A/N: Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.
It's been…a difficult week for most people. Thanks so much for all your thoughts. Here are a few other thoughts to ponder:
'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that ALL men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.' – The Declaration of Independence, 1776
'I have a dream that one day, this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: We hold these truths to be self-evident: that ALL men are created equal.' – Martin Luther King Jr., 1963
Chapter 17 – Countdown
Bella
Six Years Earlier:
As I rush through the dark, thick wetlands, terror is a sensation I've never understood until now.
Branches and saw grass reach like unknown arms scratching at me. I make my way through the disorienting maze of wet prairies and marshes with no discernible borders, the uneven, damp earth sinking under my feet. Finally, the swamp turns into lush, hardwood hammocks overflowing with trees and brush, but relief at being on semi-dry land only lasts a couple of seconds.
Dad has taught me about the Everglades habitats and the types of animals that thrive in each area: alligators, turtles, and ducks in the shallow waters, herons, storks, and vultures in the sawgrass, crocodiles and turtles in the swamps, and fox, snakes, and raccoons in the hammocks. The tree hammocks also have a slew of sharp saw palmettos that slice through the skin at my ankles. I whimper quietly as I go, soaking wet, while a raw chill seeps into every pore in my body, the nighttime breeze more like an arctic wind. My teeth chatter so violently I'm sure every predator around can hear me. Yet, when I attempt to stop the chattering, I end up biting my tongue and with the metallic taste of blood in my mouth.
All the while, though I neither see nor hear them, I know they're giving chase. What are alligators' sharp teeth or slippery snakes to humans with guns? What has there ever been for me to be genuinely terrified of in the past? The ghosts, boogeymen, and bullies of my childhood, who were once banished by my parents – parents who at this moment lie in a watery grave – take a far back seat to the real monsters I've just discovered in the world.
Stumbling, I fall and prick my hands on a palmetto, instinctively crying out. In the next moment, I recall that my life depends on my silence. Repressing more whimpers, I keep moving. When I arrive at a small cove of cypress trees, I stop at the largest one and wrap myself around its trunk, attempting to listen beyond the evening wildlife and the savage pounding of the blood between my temples.
A lifetime transpires.
After an indeterminate moment, I draw in a deep breath and drop to my knees, press my head against the rough trunk, and try to calm myself despite the images in my mind of my mom and dad, broken and floating. Nonetheless, despite my attempt, a hysterical scream bubbles in my throat. When I shove a fist in my mouth, bile rises instead, thick and persistent, and I'm forced to heave into the ground. Afterward, I wrap my arms tightly around my torso.
"Get a grip, Bella," I whisper, rocking back and forth on my knees. 'You've got to-"
When a twig snaps, my breath hitches.
"She's got to be here somewhere, James. We'll put an end to everything if she escapes!"
The muffled voice that replies sounds much calmer. "Relax, Kate, we'll find her. She's just a scared kid. She won't get far."
Warm liquid trickles slowly down my thighs, but I'm too terrified for any thoughts of shame to infringe. Slowly and soundlessly, I lift myself off of my knees and circle around the massive trunk, one wide eye peeking beyond it.
I see them. They're close – too close.
The woman pulls something off her head.
"Why would you do that?" the man inquires in his serene tone.
"I can't breathe with it on!"
Despite the colorless night, I can tell that the ponytail swinging behind her is blond. She's attractive – even in the dark, even with all she's done, she's what the world at large would consider beautiful.
He's tall. The dark silhouette outlining his shape delineates a strong, well-built frame. Confidence is evident in the way he carries himself, tall and proud, shoulders straight. Although his face isn't visible, his eyes shine in the darkness, cerulean eyes contrasting against the monotone evening.
Something jingles.
It takes me a heartbeat to realize the sound came from me, and when I do, horror sends every hair on my body standing on end. My eyes move downward, and I see that my charm bracelet, my prized gift from my dad, is stuck on a piece of peeled back bark that hangs off the tree trunk. Instinctively, I jerk back my arm to break free, but the bracelet unclasps, falling and hitting the earth with a series of chimes. For an eternity, I don't dare move or breathe.
When my eyes flash upward, blue eyes stare straight in my direction.
"She's right there," the man hisses.
I break into a run, the moonless night as much my enemy as it's my friend. I reach out to feel my way through the darkness, stumbling over rocks and bracken, whimpering, and no longer concerned about complete silence. It's not until I'm at the edge of the slough, where it all began, that I realize I've traveled in an arc. I'm back at the shallow river.
