by Vivien Vale
Fuck him!
I’m angry. Conflicted.
Pacing.
I thought I’d never stop crying. Now I don’t think I’ll ever stop pacing.
He knocks on the door.
I don’t respond. I just keep moving.
When the knocks stop, I feel like my heartbeat has stopped, too—until I hear his voice.
“Addie!” Ford calls out. “Baby, don’t you understand I did that shit for you? That motherfucker tried to kill you!”
My heart attacks my chest, beating out of control. And I feel an emotion that I’m not sure even has a name.
I have butterflies. I miss Ford like I hadn’t seen him in years. But I am disgusted by him at the same time.
My tears stop, and I begin to chew my bottom lip, a nervous habit I thought I’d left behind in high school with Juicy Couture tracksuits and overly tweezed eyebrows.
“Addie, talk to me.” Ford’s voice is different. It almost sounds like he’s hurting, and I don’t know what to do with that.
I love Ford, but I don’t like him. In fact, I’m turned off.
Ugh. I’m so fucking confused. I’m too smart for this!
“Addie!” he calls out, the bass returning to his voice.
I’m a doctor. I dedicated myself to curing the sick and healing the wounded. Giving my heart to Ford and possibly even marrying him one day is the most duplicitous, hypocritical thing I can ever do.
I wish I had a glass—or three—of Domaine de la Romanee-Conti Montrachet Grand Cru Chardonnay right now.
I hear Ford exhale loudly. At the same time, a thud hits the door. I assume that was his forehead.
He walks away, and I feel like we’ve broken up. Blackness descends on me, grabs a hold, and threatens to drag me down into an abyss.
Lonely. I feel so lonely.
That young boy’s face was swollen. He gagged on his blood and almost lost his arm.
Yes, he did a bad thing, but he was still a kid. He’s probably lived a disadvantaged life, without parents to love and guide him. If anyone could sympathize with that, it should be the man who beat him senseless.
Ford.
In my mind, I can see myself dressing the open wound from the young boy’s arm. It gushed out so much blood, I’m surprised he had the energy to run off.
Adrenaline. I’m certain that’s what is was.
With that, I return to the sink, scrubbing the last bits of his blood from beneath my fingernails.
I hope the kid sought medical attention. He’ll need stiches to truly heal, and even then, I bet he’ll be left with a scar. A constant reminder of the beating he got in the street from the big, strong, deranged man.
The man I gave myself to.
I allowed him to be the first to enter me, and I never even knew him.
I feel sick to my stomach.
What happened to the boy I crushed on all those years ago?
The sandy haired boy with the honest, blue eyes that I bumped noses with the first time we kissed. How did he evolve into this frightening, unfamiliar person?
Were all the great moments we shared lies?
I dry my hands, reddened from the constant scrubbing, just to look in the mirror to notice I’ve got Ford’s victim’s blood on my face, too. And my red puffy eyes are perfectly complemented by smeared mascara and eyeliner.
Sighing, I use my Dior makeup remover and proceed to wash and moisturize my face.
I’ve gotta get out of here.
I carefully crack the bathroom door open.
Ford is nowhere in sight.
Maybe I can leave without having to see him.
When I completely step out of the bathroom, I release one final deep breath, which briefly relaxes me until he softly whispers “Hey” from behind me.
I slowly turn to face Ford, and feelings of repulsion, hate, and rage rush all over me. The young boy’s blood is on his face and clothes.
He’s a monster. I can’t stand to look at him, so I don’t.
I walk toward the door that leads to the long, carpeted hallway. Ford reaches out and grabs my wrist.
“Add—”
“Don’t touch me! Don’t you ever fucking touch me!” I scream, pulling my wrist from Ford’s grip using a strength I didn’t know I had.
“Adelaide, it isn’t safe out there.”
“It isn’t safe in here, either! Look, I don’t need you following me. I’m just going to the lounge on the twelfth floor for a coffee and a slice of pie or something. I need to be alone. I need to clear my head.”
For the first time since we’ve reunited, Ford doesn’t tail behind me, assert his power, or even say something slick and snarky.
Ford just allows me to leave without a fight, with a defeated expression glued to his face.
Closing the door to our shared hotel room behind me, with Ford on the other side, means that I’ve won.
Yup, I’ve won. So, why do I feel so damn shitty?
Chapter 32
Ford
To say I fucked up would be an understatement. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror without wanting to spit at myself.
God, the way Addie looked at me after I beat that kid up, it was like she was looking at a deranged animal.
Pure disgust.
It was like she was analyzing everything we’ve been through together. Replaying all the events in her head, cringing at her own choices.
Regretting letting me protect her, touch her. Enter her.
Why did I let my emotions get carried away like that? If Addie thinks I’m an animal, then she’s right, because that’s how animals think:
Wild, unhinged, violent.
No chick wants to be around a guy who’s like that, especially not Addie.
I remember the wide-eyed look of fear in that boy’s eyes. How his thick blood poured down his swollen face and down his throat, making him gag.
