by W. Winters
The once sought-after developer and bachelor has taken a fall.
The excerpt of the news article lays above my mug shot. At least I knew it was coming; the journalist was decent enough to give me a heads-up. Evan could only do so much to hold me back from Liam, but he worked as much magic as he could with the press.
It’s only a mug shot. No charges pressed and nothing on my record, but the city has a way of talking. The most shocking thing in the article is the information concerning Liam. Apparently he has a criminal record from college for assault and battery, and attempts at much worse. Divorce papers have already been signed between him and his now ex-wife, and the article compares that to the supposed breakup between Jules and myself.
I’m not sure what is true concerning Liam. I’m grateful the spotlight is on him in the article. The article got my father and Jules all worked up. I can only imagine how they’d react if they knew about the letter that arrived today too.
The paper in my hands rustles in the quiet office as I read it again.
I was mad at you for what you did, and I’m sorry.
It’s not what you think.
The gentleman was only there to find something, but I found it elsewhere.
I’m sorry for what I’ve done.
And I forgive you for what you did; I hope you can forgive me as well.
Sincerely,
X
It’s the same feminine writing as the other note. This one sits in my wallet, and it’s been here for hours, refusing to allow me to think of anything else.
Whoever it was is damn good at concealing their identity. Not a single fingerprint on the envelope or the paper itself. The security footage shows it was delivered by the mailman, but has no return address. I’m lost, and I have absolutely no leads.
I finally crumple the letter, hating it and the fucker more now than ever. The hopeless feeling weighs down on me. I can’t fix it. I can’t fix anything without knowing who to blame.
They fucked with me, ruined something so precious and perfect, tearing Jules from my life. And now they’re just backing away? They wanted to destroy me. Mission fucking accomplished.
I don’t know who to trust anymore or what to live for. My only hope is to pretend it’s all right. To move through life like nothing’s wrong, and pray that Jules can one day do the same. The rough edges of the letter rub harshly against my skin as I close my eyes and tighten my fist around it. It’s never going to happen.
She’s never going to forgive me.
She loves me deep down. She has to. I can’t feel this strongly about her without her feeling something for me.
Tossing the letter into the small trash can beneath my desk, I rise from my seat and wonder about my father, about Liam’s wife and how she plays into this. But this game is so much different than any other I’ve played before.
Too many pieces and moving parts, but I can’t see a damn one of them.
It feels a lot like giving up. A lot like losing. But sometimes you need to keep going through the motions, stay on your guard, and just let them think you’ve lost.
I flick off the light switch as I open the office door and stand there in the hall, contemplating where Jules is most likely to be in the house. My hand tightens on the doorknob, as I wonder if she’ll talk to me like we used to. If she’ll let me hold her. If those moments when she forgets and looks at me with those gorgeous blue eyes will last longer than seconds tonight.
I’ll leave it be, if only to let them think I’ve lost and given up. I nod my head as I leave; that’s what I tell myself.
As I shut the door behind me, it feels like I truly have lost everything already.
Jules
It’s nearly picture perfect.
To anyone looking in, we’re a couple sitting on the sofa in front of a roaring fire.
There’s plenty of lighting for the scene in Mason’s living room. The light’s brighter and has been all winter with the curtains open and the snow covering the grounds. The white reflects the sunshine into the room, no matter how dim it is. I watch the flames lick along the log. This fireplace is different from the one in the dining room. It’s odd they don’t match. I would’ve changed that if it were up to me. But it wasn’t. Because this isn’t where I belong.
I’m trapped here. I’ve made up my mind and I’m done.
I swallow thickly, moving more of the blanket over my chest as Mason shifts on the other end of the sofa. I came down here to write and to get this tale out of my head. To put an ending on it and hoping I could get a different perspective, but these words that stare back at me make me want to scream. Scratching out the lines over and over, I attempt to change them and deny it, but it is what it is. There’s no changing this ending.
My foot brushes against the pad of paper on the ottoman as I turn to face Mason.
He’s working, too, but completely unaffected. If I had to pinpoint what’s caused the finality and resentment, it’s the way he continues; I hate how easily he can move forward.
I’ve heard of that psychological condition where the woman falls for her captor. Stockholm syndrome. That’s not what this is. I loved this man with my whole heart before. I can feel myself falling, slipping back into that place and I refuse to go there.
He brought me into this hell, and I want out. I need to get out.
I’m scared, and I don’t know what to do. But I know I need to be alone. That’s what it comes down to. I’m destroyed, and I need to be okay alone.
I’ll never stop loving him, but I need to stop hating myself and I can’t do that if I’m with him. “This isn’t a life,” I blurt out and then look up at Mason. “I want to leave, Mason.”
He doesn’t look at me at first, but he stops typing. The quiet clacking of the keys turns to nothing, leaving the room silent but for the crackling of the fire.
When he turns to look at me, I can see the fight in him is almost gone. He’s almost given up as well. It shouldn’t crush me the way it does. It shouldn’t cause this pain. This hole in my chest, but it does.
