Chapter 6
Chapter Six
C ecilia
I woke up the following day, my head pounding from the copious amounts of alcohol I drank last night.
I may have had too many drinks at Underground to work my nerves up to spy on my brother. I also may have drunk a little too much wine upon returning home after my brother forcefully dragged me from the club and ordered me a driver, because he apparently has one of those now, to drive me over three hours home. I didn’t get home until after two in the morning, and I was so peeved with my brother and unable to fall asleep that I cracked open a bottle of red wine and went to town.
It was now noon, and I regretted every decision I made last night.
Especially since it involved conversing with James Kingston again. The man was an asshole and had never felt a human emotion in his life besides hatefulness because it seemed he didn’t even want to understand where my concern for my brother was coming from.
He was cold and vague in everything he regarded me with, and it made me want to claw at his perfect, smug face. Also, there was a considerable lack of information on what they all do within Labyrinth Crystal, except for the clear warning of danger, which didn’t make me feel better. It made me want to dig even deeper and unmask their company's faults to keep my brother out of harm’s way.
I carefully stand from the bed, and the minute I do, I race to my bathroom and empty the contents of my stomach. Today’s lesson: Don’t drink red wine and eat an entire box of expired Valentine’s Day chocolate. You will pay for it.
I drag myself off the floor and muster enough strength to brush my teeth before heading into my living room and dropping down onto the sofa with a groan. A knock sounds at my door, and I groan again, the noise too loud to bear.
I make a noise akin to a dying cat as I hear the jingle of keys, and then my front door opens, Lance walking through from the other side. “Hey,” he says awkwardly. He looked concerned as he gazed at me on my sofa, probably looking like I resembled a Wookie. “Is everything all right?”
I drop my head back onto the arm of my couch and shut my eyes. “Hangover from the pits of hell.”
“Yikes.” I hear him faintly rummage through my kitchen and the sound of running water before he returns with a glass of it and some aspirin. “You were out late last night,” he points out questioningly as he hands me the glass and medicine.
“Uhm…Yeah.” I don’t relent much more than that because I was still trying to come to terms with last night. Plus, I knew Lance’s opinion of my brother. He didn’t trust him and wouldn’t be happy with my looking into his life.
“You got drunk while you were out?” he asks, sitting across from me.
“No. I uh… drank when I got home.”
His eyes travel over me, noting the pair of sweatpants I wore and the pale-yellow sports bra that had a small wine stain on the top left breast. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“Nope. I just had a little girl’s night to myself,” I lie. I hated lying to him. He was my best friend, and I told him practically everything, but when it came to my brother… that was one part of my life I always kept to myself.
But what could I tell him? That I was spying on my brother and trying to uncover some secret, dangerous organization within Labyrinth Crystal to prove that he isn’t as safe and out of the woods as he claims he is? That I think he and his boss might be in the mafia? Even that sounded a little far-fetched to me, but still… something was off about them. Especially James. He was flat-out ruthless, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he were some secret British mob boss or something. I needed to get educated in the mafia industry. Maybe I should switch my preferred romance trope.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Lance asks, pulling me from the emotional rollercoaster inside my head. “You just don’t seem like yourself.”
“I’m fine. Truly.” I try to plaster my bravest smile, hoping it will satisfy him, but he still looks at me warily. I decide it’s time to get up and pretend I am a strong, capable woman who doesn’t get in the faces of alleged criminals if only to convince him.
I stand up, my head pounding harder now that I’m upright, but I try to ignore it as I walk into my kitchen and begin brewing a fresh pot of coffee. When I looked over to my kitchen counter, I spotted my laptop open, which was weird because I don’t remember being on my computer anytime recently.
I click the space bar, and the screen light flashes in my face, giving me the same stimulation of having my retinas fried to dust. I wince, blinking my eyes a couple of times until they’ve adjusted, and then I look at my open email folder, and the coffee pot slips from my hand, shattering and spilling water onto the floor.
