Lost In Lies

by Xavier Neal

  I sink my teeth in the arm that’s trying to choke me, and she flips herself off. Scooting away from me, panting as hard as I am, she starts to chuckle, rubbing the spot on her arm.

  “You lose,” she whispers.

  “Really?” I breathe rapidly, still staring at her intensely. “How do you figure?”

  “Missing something?” The question is my clue to look around for my purse. Panicked, I look around to see Alex against the wall, waving the folded fake map at me. My jaw hits the ground as Lola rises to her feet, dusts the wrinkles out of her skirt, wipes the small swath of blood from her cheek, and shakes her head, “Until we meet again.”

  Alex winks at me and sighs, “You still have a lot to learn.”

  I watch the two of them leave the building, two Dark Watchers behind them like bodyguards. I grab my purse off the ground and appear as if I’m about to cry before jogging to the bathroom. Once there, I check the stalls, making sure I’m alone before checking my disheveled appearance. Pleased that everything is going according to plan, I readjust my makeup, fix my hair, and send Justin a text with the code word that everything is in motion.

  I return to my seat just as Nick takes the arena, one match away from the finals. I sit down beside Arnett, who looks at the empty seats where Lola and Alex were sitting.

  “You all right?”

  Sitting down, I nod and place my purse back between my feet, “I’m fine. Had a phone call.”

  Nick wins a flawless victory and lifts his mask up. He points his foil at me and blows me a kiss as if dedicating his win to me. A wide smile comes to my face as I blow a kiss back before the board lights up to show it’ll be Nick versus Justin, a match made in heaven or hell depending on which side of the equation you are sitting on.

  “This should be interesting,” Dubs grunts. “Justin will lose. Nick’s been trained by the best. Right, Arnett?”

  Arnett taps his thumbs on his chest while grinning to himself, “I like to believe so, but let’s not count those chickens quite yet.”

  Justin takes a squirt from his water bottle and places his mask on. He grabs another weapon, which doesn’t look like the ones they’ve been using, prompting me to ask, “What’s that?”

  “An Epee, a different sort of weapon used to target the whole body.”

  His description makes me uncomfortable immediately. I cross my legs and nervously chew on my bottom lip as Nick switches weapons as well. The two of them take their positions, my heart racing, wondering if Justin will take the victory or leave it to Nick. Ball’s always in Justin’s court. How does he do that? He controls the situations he puts himself in, never really leaving himself vulnerable, a lesson I need to learn.

  They begin in a round that has everyone in the arena on edge, but I’m preoccupied with the timing of the con, the thought of Arnett knowing my actual father is coming into town, him trying to trap me into seeing him, Eiden working to get our boat here on time, and Peter in charge of our luggage. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Peter lift anything.

  At that moment, the first point is scored by Justin right in Nick’s torso. Some of the crowd cheers, some of it boos, but I remain silent under the glances being tossed at me by Nick’s support squad. My attention focuses back on the match. The two of them go round and round, Justin blocking and dodging, his fancy footwork mesmerizing. When did he get this good? I’ve never seen him practice. He scores another time. Antsy Arnett wiggles in his seat, while Dubs taps his phone impatiently. The buzzer sounds again, and Nick wastes no time, I assume, figuring the only way he can score is by making the first move. But this works to his disadvantage, allowing Justin an immediate score. The victory buzzer goes off, and Justin raises his mask, a smirk across his face, while Nick raises his, a defeated look printed on his.

  The two of them shake hands before Nick leaves the space, allowing Justin to receive the trophy and the ribbon. Nick sits on the bench closest to his coach then glances over his shoulder up at me to see me give him a wave of support. I blow him a kiss, and he smiles as the girl drapes the first-place ribbon around Justin’s neck.

  Afterward, the players disperse to find their families. Nick races up the stairs to us, where Arnett shakes his hand, Dubs greets him with a high five, and I provide a warm hug. Once our hug is over, he places a kiss on the back of my hand.

  “You did well,” Arnett compliments him.

  “Not well enough,” his eyes meet mine.

