27. Maddison
Maddison
Most of the lights have gone dark in the office, the glass walls around me reflecting empty desks and abandoned chairs, everyone headed home for the night.
My father is still here, however, my mind always conscious of his whereabouts.
My eyes are heavy, and my hands are sluggish as I type away on the computer, the work we've been left to tidy up after the event has been massive.
Trying to paint Malcolm in a good light almost seems impossible, although the news reporters and detectives have not been able to figure out who, why or what caused Malcolm's death.
Or if they have, they’ve done an extraordinary job at covering it up.
I guess that’s what Ash pays them for.
I know deep in my heart he deserved it. Although that fact causes a heavy feeling in my chest, and now I, one of his victims is left trying to polish his dirty name.
The irony is not lost on me as I work on yet another press release, photos of him and his vacant wife blasted to paint him out as the family man.
The poor man whose name has been wrongfully tarnished, now murdered at the generous event he funded.
But no one gets thrown off a building with their hands cut off, rope around their neck for good reasons. Whispers have begun to spread. Whispers that seem almost impossible to drown.
I startle as I hear a pair of footsteps.
I look up just in time to catch my father as he heads out of his office, phone held to his ear.
He doesn’t slow, doesn’t say a word. At the threshold, he turns once, looking back at me over his shoulder.
His expression is dismissive, as if I’m a speck of dust on his shoe, not his only child.
I shrink back into my seat, feeling like I’m five years old again in his presence.
Then he’s gone.
I listen to his footsteps fade down the corridor, followed by the soft chime of the elevator arriving. The doors slide shut with a final, hollow sound. A second later, I know he is gone. The silence that follows is absolute.
I exhale without realising I’d been holding my breath. The office feels too big now, too empty, the glass walls closing in around me as I sit alone at my desk.
Utterly alone.
Alone with all the heavy thoughts that keep threatening to surface, although I won’t let them.
My phone sits like a ticking time bomb, all my notifications silenced. I know Ash has texted me, but I don’t have the stomach to read them. Maybe, I should have. Might have stopped him showing up out of nowhere and demanding that I go to the club tonight.
The thought of stepping into that club, has my heart ricocheting in my chest and my stomach roiling. That’s why I’m still sitting at work, staring at a screen at eight o’clock on a Monday night.
I can’t seem to convince myself to go. Can’t seem to get my legs to work. Just standing up and walking out of this office feels too big of a task. Too daunting.
I can’t run away from what I did, but I can put as much distance from the people who stir and evoke such feelings to get me to act such a way. It's not safe, I remind myself.
Instead of forcing myself to stand, I reach for my phone. I dial the one person who still sees something good in me, even though I don’t deserve it. Eventually she’ll see right through the polished exterior to all my disgusting secrets, but for now, I need her.
“Maddy babyyyy,” Roxy's raspy voice cuts through the speaker, and I swear just hearing her voice has my nerves calming.
I have to swallow past the lump in my throat before I can even get the words out.
“Roxy...”
“Maddy? What's wrong?” I hear the concern in her voice, and the backs of my eyes begin to burn.
Fingers gripping the phone in a white-knuckle grip, it takes me a moment to think of how I can word this. Trying to respect her wishes of not being involved in this world, while also trying to be honest.
“Everything,” the word slips out on a breath. “Everything's wrong.”
I hear her heavy sigh come through the speaker. “Oh, baby. Do you need me to come to you?”
My head shakes, even though she can't see.
“No,” I sniff once, trying to hold back from falling apart. “I need to... I need to do something first. But I just don't know if I have the strength to do it.” I wish I didn’t sound so pathetic. So unsure and weak.
“What do you mean, Maddy? What do you need to do?” My mouth parts but no words come out. I need to say goodbye to the Devils, once and for all. But I can't say that to her. “Talk to me, Maddy, tell me what's going on. Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
At least I can give her that much. The word comes out quickly, almost automatic, like a reflex I’ve trained into myself.
There’s a pause on the line, but I can hear her breathing, listening and waiting for me to explain.
“I just...” My throat tightens. I have to take a breath before I can continue. “I need you to tell me something.”
“Maddy,” she says gently. “What is it?”
