Wrong

by Stella Rhys

  I would be starting work at a new hotel – Rhode and several of the other bartenders would be joining me. Unlike them, I was being given an apartment to live in. It was a doorman building in Gramercy Park, with two bedrooms so I could choose to live with Rhode if I wished. I was to promise to share nothing of what I knew or had seen. If any of my friends or coworkers pressed for information about the closing of the top of the Monarch, I would tell them I had simply had a “brief fling with Mr. Lenox” and that he had given me no information about his personal affairs.

  “We would encourage you to get as quickly acclimated as possible. These arrangements can be permanent if you want them to be, which I’m sure you’ll see no reason not to, as the job is quite stable and the apartment very comfortable. You should absolutely get as quickly immersed as possible.”

  It was bizarre. I was being given a luxury apartment and being told to simply carry on. As if those two notions were so easy to process.

  “And rest assured, if you ever feel nervous or threatened, you can call this number,” the man handed over a card. “But I promise you have nothing to worry about.”

  One of Abram’s handlers set two bags down. Judging from my hairbrush tucked into the side pocket, my things were packed in there. I wasn’t sure who to direct my question to but I asked the man with the glasses. “Where is Abram? Is he okay?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know and if I did, I couldn’t tell you. But I’m confident, Miss Maran, that he is okay.”

  “I…” I shook my head. “How am I supposed to…” My voice trailed off. How am I supposed to be at peace? That was my question but it sounded stupid anywhere else but inside my head. But I truly wondered how I’d be able to start my new job, sit on my new couch or wake up in my new bed while unsure if Abram was in New York, overseas, dead or alive. I wouldn’t know unless the news one night played a story about his murder. And that would only be if his body was found. It felt as if Abram had left me unraveled – completely undone then sewn back up only halfway, forced to walk around like nothing was wrong despite having no shred of closure whatsoever.

  A regular moving company helped me settle into my new apartment. None of Abram’s handlers – not even his car – took me there. I’d hailed a yellow cab on my own, just a normal girl again, with no connection to the man being hunted by Jesse Toro. I had a real apartment, a job on the books and neighbors who were regular, everyday people.

  Rhode moved in with me on the fourth day. Over a bottle of red, perched in front of the TV on the couch, I let myself tell her about my “affair” with Abram – the parts that were of no danger to divulge. I tried to pretend that this was just some girls’ night, that Abram Lenox was just a man I’d slept with a couple times. Rhode’s gasps and squeals and hilarious reactions almost got me there.

  But in the end, once my wild, breathless story finished, I could feel my heart still sinking. Worry weighed it down to my stomach and I wondered when, if ever, I could forget Abram Lenox.

  ~

  “So, you’re cocktail waitresses at Muse Room?” The blonde one, still in his work clothes, wiggled suggestive eyebrows at Rhode. “Isn’t that the place where the girls walk around in like, corsets and garters?”

  Handing him another beer, Rhode giggled. “Thank God, no. This is a new location that just opened up inside The Victorian and we get to wear normal cocktail dresses.”

  “But normal cocktail dresses are still pretty short so consider us there,” laughed the one named Travis.

  In our first week at the apartment, we’d quickly learned that we lived across the hall from a four-bedroom of twenty-somethings who worked in finance. They were what Rhode called a “jackpot of bros.” “They get so much heat but underneath it all, everyone loves a bro,” she said. “I don’t know about you but I love overgrown, all-American frat boys who are weirdly good at a bunch of useless shit like beer pong.”

  That did make me laugh. So I agreed to invite a few of them over one day after work. Rhode took an instant liking to Travis, so I was stuck talking to the blondish-red-haired one, who was more annoying than boyish and the less attractive one of the two, who kept referring to his other roommates as “fuckin’ boneheads.” Because of him, I wound up excusing myself to get more beer at the deli, insisting that he didn’t have to come with me.