I emailed him. Him, as in James Kingston. He, as in, probably is a mobster and is going to kill me now.
“Lia, are you okay?” Lance rushes into my kitchen, and I slam my laptop shut, turning to face him with a smile that feels like it would split my face in half.
“I’m sorry. It just slipped from my fingers. I’m so clumsy when I’m hungover.”
He eyes the mess on the floor, the broken glass everywhere, and then looks at me again. “You’re freaking me out today.”
I chuckle. “You’re such a worry wart, Lancelot,” I say, calling him my childhood nickname, which I gave him because his name reminded me of one of my favorite fictional characters who happened to be a knight in shining armor. “I’m fine. I just got carried away last night watching reruns of The Night a Woman Was Scorned.”
He chuckles now, and the tension in the room becomes lighter, thank God. “You and that show. Are the books not enough for you? You’ve watched that old show a hundred times now.”
“What can I say? Historical romances run my life. A badass woman on a path of revenge after the betrayal of the man she thought loved her also runs my life.” That was the plot of the 90s drama show, which I pretty much kept on repeat in my house. It was my ultimate comfort show.
“Well, next time, call me. I’ll come over, keep you company, and limit your wine consumption.”
“A limit?” I balk. “How dare you.”
“All right, boozie,” he laughs, swinging an arm over my shoulder as he gazes back onto the floor. “Let’s clean this mess up.”
An hour, two scrambled eggs, and toast that wasn’t toasty enough later, Lance is finally gone after forcing me to eat, and I finally race back to my kitchen and yank my laptop open. I cringe internally as I click on the email I sent that was addressed to James Kingston, and the subject consisted of two words.
Rich Dick.
Yep. I was so creative.
My stomach turns as I look below to read the message I sent him.
? Dear, Rich Dick
Yup. You, James Kingston, are a rich dick which I’m sure you know. The fact you own a club makes you even more pretentious. Who names a club Underground? It’s incredibly daunting. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I will uncover your secrets no matter what it takes. I’m going to get my brother out from under your spell and whatever mafia dealings it is that you and your clan of crime junkies are having him do. You don’t scare me. I’m coming for you and that feathery blonde hair of yours.
With love,
Cecilia Bowen.
Oh my god. I didn’t have one spelling error for a drunk person, did I? Or maybe it was my editing software on my computer. Either way, he probably has no idea this was done drunk, and there’s a good chance he is taking this email seriously. I freaking threatened a guy that could probably crush me with his bare hands and then cover up the murder with no problem.
I pace in my kitchen, my heart thrashing in my chest as I try to think of some way out. Maybe this wasn’t his email, or he wouldn’t see it. Right? That’s good. If he’s as powerful as suspected, he surely isn’t checking emails from strangers, let alone letting strangers access a public email. It had to be a false one. I wasn’t exactly sure where I got this email. My memory was a little spotty from last night.
The only thing I did remember was cracking open my bottle of wine and letting everything else fade away. Everything was a blur, but I’ve been known to have little temper tantrums when pushed hard enough, and apparently, he pushed me straight through a damn barrier that had me sending out this heinous email.
It was going to be okay. Surely, he could care less about some girl showing up at his bar, demanding information about her brother, and sending a slightly threatening email. Surely, he has more important things to worry about.
There was nothing I could do about it right now, however. Not with this headache and not when I’m not sure he even received the email. I would have to wait a few days and develop a new game plan.
Later, I awoke on my couch to a hard knock on my door. I sat up haphazardly, trying to decipher what century I was in. The knocking sound became harder. It was familiar, and my stomach sank as I dipped my head, releasing a disappointed breath.
I wasn’t sure why I was. It’s been like this since I was old enough to make my own money, but I guess you can’t take the hope out of a girl.
I stalked to the door, cracking it open just enough to see my dad’s face come into view. He looked haggard, which broke something in me each time I saw him.
He was always dewy with sweat, and his eyes were bloodshot. He was rail skinny, unlike the dad I grew up with as a child, who was healthy and filled out. He was balding in some spots on his head, either from old age or the drugs. It was hard to tell.
