Feather: Thanks! The reunion didn't go how I expected it to, either. lol. But then I started writing and it took on a life of it's own. If you found last chapter to be a Yikes, just wait till you read this chapter. It, ummm... gets worse before it gets better. And I swear, they will talk soon. Like two adults who aren't confused and irrational and angry. Hope this update came soon enough for you! And as always, I appreciate your comments!
Chapter Four: Who Are You?
East Grinstead, West Sussex, 1908, Summer
"Do you like it?" Ben queried.
Words left Lorraine.
She stared at the dark wood of the cello, her eyes roaming over the curves of the body and the strings that were connected to the pegs. It begged to be touched, to be played.
Lorraine kept her itching hands to herself, leaving the instrument in the hard case on the rug of the parlor. The afternoon light that seeped through the windows gleamed across the varnish, giving the cello an ethereal glow befitting of it's elegance.
"I… it's so beautiful," she finally said. Her eyes met his while she remained on the floor next to the instrument. "Is it for me?"
Ben let out a boisterous laugh, elbows resting on his knees as he watched her from where he sat on the green velvet sofa. Lorraine had missed that laugh; it had been six months since she heard it last. With Ben's busy life back in America, he could only come out to visit her twice a year.
"Yes, of course it's yours," Ben said. "I bought it for you."
"For me?"
"Rey, it's a gift."
"But... it's not my birthday. Nor is it Christmas."
"It doesn't have to be a special day to receive a gift."
"But this" –she pointed to the cello– "must have cost you a fortune. It was made by Antonio Stradivari."
"You needn't worry about money."
"I do when it's wasted on me."
"Every penny I spend on you is not a waste," he spoke sincerely. Lorraine wasn't sure of his finances, but she knew he was well off. His family had a substantial fortune, and he had received a sizable inheritance on top of the interest gained from his own investments.
His wealth perplexed her, though. One of his reasons for not pursuing the career of a thespian was because of the questionable earnings. But he had more than enough money to support himself without a steady income.
No… it had everything to do with his parents, Lorraine had come to realize. As much as Ben was bothered by their expectations of him, he lived his life in a way that could meet their standards. In the end, he wanted to make them proud.
Lorraine just wanted Ben to be happy.
He sat back, running a large hand through his raven hair. "Besides, a close family friend was selling it and when I saw it, I thought of you. I didn't want to come all the way here empty handed."
Lorraine was prevented replying by the curt interruption of a man's voice.
"And he was definitely not empty handed." Her gaze shifted over to Ben's friend in the armchair, the redhead that had traveled with him from America. Armitage Hux was his name, and while the man's accent would make a stranger believe him to be from London, his family had lived in New York for the better part of a decade. From what Ben had told her, he'd known Armitage for years, having met him in law school. And in a moment of confession, out in the gardens when he came out to help her trim the roses, Ben believed Armitage to be his only real friend.
Lorraine had corrected him, of course. What was she to him if not a real friend?
"My betrothed," he had told her. Her heart had a difficult time beating at a steady rhythm after that.
"Lugging that thing around was a special pain in the arse, if you ask me," Armitage continued, sneering into his cup of tea as he took a quick sip. "Some thought we were transporting a body."
"Because that's what you told them," Ben said in annoyance.
Armitage shrugged. "It's not my fault they were too daft to recognize a joke."
"They almost threw the case overboard because they thought it had caused a haunting."
"But you got it back before they could and the cello was unharmed. You saved the day. Be proud of yourself."
Ben rolled his eyes. Armitage went back to enjoying his tea, his eyes going to Lorraine. She shifted her stare to the cello, finding Armitage's gaze on her… taxing.
"Armitage," Ben said, cutting through the momentary silence. "Could you leave Rey and me alone for a bit?"
Armitage looked at Ben, then Lorraine, before settling back on his friend. "I promised Sir Kenobi that I would chaperone you two while he was away."
Ben worked his jaw. "And you will be chaperoning… on the other side of that door."
"I don't think you understand the duties of a chaperone–"
"You know the debt you owe Sterling? From that poker game?"
Armitage narrowed his eyes. "Hard to forget."
"I'll pay it for you."
The teacup was placed on the saucer with a resounding clink, Armitage lowering the drink to his lap. "In full?"
"Every dime," Ben promised.
Armitage gave thought to the proposal. "If Sir Kenobi finds out about this–"
"He won't." Ben turned to her, excitement in his tone. "Right, Rey?"
