he house has changed yet again by the time I get home from my shift. It does nothing to improve my mood. I’m tired and irritable. After Jagger’s call I couldn’t fall back to sleep. A night spent pacing and reliving an argument over and over doesn’t exactly lend itself to rest. If it wasn’t for concealer and a few years in high school drama club, my tables would have run out screaming. No one wants their lunch to be served by a zombie.
Ugh. The situation with Jagger is getting to me and my exhaustion is only making it worse. What I need right now is an escape. A quiet, relaxing place where I can drown in decadence and get back in touch with what I want from life.
A place that’s not tied to Jagger.
But with all my money going toward debt repayment, that’s not going to happen any time soon.
I kick off my shoes when I come through the door and stretch my toes. My feet ache from standing all day, but I’m restless enough I don’t want to sit down. Instead, I head down the strange hallway that leads to the rose stained glass windows and the door that lets out onto the deck. I step outside, my stocking feet against the smooth wood of the deck.
The unruly thorned brambles have retreated again. The rose garden I saw is almost completely uncovered. It’s more beautiful than ever.
I know it’s not a good idea to walk on the grass without shoes, but I can’t help myself. I steal down the steps of the deck one by one. The grass is thick and a dark, healthy green. It looks like it’s recently been mowed. Every blade is uniform. There are no patches where the grass grows thin or brown. It’s cool beneath my feet, and I cherish the sensation.
I cross the lawn and approach the rose garden in awe.
The blooms are beautiful. They’re a deep, blood red that no picture could ever do justice. There isn’t a petal shed and not one leaf out of place. They have to be fake. There’s no way something so beautiful and pristine could survive being consumed within the thick brambles.
I sink to my knees in the grass on the outskirts of the garden. Cautiously, I caress one of the flowers. The petals are silken and smooth. They have the kind of consistency I associate with roses. If they are fake, they’re one of the most convincing replicas I’ve ever seen.
There’s one last test before I pass judgment. I lean forward to breath in the rose’s perfume, but I can’t get close enough without putting my knees in the dirt. My hand dips downward instead, intending to gently pull the bloom toward my nose.
A thorn pricks my finger and I draw back my hand in shock. A bead of blood, dark red like the roses, swells on my fingertip. I know that it’s my fault, but I can’t help but feel like it’s a message.
The thorn only made a tiny prick, but it stings. This house is beautiful, but with beauty comes pain. How many thorns am I willing to endure for the sake of a single rose?
I blink away tears. That awful argument I had with Jagger last night roars back into the fore of my mind. I’ve found the perfect house, the perfect man, and the perfect life, but all the perfection is superficial. That’s what Sonya can’t see and what I can’t hope to explain to her.
Sonya.
I need to talk to her, get her take and try to get my feelings untangled about all this. I have to talk to someone. I can’t keep bottling up my feelings.
I head back into the house and to my private kitchen. As I wash my finger and pat it dry, I call her. The phone rests on the kitchen counter by the sink on speakerphone.
“Hey girlfriend,” Sonya says as she answers. “Good to hear from you. What’s new?”
“I need to vent.”
“Uh oh. What’s going on?”
I suck in a breath and resist the tears that put pressure behind my eyes. Saying it out loud makes it worse. “I don’t want to feel lonely anymore.”
“Oh, Alexa,” Sonya utters. It’s so rare she uses my name that I know she must hear how upset I am. “It’s okay, girlie. I know how it is, moving into a new place on your own, especially when that new place is so much bigger than what you’re used to. Do you want me to come over? We could hang out. I could sleep over like we’re sixteen years old again. Watch some chick flicks, eat some popcorn, maybe adult it up by bringing some margaritas into the mix. How does that sound?”
“It sounds great, Sonya, but the house isn’t what has me upset. Not really. It’s big, but it’s gorgeous, and I’ve got my own space to call my own that doesn’t make the place feel so overwhelming.”
“Then what’s the catch?” Sonya asks tenderly.
