I know from working with lawyers, rich assholes, and the occasional criminal CEO, that if you have something to hide, silence is the best form of interrogation.
I know this man, I know it. But how? Perhaps staying silent and watching him like a hawk would make him tell me what I want to know.
“I’m sorry, have we met?” I ask, taking an uneasy breath. He scratches his neck again and clears his throat. “Uh, no. I don’t think so. Have I tattooed you before?”
I know I have met him before and I know he feels the same way, but I haven’t been to Clover Ink. You’d have to be blind to miss the glimmer of recognition in his eyes. He is uncomfortable.
He starts shifting from one leg to the other and lets out a sigh as he waits for me to speak. “No, this is my first time,” I mutter, trying not to freak out.
I clear my throat, “I - Um, sorry I guess I need more time to think about it…” I trail off as I straighten off the seat and shoulder my bag.
A look of confused frustration and a strange hint of what looks like sadness masks his features as he nods and steps aside while I meander to the door, trying not to draw attention to myself as I spot another insanely handsome man walking from the back of the studio. Hair as white as snow.
I slip outside as my heart rate kicks up and the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end.
This feels off.
Hurrying to my car, parked outside the large window, I watch them talk and pace around in the waiting area of the studio.
I shuffle through my bag, searching for my phone and letting the sudden panic take its toll. Hyperventilating, I try my best to keep the device steady as I snap a few photos of the men arguing inside when a sudden idea springs to mind.
With shaking fingers, I tap out of the camera and scroll to find my contacts. Jagged breaths struggle in my lungs, clawing theirway out of my throat in slow succession as I tap the number and wait for the dial tone.
There is a chance that the number might be a fake.
Fuck.
There it is—the dreaded ring. My eyes are fixed on the men as I listen to the monotonous tone and brace myself without letting a single breath escape.
A tear rolls down my cheek as I watch the ashen-haired man pull a cellphone from his back pocket. My heart stops for a beat when the ringing gets snuffed out through the line. “Thank you for contacting kinkactors.com, how can we help you act out your fantasies?”
I know that voice. That faint Irish accent.
The breath I have been keeping hostage, finally breaks free and I kill the call. Shifting my car into reverse before swerving into the sun-bare street, I drive home.
As I speed down the familiar roads, my mind races with questions and doubts.
Did I find them? Fintan and Kieran?
The pieces of this strange puzzle refuse to fit together in a coherent picture, leaving me feeling unmoored and anxious.
It couldn’t be that easy; could it? I found them. If this is some cruel fucking joke, I am definitely not laughing.
Pulling into my driveway, I sit in my car for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. I grab my bag and head inside, the cool interior of my house offering some respite from the heat of the impending breakdown. Unfortunately, it’s temporary. Fleeting. Slipping from my fingers before I have the chance to hold on.
The walls close in on me, their suffocating embrace tightening like a vice around my body. I struggle for each breath, feeling like the oxygen is being sucked out of the room. I feel trapped, surrounded by invisible barriers that seem to press in on all sides, crushing me with their overwhelming presence. My handstremble as I fumble for the light switch, desperate for some semblance of normalcy in this nightmare.
Shadows caused by the glow of the few lamps in the room, dance eerily on the walls, mocking me with their twisted shapes. I stagger forward, each step feeling like a marathon as I make my way through the house.
Memories of that night assault me at every turn - the photos on the wall, the trinkets on the shelves - all now tainted with a darkness I can’t shake. I collapse onto the floor of my kitchen, tears streaming down my face as I try to process what I have just discovered.
“They were right there,” I scold myself, taking a deep breath to ease my mind but it’s futile. “I found them.”
I start hyperventilating and bring my knees to my chest. “I did nothing,” I cry, tears running down my cheeks as I try to calm myself. Nothing is working. Disbelief, fear, heartache and anger mix together and all I can do is ride out the emotions that threaten to swallow me whole.
“I fucking ran!?”
Alex hasn’t spoken to me since I went to her place the other night. I didn’t even get a “thank you” for sending over the emails she asked for.
