I’m mute, unable to say a word and Cole rushes to dial 911 from beside me.
“Do you love me, Julian? We’re meant to be, you and I. We’re married already, everyone knows,” Sandra says. “I’m the love of your life.”
Her voice seems to grow louder, her eyes darker and much more lifeless. In her hands are two blades, probably the same ones that she used to slice her wrists open.
“Sandra,” I start. “Put the blades down.”
“No, you have to go with me right now!” she shouts, agitated now.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll go with you,” I say, stepping closer to her as Cole rambles off in a rush to the operator. I have to keep her focus on me. If she’s looking at me, she won’t do anything stupid.
“Stop!” she shouts, tears now streaming down her face. “Tell me you love me.”
“I love you,” I say on automatic and she starts laughing. It’s chilling, hard, and humorless. God, how to help her? Does she even want help or she’s ready to just give in and quit?
“No, you don’t,” she whispers. “You’re too messed up and empty to love me. No one will love you either.”
“Maybe,” I whisper. “But you need to put those blades down,” I say as she starts shifting unsteadily on her feet, looking like she’s about to pass out.
“No, nothing you say now will matter,” she croaks. I look around, desperate for help but there’s no one. “It’s too late for me.”
“The ambulance is coming,” Cole whispers to me.
“We need to get Matthews back here right now!” I whisper hotly.
“No! Don’t call them,” Sandra cries, as a look of pure, unadulterated terror crosses her face, stealing my breath away with its intensity. My God, what happened to her?
“Sandra, look at me. I won’t call them, but you need to put those down now, okay.”
“No! They’ll do anything to get to you. They’re jealous and if you don’t go away with me, they’ll hurt us.”
Hurt us? Did those assholes hurt their own sister? They look twisted enough for that shit if you ask me.
Just then, the wailing sounds of an ambulance breaks the tense silence making Sandra jump.
“No!” she screams. “You called people! They’ll just take me away. They won’t believe me!”
“They can go away, just calm down, love,” Cole says for the first time, looking at her with so much pain in his eyes.
“Sandra, put the blades down and we can go anywhere you want,” I coax softly.
“No, they’ll take me back there. I won’t let them touch me again!” Sandra screams and I see the way she’s holding the blades now. As if she wants to stab herself.
“Sandra, listen to me…”
“No, you should’ve loved me,” she cries, her voice hoarse, with a finality to it that sinks into me slowly. “You should’ve saved me.”
And with that, she plunges both blades into the sides of her throat.
“No!” Cole shouts and runs over to her, but I know it’s useless as blood gushes out angrily, pooling on the tar of the parking lot. “No, stay alive, damn it!”
I rush to help, but we watch helplessly as the life bleeds out of her faster than we can stop it and all I can think, all I hear, all I feel is her last words.
I should’ve saved her. I should’ve done something.
I should’ve noticed the signs… but I didn’t.
And now, she’s dead because of me. I did this. Her blood is on my hands.
18
I wake up feeling groggy, disoriented and off center, but strangely I’m well rested, well fucked and emotionally well spent.
I actually slept, something I haven’t done in God only knows how many days, weeks, maybe months?
I’m cognizant of the little fact that I didn’t have a nightmare this time, which is a damn relief, but I also didn’t dream of anything in particular. All I remember before the sweet, mindless oblivion took me was being in Julian’s arms. I think I was crying, yes, I was, and he held me in a solid embrace, lulling me to sleep as only he can into Julian’s chest, then nothing after that.
I sit up on the bed, the sheets falling down to my waist. I rub my eyes and bit by bit, I become conscious of being watched. And not just being watched, but watched intensely, being seen, studied, observed by someone who both knows my body with an intimacy that has never been allowed anyone else, and a certain level of darkness that made me shiver and not the good kind.
I look around the room for him, then find him watching me. He’s sitting by the mini bar, a dark drink in one hand, while his other hand clenches and unclenches slowly, rhythmically, like he’s trying to hold back from doing something, but his cold, dark, hard gaze is set on me.
