by C. C. Snow
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I only care about finding Elle.” I picked up my briefcase and on impulse, said, “Turning SC around is going to be tough. If you need help or advice, please ask. I might not be a CEO, but I have a brilliant brother and a lot of resources.”
“Thank you,” she said, her face lighting up with a genuine smile for the first time.
I held out my hand. “It was a pleasure, Gwen. Hopefully we’ll meet again under better circumstances.”
She clasped my hand. “Good luck finding my sister.”
Chapter 25
As the red sun sunk below the horizon, I lowered my camera. Kolkata was relatively safe, but as with any metropolitan city, I had to be careful, especially given I didn’t know the city and I stood out like a sore thumb among the petite women and even among many of the men.
I turned to Amala, the twenty-three-year old social worker who had been my translator for the past few weeks. “Amala, can you tell them I am honored they would share their stories with me and I hope I’ll be able to share their bravery with other women?”
Amala nodded and spoke in Bengali to the two women sitting in wicker chairs in the garden. Parvati, her eyes permanently shadowed by the horrors she had gone through as a sex-worker, smiled shyly and nodded. Kanta, the eighteen-year-old victim of a rape, hung her head, the stink of shame clinging to her. She had not wanted me to take any photos of her entire face, but I had convinced her to let me take photos of her haunted eyes.
My eyes on Kanta’s bent head, I said, “Amala, can you please tell Kanta that she is incredible and I am humbled by her?”
When Amala stopped speaking, Kanta peered at me, her brown eyes glimmering with hope and pain.
Chest tight, I smiled at her and pressed a fist to my heart. When she smiled back, showing off her slight overbite, I felt a thread of connection snap into place. Women like Kanta and Parvati taught me the meaning of feminine strength and in their company, my heart was learning to heal.
Thanking them again, I slipped the camera into my backpack. Threading my arms through the straps, I made arrangements to come back the following week and took my leave.
As soon as I left the front door, I was assaulted by the cacophony on the streets. I had been here for two months and was still unaccustomed to the sheer madness. The sounds. The smells. The pandemonium. Pedestrians, mopeds, cars, and buses shared the roadway, weaving around each other with a strangely organic rhythm.
A bead of sweat ran down my back and I plucked at the hem of my t-shirt. It felt surreal to be walking in eighty-degree weather in the middle of February. Having come from below zero temperatures in Chicago, the heat here had been initially borderline torturous. Using a rubber band I found in my pocket, I gathered my thick hair into a messy bun at the top of my head. I shivered as my sweat cooled in the air.
I glanced at my watch. Jan would be at Jadavpur University for another hour and I decided to grab a bite before going home. I ordered a couple of kati rolls—kebab meat wrapped in paratha bread—and sat down at a wooden bench outside the small shop to enjoy my simple meal. The street food in Kolkata was cheap and delicious.
As I nibbled on my food, my thoughts turned to my mentor. Jan was my savior. In the darkest moment of my life, he had brought a ray of light.
Three days after the ugly blow-up with Troy, Jan called.
“Elle, Terrence saw your work. He’s intrigued and wants to see more.”
I tried to conjure some enthusiasm, but I had been numb on the inside—that state of utter exhaustion and apathy when agony had hollowed you out. “Thanks, Jan. I appreciate all your help,” I said dully.
“Hey, is something wrong?”
“Just some personal issues,” I said, a throb of pain threatening to push through at the note of concern in his voice.
“Are these personal issues going to interfere with your art?”
Was death going to interfere with living? Even in the midst of my pain, I smirked at my hyperbolic analogy. It wasn’t quite that bad yet, but it was close. I thought Carter’s betrayal had hurt, but it was nothing compared to Troy ripping my beating heart out of my chest and crushing it in his fist.
And I had deserved it for betraying him. Betraying his family. He told me it was an unforgivable sin and I did it anyway. I thought I had worked out a way to have my cake and eat it too. Instead, I lost everything.
