Enemies & Lovers

by Christine Zolendz

  A sudden flash of black moves across my vision, and somehow my feet are knocked out from beneath me. What’s going on? Did I trip over something? Someone hot and solid is at my back. Their body is damp with sweat and breathing heavily. A hand grabs my waist, hard, fast. I don’t know what’s happening. I squirm forward. That sinking feeling in my gut is spreading, racing through my heart and rushing through my veins.

  Hard, cool metal presses up under the edge of my jaw. I strain my eyes back to see who’s grabbing me. It’s Matteo. Matteo has me. He’s holding me tight in his grip, and there’s a gun. He’s pushing a gun into my throat.

  I let out a high-pitched whimper. “Shut up,” Matteo grunts, his breath hot and damp in my ear. “Hand over the money or I redecorate the room with her brains.”

  Ms. Montgomery doesn’t budge, and I know without a doubt I’m about to die.

  She’s going to let him kill me so she can keep the money. Of course she would, I’m not worth fifteen billion dollars to her, I’m not worth a penny to this stupid family.

  Ms. Lowell’s hands cover over her mouth. Vaughn holds up his hands, his face is pure agony. Chloe drops to her knees and covers her ears. Everyone’s movements are stunted, slowed down. Muted. Just like you see in movies. My heart beats loud and thick through my head, and I’m very aware they are the sounds of the end of my life.

  Suddenly all the anger I’ve held inside drains out of my body, all the bitterness, all the resentment, every ounce of hate. Warmth spreads over my skin, tingling my scalp all the way to the tips of my toes and all I can see is Vaughn, and how happy I could be if I just had a little more time here with him, if we both just let go of our past and only look toward the future.

  “This isn’t the way, Matteo!” Maria Lowell’s voice pleads. “Please, Matteo. Please, no!”

  “The way to what?” he asks, with a harsh laugh. “The truth?”

  Vaughn’s eyes are locked on mine. “Matteo, please. Please let her go. Don’t do this. Take the money and let her go.”

  Ms. Montgomery holds onto the papers tight as Vaughn grabs at them frantically.

  “You’re all fighting over his money when I’m his real first-born son. That money belongs to me,” Matteo shouts. His spit splatters at my face and I dry heave.

  “Just let her go, Matteo. Come on, man, listen to me, we can work out whatever you need. Whatever you want, just…just let her go,” Vaughn pleads, with a step forward.

  Matteo drags me backward, his hand and arm digging into my stomach painfully. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to be a part of this family, Vaughn? I envied you so much. You had it all. When we were kids, you had Claire, everyone wanted to be you, and why? Because you were a Montgomery. I got the scraps because I was the maid’s son.” He rubs the barrel of the gun up over the bottom of my jaw and hard across my cheek, pressing into the skin just under my eye. “But I’m not just the maid’s son. I’m Silas Montgomery’s son too.”

  Vaughn’s hands stay held up in the air, in surrender. “Okay, Matteo, okay. What makes you think my father is your father?”

  “Because he is,” Maria Lowell whispers, “I was Silas’s parents’ housekeeper before he ever met Margaret or Libby.”

  Margaret Montgomery’s hands slap down at her sides. “How dare you! This is ludicrous, all of it.”

  Maria Lowell turns to Mrs. Montgomery, “You know it’s the truth, Margaret. You knew we were together, but you saw dollar signs and got yourself pregnant.”

  Mrs. Montgomery narrows her eyes.

  “And then you went straight to his parents with an ultimatum,” Ms. Lowell says.

  “What ultimatum? What is she talking about, Mother?” Chloe shrieks as she pulls nervously at her hair.

  Mrs. Montgomery doesn’t say anything but turns up her nose and looks defiantly away.

  If Maria’s glare could throw daggers, Mrs. Montgomery would be full of holes. She steps closer to me and Matteo, crossing her arms over her chest. For a brief moment, I think she’s getting close to help me—to get me away from her son—but she comes no closer. “She threatened to tell the tabloids and the authorities her real age. Didn’t you, Margaret?”

  “Mom?” Chloe cries, “Mom, what is she talking about?”

