Chapter Twenty-Three #2
My jaw clenches. I can’t respond to her right now. Not while I’m driving. Her message doesn’t seem like a warning. If someone broke in, she needs support, and I abandoned her. But she would have called me like the other night.
Goodbye, Appa, you’re never going to forgive me if I’m right.
I finally get home and park in the driveway.
I take both coffees inside and set them on the breakfast bar and sit on the stool.
The condensation trickles down the clear plastic cup as I rest my elbows on the breakfast bar.
I don’t know what to do or how to fix this.
I know what I did to her, but she knew she could say no or stop, and I would have.
It took time to build that trust, but it was there.
Always.
Except the other night when she said stop just seconds too late.
She couldn’t have reported me. If it was an act, why draw it out?
I tap my fingers on the counter next to our drinks.
She has camera footage of me showing up at her house at all hours of the night when I was acting as Rook, and I left my DNA inside her, too.
She had no reason to keep this thing going if her master plan was to call the cops on me, but that doesn’t stop the goosebumps running along my arms.
I flinch as the sound of my ringtone sends a lightning bolt through me. I glance down, and Appa’s face shows up on my phone screen from her saved contact photo. My thumb hesitates over the answer button, but I need to face her.
Please don’t let it be a break-in. Somehow, that feels worse than going to jail for assault because she’d be scarred for life.
“Appa,” I say.
“Robby, why did you leave?”
“Are you okay? Did something happen?” I ask, ignoring her question.
“No…I mean, I’m fine. Nothing happened,” she answers. She sounds irritated, and it only confirms that I fucked up. Again.
“Why were there cops at your house? Are you turning me in even after…”
Appa interrupts me. “Is that what you think? No, God, no. A concerned follower saw bruises on my arms and called for a well-check.”
“Why do you have bruises?”
“Um, hello, you the other night?” Rook really needs to fucking die already.
“Anyway, it’s fine. I told the cops that I have a boyfriend, and we like it rough.
They asked if I wanted to press charges, and I said no.
I didn’t mention your name. It was all a formality.
” I stare at her watered-down iced coffee as she speaks.
“Can you come back?” I exhale as the pressure lifts and look up at the ceiling.
Thank you, Father, for your forgiveness.
“No, you come here. Are you okay to drive?”
“Yeah, whatever, I’m fine.” She sighs into the phone. “Robby?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll see you soon.”
We hang up, and I immediately map her address to mine.
Twenty-eight minutes. The longest twenty-eight minutes of my life.
I pace between the living room and kitchen, overthinking everything about this morning.
Is she being honest? I fucked up over and over, and I doubt ‘she let me’ will hold up in court if she wants to flip this onto me.
But I finally snap out of it.
No, you have to trust her…and clean up your damn house.
I was in such a rush to get over to Appa’s this morning that I left dishes in the sink and my workout clothes from this morning strewn across my bed.
It’s ridiculous to tidy up, but I don’t want her to think I’m a slob either.
I load the dishwasher, rinsing as I go, take my worn clothes to the hamper, and clear off the counters.
I keep my house decently clean, but I still leave it cluttered, especially by the end of the work week.
A quiet knock raps on my front door. I check my garage camera feed, and only Appa’s Mercedes is out front, parked next to my car. I let out a deep breath and open the front door.
“Oh, Robby!” Appa rushes in and throws her arms around me.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, but I can’t believe you don’t trust me more than this.” She pulls back, looking up at me through eyebrows furrowed with disbelief.
“Can you blame me?” I try to keep my voice quiet to hide the anxiety that’s been pressing on my chest.
Appa reaches up and cups the side of my cheek. “Robby, I love you,” Appa says with her blue eyes steady on mine.
“Apps…”
“And I know you love me, too,” she adds, and a flicker of a smile plays on her lips. “I never needed Rook…I needed you.” As I exhale, the weight continues to lift with every breath. Appa—my dream girl. My six-year crush. Loves me. “Just tell me you love me, too.”
I pull her into my arms, placing my hand on the back of her head to hold her to me. I close my eyes and breathe in her familiar vanilla scent. “You know I do…I love you, Appa, more than you’ll ever know.”
? ? ?
That night, with Appa sleeping in my bed, I toss and turn beside her.
I usually sleep like a baby next to her but not tonight.
Because ‘Rook has to die’ keeps flashing through my thoughts.
I slip out of bed, leaving Appa sound asleep.
I pull the comforter up to cover her shoulders and step into my closet to grab my gray cotton robe from its hanger.
I hardly wear it, but I’m glad to have it for my plans.
I reach into my watch box for the metal barbells I wore when I filmed…
or when I visited Appa as someone else. I swap my usual silicone jewelry for metal.
I’d love to keep them out for good, but I think she likes them too much.
I walk past the bed, briefly glancing at Appa to confirm that she’s still asleep before walking down the hall to my filming room.
For the last time, I turn on my lights to create my signature lighting profile and put my phone on the tripod, pressing record like I’ve done so many times before.
This time is different.
After a deep breath, I stand in front of the tripod.
