those brown eyes—God, I loved those
brown eyes—looked at me with all the love in the world, so much like Alice's
that you'd swear they were blood related. There was never anything but love in
his warm stare; it was like melted brownies on a cold, lazy Sunday.
And I'd been freezing for solong.
"What are you do-ing here?" I've missed you. I need you.
"Baby . . . my little girl, don't cry." Daddy. "I'm sorry I'm late."
My throat capsized. I hadn't realized I was crying, but the pressure in my
chest was a fist trying so hard to punch its way out, to get out and run to him
and have him scoop me up in a hug like he did when I was a little girl and I'd
just gotten off the plane for the summer. He'd swing me around in circles and
tell me that I wasn't allowed to be gone for so long ever again, and I'd laugh
and laugh with every . . . single . . . cell of my body, my toes to my fingers,
because twirling in those long arms was where I always wanted to be. I was
seven again, and eight and nine and ten, and jumping on anxious toes when he'd
put me down and rub his hand through my hair and tell me how I'd grown too much
over the year and that I'd be taller than him in no time. He never brought
Alice with him when he picked me up from the airport that first day of summer;
it was our day. We'd go and get ice-cream and he'd ask how my school year was,
if I used the present he got me for Christmas. Out of every single day in a
year, that one day was the one I looked forward to most.
Seeing him now, that same twinkle in his eyes, I was seven again. He pulled me
into his arms and swung me around and around. I hadn't felt this happy in so
very long.
"I'm sorry I'm late, baby."
"For what, Daddy?"
"Your birthday."
"It's not my birthday!" I pouted with a smile. "It's the first day of summer,
remember?"
"No, baby, I'm not here."
"Then where are you?"
"You're not seven, Bells."
"I look seven . . . . Look, see!" I held up my little fingers in front of his
face and tugged on the silly dress my mom always made me wear for the plane
ride; this one was green, a very familiar green. It made me feel safe. When I
went to point at my shoes, I wasn't wearing any.
"Where are my shoes?"
"Listen, baby, you have to wake up."
"Daddy, where did my shoes go?"
"Isabella . . . ."
"No!" I screamed before the whisper broke me. "Don't go."
"I have to . . ." he said, already turning away from me. My little hands
reached out for him but were met with his back.
"ISABELLA!" As his voice faded, another came slamming down like a wall against
my face. My jaw stung and my little fingers clawed at the space around me,
hoping to grab onto something, anything.
Please, don't . . . leave me.
He just walked away.
Every part of my body screamed for him to come back; my soul ripped out from
every pore of my body. I was left burning. I needed him now, more than ever. I
wanted him here with me. I didn't even care if somewhere deep down inside—that
small kernel of rationalization that wasn't sleep deprived and clung to the
last threads of lucidity—I knew it wasn't real. He made me happy; I felt safe.
If this was the end for me, I wanted to at least be happy when I died. My heart
cried violently out for him; my breathing tried to keep up the pace, but my
heart's agony was too much; my chest concaved in on itself, my body following
suit to try to enclose and protect my dying heart. It felt like I couldn't
breathe for much longer.
Until all breathing stopped.
My fingers frantically went to my throat to pull the air out somehow, but it
was wet. They went to my face and there was water there. There was water
everywhere. Was I in water?
I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.
There were two sharp pincers at the top of my neck, drilling into my head. They
pushed me down more. It hurt so much. I couldn't see anything, but I felt the
water around my face and in my mouth and throat. The pincers tightened and a
flash of white blinded me, causing the pounding in my head to scream.
Abruptly, I was pulled out of the water. Air rushed in so much that I was
suffocated and coughing, but I couldn't stop inhaling. My body didn't ever want
to be without air again.
Limp from exhaustion of the worst kind, I fell to the cold floor under me; and
when everything went black, I welcomed it.
Everything I had ever loved was taken from me. I had been down here for so long
and I didn't even get a chance to explain. I didn't get a chance to say I was
sorry.
And God,I was sosorry.
I didn't mean for things to happen this way. If I had known what life would
have been like for us, I would have never lied. I swear on everything I
wouldn't have done this to us. I'mso sorry.I would have gone back home with
Alice to Renee and Phil and grinned and bore it because that life would have
been a million times better than the one we had now.
Every morning I woke up and looked over at Alice snuggled next to me and I
wanted to scream and yell and just fucking destroy the world for what I had
done to us. For what I had done to her. But there was no changing, no matter
how much I wished it, no matter what I did. And so I did the only thing I
could. I tried to be strong for her. I tried to save her, as best I could, from
all of this.
Yet, somehow I failed. Again, that didn't surprise me.
But I held out hope. There it was. The god-awful truth. The rarest commodity in
the world and I was stupid enough to still have some. That there was hope left
in me to give. Try as hard as I could, there was no denying it. I hoped that
for Alice, it wouldget better.
Now, I didn't even have that.
I'mso sorry.
All I could think about was Alice. All I saw was her face as she slapped me
over and over in my mind, and with each twist of my face, more tears fell that
burned in the swollen, fresh wounds on my face, as if they were scarring me
permanently.
I didn't know what to do to make it right. That was why I never told her,
because what could I say?Nothing would make it right. I did this and I was so
sorry. I never thought that my stupid choice would have such an effect on us.
I didn't know.
Every ounce of my body, even my mind, said give up. I was tired of fighting. It
all hurt so much and there wasn't an ounce of battle left in me. But my heart,
that damn beating organ that supplied life to my existence, still held on to
Alice. To the chance of at least getting out of here and telling her what I
needed to say:
I'm so very sorry.
"What is this?" Demetri's deep voice yanked me from somewhere in between
thoughts and sleep and delirium. A small thud in the corner alerted me to the
fact that he'd dropped something on the floor and just how far away from me he
actually was. Not that that would last long.
I didn't know if this was some sort of stupid Twenty Questions game with him.
He kept asking me things, over and over and over. I wasn't getting the answers
right, but I don't remember the questions, just the feeling of pain I received
somewhere on my body each time I got the answers wrong.
It was obvious by my lack of eye opening that I would have no clue what he was
talking about or what he was doing. If it wasn't for the way sound echoed off
the high, heavy cement walls, I wouldn't even know where he was in the room.
"Hold out your arms, Isabella," he said from above me. It was easier said than
done.
My arms felt like concrete blocks themselves, and it took all my strength to
hold them up. I was sitting with my legs spread out open in front of me as a
sort of balance to keep me from falling over. I would have crawled to a wall
for support, but even that hurt too much. So I sat wherever I was in the room
with my bare legs freezing as they stuck to the wet concrete.
When my arms trembled in front of him, not fully stretched but the best I could
do, palm up, he placed something in them—rectangular, weighty. My breath caught
when I recognized it, seizing up my throat and burning deeply. Tears swam in my
eyes. I didn't even bother to disobey. Really, it was only easier this way. The
pain would come regardless.
His heavy footfalls went around me a few times. And I felt the hose in his hand
as he dragged it over my bare back as he circled me. Sometimes the clank of the
metal piece hit the cement floor and echoed around the room. My fingers gripped
as tight as they could to that book. I wanted so badly to bring it to my chest,
to protect it, to have it protect me, but I couldn't.
It was what he wanted, for me to prove just how much that book meant to me.
Abruptly a rough, freezing cold blast of water hit my back and then head as the
words "You drop your fucking hands, and I break you hands, wrists and arms"
rang out over the ringing in my ears. It jolted me and I fell forward, my arms
catching me and pushing me back to some semblance of a sitting positing.
The cold water felt as if it was tearing through my skin as he sprayed me all
over. It was a strong spray that was the equivalent of a knife. I tried to turn
my head away from it and tuck my face into my chest. My arms quivered and the
strain in my muscles tingled down my arms and back.
