Текст книги "Reveal"

Автор книги: Elle Brooks

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

“Shit, Cole, you’re going to make me lose it. P-please don’t stop, I’m so close.” Her words are rushed between pantings, and I drop my hand from her breast back to her hip so I can pull her back against me roughly.

“I’m, I’m—oh, God!” Her breath hitches, and she doesn’t finish her sentence. The feel of her clamping down around me is the only language I want to communicate in right now. I thrust vigorously a few more times before I fall over the edge with her, coming hard. My body shudders as I let the surge of pleasure shower over me in red-hot waves, holding on tightly to her with my jaw clenched and my muscles burning from the exertion.

The effects of the alcohol mixed with fatigue and relief hit me hard as I collapse beside Chantal in a languid heap, overheated and spent.

“You okay?” I murmur, cracking one eye and looking over to where she’s buckled and lying on her front. Her silky hair is a tangled blond storm, fanned wildly over my sheets.

“The next time we have sex,” she says, lifting her head ever so slightly from the mattress. “That’s how we do it.”

A chuckle escapes my throat before I agree and let my eyes fall closed. Angry sex feels amazing when you’re in the throes of it, but I’m not too drunk to know that I’m going to feel like shit again tomorrow.

Maybe I should ask her to stay, so I can work off my frustrations as soon as I wake. She can help me make sense of this colossal mess.

THERE’S A SAYING I used to believe along the lines of Once you’ve hit rock bottom, smile because you can only go up from there. But what happens if the earth keeps shifting beneath your feet, and every time you think you couldn’t possibly find yourself any lower, life kicks you down farther? When do you know that you’ve hit the actual bottom? I thought I was there when Danny left, then Mr. Carter paid me a visit, and I was sure I’d hit it, face first and with a mouth full of dirt to prove it.

But this right here is lower still, I’m sure of it. The two people that have been my solace and my saviors now hate me, and what’s worse, they hate each other. It’s entirely my fault, and I have no clue as to how to fix it. To repair something you must have an understanding of how it broke in the first place. And while I know the obvious, why they’re not on good terms, I don’t know how we got here. Ill fate, bad timing, and unfortunate circumstances all feel like feeble excuses; the fact of the matter is, I’ve always had choices. It was up to me to forge my path, but instead I let myself be carried. I let myself get swept away with thinking if I kept my worlds separate, things would be easier. It would only have taken one conversation with Cole about where I worked, or one correction from me when Callum referred to Cole as Mr. Bigshot. This whole mess could have been avoided if I’d chosen to open up more.

Hindsight’s a bitch. I didn’t choose wisely and because of that, I’m where I am now. I’ve hurt the only two people that have provided any comfort to me since this nightmare began. I’m a horrible, self-absorbed person.

My feet ache and my muscles are burning, but I don’t stop dancing. Instead, I take comfort in the pain. It feels justified that I should hurt. I’ve caused enough discomfort, and this is almost cathartic—it’s my sacrament. I’ve been rehearsing for the last three hours. Dance has always been my escape, but today I’m treating it as penance in a bid to appease the remorse I feel. I have the routine down pat, but I carry on, adding more grueling maneuvers that punish my tired body. It’s a game of endurance, and I’m suspended in a state of obsessive compulsion. I can’t let myself stop until I’m physically unable to go on because the thought of walking into Callum’s apartment and having him ignore me the way he did last night hurts. And the pain of his disregard far outweighs this arduous workout; I don’t think I could bear it.

Sweat runs into my eyes as I finally relent and lay down on the cold stage floor. I rub them with the heel of my palm, but it only irritates them more, and they begin to water, stinging and blurring my vision. My heart is pounding against my ribs, and I feel like the weight of the last few weeks is finally about to crush me. I let the stinging of my sore eyes continue, and cry out my frustrations, letting my sorrow merge into the flood of tears already streaming down the sides of my face and wetting my hair.