She shook her head. "And don't worry. BB will be here to watch over us." They all glanced at the cat, soundly asleep next to Ben.
Armitage sighed and stood, teacup in one hand as the other tugged and straightened his grey tweed vest. "You have an hour, maybe two before her father gets home. And I trust you will act appropriately?"
"She's thirteen, Armitage," Ben said through clenched teeth.
"And beginning to blossom into a beautiful young woman," Armitage complemented with a smooth grin. Heat fanned across Lorraine's cheeks; she didn't know how to acknowledge the observation. But then Armitage's attention turned to Ben as he sternly told him, "Keep your hands to yourself."
Armitage shut the double mahogany doors on his way out. Lorraine and Ben glanced at each other, shyly sharing a smile.
She went to the sofa across the room, her shaky hands running across her lap to unwrinkle her skirt. Or to give herself something to do.
"Is this alright?" Ben asked, concern scrunching his brow. "That it's just the two of us?"
"Yes," she responded breathlessly.
"You're not uncomfortable being alone with me?"
She shook her head. "I quite like it when it's just us." They rarely had moments where it was only the two of them, both those instances having taken place outside near the gardens. To be in a room with him, no extra company, doors shut and cut off from the world… it was thrilling. "I find it quite bothersome to have someone else in the room, watching us like we're children in need of a babysitter."
"I agree." Ben grabbed his drink from the side table. The butler had made it for him, something called a Mamie Taylor. "But with us being promised to one another, extra precautions have to be taken."
"Lest society think we've laid together," she said bluntly.
Ben choked mid-swallow, coughing as he tried to clear his windpipe. "Where have you…. Did your parents tell you that?"
"The other students at school. They heard about our arrangement and started telling me... things."
"Uh… What kind of things?"
"You know… what men and women do with one another." Lorraine leaned forward, her voice going to a whisper. "Without clothes."
Ben's jaw slackened. "This is what you talk about while at school?"
"Not me. Charlotte was the one mainly talking about it. She saw her older sister doing it with one of the boys in her neighborhood."
"She watched them?" Ben questioned, aghast.
"That's what I said! I was so surprised she would spy on her sister through a window. But I guess it's not all that surprising. Charlotte has already kissed a boy."
Ben went for another sip of his drink. "If Charlotte doesn't slow down, she'll end up like her sister."
Lorraine zeroed in on how his Adam's apple moved up and down as he drank, the way he licked his lips once done.
She cleared her throat. "Have… have you ever kissed a girl?"
"I have." That statement stung in ways Lorraine wasn't anticipating. "When I was six."
"Oh." Just as her heart had ached, it now pumped with satisfaction. "But you were just a child. That hardly counts."
"Well, if it doesn't count, then my answer would be a no."
"Really?"
"Really."
Lorraine bit her lip, her stomach knotting over what she wanted to ask him. What she needed to know. "And… have you ever… you know."
Ben regarded her, jaw moving side to side. "Have I ever done what Charlotte and that neighbor boy were doing?" Lorraine gave a tight nod. "No." His eyes went to the mantle above the fireplace. "I believe something that intimate should be shared between husband and wife."
"Which is what we will be… in a few years."
There was a pause, the implication of what she said hanging thick in the air.
Recrossing his legs and adjusting his posture, Ben asked, "Is there anything else you'd like to know about me?"
"I once recall you saying that you abhorred people trying to pry into your private life?"
"I do… but not when you're the one asking the questions."
Lorraine tilted her head. "You'd tell me anything I wanted to know?"
"Yes. Though, I believe you already know me better than most… from all the letters I've sent over the last couple years."
And Lorraine had answered every single one, filling the lines of each post with her own stories and dreams. Their correspondence was frequent, Lorraine receiving letters from Ben every other week. His script was so elegant and refined as he recounted his day to her on paper, how work was fairing for him, how he still wished he could be on stage instead of cooped up in an office.
There were other little things she had picked up on – like how he loved taking his automobile for long drives out in the country, or that sweets were a particular weakness of his; scotch was the most palatable drink to his taste buds, but he hated how every time he tasted it, he thought about his father; he had a preference for walking barefoot whenever he could, forgoing the constricting structure of shoes.
"I've kept all of them, you know," Lorraine told him, voice growing soft, body growing warm. "In a box under my bed."
