10. The Meat and Potatoes
The rain drumsa relentless rhythm on the windowpane. Each drop is a miniature explosion of light. I watch the city’s blurry orange glow from my kitchen window, painting a canvas of shadows and rain-slicked streets. The storm may keep everyone inside, safe.
It’s been a long day, but a good one—at least most of it, except the part where the text messages popped up. A quick inhale, a false breath of calm. I know it’s naive to think anything is good at the moment. The Raven is out there, a predator stalking the night. His men, too, I’m guessing, have unseen eyes lurking in the night. Alexander seems to have vanished into thin air, and I’m worried about him.
I glance at Michelle, asleep on the couch. Has she slept all day?
Her body is curled into a tight ball, her breathing shallow and uneven, a delicate bird struggling to stay aloft. I remember her last night, lost, desperate.
My heart aches for her, but I can’t focus only on her pain. I’m still reeling from the truth about Alexander.
Still, I have to protect Michelle. I have to find a way to stop the Raven. Michelle sketches her body and flutters her eyes open. This is my cue.
“I called Alexander,” I say, my voice tight. “He didn’t answer, but Isaac did. He’ll pass on the message that you’re here.”
Michelle stirs. “Sorry ’bout last night,” she rasps. I’m–I’m not doing so well.”
I glance at her. Her skin is pale, almost translucent, her eyes restless, darting around the room. I don’t know that pain, the desperate need, the way it claws at your soul. The phantom of withdrawal is not a familiar enemy, but I bleed with her.
“It’s okay,” I say, “are you hungry?”
She nods and sits up. I stand; my movements are automatic, and I desperately need to do something, anything, to distract myself from my own mind. I head for the kitchen.
Food, I’ll make the food.
My hand reaches for the ingredients I bought earlier, in the minimarket, on my way home from work. Meat and potatoes. Alexander loves meat and potatoes, and a sudden wave of longing washes over me. I remember the last time we ate together, the way his eyes lingered on my face, his touch sending shivers through my body. But it’s all a blur now, a hazy memory.
I have to focus on the present. Michelle. She’s my priority now. This dinner—it’s all I know how to do, all I can do. I don’t have a gun. I can’t fight anyone. Hell, I don’t even know where to go if I could.
“Alexander’s got good taste,” Michelle says, standing at the kitchen door, her voice a gravelly whisper as if reading my thoughts. I don’t know if she’s referring to the food or something else.
I force a laugh, a hollow sound that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Yeah,” I say, “Alexander’s got good taste.”
As I finish cooking, the rain still batters the windows. My tiny apartment is quiet, a small island of calm in the storm. The air hangs thick with the smell of simmering beef and roasted potatoes.
My eyes flick to Michelle, pacing the living room like a caged animal. It’s been two hours since I started cooking, and she hasn’t stopped moving. She’s a whirlwind of nervous energy, her movements jittery, her energy vibrating off the walls.
“Michelle,” I say, my voice a little too sharp. “Dinner’s ready.”
She jolts, startled by my tone, as she looks up at me. Damn it, I scared her.
“It’s safe here,” I say. “This is my home. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”
Michelle, her eyes darting around the room, looks at the place. “Righ yeah, yeah, this is your castle,” she says.
”Guess you haven’t seen Alex’s place,” I say, thinking about his mansion, a world away from my cozy apartment.
”I haven”t been in Port Haven for years,” Michelle murmurs, her voice a low, almost inaudible whisper. She pulls her chair up to the table, her eyes fixed on the plate of food. ”Years, Ava, since I”ve felt—safe.” She hesitates, a grimace crossing her face. ”Safe and—- normal.”
She sits down hesitantly, pulling the chair close to the table, her stomach growling as she grabs the cutlery. I start to eat, my stomach rumbling in agreement. I’m starving.
She finally takes a bite of the meat, her fingers leaving greasy marks on the plate as she eats methodically and slowly. The silence stretches a tense pause.
“Jeez, it’s good,” she finally says, a faint smile touching her lips. “It’s not just good, it’s terrific.” She takes another bite of meat, her eyes focusing on the plate, her anxiety easing for the moment.
