Текст книги "Until I Met You"

Автор книги: S. L. Scott

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

JUDE RANG THE bell outside the large black doors of the historic Lenox Hill brownstone. She stepped back and held on to the large concrete railing and shifted nervously. She hated this part. Hated it. She prayed Roman would answer and not Nadia.

Her breath stopped short when the door opened. When Roman looked out, she started breathing again. “Well, c’mon in, Hummingbird. Get upstairs and get cleaned up. Your parents have been in a foul mood all week and are due for tea soon.”

She walked in through the open door and looked around. The coast was clear, the black and white marble tiles sparkling, and Roman, her personal gladiator, a welcoming comfort. He’d always been there to help her fight her way back. “Thank you.” As she started up the main staircase, she said, “How bad will it be?”

He shook his head and looked away. That told her all she needed to know. But as she went up the stairs, he asked¸ “You’ve been taking your medicine?”

Nodding, she lied, “I have.”

He smiled. “Good. And, Hummingbird?” She rounded the case and stopped to look down at him before continuing. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” She then dashed up the rest of the stairs and ran down the hall to her room. She shut the door and leaned against it, resting. She wished she could lock it but that privilege had been taken away from her years ago.

She went into her bathroom and started the shower. Standing in front of the mirror, she unzipped her dress. It would forever remind her of a certain hazel-eyed guy. Something about seeing it come off now made her sad, made her feel the loss of him in her bones. Trying not to think about it, she hopped in the shower and scrubbed her body clean and quickly washed her unruly hair.

After she was squeaky clean, she dried off and blew her hair dry. She liked her hair down and natural, but she suppressed that small joy and her movements became automated. Rote. She pinned it back into a French twist and straightened her bangs, then neatly sprayed it so no hair was loose. Jude put on a pastel yellow shift dress and a matching cardigan, her pearl necklace and earrings. Horribly uncomfortable kitten heels were slipped on right after she applied her makeup meticulously until her skin was flawless to everyone. Everyone but her. Her dream life with Hazel switched off as she switched off the lights and went downstairs, descending into the darkness of her life.

Outside the formal living room, she took a deep breath, then rounded the corner with her hands clasped together in front. Classical music played in the background as her stepfather, mother, cousin Isla, and Aunt Leslie talked in a mannerly fashion to each other. Their teatime was like a modern day scene ripped from an Austen novel. They were so pretentious. Nobody worked harder than her family to appear like they were part of blue blood high society. Seeing them made Jude roll her eyes. If her father were still alive he would have laughed at this sight. It had been too many years since she had heard such a genuine and loving laugh that she feared she had forgotten what one sounds like. Her brother Ryan got his laugh. As Jude stood there, she realized all she had gotten was this charade of happiness.

All four looked up at the same time, her cousin’s mouth dropping open. Isla stood up. “Judith.”

Judith pushed down her fear and joined them, choosing to sit next to her aunt and across from her stepfather. Isla and her aunt moved in two years ago after Jude’s uncle died. They were lonely upstate, took up two guest bedrooms in the house, and never left. Isla and her mother were sandwiched between them on the antique couch. The chair she chose always overwhelmed Jude’s petite body and she felt like a child. But it beat being at the other end of that sofa. She reached for a cucumber sandwich and said, “Hello.”

Her mother, Renee, looked down at the napkin on her lap, clearly at a loss for words for her only daughter. Her stepfather wasn’t though. “Judith, where have you been? We’ve been worried.”

She finished the sandwich she had shoved into her mouth and wiped her fingers on the tea towel. “I was at a friend’s apartment.” The dreamiest of friends with the most captivating hazel eyes.

Nadia entered the room and set a teacup down for Jude, gave her an incriminating glare, turned on her heel, and then left them to finish the conversation. When Jude reached for the cup, her mother found her voice. “Do we know this friend?”

“I’m not sure you’ve met.” And you never will if I have my way. She filled her teacup, and as if the whole room wasn’t waiting for answers, she dropped two sugar cubes into the hot liquid.

“How long have you known this friend?” her aunt asked.

But her stepfather added to the questions before Jude could respond. “Did you meet this friend at the hospital?”

The creamer clouded the tea and Jude smiled, loving the art of watching the white blossom in the light gold liquid. She laughed. It was loud and unexpected, a burst of amusement. “No, Brewster,” she said, still giggling. “They aren’t crazy like me, so no need to worry yourself over that.”

