by Mason, V. F.
After Rafe brought me home, I slept for ten hours straight and then woke up late. I found some food in the fridge with my name on it and a note from Rafe to eat whatever I wanted but to not forget about the job. He left the address and number with directions, claiming he’d be back in a few days.
Thankfully, my old smartphone still works, so once I get new sim card, I can at least have access to the internet and other information.
I cleaned the house, took a long shower, enjoying the hot water for the first time in a while without worrying someone might stare or attack me at any moment.
I also took time studying my reflection in the mirror, noticing the angry scars and puckered skin. The ones on my face faded away within years, I have the surgeon to thank for that. My brown hair has seen better days with split ends and the color washed out; not to mention my body is skinnier.
Deciding to ignore my looks, because who gives a flying fuck, I went back to bed and woke up in time to come here. As it turned out, the bar was only a twenty-minute walk away from the apartment building.
Herb greeted me easily without asking any questions. He only wanted to see my bartending skills, and satisfied with them, he told me to leave my things in the staff room, introduced me to the crew, and asked me how many days I wanted to bartend.
Of course, every day, and I got myself a permanent-for-now job. And if the tips continue to come along plus the hourly rate, then I should have enough for food and clothes.
Until I can straighten my life out, that is.
Tracy runs in through the backdoor, panting and adjusting the apron on her waist while asking quietly, “Did you miss me?” My brows furrow at this as she pulls her hair into a ponytail. “As in searched for me.”
“Just for one table, but then they grabbed the tray themselves.”
She winces and glances around before leaning closer to whisper, “Did Herb see that?”
“Nope. I’m not sure where he is.” The man generally gave a don’t-fuck-with-me attitude with his broad shoulders, beefy arms, and leather clothes.
He closed the door to his office hours ago and just barked for us to get our asses moving, because the bar wasn’t going to run itself.
She sighs in relief, grinning. “Thank God. He’d for sure rip me a new one for those few minutes.” Before I can comment on that, we hear the bell above the door jingle, and she runs off, throwing over her shoulder, “Customers.”
I nod, and then the guy who took the tray is back, flashing me a grin. “Can I have a beer?”
“Sure,” I say, and I go to the tap to get him one in a glass, but he shakes his head.
“I’d like one in a bottle please.” He points at the refrigerator, and I do as he says, turning around and snatching it from the cooler, when I hear the guy mutter, “Hey, man, I was standing here.”
“Now, you’re not. Move.” The deep, husky voice laced with steel and power freezes me. The bottle and glass in my hands clink against each other while the memory of this voice flashes in my mind, like snippets of a horror movie you can never forget no matter how much you wish you never watched it.
A day won’t go by that you won’t regret what you did. Prison is just the beginning, Phoenix.
The man who has haunted me since the very beginning of my nightmare, who doesn’t let me go even when the whole world knows I didn’t kill his wife.
I probably should have expected he’d come after me. Yet, for some stupid reason, the naïve me thought he’d transfer his fury toward the unsub. In criminal psychology, that’s what unknown killers are called until the police find them. Giving them nicknames is a mistake, as it feeds their psychopathic ego, putting more significance in their mind in the horrendous deeds they do.
“Lady, my beer?” the guy calls me, snapping me from the past and grounding me in the present.
And in the present, I’m not guilty of the crime this man has placed on me and will no longer take his abuse or hide away from him.
Gone are the fucking days when I cast my gaze down whenever he drilled his stare into mine, almost daring me to defend myself.
With a gulp of air, I spin around and come face-to-face with the deepest green eyes I’ve ever seen on a man. Like pure emeralds costing millions, they are filled with curiosity and something else that the man prefers to keep hidden.
His dark hair falls below his ears, glistening under the harsh bar light, and his skin is tan. He’s wearing a black leather jacket and probably has on matching jeans.
A man of his caliber is wealthy enough to have everything top notch, down to his fucking socks.
He’s muscled yet doesn’t seem like he will burst open the seams of his clothes. A chain dangles from around his neck, the tip of it under his white T-shirt, which hints at a well-defined six-pack below.
Zachary King could probably be considered the most handsome man I’ve ever seen with the dominant and powerful energy swirling around him, indicating that nothing in his life happens without his permission.
And if does… you pay dearly for it. My life is testament to that.
Ignoring his prying eyes, I smile at the customer and give him the beer. He glances at Zachary one last time before walking back to his friends.
“I’d like a glass of whiskey on the rocks,” he tells me. Without saying anything, I pick up a glass, drop ice into it and pour whiskey before sliding it toward him. “Thank you, Phoenix.” Goose bumps of disgust spread through me at the sound of my name on his lips, and I squeeze the counter under me hard, my nails scratching the surface so I won’t do something stupid like spit in his face or tell him to go to hell.
He won’t cost me this job, and I just bet he wishes he could. Does he think showing up here will make me lose my composure so he can screw up my life even more?
Then he has another think coming. I won’t do any of those things.