A powerful shiver moves through me when I hold his stare, but I can’t for the life of me, figure out what’s going on with him.
I take in the icy cold stare of his gaze, the hard, rigid set of his body as he sits there, the energy vibrating from him so at odds with last night while I was in his arms, that I pause, staring at him.
Something’s wrong. I can feel it in the way he takes a sip of his drink, the way his jaw is locked. How long has he been sitting there like that, watching me with that gaze?
He takes a sip of his drink again, still watching me, not saying a damn word. I take a deep breath and decide to break the ice, hating the thick silence that has fallen over us.
“Morning,” I whisper, not sure what to say. What’s going through that head of his? He looks so gorgeous, this guy that sometimes I can’t get over it. Like now, he’s dark, broody with his mussed-up hair, like he’s just been gripping it, then running his fingers through it, frustrated. His chiseled face so tense and impassive, as if he’s shutting me out, not wanting me to read him.
And that alone has alarms blaring in my head.
Something is very much wrong here.
“We land in a few minutes,” his says, his voice dark and sinister, sending chills down my back. Not the regular, ‘make-you-fucking-horny’ shivers he usually gives me, no, this is different.
These are angry, cold, and vibrating with tension.
“Oh,” I whisper. I must have slept the entire flight, but then again, I was so emotionally spent. “I guess we need to go down and take our seats, right?”
“Yes,” he says simply, still watching every move I make like he’s waiting for something to happen.
Okay, the mood swings are back so it seems. I go to stand up, ready to get out of this damn plane but before my sock clad feet can touch the floor, he stops me.
“Stay there,” he mutters darkly, making another shiver race down my spine.
“Julian?” I stare at him, my knees growing weak at the intensity of his stare. “The plane is about to land,” I say standing up and that seems to push him.
“Sit down, Mia,” he demands, and my mouth grows dry. Jesus, he’s not angry, he’s livid. At me, so it seems. His gaze is ice cold as he chugs the rest of his drink, setting the glass done on the bar with a harsh thud that reverberates through the small room. “I said sit the fuck down.”
I take in deep breaths, trying to calm down.
Something has him in a mood I don’t like and I’m starting to think that Julian suffers from multiple personality disorder.
I watch him like a wounded, feral beast about to attack me because three things are clear to me as Julian gets up from the stool, unfolding his powerful yet rigid frame like he’s only now coming alive, letting me feel his bristling anger that’s so intense it makes him look icy instead.
Icy, irritated and headed for me.
Number one, he hasn’t taken his eyes off me since I woke up.
Two, I don’t have my shoes on anymore and three…I look down to confirm, but it’s right there, right fucking there… my sleeves were rolled up, exposing me from my wrist to my elbows. He can clearly see everything. All of them.
I gasp, horror and embarrassment slamming into me like a cyclone, taking away the
morning glow as I stare into his hard, black gaze, the green completely gone. I take a step back, feeling sick to my stomach now.
No… Oh God no!
My heart starts pounding so hard as the truth is right in front of him, laid bare for him to see and it all happened way earlier, before I could even think of how to tell him.
Come on, bitch, were you going to tell him about this? The snarky voice is my head questions as tears sting my eyes.
I can’t remember the last time I felt this kind of mortifying embarrassment before. My heart actually races so hard I think I’m growing faint.
“Sit down, Mia,” Julian repeats, the look on his face stopping my heart. Though he tries to look at me like with sympathy and horror, he’s looking at me like I’m crazy and disgusting for doing this to myself.
He’s not wrong though. It’s just not a look I can face coming from him.
“No,” I mutter, pain clogging my throat now.
“You never do as you’re told, do you?” he growls.
“I’m not a dog,” I fire back, breathless as my heart thunders loudly in my chest.
“Of course you’re not,” he says dryly, taunting me. “A dog knows it’s limits. A dog, Mia, will chase its own tail until it’s tired. Sometimes, it will bite its own tail, but it would never do that shit again because it would have learned its lesson. You, Mia, are not a fucking dog.”
