Didn't You Promise (A Bad for You Novel) (17 page)

I close my eyes. He did it, he really did. My lungs sting. I never knew my body could contain such joy and sorrow at once.

I’m so proud of you
,
Haithem...

It hurts so sweetly to breathe.

“—
sure to have national
,
global
,
economic and environmental impacts
—”

“What’s wrong with you?” Mrs. Johnson screeches.

My eyes fly open. People turn to me. Mrs. Johnson really can’t decipher between a whisper and a roar.

“Nothing, I’m fine.” I wipe my face. Damn, my cheeks are wet. I sniff, brushing away the evidence.

“But you’re crying,” she says, louder again.

Jenny places a hand on my shoulder. “You okay, Angelina?”

They’re all looking at me, at least a dozen sets of eyes. I’m already strange enough everywhere I go these days, and here at least I’ve avoided looks like the one Jenny gives me—
pitying
.

I clear my throat and force a smile. “I’m just really glad the planet might not die now.”

Mrs. Johnson nods. “Yes, that’s a good thing, I’d say.”

Everyone begins to nod, and talk shifts to global warming, whose fault it is, and what should have already been done. I extract myself from the discussion, needing to get back to work anyway.

I return to my desk. It’s not so easy to focus on typing out next week’s lunch menus. My head spins. The watch seems tighter on my wrist. I adjust it, wanting both to tear it off and to embed it in my skin.

Haithem.

There’s a pain that never ends. Never goes away. I’m growing into it, finding a path through the middle, but I never stop wishing...

I’d give anything—anything just to see him one more time.

Chapter Twenty-Four

I pull in to the community center parking lot, driving into a spot against the curb. This time of the evening, an hour before closing, I can have my pick of spots. During business hours I wouldn’t attempt it. Driving around in circles isn’t so much my thing. I lift the parking brake, eyes trained on the mirror. The white car rolls under a tree a few buildings down.

Right on cue
.

Looks like my conversation with Karim stood for a whole lot, because I’m betting it’s not Goodman. She likes her job too much. Not that I’m surprised, the fact that Karim is even a little like Haithem means the know-it-all stubbornness is ingrained.

A fresh wave of grief washes over me. I lean my head back. Big breath in—big breath out. Just like the therapist showed me. Yeah, I’ve taken that leap. For months now I’ve poured my heart out to a stranger who just nods her head and says “Hmm” a lot. Asks me how I feel about
this
and what I’m going to do about
that
. Keeps the parents off my back. One thing the therapist has helped with is the family therapy that got me out of the house. Not that Mum and Dad know all I’m talking about is Josh. Not
this
. Not Haithem. Not the way I turn my head and think I see a flash of him always just out of sight. Not the way I lay in bed, body burning, thinking of him, convincing myself he’s going to turn up. In two weeks, on the first of July, the day it all happens, he’ll come for me just as he
swore
he would.

Definitely, I don’t ever talk about the number of times I’ve put on my little black dress, stood in the highest heels I own at the front door, fingers on the handle, telling myself to open the door, go down stairs, walk down the street to the bar and find something mean and male to fuck.

Like then maybe I can scrub him out of my blood and be normal.

I unbuckle the seat belt, leave the car, then march into the community center through the automatic doors. I go directly to the group I’ve been attending for months. Something special I’ve always wanted to do. My secret project may just be the thing that’s kept me going and kept me determined. Everything is almost ready and now there’s excitement simmering away on top of my concoction of emotions.

Group finishes exactly on the hour. I pack away the tables and chairs before heading back towards reception. Another door remains open in the hallway, one I’ve been tempted to enter ever since I first walked past it.

I pause in the doorway.

The man I’ve glanced in passing every week packs up mats and stacks them in the corner of the room. He moves smoothly and easily. He has everything a man needs to have for that feline part of me to wake up and purr. He picks up a large bag. His biceps flex, his triceps too. There’s not an ounce of fat on this guy. I walk into the room. Not much hair either. His arms have to be waxed to be that smooth.

The feline part of me is hungry—starving. She’s been trained to feed like a glutton then spent months fasting. I could eat this guy. Roll him over and show him things I bet he’s never seen.

Things another man taught me.

Like that, the pressure between my hips eases.

Once again I’m hollow.

He turns. His front is even better than his profile. A truly pretty face on the most male of forms. High cheekbones, smooth skin. Slanted dark eyes. Not so tall, but perfectly proportioned.

I’d have dated this guy once upon a time.

