by Fiona Keane
“Hot,” I muttered, my eyes staring at the ground. “Hot.”
Julian’s head spun around, his hands bracing his posture while he held onto the door. “What’s that?”
“Closet. You. Out. Bye.”
With a smile spreading across his mouth, Julian resumed his conversation with someone on the opposite side of the door. I’m stuck in my bathroom with Julian Molloy. Jesus. Julian opened the door after a moment of silence, slowly stepping into the main room of my apartment.
“Stay there,” he hollered and, naturally, I mocked his demanding tone while standing in my bathroom. I shivered with a drunken rumble. Please don’t throw up with him here. Please, please. I looked into the mirror above my sink, lifting my head to examine the cut under my chin. It was a pitiful accidental, self-inflicted wound, but it would leave a pretty scab to remind me of that day. My hair was still damp, knotting in all the wrong places. My eyes were red, bloodshot, and horrendous. How could he even touch me? How do I have brain power to think about him at all right now?
“Put these on.” Julian’s arm stretched between the door and the doorframe, holding sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt.
“What, no knickers?” I snickered to myself—not so much. I quickly realized the words tumbled from my inebriated lips and the heat of my nerves boiled beyond control. I heard the soft rumble of his laughter from the other side, but no words followed suit. My lip pierced between the nervous bite of my teeth while I tried to calm myself. It was futile. I was drunk beyond function. I’ve got this. Just…pretend you didn’t almost just die and that Julian Molloy didn’t see your bits and pieces and you’ll be just fine. I clung to the side of the bathtub while pulling on the sweatpants, my bum almost going over and taking me backward into the tub. Julian tapped at the door.
“I’m okay,” I muttered, climbing from the side and pulling the shirt over my bare body. With my hair pulled into a messy, unforgiving knot against my skull, I studied my reflection in the mirror. This girl needs some water as soon as heavenly possible. My eyes were drained, colorless, and empty. It was depressing. The last time I stood above that sink, Elliott called me and then, well, I lost him. So my life is just wonderful these days. It didn’t matter what I looked like. I wouldn’t remember embarrassing myself. Thus, I stepped out into the main room and glanced around with trepidation.
“Don’t worry.” Julian’s voice carried from elsewhere, a suspicious echo I couldn’t discern. “It’s dealt with. You can come out.”
“So,” I pinched the bridge of my nose while inching into the space, “it wasn’t a nightmare.”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“And,” I turned a corner, seeing Julian standing next to my mattress, hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers, “you saved me. Again.”
“I did.”
“I almost died. Again.”
He nodded, his eyes lifting to meet mine. Damn, they’re gorgeous. My legs quivered beneath his gaze, or maybe it was the wine. Is he wearing a t-shirt? I squinted, slowly approaching him from across the room. Yep. Biceps. Tattoos. Arrogant man.
“You saw…you saw me…” I closed my eyes, overcome with embarrassment while I struggled to shake my head and the image of Julian carrying me half-naked into the bathroom. And staying with me in there.
“I did. It’s just skin, Aideen.” Julian took one slow, deliberate step toward me while removing his hands from the pockets of his tailored pants. “Nothing over which to fret.”
“Just…skin,” I repeated, heat radiating from my body as it collided with his approaching chest. Julian’s hands cupped around my shoulders, keeping me in place before him.
“Your skin is lovely.” He inhaled, swallowing a hefty thought while his eyes momentarily closed. “You shouldn’t be this drunk.” Wow. Thanks for the compliment. I pulled back, wiggling from his hold, my fuzzy eyes glaring at him.
“You should go.” Are there two of him? They’re both so pretty. Julian reached out for me again, attempting to stabilize my wobbling movements. I froze beneath his warm touch, my lungs ceased. Am I dying? This is such a pretty way to go. He smells so nice. I love wine.
“Oh my God,” I blurted, pulling myself from the soft hold of his hands against my arms, realizing the finality and force behind his presence. My ankles weakened, my heart pumped with anxiety and embarrassment.
