by W Winters
“What changed?” he asks casually, breaking the silence.
“I don’t trust you,” I reply, and my answer slips out just as easily. An anxiousness wells up inside of me. I didn’t mean to say it out loud. He doesn’t know about the message in the book. That’s really what changed although without it, I can’t even say for sure what it says. The table jostles as I plant my elbow and rest my forehead in my hand while I refuse to look at him. I can’t look him in the eyes; I can’t take this shit. A moment passes and another.
“Is there anything you do trust about me?” he asks, not bothering to question why it is I don’t trust him. Maybe he has his own reasons.
Peeking past my hand and then lowering it altogether, I answer honestly again, only this time it’s a conscious decision. “I don’t think you’d hurt me. Not physically… which is truly ironic considering how we met.”
Only after I answer do I look into his eyes. And I see turmoil raging within them.
“I would never hurt you. Not in any way if I can help it.”
“And what if you can’t?” I ask him with the sorrow that’s buried its way into my every thought finally showing. “What if there’s no way for me to come out of this undamaged?”
“That’s what you’re afraid of? That’s what you don’t trust?” he questions.
I hadn’t expected to be so transparent with him. I don’t even think I was cognizant of what I’d said until the words were spoken. I could blame it on the lack of sleep or the wine. But a part of me wants him to take it all away. A part of me thinks he can make me believe he’ll fix my problems. I don’t even care that he can’t. I just want to believe that he can for a moment. Just a single moment of peace. That part of me is so tired of fighting. I hate that part of me.
“I’m scared in general, Mr. Cross.” Emotions tickle up my throat, but with a short clearing of my throat, they’re gone. “I’ve found myself deeper and deeper in a hole that I don’t know I’ll be able to get out of.” My eyes feel heavy, as does the weight against my chest.
I don’t know how I’m still sitting upright at this point. That’s the truth.
“The debt? Is that what you mean by the hole?” he asks although the look in his eyes tells me he knows that’s not what I’m talking about. I shake my head, no, confirming his assumption.
“It’s because of the break-in?” he asks and I don’t answer, swallowing down the half truth and hating that it’s all I’m willing to give him. “Bethany?” he presses and I finally speak, “Yes.”
It’s a lie though. Things changed before it. “Do you have my book?” I ask him the second I think of The Coverless Book. Seeing the underlined words in my mind and needing to read the hidden message. Clearing my throat again, I ask, “Did they find it?”
I don’t know where to go from here until I know what my sister left for me.
I don’t know what to think of Jase until I see what my sister said. That’s what hurts the most.
Leaning back into his chair, he lets out a long exhale, staring into my eyes and not answering. His thumb rubs circles over the pad of his pointer finger and he leaves me waiting.
“Jase, please,” I plead with him, seeking sympathy and mercy. “I just want the book back.”
He leaves me without an answer still, but only for a moment.
Wordlessly, he raises his hand and I expect the waitress to come, but instead Seth walks forward. I hadn’t seen him before this, not since last night when he brought me a duffle bag of the things I asked him to bring. With my head buried in the hotel pillow, he opened the door and left my bags for me. I barely even got to see him before he left, muttering a thank you into the pillow as the door was already closing.
He’s quiet and businesslike, but he gives me a soft smile every time. He’s like a warden with sympathy for his prisoner. The thought makes a sarcastic huff of a laugh leave me, although it’s barely heard.
I don’t know where he was hiding or if he was seated, perhaps standing. I have no idea. But Seth nods at me with the same polite smile the host had for me in the foyer. As if no one in this world would dare admit what a shit-show my life is and how I look the part for it right now.
I can’t hear Jase’s murmur but I don’t need to. Seth disappears for a moment, swiftly walking away when the waitress arrives with oysters Rockefeller and seared scallops. Setting the large plates in the center of our table, she then places two small plates equipped with tiny seafood forks as well in front of each of us.
She’s courteous and polite, smiling at me but more so at Jase before asking if we need anything else. Jase shakes his head once and I do the same, not trusting myself to speak.
“I chose the courses while waiting for you,” he explains.
“I’m not hungry,” I tell Jase, spotting Seth making his way back to us with The Coverless Book in his right hand by his side.
“You haven’t slept; you should at least eat.”
The tight smile graces Seth’s lips once again and then holding out the book for me to take, he tells me, “The rest is now in your car, Miss Fawn.”
“Thank you,” I say, and somehow the words are spoken; how? I don’t know. My head feels dizzy as I hold the book tighter than I’ve held anything in my life. It could give me the answers to everything.
“That’s all,” Jase says lowly and Seth is gone before I can say anything else. Before I can even swallow down the ball of dread that’s cutting off the oxygen in my throat.
I should ask him where he found it; I should say something or attempt to carry on conversation so it’s not obvious that this book may change the way I think about him. He has no idea and he’s given it over to me freely. I should try to keep my cover, but I’m an awful liar.
“I have to go to the restroom,” I tell Jase as I stand up from the table and reach for my purse, setting the book inside before slinging the bag over my shoulder.