Taking a moment to swallow, the cords in his neck tighten before he answers, “You told me that you’d give me a month.”
A sadistic laugh leaves me—one that’s terrifying and rude, one that I should feel apologetic for letting slip out, but I can’t keep up with all the lies like he does. “You and I both know it’s never going to happen.” The words come out like a knife—knives, really. They cut us both, each in different ways.
“You can’t leave,” he tells me simply and I can’t help but feel enraged.
“I’m not staying,” I state with finality and narrow my eyes at him, and I feel a side of me that wants to fight. Not like the other night. I want to fight for my life. For my freedom and for a happiness I don’t ever see myself having with Mason. Not ever again.
“There’s someone—”
“I don’t care,” I spit at him. “I can take care of myself.”
His voice holds a note of admonishment as he says, “Don’t be stupid, Jules.”
“Fuck you,” I hiss, gripping the sofa as I lean closer to him. “I was fine before I met you.” I’m on edge, and violence brews inside of me. “How dare you!” I yell at him. I hold on to the anger. It’s the only sane part of me anymore. “How dare you start this when you knew from the very beginning—” My voice gets so tight I can’t finish.
Mason stares at me, judging how to handle me. It’s what he does, but this is too much for either of us. High and mighty with his tone, he pushes back, “You were lonely, and don’t pretend—”
“Because of you!” I scream the interruption, my voice and throat raw and full of pain. “You did this to me!” I yell. “I’m not okay, and it’s because I’m fucking you!” All of my pent-up rage, all the boiling anger spills over and I kick out, throwing the blanket off and getting away from him. There’s not enough distance between us, only feet from where he sits and where I stand. I can’t leave though, not until he lets me go. Our stares are
locked, brutalized with both sadness and anger.
It’s quiet for a moment, with only the sounds of my heavy breathing and the fire.
“You need me to fix it,” Mason says with confidence.
“You can’t fix this,” I say dully and my heart hurts as I answer him. I wish he could. I so desperately wish he could fix this. Because I want him. I want to love him, and have him forever. But that isn’t our ending. I swallow and say, “You can’t fix this.”
“You need me—”
“I don’t need anyone.” I cut him off, letting out a deep breath and slowly lifting my head to look him in the eyes. The silver specks pierce through me as I say, “Mason, I’m done with all this. I’m done.” The last two words of my confession are only whispers.
His expression softens as he leans back and I take the seat on the far end of the sofa, wanting the tension to leave us both. “Do you hate me?” he asks, his eyes turning glossy but I know he won’t cry. That’s not the man Mason is. I already know he loves me. I know he wants me. I know I want him too, but that’s not in our cards. He decided that long ago, before he even met me.
“No.” My voice croaks as I answer him and that hurts so much worse, telling him and confessing. “I don’t hate you, it’s not you.”
He huffs a sarcastic and defensive sound. “It’s not you, it’s me,” he says as he slams his laptop shut and pushes it off of him.
I lick my dry lips, feeling the cracks with the tip of my tongue. “You know it’s what you’ve done, Mason.” I wait for him to look at me again and I sniffle, wiping my tears and nose with my sleeve. “It’s who you used to be that I can’t get over.
“It’s not about you, or what you want. It’s about me being okay with this, and I never will be. How can I?” I shrug, wiping the tears as they come carelessly.
“Let me hold you,” Mason says although it sounds like a demand, reaching out for me, but I move away, taking the throw with me in haste and then letting it fall to the floor.
“I can’t,” I say with my back to him. I tell him, “If you touch me, I don’t think I’ll be able to go.”
“Then don’t,” he says with desperation, but he doesn’t move.
“I can’t forget, I can’t pretend. And I hate myself for loving you.” It’s the hate I can’t live with. I turn to face him, pleading with him to understand and accept it. “I hate myself.”
I watch as Mason stands and leaves, as the first tear rolls down his cheek and he brushes it away angrily.
I can’t let him walk away like this. I reach out to him, gripping onto his arm and he stops but doesn’t look at me.
“Mason, please,” I say, begging him, but I don’t know what for. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
He shakes his head as he tells me, “It’s my fault.” That’s all he says as I stand there waiting for more. My body wars with me, wanting to cave and let him hold me. I haven’t realized it until now, but all this time, holding me has been his only way to be held in return.
“I need to give you your gun,” Mason says in a tight voice, looking past me and toward the stairs.
“You’re giving me the gun?” I ask him more as a distraction from standing there so numb and full of despair than anything else.
He nods once.
“And you’ll leave me alone?” I ask him, both wanting him to tell me yes and give in to my wishes, and also to tell me no and say he’ll love me forever.
“Yes,” he says and my heart breaks into two. “I’ll watch over you,” he says as he nods his head and I nod in return, reflexively. “When you’re safe,” he says and swallows thickly before continuing, “I’ll leave you alone. I promise.”
Mason
Time be still,
Show me a way.
To turn back what’s done,
And change our yesterday.
I’m so damn sorry,
I would repent,
Alas, that time is already spent.
There’s no way I’m leaving her alone.