“What do you mean, Judith? Of course we worry.” Her stepfather spoke deliberately, his tone trying to control the anger that edged it. “You are our responsib—”

“I’m your responsibility.” She raised her tone, not meaning to. “I got it. I know. I don’t have to be constantly reminded. I have no free will. I understand completely.”

Her stepfather stood up. “Apparently you don’t or you wouldn’t have gone missing all week.”

Jude set her teacup down, and then flattened her napkin on her lap by brushing her hands over it several times. “You allow me no freedoms. If I don’t disappear I won’t ever live again. Is that what you want?” Her voice shook. She hated fighting. She hated confrontation. She hated having to defend herself and her actions. But she did it because she had to. “I’m home. As you can see, I’m fine.”

Her mother slapped her hand flat down on the cherry wood table. “Stop this! Stop fighting.” When her clear blue eyes met Jude’s startled ones, she said, “All we want is for you to live. That’s why things are the way they are. You know this, Judith. You know we love you. We can’t risk…” she lowered her voice. “We can’t risk losing you again. I won’t survive it.”

“That’s ironic since I would be the one technically not surviving, Mother.”

That earned Jude a harsh glare from everyone except Isla, who favored sympathetic today. Isla spoke in her softest, calmest tone. It was natural for her. Out of her family, she was the most compassionate to Jude’s plight, if not ignorant to it. “We love you, Judith. Please. Please stop the fighting.”

Her stepfather had finally sat back down and Jude stood up. Looking down at the untouched tea, she felt a pang of disappointment that she wouldn’t get to drink it. “I’ll be in my room.”

Her stepfather asked to her back, “For the night?”

And with her back still to them, she replied, “For the night.”

“I hope you’re not lying. I don’t want to have to call the hospital again.” It wasn’t a threat when he said this. It was a fact. Brewster Boehler had to hold up his end of the court order. She tried not to resent him for this, but she did. She’d never understood why her mother married him so quickly after her father’s death, much less gave him a say in Jude’s life. Jude continued back to the room where she was allowed no locks on the inside.

It was evening, two hours since she’d left Hazel, and every minute that had passed weighted her to a hopelessness she hadn’t experienced in more than a year. Lying spread-eagled on the pink bed under the pink canopy, she stared at the small white posies adorning the matching fabric and matching wallpaper. She once counted them, counted every last posy in her room. Twelve thousand, three hundred, eighty-six. It was a number she struggled to forget. It was a time in her life she wished she could wipe from her memories, but being in this room did nothing but remind her of those days.

Nadia entered the room without knocking, like she always did. She waltzed in with the silver tray in her hands and spoke in her thick Russian accent. “You should respect your parents, Judith. They care for you. One should be so lucky to have such love.” She set the tray down on her vanity, then put her hands on her hips and tsked. “Look at you. A mess.” She came over to Jude and pulled her up by the arm. Fixing her hair, she said, “Your father will be in shortly.”

“My stepfather,” Jude amended.

Nadia twisted her lips, but ignored the correction. “Eat. Get your strength and your answers straight. No more of this foolishness. Do you hear me?”

“I do,” Jude responded, staring past Nadia as she scraped her scalp with a bobby pin.

Stepping back, Nadia approved of her work and smiled, but it was stilted, like her personality. “There. Don’t lie down. Go eat and wait for your stepfather.”

Jude didn’t say anything else, but she did roll her eyes, wondering if Nadia was born this cold or if the cold world had made her so.

The door shut and Jude was alone again. She got up and walked to the vanity, eyeing the food options. Nothing appealed to her, so she sat at the pretty table and touched up her lipstick before her stepfather arrived to have another talk.

She wasn’t kept in suspense for long. Her stepfather knocked and politely waited outside her door until she told him to come in. He cleared his throat while he entered. It was a tick she knew only led to bad things. Standing up, she said, “I’m sorry. I should have called.”

“You should have come home. What are we to do with you, Judith? We tell you to stay, you leave. We let you have a choice of the hospital or here and you always say here, but you continue to sneak out. The hospital seems to be the logical place for you—”

“No. No. Please. I’ll stay put.”

“You’ve promised this before.”

