The air is musty, and there are two floors. There is a metal staircase to my immediate left that leads to another floor that I can only imagine houses the…drugs. I wouldn’t know because there is a velvet curtain blocking the floor off, but I have a great imagination. The walls are bricked and grimy, and the floors are clad in random red rugs, giving the place a vampire-styled seventies vibe, if that makes sense. There are a lot of men in cut-off leather vests with some logo on the back of them. Oh, geez, they’re in biker gangs, or just gangs—gangs are the main theme is the bottom line.
And they are all staring at me.
Some give me hooded eyes, whistling at me, while others are too out of their minds to even notice me.
Just find “Dean” and get out of here, Olivia…my subconscious whispers.
I take a deep breath and begin walking further in the establishment. I taste my heart in my mouth, my fingers tapping around the thick bills in my hands. I begin to search for the guy; hopefully it won’t take long. But how long should it take to find a guy with a scar over his eye? Sorry—a gnarly one. I snicker at Noah’s words and wonder what the heck “gnarly” is supposed to suggest. Does it mean large? Ugly? Both? I don’t know, but I think I’ll know when I see. I’m pretty sure all scars over the eyes are gnarly, surely, right?
I pass quite a few girls with cropped shirts and big joints in their hands, giving me nasty looks and getting closer to their large, grimy men, like I’d ever think to try to steal them. Ha! I’m more scared than attracted to any of these guys. Nearly all the men I pass undress me with their eyes, and it does not help that I’m almost naked. I am wearing a bikini top and Noah’s large trunks, that would fall right to my feet if I ever let go.
I walk through a curtain of shiny, colorful beads in the back. Beyond the shiny things hung over the archway is a small room with black leather couches and few people. Smoke fills the room, and I cough and wave my hand in front of my face.
“Geez,” I groan, coughing.
I hear a pair of heavy feet running upstairs, and I peer through the thick smoke. Standing in the doorway with bright red stuff on his face, could be blood, is a shirtless male who is extremely tall.
“Hello, are you Dean?” I ask in a polite tone, stretching a smile.
The man steps through the smoke, and I literally feel everything in me shut down.
“Grey…?”
Chapter Seventeen
The world hates me, it’s official. Ever since that day, it’s proven how much it dislikes me. It’s been on the top of its game recently, actually. With all the run-ins with Grey and his new girl. The renewal of the guilt and tears and overall sadness I had quite under control before I saw him again. And ever since I laid eyes on him in that club a few days ago, the world hasn’t been shy in portraying its distaste for me. Throwing him in my path every chance it got. Resurfacing feelings I thought were put to rest. Well, it was easier to do than I thought, because I didn’t have to see him every other minute. But now I feel like he’s everywhere I go.
How do I escape this? How do I escape him?
He grabs my wrist and pulls me out of the room. We whiz past all the old perverts on drugs in the main section of the place and into what I can only assume is a storage closet. It is small and smells heavily of cleaning supplies…and cigarettes. Who smokes in a confined place that could blow up with this many chemicals? That’s just one side effect of drugs: they mess with your mind and make you do dumb things.
Almost like Grey…well, before what happened.
He was sure addicting, but it does not overweigh the side effects of stopping him…
“What the hell are you doing here?” he hisses, voice low and raspy.
“I—what are you doing here?” He has no business asking about my whereabouts, neither do I with him, but if he wants to step out of his boundaries, then I can too. He and I aren’t a couple anymore, meaning I don’t have to answer him. Unless he’s turned into a stalker psychopath.
“I asked first,” he snaps, a thick vein pulsating underneath his neck.
I pause for a second, then sigh. “I came here with Noah,” I tell him, and he jerks his head back, confused. “Not that it’s any of your business…we aren’t exactly a couple, remember?”
“Who the hell is Noah?” His voice is thick with malice.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he sounds jealous.
But I do know better, and I know he is, again, crossing a boundary he has no right to cross.
