The sound of my apartment door slamming echoed in the small space, searing straight through my throbbing brain. We weren’t friends. I shouldn’t have called him to save me. I shouldn’t have even considered using that imposing plastic device that connected us like an umbilical cord. I wasn’t his possession. I’m not his pawn.
My head ached with anticipation for my health tomorrow and considering what just happened. I almost died. It was that simple. The most destructive, cynical side of me wondered if Julian arranged it. He delivered the phone, knew I would never use it, and coincidentally someone came to kill me just so he could swoop in. Is he that psychotic? And yet, I called him.
I now understood entirely why “Be Our Guest” was swirling around my brain between violent throbs of pain. Julian was correct; it was tragic for me to have had so much to drink. However, he forgot to consider just how desperate I was to avoid thinking rather than coping or accepting it. I hate him. He looked nice in that shirt. Oh, kill me. Just do it.
I wanted to think Julian had a heart somewhere within the confines of that tattooed body, but I also needed that heart to realize what I wanted more than anything was a safe, lonely place to shed my tears and cope with the pain. Nobody needs to see me like this. Not even my reflection.
I buried myself in the covers of my bed for however long it took before my stomach and brain connected, sending me straight back into the bathroom, where I snuggled the loo until there was nothing left inside of me. No tears, no wine, nothing at all. It was miserable. How did my door get fixed so quickly? Probably because he has people stalking me, just like him, except they do what he wants the second he snaps two of those long fingers. Oh, stop. Just get the hell up and move on. So I almost died—no biggie. Been there, done that.
The air in my bathroom was still heavy with humidity from my steaming bath and Julian’s cologne. If I hadn’t spent hours snuggling the loo, I would have surely enjoyed the consumption of that air. Eventually peeling myself from the porcelain, I struggled to stand. I was on my own again, something I was used to and enjoyed, but the discomforting silence of my home eroded much of my shell.
My knees refused to lock, snapping each time I attempted to be vertical. It was no use. I had to crawl. My wrists buckled as my clammy palms pushed into the floor while I crawled toward the kitchen. I needed to see. Each press against my knee or palm blasted my skin with a piercing pain, as though warning me not to enter the kitchen. My own body told me to stay away from the trauma, but my throbbing mind was too stubborn. I hesitantly peered around the doorframe into the kitchen with trepidation and morbid curiosity. The wood floor was clean, perhaps even more spotless than before I hid beneath the sink. The window was still open, sending a gentle breeze throughout the narrow space that incited the curtain beneath the sink to dance. I was right there. Julian pulled me out. He saved me.
There was something else, something bigger than Malcolm, something or someone that shoved Julian into my world. He needs something. He needs to have someone stop watching me—I couldn’t live my life under scrutiny.
I guess I can’t handle this as well as I thought. I wobbled away from the kitchen, frighteningly close to fainting, on my hands and knees with my breath tightly held. I can order takeout for a while. No biggie. If I kept lying to myself, I would be okay for a while. I made plans to look for a new apartment the following morning. Priority number one—move from the haunted kitchen, where someone tried to kill me, and move somewhere where the Molloys couldn’t track me down.
I spun over, plopping my bum on the floor next to my bed, leaning my head on the nubby edge of my mattress in hopes of relieving some pain. It felt like a freight train slammed against the inside of my skull, pounding with relentless agony. Look for a new apartment, get a new prescription. Hide from Julian out of pure shame and embarrassment. I’ll be a busy girl tomorrow.
It was extremely uncomfortable to remain in my apartment alone, having just given myself last rights beneath the kitchen sink. I felt like an intruder, someone without association to the material goods inside that space, someone whose life no longer belonged in there. The muffled vibration of the plastic torture device broke my reflective concentration. No way, Fuckian Fuckoy. I’m not answering. It rang three more times, three more attempts to harass me. I wanted to break it into a million pieces because I felt so angry and terrified over what happened. When the phone rang for the fifth time, I decided to answer it simply to tell him to screw himself and leave me alone. Why? He saved you. He came when you called, and he saved you. Because he wouldn’t leave! Because I don’t know him! Because I can’t trust him!