Slowly those tingles grew to painful clawing.
After so long, I was numb everywhere but my burning arms. He turned off the
hose, and I would have sighed in relief if that same hose hadn't come lashing
across my back. The wet skin burned even more as the hose tore against it. I
screamed out and my arms fell. That same hose was instantly lashed across my
arms.
"What is that, Isabella?"
A deep exhale tore through my lungs and throat.
"A book," I coughed out, so slowly that I honestly doubted I even responded.
"What I say?" Don't drop it,my thoughts answered, but my voice couldn't find
it. The slam across my back jolted me awake, so very alert for that moment in
time. The pain radiating off my back was indescribable.
He came over, picked up the book and rammed it into my body, hitting my face. I
don't know if that's what he intended to hit, but my head weighed so much that
it was only inches from the floor, caving over my chest. "Don't drop fucking
book!"
Another lash came across my back, the most open expanse of my body. Then I felt
him leave. Honestly, I don't know why I sighed in relief; it wasn't like I was
safe. He'd be back. When the weight of my head finally touched the ground, my
eyelids followed their example.
Eventually, days later, minutes later, weeks later, through those hazing slits
I tried to look out into the room. I was freezing and my back hurt so badly.
Everything was so dark. I couldn't remember the last time I had slept. Time
lost all sense down here; not only did I not know how long I'd been down here,
but I had no idea when the last time I ate or slept was. Demetri came and went
when I was alert enough to notice; I was sure he did it when I wasn't also. But
the water stopped. Judging by the sand paper and ash in my mouth, the water had
stopped quite a while ago. I drank what I could: the water that pooled in front
of me, ignoring the fact that it tasted awful, like my blood and sweat and
torment and waste.
Something weighty and rectangular was in my hands. I felt like I had to protect
it, like it was important to me. Don't drop it.I remembered that I wasn't
supposed to drop it.
I'mso tired.
"Why did you do it, baby?"
My head twitched in the direction of the voice. What?
A slap came colliding against my face. "What the fuck I say, Isabella?"
"Daddy?"
My eye that opened more than the other searched out for him, but I couldn't
find him, and I couldn't last very long keeping my eye open. But when I closed
my eyes again there he was, and my entire body wept. It was like every single
pore melted away into this corporeal form that floated above all of this. His
smile called to me, and my body graced over to his, covering him so that I
could feel him everywhere I'd ever needed him. So that my heart became his and
my lungs and I could finallybreathe.
"Daddy."
He smiled more; those warm brown eyes scrunched with it as if they were hugging
that smile, never wanting to let go.
"Who is Jasper?"
What?
As soon as he mentioned him, my thoughts found purchase, and I hurt so much for
him. I had no idea what would happen to Jasper, if he wasn't already dead by
now. There wasn't a doubt in my mind that kept him living the next couple of
months. The Vory would find him. It was just a matter of time. That meant
they'd find Edward too.
And I could do nothing. But even then I couldn't bring myself to cry over them.
Did that make me an awful person? Did it even really matter at this juncture?
"Who is Jasper?"
"Alice's soulmate."
"Where is he?"
"I don't know. Daddy, I'm tired."
"Where is he, Isabella?"
"I don't know."
"How do you know him?"
"I don't."
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not . . ."
"He come to see you."
"No, not him. Newton, Mike Newton."
"Who is Mike Newton?
"I don't know."
"Where is he?"
"I'm so tired. Daddy . . . please."
He tilted his head compassionately and my fingers burned to run over his face,
to feel the warmth of his cheek. I had him with me, but I couldn't touch him,
and it hurt me so much. Every time my fingers reached, my corporeal form passed
through him, and it was like he wasn't even there.
But he was, he wasthere. I felt it in my heart that beat with his. If I could
just only touch him. It would make everything better. I needed to touch him.My
hand tried, endlessly reaching for his, but he simply stared back at me. I
didn't know why he wouldn't let me touch him.
Daddy, please . . . .
"I know, baby, just answer the questions and then everything will be better."
Again and again I reached for him, but it wouldn't work. And that's when I
realized that he didn't want me to touch him. My hands wrapped around myself
and I doubled over.
He wouldn't forgive me for what I did to Alice. How could he? This was my
punishment for what I did to her. When I needed him, he wouldn't let me.
"Please . . . forgive me."
His lips were a thin line, his eyes warm, and I just wanted to stop feeling
cold sobadly.
"For what, baby?"
Maybe . . . maybe he still loved me enough to forgive me.
"I lied. Daddy, I'm so sorry. I lied. I- I was just so sad and hurt . . . and
mad at Renee because you died and it was her fault. She never should have left
you and taken me away. And . . . and I didn't want Alice to live with them and
become unhappy like me. She, she was just so happy, and I didn't want her to be
sad like me; she already lost somuch. And I loved her more than Renee knew how
to love, and I could give her what she needed. I just- I just . . . I didn't
think and I took her away. I thought I was doing the right thing. I'm so sorry,
Daddy. I didn't know this would happen. It was just one little lie and I didn't
know. I never wanted to hurt Alice. I didn't, I swear. Please, please believe
me. I love you. Don't hate me."
"Baby, I don't hate you. How could I? My little girl."
"Alice hates me."
"She's just hurt. You have to understand there are so few people in the world
she can trust, and you lied to her—"
"I didn't mean to."
He nodded softly—heartbreakingly. "I know, and it's not that she wouldn't be
able to understand why you lied to her. You were just kids who had no idea what
the real world was like. It's that you kept lying to her about it. Give her
time; she'll come around."
"What if she doesn't?"
He shook and trembled. I felt his shaking. Then I was shaking. There was
pressure on both sides of my head, squeezing, as it was tossed back and forth
roughly.
"Wake up."
What?
The shaking kept getting worse; my stomach was revolting and nausea was
overtaking me. My throat burned with the imminent bile rising.
"Wake the fuck up!"
"S—s-s—t op. P-p lea se." Everything hurt sobadly. Then I just couldn't take
the shaking; my body heaved over and convulsed as it tried to expel the
nonexistent contents of my stomach. The hands pushing against both sides of my
head let go, and the shaking finally stopped. I coughed out mucus, and saliva,
and everything but actual food or water. My throat burned as I continued
heaving.
Somehow Demetri placed me sitting against a wall. Somehow during that time, he
put the book back in my hand. I honestly didn't know what was real or not
anymore. One second I was alert, the next I wasn't, then the ones in between I
wasin between. Maybe I wasn't alert at all. Maybe I was sleeping the whole
time.
A slam came across my face. I looked up—as best I could—to see Demetri flick a
lighter.
"Watch carefully. Don't drop fucking book." He folded some of the pages and
then lit it on fire, in my hands.
My eyes dropped; as much as I tried to keep them open, I just couldn't. Even
behind my closed lids, I saw the fire in my hands, smelled the smoke around me.
"What is Jasper's last name?"
"I don't know." How I still found enough strength to produce even a whisper of
a voice surprised me.
My back burned badly by my shoulder as Demetri shoved me further into the wall,
digging into my shoulder.
"Don't drop book."
God, everything hurtso much.
"What is Jasper's last name?"
"I . . . don't . . . know."
My hands were warm, and my eyes were pulling to open, but my back . . . it'd
never hurt like this before. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I smelled smoke,
but I didn't know where it was coming from. My head was swimming . . . pounding
. . . drowning.
"Pay attention, baby. Answer the questions, then you can go to sleep."
I didn't see when he came back. But, God,I missed him so much.
"I missed you."
"I know."
This time when my hands reached out to touch him, they were met with the warmth
I had dreamed—dreamed—of touching once again. It was so very warm, and it built
until everything around me was warm.
