Chapter 39
chapter
thirty-nine
“I loved you enough to stay. I love myself enough to leave.” - Haven
HAVEN
Well, I can honestly say that I never saw this coming. Sitting in a jail cell was not on my bingo card. But, in hindsight, this feels inevitable. I’ve just always assumed it will be for murder because I’ve stabbed Cyrus with a sharpened toothbrush or beat him to death with his guitar.
My father will have a field day with this. Oh, God…Anita. Like she needs any more ammunition to fire at me. I can already hear her bitchy voice now.
I told you that she wasn’t ready for this position, Auguste. I never wanted her to take this job. You know as well as I do that Haven and Cyrus are oil and water. What were you thinking? Blah, blah, blah.
The heavy metal door at the end of the hall clangs, and I stop pacing long enough to see a guard escort Cyrus in and put him in the cell beside me. Oh, how I wish for a solid wall instead of bars, but I’m not so lucky.
“Hey, man, I’m really sorry about this,” the officer says as he uncuffs Cy.
The click of the metal is loud in the hollow concrete room.
“It’s cool. You’re just doing your job, Officer Grimes,” Cy says, and I shake my head.
Even when he is calm and logical, I still want to throat-punch him.
“Do you mind if I come by in a bit with a few things to sign? I’m sorry to ask, but my wife is a huge fan, and this will make an awesome birthday gift. I’ll be her hero.”
Of course, the guy’s wife is a fan of the band. Why not?
Cy glances at me and then smiles at the officer.
“Sure.”
“Thanks, man. You have no idea what this means to me. The stuff is in my locker. It’s the only way to make sure she never finds her gifts, you know?”
“Whatever you want.” Cy smiles like a snake oil salesman.
The bars close with a bang, locking into place.
“You’re the best. I’ll bring you a coffee when I return,” Officer Grimes says, walking away.
Yes, he’s so wonderful.
My nervous energy diverts into my feet as I start pacing again.
“Wow, you must be someone special if Grimey is bringing ya coffee,” the old man in Cy’s cell pipes up and says.
“Do you want it,” Cy asks the old man.
If given a robe, the guy could double for Jesus in any movie.
“Really?”
“Sure. It’s yours,” Cy says, then walks over and sits down with his back to the wall and his arm pressing against the bars.
Cy’s eyes cut in my direction. I don’t acknowledge him, and he opens his mouth to speak, but stops when we hear the door open again. Two sets of footsteps approach, and then a different officer and Charles come into view.
Shit.
Cy is on his feet, gripping the bars in two seconds flat.
“Look who it is…the pretty boy who’s no longer pretty. I kind of like your face better this way, it will warn all the women you are currently using to avoid your ass.”
Charles gives Cy his typical leer, the one he uses on anyone he thinks is lesser than him.
“Yes, and you are certainly a paragon of virtue, aren’t you? Don’t cast stones when you live in a fishbowl.”
“The saying is glass house,” Intoxicated Jesus says, and we all stare at him. “Just sayin’ you should get it right.”
He looks away like he hasn’t been eavesdropping.
“What the fuck are you doing here anyway? Don’t even try to press charges against me. Nothing good will come from poking that hornet’s nest, trust me,” Cy says, his tone leaves no doubt that the bars are keeping Charles safe.
I have to admit that I really enjoyed watching Charles get the shit beat out of him. At least until Cy being arrested for murder became a possibility.
“At the moment, I’m not here for you. I’m here to see—”
“Don’t you fucking say fiancée again,” Cy growls.
“Pipe down in there, don’t make me put you in solitary. I only have one, but I’ll happily use it on you if you keep it up,” the new officer says. That does the trick. Cy stomps away from the bars and sits down, but his face is still dark and murderous.
Charles steps up to my cell, and the officer goes to unlock the door.
“Don’t,” I order, and he stops and looks at me. “Don’t open the door. I don’t want him in here…” My eyes land on the name tag. “Officer Davidson.”
