The Lonely (The Lonely #1)

The Lonely (The Lonely #1) Page 14

I sit on my bed and wait for the lonely, but even it doesn’t come.

Chapter Eight

She packs the bag in a silence that feels heavier than the late August air we suffered through. She doesn’t look at me.

"You sure you don’t want to come? She is going to be pissed you're not there. She says it feels like we're missing a member of the family."

I shake my head. I'm touched but her family's Christmas is huge. Italians at Christmas equal chaos and food and red wine and kisses and hugs.

"My skin almost all peeled off last time I went. Remember, I ran out of sani and your poor dad had to go hunt for it on Christmas day?" Not to mention I felt like a Dickens character. I was the poor orphan with no one and they were the warm, friendly family with the smoking-hot sons. I think about my situation and realize it hasn’t changed much. I am still fairly Dickens, only more like a combination of Miss Havisham and Pip rolled into Oliver Twist's life.

I sigh.

She glances at me. Her face hasn’t changed much since I lost Stuart a month of pay by opening my big mouth. I knew better. Orphans always stuck together and never ratted anyone out to the nuns. No matter what. Even if it cost me ice cream.

"I'm sorry."

She shakes her head, "I don’t blame you. He freaks me out." She kneels in front of my bed and grabs my hands. She doesn’t do that much. Her eyes twinkle with fear and worry. "I just thought that maybe this would be a new start for you. No more nuns telling you to clean and hitting you with branches. No more scripture and religious shit. I know you never believed so it was easy to walk away from the church." She squeezes and her voice wavers, "But Em, you haven’t left. Not really. You're still in that damned orphanage. You're still alone in the world. You don’t let me in. You ran off the most perfect guy in the world. You're running my perfect guy off. You clean when you don’t have to and you have meltdowns in the cafeteria, because the guy next to you has bad teeth and chews with his mouth open."

I look down. Shame and sadness are creeping around in my mind, bringing up old shit and bad memories.

She lifts my chin, I wish I could cry. I feel the tears there. I feel the pressure in my throat. But nothing comes out. "Em, I'm not saying you don’t have a right. You do. You have every right to be the way you are. You're doing well." Those words sting more than anything she has ever said to me. It's the Band-Aid I get slapped with all the time. The 'doing well' Band-Aid that’s actually made at the 'I hate to tell you how shitty you are doing' factory.

"Don’t say that." I mumble. She flinches, she hears herself. She knows how those words feel.

"Sorry."

I shake my head, "I think it's good you're going for the three weeks. We need some time apart."

She backs up, "What? Don’t say that."

I pull back too and look at my feet, "It's true. This is harder than I imagined it would be. Living together has been kind of horrible."

She scoffs, "You are ungrateful. Holy shit. I moved here for you. I'm in a city I don’t like, going to a school I never ever dreamed of and living with a girl who is a frightened little kid, trapped in an orphanage she never left."

My throat burns. My heart rate picks up.

She throws a bottle of hand sani at me, "Don’t forget to wash up." She grabs her bag and leaves, slamming the door. I still don’t cry. It's amazing but I don’t. I wash my hands. The smell of the coconut almond alcohol doesn’t make me feel better. It smells like his ice cream. Dry sobs rip from my throat.

I stare at the wall for a long time. I snap out of it when my phone vibrates and I realize I'm sitting in the dark. I answer, "Hi."

"You okay?" He cares. I can hear it in his voice.

I shake my head, making an ugly cry face. It doesn’t feel genuine though without the waterworks. "No."

"Get dressed and go downstairs. Look nice. I have something for you."

I shake my head, "No thanks. I'm going to order pizza and hang here."

He sighs, "Don’t try my patience. Outside in half an hour." He hangs up. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to face Stuart. I've managed to not get a ride since I last saw him at the doctor's office. I've walked for everything I had to do. As penance. I'm good at penance.

I watch the clock, feeling the nerves building inside of me. I'm taking a stand. I'm not going. I've had the worst couple weeks ever. I don’t have to do everything he says.

My indignant attitude lasts twenty-three-minutes. Then I jump up, rip a brush through my hair and pull on dress pants and a pale-blue sweater. I smear lipgloss on my lips and wash my hands three times. I race out the door, pulling on my parka. I make it to the front door in exactly thirty-minutes. I'm huffing from not running at all in weeks.

Stuart looks sad when he sees me. He's sad for me. He feels sorry for me. His pity burns a hole in my already battered chest.