I’m not even sure why I’m crying at this point; it could be one of so many things: the debts, betrayal, fear, learning that Callum and Cole are brothers. The compounding effects of my worries have worn me down so low that I’m reduced to huge wailing sobs. I probably sound like I’m being attacked, and in some peculiar way it feels as though I am. Bad things shouldn’t happen to good people, but they do and it feels so unjust that I want to sit up and scream. My cell begins to ring beside my towel on the table next to the stage. I take a deep breath and stand, attempting to stop my shuddering as I warily go to answer it.

The number is withheld, and an air of unease settles around me. I hate the trepidation that’s become so prevalent in my life lately. I shake off the thought of this being anything sinister. It’s more than likely a cold call from some call center telling me I’m entitled to a claim against my recent accident, except there hasn’t been one, of course. I don’t know how these people get a hold of my number, but I’m bombarded with nuisance calls regularly.

“H-hello?”

There’s a sigh on the other end that makes my breathing halt.

“Hello, who is this?” I ask quietly.

“Robyn?”

My heart falls from my chest on a rapid descent to the floor and my legs begin to buckle. I slip into a seat, using my elbow to rest against the table and steady myself.

“What do you want?” I try to inflict as much annoyance and hatred into my tone as humanly possible, but it registers as barely a whisper, reminding him and me of just how weak I am.

He sighs again, and I want to throw my phone on the floor and stomp on it.

“I need to see you. Where are you?”

My bitter laugh surprises me. “Are you kidding me, Daniel?”

“Robyn, I know you must hate me right now but I need to see you. We need to talk, and I don’t want to do this over the phone, baby. Please come home, it’s important.” His voice is soft, melodic even. It’s one of the things I used to love most about him—I could listen to it all day and never tire of it. It’s strange how quickly something you once love can twist into something loathsome in such a short space of time.

“Come home?” I snap. “Are you at my apartment? You left, Daniel. You don’t get to call it home anymore.” The feebleness of my tone has morphed into an even, low snarl. I’d be impressed with the level of animosity it projects if I could focus on anything other than his brazenness right now.

“Baby, please—”

“Do not call me baby!” I roar. “I’m not yours anymore, you can’t call me that. You deserted me, in case you’ve forgotten! Disappeared without a second thought and left me to deal with all your bullshit.”

“I know, Robyn, and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, but this is important. I need to talk you—you’re in danger. Please come home now. You can scream and shout and get mad at me all you like once you’re here, just come now.” He sounds flustered but sincere. Danny doesn’t get flustered; he’s always been calm in heated situations. That scares me.

“I’m in danger? Is that a joke? I know that already. I realized pretty quickly when some asshole came to the apartment demanding money that YOU owed him. It was all rather apparent while he was knocking me around, scaring the living shit out of me, you bastard!”

“What? A-are you okay?” he asks, panicked.

“No, Daniel. I’m about as far from okay as a person can physically be!”

“Please, Robyn, come back to the apartment now. I’m not fucking around; this is serious.”

I want to tell him to go fuck himself, that I’d rather risk it on my own and take my chances than spend five minutes in a room with him. But I don’t. Something inside of me won’t let me and I sigh in defeat. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Thank you,” he breathes and I disconnect the call before he has a chance to say anything else. Yeah, I was not at rock bottom, I think, throwing my towel around my shoulders and wiping my face. There’s always further for me to fall.

Callum’s apartment is quiet as I make my way through the empty living room and down the hall to my bedroom. It’s never quiet when he’s around; there’s always music playing, even if it’s so low that you barely register the noise.

He must be out, or sleeping.

I feel a little lighter, safe in the comfort that if he’s not around, I don’t need to witness him snubbing me. I make it as far as the bathroom door before he steps out and into my trajectory. Of course, he’s here. Why would I assume something could possibly work out in my favor?

“Sorry,” I mumble, stepping around him, my eyes planted firmly on the tops of my toes.

“Tweet.”