“My friend,” I say, “you know, the one I was with when we bumped into you and Rose the other day.”
“Obviously he isn’t that good of a friend if he let you in here by yourself,” he retorts, giving me a slightly disgusted look. “Pick up any numbers while you walked through here wearing practically nothing? Or was it the other way around? Wouldn’t be surprised if they all flood your messages.” He flicks his eyes down, and I move one hand to cup my chest. I wish Noah at least brought a blanket or a towel—but of course he didn’t think about that when bringing swimming trunks.
I scoff. I can’t believe this. “I can handle myself, not that you should care.”
“I don’t.” His eyes contrast his words when he glances down again. Then he steels his eyes on me and furrows his brows, lips quirking up, twitching from anger, I presume. “I just don’t think you should be walking around like this, unless you’re looking to get gawked at.” His voice dips lower. I can feel a darker aura radiating off of him, and I don’t know what to do about it.
I lick my lips and shrug. “It’s not my intent—I’m only here to pay some guy named Dean.”
He stiffens but tries to look casual about it. “I’ll give it to him. You shouldn’t be here any longer.” He pauses, and I can see he’s trying his hardest not to look down at my chest again. I almost press it out to taunt him, for a little torture myself, because he has been doing it to me so well lately, but I stop myself before I can.
Why am I thinking so evilly right now?
Maybe because he’s been putting you through hell, my subconscious answers.
But I deserve it, I think.
Am I really talking to myself now?
The confused look on Grey’s face answers my question.
“Don’t act like you care about me now, Grey,” I tell him in a firm voice, pointing a finger at him. He smiles ghostly, like he used to whenever I tried to be stern with him. Ugh! “I will give it to him, then I can leave.”
I move to open the closed door, but he slides in front of it coolly.
“What are you doing?” I ask him, growing frustrated.
He’s making my stay here longer than I wanted.
“D isn’t a person you’d want to interact with, even once,” he says in a tone that makes me shiver.
But wait…D? As in the “D” on his phone? The same “D” who made him build a wall in front of him like the china wall and act like a secretive ass? Who is he, really? Why doesn’t Grey want me to interact with him? If he’s so bad, wouldn’t he let me walk right up to him? I thought he hates me. So why is he so hell-bent on doing me a “favor”?
“You mean ‘D’?” I ask him.
He narrows his eyes and shrugs. “Yes, you figured it out, Nancy Drew—want a cookie?”
“What I want is for you to step out of my way,” I counter.
“Sure.” He smiles and holds out a hand. “Just give me the cash for what you owe, then I’ll be on my way out.”
Fine, if he wants to do this so bad, then I will let…
I stop handing over the money when I catch sight of a small circle on the crook of his elbow. It’s a new tattoo, and it would have gone unnoticed if I didn’t know every single one of his tattoos. I made sure to memorize each one and admire them, even kiss them whenever I got the chance. They were all so beautiful. But this one, this one has not been touched by my lips or traced by my finger.
“What’s that?” I ask, my voice small.
I take a step forward to se
e it better, but he takes one back, and it makes me even more curious.
“Nothing, now give me the money,” he says impatiently but also like he’s hiding something.
“Not until I see that.” I point to the tattoo and scurry forward before he can pull away. I grab his arm and pull his inner elbow up to my eye. I gasp when I realize it’s the gang initiation tattoo, similar to the one I found on his neck. “Jesus, Grey…you’re back in the gang?” I look up and into his eyes, and everything stills.
He told me that the worst part of his life was wrapped up in his involvement with the gang. He got in so much trouble and was nearly sent to prison but luckily got out of that toxicity. Thank God. But now he’s surrendered himself back to that life again. I thought he was done with that toxic part of his life. He told me so himself. Why would he do this when he knows it will only get him into trouble? Nothing good can ever come out of him being in this affiliation.
“So what if I am?” he huffs, voice low.
I scoff and knit my brows together, watching as he flicks his eyes to the ground. “So, what? Are you serious? You shouldn’t be spending your life doing this. You shouldn’t be in it. You know it won’t end well.”
