Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
BLAIRE
Ialways knew I was bound to tumble at some point in my life. You never truly leave the depths of the ocean with breezeblocks still tied to your ankles.
I knew it even as I scrubbed under my nails at night, washing away the grime from the day, as if doing so would cleanse my soul.
I knew it as I avoided people like him.
I’d button up my white shirt, and I’d pull my hair into a tidy bun, and I’d see it out of the corner of my eye. My downfall had always been waiting for me, for the smallest crack in my defenses to wiggle through.
I guess I never expected it to happen this way, headed back to a café to meet with a boy I couldn’t stop thinking about, to purchase drugs, of all things.
Half of me was absolutely terrified, wondering where the hell my brain had disappeared to. The other half couldn’t help but embrace the thrill running through my body.
I was going to see him again.
As much as I wanted to deny it, something deep in my core, in the very makeup of my bones, called out to him. It was a strange feeling, really. I had spent so much time holding myself at arm’s length from people, the sensation of wanting to be close to someone disrupted my stability.
My plan to get my life back on track would have to wait.
After all, I couldn’t do much without getting rid of this nightmare haunting my sleep.
My eyelids were weighted, begging to close.
My bun wasn’t as tight as it usually was, and hairs kept escaping, tickling the back of my neck.
Without looking, I knew my exhaustion would be scrawled across my face, despite my mask of carefully applied makeup.
But my walk to the café was sure, confident even.
I’d step inside and order my coffee, no different than usual.
Caffeine in hand, I’d walk over to where he stood, and meet his gaze with a knowing look.
He’d slip me the tiny baggie filled with something that would knock me out, and I’d slide him back the cash that felt like a brick inside my pocket.
There were a few plot holes in my plan, sure. Not to mention, I was completely ignoring the fact I would be late for work the day after I told Harry I was smartening up. I had priorities, and priority number one was sleep.
The café was just up ahead, growing busy in the early morning bustle.
Tugging on a loose strand of hair, I shrugged my purse higher up on my shoulder. This was it. Deep breath, open the door, and step inside. Easy.
Breathe in…
Stumbling backward, I caught myself on my heel before I tumbled over altogether. Blood. There had been so much blood.
Blinking, I pinched the flesh on my wrist—hard—trying to center myself. The smell of coffee, thick and homey. The rush of the traffic on the street, and the wind whipping through my hair. These were real. Tangible. Here.
It was only a dream.
It was only a fucking dream.
If I wasn’t in the middle of a busy sidewalk, and certain I’d be institutionalized, I would’ve screamed. Instead, I opened my eyes. I straightened my shoulders. And I walked into the café like I knew exactly what I was doing.
I ignored the anxiety clawing at me as I walked up to the register, placing my order over the blood roaring in my ears.
Refusing to look around, and not wanting to seem too eager, I kept my focus on the detailed menu board behind the counter.
My skin didn’t feel on fire like it had last time.
I didn’t have the peculiar sensation of being watched.
That didn’t mean anything, though. His attention could have just been focused elsewhere.
“Blaire.”
At the sound of my name, I looked up to see the young barista who served me the other day. She offered me the white paper cup, and I inhaled the rich aroma. Finally, I allowed myself to turn, taking in the patrons around the room while I sipped my drink. I hoped I looked more casual than I felt.
There was an older couple enjoying each other’s company at a smaller table. The usual collection of university kids sat around with their laptops. As my gaze completed a full lap around the café, disappointment sank through my chest.
No one looked out of place today. No dangerous beauty lurked in the corner.
He wasn’t there.
Fuck. I couldn’t tell if I was more disappointed I didn’t get to see him, or if my plan wasn’t going to work. I’d been so consumed with my plan, I didn’t even consider the possibility that he wouldn’t be here.
“Everything okay?” The barista’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. She cocked her head, wiping her hands on her apron. “If something is wrong with your coffee, I can make you a new one.”
“Oh, uh, no. Sorry.” I smiled and took another sip, as if to prove the coffee was perfect, even though it felt like ash in my mouth. I was back to square one. “I was just supposed to meet someone, and they aren’t here.”