She would try anything, so she defeated her pride and said, “I will, Daddy. I’ll stay. I promise. I’ll only go out when you say I can. I’ll be here when you say I have to be.”

He remained near the door though it was closed, shaking his head. “This is not a punishment, Judith. This is your mental health. Do you understand how much pain and worry you have put this family through?”

His tone… she knew it well. Too well. Her stomach twisted into knots. “I do. I’m sorry. I’ll be better. I won’t worry you anymore.” She thought of Hazel and the blissful bubble she’d lived in this week, realizing how it was all so fleeting. “Please, Daddy.”

“I’m sorry.”

She froze and stared at him. “Why are you sorry?”

“They think you should be evaluated.”

Tears pricked her eyes instantly. “No. Please,” she said, rushing him. “Please. I’ll be better. Please. Please. No. I’ll be good. I’ll be the best. You’ll see.”

He turned his head away from her. “I’m sorry. We have no options here. The hospital can demand an evaluation at any time under the court order. We must abide by their wishes or risk breaking the law.”

“Daddy,” she said as tears ran down her cheeks. Her mascara blurred her vision. “Please. Help me.”

His hand was on the doorknob. He opened the door and said, “I’m sorry, but we’ll see you off in the morning.” He left her standing there.

Begging didn’t matter. The subject was closed before he even came in. She dropped to her knees and fell forward on her hands. Trying to stop the sad sobbing that wracked her body, she closed her eyes. Warm hands caressed her, pulling her body to him. She sat up, keeping her eyes closed to keep the memory alive. Reaching up, she touched his cheek. His breathtaking hazel eyes halted her tears and she lifted up to kiss his lips.

Hazel evaporated and she opened her eyes to her miserable reality. Out of breath, she panted from panic, but knew what she had to do. She had to see him again. She had to escape. She jumped up and ran to her closet. She pulled off the cardigan and dress and pulled on jeans and a sweater. He would like her in a sweater. He will take me back if I wear a sweater. She pulled on warm socks and her coat, grabbed a fuzzy hat, and her gloves. Hazel would approve. He’ll be happy she finally listened to him. She did what he wanted. She’ll be warm and stay healthy. Yes, he’ll like her again. Want me again.

She grabbed her wallet and her lip balm, tucking them into the large pockets at her sides. She couldn’t wait here any longer. She had to get out of here before they came in the morning. “I can’t go back,” she murmured over and over.

He was her only answer. She would go to him and kiss him until he took her back. She would have to be sneaky, her sneakiest of all time. She opened her bedroom door and stopped, her body unable to move. Jude tried to shut the door, but the men put their hands out and prevented her from closing it. “Ms. Boehler, you need to come with us.”

From their white clothes to their overly composed voices, she knew she was in trouble. Her eyes flicked to her stepfather, who looked away, and then left. “There’s been a mistake,” she cried. “I’ve been doing everything I was asked.”

“Ms. Boehler, there’s no mistake. We only want to help. Your parents only want to help you get better.”

“I’m fine!” she shouted. “Please. I’m fine.” Something flashed, the light reflecting and that’s when she saw it—the needle. “No, please,” she pleaded. “I’ll go willingly. Just please. Please don’t give me a shot.”

“It’s procedure. We’re sorry, Ms. Boehler.”

She ran for her bathroom but was caught before she could enter. Pinned to the ground, she felt the sharp needle enter her body, and screamed. But that was all she remembered…

THE SADDEST MUSIC Taylor had ever heard crooned through the speakers of his apartment. He pressed stop. Jude had an affinity for the blues and she had reprogrammed his stations when she had been there.

He took a sip of his coffee that had gone cold. Setting the mug down on the bookcase next to his drafting table, he spun around and pressed play again, willing to take the hit to his heart.

It was snowing outside again. January sixteenth. Would it ever stop or was this winter going to be as harsh as his life had become?

One project wrapped earlier in the week, but he still had three that needed updates. Every day he had meetings. It was seriously cutting into the time he wanted to be thinking about Jude, wondering if she would return to him or not. He tapped on his phone until a bazillion Boehlers popped up. While scrolling down the list for Jude or Judith for the fiftieth time, a text came through.

Katherine: The Castor’s party is tonight. Hope you haven’t forgotten. I’m all dressed and will meet you there since I’m on the other side of the park already.

