The Taste of Redemption

by I. A. Dice

I grabbed a ceramic coffee jar and sent it flying. Adrian ducked, letting the jar smash against the wall.

  “Get out! Get out!”

  I stepped back, the countertop hard against my back as I waved the knife, slashing the air with a whoosh. Fear absorbed me whole, and remained there, fixed and tenacious. My pulse throbbed in my neck.

  Adrian stepped closer ignoring the seven-inch blade in my shaking palm.

  “Leave,” I pleaded. “Please, leave.”

  My fingers closed tightly on the handle of the knife, but I no longer dared to swing it to keep Adrian at a distance. He was too close now, and I didn’t want to hurt him.

  He didn’t share my dilemma. He lunged forward and grabbed my wrist, twisting it until the knife fell out of my lifeless grasp. A powerful slap landed across my face. I turned to the side, touching my lip. Blood glistened on my fingers; tears danced in my eyes.

  “I’d do anything for you!” Adrian bellowed.

  He gripped my shoulders and shoved me against the kitchen cabinets, knocking the breath out of me when my back smashed against the marble countertop.

  “You’re all that matters to me! I can’t let you leave, puppet.” He took two steps forward, towering above me. “I love you!”

  Slap.

  “You love me! You fucking need me!”

  Slap.

  “And I love you, too!”

  He caught my face. Long fingers dug into my jaw, and he slammed my head against the fridge. My mouth fell open in an inaudible scream when pain shot through my skull as if it split open. I pressed my fingers to the throbbing spot, my vision blurry.

  Adrian gripped my neck, ready to make a dent in the fridge doors with my head. Thomas’s face flashed before my eyes, courage, and ignited my senses like a bolt of lightning.

  I used to crumble at the sight of Adrian’s blood-shot eyes, but now, the need to fight was stronger than fear; stronger than pain. All because of Thomas. Because he showed me I was strong. He showed me love wasn’t about blame, pain and regret.

  “Let me go!” I cried.

  Adrian pulled me away from the fridge then pushed me hard to the floor. My back slammed against the metal footrest of the barstool. Pain ripped through my ribcage knocking the wind out of me.

  “You’re mine!” Adrian said, his voice spiteful and loud, but not enough to alert the neighbours. “You always will be. I can’t go on without you!”

  He cracked his neck. The sound of his bones falling back into place made my stomach twist in knots.

  “Do you think Thomas will still want you once you tell him about this? Once he finds out every dirty little secret from your past? Do you think he’ll even look at you?”

  Thomas stayed at the back of my mind, but the look on his face changed from determination to disdain.

  “Face it, puppet. You might be messed up in a different way than I am, but you’re still fucked up. Only I know the real you. Only I know how seriously fucked up you are.”

  “Shut up, shut up,” I muttered, rocking back and forth to block out his word and their effect.

  Adrian crouched in front of me, grabbed a handful of my hair, and pulled hard to make me look him in the eyes.

  “You came back to me. You knew how this would end, but you came back. You want this. Deep down you know it makes you feel alive. I make you feel alive.”

  He stood and yanked me up by my hair. The moment I supported my own weight, he shoved me back at the floor. My face crashed against a round handle on the cupboard door.

  Tears blurred my vision when I spotted the knife I dropped on the floor, a foot to my left.

  “No one can love you like I do,” Adrian seethed. “This is it, puppet. You and me, forever.”

  Forever played out in my head, the vicious cycle never ending, always going around like a looped roller coaster. Love, pain, hate, remorse… forgiveness and again. Over, and over, never ending, never changing.

  I inched toward the blade, my breathing shallow, quick.

  This couldn’t be my life. I refused to settle for hell when I tasted heaven.

  I grabbed the knife, my hands shaking, but my mind made. This time, I wasn’t afraid to hurt Adrian. When he lunged forward, I stabbed his stomach. His brows furrowed and lips parted when he glanced down.

  “You…” he gasped, looking as if he sobered up in an instant.

  He cringed. Pain registered in his brain, but it lasted mere seconds. His eyes darkened; jaw clenched; wrath quadrupled.

