by Kat T. Masen
“Wesley, darling. You came.”
He scrapes his hair back, curling his fingers, irritated. “I said I would.”
“And you brought your girlfriend.” Her smile fades, picking up again, obviously forced. “Milana, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I respond, uneasily.
“Of course. Well, I guess it’s nice to see you. Wesley didn’t mention you coming.”
“She’s my fucking girlfriend, of course, she’s coming, Mother.”
In the space of ten minutes, Wesley’s attitude did a complete one-eighty. I place my hand on his arm, willingly calming his nervous anger. “Wesley, please.”
With nothing but her usual plastic smile, she ushers us into the house, ignoring his rude response, making us join her in their formal living room for drinks.
There are a few couples inside, none of whom are willingly come over to say hello. Therefore, I stick to our side and pretended to be interested in the artwork. Gina beckons the maid to pour us a drink.
“Bourbon,” Wesley demands the same time I say, “Anything.”
The maid serves our drinks, bringing them over with a weary expression. Wesley downs it all in one go, rudely demanding another. I’m not sure why I follow suit, regretting the burns that etch as I swallow. Wincing, I politely ask for another. Something tells me to prepare myself for a long and drama-filled night.
Not wanting to forget, I reach out for a small box—a gift that Wesley chose for his mom. “From us. Happy Birthday.”
Gina thanks us, aloof and without a gracious expression, she accepts the gift and opening it. When she sees the diamonds staring back at her, her face completely changes.
Excitement and dancing eyes accompany her wide smile. I think back to what Emerson told me, agreeing with her opinion on Gina’s money-hungry persona.
“Oh, Wesley, darling. They’re gorgeous. They match the necklace you gave me at Christmas.”
He smiles, deviously. After she kisses his cheek, thanking him, she excuses herself to attend to other guests.
“They’re beautiful earrings. You have nice taste.”
He laughs. “I don’t have nice taste… her best friend does.”
“What does that mean? Her best friend bought them?”
“No, I stole them from her.”
I drop his hand, pulse racing as my anger climbs. “What do you mean you stole them from her?”
“It’s just this game we play. The sons, we steal our mother’s shit and re-gift it. They never know, of course, because they’re spoiled wives with their hoards of diamonds.”
His hands wrap around my waist, pulling me into him and smothering me with his scent. My body stiffens, his usual charming ways aren’t working like they usually do. Perhaps, subconsciously, my view of him is tarnished at this moment. His mother, despite her greedy ways, is still his mother. I’m sure, beneath the plastic, she has feelings and a heart.
“That’s awful,” I tell him. “And not remotely amusing.”
“Oh stop. Don’t fucking ruin my night, okay?”
Wesley removes his hands from my waist, playing with his collar that seems to be irritating him. I’m surprised he’s wearing a suit, though he draws the line at wearing a tie, his chest exposed slightly beneath his navy jacket.
He sorts his itch out, grabbing my hand again, twitchy and unsettled.
Carson steps into the living room, making a grand entrance. Shaking the hands of the men and kissing the cheeks of the wives. The creep makes my skin crawl. Moments later, he’s beside us, giving Wesley a strong man-shake and forcing me into a hug, lingering way too long.
“Milana, I’m glad you could join us tonight. We didn’t get much of an opportunity to chat last time, but I’m hoping tonight is the night we can get to know each other.”
I loathe him, slicked-back hair and a sleazy grin. I pray that Wesley notices, but he seems preoccupied with his cell, much to my annoyance.
“Thank you for having us, Carson. Once again, your home is lovely.”
I ignore his lingering gaze on my breasts, wishing I hadn’t worn such a provocative dress and forgetting about the last time I was here. He makes me uncomfortable, and I contemplate telling Wesley but fear his reaction.
We make our way to the dining room and sit at the table. I’m squashed between a man who has awful breath and a woman whose perfume smells like toilet freshener. Wesley is sitting across from me, though barely making any eye contact. Again, on his cell, rudely typing and ignoring everyone at the table.
Gina, however, loves attention. That much is evident. She tells stories, supposedly humorous, but firing a maid because she wore the wrong color doesn’t seem funny to me.
She talks about her charities and random stories of women at her tennis club. Carson often interjects, laughs, and keeps the conversation flowing. Gina loves to talk about herself, rarely asking questions about anyone else, so I just sit and eat quietly, often smiling to show I care. It’s nothing like dinner with my family. The way these people speak to each other is cold and formal.
Somewhere in between the main course and dessert, Wesley lifts his head away from his cell and shifts his gaze to me. Something doesn’t seem right. Aside from his fidgeting, rolling up his sleeves, only to roll them down again moments later, he’s clearing his throat often, wanting my attention yet when I turn his way, he quickly focuses back to his cell.
Narrowing my eyes and tightening my grip on my fork, I divert my attention back to the conversation until I realize it’s about diamonds and of no interest to me.
Before dessert is served, I excuse myself to the restroom, needing a moment alone to curb my anger toward Wesley and to text Mama. Tonight reiterated how much I love my family and am grateful for how she raised us in a house full of love.
