My phone buzzed against the small shelf above my bathroom sink just as I stepped from the steaming shower. I recognized Elliott’s picture on the screen and quickly wrapped a towel around my dripping body before swiping to answer his call.
“I hope you’re dead somewhere and this is your great aunt telling me I’ve inherited your family’s wealth,” I snapped, speaking to him while wiping running mascara from beneath my eyes.
“And here I thought something happened to you.” He laughed at me. “You were supposed to call me immediately once you got home.”
“Yeah. About that…” I reached for q-tips, hoping to buy time before I could think of what to tell Elliott. Strangely enough, part of me felt like being at the Molloys’ was a secret, some sort of private, cryptic gathering of which Elliott could know nothing. But he knew I was there; he knew about the order. I couldn’t lie, yet I still felt like I was betraying some unspoken, ridiculously nonexistent, and entirely inappropriate, delusionary-conceived bond forced upon me by Julian. Ugh. I hate him too.
“Well? How much money did we make?”
“I don’t know, Ell.”
His snicker brought me back to reality. “Aid, have you lost it? Like, what the hell am I interrupting? Are you okay?”
“I just got out of the shower, if you must know, and I’m hoping to pretend the last twenty-four hours never happened.”
“That bad, huh? I’m coming over.”
“Please don’t,” I groaned, carefully plucking my eyebrows while holding the phone between my ear and shoulder. Sometimes, I hate being a woman. Elliott mumbled something in the background, clearly not listening to me.
“I’ll grab carry out and be over within the hour. No buts about it or excuses, or locking me out again.”
“Fine,” I groaned, placing my tweezers back on the sink and studying my depressed features. The only color on my lonely face was the deep purple prominent in the bags protruding from beneath my tired eyes. Once Elliott ended our call, I slowly made my way out of the bathroom and into the main area of my small apartment. The kitchen window refused to close, but the blasting radiator kept the space almost one hundred degrees, even in August. I need to move.
I changed into sweats, not caring about how messy my apartment and I were. I hated houseguests, but Elliott would have to accept he wasn’t anyone special because I refused to clean up my carryout from two nights ago. You know, the cartons of Chinese food left sitting on my small kitchen counter, waiting for Prince Charming to come and clean away for me.
An hour after Elliott arrived, later than anticipated, I was bound in a knit blanket on my bed.
“Emma was there tonight when they brought back the trays and everything.” He bit into his fourth slice of pizza, chewing while speaking, making my stomach twist. “Some big, scary guy. Her words, not mine. Tell me everything.”
“I don’t know.” What could I tell Elliott? I hadn’t signed their stupid agreement, the confidentiality-I-know-you-can-kill-me-if-I-squeal paperwork that actually made me faint. I passed out! Why did I feel a strange desire to keep it all inside? I had known Elliott for ten years. Julian intimidated, threatened, and…it couldn’t have been coincidence that he was outside the night Malcolm came into work. What the hell does he want from me? Why me and not Elliott or Emma?
“Hello! Aideen! You in there? You’ve been staring at the pizza box for five minutes. What the heck happened to you?”
“What?” I looked at Elliott, welcoming his blue eyes instead of the greasy, brown cardboard box between us.
“I think I need to get a new prescription for my migraines.” I changed the subject. “Last week was awful.”
“It’s probably stress.” He squeezed my knee, smiling at me. “I wish you would’ve told me Malcolm came by.”
This is too much. It was surreal having spent the morning in some weird juxtaposition of being a free prisoner in one of the Molloy family homes. One of them. Seriously. Who are those people? I vowed then and there to conduct further research into that family. After all, I practiced my right to vote. I need time away from them all. I have to get a hold of Elliott’s twisted business deal.
I fell backward onto my bed. Why’d he mention Malcolm? Here come the nightmares.
“Are you going in tomorrow?” Elliott asked while he stood from the bed, beginning to pack up our mess.
“I open.” I turned my head, lifting a finger to peer through the curtains gracing my window. It was still snowing, the flakes covering Boston with a fresh blanket of white.
“Have you seen the forecast, Ell?”
“Snow. Eighteen inches by Tuesday.” Lovely. I pressed my weight into my elbows, struggling while in the cocoon of my blanket, and watched Elliott clean.
“Ell,” I called as he stepped into my small kitchen. He peered around the corner of the doorway, smiling at me.
“I need to see the contract you have with the Molloys.”
Elliott was quiet, his face white. He looked like the sidewalk, covered in a fog of nervous ash.
“Ell.”
“Yes, Aideen. I’ll have it there tomorrow. I should get going. Call me if you need anything, babe.”
I stood up, glaring at the fool who ran like a headless chicken toward my apartment door.
“What’d you do, Elliott Daly?” I interrogated, chasing after him, throwing myself between him and the wooden panel. Elliott looked everywhere but my face, his own continuing to whiten. I wasn’t sure if his head shook with regret or avoidance.
“Daly!” I snapped, pounding my foot like a stubborn toddler.