He grabs my elbow, twisting me around and forcing me to look at him. My skin instantly pebbles with goose bumps. I’ve never met anyone who can cause a physical reaction just by saying my name.

“Yeah?”

“I think we need to talk,” he says. His voice is even and doesn’t betray a single emotion. I can’t tell if he’s mad, sad, or indifferent. His blues don’t give away any clues either. His mouth is set in a straight line, his hair is still the messy perfection it always is, and I feel a flicker of hope in the pit of my stomach. Butterflies are beginning to take flight at the prospect that he looks completely unaffected, and I haven’t upset him to the level of disgust with which Cole viewed me. I almost let my shoulders relax until he shifts, and the light from the window illuminates his face, revealing dark shadows under his eyes, and my hope takes a tumble into the abyss.

“O-okay,” I stammer. I need to get changed and go meet Daniel, but he can wait. I owe Cal that much at least.

He doesn’t say a word as he turns and heads for his room, and I follow. I don’t know if that’s what he was intending for me to do, or if I was supposed to go wait for him in the living room. I walk behind, trying to reign in my nerves and imitate a sense of calmness I in no way feel at this moment. I step through his bedroom door and watch as he sits on the end of his bed and drops his head into his hands, pushing his fingers through his hair.

The curtains are still drawn, even though it’s almost 9:30 am. The bed is messy and his scent is everywhere. I breathe deeply, remembering the feel of those sheets beneath me, the texture of his skin moving against mine. I feel more stripped down and exposed now than any time I’ve ever stood on his stage and danced. He’s showered and dressed in faded jeans and a plain light grey Henley, which stretches over his hunched muscular shoulders. I’m shifting on my tired feet and I want to sit down, but the only option is to sit beside him on his bed. I don’t think I could handle the proximity.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

“For what?” he asks in an exasperated huff and I wince at the coldness of it. “For sleeping with me while you were dating my brother, or for getting caught?”

“What? No, I mean, there was nothing to get caught at. I was never in a relationship with Cole. Yeah, he wanted to move it forward but I couldn’t; it didn’t feel right. I’d told you I was seeing someone, but it was casual. I didn’t lie about anything.”

His head snaps up at lightning speed, and I want to take a step back, but I don’t.

“You ‘re right, you didn’t lie. I guess you must have forgotten to mention that it was with my brother.”

“I didn’t know!” I plead. “Jesus, Callum, do you honestly think that little of me?” I wish I hadn’t asked because I’m terrified the answer will be yes.

I watch as he grips the edge of the bed and then looks back to me. “You honestly didn’t know?”

“Of course not.” I walk slowly to the bed and kneel on the floor in front of him, looking up into the storm clouds in his eyes. “I didn’t know that you two were related. I’m a lot of things—naïve, bolshie, a miserable bitch in the morning—but I’m not a liar, Cal. I promise.”

He almost smiles.

“This is pretty fucked up,” he says. “What happens now? Are you still going to see him? Does he even want that? I know I couldn’t do it if it were the other way around, knowing you’d slept with him.”

My stomach twists like I’ve been impaled with a blunt knife. His words hurt. “I’m pretty sure he hates me right now. It’s over; not that there was even that much to be done with in the first place,” I tell him. His head bobs in recognition of my admission, but he doesn’t address it any further. I think it possibly wounds me more than him telling me he couldn’t be with me if it were the other way around. Not that I expected anything less. I guess the truth can be brutal sometimes. I stand; I can’t be in here any longer knowing that he probably hates me too.

“Where are you going?” he asks as I reach the door.

“I have some things to take care of,” I tell him. “I’ll call Lucy, and she can help collect my things. I think I’ve outstayed my welcome. It’s best if I move out.” I don’t tell him that I’m headed back to my place now. Admitting I’m about to go meet up with Daniel would only fuel his animosity, I’m sure of it.

His eyes harden, and his nostrils flare but he doesn’t utter a word. He’s completely unmoving. I step over the threshold and close the door on him, and on what might have been something amazing if things weren’t so screwed up.

