The loud banging echoes down the stairwell.
I assumed it was Mr. & Mrs. Hannigan’s lovemaking again, but am mistakenly wrong as the noise is coming from our apartment.
Jiggling my keys in the door, I open it with a struggle—balancing my purse, mail, and dragging along my suitcase, my arms like dead weight from the heavy load.
The first thing I see is Flynn, relaxed in his ripped black jeans and favorite Futurama shirt—sitting behind a drumkit. The drums are shiny red and black, almost identical to the pictures he has pinned near his headboard. They’re an eyesore in our small and very compact living room.
“Check it out, Milly!”
He plays a beat; banging the sticks against the drum, adopting a wide grin. I recognize the beat; a Linkin Park song that was his favorite in middle school.
My suitcase sits by the door, and with a bout of tiredness hitting me, I plonk myself on the couch, hugging a pillow, and listen to the rest of the song.
It was good to be home, or—whatever this place was. Familiar in a weird yet comforting way. It’s funny how the things that once annoyed us become a normality. Such as the damp smell coming from the bathroom, and the aromas of curry that seeped through the small cracks in the window. The brown walls—once a depressing backdrop—relax my state of anxiousness. I was glad to see Flynn. I missed him, despite his moody ways.
“Wow, bro. Nice kit. Looks expensive.”
“Yeah, it was a gift.”
“Who on Earth would have bought you such an extravagant gift…?”
Flynn’s face gave it away. I sigh, caught between Flynn being happy and Wesley’s erratic behavior. Granted, he had money and easily flaunted it. I was just not used to such extravagance. But this wasn’t my battle. In ways, Wesley knew not to throw lavish gifts at me. I think he learned how difficult I could be when he sent me to the store to purchase that dress for his mother’s event.
“Are you mad?”
“It’s not for me to be mad. I guess, you’re friends or something. I’m tired…I think I’m just going to head to bed.”
“Cool. By the way, Mom asked if you could call her. When you had time.”
I wanted to tell Flynn about the voicemail Mom left me. But watching him—in his essence and in such a good headspace—I just couldn’t do it. I needed to understand what it meant, speak to the nurses and get their opinion on the matter. After my panic attack and Wesley’s brief visit, our two days were jam-packed with work, not allowing me a single moment to think of anything else. In ways, I welcomed the distraction but knew that I had to get to the bottom of this. Mom only had me, and without me taking care of her—there would be no one else.
I decided to call her as soon as I got into my room. Best to talk before I got distracted by something. Upon opening my door, the scent of floral mixed with green nature-type smells—hits my senses. The room is covered in bouquets. I quietly count the number, twenty to be exact. It was a mixture of roses, all in different colors, though oddly—not red. It was like a beautiful rainbow sprinkled all over my room.
I move closer, to the one next to my beside table, and read the card inside it.
I hold the card close to my heart, bringing a smile to my face. My thoughts on his lavish gifts were afterthoughts now. This made me happy, I cannot deny that. Underneath it all lay a sweet, and beautiful man.
A man that belonged to me, and a man that loved me in return.
I automatically dial his number; my breath hitched as I wait excitedly to hear his voice on the other end. The sounds of his hello, velvet soft with a hint of cheekiness—only confirms how much I missed him. With a small struggle, I hold back my girlish giggles.
“They’re beautiful, every single bunch.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, Rich. So, question. Why no red?”
“I hate red roses. My mother loves them. Speaking of which, if you’re done processing. Please join me for dinner tonight. Mother is turning the big six-oh and making her closest acquaintances join her.”
“You’re not an acquaintance,” I scold him, gently. “I’m sure she wants her family there. Her one and only son.”
“I have a sister, you know. She lives in…I think somewhere in the Midwest.”
Another piece of information that he chose to withhold like it wasn’t important. Family—is always important.
“What do you mean you have a sister and she lives somewhere in the Midwest? How do you not know this information?”
“Because I don’t care.”
“Wesley, stop…okay, so dinner. How formal are we talking? I’m really tired and jetlagged.”
“Open your closet and see for yourself.”
