Wednesday lethargically passed without word from Emma about Elliott’s funeral. Thursday arrived following a sleepless night spent staring at the bleakness beyond my window, too aware of what existed ten blocks away. It was a horrible day, the type of horrible spent conflicted between reality and a dream. I was going bonkers, my heart and lungs stopping with each chime of the front door or whenever Matt approached to help with a customer; the evil piece inside of me, the one betraying my heart, wished it would have been someone who could provide answers.
Walking home from work on Thursday evening, I thought about awareness. For whatever reason, Julian’s words chronically infiltrated my mind. I realized just how vulnerable I was, wandering the same path I always had between work and my apartment.
It was February, just a month away from spring, and my feet still struggled through mounds of freshly packed snow that lined the sidewalks. It was deceptively peaceful, an image from a postcard beckoning tourists and romantics. Well, screw romance. Suddenly, everything filled me with annoyance or anger. I no longer appreciated the way shop awnings sunk with heavy snow, the muffled sound of hectic traffic, or even the thought of a thaw. I didn’t want to be in Boston when the snow melted, when the tourists came, or when the blossoms popped. My city became a prison, caging me in a world unknown to me with secrets and omissions that restricted my movements like a marionette.
While I scaled the slippery stairs toward my unit, greeted by the once-comforting smell of curry, perfume, and Jack’s cloud of intoxicant, I found it more difficult to desire returning. I didn’t want to smell that place, not even the lavender incense another neighbor burned or the strawberry hookah smoke from the unit below. Someone was making a pie, tearing my thoughts to the most horrifically and intoxicatingly tragic smell I could no longer handle. Nutmeg. With my key in the door, refusing to turn the knob, I decided to tell Mr. Stevens that I wouldn’t renew my lease. I needed to leave more than my apartment. I needed to leave Boston. I didn’t even care about the shop anymore. Whatever money Elliott made us owe the Molloys was a wash. Emma could handle it. I was officially wiping my hands of a past I actually knew and remembered.
Hardly anything in the apartment was mine anymore. I’d made the commitment to leave the night I went to stay at the coffee shop, accepting that nothing mattered anymore, but I became even more detached from the space once my other landlords had it redecorated.
Finally showered and in my pajamas, I took a duffel bag from a shelf in my closet and knelt on the floor, staring at my shoes. I didn’t want them. None of them. My gaze wandered upward to the sprinkling of clothes. I don’t want those either. This will be an easy move. I adjusted to sit on my bottom, my eyes fatefully staring at the small jewelry box next to my shelf of shoes. The smallest item I owned carried the most weight. Heavy, so incredibly heavy. Lifting the lid with one hand, my fingers already beginning to shake, I pulled out the diamond necklace. The black and white stones burned against my palm, both anchoring my heart with a familiar flutter of hope and betrayal. I rested against the wall behind me while my fingertips trailed the diamonds, pressing the burn deeper into my skin in a pathetic effort to hold on to something artificial. I left. He lied. Didn’t he? I can’t keep this. Why should I expect him to have come to me? I left. Remember? I chose to leave. I left him before the sun rose, lying on the couch in my suite. I left. He didn’t leave me. He never left me. He found me; he did as he said he promised he would do. And I left him. I didn’t know what to believe other than Julian was a dangerous man. I had to return it. I couldn’t hold onto something in which I couldn’t believe, anchored, no matter where I roamed, to something so utterly impossible. Right? What could have been? I don’t think so. How do you fix a fairytale broken by omission? Maybe you don’t.
It had been five days with no contact from him. What was I expecting? Something a little more than nothing, considering he kept me with him for so long. I remember what Liam once said, when pieces began falling after the explosion, about how Julian wouldn’t find me because I needed space. Had he gifted me time to process? Had he already known me so well? I worried when he felt my time passed, so would I.