The black water below sparkles with its luminescence, like a million dark opals. For a long moment, I gaze into it and wonder where exactly my mom and dad are…realizing again just how simple it would be to join them.
I spread my arms – not for a dive, just for a fall – and the tips of my toes dangle near the edge. Then…I shut my eyes…
"Isabella, no. Eso no es lo que tu mama quisiera…
The commanding yet ethereal voice – the same one I thought I heard under the river – now rises from the river below. Gasping, I take a bewildered step back, but the voice I hear next is no longer my imagination at work. It's muffled, yes, and while it's calm, it's also tangible, and it's only a few feet behind me.
"There's nowhere left to go, kiddo." He pauses. "Is this yours?"
Even without the accompanying jingle, even without the musings which follow, I don't need to turn to know what he has.
"Looks like a lot of planning and collecting went into it. Would've been a shame to leave it behind."
When I squeeze my eyes shut, tears of rage eke out and mix with those earlier ones of fear, a fear which now seems so stupid and so long ago because the fury his words cause makes me tremble. Still, I refuse to turn or reply. So, for another long moment, only the rightful inhabitants of the marshland make themselves known.
"Well, if you don't want it, I'll hold on to it." He expels a long and deep sigh while I hear my charms jingle, then stop. "Kiddo, I want you to know I don't want to do this. If only your dad wouldn't have…but I promise I'll make it quick and…"
He drones on, and exhausted, lulled by the soft and soothing tone of his voice despite the mask that's muffling it, I stand there and allow the random memories that play in my mind.
I see Mom and Dad. Dad is bent over the hood of our car, trying to find the source of its latest problem. My mom stands next to him, telling him what to look for, trying to get in there as well, but he nudges her away. She begins cursing in Spanish, and he grabs her...and pulls her against him, kissing her until they start laughing and dancing in the middle of our driveway to music only they can hear.
I see my friends at school…we're trying on our graduation gowns, laughing…planning…
I see Jake last summer when he kissed me and said he'd wait anxiously for the following summer...
Eyes still shut, I feel myself tumbling over the balance beam at the gym, I feel the swoosh of air as I jump, my hands and feet sure and steady. I feel the caressing breeze against my face as I run around the school track; I hear everyone cheer me on.
Because I'm fast. Because when I run, I fly. I soar. And when I soar…nothing and no one can catch me.
'Never hesitate, Bells.'
I'm already in the air when I feel the first bullet whiz by. But there's no more fear; there are no more tears either. There's no hesitation, and there's no screaming or crying out – not even when the second bullet rips through my thigh.
OOOOO
Present:
"This is an interesting piece of artwork, James," I say when his mouth finally leaves mine. Unfortunately, it begins a wet trail down the wide slit between my dress, his hands squeezing and molding around my thighs.
"Mmm…Maria…" he moans. "Who cares about the fucking artwork on a wall right now when I've got the work of art that's your body here. I don't even remember…where…who…"
Such poetry, motherfucker. "Don't you remember?" Because I do.
I probably shouldn't be tempting his memory. Still, as I stare at the landscape painting – an evening scene of a quiet, empty forest – a bold, heartless, and utterly fitting picture for James to memorialize, it's all I can do not to pull off one of my stilettos and impale it in his groin.
Nonetheless, fighting back nausea, I remind myself that this is why I wore this ridiculous dress in the first place, to get us back to where we were before I allowed myself to become distracted. Therefore, fisting his hair in my grip, I shut my eyes and swallow back bile.
"Your heart is beating like a racehorse," he chuckles against my chest.
"Is it?" I murmur.
"Mmm," he drones, "I'll bet I know what you want." His mouth trails lower.
I'll bet you don't.
He marks a trail of sloppy, wet kisses all the way down to the hem of my laughably short dress. Then, he proceeds to push up the skirt with his teeth.
"You're going to rip my dress," I warn.
"A bit of a shame, but it'll give me an excuse to keep you in here all night."
I brought extra clothes for our little trip, you dumbass, so no, it won't.
"You have guests waiting for you outside, James," I remind him.
Then, I curse internally at myself.
Why am I still trying to stop this? I've got my weekend bag with me, and tomorrow we'll be off to the Hamptons. It's going to happen, if not right now, then later on tonight.
