Fulfillment

by Golland, K. M.

  Derek shoved Bryce. “You’re gonna force me to prove you wrong,” he said as he began to unbutton his jeans.

  “Um...excuse me, Alexis,” Sam interrupted, as her eyes fell to Derek’s pants. She quickly moved them to my face.

  “Sam! I’m so glad you’re here,” I greeted her with surprise, giving her a hug. “Are you here with Gareth? Oh, that’s wonderful—”

  “I was here with Gareth, but that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Something happened and he left. He was furious and he kept muttering, ‘this ends here.’ I’m not sure if he meant us, or something else. I don’t know what I did wrong.”

  Bryce let go of my waist. “It’s not you, Samantha, you did nothing wrong.”

  I turned to face him, worry saturating my face and voice. “I have a bad feeling about this. Something is wrong.”

  “I know. I feel it too. I want you to stay away from Gareth, I have a feeling Scott has returned.”

  “Bryce,” I said shakily. “I think he never left.”

  Scott

  Look at all these fuckwits standing around with their stupid fucking congratulations signs. Just because he has put a rock on the bitch’s finger doesn’t mean jack-shit. It can just as easily come off.

  I looked around the room at Bryce and Alexis’ family and friends, some of those friends having once been mine. Hmmm, Derek, if you weren’t such an arrogant prick I’d consider ‘blowing’ your mind...among other things.

  “Gareth, isn’t it wonderful that they are getting married? It’s happened so quickly...it’s just...so romantic.”

  I looked down at Sam hanging off my arm, her pretty little strawberry blonde head full of love, butterflies, and rainbows. Stupid bitch. I thought she’d done a runner after finding out about me, and I then had to put up with Gareth-Fucking-Pansy moping around like a soft cock. That was the last thing I needed. Wonder what changed her mind? I guess it doesn’t matter. Solves my sooky la la Gareth problem, so who gives a fuck?

  “Okay, they just arrived.” Lucy announced, clapping like a fucking seal.

  I tilted my head back and rolled my eyes, spotting the top of the staircase. A wonderful memory entered my mind, bringing me back to when I snuck in here months ago and pushed Alexis down the stairs. The bitch didn’t see it coming, just tumbled down those steps like a rag doll.

  I should’ve stayed around to make sure I’d done the job properly, but hearing Bryce in his office made me nervous. He could never know I was the one who had killed her; it had to look like an accident. Fuck, my only regret was that I hadn’t killed her. Now I have to rethink and rework my plan to get rid of her for good.

  The ding of the elevator snapped me out of my recollection, only to see my Bryce and the bitch walk into the room.

  “...and because you’re carrying my...”

  The room erupted into cheers of congratulations.

  “...baby,” Bryce said with his hand on her stomach.

  Are you fucking serious? Not again. Fuck!

  I felt my body fill with rage, my limbs going rigid.

  “Gareth, did you hear that? She’s pregnant again.”

  I stared Alexis down, wanting to set her alight with my murderous gaze.

  “Gareth, are you okay?”

  “What?” I snapped at Sam.

  “Are you okay?” she repeated, looking scared.

  Fuck it, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend to be Gareth and I don’t want to. I want this to end. I want it to fucking end. If I can’t have Bryce then neither of us will.

  “No, I’m not okay, this ends here,” I hissed at Sam.

  Then pushing past one of Alexis’ stuck up bitch friends, I left the apartment.

  This fucking ends here.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Our friends and family all made their way home shortly after staying for the afternoon tea Lucy had organised. Bryce had waited for them to leave before heading out in search of Gareth, both of us being overly concerned about the erratic behaviour Sam had mentioned.

  He’d come back over an hour later after having no luck in finding his cousin, and I could tell he was deeply worried about the entire situation, about me and my safety, but also about Gareth. I think he realised that the meds and the therapy were no longer working, and the alternative form of treatment was not something he wanted to entertain.

  Exhaustion had eventually overcome him, seizing his mind and body and inevitably leaving him asleep with his head on my chest and his arm across my belly.

