Until I Break

by M. Leighton

  “I do actually have the perfect shoe for you, but they go with the perfect dress. Package deal. Take ‘em or leave ‘em.”

  I hesitate. “Nothing too…colorful, I hope.”

  “Nothing Laura Drake can’t wear, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Yeah, I guess it is.”

  “Then don’t. You’ll look beautiful.”

  “Oh, I don’t think I need to worry about that either.”

  “Would you stop doing that?” Chris snaps.

  “Stop doing what?”

  “Putting yourself down like that.”

  “I wasn’t. I was just making a truthful comment. Nothing more.”

  “It’s not truthful at all. You are beautiful, whether you see it or not. Everyone else does. How else would you have caught the eye of a hottie like Alec Brand?”

  “I still wonder that very same thing.”

  “Listen to what he’s not saying. You’ll be able to hear what he thinks of you loud and clear. I did and I’ve only seen you two together for a total of, what, ten minutes?”

  “And just what, pray tell, do you think you ‘heard’?”

  “All the standard things, of course. You’re hot, I wanna do you, yada yada yada. But I think the most interesting and important thing I picked up was that he thinks you’re different. I think he’s as surprised by you as you are by him.”

  Her words make me happy. Too happy. They feel like validation because I, too, sometimes get that feeling. There’s something about the way Alec watches me. It’s like he’s puzzling over me, like he can’t quite figure me out. And I think, for a man like Alec, that’s a good thing. Being too standard and too easy to read would probably bore him. At least I hope so.

  “I hope you’re right,” I say simply.

  “Of course I’m right. When have you known me to be wrong?” she retorts, throwing my words back at me.

  “Oh God!” I say, rolling my eyes even though she can’t see it. She giggles, which tells me she knows exactly what I just did.

  ********

  Arriving as Laura Drake is always easier than departing as Laura Drake. Granted, I might take a little more care with my identity than what is necessary, but keeping Samantha Jansen and all her secrets out of the public eye is of utmost importance to me. It’s with this in mind that I battle Sunday airport traffic so I can fly in a day early. I hit the First Class lounge as soon as I arrive in Portland.

  I spread my makeup bag on the vanity in front of the mirror and I begin applying eye shadow. I put a dark green on my lid and line my lower lashes with the gray, giving them a smoky look that I think perpetuates the image of Laura Drake, an image that is nothing like that of the fresh-faced, unremarkable Samantha Jansen.

  A little blush and some crimson on my lips and I’m ready to don Laura’s smart-yet-sexy suit. Several minutes later, I stand once more in front of the mirror, pushing strands of dark red hair under the stocking that goes on before my wig. Once the silky black hair is in place, non-prescription glasses finish me off.

  There is nothing left of Samantha Jansen looking back at me. It’s as though she ceases to exist entirely when Laura Drake is on stage.

  Stuffing all remnants of Sam on top of Laura’s cosmetics, I close the zipper then throw the bag over my shoulder. I’m ready to face Portland now.

  As promised, Ari is waiting for me at the baggage claim area, my garment bag and small suitcase at his feet. His pale blue eyes light up when he sees me. He’s always loved seeing me in full Laura gear.

  When I reach him, he tries to take the bag from my shoulder. “No, I’ve got it. You’ve got your hands full,” I observe, nodding at the two luggage pieces he claimed for me.

  He shrugs and picks up my garment bag and suitcase. “So,” he begins. “Tell me what’s going on with you. I smell man all over this funk you’re in.”

  “I’m not in a funk. Besides, you smell man all over everything.”

  He grins at me. “I wish.”

  I grin as we make our way to the cab waiting along the curb. Once inside, he continues as if there hadn’t been a pause. “Well?”

  I sigh. I probably shouldn’t say anything, and I certainly don’t owe Ari an explanation, but for some reason I want to talk about it.

  “I met a guy.”

  Ari’s eyes light up and he turns in his seat to face me. “I want details. What’s he look like, is he a good kisser, and will he be a good father to your children?”

  “God, slow down! You’re as bad as Chris.”

  “Okay then let’s start with the most important first. Is he a good kisser?”

  I can’t help but laugh.

  “As a matter of fact he is.”

  “That’s a good sign. And where did you meet this diamond in the rough?”

  “Do you remember the last guy to ask a question at the—”

  Ari doesn’t even give me time to finish. He gasps and slaps my arm. “NO! Not that delicious hunk in blue jeans and boots?”

  I should’ve known Ari would remember someone who looks like Alec.

  “That’s the one.”

  “Girl! I should’ve known that, when you finally found someone, it would be a stud like that.”

  I ignore that statement for what it is—assumption that my private life is like the life I write about. It’s the same thing most people think.

  And they couldn’t be any more wrong.

  “Well, it’s pretty complicated.”

  “So that’s where the mood swings come from.”

  “I don’t have mood swings.”

  “Sure. And I don’t have a thing for great pecs.”

  Again, I ignore him. “Anyway…”

  “So he knows who you are then?”

  “No!” The single word is propelled from my mouth with all the anxiety a disaster such as that inspires. “No, he doesn’t.”

  “So, he only knows you as Laura?”

