Thirty-Three
THIRTY-THREE
VANESSA
Stripes in varying shades of pale brown adorn the wallpaper, running in wide bands from the ceiling to the floor. It wouldn’t look so bad, except the sun that spills through the glass panel frontage of the offices has faded the pattern from a foot below the ceiling, making the darkly colored section at the top appear as though rust runs from the cornices.
My heel jumps in a staccato rhythm, knee bopping as I wait for my appointment.
I feel as though everyone knows. As though the nurse at the front desk could see it in my eyes when I walked in. As though the couple on the street could smell the debauchery on me.
I masturbated to a veritable ghost last night.
The only proof he watched was the messages he sent at the start.
Did he see what I did before? Was that why he was watching and waiting on the other end of the camera?
You’re sick. Yeah. Sick and tired of not living. Maybe what I did was fucking twisted, but shit, it made me feel alive.
That high has me glancing toward the consult room door and sighing. I figured I should see someone local about meds until I could get an appointment with my regular therapist, but that bullshit last night just went to prove how far I’m willing to go to ease this burden.
This ache.
There are better ways to deal with stress. But are they as fun?
I shove the heel of my hand beneath my eye and squint them shut. Demure. Good women are demure. The others are lost to sin. That’s what he would teach us. Was he right? Fuck. I hate this part of my healing when the old and the new beliefs fight with each other.
How much longer? I should be grateful they could get me in to see this new guy on such short notice, but fuck, it’s not Dr Phillips.
I hate starting from scratch.
“Ms. Faith?”
I cringe at my legal name and rise from the plastic seat.
“This way.”
I recognize the nurse who shows me through to the exam room. She comes into the cafe most Fridays and gets a double-shot macchiato with whipped cream on top.
Her blunt blonde bob swings with the pivot of her hips as she reaches the door. She says nothing—simply extends her hand and smiles.
I slip inside the room and find a middle-aged guy with wild auburn curls seated at a cheap laminate desk. He hunches over the manilla folder spread before him, pen poised in his left hand, square-rim glasses balanced on the end of his nose as he scours the form I completed upon arrival.
“Take a seat.”
He doesn’t look up as he makes the offer. Off to a great start already.
I ease onto a roughly woven stackable chair, fingernail picking at the edge of my thumb.
“We haven’t seen you here before.” He makes the grand statement as he sweeps the folder aside and spins to give me his full attention.
I do a double-take. He seems so familiar. “No. I usually have a teleconsult with my therapist, but she’s on leave until the end of the month.” Not that it should come as a surprise; she had to have the baby sometime.
“What brings you in today, then?”
The muscles in my face relax, and I switch onto autopilot, reciting the script I need and why. How long I’ve been on it. What other methods I’ve tried for a solid night’s sleep and reduced anxiety. The holistic practices I have in place already.
He crosses one slack-covered leg over the other, linking his fingers around his kneecap to hear me out.
I reach the end of my spiel and draw a deep breath to reset.
“You’ve had to justify yourself before, haven’t you?”
I blink. Huh? “Pardon?”
“All you needed to say was that you haven’t slept lately due to trauma and stress. I’m sure you’re doing your best in all other areas to assist; the over-explanation was unnecessary.” He pulls his script pad toward himself. “Have you attended therapy lately? Or has it been a while?”
“I’ve reached the limit of their ability to help.” There are only so many times you can attempt to rewire your brain with well-practiced mantras before the process seems ridiculous.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The doctor scribbles the script and pulls a regular jotter over, scrawling something else on the pale cream page. “Perhaps a slightly different take on counseling might help.” He hands me the two pages, the notepaper on top. “Sometimes peer support can be what we need. People who’ve been through a similar situation and have found salvation through less scientific means.”
My gaze drops to the page, and I choke. Fuck no. Not here.
His curly hair. The droop to the outer corner of his eyes. The dimple in his chin.
It hits. I have seen him before.
When he was fucking twenty and cutting a graduation cake.
“Thank you.” I shove from the chair so abruptly that it smacks against the wall. “I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice.”
“It was my pleasure, Vanessa Faith .”
