Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Ella
Four days have passed, and a fog made of doctors, kisses on the forehead, and occasional visits to the kitchen has become my daily routine.
I still don't know where Tristan sleeps, since the other side of the bed always remains untouched, but I have a sad feeling he's been using the floor, and for someone who has slept on it, I don't like that at all.
My brain did not allow much connection with him over the last four days, but I am determined to change that.
This morning is different, though, as Anja crosses the doorway, arguing with Matt about things I cannot hear but that definitely contain the words stuck-up and outrage.
I suppress a smile, my hands hidden inside the long sleeves of my navy shirt, one I stole from Tristan and tucked into a pair of high-rise jeans.
For whatever reason Tristan found, he figured out a way to keep my job, telling them I was sick and unavailable for the next two weeks.
Surprise is an understatement; I thought he would have dismissed my work entirely, but I was glad when he left a note this morning explaining that even if he didn't approve and would rather have me studying, that wasn't his call to make. Anja, on the other hand, has been less compliant, something I should have expected from her. Not only did my phone have around fifty texts from her since the day of my kidnapping, but she also kept asking for me at work, at the front desk, and even came up to the thirty-second floor to ask, I believe, Tristan’s brother if they knew where I was.
It has taken me the last two days to recover from the emotional roller coaster I have been on, and even now, I am not completely myself.
Something feels off, like someone has moved the toothpaste and I keep reaching for it blindly, stunned that I didn't notice.
I am not who I was before.
I still do not know who I am now.
Yet, two text exchanges with Anja yesterday evening, and here she is at ten a.m., crossing the threshold of Tristan’s house in low-rise light blue jeans and a sticky pink top that goes so well with today’s choice of straightened hair.
Chewing her gum with that familiar strawberry scent, holding two purses and slightly out of breath, she barges into the sleek, fancy, untouched kitchen and whistles.
“Ain’t that a sight for sore eyes,” she snaps her gum, looking around, then at me. “Ella.” Her voice drops ten levels into motherliness as she opens her arms. I shake my head.
“I can’t,” I say, letting her read my lips. “I can’t.” A sad pout draws itself over her face before she nods.
“Oh- okay, okay,” she says quietly, patience bleeding into her voice.
“Let’s sit and catch up, then. All right?
I was so worried.” We spend the next hour doing a mix of lip-reading, signing, and writing in my notes app so she can understand it all.
And perhaps it is the fact that she is my only friend, or perhaps there is an unspoken bond between women you choose to let peek inside your secret garden.
Still, I open up to her about the loss of intimacy between Tristan and me, about the wall that has risen between us and my inability to fully confront it.
The therapist recommended by the clinic visited me yesterday, and we spoke about PTSD and how to come back to reality as myself, in my body, instead of watching every scene from above. Still, I could not fully open up to this stranger.
“Damn, love,” Anja gasps, her glittery-nailed palm covering her mouth.
“I mean, what in the world? Come on. Like you didn’t have enough shit going on, the universe thought you needed another serving of it?
Of all people…” Tears gather in her eyes, but she looks up for a few seconds, blinking them back.
A reflex I am afraid has become natural to her.
I should really be there for her more in the future.
A better friend. Being a single parent must take a heavy toll on a person too.
“And so you’re staying…here now?”
“I think so,” I sign, then type the rest. I’m not sure.
I don’t think it’s long-term. There will come a time when Tristan’s guilt over this whole situation lessens, and with it, his affection for me.
Of course he would be better off with someone whole.
Someone social. Someone who knows her way around the world, strong enough not to collapse the way I just did.
Tristan deserves better. So I will stay until he opens his eyes one day and realizes I am just a girl without a voice, nothing more.
“Why not?”
Do normal people move in together after two months of dating? I write in my notes app.
“Who’s normal?”
“I don’t know,” I say, almost smiling.
“No one’s normal,” she huffs. “Everyone is on their own timeline, really. Why not stay if it feels right?” Writing the word I would hate to be associated with, I show her the pad.
She leans back into the sofa, almost spilling her soda.
“A gold digger? You?” Then she holds her belly, laughing before stopping with a little exhale.
“Ella, Ella, you’re many things, but a gold digger isn’t one of them. And if he knows you, then he knows you’d never be that kind of person. You’re like the opposite. We have to force you to let us help.”
