we were one once book 2: "A Dark Romance" (12 page)

26

Take the key.

Gigi?!

I’m here, Grace.

What should I do?

Take the key and do exactly as he says. Stay calm.

But then we’ll never be free!

No, we won’t. Take the key, Grace.

27

Am I a fool?

Rolling over, taking care not to look at my phone on the nightstand, I sit up on my bed’s edge. I know it’s early. I didn’t get to bed until almost 3:00 a.m.

And I didn’t get to sleep at all.

So it’s probably 4:00, maybe 4:30…fuck. I snatch my phone up and swipe it awake. I know it’s no use to pretend I’ll sleep anyway. The lit screen puts off an eerie glow and shows me that it’s only 3:30. Great. Hours to go before I can start another fucking day. Time has become my enemy.

It’s been 24 days like this. 24 days and she hasn’t come back.

My anger has been constant. I’ve waited for her to come around. Even with her note making it clear she didn’t want to be found, I believed that deep down one of her would see the light of day and come back to me!

But I was wrong. Apparently. And that only leads to more anger.

And hidden behind the anger? I feel like a fucking gameshow host. Well, behind curtain #1 is feelings this fucker isn’t prepared to think about and an all-inclusive stay in perdition. Congratulations contestants, thanks for playing. I laugh at myself. Don’t need to think about my feelings, ‘cause I can’t get away from them now.

Guilt over how I scared her? Check. Right there, every time I close my eyes…that look on Red’s face just before she stormed off. And a pit in my gut like when I slammed my nuts into the base sliding for home plate when I was seven.

I can’t shake the feeling of guilt over threatening her. It doesn’t help that I meant it. I wasn’t just threatening to treat her like one of my products, I was going to. Fuck Grace’s softness and all the others’ vulnerabilities, I was going to drag her down into my cave and take every bit of anger I felt out on her no matter which identity showed up.

And it’s this realization that has stopped me from chasing after her. Until last week. The supposed deadline in my head that I’d given to myself to wait for her to come around.

I’ve been living in a drunken, stoned, fucked up mess since that day. Because I can’t get past what I’ve thought all along.

I can’t hunt her down and drag her back here. I can’t treat her like that. As much as every part of me wants to, I know I can’t. I know that once I got in her in the cave, once that line is crossed…I wouldn’t be able to do it.

And I’m angry with her for not belonging to me like that. Completely and willingly. Like a spoiled fucking child, I’ve been enraged at her willingness to walk away from me. And I’ve waited for her to return, so I could keep thinking that whatever I want is good enough for her.

But she hasn’t returned. And I know she won’t. Not after all this time. 24 days. It’s pretty clear she’s not going to give in.

FUCK!

So who the fuck needs a fucked up chick with five fucking personalities anyway?! I should listen to Cary and get back to my old life. It was a good life.

My toes squish in the plush rug under my bed. I rub my hands against stubble and smell the hint of whiskey and pot over unbrushed teeth.

Funny thing is…I’ve not let a single woman into my bed since Grace. I’ve partied with plenty of sluts. Usually with Cary. He’s been like an ambassador showing me the way around Pusslandia the last few days. Like he’s on a mission to see me securely back to my old ways.

But I haven’t fucked any of them. Even with a raging hard-on, I just came back here or to my apartment in the city and tried to sleep. Alone.

Who needs a fucked up chick with five personalities? Me. That’s who. I don’t want anyone else. I want Red. I want Grace. I want all of her. And I blew it. I fucking blew it. And now I’ve probably waited too long too.

Fuck.

A sob escapes my lips and I slurp it back through tight teeth. My nose runs and burns from too much coke and the sting of unshed tears. I’ve allowed myself to wallow pretty deep, I think, laughing hard at the storm of unfamiliar emotions. I know it’s the combination of booze, drugs and lack of sleep that has me crying like a fucking bitch right now. But damn…it feels good to get it out for a second.

My head feels a little clearer. Crying bitch. Good thing Cary isn’t here or I’d never hear the end of it.