Jase only nods. I have to grip the back of my chair, taking him in for what could be the last time. The air changes around me, it moves around him, pulling me toward him, begging me to stay there… just in case.
I think if I ran, which I know very well I may do depending on what’s in the book, I’d miss the way he looks at me the most. He doesn’t just glance at me, he doesn’t observe me the way others do, inconsequentially and only with little curiosity. He stares at me with a hunger and a need for more, to see more of me and what’s inside of me. He looks at me like he never wants to stop seeing me.
Even knowing he’s angry with me and how we’re surrounded by prying eyes in a crowded restaurant, he only sees me. Yes, that’s the way he looks at me. Like I’m the only one worth seeing. With my back turned to him, I know it might be the last time, and it hurts. I wasn’t expecting that. I should stop expecting anything at all.
As I’m walking away, I feel the vibrations of my phone ringing silently, but I ignore it, quickening my pace to get away from Jase and from these thoughts.
The women’s restroom door pushes open easily and I don’t hesitate to lock myself inside of the stall farthest from the entrance, dropping my purse to the floor and quickly opening the book to where I was.
I check my phone just before opening the book, and it says Rockford called. For a second I hesitate, wondering what work wanted and why they called.
I drop it back into the inside pocket when I hear the door open and someone walking in. I can just barely make out a pair of red heels by the sink and I hear the telltale zip of a bag as she stands there. Maybe she’s reapplying lipstick or checking her appearance. I have no idea, but either way, alone in the stall, I open the pages of the book, searching for the last page I read.
My eyes are tired and the black and white is more blurred than it should be. But the underlined words are still there and just beneath the lines, the first letter of the sentences are just as I remembered.
C starts the first sentence. R is next. Followed by O, S, S.
My fingertips slide against the indented lines. W
hen Jenny left this message, I can only imagine the fear she must have felt, hiding it so deeply in this book.
With a deep, but staggering breath, I dig in my purse for a small Post-it note and a pen.
The next letter is an I. I write it down, then search for the next. M. M. I stop at the P for “Promise me you’ll never leave.” MMP makes no sense.
CROSSIMMP. Rubbing under my eyes and double-checking them, that’s right. But it makes no sense. With my brows knit and the adrenaline pumping harder, I keep going. Q in “Quite the way to lead life.” S for “Secrets always come out.”
It makes no sense at all. There are no other words that can be made from the jumbled mess of letters. I search another chapter and another. Not reading at all, just gathering letters. And there’s nothing else. No other words hidden.
My blood cools and I struggle not to cry.
There is no message.
Deep breath. Deep breath. Don’t cry. Crying is useless.
A snide voice in the back of my head reminds me, so is searching for messages from the dead. They’re gone. They don’t come back. And they have nothing new to tell you.
I swear I can hear the crack that splits down my chest, through my heart and onward.
Hope is a long way of saying goodbye.
My own voice echoes in my head. Mocking some of the last words I ever spoke to my sister. And that’s the moment I break down entirely. I suppose I can take the death, the coercion, the break-in, the fear of losing my life. But losing hope?
Even I can’t live without hope.
So I read the lines again and again, although this time, they’re blurry.
There is nothing here but false hope and lines from an old book with no title. Lines that for the life of me, my addict of a sister thought worthy of underlining, though I can’t imagine why.
However gentle the knock at the stall door is, it still startles me.
Hiding my sniffling with the sound of pulling on the roll of toilet paper, I respond, “Just a minute.”
“Are you all right?” The question comes out hesitantly. “I just… is there anything I can do?”
How sweet a stranger can be. Kind and caring for someone they don’t know. If she knew, she’d stay far away from me. Everyone in my life dies tragically.
“Just allergies. I’ll be fine.”
She stands there a second longer until I add, “Thank you though. That’s very sweet of you.”
“I haven’t heard someone use allergies before,” the stranger in dark red heels replies, letting me know she’s well aware of my lies. “Is there anyone you’d like me to get for you?”
Although I owe this woman no explanation, I answer her. “No, I promise I’m fine. Just a really rough… month.” I say that without thinking, because my mind is riddled with thoughts of Jenny. And how I wish this stranger could simply go get her for me.
If only it were possible. That’s what I really want and need, far more than I should.
The woman leaves and another enters. I sit there for longer than I’d planned, drying my eyes and rearranging my bag before heading to the sink. There isn’t a lipstick in the world that could make me look better. But I try to hide my crying with the stick of concealer and powder in my bag. And then a coat of pale pink lipstick.
Letting it all sink in, the only relief I have is that there was no message about Jase or his brothers. There is no warning to stay away from him.
That knowledge releases the only inhibition I had for not losing myself in him. What a way to mourn. Grief is an aphrodisiac, or so I’ve been told. Although I’ve done damage the last twenty-four hours and I don’t know where we stand.
With my purse on my shoulder and the book safely tucked inside, I head back to the table feeling flushed, overwhelmed and with no appetite at all.
