by Theresa Jane
"Oh sorry, how silly of me, I’m Lucinda, but everyone calls me Lucy. I’m Liam's publicist. I’m in charge of Liam's image, and right now he’s working pretty hard to destroy it."
"Is that where he always goes, the studio?" I asked, trying to piece together the little bits about him I had learned.
"Sometimes, other times he goes places to blow off steam. Do you live here with him?" she asked offhandedly.
"Yes."
"Keep your door locked at night," she answered cryptically, heading for the door.
"Why does everyone keep saying that?" I asked in confusion.
"Liam's life isn’t clean, despite how neat he likes to keep everything. Just…lock the door." She warned again, looking back at me meaningfully. "Where did he find you anyway?"
"Poker game," I grumbled.
"When did he go to Vegas?" she asked in alarm, probably wondering what damage he could have done to his image there.
"He didn’t," I answered flatly.
"You know what, I don’t have time for this," she sighed, turning back for the door in her usual whirlwind fashion I was beginning to associate with her. "Why does he keep you here? Actually, I don’t want to know that."
"I’m his new maid," I answered, wanting to clear up any thoughts that were circling around her mind.
"You’re not very good, are you?" she smirked, looking back at the crime scene in the living room.
"That’s the plan," I smiled, looking back to admire my work.
"He fired the last one months ago. He doesn’t really need a maid, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, but he can do with the company. He never lets anyone in, so don’t get attached," she warned. "He doesn’t."
"I can’t stand him," I grumbled, realizing that every conversation we’ve had so far has either ended or begun with hostility.
"Good," she nodded firmly, turning back and opening the front door.
"Why did he fire the last one?" I asked hurriedly before she could disappear.
"He wouldn’t say," she shrugged. “Maybe she was too clean for him,” she laughed at some inside joke I didn’t quite understand, but I laughed politely anyway.
"Good luck, Freya," she said before disappearing out the front door in a whirlwind of dark hair and heels. I couldn’t help but feel the warning in her words.
* * *
"Lucy," I heard Liam groan as the front door opened later that afternoon. "I don’t do these things to make your life harder. You’re my publicist. I pay you to handle this." I looked up as he entered the living room, and I smirked when I realized he hadn’t noticed my redecorating yet. I leaned over the back of the sofa and got comfortable. This was going to be entertaining.
"Lucy, that was Jeb. I don’t have control of what he does." He growled at her angrily, and I grew impatient until he finally moved over to the outline of where his sofa used to be. His face clouded with confusion until he looked up and his eyes met with mine. I saw his jaw tick with anger as I waved at him mockingly. I could still hear Lucinda yelling down the line at him, but he had lost all interest in her, his sole attention on me.
"Lucy, I have to call you back," he mumbled, shutting off her stream of angry words and tossing his phone where the coffee table used to be. When it hit the floor, he looked over in alarm and realized there was nothing but an outline of the object that used to be there. He stared at the space for a moment before he slowly returned his eyes to me, and I felt the smile on my face grow uncontrollably.
"Freya," he growled as he marched over to where I sat. "What have you done?"
"Redecorated," I shrugged, turning my back on him and slipping back down on the sofa to look out at the descending sun over the New York skyline.
"I told you to follow the book," he grumbled, his feet stomping around to stand in front of me.
"I took it as more of a suggestion," I shrugged, lying down on the sofa and instead looking up at his blindingly white ceiling.
"Put it back," he hissed, glaring down at me from above.
“No,” I answered simply, and I saw his jaw working even harder. If it were possible, I smiled even wider.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Are you going to storm off again?" I countered.
"You’re meant to clean the apartment," he complained in a low voice.
"I did," I answered simply, pushing off the couch and passed his vibrating body. I heard him let out a groan of frustration before his feet quickly followed mine.
"Where are you going?" he demanded as I walked through the kitchen, opening the fridge and frowning.
"I’m going to go out and get us something to eat. Do you want anything in particular?" I asked innocently as his face flamed.
"You aren’t going anywhere, we haven’t finished here," he yelled, walking over and slamming the fridge closed. I fought hard not to flinch.
"I’m finished," I replied, my voice even, and we stood in a silent staring contest, neither willing to break first. The air grew stifling as he loomed over me, his hand still pressed firmly on the door of the fridge, close to my head, but I didn’t move and I didn’t break eye contact.
"Fine," he sighed finally, and he stepped back from me, reaching for something in his back pocket. "Take this, I don’t care what you get."
"What is this?" I asked disgustedly, holding the piece of plastic between my thumb and forefinger as far away from me as possible.
"It’s a credit card, Freya, people generally use them to buy things," he answered tiredly before he turned back to look at his rearranged living room.
"Why are you giving it to me?" I asked, scrunching my nose up in disgust.
"Am I going to need to explain the concept of money to you or have you made a career out of petty theft?"
"I understand money, Liam," I spat back. It wasn’t money I had a problem with, generally it was the absence of money that was my trouble. "I don’t understand why you are giving me yours."
"I assume you don’t have any based on why you were at your brother’s place the other night."
