Chapter 22 - Anya
It’s still dark when I leave the mansion.
The sun is only just starting to touch the horizon with its pale gray light. One side of the sky is still sleeping, the other only stirring awake now.
My heart is heavier than it’s been in a very long time. Last night was too real. Too beautiful. Too intimate.
How can he be with me like that, with such an intense connection, but be faking it? The damage I did to him all those years ago made him so numb that he became a monster of sorts.
But he’s a monster that I created by breaking his heart.
A soft sigh escapes my lips as I quietly close the door behind myself and walk away from his home. Untangling myself from his embrace this morning was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
My footsteps are silent, my sneakers not making a sound on the pathway towards the gate where my Uber is waiting, my bag heavy over my shoulder, but I lean to the side to try and even out the weight of it.
Before I step off his property, I turn to look at the mansion one last time.
I have to let this place go once and for all.
I have to let him go.
Last night wasn’t a declaration of love, no matter how much I want to dream it was—it was a cathartic form of closure for both of us.
Or for him, it was another way to try and fool me into believing he cared.
And now I have to move on.
The Uber driver climbs out and takes my bag from me, opening my door. I slide silently into the backseat, fighting tears. I can still smell him on my skin. I didn’t want to risk showering and waking him up. His cologne is in my hair, his scent in my pores.
I pull my phone out to send Georgie the link to track my Uber ride.
She already knows I’m on the way. I messaged her first thing when I woke up. The truth is, I hardly slept at all. Maybe an hour to two before I was awake, and my head was spinning with the morbid knowledge of what I had to do. Leave.
Give up. Let go. Accept.
I lay in the warmth of his arms for as long as I could, pretending one last time that we had a future together and that everything would be okay.
Then I forced myself to get up, finish packing, and sneak out.
As the driver pulls away, I can’t bring myself to look at his mansion again. I look the other way, towards the ocean, dark and brooding, the surface of the water glittering with misty morning light.
“Castle Street?” the driver confirms, giving me Georgie’s address.
“Yes, thank you,” I mutter.
She’s on a semi-break just before her exams; her classes are halved over the next month or so, so she’s staying in her apartment near the beach instead of on campus. It’s not too far from here.
My brother wants me to go home with him.
I know he’ll be annoyed that I’m avoiding him, but I can’t face his questions yet.
I can’t face myself yet. Georgie is the only person I can be completely broken around without feeling like I’m a burden in any way.
I don’t even know how to explain everything to Kristopher.
I’ve kept so much about Emmanuil hidden—my whole life, our whole story together.
I need to tell Kristopher everything from the beginning to the end for him to truly understand my choices.
I will, when I’m ready.
When the Uber arrives outside Georgie’s apartment building, she’s downstairs in the lobby waiting for me. I see her through the window, and her eyes light up immediately.
She runs out when she sees me climbing from the car and immediately wraps her arms around me.
She’s wearing an oversized hoodie that says San Diego Beach Co. and her cutoff shorts, along with tan Ugg boots. Her long curly hair is pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head. She looks like home. Like safety for my heart.
“I’m so happy to see you.” She squeezes me tight, and I lean into her, unable to hold my tears back anymore now that I have someone to hold me.
She pulls me away to look at my face. “Oh, honey. You’re going to have to explain everything. Come on. I’ll make the coffee and order us some of those chocolate breakfast croissants you love so much.”
I let her lead me inside and upstairs into the warmth and familiarity of her apartment.
This apartment is the best place for me to hide from Emmanuil until I can sort my head out. I hated leaving like a thief in the night, but after hearing how he really felt about me, I couldn’t stand to face him and hear again. I know now, I can’t un-hear it.
If I go home with my brother, it might trigger the past on a deeper level for Emmanuil, and he might follow me and go after my brother. I don’t want to put him at risk like that. I let Kristopher take the fall last time, shielding me from Emmanuil’s pain, but I can’t do the same again.
Georgie listens all morning while I pour my heart out, telling her every detail of this crazy situation.
She’s shocked when she finds out I was staying with the man from my past this whole time.
She’s hurt for me when she hears I fell in love all over again and that it was a ploy of revenge from his side.
She’s patient and understanding, and not once do I feel judged. She never shows any anger that I hid this from her while it was happening.
It’s incredible to let go of everything I’ve been holding onto. The kidnapping, the marriage, the tension, the love, and the heartbreak.
Georgie sets her coffee cup down on the table. My legs are stretched out over her lap, my shoes discarded on the floor near the front door. Her legs are curled beneath her. There is a level of comfort between us that I’ve never had with anyone else.
She truly is the sister I always wanted.
“But, what happens now?” she asks, tilting her head to the side as her eyes study my face.
I shrug and bite my lower lip. “Now I have to move on.”
She presses her lips together and nods thoughtfully. “Is your brother angry?”
“Yes. I haven’t spoken to him yet. I’ll have to face him at some point.”
“Well, not until you’re ready. I’ll try to keep him calm in the meantime.”
“You do have a way with him,” I grin. “When are you two going to admit you’re perfect for each other?”
She huffs. “It’s not like that, and you know it.”