  “Actually, he only knows me as Samantha. He doesn’t know it’s me he met last week.”

  “Oh,” he says deadpan. The single word is flat and ominous, like a death knell. And I don’t like the sound of it.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Ari’s eyes widen innocently. “What’s what supposed to mean? I didn’t say anything.”

  “That ‘oh’ was definitely something.”

  Ari shrugs. “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing.”

  “It is. I just…”

  “You just what?”

  “I worry about you. You know that.”

  “But why are you worried? Ten seconds ago you were all ‘give me details’.”

  “Yeah, but that was before.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before I realized you didn’t tell him.”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “I just can’t imagine any relationship going very far when you’re keeping huge secrets right from the beginning.”

  I feel my lips thin in anger. I want to snap back with a snide comment, but I can’t. There’s nothing to say. Ari’s right. And that’s what makes me angry.

  ********

  I’m lying in bed when the phone rings. It’s still early by Oregon time, but my body still thinks it’s in South Carolina. That’s another reason I came in early—to give myself a day to adjust.

  My heart stutters, as has become my usual reaction since meeting Alec. Until I see that it’s Chris calling. Then it shrivels just a little.

  It’s ridiculous that I should be so upset about not hearing from Alec since Friday. I should be grateful that he’s taking me out of a difficult situation, one I might not have been able to extricate myself from, no matter how self-destructive it was.

  Yet I can’t be thankful. Not when I’m feeling so hurt and disappointed and deflated.

  I think it’s the erratic ups and downs that are really getting to me. When Alec is around, he’s “on.” But when he’s not, it’s like he just disappears altogether
. Radio silence. Like we never met. Like I don’t exist.

  “I thought I left you back in the south?” I say in lieu of a more traditional greeting.

  “Um, you did, whore. I’m calling because you’re such a paranoid crackpot you wouldn’t even give your therapist your phone number.”

  “That’s called plausible deniability. If I don’t like how things go, I can always swear on a stack of Bibles that I never attended one therapy session with Dr. B. No one would be able to prove a thing.”

  “You really take this whole thing to an unhealthy level, you know that, right?”

  “Yes, I know. But are you surprised?”

  Chris sighs. “I guess not. It’s par for the course, I suppose.”

  “Right. Now, what do you want?”

  “God, you’re so cranky! You really need to get laid, Sam. I think it’s getting to the point of being an imperative.”

  I ignore her comment.

  “Spill it. Why are you calling me?”

  “Because Dr. B’s office called to see if an eleven o’clock office visit on Tuesday would be acceptable.”

  “I haven’t decided I’m going in yet.”

  “Well, you are now.”

  “Chris, what did you do?”

  “I confirmed your appointment. You would’ve had that time blocked off for your online session anyway. A short trip downtown won’t hurt you one little bit.”

  “I hate you. Have I ever told you that?”

  “Yes. You hate me just as much as I hate you.”

  It’s my turn to sigh. “If only I didn’t love you so much.”

  “Pain in the ass, isn’t it?”

  “More than you know.”

  I hear a giggle and then a click. Just like that, she drops a bomb and disappears.

  Typical.

  Now I know I won’t get any sleep.

  ********

  Sunday melts into Monday, and Monday into Tuesday. With every day that passes without so much as a single word from Alec, my mood darkens into something eerily similar to despair. Before I know it, I’m on my way to keep an appointment with a therapist that I neither wanted nor (technically) agreed to meet. This reminds me of how desperately I need to be more assertive.

  Maybe if I write a book about an assertive woman in complete control of every aspect of her life, I could experience some of that in real life instead of…this.

  On the up side, if she can get me to loosen up and talk, she’s liable to regret it. I am loaded with issues today!

  My sigh is swallowed up by the blues music coming from the stereo in the cab. It doesn’t seem nearly long enough before he’s dropping me off at the curb in front of my destination.

  The building is sleek and glass-fronted. It looks posh, which comforts me from a confidentiality standpoint. Usually the more things cost, the less likely you are to have to worry about blabbermouths. Rich people certainly don’t want to bite the hands that feed them, so discretion is a must.

  I leave my sunglasses in place until I get into the elevator and hit the button for the fourteenth floor. According to the signage in the lobby, Buraquinho and Associates occupies that entire floor.

  A muted ding followed by the whoosh of the doors opening signals my arrival. I step out into an elegant reception area.

  Gone is the coldly formal marble-and-chrome décor of the lobby, replaced by a calming cream, beige and sage palette. I have no doubt the colors were specifically chosen for their soothing effect, an effect that is lost on me in my current state of anxiety.

  I walk to the half-moon shaped desk and stop. The girl behind it, a gorgeous, wafer-thin female with wheat-colored hair and enormous blue eyes, looks up and smiles. I feel immediately inferior, like a drab buffoon.

  “I’m here for an eleven o’clock with Dr. Buraquinho.”

  The girl clicks her mouse button a few times. She looks back up at me and smiles, a bland smile that says either she’s never heard of me or she’s good at pretending she knows nothing. It’s not like I’m famous or anything. Just paranoid, I guess. Either way, her ambivalence comforts me.