"How do you know I don’t have money?" I demanded, throwing the offending card on the bench.
"You work for me, Freya. You’re buying food for me, therefore you use my money," he reasoned, running his hand through his messy blond hair. Absently, I wondered how many times a day he did that.
"I don’t need your money."
"Just take it, Freya. Why does everything with you need to be an argument?" He sighed, his shoulders slumping, and I eyed him warily.
"I don’t argue about everything," I grumbled, rubbing my arm self-consciously, and I heard his light chuckle over the silence of the apartment.
"Just take it."
"Fine," I sighed, reluctantly taking the card off the bench again and slipping it in my back pocket. "I could have managed on my own though."
"Of course," he laughed, and I quickly turned my back on him and left out the front door. The only thing running through my mind was how surprised that checkout guy would be when I showed up with a platinum credit card.
Chapter 8: Hold the Phone
This was the greatest day of my life. Walking down aisle two of the supermarket, I made the sudden realization that I had a very sad life when grocery shopping was a highlight, but I didn’t care. Nothing was going to take away the high I was feeling right now of buying brand named items and not even caring how much they cost. My only restriction was how much I thought I could carry. When I finally made it to the cash register, I wore a satisfied smile as I noted my favorite cashier was on tonight. As soon as he saw it was me, his face turned into a scowl and he eyed my items skeptically as I began to unload them.
"You know these are brand names, right?" he asked condescendingly.
"Yes, I do," I answered smugly as he begrudgingly scanned all my items through. I watched with glee as the total continued to climb, and it almost felt as if the piece of plastic in my pocket was burning a hole in my jeans. When he
finally read out the total, my body was humming with excitement.
"How would you like to pay for that?" He droned, skeptical that I could pay at all.
"Credit," I squeaked, pulling out the coveted piece of plastic from my back pocket, and I saw his eyes widen in surprise. I handed it over to him, and he looked up at me and then back at the card in his hand, then back at me again.
"This isn’t going to come up stolen when I swipe it, is it?" he asked doubtfully, and I smiled even wider.
"No," I answered simply as he swiped the card and the transaction went through.
"Where did you get this?" He questioned as he handed the card back to me and I loaded all my bags into my arms.
"I sold my soul to the devil," I muttered, thinking of the man who was waiting for me back in the apartment. "The interest is unbelievable." The boy simply watched me with his mouth wide open, and I struggled out of the store with all my purchases. It was totally worth the two trains and the bus it took me to get here, but I was regretting it now as I realized the city had been covered in darkness several hours ago while I had been skipping up and down the aisles. However, nothing was going to take my joy away, not even the prospect of an hour or two on public transport.
* * *
"Freya?" His voice was the first thing I heard as I shoved the door of the apartment open, and I almost dropped all the bags I was balancing precariously in my arms.
"What’s his problem now?" I grumbled. I hadn't been home for hours, what could I have possibly done since then to anger him? I kicked the door closed behind me and wobbled down the hallway to find Liam striding across the room toward me. I noticed all the furniture was still in the same place and despite the anger I could see in his amber eyes, I smiled to myself and walked over the outline of where the sofa had once been.
"Where have you been?" he demanded, and I looked up at him in confusion as I placed all of my bags down on the bench top.
"The grocery store," I answered calmly. "You would not believe how big that place is when you actually have money to spend."
"You’ve been gone for hours," he growled, standing over me, his breathing heavy as he tried to control his anger. It was moments like this I wished I hadn’t been given the munchkin genes of the family.
"I wasn’t aware I needed to log all my hours with you," I frowned, moving away from him and to the other side of the bench, where I started to put away my purchases.
"It’s dark outside, Freya," he yelled, pointing at the darkened skyline for emphasis.
"I’ve heard the sky does that at night," I countered as I heard his heavy footsteps stomp around to join me.
"Freya, you're not taking this seriously."
"I know," I replied, shaking my head at his overreaction. Why was he even acting this way?
"I didn’t know where you were," he hissed, grabbing my wrist and forcing me to look at him.
"What do you want me to do, Liam?" I sighed, confused.
"You could have called, or left me your number, something," he answered in exasperation, and I looked up at him sheepishly.
"I don’t have a phone," I muttered as my cheeks flamed and I tried to keep my eyes away from his.
"What?"
"I don’t have a phone," I repeated, pulling free from his grasp and glaring at the ground as if it had committed a crime against me.
"I don’t understand," and I could hear the frown in his voice without even looking up to see it.
"I can’t afford a phone, Liam, not all of us have platinum credit cards with unlimited funds."
"So, you don’t own a phone," he repeated.
"Are you enjoying rubbing this in? Is this funny for you?" I shot back, taking comfort in the anger that was beginning to flood my veins.
"No, I had no way of finding you, Freya," he shot back. "Who takes six hours to go shopping?"
"I do," I shouted.
"This is New York," he growled, taking another step toward me, and I felt my body begin to hum with adrenaline. "People go missing in New York."
"I can look after myself."
"You’re impossible," he scoffed. "What if something happened to you? How would I know?"
