by Adrian Stark
Chrissie took the laptop from me, eyes darting furiously back and forth. She looked scared, and I sat back in surprise.
“Bring him down?”
“Well. Yes, this—what he’s done is inexcusable. I mean, look at everything he’s done! Everything he’s been doing, I—” I rubbed a hand across my face, “I thought you were with me on this.”
“I am but—”
I jumped to my feet, swaying slightly with the movement. What was she saying? Chrissie looked up at me. She was scared. Scared for him, after everything he’d done.
“Then, you have to know this is where we were heading with all this research?”
Chrissie stood up, face changing from scared to angry in the blink of an eye.
“Andrew, this is our father. I know he’s done some messed up things but sending him to prison? That would destroy the company. Destroy our family.”
“But it’s the right thing to do!” I knew she was right. A scandal this size would send over half the staff packing. We’d lose clients and customers, but it needed to be done. So many people had suffered because of this. “For years, I’ve been claiming I can run this business. That I know what’s best for the people that work for us. Christ, we’re a pharmaceutical company. We’re supposed to make life easier for people, look after people when they’re at their lowest, and now you want to protect a man that’s spread nothing but misery and suffering for no other reason than it’ll make family get-togethers just a little bit more awkward?” I was being ridiculous. I knew that Chrissie was worried for my career and my safety, and, at the end of the day, Trent Wright was still our father, no matter how much I was beginning to truly wish he wasn’t. But nothing could stop the rage I was feeling.
I marched past Chrissie, grabbing my coat and slamming the apartment door before she could open her mouth to answer me.
The nightclub was a heartbeat on loudspeaker, bass pounding loudly as I flashed my ID to the bouncer and was ushered inside.
It was almost two in the morning by now, and Chrissie was probably asleep, but I felt too uneasy to go back to the apartment just yet, the fight still fresh in my mind.
It hurt to think too much, but the reverberating music was quickly making it easier to ignore all the thoughts whirring around in my brain.
Everything was bathed in blue strobing lights, and the dance floor was packed. There were a few small stages at the corners of the room with dancers standing on them, men and women in various states of undress with heaving masses of club patrons in between. I struggled through them as best I could, heading for the bar.
I ordered something, some cocktail I couldn’t remember the name of with at least three kinds of alcohol in it, and downed the whole thing in two giant gulps. It burned pleasantly as it slid down my throat, and I immediately ordered another.
Four cocktails later and movement beside me made my pulse quicken. Dark hair, long and shining tickled my face as a woman took the stool next to me. I stared at her out of the corner of my eye, admiring the way the soft fabric of her dress showed off curves. She looked remarkably like Josephine.
The mention of her name sent a pang of hurt through me. The look on her face as Charlie led her away was burned into my brain. I missed her so much. I hadn’t let myself think about her, the ache in my chest getting worse and worse every time I did, but I still noticed her everywhere: in the way someone would say my name or in the perfume of a passerby on the street. In the face of a pretty girl at a bar.
The woman ordered a shot, downing it quickly before thanking the bartender with a dazzling smile and making her way back out onto the dancefloor, sending me a side glance as she did so, her tongue peeking out to wet sinfully red lips.
The bar wall was lined with mirrors, and I watched her go.
She stopped only a few feet away, still stealing coy little glances at me through the mirror. We held eye contact for a moment before she cocked her head ever so slightly. She wants me to come over. I stood from the barstool, wobbling slightly under the weight of five cocktails in twenty minutes.
The woman was dancing when I reached her, hips mid swing, and hands above her head. I put my arm around her waist and tugged her backward, until her back was pressed against my chest. She smelled like vanilla and citrus, sharper than how Josie had smelled, but her body felt amazing against mine, and I found I didn’t want to let go. She craned her neck, and our eyes met. Up close, she was gorgeous, flushed face soft and delicate.
“It’s impolite to stare, you know.”
She shivered, turning her head a little to lean more comfortably against me. I felt my cock start to harden in my jeans.
“You didn’t seem to mind.” She ground her hips back, and I groaned lowly in her ear. Yes. This is what I need.
She turned in my arms, and the woman dropped her gaze, giving me a once over that left my shivering with want.
“Drink?”
Chapter Seven: Chapter 7 Title
Therapy office chairs were never comfortable. Not when I was seven, trying to come to terms with why my mom wasn’t coming home, and not now at twenty-five trying to keep what was left of my life together.
The walls are plastered with posters showing x- rays of the human brain or a kitten with the words “you’re purrfect’” printed in childish bubbly writing. It was a poor attempt to make an otherwise dingy room brighter. The low table in front of my unbelievably uncomfortable chair was stacked with piles of leaflets and pamphlets. I reached out and picked one up, anxiously unfolding and refolding it, hoping it would help to calm me down.
What am I doing here? Therapy was for people who didn’t know what was wrong with them. I know where I’ve gone wrong in my life. The only reason I was here was that Charlie thought it would help me. She’d looked so sad, so anxious, I couldn’t say no.