The thing is, despite how our relationship ended, I slept with Jake out of desire. Despite the admitted loneliness I've felt over the past few years, I wanted Paul. And despite all the mental preparation I've attempted since, the thought of having sex with not simply a murderer, but with my parents' murderer, all while wearing a dress fit for a glorified whore, and while a houseful of dinner guests wait in the living room for their host...if I could cry, I probably would.
And as if all that isn't enough, now Anthony's eyes swim before my shuttered eyelids.
I force them out of my mind.
"The hell with my guests," James growls as his mouth reaches my upper left thigh. But, when he stops, even though I know I'm tempting his memory, for a second, my heart stops as well.
"What's this?" Nothing but curiosity shades his voice.
"It's a tattoo."
'Bella, at this point, this is just fucking suicide!'
Now, I force Jake and his warnings out of my mind while James' fingers ghost over the tattoo, tracing its circular outline, examining every line and imperfection.
"It feels raised…and coarse."
Because it's camouflaging the scar where you shot me, you bastard.
"I guess I should've gone to a professional instead of letting a friend do it, huh?"
James' eyes slowly move back up to meet mine, though my hands remain fisted around his blond hair. Lifting my head off the bed, I offer him a sultry grin.
"What is it? Don't you like my tattoo, James?"
For a few seconds, he observes me thoughtfully, blue eyes boring into mine.
"Para Siempre," he says in a thick accent, quoting my tattoo then quirking a brow as he translates. "Forever. Is it…for an old boyfriend?"
It's for my parents, you murdering prick.
I offer him a saccharine smile. "Who else would it be for?"
"Should I be jealous?"
He smiles as if he's teasing, but I see the tinge of resentment in his blue eyes, and I've got to withhold a chortle because God, he really is laughable clown sometimes.
"I'm here with you, James," I breathe huskily. "So, what do you think?"
The infantile pout of his lips lets me know he's not entirely appeased.
You envious little boy. Had you left me with a heart, I may have been able to feel compassion for the fact that you think you're in love – and it happens to be with the person who abhors you most in this world.
"I was young when I got it," I say in lieu of the thoughts running through my mind. "I wasn't thinking. The tattoo is vague enough to mean anything now, maybe even a…forever with someone new."
I blink innocently, sweetly pushing back a strand of hair from his forehead while he scrutinizes me, trying to read me. Again, though I know I should be frightened, I'm merely anxious to get this over and done with, one way or the other. Perhaps…perhaps if he's figuring out what's really going on here, it'll free me from having to go through with the rest. Granted, being under him when he figures out what's going on here may not be ideal, but I think I've got a good chance of-
When his head resumes its downward position, and his tongue flickers against my skin, outer thigh inward, I throw back my head and resign myself to the rest.
James chuckles, his breath sending shivers of disgust roiling through me, which obviously, being the arrogant, self-absorbed bastard that he is, he misconstrues.
"You excited, baby? Anxious to feel my tongue on your clit?"
Oh Lord, just strike me down right now.
Unable to think of a witty retort to that one, I shut my eyes again and press my fists against them while blood pounds loudly between my ears, and the nausea in my stomach slowly rises.
It'll only take a few minutes, Bella. Just…shut it all out for a few minutes…just…just imagine it's…him…Anthony.
James' fingers push aside my thong. "Ahh, what a pretty sight. Maria, I'm going to suck and lick every…"
I open my eyes, terrified because not only can I not imagine it's Anthony, I can't fucking breathe.
I can't breathe.
My vision blurs, and my hearing doesn't seem to be working either. Bewildered, I pull James up by the hair at his crown, and when our eyes meet again, I forget where I am. I forget everything, all my plans and preparation. All I know as I look into those eyes is that this piece of shit killed my parents.
"Everything okay, baby?" James asks, brow furrowed, his voice sounding as if we're underwater. "I was just about to lick-"
Sneering, I lift my right leg and reach for my sharp-heeled shoe. "What were you about to-"
Three sharp raps knock at the bedroom door.
"James, buddy, it's almost eight o'clock, and you've forgotten about your guests out here."
I throw myself back against the mattress, disoriented beyond comprehension, while James' glowers at the bedroom doors.
"Go away, Tony."
Anthony ignores the warning in James' tone and keeps right on knocking, adding a chuckle.
"Come on, James. Most gentlemen feed a girl first."
James sighs heavily and looks at me.
"Are you hungry?"
I nod vehemently. "Yeah. Yes, I'm starving."
Slowly, begrudgingly, he sits up and exhales in palpable frustration.
