by Kat T. Masen
“Um, excuse me, maid,” I yell out, pathetically.
“Lost, are we?”
Carson is standing behind me, too close for my comfort. My muscles begin to tense, the paranoia of his presence making me jumpy. Aside from his obvious age—a man who could be my father—he has that seedy look. He wears a cravat like they do in black and white movies, and he stinks of old-man cologne.
“Yes, I am. If you could lead me in the right direction because I’m sure Wesley will come looking for me.”
“I don’t think he will, see he’s busy… with Gina, outside by the pool. So, I guess it’s just you and me.” He grins, licking his bottom lip.
Slowly, he runs his hand along my arm, my heart spiking from fear and disgust.
“Stop touching me,” I seethe, pulling my arm away as he latches on tighter. “I said, no!”
He ignores my pleas, pulling me into him and tightening his grip around my waist. I struggle to ease my way out, the panic hitting hard and fast. The room spins, the sounds amplified, and somewhere during his forbidden act, he slides his hands up the side of my thighs and toward my ass, moaning into my face.
“I love fucking Wesley’s little sluts. You think you’re the first? No, sweetheart, but definitely the most innocent.”
My screams are trapped, my tears falling as I begin the same disillusioned blackout as the plane. But something, unknown, kicks in, and when I pretend to grab his crotch for pleasure, I squeeze it tight and punch it, causing him to wince in pain.
When he topples over cursing at me, I run out of the room panicked. There are several doors, but I find my way outside the front, out of breath, face drenched in tears.
There is no Wesley, just the driver. I want to find him, tell him to save me, but I fear Carson, terrified that my panic will cripple me, and he will have his way with me.
Wesley appears out of nowhere, frantically looking for me. “What’s wrong?”
“I want to go. Now.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you crying?”
“Take me home,” I cry, shaking.
I run to the car, ignoring the house and the monsters inside. Wesley hovers by the door, leaving it open, which only fuels my anxiety.
“I’ll tell them we’re leaving.”
My neck twists, chin trembling, distressed. “Do it, and I’m gone.”
“You’re gone? Would you just make fucking sense?”
“Take me home,” I beg.
“We’re going, okay?” he utters, rolling his eyes with annoyance.
We sit in the car in silence, Wesley staring out the window in a distant gaze. I hold back the rest of my tears, reliving what happened with Carson.
Every woman fears being raped, but when the reality is so close, perspective changes.
Where was Wesley to protect me? This is his family.
I will forever be bound to them if our relationship progresses.
I don’t think I can do this. All the pain, the hardship—love isn’t getting me through it. It’s only making it harder to climb out.
And Wesley, he hasn’t said one word to me in the car.
He doesn’t care that he found me upset, or that I want so desperately to getaway.
My phone buzzes in my purse, momentarily distracting me. I pull it out and see that Mama has responded to my text.
Mama: It’ll be nice to have you home. Liam misses you xx
I shake my head in confusion at the mention of his name. Liam seems like a lifetime ago, yet safe, comforting—all the things that Wesley isn’t giving me. He continues to sit across the other side, this gap between us seems impossible to bridge.
Knocking on the glass window, it slides down and the driver leans his ear to listen. “Sir, can you please take me home?”
The driver looks at Wesley through the rear-view mirror, awaiting a response. Wesley continues his code of silence, and thankfully, the driver follows my instructions.
Turning to face the window, I spend the remaining journey silent.
Nothing but me, my thoughts, and the devil beside me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
We drive down my street, it’s relatively early, and the neighbors are out doing their usual Saturday night bickering on the sidewalk. When the driver parks the car, many turn to watch, and more notably, one has a long-lensed camera.
Paparazzi are at my home.
This is all Wesley’s fault.
I half expect him to demand I stay in the car, but he doesn’t. When it’s clear that he has no interest in me and what happened tonight, I exit and slam the door in his face. Ignoring the flash that almost blinds me, my feet move quickly as I enter our building, not looking back at him, not even once.
Inside my apartment, I welcome the silence with Flynn gone to a gig. I sit on the couch, staring at the wall dressed in this ridiculous dress. I’m desperate to rip it off, a constant reminder of Carson’s wandering eyes.
Holding back the deep cries that linger on the surface, I dial Mama’s number praying she’ll pick up this time.
“Milana, is that you?”
“It’s me, Mama. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes. No. Mama, can we talk about something?”
“Of course, honey, hold on for a minute. I’ll come home.”
“What home, Mama? I’m here… in California.”
“California? Why or earth would you be there?”
Stunned by what she tells me, my lips tremble, the bile in my throat rising. “Mama, I moved to California, remember, with Flynn?”
The tears fall down my face, unwillingly. I have no control. I’ve lost her. The pain, a tidal wave of emotions. My sobbing is broken apart by the short pauses, my head falling between my legs to shield my hollowness.
“I know that, silly. How is Flynn?”
“Good,” I choke, breathing in and out to disguise my grief. “Mama, is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. I’m sorry, sweetie, it’s late. How about we speak tomorrow?”
“But Mama…” I wail, softly but laced with desperation. “I need to talk to you.”
