Текст книги "Lies Unspoken "
Автор книги: Lisa DeJong
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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
ONE AMAZING NIGHT WITH an amazingly unconventional guy has me waking up with a huge smile plastered on my face. The first thing I realize is his body isn’t pressed to mine like it had been yesterday when I woke up. I miss it—crave it like an addict. Rolling over, all I see is an unmade bed.
My heart shrinks until it’s invisible. My stomach clenches in the worst possible way. I listen for a sound—anything—but there’s only silence.
He’s left so many times. It’s the first place my mind wanders off to . . . the worst-case scenario. He made a promise, but I learned way back when I was still with Derek that those mean nothing.
I crawl off his bed, tiptoeing naked toward the kitchen. The hope of finding him seated at the table eating breakfast dissipates, and then I start to think that maybe he left me to get coffee up the street. There’s no note, but I still hold on to hope—barely.
Deciding I need something to keep my mind occupied, I step into the shower, letting the hot water wash over my skin. I let memories of last night consume me. The way he made me feel so much by barely touching me at all, the pads of his fingers brushing against my skin. It was lustful worship, a feeling of complete appreciation. He filled my heart without using any words at all.
As I turn off the shower and step out onto the soft cotton mat, I pretend Blake is out there waiting for me because in my mind, he is. He has to be. I take time drying myself off and throw on my clothes. While I work on my hair, I think about all the things I’d want to do with Blake today when he gets back—it’s Christmas after all.
With hesitancy, I walk back out into the living room. It’s just as I left it before. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe he’ll walk through that door at any moment with a ridiculously sexy grin on his face, but I can’t escape that feeling that something is wrong. I can’t help but wonder if it had to do with last night. Was it too much, too soon? Did we cross a line he wasn’t ready to cross?
I can’t sit around all day wondering. I need answers. Walking back to his bedroom, I look for anything that might tell me where I can find his studio. Mallory won’t tell me so this might be my only hope. Searching the top of his dresser first, I find nothing but loose change, receipts and an old White Sox baseball cap. I open drawers next. The top one holds nothing but an old, tattered picture. It’s a woman about my age. She’s sitting in tall grass in a white sundress, her arms hugging her knees. Her long, dark hair blows past her shoulders from a light breeze. She looks content—contemplative. As I trace the edge of the picture with my fingertip, I realize I’ve seen her before. She’s the woman in the painting that hangs in the corner of Blake’s studio. There are things I know now that I didn’t know then. Things that give new meaning to the painting. She has to be Blake’s Alyssa, and to hold on to something like this, to still have the painting . . . she still means a lot to him. She’s more than just a faded piece of his past.
I lay it back in the drawer where I found it and search the apartment for my phone. He can’t just leave like this . . . he’d tell me. As soon as I spot it on the counter, I hit the button to light up the screen. Nothing. No texts. No voicemails.
I have to know . . . I have to try.
Lila: I’m worried about you. Where are you?
Staring at the bright blue digital clock on the microwave, I wait five minutes. Nothing comes. Desperate, I dial the one person who might be able to help me.
“Merry Christmas,” she answers, sounding extra chipper.
“Mallory, I need your help.”
“What happened?” she asks, picking up on the tone of my voice. “Oh my God. I almost forgot about today. It’s Blake, isn’t it?”
My heart beats rapidly. I hate the tone in her voice. “What do you mean? What’s today?”
She whimpers. “I can’t believe I forgot. Have you seen him yet?”
“No,” I answer, losing some of my patience. “That’s why I’m calling you.”
She’s silent for several long seconds. When she finally speaks, her voice is low. “You need to find him.”
“Where’s his studio?”
I find a piece of paper and write down exactly what she says. I hope he’s there. If he’s not, I don’t know what I’ll do.
“When are you going?” she asks.
“I’m going to call a cab as soon as I get off the phone with you. Mallory,” I say, making sure I have her full attention, “can you please tell me what all this is about?”
