by L. C White
Chapter 14: Depart
Daylight beams through a small gap in the thick lined curtains. I haven’t slept, and I’ve spent the entire night alone. I didn’t sob over him, I waited, but he never came. The fallout has made me question my own self-respect. Did I throw it away, just for amazing sex with a hot rich man? A man who can wrap me around his little finger, because he can make my body feel divine? He told me to jump, and I literally did, one hundred and forty meters into a black gorge to be precise.
I take a shower. I don’t linger. Quick wash, brush, and out. There are memories in there that are supposed to be pleasurable, but now plague me with uncertainties.
I heave up my skinny jeans, pull on my boots, and sit on the bed. I’m dreading the thought of leaving this room to face him. Even though I’ve not seen hide nor hair of him, the mood in this house is so tense.
After putting it off, I’ve mustered up the courage, and now I’m walking by the front door. It’s really dark down here to say it’s just turned noon. All curtains are drawn, and the dimming tint is still over the window panels at the back of the house.
I pop my head around the corner to look into the kitchen. Perhaps his mood has changed, and he’s doing what he did for me yesterday. Making breakfast, all smiles and carefree. But he’s not there. No delicious odours or naked flesh to be seen. Just the mess he made remains.
I stroll by the island and open the fridge. There’s only a small drop of milk left. It’s a day out of date, so I sniff it. Smells fine. Good enough to take the bitterness from a black coffee. I pop it next to the kettle, and hear a husky out-breath from the couch. With a quiver in my gut, I turn to see the back of Adrien’s head. He’s sitting in the dark, holding his iPad.
Okay, so he’s clearly pretending I don’t exist. That’s it. I’m going to act fine with this. I’m not going to let him drive me crazy, and I’m not going to let him play stupid mind games with me. I’m in a strange town, hundreds of miles from home, and unable to just storm out. So this is how I see it; I have to keep it together and not fall apart.
I approach his back. Still he doesn’t move. Just as I’m about to speak, his phone starts to ring. He grumbles, tosses his iPad on the cushion, and stands up. He peers at the screen of his phone. My nose crinkles. Not only has he been sitting here in the dark, but he’s also wearing his shades again.
I clam up, feeling unwelcome, unwanted, and inapt. He drops his head and stares at me over the frame of his glasses. He answers his phone, turning away with a bitter flash in his eyes.
“Sara,” he almost yells. “That bad batch came from Manchester, every single one gets the once over, so someone has fucked with it at the preservation centre.” He paces and points. “I want names of all who had access. Anyone who used their key card to get into that facility will be on record.” He listens to the receiver, fleeting a glance at me as I stand like some stupid spare part. “Sara, I don’t give a shit about the Sange Pentru, or the Vigore, I’ll deal with this before any of them find out.” He disconnects the call in a temper.
Oh crap. Is he going to turn on me now? I wait like a kid in the headmaster’s office, afraid to say a word in-case my head gets chewed off. He groans out annoyed air, and drops back onto the sofa with his head in his hands.
“Elizabeth, will you sort out your things, we have to leave.”
“Err… is everything okay?” I cringe.
“I’m in no mood for fuss. I have a migraine, and our plane leaves in one hour,” he grumbles. “So please get your things in order.”
Well, I was right, I did throw away my self-respect. I’ll do as he asks. I need to get home, the sooner the better.
***
I wait by the car with my case. Adrien stomps through the fine drizzle wearing shades, with his black hood over his head. He opens the driver’s side. So I swiftly dash to the boot and plonk my case inside. Now, where do I sit? I don’t particularly want to sit next to him, or in the back. I hover a moment, telling myself to just pick a damn seat.
I open the back and hop in, slamming the door hard. He observes me through the rear-view mirror as I pull over my belt. All I get is a dip of his head and a huff of irritation before he sets off.
