That stupid son of a bitch.
That confirms nothing. He’d struggle to ride a bike with that kind of injury to his chest. I feel the urge to rush back to the hospital only to watch in loss as the girls redress his bed, knowing that he’s gone. . .
My heart aches, contracting uncomfortably as though it misses his being so close - a similar tug to the one all those years ago when he left me sobbing in that park.
He doesn’t seem to care though. He probably has someone to get home to - his brothers, a girlfriend perhaps. . . I despise her already. And yet, there is this little part of me that whispers a truth between my ears - he isn’t leaving town that easily. I hate how much I hold on to that little insight like my last breath. Like the last beat of my heart.
Realising we’ve arrived at the hotel, I will myself to not think about that bike. After Perry parks in the turning circle, we both step out of the car. The valet takes Perry’s place behind the wheel and heads towards the undercover car lounge.
Perry grabs my hand, guiding me into the lobby. Guests flitter around in their 1920’s style dresses. Most are cut straight across at the knee; some are adorned with delicate beading and braided trimmings. Feather boas are slung around shoulders playfully, while white pearls flash softly from various necks. Above, a banner saying, “The Great Gatsby. Live Tonight” hangs from the chandelier-lined ceiling.
I smile at the few people I recognise. Perry waves across the room at a few others. Suddenly, it feels likeGroundhog Day.
Like I did this yesterday.
It all feels the same.
Even these people seem to be having the same boring conversations they always do - light chitchat with no substance so as not to offend anyone. Growing up with The Butcher Boys, they always said it as they felt it. I loved that.
I wonder if they still do. . .
Looking around the room, I remind myself that to a young girl fresh out of medical school, this is quite a scene to be a part of.
I’m just not sure it ismyscene anymore.
Making our way into the ballroom, we head straight for the bar.Thank God for alcohol.We grab a drink, a red wine for me and a boutique beer for Perry, and take our seat at a circular table a few places back from the stage.
I tap my nail on the crystal red wine glass as seats fill up around us and Perry converses with the waiter, ordering our meals. Trying to hide my discomfort, I force a smile, but unease seeps through my body. Shaking my head, I try to dislodge the person troubling me.
Bronson Butcher.
Perry glances at my nail as it vibrates on the glass. “Just the one wine tonight, Shoshy. Okay?” I take a big mouthful, the tart tannins and citrus acids flirting inside my mouth. He leans over and strokes the bare skin on my arm affectionately. “You love the opera. Let’s just have an enjoyable night. I’m sorry about our little quarrel, beautiful.” He squeezes my forearm until I look at him. “Are you?”
I take another enthusiastic sip of my wine. “I need the bathroom,” I say, standing and grabbing my clutch. I lean down and kiss his cheek, but it feels wrong for some reason. Not waiting for his response, I head towards the corridors.
God, what is wrong with me?
Maybe I just need a moment in my own space, not having been alone since we left the hospital, since Bronson met Perry. And now surrounded by glitz, glam, and bullshit, I just can’t settle my mind.
I head towards the glowing ladies room sign. The red carpet beneath my heels shimmers as though a bucket of glitter was dumped on it. A long mirror lines the entire length of the corridor, which is disorientating with the various doors opening and closing and my perception of depth seems to fail me.
My heart lurches into my throat when a hand wraps around my mouth. A large body presses against my back, dragging me quickly through one door and into a dark, quiet room.
I can’t breathe.
My eyes bulge open as the door is kicked shut. I try to scream. But my sounds of panic are muffled behind a tight, merciless grip. Tears force their way out from the corners of my eyes.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s me.”
God.My eyes squeeze shut as emotion overwhelms me; the exact reason for it, be it relief or fear, is too difficult to decipher right now. He pushes my chest against the wall as I begin to sob into his palm. The tears slide down my cheeks and pool at his hand.
He didn’t leave. . .
All the adrenaline I was just hit with is now making rational thought a distant memory. The beads of tears balancing on my lashes bat out onto my cheeks as I slowly open my eyes to the dimly lit room. Soft possessive lips touch my ear, the warmth from them tumbling down my neck.
He cares. . .
“I can feel how wound up you are. Dr Clean hasn’t been looking after my girl properly, has he?” I shiver as his words move through my body, awakening something primal and indecent within me. Something that is drawn to all the indecent parts of him.