Gray Rothburg – maybe he’s the monster.
I laugh, as the doors open. My monster. My chemist. My tormentor. Mmm.
Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.
No thuds still. Not that I can hear, but I can feel them alongside my tap. Deep. Inside me. Pulsing and banging, bruising what is already battered and aching. Claiming what isn’t his to claim. My nails tear into me, scratching through skin to get to him and scream warnings at myself. Shadows. Dark corners. Men fucking.
Pain.
Malachi arrives before the doors close around me, a glower on his face as he flaps his hand at me to get out of the way. He stalls next to me, looking me over, and then presses the panel for downwards.
Down, down, down.
“Harden up, Hannah. He’ll be an asshole when we go back. Enjoy the pills. They end when we leave these walls,” he says.
Go back?
A surge of enthusiasm reels through me and I giggle at his words, unsure how my Gray could be any more of an asshole than he already is. Beautiful asshole, but asshole nonetheless. “If you’re prepared for the ride, I’ll take you home soon.”
Home. No home.
No thuds.
But Gray’s there.
The elevator doors opens and I snatch glances left and right, maybe searching for him in the gloom even though he’s not here. Nothing. No scowling eyes or furrowed brow to anchor to. No low chuckle of amusement. I back into Malachi, still staring at the room and the feel of monsters that lurk in shadows, and then watch as they blur into insignificance. His arm wraps around my waist to pull me tighter against him, holding me close and easing the tension. There will be no monsters for me anymore. No memory of them either. I am alone and singular. Evolved.
Strong, but for the thought of Gray..
Chapter 3
Gray
A few days later.
“M r Rothburg?"
I look up from the table and find Letti hovering behind the screens, her slightly portly face as cheery as usual. “You haven’t eaten today. Would you like supper before I leave?”
“I haven’t?”
“No. You said you weren’t hungry and shut the door on me. Twice.”
I frown, not remembering that, and take the visor from my face. She smiles again and watches as I close down the apparatus and put the relevant test-tubes into the correlating racks. Not eaten. When did I eat last? I don’t know.
I walk over to her and strip the gloves from me, depositing them into the trash can and then closing the door to the sterile space.
“What time is it?”
“Half past seven.” Is it? “Are you alright, Sir?” she asks, backing up out of the way. Alright? Clearly not if I’m losing time so succinctly.
“Yes.” I head for the stairs, turning through the halls. “If you wouldn’t mind preparing something small. I’ll be down in ten minutes.”
“Of course, Sir,” she says.
Having showered the attempt at a day’s work off me and changed, I head back down to the dining room and find a meal laid out. Steak, small at least, and an assortment of vegetables. I sit and sip some wine, my gaze casting out over the night sky around me, and debate the merits of eating. I’m not hungry. Haven’t been for a while, especially in these last few days that seem to have hazed by. I’m dismissive of food, uninterested in the bland taste. Probably the pills still idling inside me. They don’t leave for a while. They linger in the bloodstream, making usually relevant tasks irrelevant for some time.
My hands clasp under my chin, finger running back and forth over my lips, as I listen to Letti leaving the apartment. Idling. I’m doing that. Idling and wasting away. Wasting my life, too. It didn’t occur to me all that much before her. It does now. It occurs too often and too frequently for me to forget and find a way back to life before her.
Still – I pick up the cutlery – I’ll be lost from her thoughts now even if she isn’t from mine.
The phone rings while I’m eating. Malachi. I muse his name flashing on screen, wondering about the virtues of answering it. No need to. No reason to either. He’ll leave a message if it’s important, and I’ll call him back if I must. I don’t need the temptation from him. I’m struggling as it is, barely able to deny the pull that keeps taunting me with abandoning what I’m working for. His voice will not help me in the slightest. I’ll be back there. Living and dreaming, not thinking.
My hand waves over the phone, cutting the ringing off.
No.
No more until I’ve done what I need to do.
An hour's break and I head back to my study, somewhere near ready to carry on working, and then I notice the chain laid out where I left it earlier. Add in Malachi’s phone call and my logical brain is becoming as illogical as it can. A sigh grumbles from me, fingers picking up the gold without thought, and I head back through the apartment to get my coat. I need out of these walls for a while. Fresh air and hopefully fresh thoughts to go with it.
Slipping into the long coat, I go in the private elevator and press the ground floor button the moment I can. Down. I’ll go down until I reach the bottom and then out into the air around this building. Perhaps then I’ll find sanity again rather than continuing to wallow in something I’ve created in my head.
The elevator opens and Jackson stands as I exit, clearly shocked at my appearance at this time of night. Or ever, I suppose, given my penchant for constantly staying inside rather than face or deal with this world around me.
He puts down the book he was reading and looks me over.
“Sir?”
“Walking.”
He frowns but nods and begins following, as I head left into the lobby. My feet take me swiftly through the oncoming couples who laugh and joke on their way home, my head down and thoughts unreadable. Women smile. Men hold their hands to the small of those women's backs possessively, manoeuvring them away from me.
