Sleeping with the Frenemy (15 page)

Genevieve chuckled and pulled off the wig and the glasses. She threw them over near a bag sitting next to the front door. “I can wear a disguise also,
Wade
.” Deborah's ears began to ring at the name of one of her aliases.

She shook her head to stop the sound and stiffened when Genevieve moved in closer. Deborah moved to the left and away from the wall. She lifted her hands up at Genevieve in supplication.

“I know you're furious with me, but I had to do it. I couldn't live with you anymore. I was afraid—”

“Afraid?” Genevieve's arm shook as she swung the gun back up at her. “You don't know what true fear is. But you will when I get through with you.”

Deborah closed her eyes for a short moment. She released a shaky breath. “You won't get away with killing me.”

Genevieve cackled. Deborah's eyes shot open. “Kill you? Oh no, my dearling. I'm not going to kill you right away. First I'm going to punish you for making me look like a fool. We're going on a little trip together, where we'll get reacquainted.”

Genevieve's lips lifted and Deborah licked her own as she noticed how raw and chapped they looked, as if Genevieve had been chewing on them.

“I'm not going anywhere with you. Go ahead and shoot me here because there's no way in hell I'm leaving with you, knowing you want to torture me.”

“My dearling has finally grown a set of balls!”

“Stop calling me that!” Deborah yelled.

“How dare you speak to me that way, you faithless, lying cunt?” Genevieve whispered and dug the barrel of the gun into the middle of Deborah's forehead. Deborah went still and something wet dripped down the inside of her legs.

Genevieve's smile grew soft as she took a step close. Deborah backed up until she was near the edge of the couch.

“Please don't—”

“Please don't,” Genevieve said in a squeaky voice and snorted. “That's what your lover said to me as I bashed her over the head with my gun.”

Deborah clenched her hands into tight fists.
Bridgette!

“If you hurt Bridgette—”

“Shut the fuck up! I don't want to hear her name coming from your dishonest mouth, darling wife,” Genevieve growled and dug the gun further into her forehead.

Deborah bit her lip. She hoped to God Genevieve hadn't killed Bridgette in her rage. Maybe that was why Rotquel had been barking.

“Pay attention to me, twat!” Genevieve shouted, her arm trembling violently.

“Yes, Genevieve. I'm sorry,” Deborah said in the pacifying way she'd used most of the time during their marriage.

Genevieve seemed to calm down, but kept the gun against her forehead. “You will leave this house with me right now. If you even try to fight me, I'll shoot you. My gun has a silencer, so your neighbors won't run to your rescue. If you behave, perhaps I won't kill the chunky redhead.”

Deborah bit down so hard on her lip that it drew blood. “I'll do what you want. Just don't hurt anyone else.”

She flinched when Genevieve cupped her cheek. The gun lowered and sweat dripped down the side of Deborah's face as Genevieve held her in an embrace.

“I love you so much, but you betrayed me. Maybe I can forgive you after you're punished. Then we can go on before, perhaps to Europe and start a new life there,” Genevieve whispered in her ear.

Deborah nodded stiffly and moved her arm where she bumped the lamp on top of the side table.

Moving back, Genevieve cupped her face with both hands, the gun resting on her shoulder. She smiled at her with undisguised love, her eyes bright with tears. “Tell me you love me.”

The words came easily, the lies flowing from her lips. “I love you so very much, Genevieve.”

“That's my darling girl.” Genevieve grimaced as she fingered Deborah's hair. But then her face grew soft and she placed her lips against hers.

Deborah wrapped her hand around the top of the lamp and sighed against Genevieve's mouth. When Genevieve's tongue licked at the seam of her lips, she opened her mouth slightly. “I'm sorry, Gen.”

The moment Genevieve's tongue slipped in her mouth, Deborah bit down hard and lifted the lamp, sending it crashing down on Genevieve's back. She shoved her away and turned, sliding across the floor as she ran toward the kitchen. Genevieve's cry bellowed around her and she covered her head when a soft whistle went off and the plaster in the wall next to her exploded.

Deborah rushed past the kitchen table, and had just reached the counter when she was pulled back roughly by her hair. Her scalp burned as fingers dug into her head.

“Slut!” Genevieve shouted and smacked her cheek with the gun.

Deborah yelled and went down, going blind. Her cheek throbbed like a million needles jabbing into her face. She lay there stunned, her jaw going numb as she was pulled back up and shook hard.

Another slap came out of nowhere across her face and she whimpered, her legs folding underneath her as a band of fingers dug into her arms, nails scratching violently. She tried to struggle as hands tugged at her, pulling her up. The ringing in her ears increased and she almost vomited. A squeak left her mouth when she was roughly pushed against the refrigerator and Genevieve squeezed her throat.