I’M A STUBBORN person by nature. I don’t ask for help, I don’t acknowledge when things are not going my way, and I lie to myself and everyone around me when they’re not, I even lie to those I love, telling them that everything is okay. Because if everybody else thinks I’m fine, if I’m lucky—just for a moment—I can forget that I’m not.

I’d forgotten her face. It hasn’t been that long, but I’d switched out my cell and didn’t transfer any of my pictures. I’ve stayed away from social media and hoped I’d be able to disappear quietly, unnoticed. Things weren’t great between us when I’d walked, but it had nothing to do with her. It was all me. And now standing in front of her, looking into those huge brown eyes that used to shine with nothing but love and admiration for me, I’m disgusted with myself. I put the hardness in them that’s replaced her tenderness; I scrubbed away her happy demeanor and left the sad, angry shell of a person that’s glaring at me now. She looks as though she’s willing the ground to open up beneath my feet, and is praying I plummet straight into hell. It’s justified, but I wasn’t prepared to feel this way. I’m sickened with myself. I deserve every bit of payback she could inflict, but it’s Robyn. She’s nothing but good, and I know it won’t come. I think that’s worse than her trying to hurt me.

“What do you have to say to me that you couldn’t say over the phone?” she asks, so low that I have to strain to hear her. She doesn’t sit; instead, she leans her back flush against the front door and crosses her arms, glaring at me from across the room.

I make a move to stand and she raises her hand.

“Don’t you dare take one step toward me, do you hear? Stay the hell away.”

She’s trembling—it’s visible from all the way over here—and her voice shakes. I ignore her; the need to comfort her is second nature.

“Baby I—”

“You bastard!” she yells, and then hurtles into me with a force that makes me stumble, raining feeble punches onto my chest.

“You complete…”

Punch.

“And utter…”

Punch.

“Scumbag! Asshole!”

Punch. Punch.

“How could you? H-how could you leave me like this?”

I catch her wrists; her movements are slow from the exertion, and I pull her into my chest as she crumbles into me. Her angry words dissolve into sobs, her tears soaking my shirt.

“I’m sorry, Robyn. I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you, I thought I was doing you a favor.”

Her shoulders stiffen as realization kicks in and she pulls away from me as if I’d burned her. I guess I did.

“Help me? You thought leaving me to deal with a bunch of loan sharks is helping me? Seriously?” I’m not sure if it’s anger or dismay in her voice, but it’s raised a few octaves and if looks could kill, I’d be nothing more than a smoldering ash pile right now. Her scowl is a raging white-hot fire. “I’ve been beaten, bullied and scared half to death. I’ve had to deal with threatening letters and dead fucking cats hung in my bedroom, and you’re sorry? Well, I guess that’s okay then, huh?”

“Robyn I—”

“You know what? Don’t, just don’t,” she spits. “Coming here was a mistake. I wanted answers, but I’ve realized now that I don’t care. Actions speak louder the words, and when the going got tough, you bailed. That tells me all I’ll ever need to know about how little you think of me. You’re a lousy no-good coward, Daniel, and I hate you.”

She’s right; I am a coward. “Wait!” I call as she’s almost back to the front door. “I’m everything you just said and more; trust me, I know that. But you need to hear me out. I walked away from you to protect you; I know that’s not what you want to believe, but it’s the truth. I was scared. I couldn’t make the payments that I owed, and I was dragging you further into debt. The pressure became too much: the constant rejection letters, the mounting bills on top of everything else was worrying the hell out of me. I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I went to a bar and got shitfaced. Some guy asked me if I wanted a little something to take the edge off, and I was weak and desperate so I said yeah.”

“Wait, what? Are you talking about drugs?” she asks in shock. “But you hate drugs.” Confusion contours her face. I can see the struggle she’s having with processing what I’m telling her. It shouldn’t surprise me that she’s this shocked. She’s right; I hate drugs, or at least I used to. “You hit the roof and didn’t speak to me for three whole days when you caught me taking a drag of your friend Harry’s joint at Lucy’s twenty-first birthday. You were disgusted with me.”

