I sat outside on my balcony, pressing call on her number for the millionth time it seemed. And like the past two weeks, I waited. And waited. And waited. And then: "If this is some life or death shit, come find me. Otherwise, just text me, you dumb cunt."
I chuckled weakly, as if I hadn't heard her say those words over and over for the past two weeks. It was the only thing that's been keeping me sane these days.
"Hey," I began. "Just in case you didn't get any of the million messages I've left, here's another one." I paused, laughing at how pathetic I was. "I heard you got engaged. Wow. Way to blindside a guy. God, hearing about it really sucked. It still does actually, but you know what sucks even worse? I don't get it. I mean, was any of it real or was it just a really elaborate prank? Because for a while there, I thought we were heading somewhere." I sighed, laughing humorlessly. "You know what? I don't even care anymore. I can't. It's killing me, caring and waiting for you. If this is really what you want then I'll let you go. Just tell me you're okay, Angel. Just give me that. I need to know that you're going to be okay without me because despite everything, I still care about you. Tell me you're okay and I'll let you go, baby."
I ended the message there before I started going on a hopeless spiel of begging. I still had enough dignity left in me not to do that. Again.
I went back inside and like the past two weeks, I let myself get lost in my mundane routine of working through the day and drinking through the night.
My first day back at the hospital, I found out Stella had resigned. When I called her to see if she was okay, she said Angel had sent people to move her to a house outside the city and was basically being held hostage for her supposed safety since her identity as Jude's woman was revealed. I was only a little jealous, but mostly because she didn't have to deal with being the subject of workplace gossip.
Most of my colleagues were civil towards me, but when I had my back to them, they'd go on whispering. I haven't even been invited to go out for drinks since I came back. It was like high school and I was a loner who sat alone in the cafeteria. I should be glad though. They weren't being overly friendly just because they saw me sucking faces with Angel Lastor on the tabloids. I half-expected that but instead, they avoided me like the black plague. Which wasn't any better.
I was tempted to hand in my resignation just to end it already, but I decided not to care anymore. It was easier not to care, especially when I knew they probably heard about the latest gossip for the week. The Angel Lastor and Andre Gustav engagement, bringing together one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in the world through their marriage.
It's been all over the news, pictures of Andre kneeling before her and them kissing plastered on every magazine and paper, forever ruining the Sunday crossword for me. It almost felt like I was being punished for ever thinking I had a shot with someone like her.
After clocking out of my shift at midnight, I spent the rest of the night watching National Geographic on TV, pounding one beer after another while eating last night's left over pizza since I had yet to buy groceries.
I had been working to the drain, pulling off sixteen hour shifts just to keep myself occupied. I even got my weekends filled. By two am, I was close to passing out and somewhere along the way, I did, waking up with a start, inebriated and half-asleep. Still, I was acutely aware of someone sitting on my stomach.
I blinked repeatedly, a sudden surge of adrenaline filling me, but as the face registered in my half-conscious state, I relaxed.
"Angel?" I whispered, not sure if I was dreaming or not. I wouldn't be surprised if I was, she's been haunting my dreams lately.
"I'm not okay," she cried, lowering herself and embracing me. "I'm not okay. I'm not okay."
For a moment, I wasn't sure what to do, but when I felt her tears on my skin as she buried her face in my neck, my arms came around her, holding her tightly.
"Ssshh. I'm here. I'm here," I assured her, my arms tightening even more when a broken sob escaped her.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," she cried.
I kissed her shoulder, feeling the coldness of her skin against my lips.
"I'm here. It's okay."
"Don't let me go. Please don't. I don't want you to go," she begged, her body shaking at each sob.
I screwed my eyes shut, holding her tightly as her words took a grip of me.
"Never. I'll never let go."
"I'm so sorry," she cried.
"It's okay, baby. It's going to be okay."
As she cried, I held her. At every pleading she made, I assured her. At every apology, I told her it was okay. I didn't care if this was a dream, I got to hold her again. I got to kiss her again. I got to hear her voice again. That was enough.
When I woke up to the sound of my alarm blaring the next morning, I didn't care that I was alone. I could still smell the scent of strawberries in her hair and feel the coldness of her skin on my fingers. That was more than enough, knowing it wasn't a dream.
