Twisted Ever After Page 6

  My second thought is that she's the woman from the photos in Mrs. Amberden's room. Only older, with gray hair and frailer bones.

  It's Mrs. Amberden.

  I nearly trip down the stairs as I run down.

  "Jake!" I yell, but I don't wait for him. I can't risk her disappearing, and she seems like smoke in that way— dissipating within seconds after a fire has been set. I run out the door. My heart is beating a lot faster than it should be for the short distance that I've run, but I keep going, turning the corner so sharply that I nearly twist my ankle.

  But she's gone.

  Doubt pushes at my temples. Could I have imagined her? Have I been so desperate to find her that I concocted an imaginary version of an older her?

  I keep walking through the side yard. There's a tall stone wall outlining our property, but there is a small gate in the corner that she could have used. I'm either crazy, or she was in enough of a hurry that she managed to get through that gate before I ran out here.

  I don't believe in ESP or any of those supernatural concepts, so I must hear a step or feel the wind shift around a body because I lurch away as someone reaches to grab me.

  "Relax, Ellie, it's me!" Robin raises his hands to show he's defenseless. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry. So sorry, but Electric had some new ideas for the centerpieces that she wanted me to show you. I tried to explain to her that you'd made your final decision, but she was pleading and talking about how this could be a huge break for her, even though she's already worked with a dozen more famous people— no offense. I have a few things in the car, but I saw you, so I just came walking over. Again, I'm sorry. You looked a little lost. Are you okay?"

  I find myself relaxing as Robin's usual chatter drowns some of my other thoughts. "What new ideas could she have possibly come up with? She didn't actually buy snakes, did she?"

  "No, no. Nothing like that. It's things like lava lamps and a candle that melts to reveal fake engagement rings."

  I glance around us, half my mind waiting for Mrs. Amberden to come sprinting straight through the wall. "I think we should just stick with the chocolates."

  "That's what I tried to tell her. Okay, I'll just take the other things back. Seriously, though, are you okay? You look shaken up. You look like someone who saw a whole choir of ghosts.

  I shake my head. "It's nothing. It’s… I just might be losing my mind, so… it’s just the same old thing that's always happening."

  "Come on, Ellie. You're not crazy. You're just trying to do a little too much too quickly. You're like Superman, trying to save a whole skyscraper full of people, but you know you can't save them all. Just take a deep breath. Pretend it's like any other day in the life of the famous Ellie Rue— soon to be Ellie Amberden."

  I groan. "Don't remind me of that. I have to change my name on everything. I'd keep my last name if I didn't prefer Amberden so much more. My elementary classmates used to call me Ellie Kangaroo. And I never thought it was cute like they did.”

  He wraps his arm around me, pulling me into a loose hug. "Just breathe, Ellie. It's just a wedding. In Hollywood, you're bound to have two more."

  I hit him in the arm. He laughs and pulls me in closer. His body is muscular like Jake's, but it only seems to cause his body to jab into parts of my body. It's like he's a weirdly attractive tumor, pressing into my ribs.

  I hear the footsteps this time, the steps heavy and brisk. I tug away from Robin just as Jake throws a punch, slamming straight into Robin's jaw. Robin stumbles back, clutching one side of his face.

  "What the fuck," Robin mumbles. There's a faint trace of blood on his lips. He must have bitten his tongue.

  I step in between Robin and Jake as Jake takes a step forward, his fists clenched together tightly. In this moment, seeing the unbridled intent he has on hurting Robin, I can see his father in him. It's the exact same way Mr. Amberden had looked at me.

  It takes a second for Jake to register that what's impeding him from reaching Robin is me. He forces a smile.

  "Ellie, get out of the way."

  "No."

  "Ellie," he repeats. "This is a matter of respect between men. He knows what he's doing. If he thinks I'm going to play nice just because he can go crying to the paparazzi later, he has a whole other reality that's going to be hitting him very, very soon."

