And he’s just done it again.
“Joe, make sure they’re—” Lucy says as she walks toward us. She stops dead, mouth gaping open when she realizes who’s here. “Joanna.”
“Surprise,” I say, not taking my eyes off him.
They’re both lucky, damn lucky I didn’t bring my gun today because all the confusion, the humiliation, the agony, and above all the rage swirling through me needs an outlet. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I know is I want them to hurt as intensely as I hurt now. I want to turn back the clock thirty seconds before I found myself consigned to hell again. It’s not fair. I just crawled out from the pit. It took everything I had, every ounce of my strength to claw my way out, and I’m right back there again because of him. It’s always because of him.
“Hello, Justin.”
And I throw up all over his bare feet. At least it’s not a bullet.
CHAPTER THREE
Castle of Glass
Once upon a time, in a land filled with gods and monsters, there was a little peasant girl with the deck stacked against her. Alcoholic mother, dirt poor, the only bright spot in her otherwise dismal life was her father. His unconditional love helped her flower in the muck, helped her grow into a strong, take charge girl able to survive the fates’ game. But they had another card to play. One night, a monster crawled out of the darkness and snatched the kindly father from his little girl, leaving her alone in the ever expanding darkness overtaking the land. With such little light remaining, and no guide, the twelve-year-old girl found herself standing on a bridge, willing herself to jump.
Until the brave prince arrived to save her.
Like the girl, the prince had lost his father to the monsters. Lost his mother. Lost his direction in the world. He had no reason to stop and help the peasant girl. He didn’t know her. He owed her nothing. But he stopped his steed on that frigid night and spent an hour convincing the girl there was light if she searched for it. But she didn’t have to look long. The moment she set eyes on the handsome prince, she had found the light in him. She had fallen madly in love with the prince before he even opened his mouth. And after he did she knew she would do anything for him. Lay down her life if he needed her to. So the peasant girl and the prince became the best of friends. They went on many adventures together. They saved one another and walked out of the darkness together. For a time.
So the prince and peasant grew into adults in the land of gods and monsters. He went on to rule the land, becoming beloved by all, and she decided to become a knight of the realm. To stop the monsters from destroying more lives. To make the world better alongside the man she loved. Because the knight’s love for the prince never wavered, never waned. She never lost the hope that one day her love would be returned. That the prince would open his eyes and see the knight for who she was: his heart and soul. Never to be. Because one day the prince met a princess who was everything the knight was not: gentle, kind, graceful, beautiful. As perfect as the prince. The man she loved was happy, so the knight did her best to accept the princess, to truly be happy for her friend. The person she trusted above all others.
But the prince had a secret.
For the prince was not only a prince. He was born one of the gods. The one worshiped above all others in the land. But unknown to all there was a monster lurking, waiting for the perfect moment to destroy the God Prince. The monster slithered out of the abyss to eat the princess and maim the knight. It was then the knight learned of the prince’s true nature. That he’d betrayed her from the moment they met. So the knight turned her back on him, walking away and snuffing out the light they shared with her. The God Prince, having lost everything, found himself on that fateful bridge searching for hope in the seemingly hopeless world.
It was the knight who carried it back.
For despite the lies, the unreturned affection, the anger she still harbored, the God Prince was her soul mate. The one person who knew her. Understood her. Loved her unconditionally as she still did him. And that love saved him from the fate’s bridge as it had her. And together they trapped the monster. They fought until they bled and burned, but it wasn’t enough. The monster got the upper hand, the knight literally hung on the precipice of death. So the God Prince stared into her eyes and said the words she’d longed to hear. “I love you.” And the prince flung himself into death’s embrace to save the knight. He made the ultimate sacrifice for the nothing peasant girl.
But it seems he didn’t.
He merely pretended to. He ran off to another kingdom, leaving the girl with her guilt. Her misery. Her self-loathing. She lost everything because of his sacrifice: her knighthood, her strength, her sanity. And just when she’d regained it all, with the opening of a door, he snatched it away from her again.
