Chapter 7 #2
First, I found out there was more evidence against me.
The housekeeper, who I always thought liked me, claimed she saw me in Nico’s mom’s bedroom, rummaging around her dresser.
Two students at school came forward to report that I’d been talking about selling some expensive jewelry I’d recently found.
And the owner of a pawn shop in Midtown identified me as the person who’d come in to sell the missing jewelry, walking out with twenty thousand in cash in my pocket.
None of it was true.
Two, three, four days on, I still believed Nico would come.
I was sure he’d know I wasn’t capable of such a terrible thing.
But he didn’t. And oh, did it hurt.
I think it hurt even more than being accused of stealing.
Nico. My first love. My only love. He just turned his back on me, like I was nothing. Like the two years we’d spent together didn’t matter. I’d given everything to him. My heart. My trust. My body. And it all meant nothing.
Years on, I gained some perspective. Not that it made me feel better, or less betrayed, but it helped me understand. Nico idolized his dad. And when Elio Parisi went to his son armed with evidence and a staunch insistence that I was guilty, Nico believed him.
I get it. But that doesn’t mean I forgive him.
Why did Elio insist I was guilty? That’s a question I’ve asked myself over and over.
And the best explanation I can come up with is that he never thought I was good enough for his son.
I wasn’t rich. I was just a scholarship student from Brooklyn instead of one of the wealthy students whose parents could actually afford to pay tuition.
I didn’t have big dreams of becoming a corporate attorney or a stockbroker.
I was nothing, in Elio’s eyes. And I think he’d decided he had enough. Before Nico and I could go off to college together, Elio effectively cut me out of Nico’s life. And then, in a false gesture of generosity, he offered to drop the charges, but only if I agreed to his conditions.
“Leave the city,” he said when he came to see me five days after my arrest. “I’ll drop the charges if you leave.
Don’t talk to Nico. Don’t even think about it.
As soon as you’re released, I want you gone.
And if you go back on our agreement, I’ll make sure you regret it.
” His voice dipped threateningly. “I won’t just make you regret it, Sofia.
I’ll make sure your mom regrets it, too. ”
I knew he had the power to do it. After all, I’d already been kicked out of school.
Breaking the code of conduct, the headmaster told my mom.
But I knew it was because Elio Parisi demanded it.
Rich, connected Elio who didn’t have any trouble paying Nico’s tuition.
Compared to a poor scholarship student accused of theft, I didn’t have a chance.
If it had just been me, I might have gone to Nico, anyway. But I was afraid of what would happen to my mom. I couldn’t take the risk.
So I accepted his deal.
The charges were dropped, and I was released from the detention center.
I went back home, but only for a couple of days before a rushed move to my aunt’s apartment upstate.
There’s nothing left to fight for, I reminded myself as I grimly packed up my things. Nico doesn’t believe in me. He doesn’t love me. Not like I thought he did.
I never told my mom the truth about my move. I didn’t want her involved. I just told her I needed a fresh start. Someplace far away from—
A clunk sounds from the direction of the living room.
My heart jumps.
Fear slams into me, stealing my breath.
Nico’s at work. He left—I sneak a quick glance at the time on my loaner phone—just about an hour ago. And he said he’d be back around six or seven, which is hours and hours from now.
So what was that noise?
The food service delivery? Maybe they come inside the condo to load up the fridge?
Or could it be a housekeeper? Nico didn’t mention having someone in to clean, but it’s possible he forgot about it.
Did Knight come back? Since he’s Nico’s best friend, maybe he has a key to get in.
Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it was something settling, like I hear in my apartment sometimes.
A beat later, I realize the unlikelihood of Nico’s fancy condo settling. This isn’t a forty-year-old apartment building that’s seen a lot of better days. It’s an expensive high rise with multi-million dollar condos. I don’t think anything settles here.
Another soft thunk carries through the partially open bedroom door.
My pulse doubles in speed, pounding in rapid, staccato beats that make my head ache.
Terrified thoughts spin around me in a dizzying whirl.
What if it’s not as safe here as Nico thinks?
What if they found me?
What if the old saying, three strikes and you’re out, holds true?
This is my third strike. The third attack. And possibly the one I won’t survive.
With numb fingers, I reach for the phone Nico left for me. It slips from my hand twice before I get a hold of it.
Fear is blossoming inside me, bigger and bigger until there’s no room for anything else.
