Chapter 15Hazel
15
Hazel
I send another file to the recycle bin, then another, repeating the process over and over until everything I’ve ever written about David has been deleted from my laptop.
Anxiety seeps into my bones and festers like a sickness.
The blank screen stares at me as tears press into my eyes. My chin quivers and I draw in a deep breath. Its shaky, but I successfully will myself not to cry.
I won’t cry over this. Not over him .
David hasn’t been in my life long enough to have the power to destroy me. I’m not the type of woman who falls apart over a man anyway. I’ve always been much stronger than that, fiercely independent to the point of fault. This time, it seems to be working in my favor.
I crack my knuckles and get a second wind of resolve. I pull up suggested articles, fluff pieces, clickbait stories about celebrities from a list Robert gave me several weeks ago.
I read through the bits and sigh, wondering if this is really all I’m cut out to handle. I try to write up the piece, but I’m only two paragraphs in when the frustration hits me like a punch to the stomach.
“I can’t do this,” I say out loud, to no one. The response I get is the unyielding silence filling my apartment.
I lean back in my chair and stare at the screen, at the ridiculous words I just wrote for the clickbait celebrity story.
It’s something I don’t care about, feel no connection to, that I don’t want my name attached to. I curse myself, Robert, and David. I don’t know who I’m angrier at out of the three of us.
I’m losing control of my life, of my choices, of my fizzling spirit. A well of tears successfully pushes their way to the front of my eyes, streaming down my face, hot and salty.
My shoulders shake with sobs that I desperately try to suppress, but once the gates are open, they flow freely, breaking loose inside my chest.
I stand up and scream. There’s so much agony in it, I startle myself. I hate Robert for always pushing these silly stories on me, not letting me explore outside my comfort zone, always holding me back from my talents and potential.
But then I hate myself even more because I insisted I be given more serious, hard-hitting, difference making stories. Now that I’m in the thick of it, the pressure is too much, and I’m still going to fail. I hate to admit that Robert has been right all along about me.
And I hate David for stealing my heart, for luring me into his bed, for taking my breath just by looking at me. The memory of him haunts me like a dark shadow following me everywhere, lurking just behind my shoulder.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I whisper to no one, choking out the words, wishing I had the answers, wishing someone cared enough to listen.
I can’t even take my own advice, so why should I expect anyone else to?
My hands, as if suddenly independent from my brain, pick up the laptop off the desk and throw it across the room.
Another angry scream erupts from my chest, burning in my throat. My laptop slams into the wall. The crack and shatter noise afterward makes me shiver from head to toe and I bite down on my lip until I taste blood.
The laptop falls to the floor, the screen cracked, a mess of color, dangling off the hinge from the keyboard. I turn away, unable to look at what I’ve done.
I storm into the kitchen, panting hard, feeling like a lunatic, as if I’m watching myself from a safe distance, but unable to stop my actions.
I climb onto the counter and rake my fingers across the top of the cabinet over the sink. My fingers find the box I’m looking for and it crinkles in my hand as I pull it down.
I stare down at the pack of cigarettes as if it’s my lifeline. Chest heaving, I yank open the drawer beside the sink and pluck out a lighter, then march to my balcony.
I sag into one of the deck chairs. I got this set on clearance, and I love to read and have a glass of wine out here to relax and unwind after a long day.
It seems like lately, every day is a long day, and there is immense stress to go with it. In this moment, I long for the simplicity of my life before I met David Petrov. More bitterness courses its way through my chest when I think about him.
There are so many what-if’s going through my head. If I could go back in time and tell my past self to stay in the car and never go near that warehouse, I would.
I light the cigarette and the flame burns orange as I inhale a long drag, closing my eyes, allowing the nicotine to give me an instant head rush. The smoke is acrid and little stale, but I don’t care.
I silently thank myself for not throwing out that pack of cigarettes and saving it for a rainy day when I really need it. The nicotine is slowing my racing pulse and dulling my thought processes, exactly what I need right now.