In time, she’ll forgive me. I’m sure she will. It’s easier to ask for forgiveness, isn’t it? That’s how the saying goes.
A heavy sigh leaves me as I climb back into my car and double-check every window of her place. I’ve got a security system in place so she can be alone during the day, but at night, I’m slipping in through the back like I used to. I’ll be quiet. I won’t let anyone see. Not even her if she doesn’t want to.
It wouldn’t be right to leave her alone, but I can still let her leave.
The leather behind me protests as I close my eyes, leaning my head back with an overwhelmingly pathetic feeling consuming me. Everything I’ve done is to protect her, yes. But I can’t let her go. I’m holding on to the last bit of her that I can. She’s slipping, running away from me and I’d be a liar to say it doesn’t shred me.
It’s been weeks of nothing. Weeks of waiting. I don’t believe for a moment whoever wrote that note and sent that man is done with me. Or with her.
I press the button on my phone for the security feed. I have it all here. I’ll keep her safe.
I’ll know the second anyone enters. The locks are all new. The alarms are set. Every door that opens in that house, I’ll be alerted—same with every window.
She doesn’t want to stay with me, and I can’t force her to love me enough to stay. But I’ll protect her and care for her. I have nothing and no one else. I have no choice.
The keys jingle as I start my car and the heater blows out cold air while the radio plays soft music. I turn them both off and listen to the hum of the engine. Taking another look over my shoulder and then another glance at the feed on my phone, I make a promise to let her go one day, just not today. I’ll leave her alone like she wants. I’ll let her move on and live a normal life.
I can never give her that, I know that. Not with the way our worlds collided. She deserves that with someone else.
My throat feels tight as I gently press the pedal down and pull away from her row of condos on the Upper East Side. There’s still a chance if I just hold on… I won’t have to let her go. She’ll forgive me.
My warring thoughts storm through me. Let her go or hold on to hope.
Even knowing how wrong it is, I’ll be back tonight. I can’t leave her alone. I can’t let her go. That truth always wins out.
Jules
When did life become like this?
When did I lose it all?
When did my will to move on,
Become my wish to fall?
When was it that I gave up?
I’m a hollow, empty shell.
There’s no answer that I know of,
And no way out of this hell.
Everywhere I look, I see my dead husband. Lying in bed, sitting on a chair. He haunts this house in a way he never has before. It’s not fear I’m feeling when the ghost of him appears as distant memories. It’s anger.
I shouldn’t have come back here.
I ran away from a man I love, only to come back to a past I hate.
My reflection is pale in the mirror. The bags under my eyes are back, and I look like shit. I wipe the fog from the shiny surface. The steam of the shower still lingers. It’s late and I’m drained, both physically and emotionally, but I can’t sleep.
Not without Mason next to me. I’m cold without him and feel weaker than I do when I’m with him. Maybe that’s the way I trained myself. To be brave when there’s someone to lean on. What kind of bravery is that?
I swallow the lump in my throat and close my eyes. I tell myself that I was wrong to love him, and somehow fooled into thinking it was real. If I convince myself it was never real, it will be so much easier to let go.
Opening my eyes only reveals the men of my past surrounding me in the mirror. Mason on my right, and Jace on my left, standing next to me in the reflection.
I blink once, and they’re gone.
Leaving me alone, and isn’t that what I wanted?
A chill runs through my blo
od as I focus on just breathing and calming myself. Bottles of perfume are lined up so neatly on the shelf. Chanel Chance is the first one in the row of expensive and elegant bottles. My breathing comes in harsh pants as I stare at it. It’s nearly halfway empty. It was a Christmas gift.
I wonder if he gave his mistresses the same kind of gifts? What about the woman he had killed? The one pregnant with his child?
The last thought snaps my last bit of control. A wretched cry echoes in the bathroom, burning my throat as I whip my hand across the shelf. The tinkling, crashing and shattering of glass fills the room as I stand there heaving. I grip the edge of the bathroom door, tears blurring my vision and stare back at myself. I fucking hate who I was. Naïve and stupid. “So fucking stupid!” I scream at myself. “I hate you!” I yell out. “I hate what you did to me!”
My body sways as I harshly wipe under my eyes, turning from the mirror before I shatter it as well. The overwhelming scent of the perfumes mix in the air and I slam the door shut behind me, hating how it reeks and how the mess from my outburst, reckless and yet again stupid, will stay there until I clean it up. I’ll be the one picking up the tiny pieces of shattered glass. That’s how it works when these men storm in, destroying everything and demanding I follow their lead.
Jace’s closet is across from the bathroom. It was untouchable before when he passed. I couldn’t bear to open it and see all of his clothes. Suits he would never wear again. Shirts that held memories.
I rip the doors open chaotically, but then pause and walk in ever so slowly, flicking on the light. The U-shaped closet is lined with crisp white dress shirts and a myriad of colors on the left. Suits on the right. In the very back is his collection of soccer jerseys. He started buying them all the way back in high school. I remember the first one he ever got. I spot it as the memory comes flooding back.