"How do you know Jasper?"
"He came to the club and I danced for him. He loves Alice, Daddy. And . . . and
he's sogood. And Alice, she loves him; he makes her happy. I—I think if they
could be together, they'd be so happy."
My hands kept running along his face, but they kept getting hotter. It wasn't
just warm anymore, it was hurting.
"It hurts."
"It's supposed to."
When I looked up, the light in his eyes was gone; he looked mad . . .
disappointed. Did he not like what I said?I thought he would be happy that
Alice could be happy. He shook his head, and I tried to pull my burning fingers
away from his face, but he clasped his hands on top of them and clawed into
them, forcing my hand against the fire.
"Daddy, let go. It hurts . . . please." His eyes drilled into me and they
burned too. Maybe he didn't forgive me for what I did to Alice. I didn't think
I could ever live if he didn't forgive me. If he stopped loving me because I
hurt Alice, it would kill me. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry's not good enough."
"Please."
His face shook, his eyes burned, and his smile that I loved more than any book
I'd ever read, or even the release hope provided in the hopeless, turned down.
He had closed it off to me. My eyes watered, but the water wouldn't fall, and I
didn't know why. The tears weren't enough to cool the fire. And my whole body
crashed with the cries screaming through my throat.
Please . . . please forgive me. I'm so sorry.
Another slap came slamming across my face, jolting me where I sat. And I
remembered where I was again. The memories came in fogs, in hazing fogs that
mixed with all my senses. Sometimes I felt like I was sleeping. Sometimes I
felt as if I were somewhere else. But it was the memories that were messing
with me. They were all starting to bleed together, and I didn't remember which
were true and which weren't.
"Where is book, Isabella?"
"I-I dropped it."
                                    ..xx..
I don't remember when I left the basement of the grange.I don't remember
exactly what all happened down there. I pray for the sake of all of us that I
didn't say anything, but I just don't know.
I slept for days after, and it was shocking that I was even allowed to. I was
only woken enough to be fed, but even then I don't remember those occasions
well. The one time that I did finally fullywake, I was in a room I didn't know,
surrounded by beeps and sounds I didn't recognize. I had tubes attached to one
of my arms that I didn't know how they got there. My back burned and my right
hand looked like it was twelve sizes too big and then wrapped with a whole
bunch of gauze. But the most frightening was the man in front of me, a man I
didn't know. Which, sickeningly, wasn't the first time thathad happened, but I
usually knew what happened before it. He explained that he was a doctor and he
was going to take care of me, that he had stitched up my back and tried to set
my dislocated and broken fingers and wrist, but that the chance of having my
right hand function normally wasn't likely; most especially, my last three
fingers would have limited to no mobility.
I'm still alive?
What was I still doing alive? And . . . most of all, why didn't they just let
me die?
***** Chapter 30 *****
It was exactly two days after I had gone to his office that I received both a
phone call from his attorney, Marcus Durant, and a courier package requiring
only my signature at the concierge desk, in that order. One at 9AM, the other
at 10AM.
Marcus was who kept in contact with me once the ordeal had begun. For that I
was thankful, considering how wholly unprepared I was to deal with Aro
Arlovski, something made painfully obvious when I had visited his office all
those days ago.
It was exactly four days after that I had an appointment to meet with Marcus in
his office to sign the papers. Jasper read over them along with me. He felt the
whole thing was foolish; he didn't support the choice I had made, coming clean
to Aro. However, Jasper agreed that, given the situation, we needed to attack
it from many different angles and not be idiotic enough to think that having
only one plan would work in our favor. This would be our backup plan.
After all things considered with the measures Jasper went to, he was relatively
shocked how easy the process had been up until that point for me. So was I.
But then again, it didn't slip any of our notices that I had just paid over
three quarters of one hundred thousand dollars to a man to continue doing what
I had been doing for the past four months. Something about it had not sat well
with Jasper and me; somehow it felt "too good to be true," in the most
revolting sense.
He had told me that he fired her, that she wasn't there. Felix had said the
same thing, so the only real question was, where was she? I damn well knew that
she couldn't get fired. Both Jasper and I feared what we would not voice out
loud. That one could in factget fired from there . . . in every sense of the
word, terminated.
Now, by black and white on the contract, I had access to her outside of the
club walls. I wondered where exactly that would be, and what exactly that would
be like. Would we be watched? Would there be rules? What exactly did this all
entail?
Jasper wondered the same things, and it was these questions that I armed myself
with when I went to Marcus's office to sign in front of the notary. Thankfully,
Marcus was only too helpful when it came to certain questions. It turned out
Aro had no problem "renting" her—Bella—out to me. If he didn't sell girls, I
don't know what the hell he called this. But, as it would appear, once they had
my name down in ink, they were both more than willing to be more flexible to
"my needs." Including having her—Bella—on my own time at outside locations of
my choosing, once trust was established, of course, for another fee of twenty-
five thousand. All of these things were just to get the privilege of time
outside the club; I was still required to pay my regular fee per service. It
was a trial period by limitations of the contract; if both parties were
agreeable at the end of five years, new negotiations could commence.
I wouldn't sign for five years, there was no way, and so I bartered the term of
agreement down to two years—Aro wouldn't see to any less—for a grand total of
two hundred and thirty-five thousand.
There was not one single bit of this entire ordeal that wasn't repulsive. Worse
was the contract itself; I wondered how something like this could even be legal
and binding. But not once did it mention her—Bella; it was actually a somewhat
standard corporate agreement contract between an intermediary, Aro, and a third
party service—her. Aro was simply held accountable for his obligations as said
intermediary in keeping to the limitations of the contract and that both
parties oblige their duties. Both parties had stipulations, although the ones
that Aro had presented were marked under her—Bella—since she was listed as the
third-party service.
"Third-party service shall make themselves available, under direct stipulation
of said contract as agreed, to first party at first party's discretion, in
accordance with terms agreed upon by third party (32b). It is the sole
responsibility of second party to ensure compliance by both first and third
party. If compliance cannot be reached, it is the sole responsibility of second
party to ensure the following, but not limited to: commercial satisfaction of
both first and third party; monetary reimbursement, and/or restitution of
agreed terms (21d) of dissatisfied party; intermediary support of both first
and third party; resolutions of any and all hindrance to contract that both
first and third party can mutually agree upon via verbal or written consent."
The contract went on in much a similar fashion; specific times were negotiated,
with an affidavit of if "third party" is available and complying, then I could
request any time outside of negotiated times, for another fee. All fees were
clearly listed in black and white; all "rules and stipulations" too. It
literally covered every angle.
The contract had to be redrafted because of my switching from a five-year
contract to a two-year one.
It was also quite clear in the contract that "third party" would retain
previous employment, ensuring that it did not directly violate the terms of the
contract, which of course it didn't. And my stomach lurched and my mouth filled
with saliva as nausea overtook me. The entire thing was disgusting, more so
that in the contract it sounded like she was a free agent.
When nothing could have been further from the truth.
I knew I was being played the second he spoke that afternoon that I walked into
his office. A shallow part of me compared it to her, knowing that it wasn't
anywhere near the same, but understanding just a bit of what it felt like to
have been backed into a corner and "appearing" to have a choice, when in
reality you had none at all. Nevertheless, what more could I do? Her life was
on the line.
Thus, our backup plan came to fruition, and I signed.
By playing by their rules, earning liberties as I could, and at the end of the
two years, I would pay whatever I could to get her out of there, along with her
sister. This was, in all its glory,the foundation of the backup plan.
Neither Jasper nor I agreed on that timeline, nor were we blind enough not to
see that it was, in theory and practice, a revolting one. But if all our
outside efforts proved futile, then we would have been fools notto have this
option in place. With that in mind, Jasper continued to work diligently on his
original plan. If anything, this option did provide us with a secure way to
obtain information from both sisters and to keep in constant communication with
them.