Every night since, it became a routine.
She would come in the middle of the night and I would hold her till I fell asleep. We wouldn't do anything, but just hold each other and fall asleep together. As if it was the only way we could ever sleep. For me, it was. I couldn't sleep without her anymore.
Every night I would wait for her like the pathetic man that I was and when she came eventually, I'd be knocked out instantly. I didn't know how she got in nor did I care. As long as she came, I didn't care.
Every morning when I woke up, I'd be alone again. I hated it, that she always left. I hated that she would beg for me to never leave her and yet she constantly left me. But still, I never asked for more. If this was all I got, I was taking it.
Tonight was like every other night. When I came home, exhausted from my grueling schedule, I showered and went to bed, incapable of falling asleep. By three in the morning, I heard my front door creak open. I still wondered how she got in, I wouldn't put it past her that she picked the lock.
I laid on my side, listening to her movements as the sound of her light footsteps neared. When she came into the room, she barely made a sound and yet her presence was enough to give her away. She could simply exist and it would haunt me, the phantom feeling of her next to me even with her so far.
I could hear her stripping her clothes off. Her boots. Her jacket. And then I felt the bed dip and I couldn't help it anymore. I turned, practically dragging her towards me, my arms immediately holding her tightly.
Her hair smelled like strawberries still, but like every other night, she reeked of alcohol, mixing along the faint scent of smoke and sweat. I didn't say a thing. It was too soon to say anything. She would leave if I made one wrong move.
We fell asleep together and for the first time, I woke up before her. I just held her, watching her sleep. I wanted to savor whatever remaining time I still had with her before she inevitably walked out my door again. To make this stolen moment last.
As I took her in, I noticed the bruises on her body. They were awful, discolored patches and scattered all over her skin, the sight of them twisting my chest. Slowly, I placed my palm on her stomach, careful not to touch her scars as I brushed my fingers on a particularly large bruise spread over her ribs, wondering if she'd done this to herself. She had mentioned it before, seeking release through violence.
What was she trying to be rid of this time? Or perhaps, someone else wanted to rid her of something she wouldn't let go of.
Anthony Lastor's image came to mind, the image of him beneath the perfectly manipulated mask he showed the world. Jude, despite our friendship, always carried himself in a way that made it clear he was not to be taken lightly, and Angel has been an even more intimidating figure from the moment I met her. I consciously disregarded it, their true nature, because I had a feeling if I allowed it to affect my treatment of them, then I wouldn't be able to exist in their lives. But their father, on the other hand, was on a completely different level, to a point that I instinctively knew, disregarding any part of him would be at my peril.
The dormant sense of intimidation I felt in Jude's and Angel's presence couldn't be compared to the way the mere image of their father looking at me like I was some worthless filth that was staining his sight kept haunting me. It wasn't just fear, but also an undeniable resentment towards the fact that to him, someone like me was truly worthless.
I remembered how Angel had knelt before him, pleading in my behalf and submitting so easily to him. Even to Jude, whom she literally lived for, she never showed such appalling compliance, but just a single command from him had her accepting defeat. It was horrifying. Jarring. And so clearly abusive.
As I stared at the bruises and scars on her body, I began to wonder; if he could do that to her, what else was he capable of doing? No, to begin with, what has he done to make her be that way? What did it take for him to break her like this? How do I save her?
I heard a faint whimper and my eyes snapped over to Angel's face, our gazes locking together. I yanked my hand off her, but she quickly placed it back on her stomach.
"Don't stop," she whispered but I could hear in her voice how much it hurt. See in her eyes the pain that came with being touched.
I sucked in a sharp breath, shaking my head. "No."
"Touch me. Please," she pleaded.
"No."
I pulled my hand back and wrapped my arms around her, tucking her head under my chin.
"I want to feel you touch me. Please," she whispered, trying to pull back, but I kept my hold on her tight.
I closed my eyes, my chest clenching. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't."