“It’s that Jagger is never here. He hasn’t even been home once since I moved in.” My finger isn’t bleeding anymore, so once my hands are dry I pick up my phone and head to the couch. “My hours at work keep being cut back, my finances are shot to hell, and now I’ve got this dream house and this dream life, but no dream man to share it with. And I’m starting to think these days that Jagger might not be such a dream after all. He’s been different since that night I told you about.”
“The one that left you weak kneed and blushing?” Sonya asks. There’s humor in her voice, but it doesn’t override her sympathy for me. “Where you were afraid by how much you liked it when he took control?”
“That’s the one.” I flop down on the couch. “And the house is nice, but it’s… it’s strange. I think it hates me.”
“You think a house hates you,” Sonya says flatly.
“It’s got a mind of its own. Doors open and close randomly, rooms I once wasn’t able to get into open on different days, and when I come back in something’s always changed for the better. I guess it might love me, but I don’t know. It’s…” I trail off.
“It’s scary that you’re so stressed out you think the house has feelings for you one way or the other,” Sonya says. “I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure you need to get out and take some time to yourself. It sounds like you’re so stressed you’re projecting.”
The answer hits me all at once. “I think I have to go to Florida.” A complete change of scene will give me a chance to take stock. Spending time with my stepfather isn’t exactly my idea of a great time, but I know what to expect when I’m with him.
Plus, I need my money back. I have to impress that on him. Whatever happens, I can’t be this dependent on Jagger. I knew it. I knew it. My fists are bunching and I clench my teeth.
Besides, I’ve never been to Florida before. What’s not to like about sunshine and beaches? I take a breath.
“Me, in a bikini, in a beach chair, listening to the ocean while the rest of the world passes me by. That’s what I need right now.” Margaritas and movies with Sonya would be nice, but it’s not going to give me the peace of mind I need. I’d be trapped in my own thoughts as long as I’m in Jagger’s house.
Jagger’s house, because he won’t let me put a penny toward the mortgage. Not that I’ve got a penny to call my own right now. It’s not our house. I’m a guest.
Or maybe I’m a prisoner. At this point, I’m not sure which.
Sonya redirects my focus back to the conversation. “Florida? What brought that on? You’ve never talked about Florida before.”
“My stepfather is down there, investing in property. He invited me to come.”
“Does he even have a place for you to stay?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve got to do something. If I stay here any longer I feel like I’m really going to go crazy.” I brush unshed tears from the corners of my eyes. “It won’t be forever, just for a little while. It’s not like the diner’s going to miss me. They’re already trying to push me out the door. I’m sure if they can cut back on the few hours I work a week, they’ll be through the moon.”
“You know what you’ve got to do?” Sonya asks. Her voice quirks like she’s onto something. “You’ve got to stop worrying about what other people think so much and do what you need. If you need to go to Florida, go for it, girl. I’ll be on the beach, tanning with you in spirit.”
I laugh. It’s short-lived, but it makes me feel infinitely better.
“So stop worrying about what I think, or what Jagger thinks, or what your boss thinks, or whatever’s got you hung up. Especially stop worrying about what the house thinks, okay?” Sonya tells me. “You’re worth more than that. You’ve toughed it out all your life on your own, and you can keep toughing it out now. Get back to you. Get your groove back. And when you get back to New York City, you’ll be a changed woman.”
“Thank you, Sonya.” It’s exactly what I need to hear. I smile. “I’ll text you a little later to let you know what’s up, okay?”
“You’d better. I need to know exactly when I need to start moaning about how unfair it is that you’re on a beach and I’m here in gloomy NYC.”
I laugh again and shake my head. “Don’t ever change, okay?”
“I don’t know. That’s a pretty big commitment. A little change is good. It’s what keeps things exciting.”
“And it’s what can make things terrible, too.”
“Positivity, girl,” Sonya reminds me. “You’re on your way to sandy white beaches. No more depressing talk, okay? You’ve been through way worse. Waaay worse. You’ll get through this, too. I know it.”
Sonya’s right. I know she is. I’ve got this in the bag. But first I need a little distance from the house in order to clear my head and get my plans in order.
It’s time for a coffee break.
Jared the barista is at Brooklyn Brewed when I arrive. He smiles and lifts a hand in greeting when I enter, and it isn’t long before I’m front of the line and he’s taking my order.