What else could I do, in all honesty? I racked and racked my brain, trying to
find something honorable or less demeaning, but there wasn't anything. The
second Aro mentioned my parents and Tanya, I realized just how many people I
had put into danger because of this, and just howlate it was to turn back. I
understood the ill-veiled threat on my family if I didn't agree to the contract
I brought to his table. By going there I hadn't just exposed myself, and he
made that blatantly obvious. For a man with shit for options, this seemed like
the best one to keep everyone safe. The best place to hide, after all, was in
plain sight.
Every singletime I thought about the situation, any facet large or small, I
felt sick to my stomach. Not just the nausea, but that someone had punched me
directly in my gut and wrenched their fists and twisted and I could do nothing
butthrow up.
It was exactly twenty-six days after I had gone to his office that I received
the phone call telling me the "good news": Aro was able to convince her to come
back to work for him. Marcus was far more forthcoming with information than Aro
had been.
Although, in all honesty, I didn't know which I preferred: forthcoming with
information that was a lie or omitting information that was a lie. Which wasthe
better option?
It was exactly twenty-eight days after I had gone to his office that I received
a copy of the contract signed by all parties. I couldn't be certain if that was
her signature, but he had kept her name: Isabella M. Swan.
When I talked to Jasper, he confirmed that it was her name. I wondered why they
made no effort to hide it. Jasper's answer destroyed me, and I prayed that it
wouldn't destroy her.
"She's eighteen now."
I had asked him what that meant; surely it couldn't mean anything different.
She was still in this disgusting situation; she was still a young girl when
this happened to her; she still wanted nothing to do with it. Not that it
mattered now, though. Jasper said that her becoming of age changed everything.
Now she could be arrested for prostitution, regardless of the "whys." Now she
would be taken off the registry of missing and exploited children. Now she
found herself in a situation where the world would look at it as her fault.
In his work, Jasper had spoken with countless women in temporary lockup in
prison for an array of prostitution charges. He had said that most had a story.
Some stories were similar to hers;the only difference was that these women were
in their twenties, thirties, even forties. These women never got help when it
was available to them, for whatever reason. And now they were society's
rejects, where no one sympathized with their story anymore because it was
theirfault they were in this situation. It only mattered when you were a child,
let alone ignoring the fact that these women were in factchildren once. Now
they were just prostitutes, nothing more and nothing less, charged with every
single stigma that came with the title.
It was shocking how many of these women told Jasper the same thing: after they
became of a certain age, they were more than likely let go. Not in some big
fanfare production, just that they simply were discarded because they were no
longer the freshest piece of meat around, because nothing ages youthful beauty
like the weight of despair, drugs, and desolation. But by that point society
had forgotten about them, they had forgotten about themselves, and this life
that they were subjected to was all they knew. Most returned. It was a
disgusting cycle, one that I knew nothing about, but one that I was learning
more and more of each day.
We had to break the cycle for them. We just had to; there was no other option.
It was the thirty-second day that I found myself walking up the steps of a
quaint house out east of the city. Outside appearances can be deceiving, like
the come-hither smile of a frail dancer in a nightclub or the lush greens and
red painted shutters of a "quaint" house. It was ten in the morning. I took the
day off work. I couldn't wait any longer to see her; I needed to know that she
was okay. There was this feeling, ever since he had told me that she wasn't
there that day in his office, that rooted itself deep in the pit of my stomach
and grew and decayed more inside of me each day. Aro wanted to wait five more
days until I was allowed to see her, but I didn't care; and he was under
contract to make it work, so he did.
A man I didn't recognize, with brown hair and a stare that matched the sharp
lines of his face, answered the door. I was led inside to the living room of
the house. There was a bar where the man told me to help myself; he went to a
phone behind it and made a call. A top-shelf vodka swirled around in my ice-
cold glass while I took in the room surrounding me. Much like the outside of
the house, its appearance deceived: pale blue walls, wide couches and chairs
that seemed comfortable, and paintings of various fall scenery. I wanted to
throw up in the vodka I had no intention of drinking. What a cruel slap in the
face of those that wouldn't be able to experience the beautiful fall.
After the phone call, the man asked me if I needed anything else. How very
hospitable. When I told him no, he informed me that he'd be back shortly. I
honestly couldn't say what passed through my mind while he left me alone to my
devices. A million different things; nothing at all.
Every single nerve ending was shooting off; there wasn't an ounce of my body
that wasn't anxious, whether it was because I was walking, quite literally,
into the lion's den or because I would be seeing her for the very first time
colored in the truth. I wondered if she would look different. How exactly
doesone look at someone the same after learning what they had?
I knew for a fact that answer wasn't a simple one for the very reason that I
didn't even look at myself the same . . . but her . . . .
Not for the first time, I was plagued with the "what ifs."
Fate had been so very cruel to her, but I wondered what it would have been like
if her life were different. Would we still have met? Would I have passed her by
on the street and not chance a second glance? Would she still be the
philosophical girl I had grown to know?
Each person has a monster within, something I had come to realize lately. For
some it was greed, for others it was pride. Mine was my selfish nature,
something that I was slowly coming to terms with and trying to conquer and
vanquish. Often I wondered if I would ever be able to let it go, or if I would
simply hide it well. A large part of me, that selfish monster, knew that the
likelihood that we would have met if the circumstances weren't what they were
was non-existent.
Something that did not sit well with me at all.
I hated that monster inside of me. It was the one that hurt Tanya, the same one
that kept me from my parents and secluded me from everyone who ever cared
enough about me to try. But now that monster wanted her—Bella—to have been in
such a situation simply because he wantedher, and if this was the way to
achieve it, then so is fate.
Nothing abhorred me more than admitting that monster was very much a part of
me.
I'd been fighting demons for so long, it was only fitting that now—along with
my subconscious—I was battling the real ones.
I knew where I needed to start to make this right, and it began with her. No
matter how much it destroyed that part of me that did in fact thank the
situation because I had her. It wasn't right. I'd never touch her again. Not
like this . . . not ever that I could foresee. How could I? After all that I
knew, after all that was said and done, after what Ihad done, what Ihad just
signed and agreed to? Even if Jasper and I were able to get her and her sister
out, it would be tainted. She would feel indebted to me—on some level. And I
knew very well what it felt like to subconsciously be indebted to someone who
freed you. Whether I wanted it to be or not, it would be an indirect form of
control over her choices, and that was something I wanted nothing to do with.
I could only pray for her friendship; it was more than I ever deserved, and
what I wanted more than anything. Once she was free, I would remove myself from
the picture. It was the only way; everything about the situation was putrefying
. . . and it would always be.
I knew that I would have to let her go; I would do all that I could to save
her, but once that was achieved, I would have to let her go . . . and it would
be a battle each and every day to rid myself of the monster because he neededto
let her go.
But in the meantime, it didn't escape that dark part of my subconscious' notice
that the backup plan indulged me in such a way that left that monster inside
salivating.
When the man came down, he gave me a quick tour upstairs, so that I became
acquainted with the spaces. Then he left me at a door with a number three off
to the side on the wall with a small light under it. My hand shook as I reached
for the knob.
I opened it at the same time that I stopped breathing, praying to anyone that
would listen, for what exactly I didn't know, just . . . everything.She was
sitting on the bed in the middle of the room, bare legs hanging off the edge,
some small red shirt and skirt that hid little skin. Her eyes looked out, but I
doubted she saw anything. I had never seen the look of utter defeat on someone
until this very moment. Every single one of her frail features was swallowed by
the rout she had come face to face with.