My lips disappeared into a flat, stoic line.
Into the silence, Jan said quietly, “I see. I don’t know what you’re going through and you don’t need to tell me, but I can give you some professional advice. Channel whatever you’re feeling into your art.”
I sighed and massaged my forehead, trying to get rid of the cotton in my brain. “I think I just need a break from everything.” Understatement of the century.
There was a second of hesitation and then Jan said, “I’m leaving for India in three days for an extended trip. Jadavpur University has invited me to do a series of lectures on documentary photography. Why don’t you come with me? The apartment I’ve rented has two bedrooms. You can spend your time exploring Kolkata and producing more images to show Terrence.”
Yes. Yes. Yes.
To be away from all of it. My family. My mistakes. My shattered heart. Troy.
A thousand times yes.
“Yes, I’d love to go with you.”
And three days later, I was on an Air India flight.
I ached to leave Ethan and Gwen behind. And Aiden, Cora, and even little Phoebe. But I was like a live wire of pain after leaving that diner. Every instinct in my body was urging me to flee. So I did.
Of course, I couldn’t really outrun my heartbreak or my past, but the unfamiliar surroundings did help. There were no reminders of him here. No tall blond men who made my pulse jump. No scent of spicy cologne. No aquamarine eyes.
But each morning I still woke up with the burning ache in my chest. And each night I fell asleep haunted by the smell of his skin. There was nowhere on earth where I could escape him.
Cutting off my unwelcome thoughts, I stood up and smiled at the storeowner. I put my hands together in a gesture of respect and said, “Dhanyavaad.” Hello and thank you were the only two phrases I had picked up in my time here.
The woman grinned at my poor attempt at Hindi and inclined her head in acknowledgement.
Belly pleasantly full, I started to walk back to the apartment, anxious to review the shots I had taken today. Even though many of the women did not want to bare their faces to the camera, I was sure I was able to capture what I wanted.
When I first arrived in the city, my photography was my anesthesia. As long as I was looking at the world through my lens, I could distance myself from it. My camera was my barrier against the pain.
Jan had taken one look at my work and called it “crap.” And he was absolutely right. There had been no passion, no life, behind it. I had not connected with any of my subjects on the human level.
Again, he urged me to channel my pain into my art—to elicit what I had in common with the person on the other side of the camera.
And my fire was lit. I started working on a series of photos documenting women who had been wounded, physically, psychologically or emotionally. Those who wore their visible and invisible scars with dignity.
Instead of focusing on my pain, I shone a light on theirs and in the process felt my heart start to scab over. They reminded me that the human spirit was strong and resilient. And I decided that if Terrence ever gave me a show, I would donate the profits to shelters around the city.
Picking up my pace, I rounded the corner to the row of blue and beige apartment buildings. The outdoor lights were already on, illuminating a ten-feet radius around the complex.
I liked this quiet neighborhood. Most of the residents worked at the university in some capacity so there was a sense of community here. And almost everybody spoke perfect English.
Twisting the backpack to my front, I unzipped the small pocket
and fished out my apartment keys.
“Elle.”
My keys tumbled to the pavement with a clink and I flung my head up, certain I was hallucinating.
Sunken cheeks with a layer of dark stubble. Strands of golden hair falling into piercing eyes. That long aquiline nose. Long, lean body clad in a dark t-shirt and blue jeans.
My heart rate kicked into hyper mode and I reflexively sucked in a deep breath. The buildings and trees spun dizzyingly around me as I stared at man who had broken me.
How did he find me? Nobody knew I was in Kolkata. I had taken out all my savings in Chicago and only used cash. Jan had bought my plane ticket and I had reimbursed him. I had gone through the extra steps to avoid being found by Gwen before I was ready to face her.
I never imagined it would be Troy standing five feet away from me. After all, he had no reason to seek me out. Except…
“If you want to sue me, you should save the legal fees,” I said, bending down to pick up my keys. Straightening, I looked longingly at the door behind him. If I only had the superpower to leap over him. My thumb rubbed back and forth along the teeth of the front-door key. “I have eight thousand dollars to my name. If you want it, I can get a cashier’s check to you by next week.”