When he looked at me, I knew our friendship was about to change forever. His blue eyes weren’t sparkling; they weren’t illuminating his normal carefree nature. They were gray and void of his humor, full only of trepidation.
“What is it?” I demanded, preparing myself to knock him out if needed. Maybe I can be like the thugs with whom I spent my morning and intimidate this fool into talking.
“Listen,” he began, his fingers nervously binding behind his neck, “I didn’t want to talk to you about all of this yet…but when you were in the hospital…shit.”
Elliott transformed before me, the color and animation leaving his body, changing his entire being. I couldn’t remember seeing him so limp, so pathetic and desperate. I waited, watching him swallow the nerves building within his throat before he spoke.
“Yes, when your cousin so kindly attacked me,” I spat. Elliott’s eyes closed while he nodded, acknowledging the weight of our burden.
“Yes,” he agreed, “I got into trouble.”
“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me everything.” Still staring down my friend, my fingers blindly found the deadbolts and clicked them into submission, ensuring we were without escape for the time being.
“Everything,” I repeated.
His head was hanging while he nodded like a reprimanded toddler. Elliott was thirty years old. There was no excuse for that. None. I crossed my arms, stabilizing myself while reflecting on all I had been through that day. Julian was my driver. The crazy shit he said in the car. The crazier shit he said while at the house. Me passing out. Me not signing their contract. Oh, shit. I didn’t sign their contract. Julian touching me. Too much. Not talking about Malcolm. Now thinking about Malcolm. Elliott. That’s it—I’m subletting tomorrow.
“I was too much of a coward to tell you, Aid, but I got into it. I got in trouble. I…shit,” he groaned, grabbing onto my elbows as though my grace could balance his evils. “I’m like my father. I lost it. I lost it all.”
“What. The. Fuck.”
“I spent it. Our savings. While you were in the hospital. See, it was different for me. I was so lost, Aid. I was blaming myself. I was the reason Malcolm even found you. He’s my cousin. It’s my fault. I just went down a wrong path and I couldn’t stop. I gambled it. All of it. I’m in huge debt.”
“To whom?”
I couldn’t even begin to approach everything Elliott admitted in his vomited speech. I felt sick. My head pounded. I needed something to fix it, something to stop the pain or at least dull it so I could function. I needed something so I could simply breathe. I watched his eyes flutter around, focusing anywhere but on me.
“Bad people, Aid.”
“Bad people, Ell? Be more specific. What type of bad people?”
Elliott’s hands pulled against his face, hanging onto his skin as he glided them down painfully, preparing himself for the final admission.
“Loan sharks,” he mumbled, looking away. “Someone Malcolm knew. Some front guy. I just…Aid, I really fucked up. I lost it. I…”
“Get out of my house.” My voice shook, trembling with the reality of what Elliott told me. He held my arms, shaking his head violently.
“Hear me out, Aid.”
“What else is there to listen to, Elliott? You’re in with loan sharks! Elliott! Seriously. Wait. How the hell…the contract?”
Elliott sighed, staring at the ceiling. “I needed a loan. I needed a deal. We needed the business deal or we would go under.”
“You need to get the hell out of here and not show yourself at work tomorrow or I’m going to cut off your fucking balls myself. Do you get it or should I model it for you?”
I was livid. LIVID! My heart and brain were at a loss. My best friend, my confidant of ten years, a decade, just admitted his betrayal. Watching him shrug through the doorway, slinking off like a scared kitten, only angered me more. This is the worst day of my life. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I couldn’t even take my money and run because, thanks to Elliott, there was none. None.
***
Stepping into work the morning after I effectively ended my decade-long friendship with Elliott Daly was terribly uncomfortable. The last thing I wanted to do was make coffee in the small shop we started together when I finished school. It was my haven, where I put every penny of savings, where I thought we could live our dream. Some fucking dream. The only good thing Elliott Daly did for himself was not show up to work, like requested. I didn’t mutter a word to Emma beyond casual small talk, which I hated, because I didn’t know how much of her brother’s crap she even understood. The contract was there, just as he promised, stuffed in a heavy manila envelope. I shoved it into my bag, planning on using my education to unravel the bullshit to which Elliott had agreed.
During the mid-afternoon lull, I decided to busy myself, avoiding the complicated battle wreaking havoc in my heart, by sending Emma out for lunch while I sorted new canisters of tea. The massive silver cylinders were balancing on the shelf, decorating the emerald green wall with their crisp brushed metal. I stood on a ladder, about four rungs above the floor, willing myself not to hold everything against Emma. We need to order more Oolong.
The bell wiggled against the front door while I, naturally, damned the customer for coming in. I had to finish tallying the jars and taking my detailed mental notes before I could descend.
“Be right with you,” I mumbled to the customer. I sensed their presence at the counter behind me, the buzz of their energy swirling into my ears. That’s not good energy. That’s poison. Take a breath. Yep. Screw you again, Aideen Leary.