“He lost someone who was very special to him three years ago today. He’s probably thinking about her . . . searching for something that reminds him of her. Honestly, Lila, you’re the first person he’s let in since her, and there’s got to be a reason for that. You need to find him.”
“How do you know he’s let me in?”
“Because you care. If you only saw the side of him he lets everyone else see, you wouldn’t.”
I pause, thinking back to how Blake was when I first met him, and how he’s changed. “I’ll call you when I find him. I didn’t mean to scare you, but he usually says something before disappearing. This time, there was nothing.” Tears well in my eyes when I think about the promise he made me last night. Didn’t take him long to break it. “Is he going to be all right?”
She breathes out heavily into the phone. “I hope so.”
Before hanging up the phone, she makes me promise at least three times that I won’t forget to call her.
While putting a call out to the cab company, I quickly grab my coat and purse. I don’t recall taking the stairs or walking out the building. My eyes are trained on the street waiting for yellow. A few minutes feel like hours. I climb inside, wasting no time reading the address Mallory gave me.
I slouch down in the seat, playing every scenario over and over in my head. Every part of me wants to be pissed off at him, but Mallory’s words and sorrow reside in the forefront of my mind.
There are pieces of Blake I still don’t have, that is obvious, but I can’t shake this feeling. The way he kissed me. The way his hands traveled every inch of my skin . . . I thought it meant something, but it turns out, it was all lies unspoken.
He made a promise to me, and he already broke it.
Tears fall from my cheeks as we finally pull into an industrial park—not an area I’d run off to if I had a choice. “Can you wait here?” I ask, noticing there aren’t any people around.
He points to the meter. I nod; I’ve lived here long enough to know that he’s going to charge me for every minute I spend inside the tall brick building.
My heart races as I climb out of the car and up the metal stairs. He’s either here, or he’s not. I haven’t decided what I’m going to say if he is. My mind is a complicated jigsaw puzzle, unable to fit a piece in until I can see the edges.
I turn the cold metal knob, holding my breath. Surprisingly, it’s unlocked . . . he has to be here. I slowly step inside, like there are shards of glass I’m trying to walk over. It’s dark and quiet . . . neither a good sign.
I flip on the light, and a pit instantly forms in my stomach. There’s not a single breath of life. Nothing. I go farther, opening the door to the small studio we’d spent so much time in when I was last here. The happy memory now burns—everything hurts without him here.
Unable to think about it anymore, I close the door. I’m about to walk back outside when I remember the painting—the one that mirrors the picture in Blake’s room. I know the pain behind his eyes has to do with her.
When its edges come into view, I’m paralyzed. It’s not her at all . . . it’s me. Looking into the mirror, I’m lying in a sea of blankets, one pulled just above my breasts. My red hair fans out, framing my face. My expression is sleepy, yet content, my eyes staring into whoever looks at the painting. It’s beautiful; it’s the first time I’ve ever seen myself as more than ordinary.
“Blake!” I cry out, covering my mouth in an attempt to regain control. It’s no use. I stare at it for what feels like forever, memorizing every last detail. It leaves me feeling more confused than I was just minutes ago.
He wants me, then he doesn’t.
He makes me believe that he’s everything, then he’s nothing at all.
He tells me all the things I want to hear, then takes it all back.
I gave my heart to the wrong guy, or at least that’s what I thought until I saw this. It means something—a sliver of hope.
My mind races as I run back out to the waiting cab. Where would he go? Looking at my phone, I still have no new messages or texts. My knees shake as I glare out the window at the passing buildings. I play the events of the last few weeks in my head. Chicago. Blake. It’s been such a winding road, and there’s no fucking way I’m going to let it end here.
The journey takes me to Pierce, and it hits me. I quickly find his name in my phone and hold my breath waiting for him to answer.
One ring, then two . . .”Hello.” His voice is hesitant.