  He lunges forward. I hear Robin stumble back several steps behind me before falling onto the ground. I take a couple of steps backward to stand in front of Jake again. I slowly place my hand on Jake's chest, staring directly at him until he looks back down at me.

  "I'm going to say this once. I am not some maiden to be won. I am not a symbol of respect. It is impossible for someone to whisk me away from you unless I willingly choose to go with them and that would be my choice. Do you understand that, Jake?”

  "Ellie…” he starts.

  "I need to know that you understand that.”

  "I get it," he says. "You know that I don't see you that way, but I know other men. I'm surrounded by the biggest assholes you'll find in the country, all of the time. Robin’s fucking around with us. He's happy that this discussion is even happening."

  "Why would he want to break us up?" I ask, trying to keep my voice calm. Trying to talk some sense into him. "He's our wedding planner. He's getting paid a good amount to be our wedding planner. He's the one that suggested the hotel that we're going to tonight. Why would he break us apart? It's just you, Jake. You're getting cold feet, so you're trying to mess this up for us."

  "I'm not getting cold feet."

  "Your father planted doubts in your head. You already told me that. I know you haven't had the best example for a marriage, but…”

  Robin takes a step forward, entering my periphery on my left. His hands wipe the shreds of grass off his pants. "Maybe you two should take a breather until tonight. A little time apart might be good."

  "Shut the fuck up, Robin," Jake snaps.

  "Jake," I state. "He's right. You said you had to work a couple of hours on set anyway. Let's just spend the afternoon apart and we'll meet up at the hotel tonight and figure out what we need to do."

  His blue eyes darken, and looking at them I feel like I've plunged into the center of the ocean. It's a coming storm, but it's more dark clouds to obscure himself than lightning to cause damage.

  A smarter woman would jerk away from him when he reaches for me, but I don't. His hand lands on my shoulder before caressing down my arm and grasping my hand. He squeezes it for a split second before letting go and walking toward the front of the house.

  I turn to Robin. "Are you okay?"

  He rubs his jaw, which has already turned brick red. "I'll be fine. I should just get home and ice it."

  "You can come inside…”

  "Can I?" he retorts. He forces a smile. "It's fine, Ellie. It's not the first time I've dealt with a jealous fiancé. This may be the wrong job for a man, but I love helping people like you."

  He reaches forward like he's going to touch me, but he stops himself.

  "Is there another way out of here other than the front entrance?" he asks. "I don't want to risk running into Jake. At least until everything calms down. I promise you I'm not a complete coward, but I'm fairly certain that punch wasn't intended to be that hard, considering you were between the two of us, and it was still a very effective punch… so I think it's in my best interest to not figure out what his full strength is."

  I point to the corner door within the stone wall. "There's a gate door there. You can just walk around to get your car."

  "Thanks, Ellie." He gives me another smile before walking away. Images race through my mind: Jake's mother, Robin with his bruised jaw, Jake and how similar he looked like his father in that one moment.

  I cover my face with my hands as I hear the frantic words of paparazzi shouting at someone. They've either cornered Jake or Robin. I can only pray that Jake doesn't punch out anybody else.

  The next lyrics drain out of me like there's a syringe in
my arm.

  I'll love you in the light, in the dark

  and in the afterglow…

  Of the fires we caused

  Because we're a dopamine inferno.

  * * *

  Jake

  The feeling of helplessness dominated my childhood and feeling it creeping in feels like inevitable karma. First, you live under someone's thumb, then you develop a big enough reputation that others scurry under you, and then you realize all the glory and bloodshed that comes from power only puts a massive target on your back. I could only live as a giant for so long amongst men before men decided I needed to be killed.

  After nearly everyone has left the set, a long-legged strawberry blonde strides up to me. She's playing Ryan's love interest in this music video. I didn't think she was interesting enough to look at to be playing the role, but Ryan insisted on it because she had sucked his dick once. Or maybe he saw some talent in her that hasn't presented itself in the last couple of weeks.