I smirk at that, partly amused, and then keep going until I reach the air I’m aiming for. I’m no threat to any of them. There’s only one woman who’s turned my head lately, only one woman who still revolves in my thoughts day and night, night and day, and she’s not here.
The sudden appearance of a suit clad Malachi in my eye-line, his back leaning on a blacked out Jaguar and some superior smile on his face, jolts me into stillness for a minute. I scowl at him and move right into the crowds, unable to process why he’s here with all these people around me. Space. I need space and quiet rather than this drone of continual noise.
I lift my collar tighter to my neck and amble the sidewalk to the park, giving him time to follow me if that’s what he wants. I can only assume it is. First the phone and now he’s stalking me.
“Are you going to ignore me?” he calls.
“No,” I call back, turning slightly to look at him. Jackson gets in between us, his body rigid and his hand hovering over his waistband. I wave him down from sentry duty, as my head nods at the gathering people around the avenue. “Too much noise, Malachi. Why are you stalking me?”
“Oh yes, you and your anxiety,” he says, getting closer to me. He looks Jackson over, presumably amused at my body guard, and sneers the potential threat off in typical Malachi form. “I’d forgotten about that flaw of yours.”
“No you hadn’t. You don’t forget anything,” I reply, watching him. “What can I do for you?” I ask, as I start moving again.
“Why don’t you get it at my home?”
“What?”
“Anxiety."
“I don’t know. Maybe the people are more interesting there. Distracting rather than annoying.”
He nods and looks me over as he did Jackson. Head to foot, foot back up to head until he’s in front of me and concentrating on nothing but my eyes. “Have you seen her?” My feet stop before I enter the park gates, wondering who he means. “I’ve lost her.”
“Who?”
“Hannah.”
The part scowl I was wearing deepens, eyes levelling with his. “What do yo
u mean you’ve lost her?”
He tuts and walks onwards again, ambling through the tall gates as if he’s got all the time in the world, and then moves us further in with a chuckle. “We’ve been back in New York for a few days. At the townhouse. And now she’s gone rogue. I wondered if she’d come to you.”
“Why are you back here?”
“Christmas. You know how Faith gets at Christmas. Time to come home for her.” Of course.
I walk beside him, suddenly feeling more at odds than I was before I left the damn apartment. “And we like the parties. Manhattan’s good at parties.” I smile at that. They do like their parties, several of which I’m normally invited to and one of which is tonight. “Hannah came back with us.”
“Right.”
“You haven’t seen her?”
“No.”
He nods. “Do you want to?”
There’s a question.
I rub the chain in my pocket, letting the texture crease and wind through my fingers, as I stare out into the blackness around us and keep walking. “It doesn’t matter if I do or don’t. I won’t be doing.”
“Really.” Not a question. A statement. “You’re not coming tonight then?” he looks over my clothes. “Obviously not. Shame.”
I look at him, eyes narrowed. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing.”
“Malachi, don’t try playing with me out here. I’m not as amenable to it in the real world,” snaps out of me, as I move onwards towards the tunnel.
“Why not? Everyone else is.”
“No one else is. They just don’t know they’re being played with.”
“And you do?”
“Yes. Stop it. Where is she?”
“I don’t know, and even if I did you just said you don’t want to know.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“As good as.”
Accepting that, I nod and keep moving back out into the minimal light grazing around at the other end of the tunnel, mind searching for something to distract me from this conversation. Maybe we could talk about the weather, the financial state of his oil fields, politics, card games, anything, frankly, rather than the one he’s trying for.
“If you did want to see her, I’m sure she’d oblige. She might be there after all.” Oblige? I snort, wondering what she’s become in the time since I saw her last.
“Different, is she?”
“You said you didn’t want to know.”
“I don’t.”
“Liar.”
A low chuckle rumbles through me. I can’t help it. “You’re a pain in my ass, Malachi.”
He smiles and slaps me on the back, as if that’s always been known and shouldn’t be disputed. He’s right. Still, he shouldn’t be here doing this with me, and I shouldn’t be allowing it. Let alone thinking about dragging out information about her.
“How is she?” I ask, moronically.
“Vibrant. Stronger.” Good. I nod and smile, still rubbing the damn chain in my pocket. I can imagine that. I'm happier because of it to some degree. “Stunning.” My gaze goes to his, too much jealousy rising over me because of his acknowledgement of that fact. “Not to mention tenacious.”
“About what?”
“Your truths.”
A sigh drops out of me and I look up at the moon hiding behind the clouds. Tenacious isn’t something I’m ready for. It’s the reason I left, the reason I gave her the space to move on, evolve more, and find something new to distract herself with. “I think you’ve pissed her off.”
“Hmm.”
He turns left and cuts over the grass, stepping out of the light and into the dark plains of nothing. I don’t follow. I wait and watch his form disappearing until he eventually comes back again. “What was that? I ask, bemused.
“Thinking time.” My brow arches in question. “I’m trying to work out if you need helpful hands or not, Gray.”