Just holding the necklace weakened me, imagining him holding me in my bathroom, carrying me after the explosion, rushing home to comfort me or threatening to kill for me. I needed to solve the mystery on my own, without influence by multiple mobs. This is ridiculous. I slowly stood, my bones cracking like twigs with the weight of my heartache, and left my closet with my empty duffel bag and Julian’s necklace. I didn’t have many supplies, but somewhere in there was an envelope and stamp that I could address to Mr. Julian Molloy, sending the necklace along with my hope back to its original host.
Five days of absence, his void spanning deeper than I imagined, and all I had to show for it was a small white envelope containing an exorbitantly expensive pair of diamonds welded together for eternity. I tapped the envelope in my hand, listening to the jewels and their binding chain clink within the sealed paper, while staring at my feet. I needed a pedicure and, considering I was in my pajamas, the special postal delivery project would need to wait until morning. I placed the envelope on my kitchen table, climbing into bed with the local news on in the background, willing morning to come quickly so my errand would be accomplished and I could begin the hunt for a way out of Boston.
“It’s looking to be another chilly weekend here in Boston,” the news anchor mumbled in the background. “Annie is on the scene with more. Annie?” I don’t know why, but hearing her squealing tone piqued my interest. I had to see a face to put with Annie’s horrendous voice, squeaking about something while she stood outside of the State House. The last time I saw that building was when Elliott stopped me on the corner…Elliott. I peered over the covers, squinting at Annie and her platinum bob that refused to move with her expressive emotions while reporting.
“Sources are saying that things will soon change…the likelihood of running is certainly high…if he is not challenged, sources disclose to me that it could mean a new age of power for the political dynasty.” I hate politics. Annie’s hair irked me, truly frustrating me at society’s unattainable demands on women, so I reached for the remote to switch channels. Grumbling with frustration as it eluded me, hiding somewhere in the bowels of my bed, despite me having just had it, I started to climb toward the television when his voice ceased all movement and functioning of my body. Even my heart.
“It’s a privilege to represent the people of this amazing city, our amazing city. How I do that, whether running is in my future or if I can continue my dedicated philanthropic ventures, isn’t something I can say right now. I fancy the best things are left to be discovered until the very end…” I couldn’t listen to the rest of the pre-recorded snippet of Julian, his voice purring into the air around me. So much for willing morning to come quickly. My eyes were everywhere, scanning his face, the darkness beneath his eyes, the faded sparkle in those beautiful blue circles. He looked horrible. Delectably horrible. I despised how perfect he appeared, even when I could tell he had been slowly eaten alive from the inside. His smile barely left his lips, but the anchor, and precious Annie, ate it up. And so did I. Sleep. Now. Please. Lord. Sleep.
***
My head rolled to the left, facing him in my body’s newfound instant reaction to the sound of his voice. He sat against the uncomfortably hard chair, scratching his head while I listened to him.
“Why are you telling me all of this? I’m a stranger to you, Julian.”
His hand fell to his lap, his eyes quick to hold mine. “Because, Aideen, I’m actually someone when with you. Even contained in the suffocating walls of this room, I’m someone beyond my destiny, and it’s because of you. Around you, with you, I can be me. I can be myself.” He nervously pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, my eyes catching on the ink decorating his muscular forearm. It was a beautiful distraction, allowing a momentary lapse while my brain processed what he told me.
“You’re religious?” My eyes were fixed on the Celtic cross burned into his skin. It was soft, almost a gentle documentation of his faith. He chuckled beneath his hands as they pulled along his face before slapping against his knees.
“No,” the scoffing laughter continued, “I’m not. My family is. I’m not. I don’t think I can be anymore.”
“Because you’ve…k-killed someone.” I nodded, accepting the truth of a life he disclosed. It should have frightened me, leaving me terrified and pounding against the nurse call button on my bed. Instead, it was dangerously exhilarating.
“Yes.” His eyes narrowed in reflection of my words, glancing down before he continued. “Not just one, though, babby. Four people. Four guilty, dangerous people who tried to kill me. I don’t just do this to do it or to honor my last name. I don’t even want this. Jesus, if I could have a life…a normal, happy, calm life…I’d die for it.”
