Equal Parts (20 page)

People avoided me like the plague, and I was fine with it.

Finally, the train reached Lucia’s stop, and I jumped off before any inspectors could get aboard. Her house was down a few blocks, in a mostly retired neighborhood, surrounded by leafy trees and bright gardens. It had been so long since I’d seen proper greenery – it was such a nice change from the Spartan interior of Achilles’s apartment and the smoky streets of the city.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I knocked on Lucia’s door. She lived with her older sister, Mia, who usually worked at the art gallery during the day, so that wasn’t a problem. My biggest fear was that Lucia would turn me away, or worse still, call the cops.

Suddenly the door swung open and I stepped back instinctively, ready to make a run for it if I needed to.

A freckled face greeted me, blue eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Felicity?” she whispered in shock.

“Sorry I didn’t call first” was what came from me, though I was too upset to hear myself.

I fully expected her to slam the door on my face. Instead, she launched herself at me, arms hugging me close. It wasn’t until I felt her body trembling that I realized she was crying. It was a foreign – but weirdly pleasant – feeling, knowing someone actually cared that I was alive.

“I was so worried,” she gushed, clutching me tighter. “I saw it all over the news when I was with Brad, and – oh, Felicity, I feel so horrible! I
let
you walk away, even though you were all alone! I should have walked you to your car like a good friend, I knew it the minute I got on the bus!”

I went to argue, but she pulled me inside the house, kicking the door closed behind us. “Are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?” she asked. Her eyes roamed over my soot-drenched clothing and beat-down appearance, but I shook my head.

“No, no, I’m fine. I just … I don’t have anywhere else to go.” It sounded as pathetic as I felt at that moment.

But thankfully, Lucia was made of stronger stuff than me. She pulled a blanket from the closet in the hallway, wrapped it around me, and all but shoved me into a dining chair in the homely kitchen. I sent a quick prayer of thanks that she hadn’t put me in a bedroom – I didn’t think my sanity could handle being cooped up in yet another unfamiliar room.

She filled two mugs with tea and set the kettle to boil before pulling up a seat across from me. Her blue eyes were the softest I’d ever seen them. “You stay here as long as you need, okay? Mia’s at some art convention in Boston for a fortnight, so it can be just you and me. Take anything you want, anything you need.”

“That’s twice this morning I’ve been told that,” I said with a watery smile. It all seemed too much, all at once. One more scrap of pity from Lucia and I’d be pooling tears all over her lovely floors.

“Do you want to go to the police? I’m sure they’ll be looking for you – to check on you, of course, not to arrest you or anything,” she added hastily, as though the
police
were my greatest fear. Ha. I wished. “They found your bag at the old police station, so they figured you’d escaped somehow.”

“W-was it bad? The police station, I mean.” I knew she’d give it to me straight. Finn would have softened the blow; Lucia was all about direct honesty. Part of the reason she was my best friend.

She winced. “A few casualties, especially on the bad side. Achilles escaped, though.” She must have seen the panic jump to life in my eyes, because she continued, “But he’s probably long gone by now. Why would he stay in the city if he’s been hunted?”

“Because he’s coming for me,” I said quietly, dropping my head into my hands.

In an instant, Lucia was beside me, arm around my shoulder. “Hey, now, don’t worry. He won’t find you here. For starters, I have a kickass home security system. Give it a few weeks, I’m sure he’ll forget all about you.”

“Yeah,” I agreed miserably. I knew as well as she did that Achilles wasn’t famous for forgiving or forgetting. “I’m so sorry, Lucia. I should never have come here.”

“Stop that, Eastwood. I won’t tolerate that attitude. If you’re going to bounce back from this, the first thing we have to work on is your self-esteem. Well, maybe after you … ah … tidy up a little,” she added, staring meaningfully at my bird’s nest hairdo.

I actually smiled – one of the first I’d shown in what felt like days. “That would be really nice, actually. I haven’t had a real shower in … well, however long I was gone for.”

She gaped at me. “It was about six weeks. And what do you mean, a ‘real’ shower? N-not that you have to tell me.” Poor Lucia. Her shamelessly curious nature was probably screaming at her to ask a million questions, but she was trying so hard to be tactful. I appreciated it, even if I knew that, eventually, I’d have to tell her everything.

“I showered in my underwear most of the time, because it … it was…” How in the world could I explain that vulnerability?

But Lucia seemed to understand. “I don’t blame you, sweetie.” She stared at her mug for a long moment before visibly perking up. “Well, I can’t guarantee hours of hot water, but I
do
have a pretty huge bathtub at my disposal. And, er, some clean clothes.” This time the wrinkled nose was turned at my blackened t-shirt and ripped track pants.

I didn’t have time to argue. She pulled my mug away, stood me up, and marched me upstairs, into a bathroom with glittery tiles and lipstick kisses all over the mirror. Apparently fine with this décor, Lucia just set the bath to a steaming run, lit some candles on the bench-top – my face was suddenly hotter than those flames thinking about the last time I was near a bathroom bench – and handed me a massive, fluffy towel from the cupboard. “I want that skin to be peeling and wrinkled when you get out. Want me to check on you in an hour?”

“Thanks, Lucia,” I said quietly, squeezing her hand, though I would have pulled her in for a rib-crushing hug, had I not stunk quite so bad. “You really are the best.”

“Ha! Remember that when I wake you up at six in the morning with my Pilates workout.” She winked and bounced out of the room, shutting me in with dancing shadows, my own thoughts, and a way of washing myself clean of everything but memories.

Chapter Thirteen

Missing

Two hours and three hot water refills later, I emerged from the bathroom a new girl. The aches from the car crash had been washed away in the warm water, and my hair was back to its usual wavy style. Admittedly, it wasn’t as good as the last bath I’d had, but I tried not to think about that.

