Page 54 of Then There Was You
The car parks at the curb, the engine rattling as smoke from the cold meets the exhaust clouds outside my window. “We’re here,” the driver says as a subtle nudge for me to get out.
Staring at the house, I take a breath, then smile at the driver. “Thanks.” I pop the door open and step out. Leaning back down, I say, “I’ll only be ten minutes. Fifteen at the most.”
I turn around to face the large structure before me. The house is suddenly bigger than I remember, grander and more intimidating. The wrought iron of the gate appears more Gothic, something I never noticed before, while the house sustains remnants of the Gilded Age. I punch in the code, releasing the gate, and jog up the steps to enter the second code to open the front door.
The inside is quiet, as I expected, and some lights are on, but for the most part, it’s shut down when my parents are out of town. I find peace in the solitude and kindness in the few staff who check in on me. No one is here to greet me, so I run up the stairs with all the things on my packing list spinning in my head.
I shut my door and lock it before leaning against it to catch my breath. While my gaze darts from one piece of furniture to the next, to the bathroom, and then the closet, the idea of where to go next still goes unanswered. I’ve pushed off the thought each time it pops into my brain because I didn’t have the answer. I’m not sure I do now, but I’m thinking I can’t go to my Poet’s apartment. Not that he wouldn’t have me. He would, which is a whole other issue of feeling worthy of his generosity, compassion, and endless support. It’s that going from here to there doesn’t feel like I’m standing on my own. It feels like I’m falling back on someone else despite wanting to be with him so much.
Is he going to hate me if I don’t go to his place?
Ugh. I suck in a breath with the lack of certainty messing with my head and rush to the dresser first. I grab a bunch of panties and set them on the bed. Reaching into the back, I find the stack of credit cards that I know are still active with available balances I can use in the short term before they get cut off. I retrieve my suitcase and matching carry-on from the shelf in the back of my closet, tossing both open on the floor at the base of my bed.
Safe.Check.
I keep my jewelry in the velvet bags and boxes, stacking them neatly in the smaller case with the credit cards.
Credit cards.Check.
Purses.Check.
Only wanting a few handbags that I use regularly, two that I specifically chose myself and have been well-loved, I pack them, then start raiding racks of shoes. I don’t have much room, so I only choose five pairs before pulling clothes at random. The things I seek out most are the sweater and sweats I wore that night with Keats. They’re two pieces that mean the world to me because of the comfort they provide when I need it. I stuff all ofit into the two cases, then make one more trip to the safe to grab a stack of cash I keep in there.
Once I get my makeup and a bottle of perfume, I toss them in the smaller case and take inventory. I don’t know what I’m missing. I don’t know what I need. I just know time is running out. I glance at my bed and run to grab Winifred, my stuffed wallaby, and tuck her neatly in before I shut the cases and lock them.
I pull the suitcases to the door and take one last look at the pink palace of a cage I’ve spent my life locked in. It’s only a few seconds, but that’s all I need. I open the door and rush to the stairs. Carrying the suitcases down the stairs, I don’t stop at the bottom or wait to hear if anyone is around to catch me. I leave and head to the car. After pushing through the gate, the trunk has been popped for me to load my suitcases myself. Heaving them into the back, I shut the trunk and hop into the car again.
“Where to?”
“The Maribelle Hotel in Midtown.”
When the car pulls away from the house, I lean forward to look back out the window as it disappears from view. As soon as we turn down another street, I rest back on the leather seat and smile. “I did it.”
CHAPTER 24
KEATS
Sosie happened so fast.Just like the first time.
Her presence fills a space I’d been ignoring in my life. It was easier to focus on work, writing, and anything that didn’t involve my heart in the process. I lost contact with the organ so long ago that I wasn’t even sure I still had one. In her absence, heartbeats became echoes and then faded off as if they’d never existed at all.
I’d forgotten what it felt like to be alive. To be touched by hands that care. To be loved. To be breathing the same air as Sosie again has changed everything. Our connection lies in the distraction when I should be focused. In the empty spot between my arms where she should be. She’s the proof that soulmates exist.
The background noise of the TV is only a mere distraction as I sit on the couch and scroll to her name in my phone’s contact list. I never blocked her, but she blocked me. I only found out when I slipped up once and texted her. Too much whiskey and a bad night at work left me something I’d worked hard not tobe.Penetrable. The stab to my chest wasn’t real, but the pain it caused was still pulsing from the fallout six months earlier. It was not the best time in my life.
“Get your mind back on your own life, Keats.” I look up. Tiny snowflakes flurry past the window. The sweater and pajama pants have kept me warm, along with the apartment’s solid heating. Having unreliable heat in my old apartment left me wearing layers upon layers to stay warm or walking around in my underwear when it was blazing in August. I chuckle, remembering how it had a mind of its own.
Now the snow only reminds me of Sosie. She was bundled in her coat when she left, but she wasn’t wearing much else to protect herself otherwise. Chain mail couldn’t protect her from her parents. They always manage to find her Achilles’ heel to hurt her.
What if they didn’t leave the city? Or got wind of how last night turned out for jackass from the pub? She hasn’t checked in, and worry twists in my gut as dread sets in. Is she okay? Did she get out? Was she threatened again?Fuck.
To calm the tides of concern rippling through my veins, I pace the apartment. Should I go over to make sure she’s alright? That’s the worst thing I could do. It undermines what she’s trying to accomplish. It would defeat her independence to do this on her own. She’s capable. She’s stronger than she realizes, considering the shit she’s been through. Hell, she’s stronger than all of us. Most people would have crumpled under the weight of the pressurized threats.
But what did she have to give up in exchange for maintaining her survival? Her freedom to choose her own fate. Is she doing that now? Will she choose me to go along for the ride?
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I hit my knee on the couch diving for it. It falls to the floor as I go tumbling after it with an achy shin, and I’m pretty sure I have a newly acquiredconcussion from catching myself on the hardwoods with my head. “Fuck.”
Reaching under the table, I grab the phone and hold it up to read the message:New deals on phones this holiday season.“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Come on, Spark, call me.”
