Chapter 10 Sloane
Sloane
The coffee at Fresco’s is particularly bad today, but that’s no great surprise.
Everything here tastes bad. The bagel I forced down my throat for breakfast might as well have been made out of sawdust. It doesn’t matter, though.
There might be a thousand better coffeehouses in the greater Seattle area, but Fresco’s is a tradition for Pip and me.
We’ve been meeting here ever since we were poor, struggling students and their drip coffee was all we could afford.
My best friend arrives looking immaculate as ever.
Her hair is swept back into a classic chignon, her pantsuit perfectly creased in all the right places.
In my cuffed-up jeans and rumpled long-sleeved T-shirt, I look like I’ve been sleeping in my clothes the last three days.
Pippa breezes through the café, grinning at Marcus the barista, who will have her regular double espresso on the table precisely sixty seconds after she sits down. She places her Louis Vuitton onto the bench opposite me and elegantly takes a seat.
“Morning, stranger.” It’s been a week since I’ve seen her. That’s a lifetime for us. She gets comfy, giving me a wink. “What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait until later? This afternoon’s my arson block.”
Pippa opted for psychology instead of medicine.
We graduated at the same time. She’s been certified by the Board of Psychiatric Medicine for the last fourteen months.
She works out of an office downtown, dealing with patients sentenced with mandatory therapy in one form or another.
Pip’s OCD being what it is, she’s grouped her patients’ appointments in accordance with their crimes.
Mondays for domestic violence offenders.
Tuesdays for shoplifters. Wednesdays for arsonists.
You get the picture. A lot of violent offenders walk through her doors.
She could easily have chosen to work with Prozac-happy, depressed housewives, but she wanted more.
Said it felt better to help those who really needed it.
I stare into the bottom of my empty coffee cup, suddenly doubting whether I should tell her anything that happened yesterday. But… I think I need to. She’s my best friend, but she’s also always been able to see things from an unbiased point of view. That’s exactly what I need right now.
“If I said I had a patient with an issue they needed to talk through, you’d already know I was talking about me, right?”
“Yep.”
“Okay. Well. I won’t bother with that spiel then.”
Marcus drops Pip’s coffee off. She sips from her cup, arching an eyebrow at me. “Would save some time, yes.”
“Okay, well…” I just need to spit it out. “I had sex with a guy.”
She spits espresso back into her tiny cup. “What? Who? When?”
Ahh, shit. This is going to be really bad. Pip often jokes that I’m going to die a virgin. “It wasn’t recently. It was… it was two years ago.”
Her shoulders stiffen. The incredulous look she was sporting a second ago turns frosty. She’s pissed. I knew she would be. She puts her coffee down, staring down at the table. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It wasn’t… it wasn’t something to sit around and dissect over a tub of ice cream, Pip. It wasn’t something I was exactly proud of, either.”
“What does that mean? My God, you weren’t attacked were you?”
“No, no, of course not. But…” This is the part where I either tell her the whole truth or I go for a watered-down version.
I’m a coward in the end. She would never think badly of me for what I did, but I just can’t bear the shame of admitting it.
I sold my virginity for information. Information I didn’t even get, which, in other words, means I sold it for nothing.
“I didn’t know the guy. I didn’t even know his name.
I… I was drunk. We did it in the dark. I couldn’t have even told you what he looked like until yesterday. ”
Pip closes her eyes and presses her fingertips into her forehead.
Please don’t think I’m a slut. Please don’t think I’m a slut.
“Sloane. Jeez…” She groans.
“I know, I know.”
“I don’t even know where to begin with this.”
“How about after the judgmental part?”
“Oh, babe. I would never, ever judge you. I’m just… I just wanted something special for you. Y’know, romance, red roses, champagne, fireworks…”
I push my bagel crumbs around on the plate still sitting in front of me, pouting. “Oh, there were definitely fireworks. None of the other stuff, but definitely fireworks.”
She sighs, then reaches across the table, moving the plate so she can hold my hands in hers. “So this has been playing on your mind for two whole years, and you didn’t tell me why?”