“You'll pay for that, you bitch!” Genevieve shouted and clenched her hand tighter around her windpipe, cutting off her air.

Deborah swung her fists at Genevieve's face and chest, anything to get her to release her. Her heart pumped fast and a cold sweat covered her back. She could barely stay conscious as Genevieve strangled harder, her pointed nails cutting into her skin, killing her slowly—

A loud crash sounded and she was swung around, her back pressed up against Genevieve's front as the gun pushed against her temple.

“Drop the gun now!” a man's voice rang out from the entrance of the kitchen.

Deborah blinked rapidly, trying to bring her vision back into focus. The room had become blurry and dark.

“Fuck off! She's mine and no one is going to take her from me,” Genevieve screeched loudly and backed away.

Deborah's feet scraped across the kitchen floor as she was pulled toward the counter. The shrill sounds of sirens came from a distance, overriding the ringing in her ears.

“Put down the gun. Don't make me shoot you,” the voice ordered and Deborah reached out a hand, mouthing wordlessly for him to save her.

“You think I'm that stupid?” Genevieve said, and the gun against Deborah's temple dug in even more. “You'll shoot me and take Deborah away from me. She's mine!”

Deborah pulled at Genevieve's arm, dragging in deep breaths through her abused throat. She whimpered when Gen's hold grew tighter.

“Shush, dearling. Soon it will be all over and we'll be together forever.” Genevieve kissed her wetly on the cheek and cocked her gun.

“No,” Deborah bleated and coughed. New voices ordered Genevieve to release her and drop the gun.

I don't want to die!
Deborah could barely stop the darkness as it rushed over her.
No! Must stay awake!

Genevieve mumbled nonsense in her ear and began to cry. Deborah had lost her voice and could only whisper, begging Gen to release her. She continued crying softly, then the gun came around and tucked under her chin.

Deborah needed to do something quickly before Genevieve blew her head off. Her hand swung out and it landed against something hard. She searched around and found the carving knife she'd left to dry in the strainer. She was able to get a tight hold around it without Genevieve noticing.

“Together forever, even in death,” Genevieve hoarsely whispered, and when her arm came down to wrap around her waist, that was when Deborah struck.

Voices rang out as she twisted and pushed Genevieve away as hard as she could. Time seemed to slow down as Genevieve stumbled and aimed the gun. Deborah tried to go for Genevieve's stomach, but she couldn't get a good enough aim and slashed the knife against Genevieve's face, cutting into her flesh and dragging the knife sideways.

A loud screech left Genevieve's mouth as she clutched her throat. She still held the gun, and as Deborah dropped to the ground and crawled away, shots rang out. A body fell on top of her as she hid her face against the linoleum.

Then there was silence, until something heavy fell in front of her. Deborah lifted up and cried out as Genevieve lay quiet on her side, her eyes open but empty as she stared at nothing. Blood dripped down her face and front onto the kitchen floor.

“Genevieve!” Deborah cried out and tried to get to her knees when arms came around her.

“It's all right now. She'll never hurt you again.” The man's voice, a familiar one she had heard before, pulled her away as uniformed officers rushed into the room.

“She's dead,” Deborah sobbed, nearly hysterical as Bryan dragged her away.

“We need you to get checked out. You're bleeding and cut up,” he said calmly, and when she turned in his arms, away from her dead wife, she grabbed hold of him tightly, suddenly remembering Bridgette.

“Bridgette!” she called out.

Bryan kept an arm around her as he helped her outside. Bright red and blue lights and too many cars to count were parked in front of her house. People across the street watched. She glanced around for any sign of Bridgette.

“She's been taken to the hospital. You'll go there to get checked out and have your statement taken.”

“She's alive?” Deborah's knees shook and would have fallen if not for Bryan's hold.

Bryan's mouth went into a tight line. “She's alive, but with head trauma.”

“I want to see her,” Deborah said in a hoarse whisper. Her stomach cramped and her head pounded. She bent over, suddenly nauseated, the need to throw up too strong to ignore.

“You will. But first we need to take care of you,” Bryan said in a kinder voice.

As she was handed over to an EMT, Deborah vomited. And continued until she was too weak to stand. She soon ended up in the back of an ambulance, lying on a stretcher as a woman asked her questions and cleaned her cuts on her face and arms.

The sounds of the sirens and the ambulance moving helped her drift away, numb and broken, knowing she was the reason a woman was dead and another she'd come to care for could possibly be fighting for her own life.

The soft moan coming from the bed made Deborah sit up in her chair. She winced over the ache in her jaw and carefully stood.

“Bridgette?” She sat on the edge of the hospital bed, almost grabbing hold of Bridgette's hand, but instead placing her own in her lap.

