Chapter 8
Maeve
Ilunga (n) a person who is ready to forgive any abuse for the first time, to tolerate it a second time, but never a third
The alarm clock on my nightstand blares a cover of "Pink Pony Girl" by Lauren Babic. I jerk awake, a jolt of adrenaline rolling through me. I glance over, bleary-eyed. It’s eight a.m. I had slept in.
I never sleep in.
I groan and reach for my phone. Six texts from Nessa already.
Sorry for last night
Are you Ignoring me?
Hello???
You know what, I’m not sorry at all, actually.
I hope you see who he really is.
Seriously, stop ignoring me.
I’m not in the mood for this shit.
I toss my phone onto the bed beside me and crank the volume of the song. I stretch my arms over my head, my body shuddering, then I lower them, pressing my fists into the bed on either side of me. A dull ache pounds in my right hand.
Damn it. I look down at my knuckles. They’re bruised and tender, but I smile as I remember punching Ronan last night. The look on his face had been priceless. He was expecting the needy, helpless teen I once was. I briefly wonder how his jaw is feeling this morning.
Standing up, I raise my arms above my head, stretching again. My back pops as I lean side to side. I let out a deep breath and pad across the wooden floor toward my bathroom, the boards cold under my bare feet.
I turn the handle on the shower almost all the way hot, and the steam billows out after a few seconds. I strip my clothes off and drop them onto the marble floor, eager to step into the hot water. My muscles are tight, my body tense.
Lorcan has been working me harder lately, but I’d brought it on myself.
Hell, I’d asked him to, but damn, he didn’t hold back.
Sparring is one thing, but when it comes to hand-to-hand, it’s like I’m fighting two people at once.
I know why Lorcan didn’t hold back. Well, he didn’t hold back like he had in my early teens.
He knows I want to be ready for anything. I need to be ready for anything.
I hold my face under the water, letting it soak my hair.
Lather. Why do we need a united front?
Rinse. Why are the Costas back?
Repeat. What would they want?
I reach for the pink loofah hanging from the caddy on the shower wall.
It looks out of place amongst the rest of my things.
I drizzle my favorite vanilla body wash on it and start scrubbing head to toe.
Then, I shave everything. It’s a habit, mainly.
Definitely not in anticipation of something happening tonight with Callum. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
I turn the water off and step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my body and another around my hair. I step over to the lighted mirror over my sink and swipe the steam away with my palm.
I stand looking at myself, looking at the little white tattoos on my skin, so translucent they are almost invisible.
I’d gotten them for my eighteenth birthday, and for a while, I’d been worried my father would see.
But, so far, so good. Guess he’d have to pay closer attention to me for that to happen.
I turn my head, looking at the one behind my ear. It’s my favorite. Small. Just one word in a delicate cursive script.
Always
It was something Callum often said to me when I thanked him or when we discussed our future together.
It was his promise to me. A promise to be faithful, to be close by, to be what I needed him to be.
A wave of sadness washes over me. Always turned out to be a promise that Callum couldn’t keep.
I brace my hands on the sink, letting my head fall forward, the towel around my hair resting against the mirror.
Why should I expect things to be any different now?
I glance down at my left hand, at the small white tally marks on the underside of my wrist. I’d gotten it the same day as Always. I’d started with three tally marks, and added a new one each year since. Now, there are nine.
I shake my head, the towel squeaking against the mirror, and glance over at my right wrist.
nepenthe
All lowercase, no punctuation. Now, if only I had a potion to take all of the grief out of my mind.
Callum, our story, the aftermath of it. All of it is engraved on me. I look back up into the mirror at the dark circles under my eyes. What am I going to do?
Suddenly, I catch sight of something sitting on my bed behind me in the mirror.
A dark green velvet box, adorned with a black ribbon and a small black card, rests near the pillows.
Biddy must have left them while I was in the shower.
I tiptoe quickly over to the bed, trying not to slip and fall.
I grab the card and turn it over. Plain black, about the size of a business card. I flip it open:
I sit staring at the note for a few more seconds. I notice that his handwriting looks so different from when we were teenagers, but I swear I’ve seen similar writing in recent years. I can’t think of where, though.
I place the note on my nightstand and grab the velvet box.