Julian stared at me, his eyes blurring into a haze of blue that scrutinized each blink of my own, his brows meeting above the dark pools of sapphire. I didn’t know what to do first—cover my mouth so I didn’t throw up all over Julian Molloy or pull my shirt over my face so he couldn’t see the tears about to drown both of us. I spun around, struggling to breathe.
Julian whispered my name, his fingertips grazing my shoulder. I flinched, my body and heart in conflict. Shaking my blurry, drunk head, I ran from Julian, returning to my safe space of the bathroom. Please don’t follow me in here. Unless, of course, this is a dream and you’re bringing wine. Oh, Julian, please, I’ll have some Moscato this time.
“Aideen.” His voice was soft, an eerie delicate tone to his words as he tapped on the door. I heard it wiggle beneath his weight, suggesting he had sat against it. No dream and wine then, huh?
“Go away.”
“No.” His voice remained soft, even patient despite my obnoxious, ungrateful demand.
“Do it. Please. Go away.”
“Or what?” Good question. I can’t call the police. I don’t have any friends. Or what? Or…I’m at a loss here, buddy. I held my knees against my chest, hoping the pressure would calm my frantic heart. Did someone just break into my house and almost kill me?
I stood, resenting his words. He had no right to force me, even if he saved my life again. With a trembling hand, I balanced myself against the tub and shook off my nerves. I reached for the doorknob and slowly turned it to reveal Julian sitting against the doorframe. I startled him. It was sort of funny, but only because I was so drunk. He’s kind of cute in a t-shirt. No! This guy had someone watching you. This is not good. But…look at those muscles.
“Thank you for saving my life.” The words tumbled before a thought preceded them. “Again. But I need you to go.”
The air was heavy as gravity consumed my drunken state. I needed to lie down and sleep it off before I acknowledged the facts of what happened. I like his forearms. Julian straightened against the doorframe, his hands pressing on the wood to cage me in beneath his towering figure. His tongue slowly darted out, licking his lips while his eyes examined me like I was a morbid exhibit in some museum of the damned. It was pathetic, really, but I froze beneath his curious stare. His eyes were inquisitive, but his mouth remained mute.
“Please.” I pushed past him, wobbling beneath his strapping arm toward my freedom. Ha. Freedom. Julian stood with his back to me, but I heard the heavy sigh leave his precious mouth, and it took all my strength to fight the drunken urge to run over and acknowledge our panic, our mutual fright, and touch him. Kiss him. Hold him. Be held by him. I don’t know.
I fell onto the edge of my bed, still trembling. Lifting my head, my senses heightened with the smell and sounds of Julian’s company, I watched as he released the doorframe and spun around, feet from my apartment door. I knew I was a mess. I knew I was disheveled and atrocious, but he continued to watch me with a bizarrely gentle curiosity. However, it was his final words that pierced those thoughts with a rusty, tetanus-laced blade.
“Don’t drink alone, Aideen. It’s tragic,” he snapped, reaching for the doorknob. “We’ll be in touch.” And…screw you, Molloy.
Chapter Eighteen
The sound of my apartment door slamming echoed in the small space, searing straight through my throbbing brain. We weren’t friends. I shouldn’t have called him to save me. I shouldn’t have even considered using that imposing plastic device that connected us like an umbilical cord. I wasn’t his possession. I’m not his pawn.
My head ached with anticipation for my health tomorrow and co
nsidering what just happened. I almost died. It was that simple. The most destructive, cynical side of me wondered if Julian arranged it. He delivered the phone, knew I would never use it, and coincidentally someone came to kill me just so he could swoop in. Is he that psychotic? And yet, I called him.
I now understood entirely why “Be Our Guest” was swirling around my brain between violent throbs of pain. Julian was correct; it was tragic for me to have had so much to drink. However, he forgot to consider just how desperate I was to avoid thinking rather than coping or accepting it. I hate him. He looked nice in that shirt. Oh, kill me. Just do it.
I wanted to think Julian had a heart somewhere within the confines of that tattooed body, but I also needed that heart to realize what I wanted more than anything was a safe, lonely place to shed my tears and cope with the pain. Nobody needs to see me like this. Not even my reflection.