  "Hey," she says, sitting down in the chair beside me— the chair that's meant for Ryan. She crosses her legs, her elevated foot nearly brushing against my leg. "You seemed a bit down today. I've got some pure shit if you want a little pick-me-up."

  I glance at her. It wasn't long ago that I'd jump on the chance— that I'd jump on her. It was indirectly what led me back to Ellie. Another coked-up model, desperate for something I won’t or can’t give her.

  She puts her hand on my knee. "We can keep it a secret. I'll tell everyone that the stress had gotten to me and you were just being a gentleman, comforting me in my house— as long as you promise to not truly be a gentleman. I like to be used like a rag doll and tossed like a rag cloth… if you know what I mean."

  "You're not exactly being subtle," I say. I take her hand, marveling at the boniness of her fingers and how cold they are. Just like a corpse. An oddly beautiful, yet boring corpse. "I'm engaged."

  "I know," she says, a small southern drawl coming out as she leans closer to me. "And I've heard rumors that things aren't going great. And I've heard that you haven't had a bachelor party. Don't you want to use your last days of freedom to fuck me until the only word I know is your name?"

  I can imagine it, no doubt. Those long legs, draped on either side of an armchair, while I thrust into her twig body with reckless abandon, and her southern accent coming out in full-force as she says my name— but every time I look down at her face, it changes to Ellie. Even as I flip her over, I know it's Ellie. I know the curve where Ellie's waist changes to her hips. I know how to touch the small of her back to make her shudder and the way her ass moves when I'm inside her.

  More than that, I know that when I'm around her, being a better man is easier. Being a selfish asshole had seemed like a great life choice before I started dating her, but being with her, the need to be an asshole just feels like a defense mechanism that is constantly failing.

  Except for now.

  "Samantha." I squeeze her hand hard enough that she winces. "I'm sure you're a lovely woman who will find the perfect man one day, but your disregard for my fiancee is revolting and if you demean her like that again, I will be all those awful things the media says I am. You'll see how much of a merciless egomaniac I can be."

  Her calm demeanor becomes stiff. She has to tug her hand twice before I let it out of my grasp. She fumbles with her small purse, unclasping and clasping it.

  "I'm sorry," she mumbles. "I didn't mean to be disrespectful."

  I watch her stand up and walk out toward the door. I check my phone— no new messages or phone calls. Ellie had said she'd meet me at the hotel at seven, but after our fight, I wouldn't blame her for leaving me alone with the mini bar.

  I grit my teeth. This situation might make me feel helpless, but I know the only way to overcome it is to carve a path and pray that life's deluge will flow down it. Or just build an ark and let the flood come.

  * * *

  I slide the key across the hotel room's censor. When I walk into the room, there's a scent of jasmine permeating the room. The massive bed in the center of the room is covered with a large white comforter, making it resemble a cloud. In front of the bed, there are rose petals that form several hearts. In the center heart, there's a glass of wine and two bottles on a silver platter.

  I close the door. As I grab the wine bottle, I note my knuckles for the thousandth time today. They're only slightly tinged blue, but they used to be like this all of the time. I used to provoke fights— to get attention, to prove myself, to demand respect, just because I liked the control it gave me over other people's emotions. It's pitiful now, but back then it was just who I was. Maybe it's who I still am, which means I'm even less worthy of Ellie than I thought.

  I set the wine bottle down and check the clock. It's 6:55 pm. I should have stayed at the bar until it was a couple of minutes until seven. Being here alone, waiting, is already making me feel like the walls are closing in.

  I rub my left eye. I know I should be showering and trying to make myself as attractive as possible, but directing this music video might kill me. I need to remember to work with a bunch of nobodies next time because working with A-list and B-list stars is just like begging to work with people with bigger egos than Julius Caesar, worse mental issues than King Henry VIII, and more inclined toward joining cults than, well, anyone. I used to thrive on that chaos, but I also used to do coke, so my hobbies weren't the healthiest.