I would have sold my soul to have him back. If the devil had popped into my bedroom with a contract, I would have signed in blood without hesitation. I should be happy. I should have leapt into his arms and hugged him until my arms went numb. Instead I threw up, ran away, and haven’t left my bed since I returned to the hotel. I’ve just been staring into space for hours, trembling with rage and willing myself not to raid the mini-bar. At least my phone stopped incessantly ringing. Lucy or even Justin calling with apologies and explanations. It was for my own good. They wanted to protect me. They didn’t mean to hurt me. I’ve heard them all already when I discovered Justin was Justice. That he’d lied to me all through our supposed friendship. That he’d kept a large part of his life, a large part of himself, hidden from me. Bullshit and more bullshit. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
Justin’s alive. He’s alive. Alive.
And I want him dead.
There’s a knock on the hotel door. It must be the concierge coming to check on me again. The driver must have called Bennett about my breakdown because that damn concierge comes up to check on me every hour. One would think, “Fuck off,” would be self-explanatory.
“Joanna?”
Oh, thank God.
I climb out of bed and literally fall into Jem’s arms. The love of my life hugs me back almost as tightly as I do him. Fresh tears spill down my cheeks as I inhale his scent. Enjoy the sensation of his body pressed against mine. My lifeline. He came. Of course he came.
“I’m here,” he whispers. I squeeze tighter. “I’m here.”
“Thank you,” I whisper back.
“Of course. Of course.”
He waits until I let go first. It’s almost impossible to release him. I never feel as safe, as content as I do pressed against him. But somehow I force myself to take a step back and wipe the tears away. I wait until he’s shut the door to say, “Justin’s alive.”
My fiancée just blinks. That’s his only reaction. “He…what?”
“Justin’s alive,” I say again.
Another blink. “How-How do you know?”
“Because I saw him. I spoke to him. I went to surprise Lucy, and he answered the door.”
Jem’s face tenses and his eyes grow wide. But not from shock. If I didn’t know better I’d swear he was scared. “Are-Are you sure it was him?” he asks, beginning to pace around the room. “I-I-I mean just-just because it-it looked like him doesn’t mean it was him.” He finally looks at me but won’t meet my eyes. “It-It could have been a cousin or-or you-you’ve said it yourself, you-you thought you saw him and it turned out to be someone else.”
“Are you calling me crazy?” I snap.
“Of-Of course not! I simply…you-you didn’t sleep well, and-and per-perhaps you-you saw Joe and-and there was some con-confusion.”
A boulder drops into my stomach, causing the bile to rise up my throat. “How did you know his name was Joe?”
Jem stops pacing, but still won’t look at me. “I-I’m sorry?”
“That’s what Lucy called him. ‘Joe.’ How did you know his alias, Jem?” I ask, my voice as hard as my clenched stomach. I try to meet his eyes. I walk over and grab his face. Even now he refuses to
catch my gaze.
And I know. At least I don’t puke on him.
It’s too much. I grow numb. It’s like I leave my body. I’m outside myself staring down. I watch as I drop my hand from his face as if it were caked in shit. As I take a step back from the man I love, the one who stares at my shell with guilty terror beaming from his eyes. As they plead for forgiveness. The same exact expression Justin had a few hours ago. “Joanna…”
“Of course. Of course you knew,” my shell says in a monotone. “Of course.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers desperately.
“Of course you are. You didn’t mean to hurt me.”
“I wanted to tell you.”
“Of course you did. You wanted to protect me. It was for my own good.”
“Joanna…” He steps toward me. My body calls me back inside to stop this affront. I pull my arms toward my chest with my hands up as if he were about to physically assault me. It’s not me I’m worried will end up bloody. Jem stops mid-stride, face falling from shock. “I-I—”
“You need to leave now,” I say, my voice cracking along with the rest of me. Along with the rest of my life.