I buried myself in the covers of my bed for however long it took before my stomach and brain connected, sending me straight back into the bathroom, where I snuggled the loo until there was nothing left inside of me. No tears, no wine, nothing at all. It was miserable. How did my door get fixed so quickly? Probably because he has people stalking me, just like him, except they do what he wants the second he snaps two of those long fingers. Oh, stop. Just get the hell up and move on. So I almost died—no biggie. Been there, done that.
The air in my bathroom was still heavy with humidity from my steaming bath and Julian’s cologne. If I hadn’t spent hours snuggling the loo, I would have surely enjoyed the consumption of that air. Eventually peeling myself from the porcelain, I struggled to stand. I was on my own again, something I was used to and enjoyed, but the discomforting silence of my home eroded much of my shell.
My knees refused to lock, snapping each time I attempted to be vertical. It was no use. I had to crawl. My wrists buckled as my clammy palms pushed into the floor while I crawled toward the kitchen. I needed to see. Each press against my knee or palm blasted my skin with a piercing pain, as though warning me not to enter the kitchen. My own body told me to stay away from the trauma, but my throbbing mind was too stubborn. I hesitantly peered around the doorframe into the kitchen with trepidation and morbid curiosity. The wood floor was clean, perhaps even more spotless than before I hid beneath the sink. The window was still open, sending a gentle breeze throughout the narrow space that incited the curtain beneath the sink to dance. I was right there. Julian pulled me out. He saved me.
There was something else, something bigger than Malcolm, something or someone that shoved Julian into my world. He needs something. He needs to have someone stop watching me—I couldn’t live my life under scrutiny.
I guess I can’t handle this as well as I thought. I wobbled away from the kitchen, frighteningly close to fainting, on my hands and knees with my breath tightly held. I can order takeout for a while. No biggie. If I kept lying to myself, I would be okay for a while. I made plans to look for a new apartment the following morning. Priority number one—move from the haunted kitchen, where someone tried to kill me, and move somewhere where the Molloys couldn’t track me down.
I spun over, plopping my bum on the floor next to my bed, leaning my head on the nubby edge of my mattress in hopes of relieving some pain. It felt like a freight train slammed against the inside of my skull, pounding with relentless agony. Look for a new apartment, get a new prescription. Hide from Julian out of pure shame and embarrassment. I’ll be a busy girl tomorrow.
It was extremely uncomfortable to remain in my apartment alone, having just given myself last rights beneath the kitchen sink. I felt like an intruder, someone without association to the material goods inside that space, someone whose life no longer belonged in there. The muffled vibration of the plastic torture device broke my reflective concentration. No way, Fuckian Fuckoy. I’m not answering. It rang three more times, three more attempts to harass me. I wanted to break it into a million pieces because I felt so angry and terrified over what happened. When the phone rang for the fifth time, I decided to answer it simply to tell him to screw himself and leave me alone. Why? He saved you. He came when you called, and he saved you. Because he wouldn’t leave! Because I don’t know him! Because I can’t trust him!
I scanned the floor, searching for the fussy thing, crawling to get it from the outside of my closet door. There was no caller identification. Awesome.
“I said go away, and I meant it. Give a girl a minute,” I snarled, my buzz finally fading with the numbing headache. “Listen, I’m drunk. I’m tragic, remember? Leave me alone. And by the way, I’m throwing out this stupid phone. Don’t ever call me again.”
“Miss Leary?” That’s not Julian’s voice.
“Maybe.”
His laugh was a seductively soft rumble. “Well, perhaps you could pass along a message for me?”
“Perhaps.”
“Tell her that her boyfriend doesn’t know I have this number,” he whispered, “and I’d really like to meet her to explain some things so her head is slightly more clear.” Boyfriend. I’m going to scream. No, that will hurt my head. I’m going to barf. No, nothing left. Oh my God, I’m mortified.
“And whom may I inform Miss Leary is calling for her?” Mortified.
“You can tell the lovely Miss Leary that Liam Molloy is requesting her call.” I heard the smile in his quiet tone. “And tell her drinking alone doesn’t make her tragic. It makes her lonely, and people get lonely sometimes. Please apologize to her for my brother’s behavior. He’s clearly done something wrong.”