“You should have just asked. I don’t.”
Idiot.
I can’t even work out why I like him, let alone tolerate him in my life. And now I dare say he’s come out here into the real world again to taunt me and bait me into something. I scowl at his smile, annoyed that he’s amusing himself with my torment, and head back the way I’ve come, towards the tunnel. I just wanted a little peace, air, not peace. I don’t know, but him being here is causing none of the above. In fact, it’s escalating the opposite.
Grumbling, I listen to him coming up beside me again, whistling a tune to himself. Phantom of the opera. Not helpful. Wasn’t last time either. But the sound resonates just like it did before, forcing my mind back to dark corners and soft sheets. Thankfully, the sound also brings with it a waltz.
His waltz.
“What do you want from me, Malachi?” The whistling continues. “None of this is feasible past what happened. And that shouldn’t have.” He interrupts his whistling for a chuckle, and then goes back to whistling. “I can’t. You know that.”
I try listening to Jackson’s footfalls just behind me rather than acknowledge the continued sound of torment. It doesn’t work. All I can hear and smell and see is her in my head. Lilted words, sharp words. Hips that sway and flashes of skin. Her damned skin rising from that water and her eyes looking at me through slits. “It’s done, Malachi. Over and finished. She should find someone else, or move on without anyone.” Probably best.
My head nods as if I’m writing some fucking data correlation regarding sequencing rather than considering the fundamentals of her skin near me. “She should leave here. Find somewhere else and forget this chapter of her life. And me along with it. Start a new life.”
“An interesting summary for your excruciatingly logical brain to surmise,” he drawls.
My feet stop, head swinging to look at him. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Nothing. As you say, she should leave. After the party.”
He puts his hands in his pockets and starts walking again, his body rolling through steps one after the other until he’s in the tunnel and disappearing from view. “And I expect she will, unless you stop her,” he calls back.
I’m not stopping her. If she comes for me, I’ll help her go.
Chapter 4
Hannah
I t’s odd being back here in New York.
The plane journey was odd, albeit luxurious, and the sweep through the hangers having departed the plane was odd, too. Having only seen Malachi with his normal devil may care attitude in his home, suddenly noticing body guards flanked around him felt weirdly provocative, as if he’s someone I never knew existed.
And now this.
I take off one of Faith’s coats and look around, taking in every line and feature in this old huge, townhouse that’s been polished to within an inch of it’s life. More luxury, this time with a charm that only comes from centuries of attention. It feels like old age wealth just hit Manhattan again, bringing with it an undercurrent of class that can never be bought. Six floors, a pool deck on the roof. Room after room of resplendent glory.
“How long have you owned this?” I ask, turning to face him.
He looks at me briefly over the top of a glass of champagne, then resumes watching a hockey match on the wide screen he’s staring at. “Five generation's worth, or six. On my father’s side.”
“Could you be any more contradictory?” I laugh, and watch as a butler takes the coat from the chair I’ve just draped it over after coming back here from my walk.
Dark eyes come back to mine. They’re not surprising given that I don’t think I’ve seen him sleep at any point in the last however long it’s been. “Champagne and hockey?”
“I own the team. They’re winning. I’m celebrating.”
“You own a hockey team?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“I won it in a card game.” He kicks his feet up on the coffee table in front of him, his precise polished shoes landing where generations of his family have probably only placed de
licate objects. “Actually, I won money but he couldn't afford that so offered me this instead. He still owes me the rest.”
“Who was it?”
“Not telling.”
I half chuckle and look over the rest of the room, unsure what it is that we’re supposed to be doing here. I followed when he said it was time to come back, maybe hoping more conversation would come as to why, but time seems stalled again now. It’s frustrating to the new me. A new house around me, obviously, but, as always with Malachi, there’s no hurry or turn of speed. Maybe that’s what happens when you’ve got more money than sense. No need for time. No need for hassle or forward momentum either.
Perhaps I should go back to my apartment, find truths in my own way rather than continuing to wait for him to offer solutions to my needs. I tried a little while ago. Walked the sidewalks, took in the sights and smells of Manhattan again, but I couldn’t quite find the ability to go back there. It seemed old, different. Other than Gray, and this need still pulsing in my veins, there wasn’t a thing I wanted about that building.
“What’s next?” I ask, fingering a possibly Ming vase.
“You need to get dressed for a party.”
“I don’t want a party. I don’t want anything other than the facts.”
“Liar.”
“He’s the liar.”
“I don’t think he ever lied to you, did he?”
“He didn’t tell me the reality either.”
“That’s not a lie.”
“But-" All six foot whatever of him stands up suddenly, his body moving towards mine swiftly looking like he’s ready for a ball regardless of hockey matches.
“Do you want him?”
My eyes look at the floor, confusion making me question that. I don’t know. Do I want the connection we had? Yes. Do I want someone that can abandon me so easily? No. I just want my truths. That’s all. After that I’ll make decision, work out if he’s part of it or not or if I want him or not.
A Sorrow of Truths Page 2