Chapter Twenty Nine
Maggie
I’m standing in Harry’s formal living room, a pleasant smile on my face that couldn’t be faker. Miles has been talking about his boat, I shit you not, his boat, for the last forty-five minutes. As if I really give a fuck how many knots it can go per hour or the new decking he had put in. It’s a goddamn boat.
I knew from the moment I told him I was not, nor will I ever be, attracted to men and he tried to turn it into his one and only chance to have a threesome, that I was well and truly fucked in this arrangement. There would be no friendship, no life where we lived platonically and had separate romantic lives. There would be no kindness and understanding with one another, and there sure as shit was no making the best out of this situation. I could have been matched with someone a lot worse, but on the same hand, I could have been matched with someone a hell of a lot better.
It's Christmas Eve tonight, and apparently, the Brentons have an annual party that most of the elites of the Brethren attend, apart from the Elders, of course. My family has never been invited before this year, but like I said, it’s for the elites. Or at least those who identify as an elite. If the Elders knew what they called each other and thought of each other, they’d laugh in their faces, maybe slit their throats as well.
My eyes move through the room before landing on Bridgette. She is smiling up at Thomas Booth like he hung the moon, stars, and the whole goddamn galaxy. Thomas grins as he pulls her tightly into his side. It seems like Bridgette is officially well and truly over Asher. Which is good, especially for Skyla’s sake. My god, I don’t think my best friend could have handled much more of the possessive bullshit Bridgette was pulling. I also don’t think Bridgette could have handled much more because Vincent has been ready to kill her for months.
I never asked Skyla not to let him. That just would have been…wrong. She could see my desperation, though, my silent pleas. She’s a much better friend than I. I’m not afraid to admit it. She called off her guard dogs, and with Bridgette all but disappearing from existence, things have settled enough.
At least now I know why she hasn’t been at school as much lately. Why she’s given up on someone she’s wanted for so long. She moved on. And with him? I’m not judging but…oh wait, yes, I am. He is her father’s age, and it fucking shows. He’s not one of those good looking older men. He’s just old, honestly older looking than Harry. The man looks like shit with a slimy smile that makes you crave a shower after a single look.
He steps away from her for a moment, pulled into another conversation. The moment his attention is no longer on her, Bridgette’s smile drops, and she throws back her champagne glass, downing it in one gulp before grabbing two more from a passing waiter. I frown as I walk away from Miles, not giving a shit that he’s still yammering about that damn boat. By the time I get to Bridgette, she has already polished off one of her glasses and is starting the other.
“You should go easy,” I say as I come up behind her.
She startles for a moment, her gaze guarded and meek. Not at all like the Bridgette I know and…yeah, not at all like Bridgette.
“I’m fine,” she says before downing the next drink.
“The doctor said no alcohol, especially not with your pain meds,” I say as I look at her casted wrist.
It’s been about seven weeks since the whole fork thing. She should be able to get the cast off between eight to twelve weeks, so she’s almost free from it. Clearly, she’s fighting with something else now. A wound on the inside.
“Not on those anymore,” she says as she grabs another two glasses from a server.
She can barely grip a glass with her cast, but somehow, she manages as she lifts her other glass to her mouth. I reach out, holding her wrist as I stop her movement.
“Doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t be getting drunk. Especially not with…certain people around,” I say as I nod subtly to Thomas. God knows what he’d love to do with a vulnerable and gorgeous woman like Bridgette.
She laughs bitterly before looking at me.
“Walk away, Maggie. We know it’s what you do best.”
Hurt stabs through me as my face scrunches up in confusion. Bridgette shakes her head like she’s disappointed before pushing past me, stumbling towards the bathroom. What the fuck? She thinks I walk away? From her?
Yeah, I walked away when I found her fucking around with someone else. I walked away when she tried to come onto me high as a kite, telling me things I only wished I could hear, making promises I knew she wouldn’t keep when the next sun rose. I walked away, but it wasn’t because I wanted to, either time. It was because I had to. How can she not see that?