  She clears her throat. “Yes, Ms. Drake. Please have a seat. I’ll be back in a moment.” She waits until I’ve made myself comfortable and then asks as she passes me on her way to…wherever, “Would you like some coffee? Water?”

  “No, thank you,” I decline with a smile.

  She nods and walks away. In her absence, I try to convince myself that this wasn’t a colossal mistake.

  I’m just settling in to wait when she returns.

  “This way, Ms. Drake.”

  I get up to follow her. She leads me down a long hallway to a set of double doors that dominate the end. I’m not surprised that Dr. B would have this portion of the floor. Such prestige comes with having your name before the “Associates” part.

  The girl knocks once and opens the door, holding it as I pass then shutting it quietly behind me. I stop just inside to look around and get my bearings.

  The black, leather chair behind the enormous mahogany desk that’s centered in front of the wall of windows is empty. The lamp on one corner is on. That, coupled with the soft light being filtered through the partially opaque window shades, gives the room a safe, intimate feel that I can really appreciate at this point. The effect is accentuated by the cozy sand colored furniture arranged on a thick rug in front of a lit fireplace. I can see myself spilling my guts right on that sofa.

  I hear the click of the door opening behind me. I don’t turn, but wait for Dr. Buraquinho to make her way to her desk. I’m startled when I hear a deep rumble break the silence.

  “Ms. Drake.” I turn toward the voice, expecting to express my surprise that Dr. B is not a woman. The words die on my tongue and in my head, however, when my eyes collide with bottomless jade ones that I can’t quit thinking about. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  Standing at my side, with his hand extended in introduction, is Alec Brand.

  “I’m Dr. Buraquinho.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO- Alec

  If she had looked away one second sooner, I might not have recognized her. But she didn’t. She hesitated one breath too long, just enough for me to place the soft, heather-gray eyes I’ve been fantasizing about.

  Despite her hesitation, I’m stunned into speechlessness, which doesn’t happen very often. I scramble to mask my surprise at this interesting turn of events.

  Laura Drake is Samantha Jansen. Samantha Jansen is Laura Drake.

  “Well, well, well. The sweet and innocent isn’t so sweet and innocent after all,” I mumble finally, crossing my arms over my chest. This puts an unusual spin on things. It adds a degree of complication that I’ve never before encountered, much less prepared for.

  Socially, I stay away from women like Laura Drake. They’re too much like Alyssa. Too many things can go wrong. That’s the one thing I’ve learned, the one thing that has stuck when nothing else would. I make an exception for no one. Ever.

  Yet here I am, faced with an exception I didn’t even know I was making.

  She speaks slowly and deliberately as she moves away from me like a spooked deer. “What the hell is going on?”

  Although I’m every bit as shocked as she is, I slip effortlessly into the calm of my training. It’s been my safe haven for years.

  “I could ask you the same thing. I think we both have some explaining to do.”

  “I don’t have any explaining to do! You know all there is to know. I didn’t lie,” she snaps.

  She’s magnificent in her anger. Laura Drake, I’m sure, is too cool to get angry, Samantha Jansen too sweet and mousy. Yet this girl, this amalgamation…she’s a fiery collision of the two. I’m intrigued. Tempted beyond what I’ve ever been tempted before. To know her, to open her up. To break her.

  That’s what makes her dangerous to me. But it’s what makes me most dangerous to her. I’ve been here before. And I swore never to come here again.

  I should tell her to go. To l
eave and never look back. But first, I want answers. I want to know. I need to know…

  “I didn’t lie either.”

  “You told me your name was Alec Brand. Unless I’m really off on the spelling, I think that’s quite different from Buraquinho.”

  “Buraquinho is my family name. It’s very difficult to pronounce.” She eyes me skeptically. “Also I had…reasons for wanting to separate myself from it. Not unlike the way you live your life, keeping some areas isolated from others.”

  “You told me you were a consultant.”

  “I am. I own a mental health consulting business that services the Southeast. ABC Consulting. It’s perfectly legitimate. I didn’t lie about that either. Unlike you. I seriously doubt that you keep the books for your sister’s business.”

  Her cheeks, already rosy with anger, turn a brighter red. I struck a nerve. But, more importantly, I’m right.

  “There are security reasons for me to keep Laura Drake separate.”

  “And I have my reasons. I’m not angry and you shouldn’t be either. We both have secrets. Everyone does. I wasn’t trying to mislead you or hurt you. I just didn’t tell you everything. Just like you didn’t tell me everything.” I keep my silence as she processes my logic. I watch her closely, so closely that I see when her anger begins to fade. I know it’s being replaced by fear and uncertainty when a frown wrinkles her brow and she starts to chew her lip. “If it makes you feel any better, at least your secret is bound by doctor-patient confidentiality. I could lose everything if I ever told who you are and what I know about you. You, on the other hand…”

  Her eyes search mine. I hold her gaze steadily, letting the truth of my words sink in, letting them wrap around her like a cocoon of safety. She really is in a far better position than I am. But I have no fear of what she might do or say. While we both have a lot to lose, her fall would be a very public one, while mine would barely make the local news. That is my security. That’s how I’ll use her fear to keep this from getting ugly.