Without opening my eyelids, I pull blindly at the drawer of my nightstand. My fingers caress the familiar lines of hard paper, pinching the edges and pulling it out. I know below this note is my letter from Grandfather. Two people I cared about, both gone, both leaving nothing more than ink on paper.

Abandonment issues created my need for pain; not my own, but the need to cause it. That was the psychobabble I heard when I was sixteen anyway. Maybe it’s true. Doesn’t matter. I am what I am and figuring out why isn’t going to change it. I like how I am.

I wipe the snot from my nose with the back of my free hand and open my eyes to stare at the handwriting.

S,

It was fun while it lasted, but we’re not one of your products. We don’t need your training. Don’t try to find us. We don’t want to be found by you.

Good bye.

G

The curve of each letter, each dot…It’s burned into my memory, but I can’t stop looking at it. Do I hope that it’ll reveal some hidden message? A hopeful note that I
should
find her and reclaim her?

Am I a fool? Because I still hope that she wants me. I still hope that what I feel for her,
all
of her,
each
of her, is reciprocated. That it wasn’t just “fun” for her. Because I don’t believe that. I think that was her anger and fear only. I hope it was anyway.

She and I are alike. Formed from what fate served us as a raw deal. I don’t know what her history is, what made her how she is. But I know that she accepts how she is, just as I do. And I know that it’s what drew me to her, what drew her to me. I’m the answer to her pain. She’s my answer for the need for it.

I don’t give a shit what she says or how she feels. I know that what I want may not be enough for her, but I know that she’s everything that I want. And I know that I can make her see that I’m everything that’s right for her.

She’s mine. I’m hers. And….

Fuck.

I fall back onto the bed, holding her note to my chest.

Today. I’ll find her today and force an answer out of her.

Can she forgive me? Or am I just a fool?

And deeper down, shaking my head against my pillow, it doesn’t matter. She’ll be mine again no matter what. Even if I have to be the monster she thinks I am, she’ll be mine again. Even if I have to cross that line and drag her to my cave to keep her. She belongs with me. I know it. And she’ll know it too. Today.

Nothing else matters.

27

The stillness of her apartment is what strikes me as most strange first. It’s like when I first went to her Chinatown apartment after she evaded me last year.

It’s too calm, too quiet, too perfect. She obviously isn’t here. It doesn’t smell like her at all. It smells like lemons and pine and something floral. Not her.

But it’s not the smell that tells me that she isn’t here. It’s the perfect stillness. Not her style.

I know this before my feet reach the end of her entrance rug, before the door clicks soundly behind me. But I continue to walk in, keeping an ear out for any sounds anyway.

I know she hasn’t been seen by any of her friends. I know she hasn’t been to any of the modeling gigs she had scheduled weeks ago.

I know she hasn’t returned to her shitty apartment above the tea shop either. I didn’t think she’d go there, but I checked anyway since it was on the way.

I thought that she’d be confident enough to return here. That her life and home here would be what she would reach out to as she forgot about me. Or as she seethed with anger about me maybe.

I thought she’d want to send me the message that she wasn’t going to run away and hide from me. That she was just done with me.

I thought that was her style.

Was I wrong?

The stillness is my only answer.

I can see that the place is kept clean and ready, so it’s impossible to tell how long she’s not been here. But I can guess. I have a sinking feeling that I let her slip through my fingers again.

And she’ll be harder to find this time, now that she knows that I’m on to her secrets. Now that she wants to stay hidden from me as well as her past that started her hiding in the first place. Fuck.

Walking into her open kitchen, I don’t hope to find anything, but look in the fridge anyway. Only condiments and unopened bottles of water. I grab one and stand at her counter, drinking it.

The art above her sofa makes me smile though. I still have something similar above my bed. She’s a terrible artist. But then again, she’s a toddler doodling with crayons. This makes me smile more, because I can picture her perfectly this way.

And it gives me some hope. She hasn’t abandoned this place. Or even the Chinatown place. At least, I don’t think she has.