Staring down at the text, he shook his head. He never agreed to go with her. As a matter of fact, he had forgotten all about her and the Castors altogether. He quickly typed out his excuse.

I won’t be able to make it. Not feeling well. Send my regards.

It wasn’t a total lie. He moved his phone off to the side and looked at the house he was designing. Right when the tip of the lead pencil touched the paper, his phone vibrated again.

I can come over and bring you something to eat. Maybe you’re hungry. I remember you always getting caught up in work and forgetting to eat.

Annoyed, he typed, No. It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m going to bed early. I’ve had a long week.

Taylor hoped that was the end of it. But he knew Katherine too well. There would be at least one more message to deal with. He waited for it. And waited. Then it came: I can join you…

He left that text unanswered. There were only so many ways he could say no. His music shuffled and Alessia Cara’s “Here” came on, changing the air in the apartment. The playlist of songs were heavy, emotional songs and he loved them because she did. These songs had played on repeat when he’d touched, tasted, and made love to Jude’s body.

His eyes closed and he could see her, almost touch her. He lay down on the leather couch, closing his eyes again and turned the music up loud enough to drown out his sadness. Above him, beneath him, behind him, in front of him—Jude surrounded him. Her scent penetrated his deepest desires. The girl he barely knew was the same woman he knew wholly—inside and out. When he reached out for her, she disappeared and his hands came down on his chest, empty.

His eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling. The music played loudly while shadows crawled across the walls as the gray of the day changed to night. Eventually it was dark inside and out. No lights were on, but enough shone through the relentless snow just beyond the glass.

He wasn’t aware of the hour. He wasn’t aware of hunger or thirst. Taylor lay there, lost in the lyrics, in the pain, in the loss of the little brunette who had stolen his daylight.

Convinced he was asleep despite his eyes being wide open, he remained laying there, empty. He remained until the phone vibrated, crashing to the floor. He remained long past the knocking became pounding. He remained until the door was opened and his building supervisor and Katherine stood over him. She was talking, but he heard nothing. He heard nothing… until the music was abruptly cut off. “Mr. Barrett, are you okay?”

Taylor blinked. Twice. And their faces came into focus. “No. I’m not.”

“Would you like me to call an ambulance, Sir?”

“Will that bring her back?”

Katherine snapped. “He’s fine, Chuck. I’ll take it from here.”

Taylor slowly sat up, placed his feet on the ground. His back was sore from being in the same position for so long. He scrubbed his face and watched Katherine shut the door after escorting Chuck out. “Leave, Katherine.”

“I’m not leaving. What’s wrong?” She scanned the place, looking for the same person he was looking for. “Is it that girl?”

“Yes.” He stood up, annoyed. “Get out.”

“Stop being rude to me. I was worried. You weren’t answering your phone or your door,” she said.

“Next time, take the hint.”

She gasped, offended. “What has gotten into you, Taylor?”

“Jellybean muffins, blues, greens, purple, red boots, and lips that can make me forget myself, forget my disease, and forget you.”

“Okay, fine. You’re in a bad mood, but you don’t have to be an asshole.”

He stood in front of the large windows, his arms crossed over his chest, his feet apart, and his eyes focused on anything but here. Not sure how long he stood there, he rolled his neck and found he was stiff.

When he finally turned around, the apartment was empty. No one was here but him and he wondered if he had been arguing with ghosts. Walking into his bedroom, he stripped, and crawled under the covers. Tonight he closed the blinds before going to sleep.

JUDITH BOEHLER WAS always surrounded by the finest money could buy—houses, vacations, clothes, schooling… always the finest, only the best would do where her family was concerned. So as she stared at the bars traveling vertically up her window, she smiled.

The bars were rusted steel. The cream paint was chipping on the inside of the windowsill, and her gown was fraying along the ties. She released a long breath, relieved. The air she was breathing was stale and she wondered if the vent was blocked. It was too high for her to reach, so she remained flat on her back on the bare mattress with the springs poking into her. Jude had a knack for lying very still for hours on end. This was how she stayed sane. This was how she survived.

Don’t give them anything.

Don’t give into them.

Fight.

Fight.

Fight.

She rolled over and looked down the space between the metal bed anchored to the floor and the dirty wall. Chewed up, dried pills were piling up. She took what she needed. She took the white one. The pink ones—she didn’t like. The recovery after the pink pills was tougher. They made the details harder to decipher. They were only about the big picture, the moments lost under the influence.