“You seem unwilling to talk to me.” The therapist who sat across from me was a picture of ease. Casper seemed nice enough, though he had a pair of black-rimmed glasses that he liked to peer over like an old school teacher about to give you a lecture. There was a notebook held in his hands, battered and obviously well used. I flushed, irritated, and he chuckled.
“I’m not offended, Josephine,” he said kindly, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward in his chair. “I get that this can be a weird experience. How about we start off easily? What made you book an appointment with me?”
Easy enough.
“My friend Charlie thought it would be a good idea to speak to someone.”
Casper nodded, still smiling softly.
“What about?”
There was no way around it, I could sit here for an hour and refuse to talk, leave at the end of it and go back to having panic attacks every day and sleeping for three hours a night if I’m lucky. Maybe handling everything on my own isn’t going to work anymore.
“I-I’m not sure where to start,” I admitted quietly.
“Well, how are you feeling right now?”
“Tired.” It was more than that. Not getting out of bed, not wanting to move or to think—too many worries cycling through my head. “There was a long time where I couldn’t get out of bed, and every day I manage it, I just want to crawl back under the covers and stay there.” I tensed up, fingers curling into fists in my lap. Just admitting how bad I was feeling felt stupid. Why would this guy care? Why would he want to help me? “I just don’t see the point anymore. Not after everything that’s happened.”
Casper scribbled something down, and I watched his hands move with a creeping dread, which he noticed, and immediately his pen stopped moving. He closed the notebook.
“Can you tell me what’s been happening? It doesn’t have to be in order just give me a sense of what’s happening so I can try and help you through this.”
I nodded stiffly.
“My mom died when I was seven. We always used to go traveling when I was a kid. There was a storm one summer, and she fell overboard. And then, last year my dad died. Cancer. I kinda ended up thinking, ‘wha
t’s the point of having people that are close to you—that are important to you—if they’re just going to leave you or hurt you…?” Faces passed through my mind in quick succession: mom, dad, Michael, and Andrew. “I never really dealt with it—with either of them, and I just thought if I could push it from my mind, then I’d get better.”
“A common way a lot of people try to deal with their problems is through denying that they are happening in the first place.” Casper pushed his glasses up his nose. “What you’ve got to try to remember Josephine is that there are always people that care about you and that pushing those people away is never going to help you to heal. Take Charlie for instance, she saw that you were having a bad time, and she immediately offered her help. Whether or not you find me helpful...” He smiled wryly at that, and I couldn’t help but return it. “...you must know she’s there for you?”
I nodded immediately. No matter how much I tried to push her away, Charlie was as stubborn as they came. She had always been there for me. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her, I just didn’t want to overload her. If I told her everything, let her see everything that was going on in my brain… I couldn’t bear it if she left me too.
“In terms of your depression—not being able to get out of bed and feeling exhausted—you said you didn’t see the point after what had happened?”
“I found out my boyfriend killed my father.” I frowned. “At least, I think he was my boyfriend.” Andrew’s words flashed through me: I love you, you know. I pressed my nails into my palm. “Andrew’s father runs the company my dad worked for, and he knew that that factory wasn’t safe. I was with him for months, and he never told me.”
“What do you want from him?”
To ring his neck. To make him feel as bad and as confused as I do. The words felt wrong… it wasn’t that I wanted him to feel bad; I still loved him. I could feel it in my gut. I missed him with everything I was.
“I want an explanation.”
Casper nodded.
“Exactly. You were with him for months?”
“Yes.”
“And after this incident came to light, you must have felt overwhelmed. You wanted to get back to your safe space where you could put up your walls and process things. Have you spoken to Andrew since you left?”
I shook my head. I’d tried to. I’d even gotten as far as dialing his number, but I’d freeze, never knowing what to say or how to say it.
“But does he even deserve a chance to explain himself? He lied to me. It doesn't matter if he thought he was protecting me or whatever.”
“Were you happy with him?”
The question caught me off guard, but I knew the answer.
“The happiest I can remember being since dad died.”
Casper tilted his head with a knowing smile.
“Then, I think you have your answer. Make yourself happy, Josephine. You deserve the chance to be, no matter what you might think.”
Chapter Eight: Chapter 8 Title
Something was repeatedly hitting my foot.
I groaned, rolling over and away from whatever it was and tried to get back to sleep.
“Oh no you don’t.” Hands grabbed at my shoulders and pulled me upright. I opened my eyes blearily and saw Chrissie’s face inches from my own, an exasperated look on her face.
“Morning,” I said with a yawn.
“I’m glad you didn’t say good.” She let go, and I swayed for a moment, almost falling over but stopping myself just before I hit the floor.
The floor?
I looked around, realizing I was sitting on the kitchen floor. I could hear Chrissie moving around behind me and followed the smell of coffee, pulling myself up and collapsing at the breakfast bar.
“Why was I—?” Chrissie put a steaming mug down in front of me as I trailed off before taking a seat across from me with her own cup. I took a sip, groaning at the bitter taste. “God, that’s good—why was I on the floor?”
“What do you remember about last night?”
