I fell back to sleep wondering about the contents of his silver gift bag.
Dare
I poured a drink. Then I poured another. And then a-fucking-nother. I went out to the terrace and sat and lit a smoke and stared out at the night, my blood boiling, a cold pit in my stomach, and I plotted. I fucking plotted because they needed to be stopped.
I didn’t know if I could give her time to tell me her story in her own time or if I’d have to a) get Zack to tell me what he’d found and hope that he’d found out enough or b) make her tell me whether she was ready or not.
Maybe I needed to talk to this counselor, too, to find out how to handle her properly.
I bought her a necklace tonight at a jewelry store down the road and a cell phone from the electronics store a few doors away from the restaurant where I’d picked up our take-out. The phone so we could text during the day and so she’d get on her way to some semblance of normalcy and the necklace so I could get the reminder of where she came from off her neck. I figured maybe a new necklace could give her the same comfort because it was from me but it could be the start of a fresh start for her.
But after her attack tonight I didn’t know if it was the perfect time to get that fucking thing off her neck or the worst idea in the world.
And my mind was also on the fact that the report card they gave me on that last tablet, the fucked up data contained on that screen, was actually useful because it helped me see what she needed from me in order to settle her down today.
Yeah, she’d begged me to do that but if I hadn’t read that report I wouldn’t have picked up so easily on what she needed and I definitely wouldn’t have done it. I would’ve tried to find another way to calm her down. And it had worked. Damn it all to hell, too, because that report’s contents meant that it didn’t just work because I was there to hold her down and make her come. It probably would’ve worked if anyone else in the world had done the same.
** ** **
She was quiet, timid with me in the morning when we got up. Maybe she was responding to my mood, I don’t know. I’d slept terrible and was in a foul mood. When I came out of the bedroom after showering and dressing for the office I found her sitting on the terrace staring out at the city with her cup of coffee in her hand. I found a cup she’d poured for me in front of the coffee maker. I drank half the cup while reading emails on my smartphone in the kitchen and then I poured the rest down the drain. I stepped out onto the terrace.
“You off to work?” she looked up at me with what looked like a hopeful look on her face.
“Yep. See ya later. I’ll probably be late so don’t, uh, wait for me for dinner.”
“Would you like me to cook you something that you can eat when you get back?” she asked with what was definitely hope on her face.
“Naw, don’t worry. Don’t know how late I’ll be. I’ll probably just grab something.”
She gave me a thin smile. She saw right through me. I felt a pang of guilt. No, I shouldn’t push her away. That wouldn’t help either of us. I shook my head and changed my mind.
“Can you cook? Besides bacon and eggs?”
“I’m n
ot terrible at it.”
“Okay, cook me something. You eat, though, and just put mine in the fridge and reheat it when I get in. Kiss me goodbye.”
She got to her feet.
I pulled her in for a kiss and I tried to make it a good one. I ran my thumb across her cheek before I left.
In the elevator on the way down to the garage I texted Lisa and asked if we could meet the following day at the office after lunch. Maybe she’d give me some perspective.
** ** **
I called the apartment after I met with Zack and Angel didn’t answer.
I didn’t like it. It had me worried so I called again two minutes later. No answer. Maybe she was in the shower. Maybe she was taking a nap. Maybe she’d taken a leap off my balcony to her death because she was so cracked because of what those sons of bitches did to her. I waited ten more minutes that felt more like an hour and called again. No answer. I had a sinking feeling.
I rushed home, sick to my stomach. When I got off the elevator music assaulted my ears and it was coming from my apartment. I got in, disarmed the alarm, and found her in the den working out with my Bowflex. She had the door open and my stereo in the living room was on max, playing Gimme Shelter by the Rolling Stones, most definitely drowning out the land line and maybe the landlines of the entire floor.
My heart was racing. I leaned against the doorframe and let out a deep breath.
She stopped exercising, looking a little startled at the sight of me. She had a white towel beside her. She wiped her forehead and dabbed at her chest and then stood up, grabbing a bottle of water and taking a glug.
“Hi,” she shouted over the music, “Everything okay?”