I jump up with a sudden burst of energy, opening the closet to a long black dress hanging inside. It’s gorgeous; formal yet sexy at the same time. Draping neckline—maybe too low—and a sheer skirt that trained along the ground.
“I’ll pick you up at six?”
“Sure, but I’m warning you, I may fall asleep and never wake up again.”
Wesley laughs, telling me to grab some coffee because I won’t get any sleep tonight at his place. He missed me, and gave me a long list of demands in the bedroom, all of which I agreed to with enthusiasm.
“Oh, before you go, I have some good news. Well, semi good news.”
“Does it involve you shaving your beard that could house a swarm of bees?”
“You’re not a fan of my beard?” he questions, lightheartedly, “I was going for the Hagrid look. A few more weeks and I think I’ll get there.”
“No.” I grin, half believing him. “You are not growing that beard. It’s like me growing a full bush.”
“What if I told you I like full bushes?”
“Then I would tell you you’re a freak and maybe need to find yourself some old European lady because that ain’t never happening with me.”
“Fine.” I could hear him smiling over the phone. “So the news…”
“Yes, your exciting news?”
“Charlie has worked her magic. It look’s like we’ll be able to sue the company that stole our designs. In fact, the publicity will be good.”
“Oh wow! That is good news. Emerson hadn’t mentioned anything.”
I couldn’t blame her. The last week had been crazy and my drama only added to that craziness.
“Still early days but it’s something,” he says, happily. “Okay, you need to get your ass ready because I’m coming for you soon.”
I giggle, quick to point out the obvious. “I’m not into anal but glad to know you’re coming regardless.”
“Ha, ha,” he mocks, “I’m saying goodbye now.”
As I hang up the phone, admiring the black dress, I battle my fatigue and power through, grabbing myself a double-shot coffee from the kitchen to keep me awake.
Not wanting to miss another opportunity, I call Mom’s cell. Ring, after ring—
unanswered. My heart sinks again, and with the time being a late Saturday afternoon, I try the main office. Delia—the receptionist—informs me that it’s only her and the nurses were busy.
Following my disappointment, I head to the bathroom to get ready for tonight, glad that my periods were over after two short days though the cramps, annoying as usual, lingered. It didn’t matter—I would spend tonight with Wesley. He had become my safety blanket, and tonight—would be all about us.
This was the second time we had visited his mother’s home and the drive in still intimidated me. The wealth that sat in real estate—astounded me. A few weeks back, I had read that these homes were worth millions of dollars. Granted, they were beautiful and nothing like the small shack we called our home back in Alaska. It was a different world up here in the Hills.
Wesley spent most of the limo ride teasing me with some notably missed foreplay. I didn’t object; grabbing his crotch several times and even suggesting a pit stop. I was quite surprised when he gave me a lecture on patience, given he was the most impatient person in the world.
The car pulls into the property, driving towards the well-lit home. Gina stands at the door, waving hello in a posh white suit with her breasts protruding. They had to be Ds…or Fs, and of course—they were fake.
As we exit the car, Wesley pulls out a drag with a grunt of a hello. I didn’t understand. He said we had to come here yet seem uninterested. Almost as if the sight of his mother repulsed him.
“Wesley, darling. You came.”
He scrapes his hair back, curling his fingers, irritated. “I said I would.”
“And you brought your girlfriend.” Her smile fades, picking up again, obviously forced. “Milana, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I respond, uneasily.
“Of course. Well, I guess it’s nice to see you. Wesley didn’t mention you coming.”
“She’s my fucking girlfriend, of course she’s coming, Mother.”
In the space of ten minutes, Wesley’s attitude had done a complete one-eighty. I place my hand on his arm, willingly calming his nervous anger. “Wesley, please.”
With nothing but her usual plastic smile, she ushers us into the house ignoring his rude response, making us join her in their formal living room for drinks.
There’s a few couples inside; none that willingly came over to say hello therefore I stuck to our side and pretended to be interested in the artwork. Gina beckons the maid to pour us a drink.
“Bourbon,” Wesley demands the same time I say, “Anything.”