“I need your help.”
“What is it? Where are you?”
“You said you would tell me,” I answer, trying to swallow back my emotions.
“Tell you what? What’s going on?” His voice is panicked.
“About Alyssa. You said if I asked him, you would tell me the rest.”
He’s quiet for a few seconds. “Where are you?”
“In a cab.”
Another pause. “Have the driver take you to Saint Mary’s. I’ll be waiting.”
“The church?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Okay.” I hang up without another word. Time moves slowly before we pull in front of the massive church.
I throw money at the driver and step on the sidewalk, taking a deep, cleansing breath before walking up the cement stairs. There’s a part of me that wants to know the truth and another that doesn’t. Once it’s heard, I know it won’t easily be forgotten.
I walk down the aisle of the dimly lit chapel, scanning the pews for Pierce. There are several people sitting quietly toward the front, head bowed in silent prayer. Pierce is hard to spot at first—dressed in a thick black sweater instead of his usual suit. He sits by himself on the left side of the expansive room. He looks up as I get closer, his eyes sad and swollen. My heart swells, bracing itself against the protection of its cage.
“Is this how you always spend Christmas?” I ask as I approach him.
“It’s how I’ve spent the last three.”
“You don’t look good,” I say honestly, taking a seat next to him. I hope it doesn’t have to do with me, and everything that happened last night. My heart can’t take it.
He shrugs. “I wasn’t planning on company.”
“I’m sorry about last night.”
“None of that matters right now. I have other things on my mind.”
I nod. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I take it Blake didn’t tell you everything he should have.”
My heart pounds, begging for escape. “Where is she?”
He lowers his head, running his fingers through his dark hair. My anxiety multiplies with each passing second. Every possible answer flashes in front of me, but none of them make sense.
“She’s dead,” he mumbles, sounding like he might be sick.
“What? When?” Maybe I didn’t hear him right.
He looks at me, eyes glossed over. “She died three years ago today.”
His heartache radiates through my own chest. Pierce is so strong—in control. I never imagined him like this. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Pierce. What happened?” I ask, a tear slipping down my cheek.
Pierce uses the pad of his thumb to wipe it away, unknowingly freeing more raw emotion I’d tried to keep locked inside. “I thought it would get easier as time passed, but it hasn’t. I was supposed to protect her.”
I cover his hand with mine. “It couldn’t have been your fault,” I cry.
“It wasn’t,” he says, weaving his fingers with mine. “He killed her, Lila.”
“No.” I can’t think. I can’t hear. I can’t see. My words are temporarily lost, but then I find just one.
“He did. Blake killed her, and nothing has ever been the same.”
And I don’t think it ever will.
MY EYES ARE SWOLLEN, and my head is reeling when Pierce drops me off at my apartment. There were so many questions I wanted answered, but I couldn’t take any more of his truths. Besides, he’s dealing with the anniversary of his sister’s death, and the last thing he needs is my peppering him with questions when the wounds are already torn open.
After he’d told me about Alyssa, we’d sat quietly for a while, listening to “Silent Night” play quietly in the background. Then he told me stories about their childhood. I listened, while in between, I wondered why no one said anything to me about this until now. Why didn’t Mallory tell me what her brother had done? Why would she set me up to be alone with him . . . to fall for him? I feel so stupid. If I’d known all this before, I would have never let Blake get close. I would’ve never set myself up to be hurt like this.
Tomorrow, I’m going to get as far away from any memories of him as I possibly can. It’s something I should have done a while ago. It would have saved me from this.
As I cross the room, I skim my fingers along the wall. The empty apartment is like the bottom of a deep, dark hole. Blinds drawn. The only sound, besides the heavy pounding in my head, is the quiet hum of the refrigerator. It’s eerie—the worst kind of lonely.
“Where’ve you been?”
My whole body stills. My heart is paralyzed. He can’t be here. I can’t face him and pretend. Fear entraps me, making it impossible to escape.