Temptation. It was the most powerful sin there is. It had me succumbing and letting my hand stray to her abdomen. She tensed immediately, her breathing halting. I watched her as I let my fingers brush her scars and her breathing suddenly quickened while her eyes said it all. It hurt her beyond what words could ever say. I stopped, ripping my hand off her.
"Don't stop," she whimpered, her voice breaking.
She reached for my hand again but I yanked it out of her grip.
"What are you doing?" I snapped.
"I'm trying," she said, tears escaping the edges of her eyes.
My brows furrowed in confusion and then the penny dropped. She was trying. Trying for me.
I shook my head. "Don't. I don't need it."
"What do you need? What can I give you to make this enough?" she said, begging.
"This is enough, baby," I assured her, cupping her cheeks and brushing away her tears. "This is all I need."
She shook her head, her face breaking as her tears fell like an avalanche.
"That's not true. This isn't enough. It's not enough. I could never be enough for you!" she cried out, pushing me away as she got off the bed.
Panic came to me in a rush when I realized she was going to leave.
"So this is how it's going to be then, huh?" I snapped as I got up. "You sneak into my bed every night and then go back to your husband when the sun comes up?"
She stilled as she was picking up her clothes. I took advantage of it and rounded up the bed, standing in front of her. I grabbed her clothes and threw them to the side, reaching around the back of her head and gripping fistful of her hair.
"You're not enough for me?" I pressed our foreheads together. "Then stop leaving, Angel. Stop being a fucking coward and actually stay."
She glared at me and I ignored the tears in her eyes because the anger and frustration that I've been supressing at having her constantly leaving me like I really was the worthless stain her father saw me as was becoming overwhelming.
"Every night, I lay awake on my bed, waiting for my front door to open. Waiting for you like some pathetic little man because all I want is to hold you. And every morning, I have to wake up alone because I'm not good enough to be with you. Do I complain? Do I ask for more? Do I tell you not to go? No. Never. If being your dirty little secret is the only way I can have you, then this is enough for me. It's not my fault it's not enough for you."
She closed her eyes. "It hurts," she whispered, slowly opening her eyes, fresh tears falling down her cheeks. "Leaving you hurts so much, but I'll hurt you more if I stay."
"Every time I wake up without you, I die inside," I hissed. "Trust me. There is nothing you could do that would possibly hurt more than this."
She faced me with an empty gaze. It pissed me off.
"Don't do that right now!"
Her eyes hardened, the only sign I was getting on her nerves. I pushed myself away from her, raking my fingers through my hair as I paced, feeling like I was losing my mind. One second I was holding her and then I blinked, and she was slipping through my fingers again.
I dropped myself on the bed, clutching my head. "Why does it have to be like this?"
"Because we can't be together, Rick," she said so coldly, it stung. "Do yourself a favor and find someone else. Someone who can actually give you the things I never can."
"Don't you get it?!" I yelled. "I can't be with anyone else because all I fucking want is you!"
She faltered, her mask nearly falling off. But she was stubborn and kept it on.
She shook her head. "You can't have me, Frederick."
I stood. "No. I can. I already had you," I hissed, pulling her back to me. "I still have you."
I crushed my lips against hers, my hand coming up to hold the back of her head, gripping her hair tightly in my fist. She groaned in protest, trying to push me away but I pushed back, pressing my body against hers as I cornered her against the wall, my lips painfully pressed on hers.
I bit her lower lip, her hot breath sending a current that shot below the belt and I undulated my front against her abdomen, feeling her tremble in my arms. That was all I needed as I forced my tongue into her mouth.
The kiss was brutal. Forceful. Filled with anger and frustration. It was almost passionless, unlike any of our kisses. But still, I felt the way I always did when I was with her. Alive. She blew life into my once monotonous world. She gave me more purpose. Made me break out of the confines I hadn't realized I've put myself in. I couldn't let her go when she was the only thing holding me together.
"Rick..."
Her voice. I knew that voice. It was my Angel. Filled with so much of everything she denied to feel. Filled with burning passion that made me putty. I wasn't ashamed of it. I was hers in more ways than one. She consumed me. The fairness of it all was I knew I consumed her too.
"You're mine, Angel Lastor," I whispered harshly.
"Always," she whispered back.
I knew it right then, I was ruined for anyone else.