The heart machine let off a few beeps as Bridgette shifted and opened her eyes. She blinked and licked her lips. “Water?” she requested in a croak.

Deborah limped over to the table and poured water from the plastic pitcher into a cup, then came back over to the bed. She kept an arm behind Bridgette's back as she helped her drink. Bridgette took a few sips, and when she was done she lay back down. Deborah looked away, trying to stop the tears from falling down her cheeks.

“Hey you.” Bridgette lightly hit her arm and rested her hand over Deborah's cold limp ones. “Why, your hands are so cold,” Bridgette said sadly and rubbed them.

Deborah removed her hands and sniffed. “I was so scared you were going to die…” she whispered and wiped under her eyes.

“Come here.” Bridgette tugged on Deborah's T-shirt and Deborah lay down on her side as she hid her face into the side of Bridgette's arm.

Bridgette's touch against her hair and cheek soothed her, and she glanced up, wincing at the bright white bandage around Bridgette's bright hair and the black-and-blues covering her face. “You must hate me.”

“Hate you? Why would you think such a thing?” Bridgette asked, giving her a small smile, but she flinched and touched her swollen lip with her finger.

“I'm the reason you're in the hospital,” Deborah said through her tears.

“Why would you think that? You didn't smack me around.” Wrinkles appeared on Bridgette's forehead. “I can't remember what happened.” She lifted up her arm where the IV poked out. “How long have I been out for?”

“Almost forty-eight hours. After I was taken care of, they let me sit in here until you woke up. All day long your friends and family have been coming in.” Deborah sat up as she thought back to seeing Bridgette's parents and being questioned by them. When she admitted everything and why Bridgette had been targeted, to say they were less than pleased with her was an understatement. Bryan barely looked at her even when he stayed with her when two detectives came to question her.

“Jesus, Deborah, if you look anything like I do, I don't even want to see a mirror for a month.”

Deborah let out a watery laugh and fingered her throat where the red handprints had yet to fade.

“I'm so, so sorry about what happened to you,” Deborah tugged on a hangnail on her thumb.

“Why are you apologizing? You weren't the one who beat me up,” Bridgette said and tried to sit up.

“No, stay down,” Deborah instructed and got up from the bed. She wrapped her arms around her waist and went back over to her chair. She couldn't be close to Bridgette without wanting to kiss her.

“Why are you all the way over there and why haven't you kissed me since I've woken up?” Bridgette turned to her side, facing her with a pout.

“Why would you want me to even touch you? I'm the reason my wife attacked you.”

“So, she's the one who bashed my head in,” Bridgette said more to herself. “But she went after you as well. Where is she now?”

“She's dead.” Deborah's lips trembled. “I think your brother shot her, or another officer did. She was able to get into the house through the front door I left unlocked for you. I was upstairs when I heard Rotquel barking very loudly as I was getting our bath ready. I noticed the light I left on downstairs went out. Thinking the bulb had burnt out, I went down and Gen was there waiting with a gun. She told me she had you hidden somewhere and if I didn't do what she wanted, she'd kill you. I thought…I was so stupid thinking she had time to hide you somewhere.” Deborah released a shaky sigh. “I fought her, actually threw a lamp at her head, and tried to run out of the house, but she caught me and started beating me until the police, your brother, crashed through the door and saved me.”

“All I remember was Rotquel making a lot of noise and I couldn't figure out why she was acting so strangely. Before I could get my house keys out, something hard hit me on the back of my head. I blacked out and woke up to bright lights and Mrs. Heckel over me.” Bridgette looked down at her red, scraped palms and Deborah swallowed uncomfortably.

“It's a good thing for Rotquel. If not for her insane barking and your nosy neighbor coming home at the right moment, we might have been lying in a cold room with sheets over our faces instead of being in here,” Deborah said.

“Even lying in this bed with the worst headache I've ever had, it's great to be alive.” Bridgette gave her a cheery smile and held out her hand.

Deborah purposely ignored Bridgette's reach and wiped her damp palms over her knees. “I can get the nurse to bring you some aspirin for your head, if you want.” She began to stand when Bridgette sat up.

“Stop moving around. You're in too much pain.” Deborah sat back, wanting so much to help Bridgette, to touch her. But if she did, she'd never let her go.

“There, that feels better.” Bridgette panted as she moved a pillow behind her back.

“I have to leave.” Deborah blurted out and finally stood. The sooner she did this, the better.

Bridgette frowned. “Oh? I guess you still have to talk to the police about what happened. Afterward, come back and we can hang out together. I'll be here all day and night,” she joked.

“Bridgette.” Deborah lifted her thumb to nibble on her nail. When she realized what she was doing, she stopped. “I won't be coming back. I already talked with the police after I was given a clean bill of health. I have to go back to Nevada and figure out Gen's funeral arrangements.”