“Julian,” I groaned while I struggled to sit. He shot up before I finished whispering his name, at my side to support my weight while I wiggled from the elevated back of my uncomfortable hospital mattress. I could only focus on the sensation of his hands, heating my skin with the deliciously soft burn of his warm skin.
“Are you okay?” Julian’s voice was urgent. His hands cupped my face once I returned to sitting, his eyes scanning mine for assurance. I loved when he did that. I loved when he held my face, looking and considering only me in just that moment.
“Right now or with all of what you’ve told me?” I smiled, receiving his debilitating grin and laughter in response. I wished I could tell him how cute he looked in that sweatshirt. I was sure he never let his beard grow as scruffy as it had while visiting me in the hospital. The way he would scratch his throat and jaw whenever he wasn’t speaking gave away how uncommon it was to let his appearance take a backseat to his world. It was hard to believe Julian was part of a treacherous lifestyle responsible for managing one of Boston’s most surreptitious mysteries of the underworld. He leaned forward, the soft chuckle still rumbling in his throat, and pressed his lips to my forehead.
“Everything.”
I sighed, actually thinking before responding for once in my life. “Anything that has made you who you are is something to respect, Julian. Your life until this moment has nothing to do with me. I have no control over it. Just like you can’t judge where I have been before this. Do you know what I mean?”
“That’s,” his relieved laughter softly echoed around the small hospital room, warming its sterile walls, “incredibly understanding and considerate, Aideen. I think, though, that my life has everything to do with you. It brought us here, together.”
“Then I suppose I respect it even more,” I considered, blushing beneath his smoldering stare. “I’ll just pretend it isn’t real. That’s fine too, right? Ignorance is bliss, or whatever.” I felt the familiar burn at the base of my skull, threatening a headache with its tingling fingertips beginning to span along my skin and consume my mind.
“Well, that’s fine in some cases, but with this…we need to talk about Malcolm…hey, Aideen? Babby, what’s wrong?” His hands combed through my hair, the tips of his fingers coursing against my temples while they pressed around my head. The pressure from his hold relieved the pain almost instantly, subduing the horrendous experience threatened by my brain as though only Julian had that power.
I closed my eyes, taking in the delightful liberation his fingers brought to just my head, imagining what else they could provide for the rest of my heart, my body, and my soul. When I finally opened my eyes, they were fixed again on the cross tattoo along his forearm, tracing each curving line while his fingertips eased my pain.
“I wouldn’t have assumed you had so many tattoos,” I whispered, my voice cracking.
“I don’t have so many.” His response was quiet. “Just the cross, the tallies, and my mother’s initial. My body is slowly meant to pay homage to a life I haven’t chosen.”
“It’s really sweet of you,” my hands wrapped around his forearms, slowly pulling his hands away from me, “to have the one for your mom, though. I’m sure you often think of her. I imagine that would make any mother incredibly happy.”
Julian’s hands rested against my neck, continuing to knead my strained muscles into a puddle of blissful mush. I melted under his stare; the cool, brilliant blue reflecting my gaze opened locked chambers of my sealed heart.
“I would only do that for someone I love.” His forehead rested against mine, the sweet mix of coffee and mint on his breath fanning the air between us. “Someone who has changed me. A daily reminder of how lucky I am to have held that love for however brief or long.” I could barely swallow, the husky rumble of his voice vibrating through my walls and shattering damaged pieces of my foundation. He hadn’t told me anything warranting my destruction, but Julian’s voice alone was enough to undo me, and it felt amazing.
“I’m going to do it for you,” he murmured, kissing my forehead once more, his lips softly lingering against my clammy skin. “My sweet A. My only love.” Love. He stepped away from the mattress, pulling his vibrating phone from the pocket of his sweatpants. He loves me. A shiver scoured my skin, reminding me of the vulnerability beneath my thin hospital gown and robe, simply thinking of his words, his actions, and the smooth fluidity by which he existed. Julian turned from me briefly, whispering with his phone pressed to his ear while his left hand scratched his cropped brown hair. His backside looks ridiculous in those sweats. He loves me. He is dangerous. I really don’t care. I don’t. I couldn’t care. I didn’t care. I wouldn’t.
