Eluding Nirvana (The Dark Evoke Series Book 2)

by Brock, V. L.

  “Chick, I’m so sorry, I wanted to te––” at least she had the decency to look contrite about it, but before she could continue, her words were halted by the dismissive wave of Liam’s hand.

  He took a steady step towards me, while Liv threw a frown at his back. “Kady,” drawing out my name like I was an errant child about to fly into a full blown hissy fit in the local store, he continued with his right palm raised towards me, his head cocked. “I don’t know what you thought you saw, baby, but nothing is happening.”

  “Nothing…h–happening…?” I grimaced, “Are you fucking kidding me!” The inner me begged to be released, to scream and demand answers, but she was under wraps. Instead, I stood there like a lemon once again, being compelled to question my sanity as my hands went numb and the ice-creams fell into the sand. “I saw you both. You were caught red handed with yours on her ass, your lips on hers,”––I pointed at Liv over his shoulder––“Don’t you dare tell me––”

  Despite my desire to move away from him, my legs and mind refused to join forces, and the distance between us continued closing. “Baby, I promise you. Nothing happened. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea coming here today. You just got out of that place after suffering paranoid delusions. This is obviously too much stimulation for you, Kady. I’m sorry, baby. Here take one of your pills.”

  “I don’t want any fucking pills; I want the truth, Liam.”

  Liv opened her mouth, a little groan of protest ripped from her throat. The rational part of my head was happy that she wanted to say something. Maybe the truth. Validate what I just fucking saw, because I knew what I saw with my own two eyes. I think.

  As soon as that husky groan was freed, Liam quickly flung his left hand back in her direction and held it there, a wordless motion to get her to shut up. “Kady, listen. You’re getting yourself into a state. You’re agitated. Nothing happened, baby. It’s all in your head. Maybe they shouldn’t have let you out. Maybe we should take you back.”

  Take me back to Pinewood? No way. I just got out. I wasn’t going back. No chance. I’d drown myself first.

  “A few more days might help,” he added, his voice velvet soft caressing my flesh.

  The mere notion of going back to the looney bin was enough to overshadow the incident I just witnessed. If Liam decided that I should go back, I knew there was nothing I could possibly do to stop it. He could sign me in and leave me there, no problem. I shook my head frantically. “No, Liam. I don’t want to go back, please. Please, don’t make me go back.”

  He was standing right in front of me, towering over me and smelling like Liv’s expensive perfume. Or did he? I fisted my hands into my hair in exasperation, my eyes burning with salted moisture. What the fuck was wrong with me?

  The pill bottle was drawn out of the back pocket of his shorts, with the greatest concern reflecting in his eyes. Opening the lid, a pill was tipped into the palm of his hand. “Then take your pills, Kady. You need them, baby. You promised me that you’d take them.” He presented it like Lucifer offering an apple to the starved. In his eyes, coercion overturned his concern and glinted like silver blades.

  Wearily, I eventually took it from his hand, popped it in my mouth and down my throat before being swallowed up in his arms. I didn’t fight back. I allowed his warm and hard muscle to offer comfort. “I’m sorry, Liam. I really thought that I saw––”

  “Shush, baby, it’s okay now. But you owe Liv an apology, too.”

  Sniffling, I apologized to Liv from over his shoulder.

  She simply nodded with a displeased look on her face.

  “Can we go home now please?”

  He kissed the top of my head. “Of course we can. I’ll drive; you can sleep in the back. Liv can sit shotgun.”

  The journey back home was only a forty minute drive. Nevertheless, I was in and out. I swore at one point, I saw Liam’s hand resting on Liv’s thigh as I fluttered my lids open. The tears came, as did more questions, so many questions. Eventually, I slipped back into slumber.

  What was wrong with me? What was wrong with my mind? I didn’t know what’s real anymore…why couldn’t I just be normal.

  Normal.

  What is normal?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  6th June, 2013.

  The day before the accident…

  For over three hundred and sixty-five days, I had concentrated profusely on throwing myself in to distraction. Three hundred and sixty-five days…twelve months…it seems so long. It’s not.