“Why would you plan her funeral after all she put you through? I hope the dead bitch is rotting in hell.”

Deborah wrapped her arms around her waist and moved to the end of the bed. “She was my wife and I did love her, even after everything. She had no other family, only me. I have to go back to take care of the house, any debts, and possibly her company. I also have to see about my mother's arrangements as well.”

“I'm being selfish, aren't I?” Bridgette tapped her fingers over the blanket. Deborah wanted to place her own hand over those amazing digits of Bridgette's that made her feel safe and loved. “It's something I don't want to do, but I have to. I'm dreading going back and dealing with the talk and looks. I'm not sure when I'll be back here, if ever.”

The shocked look on Bridgette's face broke her heart. She bit down on her lip and cleared her throat.

“What does that mean for us? You're just going to walk out of here and forget what we have?” Bridgette asked in a wounded voice.

Deborah shrugged. “You've made my time in Woodberry Creek one I'll never forget. I can't promise you anything right now. I need time to figure things out. There's so much I have to do.”

“Deb, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. No one can force you to do anything ever again. You're finally free, with no controlling wife to tell you what to do. For once in your life, you're your own woman.”

“You say that, but you want me to do what you think is right. If I'm with you, I can't be free, as you just said.”

Bridgette exhaled loudly. “You're twisting my words. I want you to—”

“Did you just hear what you said? It's what
you
think is best. Gen used to say that exact same thing to me all the time. It was always what she wanted.”

“I can't believe you're comparing me to that psycho—”

“Bridgette!” Deborah said in a hoarse shout. Bridgette went silent and crossed her arms, turning her head away from her.

“I'm not saying it's over between us, just that we need a break.” Deborah walked around to the side of the bed and placed her palm lightly against Bridgette's cheek. Bridgette still wouldn't look at her as she stiffened with hurt. “There's so much I need to work through, and if I'm with you and ignore my life back in Nevada and everything that has happened, I'll be in a worse position than I'm already in. I've run away too many times and look where it got me. Look where it got you.”

Bridgette grabbed hold of her hand in a tight grip. “I know where it got me. It brought you into my life.” She rubbed her cheek against Deborah's palm.

Tears built up in Deborah's eyes from the sudden surge of love she had for Bridgette. She sobbed as she leaned down and gave Bridgette what was to be a gentle kiss. Bridgette sighed and pulled her down lower, her lips sucking and tongue swiping in deep strokes over her lips until Deborah opened her mouth and allowed Bridgette inside.

She swallowed Bridgette's passionate sounds with her kisses, her fingers brushing gently over Bridgette's face and neck, moving down to cup her breasts, wanting to press her back on the bed and keep kissing her until they both couldn't breathe.

When she dropped one knee on the bed and Bridgette tugged her down, a muscle in her side cramped and she gasped, breaking off the kiss. She backed away, staring at a very red-faced, out-of-breath Bridgette.

“Stay with me,” Bridgette pleaded and held out her hand. She wiped her bottom lip that had split and begun clotting with her blood.

Shaking her head, Deborah grabbed her bag and walked toward the door. Bridgette called out her name again and Deborah stopped with her hand on the doorknob.

“I'll call you when I'm back in Nevada so you know I'm safe. Then…I'll see what happens.”

“Deborah! Don't walk away from me. We're not done yet.”

Deborah opened the door and quickly looked back at Bridgette, who was reaching across the bed with both her arms out. Tears were falling down her cheeks. Deborah wiped away her own.

“What if I told you I loved you? Would that change things?” Bridgette asked.

Deborah covered her mouth and shook her head. “Gen told me she loved me all the time. Those words mean nothing to me,” she declared and stepped out into the hallway.

“I'm not her!” Bridgette shouted out.

Deep, wracking sobs flowed through Deborah's body as she rushed down the hall. When she turned the corner, Bridgette's parents and Bryan were talking with a doctor. Not wanting a confrontation, she turned the other way. Bryan glanced her way. She stopped and shook her head, backing away. He started to move toward her, but she twisted and ran, finding the staircase and flew down all four flights of stairs.

She reached the main level and went out into bright sunlight that burned her eyes. A few people she passed gave her strange looks, but she ignored them. She walked as fast as she could even with the ache in her side, not wanting to be caught by Bryan, who the moment he saw how upset Bridgette was would certainly place the blame on her.

Only when she found a taxi and was driven back to her house to start packing to catch a flight back to the life she'd left behind did the pain burning in her abused muscles subside.

The ache in her heart continued and her tears never let up, even after she arrived back at her old home, where she started to pick up the broken pieces of her life.