I scanned the floor, searching for the fussy thing, crawling to get it from the outside of my closet door. There was no caller identification. Awesome.
“I said go away, and I meant it. Give a girl a minute,” I snarled, my buzz finally fading with the numbing headache. “Listen, I’m drunk. I’m tragic, remember? Leave me alone. And by the way, I’m throwing out this stupid phone. Don’t ever call me again.”
“Miss Leary?” That’s not Julian’s voice.
“Maybe.”
His laugh was a seductively soft rumble. “Well, perhaps you could pass along a message for me?”
“Perhaps.”
“Tell her that her boyfriend doesn’t know I have this number,” he whispered, “and I’d really like to meet her to explain some things so her head is slightly more clear.” Boyfriend. I’m going to scream. No, that will hurt my head. I’m going to barf. No, nothing left. Oh my God, I’m mortified.
“And whom may I inform Miss Leary is calling for her?” Mortified.
“You can tell the lovely Miss Leary that Liam Molloy is requesting her call.” I heard the smile in his quiet tone. “And tell her drinking alone doesn’t make her tragic. It makes her lonely, and people get lonely sometimes. Please apologize to her for my brother’s behavior. He’s clearly done something wrong.”
“Okay.” Mortified. Mortified. Apartment far, far away as soon as possible.
“Will you be at work this week, Miss Leary?’
“Maybe.” I slapped myself, caught in Liam’s game purely out of distraction. “I’m sorry. I—”
“I know,” he sighed. “I heard all about it a couple hours ago from my driver, of all people. Are you…well, asking if you’re okay is pathetic. I know you’re not. Would you care to meet me tomorrow? We can talk about it. I doubt my brother will make himself available to do so.” Quite the opposite. Julian did make himself available, and I freaked out, fumbled, and sent him away.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, sir, but thank you for the offer. I have a lot to catch up on at work. I won’t have time.”
With one trembling index finger, I silenced the call and hung up on Liam Molloy. I wanted to think back to two weeks prior, not having known anything of this family other than one of them was in politics and they were often photographed. I’m sure everyone assumed they were corrupt, but I figured that was most politicians.
My windows were encased in a shield of ice. Like my drunken soul. Okay, that’s pathetic. You need to go to bed. Agreeing with the annoying voice in my mind, I fell into my bed and let the covers consume me while I twisted and turned, hoping to drift into a gentle slumber. Knowing that was impossible, I tossed for an eternity before my body was numb from the chronic pain inside of me, finally letting me doze.
I crawled along the kitchen floor, my ankle caught on something that bound it tightly. I tugged with no resolve. Nothing allowed my release. I could hear him shouting, but it was only noise. He looked at me, blue eyes narrowing with controlled anxiety. It was frightening. I looked behind me, stopping to see my ankles bound by rope as I struggled to escape. He kept calling for me, but I couldn’t follow his sound. The gun went off three times, refueling my desire to live, my thirst to survive, and I twisted over my knees to untie the rope. I made it three feet away when I screamed, consumed by someone from behind. His left arm wrapped around my stomach, the right crawling around my chest as he pulled both of us into the darkness of my closet. I was frantic, heaving, but relieved to be in the dark. I wanted to think I was safe. I felt safer, at least, out of the gunfire, protected by flimsy panels of wood and drywall.
“You don’t know him,” he whispered into my ear. “You won’t ever know him. Trust me.”
“Who?” His hold tightened around my chest, pulling my shoulders snugly against him. It was warm, the gentle, protective warmth of a guardian, of a savior. I nestled my head into his chest, ignoring the muffled sounds of violence on the other side of the door. We hid, safe from the danger outside.
“He’s not a good man,” he warned, his words tickling into my ear as he whispered against my skin. “I can protect you, Aideen.”