“Told you a quick detox would help,” Lucia said when I appeared in the kitchen, dressed in the loose clothes she’d left out for me on the bathroom door. Since I’d lost so much weight, her clothes were already a bit baggy on me, but I guess she remembered that I liked to wear clothes four sizes bigger than me.

“I’m officially putting you in charge of my rehab regime, if that’s your idea of detoxing. What’s next on the list?” I managed a proper smile at her this time, and she seemed pleased by the show.

“How would you feel about a make-over? Too soon?”

My mouth opened to automatically decline, to tell her I wasn’t quite ready for the outside world. After all that had happened that very morning, not to mention last night, the prospect of showing my face in public downright terrified me. What if Finn saw me? Worse, what if Achilles caught wind of my presence?

Screw them!
shouted a small voice in my head.
They don’t own you!

True. And revamping my appearance would be a good way to avoid being identified by either party. I wasn’t Old Felicity any more – the days of helping out at the hospital were over, as were the days of pretending not to notice the blur between good and bad.

This was a time for New Felicity. A Felicity who didn’t cower at anything, who laughed at her misfortune, and stepped out from the shadow of the past. Superneutral was gone, but there was something to be said for being superapathetic – a girl who didn’t care about anyone but herself and her friends, who didn’t help anyone but those truly in need, who didn’t interfere with any fate, but instead concentrated on her own.

The more I thought about it, the better it sounded. Freedom in its purest form.

“No time like the present, right?” I said eventually to a stunned Lucia, who all but exploded with joy at the prospect of primping and fluffing me into oblivion. “I do have one condition, though.”

Her mile-wide grin lessened by a few feet. “Oh?”

“I get to take a nap at the hairdresser’s.”

The grin expanded once more. “Read my mind, sister. Let’s roll.”

The first stop was, obviously, the hairdresser, whomm Lucia seemed well acquainted with. She introduced me as ‘Francine’, for which I was eternally grateful.

My hairdresser, Shaynelle, cooed over my hair color to the point where I wanted to tell her to cut the whole thing off so she could glue it to
her
head.

“Just a cut, then, gorgeous?” she asked me in the mirror, but I shook my head.

“I’d like it dyed, please. Brown – any kind of brown will do.”

It was as though I’d physically winded her. “
Dyed
? But honey, your color is so beautiful, I don’t –”

“Shaynelle,” said Lucia’s hairdresser – Aleesha, I think was her name – with a rather meaningful look, “the girl wants brown. Her choice.”

With a disappointed huff, Shaynelle disappeared into a backroom, to return with a tub of color mix.

While Lucia got her blonde tips redone, Shaynelle slopped the color through my hair, making slight whimpers as she did so, as if it pained her to hide my red curls.

I must have fallen asleep at some stage, because when I next opened my eyes, the color had soaked in, and Shaynelle was readying the wash-tub for me.

A wash, blow-dry, brutal brush and cut later, my hair was completely unrecognizable. Even Shaynelle looked impressed with her own handiwork.

“You look like a totally different person!” she gushed, brushing out the ends of my now-shoulder-length chop. I even had bangs – the first time I’d ever had them, straight across my forehead.

“That’s the idea,” I told her, rather breathlessly. I didn’t recognize myself. My hair used to stand out like a beacon in crowds. Now, I just looked like everybody else.

Excellent.

A surge of satisfaction ran through me when I thought of Achilles’s reaction to the change, if I ever saw him again. No doubt he wouldn’t like it, and that thought in itself made me giggly. Even this small act of defiance had my confidence lifting.

Lucia paid for me – something I wouldn’t forget when I got back on my feet – and we walked out looking like two new girls.

“Where to next?” I asked.

Her grin was mischievous. “I think the new hairstyle demands a new wardrobe, don’t you?”

Again, it was on the tip of my tongue to argue. Baggy clothes were really all I liked in fashion – skin-tight things never appealed because of the vulnerability they brought. But this was New Felicity. I had to take the bad with the good.

“Nothing too racy, or anything,” said Lucia, apparently reading my train-of-thought.

I gave her hand yet another squeeze of gratitude. “Sounds great to me.”

We hit up less obvious places in the city, chain stores in malls with big crowds and lots of security guards, avoiding anywhere with hawkers, should they draw attention to me. Lucia’s sense of my fashion was better than I’d given her credit for – the clothes she picked out for me were subtly feminine, with floral patterns and flowing skirts, nothing too eye-catching or scandalous.

She even bought me new lingerie, from stores far too expensive for me under normal circumstances. When I asked why I needed so many different styles of panties and lacy bras, she just winked and told me it’d come in handy one day.

That, of course, brought up the memory of Achilles seeing me in my underwear in the bathroom, and how his all-consuming eyes had roamed over me, probably taking in every flaw along the way. What had he thought of that underwear? Too prudish? Too slutty?

Not that I care
, I told myself sternly.
His opinion is moot. Was
always
moot
.

“Ready to head home?” she asked, after we’d browsed almost every clothes store in the mall, and were bogged down with at least a dozen bags.

“Only if you don’t mind me sleeping the rest of the day away,” I replied with an exhausted grin. The happiness pumping through the mall was enough to top up my supply, which I trickled through to Lucia at random intervals, hoping it would be enough to show her my gratitude, at least for now.

I think she suspected what I was doing, but she never said anything about it.

We got home, and Lucia went about making dinner, all the while chatting her head off about her boyfriend Brad’s new apartment in New York, and his plans to move to Carova when he graduated next summer. I wondered how hard it was on Lucia to maintain a long-distance relationship, especially since Brad was in college and she was working in this deadbeat town.

The prospect of going to college was really the only thing keeping me in Carova, aside from Lucia. Once I had the money to fund my way, I was out of this place like a bat out of Hell.