  ***

  Bryce left early the next morning to have a meeting with Jessica about Gareth’s state of mind while I tackled the ever increasing workload that being a personal assistant to Mr. Bryce Clark afforded me. He was worried about leaving me alone, but I assured him that I’d be fine and that he was only going to be gone for a short period of time. Being the over-protective arse that he was, he made me do my work from his secured office. I secretly appreciated this demand.

  Just as I was finishing a phone call with Chris from Marketing, I heard a loud clanging noise reverberating from the apartment. That’s strange, Bryce isn’t due back yet. Curious who could be making the noise, I walked over to the door and typed in our security code. When it opened, I walked through, stepping into the dining room only to be met by the unmistakable stench of gas—the smell incredibly strong. Shit! Did Bryce leave the stove on? Panic washed over me, knowing that from the gas’s potency, the vapours had to be thick and in abundance.

  I made the choice to enter the kitchen and see if I was correct, hopefully being able to turn it off. As I approached the island bench that separated the kitchen from the dining room, Gareth shot up from his squatted position down near the oven.

  I froze.

  You know you’re in trouble when you get that undeniable feeling deep down in the pit of your stomach, that feeling telling you to be alert instinctively. I had that particular feeling, and as I took in Gareth’s appearance, I sensed he was not the one before me. Instead, Scott being present, and the gas smell a result of his doing.

  “Gareth,” I said shakily. “What are you doing?” I tried to keep my voice neutral and kind, but I was terrified, and my adrenalin was pumping, causing my brain to switch into survival mode.

  He put both hands on the bench and smiled at me with a grin so malicious it was revolting. “Just the person I was hoping to see,” he explained in a tone laced with satisfaction. I noticed him clench his right hand and rub his thumb over whatever he was holding.

  Alarm bells were sounding internally as my eyes automatically scouted the kitchen, noting that all the burner knobs on the stove were turned on with no flame, the oven door also wide open.

  “How did you get in here?”

  “I have a code,” he said cockily.

  “That’s strange...we just changed the codes after the elevator malfunctioned.”

  He scoffed. “Why do you think the elevator malfunctioned? Lucy is not the only one in the family that is good with computers.”

  The pit of my stomach dropped, but I forced myself to remain calm. “Oh...so...what can I do for you? Do you want to go and sit in the lounge or in Bryce’s office?” Get out of this kitchen, Alexis.

  “Do you think I’m stupid?” he said calmly, still displaying his evil smile.

  “No, Gareth. Why would I think you’re stupid?” I playfully laughed.

  “You’re fucking doing it again,” he screamed at me, making me jump.

  Tears stung me eyes as my fear hit a newfound heightened level. I began to tremble. “What? What am I doing?”

  He pointed his hand at me, revealing that what he was holding was a lighter. “You’re fucking treating me like a fool. Gareth is a fucking fool, not me.”

  “Scott? Oh, I’m sorry Scott. No, you’re not a fool,” I sobbed.

  “Ahhh,” he laughed sadistically, “So now you understand. Now you want to be honest with me.”

  “I have been honest,” I pleaded with him.

  “F
ucking bullshit,” he spat back.

  He took a step back toward the stove, leaning over and checking the knobs. I wanted to run out of the kitchen but my legs were weighted heavily to the ground, riddled with fear and unfortunately forcing me to stay put.

  Reasoning with him was my only option. “Scott, talk to me. Tell me what you want.”

  “I want you dead,” he replied flatly.

  Those words and the manner in which he said them sent a chill through my body so terrifying, that I nearly passed out.

  “I don’t understand, why do you want me dead?” I asked, now crying.

  He stepped toward the island bench, hatred and pain rolling off him in waves. “Because he fucking loves you, that’s why!”

  “And you love him, don’t you?” I stuttered.

  He closed his eyes for the slightest of seconds. “Yes.”

  “So why do you want to hurt him by killing me? Surely you know that if you kill me, it will kill him.”

  “He’ll get over you,” he said quickly, while grabbing the bridge of his nose. “It’s me who he will mourn the most.”