  PCP had that effect on people—it made them feel invincible.

  There was no time to react. No time to run. He gripped my throat, lifted me off the ground as if weighed nothing, and pinned me to the wall, squeezing so hard he cut off my air supply.

  “You’ll pay for that!”

  I scratched his hand, kicked his legs, and smacked his face, survival mode in highest gear. I balanced on the verge of fainting when the door to the apartment opened.

  Ty sprinted it across the living, throwing his hand back then forward with full force. His fist slammed against the side of Adrian’s head once, then again and again. Adrian let me go to push Ty away as if he weren’t more than an annoying insect.

  I broke into a coughing fit, desperately pumping air into my lungs, my breaths erratic, shallow.

  Adrian pushed Ty away, then turned to me again, his moves slower as if the drugs were starting to wear off. He outstretched his hands, but Ty was faster. He grabbed a bottle of wine from the counter and smashed it on the back of Adrian’s head. He tumbled to the floor with a thud, unconscious.

  I scuttled away, sliding on the floor until my back rested against the couch in the living room.

  Ty kneeled in front of me and cupped my face.

  “Look at me,” he pleaded. “We need to call an ambulance, or he’ll bleed out, but you can’t tell them you did it.”

  “But…” I choked; my body shaken by the hysterical sobs. “It was self-defence, Ty, he…”

  “I know.” He pulled me into his arms. “I know, but they’ll want to question you, and it might take days before they’ll let you go back to London. I’m not having it. You’re going back first thing tomorrow.” He kissed the crown of my head, then looked me in the eyes. “I’ll call the ambulance, and you go along with anything I say, okay?”

  I nodded, unable to think straight. There was nothing I wanted more than to get back home, as far away from Adrian as possible.

  It was time to put myself first.

  CHAPTER 9

  THOMAS

  What am I?

  “You won’t have time for me tonight?” Chrissy’s voice sounded from the hands-free system in my car.

  Truth be told I had no idea what I was doing with that girl. We weren’t dating, we weren’t fucking, we were just… weird. We spent the evenings together in restaurants or clubs, drinking and talking. She never passed on a chance to stick her tongue down my throat. Every time she looked at my lips, someone tipped a bucket of ice over my head. It felt as if I were cheating on Nadia. It was ridiculous, but I couldn’t shake it.

  Still, I let Chrissy devour my lips whenever she wanted, even though it did nothing for me. Despite her curvy body, blond hair and light blue eyes, my body remained unaffected.

  I began to worry that maybe Nadia didn’t just break my heart. Maybe she broke my dick, too.

  The best thing about Chrissy? She was easy going. She was Jane’s friend from work, and apparently, she was into me for a while. Jane, the biggest gossip in London, filled Chrissy in about Nadia, which might have been why she didn’t push for more than the scraps I offered.

  She went with the flow and made herself available whenever I called with a dinner invitation. So much so, that after almost two weeks, she expected us to meet every night—not an issue any other day, but today was Thursday.

  “No, it’s poker night. I’ll see you tomorrow. What time do you finish work?” I turned onto the woodland road leading to the cottage.

  “I don’t know,” she clipp
ed.

  The annoyance in her voice took me aback.

  “But feel free to call me if you find time for lunch in your busy day.”

  I gripped the steering wheel tighter. She wasn’t my girlfriend, and she was nowhere near the status. She was just a girl I spent the evenings with for the lack of better things to do, yet she considered it okay to make me feel guilty about seeing my friends.

  Good, fucking, luck, sweetheart.

  Thursday nights were sacred. No one had the right to mess with that. Fuck, not even the one girl I would be happy to ditch poker night for complained about me taking the evening to myself. Chrissy’s shitty attitude lost her some serious brownie points.

  “Fine, good night.” I cut the call not waiting for a reply.

  Whatever. It wasn’t like I cared if she was around. Why I bothered with her was beyond me, anyway. There was no chemistry between us. She was supposed to occupy my mind, and she didn’t do a decent job of it half the time.

