Black Bounds

by Charlotte Byrd

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just think that we handled this whole thing very badly.”

  Aiden nods and looks down at the floor.

  “This is such a mess, Aiden. I’m really sorry. I had no idea that any of this would turn out this way.”

  “Me either,” he says quietly.

  I walk over and put my arm around him. He brushes it off, but I try again. This time, he lets me keep it there.

  “We’re going to get through this. I promise.”

  Neither of us says anything for a while.

  “The thing is, Ellie, that I’ve been giving this whole thing some thought today.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, when I met you, I had a thriving business whose main competitor was Amazon. We were on an upswing and everyone wanted to get in on the action.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly. I have no idea where he’s going with this, but I don’t like the tone of his voice.

  “And then I met you. And things just started to go awry.”

  I shake my head. “That’s really unfair, Aiden.”

  “Fair or not, that’s what has been happening. I know that none of this is directly your fault, except for maybe writing a romance book detailing every aspect of the auction and our sex life and then not protecting your pseudonym enough.”

  “Aiden—“ I start to say as tears well up in my eyes.

  “I know that I encouraged it, so it’s probably all my fault. But still, I can’t help but notice all the stupid little coincidences that have occurred since we started dating. And then things got even worse when we got engaged.”

  “What are you saying Aiden?” I whisper.

  “I don’t know what I’m saying,” he says, walking over to the window. I take a deep breath. He’s just talking out of his ass. He doesn’t mean any of this. He’s just angry and doesn’t have anyone else to take this out on.

  I stand a few feet behind him and peer into the darkness outside. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have written that book. But how could I have known that anyone would read it at all? How could I have known that someone would make the connection between this little self-published book by someone with a pseudonym and the real me?

  “I can’t do this anymore, Ellie,” Aiden says, still facing away from me.

  “What?”

  “I can’t. I really can’t.”

  My heart skips a beat. And then another. I forget to breathe and feel dizzy. I want him to take it back. I need him to take it back. But when he turns around to face me, I can see by the expression on his face that this is not likely.

  “I’m not sure I can marry you, Ellie,” Aiden says after a moment.

  “You’re not sure?” I whisper in a last ditch effort to make him clarify his words.

  “I can’t marry you.”

  Chapter 25 - Aiden

  When everything goes to black…

  I leave her apartment with tears in my eyes. I love Ellie. I want to marry her. But not right now. The world is spinning out of control and I can’t have her in my orbit. I know that I was wrong to blame everything on her. None of this is her fault. Actually, it’s probably all mine. But it just feels like my whole life is imploding and I’m not sure I want her to see the person that I will likely become at the other end.

  The challenges we face define us. Isn’t that what they always say? We proceed with our lives thinking that everything is fine and that we’re basically good people, until something happens that really pushes the boundaries of this idea. Are we really as good as we thought we were? Are we as talented? Maybe we are just hacks? Maybe we have just been lying to ourselves this whole time.

  I don’t really know what I’m thinking, nothing makes sense anymore. All of my thoughts become like run-on sentences that melt together to form something foreign and strange. I climb into my car and press on the accelerator. Oh, how I wish that instead of being in the middle of Manhattan, I was somewhere out west where I could drive for miles down an empty stretch of highway without seeing another person. Maybe out there I could forget everything that has happened recently and find another way out.

  But instead, I pull up to my building and give my car keys to the valet. I ride up the elevator and enter my empty apartment. The modern sleek design with sharp 90 degree edges and stainless steel appliances feels very far from home. This was always the place that gave me peace and comfort, and yet I feel none of that now. Now, it seems like something out of that old movie, Beetlejuice, and I would give anything to be in Ellie’s small cramped room and in her arms again.

  I know that I have done this to myself. If it weren’t for me, Ellie and I would still be engaged. But despite the pain that I feel now, it felt like the right decision. Haste, yes. But also, not entirely wrong. Or maybe that’s my mind playing tricks on me again?

  After pouring myself a glass of cranberry juice and adding some sparkling water, I take a moment to enjoy the cold bubbly liquid as it runs down the back of my throat. It doesn’t do much to make the feeling of complete loss go away, but it does focus my mind somewhat. Yes, Ellie wasn’t too careful with her new identity as an author and perhaps I should’ve asked her not to write about the auction on the yacht in such precise and honest detail. But the story that appeared in Page Six didn’t come from her. No, it had to come from someone who was there - and someone with an ax to grind.

  The most obvious suspect is Blake. Of course. Why not, right? He attacked the love of my life, stole my company, got me fired as CEO and now he’s going to embarrass me and make me look like a pervert in front of all of America. For someone who did the wrong thing, he sure does have an ax to grind. But why does he have all of this hatred toward me? For a long time, I thought that we were friends. I always considered him one of my closest confidantes. I had no idea that he had these deep-seated, dark feelings toward me. Was I just blind to it all? Or did I just ignore something that I should’ve spotted from miles away?