The maid serves our drinks, bringing them over with a weary expression. Wesley downs it all in one go, rudely demanding another. I’m not sure why I follow suit, regretting the burns that etch as I swallow. Wincing, I politely ask for another. Something told me to prepare myself for a long, and drama-filled—night.
Not wanting to forget, I reach out a small box—a gift that Wesley chose for his mom. “From us. Happy Birthday.”
Gina thanks us, aloof and without a gracious expression, accepting the gift and opening it. When she sees the diamonds staring back at her, her face completely changes.
Excitement, and dancing eyes accompany her wide smile. I think back to what Emerson told me, agreeing with her opinion on Gina’s money-hungry persona.
“Oh Wesley, darling. They’re gorgeous. They match the necklace you gave me at Christmas.”
He smiles, deviously. After she kisses his cheek, thanking him, she excuses herself to attend to other guests.
“They’re beautiful earrings. You have nice taste.”
He laughs. “I don’t have nice taste…her best friend does.”
“What does that mean? Her best friend bought them?”
“No, I stole them from her.”
I drop his hand, pulse racing as my anger climbs. “What do you mean you stole them from her?”
“It’s just this game we play. The sons, we steal our mother’s shit and re-gift it. They never know, of course, because they’re spoiled wives with their hoards of diamonds.”
His hands wrap around my waist, pulling me into him and smothering me with his scent. My body stiffens; his usual charming ways aren’t working like they usually do. Perhaps, subconsciously, my view of him is tarnished at this moment. His mother, despite her greedy ways—is still his mother. I’m sure, beneath the plastic, she had feelings and a heart.
“That’s awful,” I tell him. “And not remotely amusing.”
“Oh stop, don’t fucking ruin my night, okay?”
Wesley removes his hands from my waist, playing with his collar that seemed to be irritating him. I’m surprised he wore a suit, though he drew the line at wearing a tie—his chest exposed slightly beneath his navy jacket.
He sorts his itch out, grabbing my hand again—twitchy and unsettled.
Carson enters the living room, making a grand entrance. Shaking the hands of the men, and kissing the cheeks of the wives. The creep made my skin crawl. Moments later, he is beside us, giving Wesley a strong man-shake and forcing me into a hug, lingering way too long.
“Milana, I’m glad you could join us tonight. We didn’t get much of an opportunity to chat last time, but I’m hoping tonight is the night we can get to know each other.”
I loathed him. Slicked-back hair and a sleazy grin. I prayed that Wesley noticed, but he seemed preoccupied with his cell, much to my annoyance.
“Thank you for having us, Carson. Once again, your home is lovely.”
I ignore his lingering gaze on my breasts, wishing I hadn’t worn such a provocative dress and forgetting about the last time I was here. He made me uncomfortable, and I contemplated telling Wesley but feared his reaction.
We make our way to the dining room and sit at the table. I was squashed between a man that had awful breath and a woman whose perfume smelled like toilet freshener. Wesley—is sitting across me, though barely making any eye contact. Again, on his cell, rudely typing and ignoring everyone at the table.
Gina, however—loved attention. That much was evident. She told stories, supposedly humorous, but firing a maid because she wore the wrong color didn’t seem funny to me.
She talked about her charities and random stories of women at her tennis club. Carson often interjected, laughed and kept the conversation flowing. Gina loved to talk about herself, rarely asking questions about anyone else, so I just sat and ate quietly—smiling often to show I cared. It was nothing like dinner with my family. The way they spoke to each other was cold and informal.
Somewhere in between the main course and dessert, Wesley lifts his head away from his cell and shifts his gaze onto mine. Something didn’t seem right. Aside from his fidgeting, rolling up his sleeves, only to roll them down again moments later. He’s clearing his throat often, wanting my attention yet when I turn his way—he quickly focuses back onto his cell.
Narrowing my eyes and tightening my grip on my fork, I divert my attention back to the conversation, until I realize it was about diamonds and of no interest to me.
Before dessert is served, I excuse myself to the restroom, needing a moment alone to curb my anger towards Wesley and to text Mom. Tonight reiterated how much I loved my family, and was grateful for how she raised us in a house full of love.