  Nick, Ethan and Scorpio waited in the kitchen, chips and cards at the ready even though it was only ten to seven. Ethan wore a smug smile, his hands knotted at the back of his head, legs sprawled across my chair. He moved them, sensing an impeding eviction, when I handed Nick a bottle of vodka.

  I plopped down and massaged my temples to rid the tension.

  “What’s wrong?” Scorpio asked.

  Over the course of our friendship he developed a sixth sense—a sort of radar, if you will, that must have blared in his head whenever I wasn’t in the best of moods.

  “Nothing important. Chrissy’s being a fucking diva.”

  Ethan chuckled, sipping on his drink. “Aren’t they all? Was she annoyed that you’d rather play poker with us than see her?” He rolled his eyes. “Sounds familiar. Sarah’s the same.”

  “Mel’s not like that.” Nick handed me a glass of vodka on the rocks. “And I’m sure you’ll agree that Nadia isn’t either.”

  My jaw tightened; hands balled into fists. I pushed away the unease her name summoned. If anyone asked, I was over her. She had no hold of me whatsoever.

  The truth? I was full of shit, and it was clear to everyone.

  “Yeah, that’s the one thing I can’t fault her with,” I admitted, taking a large gulp from the glass.

  Nick frowned but didn’t immerse in the subject. He learned the hard way that talking about Nadia in my presence was a murder waiting to happen.

  “How’s your new ride doing?” Scorpio changed the subject when Ethan took it upon himself to deal the cards. “I think I might change the Merc soon.”

  “And you want to buy the same one I have?” I smirked. “It drives like a dream, but please, at least pick a different colour.”

  I changed my beloved BMW M5 for a BMW M8—the best decision I made for a while. Nadia spent a lot of time as the passenger in the M5, and every time I got in the car, I saw her face. My next goal was to buy a new house.

  Desperate times call for desperate measures.

  Four months weren’t enough to flush her out of my system. I had to hit harder and take drastic steps to forget the way she made me feel, because there was no going back to what we had. She was my priority, and I turned out to be her option. Maybe one day I could forgive her, but until further notice, I wasn’t dumb enough to trust her again.

  “Oh, hell no,” Nick growled, looking at his cards. “I fold.”

  I looked at mine, foregoing the need for a poker face. For the first time in my life I ended up with the Royal Flush. It looked like the luck was on my side tonight. I threw three hundred more on the table, and sat back, waiting for Scorpio’s and Ethan’s moves.

  Before either decided whether to raise or call, Nick’s phone vibrated, and Ty appeared on the screen.

  Nick scowled, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hey, man,” he said, his tone careful. “What’s up?”

  I couldn’t hear what Ty said, thanks to Ethan mumbling to Scorpio.

  “Shut up,” I mouthed.

  The in-call volume on Nick’s phone was always at the loudest setting, but I didn’t have to eavesdrop. His eyes narrowed, and he turned the speaker on, setting the phone on the table.

  “You’re asking me how she is?” Two lines marked his forehead. “Isn’t she staying with you anymore? What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t fuck with me,” Ty boomed. “You’ve got the right to be pissed off, alright? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but she had a mental breakdown every time I tried. Just let me talk to her.”

  My mind flashed through a million scenarios.

  “Are you saying she’s back in London?” Nick asked trading glances with me.

  “Fuck,” Ty muttered. “She flew back on Monday morning! Are you seriously telling me you haven’t seen her?”

  A rush of adrenaline kick-started my almost-dead heart. Endorphins rushed through my bloodstream before a sense of dread sucked out positive emotions.

  “No, I haven’t. She didn’t come here. Why wouldn’t she? Why did she leave? Don’t tell me Adrian’s using again.”

  Ty let out a shaky breath. “Yeah, he’s back in rehab, heavily sedated, under a twenty-four-hour suicide watch. He tried to hang himself when I told him Nadia left.”

  Nick looked almost see through, staring at the phone, his lips parted. The news came as a shock to us all, and we remained silent, unable to comprehend the madness.

  That was a lot of unexpected information to get in twenty seconds.

  “He tried to kill himself?” Nick mouthed, a blank look on his face. “What happened? Why did Nadia leave?”