“I-I couldn’t tell you,” he whispers. “I made a promise before I even met you. I vowed—”
“You vowed? You vowed?” I shriek. “To me! You made a vow to me! To-To be honest. To put me above everyone else on the planet! You knew, you saw firsthand what I went through because of him. You held me when I cried because I felt so guilty. You let me torture myself to the brink of madness over a lie. You’re supposed to love me.”
“I do love you.” He takes another step, but I move back. He has the audacity to grimace in pain at my rebuff. “I-I love you with all my heart, all my soul.”
“Just not enough to tell me the truth,” I counter. “I trusted you. I almost died for you. I wanted to build a life with you. And you were going to let me build that life on a foundation with a sinkhole beneath it. Consider us swallowed.” I rip off my engagement ring and throw it in his face. “Get the hell out of here, Jem. We’re over. This is done. Done. Get the hell out of my sight before I claw your fucking eyes out.”
“Joanna…please…” he says breathlessly.
“GET OUT!” I roar at the top of my lungs.
Every muscle in his body strains in fright. He takes a step backwards. “I-I’m sorry.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. I love you.”
“Just words. Get the fuck out.”
Jem, realizing I mean it, backs toward the door. “I’m sorry.”
“More words. Meaningless. Leave.”
He opens the door. “I’m sorry.”
And he finally does as I ask. He shuts the door behind himself. The moment he’s out of my sight, I slump onto the bed and stare at the empty spot the love of my life used to inhabit. The man I thought I knew. Who I trusted. My partner. My silver lining in this black, shitheap we call a world. I should have known better. There are no happy endings. There are no princes, and gods and monsters are often one and the same. And us brave knights more often than not are swallowed whole by the dragons we’re trying to slay. Love does not conquer all. Because this isn’t a fairy tale.
This is hell.
*
442 days. I have not had a drop of alcohol for 442 days. I was proud of my sobriety. Damn proud. I worked hard at it. I went to rehab. I attended meetings. I found a sponsor. It was important to me. But all that’s important right now is that I don’t give into the strong impulse to murder myself or other people. It’s important I don’t feel. So fuck sobriety. Tonight, I drink. A lot.
Thank God there’s a bar in the hotel. It was so hard to pick my poison. Vodka, Bourbon, Rum, I’ve craved them all in those 442 days. I finally settled on Jack Daniels whiskey. Oh, sweet mystery of life at last I’ve found you. One glass, it’s as if Justin’s back in the grave. Two, I never set eyes on Jem Ambrose. Three that guy at the end of the bar sure is cute. Hell of a lot cuter than my ex-fiancée. Even in the haze of love I was aware he wasn’t classically handsome, not like Justin. But to me there was no one fairer in the land. He was beautiful despite his angular, thin face, his awkward personality, his know-it-all speeches. He was beautiful down to his soul. Or that’s what I told myself. Perhaps the masses are correct. Physical beauty is the be all and end all. Screw the brain, the intellect, the soul. Surface trumps all. At least tonight.
I should have known better. In thirty-four years of experience when has a single, solitary soul ever lived up to my meager expectations? Trustworthy. Kind when it earns the person nothing but the satisfaction of improving the world. Accepting others without judgment. If I, a mere mortal with a boulder on her shoulder the size of Jupiter and a mean streak a mile wide, can accomplish those, why the hell can’t others? I’ve never been accused of being an optimist, far fucking from it, but I do know a person can’t survive without a tiny sliver of hope, be it in people or God giving them the tools to make the best out of their lot in life. That something or someone is right around the corner to make all the shit worthwhile. That must be why God invented booze. For when we realize we’re morons for believing life is anything but us shoveling shit with no end in sight. And that momentary reprieve we’re occasionally bestowed just makes picking up that shovel again infinitely harder.
What the hell was I thinking? Seriously, what the hell was I thinking getting involved with Jem Ambrose/Lord Nightingale/Captain Moonlight/Fucking Asshole? Did I learn nothing from the Justin/Justice/Other Fucking Asshole debacle? Supers lie to everyone about who they are day in and day out. As if that wouldn’t extend to every facet of their lives. But no, I thought I was special. That we were special. I’m a moron. Worse, I’m a fool. A moron can’t help their stupidity, it’s just how they were born. A fool has no one to blame but themselves. They have all the tools at their disposal to diffuse the situation, to realize they’re being a fool, but go on anyway. I should have known better. I sip my whiskey. Well, I’m paying for it now. Though not as much as I’ll be paying for it tomorrow.