Never in my life have I felt so redundant and used. It’s taking all my energy to hold back the tears. Not one word he’s spoken to me. He’s simply not bothered about what’s happened between us at all. He’s had his way with me, and is done. I wish I could be more like Cate, grow some balls and tell him what a complete tosser he is. If it were her in this fucked up situation, she would have smashed up this car real good back in Killiecrankie. But I can’t be like that with him. He’s taken a piece of me, and he’s etched on my heart.
We arrive at the airport after a white knuckle journey. I’m surprised we got here alive the way he drove. I had to close my eyes several times, and I really wanted to scream at him to stop. But I was strong and held my tongue. We’re not on talking terms right now, and I want him to know how pissed-off I am.
The staff flap around us because we’re late and have messed up air traffic control. Any normal passenger would have to book another flight. But if you’ve got a bit of cash in your pocket, you can basically buy time.
I walk through the metal detector, this time remembering to put my troll and keys in the plastic tub. I wait by one of the assistants as Adrien goes through. It beeps, and the look he’s giving the security guard is not a nice one.
“Sir, you need to empty your pockets and remove any metal items… place them in this box,” he says.
“Are you kidding me...I don’t have time for this.” Wow, he’s so grouchy it’s galling.
He digs deep into his grey jogging bottoms, and lobs his keys with some loose change into the plastic tub. I don’t know why he’s being so aggressive about it. He should be used to taking these trips via flight, it’s just standard protocol. The poor security guard doesn’t know what to do with himself.
He storms through the gate again, and again it beeps. I rub my eyes. I’m so tired, and his crankiness is rubbing off onto me.
“Sir, please,” the guard coaxes Adrien, who looks just about ready to detonate.
“I have fuck all on me, so please let me get on my plane dammit!”
He’s worrying me. He’s going to end up in a police cell if he carries on like this. I know exactly what’s setting the thing off.
I vigilantly move right in front of him. He peers down, taking breaths feverishly. I lift my hands and place my fingers around the curved frame of his shades. His hand flies up to grip my wrist. He stares as his adam’s apple sinks. I close my eyes for a moment because I miss his touch. I’ve not had my fix today.
Cold as ice, he releases his hold, and with his head down he thunders through the detector. Thankfully, it stays silent this time. Straightaway, he snatches his things from the guard and slides his shades back over his nose.
***
This plane doesn’t have the same magical effect on me as it did before. I glimpse back to the spot I became a member of, then to Adrien. He is now laid out on the cream leather couch, with a pillow over his face. I angle my head right back, facing the cockpit. I shut my eyes, but even in the darkness he won’t exit my head. I could try and get him to talk. All this just because he tied me to that bed. There’s got to be something more profound going on with him.
“Adrien,” I call quietly.
“Hmm.” He doesn’t move.
Come on Liz, spit it out. “Thanks… for the trip.” Better than that Liz, dig more please. “Have you seen a doctor with the headaches?”
“Not now, Elizabeth.”
“If you’re ill, you should get to the bottom of it,” I add, fully aware I’m irritating him.
He growls. “I know exactly what’s wrong with me, and talking with you is not helping,” he barks. “So please, will you be quiet.”
I exhale hard and turn fierce, realising this might be the last time I see him. He doesn’t want me near, and right now, it�
��s a mutual feeling. I want off this plane. I want to go home where I can hit something. My pillow, bed, or maybe a hollow door I can put a hole in.
***
I roll my case through Heathrow’s private car park, watching Adrien stride out in front. Sara is waiting in the Land Rover. She flusters at the sight of him, and gets out to open his door. He climbs into the backseat to lay down with his sunglasses still on, and his hood tightened around his face.
As I march to the boot, Sara grabs my arm. She yanks me away from the car, nearly stumbling in her inappropriate black stripper shoes.
“Sara, get off me.” Now I’m the one in no mood to be messed with.
She lets go. “You went in the room?” she asks through her teeth.
“Well, that has absolutely nothing to do with you,” I snap.
“I told you not to go in there… now look at him!”
I keep my case on the floor. I’m not going to put it in the boot, because I’d rather walk home than have her bitching at me.