“What about you?” I ask. “How are you?” She sighs.
“It’s…a bit tiring. Nothing like what you’re experiencing, but…”
“Hey, you have the right to be tired too.”
“I know, I know.” She picks at the edge of her napkin.
“I wish I could just turn off my life for a few minutes sometimes, you know? Drink my coffee hot. That kind of thing. Kids are…kids. I love them, and I want to soak it all in, but sometimes I just wish I could do nothing. Sleep. Close my eyes. Watch a full episode with no interruption.”
“You’re doing so great. I admire you so much.”
“Thank you,” she sighs with a reverse smile. “It’s okay, as long as we’re in good health.” She knocks twice on the wooden table near us. “When you get better, you’ll come over, right? We’ll watch something and eat greasy stuff.”
“I’d love that.”
“What are you planning now?”
“I was thinking about going back to work on Monday, but…”
“Isn’t it…soon?”
“I don’t know. I…I can’t stay here replaying everything in my head.”
“Is it safe for you to go out if the guy is still out there?”
“That’s the thing. As long as they haven’t caught him, I need to keep a low profile, I guess.”
“Or go out with this guy,” she says, pointing at Matt, who is sitting in the surveillance room, hidden behind a door in the entryway. I never hear him talk, complain, or anything.
“He’s Tristan’s bodyguard, but now he’s guarding…me.”
“And, um…” She clears her throat. “He’s not not bad-looking.”
“You like him?”
“Well, I do not not like him.” She blushes.
“Weren’t you yelling at him an hour ago?”
“I wasn’t yelling, and trust me, he seemed very happy to be where he was.” Now that I think about it, a cold, silent ex-veteran seems like an excellent match for Anja, who has enough chatter for two and could really benefit from a calm, patient, kind partner.
“He’s single,” I say with exaggerated lips.
“Really?” She looks over her shoulder with a low whisper. “I…” She loses her train of thought, which is definitely a first.
“Hey, by the way, thank you for being here and asking about me when I was gone. You’re a true friend.”
“You’d do the same for me.” She glances at her phone. “Shit, I have to go. I have a client in thirty minutes on the other side of town.” Rising, she rushes to clean and dry her glass in the sink.
“I’m not hugging you because you’re not ready, but trust me, I would if I could,” she says, blowing me a kiss. “I’m available next Monday for lunch if you’re up for it.”
“I’d love to.”
“I’ll have the kids, though. Perhaps that’s not ideal.”
“It’ll be perfect, really.”
“Okay, then I’m off, love. You take care, okay ?
I have a feeling everything will be alright soon.
” I offer a weak nod, resting a hip against the kitchen counter and blowing her a kiss as well.
Then I watch her leave and stop by the entryway, right beside the security room door that just so happens to be open, which is enough of a sign to know that Matt is not untouched by Anja’s charm.
I even hear his voice, though I can't make out what he says. Him speaking at all is quite a stretch. Anja’s laugh resounds all over the entryway, and there is even a giggle before she leaves, walking with her hips swaying side to side as Matt steps into the hall, watching her go.
Stoic. One fist clenched, his eyes shooting straight to Anja’s mermaid body.
A little smile creeps in, and I welcome it before heading upstairs to shower and, I do not know, I guess start my life all over again. There is hope. There is darkness and unresolved pain and walls still standing and a long way left to go, but a new normal is on the horizon.
Tristan
A good boyfriend should not spy on his girl.
A protective one, however, might find himself seated at the head of a glass-walled meeting room thirty floors above Westhaven, one hand resting beside quarterly projections and merger briefs, the other angled beneath the table with a surveillance app open on his phone.
Like I said, I am not a good man, but at least I try.
Ella was at home with Anja, her friend, curled into the corner of the living room sofa in one of my sweaters, the sleeves pulled halfway over her hands and her hair twisted loosely over one shoulder.
The camera view was high and discreet, mounted near the bookshelf, wide enough to show the room without invading the details of her face too closely, though even that distinction felt like a lie I was telling myself to make the watching less unforgivable.
Morality and virtue are hanging by a single thread on my shoulder, alongside an appalling lack of remorse.