36. Chapter 36
Chapter thirty-six
— WOULD’VE, COULD’VE, SHOULD’VE BY TAYLOR SWIFT
I’m counting down the minutes until I can leave this show.
Don’t get me wrong, I adore fashion, but all I can think about is going home with Vince, watching a movie, and cuddling on the couch.
I’ve officially become someone who would rather stay in with my boyfriend than be working on a Saturday night. Plus, it’s September; Tristan’s birthday is coming up, and I don't have a clue what to get him.
What do you get a guy who has everything he already wants?
The designer comes out, signaling the end of the show, and everyone stands, applauding her work. I did see a couple pieces I have my eye on, and this show felt more like art than it did clothes.
I lock eyes with Vince, his gaze already on me as I tilt my head toward the exit. His hand goes to his ear, probably letting Emerson, Chris, and Duncan know we’re leaving as soon as this is over. There’s some sort of exhibition dinner after the runway, but Connie told me all I had to do was make an appearance tonight. I haven't been going to many events, and since this was one close to home—about an hour away—Connie said a small appearance would work.
Since the break-up hit the internet, people haven't seen me, so the speculations were crazy. Some people thought I cut my hair and changed my whole look, some said I was heartbroken, some thought I had moved on a few times since.
And those people weren't wrong. Vince and I have moved on quite a few times since Alex has been out of the picture, and all of it has been on my terms.
I stand up from my front-row seat and saunter over to him.
“Ready?” he asks as his hand slides to my back.
I smile at him. “Yeah, let’s go.”
Vince steps in front of me, and I feel Emerson and Chris flank me from behind. Duncan is most likely outside with the cars, and I’m counting down the steps until I’m safely inside.
Ralph hasn't said a single word lately. No notes, no texts, nothing. And although Vince has been trying to distract me for weeks, my mind still races every time I leave the house.
As we leave, a few people try to stop us for interviews, and I can hear people whispering about me and Alex, even though they think they’re being quiet. I sigh heavily before Vince stops and throws his arm out behind me.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, but before he can answer, I spot a familiar face up ahead, her gaze locked on me.
Ellie.
Her heels click over to where I stand, Vince’s body still covering mine, but I tap his arm, signaling for him to move out of the way.
“Are you sure?” he asks me.
“It’s fine. It was bound to happen sooner or later,” I say as she comes into my personal space. I’m unsure if she's going to hug me, slap me, or something else. I have no idea what she’s thinking, and if she came over here to apologize, I won't be accepting it. What she did was inexcusable, and for what? A few clicks on a post? A few stories about her online? A chance to steal my fake boyfriend from me when he wasn’t mine in the first place ?
She, like my parents, had no right to do what she did. I don't even know how she found out about it, but I couldn't care less.
She flips her hair behind her shoulder as she looks me up and down. “It’s nice to see you out of the house, Bree. You look good tonight.”
I glance down at my outfit—an oversized suit jacket belted at the waist, thigh-high black boots, and a tan bow that drapes down my back. I dressed myself tonight, and I look good, but her tone says otherwise. God, I hate all this petty shit.
“Can you just say what you came over here for and let me get on with my night, please?”
She smirks and rolls her eyes at me. “It’s nice to see all this hasn't dampened that tongue of yours, Hart. I thought playing the victim for so long would make you forget who you used to be.”
Playing the victim . “I feel bad for you, Ellie. Having to tear others down to get anyone to pay attention to you; it’s sad, really. Tell me, did you really like Alex, or did you just like what he did for you in the media?”
She only scoffs for an answer, and I notice some cameras have made their way to watch our interaction, but I’m not giving them more fuel.
“I bet you were asking for it, Bree. I bet you secretly liked it. What were you wearing to entice that guy so much?”
“Pajamas. In my own fucking house.” It’s always so interesting how everyone—including the media—seems to blame the victims. In no world is anyone ever asking to be assaulted. It makes no goddamn sense. Can’t we start blaming the people who touch others without their consent? Why does nobody ever ask what they were wearing? Why does nobody ever ask why they didn't stop when the other person said no?
I step closer to her so only she can hear me. “I’m not playing anything. I didn't entice him, and I sure as hell don’t need to explain the worst night of my life to someone who decided to blame me and not the person who attacked me in my own home. I’m a goddamn survivor, and I spend every day trying to heal myself. The last thing I’m worried about is you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m heading home.”