“You did the right thing by not calling the police, Aid,” he bragged from behind me. I felt the heat from his body against my legs, which trembled on the ladder.
“Emma’s coming back.”
“It’ll be a family reunion then.” Malcolm chuckled, his smarmy hands climbing to my hips. His touch weighed against me, making it feel like I was treading water in a suit of armor.
“Don’t touch me, Malcolm. I’ll scream.”
He continued to laugh, a muffled sound, while allowing my descent. Part of me regretted it. I should’ve climbed higher. This imbecile is afraid of heights. As my feet met the floor, Malcolm stepped away, his arms crossing in observation of my figure with ogling eyes that made my blood hurt. It actually ached with disgust.
“You owe me an apology,” he demanded. His tone was a scoff, an unwarranted request that left my jaw on the ground. The bell rang again, sending my heart into my ears. Emma. She would surely distract Malcolm.
“I’m not speaking to you, Malcolm. I have a restraining order against you because you’re fucking insane. Now get out.”
He inched closer to me, my feet cementing to the floor in fright. Malcolm’s breath was a stale, painful reminder of the night my migraines started. At least what I could remember through shattered images and throbbing pain.
“Emma?” I called, hoping she would show herself or that she was at least on the phone with the police. Wait. Can I call them? Or is that going to get me killed as well? Malcolm continued to step toward me, caging me in the narrow space next to the ladder, his arms binding me in the prison of painful memories, trauma. I can’t handle this. I couldn’t think. I should’ve ran; I would’ve run, but I didn’t know what to do. Footsteps approached, distracting our attention as Malcolm looked over the counter.
“You’d be doing yourself a mighty fine favor if you stepped away from my girl,” my savior ordered, but then I realized just who the voice belonged to, and my throat tightened. “Now.”
Malcolm’s potent breath fanned the exposed skin of my neck while his head turned to meet Julian’s voice. I was relieved, I was terrified, I was waiting to die.
“Who the fuck are you?” Malcolm laughed, refusing to release his hands from the wall behind me, continuing to cage me within his control. I opened my eyes, instantly waking to the smell of Julian’s cologne. He was closer than I thought, standing mere feet away, improving his deadly proximity.
“I’m not surprised you don’t know. From the looks of it, you’re not someone Miss Leary would confide in. Do you disagree?”
Malcolm’s face returned to mine. “Who is this creep, Aid?”
“Don’t call me that,” I growled through my teeth, biting down so hard before gathering the courage to lift my knee and violently meet Malcolm’s pathetic excuse for genitals.
He cowered, his hands falling to his groin while writhing in agony in front of me. I started stepping away, not running toward Julian but behind me, hoping to escape both men. I probably had five seconds ahead of them; Julian needed to get over and around Malcolm, who was in no shape to chase after me.
I stormed through the back, my shins aching by the time I cleared the side door and met the alleyway. I heard traffic, the hum of life, and hurled myself into the crowds of passing pedestrians. Air left my lungs; I was heaving and ready to hurl. I had to get home.
While running along State Street, just passing Congress, I felt the pocket of my jeans. Screw me and everything that is me about this world. My cell phone was still at work, but I at least had the key to my apartment buried in my rear pocket. I was two blocks away. My heart couldn’t keep up with my legs, both burning holes into my mind as everything went numb while trying to find safety.
I could faintly see my building, the aging brick calling to me with its evil taunt. I knew I wouldn’t make it. The second my hips became the possession of someone’s hands, I knew it was over. I went limp, the sore and aching twigs beneath me struggling to move along the pavement. His grasp loosened, but not before I felt his face against my temple. The sweet, delirious scent of his cologne was almost hypnotizing me. Stay awake. You can still fight this. No, I can’t. What the hell was he doing there?
“Now tell me,” he whispered into my ear, the soft crackle sending a chill down my neck. “What such a sweet bird as yourself is doing with that ignoramus, Malcolm Young?”
I couldn’t reply; all words were lost, tied in a knot within my lungs while they burrowed further into my core. Julian spun me around, and it took everything in me not to knee him in the delicate space between his thighs. And even worse…I didn’t want to. I was in trouble. It was deeper than me, the coffee shop, and I couldn’t fight him. Julian’s knuckles were at my neck, caressing their way up to my quivering jaw. This man is the devil.
“I’ll ask you again, babby.” His lips were at my ear. “What are you doing with Malcolm Young?”
“What are you doing kidnapping women off the street in the middle of the afternoon?” I snapped, instantly regretting my confidence when I felt Julian’s deep, throaty chuckle at my side.
“Don’t make a scene.” His arms wove around me, pulling me into him. He was hugging me. Why? Oh. Because his family is the definition of Boston aristocracy and the last thing they need is a photograph of one of their own arguing with a lunatic.
Through the hum of traffic, I peered around Julian’s arm and noticed a black car pull along the curb. One of the tinted windows lowered an inch, just enough for sound and not enough for vision.
“David,” he called to someone in the car, “take us to my home, please. Quickly.” Shit.