No, actually, I’d have wanted to date this guy. What I’d actually have done is crushed on him and prayed to all the pagan gods he’d notice me.

His gaze settles on me, his expression shifting as he takes me in. There’s something that comes over him. He stands taller and sets his bag down. He knows who I am. Not in the way of having checked me out around the center as I did him. He knows me like everyone else. From my pictures plastered all over the media.

I should go.

“Hi,” he says.

His name is David Wong, I know because Cindy at reception told me. But he doesn’t give me the regular look. Not the sad little look I’m used to seeing. He gives me something else that I haven’t figured out.

“I wanted to ask about your beginner’s self-defense classes?”

His mouth turns down at the side. “You just missed it. We start at six.”

“Actually, I was hoping for private lessons.” I shift, my bag getting a little heavier on my shoulder. “Wasn’t sure if you do that kind of thing?”

He smiles, his teeth flashing—small and white and even. I can almost picture the braces he must’ve worn in his teens. “When do you want to start?”

“Soon as you can—” I pause, my rapidly diminishing bank balance coming to mind. “What do you charge for private lessons?”

He drops my gaze and scoops up his bag. “For you, group price.”

That’s ten dollars. I saw the price on his flyer. Not one fifth of the amount I’d Googled for private training.

“I don’t need charity.”

He frowns. “It’s not charity. It’s just the right thing to do.”

My teeth clamp together. I hear the speculation in my mind. Every unauthorized television feature I’ve seen.
What terrible things happened to poor little Angelina?
Everyone seems to have their own ideas about me. I don’t want him to, I want to be a normal girl talking to a normal guy.

I’d have to find a very isolated part of the world for that to happen.

“Why is it the right thing to do?” I step a little closer, lift my jaw. “Do I look especially weak to you?”

I roll my shoulders, push out my chin and throw off my best attitude.

Just try calling me weak
,
buster.

“No. It’s the right thing to do because you came here for a reason,” he says softly. Looks me right in my narrowed gaze. “Being the person to make it happen is all the payment I need.”

I hold his unwavering gaze. I know what the look he gave me before is. The answer is in his eyes. He’s been through shit before too. Nasty shit you either survive or let claim you. He looks at me with
understanding
.

My chin droops and I break free of his gaze. That’s the one thing I haven’t experienced since I’ve come home. Not even in my phone chats with Emma. My own fault, since I haven’t been honest with her once. Maybe, this could be the most dangerous thing yet. It makes my tongue want to blurt things out. Tell truths that need to remain untold.

But I know better. “Okay, so when can we do this?”

“What are you doing now?”

“Seriously?” I glance past him to the darkened hall. “The center is closing.”

He grins. “I have after-hours access.”

I laugh. Oh boy, Cindy must be more infatuated than I’d thought. “So how did you get such special privileges?”

He slides his bag across the timber flooring. “I’ve been a very good boy, for a very long time.”

I moisten my lips. Can’t tell if he’s flirting or if he’s just one of those people who always seem to be. Given his special privileges I’m guessing the latter.

“I’m not really dressed for it.”

That’s a fact. I’m still in work clothes. A skirt and shirt and heels. Granted my kitten heels are on the itty-bitty newborn size, but they’re not sneakers.

“Let’s just be frank here why don’t we?” He pushes one fist into the palm of his hand.

Oh shit—
frank
. As in honest? Forthright? That kind of thing? Not sure I do that anymore.

“You didn’t come here with grand hopes of being a jujutsu grand champion. You want to know how to fuck shit up if someone messes with you right?”

“Pretty much.”

He steps closer and lowers his voice. “So what are you going to do if someone comes at you? Say excuse me while I go change into something more appropriate?”

My lips tighten. “No.”

“That’s right. You use what you have.” He scans me. “What do you have on you right now?”

I glance down my body. Not a samurai sword that’s for sure. There’s gum, chocolate wrappers, a marker and some loose change in my handbag. “Nothing.”

“There’s a heel on those shoes, they don’t have to be big to hurt.” He taps my forearm with two fingers. “But you have your hands, your arms, your knees—and most importantly you have your head.” He brings those same two fingers up to his temple. “Someone comes at you, that’s what you use. If you can run, run. Throw your handbag and use the distraction to take off in the other direction. The best defense you can have is to get away from danger.”

“What happened to fucking shit up?” I take a step back.

