VENGEFUL QUEEN

by St. Germain, Lili

  The dried flecks of old blood circling the drain set off a chain reaction, as more memories assault me. My knees are suddenly too weak to stand, so I end up sinking into a sitting position in the bottom of the shower, my knees tucked up under my chin as water beats down relentlessly on me. I’m the stereotypical rape victim sliding down a wall in a daytime television movie, but nobody’s here to yell “cut” once I reach the hard tiles and lower my forehead to my knees.

  Everything slams into me like a freight train at full force. Breaking up with Will. The embryos Enzo accidentally revealed to me. The engagement party. My father getting shot. The elevator ride surrounded by bodyguards. That fucking bag over my head. And after. Every wretched thing that came after I woke up tied to that chair with a knife against my skin.

  And now. Rome in prison for the second time.

  Because of me.

  Sobs wrack my body, and I can’t stop them. I can’t stem the flood of tears from my eyes, nor calm the violent shaking of my body. I cry and I cry, a dam bursting, a tsunami of pain and trauma with no end in sight.

  I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

  “Avery.”

  The water stops. I raise my head slowly, everything impossibly heavy and weak. Tears obscure my vision, but I can still make out the blurry figure in front of me. Nathan is crouched down in the bottom of the shower, his eyes full of worry. He has a white towel in his hands, an ashen expression on his face. “Here,” he says, draping the towel around my shoulders and drawing it around my knees like some kind of protective shroud.

  “I tried to kill myself in that place,” I whisper.

  He nods, his jaw tensing. Suicide is always a risky subject around Nathan after Adeline killed herself.

  “I’m glad it didn’t work,” Nathan says emphatically.

  “It would have been easier if I’d just died,” I confess.

  Now I really can’t breathe. I suck in air, but it’s like I’m drowning. I bring a hand to my throat, and that’s a mistake because when I do, I feel the tiny twin scars from the shock collar. Somehow I’d managed to block out that particular sensation until now, but touching the healing scars is like holding onto a live wire. My throat feels like it’s closing up, like I might actually pass out and die right now.

  “Breathe, Aves,” Nathan murmurs, gathering me up in his arms as gently as he can.

  I can’t breathe.

  I can’t.

  I…

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  AVERY

  I wake up in my bed, the bath towel still damp and twisted around my nude body. A duvet has been piled on top to spare my dignity, a small gesture I’m thankful for. I’ve been naked far too often lately; I could gladly be fully clothed for the rest of my life. I can still taste the bitter residue of the Xanax pill Nathan gently coaxed into my mouth while I was mid panic attack. I suppose I should thank him for the first restful stretch of sleep I’ve had since waking up in the hospital.

  Speaking of. Nathan is at the foot of my bed, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, leaning against one of the posts as he swipes and jabs furiously at an iPad.

  “Stock market down?” I guess, my voice thick with sleep.

  Nathan holds the iPad up so I can see the screen, his expression sheepish. I snicker as I see what he’s been doing: playing a cooking game app. Nathan freezes.

  “What?” I ask. “What is it?”

  He swallows thickly. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh since we got you back.”

  “Oh,” I say quietly. “Yeah. Guess I haven’t had much to laugh about lately.”

  “You hungry?” Nathan inquires, swiftly changing the subject.

  “Now that you mention it, I’m fucking starved,” I reply. “Does your Mom still make those little bacon tart things?”

  Aunt Eliza is a terrible cook, but her one redeeming recipe is bacon, cheese and egg bites wrapped in little puff pastry parcels and baked in the oven. It might sound weird, but I love them.

  Nathan holds his stomach. “I could happily live never eating one of those again,” he says, making a choking sound. “But for you, I will find some.”

  He disappears downstairs, and I use the time to get dressed in fresh gym pants and a shirt. I still can’t find a pair of jeans that don’t swim on me, but gym clothes are stretchier and far more forgiving of my recent weight loss.

  Nathan brings me a plate of reheated bacon tarts–apparently Eliza had already baked them just for me–and I eat so many my stomach hurts. It’s the first time I’ve felt warm and full in what feels like forever. I’m sure the Xanax still circling my bloodstream doesn’t hurt, either.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at work or something?” I ask between bites. Nathan shrugs. “Told them I was working at home for a while. Nobody seemed to care.”

  I nod. “Is Jennifer still in the office?”

  What I really want to know is, Why the fuck hasn’t my best friend come to visit me yet?

  Nathan gives me a knowing look. “She wants to come and see you, Aves. It’s just–”

  “Just what?” I interrupt. “Seriously. I’ve barely seen her the past few months. I know life is busy, but fuck. I almost died, and she can’t even blow work off for an afternoon to come and see me?”

  “You know what they say about true friends,” Nathan replies. “They show up in hard times.”

  I roll my eyes, tired of the subject. “Whatever. I don’t even care.”