I step around her, cameras flashing as they watch me walk away, but I can’t find Vince. I look around as Emerson steps in front of me, Chris behind me. “Guys, where’s Vince?”
“The boss had to take a phone call from Nico. He said it was important, but we’ll get you to the car. Vince is meeting us there.”
I nod at Emerson, but Vince not being around has me more on edge than I’d care to admit. What is Nico telling him? Did they catch Ralph? Is my sister okay?
Way too many scenarios play in my mind, and as I slide into the car, my emotions overwhelm me. I don't know if it's the cameras, the flashing lights, the conversation with Ellie, or Vince being gone, but this car suddenly has no air.
Bree: Liv, please answer. Is everything okay?
Liv: I’m here, Bree. Do you want me to call you?
Bree: No. Has anything hit the news tonight? About me?
Liv: One second.
It feels like an hour before she answers.
Liv: I don't see anything new. What’s going on?
Bree: Vince is on the phone with Nico, but I don't know what's going on.
Liv: Where are you?
Bree: A show. About an hour from home.
Liv: Do you want me to bring over some dessert? I can have it ready in no time.
I smile at my phone; Liv’s answer for everything is always dessert.
Bree: Sure, Liv. I’ll let Vince know when he gets back.
Liv: See you soon.
My nerves have dissipated slightly, and when Vince finally gets into the car, a scowl on his face, my stomach drops. It’s not good news. It wasn't a social call from Nico.
He meets my eyes in the rearview, and his entire face changes. His eyes soften, but I can still see underneath the mask.
“What happened?”
He looks down before he answers. “Nico called. Someone gassed all my guys outside your house and broke in.”
Someone . No, not just someone. “You mean Ralph?”
“Yeah, angel, I do.” His voice deepens, and I can feel the anger rolling off him in waves.
“How are your guys?”
He runs a hand down his face, clearly stressed, and I’d give anything to be able to take a fraction of that away. The guys who work for him are like family, and I know he feels responsible for them. “They’re all awake, just disoriented.”
“Are they okay? I’ll pay for anything they need, medical care, anything.”
“Bree, you don't have to.”
“Vince, I will,” I say as I grab his bicep. “It’s not your fault. They knew what they signed up for, right?”
The tension in his shoulders lessens, but I know the weight is still there. “I know, but—”
“No buts, Vince. They’re fine. They’re alive. Ralph could’ve killed them, but he didn't. Is Nico meeting us at home?”
“Yes. He’s pissed that he didn't catch someone being in the house until after my guys were hurt. He thinks Ralph looped the security footage to make it seem normal, and he’s angry he didn't catch it in time.”
“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s get the hell home,” I tell him, and he starts the car, Emerson barely in the passenger seat before Vince speeds off toward my house.
Vince speeds into my driveway, parking the car in an instant alongside a few others.
“Nico’s here already,” Vince tells me as he opens my door, Emerson joining him.
I’m already on edge, but seeing Vince’s men being treated outside my house is unsettling me even more .
“Thanks,” I say as I get out. Before I can say anything more, Liv and Tristan rush towards me.
“Vince, Nico wants to talk to you,” Liv tells him before she turns to me. “You’re staying out here.”
“Why?” I ask, noting my sister's face full of concern. “Livvy, what’s going on? What did you see?”
“Nothing that you should see, Bree.” Tristan tells me as he and Vince trade a look.
Vince tilts his head at Tristan, and the two of them head inside, Tristan’s hand on Vince’s bicep as he whispers something to him. I can’t see his face, but the way his back just tensed up means that whatever Tristan told him wasn't good.
“Please tell me what's going on, Liv. I need to speak to Vince’s men and see how they are. I really don't have time—” A loud noise from inside my house causes me to jump, and before Liv can stop me, I rush inside.
What I see when I enter stops me in my tracks.
My house is covered with pictures.
Pictures of me.
Grocery shopping, getting into my car, at different events over the past few months, at my own event. The most frightening one of all is the one of me crying over Vince passed out on the concrete.
Oh my God. They’re everywhere . Literally. Pictures are taped up and down the walls all around me—the kitchen, the staircase, Vince’s office, and I bet there are even some in my room.