My fists are still warm and sticky.
In the bathroom of the hotel, I wash my hands, watching the water turn a soft pink. I grudgingly look at my reflection in the mirror and notice there are spots of blood on my face.
Damn, I really am like an animal. Why did I let my emotions get to me like that? Sometimes I think I scare even myself.
It’s so strange being in the hotel room now. A day ago, it was a lavish room that looked so welcoming, like stepping into a familiar hug from an old friend. And I’m not even the hugging type.
But now the room feels like something foreign and different. The energy is tense and cold. I can’t even get comfortable because I now feel like a trespasser.
It’s like somebody has flipped a switch, and now everything’s different, and I no longer belong.
Just being here all alone with my thoughts is crushing me.
The weight of my own guilt is fucking suffocating. I can feel it all around me as it oozes through the walls and the windows. I beat my fists against my head, trying to beat out the thoughts.
I’m so stupid! I can’t do anything right, and now my bullshit has hurt the one person I give a shit about.
I admit that I have done some fucked-up shit in the past. I’m not proud of it, but I’m man enough to admit that I’ve made mistakes, ones that I can’t take back. Mistakes that will stay with me forever.
But you know what? I actually thought I was doing a good job moving away from my past.
I thought I was evolving, becoming some semblance of a human being again instead of some unemotional government robot.
And then Addie came back into my life, like a touch of sunshine straight from heaven.
My sweet Adelaide.
I should’ve known not to taint her with my past. She’s too perfect, too pure for my baggage.
I swear, if anything happens to her, I’d crumble and die. There are very little things I care about on this dumb planet, but she’s definitely number one.
And now that that motherfucker Demetri Bordeaux is back, things are really too dangerous for her to be around me.
>
What the fuck is he doing here in Nairobi anyway? Definitely nothing useful or good.
I give up.
I’ve tried, I really did.
I tried to be normal, and it didn’t work. I tried to be happy for once, and life turned around and fucked me up the ass.
It’s how my life has always been, and it’s how my life will always be.
It’s time for me to accept my fate. I’m a fucked-up guy with fucked-up problems, and no one I love should be anywhere near me.
I destroy everything and everyone. It’s like I’m a virus.
Anyone I come in contact with catches it, and then they spread it, too. And then we’re all in this dark cloud together.
I was naive to think she and I could be together.
And to think I actually thought that she might be the one and that I might propose to her. Thinking about it now makes me want to cringe at my own stupidity.
I don’t deserve her, and she doesn’t need me.
Addie has everything: a career she loves, a perfect body, a rich family.
Just imagining us back at home, having a normal life, is just a fantastical dream.
Friends and family would wonder right away about us and wonder why she’s dating some broken asshole like me.
She deserves someone with the right pedigree, the right career, and the correct upbringing.
She deserves a boring guy whose life story could be summed up in a paragraph. Some pampered Ivy Leaguer who’s a huge mama’s boy, who listens to books on tape, meditates, hangs out at wine bars, and eats a dairy-free diet.
That’s the kind of guy Addie needs. Someone who’s as harmless as a field mouse, who would love her and be her plus-one at wedding parties.
Someone who’s safe. Someone who’s boring.
Someone who doesn’t beat teenagers on the street.
Someone who’s not a murderer.
Our relationship is a mistake, plain and simple. I know Addie and I have a past, a history that’s hard to let go. But maybe it’s time to close that chapter for good.
I mean, look at me. A grown man still pining over some old puppy love. Surely there are other women out there.
Honestly, maybe I’m not even worthy of love. I’m not sure if I can emotionally put some other chick through everything I’ve put Addie through.
No, it looks like it’s back to the way I was. Being a loner, a renegade.
The closer people get to me, the more they learn about my past. There’s no way I can keep it hidden anymore. It’s all out in the open now, and people can get seriously hurt from it.
I should’ve been more careful.
I should’ve spoken less and focused more on my work.
Addie, an angelic woman with beauty and intelligence, can pretty much have whoever she wants. And yet she descends from the heavens to fraternize with animals like me. Lowlifes who exploit her while she’s completely exposed and vulnerable in a foreign country.
I took advantage of that.
Standing here in the hotel room, I can see all of Nairobi from the window. It’s insane how a country this beautiful can be so dangerous. It’s not even fair when you think about it.
Since being here, I’ve had a lot of realizations, and one of them is that it’s silly to feel entitled to beautiful things.
But when you dig deeper beyond the surface, you find that there are complexities that you shouldn’t entangle yourself in. Complexities that you can’t control.
So instead, you admire from afar, because that’s all you can do. And that’s what I should have done.
I was sent here to protect. That was my only purpose. Not to fuck it up with my bullshit or get her dragged into dangerous situations that don’t even involve her.
I had a job to do, and frankly, I’ve failed.
I don’t deserve her. I don’t even deserve to be around her or even inhale the same air as her.
I would never forgive myself if something bad happens to her, especially if it’s from my own negligence. I’d rather withstand a firing squad or water torture than let that happen.