“Do you know something Sara?” I sneer. “Yes, we went into the room. And do you know something else, now I wish I didn’t. But still, that’s between me and him… it’s got absolutely nothing to do with you.” I pull up the handle of my case. “I’d rather walk home naked than get in that car with you… or him.” I trudge as fast as my feet will hit the ground, dragging my case angrily behind me.
As I take my mobile phone out of my pocket, I hear Sara’s heels trotting to catch up with me. I ignore her and scroll down to Cate’s name. She might be at work now, but I have to try.
I get through to Cate as I continue trooping to get away from the nosy witch following. She’s all excited with screams and squeals, asking me for the gory details. That is until she hears the upset in my voice. She tells me she’ll be as fast as she can and hangs up.
“Elizabeth.” Sara tries to take my case from me. “Mr Knight wants you to get in the car.”
“I’ve called a taxi.” I snatch the handle off her and turn away.
“Just get in the car,” she grits.
“I said, I’ve called a taxi,” I snap. “Tell Mr Knight, Thanks for giving me the time of my life, and if he ever feels up for a one nighter, to scroll right passed my name on his phone.” I perch on my case by the side of the road. “Oh, and tell him he can go screw himself. Merry Christmas Sara!”
“Fine,” she huffs, walking back to her master.
The Land Rover zips by me. Now it’s gone, I let them pour out, bending over to sob into my hands. Cars move by, and the people in them offer me a wary glimpse. I’m such a stupid, stupid idiot. And now I look like some crazy lady sitting here weeping over a man.
I see Beryl approach and Cate’s concerned beady eyes dancing over the steering wheel. I wipe my cheeks. I know what she’s like. If she sees me crying, she’ll be paying Mr Knight a visit to give him more than a piece of her mind.
She pulls in and cuts out the engine. She opens her door and thunders toward me with open arms, waving her fingers. She’s always been the same, very expressive with her empathy for me. Her hands yank my shoulders into her body, then push me out to an arms-length so she can read my face.
“Right, in the car,” she orders, taking my case to the boot. “You can fill me in, in the warmth.”
I loop my eyes. It’s a blessing and a curse to have her sometimes. She’s on the warpath, needing to hoard information to put together a battle plan. She likes specifics, grisly details, and descriptions. And if at all possible, witnesses to collaborate at a later date. But this is personal to me, and I’d like it to stay that way. It doesn’t help that these tears are constantly escaping. I sniff up with a breath.
“Right.” She slams her door. “What did he do to you? The shit… leaving you here to make your own way home?”
“It wasn’t like that,” I sigh. “I didn’t want him to take me home.”
She shuffles to look over the headrest. “Things are that bad?”
“He… he’s just messed my head up,” I sniffle.
I hear it. It’s like a shot of breath from a raging bull. Every time she’s angry, she forces the air from her nostrils.
“You’re in love with him?”
“I’m not entirely sure what this is.” I use my jacket sleeve to soak up a tear.
“I’m looking at it, Liz,” she sighs. “The way you’re feeling now because things didn’t work out… it’s because the prick has broken your heart.”
“Oh Cate, come on,” I moan. “I’ve had a shitty day and need a large glass of wine.” I lean my head against the window.
She puffs out and starts up Beryl. I keep my eyes shut. I won’t open up the floodgates. Not yet anyhow.
As soon as I get through the door, I make a beeline to my bedroom. I take off my jacket and throw myself onto my bed, face-planting my pillow. My skin and hair smell of him, my body aches for him, and my mind is as crushed as my heart. How the hell do I get over this?
Chapter 15: Burn
My phone illuminates on the bedside table. I spring up like every other time it’s gone off, expecting some form of belated apology. Right now, if he were to text me a smiley face I’d forgive him.
I’ve not heard a word from him since Monday when he told me to be quiet on that plane. Two days living with this obscure wall around me; not knowing where I stand or if I’ll see him again, is killing me. Two days without his touch has been hell.
Am I the one being stubborn? I could easily pick up the phone and call. Tell him I have no feelings for him, and if he wants to use my body for sex, then he’s more than welcome to. But I won’t. It would be no better than prostituting myself to ease my suffering.