  “You did awesome,” Dubs reassures him. “I couldn’t believe you lost.”

  At that moment, I see Justin walking down toward us, random females waiting for him at the top of the stairs. He knows I hate when he surrounds himself with random women. I wish he wouldn’t do that.

  “Hey, Nick,” Justin says, a twinkle in his eyes I don’t recognize. “Just wanted to say you did a fantastic job.”

  “Yet you won,” Nick’s hurt is emphasized by a scowl.

  “There are more important things I’ve lost,” Justin’s eyes shift to me.

  Nick senses what he means, smirks proudly, and extends his hand, “Good game, in both ways.”

  “Good indeed,” they shake. Not saying a word to me, Justin nods his head before turning his attention to the girls calling out his name like desperate fans, a sound I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to.

  He walks away, and I look back to Nick, who is beaming brightly, “Congrats on good rounds, Nick.”

  “Thanks. Dinner?”

  “I can’t,” Dubs sighs. “I, um, have plans. Good match, though.”

  Nick nods and lets him leave. “Arnett?”

  “Of course,” Arnett smiles proudly, patting him on the back. He pulls out his keys and phone.

  The three of us head back to Nick’s apartment, where he showers and changes. Arnett does the same, leaving the perfect chance to spray the map and get out early. Is this a trap? Arnett’s suspicion is already too high for my liking, so I choose not aggravate it. While I wait, I sit on the couch and scroll through photo albums. Even here, Nick’s parents seem scarce.

  Once they are clean and dressed, we head down to the restaurant where Nick and I had our first date, except this time, there’s no singer. We enjoy laughs over appetizers, burgers, and shakes. I do everything I can think of to stall as much as I can. Thankfully, the waitress comes back to take Arnett’s card right on time, a little after 10 p.m.

  “I’m glad you met Nick,” Arnett smiles and has another sip of water. “He’s a happier guy since you’ve been in his life.”

  “I can agree with that.” Nick wraps an arm around the back of my chair.

  “Sir,” the waitress interrupts.

  “Yes?” Arnett raises his eyebrows, concerned.

  “Your card was rejected.” she says quietly.

  Startled, Arnett clears his throat and pulls out his wallet, “Odd. Try this one.”

  “Sure,” she nods, and I fight the urge to smile, thankful the plan in is motion.

  “When are you expecting to move here?” Arnett taps the side of his glass.

  Rubbing my hands down my thighs, I bob my head, “I’m thinking right before Thanksgiving, making it easier to transfer schools.”

  “I have to wait to spend every day with you until Thanksgiving?” Nick says in a playful whine. “I mean, that would give me something to be thankful for.”

  After a chuckle, I attempt to respond, but the waitress returns, an unhappy look on her face still, “Um, sir, this one was declined too.”

  “What?!” Arnett raises his voice, and Nick’s arm lowers from around me. “How could it be? Are you sure your system is working? I know that card is good! I’ve barely used it! In fact, I…”

  “Hey,” Nick puts a hand on the table. “Let me get it, Arnett, and you can straighten all this out in the morning.”

  While Nick’s reaching for his wallet, Arnett’s phone goes off, Aiden working on his part. Arnett notices the strange number and answers it quickly, leaning his body away from us.

  Nick han
ds the waitress the card, and she scampers off. While Arnett is distracted, he leans over, his face directly next to my ear, and whispers, “Are you coming back to my place tonight?”

  I raise my eyebrows innocently, “For ...”

  “Another beautiful night’s sleep,” the answer fills my stomach with butterflies because it was indeed a great night’s sleep.

  Biting my bottom lip, I fall into his eyes, “I love that idea.”

  The waitress returns with Nick’s card as Arnett hangs up the phone, panic written across his features. “Thank you! Enjoy your evening.”

  “Thank you,” Nick nods and slides the card to sign the receipt. His voice shifts to Arnett, “Everything get settled?”

  “I need to call the bank. They’re afraid it’s identity theft.”

  In unison, we croak out, “Identity theft?”