Oh God. What do I do here? I had feared that when he found out about this, he was going to look at me differently, that he was going to think I was just like all the other nutjob girls that lusted after him. I was right. He’s looking at me like that and it’s killing me right now.
“Julian—”
“My brother sat on that bed in your room just last week and told you about Sandra Matthews,” he starts, his voice now void of emotion as if he’s talking to a stranger or a freaking robot. “He sat there and told you that she killed herself, didn’t he?”
No, oh God, no, don’t let me do this.
“Please stop,” I gasp, my heart in my throat.
“Don’t what?” He glares at me.
“Don’t look at me like that!” I cry, waving at his gorgeous face. “Stop looking at me like I’m wired wrong, like I have a few screws loose. Just stop.”
“Christ, Mia,” he says, shoving both hands through his hair. “You can’t be serious. Is that what you’re seeing or are you making up what you want to see on my face?”
Oh my God, is that what I’m doing right now?
“I’m the one looking at you right now! I’m the one who can see the disgust on your face.”
“Disgust? Jesus, Mia, stop,” he bites out. “Just fucking stop.”
But it’s right there. I want to scream, but I bite own on my lower lip, looking at anything but him, feeling my heart break all over again.
“Look at me, Mia,” he demands. “Look at my face and tell me what you see. Stop making shit up that you think I should be feeling in this moment, that’s not you, so look at me.”
Overwhelmed by shame and mortification at myself, I look up at him, my lips quivering as tears blur my vision.
“Good, now tell me,” he prompts, wrapping an arm around my waist, holding my trembling body to his hardness. “What do you see?”
“Don’t make me do this.”
“I will if it means the thoughts in your head disappear. Now, tell me,” he demands. But I shake my head again, refusing to take that step.
It’s fucking cruel to do so. I don’t want to be the one who points out that there’s pity, horror, and a dash of disgust in his eyes when he looks at me.
I’m not just thinking it, it’s right there, replacing all the hot, sexy looks he gave me hours before when he pinned me to the bed and fucked me without bothering to strip me down.
“I can’t,” I whisper. “I can’t be the one who tells you that you saw my slashed wrists and the cuts on my arms and now, you’re looking at me with so much sympathy in your eyes, it’s making me feel all rotten inside.”
“What the fuck?” he exclaims, reeling back like I just slapped him across the face. “I’m not made of fucking granite, Mia, contrary to popular belief, I’m human. I feel shit and when it comes to you, I feel the messed up, complicated stuff I’m still navigating, and none of that shit includes a drop of disgust.” He stares at me with disbelief. “When I look at you, I see us. I see the future we’re going to have.”
That makes me freeze.
“The future we’re going to have?” I whisper, in shock. How can he be this cruel about the situation we’re in?
“Yes, our fucking future, it’s still on, Mia!” he seethes. “And just because my mother told you some shit doesn’t change a fact.” He grabs my hand again, exposing the cuts. “This also doesn’t change anything either.”
I see it on his face, what he refuses to say out loud and my heart just drops and shatters to the floor between us. It’s right there and I can’t take it any longer.
“I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” I say in a rush, feeling like I’m about to pass out at the rate my heart is thundering in my chest. “I swear, Julian, I didn’t—”
“How the hell do you to that?” he groans. “Look in my face and lie?”
“I’m not—” I start to defend myself, but he grabs my hand, holding it firm and looks down at the several scratches there, some made by the broken ceramic vase I used at the hotel, others by my own nails when I punctured myself, just to draw blood and feel better.
“Why, Mia?” he questions, sounding in that moment not angry, not pissed off or scared, but understanding. The tone of his voice shocks me so much that for a moment, I just stare at him, not knowing what to say. “Tell me.”
“I…” I trail off, tears welling in my eyes. How do I explain this? How do I tell him about the monsters that love to torment me at all hours of the day?