I slide the ribbon off and remove the top.
Even the tissue paper inside is pretty, black with tiny gold flecks.
I pull the tissue paper one side at a time to reveal the most beautiful dress I’d ever seen, along with a pair of shoes I would've killed for. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Despite myself, I’m impressed, and I smile as I wonder when he got this.
I hang the dress on the back of my door and place the heels at the bottom, then, I step back a few paces to get the whole picture. Wow.
The dress is a deep green, so deep it almost looks black.
The bodice features a U-neckline, just on the edge of racy, with delicate spaghetti straps that descend into corset lacing down the back, and slits along both sides that will definitely showcase my long legs.
The heels are strappy black Louis Vuittons.
I stand there for a few more seconds, feeling very impressed with Callum’s excellent taste.
It’s definitely… me. And the fact that he’d put in so much effort softened me a little more.
He’d always been thoughtful when we were young, but something about how he’d taken control of the details like I’d asked him to, going way above and beyond. It was… sexy.
Suddenly, my phone rings shrilly from the nightstand. Nessa’s ringtone.
I let my head fall back and I groan in exasperation, then I grab it and answer.
“Yes?”
“Clearly, you didn’t get enough sleep last night.
I messaged you multiple times, and you still haven’t responded.
Here's a question for you. Do you even know who Callum is? Do you know what he has been doing over the last several years, Maeve? He works for his father. I heard he has killed people. He’s dangerous. ”
I sigh. I'm familiar with our culture. If Nessa knew of the things I had done, she’d have a damn coronary. So, I can’t hide the sarcasm in my voice.
“Oh, no! There’s no way I can work with a man who has killed someone. Let me tell my father. That will surely get me out of all this.”
She scoffs, “Why are you acting so obnoxious? Did Callum say something to you about…. never mind, forget it.”
“What would he have told me, Nessa?”
“Nothing, bye,” she says hurriedly, then hangs up.
Now I’m annoyed and confused. I toss my phone onto the bed and head to my closet, hunting for something to lounge in until it’s time to get ready.
I need to think. There must be something significant happening.
Orin has been on an assignment for my father today, but the details have been left out, as usual.
I get dressed hurriedly, then I head out of my room and down the hall toward the safest space I know. My library.
I walk in and flip the light switch, letting my eyes roam over the floor-to-ceiling built-in shelves, packed with books.
The shelves are a deep charcoal color, almost black, and hundreds of colorful book spines brighten their gloom.
They stretch around the entire room and over the large arched window overlooking my mother’s garden.
Plants are scattered here and there, pothos and philodendrons and monsteras in a riot of green.
I sigh and walk over to the oversized reading chair in the corner, across from the window, my mind spinning through endless questions.
Warm morning sunlight filters in, caressing my face and shoulders.
I close my eyes for a second, enjoying the feeling, trying to clear my head.
Then, I grab my book from the little side table next to me and begin to read.
This book gives me hope, I realize, looking up from the page.
I started reading it last night, and I hadn’t realized it was a second-chance romance.
The irony of that has me rolling my eyes.
I have to admit it, though. Being around him last night was…
intense, especially after all this time.
He’s the same Callum, just bigger. Darker, somehow.
Dangerous. The way he looked at me, the way he touched me…
it felt intoxicating. It made me feel out of control.
Outside, on the bench, I’d almost kissed him.
Practically begged him for it, leaning in the way I had.
But after everything he’s put me through, a big part of me feels vindictive, like I want to hurt him back. Make him feel some pain.
But then, where does that leave me? I sigh and rub my temples, feeling a little stupid.
All these years, I’ve been so fixated on all the shyte I’ve been through that I missed what was going on right in front of me.
Now, I’m caught up in something way bigger than myself, and I don’t understand it at all.
No matter what, I have to get answers from Callum tonight.
And I can’t let my emotions get in the way of that.
After reading for a while, I close the book and stand up, stretching my arms overhead.
My phone pings, and a number I don’t recognize pops up. The text is just one question.
Ready?
I know exactly who it is, of course. I walk back to my room, staring at the message, waiting for another one to come through. Then, I realize what time it is.
Shit, already 3. I’ve got to get my arse in gear.
Before I start getting ready, I type out a curt response.
Nope.