I slid from the mattress, hoping to be silent and not distract his phone call. I was officially off the wires and IVs, which made my rigid movements significantly easier. I reached out for Julian, my hands trembling with weakness, as he spun around. His face changed, morphing with lines of frustration and anger, but the way he gnawed against his left thumb, something that would have disgusted me by any other human, made me want to do anything to be that finger. He spoke into the phone hastily, ceasing the conversation and dropping it against the chair next to my bed.
“You’re incredibly stubborn.” His growl was a whisper, hushed beneath his sighing breath. “Get back in bed.”
“Nope,” I argued. “I need to tell you something.”
Julian’s hands slowly dropped to my hips, delicately pressing his fingers into my skin. Through the paper-thin layers of my gown and robe, I felt only the heat and passion that seared through his fingers.
“Oh?”
I nodded, unable to resist the smile spreading along my face. “You can get your tattoo.”
Julian’s eyes flicked between mine as he slowly moved me back to the edge of my bed, his tongue probing between his perfect pout.
“It’s only been two months, babby, but,” his breathing increased, heavy breaths passing through his muscular chest, “there is nothing I want more in this world than you.”
***
Perhaps spending the evening holding the diamond necklace wasn’t the most conducive to my slumber. My latest dream was so real, entirely legitimate and haunting. Haunted. That’s how I felt. I was consumed by an influx of guilt from broken images within my mind. The awareness, the mere feeling of comfort brought to me when I woke, was too real. There is nothing more than me.
I burned my mind into blankness in the shower that morning, hoping to start my Friday without a headache and, hopefully, with less heartache. I still had to return the necklace. I couldn’t remember anything, even in the unlikely chance Julian spoke the truth, that my dreams weren’t fictional snapshots derived from my own soul’s desperate wishful thinking. Wishful. So you do want him. You do. I do. But…I need to go to work. It had to be seeing him on the news before I finally fell asleep. It felt too fresh, though, like the moment in my dream was imprinted upon my soul while I slept. Work. Go to work, mail the necklace, start the plan to leave. Right?
It didn’t take me long to get ready for work, although I was accompanied by the heavy pang of guilt. My heart repeatedly traveled back into the world of my dream, sending my soul into a state of serene panic. I paid no attention to the piles of snow that my boots trudged through or the fact I was covered in an arctic mess upon arriving to work. I hadn’t a clue how I even got there—my mind was so focused on the intricate details of my dream, clinging to it pathetically with desperation. It was a feeling without name, a sensation that anchored me weightlessly to a thought, to an experience that wasn’t real. But was it?
“Hi!” Matt beamed upon entering the shop, stuffing his knit cap into the pocket of his parka before placing it on a hook. “I can’t wait until this crap melts.”
I watched Matt wipe sparkling flakes from his knees and shins, groaning in response to the snow. “It’s always pretty at first,” I said, standing near the small fridge beneath the espresso bar, “but by the seventh nor’easter, we’re all wishing we were in California or somewhere else. Yet here we are.”
“Right? Maybe I’ll go there and never come back. You can come with me, Aideen. We could open up a coffee shop there,” he teased, stepping toward the register to begin the morning preparation. “Think of the possibilities.” It’s now or never. I approached Matt, hesitant to disclose the entirety of my thoughts behind leaving.
“Speaking of possibilities, Matt, I need to talk to you about something. Emma should be back after the weekend, and…I’ve had some things happen in my world that need to be handled…I’m not sure how to say this, I guess…I’m…” He smiled at me, holding his finger in the air while a customer approached. Biting the inside of my cheek, I patiently waited for Matt to finish speaking with the businessman, who only ever ordered boring, dark roast coffee with a side of his grumpy-ass attitude. When he stepped away with his disposable cup, not having left a gratuity, Matt returned to my attention with his arms crossed.