I closed the door behind us and reveled in the small fact that there was a lock
on it. My mind screamed that locking it was wrong. Just howmany men had been
locked in with her?
I wanted to punch something when I realized how simple the answer was; I would
no longer make a choice that didn't involve her.
"Should I lock the door?"
At this she looked up and her eyes finally acknowledged me. They widened
slightly before closing, like the slamming of a door from the blazing sun,
blinding and burning. She turned her head away from me, shaking it disdainfully
before, "You did this."
It wasn't a question, and with that simple phrase, I knew that she hadn't been
the one to sign that contract.
She was shaking her head lamentably, as if she could shake away the fact that I
stood in front her. Running my hand through my hair, I wondered what I should
do next. The foot of my shoe toed at the brown carpet. Energy burned throughout
the space of the room, buzzing this way and that, causing me to jump at any
little sound. It was entirely too thick. Fuck.
Vulnerability found my words, "Should . . . I lock the door?"
Exasperated, she answered. "Do whatever you want, Edward." An exhale that
weighed entirely too much escaped me at her answer. I stood there watching her
and wondering where I went wrong . . . again.
Now that I knew the situation, I couldn't begrudge her unwillingness . . .
towards everything. However, it didn't help me in any way. I still had no idea
what to do.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," she mumbled as she got up and locked the door. The
slight limp didn't escape my notice. My jaw tensed and I ground my teeth as I
watched her go back to the bed, that limp standing out like a bright red sign,
as did the wince she tried to hide as she sat down, leaning more towards her
left. That was when I saw her right hand.
You've got to be fucking kidding.
I was going to throw up again, the color falling from my face, like the black
water and grime whirling down the drain. I went to the couch by the bed and
sat, my elbows on my knees and head in my hands. I just . . . Can I do this . .
. ? Canwedo this . . . ?"I knew this wasn't going to be easy . . . but, shit, I
didn't think this was going to be so hard."
Her condescending snort filled the room. "Don't take this the wrong way or
anything, but you don't seem to thinkabout hardly any of the choices you make."
My head tilted towards her in my hands. She attempted a shrug, and this time
the wince wasn't easily hidden. "What's wrong with your shoulder? What happened
to your hand?"
"Nothing."
The scream built from deep inside of me, curling in my lungs and throat and
heart and mind; that when it finally left my lips it was only a pathetic gush
of air. "Please . . . don't . . . don't shut me out. I know everything . . .
about you, about this place, about Alice. I can only imagine the things that
were done to you while you were 'away.' So don't hide anything from me,
please."
Cold eyes searched for mine as I looked up at her through my hands, but the bit
from her words were colder. "What do you want me to say exactly?"
"I don't know, but don't lie."
She pulled up one of her legs on the bed, not using her right hand at all; my
eyes centered on it. The last three digits, from what I could see under the
bandage, were swollen and discolored, and they were disjointed. My voice caught
in my throat as I stared at it. She caught the line of my vision and pulled it
into her lap before bringing her other hand over it. Abruptly she spoke, hoping
to divert my attention. "I've never lied to you, Edward."
Her hypocrisy pulled a sarcastic snort from me, my eyebrows rising in
challenge. "Really?"
"Yes, really"—I should have known better by now than to challenger her—"just
because I omitted things because I wasn't able to tell you doesn't mean I lied
to you. Don't take that from me; I know I've never lied to you."
"What about when you told me you didn't want me to come and see you?"
So softly it was almost a whisper, she said words that hurt more than I would
have thought: "I didn't want you to come and see me."
I chose to ignore that comment for many reasons. "What happened to your hand?"
The long, drawn-out silence was answer enough. But I had to keep trying; she
had never been easy to get information out of, and there was no doubt this
would be equally as challenging. "Let me look at it." I rose quickly,
emphasizing my stance on the subject. From where I was standing, I had a clear
look at the shoulder that had caused her to wince; the area was inflamed and I
could feel the heat from where I was standing. "Your shoulder too."
"Why?" She scooted further away on the bed. "What are you doing here? Are you
going to pretend to be my white knight now? You're wasting your time. I don't
need you. Find a way to save Alice; that's all the matters." I placed my hand,
palm up, in front of her, letting her silently know I wouldn't be deterred. It
took over five minutes of my standing in that position before she placed her
injured hand in mine with an exasperated grunt and indecipherable curse. My
clinical eyes took in the injury; the warmth was undeniable as I delicately
held her hand. Her wrist had been worked on recently—there were obvious
attempts to reset the bones and sutures—but the location and probable length
without treatment would lead to limited mobility. Whoever did the work did
their best, however.
Gently, I placed her hand back in her lap and turned toward her left shoulder.
Of their own volition, my fingers caressed softly across her shoulder, around
one of the multiple scars. It appeared that only two were open wounds, one that
required sutures, and this was the one that was obviously infected.
Desperately, I tried to find a voice that didn't shake.
More than anything I wanted to place a tender kiss on each mark, attempt to
erase their existence, even their memory. My throat burned and my fingers
trembled; she noticed and abruptly pulled away from my touch.
Her annoyed sigh brought my focus back. "It's infected. Are you on
antibiotics?"
"Yes, the doctor that's taking care of me has told me the same thing. It's
fine." There wasn't an ounce of her body that hid its exasperation, from her
tightening face to her clenching jaw and narrowing eyes. "What do you want,
Edward?"
But it was her voice that marked me. I had wanted this so badly, and I didn't
even know what the fuck this was. My hope had been that . . . God, I don't know
. . .but not this. Scolded, with my tail between my legs in more ways than one,
I returned to the couch by the bed and brooded. In a soft voice, I answered
honestly, "You."
"And I hear you paid quite a bit to make that happen." My eyes immediately shot
up. There was no fucking reason for her to be a bitch about it. Fuck.The second
that thought crossed my mind, I wanted to scream. She had every right to be a
bitch about it, didn't she? I wondered if we'd ever be normalagain. If we'd
ever be us, because this—this—wasn't her, and we both knew it. I just didn't
understand why.
"Stop it."
The break in my words, my voice, my soul, gave her the opening she was looking
for. And I recognized her attempts to push me away again. Ever the pot and the
kettle that we were.
"I'm not your wife, Edward. I'm not your family. I'm nothing to you. You have
to stop pretending to care for me or for my safety or whatever it is you're
trying to do here."
I was done with pushing away, though, and I needed her to be done with it too.
It was my heart that answered her attempts at closing me off, and it said the
only thing it ever could to her. "You're wrong," I whispered, barely enough so
she could hear it. She rolled her eyes and looked up at me. "You're everything
to me."
Those deep brown eyes that looked up at me finallylooked at me, and for the
first time I saw them for the open books that they were. From cover to cover, I
read her story, and there wasn't even a paragraph of happiness in that tale.
That knowledge broke me. She knew it too, then, just what I saw there. Her body
pulled into itself as best it could, her eyes welling up with tears, her
shoulders quivering. There was so much spoken between our stare that went
unsaid, but all of it heard . . . known.
My hand left my knee and reached out for her, but she pulled back. Never
breaking her stare, I got up, and a heart-wrenching sob escaped her. Slowly I
turned toward the bed; her sob increased until she was shaking so much that the
bed creaked. I fell to my knees on the carpet next to the bed, her one leg
hanging off the edge close. Our eyes never left each other—it was as if neither
of us even blinked or could look away—and water fell from her eyes like rivers.
She pulled her leg up and pushed away. I rose on my knees. Her crying became
wailing, and my chest clenched. Never leaving her stare, even though hers
finally closed off from mine, as if she couldn't take the honesty in the silent
exchange any longer, I knew she could still feel me there. Her good hand swiped
at her eyes and her nose, but her cries weren't ceasing. My eyes welled soon
enough, and my soul screamed for everything she had to put up with.