“Baby, I’m sorry.”
At the endearment, I flinched and folded my hand tightly over my keychain. I kept my eyes focused on the doorknob. “If it’s not the money, then I suppose you want the satisfaction of seeing me behind bars. If you send Ethan the court dates, I’ll make sure I show up with my lawyer.” I had hoped the transfer of the ports would satisfy his hunger for a pound of my flesh.
“I’m not going to sue you.”
He took two steps toward me and I took two back, my eyes still on my escape route.
“Elle, won’t you look at me?”
It was the agony in his voice that pulled my eyes to him and I mentally frowned. He had lost weight, his cheekbones and jawline more prominent. There were dark circles under his eyes, as if he had not slept well. Those lines around his eyes and cheeks had turned into deep grooves of strain and stress.
I steeled myself against the need to ask if he was okay, reminding myself I no longer had the right to know anything about this man.
“Baby, I’m sorry for hurting you,” he said, taking a step closer.
I smirked. “There’s no need to apologize. Us cheaters don’t have feelings.”
His tone flattened. “Don’t say that.”
“Don’t say what?” I asked softly. “The truth?”
“I know you didn’t cheat on me.”
I didn’t confirm or deny his assertion. It was too late anyway. I tore my gaze away and looked at the patch of lawn next to my building. The lights splashed on beautiful purple blossoms. What were they called? Larkspur? Lupine? A neighbor had told me the other day as I stopped to admire them, but I had forgotten.
“Elle, I never should have believed the garbage he sent. When I found out you took the files, I stopped thinking clearly. I had a flashback to Veronika’s deception and I reacted badly. I can’t tell you how much I regret the things I said.”
My gaze reluctantly returned to him. “The evidence was damning and I am a cheater,” I said, feeling a need to remind him. And me.
His gaze was unwavering. “I know he lied to you.”
Again, I couldn’t control my flinch. Carter wove some pretty webs, but I should have known better. “It doesn’t change what I did. I snuck behind my Meredith to be with Carter. While she was wearing his ring.”
“I don’t give a damn about your past.”
My lips sloped humorlessly. “I’ve heard that before.”
He blenched and sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m so damn sorry, Elle. I’m sorry for not keeping my word. I’m sorry for not listening to you. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.”
“You shouldn’t. I stole from you,” I said.
“I understand why you did it. I met Gwen. I know she’s your sister. I...I understand.”
So he knew about my convoluted family connections. My throat constricted at the thought of what she might have told him. She had seen me at my most vulnerable moments. I couldn’t stand it if he pitied me. The prickle at the back of my eyes warned me I needed to get away from him before I broke down. “I betrayed you and your family. You have nothing to apologize for.”
“You’re wrong. I have everything to be sorry for.” Slowly he moved closer until he was only inches away. “Baby, please forgive me. I love you,” he rasped, his eyes burning into me.
At the spike of pain in my chest, I took a stuttering, shallow breath. “No, you don’t. You can’t love someone you don’t know. Everything you know about me is a lie.”
His eyes somber, he shook his head. “No, I knew who you were the whole time. I will forever regret the few minutes I was blind, but I see you.”
The bitter edge of my laugh cut like a serrated knife. “What do you see, Troy? A trashy slut who is a compulsive liar.”
Scowling, he grasped the balls of my shoulders, fingers digging into my flesh, and shook me hard. “Don’t call yourself that!”
My hair fell out of its makeshift knot, spilling over my shoulders as my body jerked like a rag doll.
Abruptly he yanked me into his arms, one hand fisting the hair at my nape, pressing my face into his throat, the other hand in the middle of my back. I felt his Adam’s apple bob against my cheek. There was a desperation in his touch that I recognized and responded to. My arms rose unbidden to clasp onto his strong waist.