“That comes next. If you’re cornered, boxed in, then we go for maximum damage.” He steps forward, slams his sneaker down into the floor beside my shoe. “Foot.” I jump, just not fast enough to avoid the knee he directs towards my groin. “Balls.” He stops short of contact, then thrusts his palm towards my face. “Break the nose.”

I blink, and jerk my head back.

“Now you try,” he says, and settles back an extra foot from me.

I put my handbag down and move closer, stomp my foot next to his, and repeat the moves. He corrects me and gives direction. Then shows me more. How to break a hold on the wrists, how to get out of a headlock, and even when to go for a good old-fashioned head-butt. Also, where you can strike a person for maximum damage.

We finish and my arms turn to jelly. My scalp itches with sweat. I hadn’t realized we’d worked so hard. Somehow I manage to feel lighter. As though the extra oxygen has re-energized my cells. I collect my handbag and find a ten-dollar note from my wallet and hold it out.

“Thank you, David,” I say with a smile. “Same time next week?”

His eyes shift to the money, for a moment I think maybe he won’t take it and I’ll have to use my new moves on him.

“Absolutely.”

He takes the note from my fingers.

I smile a little wider. “See you later.” I pull my handbag over my shoulder and walk to the doors.

“Angelina?”

I glance back. “Yeah?”

“Have a drink with me?” He’s still standing right where I left him.

I chew my cheek.

He runs a hand through his hair.

I exhale.
Could I?

“What about dinner sometime?” He drops his gaze to the floorboards. His face has a little more color. I can’t believe it—
he’s
nervous to ask
me
out?

“I’m assuming you eat?” His lips rub together then he looks at me again.

My cheeks warm. Something in my stomach clenches. The feeling like I’m doing something bad, betraying the memory of someone who still has one-hundred-plus percent of my heart. The sensation gets worse. It’ll never get better if I don’t make it better.

“Sure.” I fish in my bag then walk over, take his hand in mine, and turn it over. It’s smooth but there’s calluses on his fingers. His nails are trimmed and neat.

I pull the cap off the marker and write my cell-phone number on his hand.

He swallows and his pointy Adam’s apple bobs. “I’ll call you.”

“Good.” I put my marker away and walk out the door. There’s a certainty to my step I never used to have. If I dared unleash this Angelina on the world, there’d be no limit to what she could do—or what she could have.

Maybe one day.

One day I will. When I’m healed I’ll let her out to play. Right now though, I’ll start with a date.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Hmm.” I glance up from the menu of the local pancake place.

David’s holding a menu as well, looking down at it as though it’s written in another language. “What?”

His hair’s been gelled neatly, making him look younger, much younger. I wonder how old he is. I thought he was older than me. Now I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s just that his face is so smooth. You can’t see his stubble.

“I guess I took you for a clean food kinda guy.” I smile, flicking my gaze to the muscles straining his trendy T-shirt. Somehow, I don’t think David would wear a proper shirt unless he was at a funeral. Maybe not even then.

His lips quirk, and he takes a sip of water. “Well, I took you for a sweet kinda girl.”

I laugh, and shake my head. Sweet, I don’t think he has any idea what I’m really like.

“Sweets I mean, a sweets kind of girl.” He looks back down at his menu.

My brow lifts. I mean I know I’m still curvy. Thing is now I like that. A lot. Don’t think anyone who doesn’t deserves to enjoy it quite frankly. “Is that observation based on body type?”

He clears his throat and meets my gaze again. There’s heat in his eyes now. “On nature.”

My chin lifts. So maybe he does get me a little. That yes, I like sweets. Because I like all those kinds of things. Things that
taste
good—things that
smell
good—things that
feel
good.

“But I dunno, I guess I thought this place was friendly.”

Shit, he’s being sensitive.
Nice
. Easing me into this dating thing. Didn’t try taking me to a bar, which in truth, I probably would have walked out of. I’m not used to
sensitive
.

I’m used to pushy, stubborn, bull-headed, dominant—my head fills with memories—protective, loving, supportive...

I need to stop this.

“Ahh, I see,” I say.

The waitress arrives. David orders the salad. I must have missed that section on the menu.

“What would you like?” the waitress asks.

I scan the menu one last time. Six months ago, I’d have at least attempted to order something from the savory section. Now I go ahead and choose just exactly what I want.

“I’ll have the strawberry-and-ice-cream stack with extra chocolate fudge.”

David smiles to himself, and hands the waitress the menus.

“And to drink?”

“Water,” David says.

She takes the menus and looks at me.

“I’ll have a glass of the house white.” Let’s face it, I can use the liquid courage.

