End of Eternity 4

by Loretta Lost

  My chest swells in pride and I gently reach out to touch his arm. “I’m glad you listened to my advice.” Of course, if he had gone into gynecology like he had originally wanted, he wouldn’t have met her. If not for Helen’s blindness, he never would have met the sister. I can’t even bring myself to think of her infernal name, or I’ll blow my top off.

  Owen stiffens against my hand, and I know he is thinking about his missed opportunities. “I always listen to your advice, Carol. It’s how I keep myself out of trouble,” he jokes.

  My mother and father chuckle brightly, but my cheeks are stained red from embarrassment. I know that he is implying that I’m controlling and unreasonable. Perhaps I am; it’s difficult to admit I have that side.

  “This sounds familiar, doesn’t it darling?” my mother asks teasingly.

  “Absolutely,” my father says lightly, before turning to us. “Caroline gets that stubborn streak from her mother. You should have seen out girl when she was a child, Owen. It was impossible to ground her.”

  “Was I really that bad?” I ask in concern.

  My father offers me a sympathetic smile. “You were a strong willed young woman who knew exactly what she wanted, and would never take no for an answer.”

  I turn to look at Owen, and I see that he is staring out into space and not really paying attention. It is in this moment that it all comes into perspective. I had never realized that I was the same way with everyone else as I had been with Owen. Apparently, it isn’t enough that I was so intolerable that my boyfriend left me for another woman—I needed to hear it from my father, too.

  “Well then,” I announce to the men, “please allow me to apologize for being a brat.” I reach out and squeeze Owen’s hand, trying my best assure him that I’m serious. I would do anything in order to make things right. I can’t imagine being taken for granted the way I did to him. It must have felt terribly lonely.

  “It’s fine,” he says in that faraway voice, as he glances down at his phone dismally.

  It’s a little unsettling to see him like this. Where is my Owen? Where’s his big smile, and where are his atrocious dirty jokes? Sometimes he seems like he’s enjoying the vacation, and then he will suddenly disappear inside his head. Is it my fault?

  Finishing off the last of my drink, I nudge him gently with my shoulder. “Can you get me another drink, Owen?” I ask softly. “These tropical beverages go down so easily.”

  He nods as he stands up. “Sure thing,” he says smoothly. “I could go for another Long Island Iced Tea.”

  I squeeze his hand and smile at him before he leaves, but he pulls away quickly. My smile disappears as I watch him walk further and further away, and even with the slight distance between us, I miss him. I know it’s stupid, but ever since he found me half-dead, I’ve been extremely emotionally needy and clingy. He’s been taking it like a champ. He’s always been there for me, taking care of me no matter how stupid the request was, or ridiculous I sounded when I asked him to stay close by. I really am a fool for nearly losing this perfect, wonderful man.

  “Are you alright, princess?” my father asks me in concern.

  “Never better, Papa,” I say truthfully. I still don’t know how to tell him that I almost overdosed on sleeping pills after Owen broke up with me, but it almost doesn’t seem to matter anymore. Owen is here with me now, and being the best he’s ever been. Which, considering how amazing he normally is, is truly quite a feat.

  A flashing light on the table attracts my attention, and it takes me a moment to realize that it is Owen’s phone. My heart immediately begins racing when I see that Owen has received a text message from a strange number. The first few lines make my stomach sink in fear:

  Owen, this is Carmen. Please call me ASAP…

  The words seem harmless enough, but I know that they could lead to a world of pain for me. I could lose everything if he only speaks to her. When Owen’s phone begins ringing silently, flashing with a call from the same strange number. I can’t stop my hand from moving, I reach out to grasp the object and without considering the consequences of my actions, I hurl the phone over the side of the ship.

  “Oh my god,” Owen whispers. “Caroline, did you just—”

  “What?” I say innocently.

  “Did you just send my phone to the bottom of the ocean?” Owen asks in disbelief. The shock on his face is almost comical.

