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“You took your time, didn't you?” he says. “I texted you a week ago.”
Though it hurts stretching out the tight, crusty skin on my back, I lean over with my elbows on my knees and shut my eyes, imagining I'm with him.
“I didn't read your text,” I say honestly.
“Why?”
“I...” Pausing, I wonder if I should tell him that I was trying to move on from him, but then I chicken out. “I don't know.”
“You don't know?” he snaps, aghast. “I knew I should've called you or just come over to your place.” There's a few seconds of silence from him, and I imagine he's thinking hard about something. “So, if you're not calling about my message, then-”
“What did it say, Charlie?” I ask, wishing I read it now. I should have kept it too, and then I could have looked over it when I felt numb and empty like I did only moments ago. It could have been my salvation.
“I wanted to see if you were okay,” he says, his voice soft like silk. “And I wanted to tell you that I'm in love with you, Blaire. So in love with you that I can't think of anything else since I sent you home.”
I'm wordless, choking up, barely tolerating the hit of his confession.
“You mean everything to me,” he says desperately. “I fucking miss you—I want you back.”
I whimper in my palm, my emotions imploding. I want to go back but I know I can't, and the thought is like having my heart ripped out.
“Blaire, you still there?”
“Yeah,” I squeak out. Covering the speaker with one hand, I stifle back my tears.
“I'm sorry.I don'twant toupset you. I just need you to know that I want you more than anything, Blaire. I want you to come home to me.”
Home to him...Fuck, that hurts more than Maksim's torture.
“Where are you?” I ask to divert from my emotions because I cannot stand this chest crushing feeling.
“At the house,” he says deadpan. “Have you spoken to Maksim today?”
“No,” I shudder at the sound of Maksim's name. “I haven't seen him for a week.”
“Why'd you sound like that?” he asks, and I hear a chair creaking, as if he's sitting forward. “Are you crying? Has that motherfucker hurt you!?!”
“No,” I lie feebly, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. “I just miss you, is all,” I can't believe how easy it is to say that to him.
“Don't be upset over missing me, baby. Everything's gonna be all right.”
“It is?” I say, my stomach pooling with hope. I want to go to him. It's such a devastating need. I need him.
“Yeah, course it is. I'm sorting things. I promise.”
“Sorting what, Charlie?” I ask, but then my front door clicks open and I freeze.
31
Maksim, James, and a guy I don't recognize, pile up a whole bunch of duffle bags by my dining table.
A weak, shivery feeling washes over me.
One bag is open. There's a ton of money inside.
“Charlie,” I curve my hand over the speaker and whisper his name, “Maksim's here. I have to go.”
“No, Blaire, wait!”