A dark shadow crosses the room, not stopping until I’m caged between it and the wall. His familiar scent envelops me, and stark reality hits me, lending me back my voice. “You need to go,” I whisper, bracing myself against the wall, anything to put distance between us.
His fingers playfully pull at the ends of my hair. He’s been drinking . . . I can smell that too. “I’ve been trying to call you. Been waiting around here for hours, worried about you.”
“Please go,” I beg. My voice catches. Tears would fall so easily if I let them.
He leans in, his forehead pressed to mine. So many times I wished we could be like this—him wanting me. A real relationship . . . not this pile of lies. “Are you mad at me?” He nuzzles the cool tip of his nose against mine. “Don’t be angry with me, Lemon Drop. I left for a few hours to work on your Christmas present. I’ve been trying to call you for the last two hours, but it went to voicemail every time.”
I swallow the giant lump that’s lodged itself in my throat, carefully choosing my next move. This isn’t a chess match . . . it’s my life. “I know. I know everything.”
“Know what, baby?” His lips journey along my jawline then down my neck. My body shakes from nerves, but I’m too afraid to stop him.
“About Alyssa.” I choke on the words, wondering how he did it. Wondering if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life confronting him like this. I know too much, but yet I know nothing.
His body freezes against mine, rendered powerless by two words.
Time passes.
The world tilts too far.
It’s just him and me and everything in our little world is wrong.
He backs away, tugging his hair between his fingers. “Who?” he seethes, pacing the floor.
I cower, the weight of situation hitting me like an avalanche. I should never have come back. I should never have come here in the first place.
“Who fucking told you?” he yells louder this time.
“Pierce. I tried calling, even went to your studio. When I couldn’t find you, I met him at the church,” I admit, slowly inching my way toward the door. So many times in my life, I’ve thought this might be it. This might be the moment I close my eyes never to open them again. Pierce warned me, and I walked right into the mouth of the raging tiger anyway.
He grabs the lamp, hurling it at the wall opposite me. I flinch. By now, I’ve adjusted to the darkness, able to see the angry glow in his eyes. They lock us in a silent game of truth or dare—me begging for the truth, while he dares me to leave. I dare myself to leave.
“Why would you go to him? Why?”
“I thought you’d left.”
He paces again, more frantic this time. “Shit. Lila, I was at that studio all fucking morning. I only left for maybe thirty minutes to get more paint.”
“Why did you do it?” I ask. I keep inching, ready to run at any moment.
He stills, and I think he might swing at me, but he doesn’t. “Do what?”
The logical voice in my head screams for me to leave, to cut my losses before I have nothing left to lose. “Why did you kill her?” My voice trembles.
He stalks toward me, my heart pounding against my rib cage. All I’ve ever wanted is to feel true love, and this is all it’s gotten me—heartbreak. His warm, calloused hands cup my face, holding me still. “I. Didn’t. Kill. Her.”
The anger that pours off him is immeasurable. And the denial . . . I didn’t expect anything less. “Then where is she, Blake? Why would he say something like that if it weren’t true?”
“You should’ve answered your phone,” he whispers. I open my mouth to speak, but he beats me to it. “You should’ve heard it from me.”
“You wouldn’t tell me! No one would fucking tell me anything!”
He lets me go, turning his back to me. Silence cuts through panic, lending space to curiosity. “I didn’t kill her . . . I could never hurt her. But it’s my fault she’s not here.”
Shock steals my voice, but I quickly recover. “What do you mean?”
“She was sick.”
“Sick?”
He spins back around, keeping the space between us this time. With the faint light of the moon, I see a tear running down his cheek. “Depressed.”
Confused and mentally drained, I let myself sink down against the wall. Tonight—this whole day actually—isn’t going as I’d planned.