“Hey honey,” he says softly, and my heart lurches. He only had to say those two words in that tone, and I’d do anything for him. You see, my dad wasn’t like your stereotypical addicts. He wasn’t aggressive and heartless. He didn’t steal my money and never intentionally hurt me. He always regarded me with respect, love, and adoration, unlike Tobias, who was more aggressive during his time of struggle.
My dad checked on me as often as he could… when he could get himself together enough. He always asked for what he needed, never demanding anything from me. If the answer was no, he left it at that, although the answer was hardly ever no.
Call me an enabler, but I couldn’t say no to him. I tried that before, early on when he was first into drugs badly, and it resulted in fewer visits from him and more worry inside me. He returned more frequently if I kept giving him money, and I knew he was okay even if he usually came with Marsha, his new wife.
Marsha is what you would call a wicked stepmother. She was cruel and only out for herself. She met my dad at whatever drug-infested party they met at, and she latched onto him like a tick and hasn’t let go since. She was easy for my dad to get lost in. She knew all the best dealers and was always doing something, whether it was partying or scheming against people to steal from them. She was always on the move, and I could see why my dad would want that life. If he were always on the move, then he wouldn’t have to stop and think about my mom. If he were always high, he wouldn’t have to remember and feel the pain of losing her.
It was a pain I felt and carried with me every single day since she died. It was a pain I knew my brother also carried, and it was also the reason for his downfall with drugs, just like our father.
“Hi, Dad.” I opened my door wider and pulled him into a hug. He felt thinner than usual, and I pulled away, looking over him again. “Are you eating enough?”
“I’m fine, Lia. You know I always manage.” He tries to smile, but it’s almost like he’s too weak to do so. I grimace and leave him standing at my door, rummaging through my kitchen until I can fill a paper bag with a loaf of bread, some deli meats and cheeses, some chips, and a jug of apple juice I bought at my last grocery trip and have yet to open. I also grab the fifty-dollar bill stuck to my fridge with a magnet I always keep there for his visits and slip it into the bag.
I took it back to the door, handing him the bag. “Take these. They were going to sit around anyway. I’ve been eating out a lot,” I lie. It was food I had planned on using for lunch this week, but it was okay. I would actually manage, unlike him.
His eyes met mine, so full of guilt and remorse, but he took the bag anyway, which made me happy because I knew he’d eat it. “Thank you,” he murmurs.
“There’s some money in there, too,” I tell him, although I know he expects that already. It was why he was here, after all. “Maybe you could buy some groceries with it.” I wasn’t even sure if he had a home to put groceries in.
“Yeah,” he says like he might, but we both know he won’t. “Thank you, honey. I’d be lost without you.”
I smile at him. “I’d be lost without you too, Dad.” I have been lost without him. It feels like I have been every day since Mom died and he lost it. Then Tobias shortly after. But during these small moments together, that empty feeling where I’m always looking for him is put on pause, just for a moment.
“I love you, girl. I’ll come to visit next week.” He backed away, clutching the bag to his chest. He glances down the hall, and I lean out of the doorway, spotting Marsha standing at the end, drilling my dad with her unhappy gaze. The thing that pissed me off the most was she’d never come to the door with him. She’ll never help my dad ask for the handout, even looking down on him as he does despite her partaking in everything I give him.
I look back at my dad, fighting the urge to chuck one of my shoes down the hall at her, right into her giant frizzy dome. “I love you too,” I finally answer him.
He leaves without another word, and that void in my heart caves in, opening up again.
The following day, I decided on a much-needed self-care day. I’d been overly stressing myself out about my brother and then my dad last night, and it was starting to show. I was getting dark circles under my eyes and had been exhausted more than usual after experiencing the new overwhelming anxiety.
Add that to my hangover yesterday and the stress of never knowing if my email to James Kingston would trigger him to come to my place and make a crime scene out of it; I decided I needed to chill and reign myself in—if only just for one day.