  Alone downstairs, I went for a walk. Knowing Rhode, she’d be making out with Travis in no time, forcing the annoying kid to go home and giving me all the time in the world to be alone with my thoughts. So strolling across town with just my keys, I let the warm summer breeze through my hair. Every once in awhile, a strong gust would send my silky skirt whipping through the air, its floral print a dash of multicolor dancing in front of my eyes. It reminded me of something I couldn’t put my finger on for a couple blocks.

  In front of the park, I realized it looked like the paintings we did in class, at the start of every year. It was an idea I’d come up with after my first year of teaching.

  Outside, with thick, white paper taped to a brick wall, my students wore smocks and splashed fresh canvas with strokes of pink, blue, yellow, red. They smashed little paint-covered hands across the surface and giggled when their fingerprints overlapped. They wrote bright, encouraging words next to their initials and my last year, at the secret request of my fellow teachers, painted “get well” messages for Elle. When we could no longer see any white, we’d bring the mural back inside our classroom, where it would hang for the rest of the year as a reminder of our first group effort. And before school let out for the summer, we’d cut the big piece into about twenty smaller ones, distributing a portion to each student as a goodbye and small piece of inspiration.

  The memory made me smile to myself – possibly my first real smile since leaving Abram and the hotel. I thought of the last piece of mural I’d received at the end of the year, and the words written on it in freshly learned cursive. “Dear Elle! Tomorrow Is Always A New Day.”

  And suddenly, I could at least entertain the idea of carrying on.

  chapter twenty-one

  On a Monday morning, I visited my old school with Rhode.

  “God, it’s hard to imagine that your sexy ass ever worked at such a sugary gumdrop establishment,” she said, gazing at the colorful murals painted on the walls. We had been scheduled as “special guest readers” for a summer program my old friend, Marina, was leading. Rhode and I read three books for them, complete with different voices, and then spent Marina’s lunch break with her in the empty classroom, listening to the story behind each painting on the class mural I’d inspired her to make with her kids. There was a little grin on my face all afternoon. I felt a sense of home returning, and when the kids came back from lunch and we said our goodbyes, I remembered their names to repeat to Elle in my thoughts at night, so she could share in the experience. It was a good sign. I didn’t feel quite ready for a return but every positive feeling was a little miracle in and of itself.

  Plus, I was proud of Rhode for waiting till we left to finally curse again.

  “Fuck, I might’ve just changed my mind about not having kids,” she squealed. But normal Rhode returned shortly, about four blocks later, when Travis texted. “This fuckin’ guy,” she giggled. “He can’t get enough of me. It’s gonna suck when I get sick of him but he still lives across the hall.”

  I cackled. “Oh, the downfalls of hooking up with your cute neighbor.”

  “Eh. Worth it. And I still think you should do it. I know you hated that dopey one that came over the other day but there’s a fuckin’ adorable one named Sean, who you should absolutely get on. Total sweetheart. Super different from the other guys and has probably never had a good blowjob.”

  I snorted. “Oh-kay, Rhode, anyway…”

  “Alright, alright. Well, while you continue being a respectable human being, I’m going to meet Travis at his office and probably blow him under his desk.”

  “You do that, girl. Have a blast.”

  “He certainly will. All over
me.”

  “Rhode!” I scolded but she was already gone, blowing giggly kisses over her shoulder as she rushed into a cab. I laughed as I watched her go but once her car was out of sight, my eyes instinctively went to the black one parked right across the street. My gaze had been itching to stray from Rhode and look at it since we’d stepped out the building. Its tinted windows had some sort of pull on me that I couldn’t peg but didn’t question.

  The sun in my eyes, I shielded them, walking over to the car with a calm under my skin that made no sense. When the window rolled down, Abram smirked at me.

  “Step one, never do that.”

  I stood there in disbelief of him and his beautiful grin under a baseball cap. “You never said bye to me,” I murmured through my dazed smile.

  “So get in.”