"Have you now?" She nodded, noting that he looked pleased. "I've kept all of yours, too."
It was peculiar how happy she could feel over such a simple statement. Like knowing that she mattered to someone enough for them to keep her correspondence could make her sigh with relief.
Ben motioned to the cello on the floor. "Can you play something for me?"
"Oh." It took Lorraine a few moments to travel back from the thoughts she'd been having. "Yes, I can. Anything in particular?"
"Anything you play always sounds beautiful."
Lorraine chuckled as she went to take the instrument out of the case, surprised by it lightness. "I've been practicing Mozart's String Quartet #15."
"Did you know that he completed it while his wife Constanze–"
"Was in labor with their child," she finished for him, both sharing a laugh. "Yes, I know." Going back to her spot on the sofa, she unscrewed the endpin at the bottom and elongated it. "The rising string figures in the second movement correspond with her cries Mozart could hear from the other room."
Without preamble, Ben's demeanor changed.
His eyes always became different in moments like that, more soft than Lorraine knew eyes could be. The professional lawyer and strict adult was gone, and instead, he wore the eyes of a man who felt deeply and without shame. If anyone else had stared at her in such a way, Lorraine would have dropped her gaze, maybe even left the room. But she was safe with Ben.
"Play it for me," he softly pleaded, like he was dying of thirst and she held the water. "Please."
Lorraine couldn't deny him. Wouldn't.
The graceful instrument rested between her knees, and she had to widen her legs and stretch her skirt to accommodate the girth. It was a full size cello, reserved for more of an adult stature. But she didn't let her smaller frame deter her from playing. She knew in time, her limbs and torso would grow to fit the instrument perfectly against her body.
In time, she'd be all grown up.
Her right hand held the bow just above the four strings spanning the length of the body. When she finally allowed herself the pleasure of dragging the bow across the D string, a deep resounding hum filled the room, full and satisfying.
She glanced up. Ben was watching her, his eyes now alight with wonder. His lips curved into a small smile, and Rey returned it in full.
She began the song, her left-hand fingers dancing along the fingerboard while her right hand moved back and forth. Both worked in tandem to create a sound that paralleled even the sweetest siren's voice. At least to Ben, it seemed that way. He didn't notice how she clamored through the sixteenth notes.
Lorraine glanced to the door, seeing Armitage watching her through the crack. His gaze was nothing like Ben's – it wasn't warm or inviting or passionate. It was…. Whatever it was, it hardened her stomach and made her feel uneasy.
Lorraine closed her eyes, finding reprieve from the world as she got lost in the music.
()()()()()
Present Day – April 27, 2020
It gave Rey a sliver of comfort knowing Ben hadn't followed her.
But that was the only positive she could find in a day that had quickly spiraled out of her control.
Getting home was a blur, Rey's arms and legs acting out of instinct because her brain sure wasn't being helpful. It just kept replaying what had happened with Ben back at the office, the impact of what she'd done knocking every rational thought out of her brain and into an endless void. She didn't even notice how the weather had shifted, clouds looming overhead as the temperature dropped and the wind had picked up.
Ret struggled to inhale, to exhale, to do anything with her lungs.
That's how she felt the entire way back to her apartment: trying to remember how to breathe, how to speak, how to function like a normal human being even though she wasn't one.
Ben's name bounced around her skull… and she was afraid. Afraid of that person she'd left back at the office.
Rey unlocked the apartment door and slammed it shut. Finn was startled from where he stood by the kitchen counter, in the process of making himself a sandwich.
"Rey, what's–"
"We're moving," was all she said as she hurried to her room. She pulled down a large piece of luggage from the closet and tossed it onto her bed.
Finn stood in the doorway. "What did you say?"
"We're moving," she repeated, not even looking at him as she started going around her room and throwing clothes inside the suitcase. "Pack your things. Or leave it, I don't care. I'll buy you whatever you need. We just need to get out of here."
Finn held up his hands, overwhelmed. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Rey, what's going on?"
Ignoring his question, she started rambling. "Los Angeles. That's where we'll go." She grabbed a second smaller suitcase, unzipping it and haphazardly tossing her shoes inside. "You've been telling me for years we should try out Southern California. Get some sun. And we could finally go to Disneyland. We've been putting that off for forever but what the hell, let's do it. We've both never been. And you keep saying how much you want to eat your way through Galaxy's Edge. You can pretend like you're actually in the Galactic Wars universe and build yourself a lightsaber."