  “Telemarketers,” I explain, standing up and moving over to him quickly to retrieve my drink. “Come on, Owen. You’ve been glued to your phone this whole vacation. You should relax and enjoy the experience while we’re still here.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” he says, looking out at the sea with the expression of a puppy who just lost his favorite toy. “I guess the battery was getting old, and I’m due for an upgrade soon, anyway. So you’re probably doing me a favor…”

  “See? Perfect,” I tell him, smoothing the collar of his shirt a little. He gives me a hard look, and I feel myself melting a little under the scrutiny of his stare. Okay, I know I messed up. I just freaked out when I saw her name. He’s never going to forgive me for this…

  I realize that my father is clearing his throat and interrupting us. “Owen, can we talk? Man to man?”

  Owen seems surprised, and he takes a drink before responding. “Ummm, sure,” he says, before glancing at me and my mother. “Excuse me for a few minutes, ladies.”

  As he leaves again, I find myself sinking back down into my chair with a deep sigh. I notice that my mother is watching me suspiciously.

  “Why on earth did you do that?” she asks me in German.

  I look down in embarrassment and finger the festive little umbrella that is sticking out of my strawberry daiquiri. “I don’t know,” I respond weakly. “I was just being stupid. I’ve had too much to drink.”

  “What is going on with you and that boy of yours?” she prods further.

  “Mama, you can speak to me in English!” I say in annoyance. “I have a lot going on lately, and work has been stressful.” But trying to stall and change the subject simply won’t work with my mother.

  “And how are things with Owen?” she asks me persistently.

  “I don’t know!” I almost shout back at her in German. Oh, it feels good to speak my native tongue. For the sheer enjoyment and stress relief, I utter a few curse words very loudly, knowing that no one around us can understand me.

  “Caroline!” my mother says disapprovingly. “Calm down and communicate with me, young lady!”

  Realizing that my childish behavior isn’t helping the situation, I lift a hand and run my fingers through my hair. “I’m sorry, Mama. I just don’t know. One moment, I think that things are fine, and the next… he’s a million miles away.”

  “Oh, honey. All men are like that! Don’t let it get to you—it is clear to see that Owen loves you and would do anything for you. Besides, didn’t you say he was very stressed out at work?”

  “Yes,” I respond softly. I use my straw to stir the ice cubes in my drink idly.

  “What about you, Caroline? Have you been treating him well?” my mother asks. “I know how irritable and demanding you can be.”

  Demanding? Irritable? I look up at her in surprise. Is that really what I’m like?

  She shakes her head, as though hearing my thoughts. “It’s not a bad thing, darling. Just how you are. It’s rather endearing to those of us who know you. Do you think most men would let you throw their phones into the ocean without getting a little upset?”

  I close my eyes briefly in defeat, feeling like the worst person in the world. How did I get to this place? I’m not happy. He’s not happy. What are we doing? What am I doing to him?

  He must hate me.

  Theses sugary alcoholic beverages are not providing enough relief from my unsettled mind. Gazing out onto the dance floor, I see a young girl dancing alone. She looks like she is having the time of her life. She is wild and free and letting loose completely. I used to be like her.
>
  I watch as a random man walks up to her, and she begins to dance intimately with him, as though she knows him. She doesn’t care. She’s just here to have fun. When he starts to get too clingy, and his dancing doesn’t please her, she moves away, hunting for another attractive single man on the dance floor. It’s not long before she finds someone, and has her hands locked around his neck, grinding to the rhythm. I watch her for several minutes, a smile forming on my face.

  That’s what I want. I just want to dance, and feel good.

  I want to go up to that girl, and I want to dance with her, and feel young and wild and free again. I want all the men on the dance floor to look at me. I am on vacation, after all. I want to feel beautiful and desirable again, not like this old hag that Owen doesn’t even want to touch anymore.

  I am not sure how many minutes I spend staring at the people on the dance floor, but eventually the girl notices me looking. She smiles at me, and gestures for me to come over. I smile back, and I am tempted to leave my seat. I grasp the handles, and I am about to stand up when I hear my mother speak.