  Stupidly, I opened my mouth again. “Why would he mourn you, Scott?” I asked, confused and not understanding why he would mourn Scott if I were the one dead.

  His eyes shot up and locked on mine, pure loathing coursing out of them and cutting right through me like a knife. Shit! I didn’t mean it like that. Shut up, Alexis, just shut up. No, keep talking, it’s buying you time.

  “Because when I fucking kill us both, he will be devastated.”

  Oh, God. He’s completely lost control.

  “Scott, you don’t have to do this—”

  “Yes, I do. If I can’t have him, neither will you.”

  “But Scott, I’m pregnant with his child,” I pleaded.

  “It didn’t matter last time and it won’t matter this time,” he said, as he laughed to himself in a manner that suggested he was disappointed. “I should’ve fucking pushed you harder, or better still, tossed you over the railing.” He let out long-winded breath. “That doesn’t matter, though; I will not make the same mistake twice.”

  My knees went weak and my body trembled profusely. I’d subconsciously known he was to blame for my fall all along, but hearing it aloud horrified me beyond belief, causing bile to rise in my throat and the sudden urge to vomit wash over me.

  He started tapping the lighter on the bench, tauntingly, forcing me to watch it slowly and take in its every detail.

  Hearing the tap of the plastic hitting the bench top over and over momentarily removed my mind from the present torture, and an idea materialized in my head, an idea that could quite possibly buy me more time and inevitably make Bryce aware of my current situation.

  “Scott, why don’t you ring him, talk to him?”

  He stopped tapping the lighter. “I would like to hear his voice again—just one more time.”

  “I’m sure he’d like to hear yours as well,” I said, with a faux smile, lying and grasping the only lifeline I could.

  He pulled a phone out from his pocket, pressed a button and put it up to his ear. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched his face change from psychotic vengeance to enlightened sadness as he listened to Bryce’s voice on the other end.

  “If only that were true, Bryce. I’m where I always am, right under your nose.”

  As he spoke into the phone his posture slumped, indicating he was exhausted and deflated. He was sad, and I couldn’t doubt that as delusional as it was, Scott really did think that he loved Bryce and that Bryce was his.

  “I’m past talking,” he murmured disappointedly.

  His body language and words were quickly demonstrating that he was going to go through with his plan and blow up the room with both of us in it.

  I wanted to run, to flee, or at least get out of the kitchen. If I could manage to get out into the lounge area surely it would give me more of a chance of survival, being a more open plan room and less concentrated in gas fumes. I made a small step toward the door.

  “I don’t fucking want Samantha, Bryce. I want you. I’ve always wanted you,” he screamed down the phone, forcing me to a halt once again.

  Scott started to sob painfully and his hand began to shake and rotate the lighter. “I’m ending it and I’m taking her with me.”

  His precise conformation propelled me to cry out and say my goodbyes. “Bryce, I love you. I’ll always love you. Tell the kids I love—”

  Scott cut me off. “Shut up, bitch. You don’t get to say goodbye.”

  I cried out, petrified, now realising I was going to die and never see my kids again, never see Bryce, my family and friends. Then Scott paused for a second, as if he were deliberating something Bryce had said, giving me just the tiniest glimmer of hope.

  I held my breath.

  “No. You’re lying. I can see how much you love her.”

  I closed my eyes and slowly let out the breath. It was no use.

  “No, you don’t. Goodbye, Bryce.”

  Scott laughed painfully. “You won’t have to.”

  He pushed a button, gently set the phone down on the bench top and tilted his head to the side. “You fucking brainwashed him. You ruined him.”

  I felt sick, my nausea at its peak, and I soon realised it was partly due to fear and partly due to the gas I was inhaling. I could also see the fumes having an effect on Scott as he kept grabbing the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.

  My sight drifted past his face, finding the many photos stuck to the fridge. I focused in on the one of Bryce and me at Uluru, then to the photo of Bryce and the kids sitting next to the Ronald McDonald statue, and the one of all four of us taken the night of my birthday.