"But we can visit Disneyland without actually living there," Finn argued. "And Rey… we can't just move to LA."
Rey froze. "Shit, your job. That's right." She stood and turned to him, trying to come up with a solution. "Couldn't you just ask for an immediate transfer or something? I know in the past we waited till you got permission, but there are plenty of people who die in California. Just last week you were saying how they needed more Reapers out there. Volunteer!"
"It doesn't have anything to do with my job."
"Then what?" Finn didn't answer her. Rey's frustration began to steadily grow. "You've been begging me to move there for, like, ten years now. And now you suddenly don't want to go?"
Finn's brows shot up. "I'm the one being sudden? What about you? Rey, we can't just up and move across the country."
"Why not?"
"It's insane!" He walked over to the bed, gathering up a large pile of her clothes. "You really want to uproot your life without a plan?
She pushed his arms out of the way and put her wardrobe back inside the suitcase. "I don't need a plan. We just need to get out of here."
"You don't need a plan? You, the person who always needs to map out our next move with CIA-worthy precision, wants to move" –Finn snapped his fingers– "just like that."
Rey ignored the apt assessment, her focus going back to packing.
Finn shook his head out of disbelief. "What the hell happened at work?"
Rey grabbed her undergarments out of the top drawer of the dresser. "Nothing."
"It had to be something," Finn pressed. She added her undies and slips to the growing pile of fabric. "You were completely fine this morning when you left and now–"
Pounding came from the door. It went quiet. Then it started up again.
Even though they were at odds, Finn and Rey shared a look of annoyance. They rarely got visitors. Whenever they did, it was that middle aged woman who lived two doors down. From the way she was knocking, it had to be an emergency.
Rey didn't have the time, nor the patience, to deal with Mary right now.
She groaned, making her way to the door. "Mary, again, I haven't seen your guinea pig and BB-8 has been inside all day–"
The person in the doorway was definitely not middle-aged Mary.
Rey was unable to stop Ben from barging inside, her shock sputtering her brain to an all out halt.
Finn walked out of her room and went stock still. It was clear from his expression that he recognized Ben. And why wouldn't he? Rey had shown him pictures, had told him the stories.
Rey stared at Ben, and had absolutely no idea how to handle having him in her apartment.
The emotions swirling inside her were complicated, and… exhausting. For so long, she imagined what it would be like to have Ben by her side, to have him help her and hold her and quell her loneliness. And by the looks of it, he was here. Right there. Standing in the middle of her residence, taking it all in at a very quick glance.
Ben took off his sunglasses and immediately zeroed in on Finn. "You should know your wife fucked me less than an hour ago."
Silence. The kind that lasted days. Months. Years.
Rey shook her head to clear it, like she might have misheard what had been said and the shaking action would help process everything correctly. But nope. He had told that… to Finn.
Finn's widened stare bounced back and forth between the two of them. "Umm… so I'm her roommate–"
Rey swung the door closed, catching everyone's attention. "You need to leave or I'll call the police."
"Where is he?" Ben demanded.
"Who?"
"Your husband."
Unease rippled through her like a toxin. Was this or was this not Ben? What was going on? Rey needed a moment to just think, to figure out what exactly to do next. This was all… it was too much.
"Seriously? You don't know–"
"Finn," Rey cut him off, voice stern for added backup. "And you," she looked to Ben. "Leave."
"Not until I to talk with your husband."
Finn barked out a laugh before covering his mouth. "Are you being serious right now?" He looked to Rey. "Is he being serious right now?"
"Finn, just go back to my roo–"
Ben got right in Finn's face, voice getting low. "Wait downstairs and don't come back up here till I'm gone."
An energy rippled through the air, the hairs on Rey's arms reacting to it and standing up straight. She'd felt it back at the office when he demanded she tell him everything she knew.
A haze fell over Finn's eyes. "I'll wait downstairs and won't come back till you're gone." And then he was walking straight for the door. Rey tried saying something, told him to stop, but Finn didn't seem to take in any of it. Too shocked to even move, Rey stared at the door after Finn shut it.
There was no way this Ben could be the Ben. Ben of the past couldn't do something like that. There'd been nothing supernatural about him. And the personality, it was just all wrong.
Terror gripped her, even though she tried to hide it. If this man wasn't her Ben, who exactly was he?
()()()()()
The girl had fled from the office.
Ben didn't move.