“I know,” I tell her, and continue my admission before I chicken out. “It was cocaine...I bought a little plastic baggie of this magical white powder that was going to make me feel human again, and it did, it really did. It worked, and for the first time in months I wasn’t thinking about all the negatives that were happening. It made me feel alive. So, the next day I went back to the bar and I found the same guy and bought more. And the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. I maxed out my credit card on coke within a week. I was so desperate to chase that feeling of contentment, of not feeling like a fucking failure who couldn’t look after myself or provide for my girlfriend, that I begged him for more. He told me about a guy who could supply me with what I needed, but I had to help him out and push his stuff. I agreed. I was so fucking desperate that I agreed.”

“What…? You were dealing?” she whispers as tears slide down her blotchy pink cheeks.

“For a few weeks, yeah, I dealt. I’d tell you I was going out busking, and I’d peddle out drugs to pay for my own. But the rejections didn’t stop, the bills didn’t go away and the need to escape just grew and grew. I started skimming off the stash they’d given me to sell. By the time I realized what a huge mistake I’d made it was too late. So, I decided to run. I figured if I did they’d chase me and I’d be leading them away from you. I know it sounds stupid, but I was in a bad place. I didn’t think anything through and I should have told you, but I was ashamed.”

I take a deep breath and keep going.

“One of the guys caught up with me and said that I owed them ten grand, and that was it, the final straw. I’d exhausted all the ways I knew of getting cash, so I bailed. I never for a second would have left you if I knew that they would come and try to collect from you. I didn’t know that they knew where I lived, or even that I had a girlfriend. I thought you’d be better off without me. I didn’t realize they’d contacted you until last week. I received a picture message of you walking down the sidewalk, coffee in hand, with some guy in a suit. The message read that if I didn’t return, they’d make you pay…and not in money. I swear to God, I got here as quickly as I could, Robyn. You need to get out of here; we need to leave.”

She looks like she’s seen a ghost; her eyes are wide and her face pale, as though all the color has been magically removed. I want to tell her it will be okay, that everything will be fine, but I don’t dare, and I’m not sure I even believe that it will.

“How did they get your number? If you switched out your phone, how did they find you?”

“I don’t know, and honestly I don’t care. I just want to get you away from here as soon as possible,” I admit.

“No.”

“What?”

“No. I’m not going anywhere with you and I’m not running away from my home, my friends, my life, because you fucked up,” she says straightening her posture indignantly.

“Robyn, this isn’t a joke. They’re threatening to fucking—shit, I can’t even say it. Look, theses guys aren’t messing around. They’ll come for you to get to me.”

“They already have, you asshole! They know who I am and where I live, and I’m busting my gut to pay off your debt so I can live MY life!”

“No, but—”

“Never mind, no but! It’s not happening. I’m not going anywhere, much less with you. If you were a real man, you’d go and find these guys and settle things yourself, but I’m not going to hold out much hope on that. I have to go now. I suggest you do the same. Don’t come back here, you’re not welcome.”

She’s out the door before I can register her words. My mind reels before my brain kicks in and tells me to go after her. I run out into the hall in time to see Mrs. Heckles ‘tsk’ at me and throw me a disgusted look of pure disdain. She closes her front door, and I hear the deadlock click and the sound of her chain being shakily slid into place. I run to the stairwell, but there’s no sign of Robyn, and by the time I’ve made it out onto the sidewalk she’s gone. I realize I’d never find her amongst the slew of passersby anyhow.

I came back to warn her, and I have. So, why do I feel so much worse than I did before?

I should go and reveal myself to these assholes. Tell them to collect from me, but I know they won’t take nicely to what I’ve done, and I’m almost certain I’d wind up dead. I’m sure there’s a saying somewhere about once a coward, always a coward—but I’m not about to die, not over ten grand.