“Because… it wasn’t exactly normal sex.”
Pippa looks like she doesn’t understand, and then realization dawns on her face. “So… you let some guy screw you, and he was into some freaky stuff ?”
“Pretty much.”
“And, wait, you said you didn’t even know what he looked like until yesterday. What happened yesterday?”
“He came into the hospital. His friend tried to kill herself.”
She exhales. “I need another coffee for this.” She orders one for herself and one for me, and when she comes back, she has more questions prepared. “I just don’t get it. How did you know it was him?”
“His voice is very distinctive. I just came out and asked him if he was the guy, and, well, he didn’t deny it.”
“Okay, so aside from the obvious conversation we should not need to have about you making smart choices, why are you chewing your nails off over this guy? You haven’t heard a peep out of him since this happened?”
“No.”
“So what?”
“So… he kind of kissed me. Or was about to. I suppose it was more of a… lick.”
“He licked you? Where? Who does that?”
I ignore her sputtering. “And it was kind of while…” I take a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “While he kind of had me pinned up against the wall… with his hand around my throat.”
Pippa’s jaw tightens. “So he did attack you.”
“It was more of a threat.”
“Why on earth would he do that?”
“He doesn’t want his friend placed on a psych hold. Probably thought I could pull some strings and have the whole incident brushed under the carpet.”
She snorts. “Well, good luck with that, buddy. Girl tries to kill herself, she gets automatic couch time with a professional at the very least. But anyway, he forcefully licked you?”
“No. I sort of… allowed that.”
“Fuck, Sloane. I don’t know, this almost sounds like grounds to call the cops to me. Why the hell did you let him do that? Is he unhinged? Are you unhinged?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “That’s a possibility on both counts.”
She laces her fingers together, frowning. She isn’t supposed to frown. Frowning gives too much away. “You already know what I’m going to say to you, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I do.” I sigh. The weight of this whole thing is an impossible burden on my shoulders. It feels good to have shared even a small part of it, and I’m not done yet. “There’s something else, Pip. He might know something about Alexis.”
This information freezes her in her seat.
I don’t often talk about Lex. I rarely even mention her name, so the fact that I’ve brought her up now is a really big deal.
“How?” I can tell she’s doing everything in her power to stay calm.
“Did this guy have something to do with her disappearance? Oh my God.”
“No. At least I don’t think he did. I can’t… I can’t really explain it right now.”
She doesn’t like that, not one bit. She huffs, staring at me like I have gone mad.
“I have a bad feeling about this, Sloane. Aside from the fact that you still know nothing about this guy—” She pauses, as though something has just occurred to her.
“Do you even know his name now?” I shake my head, no.
She looks mortified. “Okay, well he hasn’t offered any information to the cops about Lex being snatched, and you won’t tell me how you think he might know this mystery information.
That leads me to believe he is probably involved in some bad shit.
Up to his neck in it, no doubt. And he tried to choke the life out of you? ”
“I know.” When she puts it that way, it really does sound pretty messed up.
“I understand that you want to find her, Sloane, but this guy sounds dangerous. It sounds as if he’s more likely to stab you than help you find Lex. I want you to stay away from him, okay? Do not have anything to do with him. Please, Sloane? For me?”
I bury my face into my coffee cup. I knew she would do this.
I knew exactly what she would say, and I’m kind of relieved, to be honest. I have permission to avoid him like the plague now, even though he might have some idea where my sister is.
I should just tell the police that he practically admitted to hurting Eli yesterday, and then they can do all of the questioning. I can stay the hell out of it entirely.
“Okay, yes, you’re right. I’ll stay away from him,” I say. But for some reason, I don’t tell her that he’s returning to the hospital tomorrow. I don’t tell her that he promised he’d come looking for me.
The unsettled feeling that lingers within me is a mix of guilt and anticipation.
I’ve never been one to lie or to hide things.
Even to me, it’s worrying that the only things I’ve kept from my best friend relate to this guy.
Am I asking for trouble by keeping secrets?
It seems futile to even pose that question.
Where this man is concerned, I sense that trouble will find me regardless.