“Another small latte?” he asks.
“Make it a medium. I think I’m going to be here for a while.” I’ve got to plan out my trip, after all. If my stepfather doesn’t really have a place for me to stay, I’m going to need a backup plan. I’ve got some research to do.
“An order for here, then,” Jared says. As he speaks, his coworker joins him behind the counter. “Do you mind if I join you, or do you want some time alone? I’m about to go on break and it’d be nice to have some company.”
I want to be alone, but I don’t say it to his face. He was so nice to me the other day that I can’t outright deny him. “No, please join me. Some company will do me good, too. How long’s your break?” I ask.
“Fifteen minutes.”
I can spare fifteen minutes. It’s not like I’m expecting Jagger to be back anytime soon.
“Sounds great.” I produce my card to try to pay, but he waves it away.
“Let me get it. I’m invading your table, so the least I could do is buy your drink.”
The smallest smile curls my lips. He’s charming. “Are you sure?”
“I am. Don’t worry about it.” He smiles back. “Take a table. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll make your latte and be right over.”
Jared’s kindness seems like a sign from the universe.
“A cafe latte for…” Jared trails off as he sets the cup in front of me.
“Alexa,” I tell him. “And you’re Jared, right?”
“So my name tag claims,” Jared says. He sits across from me, placing his own latte on the table with a soft clink as porcelain meets wood. For the first time I look him over in detail. He’s tall and skinny with a square jaw and kind blue eyes. His dusty blond hair is well kept. Beneath his Brooklyn Brewed apron he wears a collared shirt and simple slacks. He isn’t much to look at, but he’s well kept and respectable looking.
A nice guy.
“Is that what everyone else claims, too, or are you only Jared while you’re at Brooklyn Brewed?” I grin.
“Nah, I’m Jared in the streets, too.” Jared waggles an eyebrow. “But under the cover of night, my crime fighting secret identity comes out. I’m afraid I can’t let you know exactly who that is.”
“A superhero.” I laugh. “Latte Man.”
“I don’t know. Making lattes seems like a pretty spectacular super power to have. Unless you don’t like coffee.” He lifts his own cup. “But I don’t think that’s a problem for either of us.”
The conversation comes to a natural end. I pick up a new topic. “So, what’s going on in your life that you need some company on your break instead of some peace and quiet?”
“Well, actually…” He looks thoughtful. “I asked if I could join you because I noticed you looked out of sorts. I remember when you came in here the day before, and compared to then, you looked so unhappy today that I thought you might need an ear.”
I’m blown away by how thoughtful he is. “Really?”
“I know what it’s like to feel down and not have anyone to listen,” he tells me. “I’m not asking you to talk, but I want you to know that you have an impartial ear if you need one.”
“Thanks.” I look down into my latte, bashful. “That’s really nice of you.”
“You know, whoever he is, if he makes you look like this, he doesn’t deserve you.”
“You might be right.” I still haven’t decided if that’s true or not. Some distance from the situation with Jagger will help me figure it out.
Jared takes a sip of his latte. He hums thoughtfully. “You live on the old house on the corner, right? The one that’s being remodeled?”
I blink in surprise. After all the spying Jagger’s been doing, I feel a little uneasy. “That’s right.”
“That place has always been… well, maybe I shouldn’t say.”
“No, tell me.”
“Well, it’s always kind of been a bit of a hangover. Out of place. Strange. You only just moved in, didn’t you?”
I nod reluctantly. Something in the back of my mind tenses up, wondering how it is that Jared knows so much. I push the thought down.
“The people who owned it were always really… bizarre. I don’t know if it sold privately, or what happened that it’s landed in your lap, but if I were you, I’d keep an eye open for anything weird. I think there’s a reason that place doesn’t look like anywhere else around here. No one wants to touch it. It’s got bad energy.”
Bad energy? “Like ghosts?”
“I can’t say for sure. It’s just what people say.”
“Then you’ve lived in the area for a long time?” I ask. I’m trying to get to the bottom of how Jared knows so much. If he’s working for Jagger, slipping him information about me, I’m not going to be pleased.