I make a delicious sugary breakfast consisting of buttery waffles smothered in maple syrup—the fake sugary kind, not the real stuff because I live on the edge. I also have greasy bacon on the side and a big cup of mint chocolate coffee.
Now, some might think this isn’t self-care. Self-care to some people is probably taking care of their bodies and feeding them healthier options, but I try to do that daily, so self-care for me is having a big fat cheat day.
After breakfast, I open my laptop, my eyes nervously scouring my email for a response from James. Thankfully, there wasn’t one, and I deflated, officially putting it out of my brain for the day. I was going to keep telling myself it was a false email. Thank God.
I decided to pay some bills because although it sucks watching my bank account dwindle, I always get a rush of satisfaction when I pay my bills for the month. It made me feel responsible, which brings on a significant serotonin boost for me as well, and I won’t feel as guilty later when I order pizza for dinner and rent a movie. I craved mine and Tobias’s favorite pizza, which consisted of cheese and bacon. We both always found pepperoni too greasy and salty on pizza, but the little bacon crumbles instead always provided the perfect amount to the cheese and sauce ratio. It was delectable.
But I nearly choked when I opened the browser to pay for my student loan. Actually, I do choke. I’m coughing and gasping for air as my stomach sinks and sections off into my toes. My eyes kept scanning the words repeatedly, unable to process what I saw.
Remaining balance: $0.00
I had close to thirty thousand dollars left on my loan, which I planned to pay off until I retired unless I caught some big break, like winning the lottery. But that hasn’t happened, so what the hell?
I scrambled for my phone and immediately called the help hotline. After sitting on hold for twenty minutes as they checked my account over, they told me my bill had been covered in one total amount last week by the one and only Tobias Bowen.
I sit frozen at my kitchen table for what feels like an eternity as I try to process everything. How does he have that kind of money, and how could he drop it all on my student loans? Why would he pay them off? What the actual hell was happening here?
I picked up my phone and dialed Tobias’s number, and he answered on the third ring.
“Hey Lia, I’m at work right now, so can I call?—”
“Thirty thousand dollars!” I scream into the phone. “Thirty thousand dollars of my debt is paid off. What the hell? What the hell did you do?”
The line is silent for a second, and I hear a deep giggle on the other end—a purely mischievous laugh. “You finally saw that, huh?” he replies.
“Tobias, this is not a joking matter. It is so out of this world, not funny, that even the aliens are concerned about your mental state.”
He laughs again. “You believe in aliens?”
“Of course I do, but that’s not the point,” I bite out. “How could you do that? Why would you do that? I told you I didn’t need help with money.”
“Lia, you would have been paying those loans off until you had wrinkles in your face and grey roots on your head. I wanted to help out. I don’t see the big deal.”
“You don’t see the big deal? Tobias, that’s an obscene amount of money.”
“And like I told you, money is a non-issue for me. I can take care of you now, Lia. If I can take something off your plate, I’m going to.”
“I don’t like this,” I rush out, shaking my head. “This is too much, Tobias. You can’t just storm back into my life and try to change everything. I don’t…I don’t trust this.”
He’s quiet again, and I press my hand to my forehead because I was being a brat, and I knew it, but my anxiety was making me spiral, and I couldn’t find the off switch.
“Whether you trust me or not, it’s a done deal. Like I said, though, I’m at work, so we’ll talk later.”
“Wait,” I sigh, digging my fingers into my forehead. “Thank you. It…means a lot…doing that for me.”
“You’re welcome,” he grumbles. “I do have to go. I’ll call you later.” He hangs up the phone, and I sit down, suddenly feeling depleted of energy.
After today's earlier revelations, the rest of my day has been a bit damper. I lounge on my couch all day, read a little, order pizza, and watch a filthy movie because those are the best kind. I paint my toenails, one foot pink and the other purple. I eat an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s milk and cookie ice cream, and when night rolls around, I officially fall into a sugar-induced coma.