  Margaret smirks and shrugs, “I was fifteen, and in our state, statutory rape by a grown man five years older than me was punishable by ten to twenty years in prison. They couldn’t build a defense for him against that paternity test. It’s not my fault I was smarter than you were.”

  Vaughn shouts in frustration, “Damnit! Matteo, take the fucking money! If you’re my brother then so be it, but just let Claire go. She has nothing to do with any of this, please.”

  “But she does, though,” Matteo pushes his mouth against the side of my face as he speaks. “You want to be with her again, don’t you? And you don’t deserve to get everything you want anymore. I’m the real Montgomery heir, not you.”

  “Brother—” Vaughn starts.

  “Claire was supposed to go back to her apartment. I was waiting for her!” Matteo explodes. He inhales loudly into my cheek, my hair, and hisses into my ear, “Claire, we could have had it all, the money, each other, living on a beach in Mexico, but you reek of Vaughn’s cock. Oh, and that other cock, that male teacher’s cock. I don’t know if I want your diseased cunt anymore. Might have to get rid of you.”

  My heart drums uncontrollably against my ribcage. “You…you were in…my apartment?” The words stammer and stumble out of my mouth. “Were you the one…the texts? The pictures? You were the one who did all that?”

  His body vibrates around me as he laughs.

  “Put the gun down, Matteo. Don’t do anything stupid,” Vaughn begs. He keeps shifting closer, stepping slowly. I don’t want him any closer. I’m so scared my whole body is trembling. I don’t want to die like this. I don’t want to die at all. Maybe the gun isn’t real. It can’t be real. Why would Matteo have a gun? Is he some sort of criminal? The Matteo I grew up with wouldn’t have a gun, he wasn’t a killer. The idea shatters in my brain as soon as it’s thought, I don’t know anything about him now. He could be my killer.

  I can’t think. I can’t hear what everyone is yelling about either. The sounds of Matteo’s heavy breaths block out the shouts. I should be begging for my life, but I don’t speak. What could I possibly say to him? This isn’t even about me.

  I’m having a hard time believing any of this is happening. I was just in my classroom reading Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. I’d gone to lunch with my colleagues to plan out lessons. I only ate an apple, I was hungry but budgeting, trying to make ends meet. My phone rang. I should have never answered it. It’s supposed to be Alexander’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, not mine.

  Chloe is on her knees, her hands and arms still covering her head. She’s rocking back and forth. She looks like one of my second-graders practicing for a school shelter drill. Everyone looks so absurd. Even Vaughn with his terror-stricken eyes and imploring mouth. I don’t want these things to be the last things I see.

  Does he realize that everything that’s happening, everything that’s ever happened to any of us, is all the direct result of his father’s despicable life choices? The man was pure evil.

  Behind me Matteo is getting more and more agitated. I feel the hum of it all over his body as it presses up against mine. He’s going to push down on that trigger any minute now. One little tug, one small bit of pressure, and everything I am will end. Every hope and dream I’ve ever had, every goal I’ve strived for, every memory, every experience, every ounce of me and my life will disappear.

  I don’t want to die.

  “You’re not going to be able to get away with this,” I say, tilting my head up to look back into his eyes. “The police are investigating already, I had to give them my phone yesterday, Matteo, when you broke into my apartment.”

  “Good thing I’ll have fifteen billion dollars to vanish off the face of this
planet,” he sneers. The hand he’s holding me with clenches my skin, he’s fisting the skin of my stomach like I’m made of dough. The pain is unreal, but it can’t be worse than what he’s planning to do to me with that gun.

  “Matteo, listen. Listen, they’re going to trace the texts messages—the images that you photoshopped? It’s all going to come back to you, you’re not going to be able to get away with it. I don’t think you should add killing anyone to that list,” I urge.

  “Trust me, they won’t find anything,” he says evenly. “I’m very good at what I do. No one will figure out those pictures aren’t you.”

  I need to think of something to get out of his hold. Did someone call the police? Are they coming? Are they on their way? Maybe the butler did? He’s not in the room. How about the kitchen staff? They must have heard all the yelling and called for help.

  Unless they all think they could be billionaires too.

