“What are you doing here?” I asked, baffled seeing Denise standing there.
I walked toward her with confusion in her eyes. She looked disheveled and a bit nervous.
“Hi, Damian.”
“I thought I made myself clear today at the office that I wanted nothing to do with you or the others.”
“Yes, I know.” She still stood there, looking batshit crazy.
“Is there an issue?” I asked.
“Yes.” She nodded. “I just wanted to tell you the truth.”
“The truth?” Was this it? Was she confessing to being my mother? Was she telling me that after all this time, she was ready to tell me?
Before she replied, she walked over to me and rubbed her hand against my forearm. My mind was spinning, trying to gasp the news I was about to receive. Then she pulled something out of her purse, and seconds I felt a stab in my arm. I looked down to see a needle in my arm, and confusion hit me.
Did this bitch just stab me?
“What the hell, De—” Before the words could fall from my tongue, I was out cold.
35
Damian
* * *
My eyes felt heavy, and I struggled to open them. I began throwing up violently to my left. My stomach felt as if it was being ripped around from the insides.
“What the fuck is going on?” I asked, shifting in a chair. I felt dizzy. My hands were somehow forced behind my back with metal. My mind was in disarray as I tried to shake off the taste of acid sitting within my throat.
“Oh, he’s up! He’s up! Ladies, get over here,” a voice said in a whisper-shout. A voice that I was certain belonged to Denise.
“How much did you give him, Denise?! He looks like a zombie,” another replied. I was pretty certain it was Catherine.
“Don’t yell at me!” Denise shouted back. “You weren’t the one who had to load this giant into your car. I gave him just enough, okay?”
“Don’t act like I didn’t help you get him in the car,” Rosalina observed.
Holy shit.
Did I die and go to my own personal hell?
As my eyes struggled to open, I found myself staring at the three wicked stepmothers. They were all sitting in a row on three chairs as I sat in the middle of a living room. Tied up. After being stabbed with some fucking needle.
“What’s going on?” I muttered, annoyed by the women in front of me. I glanced behind my back at what was keeping my hands tied up. “And fuzzy handcuffs?”
“Those are designer handcuffs,” Rosalina remarked. “Versace. Extremely exclusive.”
“Oh, please, Rosalina. We know you got those rip-offs from the New York alleyways. That’s not Versace, that’s Versac-no,” Catherine remarked.
“I know fake Malibu Barbie isn’t talking about rip-off products. Seeing how your nose is a rip-off of a Kardashian and your tits are a rip-off of Pamela Anderson,” Rosalina shot back.
Catherine sneered. “You are such a bitch. Do you know—”
“What the actual living fuck is going on?!” I shouted, making the arguments come to a halt. A wave of nausea hit me, but I pushed it down the best I could.
They all sat back in their chairs as if they were surprised by my outburst.
“You don’t have to yell,” Rosalina stated. “And the attitude isn’t really called for.”
“I’m handcuffed to a chair with my ankles tied after being stabbed with God knows what and kidnapped by three psychopaths.”
“You really aren’t a very nice guy,” Denise commented. “Besides, it was just a dose of ketamine. I got it from my doctor under the table. It knocks you right out, doesn’t it?” she said as if she was proud of being batshit insane.
I cocked an eyebrow. I tried to shift myself in the chair as a cramp crept up my arm. “Untie me.”
“We can’t,” Rosalina said. “I mean, we will, obviously, but we can’t now.”
“Why not?”
“Because, if we untie you, you’ll leave. And we can’t have you leaving…at least not yet,” she replied.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because based on the will, if you and Stella are apart for more than forty-eight hours, the contract is void, and the money is divided between the three of us,” Catherine explained, gesturing toward herself and the other two wicked witches of the west.
“You’re doing this for the money?” I questioned, stunned. “You literally kidnapped and drugged me…for money?”
“Obviously. When it became clear that you had no intentions of choosing any of us for the stepmother of the century award, we had to take things into our own hands,” Denise said.
“By kidnapping me and tying me up with fuzzy handcuffs.”
“Exactly.” She nodded. “Now, don’t think that we are evil for this, really. If you would’ve given us a chance, you would’ve seen the goodness in each and every one of us.”
It was kind of hard to see the good in insane women who went as far as kidnapping a person for money. Not much of a good girl angle to hold on to.
I thought about how I could get out of those handcuffs. I considered trying to stand and snap the chair in half, but it was made from metal, too.
“If you untie me, I’ll give you my portion of the money,” I offered.
“It’s a little too late for bargaining, Damian. Don’t worry. Forty-eight hours will be over before you know it, and you’ll be able to get back to your life before you knew any of us even existed.”
Just then, my phone began to ring on the countertop. Rosalina walked over and rolled her eyes. “That’s like the fifth time Stella’s called. Talk about co-dependency issues,” she said.
“Give me the phone,” I ordered, feeling a tightness in my chest.