My fingers curl tighter around the phone. The question sits heavy on my tongue, embarrassing and exposing and terrifying all at once.
“Do you think I’m...” I falter, the word catching. “Do you think I’m weak?”
“Weak?” she repeats, confused. “Maddy... what?”
“Yeah.” A shaky breath leaves me before I can stop it.
“I just... I feel like such a coward.” The word tastes ugly in my mouth.
“All the time. Ever since I can remember, I just roll over and let people treat me like I’m less then human.
And I do it with... a fucking smile on my face.
I know it and... I still can’t stop. Why can’t I stop? ”
The words fall out of me, like I’m overflowing, a dam that finally has broken. Shame heats my cheeks, because I doubt I make any sense. A rich girl complaining about her rich life.
There’s a pause on the line and I pull the phone away to make sure we are still connected.
I hear her inhale, sharp and startled, then exhale slowly into the speaker.
“Maddy,” she says, her voice gentler now, steadying.
“I’m worried about you. You don’t sound like yourself at all.
” She hesitates, then adds. “Let me come to you. Please. We’ll figure this out together, I promise. ”
“No.” I shake my head, panic flaring hot in my chest at the idea of her here, of her seeing all of this. “No, I’m fine. I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...”
“Maddison.”
My full name stops me cold, her voice firm and demanding.
“You are not weak,” she says, and there’s no doubt in her voice at all. “You hear me? People who are weak don’t dance with danger. People who are weak don’t survive in your world, fancy and posh as it seems, I know. Why would you ever think you’re weak?”
The question triggers a slide show of reasons, starting from my earliest memories.
Where I cried myself to sleep every night silently begging to be tucked in and held, read a bedtime story.
To being so numb and devoid of emotion that I used to chase reckless, dangerous moments just to feel something.
And now, running away from the one thing that makes me feel.
I’m a coward because fading into nothingness and doing what I’ve always done every day, it’s the easy way out. It’s what is safe.
Living a life on the back of Ash’s motorbike, partying and dancing and letting him breathe life into my soul. That is very, very unsafe. And can be taken away in a heartbeat. If anything, that is what this weekend has taught me.
That feeling alive is scarier than feeling nothing.
Because then you have everything to lose. Then you have something for someone to take away from you. And now, I actually have something my father can take. And damn, does that scare the hell out of me.
“I’ve got to go, all right. I'm sorry. I'm fine. I promise,” I choke out through the phone.
Roxy stays silent for a beat. “I love you, Maddy,” She breathes into the phone. “You're the only friend I've ever really had, so you better come back to me, okay?”
Guilt stirs in my stomach, but also something nice. Something unfamiliar.
“I love you too,” I whisper back, my throat thick, before disconnecting the call.
I don’t remember standing up. One moment I’m at my desk, the next I’m outside, keys already in my hand, the cool night air hitting my skin in a shock. I slide into my car and pull the door shut, sealing myself inside the quietness.
The drive is a blur of headlights and redlights and turns I don’t consciously register.
My mind won’t settle, spiralling through every possible version of what tonight could bring.
Every choice feels irreversible now. My grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles aching, but I barely feel the leather beneath my palms.
I head further out of the city, towards the danger. When I turn into the familiar street, my stomach drops.
The club comes into view, looking exactly as it always does.
The red neon sign buzzes against the dark, casting a dull glow over the weathered boards.
Abandoned factories loom on either side, their broken windows like empty eyes, and beyond them, the apartment block rises, housing the worst of the worst.
I park and sit for a beat, heart pounding so loudly it feels like they might hear it from inside.
Each step up to the entrance feels heavier than the last, my pulse roaring in my ears as I climb the stairs, knowing deep down, that whatever waits on the other side of the chipped door, can’t be good.
The voices of the men inside carrying through the door, rowdy and turbulent. Shaking, I reach out and push the door open, the sounds of men and violence hitting me as soon as I step forward. The door crashes behind me, and I flinch, my eyes adjusting to the dark club.
The smell hits me first. Sweat, alcohol and the metallic tang of something sharper. And when my eyes adjust to the light, I see why.
Blood. So much blood.