  It’s a lie. Of course I care. Jennifer and I have been friends since we were little kids. She’s like a sister to me. Or at least, she was like a sister to me. Now I don’t know what she is. Somebody I used to know? That can’t be possible.

  I don’t want to think about Jennifer. I hand my empty plate to Nathan and settle back into my soft mattress, closing my eyes. I’m so tired that I’m asleep in moments.

  I dream of Rome.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  AVERY

  The next days follow a similar trajectory. I stay huddled in my room, too overwhelmed to venture downstairs where Enzo and Eliza have taken over the house. I know they’re just trying to help, but I don’t want to have to see them or talk to them. It makes me burn with shame that they know so much of what happened to me. I haven’t dared ask if they’ve seen any of the video footage. I make a mental note to ask the cop, Elliot, the next time I see him.

  Nathan is the only one I’m comfortable with, and maybe that’s because I’ve seen him at his absolute worst, too. I’ve scooped vomit out of his mouth with my fingers when he overdosed on pills, and I’ve been the one to check him into a rehab center more than once. I’ve thrown him into cold showers to sober him up, and let him cry on my shoulder when he was trying not to break. Adeline’s death really fucked him up, but it’s been years since he touched anything harder than weed or beer. So in a way, I don’t mind that he sees this side of me. It’s almost comforting having someone else who’s already lived their own personal hell, even though it’s miles apart from mine. The only thing I don’t share with Nathan is that I have the burner phone Will smuggled into the hospital for me. I keep it in a false bottom in the last drawer of my nightstand, only retrieving it when I know I’m alone. Will is so sweet; he asks how I am, sends me photos from our time together. He even jokes about meeting up at church. But I think he knows that after what I’ve been through, sex of any kind is off the table for a very long time. Having a lifeline to the outside world is exhilarating. It feels wrong, but it’s Will, for Christ’s sake–what’s he going to do that could ever harm me? He’s a puppy dog, and aside from Nathan, somebody I trust deeply. I feel guilty, though, that every time I text him, I’m wishing I was able to somehow speak with Rome.

  I still haven’t figured out a polite way of asking Will if he can arrange some kind of phone call, and to be honest, I don’t think he’d be able to. The kinds of contacts his famous Hollywood father has are not the same as the kinds of underworld contacts on the Capulet Rolodex. I wouldn’t dare ask Nathan or En
zo, because I already know they see Rome as guilty in this and me as some mentally damaged hostage who can’t quite accept that one of her captors is someone she used to date. If I can somehow get in contact with the cop, Elliot, I know he can hook me up with Rome’s lawyer, at the very least. I just have to work my way out of this damn fortress of a house and out from under the thumb of my overbearing, overcaring family first.

  I bide my time. It almost kills me, the burning in my chest at being separated from Rome. But I have no choice other than to swallow it down and wait.

  More days pass after my shower panic attack. But after those days are up, I resurface.

  I don’t resurface fully. It’s too strange, with my aunt and uncle moving through the house. Their voices echo off the high ceilings and their footsteps move down halls like they own the place. Nathan comes in and out, dropping onto the sofa on the other side of my room. He talks to me about vacations and drugs. We compare Narcan experiences. He orders me takeout and only makes the mistake of bringing it in styrofoam containers once. After that, it’s always on a real plate with real silverware.

  On the fifth day, he asks me if I want to go out.

  My body still aches, but it’s hard to tell if it aches more from constantly lying in bed or through the hellish beating of the six weeks in captivity.

  “Yeah. I do.”

  Nathan sits up. “Not to be a dick, but you should probably shower.”

  He’s right. It’s been a few days between bathing.

  An hour later, I come out of the bathroom looking like a poor imitation of my old self. I’ve blow-dried my hair, despite the protesting pain in my abdominal muscles, and pulled on a pair of skinny jeans and a black top that looks too baggy. Everything looks baggy. This is a situation I would have killed to be in during my high school years, and now it’s just another reminder that one way to become painfully thin is to be continually tortured for weeks on end.

  Nathan waits at my bedroom door, furiously texting on his phone. My purse dangles from my fingertips.

  “You’re in the way, Nate.”

  He gives me a sidelong smile and shoves his phone into his jeans pocket. “I’m coming with you.”

  “You really don’t have to.” He does have to. There’s no way I can get myself together enough to drive. But something in Nate’s expression makes me think this isn’t his idea.

  “I do.” He stands up straight, squares his shoulders. It’s a weird look on him. In my house, we’ve always been casual with each other. “My parents don’t think you should go out on your own. It’s either me, them, or the bodyguard.” He laughs, and for a split second, it’s like none of this ever happened. “Joke—the bodyguard’s coming too, no matter who you pick.”

  My stomach turns, but that’s because I’m hungry. Right? I haven’t been eating enough. I need something with calories. Something fresh.

  “Take me to get a smoothie. The bodyguard can follow along in another car.”