Rosalina shook her head. “What? No way. You’ll get it after forty-eight hours. Besides, Stella needs to learn how to stand on her own two feet. This is the exact reason that Kevin and I broke up—because Stella was too needy.”
“Plus, you slept with Kevin’s best friend at the time,” Denise added in.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.”
“You can’t do this,” I argued. “You have to let me go.”
Denise stood from her chair and went to pour herself a glass of wine. “Yeah, we can, seeing how we are currently doing it. Don’t worry your little head, though, Damian. We’ll take shifts watching you.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll see you tonight for our time together. Rosalina, you’re up first.”
Denise and Catherine got their things and left me with Rosalina.
“Rosalina, please,” I begged, looking at her with nothing but pleading eyes. “Stella needs me. She’s—”
“Shhh,” Rosalina said, shoving a designer silk scarf into my mouth. I almost gagged as she patted me on the head. “Be a good boy and shut up.”
36
Stella
* * *
I couldn’t get ahold of Damian.
At first, I figured he was just at work late, finishing up some paperwork, yet it wasn’t normal for him not to respond to my text messages.
I rang his phone a few times and received no answer.
When nightfall came, and he still wasn’t home, my anxiety rose even more. What if he was in a car accident? He was a new driver, and Los Angeles drivers could be a bit aggressive on the roads. What if he was hurt? What if something terrible happened?
Oh, my goodness, something happened.
I knew it did. My mind was spinning as I lay in the bed. I wasn’t supposed to get up, but I couldn’t think of what else to do. So I called Grams.
She didn’t answer, either.
My nerves were shot as I pulled myself up from the bed. My ankles were swollen, even though they’d been up on pillows for the past few weeks. I tried my best to keep my thoughts as calm as possible because I knew my anxiety would raise my blood pressure, and I couldn’t have that because it would put my baby girl at risk. Still, I was scared. I’d been scared for so long that I wasn’t even s
ure what to do with the fear anymore.
I slipped into my slippers and headed out of the house to go over to Grams’s guesthouse to check in. It was late. I was certain she was probably just sleeping. Still, I needed her help to find Damian. She’d know what to do. She always knew what to do.
As I walked up to her door, I knocked a few times before using the key Grams had given me years ago. Coming and going from her home was second nature for me. I walked into the living room, which was dark, and was prepared to go straight to her bedroom to crawl into bed with her for comfort, but my heart dropped as I looked down the hallway and saw her motionless body lying in the hallway.
“Grams!” I shouted, rushing over to her, bending down. I shook her body, trying to wake her up. “Grams, get up! Grams!” I cried out as panic shot through me. I pulled out my phone and called 911. My hand shook as I spoke into the receiver. “Hi, yes, it’s my grandmother. She’s unconscious.”
They asked me to check for a pulse.
It was there.
Faint.
Faint.
Faint…
She was still breathing, but her breaths were short and low.
An ambulance showed up, and they hurried us to the hospital. They took Grams toward the back, but I wasn’t allowed to follow. I yelled, I screamed, and I cried, but I wasn’t allowed to follow.
I was placed in the waiting room to wait.
Wait.
Wait.
Wait…
My stomach was in knots as I sat, tapping my fingers against my thigh. I needed Damian. Where was he?
I walked over to the receptionist’s desk. “Hi, I have a question. I was wondering if you could search a name in your system to see if they have been admitted to the hospital.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m not really allowed to do that.”
“Yeah, okay, but see”—I placed my hands around my stomach, feeling out of breath— “my grandmother is in the ICU, and I am supposed to be on strict bed rest, but I cannot get ahold of my husband, and my husband isn’t one to ever go missing, so my head is spinning, and I am panicked and scared and—”
Tears streamed down my cheeks as the receptionist reached across to me and placed her hand on top of mine. Her eyes were filled with care. “What’s his name, sweetheart?”
“Damian.” I swallowed, wiping at my eyes. “Damian Blackstone.”
She began typing on her computer and frowned. “He’s not here.”
Then where are you, Damian?
“Thank you.”
I went back to the waiting room and sat down with shaky legs and swollen ankles.
Hours passed, and Grams was still unconscious. They wouldn’t tell me anything because she wasn’t my grandmother by blood, and sometimes, family by heart wasn’t enough to pass. The next day during a break from waiting at the hospital, I headed to Damian’s work office to see if he was in. I’d never been there and didn’t know the receptionist, but when I walked in, he smiled largely.
“Hi there. You’re Stella, right?” he asked, looking up toward me.
“Yes. I’m sorry. How did you know…?”
“Oh, sorry. I’m Peter. We haven’t met, but Damian has talked a lot about you. Your artwork is amazing.”
“My artwork? You’ve seen it?”
“Yeah, every day. It’s all over Damian’s office.”
“What? Can I see it?”
“Of course. I doubt he’d mind. Follow me.” Peter stood from his desk and led me to Damian’s office. When I walked inside, I gasped, seeing five pieces of my artwork hanging on Damian’s walls from my gallery night months before. On his desk sat business cards for me, too, that he had made up to give out to clients who came into his office.