Blake follows my lead, sliding down next to me. “When I first met Aly, everything was great. She saw the positive in everything, and that was what I’d admired most about her. She was everything I’m not.” He shakes his head. “Christ, I even wondered what the hell she was doing with an ass like me.”
It’s as if my whole future hangs in the balance. As if his words are the tight rope for which I’m walking. All I can do is hold my breath and wait.
“She had one of those laughs you recognize in a crowded room, and as college came to an end, I heard it less and less. Then, after we got married, I barely heard it at all.”
“Do you know why?” I ask hesitantly.
“She hadn’t been okay in a long time. She’d been on medication when I first met her, but went off not long after we met.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t talk about this, Lila. Ever.”
I nod in defeat—this ship has sailed far enough away that I can’t see it. Even if it came back for me, I don’t know if I’d get on. Standing, I walk off to my bedroom without another word. I throw my suitcase on the bed, piling it full of random things from my closet. I’m so lost in the fog of thought, I don’t hear Blake coming up behind me. I don’t know until he’s sitting in front of me on the edge of the bed, staring at me with pained eyes.
“I left her,” he says quietly.
“You left her?”
He glances down at my haphazard suitcase then back to me. “She tried to take her life one day when I was at work. I came home and found her laying in the bathtub with an empty pill bottle in her hand.” His voice breaks as he stares up at the ceiling. “I got there just in time. I’d never been so scared in my life.”
He takes a deep breath. I’ve never seen him more vulnerable. It reminds me that there’s a beautiful soul inside him . . . one I fell for. “She was in the hospital for a few weeks while they worked on her meds, trying to make everything right. When I took her home, things were better, but I wouldn’t leave her side. She was my responsibility, you know? I’d made a promise to always keep her safe when we said our vows.”
My hands ache to touch him—to comfort him—but the crazy cocktail of emotions I’ve felt today holds me back. I’m to the point where I’ve felt so much that I feel nothing at all. “So you saved her?”
He stands, pacing once again. “That time I did. I spent every second with her. For a few weeks, it felt like when we first met. That’s when I painted that picture of her . . . the one you saw in the studio. She was the Aly I fell in love with, and I wanted to capture it just in case . . . fuck. It was two days before it happened.”
“What happened?” I ask. My fingers run along the edge of the suitcase to keep from reaching out to him.
“There was this concert I’d been talking about for months. I wasn’t going to leave her, but she wouldn’t let it go. She told me she was going to crawl into bed with a book. She said I deserved a break. Fuck, I had no reason to doubt her. She was my Aly.”
So captured by his words, it doesn’t dawn on me that he’s crying. He’s hunched over, tracing circles on the hardwood with his foot. “I came home that night. God . . . I remember it. Every fucking detail of it. “Blood Bank” by Bon Iver was playing loudly. Until that night, it was my favorite song. The one I could listen to over and over.”
“I love that song,” I reply. It now plays in my head, a backdrop to the story he tells. The one that I know locked the demon inside him.
“I hate it.”
Silence falls over us again. The shell he’s enclosed himself in cracked . . . I cracked him. Only I can put him together. Slow steady steps. Left foot then right. I hesitantly place my hand over his heart, feeling the heavy weight of his past in my palm. “What ruined the song?” I know the answer, but I need to hear it, and I think he needs to hear himself say it.
“It was the one that played when I found her lying dead on our bedroom floor. The one that played when I realized the best thing that ever happened to me wasn’t mine anymore.”
His tears mix with mine, a manmade lake forming at our feet. You think you know a person, but then you really don’t. Turns out, they’re a better person than you ever could be.
“Sorry doesn’t sound like enough,” I whisper. “Not when it can’t change anything.”
His arms pull me in, holding on for dear life. I want to be wrapped in him, to know he’s still here . . . that maybe everything will be okay.
“They all blame me . . . I should have been there.”
I bury my face in his chest; I swear I hear his heart breaking. “Sometimes love just isn’t enough.”