The street and traffic noise from below soothe my nerves as I take long, desperate inhales of the cigarette. It’s exactly what I need right now, but in an annoying sort of way, it reminds me of David. He always smelled like the cigars he smoked, but they were a lot nicer than this little white stick of death clenched too hard between my trembling fingers.
After a few minutes, I’m subdued enough. I pull out my phone and dial Veronica’s number, half hoping she’ll answer, half hoping I’ll get her voice mail. I need someone to talk to, but I don’t know what to say.
I’m locked into a conversation, however, when she answers on the third ring. “Hey, lady, how’s it going with your bratva boyfriend?” she chirps.
Her words feel like a stinging slap, but I don’t react. She doesn’t know any better. “Well, first of all, he’s not my boyfriend, and second of all, I quit the story.”
“You quit the story?” The shock rings in Veronica’s voice.
My head droops. “I couldn’t do it.”
“Do what?” Now she sounds concerned. “Did something happen?”
I glance over my shoulder as if someone is watching me. A tingling sensation whispers across the back of my neck, but I don’t see anything or anyone. I made sure to securely lock my apartment and all the windows as soon as I got home earlier. But it wouldn’t surprise me if David had one of his mobster crew guys follow me, if nothing else to make sure I was safe.
“I can trust you, right?” I ask, lowering my voice.
“Of course,” Veronica declares, and there’s not an ounce of hesitation in her voice.
I stand up and walk over to the railing of the balcony, peering down. “There was an incident. Well, a couple of incidents that caused me to quit.”
“Like what?” Now I have her undivided attention.
I tell her about what happened to me after the first encounter at the warehouse, and how David saved me. She already knows I’ve been staying with him, but now I tell her about how we went to the warehouse the second night and another shootout happened.
“We narrowly escaped with our life.” I flick the ashes off the balcony railing and watch them fall.
“You aren’t safe,” Veronica says. “You have to call Robert and tell him you can’t do the story anymore. Then call the police.”
“I know.” I chew my bottom lip. Everything she’s telling me is something a sane, levelheaded person would do. But I don’t know if I’m either of those things right now.
“Robert doesn’t know David’s name, right?” Veronica asks.
“Only you know that part,” I say. “And I’m counting on you to keep it a secret, at least for now.”
“I don’t know.” My heart jumps when Veronica sounds reluctant. “I think your safety takes precedence right now.”
“I am worried,” I admit, watching the stop lights change colors at the intersection down the block.
“About what?”
I exhale and grip the railing, contemplating for a moment what it would be like to climb it and jump. No. I’m not at that level of despair. Yet.
“I don’t know. I signed contracts that I would keep his name out of it. As far as Robert knows, I’m just following tips, leads, and doing field research to get these details about the gun running in the city. He doesn’t know I actually moved in with the guy. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I went home. The adrenaline is still raw, and that’s why all this is bothering me.”
“Oh honey, I’m so sorry you went through that, not only once, but twice. That’s more than anyone should ever have to deal with. I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but if Robert knew you were in danger, he wouldn’t let you continue the story. Robert can be an asshole, but I think deep down he cares enough that he wouldn’t want to put any of his staff members safety at risk.”
I know she’s right. The acid in my stomach is slowly building, inching its way up my throat. I choke it back down and gaze up at the hazy, light polluted night sky.
“I don’t know what to do,” I murmur. “It would be absolutely crazy to put myself back in a position where I could be shot at again. I mean, how stupid could a person be? But something is holding me back.”
“What is it? Do you really like this guy?” she asks.
I absorb her words. “I mean, he was kind to me. He is calm, and protective.”
Veronica scoffs. “But not that protective if he put you in the crossfire.”
“He didn’t know those guys would show up,” I say, unable to hide the defensiveness in my voice.
“Look at you, already defending him.” Her voice is gentle when she says it, but my stomach still sinks.
“I’m torn, between my bravery and my motivation to finish what I started, or just going back to normal life where I know I won’t be at risk of being shot every time I leave the house. Although, the whole reason David wanted me to stay with him was to protect me from those gangsters.”
“It seems like they’re everywhere.”
