16. Claire
Chapter sixteen
Claire
I discovered on the flight home from Costa Rica, when the Senator trapped me into my seat and told me his life story, that flying isn’t always bad. It helps to have someone to distract you, even if that someone is a man nearly twice your age with an almost creepy interest in you. Maybe I had just been so worried that he was my buyer, come to stake his claim, that I hadn’t been able to focus on my nerves about the plane.
Unfortunately, Moose isn’t a good distraction. I mean, he would be if I just needed something to look at, because I can definitely get lost in dirty thoughts about him. But I don’t want him to catch me looking at him, for one thing. And for another, I need to occupy my brain in some way so that I don’t think about the fact that we’re flying in what feels like a giant metal cage, trusting technology and mankind to deliver us to the other side of the country.
Rhea wanted to sit with me, and we had at first. But before takeoff, Moose stalked across the aisle and convinced her that they can’t do their job from behind us. Rhea was apologetic, but it made sense, and it wasn’t really a choice. I don’t doubt that he’d have dragged me out of my seat if she didn’t go willingly.
“You get the window,” he said, tipping his head to make me move over so he could take my spot.
The business class seats Rhea had booked for us were just two wide, meaning that once I complied, I was trapped in my seat at the mercy of Moose, who crossed his arms over his chest, sank in his seat a little, and then just stared at the screen before him. I tried to read, but after my third time starting the same page, I gave up on that. I did a generally good job of not showing my fear, keeping it in until we hit turbulence.
I make to grab hold of the armrest so fast, I don’t realize Moose had put his hand there… until I feel the warmth of his forearm, which I’m squeezing with a death grip. His eyes move from my hand on him to my face, demanding answers which I suppose my expression must do for him. “Scared, princess?” He chuckles.
“I’m not fond of flying.” I admit, focusing on breathing through my nose. It was only a little jolt, but it pulled my stomach up to the back of my throat, and now I’m feeling like I’m upside down and my lunch may come spilling out.
“That’s a dumb fear.” Moose snorts, ripping his arm out from under my touch. My cheeks burn with his disregard as I turn to look out the window, lifting the shade little by little so that I can acclimate to the view. It’s weird but looking out helps. If I glance out the window and we’re still among the clouds, at least it means we aren’t hurtling toward the ground, which is how my body still feels.
The clouds sprawl out below us, white cotton blankets that cover an otherwise bright blue sky. The sunlight illuminates parts of them, making them look silvery and light.
A hand on my shoulder makes me tense, pulling me out of wherever I just disappeared to, and in the reflection of the window, I see Moose looking at me. I turn to face him, wiping at the stray tears that I just realized were lingering on my face. I’m not even sure why I’m crying. Because he told me my fear was dumb? Because he hates me? Because I hate myself? Because, for a second, I thought we may die, and I realized I still haven’t done anything with the time I’ve been given.
“Fear of flying is actually pretty common.” His tone is tight, like he doesn’t want to admit that my fear is rational. “But it’s not a productive fear.”
“A productive fear?” I blink. “Is fear ever productive? ”
“Of course. It keeps you from doing stupid shit like fucking an entire frat house.”
I turn my head back to the window, anger burning through me and making my eyes sting with more tears. I don’t care what he thinks of me but having him suggest that I’m a dumb whore hurts more than it should. Someone told me once that it’s all I’ll ever be, and I wanted him to be wrong.
But maybe he was right. Moose certainly seems to think so.
“Claire…”
I ignore him, and the surprise at hearing him call me by my actual name instead of my last name or the condescending ‘princess’. But Moose is a man, and they don’t like to be ignored. His hand grips my chin, and for some reason—maybe because it’s gentler than I anticipated—I let him turn me to face him. “I wasn’t going to fuck the whole fraternity.”
He laughs, making my anger grow, until he says, “I know.”
“I just want to…”
He lifts an eyebrow, waiting for whatever response I have. His jade green eyes glitter with amusement, and I shake my head, deciding not to tell him. “What do you want?” He prompts, those words surprisingly seductive in the hazy light between us.
I swallow my fear of being vulnerable with him. Maybe if I stop fighting him, he will take it easier on me. It’s easier to just give him what he wants. “I want to feel something.”