Mom, I love you, and everything you’ve done for our family. I promise I will come home and visit, just like you said. Call you tomorrow xxx
I waited a few minutes for a response but nothing, giving up and exiting the bathroom after washing my hands. I walk down the corridor, running into a maid and almost knocking over a pile of towels. Apologizing for my clumsy behavior, I take a sharp left, staring at the wrong door. Far out—this house was massive.
“Um, excuse me, Maid,” I yell out, pathetically.
“Lost, are we?”
Carson is standing behind me, too close for my comfort. My muscles begin to tense, the paranoia of his presence making me jumpy. Aside from his obvious age—a man that could be my father—he had that seedy look. He wore a kravat like they did in black and white movies, and he stunk of old-man cologne.
“Yes, I was. If you could lead me in the right direction because I’m sure Wesley will come looking for me.”
“I don’t think he will, see he’s busy…with Gina. Outside by the pool. So I guess it’s just you and me.” He grins, licking his bottom lip.
Slowly, he runs his hand along my arm—my heart spiking from fear and disgust.
“Stop touching me,” I seethe, pulling my arm away as he latches on tighter. “I said NO!”
He ignores my pleas, pulling me into him and tightening his grip around my waist. I struggle to ease my way out, the panic hitting hard and fast. The room spins, the sounds amplified, and somewhere during his forbidden act, he slides his hands up the side of my thighs and towards my ass, moaning into my face.
“I love fucking Wesley’s little sluts…you think you’re the first? No, sweetheart, but definitely the most innocent.”
My screams are trapped, my tears falling as I begin the same disillusioned blackout as the plane. But something, unknown, kicks in and when I pretend to grab his crotch for pleasure, I squeeze it tight and punch it, causing him to wince in pain.
When he topples over cursing at me, I run, out of the room and panicked. There’s several doors but I find my way outside the front, out of breath, face drenched in tears.
There is no Wesley, just the driver. I want to find him, tell him to save me but I feared Carson. Terrified that my panic would cripple me and he would have his way with me.
Wesley appears out of nowhere, frantically looking for me. “What’s wrong?”
“I want to go, now.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you crying?”
“Take me home,” I cry, shaking.
I run to the car, ignoring the house and the monsters inside. Wesley hovers by the door, leaving it open which only fuels my anxiety.
“I’ll tell them we’re leaving.”
My neck twists; chin trembling, distressed. “Do it, and I’m gone.”
“You’re gone? Would you just make fucking sense?”
“Take me home,” I beg.
“We’re going, okay?” he utters, rolling his eyes with annoyance.
We sat in the car in silence; Wesley staring out the window in a distant gaze. I held back the rest of my tears, reliving what happened with Carson.
Every woman feared being raped, but when the reality was so close, perspective changes. Where was Wesley to protect me? This was his family—I would forever be bound to them if our relationship progressed. I didn’t think I could do this. All the pain, the hardship—love wasn’t getting me through it. It was only making it harder to climb out.
And Wesley—he hadn’t said one word to me in the car.
He didn’t care that he found me upset, or that I wanted to so desperately get away.
My phone buzzes in my purse, momentarily distracting me. I pull it out, and see that Mom has responded to my text.
It’ll be nice to have you home. Liam misses you xx
I shake my head in confusion at the mention of his name. Liam seemed like a lifetime ago yet safe, comforting—all the things that Wesley wasn’t giving me. He continued to sit across the other side, this gap between us seeming impossible to bridge.
Knocking on the glass window, it slides down and the driver leans his ear to listen. “Sir, can you please take me home?”
The driver looks at Wesley through the rear-view mirror, awaiting a response. Wesley continues his code of silence, and thankfully—the driver follows my instructions.
We drive down my street, it’s relatively early and the neighbors are out doing their usual Saturday night bickering on the sidewalk. When the driver parks the car, many turn to watch, and more notably—one has a long-lensed camera. Paparazzi at my home. This is all Wesley’s fault.
I half expected him to demand I stay in the car, but he doesn’t. When it’s clear that he has no interest in me and what happened tonight, I exit and slam the door in his face. Ignoring the flash that almost blinds me, my feet move quickly as I enter our building, not looking back at him, not even once.