“I know, honey, but I’m so tired. I promise, first thing when I wake up, we’ll talk, okay?”
She says goodbye so quickly, not giving me a chance to get in another word. I don’t allow another minute to pass, calling the manager at the facility. After getting the run-around, and raising my voice at Deidre, I’m finally put through to the head manager, Mrs. Scullino.
“Miss Milenov, I understand your concern, but it’s quite late, and I have some last-minute patients I have to attend to. I think it’s best we schedule a phone meeting.”
“This is a phone meeting. I want to know what’s happening with my mother,” I sputter, momentarily beyond words. “She’s not the same. Some of the things she says… I don’t understand why this is happening so quickly.”
I can hear the sigh on the other end. “Miss Milenov, you sound tired. I really think it’s best we discuss your mother’s condition when you’re in a more rational state.”
“Don’t…” I cry into the receiver. “Don’t tell me I’m not rational. My mother is sick. I need her… do you understand that?”
“Miss Milenov, if you must know, I’m recommending we do some further testing. Her dementia may be an onset of something else. Given her age, and her regular health has been good, I do have some concerns.”
I can barely breathe, my body like jelly yet shaking from the cold that sweeps into the room. As I begin to hyperventilate, unable to form my words to make any sense, Mrs. Scullino attempts to calm me down.
“I come from a big family, being Italian, of course. I understand how much it hurts to find out a loved one isn’t well,” she says, sedately. “If you can come up and see her in the next few days, we can talk about our next steps.”
Through the pain and heartache, I agree to fly up and spend some much-needed time with Mama. I have to invest all m
y energy into making her better before she gets any worse.
We hang up the phone, yet I continue to sit here numb. I have never felt so alone. This life I have created is nothing like I expected. I may be surrounded by people, though the loneliness is palpable. Here I am, drowning, barely able to stay afloat, lost in the dark seas and moving further and further away from the light.
Desperate to find Flynn and beg him to fly home with me, I grab the note on the fridge with the address he posted. I decide against changing outfits, running out the door in a mad rush and driving in a manic state toward the venue.
Although the club is a few miles away, the traffic doesn’t let up at this hour. Red lights, rows and rows of vehicles, desperate to get somewhere and all just as impatient as me. The grueling pace gives me too much time to think. I don’t want to think.
My fingers fumble with the radio, twisting the volume to maximum and allowing the song to blast through the speakers. It’s some love song that irks me. I press another button, welcoming a rap song about fucking someone’s wife or bitch. I can’t quite figure it out.
The club is busy with a line of girls outside dressed in short skirts and hooker heels waiting while trying to flirt with the security guard.
I don’t hold back, demanding to get in because my brother is part of the band. After an hour of cross-checking, I may have just as well waited in the line.
I move quickly past security, cramming like a sardine amongst the crowd. I search the stage, seeing only the equipment and no Flynn. Bumping my way through the crowds, I finally see Flynn at the back. He’s talking to someone, and I yell, though pointless, through the loud noise. He hasn’t noticed me yet, and as I walk toward him, my frustration mounts with the tight crowds and hot air inside.
Moving in closer, Wesley appears beside him. Still dressed in his suit from tonight, he leans into Flynn whispering something into his ear. He extends his hand, Flynn shaking it until he pulls back. Flynn clutches his fist, dropping his gaze with a satisfied smile. My blood begins to spike, and with a brutal push against the people blocking my way, the adrenaline kickstarts—my heart hammering erratically.
“What did you give him?”
Wesley appears surprised to see me, his mouth falling open and more notably, his eyes are that familiar bloodshot red.
“Nothing, it’s none of your business, anyway.”
“Tell… me… what the fuck you gave him!” I’m reeling with anger, unable to disguise my raging tone.
My head darts back and forth between the two of them demanding an answer. When neither of them cooperate, my frustration drives me, yanking his hand toward me, opening it up to find a white pill buried in his palm.
“What is this?”
“Just leave him alone,” Flynn shrugs off. “It’s nothing bad.”
I seethe, gritting my teeth. “Then tell me what it is?”
“Just takes the edge off.”
“Takes the edge off… you gave my brother drugs? I can’t believe you would do this,” I yell through the noise, pointing my finger directly into Wesley’s face.
“I give you everything of me… everything, and this is what you do?” I question, ignoring the people who have stopped around us, watching with annoying curiosity.
“You give me nothing,” he shouts back. “I begged you to fix me. Begged for you to make it all go away. Everything I fucking did or do is for you. And all I ask in return was for you to fucking fix me.”
“How can I fix you when I have my own issues? You think I like seeing you hurt? Do you think I like living in pain? The world doesn’t revolve around Wesley Rich.”
His wicked laugh escapes his sardonic grin. Behind this beautiful man lay a corrupted soul. He wants me to fix him, yet he continues to play these heinous games and drag me along like I’m a pawn.
“That’s where you’re wrong, baby, the world does revolve around me. And the second you realize that, the happier our lives will be.”