I damn near fucking vomit when my surname curls off his tongue as an erotic caress. The seconds following pass in a blur, my body firmly in flight mode as I wave the nurse off and find my way onto the sidewalk.
They’re here. He’s had someone here all along. Waiting. Watching. Shit.
My chest convulses with each failed attempt to draw air. Home is toward my right, but I don’t have the strength to get that far. God damn it. The more I struggle to fill my lungs, the higher my anxiety spikes, and the worse the panic gets, the tighter my chest becomes.
It’s a vicious fucking cycle.
One I’ve been convinced would kill me multiple times before.
The cafe is left. Theresa will close out the day soon, which means the place should be empty. You can get through it. Just find somewhere safe to wait it out. I glance behind me, half-convinced the doctor will follow me into the street, and see nothing but the plain text on the window that I’d walked past so many fucking times, never once paying it any mind.
Why should I? Surnames aren’t unique among the masses. Only ones like mine stand out. You should have changed your name. I should have done a lot of things.
My hip vibrates, eliciting a squeak from my throat.
The snap to reality kickstarts my feet into action, and I tug the phone free as I walk.
What happened?
How does he know? I glance at the streetlights, powerlines, and shopfronts as I walk. Does he have fucking CCTV everywhere I go? I thumb a few letters, stalling when they come out jumbled, confusing the fuck out of autocorrect. Later. I need to get to the cafe.
I glance up and catch sight of my goddamn nemesis. Circus. Of course, that’s how he’d know. Because cameras aren’t enough. His stalking ass outside my house isn’t enough. He has to have a guy following me when he can’t.
Men are all the same. They all want to control and shape the narrative, and I let him. I fucking invited the devil inside, and I made it hot enough for him to survive.
You did this to yourself. I boxed myself in, too stupid to see what Chaos did as anything other than the manipulation it was.
Theresa rushes for the door after my frantic knocks, unlocking the deadbolt and ushering me inside. “Sweetie. What’s going on?” Her warm hands find my forearm to guide me to a seat, but they’re no match for the heat of my panicked flesh.
“He…” I swallow and try again. “He’s known I’m here this whole time.”
“Who?” She glances behind us, out the glass door. “Who’s known you’re here?”
I drop onto the wooden seat with a thud. “How long has the new doctor been there?”
“At the community clinic?” She frowns.
I nod.
“Oh, I don’t know. I remember Shauna saying something about him a few months back.” The nurse. That’s her name. “But I don’t remember exactly when.”
“He’s one of them.”
“Who?”
Fuck! Why have I told her so little? “It doesn’t matter.” My phone vibrates against my hip, and I ignore it. “Can I sit here and catch my breath while you close up?”
“Of course.” She taps her fingertips together before her, likely fighting the urge to comfort me with physical touch. “Water?”
“That’d be great. Thank you.” My chest still hurts, but at least I can breathe. I rub at the lingering ache in my muscles; the sensation of my heart encased in concrete takes longer to fade.
My boss dashes behind the counter to dump some ice in a glass and top it with filtered water. I lean forward, arms banded across my stomach and press my knees tight together as a physical distraction. I can’t do this alone. The thought jolts me upright, a fresh wave of panic coursing through me with unchecked speed. I’ve never believed that until now. I’ve gone through everything it took to get me here by myself, stubborn and proud of my resilience to the last. But lately… Why can’t I tolerate this anymore?
What changed? You know what. You just don’t want to admit it. Facing this shit with someone else by my side is so much better .
“Here you go.” Theresa sets the glass down, a candy bar beside it. “In case you need to boost your sugar.”
“Thank you.” The words escape as a whisper; I don’t have the confidence to give them strength right now.
She hesitates, offering a soft smile before giving me my privacy and resuming cleaning the equipment behind the counter.
I sip at the chilled water, gaze darting to the street every so often to reassure myself the doctor isn’t dashing across the road with a syringe full of sedative, ready to take me back. I have to move. I don’t want to, though. I like it here. I love these people.
I’m tired of losing everything I gain because of him.
This shit has to end. But how?