She needed this, and I would wait . . . I would always wait, however long it
took. "Bella . . . ."
Her gulping cry shook me, and time crawled by as her body let go of everything
. . . everything.When it could no longer sustain her, she fell to her side on
the bed, curled into herself, her cries drowning out in her deep breathing.
I picked myself up and went back to the couch. It was almost so silent that I
hadn't heard her, but I had. And it destroyed me, as much as it was apparent
that it destroyed her.
"Why couldn't you just let them kill me?"
                                    ..xx..
"I'm so sorry. I had no idea that my going to see Aro caused this. But . . .
that you could think . . . you think I regret saving you . . . that I could
ever . . . that simply isn't the case, and won't ever be. I amsorry for
everything, and I do mean everything, Bella. But that I was the cause for your
continued existence, well, then it seems I finally havedone something right.
The only thing in my life that I could ever actually be proud of."
                                    ..xx..
I wasn't aware of how much time had passed since her breakdown, but I was in no
position to leave her. Not for her sake, nor for mine. I found myself wondering
if I'd ever be able to leave her side at all. Each time it was getting harder.
Instead, I just spoke to her. Sometimes she would grunt a reply, other times
she remained silent, but when she edged closer to the bed and looked up into my
eyes, inches away from her face, I felt whole in a way that I hadn't in so
long. Those eyes were mirrors of my own, in many ways like they always had
been.
She didn't want me to leave either.
So I did the one thing I hadn't really ever done with anyone else, but it felt
right, and I couldn't stop it even if I wanted to: I talked freely.
"We're not so different, Bella, it appears." My hand wove through her hair as
gently as possible as I continued running my fingers through it. I was hesitant
to try it at first, but her soft sigh was the encouragement I needed to know
that she welcomed my comfort. It was the only part of her I dared touch, since
I couldn't keep my fingers away.
When I was younger and shewas mad at me, it was the only way I could even begin
to get in her good graces. She would lay her head close to my legs on the
couch, and I would run my fingers through her curly auburn hair. If she had
forgiven me, she would rest her head on my lap completely; if not, I continued
running my hands through her hair as I talked to her until she did.
I didn't expect Bella to forgive me; there was so much left unsaid, but I hoped
that at least the gesture was soothing—in some way. It was when I was younger
for her, paying penance for the damage I'd reaped.
Bella wasn't talking much, but like hershe didn't shy away from my touch and
eventually laid her head down on the pillow closer to the edge of the bed. I
sat on the couch pushed up against the bed while she rested. I didn't know if
it was in complete confidence that she rested her head or simply because it was
too much work to try to hold it up.
I saw the swollen hands, puffy face and fading bruises. Not to mention the
wrapping under her chest along her ribs. It had been a month since I had seen
her; I was told she was "unavailable" and I now knew why. However, it was a cut
above her shoulder that worried me the most. It was inflamed and hot to the
touch, no doubt infected and wasn't healing correctly. When she did speak, her
voice was hoarse and her cough was congested.
My eyes did their best to ignore the limp and scarred hand that made its way to
her face. I again found myself wanting to ask her what exactly happened, but I
knew she wouldn't tell me. She probably wouldn't ever tell me. I would,
however, keep an eye on that infection; the last thing she needed was for it to
get in her bloodstream. She said she was on antibiotics, and I prayed that she
was right. My thoughts found purchase on who exactly wasthe medical
professional that treated her. What code of ethics were they working under? How
could they allow such a thing to continue?
It disgusted me that I would even be grouped with such a person by profession.
Her soft sigh brought me out of my clinical state, and just to keep her with me
longer, I continued talking, those deep brown eyes looking up at mine. I hadn't
realized I stopped talking.
"Sorry." She just nodded. "What was I saying?"
"We're similar?"
A light smile found itself on my face for her . . . they'd always be hers now.
"Am I talking too much?"
"No. I like when you talk to me." My hand caressed her head over her hair, and
I looked into her eyes before she closed them and nuzzled deeper into the
pillow.
"I don't mean that our lives have been the same; that's obviously not true. But
. . . I do mean that I think—I feel—as though I understand you better than you
might believe. Not what you've been through, but why."
Tears fell softly from her closed eyes, wetting the pillow below her. I wanted
so badly to wipe them away, but I let her have her time—this time—whatever she
needed. I did the only thing I could: I kept talking and running my fingers
through her hair.
"Did you know that I only see my parents once a year? It's surprising and
completely ridiculous considering that I live in the same city as them. Part of
me knows the biggest reason my mom pushed for the wedding was for an excuse to
see me more, and in the hope that somehow it would bridge the family divide. It
wouldn't, though, but I didn't have the heart to tell her that. I had already
hurt her so much.
"It's my fault that I don't see them enough, nobody else's. I don't wantto see
them. It's not because I don't care about them or resent them for anything. Or
that I had some horrible childhood. It isn't anything like that. I had an
amazing childhood. My parents are the most compassionate and understanding
people in the world.
"The truth of the matter is, Bella, that I'm a very selfish creature. I've
constantly put my needs and problems above others, ignoring all that I've
caused because I simply couldn't see past myself. It's something I'm hoping to
change, but whether or not I do change for the future, my actions in the past
can't ever be altered. And that, more than anything, had been my reasoning all
along. I'm only now seeing how weak it was.
"I emulated my father: his little protégé. I was small for my age as a child,
and my mother might have been a littleoverprotective, so I never was involved
in sports or anything like that. Instead, I spent all my time following my
father around, always at his heels and dreaming of a day when I could be just
like him. When I would be strong and tall and loved and respected. I would be
just as smart as he was, and I would have everything too.
"But more than that, it was my mother who taught me that not everyone was as
blessed as I was. She organized and ran many charity events and programs. My
mother would never let me know the word spoiled—which was rather contradictory
of her because she spoiled me in every way she could. There was never a bake
sale at school that passed that she wasn't involved in. Or when I became
obsessed with learning the piano after watching one of the men play at a mall
for a crowd and they all looked at him with loving eyes, she indulged my every
whim.
"There wasn't a home that could have been happier. Norman Rockwell type stuff."
My voice hardened. "And I ruined all of that."
"Even if at first it wasn't my intention . . . but the way I coped with the
damage I had done made it all the worse. I know how badly I've hurt my mother.
She calls me, almost every day. Sometimes it's something trivial, telling me
who she ran into at the store, and other times I can hear the pain and longing
in her voice. But I'm such a coward that I ignore the phone call and usually
delete the message before it finishes. Sometimes she asks how I'm doing and
what I have been doing. She tells me that she misses me and that she loves me.
"It kills her. And what I've done to her kills my father. I can't imagine what
it must be like to have your own child push you away when you've done nothing
wrong at all. It eats at me and each day it gets worse and worse, and it
becomes harder and harder to hear her voice, to see her, because I know that
Idid that to her. To know that the smile she wears is fake and that I alone
have the power to put a real one on her face, but I don't. God,I don't even
know what kind of person that makes me. I wish I weren'tthis person. Bella,
more than anything I wish I could be the son she deserves.
"Yet, even then, knowing all of this, I can't face them. I don't deserve their
love and forgiveness. I took the most important thing from them."
A deep sigh, one not just rooted well in my lungs but under years and years of
weight, filled the room. I couldn't even look at her anymore. She might have
silently cried herself to sleep at this point, but I kept talking. Why, I
wasn't quite sure, but once I had started, it was like a purge.
And I found that running my hands through her hair was also soothing me.
"I know what it's like to give your life to someone else. To have another
person be your only motivation for everything. To love that person beyond
compare and completely die when you've failed them or even feel like you've
failed them.