"Fine, fine. Let's get all these fuckers out of here, and we'll continue this tonight." Offering me a salacious grin, he leans over and kisses me. "I'll just go take care of this hard-on in the bathroom," he smirks. "Unless you want to…"
"James, not with people right outside."
Huffing, he disappears into the bathroom, and I stand and adjust myself in the dresser mirror, fixing my hair, reapplying my lipstick, and straightening my whore dress. What I apparently can't fix is the almost violent shaking wracking my frame. I hold a hand out in front of me, gazing at it, willing it to stop trembling. Instead, it quivers all the more.
I fist my hands at my side.
"Calm down, Bella," I murmur to myself while the water runs in the bathroom. My gaze pans to the landscape painting above the bed. "You can still do this. Just calm-"
"Are you okay?" a roughly whispered voice calls out from behind me.
My breath hitches as I spin around and find Anthony by the bedroom door, chest heaving and nostrils flaring.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I hiss. "Get out."
"I'm not leaving-"
"Get. the fuck. out," I grit through my teeth. "Go back to Elayna, or to Kate, or to whoever the hell you're fucking tonight."
"Jesus, you're shaking. Look, I've got-"
When the bathroom door swings open behind me, I shut my eyes and remain stock still.
"Tony?" James says, obviously befuddled. "What are you doing here, buddy?"
Anthony delivers his reply in a smooth and composed tone. "I brought you and Maria each a glass of wine. I know how much you like this vintage, and Alec is downing the goddamn bottle down there like it's water."
He is carrying two glasses of wine, and as he holds the goblets to James and me, I take mine with a barely mumbled "thanks," and then push it back immediately, too panicked to do anything else.
For a few, maddening heartbeats, James surveys Anthony. When he reaches out and accepts his goblet, eyes still on Anthony, he swirls the glass and takes a much more controlled sip than did I. Then, a languid grin spreads across his face.
"This is good," he chuckles, taking another sip. "Maria enjoyed it," he gestures toward my empty goblet, "and she rarely drinks."
I chuckle stupidly, realizing how careless I just was, in so many ways.
"James, baby, you know I only stay away from wine when I have an exam the next day. And since I have no exams tomorrow, and you and I will be together all weekend…"
"True," he grins. "Anyway, thanks, buddy, but next time, wait 'til I've left the bedroom. I doubt Maria would've appreciated having been caught half-naked."
We all chuckle at that one.
"I apologize, Maria," Anthony says.
"No problem. He had the decency to knock first, James," I lie with a smile.
"Well, I should hope so," James snorts.
Quickly, I reach out and thread my fingers through James' free hand, sidling up to him and murmuring in his ear.
"James, baby, why don't we go join the rest of your guests? You've talked about them so much, and I'm anxious to meet everyone."
"Yes, let's go show you off."
Hand in hand, James and I walk out of the bedroom together, while Anthony follows behind. And even though he has no right, and it makes no sense when he has his girlfriend here with him, I feel the fury rolling off of him in waves.
OOOOO
"Maria, tell me more about yourself. By the way, I really love your shoes."
Anthony's girlfriend, Elayna, is strange.
For the past half hour or so, she's been beyond friendly, almost fervent, scouring every possible subject under the sun in apparent eagerness to befriend me. She switches from one topic to the next when I fail to show whatever level of enthusiasm she's waiting for. Of course, she has no idea we'll never be the best of friends, not only because I don't plan to be around for long, but because just twenty-four hours earlier, I was ready to disregard her existence, give her boyfriend my entire backstory, and…and what, escape into the sunset with him?
There's no denying she's intelligent – her range of knowledge is even more impressive than her beauty, and that's saying something. Her smooth, ebony skin contrasts gorgeously with the white silk dress she wears; her dark, wild curls are tied back with a white silk scarf, and her curves have every man and woman here – except for Anthony, curiously enough – doing open double-takes. All in all, while I look like the hired hooker for the evening, forced to stand around with the attractive-yet-aging doctor, Elayna and Anthony stand out as the entirely young, immensely erudite, and attractively flawless couple.
And yes, I know the strange thoughts, slight lightheadedness, and accompanying moments of blurred vision I'm now experiencing may be due to the glass of wine I downed earlier. But I also know that at least part of it is brought on by jealousy so intense I can barely see straight, even if Elayna and Anthony don't appear to be the type of couple always draped around one another. And though I have about as much right to my jealousy as Anthony did to his ridiculous display a short while earlier, I can't deny the satisfaction I feel at witnessing Elayna and Anthony act more like good friends than lovers, especially when I've gotten a taste of just how passionate Anthony can be.
