Chapter 46 #2
Oscar is on his bed, with two women. When did they get here? While I was on my walk?
One of them is sitting against pillows, giggling. The other lies with her head just off the end of the end of the bed, her light brown hair flowing down to the floor. Her legs are splayed, Oscar’s face between them. Her eyes are clenched shut, her little button nose scrunched up as she moans . . .
Is he hurting her?
But then he lifts his face and there’s no blood on it.
Right. He’s just having sex with them.
I roll my eyes—of course he is.
And I almost laugh at the absurdity of it all. Me, standing in this hallway, full of questions, and him in there not giving a shit.
How can I be looking for answers from him?
A man—a vampire—who has committed his entire eternity to such pointless pursuits? No real love. No real connection. No meaning at all, just pure hedonism. Selfishness.
While I’ve been tying myself up in knots, desperately needing some deep answer to make it all make sense, he’s been happily fucking away.
Oblivious. Unconcerned. Standing here, it hits me that it really doesn’t matter why I loved him once, or if he cared for me too.
Or even if he cares for me still, in some strange little way.
He left me. Let me suffer alone.
If it was love—real love—he would never have done that.
I’m hit by a familiar ache. It acts as a warning of all the pain that could be to come.
And I realise I have a choice to make. Either I ask my questions, and risk reopening the wound, deepening it, risk feeling whatever I felt for him before all over again—because I know it’s there, simmering deep inside me even now, threatening all I am—or I let it go.
And what is there to gain, really? Aside from satisfying my curiosity.
I don’t want his affections, and even if he answered truthfully this time, am I sure I want to know what he could tell me?
What if it’s horrible? Makes everything even more confusing?
He only knew the version of me who cheated; not the version I was before.
The good version. Only Jonathan can take me back to her.
So, as I stand, frozen to the spot in the darkened hallway, I make a decision.
I will not ask questions. I will pretend I know nothing.
I step back, creep over to the staircase and down to the ground floor.
But . . . Oscar is otherwise indisposed, and his office is right there, and my phone is there too. And the VHC had their meet-up tonight.
As scared as I am to check, I need to know.
If I go to log on and am blocked, I’ll know for sure that I am now officially suspect number one.
I rush through to the office, knowing I must be quick, because Oscar is here this time, and his hearing is better than a canine’s.
My phone is still right there in the kaleidoscope box, so I grab it and plug it into his charger, waiting for it to turn on.
As soon as it flashes to life, I frantically move through to the VHC website and . . . I log in.
It works. I’m in! A calm comes over me as I scan for an update. There’s nothing new. No new messages either.
I let out a big breath and tap through to my text messages.
Still nothing from Jonathan. The space beneath my ribs shrivels.
I really thought I’d hear from him by now.
I let out a big breath and tap through to his Instagram page, but there’s nothing new there.
And then I tap through to Olivia’s page.
Just in case.
She’s posted one new story.
I tap on it, and watch as it loads. And then comes utter doom. Because it’s a picture of her and Jonathan together on his sofa. Jonathan looks happy, there’s a light in his eyes. And the caption reads: The future has never looked this bright! Bring on the new year!
My throat tightens up and every part of me hurts.
And then, beep.
My phone pings with a message. The sound bounces off the walls, echoing loudly in the silence of the study.
My ears roar. My heart flares.
I turn and stare at the door, listening for footsteps, the whoosh of Oscar coming down here to check what the hell is going on . . . but nothing comes. He’s too busy. I turn my phone to silent and, as I do, I see the preview on the screen.
Es: Hey, hope this doesn’t wake you but something happened at work this evening and I can’t sleep. Some guy came in and asked about you. Seemed kind of creepy . . .
I quickly tap on it and read the rest: Tall, dark hair, shitty skin? Do you know him? Xxxxx
The walls sway. The earth spins a little sideways.
FUUUUUUUUCK.
Riley. That sounds exactly like Riley.
Which means I was right. I’m not paranoid.
He absolutely does suspect me. Why else would he go and ask my blood connection about me?
On the very same night as the VHC meet-up?
He wanted to present as much information as he could about me.
It wasn’t enough that I had cold hands, golden rings around my irises, a weak heartbeat, lied about my name and worked with Kenny .
. . he wanted to tell the group about my friend the phlebotomist. Which really does clinch the deal. Even without what Sally knows.
And this means he probably was at Borough Market looking for me.
That he probably did figure out my forwarding address was London Bridge Post Office.
A flash of him showing that blond guy by the cranberries something on his phone.
Was he showing him that picture of me with my licence? Asking if they had seen me?
But hang on, if that’s what happened, then why hasn’t the VHC blocked me? Kicked me off the site?
Did they not believe him?
Or . . . are they planning something?
Now my breath speeds up. If he knows about Es, and he knows whereabouts I live, how much more does he know about me?
And what did Es tell him?
Fuck.
I quickly text her back: He’s just some creep who likes me. What did you tell him?
The walls creak with the wind and my insides clench. I need to get out of here. I stand up, put my phone back in that wooden box, and tiptoe out the door, through the entrance hall and quickly back upstairs to my room.
I lie down, put on my eye mask, put in my earplugs and do everything I can not to think about that message or Riley looking for me or .
. . any of it. I grasp for images of Cat and Daphne and Es and Jonathan and my sofa and that window I loved to look out of instead.
But with each moment that ticks by, it feels like the life I knew is crumbling around me, like the more I grab for it, the more it disintegrates.
All I can think about as I lie here is that picture of Olivia and Jonathan together.
And how his life is going on without me.
There are new year’s plans being made that I’m not a part of.
While I’m here. Doing all this. For the first time since the break-up, I think: Maybe I should let him go.
Maybe we aren’t going to make it after all.
Because he hasn’t texted me even once.
He looked happy, hopeful in that photograph with her.
Isn’t that what you do when you love someone? Set them free? Do what’s best for them? How am I best for anyone?
Then my mind moves back to Riley. How he went into Es’s work, looking for me. He’s out of control.
And the worst part is Oscar could help me with that, but his version of ‘help’ would be to kill Riley, and as much as he’s not my favourite human, he’s still a human.
Even if there was another way, it would come at a steep cost. Oscar would use it against me, as proof of my erraticism, and who knows how long he’d want to keep tabs on me after that?
I can’t let that happen. Whatever that life looks like when I get back to it, at least it will be mine. With my choices.
So as the sounds of laughter and pleasure float through the walls, echoing in emptiness, I tell myself I’ll deal with this alone. The way I always have. Then I cover my ears and force myself to go to sleep.