I climb into the backseat. He closes the door softly. It hurts more that he's not being an ass. I'm not worthy or strong enough for him to treat me like shit.

I keep my eyes down.

My phone vibrates. I answer, "Hi."

"I'm running late. The limo is stuck behind an accident. Tell Stuart not to take you to the place until I message him." He hangs up.

I frown and look up at Stuart. I clear my throat, "Uhm he just called. He wants us to just drive around until he messages you." I barely finish the sentence when Stuart's phone plays a song. He looks at it and answers, "Hello?" He makes a weird face and nods, "Yes sir." He hangs up and shrugs, "Guess he was ready now."

I point, "Has he ever called you before?"

He shakes his head. "No."

I can't help but feel weird. But the look on Stuart's face catches my eye in the mirror, "I'm so sorry." My words are soft. They have no strength.

He shakes his head, "I know you didn’t mean to." His eyes narrow, "He's just a weird rich guy. He messes with people. He likes controlling us. We gotta play the game, Em."

I swallow, "Is she very mad at me?"

He smirks, "She's sick right now. She almost didn’t get in the cab. She hates herself for what she said."

I clench my jaw. "Me too." I whisper and look out the window.

"As soon as she lands you know she'll be messaging you."

I nod and fight the feelings roaming my insides, making them cramp up.

He drives into an old part of town where we sit in a parking lot. He waits a minute and then climbs out. I get out and hug my parka. Mid December is cold. The wind is bitter and the snow is annoying. Boston is not my favorite place to be for winter. Stuart walks with me toward an old brick building. He looks around. He's never walked with me before.

"Do we go inside?" I ask.

He shakes his head, "He was supposed to meet us in the parking lot. He said he was taking us somewhere. We were going to like it." He looks around and hugs his pea coat to himself. My stomach hurts. I've felt this pain before. It reminds me of something.

Stuart must feel it too. He stands really close to me. He pulls out his phone.

"Was this the address?" I ask. My nerves are on high alert.

He nods, "This is where he said on the phone."

I think about what he's said to me about Stuart protecting me. I stand closer. The parking lot is bare, beyond the dried crusty snowdrifts. The snow is barely covering the ground. We crunch around, walking and waiting. Stuart dials. He holds his phone out, "Crap. No service."

An SUV pulls into the driveway. It's not a limo. I look at Stuart, "He said he was in a limo. What if that’s not him?"

Stuart looks at me, "Stand behind me." His face is tense and angry. I don’t know what's going on. We both feel the tension. Everything feels out of place. I glance at my phone but there is no service. I shove it down the back of my dress pants and into my underwear. I remember the talk from eighth grade. If anyone ever snatched you, you were to press nine-one-one and then shove the phone down your pants. Wherever they were taking you, they weren’t taking your pants off till they got there. I never had a phone before. I honestly never imagined I would need to do it.

"I wish we never got out of the car." I mutter.

Stuart steps forward when a man steps out of the back seat of the grey SUV. He has on a huge fluffy coat and sunglasses. It's dark and it's clearly still winter, well as far as I have seen, hence the snow and my frozen ass. Boston winters feel like they will never end.

This guy is a douche.

Sunglasses.

I know it isn’t him. Uncle Daddy Weirdo is way too cool to wear sunglasses in the winter, like this douche. Sunglasses or no, he freaks me out. I step closer to Stuart. I look down at my Ugg boots and grimace. I wish I wore my runners. I start tensing my legs as two more men get out of the car.

"Who are you?" Stuart asks.

The man laughs, "Just give us the girl. That’s all we want."

I take a step back. Stuart looks back at me but doesn’t take his eyes off of the men, "Run." He says flatly. I don’t need to be told twice. I turn and bolt. I hear men grunt and slapping sounds. I leap at the chain link fence. My fingers claw at it, dragging myself up it in frenzied panic. I reach the top but my boot is grabbed. I jerk and kick but I'm pulled hard. I kick again and get loose. I pull myself up again and scramble up to the top. I swing over and start to scramble down the other side. My assailant's sunglasses meet my eyes mid fence. He smiles, "I like when you run little girl." I gag. His voice is creepy and sadistic. I jump, feeling something pull in my ankle. I run hard. I hear him land with a grunt. I push my legs harder. They are just starting to warm up. I dig in. There is no way he will catch me. No way. I run around a building and though a parking lot. I round another building and push it down an alley. I'm completely lost. I end up in another parking area. I slide between two vehicles and catch my breath. My ankle burns and my lungs hate me.