The scent of him—masculine spice and clean soap—was overwhelming, both comforting and tormenting to my senses. And for a few precious seconds I was transported back to a time when I had been incandescently happy.
He placed a soft kiss to my temple and then slowly glided his lips to my cheek. Angling his head, he sipped at my lips, his flesh grazing mine gently.
My eyes were watering in earnest and our kisses turned wet and salty. God, he tasted so good. Like home.
He eased away, our lips still touching.
“Don’t ever call yourself that. You’re everything that makes my life worth living. I fucked up, but I’ll never hurt you again,” he said, his voice as gritty as coarse sand.
Pretty words. Pretty lies.
A vise around my heart, I turned my face away and pushed gently, but firmly at his shoulders until he let me go. “Go back to Chicago, Troy.”
“Come home with me, baby.”
I lowered my eyes to my tennis shoes, curling my toes to keep them from wriggling. No more running for me. I shook my head. “No…no, there’s nothing left for me in Chicago.”
The second of silence lasted an eternity.
“What about Ethan? And Cora? Aiden and Phoebe? What about us?”
“I’ll keep in touch with them and…” I glanced up and smiled sadly. “There is no more us.”
His head reeled back as if I had slapped him. “Elle, don’t give up on us. I know I fucked up, but give me a second chance.”
Another slow shake of my head. “Troy, I think we’ve hurt each other enough, don’t you? We tried to make it work, but the trust has been broken on both sides. Let it go.”
“I love you. I’m not giving up.” His chin jutted out with determination.
Beautiful, stubborn man.
When he rejected me, it had killed something inside of me. And my heart wouldn’t be able to take one more blow. My past would always contaminate our relationship, no matter what he said. He might say it didn’t matter, but he had already been proven wrong.
Pretty lies.
My soul wailed even as my resolved hardened.
“Troy, I’ve already moved on,” I said gently.
He stilled. “What?” he pushed out the word between stiff, bloodless lips.
I nodded toward the apartment building. “I’m here with Jan Achterberg. Remember him?”
“I know. That’s how I found you. The private investigator traced the photos of the w
arehouse to him. But I know you didn’t have an affair with him.” The last sentence came out fast and furious.
“No, not back then, but things have changed between us.”
He started shaking his head, his jaw hard with denial. “No.”
As if I had conjured him by saying his name, Jan appeared around the corner, dressed in slacks and a white button-down shirt, his sleeves rolled over his forearms. Over one shoulder hung his laptop bag and over the other, his equipment satchel. Despite his burdens, he still managed to walk with perfect posture.
At the sight of us, he came to a stop and threw me a worried glance. “Everything okay, Elle?”
“Yes, everything’s fine.” Smiling, I glided over to him, my eyes begging him to follow my lead, and laced our fingers. He looked frozen with shock when I gave him a kiss on his lips, lingering for an extra beat, my eyes sending a mute apology for dragging him into my drama.
I turned to face Troy, noting that his eyes were fixed on our hands. “Troy, have a safe trip back to Chicago. I wish you all the best,” I said with a note of finality in my voice.
His eyes flew to mine and narrowed. “You’re not with him.”
Oh shit. Don’t look panicked, Elle.
Jan moved in front of me, effectively blocking Troy’s view of my face and I shut my eyes, trying to compose myself for the performance of my life.
“Back off! You had your chance and you blew it. Elle is with me now and you need to leave.”
I silently thanked my mentor for his quick grasp of the situation.
Pulsating aggression, Troy pushed his face into Jan’s space, his fists at his sides. “You stay the fuck out of this! This is between Elle and me.”
Taking a deep breath, I stepped from behind Jan and pushed at their shoulders. It was like trying to move two mountains.
“Jan, why don’t you go in? I’ll be up in a second,” I said, tapping him on his shoulder.
Eyeing Troy with mistrust, he asked, “Are you sure?”
Without looking away from Troy, I nodded. “Yeah.”
I heard him leave and then the soft click of the building door closing.