“And you’re my mother now?” He leans against the door, crossing his arms. “I should listen to you because you always have my best interest in mind? Because you wouldn’t ever want to hurt me?” His words sting, and I step back, burned by them.
“I don’t want to fight, okay?” I raise my hands. “We aren’t even a couple anymore. Just—just let me pay this man, so I can leave and go home.”
I take another step to the door, but he grabs my hands, spins, and pushes me against the door.
“What are you—?” I begin, breathless and ignited by his touch. I hate the way my stomach tightens, suddenly very aware of his hips pressing into mine. And the fact that we’re in a very confined room. And that the trunks will give way when he gets off me.
Well, that wouldn’t be too bad, would it…? my dirty subconscious purrs.
Oh, shut up, perv.
“These aren’t burns. I fucking knew it,” he says, almost too quiet for me to hear. “Busted knuckles…thought I was the only one sporting this trend.” He pauses, then brings them down between our faces, well, to my face and his neck; he’s very tall. His eyes burn through me like a torch, and it twists and digs deeper and deeper and—“What happened?” His voice is uncharacteristically soft for someone who loathes me.
“Why do you care?” I ask in an equal voice.
“Just answer the damn question,” he sighs, frustrated with my hesitance.
“You answer mine,” I say, frustrated too. He’s putting me back in that place where he gives me whiplash with his emotions. First, he hates me, now he cares. And after we leave this room, he’ll go back to hating me again. And I will not put up with it, not this time. I barely survived the first time around.
“Fine,” he huffs and rolls his eyes. “I want to know that you’re not, you know…hurting yourself because of me.”
I scoff. “As if I’d do that purposefully.” I’m already hurting enough spiritually; I don’t need to add physically to that short list.
“Are you hurting, but not on purpose?” He should get an award. It actually sounds like he cares.
“Please, don’t start this up again, Grey,” I plead, shaking my head. “I don’t need this right now. I’m trying to move on until I am at least okay with getting sleep. I don’t need any more bags under my eyes or hallucinations, if that’s even possible. I want to sleep, so don’t put me through this crazy emotional rollercoaster like before. I’m already struggling.” I nearly cry, but I keep it in; I don’t need my dignity to shed any further if my words haven’t already done enough.
“I’m…” he trails off and closes his eyes, groaning. He looks to be in a battle with himself. “I think you should leave.”
“Gladly.” I turn around and put my hand on the doorknob, but he presses into me. I freeze and close my eyes, and I just know his are still shut. We stay this way for a long time before I finally whisper, “Please, back away from me, Grey.” My voice wavers, but I couldn’t help it even if I tried.
“How did you hurt your hands?” His voice wavers slightly, but he does a better job at keeping it under control.
I pause, wondering if I should tell him or not. Would he really care? He’s shown me multiple times, and told me, that he wishes I’d just step off the face of the Earth, and he wouldn’t bat an eye.
“I snapped after I tried helping you, after those guys hurt you; they were the collateral…”
“Oh…”
“Yeah, does that satisfy your burning desire to know how you’ve managed to hurt me without actually touching me?” My voice breaks again.
There is a heart-clenching pause, then the click and opening of the door. He has his large hand flush around mine, and he backs up.
“Get out, Olivia,” he whispers.
I turn around, eyes brimming with tears. He clenches his jaw and doesn’t let any emotion stain his face. That was what I was searching for, what my therapist told me to acquire—amendment. Now, I can move on.
“Thank you, Grey.” I turn and smile as a tear drips down my cheek.
He doesn’t know what I mean, but he doesn’t show that he cares to know either way.
I turn away and rush into the smoky room. “Who’s Dean?” I call out, ready to just leave. My heart is in the process of weeping. And it’s loud and deafening, and it makes my head pound until I can’t take it anymore.
“Over here, darling,” a deep voice drawls, its Australian accent thick.