Shaking my head, I storm off, needing some fresh air. Pushing the patio doors open, I step outside when a sharp chill rips through me. Fuck, it’s cold out here. New England winters are not for the weak. At least I know that I’ll be left alone out here, though.
At least, I thought so.
“Maggie?” A familiar voice calls from my left.
Glancing over, I see Maryia wearing a white as snow dress with a fur wrap. She looks every bit the pure and demure daughter her parents dress her up to be. Her hair is wrapped up on the top of her head in a complicated updo and she has teardrop diamond earrings on that could probably feed all of Salem for a month, at least.
“Hi,” I say, not really having much else to say.
I force myself to look away, staring out at the frosty night. Part of the ‘therapy’ sessions I have endured lately have been Maryia based. I haven’t spoken to her in so long, I’m not sure why he felt the need to do so. Maybe because he knew she’d be here tonight. He wanted to remove temptation? I don’t know, but I hate to admit…it’s kind of working.
As soon as my eyes met hers, I felt…something. At first, it felt like the butterflies I used to feel around her, but just as quickly, the feeling soured in my stomach, and flashes of one particular session darted to the forefront of my mind.
There is definitely something to be said when someone is tortured in a certain way. When they are forced to associate that torture with a particular item, or in this case, person. A deep-seated fear blooms inside me as I look around, anxious if anyone has seen us out here alone.
“Are you okay?” she asks softly, taking a small step towards me.
“S-stay there,” I say, as I begin to feel myself lose reality.
My head is a warzone, trying to make sense of what is a natural thought and what is a trauma based one. What feelings are my own, and which are the poisonous words he beat into my brain? Squeezing my eyes shut, I feel my breathing begin to quicken as I spiral. I’ve never had this happen because I haven’t been confronted like this before. I haven’t been in a situation like this until now and it’s too much. It’s too…
Soft hands cup either side of my face, almost like they are grounding me. Like they won’t let me fly up and away. My eyes slowly pull open and when they do, I realize that I’m shaking. Not a slight quiver, but a full body shaking panic.
“Shh shhh,” Maryia says, her chestnut brown eyes looking at mine with concern. “Are you okay?”
In the pictures he had of her, she wasn’t this clear, not this vivid. Her eyes almost looked black, either from the angle or the lighting. They weren’t this warm, this soothing. Her breath wasn’t fanning across my face gently, her pulse thrumming in her neck. Forcing my eyes closed, I take in a shaky breath before blowing it out.
It’s not real. It’s not real. She’s real. This is real. All of that other stuff is…not real.
When I open my eyes again, I notice the shaking has stopped and my heartbeat slows.
“Thanks,” I rasp.
Her brows furrow in concern.
“What happened?”
She needs to be more specific. Does she mean just now? Earlier? When I got beat to an inch of my life, of course, where no one could see it, for getting caught wrapped up with her? Then when I emerged the next day, she was nowhere to be found? She’s a coward.
Stepping out of her touch, I shake my head.
“What are you doing here?”
She looks hurt by the move as she pulls her fur wrap around her tighter.
“My family was invited. We come every year. I was nervous, considering the last time I saw Harry was…awkward.”
A bitter laugh escapes me. Awkward? Awkward? She really just called it awkward. Oh my fucking god.
“I’m sorry, Maggie. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I got scared, and I panicked and…”
She stops herself, her head shaking as her eyes come to me once more.
“I was a coward.”
Preach.
“I barely even checked on you. I was so scared for you that night and all the nights after, but I was more afraid for myself, and that’s fucked. I don’t want to be that person. Not…not when it comes to you.”
I frown as she takes a small step towards me like I’m the one who’s easily spooked. I guess in this situation, I am. Maybe Bambi should be my nickname now.
“Just because I haven’t reached out doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about you, Maggie,” she says as she takes another step.