I roll my eyes. “Denial,” I tease her.
“Sweetie, I have to go to class soon. But you know you are staying with me as long as you need to, right? Forever, for all I care. I love having you around.”
“Thanks, Georgie. I can’t explain how happy I am that you’re in my life.”
“Always.” She pushes my legs off her lap and shifts over the sofa to hug me, flattening me with her body. She squeezes me tight until we’re both giggling.
“Okay. I’m going now. I’ll message you later so we can decide what to do for dinner. Maybe we should have a cookout. It’ll take your mind off stuff, and we can drink wine and talk about how annoying boys are.”
I giggle again. “That sounds perfect.”
Georgie leaves for class, and I pace around her apartment alone with my thoughts. At lunch time, I rearrange her bookshelf, color-coding the spines of each book, instead of the complete chaos she has them in.
You’d think a psychology student would be more meticulous about her space, but Georgie is so carefree and spontaneous that I don’t think she even notices these things.
Her apartment is a perfect reflection of her.
Colorful, cheerful, feminine, and bright.
It’s neat without being neat, which is odd.
It’s one of those places where you can put your feet on the sofa and know she won’t mind.
Where you can put your coffee cup on the table without her freaking out about not using a coaster, although she has coasters—arty ones with different layers of the brain printed on each round Perspex disc, like an MRI from one of her textbooks.
All afternoon, I move about her apartment cleaning, sorting, putting things in order, rearranging her stationery on her study desk, looking through her neat, highlighted study notes, and smiling at her scribbled drawings that help her remember difficult things.
But all the while I’m thinking about Emmanuil.
Our dinner at the old movie theater.
The Ferris wheel.
When he found me drunk at the beach bar.
Our quiet dinners at home.
Making breakfast in the morning.
I miss him like crazy, and I don’t know how to let it go.
I have to let it go—but where do I start?
Eventually, the apartment becomes claustrophobic with thoughts of him, and I’ve distracted myself with every bit of sorting that I possibly can—and now I have to get out.
Fresh air and a walk on the beach will do me good.
Maybe I should take my bikini and jump into the cold water.
I grab a beach bag and shove some things into it, stealing Georgie’s bikini because I don’t feel like unpacking my bag.
Outside her building, I turn my face up to the sky and let the bright midday sun pierce into my eyes. It feels good.
I can get past this.
My heart can heal.
A snort of laughter echoes in my thoughts. You mean you can get past it like you got over him in the past? Because you know you never really got over him. Don’t fool yourself, Anya.
I scold myself and shake the thought from my head as I turn to walk towards the beach.
There are people everywhere, walking the same path, walking in opposite directions, with friends, alone, with their kids—and for a while, I am blissfully distracted.
I find a spot on the beach, settle on the sand with my toes wiggling into the softness, and I watch the surfers for a long time.
It’ll be okay. No matter how long it takes, it will be ok eventually.
When my skin starts turning red, sun-kissed and glowing, and my thirst gets too much, I pack my beach bag and dust the sand off my body to go back to Georgie’s place.
Except as I step off the beach and onto the sidewalk, I see Emmanuil.
He smiles tightly. It’s no mistake that he’s here. He came looking for me.
He walks towards me, his eyes flooded with emotion as I brace myself for whatever he has to say to me.
“Em—" I mutter, sighing.
Tires scream loud against the tarred road as a black SUV skids past me. A man wearing a mask hangs from the open window and fires, his handgun pointed right at me. I scream as two gunshots snap through the air, my ears ringing, my body waiting for the painful impact of the shots.
But Emmanuil dives in front of me.
In horror, I gasp as one of the bullets hits him and he stumbles backwards, landing hard against the sidewalk.
The car speeds away.
“Emmanuil!” I scream his name as I fall to my knees next to him. He’s already trying to stand, clearly in agony.
“Wait, don’t move,” I shout. “You’ve been shot.”
“I know, but we can’t—they might come back—must go,” he says through rasping breaths.
I slip my arm around his waist and tug him to his feet. He’s swaying and disoriented. There is blood gushing from his side, and I’m sick with worry.
“Where did you park?” I blurt out, knowing he can’t walk far.
He digs in his pocket and hands me his car keys, first pressing the button on his remote. Across the road, his car beeps and the lights flash twice.
He’s heavy as he leans against me, but I manage to get him into the passenger seat.
Bolting around to the other side, I climb in and start the engine.
“Can you direct me to a safe house?” I demand. I know he has them scattered all over the city.
He nods and gestures for me to drive as he pulls his shirt open to examine the wound on his side. I wince, and fresh blood spills from it.
“Cover it. Keep pressure on it,” I say, pulling out into the road.
The wheel spins as I accelerate, my eyes on the rearview mirror, waiting for my brother’s enemies to come back.
I was so stupid. Careless. Obviously, with him in the city, they’d be more alert, more eager to grab at any opportunity. They followed me, and I didn’t even realize it.
They tracked me down, and now Emmanuil is in danger because of me.
Why did he dive in front of that bullet for me? I thought he hated me.
“Left up here,” he says.
I turn. Following his directions until we reach an underground garage.