  “Look, your father’s on his way back,” she says in English. “I wonder what was so important that he needed to talk to Owen in private?”

  I squint to see my father’s face as he approaches, and I am a bit puzzled by his smile. It is puzzling to think of what he might have had to discuss with Owen. But I know that if I ask him, he won’t tell me. The music is still playing throughout the boat, and heading over to the dance floor feels like a bigger priority at the moment.

  “Caroline, where are you going?” my father asks as I stand up. “Stay, stay! I have something I would like to tell you.”

  My eyebrows knit together in frustration. “What is it, Papa?”

  “Well, your mother and I were thinking of selling the old house,” he explains. “I just wanted to tell you about some of our options for where we intend to retire. Maybe you might come visit us sometime, yes?”

  My feet are itching to take me away from the table, but I politely sit and listen to my father’s yammering on about scenic villas and beach resorts. I know this is important to them, and I try to be the attentive daughter, but my gaze keeps drifting to the dance floor.

  Suddenly, the music abruptly stops playing.

  This disappoints me, and all the dancers seem annoyed and surprised as well. I am a little puzzled when I hear a single violin playing as a man walks through the dining area. The melody is soft and sweet, and he smiles at the patrons as he walks. He walks close by our table and smiles at me.

  Before I realize what is happening, another violinist and another join him. They are standing at our table. They are looking at me.

  They are serenading me.

  A blush creeps into my cheeks, and I am very confused when a man walks between the violinists, holding a single red rose. Oh no.

  Owen.

  Oh my god.

  Is this what I think it is? I look over to my parents with wide eyes, and they are both beaming from ear to ear.

  I feel my lips and fingertips become very numb and tingly. It might be the alcohol, or the fact that everyone in the dining area is looking at me. What is happening? I thought—I thought he hated me. I proposed to him a few days ago, and he flat-out rejected me. How can this be happening?

  “Owen,” I whisper frantically. “What are you—?”

  “Shhh,” he says softly, as he drops to one knee, and places the rose in my lap. He winks at me before clearing his throat and proceeding in a very loud and clear voice, clearly playing up the theatrical element of the situation:

  “Caroline Hoffman, love of my life! I knew that you and I were destined to be together from the first moment that I saw you in our college library, crawling on the floor to find a particular book you needed on the bottom shelf.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Of course, I was eager to rush to your assistance, but only after staring at your shapely rump for several moments, and thanking God for the creation of pencil skirts.”

  There is laughter all around us, and I feel my cheeks getting hotter. Great, now everybody on this cruise ship thinks that my boyfriend only wants me for my great ass.

  “But Ladies and Gentlemen!” Owen says loudly, as he takes my hand and looks around. “I can assure you that this woman is amazing in so many ways other than her great ass—”

  Oh, it’s nice of him to clear that up.

  “—in fact, it would take me all day to list the reasons I love her. Her great ass is just the tip of the iceberg! And that day in the library, I saw the tip of that iceberg floating among a sea of old books, and I knew that I needed to get to know the other 90% of the great natural wonder that is my Caroline.”

  Our audience responds with a murmur of awwwws.

  “Caroline,” Owen says softly, looking at me and becoming more serious. He squeezes my hand as he speaks. “You’ve been with me through everything. Thick or thin, you have always been by my side. I want you to know that I’ll be by yours. No matter what.”

  I feel tears flood my eyes as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a velvet box. When he displays the brilliant engagement ring, it rivals the beauty of all the stars above. I feel like the ship has begun spinning beneath me, and I can’t believe that no one else notices. It’s hard to see their expressions through my watery vision. Have we capsized? Did we hit one of those icebergs Owen was talking about? Are we sinking? Am I drowning?

  I feel like I’m drowning.

  “Caroline,” he says again, looking at me with hopeful eyes. “Would you do me the honor of continuing to share your life with me, and becoming my wife?”

