Chapter 69 Leila
Leila
Two months before the murder
I both love and hate summer nights.
On the one hand, I adore the hazy, hot, sticky vibe that comes with them. On the other, they create more risk.
By the time I leave Audrey’s house on Fridays, I usually arrive at the club between 7:30 p.m. and 8 p.m. In the winter months, I could hide under my winter coat without being seen.
But now, it’s still light at that time, which makes me nervous; anyone could see me.
I worry it’s only a matter of time before I’m found out.
I barely recognize myself lately. Fantasizing about doing things with Jack—merely existing outside his apartment, especially now it’s so bright out—is my new hobby.
I catch myself in court, sometimes, daydreaming about us walking on the beach hand in hand, drinking cocktails at sunset, even just walking down the street together.
Things we’ll never be able to do in real life.
I’m aware our relationship can never escape the four walls it’s been consigned to. We’re trapped.
It was never supposed to be more than a one-night thing.
A few hours of filth, lust, passion, whatever you want to call it—and it was all of those things, ramped up to the hilt.
But those things are addictive, aren’t they?
So we did it again. And again. The weird thing was, not once did it feel like we shouldn’t be doing it.
I never felt a sense of taboo, that we were abusing the barrister–client power dynamic, because we’re both so similar it doesn’t matter.
We are equals.
That’s why it didn’t take long for things to shift.
We never spoke about it but we both felt it.
The sex became slower, more intimate. His eyes would latch on to mine and I’d want them never to leave.
I started staying afterward, my naked body pressed tightly to his beneath the covers, and right there, in that tiny bedroom, with his arms wrapped around me, I felt more protected and loved than I had in my entire life.
Sometimes we’d talk; other times, we’d lie there in silence.
But his touch never left mine. He made my body feel it was my own again.
It no longer belonged to Dad or to any of the other men who had used it.
Jack is the only man I’ve ever felt comfortable enough with to tell what happened to me.
The relief when he didn’t turn away was overwhelming.
Our meeting became the highlight of our week. We had two—maybe three—hours together, at the absolute most.
I didn’t like talking about Julian; his moods, his ego, the fact I suspected he was having an affair. I couldn’t have cared less, and it would make my life easier if he was. At least, then, I’d have something to use against him, especially if I could prove it.
I was tired of pretending I had the perfect life.
It’s one of the hottest days of the year, according to the forecast, and it’s always boiling hot in Jack’s apartment.
The film of sweat that covers our bare bodies acts like glue.
Even with the covers thrown off, we melt in the heat.
The Velux window is wide open, but there’s still not enough oxygen.
“My life is better because of you,” Jack says to me now, as my head nestles in the crease of his shoulder. A fissure of fear runs through me when he says this; Elise said something similar to me years ago.
“How can you say that, Jack?” I whisper. My body radiates with guilt when I think about it. “I got you sent to prison.”
“I don’t blame you for that. You know I don’t.”
“I’ll always blame myself. I should have trusted my gut.”
“No,” he says, giving me a squeeze. “Everything happens for a reason. It all ended up OK. I’m happy where I am now. More than happy.”
Jack is so forgiving, so balanced. I found it difficult at first. I was brought up to be cynical, to always see the worst in people. He’s the exact opposite.
“Me too.” I smile, tracing my finger up his torso and onto his chest. “It’s just…messy.”
“We could make it simpler.”
I wish I was as laid-back as him. I wish I didn’t have the constraints I do.
“You know it’s…difficult,” I tell him again. It’s what I always tell him in a bid to convince myself, because considering doing anything about it is too terrifying.
“Just leave him and we can go somewhere. Anywhere. Away from here.”
“Jack…”
“I know it’s only been five months, but I’m sure about this. I’m sure about you.”
And the stupid thing is, I’m sure, too. Is that crazy? I’ve never felt anything like this before. We can heal each other, I’m sure of it.
“I want to. You know I do. But I can’t just leave. I’ve got my job—a job I’ve worked so hard for—and he wouldn’t make it easy for me.”
Jack kisses the top of my head and strokes my hair, letting me know it’s OK. He gets it, how conflicted I am. He’s the only person who understands.
“I can’t stand the thought of you going back there to him.”
Neither can I.
“He would destroy me. Julian Kesler KC can’t have two women divorcing him. I need time to figure out the right way to do it.”
I’ve become used to it now, the sense of dread gathering around me as I approach the house.
Not knowing what I’ll be hit with first—the parade of subtle put-downs or the sneaky, controlling behavior.
There exists now a familiarity to his quiet nastiness, and I feel like that little girl again—trapped—living at home with my father.
I promised her I’d get her out, but I dropped her straight back into an environment just as harmful, and now she’s too frightened to leave. Again.
“I just wish I could take you somewhere, protect you.”
I’m not the kind of woman who cries. I don’t get emotional; I never have. Crying was only ever used to manipulate a man or get something I needed. But, right now, here, I have to try hard to stop myself.
“I’d like that, too,” I tell him. He has no idea how much.
We lie in the heat for a few more minutes, just taking in the time we have together.
The bright blue sky and cotton wool clouds through the skylight, our rhythmic breaths that always sync when we lie beside each other, the atmospheric notes of “You’ll Never Walk Alone” by Gerry and the Pacemakers.
I like to have music on when I’m here so I can listen to it later and think of him.
“What did you think of me when you first met me, that day I first represented you?” I ask him, out of nowhere.
A broad smile spreads across his face. It’s the kind I love, the one that shows off his dimples. He hasn’t shaved for a few days, so he looks rugged and wild. His black hair frames his beautiful face and makes his blue eyes pop.
“Honestly? I thought you were just like me, which was weird for a lawyer. And down-to-earth. Smart. Beautiful.”
Hearing him say that makes me light up inside.
“Say we did run away.” I sigh. “Where would we go?”
“I’ve always wanted to visit Australia.”
“That’s the goal, then. Even if it’s in five, ten years’ time. We’ll walk down the street in Sydney, holding hands, no sneaking around. Nobody will know us or care who we are. How does that sound?”
“I thought you told me not to trust lawyers?” he says, frowning at me jokingly.
“Don’t use my own words against me!”
He pulls me closer to him and places his hand on the side of my face, kissing me slowly, softly, sensually. He’s so close I can feel his heart beating against mine.
“I love you,” he says. It’s the first time either of us has said it. I’m glad he said it first.
“I love you, too. So much.”
I was always led to believe this wouldn’t happen. That no man but my father would ever love me. That I wasn’t truly worthy of it.
It’s not going to be easy, but I will make this happen. I’ll find a way to leave Julian. Never did I ever believe that people could change—that I could change—but they can, and I like the person I’ve become.
I never thought I’d be able to say that.