“Yeah. This has always been my home. I’m Brooklyn born and raised.”
I guess that’s a satisfactory answer. If Jared is lying, I don’t hear it in his voice. I study his eyes, looking for a tell, but he gives none.
A haunted house. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I know on a logical level that Jagger has to be behind the strange occurrences, but it’s tempting to believe there’s something more to the place.
“Thanks for the heads up, but it’s okay.” I slide my hands around the cup. “I’m not going to be staying there for too much longer.”
“Oh?” Jared’s lips part in surprise. He’s got a look in his eyes like he’s dying to ask something, but he’s unsure how to ask it. “Are you only visiting? I kind of thought the house was yours now, isn’t that right?”
“It’s complicated.” Like everything else in my life. “I’m going to be spending some time in Florida to clear my head.”
“And then coming back, I imagine?”
“I don’t know.” I purse my lips. It’s hard to admit that I might be giving up on New York, and even harder to admit that I might be giving up on Jagger. We’ve only been together a few months, but I’m drawn to him. It’s as though he’s taken a part of my soul to keep with him. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel whole again.
This is different from my split with my last boyfriend, Stefan. It hurts more deeply, aching so far down inside of me that I’m not sure I can ever work the pain out.
“Florida’s a nice place.” Jared smiles. “I’ve been to visit once or twice. It’s relaxing. If you’re looking for an escape, you’ll find it there.”
“I am.”
Hesitation plays across Jared’s face again. “You know, I’m due for a break. It’s kind of crazy, but why don’t we head down together? I could show you around, we could keep each other company, and you won’t have to worry so much about traveling alone or fending off creepy guys who hit on you.”
Is he for real? We’re strangers. All that binds us is a few smiles, a polite conversation about coffee, and this moment.
But I remember Jagger’s story and its message about taking chances. Maybe happiness is only possible through chance.
My flight is booked. I wound up getting routed through Atlanta to get a flight soon and save some money. A hasty and confused call to my stepfather notified him that I’m flying into town.
I have a backup plan ready in case he flakes on me and stands me up at the airport. My possessions are packed up again, most of them anyway. This time they all fit into one case and a backpack that are on the polished wood floor by the door.
I’ve got Jared’s number in my phone and he’s been sending me pictures of the beaches he’s visited and the things he’s done. When my phone buzzes, I pull it out thinking it’s Jared with another picture.
It’s Jagger.
The bottom of my stomach drops out. I realize that I’m not nervous. I’m hopeful. My heart wants nothing more than to hear that he’s landed in LaGuardia and that he’ll be home in the next hour or two. I’ll drop my plans, though maybe not without some resistance, but then we’ll talk through our relationship troubles and fix everything that’s strained between us.
That I won’t be making the flight down to Florida at all.
I answer the phone with that hope clutched tightly to my heart. “Hello Jagger.”
“It’s not three in the morning this time,” he jokes. “And this time I have good news.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll be home—” Yes! “—at the end of next week.”
The excitement grows bitter. It’s the last straw. I can’t take this anymore. I take a moment.
“I won’t be here.” I tell him.
“Where will you be?”
“I can’t do this anymore, Jagger. I can’t. I thought that I could get over it, but it’s too much.” I steel myself, feeding off the bitterness inside. I won’t let him hear how upset I am. “I’m going to Florida.”
“Don’t go.” It’s a command rather than a plea. “Think this over until I come back.”
I won’t. I don’t mistake the tone of his voice. He’s demanding I bend to his will. He thinks he owns me, that I’m his live-in sex toy he can fuck then chuck when he feels like jetting off somewhere.
I won’t let him own me anymore. I’m worth more than that.
“Goodbye, Jagger,” I say. Then I do something I’ve never done before.
I hang up on him.
Before I can turn off my phone, he’s already calling me back. The phone shuts down at last. I squeeze my eyes shut. It feels like I’ve just severed off a limb and I’m bleeding out. Saying goodbye isn’t supposed to hurt this badly. It shouldn’t hurt at all.
Why do I care for him so damn much?