My fingers resume tracing over his muscles. “Have there been others?” I ask. I just feel that there have, almost like there are ghosts walking the halls of this old house, but then I realize, I’d rather not know. “Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”
“You don’t?” He sits up, shooting a curious glance at me.
“No.” I take a breath. “If there have been others then I’m just a number. A statistic—well, I am already a statistic, I guess, huh? But you know, I’ve somehow come to grips with this. And sometimes when you overthink things, they start to make sense. Kind of…” I’m rambling, but I can’t stop myself and the longer I talk the more interested his expression grows. “It’s just, if I am the only one then I guess in some sense that makes me special, right? It means there was something about me someone wanted badly enough to steal me. And if you think about it, and I mean really think about, take away all the morals from it, and well, you only steal things that are worth something. So, if I am the only one, I guess that means that I am worth something.” There’s a flicker of something in his eyes that makes me feel vulnerable, so I drop my gaze to my lap. “I just don’t want to think there was someone else…” And I mean for him. I don’t want to think there was another girl that he looked at the way he’s looking at me.
“And there are your demons, huh? They won’t let you see your worth.” He rubs his hand over my head, down my neck, and kisses my cheek. “There was never someone else. If I’m honest, I think it’s always been you.”
And I know he’s not talking about other captives. He’s talking about me and him. About this feeling passing between us like an electric current. Tears threaten to build in my eyes and I fight them off because crying will do me no good. This is a beautiful tragedy. Something that in any other world, any other circumstance, would have made an epic love story, but here in the depths of this cellar, locked in a room no one knows exists, there can be no happily ever after. This story ends here. In this room. With me and him.
22
Max
Day 61
The late eveningsun slowly sinks behind the trees, but there are no vibrant colors. Only a hazy yellow glowing against the gray clouds. The wind howls around the corner of the porch, the dry, bare limbs making a whishing noise in the distance. I stare at the cigarette in my hand, watching the smoke swirl up from the tip and dissipate in the breeze while Bear and Rufus wrestle out on a patch of dirt.
It’s been a day since I’ve gone down to visit her. Why? I can’t force myself to. I’ve gone down and stood in front of her door, unable to open it. My mind has been running non-stop. Eaten up by guilt. She’s like a fucking disease crippling me. She is all I think about.
I’ve spent hours trying to figure out how to make this work out. In the process of it all, I’ve somehow forgotten about Lila. And it’s at this point I realize I’ve come to a crossroads. I set out to save my sister, but will I ever find her? Icansave Ava. At this very moment I could save her, but then I have failed my sister. How selfish would that be to give up on Lila in order to keep something that really, at the heart of it, is not mine. I can see it in Ava’s eyes. She loves me, she craves me, and how wonderful that is to see. But it is fake. It is manufactured. And how can I live with a lie such as that? A woman I am obsessed with loves me only because I made her believe a lie.
I hear the rumble of Earl’s truck barreling down the driveway, but I don’t bother to look up. A horn blares and seconds later, Bear and Rufus come running up the steps, panting. The car door slams shut. Earl’s whistling on his way up the porch. His muddy work boots come into my line of vision and I bring the cigarette to my lips, inhale, then blow out a puff of smoke.
“Tom’s dead,” Earl says.
Taking another drag, I look up at him.
“Some fucker shot him. Guess we’ll need to get them records and shit from his place. Find somebody else to handle all his stuff ’cause I sure as hell ain’t doin’ it.”
I fight to keep the sick grin off my face. “That’s fucked up. Do they know who shot him?”
“Nah, probably some deal gone south. He had his hands in ’bout everything you can think of.” Earl chuckles. “Not to mention he was fucking Burt’s old lady. Burt’s a crazy fucker, probably found out and killed him.” He shrugs. “Can’t blame him.”
“Yeah, guess not.” I take one last hit from the smoke before flicking it into the yard. “He handled the transactions, right?”
Earl narrows his gaze on me, and for a second, paranoia sets in. A raspy chuckle trickles from his lips. “Tom handled most things. Hell, it was basically his business.” His brow furrows with worry. Earl’s not the brightest.
“So…” I shrug. “We take over the business, right?”
He looks at me like that damn thought never crossed his mind and when the idea actually sets in, a huge grin spreads over his mouth. “Shit, yeah, I guess we can. Wee-doggy.” He snaps his fingers and dances a small jig. “We’s gonna be some loaded sons of bitches now, boy.”
I nod. “Tell me where he lived and I’ll go over and see what we need. I’m sure he’s got records and stuff we don’t need anyone else getting a hold of, huh?” Sweat slowly beads over my brow.
“Yeah.” Staring off in the distance, he nods as his eyes glaze over. “Give it a few days though. Let shit get settled. Don’t need no nosy fucking curtain-twitchers calling the cops when you pull up in the drive. Maybe on Tuesday?” The dogs start to scrap and Earl kicks at them on the way to the front door. “Damn dogs…oh, and is that girl ready yet?”
I keep my gaze aimed at the ground. “Nope.”
“Huh, well, tough titties. I sold her. Drop off’s in three days.” The hinges to the door creak when he opens it. The bang of it slamming closed makes me jump.
Three fucking days? That’s all I have. Anger flashes through me, my jaw clenching, my muscles tensing. I stare out over the horizon, popping my knuckles in a shitty attempt to loosen some of my anxiety. I sit out here, alone, lost in my thoughts, wondering what the fuck I am going to do. And after the sun has set, I’ve come up with no solution. I push up from the porch and make my way down to her room, not exactly certain of what I am going to do, but certain that I will not let her go.
I stop outside of her door and hang my head. She’s had a day to think about what we did. To question it all, to make me out to be a monster in her head. I never intended to touch her. Never. But some things are beyond a man’s control.
The door swings open and she’s on the bed, hair messy. Reading.
“Ava?” I say. She ignores me and turns the page to her book. “Ava.” Still nothing. I gently take the book from her hands, marking her place before shutting it and placing it at the foot of the bed. Her chin dips to her chest. Several tears fall to her lap, staining the sheet wrapped around her hips. I comb my fingers through the hair at her temple and she leans into my touch. I feel like such a piece of shit. Such a piece of shit.
“You left me…” she whispers.