  “She promised to tell you!” Ty snapped, then let out a long sigh. “Listen, I’ll tell you everything, okay? But please, find her first. She was in a bad place when she left. You need to find her. She shouldn’t deal with this alone anymore. She’s trying to protect you, but she’s the one who needs protecting.”

  I was out of my chair before Ty finished speaking. The reason why Nadia came back wasn’t important. Not now, anyway. I slipped my jacket on and shoved my hand in the pocket, looking for keys.

  “And Nick?” Ty said, stopping me before I hoisted Nick from his chair. “She doesn’t know he tried to kill himself. I wanted to call her, but I don’t know how she is… I’ll let you decide whether to tell her. Call me when you find her.”

  He cut the call, and I yanked Nick out of his chair. “Come on, she’s probably at her apartment.”

  “Let me know what’s going on,” Scorpio said, clearing the table.

  I half expected him to stop me. He was anti-Nadia since the moment she left. He made it his mission to help me forget and realise that she wasn’t worth my time. Now, his animosity subsided in a blink of an eye.

  Nick stumbled out of the house, took the passenger seat in my car, and hung his head low, clasping both hands on his neck.

  “Don’t you dare fall apart,” I seethed, my heart pounding. “Get your shit together.”

  “I just,” he muttered, then opened the window as if there wasn’t enough breathing air around. “I can’t believe he tried to kill himself again. What the fuck?! I spoke to him last week. He was fine…”

  I couldn’t believe it either, but I didn’t question Adrian’s sanity. Nadia was my point of focus. I wondered why she ran home again. Adrian’s relapse seemed like not enough of a reason seeing that she went back to help him fight his addiction. One slipup wouldn’t drive her away.

  What the fuck did he do?

  Questions multiplied in my head like bacteria in a petri dish. The one I knew the answer to was why she hid in her apartment. Ty’s “she was in a bad place when she left” painted the picture.

  Sometimes our mind is the most sophisticated of traps; the darkest of places… It’s the best company to the misery filling our heart.

  She stayed away because she was too broken and didn’t want to drag us down. Tires of the BMW squealed when I slammed on the brake in front of Nadia’s apartment. Nick was out of the car first, suddenly alert and determined. We ra
n up the stairs, and Nick banged on the door, pulling on the handle which used to give way every time.

  “Nadia, open up! I know you’re in there. Open up!”

  Music played inside, Closer by Kings of Leon, muffled by something that sounded like repetitive, angry scratching or scrubbing. The hair on my neck stood on ends. The scratching stopped, and the music ceased to play, too.

  “Open up!” Nick shouted again. “Open the door, Nadia or I’ll break it down! I know you’re back.”

  We heard footsteps from within the apartment. The lock clicked, and Nadia rushed away, not bothering to open. Nick pulled on the handle, then pushed the door and let it bang against the wall like a clap of thunder in a silent night.

  We walked in, Nick first, but he stopped in the doorway leading to the living room. Dozens of prescription bottles and different sized pills were scattered on the coffee table, and the whole room was filled with dark, creepy paintings and drawings of all sizes.

  Stretched canvases were propped against the walls, the windows, and the couch. Mugs housing paintbrushes of different sizes stood on the windowsill and the speaker. The dining table and parts of the floor were covered with A4 and A3 pages of pencil sketches, some stained with a sludge of dark water that spilled from another cup which held brushes.

  An easel was pushed between the couch and the wing chair. Paints, pencils and brushes were scattered on the couch, chair and the floor, the whole space littered with snapped pencils and unfinished drawings ripped to shreds.

  A girl in white, the same one Nadia painted all those months ago, was in every single drawing. She was no longer a puppet, though. The strings were still tied to her hands and body, but no one held them in a tight grip. In all the haunting mess, Nadia sat on the couch, her head down, loose strands of hair covering most of her face, clothes splattered with black paint and fingers stained with pencil.

  “I was going to come over next week,” she said, her voice tired. She gawked at the floor, toying with her fingers. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

  Nick took a step forward, careful not to step on the art.

  “Like what? Look at me and tell me what happened.”