"I'm not saying that that ishow you feel. But I guess I'm saying that that is
how I feel. Which is sort of something I've never really said out loud to
anyone. And you may not want to tell me anything about yourself. You may not
forgive me for what I've done and for what has been done to you. I don't know
what to do about that, Bella. God, you may even hate that I know your name
because you sure as hell didn't tell me it. I'm just . . . I guess . . . I'm
saying I know what it's like to do whatever you can to care for your sister.
"I have a sister."
My throat caved. It had been solong since I said those words out loud, only to
take them back because they weren't entirelytrue, and it was all my fault. "Huh
. . . it's . . . well, she's dead now. And it was my fault. She's been gone for
a while . . . I . . . I really loved her. She was my twin. She was everyone's
favorite.
"Did you know it was my thirtieth birthday a few months ago? I mean, I'm not
just bringing it up to state the glaring age difference between us, but because
that day is a very hard one to get through. For all of us. It was in June. She
would have turned thirty too obviously. We were going to go into med school
together, to be just like Dad. We were going to work in obstetrics and
gynecology. That was her idea; I was okay with it, though. She wanted to bring
life into this world, and whatever she did, I usually did, or vice versa.
"That's what fucked us over, you know." I laughed darkly about something that
wasn't funny at all, but truly did fuck us over. "That she always wanted to do
what I did too.
"I wonder all the time what she would be like now. She'd still be beautiful, of
course; she was the perfect mixture of my mom and dad, whereas I came out more
like my dad. We had the same hair color; hers was only a touch lighter, redder.
She had my mom's heart-shaped face. Her hazel eyes were a mix between my mom's
blue ones and my dad's green; they changed colors often and each one was
striking. Her favorite were the days where they were bright blue. God,they were
pretty fucking beautiful. She wasn't as tall as me, but she wasn't as short as
my mom either. I wonder if she would have gotten taller. Would she be married
yet? Would she have children?
"Some days I miss her sofucking much that it cripples me. I can't breathe, I
can't walk, I can't function . . . I can't do anything but think about
everything that she hasn't experienced. College was the worst because we were
supposed to do that together. She was my other half in every sense. You know
how they say that twins are one part of the same soul? With us, it was true.
"She used to love to sing. I learned how to play instruments just for her, so
that I could play and she could sing. Some of my favorite memories are of her
singing and me sitting at a piano. It's been years since I've even looked at a
piano. I destroyed the one at our house that same day we found out what
happened to her, after the police finished questioning me and left."
On a near silent afterthought, I added, "I don't ever want to see a fucking
piano again if I can avoid it," before taking a long, deep breath. I still
couldn't look at her, but her breathing wasn't even, so I knew she was awake.
The intensity of her stare was like the sun on the side of my face, and it was
a struggle not to turn into it. But I was too afraid that once I did, I'd stop
speaking, and since I had already started, I let the purge continue—the boulder
on my chest wouldn't alleviate and pushed at it tightly. My whole body felt
submerged under unforeseeable weight.
My eyes caught another fucking autumn field painting, and I found myself
thinking about the falsity of things that can't be.
"I owe so much to Tanya. But Jasper was right when he said that it was never
about who Tanya was exactly, it was just that she filled that void . . . as
best as anyone could. She was the feminine counterpart I needed because I'd
lost mine. And for that . . . I'll always care so very deeply for Tanya. She
found me when I needed more than anything to be found. College was just so hard
for me; every littlething that happened hurt because I knew she was missing it.
I'd see a flyer on a board or a pole and I'd wonder if it would have been
something she would have wanted to do. The worst was when I went to class and
saw two seats open together; it was like God was reminding me of just how alone
I was.
"I knew she would have been in that seat. She would have waved me over. I would
have made some scene out of looking for another seat because, really, who was
thatattached to their sister. But in the end I'd end up where she was. I always
did. She would shove her shoulder into mine when I finally situated myself next
to her. I would roll my eyes, and she'd snort-laugh in that horrible way that
embarrassed her but she couldn't help it. She'd lean over to whisper something
to me, but it would be more like a yell. She couldn't whisper to save her life.
And our day, every day, would have carried on much like this. She'd write the
notes, I'd copy them, and we would just go on. We would fight, we would smile,
we would yell, we would laugh. We would go on taking for granted the most
important thing in our lives because we didn't know any better.
"You know . . . I still can't say her name. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it
just hurts too much. I don't deserve to say her name, not after everything I've
done to her. It's my fault that she's not here today. Not indirectly or some
bullshit like that . . . no, it literally ismy fault.
"I left her because of another one of our stupid fights; they were progressing
a lot our senior year of high school. I didn't agree with her choices, mostly
concerning this guy on the baseball team with me. His name was James. His
mother was on many of the same committees as my mom. So it wasn't like we
didn't know him or his family. But he wasn't the same person his parents, or
mine, or even she saw. I didn't like her interest in him. Not one bit.
"He created this huge rift between us. It was slowly starting to dawn on me
that she was putting someone other than me first. But that it was him really
fucking pissed me off.
"One day, March 17th—isn't it fucking disgusting how the date will never be
something you can forget? It's like God puts this huge thumbtack on the
calendar of your life and says 'here, here is where you fucked up your life
because of some stupid choice that you made.'" I didn't need to feel the nod of
her head under the hair I was still running my fingers through—though I did.
There was no doubt that she knew what I was saying, what I had gone through,
better than anyone else.
"He had this party at his place after our game. It was our senior year, one of
the last games of the season, and we just all wanted to let loose. I didn't
invite her, but it turned out James had. She was so excited. We went to his
party together, of course. I was never a big drinker . . . then . . . and so I
told her I would be her designated driver, because she had really wanted to let
go. Something I had never had a problem with. I would always take care of her.
"It was a great party. Jasper was on the team too and he had arrived sometime
during the middle of it. I spent a good portion of the night with him that I
lost track of her. Late into the night, excusing myself from Jasper's company,
I went to search for her."
The lower tremble of my voice didn't escape my notice as I remembered exactly
where I found her, the picture, like so many from that night, seared into my
memory. "I found her, topless, fucking topless in James's room making out with
him on his bed.
"I saw red; there really isn't any other way to explain it. I was going to kick
his fucking ass. With guns blazing, I stormed in there and pulled him off of my
sister. I threw her top at her, disgusted she had found herself in this type of
situation. I had always been very old-fashioned when it came to sex; add that
on top of the fact that it was mysister and with James. I was out for his blood
that night.
"But of course she had to intervene, saying that she wanted it. If I thought I
was seeing red before, those words were the beginning of the end. Even now I
can still hear the high-pitched taunt to her voice: 'and what if I likedit?'She
was drunk, that was just . . . that was it; she was drunk and had no idea what
she was doing or wanted. I told her as much—repeatedly.
"Soon we were yelling back and forth and shoving each other. We got so caught
up in our fight that somehow James slipped out of the room.
"She reprimanded me for trying to control every facet of her life. Which wasn't
what I was trying to do at all. But when she was careless with her decisions, I
had to intervene, on her behalf. I only wanted what was best for her. And so we
fought back and forth . . . the start of our worst fight ever. She really was
drunk, and that didn't help her stubborn tendencies. Neither of us backed down.
I was livid; she was seething. I told her to get her shit together, that we
were leaving.
"She refused. Enraged, I told her 'fine.' It didn't matter, that I was going to
be leaving. When her emotions changed abruptly from blood-red anger to pleading
sadness, I should have known. I should have put my temper aside and taken care
of her because she was obviously far more intoxicated that even I had assumed.
But I didn't.