  The days, well, my days at least, were blurred, distorted. They were filled with unspoken qualms of what was real, and what wasn’t.

  During those twelve months, four weeks were spent back in Pinewood, dosed back up to the eyeballs, dwelling on why my mind worked the way it had been. I had never been a troubled child. There was no history of mental illness, delusions, depression or anxiety. Nevertheless, I guessed my rap sheet was a mile long with medications and statements from Liam recounting a few vital moments where I had blacked-out and been a danger to him or myself.

  Incalculable times I had seen both Liv and Liam, in less than compromising circumstances. Seeing them kissing in the car, making out in my kitchen…walking in on them in my bed. At least, that’s what I thought I was seeing. Bursting with rage, I’d fly off the handle, shouting obscenities and demanding explanations. Without fail, Liam like a white knight absent sword but armed with my tranquilizers, would come to my aid, alleviating that hurt and anger as he talked some sense into me through my delusional haze.

  In the end, I came to realize I was merely visualizing something that I feared. So when my fear and paranoia played with my mind, I’d screw my eyes tightly, wishing it away. Then I’d down the pills myself and go to sleep. Everything was always better after that.

  When I wasn’t locked up like the nut-job I was, Laurie’s advice was taken. Not only did I enjoy baking cakes, but I was able to use it as a diversion, something to concentrate on to mellow my mood without the need of further pills, considering Dr. Oleman discontinued my anti-depressants. And although it took a while for me to feel enthusiastic about it, I finally resigned when Liam went ahead and signed me up for decorating courses to further that skill.

  I’d stand back and study the edible masterpiece which I created, and I would be overflowing with a sense of achievement. Nothing compared, however, to the sense of achievement unlocking when your customer is in awe of what your hands have accomplished.

  It was when Laurie dropped into conversation about a unit going to waste in Bricksdale Square, and the element of how unemployment rates were still a problem, that Liam’s statement from the night I met Laurie flicked in our heads.

  See, that’s why it’s more fulfilling being your own boss.

  With Liam’s help, we signed a joint lease and Ent-icing was established. Everything was down to him. He made it possible. And we owed him for that.

  Over time, business trips for Liam went from once every few months, to practically once a month, every month. Did it bother me how it used to, being left without my partner from anything from two nights, to five nights? No. Not one bit. Why? Because each time he was away, I felt a sense of normalcy returning. I was able to forget about all the shit that went on in my relationship, down to the deep, dark places of my mind, and focus on being me. Kady Jenson.

  That and the fact of, I wasn’t ever truly left alone. I had my business partner who had grown to become one of my best friends, and her cousin by marriage, who was also my anchor, Walker, and he was doing a great job of being that anchor.

  There were times over the year when the familiar boiling rage sat in my chest and gut, radiating its heat and hatred throughout my body, and I’d call him for help. Sometimes he’d take me to his apartment and give me what I needed. Switch, spank, lash, even use my ‘favored method’ as he heated a blunt blade and pressed it against my thigh, or have me lay face down in his sheets and pour hot wax down my spine.

  I remembered him straddling the
backs of my thighs as I called out when my flesh was pasted by the steady streaming of scalding wax, its intensity delivered fire on sensitive skin, while it cooled and extinguished the brutality of haywire emotions under my surface. In dire circumstances where I would have freely tossed myself out of the pick-up on the highway, if that is what it would take to bring an end to the frustrations and rage inside of me, there was no other option but to pull into an abandoned parking lot or a field, bend me over the truck and improvise.

  It’s difficult to understand and accept that there was no sexual gratification in what we were doing. It was purely for relief, an outlet in which he worried about my ability to lose control. It was a factor, and that factor had brought us closer. It was a safe way to obtain my release.

  Unlike Liam and his aggressive and degrading ways, Walker would never lay a hand on me until I begged; even then he would ask if I was positive that it was what I wanted. The way he would scoop me into his arms and hold me as I sat silently in his lap, telling me to savor the detachment I felt, the detachment which I craved, after he had given it, was the most intimate feeling. In some ways, I liked to think it bonded us in a way that was sacred to us.