“Why did you really leave Rockford?” I ask. “What happened?”
The only way I can help her is by trying to understand what happened.
She looks down at her plate, her eyes filled with shame and defiance.
”Don”t pretend you”re my friend, Ava,” Michelle says, her voice flat. She pushes her plate away, her movements sharp and jerky. ”I”m not like you. I don”t fit into your neat little world.”
”I”m not trying to be your friend,” I say, my voice firm. ”I”m just trying to keep you alive.”
”Did someone pay you to do this?” she asks, her eyes darting around the kitchen, her gaze sharp and suspicious. ”Who are you in contact with?”
She’s paranoid, a feeling I’m all too familiar with lately.
“No one paid me anything,” I say, trying to sound calm. “I love— or loved Alexander, and I know how much he cares about you. He doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
She chews her food slowly, her gaze fixed on the window, a wall of silence between us. She’s not surprised by my words, which makes my teeth clench. She knows something.
“Fine,” she says, her voice hesitant, as if choosing her words carefully. “Uhm—right— so someone came to see me. From my past.”
I lean forward, my eyes locking with hers. “Dexter?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
She freezes, a look of terror flashing across her features. “You know Dex?”
My nod is a surrender to the terrifying reality of it all. The memory of that night—Dexter’s rough hands, the feel of his fingers against my skin, the bitter taste of his kiss—it all comes flooding back. He took everything from me, and now, he’s targeting Michelle.
Just like he said, he would.
“Michelle loves me,” Dexter’s chilling words echo. “And I love her.” He’d said those words in the interrogation room before he escaped from jail.
“So Dex shows up out of fuckin’ nowhere and says we need to leave. He gave me some shitty drugs,” she says, her voice slurring slightly, her words trailing off like smoke. “Next thing I know, I’m in a field, half-naked, with a big hangover. Fuck him.”
She pushes her plate away, her eyes darting around the room. I hesitate, unsure how to respond. “Why— Why did you listen to him?”
She stops speaking. The city outside amplifies the quiet, the rumble of traffic, and the distant siren wail, all merging. A sudden crack in the floorboards beneath my feet makes me jump.
“I–I guess I love him, Ava,” she says, her gaze fixed on the floor. “He’s fucked up, but I love the asshole.”
My fists clench. “Someone who loves you doesn’t rape and drug you,” I say, my voice tight.
“He didn’t rape me. I wanted to, I think.” She stumbles over the words, her voice wavering. “You don’t know our world, Ava. It’s not all tea parties and Netflix subscriptions. This little cozy place? This 9-5 job? Fuck that.”
She spits the words, her eyes bloodshot.
“My life is everything but pretty,” I say, my voice laced with anger and a deep, aching pain. “You think I’m oblivious to the darkness? I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it.”
“Sure, you have,” Michelle mocks. “Your most life-changing event would be a Prime subscription!”
“Michelle–”
“Oh, shut up,” she hisses, her voice sharp and cutting. “No wonder Alex chose you. You’re a great escape, something new to play with. Not like his other dolls, with high heels, long legs, and model bodies. You’re—you’re ordinary.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. They leave a sting, a burning mark on my soul. I know she’s hurting, but the words are sharp and cruel, echoing my pain. I know I’m ordinary. I know I’m nothing special. But I’m not a doll. I’m not a toy. I’m a survivor.
“You don’t know me—”
“I know enough that you’re not gonna stick around. You’r’ gonna leave like everyone else in our life when the going gets tough, yeah? We’ just like a beat-up old car. Exchange us when necessary, huh?”
“I’m not like that—”
“Fuck that!”
A sharp rap on the door jolts us. My hand instinctively goes to the knife on the table.
“The fuck?” Michelle snarls, grabbing a frying pan from the stove, her eyes blazing with a protectiveness that surprises me.
We move towards the door in a silent, tense ballet. Every creak of the floorboards makes me jump.
Peering through the peephole, my pulse quickens. It’s a familiar silhouette: broad shoulders, a rumpled suit, and tousled dark hair.
Alexander.My shoulders sag, and I let out a deep breath I didn’t know I was holding.