I was starting to think I knew exactly where all of my commission projects came from.
“You’re outstanding. You’re working on a piece for me currently. I’m Peter Simmons. We’ve been emailing back and forth for a while,” he said. “That was Damian’s Christmas gift to all of his employees—custom pieces from you.”
“How many people work for Damian?”
“Just five of us.”
Five. As in the five commission pieces I’d received in one day months ago.
Damian, where are you?
“Oh, my goodness, yes. I’m sorry about the delay—things have become a bit tricky in my life.”
“It’s okay. I’m patient. Besides, great art takes time, right?”
I smiled, still feeling overwhelmingly uneasy. “I’m sorry, is Damian not here? Has he been in yet? I haven’t been able to get in touch with him for a while now.”
Peter’s brows knitted. “That’s so strange. Normally, he’s here before me, but I haven’t seen him yet. I can ask around and let you know when he makes it in.”
If he makes it in.
My mind was going to the worst places, and I couldn’t stop it from happening.
I grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled down my information. I held it out to Peter, and he once again told me he’d reach out as soon as he heard anything.
I headed back to my car to drive back to the hospital to wait on information on Grams. As I sat in my car, trying my best not to fall completely apart, I began texting Damian.
Stella: Where are you?
Stella: Grams is in the ICU. She’s unconscious.
Stella: I’m freaking out. Are you okay? Please call me. Or text. Anything.
Stella: Please, Damian, I need you. I can’t do this alone.
Stella: Call me.
Stella: I love you. Please call.
37
Damian
* * *
“Will you check that for me?” I asked Catherine, speaking about my unattended cell phone.
I’d already spent one too many seconds with Rosalina, and now it was my time to have a whirl with Catherine. They’d been feeding me and giving me water as if I was a toddler unable to eat on my own. What was even worse was the piss bucket they’d made me use. Lucky for them, I had not had to shit yet, but when I did, I had visions of rubbing their faces in it.
“Why?” she responded, flipping through her own phone. Probably staring at photographs of herself in a vain fashion. Never in my life had I seen someone so obsessed with their own reflection. “You know it’s just messages from needy Stella.”
“She’s not needy, bitch,” I snipped at her.
She glanced my way with a wicked grin. “For someone who wants something from me, you sure have quite an unkind approach to getting my help.”
“Excuse me for not being polite when I’m tied to a chair due to a group of psychopaths.”
“Sociopaths are more likely. At least for Denise.”
“Is this funny to you? Is this shit really getting you off?”
She shrugged. “Kind of, actually. You don’t understand. The one man I loved left me—twice—because of that bitch of a wife of yours. Stella ruins everything. Kevin never had a shot at happiness because of that brat. And I’m sure you don’t either, if you stay around her.”
“She needs me.”
“She doesn’t.”
“She does.”
“Doesn’t.”
“Does.”
“Doesn’t!” she shouted, tossing her hands up in frustration. “God, what is it with you men and that mediocre girl? How does she have your balls wrapped in her corrupt little hands? She is not a good person.”
“Says the person who literally has me chained to a chair.”
“Because of her, you idiot. Don’t you see? She ruins everything.”
“What did she do to you, Catherine?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What did Stella do that was so evil to you? You knew her, what? When she was five? Six? Then again in her teens? Please, by all means, tell me how she ruined your life.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Sounds like a cop-out.”
“Well, it’s not.”
“Or, it is.”
/>
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
“He wanted us to be her!” Catherine finally snapped. She tossed her hands up in frustration and let out a deep growl of annoyance. “He wanted us all to somehow step into the shoes of Sophie. The woman who he talked about like she was the sun. Do you know how hard that is? To live up to the image of his dead best friend? To be compared to her by the way you did any and everything? When we first broke up, it was around the time Sophie had passed. I figured Kevin was mourning. Then when we reconnected, it was the same thing. Sophie this, Sophie that, all the time.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m sorry, what does this have to do with Stella?”
She released a weighted sigh. “She has her eyes,” she whispered, growing more somber. “She had her heart. She was the world of his world, his sunlight, and everything always orbited around her with him. Because she was the carbon copy of the true love of his life. Do you know what that does to a person? Falling in love with a man who never truly had the ability to love you back the way you hoped for?”
“Catherine…”
“I just wanted to be her, you know?” Tears rolled down her cheeks as she showed more emotion than I’d witnessed from any three of the women. “I wanted to be his best friend. But that role skipped over me and went straight to Stella due to association with Kevin’s truest of love.”
I didn’t know what to say.
It was clear that she was seconds away from falling apart.
I hated those parts of Stella—her goodness—were beginning to live within my soul because there was a tug at my heart for Catherine that would’ve never been there before.
“You know why I think he died?” Catherine asked. I didn’t respond, but I didn’t think she was looking for words from me as she continued. “Because he realized he’d never find her in anyone else. He’d never find that true love in another. He died because broken hearts can only remain shattered for so long before the beats just stop beating.”
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