"What are you doing?" Kylo yelled. "Go after her! Give her whatever she wants! Be whoever she wa–"
Ben silenced the shadow, tossing him deep within his subconscious so it would take awhile for that annoying piece of shit to crawl back from its depths. It took a lot of mental power to do something like to Kylo, but right now, Ben didn't need the added stress of another voice inside his head besides his own.
He was going to figure this all out his way.
Except….
Ben's left eye twitched as the feeling of being disconnected from Kylo left him… cold.
Interesting.
They'd never been that enmeshed before, never felt such an exhilaration of power as both their souls seeped into being one.
Mitaka stood in front of the door, the one Rey had just rushed through. For being such a submissive employee, the glare he was sending Ben's way was almost impressive.
"If I find out that you sexually harassed that girl, I'll personally make sure that you are removed from this company," Mitaka said, voice low.
Ben considered him for a moment. Like, really considered him. "I didn't think you had the balls to threaten me."
"And I thought you were a man worthy of respect."
"You let me treat you like shit and yet you think I'm respectable?"
Mitaka didn't say anything to that. Just kept up with the glaring.
Ben tilted his head, taking slow steps towards the man. "What would you do if I told you I fucked her? Just now, in my office." Mitaka's mouth hung open. "You'd run out of here and tattle, wouldn't you? Even though I'd deny I ever touched her and there would be the strong possibility of you losing your job. I'd make them think you're after my position, that you're doing it all out of jealousy and greed. In the end, it would be my word against yours, even hers. Would you still do it? Would you still say something?"
"Yes," Mitaka bit out without hesitation.
Ben nodded, taken aback from Mitaka's sudden growth of a spine.
Of course, Ben wouldn't do any of those things. He just wanted to know if Mitaka's true nature matched up with the persona he chose to exude – that he was a good man even when provoked. And indeed, it would appear that he was.
Ben had misjudged the guy. He almost apologized for it.
"Do you have her resumé?" Ben asked, like he hadn't just threatened the man's entire career.
"Who the fuck do you think –"
Intensifying their eye contact, letting that ability of manipulation flow through them, Ben said evenly, "I want you to get her resumé for me and then forget everything you saw here."
Mitaka's face was wiped of any emotion. He straightened, eyes dazed. "I'll get you her resumé and forget everything I saw here."
Ben scurried to gather his things during the time it took for Mitaka to leave and return with what he wanted. Not a single word was uttered between them, Mitaka's movements robotic as he left Ben alone.
Ben glanced at the resumé and breathed out a sigh of relief. Rey had put down her address. From his knowledge of Manhattan, it looked as though she lived close to Korean town. He didn't know that area well enough to travel via the shadows. And parking would be a nightmare around there.
Realistically, parking was a nightmare everywhere in this small fucking city.
He internally groaned once he made the decision to traverse the subway in the middle of the day. It was a risk to be surrounded by so many people, the chance of his glasses coming off or picking up a person's emotions usually causing him to forgo the smallest semblance of a crowd.
Concerts? Nope. Parties? Didn't do those anymore. Planes? Fucking terrible.
Fortunate for him, nothing happened on the journey over to Rey's building. It helped that if anyone got into his personal space, he stared at them as if he'd rip their heads off. Threats of decapitation was a great motivator when it came to leaving him be. And he controlled his anxiety by going through six dum dums.
Timing wasn't even an issue: he came upon the building just as someone was leaving, allowing him to catch the door before it closed.
It was like fate wanted him to see her again.
Getting inside her apartment, Ben was without tact and forwent the pleasantries. He was still driven by the anger of breaking his rule of not fucking random women – especially employees. He felt like Rey needed to be held accountable for her part in it all.
That... and he needed answers.
He mind manipulated the roommate into leaving, waiting till they were alone before speaking. "Who are you?"
Rey peeled her eyes away from the door, stunned over what just happened. Her expression morphed into… something Ben couldn't decipher, those hazel orbs traveling up and down his body, like she was searching for something.
"Well?" he demanded as he came toward her. "An answer would be nice."
She stood her ground. "Who are you?"
"I asked you first."
Up close, he thought… damn, he would give anything to be inside her again. To feel her rubbing against him and panting across his neck. He could see it: the two of them in his bed, sweat sheening their skin as he took his time going in and out of her, their lips lazily kissing. He'd hold her after, his hands caressing her hips as she slept and he watched.