He shouted for me, his ridiculous term of endearment and condescension, while the same man possessed my emotions inside the dark closet. The gunshots stopped, the terrifying silence consuming me. It was freezing. I was alone. I tore my hands from my body, accepting the vacancy within the closet. A dream within a dream. Footsteps. They were getting closer to the door. I scurried backward, hiding beneath the dangling fabrics of seldom-worn skirts and dresses, hoping he wouldn’t see me.
“Babby,” the new whisper of velvet poured beneath the closet door, “it’s over. They’re gone. Come here.”
The door slowly opened, Julian’s hand searching the darkness for a piece of me, but I refused to leave the secrecy behind my clothes.
“I’ve got you,” he continued, his hand reaching further into the space, the scent of his cologne calming my mind. “Just come here.”
I wanted to. I started to reach out for him, our fingertips almost touching, before his arm flew from the darkened space. One shot. Silence.
Even in my nightmare, I started to cry. Sobbing, my pillow saturated and the pain slowly subsiding within my mind, I was aware of how it consumed my heart.
That’s it!
I flew from my bed, torn from a nightmare, and barreled toward my closet. There was no chance I could stay in that apartment any longer. None. I climbed onto the small shelf of shoes just inside the doorway, extending myself to reach for the small suitcase I kept on a top shelf. Having found it with the tips of my fingers, I tugged and kept my head as far from the shelf as possible. The last thing I needed was a dead mouse or three dead centipedes falling on top of me.
I couldn’t control what happened in my apartment. I didn’t know who that person was, why they wanted me dead, or how efficiently Julian ended the entire situation. It was quite eerily composed; murder was a rehearsed spectacle in his world, something he could comfortably and precisely execute. No pun intended. Ha. Shaking my head with embarrassment that my subconscious became my best friend, I dragged the suitcase from my closet and threw in whatever clothes and toiletries I could live with for at least a week. A week. I could do that—living somewhere else for a week before coming home to pack things. On further thought, I didn’t want anything I owned. Nothing in that place brought me pleasure anymore.
I had nowhere to go. I didn’t even have my wallet. Coffee shop. I could get in the back door through the alley using the security code and sleep on the floor of the office. It was my only option. No it’s not. My eyes wandered, following my brain to the cell phone tossed on my hardwood floor. Yes, it is my only option. Nodding to myself, hoping to reassure my false security, I made the decision to walk through the two feet of snow as soon as I changed out of the stupid clothes Julian found for me. Ugh, him.
I dropped the suitcase on my disheveled mattress and looked out the frozen windows. Everything was blurry in a haze of softly falling white flakes, but sure enough, through squinting eyes, I could make out the silhouette of a black Mercedes parked along the curb across from my building. Its engine was on, keeping its inhabitants warm in the cocoon of its luxurious interior, but it was there nonetheless. Watching me. Well, watch this! I switched clothes, pulled my damp, knotted hair into a messy ponytail, grabbed my suitcase, and headed toward the door. The door.
My mind filled with the haunting memory of a stranger demanding entry, forcing their way into my home. My home. My feet refused to budge as I stood paralyzed. I thought about my nightmare. I wish these Molloys would stay out of my dreams, stop watching me, and write me a letter about why they were so forceful and invasive rather than talk to me. It took twenty minutes of standing there, questioning how quickly the door was reassembled, to find the confidence to touch the knob and step into the hallway—officially declaring, with one trembling breath, that I wouldn’t step into that apartment ever again.
Descending the stairs of my apartment building with my suitcase banging against each step, I realized I hadn’t planned my escape. Julian had someone watching me, although it wasn’t closely enough, considering I almost died. I’m still tipsy. I couldn’t feel my face from the numbing pain and tipsy haze, so I thought it wouldn’t matter that I was about to walk ten blocks to the coffee shop. What time is it, anyway? I lifted the suitcase into my arms, quickly realizing through the glass doors of my building that nobody considered plowing the mounds of snow from the sidewalk. Wonderful. I always liked marching anyway.