A stab of guilt suddenly spears right through me at that thought, at the fact that while she inexplicably tries to be some sort of friend, some kind of mentor, I know how delicious her man's kisses are. I appear to awaken a side of him she doesn't, despite how amazing she seems to be.
"There's not much more to tell," I reply. "And your shoes are great too."
Turning away from her, I take a slow sip from my second glass of wine, inwardly hoping that Elayna gets the hint. Under other circumstances, I may have liked her; under these circumstances…I can't.
But she keeps right on talking to me.
"I used to have a pair just like those. We have similar taste, Maria."
God, you have no idea. I cringe inwardly at the thought, yet Elayna's brow furrows slightly, even as she smiles.
"You know, Maria, I think you and I will be great-"
"Stilettos have a reputation for being cheap shoes worn by cheap women. They scream, 'Look at me. I'm a mindless tart just looking to do the horizontal mambo." Kate cackles and performs a stupid, little drunk dance as she downs about her fourth glass of wine.
"Kate," Garrett hisses, his face suddenly scarlet.
Kate grins, her glazed eyes flashing quickly toward Anthony, who glares at her with a sort of impatient fury.
"Oh, I don't mean either of you two. I'm speaking in general terms, of course."
"Of course," Elayna chuckles. "And I'm not offended at all. It takes a lot more than drunk stupidity to offend me."
If Kate could shoot daggers, poor Elayna would be a bloody mess. Meanwhile, I open my mouth to deliver a retort not quite as dignified as Elayna's, something along the lines of sticking my cheap stiletto up Kate's ass, when Elayna looks at me and grins.
"How about you, Maria? You know better than to let drunk words get to you, don't you? You know people act like idiots sometimes when they've had too much to drink, but they don't always mean what they say, don't you?"
What. the. fuck?
I turn toward Elayna.
"I believe it can go both ways. Sometimes, when people are drunk, they say things they don't mean. While other times," I say, forbidding my gaze from straying, "when someone is intoxicated is when you get to hear exactly what he or she thinks of you."
I take another sip of wine, but the way Elayna watches me…for a second, I begin to wonder if we're not talking about Kate at all but rather about what happened last evening between Anthony and me. But that would make no sense.
"How do you determine which is which, though, Maria? How do you judge when alcohol has become a truth serum allowing jackasses to spew their envious venom, or when alcohol combines with fear and frustration…and concern, and it causes someone to say things he…or she would never mean in a million years?"
It's the wine. The damn wine has gone to my head.
"I…I don't…"
"I think," Elayna says carefully and softly, "that in most conditions, we generally do know the difference, if we're willing to examine the situation once our legitimately justifiable anger has had a chance to ebb. Actually, Maria, going back to the shoes," she says, her tone abruptly holding just a hint of urgency, "would you mind if we took a quick trip to the bathroom so that I could try those on?"
Before I can reply to that bizarre request, Kate throws back her head and cackles, and in my mind, I see her in that marshland, cockily removing her mask and shaking out that head of hair because she couldn't breathe. She giggles when her eyes return to Elayna and me.
"By all means, please don't allow a mere dinner party to keep you both from your hugely fascinating shoe adventures."
"You know what, Kate?" I say. "Before this night is over, I'm going to take these heels, and I'm going to shove-"
James pulls me away at the same moment that I see Garrett tug Kate away by her arm. Poor Elayna is left looking exceptionally disappointed by the fact that she won't get to try on my shoes.
"Ignore Kate," James says, murmuring close to my ear. "She's got a thing for Tony, and she just wants to be a bitch to his girlfriend. As for you…" he tilts his head sideways. "I suppose she's just jealous of how beautiful and young you are."
"Oh. That makes sense then."
Painting on a blank expression despite the building sickness in my stomach, I nod, though I realize how badly I'm messing up here. No matter what Kate says, I'm not supposed to allow her to get to me. I peer down at the glass of wine I've been holding, the one which was only meant to be a prop, except now I realize I've drained it. Two glasses of wine, and I've barely eaten today, and I'm not used to drinking. I set the empty glass down over the fireplace mantle.
Garrett approaches James and me.
"Maria, James, I'm sorry about Kate. James, you know how she sometimes gets when she drinks." He looks so mortified I can't help but try to soothe him.