One more day. Hold on. One more day.

Friday finally arrived. January seventeenth.

Jude entered the foyer and waited, too weak to conquer the journey upstairs alone. Like every other time, she was returned worse for wear. Roman took her arm and helped her up the large staircase. She could have taken the elevator, but he knew she liked to walk, to regain her strength, to regain herself as soon as possible.

The door to her bedroom was open, the bed perfectly made. The damn posies mocked her return, taunting her. Roman released her and set her bag on the dresser. It contained her meds and a toothbrush. She wasn’t allowed anything else.

She stood there.

They had found her pile of pills in her room the night before and had watched her, forced her to take the pink one that morning. She struggled inside her own body, scratching at the shell that restrained her sanity. She screamed as loud as she could, but her mouth refused to open.

Feeling came back slowly, entering her pinky first and she wiggled it. Her feet were shoed in lead, but she pushed against the tidal wave of stagnant air of superiority that engulfed her. On her bed, she rolled to the side, every limb thick with her transgressions. Her thoughts were heavy with hazel eyes and kisses down her neck and lower, lower, and lower until she was sweating and breathless.

He had thanked her for giving herself to him—the first person she had given herself to willingly—and she missed him. Jude knew she had been reckless with his emotions. She knew it would end in tragedy. He was her very own Romeo, a tragedy to match his impossible eyes.

She closed hers to the daylight that shone through the open, sheer pink curtains. She closed her mind to the crazy thoughts. She closed her heart to the dangerous emotions Hazel had made her feel. She tried to block out the twelve thousand, three hundred, eighty-six pink posies. Smothering herself with her pillow, she was finally able to scream, her voice loud despite the down feathers.

Tears pricked while she went hoarse. She threw the pillow, her capacities working again. The frame on her vanity went crashing to the ground and she stilled until she realized what made that sound. Scrambling to her feet, she ran, dropping down into the broken glass, blood from her knees spotting the carpet.

The paper was scratched, the photo ripped at the corner. Holding it to her chest, she rocked, apologizing. Her brother deserved better than this, better than to be a ripped picture in his lost cause of a sister’s room. If Ryan were still here, they wouldn’t be here any longer. They’d be long gone. He’d promised. He’d promised her California and sunshine. He’d promised her so much… and broken all of them.

Standing up, she took the photo and the frame to the vanity and sat. Carefully she placed the photo back into the frame, knocking out any remaining glass before she closed the back and set it down. Seeing his smiling face, she felt conned and almost knocked it over again.

Catching her reflection, she stared into the large mirror. Standard issue results from her “stay” at Bleekman’s Recovery Center: Dark circles with a side of heavy bags, dirty hair, and cream-colored paint under her nails.

She simply stared, her mind flitting between the things she loved. Her stepfather came. He went. Her mother visited, sitting on the end of her bed, talking to her. Jude heard nothing. Ghosts that came in and out, mere reflections in the mirror. When it was dark, Nadia came in, stood behind her, resting her hands on her shoulders.

Jude was put in the shower, stripped of her clothes. Her dignity had been stripped away long ago, stolen during her first “stay” at Bleekman’s. Nadia scrubbed her clean of the recovery center, but failed to scrub deep enough to take away the scars beneath the pretty façade. Those were permanent. She would live with those as instructed through hushed tones as she floated away to happier times.

She emerged at dinner, sat politely, dressed up, her hair styled by Nadia, her nails with a clear coat of polish, her lips a pale pink. No dark circles. No bags. All as they liked her, loved her, in fact, reminding them of happier times. Their happier times.

Her appetite had been suppressed by the drugs running through her system. For her parents’ peace of mind, for show, she ate her soup and tried her best to stomach the roasted chicken. She was stuffed before finishing half. They didn’t complain. They knew the routine by now.

When she was excused from the table, she retreated back to her room. The shattered glass swept away before anyone would notice, much like her broken insides.

She took her pearl earrings off and set them on the jewelry tray. Sitting down at the vanity again, she took the makeup removal wipes, took two out, and dragged them slowly over her face, pulling her skin until she started to recognize more of herself, the distorted happy person she once was. Two days. She would feel better in two days. The countdown began…