There’s no fucking way. Not over my dead body.
And now, in order to right this wrong, there’s one thing I gotta do.
It’s not going to be easy, though.
No, it’s going to be one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made.
Chapter 33
Carter
Things around me are spinning out of fucking control.
Nothing is in focus. It’s like I’m looking at the world through an out-of-focus camera lens.
My left foot kicks at a rock on the ground, and I watch it scatter across the parking lot.
It doesn’t make me feel any fucking better—but what did I expect from kicking a tiny fucking rock?
Maybe if I could lift a boulder and throw it like Hercules high up into the sky and watch it crash back down onto Earth, I might feel a little better.
Okay, maybe not.
There’s so much anger in me right now. I need to do something. For a second, I stop in front of a car and look at it.
Is this random vehicle a worthy opponent? I doubt it.
Metal is too soft for someone as angry as me.
Instead, I stride over to the edge of the building.
Once I reached the outer wall, where there’s a sign with a large red arrow pointing toward the hospital entrance, I stop.
My eyes zero in on the wall.
I take a massive swing.
I don’t aim for the fucking sign. No, I aim for the goddamn motherfucking wall.
And I fucking connect.
Yet I feel nothing.
Millions of fucking dynamite sticks are exploding in me. Just fucking tons, kilotons of explosive, uncontrollable emotion is raging through every fiber of my goddamn being.
My vision is fucking red, and I have nowhere to direct any of this shit.
How could I have been so fucking stupid?
Without thinking, my fist punches right into that fucking wall again. Blood is now trickling down my knuckles, but at the moment, I’m not inclined to give one goddamn fuck about that shit.
My gaze zeros in on the decent-sized crack I’ve made in the wall’s white surface.
It’s just still not e-fucking-nough.
There is no outlet for me. Nothing.
I’ve been the biggest fucking dick on the planet.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The realization that I’ve lost June hits me harder than I can hit the wall.
And I’ve got no one to blame but myself. I’ve been a fucking idiot.
From my meeting with Lawrence in that sleazy bar to the ultrasound appointment, I should have seen it coming.
It was obvious. What’s wrong with me? I’m just like my father…and Lawrence.
Maybe I can just blame this on bad genes?
What a weak fucking way to deal with the whole fucking situation.
June’s gone.
The best thing that’s happened to me in a long time—probably fucking ever—and I let it slip through my fingers, like sand just running through my hand. The only thing is, I won’t be able to pick her up again.
I’ve totally fucked up.
I mean, she’s gone. Packed her bag and handed back the key type of gone—if I’d have given her a key.
Fucking fool.
“Hey, dickhead,” a familiar voice calls. “There’s still plenty of pussy to get, you know. I mean…”
He doesn’t get any further. Like a raging mad bull, I throw myself at the bastard and grab him by the lapels of his shirt.
Then I spin him around and slam him into the wall.
Unfortunately, he’s prepared.
Instead of his head hitting the wall, he brings his chin to his chest and pushes against me. At the same time, his right leg hooks around my left and unbalances me.
I fall.
Clearly, I’m not at my best. Any other day, I would’ve been on top of Lawrence already. But now, I’m appr
oaching the ground at rapid fucking speed.
Smack!
I slam onto the pavement.
The fall knocks the wind right out of me. For a few seconds, I can’t even breathe. It feels as if a metal vice has gripped my lungs and is squeezing every last bit of air out of me.
Naturally, Lawrence uses this moment to his advantage.
Before I know what’s happening, his right fist connects with my face. Luckily, I wise up to his next move when I see the flesh of his fist from the corner of my right eye.
Unable to counter the attack, I pursue the only option I can see. I turn my head quickly at the last minute.
Instead of connecting with most of my face, his next punch only makes contact with the side of my head before his fist slams hard into the ground.
Now he’s unbalanced, and I’ve got my breath back.
I bring my knees up under me and roll.
“What the fuck do you want, Lawrence?” I yell, scrambling back to my feet.
Lawrence lunges for my legs, misses, and lands splat on his face.
This gives me enough time to take a deep breath and prepare for the next onslaught. It comes all too quick.
While I’m busy breathing and trying to gather myself, I spot my brother inching toward me on his hands and knees, but I notice too fucking late, and he’s already close enough to jab his fist right into my gut.
Again, I’m winded, and my body folds in half like a Swiss Army knife.
“I want what you’ve got,” he pants, his arms lunging wildly for me.
As I avoid one of his punches, another one connects with my mouth. It splits my lip open, and I can taste blood.
“What the fuck?” I say, spitting it out.
“You always get everything. You got Chantal when I’d been trying to get into her pants months before you even met her.”
His rage is still fucking building.
“Fuck, man,” I put my hands up in defense.
Lawrence just punches wildly at me. Occasionally, one of them connects, usually with my face—a couple times with my eyes, right and left.
“And then you end up with this gorgeous chick, the one who’s just fucking perfect, the one dad loves.” On this last word, I turn my face a little too far to the right to look at him, and wham, his fist collides forcefully with my cheek.