"It's alright, Garrett. I'm not worried about it; you shouldn't be either."
He smiles at me in gratitude, his stiff shoulders relaxing and taking on more of the defeated pose the poor guy usually sports.
"James, you've got a real treasure here," he says, smiling sadly.
"Oh, I know that," James agrees smugly. He slides an arm around my waist, and I don't know if it's because of the wine, or because I haven't figured out what I'm going to do once everyone leaves tonight, but again, I can't breathe.
"Kate's really not so bad, Maria, once you get to know her. She tends to feel a bit insecure sometimes and…"
Garrett drones on, but with each word, his voice sounds further away. James' fingers dig into my hip, his thumb circling around my thigh.
"I'm sure once she gets to know you better…"
My heart rate spikes.
"Excuse me for a minute."
"What's wrong?" James asks as I pull away.
"It's just a bit stuffy in here. I need some fresh air."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
"No." I shake my head, perhaps a bit too vigorously. "No, I'll be right back."
As I make my way out of the room that's hosting the party, pass more rooms, and walk rapidly through the long hallway leading to the foyer, my 'cheap' stilettos click-clack way too loudly against the white marble floors. Behind me, I hear the faint susurrations of James' guests talking and laughing. I keep walking until I'm far enough away so that all I hear are my heels and the vague, city sounds of police sirens, ambulances, and fire trucks seeping in from the outside. I inhale and exhale, lips narrowed, one hand on my chest as I try to calm my racing heart. Sweeping my eyes to the double doors leading outside, I imagine the rest of the world, where there is no James, no Kate, no Alec, no Horizon Pharm guys...
…and no Anthony.
Anthony was right. For that matter, so was Jake. And so was my dad. As soon as I hesitated, I lost my nerve. Staying now would only be suicide, but…
As I stand in front of the large staircase leading to the rooms upstairs, equidistance to James' bedroom and the double-doors leading to the street, it hits me – just where to look. Statistics show that eighty percent of murderers keep incriminating evidence in their homes…in their bedrooms…trinkets…memorabilia…
If it was here, I was so close to getting it.
As I rest a hand on the white, wooden railing, my eyes gaze intently upward. Cocking my head to the side, I listen to the relative silence surrounding me – even the city noises have ceased. Everyone is in the library, talking, laughing, drinking, and preparing for dinner. There's no reason for anyone to wander in this direction. As I take the first step up the staircase, I pause to listen.
Nothing.
As I take the second step, I wonder if I can't finish the job the way I'd planned it, if perhaps, I can at least reclaim-
A hand clamps over my mouth and presses down so tightly it's impossible to scream. Simultaneously, I'm lifted off my feet, and another arm creates a cage around my arms and waist. Instinctively, my legs flail, and my 'cheap' heels dig into the shins of whoever is holding me. There's a grunt, but the arms and hands remain fastened around me. In the next moments, I'm dragged into the darkened space under the staircase and set against the wall, and then…
Then, I look into Anthony's frenzied eyes – at least, my mind registers that it's him. My survival instincts, however, are a different story. Between the adrenaline and the fear and the confusion running rampant in every part of my system, I keep struggling.
"Shhh," he murmurs, his hand still bolted over my mouth, while his body pins me. "It's just me, Bella. Calm down. Calm down, love. Shhh, it's me. Calm down."
Over and over, he repeats the quietly murmured refrain, and little by little, the terror tightening my chest ebbs. My heart rate evens. My arms and legs cease their attempts to break free. The sharp edge of panic recedes.
And the entire time, Anthony's eyes remain fixed on mine.
"I'm going to let go now," he whispers carefully. Then, though his body remains inflexibly pinned against mine, he lifts his hand.
"Get off of me," I hiss as soon my mouth is free. "Leave me al-"
His mouth replaces his hand, and when his lips move insistently with mine, my arms slide around his neck as I respond to him with wild abandon because I can't fight him – not emotionally. Emotionally, I'll never be able to fight him.
His hands cradle my face while our mouths move together, while our bodies create heat and friction.
"I'm sorry," he breathes against my lips, punctuating each ensuing apology with a kiss. "I'm so sorry, Bella. I didn't mean it. I swear, I didn't mean it."
"I know," I whisper, nodding while I nip and suck on his lips. "I know, Anthony."
Because I do know. Here, in his arms, I do know he couldn't have meant it. When he abruptly pulls away, I'm left dizzy and heaving.
