If I said I didn't feel guilty, I would be lying. I felt guilty until I got about halfway home, and then I started to feel invigorated. Some strange sadistic place inside of me was happy that I carried my plan through. To be honest, I wasn't sure I could, especially when he was lying there naked before me, when he was being so sweet and sentimental.
He deserved what I did though. He deserved every bit of it. And I know it was important for me to do it. Guys like him definitely need to be taught a lesson.
I went to sleep that night with a smile on my face, imagining him struggling until he had no energy left, then staring up at the ceiling and thinking about everything he's done wrong to me. There's so much of it, he could keep himself occupied all night.
I wake up smiling too. Any minute guilt I had before has been washed away by sleep. I'm proud of myself. And though my heart still aches, I feel like knowing that I didn't allow myself to be a victim will help me get through this. Most girls just walk away from a bad situation like that. I kicked and stomped and showed Anders what for.
Evelyn is sitting at the dining room table reading a gossip magazine when I emerge from my room for breakfast. She peeks over it when I sit down across from her with my bowl of cereal. “You look awfully happy for someone who just broke up with her boyfriend,” she notes suspiciously.
“I am happy,” I reply thoughtfully before taking a big bite of Cheerios.
She sets the magazine down on the table and her expression dips. “Please don't tell me you guys made up.”
“Oh no. We far from made up,” I laugh, shaking my head.
Now she's completely confused. “So, you guys broke up, yet you're happy about it? You freaking loved Flash Lightning. I really don't understand why you're so happy. Not that I want you to be miserable. You're just acting strange.”
“I paid him back,” I say with a mouthful of Cheerios, grinning before crunching them loudly.
“Oh?” Her interest is piqued. She leans back in her chair, expecting a story.
I swallow hard before I launch into the tale of how I tied Anders to the bed and just left him there. “So, you remember how you told me I should get revenge on him?”
A broad smile creases her lips, and she leans forward. “Oh lord, I bet this is going to be good.”
“It is.” I nod, taking another bite of my cereal before continuing the story. “Well, I went to the store and bought some rope. Then I went to Anders' loft and made him think we were going to have kinky sexy time. I tied him to the bed . . . and left him there.” My eyes widen in mock suspense.
I expect her to be every bit as elated as I am about it. We discussed the scenario in jest just days ago. Instead of amused though, she seems absolutely shocked, and somewhat horrified.
“You seriously did that?” Her mouth is agape.
“Mhm.” I nod proudly.
“You tied him up and just left him there . . . with no way to escape?” She can't seem to wrap her head around the concept.
“Yup.” My eyes sink down to my Cheerios. I refuse to allow her to suck the happiness out of this moment. I only did what was right. He deserved every bit of it.
“Tessa, what were you thinking?” her voice is laced with disapproval. I don't understand what she's so upset about. It was a brilliant idea and brilliantly executed.
“I was thinking that the bastard needed to pay for what he's done to me,” my tone darkens defensively.
“I agree that he should pay for it, but you have to think of the consequences. What if he can't get free? He could literally die. Did you know that the human body can only survive for three days without water?”
I roll my eyes at her. Seriously? She's really going to guilt me out about this now. I thought she hated him.
“The asshole deserves as much,” I growl.
“Anders deserves a lot of bad things. I'm not being his cheerleader. But this is serious. Sure, he might get loose, but what if he doesn't. You can't just do something like that to someone, no matter how ticked off you are at him.”
“Well, it's done.” I scowl, shoving my spoon into the bowl of cereal, my appetite now completely gone thanks to her making me think of the logical conclusions of my actions. I told him I wanted him to die, but deep down inside, I didn't mean it. I just wanted him to pay for what he had done. Perhaps I had gone too far. “I hate you right now.”
“I'm sorry.” She gives me a sympathetic look. “I hate to be the bad guy in this. I dislike the guy just as much as you do. But what you did was wrong, and you should let someone know he's tied up like that so they can go rescue him. One night tied to a bed post is enough to get the point across, I'm sure.”
“I guess you're right,” I sigh, feeling defeated. “Do you think I should call the cops?”
She quirks an eyebrow at me as if I'm stupid. “Not unless you want to go to jail. Do you know of anyone who knows him personally who might have access to his loft?”
Angela, his ex-wife, is the only person who comes to mind. She'd probably get a kick out of knowing what I did to him. It would only add insult to injury if she was the one who came to his rescue. That would be too evil though, and I honestly don't want to get her involved. The last thing she needs to think is that she was leaving her son in the hands of a psycho who ties up men who piss her off.
“I don't know anyone,” I lie, shaking my head.
“Well, I don't know what you're going to do, then. But you should do something.”
***
I stand in front of the door to Anders' loft with a tightness in my chest. This is a bad idea—worst than the idea of tying him to the bed in the first place. My stomach is absolutely torn up from the thought that I'll have to face him again.
What will I see when I walk in there? Will his wrists be bruised and bloody from the struggle? Will he have wet himself? My heart aches with guilt over what I've done. This probably isn't going to be pretty, and I'll have to live with these images in my head for the rest of my life. My plan to mentally scar him has backfired. We'll both be damaged from this forever.
I stare down at the door handle, hoping it's unlocked. I know it's not though. I locked it before I left, not wanting anyone to be able to get to him. I truly left him to die. It's a disheartening thought—a disturbing thought. I never knew I had it in me. These are the lengths he pushed me to. This is what happens when my heart breaks completely. More than I hate him, I hate myself for turning into such an ugly person. Maybe I should go to counseling after this is all over.