  I have to make him believe that killing any of us would be a huge mistake. He has to acknowledge that murdering me would make it so much worse for him. “They even took the sheets and blankets from off my bed. Why would they do that, Matteo? If you kill me, it would look premeditated, and you’d go away for a long, long time.”

  He chuckles darkly behind me. “A trade then, brother. The whore for the papers,” Matteo growls, throwing me forward, shoving me hard, out in front of him. He moves so fast I don’t see what’s happening. I tumble off balance, and Vaughn’s arms yank me up instantly, stopping me from hitting the floor.

  “No!” Vaughn shouts in my ear, and he spins me around until his body blocks mine.

  No, no, no, this can’t be happening.

  Matteo is pointing the gun straight at Vaughn. He’s got the papers, why is he still pointing the gun? “Matteo, come on. You got the money, put the gun down. You don’t want to hurt her.”

  “Oh, but I do,” Matteo says sinisterly. “I want to watch something you love get taken away from you.”

  “I’m not going to let that happen, Matt—” The gun goes off, pop-pop…pop-pop-pop. It sounds like the Fourth of July. There’s a flash that explodes from the front of the gun and immediately my ears ring and fill with loud static. Vaughn jumps back, his muscles go stiff and rigid then lean into me. His hands reach out to me and he cradles my cheeks.

  “Are you okay, Claire? Claire?” His hands shake. His fingers tremor over my face. “I’m going to love you for the rest of my life, okay? Okay?”

  There’s blood, a lot of it, but I don’t know who got shot. I don’t feel pain. All I can feel, all I am is the beating of my heart, pounding, pounding, pounding.

  When the pops went off Vaughn jumped in front of me.

  He jumped in front of me. I slide my hands over my chest and stomach. I still don’t feel pain. There’s just that buzzing white noise, and Chloe, she’s screaming. Not just Chloe, everyone. Everyone is screaming.

  Matteo is suddenly above me. He’s dragging me, dragging me along the floor away from Vaughn. I kick at him and scream, and he pulls the gun up and points it right in front of my eyes.

  “I won’t miss this time,” he mutters. “Chloe’s next, then that cunt Margaret.”

  I watch his finger move and brace myself. Click.

  His eyes narrow.

  Someone is still screaming behind me.

  Click. Click. Click.

  He’s trying to kill me, over and over. The gun isn’t working, it must me empty.

  What if he puts more bullets inside, or gets it firing again somehow? I can’t let him do that. I’m frantic. Panicking. The gun went off and there’s blood. I see red and all I can focus on is not letting the gun work again.

  I flail my arms in the air and grab the first thing my hands can reach—it’s a tray of coffee and fresh fruit. There’re splotches of blood sprinkled over it. I don’t give myself time to think about it. The fruit plate falls off and pieces of strawberries and mango fly everywhere. I swing the metal tray at Matteo’s face, hard. I don’t stop.

  I don’t ever stop.

  Chapter 23

  Vaughn

  There’s a sudden impact of no sensation.

  Numbness prickles and spreads, washing over my skin.

  I know I’m shot. I know I got her out of the way, but she still could have gotten hit. I tried to get between her and the gun, I tried. “Claire,” I call out to her. My voice is a garbled mess. Shit, that bastard better not have hit me in any place important. I’m still moving, so it can’t be that bad. Let’s hope his aim is for shit.

  Pins and needles tingle and heat, then turn to fire.

  “Claire!” I call out again. My arm burns like a motherfucker, it’s like someone is rubbing glass shards over my bone—or tattooing into every inch of my body at once. “Claire!” I shout again. I just need to see if she’s okay.

  She kneels beside me, pulling at my shirt, trying to rip it over my head. I like the fact she wants my shirt off, even though I know it’s not for a reason I’m smiling about. “Why are you smiling like that?” she cries.

  “You’re getting me naked.” The room spins and I feel a bit nauseous. The shirt is warm and wet against my skin.

  “We need to stop the bleeding,” Claire’s telling someone. Her voice is too shaky, I don’t like how she sounds. She’s worrying over me. Maybe the fucker did have good aim.

  “Where…where am I bleeding?” I ask, drunkenly.

  Her eyes are darting all over me, and I know I’m not going to like her answer. “It’s okay, Vaughn. You’re going to be okay.”