“Hello, Ms. Fallon,” a familiar voice croons behind me.
Sure enough when I swivel around, Bennett Stone strolls through the hotel bar toward me. Be it the low lighting, the whiskey goggles, or just him in white slacks and V-neck black cashmere sweater, there has never been a finer looking man to ever say my name. Jem’s a circus freak by comparison. With that smile of his affixed, he sits beside me at the bar. He’s not the first in that seat tonight, a lone woman in a bar is a damn magnet for men, but he is the first I don’t tell to fuck off. I’ll blame the third drink. Later.
“Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Stone,” I purr.
He glances at my almost empty glass. “I believe that’s my line, Ms. Fallon.”
“You come here to lecture me?”
“Would it do any good?”
I finish my drink. “Hell no.” I nod at the bartender. “Another Jack please.” The bartender looks at Bennett, who shrugs. Good man. I’m liking him more and more by the second. The bartender pours then walks away. I take a sip. “Took your spies long enough.”
“Took my spies long enough to what?”
“Let you know I was here. I was beginning to think you didn’t care,” I say with a fake pout.
“Nothing could be further from the truth,” he says in a way I almost believe him. “I got here as soon as I could.”
“I’m honored.” Another sip. “So, how much do you know? How good are your spies?”
“Just that you became ill and upset, then returned to the hotel. Now you’re here, drinking, minus your engagement ring.”
“You would notice that last one.”
“So, what did he do, the seemingly perfect yet dull Jem Ambrose?”
Crap, I forgot to work out a cover story. I could just tell him the truth. I sure as shit don’t owe either of those motherfuckers a damn thing, certainly not loyalty. But as I open my mouth what comes out is, “Let’s just say he turned out to not be the man I’d ho
ped he was. That he betrayed me, lied to me, and just one of those is a deal breaker.”
“Good to know.” Bennett smiles empathetically. I better start getting used to that again. The pity. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re in pain. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Yeah. You can take me upstairs to my hotel room and fuck my brains out.” I down the rest of my Jack Daniels. “That’d help.”
Bennett’s eyes narrow as he chuckles. “Oh, my.” He shakes his head. “You don’t beat around the bush do you?”
“Nope. So, what do you say? Are you all bark or do you want to bite, playboy?”
He blinks wildly. Adorable. “No, I, it’s an enticing offer. I just…think Jack Daniels is making it.”
I touch my nose with both fingers before reciting the alphabet backwards. My reluctant Romeo chuckles at the whole performance. “Want me to walk in a straight line too?” I slip off my stool. “Watch me do it all the way to my bed.”
I turn on my heel and like a forties femme fatale, I sway my hips as I walk away. Five steps later he’s at my side. On the walk, on the ride in the elevator, we don’t say a word. Don’t even look directly at one another, until the door to my hotel room closes and I ask, “Do you have a condom?” He removes his wallet and holds up the packet. “Then take off your pants and lie on the bed.”
Though he raises an eyebrow, he complies without a word. Nice. Tanned, toned legs of an athlete, perfect sized cock growing bigger by the second. He’ll do. As I drink the smirking playboy in, I remove my own pants and panties with the same quick efficiency. Like his, my shirt remains on. If he minds, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t utter a word the entire time. Not when I straddle him, not when I force his hands down onto the bed when he attempts to touch me, not while I ride him. Roughly. Cruelly. Until it hurts. I barely look at my toy. What’s attached to his cock doesn’t matter. I just take what I want. And when my toy’s spent, when he cries out in pleasure, I feel nothing. Only the ever present numbness since Jem left. Now he’s gone forever.
Galilee Falls Trilogy (Book 3): Fall of Heroes Page 4