I frowned, looking down at the island counter as I scrolled back through the last twelve hours in my mind. I remember the argument and me storming out…
“I went to a bar. I was angry, and I probably ordered way too many cocktails.”
Chrissie hummed in agreement, still looking unimpressed.
“Mmhmm, keep going.”
“And… I ended up dancing. For ages, with this woman and then I—” Shame flooded my stomach. I dragged my gaze back to Chrissie. “Did I?” I started to panic. I’d done one night stands before, when I needed to let off some steam, but now all I felt was guilt. How could I do that to Josie? She’s not interested in me anymore anyway, I thought dimly. I’d ruined that without having to fuck someone else in my apartment… in my apartment. I ducked my head, looking around with wide eyes and lowering my voice to a whisper. “Is she still here?”
Chrissie took a long drawn out sip from her coffee cup, maintaining eye contact as she did. I narrowed my eyes; I was not in the mood for this.
“You didn’t, and she’s not.” I collapsed against the island in relief.
“Oh, thank god.”
“Apparently,” Chrissie continued, “you wouldn’t stop talking about a certain friend of ours. How gorgeous she was, how funny she was, how badly you fucked up any chances you had of marrying her, and Trina was nice enough to bring you home. At four in the morning.”
My forehead hit the countertop with a thunk, and Chrissie snickered and patted my shoulder with mock sympathy.
“There, there, little brother. Finish your coffee.”
I reached for the mug, cradling it close to my chest as I continued to wallow. It was an awful feeling, knowing I’d messed up so completely with Josephine and still being so in love with her. I wanted to show her what I was doing, how hard I was working to put things right. I missed the way it felt to have her in my arms.
I was an idiot for not realizing how precious spending time with her was.
We sat in silence for a minute. It was still early, and sunlight was just beginning to shine in through the window. I closed my eyes against the throbbing in my head. We had scheduled a press statement for two days from now, with Hugo once again acting as the go between so dad didn’t catch on. There was still so much work to do but I could feel victory on the tip of my tongue. We were almost there.
“I know that’s what this is really about,” Chrissie said quietly. There was no judgement in her tone, and when I lifted my head to check, she was staring absently down at her own cup. “I know all of this is your way of making it up to her.”
I finished my coffee, swilling the last few dregs around the bottom of the mug.
“It started off like that,” I admitted quietly. “I wanted to be able to show her how sorry I was and how much I cared about her, but then I decided that was fucked up. I want to try to give her back something. Something she lost because of my company, because of dad. Seeing her face when she’d realized I’d done nothing… I want to be better than that. Not just for her, but for me and for the future of our family.” I reached for Chrissie’s hand, needing to feel the comfort of her touch. “I’m sorry for what I said last night. It's a horrible thing to have to come to terms with, and I shouldn’t have been angry just because you processed it differently than I did.” Her grip tightened on my own, silently accepting my apology, and I squeezed back. “But I’m not gonna back down. Chrissie, what dad did was inexcusable, and he deserves to be punished for it. If you don’t think you can, then I don’t mind doing it alone.”
I had to do this; there was no way I could stop now. I was determined to do better, be a person I could be proud of. But if Chrissie didn’t want to do this with me, I wasn’t going to force her. Chrissie took a deep breath, lifting the hand not clasped in mine to cuff me gently across the back of the head with a smile.
“Course I’m with you idiot,” she said, giving my hand one final squeeze. “Can’t let you do this alone, can I?”
Chapter Nine: Chapter 9 Title
Wright Enterprises was a monster of a building, all-glass panels, and odd angles. When I was a kid, I used to think it looked like a futuristic spaceship where my dad worked to save the world with all his chemicals and lab tests.
Looking up at it now through the tinted windows of Chrissie’s car, it looked like every other corporate building in New York; nothing special about it.
There were already a few press vans lined up down the street, no doubt waiting for us to arrive. Chrissie killed the engine, and I reached for the door handle but paused when anxiety settled on my chest like a blanket.
“What time is it?” It took me a few stuttered moments to tear my eyes away from the reporters and journalists gathering steadily along the sidewalk. If dad didn’t already know we were coming, it was only a matter of time. When I finally did turn to my sister, she was staring down at her phone like she’d forgotten what it was. Chrissie didn’t look much better than I felt, nervous fingers twisting the gold chain around her neck. “Chrissie?”
She jumped, almost dropping her phone.
“Quarter to,” she said simply.
Fifteen minutes to go.
In fifteen minutes, I’d be presenting evidence to the press that our father knowingly put the lives of his workers on the line in order to better his own company. Holy fuck. I’d gone over the words again and again in my head—I knew exactly what I was going to say. This was a good thing—this was the right thing.
So why did I feel so sick?
“Why do I feel so sick?”
Chrissie blinked in surprise at my outburst before she chuckled, sounding a little manic.
“Uh, cause if this goes wrong, then you’ll most likely be fired and maybe disowned?”
Apprehension felt like a kick to the stomach, and I grit my teeth against the sudden feeling of nausea.
“And if it goes, right?”
She blinked at me, taking longer to form an answer than I would have liked.