Inside my apartment, I welcome the silence with Flynn gone to a gig. I sit on the couch, staring at the wall dressed in this ridiculous dress. I’m desperate to rip it off; a constant reminder of Carson’s wandering eyes.
Holding back the deep cries that linger on the surface, I dial Mom’s number praying she’ll pick up this time.
“Milana, is that you?”
“It’s me, Mom. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes, no. Mom, can we talk about something?”
“Of course, honey, hold on for a minute. I’ll come home.”
“What home, Mom? I’m here…in California.”
“California? Why or earth would you be there?”
Stunned by what she tells me, my lips tremble, the bile in my throat rising. “Mom, I moved to California, remember, with Flynn?”
The tears fall down my face, unwillingly—I have no control. I’ve lost her. The pain, a tidal wave of emotions. My sobbing is broken apart by the short pauses; my head falling between my legs to shield my hollowness.
“I know that, silly. How is Flynn?”
“Good,” I choke, breathing in and out to disguise my grief. “Mom, is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. I’m sorry sweetie, it’s late. How about we speak tomorrow?”
“But Mom…” I wail, softly with desperation, “I need to talk to you.”
“I know, honey, but I’m so tired. I promise, first thing when I wake up—we’ll talk, okay?”
She says goodbye so quickly, not giving me a chance to get in another word. I don’t allow another minute to pass, calling the manager at the facility. After getting the run-around, and raising my voice at Deidre—I’m finally put through to the head manager, Mrs. Scullino.
“Miss Milenov, I understand your concern but it’s quite late and I have some last-minute patients I have to attend to. I think it’s best we schedule a phone meeting.”
“This is a phone meeting. I want to know what’s happening with my mom,” I sputter, momentarily beyond words. “She’s not the same. Some of the things she says…I don’t understand why this is happening so quick.”
I could hear the sigh on the other end. “Miss Milenov, you sound tired. I really think it’s best we discuss your mother’s condition when you’re in a more rational state.”
“Don’t…” I cry into the receiver. “Don’t tell me I’m not rational! My mom is sick. I need her…do you understand that?”
“Miss Milenov, if you must know, I’m recommending we do some further testing. Her dementia may be an onset of something else. Given her age, and her regular health has been good, I do have some concerns.”
I can barely breathe; my body like jelly yet shaking from the cold that sweeps into the room. As I begin to hyperventilate, unable to form my words to make any sense, Mrs. Scullino attempts to calm me down.
“I come from a big family, being Italian of course. I understand how much it hurts to find out a loved one is not well,” she says, sedately. “If you can come up and see her in the next few days, we can talk about our next steps.”
Through the pain and heartache, I agree to fly up and spend some much-needed time with Mom. I had to invest all my energy into making her better before she got worse.
We hang up the phone yet I continue to sit here numb. I had never felt so alone. This life I had created was nothing like I expected. I may have been surrounded by people though the loneliness is palpable. Here I was, drowning, barely able to stay afloat, lost in the dark seas and moving further, and further—away from the light.
Desperate to find Flynn and beg him to fly home with me, I grab the note on the fridge with the address he posted. I decide against changing outfits, running out the door in a mad rush and driving in a manic state towards the venue.
Although the club is a few miles away, the traffic didn’t let up at this hour. Red lights, rows, and rows of vehicles, desperate to get somewhere and all just as impatient as I was. The grueling pace gave me too much time to think. I didn’t want to think.
My fingers fumble with the radio, twisting the volume to maximum and allowing the song to blast through the speakers. It’s some love song that irks me. I press another button, welcoming a rap song about fucking someone’s wife…or bitch. I couldn’t quite figure it out.
The club is busy; a line outside of girls dressed in short skirts and hooker heels, waiting while trying to flirt with the security guard.
I don’t hold back, demanding to get in because my brother is part of the band. After an hour of cross-checking, I may have just as well waited in the line.