“Bree…” I hear Liv’s comforting tone behind me, but all I can focus on is the state of my house.
“Where’s Vince?”
“Up here!” Tristan yells from upstairs.
“Bree, don’t come up here!” Vince yells back.
I rush up, trying not to look at any of the pictures surrounding me, but when I get into my room, my once safe space, my sanctuary, I freeze.
Because all I can see taped up around my room are pictures of me from the worst night of my life. The night Ralph took everything from me. The night that haunts me every moment of every day.
He took pictures? I don't remember a camera, but maybe it’s something I blocked out. In some, tears are streaming down my face. In others I’m simply laying against my bed with a fearful look in my eyes.
I can’t breathe. Images of that night are rushing back into my head, flooding my memories with things I’ve tried to heal from. Ralph has set me back months in recovery because of these reminders, and my legs turn to jelly before I sink to the floor.
But Vince, Liv, and Tristan catch me before I drown.
“I-I can’t do this anymore.”
There will never be a time I’ll be able to forget that night, and thanks to Ralph—who took pictures of me crying, of me begging him to leave me alone, of me frozen on the ground—these pictures will always be somewhere. They could eventually get onto the internet, and people will not only know what happened to me, but they’ll be able to see the evidence of it.
I was only twenty years old in these pictures. Twenty. I was practically a kid when my safety was taken away from me, when my sanity was ripped out from underneath me.
I was only twenty when my life was taken out of my own hands.
Even though I’m a few years older, the pain still hurts. The memories cut into my head like knives, and I miss who I used to be before. I was so naive to think I had any control over my own life back then, and I was an idiot to think that just because Ralph was in prison, he could never hurt me again.
Every memory haunts me while I sleep, and even though the pain might get better over time, it will never leave me. How could it? How could I simply forget about the worst night of my life ?
That’s the one thing I hate about my mind: I can’t remember the good days I had as a kid, and pieces of my life are so blurry that I don't know if they’re real or if I made them up.
But the worst night of my life will stay with me forever. I can remember the temperature outside that day, everything leading up to that night burned into my memory. I remember exactly what pajamas I was wearing, exactly what book I was reading that I can no longer look at on my shelf. It was merely sitting on my bed as I doodled on my iPad, but I still can’t look at it.
I’m falling. I’m falling so hard into my mind that I might not come out after this.
I feel safe here in my head. Please don't make me come back out. I’ll get hurt. Or worse, I’ll get killed by my stalker, and he’ll win. He’ll win this sick game he’s playing with me. Please don’t let him win. Please don't have my sister watch as I get lowered into the ground if he succeeds.
I can’t do that to her because then she’ll be alone. She’ll be the only Hart sister to exist if that happened, and I don't know if Tristan could save her.
“Angel, look at me,” Vince says, his hands around my face as tears fall. I move my blurry gaze to his, and his thumbs caress my cheeks. “Focus on me, okay? You’re strong. I’m going to find him, and I’m going to fucking kill him for what he’s doing to you.”
“Vince, I-I can’t do this anymore. Please just let me drown.”
“Not a chance, baby. You’ve got all of us around you, and none of us are letting you sink. Let us carry you, Bree. Let us help.” Vince is begging me, his voice strained as he tries to help.
“You’ll get hurt. Everybody around me always gets hurt,” I say through my sobs.
“We’re all willing to take that chance, Bree. You’re not doing any of this alone anymore,” Vince tells me, and I hear Tristan and Liv agree behind me.
“We’ll take care of each other, Bree, just like we always have,” my sister says as she kneels next to me on the floor. “You just have to let us.”
They’re sitting at the table with me. “Okay,” I whisper.
“Ralph might’ve taken a lot from you, but he’ll never take us away, Bree. We’re fucking here for you, no matter what,” Tristan says.
You can’t promise that, I think to myself. Ralph has escalated, and I’m scared to think about what else he’s capable of. He has people helping him, which makes him even more dangerous.
“Let’s go downstairs. Nico’s taking pictures of everything, and he got this room already,” Tristan says, motioning us out of my room.
“One second,” I say. Before I leave my room, I stand in front of my bookshelves lined with pictures from the worst night of my life, and I rip every single one to the ground. “Okay, I’m ready.”