She leaves our table, before long returning with the drinks.

We fill the silence with small talk.

Turns out David is a former SAS soldier and fought in Iraq. He’s also twenty-eight, older than I thought, and I can’t help taking him more seriously. The wine helps with conversation. Don’t think I’ve ever been so witty with a guy before. But then the food comes, and so does the quiet.

I pick at the pancakes. The idea of them was more appealing than the reality. There’s a puddle of butter and the chocolate makes my stomach clench. I don’t really want to put anything in my mouth. I remind myself I’m on a date, and try to let myself flirt with this guy who’s actually pretty great. I’m under no illusion I’ll ever find what I had before. But one day I’d like to have someone around. Someone to hold me and someone to kiss me. A nice guy like this guy. He’ll probably screw me sweetly, and sometimes maybe it’ll be enough. Other times I know it won’t be.

Maybe once I get to know him better, I’ll get up the nerve to ask a nice guy to give it to me rough. Maybe he won’t. Maybe he will, and maybe I’ll shut my eyes and pretend I’m somewhere else.

On a yacht.

We finish our meal. I insist on splitting the bill and he respects that. He drives me home. Even opens the car door when he parks out front of my apartment building. It’s all very polite.

“Can I walk you up?”

We stand in the street, directly under a streetlamp. Walk me up? Is that like Netflix and Chill? I never learned this kind of dating etiquette.

I should’ve had Emma on standby for SMS instructions. She knows all the code. I glance at the building. He could walk me up. I don’t have to decide to let him in yet.

“It’s a lot of stairs.”

He shoots me his cute smile. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t mind exercise.”

I laugh softly. “Then you can enjoy the climb for both of us.”

I decide to let him take me inside.

Haithem

“Do you want me to intervene?”

I ignore Karim’s question. All my will—all of it is focused on one thing.
Stay in the fucking apartment
. Stay in this apartment. Don’t storm downstairs. Don’t rip off an innocent man’s limbs. I stare down at the street. Stare at the couple bathed in light from a streetlamp. I already know everything there is to know about this David Wong. The man can defend himself.

I’ll still win.

I’ll still be able to hurt him worse than he’s making me suffer right now if he dares touch her. Angelina laughs. I squint, did I see correctly? Her chin tilts up and I know the shape her mouth makes. The sound doesn’t reach up here, but it’s clear in my mind.
She’s laughing
. This guy did that for her. Pure joy shoots through the pain like polytechnics. An explosion of color when I’ve seen nothing but black for months.

She’s okay.

I’ve broken us. I’ve broken her heart—broken mine. But she has a chance now. A chance to be alive and
well
. They move away from the streetlamp and Angelina punches the code into the pad beside the front entrance. David goes inside with her.

I back away from the window.

Karim reaches my side. “I can set off the fire alarms?”

“No.” I embrace the hurt moving through my midsection, and turn my back to the window. “You’ll leave her alone.”

“But—” Karim says, with a stutter “—who knows what she’s going to let happen now, in there with
him
. It’s not right. We can’t allow it.”

My jaw clenches. I remind myself he was my father’s friend—is mine. That his morals can’t tolerate this when he knows that one day she could be my wife.

My
morals have always been flexible. It’s my heart and pride fucking things up right now. I need to stay in this apartment. Need space before I put something or someone through the damn window.

“Get out of the apartment, Karim. I need space.”

He doesn’t move, the stubborn prick.

“You’re not staying dead forever. She’s going to move on without you.”

Muscles contract around my shoulders and down my arms to my squeezing fingers.

“Then it’s no less than what I deserve.” My voice explodes through the room.

Karim stiffens.

I hadn’t meant to shout, but I shouted. I’m shaking. My fists tremble at my sides.

“You risked everything for her and you’d just let her go?” Karim speaks to me gently, the way he did when I was a child. The way he did five and half years ago when I turned up at his doorstep after seeing my parents’ home for the last time. When he swore he’d give his life to seeing Father’s work finished. “It’s not like you to give up.”

“I won’t be giving up.” I uncurl my fingers, and turn back to the window. “This just means I’ll have to win her back.”

The street’s quieter at this time of the evening, but headlights still roll over the corner of the building from turning cars.

“The right way—the way I should have the first time.”

Karim clasps my shoulder. “Okay, Haithem. If this is what you want. I’ll give you some space.”

He leaves, shutting the door almost silently behind him.

I’m alone in the hell of my own making.