"I can't do this thing with James anymore, Anthony. I can't."
"I know, Bella." His thumbs stroke my cheeks. "I know you can't."
"He killed my parents," I say, my whispered confession shaky.
His hands slowly skim down my arms until they reach my hands, where he threads our fingers together.
"I know that too," he whispers in return.
My brow furrows in bewilderment, but before I can ask him how he knows, his expression hardens, and an acute urgency infuses his every feature.
"Bella, I wish we had time for me to explain things to you, but there's no more time to spare – not right now."
He glances at his watch before his eyes return to me, and he swallows hard. As he speaks, his expression morphs from urgency to fear, which sends the first real trickle of fear of the night coursing through me because I recognize that fear.
Long ago, after I first met Anthony, he invaded my nightmares; he ran through the Everglades with me, and he was afraid…but not for himself – for me.
Abruptly, it hits me that he's been calling me…Bella.
He does so again, his words rushed and desperate.
"Bella, I'm going to ask you to give me all your trust now, and I know it's hard for you to do, and I know I've done nothing to earn it, but I need it now more than ever."
I nod vehemently.
"You have to leave this house right now. Not after dinner. Not in a couple of hours. Now," he stresses.
"Why-"
Footsteps close in on the foyer, first resounding far then much, much closer. Neither one of us moves or breathes, wide eyes on one another. Again, Anthony pins me with his body, but this time, I wrap my arms around his torso, pulling him in impossibly closer, cocooning myself within his frame. His heart beats wildly against mine, and though I know we're in danger, I haven't felt this safe in…years.
After what feels like a lifetime, the footsteps recede and fade in the direction leading to the library. For a few more seconds, Anthony holds me tightly before carefully pulling away.
"I wish we could've stayed that way forever," he breathes.
"Me too, Anthony."
For some reason, he flinches. "You have to go, Bella, right now."
"Come with me."
He offers me a faint smile. "I will, eventually."
"Why not now, and what about…Elayna?"
"I swear to you, she's just a friend."
"I believe you," I nod.
Again, he glances at his watch, and when his eyes meet mine, there's more panic in them than I've ever seen.
"I can't explain it more to you now. You have to go, and I have to stay behind for a bit longer."
"Why? What's-"
"Not now, Bella," he hisses, his grip on my hips tightening, eyes boring into mine. "I promise I'll tell you everything, but not now. Do you remember where we met a couple of nights ago? Don't say it," he adds briskly, "but you remember, don't you?"
"Anthony, you're…you're confusing me-"
His hands cradle my face. "Damn it, Bella, why did you have to have to down those two glasses of wine? I need you at the top of your game tonight."
"I am at the top of my game," I hiss.
His eyes squeeze shut then quickly reopen. "Do you remember the place I'm talking about?"
"Of course, I do."
His eyes fill with relief. "I'll meet you there in…" – one more quick glance at his watch – "in ninety minutes."
"And then you'll tell me what's going on?"
"Yes, yes. I'll tell you everything then." His hands slide around the nape of my neck, and he pulls me back in for an urgent, anxious kiss.
"Tell me you'll be there," he demands against my mouth.
My head swims. I have no idea what's going on, and he's right, I'm not at the top of my game because I feel as if I should know, as if the answers are all right there…
"I'll be there."
He swallows hard, fear swirling in his darkened eyes, so I wrap my hands around the hands that still cradle my face.
"Anthony…" – once again, I think I see him flinch – "I'll be there. I promise."
With one last, quick kiss, I disentangle our hands. He lifts a finger between us and listens.
"Go," he mouths.
Removing my heels, I move around him and grip the railing to the staircase, swinging my legs up like it's a balance beam.
"Bella, no!" Anthony hisses.
But I've already swung the rest of my body over and landed quietly on the stairs.
"No!"
He gives chase as I rush upward, but with my head start, I'm already behind James' bedroom door, locking it behind me before Anthony shoves his hard frame against it.
"Bella!" he whispers wildly.
"Anthony, I've got to find something."
"Bella, you have to be out of this house in fifteen minutes!"
"I'll be out, Anthony. I swear I'll be out. Now, go keep James busy."
He shoves against the door once more.
"Christ, Bella," he chokes, "you'd better be there."
I hear him walk away, and then…I draw in a deep breath, turn around, and get to work.
A/N: Thoughts?
***Until Black Lives Matter, no, ALL lives don't truly matter, do they?***
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