Chapter 8 Kai #2
I’m strangely proud of the bruises.
My girl did that.
I might just let her do it again when I get back home.
The Uber stops in front of the jeweler’s, watching me in the rearview mirror as he reluctantly asks, “You want me to wait?”
As if I hadn’t noticed him cracking the windows after I got in.
“Nah, I’m good.”
It’s past eight, but the door is still closed. When I check the opening hours sign, it says they open at eight thirty.
Fuck.
I cup my hands and look through the glass, spotting an older guy, sixties maybe, moving around behind the counter, busy setting up.
I knock.
He looks up. Frowns. Shakes his head.
I knock again, harder.
He walks over, annoyed, and yells, “Ain’t open yet,” through the door.
“It’s an emergency, man.” I hold up the necklace, hesitate, then scrounge my black Amex from my wallet and slap it against the glass. “Please?”
He looks at the broken chain, the credit card, then at me—hungover, desperate, probably looking like I just crawled out of a ditch—and sighs.
“Emergency jewelry repair?” he mutters as he opens the door. “That’s a new one.”
It’s warm inside, furniture polish filling the air with a fake floral smell.
The man walks around the counter and takes the necklace from me without a word, examines it under a light with one of those monocle-style magnifying glasses.
“Chain broke,” I say, when the silence becomes too much.
“You don’t say.” He lets out a slow breath. “Be cheaper to replace it than repair it.” He glances up at me. “Or you could just buy something that’ll last longer than a week.”
“It’s—“ I stop. “It’s sentimental.”
He nods like he’s heard this a thousand times before. “I can repair it, but it’ll just break in a different place.”
“Fine. Give me a new chain.” I lean on the counter. “Strongest you’ve got. Titanium. Platinum. I don’t give a shit. Just make sure it won’t break again.”
He raises an eyebrow as he glances down at the cheap pendant. “For this?”
I look at the butterfly.
“Yeah.”
He turns it over. “I’ve got some very nice pieces. Much better quality.”
“No.” The word comes out harder than I mean it. “Just fix it.”
He shrugs. “Your money. I’ve got a nice platinum chain—“
“Do it.” I stare down at the tacky pendant, the one I’ve been taking in and out of that envelope for years.
How many times did I read that letter, wondering how different things would have been if I’d sent it?
“Wait…could you…do you have a proper stone to put in there? Like a real sapphire or something?”
I get another arched eyebrow. I suppose my smell has finally overpowered the furniture polish.
“I won’t be able to guarantee the work, not in a shi—“ he clears his throat “—subpar base like this.” His mouth twitches like he doesn’t even want to think about having to work with such inferior material.
“I don’t need a guarantee—“
He sighs, setting the necklace down on the glass counter with much more respect than he probably thinks it deserves.
“Son, listen. I put a real stone in here, it’s just going to fall out.
I swap out the chain, the clasp could still break.
” He shakes his head. “You’re trying to fix something that’ll just keep breaking.
If it really means something to you, then let me make you something better.
Something that she can wear for years to come. ”
I stare down at the pendant. Behind it, a sparkling array of charm bracelets practically blind me under the display light. “How long?”
“Custom piece like this?” The shop owner hums under his breath. “Three weeks, maybe four.”
I frown across at him. “That’s way too long. I’ll pay for a faster turnaround.”
He chuckles. “Son, you can pay me as much as you want, that’s not going to make it happen any faster.” He puts his palm over the necklace and slides it across the glass to me. “Sorry I couldn’t help.”
We have a brief staring match, but my bloodshot eyes are burning so much I have to blink before he does. Not sure if that costs me the negotiation, but either way, I’m too hungover to argue anymore.
“Fine,” I mutter, digging in my pocket for my wallet. “Just…could you at least try for sooner?”
“I’ll do my level best,” he says, though the slightly bemused look on his face tells me I’m wasting my breath.
I leave the jeweler feeling empty and frustrated and hungry as shit.
From what I saw in the display cases as he went to get the paperwork for me to fill out, he’s really good at what he does. But it’s going to kill me to wait three fucking—
The smell of fries hits me, and I turn like a bloodhound to stare at the takeout place across the road.
Fuck, yes.
If I can’t bring back Haven’s necklace, least I can do is round up some food for us. At least the burger place doesn’t care what I look or smell like, and is cool enough to charge my phone while I wait.
Rooke’s first message arrives as the guy behind the counter hands me the three bags of takeout. I probably went a bit overboard, but I’m fucking starved, and I know I won’t be able to resist digging in until I get back to the Airbnb.
@inherentvice
He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.
I sit in the backseat of the same car that drove me into town, the smell of takeout competing with stale booze and sweat, and that same empty feeling creeps into me.
It’s fucking surreal.
And so nauseating, I almost ask the driver to stop so I can toss out the food.
I should send a witty reply. Put this fucktard in his place. But there’s a hollow where my brain should be, and a feeling of dread where the anger usually goes.
Whether I’m trying to make sense of it—of him—or just being a masochistic wuss, I don’t know, but I decide it’s a good idea to scroll back through his last few taunts.
Just for the hell of it, I guess.
@inherentvice
Ideology separates us. Dreams and anguish bring us together.
@inherentvice
Your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing.
The most recent one came in late last night. I was too wasted to give it much thought.
@inherentvice
She’s not yours.
I should just tell Rooke to stop sending me fucking Nietzsche quotes and just admit he’s obsessed with me. I mean, why the fuck else would he keep messaging me, when I’ve made it blatantly fucking obvious I want nothing to do with him?
But then I’m at the Airbnb, and all I want is something from the takeout bags that’ll ease my stomach, and passing out with my girl in my arms for a few hours.
The room above the garage is empty.
My phone is immediately out, battery still dangerously low, so I’m fumbling with the charger from my hoodie while placing a call to Haven.
Her tote bag isn’t on the coffee table where I saw it last.
The bed’s unmade. There’s a hint of deodorant in the air. My football jersey has been tossed onto the back of the sofa like she was in too much of a hurry to put it in the unofficial laundry pile in the corner of the bathroom.
My call goes to voicemail.
My mind goes to worst-case scenario.
The message that comes through while I’m standing there, shoulders slumped and one hand in my hair, only heightens my paranoia.
@inherentvice
When she needs what you can’t give, who will she turn to?
My thumbs blur over the screen, shooting off messages.
@wanderkind
Is she with you?
Tell her to go fuck herself
I’m done
DONE
I wait, my chest rising and falling in a near-pant.
@inherentvice
She’ll be here soon.
You can join us if you want, boy.
But just know, I’ll be doing all the fucking.
His reply locks up my chest and sends a hot flush over my face. I’m so stunned and sickened by his gall, I’m still staring at the screen as he sends another message.
@inherentvice
The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
A strangled sound escapes my throat.
I’m only vaguely aware of pulling up the Uber app. Ordering another ride. Confirming the trip. There’s too much fury seething inside my aching head.
But when I walk into the kitchen, open the drawer, take out one of the steak knives inside and slip it into my hoodie’s pouch…my mind is clear.
Not hollow.
Crystal fucking clear, like the glass display shelves at the jeweler.
No pretty bracelets to be seen, though. No diamonds, sapphires. Gold or silver.
Just blood.
So much fucking blood.