“Thought you said you were just looking to experiment,” I say stiffly. My guard is still up from my panic attack, but my curiosity allows her to come closer.
I can practically feel the warped thoughts and fears desperately clawing to escape, but I don’t let them. I keep them locked up tight as I focus on this moment. We are real, we are here. We aren’t in that dark, damp basement. This is reality, not that.
Maryia shakes her head, stopping when we are practically nose to nose.
“I think you and I both know there is more to this than that.”
“Is there?” I challenge, doing my best to appear unaffected, unbothered.
My heart is hammering in my chest, maybe from anticipation, maybe fear. Maybe a whole mess of issues that a lifetime of therapy could never properly sort out.
The truth is, I did like Maryia. It sucked when she disappeared on me like that. I thought that maybe we could be something. I thought the same thing about Bridgette, though, and look where that got me. As much as I can’t stomach the idea, maybe Sky has it right with the whole four boyfriends thing. Or maybe it’s five now? I honestly can’t keep up. I mean, she seems happy. Those men would die for her at the drop of a hat. I can’t even get someone to be faithful to me or not run away when things get a little messy. Clearly, I need to take some lessons from my best friend. I just need it applied to women because one dick sounds like a nightmare, but five? I don’t know how that girl walks.
“Mags,” she says softly, hurt lacing her voice.
I’m not trying to hurt her, but I’m also not looking to get hurt. Haven’t I been on the losing end long enough? I’m over it.
“Look, I just…you walked away for a reason. You’re not ready for this or strong enough to endure or whatever, and that’s fine. That’s okay. You can’t just give me all the pretty words and bat your pretty fucking eyes at me and expect me to drop my entire guard. You can’t expect me to just start falling for you, never knowing when you’re going to bail,” I say.
Her lips mash together as she nods.
“You’re right.”
I am? I mean, yeah. I am.
“I’m not going to bail, though. Not again. I hooked up with you for the thrill. I won’t lie but…you wormed your way in here,” she says, resting her hand on her chest.
I frown at her. I mean, we only truly hooked up twice. I wouldn’t even call us together. We were so casual. It’s not like we were…
“I want you, Maggie, and I’ll do whatever it takes to prove myself.”
“I—”
“Please,” she says as one of her hands reaches up and cups my face. “Please, I’m so sorry, Maggie. Give me another chance.”
I open my mouth to tell her it’s best if we forget everything when her lips are on mine. It catches me off guard for a moment, but feeling her soft lips shakes something inside me. I’m not sure if I lean in out of familiarity or maybe it’s just been too goddamn long since I’ve been with anyone. I find all my protests dying on my tongue, though, as I lean into the kiss.
Maryia’s tongue flicks out, wrapping around mine when a noise catches my attention from above us. My eyes open, and I look up to see a figure staring down at us from a bedroom window. Bridgette.
She’s frowning as she looks down at us, and don’t ask me why I do this next. I’m a petty fucking bitch who is still clearly hurt over finding her with Asher. Wrapping my arms around Maryia’s neck, I pull her closer to me, keeping my eyes on Bridgette as my tongue licks Maryia’s lips before tangling with her tongue once again.
Bridgette closes her eyes, shutting the curtains as the bedroom light shuts off. Why didn’t that make me feel as good as I thought it would? I thought it would almost feel like revenge, like I got the upper hand. A sickening feeling fills me, though, and I can’t help but pull away.
When I do, Maryia is breathless, grinning like she’s just been given a key to the goddamn world.
“Be with me, Maggie. Please,” she begs.
I glance up at the dark window for half a second before my eyes come back down to Maryia. This is no doubt so fucking stupid. It’s not like we could ever be together in the traditional sense. Hell, with Harry catching us, we can’t even hang out under the guise of friends. It makes literally no sense to pick Maryia out of anyone. One worse choice pops into my head, though, and I decide that I deserve a little bit of happiness in this life, no matter how fleeting it may be.
“Okay.”