I look at him with disgust, ignoring the hurt that stems from his selfish words. “Of course, it does. You don’t care that I’m hurting every day being away from my mother. You don’t care that I’ve been suffering panic attacks that almost cost me my life. And for the record, tonight, Carson tried to rape me. So excuse me, while I forget the world revolves around you.”
I watch the anger morphing, his teeth gritting and the thirst to punch the hell out of something. “You said what?”
“Apparently, I’m another one of your little sluts that he likes to fuck. This isn’t who I am. I will not be called a slut. I can’t do this anymore. And this time, I mean damn well it.”
“So, what are you going to do?” he shouts, with vengeance. “You fucking tell me you love me and what, walk?”
“Yes,” I say out loud, with my posture straight, clarity in my expression. “I walk. Back to my family, back to the people who love me for me. Back to a world that brings happiness, not fear.”
“You mean back to him.”
I lower my head, ignoring his insecure remarks. “Goodbye, Wesley. I do love you, but I guess it’s true. Sometimes… love simply isn’t enough.”
“You can’t just fucking leave me,” he pleads, pulling on my arm with desperation.
I allow it to linger, his touch, just for a moment.
“I can. I will. I need to move on.” Releasing my arm from his grip, I gaze into his eyes one more time as if the door to this life is just about to close. “The worst thing I could have ever done will be to commit myself to you for life. Liam was right all along, maybe it’s him I’m destined to be with. At least I would be safe.”
Staring back, is a man hurt. His complexion completely ashen, the ache inside crippling his movement while he continues to stare vacantly into my eyes. I have never seen him so vulnerable, so completely silent with a pained poise.
And though my words are intended to push him away, but the remorse begins to seep its way in. I don’t want to end it this way.
I never want it to end.
But I know where my heart belongs. It isn’t here in Los Angeles, a place that’s my living nightmare.
It’s in my hometown in Alaska, a place that holds my best memories.
And my heart speaks the words, guides me in the right direction.
I need to go back home.
To Mama.
To Phoebe.
And maybe back to Liam.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Phoebs, would you just stand still for once and stop with that ridiculous duck face?”
The selfie stick is extended in front of us, swaying side to side as I do my best to capture the moment in panoramic, ignoring Liam and Phoebe arguing beside me as we huddle in for the photo. The beautiful stretch of the Bavarian Alps is positioned behind us, basking in the glorious sunlight on this warm, summer’s day.
“Perfect.” I smile to myself, bringing the GoPro back toward me.
Phoebe throws her backpack on to the ground, complaining about her sore shoulders again. She carries too many non-essential items, yet there’s no convincing her otherwise.
“Look, think about how toned your muscles are becoming,” I remind her.
“Did you see the schnitzels and jug of beer I polished off yesterday? This food baby, is about nine months along.” Phoebe pats her belly, purposely pushing it out to create a little round bump. “I probably shouldn’t have eaten the bratwurst and sauerkraut, too. That combo did a number on my stomach.”
“Mine, too. Never say the word sauerkraut to me ever again. Doesn’t that mean sour cabbage?”
“I don’t know. Whatever it is, it did a sour number on my asshole,” she complains, cringing.
My mouth twists, disgusted at her graphic comment but can’t even argue her point since it also makes me ill. I may not have consumed the jug of beer like Phoebe, but one sip, and my stomach growls in a non-hungry way. I’m smart enough to figure out the rest of the jug will only send my stomach into further turmoil. Phoebe—not so much.
<
br /> Then ABBA comes on.
Game over.
Phoebe is just a hot mess, standing on some tabletop and belting out Fernando. Last night was day five of our trip, and I suspect many more tabletop moments involving an intoxicated Phoebe Ann Summers.
But having fun, enjoying life is the whole purpose of the trip.
Thirty days.
The three of us.
Backpacking through Europe.
Leaving Los Angeles three weeks ago is the best thing I could have ever done for myself. It isn’t easy—quite the opposite. It’s the second hardest thing I have done in my life after leaving Mama behind.
Emerson was upset, offering me some time off to go do what I need to do, but I don’t want to be bound by time. She cried, I cried, and I didn’t expect to bond with her as deeply as we did in such a short time. This huge part of me carries guilt. I let her down professionally by allowing my personal life to get the better of me, but at some point, I had to make a decision that’s best for everyone.
I need to find myself, and there’s no time limit on that.
Flynn chose to stay in Los Angeles, moving in with some bandmates to cover costs. A week after I left, he was offered a record deal and a big one at that. Things are going fantastic for him, and deep down inside, I know I have to let go and let him live his life without my constant interference. He’s a big boy and doesn’t need me holding his hands anymore.
The day I stepped foot back on Alaskan soil, my emotions ran high. Mixed feelings about being home but also missing Los Angeles and the life I had built for myself.
Ironic, since I never expected any other place to feel like home.
Mama is happy to see me but equally worries about my welfare. There is no hiding anything from that woman. The second she saw me, she knew the truth.
I still remember the conversation we had the day I returned.
“Milly, I can see you’re lost. Just like when you were a little girl, you would run to me every time, demanding I make you better. Cry until I did. You’re a big girl now, and I won’t always be around to fix your booboos.”