I expect him to laugh at me, to tell me that I’m being dramatic, to make a joke about what a desperate slut I am. He does none of that, choosing to repeat my own words back to me. “You want to… feel something?”
I laugh, because now that I’ve heard it out loud from someone else, it sounds ridiculous. The problem isn’t that I can’t feel anything.
The problem is that I feel too many things.
I don’t know how to silence them anymore. My old coping techniques don’t work because they were based on an old version of me. I’ve shed that skin without having another to step in, and I haven’t yet figured out how to quiet the noise in my head.
Being who I was when I was with Remy had helped, but I apparently can’t be that person with the babysitter he hired to watch me. Hypocritical that he let me be myself when he was the one reaping the rewards. It’s why I’m so intent on finding Wes. Because finding him will let me find his father. But I can’t tell anyone about that, either.
“What? What do you want to feel?” Moose asks, studying me. There’s no judgement in his gaze—he just looks curious.
I don’t know how to answer that truthfully. I want to feel like I belong in this world, like I have a place and a meaning and a goal. I want to know that I’m not the same girl who couldn’t see beyond the ‘then’, so she tried to end it all. But the truth is, I feel just as directionless, just as helpless… even if I’m not the same girl.
“Everything at the right times.”
He doesn’t need to open his mouth to tell me that makes no sense. I can see it written all over his face. “It must be so easy not to be afraid of anything.” I roll my eyes and turn back to the window, not giving him a chance to gloat.
To my surprise, his laugh isn’t smug as I’d expect. “Everyone is afraid of something, Monroe.”
Back on the last name basis, I see. I turn to glare at him. “Yeah? So, tell me what yours is.”
“Only if you guess it.” He smirks.
“Remy?” I try. “You seem awful concerned with not pissing him off.”
“Because pissing off a guy like that would be stupid. He’s powerful, he’s rich.” I roll my eyes again, regretting bringing him up in the first place. But I guess I like pain because I’m the one who invited the topic into conversation. “And he is absolutely obsessed with you.”
I stare at him, trying to figure out whether he’s lying, trying to feed my ego. “Sure, he is. That’s why he gave me permission to fuck whoever I want, right?” I laugh. Of course, I’d have been pissed if he’d had the audacity to tell me no, I didn’t. And it wouldn’t have stopped me from doing any of the flirting I did the other night with Austin.
“I suspect you’ll pay for it later.” Moose laughs a little. “But to answer your question, no. I’m not afraid of your big, scary, billionaire boyfriend.”
I start to tell him Remy’s not my boyfriend, but it seems a moot point to talk about him anymore. “Fine. Clowns?”
His lip twitches, but he remains otherwise impassive. “Not even Gacey.”
“So killer clowns are a no-go, too?” I purse my lips in thought. “Needles?”
That seems like a stupid guess given the tattoos on his neck, a canvas without an inch of space untouched. But I’ve heard that people with fear of needles can still get tattooed because their fear is only of being pierced with a needle.
“I like pain, princess. Just like you.”
“I’ve never told you I like pain.”
“You’ve never had to.” He chuckles. “I can read you like a book.”
Another point I want to challenge him on, but I’m not ready to admit defeat yet. “Snakes? No, you look like the sort of psychopath who had one in his childhood bedroom.”
Moose laughs deeply, and I don’t know if it’s because I called him a psychopath or because he is one. “Wrong on both accounts. I’m not afraid of snakes, but that doesn’t mean I want to own them.”
“Spiders? Cockroaches?”
“Why would I be afraid of something I can crush under my boot? No.”
I’ve been asking him these questions like he’s a normal person, but Moose isn’t normal just like I’m not normal. He’s a man with abandonment issues. “Knocking up a one-night stand? Commitment? ”
“I’m not afraid to commit to the right cause. And children don’t scare me.”
“But what about the idea of being responsible for a child?” I argue. “It’s objectively different.”
“No. I think I do a good job at this whole ‘protection’ thing, don’t you?”
I laugh so loud the woman in front of me turns to glare at us. Moose disarms her with a brilliant smile while I clap a hand over my mouth until the humor subsides. “You aren’t seriously telling me that you following me around is like being a father?”
Moose shrugs. “Just call me daddy.”
It takes a minute for the joke to sink in, and then I punch him in the shoulder, the both of us laughing together this time. “Not even if I liked you.”