  My phone goes off. It’s Leslie Marks my public relations specialist. She’s a woman in her fifties with four little kids. To say that she’s a workaholic would be an understatement. And that’s coming from a workaholic who surrounded himself with workaholics. No, Leslie is a cut above. She’s either a chronic insomniac or she has made a deal with the devil to give her more hours in the day while the rest of us are stuck with only twenty-four. I used to have a whole team of PR people at Owl, but they never focused exclusively on me or performing any type of extensive damage control. Leslie, on the other hand, came recommended directly from my team of attorneys.

  “I have a plan going forward,” Leslie says as soon as I answer. She begins all conversations in the middle and I spend half the time playing catch up. I’m not sure if she does this because she’s just a fast talker naturally or to save time.

  “We need to go on the offensive. We need to find out who was the source of that article and discredit him.”

  Him. She means Blake except that she doesn’t really know it yet. Neither do I, not for sure anyway.

  “How do you know it’s a him?” I ask.

  “I guess it could be a her. Do you have any possible candidates?”

  I do, but I’m not ready to disclose Blake’s name yet. The article mentioned the auction, and Ellie laid out a lot of details about the process in her book. But there was no mention of Blake in either story. Not even a hint. And no matter how much I hate him, I have to tread carefully. There’s Ellie to consider.

  “I have a really good private detective. He will get to the bottom of this, one way or the other.”

  “And if he is able to find out who the source is,” I say. “What then?”

  “Well, once we know for sure, we go after him. Hard. Of course, that most certainly means getting your fiancée, Ellie, involved.”

  Shit. I haven’t told her that I broke our engagement yet. I inhale deeply.

  “Well, actually, things are sort of complicated with Ellie.”

&nb
sp; “What happened? You didn’t break up with her, did you?” Leslie barks. Having been CEO for some time now, I haven’t had the pleasure of anyone being quite so direct with me in a long time. It’s actually somewhat refreshing. Being CEO, you exist in this bubble where everyone kisses your ass. And if you aren’t careful, you might end up believing their lies that you do indeed walk on water. That’s one of the most dangerous things that could happen.

  “Aiden?” Leslie asks. “Are you there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Listen, this is not a good time to have things complicated with Ellie. You need her on your side. She wrote that book. Who the hell knows what else she will do?”

  “She won’t do anything bad,” I assure her. But she’s way ahead of me.

  “Actually, maybe you breaking up with her is actually a good thing. This way you can deny the whole auction thing all together.”

  I shake my head.

  “Listen, let’s talk about this later, okay?” I say, yawning.

  “Okay, I’ll call you first thing.”

  Last time she called me first thing in the morning, it was at five am. I tell her I don’t want to talk her before nine and she begrudgingly agrees to wait until then.

  When I hang up the phone, I consider Leslie’s proposition. Perhaps I should tell her and her private investigator about Blake. He is the reason for all this shit. But I can’t hurt him without hurting Ellie. When it first happened, she didn’t go to the police and file a report. And to come out now would make it very easy for all those naysayers to not believe her. Why didn’t she come forward in the first place? the better ones of them will likely say. And the cruel ones? Well, they will probably say that she deserved everything that happened because she let herself be auctioned off in the first place. No, all of those people can just go fuck themselves. I won’t let them question Ellie’s integrity. I won’t let her go through that. Not for me. I love her too much.

  Chapter 26 - Ellie

  When nothing makes sense…

  After Aiden left, every day melted into the next without much differentiation. Nothing seems to matter anymore. There is no reason to get up in the morning. There is no reason to go to bed. I stay up late watching television and I sleep at random times throughout the day. I can’t manage to sleep more than two hours a time, but my body continues to crave some shut-eye so I start to exist in this perpetual state where I’m not fully awake nor fully asleep.

  When I am awake, I cry. My eyes get puffy and stay swollen for days. No amount of ice, nor hot or cool teabags takes away the redness. It gets so depressing that after a while, I stop looking at myself in the mirror completely. Why does it matter what I look like? The sight of my uncombed and unwashed hair, a bathrobe that I’ve been living in for close to a week, if not more, and pale pasty skin is not something that I can face.

  “Ellie, you have to snap out of it,” Caroline says one day when the sun is shining brightly through my curtains. She comes in and opens them with one violent motion, making me squirm and hide my face under the blankets.

  “You haven’t showered or changed your clothes or been outside in days.”

  Okay, days is actually good. I thought it was longer.

  “Many, many days,” Caroline clarifies. Many, many days do add up to a week or more. This is less good.

  “I can’t today.”

  “You have to. This is the first sunny day we’ve had in a while and we have to go outside. You need to stretch your legs. Your muscles are probably all atrophied by now.”

  Caroline pulls my blankets off me and pulls me up by my arms. I want to protest, but that seems more work than to just go along with her. I let her push me into the bathroom.

  “If you don’t strip and get into the shower, I’ll do it for you,” she threatens.

  “Can I have some privacy please?”

  “No,” she says. “But I will turn around.”