Me: Mama, I love you, and everything you’ve done for our family. I promise I will come home and visit, just like you said. Call you tomorrow xxx
I wait a few minutes for a response but nothing, giving up and exiting the bathroom after washing my hands. I walk down the corridor, running into a maid and almost knocking over a pile of towels. Apologizing for my clumsy behavior, I take a sharp left, staring at the wrong door. Far out—this house is massive.
“Um, excuse me, maid,” I yell out, pathetically.
“Lost, are we?”
Carson is standing behind me, too close for my comfort. My muscles begin to tense, the paranoia of his presence making me jumpy. Aside from his obvious age—a man who could be my father—he has that seedy look. He wears a cravat like they do in black and white movies, and he stinks of old-man cologne.
“Yes, I am. If you could lead me in the right direction because I’m sure Wesley will come looking for me.”
“I don’t think he will, see he’s busy… with Gina, outside by the pool. So, I guess it’s just you and me.” He grins, licking his bottom lip.
Slowly, he runs his hand along my arm, my heart spiking from fear and disgust.
“Stop touching me,” I seethe, pulling my arm away as he latches on tighter. “I said, no!”
He ignores my pleas, pulling me into him and tightening his grip around my waist. I struggle to ease my way out, the panic hitting hard and fast. The room spins, the sounds amplified, and somewhere during his forbidden act, he slides his hands up the side of my thighs and toward my ass, moaning into my face.
“I love fucking Wesley’s little sluts. You think you’re the first? No, sweetheart, but definitely the most innocent.”
My screams are trapped, my tears falling as I begin the same disillusioned blackout as the plane. But something, unknown, kicks in, and when I pretend to grab his crotch for pleasure, I squeeze it tight and punch it, causing him to wince in pain.
When he topples over cursing at me, I run out of the room panicked. There are several doors, but I find my way outside the front, out of breath, face drenched in tears.
There is no Wesley, just the driver. I want to find him, tell him to save me, but I fear Carson, ter
rified that my panic will cripple me, and he will have his way with me.
Wesley appears out of nowhere, frantically looking for me. “What’s wrong?”
“I want to go. Now.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you crying?”
“Take me home,” I cry, shaking.
I run to the car, ignoring the house and the monsters inside. Wesley hovers by the door, leaving it open, which only fuels my anxiety.
“I’ll tell them we’re leaving.”
My neck twists, chin trembling, distressed. “Do it, and I’m gone.”
“You’re gone? Would you just make fucking sense?”
“Take me home,” I beg.
“We’re going, okay?” he utters, rolling his eyes with annoyance.
We sit in the car in silence, Wesley staring out the window in a distant gaze. I hold back the rest of my tears, reliving what happened with Carson.
Every woman fears being raped, but when the reality is so close, perspective changes.
Where was Wesley to protect me? This is his family.
I will forever be bound to them if our relationship progresses.
I don’t think I can do this. All the pain, the hardship—love isn’t getting me through it. It’s only making it harder to climb out.
And Wesley, he hasn’t said one word to me in the car.
He doesn’t care that he found me upset, or that I want so desperately to getaway.
My phone buzzes in my purse, momentarily distracting me. I pull it out and see that Mama has responded to my text.
Mama: It’ll be nice to have you home. Liam misses you xx
I shake my head in confusion at the mention of his name. Liam seems like a lifetime ago, yet safe, comforting—all the things that Wesley isn’t giving me. He continues to sit across the other side, this gap between us seems impossible to bridge.
Knocking on the glass window, it slides down and the driver leans his ear to listen. “Sir, can you please take me home?”
The driver looks at Wesley through the rear-view mirror, awaiting a response. Wesley continues his code of silence, and thankfully, the driver follows my instructions.
Turning to face the window, I spend the remaining journey silent.
Nothing but me, my thoughts, and the devil beside me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
We drive down my street, it’s relatively early, and the neighbors are out doing their usual Saturday night bickering on the sidewalk. When the driver parks the car, many turn to watch, and more notably, one has a long-lensed camera.
Paparazzi are at my home.
This is all Wesley’s fault.
I half expect him to demand I stay in the car, but he doesn’t. When it’s clear that he has no interest in me and what happened tonight, I exit and slam the door in his face. Ignoring the flash that almost blinds me, my feet move quickly as I enter our building, not looking back at him, not even once.
Inside my apartment, I welcome the silence with Flynn gone to a gig. I sit on the couch, staring at the wall dressed in this ridiculous dress. I’m desperate to rip it off, a constant reminder of Carson’s wandering eyes.
Holding back the deep cries that linger on the surface, I dial Mama’s number praying she’ll pick up this time.
“Milana, is that you?”
“It’s me, Mama. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes. No. Mama, can we talk about something?”
“Of course, honey, hold on for a minute. I’ll come home.”
“What home, Mama? I’m here… in California.”
“California? Why or earth would you be there?”
Stunned by what she tells me, my lips tremble, the bile in my throat rising. “Mama, I moved to California, remember, with Flynn?”
The tears fall down my face, unwillingly. I have no control. I’ve lost her. The pain, a tidal wave of emotions. My sobbing is broken apart by the short pauses, my head falling between my legs to shield my hollowness.