Even though I know he won't open the door, I knock on it anyway. It's a weak and stupid effort. I know what I have to do. I also know that security will probably see me on camera and come up to interrogate me. Hopefully, I can get to Anders before that happens, not that I think it will save me from the consequences. He'll probably press charges, and then my life will be over. I wish I never would have met him.
With a shaky hand, I reach into my purse for a butter knife, praying to God this works. I watched a few YouTube videos on how to open locked doors before I came. Carefully, I slide the tip of the knife into the lock and begin to jiggle it. To my surprise, the door is pulled open and away from me. I think my heart is going to burst in my chest as I see Anders standing there, gazing down on me disapprovingly.
“Greetings, Psycho.” The words are meant to sting, and they do.
I immediately go on the defense. “Greetings, Stalker.”
His eyes fall to the knife in my hand, though he doesn't seem intimidated. “Are you here to kill me now?”
I swallow hard, feeling like I might start crying at any moment. “No. I came to rescue you.”
“With a knife?” He quirks an eyebrow at me.
“I needed it to open the door.” I shove it back in my purse, so he doesn't have to look at it anymore. “How did you escape anyway?”
“You owe me a new headboard. I'll send you the bill,” he says coldly. It's better than going to jail, though I still can't afford it.
“I hope it can wait a while. You know I don't make much money.” I turn my head to look down the hall, avoiding his gaze. My legs twitch with the urge to run from him and everything we've done to each other.
“I think we can compromise.”
“Compromise?” The word sounds almost foreign to me. The less we have to do with each other, the better.
“Come inside and talk with me.” He steps away from the door.
Being in his presence is killing me. Going inside his loft will be even worse.
“You don't mean to entrap me, do you?” I ask, my voice filled with suspicion. In truth, I would deserve it.
“If by entrap you, you mean make you talk about what happened, then yes. I fully intend to entrap you.”
I internally sigh. The last thing I want is to end my day in a jail cell. While I don't entirely trust him, I feel like I owe him at least this much. We can talk about it, then I can leave, and everything will be over. Well, it will be over when I finish paying off the headboard, but still. Maybe I can mail the payments to him, so I don't have to see him again.
I bite my bottom lip, debating for a few more seconds before I decide to step through the door. As we walk into the living room, I see the headboard resting against the bar. He must have broken it somehow.
When we sit down on his sofa, he makes sure to stay as far away from me as possible. I cast a sideways glance at his wrists, and my heart sinks. They both have red marks around them where the rope was, it's a painful reminder of my cruelty.
“I hope you realize that what you did to me was wrong,” he begins, sounding like a parent. I refuse to admit my folly though. Instead, I just sit there, staring down at the carpet. “I understand that you were angry with me. You had every right to be. You never let me explain though.”
“You don't need to explain. It doesn't matter anymore,” I reply weakly.
“Would you just shut up and listen to me,” his voice is harsh, making me cower back a bit. When he realizes I'm not going to speak again, he continues, “I did pay Ryan to keep an eye on you. That was wrong. I'll admit it. And as much as I want to fire him for betraying my trust, I won't, because I know it would upset you.”
Why would it matter if firing Ryan would upset me? I mean nothing to Anders anymore. And he means nothing to me.
He shifts his weight slightly. “At the base of it, I needed to know you weren't just after my money.”
“That's bullshit.” I shake my head.
“Are you incapable of being quiet?” his tone darkens.
“No. I'm sorry. Go on.”
“Thank you.” He takes a breath, “It wasn't just the money though. I also wanted to make sure you weren't sleeping with other guys. After Angela, well, I have trust issues. You should understand that after what I told you.
“I wanted Ryan to keep reporting on you so that I wouldn't get blindsided by another betrayal. I never thought he would actually tell you that he was watching you for me. I'm paying him very well.”
I can't help but scoff at the statement. “And you were the one who kept telling me that I was insecure.”
“I know. I was putting on an air of confidence because I didn't want you to see how afraid I actually was of losing you.”
My heart aches from his words. “You have serious communication issues.”
“I'm not perfect, Tessa. I never have been. But that is the image I like to project. When you run a billion dollar company, people expect you to have control of everything in your life—”
“I'm not business, Anders.” I look at his naked feet, still afraid to turn my head towards him.
“I know that, and I'm sorry I treated you that way. I've made a horrible mess of things. I really have.”
“We both have,” I admit with a sigh.
“I know I've done a lot of things wrong. I've screwed up with you. I've done things that will shake your trust in me forever. But know that everything I've done has been because I love you and am scared of losing you. I know it's a fucked up way of showing it. But if you can just forgive me . . . then I swear I'll never do anything like this to you again. I'll be completely transparent from now on.”
I feel a strange palpitation in my chest. Is he actually asking me to come back to him? Does he think we can make things right after everything we've done to each other?
“I don't want you anymore.” It's a lie, and it hurts me to say it, but I know this is best for the both of us. Our relationship has been too tumultuous. There's no saving it.
Even though I'm not looking directly at him, I can see his body stiffen in my peripheral vision. The temperature in the room drops by about ten degrees in a second. Tension hangs in the air like a heavy fog, threatening to suffocate us both.
“You can mail me payments for the headboard whenever you can afford to. I'll send you an invoice after I buy a new one, and I'll deduct from the amount and send you a receipt every time I receive a payment from you.” He stands abruptly to lead me to the door, and my heart breaks as I nod in agreement and walk out of his loft for the last time.