He looks genuinely confused. “But he says he’s your lawyer.”
My eyes narrow into slits.
“He’s not my lawyer. He’s my ex-fiancé. And I don’t want him here,” I say, putting my hands on my hips.
“Haven…Teddy Bear, please don’t be like this. I’m only here to help and fix us. I miss us. Besides, you need a good lawyer, and I’m amazing,” Charles says with a smug smirk.
Cy laughs, but I ignore him.
“I would rather sit in this cell for the rest of my life than have you represent me. There is no fixing us.”
“Haven, I know I screwed up, but I do love you. Think of all the good times we’ve had, and how incredible our wedding will be.”
This conversation feels like I’ve been hit over my head.
“Sure, we had lots of great times, but they’re overshadowed by everything else. And you never wanted to marry me, Charles.”
“That’s not true.”
“Oh, really? Where is my ring?”
He freezes and then swallows.
“I told you I’m having the perfect one made since my mother won’t hand over my grandmothers. It’s still at the jewelers.”
“Uh-huh, and the moon is made of cheese.”
Charles screws up his face.
“It’s not made of cheese…I don’t understand.”
I roll my eyes hard.
“It’s a saying, Charles. It means leave before you humiliate yourself further. Because I’m done with this conversation and you. I have no idea why you flew out here.”
Charles’s expression darkens.
“Because you wouldn’t call me back.”
“There was no need. I said all there was to say. I knew the truth, and I am done. Simple. Straightforward. You’d think you’d be happy. Now you don’t have to sneak around, fuck as many women as you like. I. Don’t. Care.”
“Woot! You tell ‘em…sister,” the Tipsy Savior says.
Cy snorts. I can’t with either of them, or the asshole in front of me.
“No one leaves me, Haven. That’s not how this works.”
“News flash…she just did,” Cy calls out.
Davidson points at Cy.
“Not one more word out of you.”
Cy puts his hands up and then sulks against the wall, arms crossed.
“That sounds an awful lot like a threat, Charles. Officer Davidson, did that sound like a threat to you?”
“Um.”
Not giving him the chance to finish, I continue.
“I think I fear for my life. My deranged ex and stalker refuses to take no for an answer. Please escort him out.”
“Haven…seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. And if you try to contact me again, I’ll file a restraining order. I’m sure that will look great on that shiny resume of yours. Would be a real shame if it hindered your ability to become the youngest senior partner at the firm ever.”
I make sure to be as condescending as I can while the rage vibrates inside of me.
Charles’s nostrils flare, and his eyes go wide.
“I can’t believe you’d do that to me.”
“And I can’t believe that you fuck every wet hole you can find, but here we are.”
Davidson, Cy, and even the Jesus-look-alike all choke back a laugh.
“I thought after your indiscretion that you’d understand that mistakes happen,” he says, straightening his suit.
It’s like I’m seeing him for the first time through a whole new lens.
The smart, funny, self-assured but attentive guy that I met in college, with a bright future and solid family background, is all for show, like Two-Face with his coin. One side is shiny and polished, while the other is tarnished and ugly.
The shiny side has blinded me.
“Well, then I guess there is no need for me to stay,” Charles says.
“No. I guess there isn’t.”
He starts to walk away, but then stops and turns back.
“Oh, and Haven…I hate your hair. That fake red color is childish. It seems like you’re still chasing your…youth, when it’s long gone.”
“I’m only twenty-three, asshole,” I yell at his back as he leaves.
Despite the insult or the location, there is something cathartic about telling Charles off to his face. It has been brewing for a long time, and although his delivery methods need some work, I appreciate Cy finding the proof that I’ve been too blind to see.
I let out a deep breath and roll my shoulders.
“I like your hair,” Drunk Jesus says, when I look over at the other cell.
So, this is what my life has become. My gaze fixes on Cy, who is watching me with a raptor’s intensity, and I point at him.
“This is all your fault.”