I slide the phone from my pocket, weighing it in my palm. What do I say? “Oh, hey. You know how you offered to kill my stepfather? Was that for real? Because I’d like his head on a pike, thanks.” How the fuck do you broach the subject?
Theresa ducks through the door to the breakroom, a spray cleaner and dirty cloths in hand. I glance back at the phone and then ditch it on the table beside the candy bar. This was supposed to be a fresh start, my last start. I can’t entertain dark fucking ideas like that—it ruins the character I’ve created.
Because that’s all I am. A character. Every aspect of my personality was formed through one of two means: his influence and the fallout of his influence.
Who am I really? I glance down at my clothes. Is this who I am at heart? You know that too. It’s the most authentic representation of who I am because I controlled it. Because it makes me feel good.
My lungs expand with a deep breath, the intake easier.
Theresa returns to the counter. “Feeling any better?”
“A bit. Yeah.” I eye the stack of dishes on the worktop behind her. “Can I help with anything?”
“Nope.” She turns away, gathering a few of the plates. “If you’re ready to talk, though…”
“Not yet.”
She gives a nod and then disappears out back again.
I reach for the water yet stall when the angry growl of an engine braking makes the windows vibrate. My gut tightens, invisible fingers crushing my heart as the masked skull I’ve come to both love and hate stares at me through the window, the bike tearing past.
It was too quick. You don’t know it was him.
Except I do, don’t I?
I pad toward the window, pushing onto tiptoes to see farther down the street, but it’s useless. I can’t make out much other than four or five cars parked on the side of the road and the people going about their business like it’s any other regular day. Because for them, it is. And isn’t that just the most isolating part of all this crap? Knowing that my stepfather’s influence only affects me. Nobody else in Temperance is even aware of the evil setting down roots.
I return to the table and open the candy bar, picking a corner off the chocolate before I snatch up my phone and open my thread to Marianna.
Can you help me book my tickets to go face the devil?
I devour a few pieces of chocolate before she replies.
Are you sure you want to do this? Take it your visit to the doctor went well then.
I smirk, thumb hovering over the screen as I lick the melted candy bar from my fingertips. Yeah. It did go well, but not in the way she expected. That asshole scared the hell out of me—still has my nervous system on edge—but fuck him. Fuck every one of those sanctimonious sycophants.
I won’t fold.
I won’t bend the knee to men who have no idea of the hell I’ve been through.
Who couldn’t endure the same.
I’m sure. Could you feed Murph while I’m away?
Babe. I’m coming with you.
You can’t step away from your work. I’ll be fine. I’ve asked Evelyn.
Her dots dance and pause. Dance and pause.
It feels wrong not to be with you during this.
Throat thick, I push away what remains of the candy bar. I’ve found my family. These are the people who matter the most in the world to me. These are the people to whom I matter most.
It’ll comfort me to know you’re here when I get back.
I pause, unable to tap out the words. I love you. You’re so precious to me. I appreciate everything about you. The fear of rejection still has a chokehold on my relationships, and it makes me sad that I’m not in a place to push past that yet.
Thank you for everything.
I silence the phone and set it face down on the table. What a day. A fuckload to take in, and it’s only been a few hours. I ache to cocoon myself in a soft blanket, a cozy game lighting up the room, snacks at the ready beside me. I crave safety and security.
An image of Chaos leaning against my doorframe, arms folded over his inked chest, flashes to mind. The hell? That’s the first time a person has featured in my visualizations of calm and comfort.
I glance out the window again and take a sip of water, swishing the liquid around my teeth before I swallow.
Theresa’s been out back long enough that I know she’ll be counting the day’s takings, which means she’s almost done here. I should go home. Find that asshole cat and force him to be the emotional support animal he’s purported to be.
Instead, I set the water down with a clink, frozen in place as Chaos jogs across the street, head turning to check traffic as he moves. He’s the picture of divine masculinity, the drool-worthy swell of his forearms enough to spike my heart rate, never mind the ink framing the thick column of his throat or the way the ends of his hair wisp against his jaw and neck, belted jeans sitting dangerously low on his hips… Jesus—stop already .
