14. Evelyn
His room was beautiful; modern with an old-world flair. The canopy around the bed had been left open, and I found a black hoodie in Laszlo’s dresser that went down to my knees, far too big on me, but it smelled like him. He never joined me in the bedroom, and eventually I fell into troubled sleep.
He wasn’t home by the time I woke up that afternoon.
In his place were seven new complete outfits, all in my size, all with new tags, all with receipts.
The cute pink halter top and chromatic skirt that I’d worn the night before had been laundered, and they were folded next to my high heels, which had also been cleaned. The sight of them sent vomit into my throat, and I sprinted to the bathroom, heaving my guts up.
By the time I was done, I felt desiccated.
Between the vomit and the tears, my body was a dried-out husk, and I made my way to Laszlo’s kitchen.
Bottles of sparkling water in the fridge.
I drank it out of the glass, the bubbles slowing me down.
One bottle gone, and I switched to orange juice, immediately regretting it.
The acid bubbled in my stomach, and I was forced to eject it into his sink.
My throat was raw, but I went slower after all that. A glass of lukewarm tap water, then another. I started the kettle and found the tea bags in the same place he’d got them from the night before. Waiting in the immaculate kitchen, my body became restless.
My thoughts gnawed at the back of my mind, and standing idle was a terrible thing.
I left the kitchen to look around.
His place was huge, many times bigger than my dingy place. The furniture was new, sleek. Silver and black, monochromatic with random splashes of colour on massive canvases.
I studied the hung art intently, hoping that through it, I could understand Laszlo better. The pieces I had of him were all shattered, they didn’t fit together, and he remained an enigma, a dark fascination in the corners of my mind.
He killed a man, took his job, but then instead of killing me and ensuring my silence, he wanted to send me away to Idaho. He told me he wanted to encourage me to follow my dreams. There was real pain in his voice when he told me to touch him, to help him get aroused.
He didn’t want to force me.
If I’d said no or resisted, what would he have done?
It wasn’t an option. Not for me. Not for him. Jimmy was too keyed up. I would have done anything to avoid finding out what would have happened if I turned Laszlo down. Shame swam in my stomach, the gnawing of my mother’s voice at the edges of my mind, threatening me with the truth.
That I wanted it to happen. Not like that, while we were being watched and jeered at. Even thinking about it filled me with an uncomfortable heat and I yanked myself away from the art and my forbidden reveries.
The living room had a full bar, bottles of expensive liquor on display. Almost all of them were sealed. I tried to open the glass doors to the patio for some fresh air, but it was locked.
The first law of heaven was obedience and the reward for my perfect obedience was a gilded cage.
The commune was filled with people, and I was never alone there. There were always chores, things I should be doing or helping with. A way to be useful. Being bored was like an itch under my skin that I couldn’t scratch.
Maybe if I found some paper, I could doodle. Stem the void that was opening inside me, threatening to engulf everything.
Where was he?
Off the living room was a library that didn’t fit the modern decor. Leather tomes, mahogany shelves built into the walls. A desk sat in the centre, unused, though a chair next to the window was well-worn. It was at odds with the asceticism of the rest of the place, and it smelled like books.
There was no paper or pencils, so I sat down on the pillows of the window box, staring down at the Arkham street.
I’m going to end up just like my mother.
I was on my feet, sprinting out the door, before I registered the thought.
Across the hall was a room with a huge screen, leather sofas, and chairs set up like in a theatre. A bunch of unopened blu-rays sat next to a player, mostly dramas, a few musicals. Classics from the ‘70s.
One had a man’s tattooed hands on the cover, promising that every sin left a mark.
I hid it under the cushion. I wanted to watch it, but not today.
The next room was more lived in, with a half-dozen computer monitors, a TV, and a glossy, black desk.
Even though it was mid-day, Laszlo’s office was gloomy, illuminated by the flicker of his screens.
A snake coiled from one monitor, slithering onto the next, in some type of screensaver.
