The thought about coming clean festers again. It’s taken root like a weed, tainting my judgment. I’m hiding something from Benjamin, and he knows it. He won’t let that rest. If I confess that I am related to Cane, and that’s the root of my issues with them, maybe we could move past that and go back to the way things were when he was prepared to give me a part of his family that he cherished.
I need a fucking compass and navigational charts to work him out. That’s one part of him that’s never changed, though. Maybe I should think back to what I really know about Benjamin Vico and take a long hard look at where I want my life to go now. After all, this doesn’t have to be a disaster. It could be an opportunity. I could cut myself off, start again. Find a life that’s mine alone and not be ruled by a man who will beat me black and blue simply because he needs to.
What do I want?
It should be a simple question, and for many it is. Yet it’s something I’ve not given time or attention to. My path has been so consumed with revenge and making Cane feel all the loss that I’ve felt in my life, that I’ve forgotten about anything else I wanted along the way.
Thoughts of family, love and stability flicker across my mind. I’ve never known any of those things, and as much as a part of me knows I should covet them, when I try to imagine what they look like, I can’t. The image that casts in my mind is of Benjamin—me with Benjamin. It doesn't have us covered in blood or hiding behind closed doors. It just has the man I’ve fallen for and his heart. We were nearly there as well, so close, but then Cane came into our lives and fucked everything up with their war with the Yakuza.
Something I wished for is ruining everything.
The morning light streams into the house, illuminating the soft hues and rustic charm that is so at odds with everything I’ve seen of Benjamin. His mother's, he said. Maybe, if I'd known her, I would have a better understanding of the boy she must have known. At the moment, to me, he's barely recognizable as alive.
My mind needs to rest, find sense again and a plan maybe, but I know that’s going to be hard. There's too much spinning around my brain, but my eyes drift closed nonetheless as I fall against the plump cushion on the chair. I'm exhausted. Exhausted by him, exhausted by my plans, and exhausted by my life.
Rivers of red, darkness, and a smoking gun haunt my mind. I can feel warmth on my skin, but everything is blurry and tainted. A shadow morphs into a figure that moves towards me, never stopping until he’s on me.
I snatch at the air in front of my body, and my eyes dart around the room. Nothing. I’m alone. I check the clock. I’ve lost a few hours, and it’s nearly noon. My head is woozy from lack of sleep, and my stomach protests the lack of sustenance.
There’s a little food in the kitchen, some essentials, including coffee. I make a cup and cradle it in my hands out on the deck. The view is one I could get lost in, sucked in by the sheer tranquility of the scene. Its contradiction to everything else in my life makes it all the more appealing. If only life could be this simple. Wake up, run along the beach, eat, watch the tide, and let the day drift away. Repeat the next day. And the next.
I might not have lived the most fulfilled life at Benjamin’s side, but it was better than doing nothing, wasn’t it? I had everything, wanted for nothing. But truth, reality, and honesty always evaded us from both sides.
Questions, like vultures, circled overhead, waiting to swoop in at my most vulnerable point and strip me bare. If I give them an inch, I’ll be lost in the what-ifs that my circumstances have created.
With a few hours of rest and the sun high in the sky, there’s the smallest fraction of optimism that I need to grab hold of and nurture.The only questions I’ll entertain are ones I’m capable of answering myself.
Do I love Benjamin? An easy one to start with—yes.
If I look at my life before the Canes showed up, was I happy? Objectively, yes. Is that enough information to make any firm decisions on? Hell, no. They’re the tip of the huge iceberg I'm not even trying to climb yet, but they're important factors regardless.
I finish my coffee and sneak back inside to walk around the house, which would be considered spacious and grand to many. As I wander between the rooms, I feel more grounded, more rational in my thinking. The craziness that crept over me last night is long gone. There’s truth in the saying that things always look better in the morning. Or perhaps I'm just seeing things for how they really are, readying myself for the inevitable.
Benjamin will come and find me soon. I’m certain of that fact. Just as I know that I have to confess my secret. It will change everything between us. It will draw a line that will never be removed. Honesty. Truth. And, depending on his mood…
I let my thought trail off as imagining a world where Benjamin could kill me isn’t a happy place. How could I have fallen in love with a man capable of that? I have,though, more than I ever could have expected.
The bag I’ve brought with me contains all of about three useful things—a change of underwear, some yoga pants and my phone. I take the bag upstairs and decide to luxuriate in the claw-footed bath.
It’s only a matter of time before Benjamin will be here, and in all of my retrospection, I’ve only managed to confirm one thing. He needs to know who my father was. I’ll drive myself mad if I look further than that, but perhaps then we can be rational. Talk. Think clearly.
The heat from the bubbles soothes my skin, and I pretend, for a little while at least, that my life revolves around this house. The neighborhood will be, no doubt, full of bustling wives and other women, all filling up their social diaries to make sure they’re seen with the right people at the right parties. Those are the women I’ve risen above in my position as Benjamin’s mistress, back in New York, at least. There would be whispers around here, and I’m sure I’d be the source of gossip for some time—the woman who mysteriously appeared in the empty home with no friends or family. The scandal plays out in my mind, amusing me as if I’m watching the latest HBO series.
The water is tepid before I climb out of the bath and wrap myself in the small comfort of the soft towel. It’s as if I'm waiting on my prison sentence now, holding my breath and waiting for the gavel to fall. In a way, I guess I am, with Benjamin Vico, lord of New York, starring as judge, jury and executioner.
I change into the only useful clothes I grabbed in my hurry and head back downstairs. The morning brightness has long since been covered by a whitewash of cloud and grey, blocking out the sun completely. The irony isn't lost on me at all. The closer the hours tick to finality, the darker it will become.
With the warmth of the bath still clinging to my skin, the urge to rest, to lie down and give in to slumber, presses hard. But with every passing minute, I recognize not much of my life might be left. I'm running out of time, aren't I?
Even with the amount of alcohol Benjamin consumed last night, he’ll only be out of it for so long. Despite his decision about me, he’ll not let me go unaccounted for much longer, and I want the opportunity to talk with him before the end. Sleeping will give Benjamin the advantage to come in and catch me off guard. I need everything to run in my favour.
My second cup of coffee hits me with the caffeine spike I need, and like the morning, I watch as the sun slips beneath the waves and takes the light with it completely. The peace and tranquility of this place remain, but at night, I feel alone, cut off from the world and vulnerable. Even my shadow is missing. The thought makes me smile a little, and I allow myself a moment to think of Torino.
I was the perfect character for Benjamin, right down to the hard-nosed bitch I needed to be and took it out on all the people around me. Torino bore most of it, as was his job. Funny how different these everyday events now look when staring at them through a new perspective.
I wait in the front room after pouring a much stronger drink from the cabinet, giving myself a clear view of the main door. Seems I’ve developed a taste for scotch all of a sudden. Dutch courage perhaps. Strong. Warm. Burning on the way down. Bruising even.
It’s not long before beams of light stream in through the front windows. The low purr of an engine idling in the drive lasts for longer than I anticipate and does nothing to keep me calm. The racing of my heart spikes my temperature and the panic I felt last night creeps back in again.