  Drinking them in, I filled myself with the vision of the stilled memories, the happiness that was captured when they were taken and the people who were in them. I didn’t want to say goodbye. I didn’t want to die, and as I cemented those thoughts within my head, something came over me. Call it strength, will power, the uncontrollable urge to survive. Whatever it was, it made me realise I had to do something. I had to change my tact. It was my only chance.

  “Gareth, I know you are in there, I know you can hear me. Fight him, show him once and for all you are in control—”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Scott growled, grabbing his nose again.

  I continued, not knowing what else to do. “Gareth, fight him! Do it for you. Do it for Bryce. Do it for Lauchie. Don’t let Scott ruin your life,” I begged.

  “Argh!” he moaned, pushing his hands into his forehead. “Fuck!”

  “Gareth, please,” I screamed in desperation.

  He was clenching his head so aggressively; his eyes closed so tight.

  “Alexis, I’m sorry,” he groaned, his tone noticeably different.

  “Gareth is that you?”

  “Argh! Alexis run!”

  It was him, it was working. My heart started beating faster and my adrenalin picked back up. “Gareth, no, fight him, please. You can beat him.”

  “I can’t. Go! Go!” he begged while opening his eyes and clearly conveying to me that it was now or never.

  In the back of your mind you think that there could come a time in your life where you may be faced with the decision to fight or to take flight. I think all of us like the notion that we would chose to stay and fight if we had to, but in hindsight that may not always be the best choice. If I didn’t have family that loved me, children I adored and who depended on me, and a life growing deep within that I was blessed with protecting, I may have stayed and helped Gareth fight. I wanted to but I didn’t. I chose flight and ran, ran as fast as I could.

  I scampered through the lounge and straight to the elevator, thinking it was the quickest way out of the apartment, all the while hearing Gareth cursing and fighting in the kitchen. His cries of misery and anguish pierced my heart deep as I pressed the button, hoping to God the cart was this end of the building. Come on, please come on.

  Panicked, fr
antic and knowing I couldn’t waste another second waiting for the elevator, I went to abandon it and try the stairs. Thankfully, as I turned around, the doors slid open.

  I ran inside and hysterically pressed the button to close the doors. “Go, go, go!” I shouted, willing the doors to slide shut and swiftly take me to safety. My agitation and fear were increasing at the sound of Gareth’s outbursts getting louder and I knew he was losing, losing his internal fight. “Please!” I screamed, as I backed up slowly to the far end of the cart.

  The doors began to slide shut, painstakingly slowly, and just as the elevator started to descend, there was an enormous explosion. I screamed as the cart shook violently, thinking that it would plummet 43 floors to the ground, but it didn’t. It dropped only slightly then shook violently again, knocking me off my feet.

  I felt a surge of pain through my head as I hit the hand railing, and almost instantly, I recognised that feeling of sleep, that feeling of losing control. I felt that feeling of unconsciousness and watched my sight tunnel into darkness with no power to stop it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Bryce

  As I made my way back to work, I realised Gareth’s prognosis wasn’t good even though he’d been taking his meds daily. I’d fucking made him take them in front of me like a God damned child, and I hated having to do it like that, but I’d had to—there was no choice.

  It worried me that Jessica had mentioned he’d missed a few sessions, which was never a good thing, and now the evidence before us suggested he would need to be admitted to a psychiatric hospital ward. I hated that, I hated having to commit him to such a place. When all was said and done, I fucking loved the poor guy; he was my cousin—my brother. Deep down I knew it had to be done, though. Alexis was pregnant again and she was in far too much danger. Not only that, Nate and Charli could be in danger, too, and I was not about to let anything happen to any of them. They were my family now, and I had to do everything in my power to protect them.

  Fuck! I needed to call my uncle and tell the miserable old bastard that his son would be spending some more time in the hospital. Not that he’d give a shit. It made me furious knowing he wouldn’t care, he never had. He only cared about one thing and that was money. It’s ironic how miserable bastards only ever seem to care about things they don’t have, can never have—explains why they are so fucking miserable in the first place.