19. Make a Plan
~ brIDGET ~
EMAIL FROM: The Dick (Richard Fitch)
TO: Bridget
SUBJECT: Don’t forget that coffee!
--
FROM: Asshole (Jeremy Haines)
TO: Bridget
SUBJECT: What the fuck are you up to?
--
EMAIL FROM: Asshole (Jeremy Haines)
TO: Bridget
SUBJECT: Answer me
--
Checking my email was a smorgasbord of nope. There was a reason I didn’t have this account linked to my phone. But it had been three days since I had seen or heard from Cain and I was losing my mind. I barely slept last night. I was checking my DMs obsessively. And the itch between my shoulder blades was starting to feel like a fist planted and trying to shove me forward.
Cain had said he would choose where and when he came for me. He’d said I couldn't try to entice him, or he’d never come back. But with every passing, neurotic moment, as my skin felt too tight and the darkness over my head began to press down, I got closer to doing something stupid.
Gerald tried to tell me this was a panic attack. He claimed I confused thrill with connection, and was unconsciously trying to soothe my loneliness and distract my brain from trauma by weaponizing adrenaline.
“You’re self-medicating, Bridget. Just without the pills.”
I grimaced at the sound of his voice in my head. I wasn’t panicking. Not really. I was bored. And didn’t like being alone in silence.
In the past I would have already been out looking for some fun—and found it. But this past year I was starting to find most of those distractions were so hollow and unsatisfying, they did little more than keep my body moving for a few hours.
Gerald had applauded when I told him I’d virtually stopped my risky, promiscuous coping behaviors as he liked to call them.
I called it going a little crazy, and I’d only stopped because the behavior stopped achieving the pay-off of soothing the itch. Of course, that also meant that life had become very… uneasy.
Hence, toying a little with Jeremy. And my search for Cain.
But now I was pacing my own house like I was caged, and that wasn’t fun at all. And it was only Tuesday. The first few hours had been fine, getting Nate’s help to clean my phone. I’d slept like a baby, with a smile on my face, knowing whatever Cain had been monitoring was now sadly lacking in access.
I’d been certain when he realized, he’d either come for me out of sheer rage, or at least message me so we could banter about it. But nothing.
It was driving me nuts.
I bit my lip, staring at the computer screen that was still benignly staring back with zero contact from Cain and I made the decision.
If he didn’t get in touch, or start a hunt today, I was going to have to find something else to distract me. And I couldn’t tell him about it because he’d think I was trying to draw him out.
And then I remembered.
Hurrying back to my desk, I yanked open the drawer where I threw stuff that wasn’t important, but I wanted to keep. I had to dig through a little to find it because I’d been looking for a pen the other day, but then I uncovered that little cream card under the pamphlet Gerald had given me about Borderline Antisocial Behaviors and I relaxed a hair.
Sid Vicious
The Conductor
Invitation for One
It was only Tuesday. And Ronald worked Saturday to Wednesday.
I smiled and grabbed my wallet, sliding the card into a slot for safe keeping. Not that I planned to use it. It might be a challenge to get into his den without it, but I had contacts, and testicular heft. If Cain didn’t show up today, I’d set myself a little challenge to get in and see Ronald work tonight.
That itch between my shoulder blades that had been making me squirm, eased off and I blew out a breath.
I had a plan.
Either way, tonight was going to be fun.
But then I deflated because that just meant that I had a lot of very unfun hours to kill between now and then.
Reluctantly, I sat back down at the computer and opened the first email from Jeremy, biting my lip as I scanned the first one quickly, which started as little more than his usual whining, but then at the end…
…if I can’t trust you to be in this with me, then I’m ending our arrangement. This isn’t what I signed up for, Bree. You’re making me look bad.
Shit.
I really did panic then. I wanted to keep Jeremy close without actually having to touch him. I didn’t want him to find someone else!
I hurriedly clicked into the second email, my heart beginning to race. But he hadn’t put anything in the body of the email, just that subject line.
Answer me.
Muttering a curse, I clicked Reply and hammered something out in a rush.
--
FROM: Bridget
TO: Asshole (Jeremy Haines)
SUBJECT: RE: What the fuck are you up to?
J, calm the fuck down. I don’t have your email on my phone because it’s not secure.
Remember I told you about Dick, the old chaplain from high school? Well, he’s shown up again and now he’s actually an old man. I’m going to see him today. Then I’ve got my weekly flaying from Gerald tomorrow. You know that takes it out of me. I’ll be in touch on the weekend when things have settled down. But stop panicking. Nothing has changed. I’m just working on stuff, that’s all.
--
After I pressed send, I opened Richard’s email, wincing because it was days old, and didn’t even bother to read it since I knew why he was messaging—he’d thought I wouldn’t show.
--
FROM: Bridget
TO: The Dick (Richard Fitch)
SUBJECT: RE: Don’t forget that coffee!
Hey Dick, I haven’t forgotten you. I’ll see you after lunch today. Promise.
--
I sent that one then shut my email down immediately so even if Jeremy responded right away, he’d know I hadn’t opened it. Then I jiggled my foot the whole time I was quitting the masking and VPN and getting the computer secure and shut down.
The hours of the day stretched ahead of me, and I felt like my skin was so tight it was threatening blood flow. Options kept flooding my mind—but I had to discard them because they were only going to get me in trouble. But even that thought pissed me off, because why did Cain and Gerald get to decide what was good for me?
I recognized the anger as a panic response and shook my head as I dove out of the office chair and out of the room.
I was going to be a good girl —I shivered, goosebumps rising on the back of my neck as those words echoed in my head in Cain’s deep, approving growl. But only until tonight. If Cain didn’t show up tonight when I was on my way back from seeing Richard, I was going to head into the city.
That meant I needed to wash my hair, which meant a real shower. And I’d have to bring a change of clothes since no one but the richest and most powerful got into Vigorí unless they dressed the part. Valerie was unwavering on that. It added to the risk for those who wanted to remain anonymous—and I was pretty sure she used it for marketing.
There was no signage on the old industrial complex that housed that den of iniquity. But anyone who was paying attention wouldn’t miss that wealthy and freakish looking people wearing a lot of leather, silk, masks, and cloaks showed up in the area at all times of day and night. Though most of the truly wealthy just had drivers drop them off at the doors, then speed away.
Still. I didn’t have a driver, which meant I had to walk on the sidewalk like a normal person. I needed to be prepared.
At least when I saw Gerald tomorrow I’d be able to tell him the very real story of going to talk to my old high school chaplain.
Twice.
Hopefully, that would get him so excited, his ancient brain wouldn’t register that I hadn’t relayed any stories of my evening escapades.
God, I hoped Cain would show up tonight.
I had one fleeting glance back towards the computer, my finger twitching to send him a message.
Then I remembered… I could text him! He hadn’t said I couldn’t contact him, only that I couldn’t try to entice him.
But then I couldn’t think of anything I could send him that wouldn’t be either a temptation, or a straight-up plea. So I growled another curse and went to make myself a late breakfast.