  I kick off my shoes and plop down on the bed. I readjust my head on the pillow, but it still feels strangely stiff for a five-star hotel.

  Something is wrong. Something on the edge of my mind is begging for my attention, but everything has been so chaotic, it keeps getting lost in the mess. I should call the police to see if there's been any progress in finding my mother, but I have a much deeper urge to call Ellie. If she's going to break my heart, I'd rather be gone from here and snorting coke with some unknown models. With them, the sex might just be a quest to blow my load, but I know they want my fame and money and they know I just want to conquer them. It's simple. There are no strings attached, so I'm just enjoying the free fall.

  I punch the pillow, trying to get it to not be a useless, rigid lump. My bruised knuckles hit against something that has no intention of yielding. I lift up the pillow.

  It looks like a large black rock with its contours eroded to expose a light brown shade. At least, it does until I notice the wooden handle, the metal clasp, and the worn initials of my grandfather— MDR.

  My grandfather had passed this physician's bag down to my mother.

  What the fuck.

  I shove myself up off the bed. There's a ringing in my ears that reminds me of the high-pitched squeaking sound of a guitarist sliding his fingers over the fretboard to play a different chord. The rose petals on the floor look like blood and the rest of the room feels too sterile.

  Something is wrong. The words reverberate in my brain again like a fire alarm. How could this bag possibly be here? Had my mother overheard Ellie talking about meeting me here and decided to stash this as some kind of message? Why would she pull bullshit like that?

  She wouldn't. Something else is going on.

  I hear the beep of the door being unlocked. I spin around and watch Ellie step in. Ellie is the only other person who knew we were meeting here.

  "I'm sorry I'm late," she says, setting her bag on the leather bench and shrugging off her coat. "The paparazzi were all over and I know it's only going to get worse the closer we get to the wedding, but they’re insane right now. I ended up parking near Jacob's Pub and walking out their back door to this hotel in order to avoid them. And…”

  I step toward her so abruptly that she jerks back, looking at me like I'm a threat. Maybe I am.

  "What's going on?" I demand, throwing the physician's bag between us. She stares down at it.

  "What are you talking about? What is that? Where did you get it?"

  "It was in the room," I say. "A room that you wanted and a room that you were
conveniently late arriving to."

  "Are you insane?" she asks. "Why would I put some old bag in our room and why are you so upset about it? It's just a bag. Maybe it belongs to one of the housekeepers."

  "It belongs to my mother."

  She blinks several times, her jaw slackening. "What? What do you mean it belongs to your mother?”

  "I mean, my grandfather gave it to her. She took it with her sometimes instead of a purse."

  "Well…that makes sense," she says, taking a small step forward. "We noticed she had left her purse behind. She must have taken the bag."

  "And then left it here? You think she was eavesdropping on our morning conversation?"

  "I did think I saw her this morning…" she mutters. I stare at her, trying to read her face. Every instinct in me is telling me to trust her, to believe that there is another reason that this bag is here, but I know my instincts haven't always been right. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm like my father in the way that I'm guided by rage and my devotion to a phenomenal woman. Despite all of my father's rantings about my mother, he would have rather died than let her divorce him.

  I grab the bag off the floor. It has so many meanings associated with it— love, family, legacy, a mother's absence. I cut my teeth on my father's suspicion of my mother's faithfulness, so it makes sense that when I clench my jaw now, that distrust is still in my mouth, ready to be spoken.

  "I have to go," I say, letting every word come out with careful consideration. From my parent's marriage, I know better than anyone that once words leave someone's mouth, they can't ever be eaten back up. They'll always exist in the world.

  "Are you coming back?" she asks as I walk around her and grab the door handle. Now that I think about it, it's strange that I never asked my mother the same question in those times she disappeared. Maybe I knew she'd always come back.