The door clicks open. The scent of rain and something raw and wild washes over me. He’s a mess, his clothes damp and clinging to him, his eyes dark and desperate. My heart aches with a confusing mix of emotions – I want to run into his arms and feel his body’s heat, but something holds me back. We’re broken. We’re over.
“Ava,” he says, his voice is raw. “Where is she?”
The frying pan clatters to the floor with a resounding thud. Michelle, a whirlwind, runs into her brother’s arms, and I’m left standing in the doorway.
The scene unfolds before me, a tableau of pain and raw emotion. Alexander stands there, drenched from the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead, hugging his little sister.
The lines etched on his face speak of a weariness that goes beyond physical exhaustion and seems to seep from his very soul. His usually bright eyes are now dull, clouded with a pain that pierces me to the core.
Alexander pulls Michelle close, his arm tightening around her. There’s a silent reassurance in the way he holds her. I can hear her whimpering, ”Alex,” her voice is a choked whisper.
He sees the fear in her eyes. ”It”s okay, Michelle. I”m here. It”s over now. Remember when we used to play hide-and-seek in the woods? I always found you. I always will.”
“I didn’t mean to leave Rockford. I know how much you went through to get me in there, Alex. It’s just that—-”
Michelle stops, her eyes darting around nervously. “Just—”
“I thought I lost you, Michelle, damn it,” Alexander says, his voice rough. “I thought I lost you.”
A choked laugh, a hollow echo of past joy, escapes Michelle’s lips. “You’re not gettin’ rid of me so easy. I’ll always be your annoyin’ little sister.”
Their embrace feels like a wall, an invisible barrier that shuts me out. I find myself shrinking back, my presence jarring.
They need to be alone, and they need to talk.
“I’m here now,” Alexander says. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Michelle leans into him, her body shaking. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Alex,” she says, her voice a low murmur. “Liar.”
Alexander chuckles a strained sound that hangs in the air between them. “You’re the liar,” he teases, pulling her in for another hug.
She looks up at him, releasing herself from the hug. ”Do you think I”ll ever get better?” she whispers, her voice cracking a little.
Alexander nods, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. He strokes her hair in a rhythmic pattern. ”Yeah, of course you will.” His voice is soft, and he leans in, his lips brushing against her forehead. ”You”re stronger than you think, sis. You”ve been through a lot, and you”re going to get through this, too.”
An overwhelming sense of displacement washes over me. My stomach twists with a knot, a desperate need to escape. They need to be alone. I turn, and my steps are quick and silent. I feel like I’m invading a private moment not meant for me.
I quickly slip on my jacket, grab my phone and keys, and disappear into the hallway without looking back.
They don’t notice me until I’m out the door.
“Wait,” Alexander calls out. “Ava, wait.”
But I don’t stop. Tears burn in my eyes, threatening to spill, but I push them back. My feelings for him are so strong, so raw, they threaten to eat me alive.
“He drove my parents into the grave,”I whisper, a mantra against my feelings for him that threaten to break me. I have to get away from him, or else I’ll be swallowed whole.
The scentof incense and sandalwood washes over me as I reach for Sarah’s door. I knock, the sound a tiny tremor in the empty hallway. The door opens, and there she is, my best friend, a shelter in this storm-ridden night. Her eyes are a bright emerald green with a comforting light in them.
“Hey, you,” she says, her voice soothing. Come on in. You look like you need a hug and then a test run in my new dryer.”
The air inside smells like lavender oil and burning incense. A mountain of self-help books sits precariously on a bookshelf beside her yoga mat and weights. The space is a kaleidoscope of calm and order. I love being here.
I step inside, swallowing hard, my throat constricted by the raw emotions building all day. “It’s just—” I begin, but the words catch in my throat.
Sarah knows. She always knows. She pulls me towards the couch. Her touch is a gentle anchor. “It’s okay,” she says, her voice a soft murmur, stroking my hair. “You don’t have to say anything. Just be here.”
I sink into the soft cushions, surrendering to the warmth that radiates from her. I close my eyes, my body exhausted and filled with a million unanswered questions. I drift off to sleep, the world’s weight lifted, if only for a moment.