“Ignoring me won’t help. I won’t go away,” he says, sipping his drink while I wipe the countertop. I concentrate on my breathing so my hands won’t tremble. I don’t want him to see how much this affects me.
How much rage and fear fill my every bone, the only emotions he inspires within me.
“Phoenix, look at me.” I continue to clean up, putting the whiskey bottle back in its place, and he orders again, his voice deepening, “Look at me, dammit.”
Stilling my movements, I raise my eyes so our gazes clash, his challenging and mine indifferent, because fuck him if he thinks he will know what I feel.
The minute he does, he will use it against me, because that’s how powerful men like him operate when they want something you have.
Find your weakness and send an arrow straight to it, killing you with one strike.
“Talking to you is not part of my job description. So unless you want another drink, you do not exist to me,” I inform him, ready to turn around to take care of the table behind me before someone else shows up, but he chuckles, the sound sending chills down my spine.
“Very well.” He finishes his drink with one gulp, placing the glass on the bar, rattling it loudly. “I want another drink, Phoenix.”
Stilling the scream of frustration inside, I wrap my hands around the whiskey bottle and pour him another one right in time to the jingling of the door, indicating someone else has shown up.
Right on cue, Tracy rushes over, fanning herself, and whispers to me, “Another hottie just entered. Oh my God, he is gorgeous in the suit-guy way.”
Suit guy?
I’m not sure if Zach heard her, but he probably did if his mouth curving in a smile is anything to go by. I turn my head to the newcomer, wondering who has her so weak in the knees.
Or that’s the excuse I give myself, so I won’t have to look at Zachary’s face and hold myself back from punching him.
But the bottle in my hands slips through my fingers, clattering against the countertop and spilling the whiskey everywhere. I see a blond-haired man with the most beautiful blue eyes that used to gaze at me with love.
And now they are shining brightly with remorse as he looks at me, majestic and handsome in his black suit that fits him like a glove, and his skin with several tattoos hidden behind that perfect suit. This is the person he shows to the world.
His hair is short, just barely reaching the tips of his ears, and I notice how he has become more handsome in the passing years.
He must be happy to give off such a vibe. I wonder why.
I imagine a new love interest would do that to a man.
The heart inside my chest contracts, squeezing so tightly for a second I don’t know how to breathe. We stare at one another, the outside world disappearing for a moment like a blur, making it seem like we are the only people in it.
Reminding me of the time I used to love this man and he was everything to me.
“I love you, Phoenix,” Sebastian whispers against my forehead before placing a soft kiss on it and then dropping to his knees, right on the sand, and the distant sounds of the ocean lapping against the rocks in the background. “I can’t imagine living in a world without you.” He takes out a velvet box from his pocket and opens it up, the diamond glistening in the sun, and I gasp. “Will you marry me and spend the rest of your life with me?” he asks, and I nod, tears forming in my eyes that transform into giggles as he gets up and hugs me close, spinning us around, and finally stops.
I lean back, palm his head, and tell him, “I love you, Sebastian. Yes, a thousand times yes.” Our mouths connect with a kiss while I think it’s possible to die of happiness.
“Phoenix,” Zachary calls, tearing me away from my past, and I look at him, his mouth set in a flat line while something unfamiliar flashes in his eyes.
I’d say it’s possessiveness, but how ridiculous is that, right?
I step back from the counter, not caring about the liquid spilling on the floor now, while I try to understand what’s going on.
Somehow, on my first day on the job, I get trapped between the past and the present, the ex-husband and my worst enemy.
Or rather…
I get stuck between two men.
One I promised to love till my dying breath, creating a life together where no hardships would have been able to snatch me away from him.
The other I promised to hate till my dying breath, never forgetting what he has done to me as my body and the pain in my chest are constant reminders of that.
Two men.
Two different emotions.
And among these two men, I have to find a solution and middle ground to remove them from my life once and for all.
Because both of them have destroyed me once, stripping me of everything to the point that I almost believed I killed Angelica King.
They made me think I was a murderer.
And for that… for that, I will never forgive them.
Never.
Chapter Nine
“Past and future can collide in such a way that it shakes someone’s present.”
Phoenix
From Phoenix and Zach’s letters history…
Dear Zach,
How are you?
I’ve been thinking how to start my letter to you. I wrote it and then folded the paper only to get a new one and start again. All the beginnings seemed so lame… and this one is probably no better, but I figure I gotta start somewhere, right?
I’m the girl you met on the playground, P. Not sure if you remember me (it has been one year since you last saw me). Probably not, because you never wrote a letter to me.
But… something extraordinary happened today. And as sad as it sounds, I didn’t have anyone else I’d like to share this information with but you.
I’m one of the best students in my class, and when I say the best… I mean I understand all the subjects, and it becomes boring for me to sit through all the explanations. In fact, I found the book for older grades and couldn’t help but love all the chemistry equations. (Still hate math, but in my defense, even the subject I dislike is easy for me. That A-minus I once got was an accident. I was distracted.)