"She begged me not to leave her alone. You know . . . she fucking beggedme not
to leave her, that I was her ride, that she wanted me to stay, that she was
sorry, that she didn't want to get in trouble when I went home without her. She
had a million and two reasons why I needed to stay. But I was just so mad at
her, I told her I wouldn't stay unless she promised to drop this shit she was
doing with James. Which she wouldn't. And again, her emotions whiplashed back
at me and another fight broke out between us. She threw things and I accused
her of libidinous behavior. She slapped me, I shoved her, and we kept at it,
back and forth. That night I had said things to her that I wish I could take
back with every fuckingounce of my soul . . . but I won't ever be able to.
"The last thing I said to her as I stormed out of that room was: 'Do whatever
the fuck you want. Don't come crying to me when this blows up in your face
because I won't fucking care what happens to you.'"
Somewhere along the lines of the story, tears began to slowly make their
descent on my face, but I didn't wipe them. I just kept replaying the memories
of that night, over and over in my head. The red that stained her cheeks from
her anger; the slight smell of peppermint and alcohol on her breath; the way
her auburn curls swayed as she hurled things at me. The adrenaline I felt
curving along my body; the way my hand shook as I forced it into the wall; the
tears that ran down her face because she couldn't help crying when she was
truly pissed; but worst of all was the echo in my ears of the last thing I said
to her.
Disgusted, I continued. "I left her there, tears on her cheeks, fury in her
eyes, and way too much alcohol in her system to make conducive decisions. I
knew she was too drunk to get home; I knew she'd need me. I didn't care. I
wanted to teach her a lesson. I had hoped that tomorrow when she would be
curled over the toilet, she would recognize that I was right.
"I had no idea that, for her, tomorrow would never come.
"I don't know what exactly happened at that party after I left. Jasper left
with me to talk me off the cliff. Or from slashing all of James's tires. All I
knew was that she hadn't come home at all. In the morning my mom woke me up and
asked me where she was.
"It turned out I didn't even need to answer because within a matter of minutes
the front door rang. My father answered and his cry reverberated through every
wall of the house. My mom and I ran down the stairs. He was on the marble floor
of the foyer, his eyes watering, his body shaking, and I knew.
"I fucking knew.I felt it there in my chest the second I saw my dad on the
floor like that. That feeling, that gut-wrenching, turn your chest inside out,
you can't breathe the same again feeling found me then and hasn't left since. I
don't even remember how my mom reacted; everything after that was in a blur,
and I just wanted to get in my car and drive to James's house and pick her up.
Prove that that shit was a lie, that they were fucking lying. There was no way
she was hurt. It just, it couldn't . . . . I wanted to get her back.
"I had to. But two police officers blocked the door and held me back." My
throat burned while the tears continued their path. That morning . . . that
morning . . . I hated that morning. My fingers got caught in her hair and I
wanted to yank through the knot, but instead I just curled a fist around it, so
tight that my fingernails dug into my flesh. When I realized what I was doing,
I let go immediately and turned my head back to that stupid painting.
I stared at the painting for a very long time without speaking, letting the
memories eat me alive. It was a small, strong hand on my shoulder that turned
my head back. My burning eyes met hers and just stayedthere.
There was so much in that deep brown stare that I needed, that I didn't even
recognize but allowed to flood me. "I loved her."
She nodded softly, her hand squeezing my shoulder gently. When I let my head
fall onto her hand on my shoulder, she allowed it, her stare holding mine like
a mother her newborn—cradled close to her heart in a protective embrace.
I didn't want to overwhelm her. Her comforting me, when it should be the other
way around, troubled me, yet I yearned for it somuch. I didn't want to push,
not now, not too far. So I lifted my head off the shoulder and offered her a
small smile in thanks. She removed her hand and I missed it immediately.
After another long pause, where I tried to regain some semblance of composure,
I continued telling her what happened that morning. "Since I was one of the
last people to see her alive, the police wanted to speak to me. Since I was a
minor, my parents had to be present. As I told the police everything, my mom
stared on with hollow eyes, and my dad just stared at where his hands held
hers. I knew they weren't saying out loud what everyone was thinking. 'Why did
you leave her?'
"Three days later the medical examiner released the official autopsy report;
the cause was determined to be asphyxiation on her own emesis. The time of
death was determined to be at three in the morning, two hours after I had left
her. If I had only stayed there two fucking hours more . . . . Her blood
alcohol level was three times the legal limit. I don't know if she continued
drinking or not after I left; I don't know if she was that bad when I left her
and I just chose to ignore it like I had everything else that night. She was
found on her back in the guest bedroom at James's home.
"If I had stayed with her, she could have slept it off in that room and I would
have laid her on her side. Or we could have gone home together and she wouldn't
have drunk more if she had. Or if she did pass out at home, I could have put
her on her side there. I would have watched on her, taken care of was just so
much I should have done, but didn't.
"I should have fucking taken care of her," I said, shaking my head because I
hadn't. A sigh left me because now I wouldn't ever get the chance to again. It
reminded me of . . . .
"Do you remember that time when you asked me, the first time we 'really' met,
why I stayed with you to make sure you didn't hurt yourself? That time you
nodded out?" I looked at her; she was back to lying on the pillow softly, her
eyes meeting mine. She nodded.
"Yeah, that time. I . . . I just couldn't leave someone like that again." I
looked away before quietly adding, "Not ever again."
The creak in the bed told me that she was shifting around. It was when I felt
the warmth of her hand reach for mine that was making another lap through my
hair that I turned toward her. She shifted slightly on the bed before reaching
out to grab my hand from her hair.
I dropped my hand immediately, giving it to her. She brought it with her under
the cover and held it to her chest, cocooned inside her own. The nurturing
gesture brought another round of small tears to my eyes and burning to my
throat.
I waited for her to tell me that it wasn't my fault, what everyone had always
told me. But she surprised me yet again, like she always had, in the way that
we knew each other on a very different plane than others could comprehend.
"Do you . . . do you think she forgives you?"
In a burning rasp my breath left. "I don't know . . . . Do you?—think she's
forgiven me?"
She squeezed our hands. "I hope so." A small stream ran from my face as I
nodded. In a broken whisper she bared her soul. "Do you think she forgives me?"
I found breathing so very hard to do in that moment. "I hope so." She nodded
softly as she pulled her uninjured hand from our grasp to wipe away her tears.
Every ounce of me wanted to go to her, to pull her body into mine and comfort
her the only way I could, to just holdher until everything in the world was
right again. I wondered back to what Jasper had always told me about Tanya,
that she was my subconscious way of filling the void that my sister had left.
That I did love Tanya, but in that respect. I knew now just how right he was.
Because once Tanya had left me, the void was glaring at me with newfound
ferocity. For a small second, I wondered if Bella was my subconscious way of
trying to fill the void again.
Realization overcame me when I found myself not wanting to fill it. It was
there for a reason, for one I finally acknowledged and opened. I revealed that
void to her, for exactly what it was. With Bella it was never about filling a
void; it was about rebuilding around the holes, bridging them so that they were
able to be conquered. And I wanted nothing more than to help her bridge hers.
I knew, from what Jasper had told me, about her choice that led both her sister
and her to this life. Honestly, at that age, under the massive amount of grief
that had stricken them, I don't know how anyone could hold either accountable
for any of their actions. But it was obvious this was her void. It plagued her,
and I would fight with everything I had for her void to not grow and consume
her. That we could bridge it together; it was the least I could do.
And I hoped with everything I had that her sister would forgive her, but only
time would tell. Again, I found myself wondering just howmuch time we had on
our side. Because it seemed that all we had left was hope.
But for the very first time, in a long time, as I clutched her hand in a warmth
and tenderness that yearned for so much more, with just as much fervor as she
had held to mine, I started to feel like it might justbe enough.
End Notes

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     XxNaya
      
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     Stolen_Souls
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