I head into her bedroom to check if she packed up anything. The same stillness. It doesn’t look like anything’s missing from her closet, but there’s so much shit in here that it’s impossible to tell. I only see one suitcase on a shelf, but I have no idea if she has another one.

Fuck. I have no idea about a lot of shit. I sit on her bed, staring at her closet; trying to figure out my next move, because waiting around for her to show is going to suck.

But when I get up and turn around to leave, I see the note. Like a fucking moron, I didn’t see it first? I don’t dwell on yelling at myself, just quickly snatch it up. But it takes reading it several times or at least staring at it for a long time to get the message through my head.

Gillian and Miles. These names keep ricocheting in my mind.

And so much makes sense all at once that I sit back down on her bed, the note forgotten in my hand.

She knew him. She talked to him and she left with him. And, fuck…she told me, she fucking told me, that she belonged to him. I was just too stupid to know who she meant at the time. Miles.

But that doesn’t make sense. Because I have a clear image in my head of both Red and Grace being afraid the night she left me. But not afraid of me. I was just too stupid to realize who made her afraid at the time. Miles.

Because if she knew Miles that meant he was her past. And her past fucked her up. So he was at least part of what she was running from, hiding from…right? Or did she run from me, back to him?

Fuck.

I pull my phone out and do what I should’ve done weeks ago. I check out what there is to know about Miles Vanderson online. And I could seriously hit myself for what I find, but I settle for hitting the wall with his fucking note crumpled in my fist.

The blood on my knuckles goes unnoticed, because I’m moving too fast, my phone clutched in that hand. “Cary. I need your help with something.”

28

“Are you sure about this, Cuz?” Cary nervously taps his thumbs on the steering wheel, not looking at me, staring at the line of trucks ahead of us instead.

I don’t answer him, I don’t need to. I just check that the safety’s off my Bersa .380 and put it back in the waistband of my pants, easily hidden under my jacket.

I haven’t had target practice in months. Cary and I used to go with Grandfather on a hunting trip once a year, but keeping up with shooting hasn’t been a priority for a long time now. But I’m still pretty sure that I could make any shot I aim at within 100 yards. Not with this gun, but I won’t be 100 yards away either.

I realize that Cary is staring at me again and he hasn’t moved the truck through the open gates. “Drive, Cary,” I nod towards the guard that is waving us forward. He finally gets us moving again and I get my first look at the large Vanderson estate. Fuck, it’s a beast.

Truthfully, I’m not sure about anything. But this is my only plan. Get in, find her. And...

And get my answers finally.

29

Gigi?

The stage is cold and empty. And too quiet.

And too bright.

I can see the edges. Or rather, I can’t see any edges…it just goes on now.

Gigi
!

I’m here, Grace. You don’t have to shout.

I thought…I’m afraid.

I know you are. You’ll be fine. Let’s see how we look, okay?

I face the large gold mirror leaning against the wall in our bedroom. And I see that I’m pretty. I know Gigi can see how we really look, but I still prefer to see me as I see me even if she makes fun of me for it.

And the woman I see smile back at me is short with light caramel skin and freckles on high, round cheeks and gently flattening nose, with full pink lips, sparkling black eyes, and tight curls.

And I’m glad that Miles agreed to let me wear red tonight
.
It’s not my usual color of choice, but I can see why Gigi likes it so much. It makes my dark coloring stand out. And the dress flatters in all the right places as I turn to see myself from different angles. The movement makes the bracelet sparkle too and this draws my attention back to it. And back to her plan.

Do you really think you’ll be able to get this off?

I’m going to try. Since you can’t find the key…

But if he finds out…

It’s a risk we have to take, Grace.

Easy for you to say.

But I know it isn’t. She has a backup plan. And she doesn’t like it any more than I do.

But with the house filling with people and noise for the party, it’s now or never to try to run again. Miles hasn’t left us alone for very long today, so I had to pretend to be taking my time getting ready, pretend to be excited about being presented as his wife tonight.

OK. I’m ready.

And I turn inside for the first time in weeks.