For seconds, minutes, hours, we stay like that, holding onto each other. His tears soak my T-shirt. Mine soak his. I never knew the version of Blake that lived before all this, but it defines this version so clearly. He’s guarded because it’s who he needs to be to protect himself. He’s a jerk to keep girls like me away; the clingy type who fall too easily. He’s not an asshole by nature, but by nurture. Life and its shitty circumstance made him this way, but I fell for him anyway.
And now, I’m embedded to him. I never want to let this beautifully broken man go.
Without warning, he loosens his grip on me. “That’s true, isn’t it, Lila? Love isn’t always enough.”
“It can’t be,” I admit, remembering every bad relationship I’ve ever had. Every one that led me here.
“Kiss me.”
I stare, not sure how we got back here.
“Kiss me,” he says again.
Without another thought, I stand on my tiptoes and press my lips to his salty, tear-stained mouth. What’s meant to be a taste turns into so much more. Our bodies pressed together, singing a soulful duet while our tongues dance. He’s my air, my water . . . everything I need is right here.
He pulls away slowly, tugging my lower lip between his teeth. When he done, he stares at me like I’m the window to something he’s been waiting his whole life to see. “You were right. Love isn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to make you believe the best in me.”
“Blake—”
Holding his hand up to stop me, he says, “No. I love you, Lila, and sometimes when I look at you, I think you feel the same. It just wasn’t enough.” Anger replaces sadness in his voice.
I swallow hard. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you deserve better than me. You deserve someone you can believe in.”
“I don’t want anyone but you,” I cry, doing my best to hold on.
He steps back, leaving me cold. “I’m going to accept the contract in Europe.”
“No.” Panic. Fear. Sadness. I feel it all.
The back of his finger brushes my wet cheek. Small, sweet caresses. “Someday, you’ll look back at this and thank me, or maybe you’ll just realize that we fucked up the best thing that’s ever happened to us.”
“Stop!”
“No, don’t you get it? Love isn’t always enough, but trust is, and it’s gone now. I left for a few hours, and you ran straight to him. You made your choice, and this is mine.” His finger drops as he slowly backs away. We all have that one moment in our lives we wish we could take back, and this is mine. This will always be mine.
“Stay,” I beg, following him to his bedroom.
He ignores my pleas, picking up a duffel bag from the floor and throwing clothes inside. He walks to the door, wrapping his hand around the door handle that’s going to take him right out of my life. I can’t let him . . .
“Blake . . . please. If you’d just told me—even just a little bit of it—I wouldn’t have had to search for the truth. This can’t be the end.”
He turns back around one more time. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes. “It can be, because it is. Have a nice life, Lila.”
And just like that, he’s gone. I don’t run after him because deep in my heart, I know he won’t stay. If I’ve learned anything at all about Blake, it’s that I can’t win around him, and this is my worst loss.
For the second time tonight, the dam breaks and tears fall. For the second time, I fall to the floor because my legs can no longer hold me. Self-induced misery is suffering in its worst form. If I could go back to when I woke up this morning, I would wait for him. I would have enough faith to know he’d come back. Now I’m left with nothing, unless you count a shredded heart.
Wiping my cheeks, something across the room catches my eye. From the outline, it appears to be a canvas . . . one that wasn’t here just hours ago. I stand back up, flipping the light switch by the kitchen table. My breath catches. It’s my home—the one I grew up in—covered in a sheet of snow. Golden light shines through the front picture window, the one I used to stare out as a kid, watching snowflakes fall for hours, and just inside is the colorful Christmas tree my family put up every year. It’s the same one I told Blake about last night . . . the one I missed.
And it hits me, while I was out thinking the worst—thinking he’d left me again—he was doing this. It makes everything inside me twist a little more, and then I notice an envelope at the bottom of the easel with my name scribbled on it. I hold my breath and rip it open without giving much thought to what’s inside.
That’s when I completely lost it . . . lost him.
The END