  Despite all of that, despite how I felt about Walker and our unique bond, as I was looking at myself in the mirror of my bedroom, in an empty house, considering Liam was on another trip, I couldn’t help but silently curse the Irishman to Hell.

  Donned from head to toe in a white, knee-length pencil dress with a suit jacket, a black wig in the style of a bob hid beneath a white pillbox hat as I slipped on a pair of white gloves, I shook my head and sighed.

  I was going to kill him for this.

  My focus was torn away from the woman in the mirror when a beep of the truck horn blared through the night. I made my way around the bed, set my knee on the bench in the bay window and peeked through the heavy, satin embroiled drapes. Signaling for one more minute, I drew myself away from the windowpane, fetched my white clutch purse off the bed, and made my way outside.

  He was already standing at the bottom of the front steps when I pulled the door closed, locking it behind me. “I am going to kill you for this,” I chided, my silver bear jingling on my charm bracelet as I pointed a scolding finger at his black suited and booted form.

  That small chuckle, which he tried to suppress, was very poorly stifled. “Is that anyway to talk to the thirty-fifth President of the United States, darlin’?” he muttered with faux affront. He crooked his arm for me to link as I stepped carefully down the last step in my white heels.

  “An Irish President of the United States, that has to be a first.”

  “Will you two shut up and get in the car already? I don’t want to miss the karaoke.” I turned to the source of the irritated voice and gasped, before sheathing my teeth with my lips. “What?” Laurie asked shifting to the center of the bench, as Walker gallantly pulled open the passenger door.

  “Stay Puft? Really? For Historical Characters Night?” I slipped inside.

  “Don’t start, it’s a classic. Tell her, Walker.”

  Being caught between two distinct outlooks voiced by two women, he wasn’t stupid. Hanging his head with a grin, he faintly shook it from side to side somewhat defeated. “I’m pleading the fifth on this one. Sorry, cuz.”

  Laurie scowled adorably as Walker slammed the door shut behind me, and rounding the hood to slip in behind the wheel.

  The entire journey to McGinty’s, I couldn’t help but stare and offer the small not so secret snort of amusement at the woman next to me. Even so, she earned credit for improvisation. With her tight-fitted white T-shirt topped off with a blue traditional sailor’s collar and red neckerchief, teeny, tiny white shorts, little white sailor’s hat and a pair of what appeared to be cut-off sleeves of a white sweater, she looked like a very hot, Mrs. Stay Puft, one which was in desperate need of a tan.

  “What?” She hooked her overly long, blue block-dyed bangs behind her ear.

  “Nothing it’s just…” my words faded with a shake of my head.

  “I bake cakes right? Cakes are sweet and delicious…like marshmallows, so it’s all very obvious.” Her voice was just as sweet as her costume.

  “I just don’t understand how you could make something like that, look…hot,” I shrugged.

  Sounding some sort of mewling noise like she just spotted a litter of puppies, her hand shifted to my knee, and offered a little thank you squeeze.

  The familiar sound and vibrations of the truck going over the gravel parking lot of McGinty’s had the butterflies in my stomach startled awake and fluttering to attention. “You girl’s ready?” Walker asked, putting the truck into park and removing his keys.

  One word flew from my mouth instinctively, and had both of them gaping at me with Cheshire cat grins fixed firmly in place, “’Aye.”

  Before I knew it, the words, “Jesus Christ, woman,” was being grunted by Walker. He didn’t hide the fact that my slip of the tongue had caused him to need rearranging in his pants.

  Mrs. Stay Puft was already a mile ahead of us as we strolled casually through the lot, my clutch under my right arm, while I linked my left under Walker’s elbow. “You look gorgeous,” he complimented.

  I answered with a snort. “I haven’t been to a costume event in years. I kind of feel ridiculous.”

  By the time I had finished, Walker had come to a standstill, and I was swiftly turned around to face him, my arm still trapped in his crook.

