..::.. Chapter 66 - Item Thirty-three ..::..

Sue is radiant as always, and as promised and planned to the smallest, meticulous details, her new shop is celebrating a grand opening. It's spring and the winter past was ruthless. Not because of the weather, but of the painful memory of Edward being whisked away in handcuffs.

I see it in my dreams.

I see it awake.

I see it floating in my coffee on tiring mornings.

I'm working, which makes it easier to stay occupied. At Sue's insistence, she's picked me back up as an employee, but it isn't like I do anything substantial. I'm broke, I'm lost, and I'm heartbroken. I just come into her shop and sit where I used to, watching the door, waiting for the bell to chime, expecting him to walk in looking for me.

Edward never does.

Bella…

Bella, do you love me?

"Bella?" I blink up at Sue. My lost, foggy brain stuck to the Baroque ceilings of this place. "You look radiant." Sue smiles. She hugs me. She stands back and looks at me closely. "You all right?" her smile fades. It's always the same. Same looks I get from people, same sad questions.

"Yes," I tell her. "Of course." I smile.

Of course not. I don't think I ever will be. But stares are getting old and so are the same questions.

I just want this to be over and to be in bed.

"Well, I'm glad you're here. You've been cooped up. You don't get out much. Coming into work isn't really leaving the house."

"Yeah." I accept. I've just been doing that. I'm a robot to suggestions and advice, I just accept. I'm trying to stay out of trouble and trying to stay in a state where I don't disappoint anyone. So, I say 'yes' and 'sure' and do what I'm told. Hence me here, trying, makeup done, appropriate dress, and physically present … but I'm really not.

I've found a nook in the back of my psyche and there I sit, huddled, knees to chest, empty inside. My actions are subconscious.

How does one move on? How does the world move on when you've stopped to just … stand here and stare at Baroque ceilings to feel nothing?

"This place is …" Me. Trying. What are words?

"I know! Isn't it?" Sue says gleefully. "We did great, sweetie. It's larger and has more room in the back for production work. The front floor will just be spaces for the process from start to finish. The rooms are sectioned off …"

Yeah, I stop listening. The hors d'oeuvres whisk my way and I reach for a mini bruschetta and olives.

Sue is animated as we walk through the spaces. I say nothing as I chew. Eyes on me. Men in tailored suits and models prance around in Sue's vintage dresses. All of Sue's clients have been invited. Not to mention very good looking young people. I stare down a few wandering eyes that come my way as I stuff my mouth, chewing with cheeks puffed. Literally, no one is eating.

This event is black tie, as it should be. She insisted on a nighttime opening with a mini orchestra and local art displayed among her timeless, popular pieces designed over the years. I would know, I suggested it. A timeline of her life as Sue Clearwater.

I'll just … avoid item thirty-three for the entire night. Because item thirty-three just so happens to be a suit finely tailored to Edward's form, made just for him.

It made the curated cut. Sue's eyes were longingly on the mockups when we were choosing. She was hesitant. I assured her it was all right with me, that it gave me gripping memories I'm willing to keep.

It's true. It's the suit I saw him in when I found out Edward wasn't a mentally disturbed man living alone in a house. It was a memory so vivid. He was sharp and handsome on the top floors of a restaurant that night—I was below, watching awestruck.

The room eventually wanders toward item thirty-three, because who wouldn't want to see the suit of a captured Mafia Boss? Everyone knows the story now. News coverage and word of mouth travels like a virus.

When we reach the last space adorned with a lavish velvet couch and curtains to cocoon the area, I pivot.

Sue calls.

Sue chases after me.

I grab a platter from a waiter walking by, and land in a plush seated area. He's left confused; I'm left with pockets of flaky turnovers and shrimp cocktail.

Perfect.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. But honey, you have to face your father at some point. Right?" She's cringing. Her face is comical, and how could I be mad at her in her black floor-length gown and that face? I knew he'd be here. I guess I thought I was ready to … face him.

Dad reminds me of Mom, which in turn reminds me of all my failed attempts at … everything that happened. I'm hurt, I'm ashamed, I'm half a person now because I did this to myself.

I see him walk out of the velvet room, and he watches me from afar. He never gets close.

I leave without ever speaking to him.

…..