"Why do you care?" I muttered, looking away from him and moving to put the rest of the groceries away. I turned back to the bench for the rest of my purchases just as Liam turned back to me, his arm raised. I felt the world slip away. The shadow of his arm blurred my vision as a memory started to invade my reality.
I wasn’t in Liam's kitchen anymore, I was back in L.A., my father’s drunken shouts coming from the kitchen, his tainted breath filling my senses. I cringed away from him, away from his raised hand. Then suddenly, the image was gone and I was back in Liam's kitchen, and all I could see were worried golden eyes.
"Freya?" he asked gently, and I quickly shook his hands from my shoulders as panic fluttered in my chest. I took several steps back from him, my head shaking as my mouth moved wordlessly. Anything to stop the burning in my eyes, anything to stop him from seeing me cry.
"Freya, wait," he implored, but I had already spun from the kitchen and was speeding down the hallway until I found my room. I fumbled with the door handle until I pushed inside, slamming it closed behind me and slipping the lock into place as an afterthought. I breathed heavily as I slid down the door, my head resting on my knees. I tried to calm my racing heart and steady my shaking hands.
"It’s not him," I repeated to myself as I replayed the image of Liam in my mind. I knew he wasn’t going to hit me, I could see he was just reaching for the cupboard above my head, but he was angry. I didn’t know much about Liam but from what I had seen, I didn’t think he would hurt me.
Moments later, I heard footsteps coming down the hallway and my body tensed. They grew louder as they came nearer and my breathing became shallow. Suddenly they slowed just behind me and my heart stopped. Several seconds passed, but no knock came at the door.
I heard a heavy sigh before the footsteps started retreating again, and my body expelled a long breath. I rested my head back against the door and swallowed back the pain. It was in the past, I wasn't going to let it affect me now. I was fine. He couldn't hurt me anymore.
* * *
Hours later, I woke to hear footsteps outside my room again, and I pushed back from the door where I had drifted off to sleep. Again there was silence and then they disappeared again. After a second’s hesitation, I quickly pushed to my feet and opened my door, wanting to apologize for how I had reacted, but the hallway was already empty.
Sighing, I went to go back inside my room when I noticed something at my feet. Bending down, I picked the box up, looking at it curiously. When I realized what it was, I immediately looked at Liam's closed bedroom door and frowned. Shutting my door behind me, I headed back for my bed and placed the box on the bedside table before falling heavily into the blankets. I was too tired to argue tonight.
* * *
I woke early the next morning and dressed quickly from my pile of clothes in the corner of my room, then I went straight for Liam's room, box in hand. I hesitated for a moment, my hand raised to knock, but I pulled it back slowly after a moment. Instead, I sat across from it, staring intently at its imposing whiteness.
When Liam finally stumbled sleepily out of his room, I jumped up as a wave of determination ran through my body.
"Freya?" he yelled, stumbling back from my sudden appearance and crashing into the frame of his door.
"What is this?" I demanded, thrusting the box at him.
"How are you not in a horror movie?" he gasped, clutching his chest as he tried to shake off his shock.
"Answer the question, Liam," I continued, ignoring his remarks.
"You could have given me a heart attack. Don't sit there like that," he scolded, dropping his hand and walking away from me down the hallway, still ignoring my question.
"Liam," I groaned, trailing after him, the box hanging limply from my hand.
"Coffee, Freya," he grumbled, and I glared at his bare back as we both moved into the scene of our fight from last night. Half the things were still in bags, cupboards still open where I had been putting things away.
"I can't accept this." I announced, placing the phone beside where I had thrown his credit card last night, and he kept his back to me as he made himself a coffee.
"You need a phone, Freya," he answered simply as he turned back to me with two coffees in hand. I eyed him curiously as he placed one beside me on the bench, and he stepped back to lean casually against the counter.
"I don't need your charity," I grumbled, running my finger around the rim of the mug. I felt all the triumph from last night’s shopping trip sour as they glared at me from the bench top mockingly.
"It's yours, Freya," he shrugged, pushing off the bench and walking into the living room looking for something.
I continued to glare down where the box was, unwilling to even open it. Moments later he returned, and I looked up to find him scowling at the screen of his phone.
"I should have checked this last night," he muttered, tossing the phone on the bench and picking his coffee up again. I looked over at the offending device and saw that the screen was cracked right down the middle.
"What happened?" I asked curiously before I could stop the words tumbling from my mouth. He grunted and nodded at the wall beside the television, and I saw there was a dent in the smooth white surface. I felt my brows furrow in confusion as I stared at the wall, wondering how it had gotten there.
"You didn't come home," he answered with a shrug, sipping his coffee calmly.
"So you threw your phone at a wall?" I asked in alarm, looking between the broken phone and the hole in the wall.
"It doesn't matter, I'll just get a new one or I'll get my assistant to get one," he answered nonchalantly.
"You can have this one, problem solved," I announced, sliding the phone box across to him.
"That's yours," he glared at me.
"I don't want it."
"I'm giving it to you," he emphasized, and I rolled my eyes at the absurdity of this conversation.