I search and find the man with his hand up. I hand him the money and say, “From Noah Wells.” I examine the deep scar over his face that looks menacing and makes his smile creepier than ever. But despite that, he looks very attractive. Blue-green eyes, thick reddish lips, and a tattoo on his neck.
“Stay around for a bit,” he says, drawing his hand back.
“No, thank you.” I smile politely, then turn on my feet. I need to get out of here. The more time I spend in here, I am reminded of what just happened between Grey and me.
“Livvy? Where are you—oh, there you are.” Noah smiles when he sees me. His eyes shift to the right of me, and his face hardens a tad as they move up and down. “And you too.”
I look to my right and gulp.
He doesn’t respond, doesn’t move, but he shifts his eyes and regards Noah with an unreadable expression. I glance at Noah and notice some of my lipstick is on his chest, maybe from when he rubbed my back at the door earlier. I watch Grey for some sort of reaction. He’d normally flip out and begin beating him up, but he doesn’t do any of that.
And for some reason, I feel my heart break even a little more if that’s even possible.
“Goodbye, Grey,” I say with a shaky voice.
I tear my eyes from him and rush over to Noah.
Chapter Eighteen
The next day, I sit at the massive mahogany piano in the sun-room. Playing one of Mozart’s most difficult compositions never fails to distract me. My mind has been reeling from yesterday’s…events. From unexpectedly seeing Grey at the, apparent, gang hot-spot, learning he was back in said gang, us so close in the closet after months of separation, to his sudden concern for me, all the way to us not so clearly making it official—that there is no chance for us. That he doesn’t want me.
I thought maybe he’d secretly want me back like in those cheesy romance movies. But I was proven those movies were just that—fiction. Not real. Not plausible, not able to happen. This is real life—reality. Meaning the boy doesn’t just realize their love overruled all and he and the girl get back together and live happily ever after, never to be haunted by the past. The boy hates the girl and lives happily ever after with a girl named Rose.
I hit a key hard, making a banging sound, and I stop playing. I close my heavy eyes and nearly let myself go under, but I grab the coffee mug sitting on to
p of the piano and take a sip. I didn’t sleep last night because I didn’t feel like being trapped in a nightmare or visiting the hospital again. I hate that being cared for in a medical facility is even a possibility. I truly thought I wouldn’t need to speak to a therapist again, but now I am expected to see one twice a week or I’d be checked into a mental institution, courtesy of my wonderful mother.
My fingers move up and down the keys, sliding and tapping and producing music that feels like a soundtrack to my life: dramatic, complex, and dark. All of which I am hoping to change. I add in different, more upbeat notes. These notes represent my hope for alternatives in my life. I don’t want to live in the undertones forever. I want to see the bright side, a side where I don’t wake up screaming my lungs out, ending up in the hospital. A side where I can walk around Miami without bumping into my ex. A side where I don’t feel like I have to dive into a bottomless pool, not knowing how to swim, to “get away.” A side that doesn’t make me feel like the entire world is caving in my chest.
I just want to see a brighter light, if there is anything beyond this darkness…
I am flowing along the keys, making a haunting but soothing sound that echoes along the empty walls of the large house, when my mother’s screeching voice impedes the flow.
“Olivia, I have been calling your name for the past five minutes,” she barks, annoyed.
I stop playing and glance at her. She’s wearing a pristine white dress that hugs her curves and her normal pearl necklace. Her hair is up in a stylish bun that screams perfection. Lips caked in red, they curve downward, bringing out frown lines, one of her hated parts of herself. But the crows’ feet, she had those removed last year. The creases next to her full lips are most definitely next to go. She just has to have everything perfect.
“I’m sorry, Mother.” I gulp and give her a small smile, but she doesn’t like it, so I show her my teeth and say, “What is it you need me for?” She always wants me to do something. It’s not like she’d ever want to go take a painting class with me or let me help her make iced tea and catch up or gossip with me about the snooty woman at the country club. What kind of mother would want to do those things with her daughter?
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