  “Large, extravagant purchases,” he rolls his eyes. “A boat, jet skis, a diamond tennis bracelet, a diamond-encrusted fish…”

  “Sounds like a mermaid on a shopping spree.” Nick laughs, but Arnett isn’t amused.

  “Why don’t you go ahead and just get that taken care of? Peyton and I can walk back to the penthouse. We’ll be fine,” he insures, sliding the card in his wallet.

  “You sure?” Arnett raises his eyebrows. Nick nods, and Arnett sighs, “Je veux juste que tu sois en sécurité. J’ai l’impression qu’elle se cache quelque chose d’important de vous.”

  “Tu es trop protecteur.”

  “Je ne suis pas. Promettez-moi que vous prendrez soin de vous-même. Et que vous m’appelez première chose le matin pour le petit déjeuner.”

  “Oui.”

  Arnett pats Nick’s hand and puts a fake smile on his face for me, “Have a good night.”

  “Oui,” I giggle with a horrible French accent, which makes Nick shake his head and kiss me on the cheek. Once Arnett’s out of sight, I turn to Nick, getting the idea of what Arnett said but desperate to know if Nick will be honest with me, “What’d he say in French?”

  “Just wants us to be safe if we ... explore other avenues in our relationship tonight.” The lie stings but it’s somewhat of a relief. Here I thought I was getting total honesty, making it difficult to lie to him, but now I know he’s no better than me. “Which we don’t have to ... anytime soon.”

  I put on a phony smile, “Let’s head back to your place.”

  The two of us start walking to his penthouse reminiscing on his incredible match until a phone call breaks up our conversation. Continuing to walk arm and arm, I allow Nick to answer his phone and don’t think much until he sighs heavily.

  “Now Dubs?” He stops inches from walking inside the building. “Right now?” There’s a pause, and Nick looks at me, nonplussed. At that moment, Nick nods and a smile appears, “You know, Dubs, normally I would, but I have plans tonight. So just call the tow company, and I’ll pay for the charges. I gotta go.”

  Nick hangs up and slides the phone back in his pocket, so I ask, “Everything all right?”

  “Belle stood him up,” he shrugs, “and his car managed to run out of gas. Normally, I would drop everything for him, but you know, lately, I haven’t been important to him. Why should he be to me?”

  “I understand,” I touch the side of his face, lift up onto my toes, and plant a soft kiss on his lips to seal the deal.

  Chapter 10

  Nick grabs us two glasses of water, a couple blankets, and a few pillows to set up shop in the living room. He spreads the blanket out across the floor, lights a few candles around the room, and turns on the TV for a movie. As soon as he’s decided on one, a romantic French film, he places an arm around me, allowing me to snuggle up next to him, my head on his shoulder, the pill on the other side of me, desperate to get in his glass. Needing a diversion, I begin racking my brain. I check the clock, behind schedule.

  Nick catches me looking at him and takes that as a signal to make a move. He pushes a strand of hair behind my ear, meets my eyes, and whispers out, “Tu es magnifique.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “You’re beautiful,” he strokes my cheek again. “Chaque fois que je regarde dans tes yeux je tombe profondément amoureux.”

  Giggling, I sigh, “And that?”

  “Every time I stare into your eyes, I fall deeper in love.” The words take me off guard, and I accidentally knock over my glass with my foot, spilling water everywhere.

  “Sorry,” I apologize.

  “It’s OK,” Nick hops up, picking up his own glass to take a drink from. “I’ll grab a towel. You can just refill your glass if you want.”

  “Sure,” I slip my phone into my pocket and stand up. Strolling out of the living room and to the kitchen, I immediately send a 911 message to Aiden that I need an emergency phone call to get Nick out of the room.

  As I grab the water pitcher, I receive a text back.

  Aiden: No can do. Keeping Arnett busy.

  Me: Can Justin or Eiden or Peter?

  Aiden: Busy. Find a way.