  I guess that’s better than nothing. Slowly, I take off my bathrobe and pajamas and socks. My clothes definitely have a distinctively well-worn smell to them. Or is that just me? Perhaps, a shower isn’t such a horrible idea after all. I turn on the water and wait for it to turn warm. When I see the steam rising to the top, I climb in slowly and let it cover me from my head to my toes.

  “How does it feel?” Caroline asks. I close my eyes and lose myself in the pleasure. Every pore in my body seems to open up and welcome the refreshment. I lather up the shampoo in my hands and run it through my hair. The shampoo runs down my face and body and I revel in the feeling.

  “Really good,” I mumble.

  “Told you.”

  After I get out of the shower, I wrap myself in a towel and flash Caroline a small smile. It’s not much, but I’m making an effort. That seems to be enough for her.

  “I’m tossing all of these clothes into the wash,” she announces, probably half expecting me to protest. But I’m glad they’re going. I’ve been wearing them since the night he told me he doesn’t want to marry me and I can’t stand the sight of them.

  “How are you?” I ask. “I’m sorry I’ve been in such a funk and I haven’t been here for you.”

  I’m a terrible friend, I know that. But there was literally nothing I could do.

  “I’m fine actually. I guess all those days of moping around were good for me.”

  “And here you are trying to get me to stop.”

  “Wow, a joke?” Caroline says. “I guess you’ll make it through this yet.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “That’s the thing about time, isn’t it? It keeps going even if you want it to stop. And as it marches on, it starts to take away some of the pain,” Caroline adds.

  I know she’s right, but the idea of time healing all things is a foreign concept to me now. I mean, intellectually, of course, I agree. But deep down in my soul, my heart still hurts thinking about Aiden.

  An hour later, I’m doing something I didn’t think I could ever do again, eat waffles for breakfast and enjoy them. Caroline makes them and slathers them in maple syrup. Oddly, they are one of the few things that she can make entirely from scratch.

  “These are amazing,” I mumble, as I stuff them into my mouth.

  “Yes, they’re pretty good, aren’t they?”

  We sit there in silence for a few moments enjoying the delicious breakfast. Just when I don’t think I can stomach another bite, the buzzer goes off.

  “Who could that be?” I ask, getting up. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand before I press on the intercom button. When I hear her voice, chills run down my back.

  “It’s my mom!” I yell, running back to the kitchen. Since I was the one who answered, I couldn’t not let her in. But now I’m freaking out.

  “So what?” Caroline asks, clearly not understanding the urgency of the situation.

  I only have a few moments before she rides up the elevator and walks over to our door. I glance around the living room and the kitchen. There are things around, but the place doesn’t look that bad. I run into my room. Now, this place is much more of a disaster area.

  “Can you get that?” I turn to Caroline when I hear my mom knock on the door. The fact that I kept it locked was not an accident.

  While Caroline gets the door, I quickly cram all the clothes and shoes that are coving my floor into the closet. The closet door barely closes but with a little bit of muscle and determination, I manage to get it shut.

  “Hey there,” I say. When I give her a warm hug, I see my reflection in the mirror on the wall.

  Holy crap!

  How could I forget?

  Shit!

  “Ellie, what’s going on?” my mom asks. “You look….”

  She doesn’t finish her sentence because she hasn’t seen me without makeup since high school. But today, the situation is much worse than me just not wearing a full fresh face. I’m freshly showered, but that doesn’t exactly remove evidence of not sleeping and crying my eyes out for days.

  “You look awful,�
�� Mom says, shaking her head.

  “Gee thanks,” I say.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t really feeling like myself for a while,” I say, shrugging. I know that my mom doesn’t really mean anything when she comments on my appearance, but that doesn’t change the fact that it still hurts and makes me feel like crap. It’s also the main reason that I always feel compelled to look perfect when I come over for dinner. Nothing can be off. Everything has to be perfect, otherwise she will make a comment about it and act ‘concerned.’

  “Mom, what are you doing here?”

  “I had to come see you. I called and texted you a million times and I didn’t hear back. I was getting worried.”

  “I’m fine,” I say with a shrug.

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “She is, Margie,” Caroline says. “She was just going through something.”

  “With Aiden?”

  “Yes.”

  Mom shakes her head and crosses her arms at her chest. “That guy is trouble,” she announces, as if she knows anything about him.

  “I thought you would be excited about us being together. I mean, he is somewhat of a celebrity.”

  “Do you really think I’m that shallow?”

  I shrug again. I didn’t think so, but recently she has changed quite a lot. She has been hanging out with way too many people with apartments on Park Avenue and houses in the Hamptons. And with enough contact with them, things tend to change.

  “Listen, you don’t have to worry, okay,” I say after a moment. “We’re not together anymore.”

  “What?”

  I take a deep breath. This part is so embarrassing. I mean, I just introduced him as my boyfriend and now it’s over. Now, I know why people wait for months or even years to introduce their significant others to their parents. So, you don’t have to go through stuff like this.

  “Oh my God!” Mom gasps and grabs my left hand. As soon as I look down, I realize my mistake.