But Ben wasn't the tender sort. When he fucked, it was rough and rushed and there sure as hell wasn't cuddling.
He wanted it, though… wanted what he just imagined. With her.
"I'm Rey," the girl finally said.
"But you're real name is Lorraine," Ben surmised.
"No."
It is! he wanted to yell. But they already went through all this earlier, the conversation getting stuck on repeat and going nowhere.
Ben decided to leave the whole name disagreement for a later time. "Rey what then?"
"Rey Kennedy."
Ben had been anticipating that answer since he had her resumé. But in his rush to get to her place, he hadn't read anything else on that piece of paper.
"And?" he prompted.
"And what?"
"That's it? That's all you are – just a name? There's nothing else about you, no past history or education or where you work?"
"I worked for you until you changed that."
Ben popped his brows. "I recall you quitting. I didn't fire you."
The blush that flared upon her cheeks was quick and harsh. "Like I could keep working there after what we did."
Rey uncooperative attitude was starting to bug the shit out of him.
"I can pay you, if that'll make you feel better," Ben offered. Rey's head jerked back, eyes popping wide open. "No need to look offended. From one whore to another, your performance was well appreciated."
"How can you say something like that to me?"
His conscience was flashing WARNING! WARNING! STOP WHILE YOU'RE AHEAD! But Ben ignored it, too fueled by anger and confusion to care what came out of his mouth.
"Quite easily" He began walking the perimeter of the living room, inspecting what was on the shelves and walls. "I just open my mouth and words come out. Some call it speaking."
She didn't say anything. Didn't find it the least bit amusing. Which was fine. He was trying to be condescending anyway.
As his gaze roamed around her place, his eyes zeroed in on the cello next to the sofa. He went to it before he even had the conscious awareness that his legs were moving.
There was a mild ache in his head, but it wasn't substantial enough to make him rub his temples or take medication. The sensation was akin to walking into a room and completely forgetting why you were there and what you needed. Trying to remember was like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands: frustrating and unlikely.
As he got closer to the instrument, Ben could almost hear what it would sound like if he were to drag the bow across the strings. Heaven – it would sound like heaven, he just knew.
Like how he just knew Rey's real name was Lorraine.
Since a young age, Ben had always been drawn to the smooth and deep sound of the cello. Didn't know why. It was like time stopped and had no meaning whenever he heard it being played.
During sophomore year of high school, he had given it a go at trying to learn the instrument, but he didn't have the talent for it. Nonetheless, he remained enthralled. He studied its history and listened to prominent cellists – like Luigi Boccherini and Yo-Yo Ma – on repeat.
The reddish-brown varnish of the wood on this particular cello had aged over time, evidenced by how the lower half gradually darkened to the point it was almost black. A rich patina and vivid traces of use clearly indicated that this was an instrument with a long history of being played frequently and with great gusto.
He knelt down, peering through the f-hole to the inside, reading the faded text. It was made in Cremon in 1720 by–
He straightened, head snapping to Rey. "Is this… was this made by Antonio Stradivari? Is this an original?"
"I'd prefer you didn't get close to it. Actually, I'd like you to leave."
"Do you know how much one of these is worth?" He openly balked at her, glancing at the cello. "Twenty million. At least." And for being so old, it was in excellent condition.
But Rey didn't even bat an eyelash. "It's not for sale."
Ben flinched. Well fine, he snidely thought. Don't get rich…. Probably a fake anyway.
But part of him didn't think so.
He kept perusing the living room – his eyes still flitting over to the cello, wanting to lock it away somewhere safe – and found her decorating style to be… chaotic. Taking up one of the walls was an antiquish brown map of America, painted on canvas and dated 1911. Strewn across the shelves were random decorations: a black typewriter, oil lamps, ornate pottery, glass candy dishes and decanters, and early 20th century dolls. There was even a whole section of shelving that held all sorts of metal and glass door knobs, rusted and golden hinges, and corroded keys.
His eyes fell upon a miniature of Lady Justice, holding the scale in which the law was measured. It was the symbol of his profession.
Ben glanced at Rey. She was watching him intently, face tight.
His foot bumped into the couch. The long sofa was of the American Federal style, similar to the one his uncle had in his study, but made with dark mahogany wood and white upholstery. Bird motifs were carved into the wood, the crest molding at its center showing two stylized phoenixes rising from the ashes.
It didn't look comfortable; it looked downright impractical.