Chaos reaches the pavement and looks toward the cafe, brow furrowed when his gaze meets mine.
I shoot from the seat and unlock the deadbolt to let him in before he breaks his fucking way through.
“I told you that you should run from this mess,” I sass, masking my anxiety the best way I know how.
He reaches for me as I step backward, hands cradling my face as he searches my gaze. “Are you okay?”
I swallow, captivated by his fucking eyes, before dropping my gaze to his lips and frowning. “What happened?”
His tongue peeks out, touching at the fresh split. “Nothing.”
“Suppose you’re going to tell me you walked into a door next.” I pull from his hold. Why can’t he be honest with me?
Chaos wraps a firm hand around my waist, snaring me mid-step and pulling my back flush to his front. Warm breath tickles my neck. “Why didn’t you answer my message?”
“Why didn’t you just ask your spy what I was doing if you were so concerned?” I set my hands on his thick forearm, tilting my head a little to peer at him over my shoulder.
His lips brush my temple as he murmurs, “I did.”
Silence falls between us. I slip my eyes closed when he nuzzles behind my ear, a satisfied growl vibrating against my back. God, I need this. I need him.
“I couldn’t get my words straight,” I explain, leaning into his embrace. “I needed to calm my nerves first.”
He snakes his free arm across my chest, fingers finding home against my throat as he delicately strokes my jawline with his thumb. “Is that the only reason why?”
“If I’d sent you something that didn’t make sense, you would have freaked out.”
He huffs a laugh. “Like I did anyway?”
It’s comforting having him nuzzle against me. Intimate. Safe.
“What were you doing?”
He pushes my head aside with his nose and kisses behind my ear. “When?”
“Just now. Across the street.”
“Nothing.”
“For fuck’s sake, Chaos.”
“Vanessa?”
I smack his arm around my middle, pushing free. “Stop fucking with me. What were you doing?”
He frowns at my aggressive stance. “What does it matter?”
“Does it have anything to do with me?” I lift an eyebrow.
He folds his arms, accentuating the swell of his chest. So not fair to play that card.
“It does. Doesn’t it?”
“He scared you.” His mouth twitches like a child who doesn’t understand what they did wrong.
“Lots of things scare me.”
“And that gives him a right to add himself to that list, does it?” He hitches an eyebrow, sassing me.
“Fuck you.”
“Why?” Chaos tosses his arms. “Why are you angry with me and defending him ?”
“Because you don’t understand,” I yell. “Fighting back makes things worse. Maybe you don’t care how people treat you, but I do. And you fucking with that doctor just now?” I thrust my arm toward the door. “Makes me even more of a target.”
“I can’t fucking win, can I?”
“Makes two of us.”
The breakroom door slams open. “What the fuck is going on out here?”
“Nothing,” Chaos and I say in unison.
“Sure doesn’t sound like nothing.” Theresa pushes through the half-door. “Are you the reason she’s like this?”
He holds my eye a beat before shifting his attention back to her. “It’s fine, Theresa.”
“No. It’s not.” She scowls at the Kings president. “Everywhere you go?—”
“Chaos follows,” he mocks with a roll of his eyes, talking over the top of her. “I fucking know.”
“Well, you must be sick in the head, then.” My wiry boss shoves a hand against his shoulder, shunting him back a half step. “To find the most vulnerable woman you can and decide she’d be a bit of fun. Figure you’d fuck with her, did you? What’s the matter?” she taunts. “Game getting too hard, so you thought you’d pick the low-hanging fruit for a change?”
“Watch what you’re saying.” He advances, yet Theresa holds her ground.
“I think you need to leave.” She glares at Chaos, unperturbed by the foot of height he has on her.
“Funny,” he sneers. “I was just thinkin’ the same thing.” He shifts his angry gaze my way. “Could even say I was about to run .”
The door rattles behind him, my heartbeat an angry whoosh in my ears.
“What the hell was that all about?” Theresa watches Chaos cross the street, scowl on her face and hands to her hips.
I collapse to the wooden chair, fisting the hem of his T-shirt tight across my thighs. “Nothing.”