I usually do a few pushups or something before I record to get my abs warmed up, but it’s not necessary this time.
I swallow the bile trying to rise in my throat and loosen the belt of my robe.
It falls down to pool on the floor, leaving me in my boxers.
I rarely filmed in my underwear, and I’m going to crop the video where the band of the boxers meets my lower abdomen to squash any comments that I was naked.
I had this idea a while back to make a video where I just take out the barbells and put them in a large jar, and that would be the end of that.
But I didn’t know if I had the guts to actually do it.
I move my hands to my first nipple, remove the barbell, and then do the same on my other side.
I turn and pick up a jar labeled Rook from the desk, dropping them into the jar with a loud clink.
I screw the lid back on, set it aside, and pull a simple gray V-neck tee over my head on camera.
That’s it.
I end the recording and detach my phone from the tripod. I glance around the room. It always felt so cold and sterile, like a doctor’s office, and I want it to be brought to life. But what could we turn this room into?
A nursery?
That thought makes me shudder.
You literally just wore a condom with Appa. Stop thinking about babies!
I make an exception to my two-glass limit and pour myself another glass of red wine in the kitchen. Taking a seat at the breakfast bar, I realize I’m sitting where I was earlier in a pool of anxiety about Appa, but that’ll never happen again. She loves me and deserves just me.
I need to keep her safe.
I pull up the video on my editing app, trim the beginning to start with me walking into frame, cut out retrieving the jar and opening it, and trim the end.
With a couple of edits, Rook could be gone.
I add a filter over the video to make it look slightly smoky and add a quiet instrumental song to the background, leaving the clink of the barbells falling into the jar as the loudest sound in the video.
I look down at my clothed chest and brush my fingers over my left nipple, void of any jewelry.
My chest feels naked without them, but I could get used to it.
Would Appa mind if I kept them out?
If I don’t put something in, the holes will close up.
I graze my fingertips over the metal ring in my ear.
The rook piercing could go as well, but something about the nipple piercings keeps me more tethered to Rook.
I throw back the glass of wine and refocus on the video.
I upload the video, but now I have to come up with a caption…
I consider a couple of options but decide to type without much of a plan:
‘I created him to survive.
I’m letting go now to live.
Don’t mourn him.
He was never yours to keep.’
My trembling fingers hover over the post button. I worked hard over the years building this persona and profile, but I had Appa now.
This was always for her.
My thumb, with a fresh surge of confidence, clicks post. I mute my notifications and turn my phone screen off.
It goes dark in front of my eyes like I blew out Rook’s flame.
I return to bed, gently pulling Appa back into my arms where she belongs.
She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake up. I trail my fingers on her bare back and breathe in the sweet scent of her hair.
Rook got me this far, but I can take it from here.
My fingers run along her lower stomach, where our future children will grow, and that warm feeling spreads through my abdomen. I think it’s hope. There’s nothing wrong with having the desire to have children with her, and we have all the time we need.
When I open my eyes again, the room is flooded with light from the morning sun, and Appa isn’t in my arms. I sit up and find her sitting on the edge of the bed with her legs dangling off.
“Morning, Apps.” I yawn and rub my eyes. She looks over her shoulder at me, and she’s upset by the way her lips are pursed in a straight line, brows slightly furrowed. “What?”
“How could you?” she asks. She turns and tosses her phone between us, where my video from last night plays on her screen.
Fuck, she saw it fast.
“I had to. You don’t need him.”
“But,” she starts to argue but frowns and stops herself.
“Come here.” I reach over and pull her into my arms, slightly pinning her under me. “Yesterday was an eye-opener. It’s time to move on.” I run my hand over her messy golden curls to tame them. She trails her hand under my shirt and reaches up to my chest.
She lets out a gasp when her chilled fingertip finds my nipple. “Did you let them close up?”
I look down between our bodies and realize I didn’t put the silicone barbells in last night.
“Shit, I forgot. They’re probably closed.
” I shift my weight off of her and get to my feet.
I rush to the en suite bathroom and pull the shirt over my head to inspect my nipples.
As I suspected, they’re sealed shut. Like Rook never happened.
“Well, while we’re at it.” I turn my head to see the rook piercing in the mirror, but my fingers are too big to unscrew the barbell. “Can you help me?” I ask Appa.
She rolls her eyes and gets up too. “Need small fingers?” she asks.
“I do.”
“You need to shorten yourself, you tall ass,” she teases me.
I close my eyes and breathe out a slow exhale.
We’re going to be okay.
I lean against the counter, and she reaches up on her tiptoes. It takes her only a second to remove the small barbell from my ear. “Are you sure? About all this?”
I nod, wrapping my arms around her tiny waist. “More than.”
She trails her fingertips up my chest. “For the record, Rook isn’t dead. Just retired. And can visit when I want him to.” She cocks her eyebrow at me as she speaks, maintaining her eye contact with me.
“Don’t act like this is yours to control,” I say, my voice low and familiar.
Appa kisses me on the cheek and tilts her head to whisper into my ear, her warm breath tickling my neck. She grips the back of my head as her lips brush against my ear.
“Oh, but it always was, babe.”