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“If you are, then you,” I stab my index finger toward him, “are responsible for Adam’s grandmother having a heart attack and being brain dead and about to have life support pulled.”
“If I pulled strings to end the life of a predator of children who would never have gotten out of prison to see the light of day, would that make me responsible for the predator’s mother’s reaction?”
“It might not make you responsible, but if you don’t feel even a little bit bad about it, you’re an asshole,” I snap.
“Where ending the life of a waste of space pedophile is concerned, I’d be happy to be the asshole. Saves the taxes we spend to keep him clothed and fed. Where you’re concerned? I’m an asshole for very specific reasons and expected outcomes.”
“If a woman is dying because you interfered where you shouldn’t have, you’re worse than an asshole,” I fire back. “A cold-hearted sociopath, maybe.”
He swipes his phone and looks at something, answering, “Probably. But maybe certain people need to know how serious I am. Certain people who aren’t supposed to fuckin’ speak to you.”
He can obviously see I just phoned Adam on his phone.
“I called him,” I snap. “He didn’t call me.”
Pressing his finger to the screen, he wanders off.
A moment later, still curled in a ball on the couch, I hear his voice, which grows louder as he comes back and stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “Me having to stop on a Sunday afternoon and call you to tell you this is inconvenient. Inconveniences irritate me. Remember that.” He’s back in front of me now, ending the call. His eyes slide up from his screen to my face. "That was your ex. He’s been informed that if you contact him again and he doesn’t immediately hang up, he'll be strung from some rafters by his ankles while watching me make you come until you pass out. You don’t even wanna know what happens if he contacts you. Though you seemed to be growing weary of my vague threats. Would you like some explicit detail of this threat?”
“No,” I whisper.
“I ran you a bath if you’re interested. I’m gonna go use the den on the main floor to get a few things done for the clubs. Thinking you’d want the upstairs library as your office with all those bookshelves. Yeah?”
I don’t answer.
“I’ll make dinner around seven,” he says expectantly.
“If I’m hungry, I’ll get something for myself,” I reply.
His eyes sweep over me and then he shrugs. “You know where to find me if you need me.”
I curl up on the comfy couch, put my head on the arm, and stare out the window at trees that I know will, after this winter is over, be covered in blossoms. Beautiful pink and white ones.
And I wonder where I’ll be then. Here? Or will I have gotten away from my stalker? I wonder how I’ll feel about the outcome of however this goes. When those tree blossoms bloom, will I be with Derek, fighting for my freedom? Will I be alone and free of him? And will I be better or worse off than I am at this very minute?
If I’ve gotten away from him, will I think about all this, all he wants to give me, all the sensations he created in me? If this is temporary, which it must be somehow some way, if I’ve got the ability to look back on it, will be wistful? Will I wish I’d enjoyed it more? If I’m somewhere else, will I wish I was here with the ability to see those blossoms up close? Will this end in bloodshed? Whose? Besides Adam’s grandma and uncle.
After a while, I take my purse and phone and woodenly walk back upstairs. I let the fragrant, still warm water out of my dream bathtub and instead take a long, hot shower before I put a tracksuit on and decide to check in with my parents.
Last time I called, I called Dad’s cell so this time I call my mom.
“Hello?” my mother answers.
“Hi, how are you?”
“Oh, Chloe, we’re fine, how are you? We’re just on our way to the Keoughs’ for dinner. Can we catch up later on or is there a reason you’re calling?”
“Oh. Just checking in but okay, sure, we can talk later. Have a good afternoon. Say hi to dad.”
“Nothing’s wrong?” she checks.
“Nope,” I reply, but my voice cracks.
But she misses it because she says, “Okay. Talk soon. Bye.”
I don’t think I’ve ever had a shoot-the-breeze long phone call with her. Ever. There needs to be a reason to call. Dad won’t always rush me off the phone, but he’s often busy. When I visit them, it seems like they’re always in the middle of some big project to do with the house, often distracted.
When the three of us come together, we’ll have meals together, but all the conversations are on the surface. Nothing with any depth. I wouldn’t say it seems forced, just not all that warm. When I visit them, my old room is now a guest room and I generally don’t stay over because a long, hangout style visit just generally isn’t what they’re about.