  Liar. Liar. Pants on fire.

  “Are you hurt?” I rasp. It’s all I care about—not me, not the money—I need to know she’s okay.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine. Just stop bleeding, Vaughn,” her face is too pale, but those eyes, though, so damn blue. Striking. It’s like getting hit by lightning.

  “I believe I might have jumped in front of a bullet for you,” I grunt in pain. It’s like blisters under my skin, aching and ripping my flesh. The pain ebbs and flows, like waves.

  “Yeah,” she sobs, “you did.”

  “Oh, babe, don’t cry. It’s got to mean something, Claire.” Before anything else happens, I need her to know exactly how I feel. I have to tell her what I want, what I always wanted. “Wait, wait…where’s Matteo?” Does that bastard still have the gun? What if he shoots again? What if he hits me in the head and I can’t think? Six times seven is forty-two. The square root—I don’t even care. “Where’s Matteo?”

  She lifts her hand and there’s a gun in it. She points the weapon behind her, gesturing to a heap on the ground. I wonder if he’s dead and how it happened. Did he shoot himself? How did Claire get his gun? Did she shoot him? If I wasn’t so messed up, I think I’d be very turned on right now.

  “I think I knocked him out,” she whispers. She’s got the sleeve of my shirt wrapped around my arm and my ribcage. She’s squeezing my arm so tightly fireworks light up my skin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she chants, “I need to stop the blood…I got to keep it inside you.”

  “Claire, if we don’t get out of this alive—”

  “Don’t finish that sentence! I’m stopping the blood. Chloe called 911. You’re going to be fine.” She’s crying, tears and mascara trail down her cheeks. “You’re going to be fine. And you’ll still be rich, too.”

  “I don’t want that money either,” I whisper. A throbbing coldness creeps through my insides. “I don’t want anything…or anyone…but you, Claire.”

  She wipes at her nose and nods her head. “You stop bleeding and you got me, okay? You got me.”

  “For always,” I demand.

  “Forever,” she whispers, then touches her lips to mine. I close my eyes and let her kiss me.

  When I open them again my mother is sitting next to me. What the hell happened to Claire? You can’t just kiss a beautiful girl then open your eyes and see your mother’s blotchy, pinched-up face. That’ll fuck a guy up for life. I try to sit up, but I can’t.
I’m strapped down. What in the actual fuck?

  There’s an IV attached to my hand, and an emergency technician, who looks suspiciously like Abraham Lincoln, beard and all, bends over me. From the way the surface I’m lying on bounces, I figure I’m in an ambulance. Good, my brain still seems to work. “Where’s Claire?” I ask. My voice sounds like a stranger’s.

  “Don’t worry about her, she’s with Chloe following us to the hospital,” my mother says through tightly clenched teeth.

  I look at her closely. She’s either worried or really needs to use the bathroom. Shit, I think I’m high. “Don’t try to talk,” she says, patting the stretcher.

  Screw not talking.

  “Did you know?” I ask, wondering if she’d tell me the truth. “Did you know Matteo was his son?”

  “No,” she whispers, shaking her head sadly. “Your father hurt me again and again, didn’t he?”

  “As always you seem to make any situation all about you, Mom,” I wince in pain. Fuck, now my stomach is on fire. “I’m strapped to a gurney—I think I’m full of bullet holes, and you want to talk about your husband hurting you because he had sex with someone other than you.”

  “Do you think this is easy for me?”

  “What?” I grunt, my heading swimming. “Seeing me like this or having to deal with everyone knowing your family wasn’t so perfect after all?”

  “No, Vaughn. It’s not easy seeing you get caught up in all your father’s lies and mistakes.” My mother starts crying. “I always blamed the women, but it was his fault too, wasn’t it?”

  A needle pierces my skin and warmth rushes through me. My vision blurs and the sharpness of the pain begins to drain slowly out of me.

  “You better not die on me,” my mother’s voice echoes. “So many mistakes have been made. So many.”

  “Mom, I love her. Claire. I’m sorry if you hate me for it. But I’ve never forgotten her. She gave up all that money,” I ramble sluggishly.