  Although his hair was now in a side parting, which should have made him look ludicrous, he looked breathtaking. I don’t know what it was, but seeing someone who was always dirty and rugged in construction gear and heavy boots, turn suave when sporting a tailored black three-piece suit with the little silver handkerchief in his breast pocket, silver tie and black dress shoes…it made every part of my body tingle. It made my heart beat harder, faster. It made a secret part of me, apart that only I knew, want to risk everything and live in a reckless, impulsive moment.

  “You are beautiful, Kady Jenson. You could be dressed from head to toe in white designer, or in a potato sack. Either way, you’re gorgeous. You need to start believing it. That is another duty I’m adding onto the role of ‘Anchor’––”

  I frowned.

  “To make you realize how gorgeous you are, and what you’re worth. Shall we, Mrs. President?” he motioned with a sweep of his hand to the entrance. I nodded, and he led me inside.

  We strolled arm in arm through the masses of Elvis’, Cleopatra’s’, 1920’s gangster’s and a load of other discerning costumed clientele, until we reached the bar. The pool table which was usually sat between the entrance and the bar was lacking. I’d come here enough times now to know that Carriag always made sure that there was enough room whenever he organized an event, which would pull additional punters in. And that pool table, which held delicious memories that kept me warm on more than one lonely night, took up enough space for at least an additional five bodies.

  An older, huskier Irish lilt traveled from behind the bar. “Come on fellas, let Mr. and Mrs. President through.”

  Two Elvis’ and a Frank Sinatra gathered their beverages before fleeing the counter, freeing up space for us to approach.

  “Carriag I have no idea what possessed you to come up with this event, but you’re going to want to hope that I get amnesia and forget the entire thing.” I teased, slipping myself up onto one of the recently unoccupied stools with Walker at my side.

  “I thought it’d be different,”––the white cloth draped over his shoulder rose as he shrugged––“And truthfully, it’s the closest I’m going to get with rubbing shoulders with the stars. What can I get you, Jackie?” he asked, scouring my upper body with a sparkle in his eye. I held no reservation that he was a ladies man back in his day.

  “Hey, Da, take that look away from my wife.”

  Wife? To say my heart failed to cease in my chest at that statement, and that the air I had just sucked in didn’t catch and burn
in my throat, would have been the biggest lie in the entire history of mankind. I knew we were dressed up, having fun while portraying famous historic characters, but that lone word…and coming from Walker…

  I had to blink back tears which were threatening to spill and plaster a faux, dazed smile over my face. It made me giddy, and for the first time in so, so long, I sat with my head held high, feeling like I was protected…claimed. I felt like I belonged…even if it was just a pretense.

  Even if it was just for one night.

  “I’ll have a white wine please, Carriag.” I chanced a look at my dashing, JFK, who was lighting up a cigarette beside me. “And a beer for my, Mr. President.”

  It was fair to say that the night went smoothly. We laughed, we teased, we let our hair down…and unconsciously, we found ourselves falling into the act of the couple we were posing as. Linking arms, physical contact, fond glances, timid smiles…

  When you step into the shoes of a couple who you are impersonating, a couple who happens to be husband and wife, it becomes more than a costume. For that night, Walker was my husband. I was his wife. The verity of that notion making my blood tingle and my hairs stand on end was something which scared me. Love, attachment, lust…it was all rising to the surface, making its presence known. But it was only an act right? Those feelings had to be present to make the pretense believable.

  We were acting out a scene, a scene where those feelings had to flow naturally, a scene which, through no fault of my own, was clearing the fog away from hidden feelings that I had possessed, but ignored for so long.

  I suppose, I didn’t see it crossing any lines in our relationship, because for that night, we were that couple, and it was expected.

  I was sitting on one of the chairs surrounding a round table. Short of Walker, Laurie, Carriag and I, the bar was empty. I surrendered to my body’s demands and tipped my head back, when Walker seized my right foot, slipped my white heeled pump off and began massaging at the sole of my aching base. Still vaguely aware of Laurie and Carriag chatting about something or other by the bar, it was Walker’s skilled, yet calloused-coated hands which tore the satisfying groan straight from my throat.