The banging on the door was not relenting; it was sporadic and urgent, the knocks getting louder almost blurring out the chokes and broken voice of a man pleading to be let in. He sounded weak. He sounded desperate. He sounded like a man who was drowning in self-loathing and sheer torture- she didn't recognize this man, and she wanted to turn the other cheek and never look back at the past few years of her life because they too, had been nothing more than a lie. She was caught in this vicious cycle of being used and abused and allowing herself to be an object, a source, a ploy in a game where every player used her to their own advantage and to gain a prized possession. It would be awfully romantic if the possession was her person, or her heart, but what made this game so cruel and ruthless and even brutal was that everyone was after something only she could lead them to find, she was wanted only for information that led to the truth-she was a commodity, a means to an end, she meant nothing to any of them and served no other purpose then to help find the fulcrum.
She meant nothing to him. She was nothing to him. She was nothing more then the skeleton key to unlock the big mystery. She cursed herself for finding any redeeming quality in him, for letting him weasel his way into her life, for thinking that behind that hideous monster- underneath the layers and layers, somewhere deep inside that cave, there existed a speck of light- and she fooled herself into believing that she had helped bring that out of him. He made her think that she was that ray of light and that beacon of hope. She hated herself for being so naïve and ignorant to his true intentions. He used her, just like Tom did.
"Lizzie." His voice sounded like nails running down a chalkboard, her name sounded like a dying mans last words, a final plea choked out right before the last breath taken.
She was curled up on the sofa, her body had been frozen into place for the last twenty minutes- her mind willing her to be still in the hope he would relent and let her be.
But no such luck. The banging was deafening. He was a resilient son-of-a-bitch who wouldn't move, wouldn't deviate and wouldn't take her silence as a reason to leave.
"Lizzie," He said her name again and the sheer desperation that lingered in the air made it hard for her to breathe as little tiny knots intertwined inside her stomach. "I need you to open this door, please open this door." He begged, a plea that kept falling on deaf ears.
"I was there, Lizzie." She heard him say, his voice a mere whisper. "I will never forget that night- It was the worst and best moment in my life," He let out a strangled chuckle, filled with emotions that she could almost picture haunting his face and she was glad the wall stood between them for fear that she would succumb. "The worst because that fire was the beginning of the end for me, it was the moment when I lost everything I held near and dear and the best because if I wouldn't have been there then I would of never met you- And I cannot imagine a world where your path and my path never cross."
Lizzie closed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, she had cried more than enough tears for this bastard and she wouldn't waste another tear on him.
"And even though I lost everything in that fire, I wouldn't go back and change anything," He paused and the seconds trickled on, and she waited with a heavy heart to hear if his heart had anything to say to her. "As horrible as that might sound, and as more of a monster that might make me in your eyes or the eyes of other people… I cant bring myself to think about what ifs or what I could of done differently for the fear that if I had, I wouldn't have ended up at your mercy."
She could hear him fidgeting, she heard some paper shuffling and then something hit the ground.
"And telling you that I care about you is a waste of time. I wouldn't have crossed the ocean, came out of hiding, tracked you down, if you didn't matter to me." She heard footsteps fade into the hallway and finally disappear as silence filled the room. She sat frozen into place, unable to move a muscle and all her senses heightened as she waited for any movement, any indication or any sound to confirm he was still behind the door.
The seconds went by muted, and turned into minutes. She clutched at the blanket that covered her body and the world started spinning. The revelation that he was gone hit her and it hurt more than anything she had ever felt before. Her body tightened and clammed up and her mind raced with thoughts that made her heart sink and her resolve to diminish.
She wanted him to leave. She should feel relieved that he had walked away. She wanted him to admit that she was nothing but a step to retrieving the fulcrum and she wanted him to feel the pain he had inflicted on her. She felt ashamed and used and she wanted nothing more then to see him burn in the flames he had ignited.
So why did she feel like he had let her down again? Why couldn't he just tell her what she so desperately wanted to hear?
She carefully removed the blanket from her lap and slowly raised her body from the sofa until she stood facing the door. She stared at it as it tormented her. She wanted it to speak, she wanted to hear it plea again, and she needed to find redemption in it. She needed to hear it tell her she was wrong. She needed him to prove to her that she mattered, that they mattered.
Her feet padded across the carpet cautiously, she glided towards the door. When she came face to face with it, she hesitantly brought up her hand and rested her palm across the frame while her head tilted to the side and rested against the cold wood, her cheek relished in the feeling of the frigid temperature against the burning heat of her skin.
She held her breath and waited.
And waited.
But nothing came.
Finally, she allowed herself to breathe but even as the air entered her lungs, she was still suffocating.
With a click of the lock and a turn of the hand, she slowly opened the door as her head ducked out. She scanned the corridor in vain, hoping to see a fedora turning the corner, but it was too late. He was gone, and she had never felt so alone in her life.
She shifted her weight and a flash of red caught the side of her eye. Lizzie turned her head to the left and peaked down at the ground. She let out a gasp and kneeled in front of a beautiful bouquet of roses, there had to of been at least three dozen in the arrangement and every single rose was artistically placed and flawless, the smell was intoxicating and it enveloped her just like the blanket she had just discarded just moments before. In the middle of the bouquet, strategically placed was a single red rose that rested above a small piece of paper, keeping it from falling.
A shaky hand reached for it,
Since you didn't let me tell you face to face, and I refuse to utter any declarations unless I can do so while looking into your eyes, there are three-dozen white roses in this bouquet, and I will love you until that single red rose dies.
She picked up the lonely red-rose and held it up to her nose, expecting to smell the sweet flowery scent that the rest of the bouquet emitted.
But the red rose lacked any smell, and as her fingers brushed across the petals, she realized they didn't feel soft and smooth like a butterfly's wings.
In a bouquet of three-dozen fresh, long-stem white roses, the single red rose was made of silk.
Her heart fluttered, and her mind finally at ease.