The barista chewed on her lip, before leaning over the counter. “Are you looking for Winder? You don’t look like a partier, but what do I know?”
Confusion must have been scrawled across my face, because she nodded to the corner where he stood last time. “Winder. He mostly deals with the university crowd, you know, the kids who have too much money, but sometimes he scores other stuff, too.”
Blood rushed to my cheeks as I realized how obvious I must have looked. “He’s not here today?”
“No. But I know where you can find him, if you want.” She shrugged. “Or you can wait for him to come back, but I never know when he’s going to show.”
I was going to be very late to work if I went chasing after a ghost, but I couldn’t afford to wait.
“Where?”
She gave me directions to a part of the city I usually tried to avoid. Ancient buildings in desperate need of work scared me. But I was so far into Hell already, a few more steps couldn’t hurt me.
The bell above the door rang out as I passed, and I followed the directions the barista gave me.
It didn’t take long before the clean streets and bustling business people died out, and the buildings started to shrink.
I passed a window with boards over it, and another covered by a sheet of plastic.
Bright graffiti tagged the walls and benches, phrases I couldn’t quite make out.
Apartments turned into row houses, with patched roofs and sagging porches.
The roads were quiet here, with the exception of a few bikes racing past. It was as if I’d left the city I knew, and entered somewhere completely different.
I didn’t fit in here. My silk button-down was too shiny. My heels clacked too loud on the broken pavement. Everything in me screamed for me to turn back and figure out a different route. Maybe bailing would be the smart thing to do.
Except, maybe I did fit in here. Lately, it was feeling more and more like my appearance was a costume, a disguise I wore to fool others into thinking I was normal. I was successful. I was perfect.
But I knew better. I knew some stains left a permanent mark that pretty clothes and perfect makeup couldn’t cover. Perfection was corruption. Truth was an illusion.
The barista told me a house number, 118. I just passed 112, and there was 114. 116…
A dilapidated blue house that had seen better days was next, except instead of 118, a number was missing, so it read 11. A group of men stared at me from the rotten porch, and I had a feeling this was the place I was looking for. Now I just needed to work up the courage to get closer.
“Hey, pretty girl,” a man called.
Nope. Gripping my purse, I wished I’d had my work bag that currently resided under my desk. There was a bit more weight to the bigger bag, making it a better weapon. I was ready to walk back the way I came right then and there. But I had come so far. I was so close.
I knew what they saw. A helpless woman out of her comfort zone. I could use what they saw as my weakness to my advantage.
I looked up at the men through my eyelashes. “Can you help me?”
“You need a place to stay, pretty girl? A place to sit maybe? My lap is free.” He patted his thighs, taking a drag of his cigarette while his friends laughed.
“As comfortable as your lap looks, I’m actually looking for someone.” I twisted my toe against the sidewalk.
“You? Looking for someone here? Now I’ve heard it all. You’re probably looking for 87th North. It’s back that way. You’ll know you’re there when you start seeing people with fancy clothes like yours again. Of course, if you’d like to have some fun before you go, I can—”
“Winder,” I interrupted. “I’m looking for Winder. Do you know him?”
The group of men grew quiet. The one who had been talking to me put out his cigarette on the porch. “And what does a girl like you want with Winder?”
My tongue choked me, beating out my lungs in their attempt to fail. I wasn’t this woman. I didn’t talk to groups of strange men. But desperate people did desperate things. “I heard he has some things I might be interested in.”
He leaned forward. “Listen here, girly. I don’t know what you want with Winder, but you’re in over your head.”
Probably. Too late now. I was in the middle of the ocean, the shore miles off, and treading water was my only option.
“Someone looking for me?” I hadn’t heard him speak in the coffee shop, but hearing his voice now made complete sense. No one else’s voice could possibly have the same effect on me.
Looking past the men on the porch, I saw him in the doorway, the man from the café, Winder. I was almost certain he was dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, a dark plaid shirt and ripped black jeans. His bright blue eyes stared down the man who had been speaking to me.
The man raised his hands defensively. “Hey, man, don’t look at me. This little thing out here says she knows you. I told her she had the wrong address, but she won’t take no for an answer.”