How do I tell him about the whispers? The voices? The screams lodged in my throat from nightmares that chase after me in the dark?
Nightmares about a little girl whose face I can’t see?
How do I begin to tell him that I feel guilty and I hate myself so much sometimes the pressure of it is too much, I feel like I might self-combust with the weight of it all? How do I tell him that?
“Talk to me, Mia,” he says, his gaze penetrating into me, but I just… I can’t do this with him. Because I can’t face the truth myself, let alone speak it out loud.
“It’s none of your damn business,” I whisper, my throat tingling with unshed tears. “I didn’t ask you to roll up my sleeves or follow me or butt into my business, so get out of my way and back off.”
God… how big of a bitch do I have to be to say something like that? Oh yeah, me. This bitch who killed her mother.
Julian doesn’t say anything as I quickly put on my shoes, finger brush my hair and tie it into a messy bun, then I grab my backpack and make my way downstairs, back to my seat where I ignore every inquisitive eye and strap in, looking out the window, but not seeing how beautiful Paris is.
I don’t see anything, but Julian when he comes to take his seat beside me. I can feel him bristling with anger, but he doesn’t look at me reminding me again of how toxic he and I are together. Urgh, this is so fucked.
* * *
When we land, I ignore Julian as best as I can, but he silently follows me, not saying a word, mad as hell, watching my every move.
This is totally making my heart fucking ache, especially knowing that he knows I stooped so low and hurt myself, repeatedly.
I can’t even look him in the eye, feeling like I don’t deserve the understanding and love I see mixed with the frustration and anger.
Which means, I don’t deserve him. Whatever’s going on between us, I know I don’t deserve his attention or his love like this. And now, I just want to get away from him.
I don’t want to see that look on his face, the ‘suicidal watch’ look. I’m not suicidal, well, at least not today. I didn’t wake up screaming
, a first since Nancy died. In a way that’s a step in the right direction so I refuse to think that it was because of Julian.
Just because he fucked me with his fingers, his tongue and his big, hard cock and made me come three times in less than ten minutes doesn’t mean he’s all magical and shit, able to fuck my nightmares away.
“This is stupid,” he growls behind me. I know he’s brooding but I can do that too, but my game? It’s the silent treatment so I don’t say anything. We go through customs, but my need for space away from him makes itself known. I need to get away from him somehow.
So, I tell him I’m going to the bathroom and he stops and leans against the wall to wait for me. I watch as he takes out his phone, then I make my move.
I dash into a store and quickly buy a pre-paid phone, an old one that doesn’t have any capabilities of internet surfing. Right now, that’s a fucking gift.
I pay and then switch it on, grateful that it’s got battery power. I dial Rye’s number that Nicky gave me, and she answers on the first ring. I guess she’s always with her phone, typical Rye.
“Hello?”
“Rye,” I say. and she squeals, making my ear hurt. “Hey, keep it down will you.”
“Ah shit, I forgot that you’re noise sensitive sometimes.”
Sometimes? What does that even mean? But I don’t ask that.
“Fuck, when was the last time you called me, Mia?” she squeals again, but a bit more civilized this time. “I’m so freaking glad that you’re here! Have you landed already?’
“Yeah, that’s why I’m calling,” I start, looking to see if Julian is still where I left him. He is, now on the phone, looking angry. “I just landed a few minutes ago.”
“Ah shit, I should’ve picked you up but with the final auditions tomorrow, it’s been crazy.”
“Final auditions?”
“Oh yeah,” she squeals again. “For Paris Opera Company, you know, the one where your mom made waves and left a legacy there?”
I know which one she’s gushing about simply because I’m the one who introduced her to them, after I made mom—I mean, Nancy, write her a letter of recommendation just for a few classes. It was also the school I’d been busting my ass to get into, just to keep my Nancy’s legacy alive. The school that I vowed to make her proud and now…
Cruel Kisses: It’s Just High School #2 Page 21