Its blue scales shimmered, catching the light, before blending into a green, then a yellow, then an orange.
Was that who Laszlo was?
A snake changing its scales?
The computer could tell me his secrets. My grandmother had one and while I didn’t have a lot of practice, I knew the basics. Despite my foreboding sense of intruding on his privacy, I jiggled the mouse.
A sharp siren pierced the air, and I jumped, my heart racing.
It was trapped.
It was all a trap!
I rushed from the office, only to realize the sound was the kettle.
My nerves were frayed. Shutting the kettle off, I returned to the second floor, no longer interested in tea.
In the upstairs bathroom, I saw my face was puffy and swollen. Opening his cabinet, I found some half-used facial cream. It was overly familiar to use it, intimate somehow.
It smelled like him; woodsy. I dabbed some under my eyes, and it soothed my tender flesh.
He said I was safe here, but without him, I was skittish, on edge. I went to his bedroom. Outside of the window there were a few people walking through the drizzle, bundled up in black. I tried to see if any of them were Jimmy, but they were all hidden under umbrellas.
What did you think would happen? Strutting around like a Jezebel.
My mother’s voice again.
I swallowed my disgust.
His place was massive, but I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I reached up to my throat to ground myself with my protective crystal, forgetting I had lost it. It was no wonder last night turned disastrous.
Tears pricked my eyes, and I bitterly blinked them away.
The loss made me feel more vulnerable than ever, and I knew I couldn’t stay in the penthouse any longer.
Not all alone. It was all too much to understand on my own.
I needed someone with experience who could help me make sense of it. I needed to talk to Roxy.
I looked at the clothes Laszlo bought me, laid out on his canopy bed. When did he have time to get these for me? There were some casual shirts and skirts, some stretchy pants, and long sleeve shirts. A pair of sneakers and high heels.
Then there was the long gown with a modest neckline, the same pink shade I gravitated too. It was like a more glamourous outfit from my time with the Family.
Conservative, despite the colour.
I ripped the tag off the gown—it was worth more than a month of groceries—and tossed the tag in the garbage. Standing up, I dressed while trying to perceive or touch myself as little as possible. To my surprise, the gown fit my larger hips and smaller chest, as if it were tailored to me.
I started putting the high heels on, but when I was fastening the second one, I stumbled. A framed photo knocked off his nightstand, the glass shattering on the hard tile.
“Sorry!”
Who was I apologizing to?
I was all alone.
Still, my skin flushed, my shoulders tightened, and I braced for a punishment that never came. After a few moments, I regained my composure, bending down to pick up the large shards.
Instinct.
Make everything better.
I stared at a picture of two children, the ink so faded I couldn’t make out their identity. Adults stood on either side of them, headless pillars, the frame purposefully covering their faces.
I placed the photo back on the nightstand. I left the room, grabbing the clothes from last night and tossing them in the garbage on my way out. They reminded me of Jimmy, tainted from his touch. I unlocked the deadlocks, threw open the door, and startled at Rurik standing guard outside.
“Where’s Laszlo?” I demanded.
Rurik stared down at me, and he looked surprised that I was speaking to him so sharply.
“He went out a few hours ago. Told me to watch out for you.”
“When will he be back?”
Rurik shrugged his broad shoulders.
I swallowed all my rage and panic, and held my head up high like my grandmother told me. Roxy would tell me if I was being stupid to stay with him, if I was acting like my mother, submissive to a man who caged her but doesn’t want her.
“Are the VIPs going to be at the club tonight?” I asked Rurik, and he raised a brow, confused. “You know, your… friends.”
“Naw, they got some business elsewhere tonight.”
I’d never seen any of the VIPs come into the Gilt and Gloam solo. Gorky, the bartender, would’ve blabbed to Mr. Bodrov about it. And if they weren’t going to be there, then neither was Jimmy.
“Then it’s time for me to go to work. Get the vehicle.”