My fingers are damp with sweat, so they keep sliding on the screen and hitting the wrong buttons. I open the email app. The map. The calendar. But not the damn contacts, so I can find Nico’s number.
Or should I call 911? But what would I tell them? I heard a strange noise? That I have no proof of there being anyone dangerous inside?
The very idea of the police accusing me of lying makes me nauseous. I can picture the grizzled cop who arrested me showing up, his ruddy face pinched with disdain as he says, “Once a liar, always a liar.”
Sweat breaks out across my body.
My head feels all floaty and not quite my own.
That logical voice in my head whispers, Get up. Close the door. Lock it. Then call Nico to find out if someone’s supposed to be here.
But the scared, irrational, emotional part of me argues, What if you’re making a big deal out of nothing? What if you cause a big scene and it’s just the housekeeper?
What if Nico calls me a liar? What if he kicks me out?
I don’t want to be here, but I’m scared to leave, too.
I hate it, feeling scared like this. Feeling weak. Wishing for Nico to be here, even as pride insists I don’t need him.
Lock the damn door, my inner voice of reason insists. Do that at least. Quickly.
Yes. Lock the door.
Shoving myself up and off the bed, I nearly topple over from the sudden movement.
But I catch myself one-handed on the edge of the mattress, holding myself steady for a few seconds until I regain my balance.
Though I know I’m hurrying towards the bedroom door, each step feels exponentially slower, like I’m moving through quicksand.
Frightened tears sting my eyes, turning the door into a blurred rectangle.
My heart thunders in my ears.
The door. Just get to the door. Now.
In the hallway, footsteps approach.
My chest almost explodes from fear.
I lunge for the doorknob, but I forgot about the phone still clasped tightly in my hand. The plastic case smacks against the metal knob, sending the phone flying. Time seems to slow while I watch the phone hit the carpet and skid across the floor, finally ending up somewhere beneath the bed.
This time I forgo the doorknob and fling myself at the door, putting all my weight into it.
Just as I collide with the door, it opens, knocking me back.
I crash to the floor, first smacking my ass against the hardwood, then my elbow, then my head. Stunned and in pain, I lie there like an upended turtle for several precious seconds I can’t afford to lose.
The footsteps hurry closer.
Panic squeezes my lungs.
Get up, my inner voice demands. Get. Up. Now. Don’t just lie here, helpless and—
“Sofia!”
From above me, Nico’s worried face appears.
Nico. It was Nico. Not an intruder here to kill me.
The relief is so great I burst into tears.
“Soph!” He drops to his knees beside me. “Shit. What happened? Are you okay?” His gaze skims across my body, then comes back to my face. “Shit. Of course you’re not okay. Where are you hurt? I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were there. Shit.”
Relief quickly shifts to embarrassment as the reality of what happened sinks in.
I heard a noise, a very unthreatening noise, for that matter.
And rather than calmly investigating it, like I normally would, I wound myself up into a complete panic.
Then I raced across the bedroom instead of walking like a normal person, collided with the freaking door, knocked myself on my ass, and to top it all off, I started crying right in front of Nico.
Who is the last person I want to see my tears.
“I’m fine,” I mutter. “I just—” Pushing myself up one-armed, I curse the stupid sling trapping my other one. “It’s nothing.”
“Sofia.” Nico puts his hand on my back, helping me to a seated position. And despite my embarrassment—no, humiliation is more apt—I can’t help noticing the tingles of electricity his touch leaves behind. “It’s not nothing. I hit you with the damn door. And you’re hurt.”
“I’m not.” I swipe at my cheeks. “I’m fine. I just…”
Thought he was an intruder? Was on the verge of a panic attack? Ricocheted off the stupid bedroom door after flinging myself at it? Burst into tears over nothing?
“Sofia.” His tone is stern. “You’re not fine.” He grasps my elbow, which is already reddening from its collision with the floor. “You’re going to have a bruise. And you hit your head. After a concussion… Shit.”
I scramble to stand, but I sway halfway up.
And Nico, who decides now’s the perfect time to be a gentleman, quickly wraps his arm around my waist and tugs me to his side.
Fireworks of sensation explode through my body.
“Come on,” he says as he starts leading me to the bed. “You need to lie down. I’ll call the doctor. Get him over here to take a look at you.”
“No.” I jerk my traitorous body away from him. “I’m fine. I don’t need a doctor.”