“What’s up?”
I tossed my hands in the air, prepared to just let it go. “I’m leaving Boston. I sort of have to go. I’m really sorry. Don’t worry about your job. Emma’s keeping the shop. I just need to. I can’t really explain it.”
“Hey.” His arms fell while he stepped toward me, handing me a napkin from the counter. “Here. You’re crying, Aideen. It’s not my business, and I’m going to miss the fucking hell out of you, but you have to do what’s best for you.” Why isn’t he my age and available? He’s so sweet. He doesn’t have a gun. He doesn’t play games. He’s relaxed. My friendly hipster. Not that it was a question, but I knew Matt, or anyone else, wasn’t for whom my heart ached. Ugh. With a nod, he simply acknowledged my epic decision and returned to work while customers trickled in for the morning rush.
After about an hour of the busy influx, many of whom graciously tipped our newest employee for his kindness and efficiency, I contemplated whether or not to even finish the morning.
“Two more.” Matt nudged my arm, handing me two large paper cups with his sloppy writing along the side. “I didn’t see this one on the menu but figured you’d know how to make it. Is that okay? Should I not have said—” I took the cup in question, spinning it in my palm to read exactly what he wrote.
“Who ordered this?” My heart bubbled, a burning tickle that wiggled through my ribs and onto my skin.
He shrugged, his lips turning into a pout. “Some old lady.” Oh.
“Oh.” The word left my lips with a disappointed tremble. “It’s just espresso, milk, and honey. I took it off the menu. It’s fine. You can let people order them. It’s…it’s easy to prepare. I’ll just…yeah…I’ll get it.”
I don’t know what I expected, my heart filling with a nervous excitement that radiated with guilt. Had I seriously thought Julian would come in? After a week of not hearing from him, knowing I’d left him exposed and raw, as he made me, I couldn’t have expected him to come to me by then. That’s half the reason I was returning the necklace that burned a hole straight through the pocket of my jeans and into my bones. It was a cruel joke from the universe to stand at the espresso machine and pour honey into the bottom of a customer’s cup. I lost focus while creating the sweet spirals, certainly adding too much to the cup and not caring. Stupid universe. I snapped from my stupor, placed the latte on the counter, and let Matt know it was finished.
“She went to the window,” he uttered, reaching for the cup. “I’ll take it over there.”
I spun around once Matt stepped away, quick to wipe the frothy milk from the steam wand. I wiped mindlessly in a slow, lethargic rhythm while my mind drifted back to its home from the prior night. The rag fell and I followed it, kneeling beneath the counter and taking momentary solace in hiding while Julian’s words rang in my mind. There’s nothing more in this world I want than you. Matt’s voice chimed in, splitting Julian’s words.
“She was very much appreciative.” He chuckled. “I think she might have also hit on me. I already have a grandma, though, so…not really sure what her angle is.”
“Huh?” I looked up from the floor, partially consumed by the thought of Julian.
“The old lady who ordered the honey latte.” His thumb pointed behind him as he leaned against the counter. “She…never mind. Are you all right?” No. I’m not. I’m actually really not. Rising to my feet, I shook my head in response.
“I need to do something.” I dropped the rag against the counter. “I’ll be back in an hour. You’ll be okay?”
“Uh,” he glanced around the shop, his cheeks reddening, “no, but you’re the boss.”
I skipped toward the backroom, my feet jubilant with need as I collected my coat and returned to the bar.
“You’ll be fine, Matt. I promise. Don’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with, and stick to the menu. I’ll be back in an hour. I promise. Thank you,” I stood on my tip-toes while zipping the length of my parka, pecking his cheek. “You’re the best. I owe you.”
His hand rubbed the mark on his cheek, nodding in acceptance that I wasn’t planning on sticking around. I wiggled around him, jogging through the tables of customers to reach the front door, sliced by frozen wind as I stepped onto the crisp sidewalk. It was only a few blocks, but my heart pounded furiously.