20. Phoebe
Chapter twenty
Phoebe
I raise my head unsteadily, trying to avoid the sunlight streaming through the large windows, and attacking the top of my sunglasses. I grimace at the sharp blades slicing into my brain from last night’s lack of control, and heavy drinking, which caused me to get a shit ton drunk, and pass out on my super comfy couch, and wake this morning with the mother of all hangovers. The last time I was this inebriated was the day my father declared that I would marry Nicolo Amato, and wouldn’t hear any of my objections. At least then, I had Aiden to help me when I puked all over the floor, and to bring me greasy food, when I needed to soak up all the alcohol. Now I’m all alone and have to tend to myself.
“Jesus, anam cara, did you drink up every ounce of liquor in your athair’s cabinet? You’re a damn mess,” Aiden groans, as he holds back my hair from my sweaty face with one hand, and rubs up and down my heaving back with the other, as I embarrassingly empty the contents of my stomach in the toilet bowl.
Once I am d one allowing my insides to attempt to escape me, I lean back against his stable and reassuring form, and allow myself to breathe in his enticing woodsy and smoky scent. I shiver as my body melts against his, the soothing heat of his skin sinking into mine. My muddled brain supplies that no man should be allowed to smell this good, it’s just not fair to the rest of the human population. “I... I can’t do this, Aiden. I... can’t.” Tears slide down my face, and only manage to make me feel even more pathetic and wretched than I already do, as he strokes my hair, and kisses the top of my head. His touch turns me into a puddle of emotions, want and need, and the unfairness of our world circling and clinging within me. My hands claw at his chest, desperation, and the need to be close to him, and hold onto something familiar, something real, roaring through me. “I know, mo stoirín, I know. We’ll figure it out. I’ll get my dad’s help, and we will talk some sense into him, and make him change his mind. I promise, Phoebe, do you hear me? I promise.”
I’m yanked back out of the memory with a painful jolt. The fact is, neither he nor his father managed to change my dad’s mind, about forcing me to marry into the Amato family. When my father died suddenly in an attack by another rival crime organization, I thought for sure that would be the end of the marriage bartering, and my brother, who loved me, would release me from the agreement. Instead, I was horrified to learn that the only thing Tadhg did was negotiate for more territory, and throw me to the Italian wolves.
My stomach clenches painfully, and threatens to have me running for the bathroom, as I force my body to lean against the counter, to prevent myself from falling to the ground. I swear I am never drinking whiskey again. I don’t even know what came over me. I think it was a combination of all the stress, the idiot stalking me and leaving me dead animals, constantly having to be vigilant in case someone finds me, and then the fact that I made a fool of myself with Stroke myshillelagh. My face automatically flushes hot, and my skin gets clammy, as I think about how he reacted to me propositioning him for sex. No, not just sex, sex on camera for my subscribers. I drag my hands down my face in misery, and the girl across the counter gives me a sympathetic look. “Rough night? How about I put an extra shot of espresso in your coffee, girl? We’ve all been there. Hopefully, you didn’t have to do the walk of shame like I did last night.” I cast her a grateful, sheepish look as I nod and pay, but I don’t confirm or deny that I, in fact, did have to do my own version of the walk of shame, and I move to the side, awaiting my necessary shot of caffeine. I guarantee mine was probably worse. I doubt she asked a stranger to star in a porno with her.
I groan as I rifle through my bag, looking for the small container of aspirin that I have in there for emergency headaches. The way my head is pounding, I am going to need to take the whole bottle. “Phoebe! I have been looking everywhere for you!” God, no, not Dwayne, today of all days. I grit my teeth as I force myself to meet his gaze, and have to prepare to run from the school cafe without my much-needed coffee. He approaches me, and his large body boxes me in, as if he can sense my impending attempt to flee from him. He doesn’t even wait for me to get a word in, before he keeps rambling on. “I realized that we never exchanged numbers, and I don’t know where you live, babe. I was worried about you after our date. You said you didn’t feel well. You should have let me take you home.” Oh, sweet baby Jesus, please make it stop.
I move to the right, but he just counters my move. I try the left, and the same thing happens. “Phoebe, are you listening to me? I was worried about you.” He reaches out to touch my face, and I cringe and shift backward, until my back literally smacks into the wall. “Don’t touch me,” I hiss, rage rising within me, as I try once again to get around him, as I hear my name being called for my coffee. “Babe, what ’s the matter with you? Are you still sick?” Oh my god, this guy cannot be this obtuse, like what the fuck, dude? I’m clearly not interested.
“I am not your babe, or your anything for that matter. Listen, Dwayne, you seem... lovely, but this...” I point to myself and then to him, as I shoulder past him toward the end of the counter where my drug of choice awaits. “It’s not going to work out. I... I’m sorry, really... but I am... not ready to date anyone.” I try to put a forceful tone in my voice so that he gets the message, but a look of confusion appears on his face instead. For the love of all the saints, if anyone up there is listening, please send me some help to get this leech to leave me alone, I beseech the universe, but the way my current life is going, I won’t hold my breath. Besides, the one white knight I had once failed me, in my greatest hour of need, so now I have to be my own savior.
I turn my back on Dwayne to add sugar to my coffee, hoping that, by some miracle, he’s not still standing there when I go to leave, and in the next moment, all I hear are screams. I quickly turn back, and my coffee cup drops right out of my grip and hits the floor, scalding my sandaled feet, but I don’t even feel it, as my eyes zero in on the sight before me, and I stumble backward and slip, falling to my ass. This can’t be happening. This isn’t real! A scream trapped in my lungs, I crawl forward on my hands and knees toward Dwayne, who has crumbled to the ground, clutching his stomach, a blooming red stain quickly spreading on his blue shirt. “Dwayne! Oh my God, what the fuck just happened?” I hear my shrill voice screaming above the chaos around me. Dwayne lies there on the dirty floor, bleeding, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound escaping. I get a close-up look; his shirt is torn near his gut, and more and more blood pours out. “Someone call an ambulance!” Someone near me screams, and a guy drops to the ground, ripping off his jacket, and using it to apply pressure to Dwayne’s wound. “He’s been stabbed! Fuck, look for the assail ant!” Patrons run in all directions with terror, trying to get the hell out of the cafe. “Police and ambulance are on their way,” one of the girls behind the counter yells.
“Dwayne... Dwayne, who did this to you?” I crawl closer and try to get his attention, but his eyes are unfocused. My eyes zero in on his hand, clutching a piece of paper, and I force his fingers open to take it. Time seems to slow, as the paramedics and police rush through the door, and force everyone back, as they attempt to treat Dwayne. They manage to stabilize him, and load him into the ambulance, as the police start asking questions. I back away and lift my hand to swipe at my face, and that’s when I notice I am still holding whatever was clutched in Dwayne’s hand, and my fingers are stained with his blood.
I unfurl the piece of crumpled paper, and my heart jumps into my throat. My body shivers in the warm California sunshine, and I have to brace myself against the cafe’s window, to keep my legs from buckling. My eyes dart all around me, looking for someone wearing a dark hoodie, but I don’t see anyone, as rapidly climbing panic traps my scream inside my throat. I’m ensnared in a nightmare, terrifying and real, except that I’m awake, and I’m not seeing a way out of it. I now have much bigger problems than running, and hiding, from a fake mafia marriage to Nicolo Amato. I’m being hunted by something much worse, and far more sinister, it would seem, and it kno ws where and who I am.