“I know that, silly. How is Flynn?”
“Good,” I choke, breathing in and out to disguise my grief. “Mama, is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. I’m sorry, sweetie, it’s late. How about we speak tomorrow?”
“But Mama…” I wail, softly but laced with desperation. “I need to talk to you.”
“I know, honey, but I’m so tired. I promise, first thing when I wake up, we’ll talk, okay?”
She says goodbye so quickly, not giving me a chance to get in another word. I don’t allow another minute to pass, calling the manager at the facility. After getting the run-around, and raising my voice at Deidre, I’m finally put through to the head manager, Mrs. Scullino.
“Miss Milenov, I understand your concern, but it’s quite late, and I have some last-minute patients I have to attend to. I think it’s best we schedule a phone meeting.”
“This is a phone meeting. I want to know what’s happening with my mother,” I sputter, momentarily beyond words. “She’s not the same. Some of the things she says… I don’t understand why this is happening so quickly.”
I can hear the sigh on the other end. “Miss Milenov, you sound tired. I really think it’s best we discuss your mother’s condition when you’re in a more rational state.”
“Don’t…” I cry into the receiver. “Don’t tell me I’m not rational. My mother is sick. I need her… do you understand that?”
“Miss Milenov, if you must know, I’m recommending we do some further testing. Her dementia may be an onset of something else. Given her age, and her regular health has been good, I do have some concerns.”
I can barely breathe, my body like jelly yet shaking from the cold that sweeps into the room. As I begin to hyperventilate, unable to form my words to make any sense, Mrs. Scullino attempts to calm me down.
“I come from a big family, being Italian, of course. I understand how much it hurts to find out a loved one isn’t well,” she says, sedately. “If you can come up and see her in the next few days, we can talk about our next steps.”
Through the pain and heartache, I agree to fly up and spend some much-needed time with Mama. I have to invest all my energy into making her better before she gets any worse.
We hang up the phone, yet I continue to sit here numb. I have never felt so alone. This life I have created is nothing like I expected. I may be surrounded by people, though the loneliness is palpable. Here I am, drowning, barely able to stay afloat, lost in the dark seas and moving further and further away from the light.
Desperate to find Flynn and beg him to fly home with me, I grab the note on the fridge with the address he posted. I decide against changing outfits, running out the door in a mad rush and driving in a manic state toward the venue.
Although the club is a few miles away, the traffic doesn’t let up at this hour. Red lights, rows and rows of vehicles, desperate to get somewhere and all just as impatient as me. The grueling pace gives me too much time to think. I don’t want to think.
My fingers fumble with the radio, twisting the volume to maximum and allowing the song to blast through the speakers. It’s some love song that irks me. I press another button, welcoming a rap song about fucking someone’s wife or bitch. I can’t quite figure it out.
The club is busy with a line of girls outside dressed in short skirts and hooker heels waiting while trying to flirt with the security guard.
I don’t hold back, demanding to get in because my brother is part of the band. After an hour of cross-checking, I may have just as well waited in the line.
I move quickly past security, cramming like a sardine amongst the crowd. I search the stage, seeing only the equipment and no Flynn. Bumping my way through the crowds, I finally see Flynn at the back. He’s talking to someone, and I yell, though pointless, through the loud noise. He hasn’t noticed me yet, and as I walk toward him, my frustration mounts with the tight crowds and hot air inside.
Movin
g in closer, Wesley appears beside him. Still dressed in his suit from tonight, he leans into Flynn whispering something into his ear. He extends his hand, Flynn shaking it until he pulls back. Flynn clutches his fist, dropping his gaze with a satisfied smile. My blood begins to spike, and with a brutal push against the people blocking my way, the adrenaline kickstarts—my heart hammering erratically.
“What did you give him?”
Wesley appears surprised to see me, his mouth falling open and more notably, his eyes are that familiar bloodshot red.
“Nothing, it’s none of your business, anyway.”
“Tell… me… what the fuck you gave him!” I’m reeling with anger, unable to disguise my raging tone.
My head darts back and forth between the two of them demanding an answer. When neither of them cooperate, my frustration drives me, yanking his hand toward me, opening it up to find a white pill buried in his palm.
“What is this?”
“Just leave him alone,” Flynn shrugs off. “It’s nothing bad.”
I seethe, gritting my teeth. “Then tell me what it is?”
“Just takes the edge off.”
“Takes the edge off… you gave my brother drugs? I can’t believe you would do this,” I yell through the noise, pointing my finger directly into Wesley’s face.
“I give you everything of me… everything, and this is what you do?” I question, ignoring the people who have stopped around us, watching with annoying curiosity.
“You give me nothing,” he shouts back. “I begged you to fix me. Begged for you to make it all go away. Everything I fucking did or do is for you. And all I ask in return was for you to fucking fix me.”
“How can I fix you when I have my own issues? You think I like seeing you hurt? Do you think I like living in pain? The world doesn’t revolve around Wesley Rich.”
His wicked laugh escapes his sardonic grin. Behind this beautiful man lay a corrupted soul. He wants me to fix him, yet he continues to play these heinous games and drag me along like I’m a pawn.