The Mercedes was still in its stalking spot, surely watching me, so I lifted the suitcase even higher in front of my face while exiting the building. I couldn’t see anything, but there was no distance to be seen, considering it was still snowing.
“Ouch.” A laughing voice boomed as my suitcase and I slammed into its owner. “Watch where you’re going, dudette.”
“I’m so sorry,” I muttered, lowering the suitcase just enough to see the living barricade. “Mr. Greene? I thought you weren’t going to be around tonight.” It’s night. I’m alive. He squinted to see through the drifting flakes. I knew it was him; the smoke of marijuana lingered around him and the shaggy brown hair and wide brown eyes were enough to proclaim his presence.
“Miss Leary?”
“Yeah.” I blushed through the flakes, thankful something within me felt warm.
His eyes softened while he reached for my suitcase. “This looks heavy. Where are you going? Can I help you with it?” My neighbor reached for the case within my grasp. I don’t think he understands anything in the world right now. He is just buzzing along with his life while I almost died. I almost died. Let that sink in. I should be kissing the ground. I would, were it not covered in two feet of snow. I should be kissing other things too, as a thank you. Oh Lord, Aideen. You need to go back to the doctor. I politely shook my head, clearing those thoughts and acknowledging the young man standing across from me.
“I’m just going to my work,” I informed him. “I’ll manage. Thank you, though.”
“Hey! Wait.” He pulled the suitcase from me. “My car is over there. It’s really not bad on the side roads. Will you let me take you?” I don’t generally trust people. Men. As of late. I generally don’t trust men as of late. But he was my new neighbor and always nice in passing. Okay. Maybe I can. He did, after all, break into my apartment for me.
“I’m Aideen.” I smiled through the chilly air, nodding politely. “I’m sorry we haven’t known each other’s first names.”
“Jack. What do you say, Aideen?”
“You’re sure it won’t interfere with your plans?”
“No.” His head hung, the shaggy brown hair wiggling beneath the falling flakes. “It won’t.”
“No busy night of picking locks?” I inquired, rewarded with his kind, gentle chuckle.
“That’s top secret,” he teased, his shoulder nudging mine. “Strictly between you and me.”
I smiled at him, following his slow footsteps through the heavy snow as we marched toward his car. The city was hushed, the normal acoustics muted by the blanket of white to which Boston surrendered.
“I can keep a secret,” I assured him, humored by his charm, but then I felt queasy thinking about all the other secrets I kept. Just the secrets from today were enough to rip me apart. We approached the sidewalk at the end of our block, my back tingling with the sensation of being watched. Hunted.
Jack stopped outside of an aging Beetle, the soft blue paint meeting rust along the wheels. I waited near the trunk while he unlocked the driver’s side door and gently tossed my suitcase into the narrow backseat. He knelt on the front seat, reaching across to manually unlock the passenger door. When he wiggled free, standing outside of his door, he motioned for me to get in with a friendly smile.
“What time is it, anyway?” I inquired while climbing in once I noticed Jack do the same. He reached for his phone, tucked into the pocket of his coat, and slid the display screen until the digital clock appeared. Its evil reminder that I spent an entire day and night falling apart burned me with its haunting memory. Add it to the rest. At least, add it to what you know you can remember.
“Eleven-fifteen.” He sighed, dropping the phone in his lap before wiggling his key into the ignition. “Which way is your shop?”
Jack pulled from the curb, sliding into the snow-covered paths created by other cars. He was slow to make a Y-turn, his Beetle barely alive against the snow. I snuggled down into the passenger seat, the hairs on my skin on full alert while Jack drove directly toward the black Mercedes.
“Which way?” he inquired, glancing at me with a confused smile. “Um…are you okay?”
“No.” I was honest in my response. “I’m not feeling well.”
The Mercedes idled as we continued to lurch through the snow, each of us anticipating the other’s move.