I push the backlight on my mobile phone. It’s a message from Shell at work, asking me if I’ll be able to cover the last couple of hours of her shift this afternoon.
Aroma re-opened on Saturday when I was in Killiecrankie. I’ve not heard from new the owner yet. Not even been given a rota for what shifts I’m supposed to be working. To be frank, the new owners seem to be letting the shop run itself. Not very professional for some big fancy chain.
Cate went in on Sunday morning. Apparently, it’s all been modernised and decked out with new high-tech equipment. The coffee wasn’t as good she said. And now, instead of the muffins she used to love, they stock a variety of foreign pastries.
I reply yes. I have nothing better to do on this shitty Christmas Eve. Apart from packing an overnight bag for when I go home to sunny Richmond tomorrow. I need to get out of this bed and venture back into the world of the living. Otherwise, I might go into self-destruct mode, and drink that bottle of Disaronno Cate brought home yesterday.
In the shower, I lather my hair with shampoo. I haven’t washed it since I got back. I’m ashamed to say the reason is, I’ve been clinging onto the remnants of him on my skin. But now it’s time. It’s not very hygienic to serve customers with filthy hair, stuck to one’s head.
I fasten my dressing gown then flick the switch up on the kettle in the kitchen. As I spoon a heap of coffee into my mug, Cate arrives back from Pete’s. The sight of her makes me smile. She has tinsel around her neck, mistletoe earrings dangling halfway down her face, and a chimney with Santa’s boots protruding from her head. Typical garish festive display from her.
She blows out, slamming a handful of Christmas cards, along with two white A4 size envelopes on the worktop. She pulls the Disaronno out of the cupboard with two glasses, and pours. I have to put my hand over the second glass, to stop her making one for me.
“I’m working,” I say. “Thought you had your last shift this afternoon anyhow,” I ask, concerned about her recent excessive alcohol intake.
She sips from her glass. “I do,” she grumbles. “I need this. Just got a call from my mum, she’s on her way here,” she gripes. “She’s cancelled Christmas at hers; caught Dad in bed with the next door neighbour.”
“Wow… you okay?”
“I always knew that slag was after him, m
oney grabbing bitch.” She downs what’s left in her glass. “So now I have to play mediator all Christmas, with my mum crying on my shoulder.” She pours another drink. “That’s my crimbo well and truly stuffed.”
What is it about this time of year, the season of love and goodwill? It wouldn’t bother me one bit, if Christmas were to suddenly vanish. No carols, no lights, or people pretending to be happy. It brings the worst out in everyone. Now I’m beginning to regret agreeing to work, because that Disaronno is looking mighty tempting. Joyful faces, arguing drunks, and Christmas cheer, is not what I need right now. Why Liz, why?
“Sorry chick.” She nudges my arm. “You don’t need to hear my shit right now.”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
“Tell you what, why don’t we get the next few days out of the way with, and book for sunny Rome again,” she smiles. “We’ll soak up the sun, dance all night, and maybe meet some handsome hot guys who’ll cater to our every whim, eh?”
I don’t even want to even think about men at the moment. The male of the species and I right now, are done with.
“I’ll think about it.” I fill my mug with hot water and stir.
“Oh.” She sifts through the mail and holds out the two big envelopes, topped with a smaller one. “These are for you.”
I glance down at the postage marks. PG Publishing, Lawson and Sons Write House, and a small tabloid magazine called Hearsay. These are things I cannot even think about at the moment. Placements to apply for, sent to me by my lecturer.
“You not even going to look?” she asks.
“Later.”
“Anyway, if I don’t see you tonight, I’ll see you in the morning before you leave.” She walks through the lounge. “Wish I was coming with you.” She sighs, closing her bedroom door.
***
I make my way by Finley’s in my old Aroma uniform, which I’m assuming I’m supposed to wear, because I’ve not been told otherwise. The streets are busy with last minute shoppers, and flustered people rushing home from work. Never mind road rage, it is the season of walk rage.