Not to mention they have so many interesting things about biology, unlike the 4th graders’ book. The information there is so simple I’m not sure how the class doesn’t get it and needs to listen to the teacher over and over again.
Principal Eva saw me sneaking a book from the library on quantum physics two weeks ago and called me to her office, asking me why I did it.
So I told her (Of course in a different way than I’m telling you. I’m not sure she’d have liked me talking so badly about her school.), and she made me take some test.
And today the results came in.
Apparently, I’m super smart. They used the term “genius child,” and it means they had to move me up a few grades. This way I will finish school at fifteen, and you know what’s so awesome about it that I couldn’t wait to share it with you?
I get to leave this house at fifteen to go to college, because the principal said I won’t have problems getting scholarships if all goes well.
Can you imagine how happy I was? How happy I am?
Words are not enough to describe it.
Ms. Thomson (my foster parent) sneered, of course, that I’m just one among thousands of smart kids and not to get my hopes up. She even joked I might get pregnant, and then all my dreams will go down the toilet.
Like ewww… I don’t even crush on boys (just notice if they are cute). Why would she say something like that?
Anyhow, I hope you are having a great time in Italy (that’s where you are, I think, based on your address, and I would love to visit the country one day, by the way. The pictures I’ve seen on the internet are so beautiful, plus the food!) and don’t mind reading this letter.
Or maybe it won’t even reach you, or you will just throw it away. I’m not sure anyone writes actual letters these days. Emails are the thing, but I find this idea weirdly exciting.
Okay, I’m done with my ramblings, and I’m going to quickly mail this letter before I change my mind and start a new one.
Best wishes,
P
Two months later
P,
Congratulations. School fucking sucks big time, and I’m glad you’ll be out of it and out of the freak house faster.
Italy is beautiful, but the funny thing about travels? All the beauty fades away if all you want to do is come back home. But you can’t because the father dearest forbids it, and you have no say in what goes on around your life.
At this point, I probably sound like a bitter jerk, but I figure I can say that since we are sharing.
Such is life though. People are mostly never satisfied with what they have. They want what they don’t have, and it makes them miserable.
You can write to me if you want, but don’t always expect an answer. I’m just not wired this way. Although it probably will be the most ridiculous thing I’ve done in my life.
That being said, you will find a little gift inside the envelope. It’s a bracelet made out of the stones I found on the streets of Rome. Had it done by some cool professional and added one more stone to it, right in the middle called a citrine. It brings luck to those who wear it. Hidden by the regular stones, no one will try to take it away from you or think it’s valuable. Whenever you’re in doubt, just look at the stone and think about your dreams,
Or at least that’s what my mom used to say about it.
I hope you like it, and once again congrats on the achievement.
Best,
Zach
P.S. Fuck what Ms. Thomson says. Bitter people always spit some bullshit to those they see potential in. Study well and get the hell out of there. Life is too short to listen to anyone.
Even me.
Phoenix
My heart beats so fast in my chest I almost feel it in my throat, and there is a ringing in my ears that, for a second, casts a fog on my vision, as their faces and words form a long- -ago echo in my mind one after another.
And all the pain from the past slashes through me agai
n, fueling my blood with its venom, and I’m back in a place where I was almost four years ago.
Hopeless, guilty, unwanted.
“Sebastian, please, please. Listen to me,” I beg him, grabbing his elbow while he packs his stuff in a suitcase, oblivious to my begging.
He snatches his arm back, pushing me in the process, and I fall on the floor, crying out in pain when I land on my side. But the man who once frowned at a little bruise on my body doesn’t even spare me a glance.
Doesn’t even pause what he’s doing.
Instead, he closes his suitcase and moves toward the door. Forgetting about my dignity, I wrap my hands around his leg, stilling his movements. “It’s not true, Sebastian. I didn’t drink. I didn’t do it!”
His bitter laughter bounces off the walls as he turns to me and seethes, kicking me off his leg. “I believed you. I believed you when you told me you hadn’t done it. But the results don’t lie. You were drunk. You were drunk and then drove that fucking car into that poor woman and killed her.”
I shake my head, tears falling rapidly on my cheeks while I still hold on to him despite the physical and internal pain. With each word, he breaks my heart into tiny little pieces, yet I can’t let him walk away.
Because if he does, it will be the end of us.
The end of this marriage.
The end of the relationship with the only person who ever loved me.
“I didn’t do it. I didn’t drink. I couldn’t, because I’m—”
“Shut the fuck up, Phoenix. I don’t want to hear whatever you want to say. I can’t stand looking at you or even listening to your voice. I married not only a murderer but a liar. I will never forgive you for this. Do you hear me, Phoenix? Never!” He shouts the last part and kicks once again, and this time I fall back on my ass, cradling my stomach and not trying to stop him anymore.
I’ve never seen him this furious… this unreachable… this cold toward me. And I will never do anything that endangers the baby.
The baby I tried so many times to tell him about, but he doesn’t listen, doesn’t let me finish my sentences. I even messaged him when he left the house once the reports came in.