Her sheets are ruffled, the blinds are closed, and there’s a fluffy white cat hanging by a woman’s belt from the ceiling fan over the bed. I look around the room, processing the scene and notice the note that lay amongst the crumpled sheets.
The sick fucks!
I wipe my hand down my face and think about the fact that Tweet had to come in here and see this. I want to kill the pricks that did this to scare her; in fact, killing them would be too good. I want to torture the disgusting bastards, see how they like being frightened for their lives. I step up onto her bed and unhook the poor cat. Once it’s down, I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t want Tweet to see me carry it out and upset her even more, but I can’t leave it in here. I open her closet and find an old gym bag stuffed into the corner. I pull it out and place the cat carefully inside, then shove the note deep into my pocket and head out into the living room.
“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” I call as I walk past quickly, holding the bag to the side facing away from her. I sprint down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk, then around the back of her building to find the dumpsters. Anger is coursing through my whole body as I place the bag down gently, and then turn on my heel and race back inside to Robyn. When I walk into her apartment I see she’s moved from her spot and is now standing in the kitchen, shakily drinking a glass of water. I make my way over and take her in my arms, kissing the top of her head.
“I’m so sorry you had to see that, Tweet. I’ve taken care of it, don’t worry,” I whisper.
Her arms snake around my waist and she presses into me tighter for a moment before letting go and stepping back.
“It’s Snowball, Mrs. Heckles’ cat. What am I going to say to her, Cal?” she asks in a heartbreakingly sad voice.
“We’ll figure something. I’ll do it, I’ll tell her I accidently hit it with my bike. You don’t have to be there.”
“Why would they do something like that? I don’t understand. I-I just—”
“Shush…don’t think about it, they’re sick. They wanted to scare you and they have. But don’t worry, Robyn, I won’t let them anywhere near you. I promise I’ll sort this.”
“Cal, you can’t. I owe them ten grand in two weeks, and I don’t have it. God, what am I going to do?”
Her tears are back and she doesn’t bother to wipe them away. Instead, she lets them rain down her face as she turns and moves over to sit on the sofa again.
“I’ll pay them. I don’t want you to worry about this. I’ll settle the—”
“No! You can’t.”
I sit beside her and press my finger to her lips to quiet her. It works.
“I can, and I’m going to, whether you want me to or not. I need to do this, Robyn. I can’t stand back and watch someone do this to you. It would kill me. There’s no room for discussion—it’s happening, okay?”
She doesn’t say anything else, just draws her knees up to her chest and nods as she lets herself fall into my side.
Where she belongs.
We sit in silence for so long my mind is one giant time bomb, waiting to detonate from the anger and hatred bubbling inside. I’m reeling, and my blood boils at the thought of every way I can conceivably inflict as much pain on these motherfuckers as humanly possible. Zane has some pretty sketchy contacts, and I’m way past the point of being level-headed enough not to ask for their help. I roll my neck to ease the tension and decide I should ask Tweet if she’s ready to leave, but when I look down, she’s fallen asleep. I move off the sofa and kneel quietly beside her, pulling her down so that she’s lying comfortably. She stirs as I place a cushion beneath her head, and her eyes flutter open, peering up into mine.
Fuck, this girl is so beautiful.
Being around her is an intense anguish of emotions. It’s agony and ecstasy rolled together forming a savage catalyst of neediness that I’m too stubborn to act on, and too weak to remove. I tried distancing myself but living with her made it an impossible feat, so instead I’ve morphed into the good guy, the confidant, the friend…because torturing myself with her presence is infinitely more appealing than cutting her out altogether.
“Go back to sleep, Tweet. I’ll be right here,” I whisper as I move to place a soft comforting kiss against her the iridescent remains of her tears painted over the smooth skin of her cheek. There’s no ulterior motive behind my actions, no desire to push for more; my intentions are sincere. I want to comfort her above anything else, but her face turns and her lips brush against mine, and it’s a deliberate movement on her part. My eyes snap to hers in question as my mouth hovers in suspended animation, waiting for a cue.
She moves her head closer, strengthening the pressure of her lips pushed securely against mine and begins to kiss me, moving slowly, but with measured assurance. My eyes fall closed, and a floodgate opens, emptying my mind of everything but the taste of her warm wet tongue moving in perfect synchronicity against my own. She pulls away with a sleepy sated grin, and I watch as her eyes close, her dark lashes fanning against her soft tanned face. I sit back onto my heels, dazed and in a sate of aroused confusion, wondering if I just imagined that last thirty seconds and hoping like hell I didn’t.
I don’t know what to do with myself; she’s knocked me completely off balance so I do the only thing I can think of. I lean back against the sofa and rest my head where I can feel Tweet’s soft breath blow gently across my face as I close my eyes and relive that kiss.
Today Robyn has released a new brand of torment on me. We returned to the apartment in the small hours of this morning and I’m not sure if she was ignoring what happened between us, or if the events of the day had taken their toll and she wasn’t in a place where she wanted to talk. Either way, we returned home to our separate beds in our separate rooms and when we woke and stumbled into each other in the kitchen, we went about our separate lives like it was any other normal day, and not the real-life aftermath of some twisted take on a scene that could have been pulled straight from a psychotic thriller.
Zane is in the office when I finally decide to return to work after visiting Dad. I took him his medication, checked that he was good to go with his fridge stocked full of food—not just beer—and then spent the morning watching re-runs of the Giants’ game with him. All the while he complained about the neighbor’s dog barking at all hours, keeping him awake throughout the night. It’s our usual routine, but today instead of worrying about Dad, his Alzheimer’s and the alarming rate of his mental deterioration, I had other worries to add to the ever-growing pile. The doctors told us at first that his condition would be progressive. I feel cheated now; progressive is a word used to trick you into thinking you’ll have a little time. If they’d said rapid, it would have prepared me more. I always thought Alzheimer’s was a disease for the old but my dad’s not old. Christ, he’s barely middle aged.
I had to tell him that his next-door neighbor doesn’t have a dog—that was at our old house. The real killer came when I had to explain that Mom divorced him and didn’t live with him anymore after he’d asked where she was. He called me by my brother’s name for the whole visit, and after I’d corrected him for the third time I gave in and just answered anyway. I think it’s time that we organize him some home help. His confusion scares the crap out of me, and I don’t like the thought of him living here on his own.
“Hey, how’s it going, bossman?” Zane asks in his cheery British accent.