65 Not my fairy tale

**Date = 1 July**
*A new month started.*
**Place = San Francisco (Damion’s house)**
*Coincidence. He’s here too.*

**POV - Aria**

“Just stick your finger up his nose and then kick him on his sexy ass!” Mel hollers over the phone.

My laugh sounds sectionable like I’ve been chicken-flipping cocaine. Mel lowers her voice, “But really bitch, talk to my stupid brother and make him open his frickin eyes.”

Yeah, right. That would be nice, except I’m the blind one, seeing things that ain’t real. For him, we are nothing more than an expired contract. Signatures on a piece of paper. A chip on the bedpost. But I can’t tell her that.

“Come on, Aria, hurry up.” From the passenger seat, the tiny voice, giddy with anticipation, interrupts my phone call with my best friend. I miss Mel.

“Mel, wish you were here.”

“Soon.” Really though? I’m not so sure this whole ‘revenge thing’ those people got going is ending soon. They’re only on their second Sophie’s Choice. So, I’m guessing there are a few more to come.

“And thanks for doing this. I totally forgot to drop off the costumes before I left.”

“No, problem. But I just wish he wasn’t here,” I grunt. She sniggers.

“Well, he can’t stay at the club with a little girl. And since Jackson dropped off the earth, the poor girl is stuck with the emotionally non-functioning one.” She pauses and laughs. “Oh, I forgot they’re all emotionally disturbed.”

“You owe me big time,” I chuckle, and we say our goodbyes.

In a world teeming with intrigue and uncertainty, there are those who find themselves marked for danger.

Like these San Francisco boys. And girls.

A specter of stalking looms over their existence, an imminent threat that not only affects their lives but everyone around them.

That’s why I walked away. I needed out. I can’t live in constant fear for only an ‘I like you’. I’m not that brave. But for some reason, my heart disagrees. My heart wants in.

“My brother said that you have a man in your life. Someone better than him. But I’ve never met a man better than my brother before, though.” It sounds exactly like something Leyla would say about Noah. Except that Noah would not do the things Brian did. Yeah … I sort of understand where he was coming from now … but still.

“Brian told me that he did some bad things … but he is really sorry, and he asked for forgiveness. Did you forgive him?” Did I? I guess you can say that in a way I’m starting to forgive him. But I’m not there yet.

The last few days, we started what could be considered a distant friendship. It’s not that I suddenly trust the man (cause I don’t), but I decided to give him a chance for amity if he shows true remorse for his doings.

Which he’s done so far. And actually, if he’s not being a blackmailing, scheming asshole, he’s got a rather likable, warm personality. Maybe he’ll be someone I can rely on in the future. Who knows?

“Have you sent him a pin location?” I ask, hoping she will forget about the question. She nods.

“So, have you?” She did not forget.

I sigh. “Trying to.”

“Great. He’s really a good guy, my brother. Dad says he made some bad friends. And even some worse decisions.” She frowns. She doesn’t know all the facts.

“How do you know if your friends are bad? I think Olivia is good. I’m sure Leyla is too. But maybe this girl is not. How will I know?” When Mel phoned me to ask if I would pick up her dance group’s costumes and drop them at the studio, she told me that Enrique is here at the house cause Lee’s little sister showed up out of the blue.

“I think you have to go with your gut. When a friend does or makes you do something that you know is wrong, or makes you uncomfortable in any way … that’s how you know.” I once gave this same explanation to Leyla.

“Oh. Okay.” Brian brought Charlotte to the hospital to say goodbye to Leyla. After what happened to Amanda, he decided to take his family to a safe location — a precautionary action.

Leyla went for some tests — taking Rock with her. Tank was getting some sleep in. And Brick went on a food run. So I had no choice but to bring Charlotte with me. Couldn’t leave her at the hospital all alone.

Locking the car, I grab Charlotte’s hand and step onto the garden path leading to the front door. I slow my pace so the tiny turnip can keep up in her sparkling pink princess high-heels.

“So is this your boyfriend’s house?”

“No,” I say without looking down at her, mentally berating Brian for putting me on the spot.

Charlotte tugs on my arm, forcing me to face her.

“No, it’s not your boyfriend, or no, it’s not his house?” I purposefully skip over the section about the boyfriend and instead focus on the house, wondering if teaching sass to ten-year-olds in school these days is standard practice.

“Eh, this is not his house. This is Damion’s house.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Got it. Yes to boyfriend, no to house.” I roll my eyes.

“EX … ex-boyfriend,” I emphasize the word, hoping to end this rather uncomfortable conversation. Maybe I should emphasize it a little more so my brainless heart can get the message. My bottom lip curls back between my teeth as I bite down softly, a habit that’s been with me since I can remember. It’s like my calming mechanism. And right now, I need every bit of calm I can get.

“If you say so.” She pulls up her tiny shoulders, her young mind already on another topic.

“Check out that pond with the ducks!” Her hand lifts, arm straight, and she points a crooked little finger. “It looks like a fairy tale!”

Fairy tales. Yeah, right. This is Mel’s storybook ending.

And I was dumb enough to believe in that shit. But it’s not real. I learned that the hard way. Falling in love with a metal prince with a heart of steel — that never ends well.

If I could have a do-over, I would never lay eyes on that heartless bot ever again. (That’s a big fat lie.) Apart from hallucinating him lurking around just about everywhere I went this past week, I truly made a valiant effort to move on with my life. I immersed myself in my work and growing podcast, desperately trying to distract myself.

And to erase him from my mind. My heart. My soul.