Ben's gaze did one last sweep around the space.
Where the fuck was he? Did he step through a portal that propelled him back to the 1900's? Maybe the 1800's? What kind of person collected all this useless shit? Except the cello. God, that cello was a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Ben desperately wanted to hear it be played. He also wanted to reprimand Rey for having it in the living room like it was another piece of furniture. Something like that needed to be kept in a weather-controlled display case and away from the humidity.
The only modern thing in the room was the 40'' TV, which just so happened to be perched on a wooden accent chest, the kind that had different sized drawers painted in contrasting colors.
"You like living in a fucking museum?" Ben asked. "A lot of blast-from-the-past vibes going on in here."
"Can you please leave already?"
He swung his eyes back to hers. "Not till I get some answers."
"I don't have any."
"Don't fucking lie to me," Ben clipped out harshly. Rey winced.
He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself. The woman was visibly fearful of him. In order to placate her, he sat and immediately found that he was right about the couch: it was intolerable to sit on. But there he remained, trying to make himself look less intimidating.
The sound of a cat meowing made him look around, the orange feline in question jumping right onto his lap.
Rey marched over. "BB, no. You can't just jump on–" She came to a complete standstill between Ben and the TV.
The cat started purring, nudging at Ben's hand with his nose and pleading for a head scratch. Ben obliged. The feline melted under his touch and curled itself into a ball on Ben's thighs. The fact that it was shedding on his suit didn't bother him too much; he needed to take it to the dry cleaners, anyway.
Ben didn't mind the animal. He had a soft spot for cats, actually. Most people saw him and assumed dogs were more his thing. But no. He loved felines for their superior and snooty attitude, which was contradicted with their need to be coddled and loved.
He appreciated the enigma of their personalities.
"Are you not even curious what I told you back at the office?" he asked, his fingers massaging the top of the cat's head. "That I've been having hallucinations of a woman who looks exactly like you?"
Rey composed herself, getting over the shock of her cat canoodling with a stranger. "Sounds like you should see a doctor for that."
A small, mirthless laugh escaped his lips. "I have. All the meds I'm on seem to do jack shit in stopping them."
"Maybe I look similar to whoever –"
"You look and sound exactly like her. The eyes, the face, the hair – everything. And I want to know why."
She crossed her arms over her chest, jaw tight. "You need to lea–"
"How do you know me?"
"From the company."
His gaze narrowed. "No. You didn't talk to me like I was your superior."
"I thought you were someone I once knew," she said through clenched teeth, hands balling into fists.
He scoffed. "You fuck every man who looks like me upon meeting them? What would your husband thin–"
"My husband is dead!" Rey suddenly screamed, like all her bottled up frustration had finally burst from the pressure. Ben took a mental step back, the words not translating into a comprehensible meaning fast enough. "Alright? There. Happy? I'm a widow. You didn't have sex with a married woman. Congratulations. Now get out."
Silence, except for Rey's heavy breathing.
They held eye contact, her stare switching between contempt and yearning. It was all very confusing, how she would look at him like he could soothe her suffering, but then demand him to leave her presence.
"Why didn't you just say that right from the get-go?"
Rey closed her eyes, sighing. "Because I don't like saying it out loud. Hold it against me, whatever. Just please," she motioned to the door. "Leave."
Call him heartless, but using the fact that her husband was six feet below ground wasn't enough to get Ben out the door. "Not until you tell me why I've been seeing you."
Rey groaned, like a child not getting what they wanted. "I told you, I don't know."
Ben ground his molars a couple times, on the precipice of losing it like she had only moments ago. "You do."
"I don't."
He could feel his voice getting loud, but he couldn't stop it. "How do you know me?"
The cat, recognizing that the exchange was starting to become heated, went to the floor and scurried away.
"I don't know you!" she yelled, pleading in her face for him to believe her.
Ben went to his feet. "Stop fucking lying to me. Stop it."
Her nostrils flared. "Maybe you are crazy. Maybe you should be locked up and kept away from normal peo–"
He got right in her face, startling her. "Don't say that to me. Ever!" The tendons in his neck protruded, face going red. "I have my issues, but at least I didn't fuck someone so soon after losing a spouse. You look like you're seventeen, so I'm guessing you weren't married for too long."
"Shut up," Rey growled, lips thin.
But Ben kept going. "What kind of a heartless bitch does that? You probably didn't even love him. I bet you were happy once he died so you could go around and fuck whoever you wanted without the consequences or guilt."