“David told me I couldn’t handle the bratva life. Maybe he’s right. He’s used to gun violence. It’s normal to him.”
“How did you leave things with him?” Veronica asks.
“With me screaming and throwing things in my suitcase and stomping out of his condo,” I say with a dry laugh.
“Hmm.” She’s quiet for a moment.
“What does that mean?” I hold my breath.
“I’m thinking.” She sighs. “How did he react to you doing that?”
“He was calmer than I was,” I tell her. “He asked me not to leave.”
“But he did let you leave, obviously.” She sounds relieved.
“He told me I was free to go, that I wasn’t his prisoner. He wanted to take me home himself,” I add, as if I’m talking him up. I don’t know why I keep defending him.
“But you didn’t let him take you home, I’m guessing?”
I shake my head. “No. And he let me walk away. Just like that.”
She blows out a deep breath. “It sounds very complicated.”
I laugh without humor. “Tell me about it. Then he called me after I got home and begged me to come back.”
“What did you say?”
Tears sting in the back of my throat, burn in my eyes. I take a moment to compose my voice. “I told him it wasn’t a good idea. That we couldn’t be together.”
“ Be together?” Veronica sounds shocked. “Wait… did you sleep with him?”
My silence is enough of an answer. Veronica gasps.
“It’s not what you think,” I blurt out.
“I don’t know what to think,” she practically shrieks.
“Please don’t judge me.” I sit back down in the chair because my legs can’t hold me up anymore.
“I’m not judging you. I am concerned, though. Like, really concerned.”
I cradle my head in my hands. “What am I going to do, Veronica?”
“It sounds to me like he wants to be more than just your professional relationship,” she says.
“We crossed that line as soon as our clothes came off,” I wince.
“Do you regret it?”
I mull it over in my head for a moment. “Not entirely. I mean, I told him in the heat of my anger that it was a mistake, but now that I’ve had some time to cool off, I’m not so sure.”
“Do you want to be with him? On some level?”
Emotion swells in my chest like a heavy fog. I don’t know how to untangle my rapid thoughts. After another pause, I say, “I don’t know.”
“Want me to come over?” she asks, and I know if I tell her yes, she’ll be putting on her shoes before I even get the whole sentence out.
“No, it’s okay.”
“Are you sure?” She doesn’t sound convinced.
“Yes, I’m sure. It’s late. I’ll just see you tomorrow.”
“Are you coming into the office?” She perks up.
“I think so.” Up until now, I’d gotten permission from Robert to work from home on the pretense that I would be doing work that might put me in vulnerable circumstances. He hadn’t asked questions, just grumbled “whatever, just get a good story,” before sending me on my way.
“That’s exciting,” Veronica chirps.
“I just think I need to go back to normal life right now,” I admit.
“I agree. A change of scenery will do you good. Kind of like a mental and physical reset.”
“Exactly,” I agree. “You’re amazing. You always know what to say.”
“That’s why we’re friends,” she chimes, then in a more serious tone, she says, “if you need me, you know I’ll always be there for you, to support you in whatever format that takes.”
“I know.” My frayed nerves are soothed by talking to her. “Thank you, for everything.”
“I can meet you for a coffee before work, then we can go in together if you want,” Veronica suggests. “Seven forty-five?”
The tension in my neck and shoulders dissipates somewhat. “That sounds amazing.”
“See you then,” Veronica says. “Try to get some sleep. And remember, no trouble lasts forever. There’s always a way out. Life will return to normal and you’ll feel safe again. I’m proud of you for all you’ve accomplished.”
Tears well in my eyes again. “You have no idea how badly I needed to hear that”.
“And I’ll say it over and over, as many times as you need.”
I smile, even though she can’t see me. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow,” she says with genuine excitement.
Maybe normal journalism isn’t so bad after all. I’ve had my dose of danger, and it’s time to go back to reality and put the bratva in my rearview mirror.
Then why is it, that with every beat of my pulse, thoughts of David return? They are unrelenting, hammering through my brain, and I’m powerless to stop any of it.