  The first trip out, we run into Will outside the smoothie place. The bodyguard, a suited man whose name I don’t bother to learn, follows at a conspicuous distance. Will’s eyes light up when he sees me. He looks so damn good in the sunlight. He looks like he’s been in the sun, unlike me.

  “Hey, Aves.” He brings me in for a careful, tentative hug, and I wish furiously that people didn’t feel the need to encase me in bubble wrap. “How are you doing? Are you taking care of her?” He directs this last question to Nathan.

  “Scout’s honor.”

  Hilarious. Nathan would never have been a Boy Scout. Not even on the threat of death.

  “You okay?” Will looks down into my eyes and somewhere, deep down, down so far I can hardly touch it, a warm affection lights up. It’s so dim. So far. I feel like I could reach for it forever and still not get to it. He feels like a stranger to me.

  “I’m out.” I give him a smile that hopefully disguises the fact that a few months ago I was in good enough shape to get fucked in a mausoleum, whereas now, I need to rest halfway before I can even make it to the smoothie place from Nathan’s car parked thirty feet away. “I’m doing fine.”

  I’m not fine, I want to scream at him. I’m desperately lonely. I miss Rome. I’m afraid my family will somehow find the phone, and then I won’t be able to get to you if I need you. I won’t be able to get to anyone. I have to have a bodyguard with me everywhere I go, and every single person in my house is acting like I’m a child made of glass.

  “Good.” Will reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Have this guy shoot me a message if you need anything, okay?”

  Nathan stands stiffly by my side, hands in his pockets. “Sure. I’ll message you.”

  Will looks like he’s about to say more, but reconsiders. “I’ll see you, Avery.”

  He quickly kisses my cheek and then walks away. Nathan ushers me into the smoothie place with a flourish, still staring daggers after Will as he walks down the sidewalk toward his car.

  “He didn’t do anything wrong,” I tell Nathan, exhaustion pressing down onto my shoulders. My belly aches. It might never stop aching. “You don’t have to puff your feathers in front of him.”

  “Puff my feathers?” Nathan mocks. “I’m sure that guy has something to do with...” He pauses. “You know. All that.”

  Yeah. All that.

  “I’m sure he doesn’t.”

  “I think he’s following you.”

  “Oh, come on.” I step up to the counter, my muscles protesting. “Stop talking shit about Will and buy me a smoothie, Nathan.”

  “You don’t think it’s odd that he just appears out of thin air the one time you step out of the house?”

  I side-eye him, frustration rising in my chest. “He’s the one who introduced me to this place,” I snap. “He comes here every day for a fucking protein shake before the gym. If anything, he probably thinks I’m trying to bump into him.”

  Nathan presses his lips together and doesn’t say another word about Will.

  Will didn’t do anything wrong. Why would he have? All he did was bring me a phone. And I wasn’t lying about the protein shake thing. He’s near obsessed with his workout routine, and has been since I met him.

  San Francisco is a sprawling city, but Will seems to have it all under his thumb. He’s there, sitting on a bench outside the little cafe where Nathan takes me to buy a muffin. He’s there at church three days later, lighting a candle as I come out of the confession box.

  Three’s the magic number, isn’t it? It is for me, anyway. Because after the third time we “bump into” each other, I’m not so sure Nathan is overreacting. After church is finished, I scurry out to Nathan’s car, without making my usual pitstop at our family’s mausoleum.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Nathan remarks, sliding into the driver's seat as I fasten my seatbelt.

  “I think I have,” I murmur, watching from behind my dark sunglasses as Will makes his way down the steep church steps, scanning for me. “Three times isn’t a coincidence, is it.”

  Nathan starts the range rover, and it purrs to life. “Nope.”

  I sigh. “Can I use your phone?”

  He hands it over without a word, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the highway before Will sees us. Nathan doesn’t need to say anything. His eyes already confirm that he knows what’s ailing me.

  One phone call later, and I hand the phone back to Nathan, settling into the plush leather upholstery as he drives way too fast out of Colma and through the patchwork of cemeteries dotting the landscape. As kids, we used to hold our breath every time our parents drove us through the valley of dead toward the family mausoleum, and every time, I would win. I doubt I’d be able to hold my breath for very long these days.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  AVERY

  When I get back to my house, Elliot McRae is waiting by the front door, dressed in slacks and a white button-down shirt. He looks different than he does in my nightmares–in those, he appears in snippets, wearing SW
AT combat gear, a rifle in his hands as he peers down at me. I blink that memory away. I don’t need to rehash my macabre dreams right now.

  Nathan stops his car in front of the entryway so I can get out, pulling away to park in the garage once I’ve closed the door.

  “Avery,” Elliot greets me.

  “Thanks for coming out here, Detective,” I say.

  “No problem,” Elliot says, concern etching his face. “How are you doing?”

  God. Could people ask that question a few more times? Maybe if they ask me again and again, I’ll finally whip out a magic wand and make the last few months disappear. It’s pointless to talk about it. But this time, at least, there’s something that’s not pointless to mention.