“So you weren’t tunneling an escape after all,” Jase jokes weakly as I sit down across from him. He sets his hand palm up on the table, but I don’t reach for it.
“I was… just realized it would take a little longer than I’d like,” I joke back, just as weakly. “No appetite?” I question, noting that he hasn’t touched the appetizers.
He shakes his head in response, his eyes ever searching, ever wondering what I’m thinking. “I need an answer first.”
“An answer to what?” I ask.
“I need you to agree to stay with me.”
“No.” My answer is immediate and I question my sanity. He could protect me. Jase Cross could do that. At the cost of losing my only sanctuary and the place that houses the memories I have. Living in fear is the worst thing I could agree to. I refuse to do it. I refuse to choose staying with him because I’m scared.
Angling the small fork to ease the oyster from its hold on the shell, I struggle for an excuse and the only one I can offer him. Thinking eating will appease him, I lift the oyster up so he knows I’ll do just that but first I tell him, “I’d like to stay with my friend for the time being.”
With a salty bite left in my mouth, I swallow the heavenly oyster and set the empty shell back down on the bed of ice. The tension doesn’t wane, not even when I eat another, refusing to look Jase in the eyes.
“Don’t do this,” he warns me.
My gaze flicks to his. “Do what?”
“Don’t make this harder. I don’t understand what’s gotten into you. But you should consider your options carefully.”
“Is that a threat, Mr. Cross?”
Exasperation grows in his expression as he tells me his patience is wearing thin.
“What changed?” he finally asks. “You treat me like I’m an enemy and I’m starting to think I am to you now.”
Thump. My heart is a treacherous bastard, begging me to tell him about the book. Begging me not to lie. Telling me he’ll understand.
He pushes the issue, asking, “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Thump.
“You wanted me, and I wanted you. I thought that’s where we were.”
“Did you forget the other night?” I ask meekly, remembering crying in the bedroom, remembering him walking away because I couldn’t admit it out loud like he has just now. Raising my eyes to him and staring back with nothing but sincerity I remind him, “It’s not like the two of us should be together.”
“Do you want me?” he asks, not letting anything change in his expression.
With a single hard swallow, I answer him with raw truth, “Yes. More than anything else.”
“Nothing else matters then.”
“Not the debt? Not the fact that someone’s after me?” I feel my expression fall, the kind of crumpling that comes with an ugly cry, but I don’t give a shit, I let it out, I let it all out. “Not the fact that a part of me hates you because I hate what you do and that the life you lead is why my sister’s dead?” I’ll never be able to say those words without tears flooding my eyes. I don’t blink and a few tears fall, but I won’t cry after that. Crying does nothing.
As I’m angrily wiping my tears away, I note his lack of a response and continue the onslaught. I ask him, “How much is it that I owe you again?”
“I’m fucking tired of you asking me that. It’ll be months before you’ve paid the debt.”
“The debt…” I whisper, sniffling and looking away thinking about how it’s her debt, not mine. But the thoughts vanish as I note how the restaurant is slowly thinning in attendance. It’s sobering, the sight around us.
It’s not just thinning, everyone is leaving. There are only two couples left. And both are preparing to exit. The young woman glances at me as she pushes her chair in, her eyes wide with worry.
“Jase.” I can only whisper his name as my pulse races with concern.
“I was wondering how long it would take you to notice.”
Thump. Thump. Thump. It’s like a war drum. I whisper the question, “What did you do?”
Leaning forward, he places his forearms on the table. His eyes darken as they sear into me. “I’ve let you
get away with too much.”
I can’t breathe, and I can’t move; even when I hear the door click loudly behind me and bringing with it utter silence, I don’t dare to do anything but stare into his eyes.
They contain a mix of hunger and depravity. His hard jawline tightens as he clenches his teeth and lets his eyes roam down the front of me then back to my apprehensive gaze.
“They couldn’t stay here any longer, because I need to punish you. You’ve known this was coming. I should have done it sooner.” Frustration and regret ring clear in his voice and guilt overrides my other emotions. “I take responsibility. You wouldn’t behave this way if I’d punished you like I should have.”
The way he says punish evokes a mix of reactions from me. I heat with desire and longing, wanting him to take control so I can stop thinking, stop doing, and just obey and receive what he’s willing to give. The other reaction though comes from the knowledge of who this man is and how it will never change. Fear is ever present when he takes control.
“There are consequences. And like I’ve said, you’ve gotten away with too much.”
Jase
With the door securely locked, I check to make sure the blinds have been lowered, and they have. Although the front door window is visible from this table, meaning someone could see if they dared to peek, but Seth is waiting outside and he’d take care of that problem before any prick would have the chance to see a damn thing.
“Jase, I’m sorry.” Bethany’s voice wavers as she speaks, showing her fear. I wondered which side of her would take over. I was hoping it wouldn’t be this one. It makes everything more difficult, but she must be punished. This has to stop.
“You aren’t. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t continue to defy me.” A deep inhale barely keeps me grounded as my temper flares. “You are the only one who has ever made me lose control like this. Do you know that?”