“Okay.” Mortified. Mortified. Apartment far, far away as soon as possible.
“Will you be at work this week, Miss Leary?’
“Maybe.” I slapped myself, caught in Liam’s game purely out of distraction. “I’m sorry. I—”
“I know,” he sighed. “I heard all about it a couple hours ago from my driver, of all people. Are you…well, asking if you’re okay is pathetic. I know you’re not. Would you care to meet me tomorrow? We can talk about it. I doubt my brother will make himself available to do so.” Quite the opposite. Julian did make himself available, and I freaked out, fumbled, and sent him away.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, sir, but thank you for the offer. I have a lot to catch up on at work. I won’t have time.”
With one trembling index finger, I silenced the call and hung up on Liam Molloy. I wanted to think back to two weeks prior, not having known anything of this family other than one of them was in politics and they were often photographed. I’m sure everyone assumed they were corrupt, but I figured that was most politicians.
My windows were encased in a shield of ice. Like my drunken soul. Okay, that’s pathetic. You need to go to bed. Agreeing with the annoying voice in my mind, I fell into my bed and let the covers consume me while I twisted and turned, hoping to drift into a gentle slumber. Knowing that was impossible, I tossed for an eternity before my body was numb from the chronic pain inside of me, finally letting me doze.
I crawled along the kitchen floor, my ankle caught on something that bound it tightly. I tugged with no resolve. Nothing allowed my release. I could hear him shouting, but it was only noise. He looked at me, blue eyes narrowing with controlled anxiety. It was frightening. I looked behind me, stopping to see my ankles bound by rope as I struggled to escape. He kept calling for me, but I couldn’t follow his sound. The gun went off three times, refueling my desire to live, my thirst to survive, and I twisted over my knees to untie the rope. I made it three feet away when I screamed, consumed by someone from behind. His left arm wrapped around my stomach, the right crawling around my chest as he pulled both of us into the darkness of my closet. I was frantic, heaving, but relieved to be in the dark. I wanted to think I was safe. I felt safer, at least, out of the gunfire, protected by flimsy panels of wood and drywall.
“You don’t know him,” he whispered into my ear. “You won’t ever know him. Trust me.”
“Who?” His hold tightened around my ch
est, pulling my shoulders snugly against him. It was warm, the gentle, protective warmth of a guardian, of a savior. I nestled my head into his chest, ignoring the muffled sounds of violence on the other side of the door. We hid, safe from the danger outside.
“He’s not a good man,” he warned, his words tickling into my ear as he whispered against my skin. “I can protect you, Aideen.”
He shouted for me, his ridiculous term of endearment and condescension, while the same man possessed my emotions inside the dark closet. The gunshots stopped, the terrifying silence consuming me. It was freezing. I was alone. I tore my hands from my body, accepting the vacancy within the closet. A dream within a dream. Footsteps. They were getting closer to the door. I scurried backward, hiding beneath the dangling fabrics of seldom-worn skirts and dresses, hoping he wouldn’t see me.
“Babby,” the new whisper of velvet poured beneath the closet door, “it’s over. They’re gone. Come here.”
The door slowly opened, Julian’s hand searching the darkness for a piece of me, but I refused to leave the secrecy behind my clothes.
“I’ve got you,” he continued, his hand reaching further into the space, the scent of his cologne calming my mind. “Just come here.”
I wanted to. I started to reach out for him, our fingertips almost touching, before his arm flew from the darkened space. One shot. Silence.
Even in my nightmare, I started to cry. Sobbing, my pillow saturated and the pain slowly subsiding within my mind, I was aware of how it consumed my heart.
That’s it!
I flew from my bed, torn from a nightmare, and barreled toward my closet. There was no chance I could stay in that apartment any longer. None. I climbed onto the small shelf of shoes just inside the doorway, extending myself to reach for the small suitcase I kept on a top shelf. Having found it with the tips of my fingers, I tugged and kept my head as far from the shelf as possible. The last thing I needed was a dead mouse or three dead centipedes falling on top of me.