  Before I knew it, I was in the passenger seat, Abram driving us somewhere, seemingly with a direction in his head. Eventually, we parked in an empty garage, the overhead lights dim. In the backseat, Abram pulled me onto his lap, looking relaxed as he gazed into my eyes. “It’s over?” I whispered.

  He shook his head. “I just needed a proper goodbye.”

  I rested my forehead on his. “I was so worried about you, Abram. I’m still going to worry about you.”

  “Don’t.” He cupped my cheeks, his murmur tickling my lips. “I want you to think about you now, Isla. You’re at peace again. Look at you. I wish you could see how beautiful you look right now. How beautiful you looked walking out of that school.” His thumbs brushed over my flushed cheeks. “I know what that passion looks like. That love for being a good influence on other people. I saw it on Gavin all the time and I wished I could be like that but I was raised differently.”

  “What do you mean, Abram? You were good to me,” I pointed out as he shook his head.

  “The bad. The darkness and danger – that’s all home for me. That’s where I do my best work. But I’ll always love knowing good through people like Gavin. Like you. You’re so fucking beautiful, inside and out. You’re a good person, Isla. Your darkest thought was about ending your own life in hopes that it would bring back another. I promise, you are so incredibly far from the hopeless person you thought you were. You live for the joy of others. I don’t think I saw you truly happy till just now, till this very moment, because you looked more stunning than I’d ever seen you and I never even thought that was possible.”

  “I was happy with you,” I whispered.

  “No.” He trailed his touch to the corner of my mouth. “I thrilled you, Isla. I never made you happy. There wasn’t enough calm for that. And there won’t be for a long time. Not with me.”

  “I want to be with you, Abram. I still do.”

  He was sweet as he studied the tears in my eyes. “Well, good. Because this isn’t the end.” He brushed a gentle kiss over my top lip. “But while I’m gone you’re going to go on,” he murmured, a slow smile spreading his own. “You’re going to be a teacher again. And you’ll date the soccer coach or the principal,” he laughed softly at my incredulous face, “and when I come back, I’ll make sure there’s always a table for you two at my best restaurants.” His arm circled around my waist as he pushed back my hair. “But five, ten years down the line, when I know the coast is clear and the bad blood is gone, I’m going to find you,” his mouth curved so adorably, “and I’m going to ask you out to dinner. And if you like me,” he grinned against my giggling lips, “we’ll go on more dates and maybe we can start doing some of the things we used to do,” he cracked that dirty little smile, “when we were a little less normal.”

  I laughed, in a dream as I kissed along his cheek, his jaw. “So, I’ll be a teacher again.”

  “Yes.”

  “And I’ll be dating the principal?”

  “Just don’t fall for him.”

  “Then come back to me soon.”

  Abram pulled away with a smile, his eyes taking me in for a bit. But his light expression slowly dampened as he held me closer. “I want to. It hasn’t even started and I’ve already fantasized about it being over so I can hold you again. For as long as I want. But once I get Jesse, another Toro will be after me. That’s just the truth.”

  I shook my head. “Is it even worth it, Abram?” I breathed out. “You can just run the way Jesse Toro did from you. You can just live and he’ll never find you.”

  “No. This is what I want,” Abram’s voice was gravel. I could feel its focused, heated desire. “Nothing else matters, Isla. The Monarch could crumble to the ground and I wouldn’t care because only two fires burn inside me now and one is for you, the other for Jesse. And I shouldn’t ever mention his name in the same breath as yours but the reality is that I feel as much passion for your joy as I do for his suffering. I won’t rest until he knows the pain of what he did to my brother and a million times more, which is why we say goodbye here. Because you’re going to live a life. You’re going to forget me and fall in love with your class, your students who are going to worship Miss Maran and the floor that she walks on, I know it.”

  Gently, Abram gave me a last kiss.

  “I don’t know what happens next for me, Isla. But while I’m gone, it’s going to help me to know that there’s only happiness left on your horizon.”

  chapter twenty-two

  It took a little while but I remembered what a crush was with Sean from across the hall.