But it’s easier said than done.

‘Cause when he called last night to organize a time, I could not stop the bombardment of emotions at the mere sound of his voice. The memories. The love. The desires. The longing. The pain. EVERYTHING I tried so precariously to forget. A whole 5 days of effort down the drain.

So here I am, a sucker for punishment, my mind clearly not functioning normally.

I push out my chin. My right eye twitches. I’m not here for him. I’m here to pick up some costumes. Cause Mel asked me to.

That’s why I’m here. For her. And that’s just what I’m going to tell myself until I believe it.

“Are we not going closer?” When did we stop walking? Charlotte looks up, those impressionable chocolate eyes, dark hair, pale complexion, and flushed cheeks remind one of an innocent Snow White.

I muster up a flimsy smile, yearning for that childlike guilelessness that we all lose somewhere along the lines of growing up. Oh, would it not be nice to continue being so virtuous and naive, to trust without question, and to simply live in the moment, unaware of how harsh life can be?

I take a hesitant step forward. Growing up is not something we can run away from. Neither is heartbreak. Or pain. Or death.

“Ain’t you gonna knock?” Charlotte pulls on my sleeve. I haven’t even noticed that we’ve reached the door. My mind is clearly not focusing. I pull in my breath, deep and long and slow, the preparation for a final all-encompassing sigh. Then my knuckles hit the wood. Three times.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The door opens almost immediately, and my knees buckle at the sight of him. He’s a little unkempt but even more gorgeous than I remember, if that’s possible. A strange look crosses his face. Lust or delight, I can’t tell which. But then the look peters out as if it were never there in the first place.

Without any kind of greeting, he gestures for us to come in. Charlotte takes the lead. As I pass by, he snatches my arm and pulls me tight against his chest. His other hand grips hold of my neck, fingers weaving into my hair.

For a moment, he just holds me like that, but I cave into my own yearning and press my face to his throat. Oh, the smell of him. Immediately, I’m overcome with nostalgia.

No. I don’t want to dwell in the past anymore, so I push myself away, but his hold tightens.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” he hisses softly in my ear.

The grip on my neck is so fierce it hurts. He’s angry. About what, I’m not sure.

Locked in a stare-down, he studies me with a ferocious physical force that seems unnatural for him. A whisper of electricity zings along my nerve endings to make my hair stand on end. Nope, not angry, make that apoplectically outraged. I droop my head, afraid that he will see the painful hunger in my eyes as my heart struggles to comprehend this intimacy.

“Eh … I’m watching her … Leyla is busy with tests … eh … I had to come here … so she eh … her brother will come to fetch her soon …” I stutter.

“B-R-I-A-N,” I can hear the disdain laced in his voice. Is that the reason for his anger … Brian?

“Be nice, she’s a very sweet girl.” I want to add that Brian is not all bad either, but he inhales deeply against my neck and makes a low sound of pleasure in the back of his throat, tying my tongue in a knot.

“I’ve missed you.” His lips move against the sensitive skin just below my ear, sending my pulse wild. I’m speechless. With my face ablaze and my heart pounding, I can’t get my mouth to form words. My tongue gets stuck to my tonsils, and my mouth is dry.

Bullshit. As if I’m gonna believe that. I’ve seen the photos — throwing shots with hot girls as if it’s going out of fashion. Fuck, just last night he was all over a broad dressed in gold, and then he threw tots with some cleavage-showing brunette at the bar.

So, yeah, I know exactly how much he missed me. Zilch. Nil. Diddly-squat. Sweet FA. Not even a dicky-bird.

I’ll show him. I’ll drag him from my heart and fill the wound with freaking concrete. Then nobody can hurt me like this again. But first, I’ll get my revenge.

“Ahem,” Charlotte clears her throat. “Ex-boyfriend? Why don’t I believe that?” She rubs it in.

He turns his head, the tip of his nose skims against my earlobe, and my heartbeat starts doing something strange. It flutters, then stops, then starts up again like an old motorcar on a cold Monday morning.

“You clearly love each other very much.” Kids these days really grow up way too smart for their shoe size.

Enrique sucks in a breath and goes rigid. I hold mine. If I have to take a wild guess as to the reason why he’s impersonating a frozen brick wall all of a sudden — he’s allergic to the word ‘love’. I’ve figured that out all by myself.

His heart is a jackhammer against my cheek, and I’m scared he might be going into cardiac arrest. But then it slowly returns to normal.

“I’m Charlotte Cruise by the way, and I’m ten years old,” she says as if reciting a memorized verse. Maybe it’s another thing they learn at school. She takes the end of her fancy dress and does a cute little curtsy.

That thaws the robot, and he lets out a soft snicker. Not even metallic hearts can be completely insensitive to the cuteness factor of small kids, puppies, and fluffy yellow ducklings. And Charlotte just happens to be a very cutesy girly girl. Future head cheerleader and prom queen. A queen bee in the making.

Funny coincidence … she and Leyla attend the same school. Brian now regularly brings Charlotte and her other friend, Olivia, to visit Leyla through her window. And they tell her everything that happens, all the little things she misses, the juicy, gritty gossip. It lifted Leyla’s spirit immensely, and I’m very grateful she got her spunk back.

Enrique takes another wisp of my hair, then lets me go so suddenly, I almost fall to the ground. I stumble with weak knees to the kitchen counter and hold onto it for dear life.

I press my palms to the counter, praying the marble cools the fire he left behind. Perfect. I’m a puddle on the floor, and he looks unaffected.

I should go see a bloody therapist.