"Shut up! Shut your fucking mouth," Rey seethed as she grabbed his arm, trying to pull him to the door. "Get out!"
Her strength surprised him, but it wasn't enough to get him to move. "I'm not lea–"
She pulled at him again, more harshly this time. "GET OUT! GET OUT! LEAVE ME ALONE!"
Ben tugged himself free of her, but he put too much of his own strength behind it. He stumbled back, hands flying out to find purchase. His hand collided with something hard, and then her cello crashed to the ground, face down. The telltale sound of splintering and something breaking filled the air.
For a moment, neither moved.
Shit, shit, shit.
A mangled cry came from Rey as she knelt beside the instrument. "No, no, no, no, no…" she whispered, carefully turning the cello over.
Pieces of wood lay beneath, small casualties of their fight. Rey picked them up, holding them as if they were an injured baby bird. The bridge, the small wooden part that held the strings up between the fingerboard and tailpiece, was what had broken. There were small dents in the actual cello where the bridge had been, the impact having driven the piece into the wood.
If this really was a Stradivarius cello… Ben couldn't even fathom the thought.
He neared her, ready to pay for the damages. "I can–"
"Please," she muttered, eyes tightly shut. The pain in her voice… Ben felt that go right through his chest. "I'm begging you… please, just go away."
In the silence, as Rey's head hung low and her shoulders shook, something changed deep inside of him. Gone was the anger and the fear and the panic. It all disappeared as if it had never been. In its place?
Agony.
Agony had entered his heart without the decency of even knocking first. Just rammed itself right into that muscle, coursing through his blood, infecting his brain. For a moment, he didn't understand where it was all coming from, how his emotions could shift so suddenly that it almost made his knees give out.
Then, clarity.
This suffering, this bereavement… it was Rey. It was all coming from Rey. He couldn't make it stop, couldn't shut off that part of himself that became so in tune with people's emotions.
God, she felt all this?
It was like his brain and heart were being shredded from the inside, emotional pain flowing out of every pore. The hand of grief gripped tightly around his chest, his breaths coming out shallow and sporadic.
Was all this pain over the cello? A person? Perhaps her dead husband?
In a voice that did not sound like his own, he heard himself say, "I didn't mean to… I didn't–"
Her sudden sobs had a rawness to them that stopped him from talking, like the pain was still an open wound and her lungs could no longer hold the affliction inside.
It was difficult, looking at her. Watching her succumb to such visceral sorrow. Ben's eyes swept over the room–
He caught his reflection in the mirror that hung above the TV. Hair unkempt, face flushed, eyes bloodshot, he was a mess. Much like… much like back then. Back when his life was one black hole after another, each sucking him further into addiction and rage and apathy.
Ben took a step back. A second. A third.
He wasn't that person anymore. He wasn't. And yet, in the mirror, he saw him.
His stare went to Rey, realizing what he'd done to her – barging into her apartment, yelling, making her uncomfortable and hurting her. It had all been driven by the need for her to validate he wasn't crazy; that there was an explanation for all the things he could see and do.
That reasoning didn't seem all that important now. Not when it drove him to become the man he swore he'd never be again.
Letting himself out, Ben hurried down the four flights of stairs and shoved the door open. He chose a direction at random, too overwhelmed to make a coherent decision or to realize that he left his glasses behind.
Within moments, he saw it, one of those inky shadows looming over a woman who passed him by. But he wouldn't go back to that apartment. Couldn't.
His stare went down to the sidewalk.
Ben's heart was pounding and his head was swimming. Mostly, he was aware of the terror once again, all stemming from the belief that the control he had over his sanity had hopped on a bus with a one-way ticket to Nowheresville. Would there ever be a reprieve from feeling that way? Like his head was popping up out of a proverbial ocean, gasping for a gulp of air before being battered under the water by incoming waves?
One of these days, he would drown. Hell, he was drowning right now.
But he wouldn't cry. No.
It was the biting wind that coaxed the tears to form in his eyes. Only the wind.
A/N
I promise, things will get better between them. Well, until the truth of the past comes out and then it all becomes a rollercoaster. But I swear, Rey and Ben will become civil towards one another and then a relationship starts to form. But don't expect anymore smut for a while. I don't know if I can call this a slow burn since they had sex last chapter, but to me, it's a slow burn. lol. Thanks for reading!