I move quickly past security, cramming like a sardine amongst the crowd. I search the stage, seeing only the equipment and no Flynn. Bumping my way through the crowds, I finally see Flynn at the back. He’s talking to someone and I yell, though pointless, through the loud noise. He hasn’t noticed me yet and as I walk towards him, my frustration mounts with the tight crowds and hot air inside.
Moving in closer, Wesley appears beside him. Still dressed in his suit from tonight, he leans into Flynn, whispering something into his ear. He extends his hand, Flynn shaking it until he pulls back. Flynn clutches his fist, dropping his gaze with a satisfied smile. My blood begins to spike, and with a brutal push against the people blocking my way, the adrenalin kickstarts—my heart hammering erratically.
“What did you give him?”
Wesley appears surprised to see me; mouth falling open and more notably—his eyes are that familiar bloodshot red.
“Nothing, it’s none of your business anyway.”
“Tell…me… what the fuck you gave him!” I’m reeling with anger, unable to disguise my raging tone.
My head darts back and forth between the two of them—demanding an answer. When neither of them cooperates, my frustration drives me, yanking his hand towards me, opening it up to find a white pill inside his hand.
“What is this?”
“Just leave him alone,” Flynn shrugs off. “It’s nothing bad.”
I seethe, gritting my teeth. “Then tell me what it is?”
“Just takes the edge off.”
“Takes the edge off…You gave my brother drugs? I can’t believe you would do this!” I yell through the noise, pointing my finger directly into Wesley’s face.
“I give you everything of me…everything and this is what you do?” I question, ignoring the people that have stopped around us, watching with annoying curiosity.
“YOU GAVE ME NOTHING!” he shouts back. “I begged you to fix me. Begged for you to make it all go away. Everything I fucking did or do is for you. And all I asked in return was for you to fucking fix me.”
“How can I fix you when I had my own issues? You think I like seeing you hurt, do you think I like living in pain? The world doesn’t revolve around Wesley Rich.”
His wicked laugh escapes his sardonic grin. Behind this beautiful man lay a corrupted soul. He wanted me to fix him, yet he continued to play these heinous games and drag me along like I was a pawn.
“That’s where you’re wrong, baby, the world does revolve around me. And the second you realize that, the happier our lives will be.”
I look at him with disgust, ignoring the hurt that stems from his selfish words.
“Of course it does. You don’t care that I’m hurting every day being away from my mother. You don’t care that I’ve been suffering panic attacks that almost cost me my life. And for the record, tonight, Carson tried to rape me. So excuse me, while I forget the world revolves around you.”
I could see the anger morphing, his teeth gritting and thirst to punch the hell out of something. “You said what?”
“Apparently, I’m another one of your little sluts that he likes to fuck. This is not who I am. I will not be called a slut. I can’t do this anymore. And this time—I mean it.”
“So what are you going to do?” he shouts, with vengeance. “You fucking tell me you love me and what, walk?”
“Yes,” I say out loud, with my posture straight, clarity in my expression. “I walk. Back to my family, back to the people who love me for me. Back to a world that brought happiness, not fear.”
“You mean back to him.”
I lower my head, ignoring his insecure remarks. “Goodbye Wesley. I do love you, but I guess it’s true, sometimes love is not enough.”
“You can’t just fucking leave me,” he pleads, pulling on my arm with desperation.
I allow it to linger; his touch—just for a moment.
“I can. I will. I need to move on.” Releasing my arm from his grip, I gaze into his eyes one more time, as if the door to this life is just about to close. “The worst thing I could have ever done would be to commit myself to you for life. Liam was right all along, maybe it was him I was destined to be with. At least—I would be safe.”
Staring back, is a man hurt. His complexion completely ashen; the ache inside crippling his movement while he continues to stare vacantly into my eyes. I had never seen him so vulnerable; completely silent with a pained poise.
And though my words were intended to push him away, the remorse began to seep its way in. I never wanted to end it this way.
I never wanted it to end.
But I knew where my heart belonged. It wasn’t here, in Los Angeles, a place that became my living nightmare.
It was my hometown in Alaska; a place that held my best memories.
And my heart spoke the words, guided me in the right direction.
I needed to go back home.
To Mom.
To Phoebe.
And maybe…back to Liam.