I walk into my loft and lock the door. I don’t even bother to check for intruders. At this point, if Adam is here, if someone is here, just let them come at me. I don’t have the energy to care. The stench of guilt and death covered up by lies clings to me, and I drag my tired body up the stairs, strip down, and shower. Hot water pours over me until it turns as icy as my emotions. I have nothing left in me, not tonight.
Once I’m in my PJ set and in my bed, I lie there, staring at the ceiling, a rumble in my belly. I didn’t eat tonight, and there is a growing necessity for nutrition. I shove myself up a bit, prop against the headboard, and open my bedside table, grabbing the bag of M&M’s I’ve resisted for darn near a month. I eat them now, mindlessly consuming them.
My cellphone rings and I glance at the clock. It’s midnight. I know who is calling—of course I know. One glance at the caller ID, and it’s him. It’s Adam.
I swallow my last M&M and answer on speaker. “You aren’t going to go away, are you?”
“Not when you still need me.”
“I don’t need you,” I say, though the combative tone of earlier is long exhausted. “You command me to take control. I try. It backfires. I was happier when I felt ignored. I’m invisible. And for that matter, so are you. You hide in the shadows. Hiding is what I’ve done my whole life. You’re just teaching me to keep on keeping on.”
“This isn’t about me. It’s about you. The minute I step to your side, it’s about us, and me.”
“If it’s about me, let me handle my problems.”
“If you’re taking control, I won’t, but you’re going to have to talk to me, Mia. You’re going to have to tell me what you’re doing and why you think it’s failing.”
“Okay, fine. I talk. You listen. You let me handle my own problems. Is that our deal? No one else dies.”
“We aren’t talking about death. We’re talking about life. Tell me what you’re doing to control yours.”
It’s not the answer I want, but it’s the only answer he’s going to give me. “Fine,” I concede. “I went to the attorney meeting with my parents to talk about my father’s patent negotiations. They really believe Big Davis is the biggest, best bidder that ever rocked their world.”
I can almost see him frown as he asks, “The guy from Lion’s Den?”
“Right. That asshole. They actually believe him being the highest bidder, which is what I’m told he is, to be a good situation. My parents and their attorneys can’t see he’s setting them up. Big Davis wants to make the offer on live TV.”
“And we all know how Big Davis and your father went down on live TV last time.”
“Exactly. He’ll demolish my father. This product my father created competes with one of Big Davis’s products. If he humiliates my father and devalues the product, he doesn’t pay my father, and he kills my father’s future.” My lips press together. “And maybe him in the process. I was strong in the meeting, Adam. I didn’t even recognize myself. But it made no difference.”
“Let me ask you this: Before you and I started talking, would you have stood up and fought for your father or sat back and watched?”
“I’d have talked to my father,” I argue. “I’d have tried to convince him to do the right thing.”
“By attending the meeting? By arguing with his legal counsel about what is right or wrong for him? Or by passively standing in the background, speaking only when spoken to?”
“Passively,” I concede. “But my point is that there is no difference in the outcome.”
“You don’t know that yet,” he points out. “And on that note, you have to shift your viewpoint, Mia.”
“Meaning what?”
“You changing you doesn’t mean others change with you. The fact that you do everything you can to make a difference instead of just sitting back and watching is you being in control of you. No matter what happens with your father’s business dealings, you will not regret your actions or question yourself about if you could have done more. You can never fully control others, not even your parents.”
It’s terrifying to me that Adam is starting to make sense.
“You take control, Mia,” he repeats, “and I won’t. Just talk to me. Work through things with me. We all need someone to talk to, and for you, you’re going to figure out that person is me. I’m that person who offers you unconditional support. You can tell me anything and not be judged.”
“Sometimes we all need and deserve to be judged.”
“And sometimes we deserve the freedom to say what we think and feel, and not be judged. I know more happened today than you’ve told me. I know we have more to talk about, but you need to rest, and so do I. We both have work tomorrow. Wear the Gucci tomorrow. You’ll look like a stunner in it. And go to the eye doctor. Get rid of the glasses, though I must say you pull off the librarian look with a certain je ne sais quoi.” He pauses a moment. “Good night, Mia.”
With the French remark that basically means I have some unexplainable quality, a beauty I would only call appropriate to describe Jess, he disconnects.
Chapter Seventy
I wake the next morning with a numb sensation.
The tears, anger, and terror of the evening before are shoved somewhere in a deep, dark place inside me, no doubt my mind using my slumber to transport me to a place where survival instinct rules yet again. And, surprisingly, I did sleep. It’s as if I’d simply reached a point of complete, utter mental and physical shutdown. My body and mind united and said: no more.
Once I’m fully up, moving, and showered, coffee in hand, I’m still in the same place.
I’m still numb.
I do as Adam has commanded.
I dress in the Gucci outfit, and while style hasn’t exactly been my “thing,” I lived with Jess long enough to know a few things about the big brands. Gucci is a bit eclectic, often designing with bright flowers, colors, and unique styles I typically find over the top for me. Remarkably, the dress Adam bought me is more classic, black of all colors, considering my rather goth wardrobe he’s trying to replace. It’s a fitted cotton material, with long silky sleeves, and accented with olive-green piping around the wrists, neck, and edges of the black, thin, rather elegant belt. I choose to pair it with the Chanel boots I wore yesterday rather than the Gucci high heels Adam has provided, which feel a bit delicate (translated as uncomfortable) for my active library job, as well as my walk to and from work.
The dress also comes with a $2,400 price tag. The tag itself has the price detached, but I google it via the Saks website. Who buys a woman he has no real relationship with dresses and shoes that cost as much as the items presently on my body and in my possession?
No one normal.
Only when the buzzer goes off to the downstairs door do I remember that Jess is walking me to work. Fortunately, no panic or dread follows this memory and realization. I simply don’t appear to be reactive today, but then again, this is also Jess. She knows about Adam, at least some things about Adam. And she’s all about a man opening his wallet for a woman. Jack will be another story. I haven’t fully explained my transformation to him. If I tell him about Adam buying me luxurious gifts, he’ll be worried in a way Jess will not. Therefore, where Jack is concerned, I may be forced to ride a fictional line with him that I’d rather not call a lie.
Instead of buzzing Jess up, I grab my oversize purse, in which my newest book is still marked with the letter opener “bookmark” at the same spot as days ago. Want proof I’m not me? I’m not reading. That’s not me. It’s someone I do not recognize one little bit. I stuff my Mac inside my bag as well, check the weather to decide whether I need a jacket, finding it mild and the jacket unneeded. Ready, or as ready as I can be for any day with Adam in my life, I head down to the door and then downstairs.
I meet Jess at the door to the bookstore. As usual, she is beauty and style personified, in a black pantsuit, a silky pink blouse beneath offering a perfect splash of color. I have no idea what brand she wears. Again, that’s not my thing, but she knows mine, and right away.
She gives me an up and down and says, “Gucci. It looks good on you. He couldn’t splurge on shoes to match?”
I roll my eyes. “Really, Jess?”
She shrugs. “Do it right or don’t do it at all.”