  I feel the stillness in the air. Everyone on the ship is holding their breath in anticipation. This is the moment. The climax of all the romantic movies and novels. This is the pivotal moment that decides our fate. The pressure is on. I can see it in Owen’s eyes—he’s tired. He’s tired of waiting for me, and he’s probably just doing this because my dad talked him into it.

  Tears begin to slide down my cheeks as I shake my head. It’s not supposed to be like this. I know that Owen is extremely sensitive, and that he can’t take any more heartache. How many times have I crushed him? I can’t do it anymore.

  “Yes,” I tell him softly, and then seeing that no one has really reacted, I speak louder. “Yes. I will.”

  The whole ship bursts into applause and cheering, and Owen grasps the ring and slides it onto my finger. It’s a perfect fit. Where did he get the money for a rock like that?

  Once the ring is on my finger, I throw my arms around his neck and hug him, clinging for dear life. Clinging for direction. I’m terrified. I’m happy, but scared.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers, stroking my back. “We’re going to be okay.”

  And I know that we will. Maybe it’s one too many cocktails, or being surrounded by the ocean and sky, but Owen’s body feels stronger than it has ever felt before in my arms. He has changed somehow. He’s grown more confident, and I am so proud of him. I swear, in this moment, there is no woman alive who could have said no to this gorgeous, goofy, and above all, gentlemanly man.

  I am happy. I think I’m happy. It’s not the way I expected it would feel. It’s a little overwhelming. I only just notice that a waitress is holding a video camera and recording this, and I see that my mother is crying and my father is holding her. This isn’t just for me. It’s for everyone around us. We have a responsibility to be happy.

  “Caroline,” Owen whispers sharply in my ear, causing me to jump a little in surprise. “Do you really want this? Really and truly. I’m not joking around.”

  My heart skips a beat. I am seized with panic for a moment, and I forget to breathe. I don’t know the answer to his question. I’ve spent so long running from this…

  I think it’s just the moonlight. My father’s smiling face and the tears in my mother’s eyes. I am almost sure now that Owen is only doing this because of something my father said. He hasn’t really even touched me in mon
ths. I think I’m just a little swept away in the moment, and doing what’s expected of me.

  But I know he loves me. And I can’t bear to disappoint him again.

  “I just want you,” I tell him, placing a kiss on his cheek and hugging him tightly. He returns the embrace, as though accepting my answer.

  Gazing across the room, I see the young girl who was dancing earlier, just standing there and looking at me curiously. She has an amused expression, like she knows something that I don’t know.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Bradford West

  I stare upon perfection. Carmen is sleeping peacefully on the bed in her wedding dress, and she looks like a delicate China doll. Her wrists are shackled since she refuses to behave, but that only adds to her beauty. There are also a few delightful blemishes on her porcelain skin, like the subtle red marking on her shoulder from where my gun was pressed against her. There are bruises on her arms from where I grabbed her, and a new welt on her cheek from where I punched her shortly after our wedding.

  I feel a little guilty for besmirching her beauty, but the wounds will heal in time.

  At least the scars give me confidence that she is really, truly mine.

  I have branded her. Only I can put my hands on her now; in any way I choose. I can’t stop thinking about the fury on her face as she went to strike me with that candlestick. She looked like a true goddess of wrath and I found myself falling in love with her all over again.

  Grayson never knew what he had. He only saw Carmen as a way to be close to Helen, the woman who resembled his first girlfriend so much in body and name. I could never understand his fascination with either of them but in any case, he’s gone now. The fool—how could he take his own life? It’s sad really, as I did care for him, but I don’t have time to waste on the dead. Not when I have this sublime specimen of the human race so close to me.

  And she’s firmly tied to the bed. She’s not going anywhere. Not anytime soon.

  There is a conflicting force within my mind. Part of me wants to touch her, and make sure she is real at all. The other wants my hand to stay and keep Carmen sanctified. I have already done enough damage with my temper and uncontrollable outbursts. Any more would be sacrilege. It would be like touching a painting hanging in a gallery. The toxic oil of the skin would damage the fragile paint and ruin the entire thing.