  Uncomfortable, I head back to the living room, where Nick is waiting for me, his glass close to his body, meaning there’s only one way I’m going to be able to slip the pill in his drink. Sliding my phone into my purse, in exchange for the pill, I hide it between my two fingers and wrap my arms around Nick’s neck, going in for a very aggressive kiss.

  Surprised, but excited, he wraps his arms around my waist. I fight the urge to get swept up in the kiss, open one eye, and try to pinpoint the water glass. Noticing its location, I lean back casually, drop the pill, and watch it fizzle away. The drawback of this strategy is that Nick’s body is falling on top of me, putting me in a compromising position. Slightly panicked, I pull away and stare into his eyes for a moment.

  With a soft giggle, I innocently say, “I need a drink.”

  Nick chuckles and nods, “Me too. That was ... intense.”

  Biting my bottom lip, I nod to agree as I grab my glass of water and watch him mimic my motion. I appear to take a long drink, while he actually sucks down the entire glass, the way the pill forces you to. My eyes glance at the clock again, the time crunching in around me. Once he’s satisfied, he leans back to me, pressing his lips firmly against mine. While his kiss is passionate and entertaining, it’s not my taste. It’s sloppier than the last time, due possibly to the fact that the pill has similar effects to alcohol. After another press or two, Nick’s motions lose momentum, which is when I push him over and let him be dead weight on the floor.

  Relieved it’s finally over, I hop up, grab my purse, and rush to his bedroom to see a surprise that I’m not excited about. Nick’s room is completely cleaned and reorganized, as if the cleaning lady came through. With a groan, I drop my purse as panic grabs my chest. His desk where the bottle was being kept has been rearranged, and now the perfume’s nowhere to be found.

  “Damn it!” I squeak.

  Before I have the chance to make another move, my cell phone goes off. Quickly, I answer, “What?”

  “That’s not a pleasant greeting,” Justin’s voice quips on the other end.

  “I’m not in a pleasant situation,” I enlighten him. “I have a problem.”

  “Nick’s kisses are getting worse?”

  “I am not in the mood!”

  “Wow. What’s the problem, solider?”

  “The bottle has been moved.” Silence nestles between us for longer than I can bare, which is when I snap, “See the problem?”

  “You’ve got another headed your way,” his voice softens.

  “What’s that?”

  “Plane landed a few minutes early. They’re headed straight for you.”

  The color drains from my face. My voice croaks as I try to muster up a response, “Tell me you’re kidding.”

  “No,” Justin smoothly answers. It would make me feel better to actually hear him panic than endure this calm, easy-motion bullshit. “I can buy you a few minutes but not many.”

  Awesome. Just perfect. A few min
utes in a life-or-death situation. I need more than that! Hanging up the cell phone, I toss it in the bag, pull out the map, and unfold it on the bed. I will find that perfume. I have to find it. Immediately, I start rifling through his bedside drawers, under his pillow and mattress, all the obvious spots. Under his bed is completely vacant. At his now neatly organized desk, I move objects around, hoping the bottle just slid behind something. Annoyed, I start messing up everything in sight, the sound of the clock ringing in my ear, taunting me.

  “Look for what means something to him,” I mumble to myself, noticing that even the area around the painting is clear. “What means something to him?” my question continues to repeat itself as I move books on shelves—the ones labeled about design. Frustrated, I’m running out of places to look. I open his bathroom and start looking in drawers and under the sink. Upset, I toss open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, where I move around aspirin bottles, mouthwash, and protection just in case he got his way for the night. Disgusted, I close the mirror and stare at my reflection.

  You loved your sketchbook and wouldn’t want it far from you at any given moment, not even when you slept. The words are ringing in my ear. Wouldn’t want it far from me at any given time ... at any given time ... not even when I slept. With a shove from the universe, I bolt out of the bathroom, out of his bedroom, and back to the living room, where I notice his gym bag is nestled close to the couch, not too far from where his body lays still.

  Rushing over to the bag, I unzip it and toss out his dirty clothes. When I get to the bottom, I see a picture of Nick and I from earlier in the week, and underneath is the very bottle I’m looking for.