  I hadn’t “crushed” on anyone in what felt like ages. The concept was so sweet and lighthearted that it felt like I had no business anywhere near it. But it happened quickly with Sean, probably because of Rhode’s encouragement and the way that we met. It was on a Sunday morning that I’d woken to a splintering crash in the hallway, jumping out of bed and running out to see if everything was okay. What I found outside was a cute, shaggy-haired boy with a broken picture frame a bleeding cut on his finger. I’d been in my pajamas – a lace and silk chemise that Rhode had bought me during a two-for-one sale at Victoria’s Secret – and Sean had stared at me like I was the first pair of breasts he’d ever seen.

  It was oddly endearing. Like a lot of things about him. He was in his twenties but the least “bro-ish” of the group, with a mop of dark hair that hid a devilishly handsome face and the most unique smirk I’d seen. The corners of his lips were impossibly sharp, stabbing into his cheeks like knives every time he flashed that Cheshire cat grin. He was around six-foot-two, long, lean and covered by baggy Volcom shirts. Like a grown-up version of the skater boys I dated in high school. He carried around an air of innocence, and on the night that he came over to thank me for bandaging his finger, we wound up having sex.

  I was shocked by the severe build I discovered under his clothes. He had no body fat whatsoever, ripped and sinewy with dozens of long, fine scars that lashed across every shocking bulge of muscle. He obliged with the skateboard wipeout story behind each one, every tale in exchange for an article of my clothing. Once I was fully undressed, he stared at my bare curves with such unbridled awe that I considered that he’d never had sex before. “Shit, you’re so hot,” he breathed in shock, coming toward me so slowly, as if taking a mental picture of my nudity with every step forward.

  But the second he touched me, all suspicions of virginity vanquished. His energy was like that of a Tasmanian devil. He squeezed all over my breasts, my thighs, my ass – like a beast that had been starved for ages and fed on handfuls of my body. When he sunk into me, his arms crossed in an X behind my back, grabbing my ass and holding my hips up for his cock to pump into. His rhythm was quick, hard, filling the room with the echoes of his hot flesh slapping against mine. The sound was so loud, so carnal that I surprised myself by crying out his name as I got close. But with my sudden, raspy moan, he came ferociously, spewing a string of profanity with the last few thrusts inside me.

  When he collapsed onto my chest, he looked into my eyes and apologized for not making me come. It was so boyish it made me laugh, and even harder when he frowned under his mess of hair and asked what was fu
nny. “Let me see how you look when you come,” he pleaded gently, reaching between my thighs. But I kissed his cheek and stopped him. Rhode would be home soon and I was sure that neither of us wanted to deal with the fanfare that would no doubt come with her discovering us together.

  So he went home and the next day, I went to the library.

  I wanted to ride this wave of embracing normal. I’d been doing well until that morning, when I woke up gasping from dreams of Abram. Cruel images my mind had conjured of us walking hand-in-hand, daisies along the sidewalk as he kissed me on the street. It had felt real enough to make me forget where I was, to open my eyes and wonder if he would come barreling through the door to see why I’d cried out. It hurt so badly and worse, made me ache for his touch. His comfort. The anguished need claimed my body for the entire morning, rendering me so useless I couldn’t think or eat. It scared the hell out of me.

  So I entertained a possibly bad idea. I needed to remember that a life with Abram came at the cost of my safety, at my chance for any kind of normalcy. So I went to the New York Public Library and searched the archives for everything I could find about the Toros, reading through every documented incident of crime, murder and torture done in the name of that family. I read a dozen articles about victims who had their teeth pulled, their skin burned, their fingers cut off one by one. I read about a millionaire who was abducted and returned to his family mutilated, bleeding out between the legs. I spiraled into a dark place that had me daring enough to look at photos. One by one, they speared fear through my heart. Stealing, lying, cheating – the crimes that inspired these grisly murders were by far milder than killing a son of Dante Toro. I didn’t want to think of what they’d do to Abram if they found him first.