Chapter 26
Phantom. Then.
I boxed up my anger, found a shelf in my chest, and tucked it away.
It didn’t go quietly, though.
I felt it rattling inside me every time I breathed. Every time I wondered what Ophelia was doing. Every time I wondered whose bed Brody was in that night.
Friday rolled around. I lingered in my basement apartment until I heard the familiar commotion start upstairs.
The music first, then the sound of footsteps, then voices carrying from one room to the next.
Normally, I found the low murmur of human activity comforting.
Today, it grated on me. Everything grated on me.
I made up my mind to say something to Ophelia, and I went upstairs.
There were a few new faces tonight. I spotted of three men, hipster types, all chatting together.
One of them was a tall man with a smartly groomed horseshoe mustache.
I noticed him because he was wearing a Subway Ratz hat.
Of all things. Was everyone in this city a fan of their painfully unoriginal music?
As I passed them, I caught the tail end of their conversation:
Guy #1: “Which do you want?”
Guy #2: “Yeah, I guess we should negotiate now, huh?”
Subway Ratz Fan: “I call mouth. I’ve been staring at those fuck-me lips all night.”
Guy #1: “You’re not wrong…”
They broke into low laughter that put the hairs on my neck on end. I didn’t like the way they were talking, but…this was a sex club. They were allowed to be vulgar.
I moved past the pack of men until I found her. Ophelia was at the bar, chatting animatedly with Zero. She wore a tight shirt and high-rise jeans that mapped the dips and valleys of her body so well, I felt something wolfish inside of me start to stir.
She was waving her phone around as she spoke and, when I saw the screen, my heart sank. She was looking at wedding dresses. Wedding. Dresses.
Didn’t she see it?
She was a smart, capable woman. Couldn’t she tell when a man was lying to her?
A voice inside me said: She couldn’t tell with you.
She couldn’t tell every time I swallowed my tongue. Every time the words I love you almost slipped out and instead of letting them, I tightened the leash around my own throat.
Ophelia lived in the reality that best suited her. She was a dreamer. An optimist.
And I was the rock, here to remind her that yes, people were bad, and no, you shouldn’t trust anyone. Including the man standing beside you.
I settled into the spot at the bar next to her, leaning forward and lacing my hands together on the bar top.
“What are we looking at?”
“Nothing,” Ophelia said. She drew her phone in closer to her chest, attempting to hide the screen.
“Ophelia’s getting married,” Zero announced, grinning.
“Brody proposed?” I asked her.
“No!” Ophelia colored. “I mean…not yet. I’m just dreaming. You.” Ophelia held a warning finger at Zero. “Shut up.”
Zero made a motion as though he were zipping his mouth shut and flicking aside the key.
My shoulder brushed against hers. “Not the white,” I told her.
Ophelia lifted her eyebrows. “Because I’m no virgin?” She sucked her tongue against her teeth. “That’s pretty old fashioned, even for you.”
My gaze dropped to her collar, the green emerald shining, before finding her eyes again.
“Because your color isn’t white. It’s green.”
Now, some of the humor left her eyes. “I don’t think that’s your call.”
“Does he make you cum?” The question came rushing out of me, like an arrow.
Ophelia’s eyes widened. Arrow, hit. “What?”
I couldn’t stop myself. The punch I never threw at Brody, the words I’d swallowed back, all the times I’d wanted her and held myself at bay—it came rushing out of me. “Or do you fake it and lay there, pent up and frustrated, waiting for my permission—?”
Ophelia smacked me. Her hand left a sharp, deserved stinging sensation across my cheek.
“Fuck you.” Her voice trembled.
Arrow, returned.
She walked away, shoving her shoulder against mine as she went. Even Zero gave me a questioning look, his eyebrows lifted.
“Don’t,” I told him. He dropped his gaze, chastised.
The worst parts of me had woken up, and it was impossible to hold them back anymore.
I needed to get out of here. I backed away from the bar and wove through the club, making my way back to the basement. As I did, I spotted the man in the Subway Ratz hat again.
I snapped my fingers at him. “You.” He blinked at me. I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder. “Out.”
“What?” He balked. “What’d I do?”
Without missing a beat, I told him: “I don’t like your mustache.”
Oh, right. Well. There’s the story behind the mustache guy, if you were curious.
Anyway.
Neither Ophelia nor I played that night.
I locked myself in the basement, sat at my desk, and started writing. I drafted letter after letter. I tried to tell Ophelia what was going on. She needed to know. But each letter just came out worse. Phrases started appearing like:
Don’t be with him.
Be with me.
Controlling, demanding, possessive, dominant.
Not a request. Not a negotiation. A command.
Leave him. Love me.
I crumpled up the letter and dropped my face in my hands with a groan.
Breathe, Alex. Think this through.
This had to be Ophelia’s decision. Hers and hers alone. It couldn’t be mine.
Slowly, an idea began to form. I started another letter. This time, I wrote in slow, controlled letters, with handwriting that didn’t belong to my hand.
I wrote a riddle instead:
Wind me up, fit me through the eye, send me your broken, and I’ll return it revived.