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I stare aimlessly, keys still in my hand, and try to think about what’s next. There isn’t anything. Nothing. The thought makes me look at myself in the mirror, my fingers touching the diamond necklace around my neck. Anniversary present. Another lie. It breaks off my neck and falls to the floor as easily as my memories, the links of diamonds strewn out on the carpets as if they’re worthless. Just like me and the invention of life I’ve been living in. Maybe I should change myself, make a new me. He said that, too. Told me grieving was pointless. Hmm. Different hair for a start. Darker. I‘ve got some hair dye somewhere, my ode to possibly keeping things spicy for a man who didn’t deserve anything from me.
I kick off my heels and strip the dress and underwear from my skin, discarding both with little care to where they land. They’re nothing but another falsehood, their black colour showing a respect for death I no longer honour. I’ll shower again and cleanse myself of the day before thoroughly. Maybe then I can find a new direction, or thought process. Until then I’ll wallow and wade through the remnants of what’s left in my thoughts. Maybe drink again.
Chapter 10
Gray
Twenty minutes into the journey, and I and check my messages. Nothing of importance. Nothing to divert me from the guilt of last night either. I sigh and lean my head back for a few moments, eyes staring out at the countryside around me as it goes by. Rolling fields of heather and wild flowers pass by, the expanse of them diluting the reason they’re here. It’s done now, though. Four hours of memories. Some time to think and talk. There’s usually nothing else on a day like this, but today there is. Today has become filled with thoughts of yesterday and laughter, of last night and the feel of a woman. Hannah Tanner. What a fucking name. She should have not married Richard Tanner for that reason alone, let alone the fact that he was a cheating fuck.
The roads end up passing around me without me thinking about them. I don’t have to anymore. They’ve become so familiar I barely acknowledge them each time I’m driven here. The scent from the flowers still fills the car. Always does. Subtle notes reminding me of times past. Hannah didn’t smell like them. She smelt of something stronger, more potent. A half-hearted chuckle comes out of me as I remember her. Curse words and all that determination coming from her mouth. She meant them all last night. She talked of getting on with her life, of finding real and living it. Men fucking? That seemed high on her list of seeing reality. It’s something I could show her, something I could offer.
We pull out onto the open freeway, leaving the fields and heading for something more concrete instead, and I mull the thought of her around in my mind. Taking an outsider in would be rash. She’s not one of them, won’t be able to consider it rational either. I’m not even sure it is rational. It has just become my rational sometimes.
I smile at the thought, amused at the idea of fresh blood in there and his response to it. It’s not the right thing to do, though. The right thing to do would be to leave her alone so she can manage her life without her husband in it anymore. She’ll grieve, and then grieve some more, and eventually she’ll pull herself out of the squalor she’ll rest in for a while.
My smile drops from my face, a frown covering it. The thought of that squalor annoys the hell out of me for some reason. She doesn’t deserve to linger in it.
Shedid nothing to deserve it.
An hour later and the car pulls into the underground parking. Tom cuts the engine and looks back at me. “Anywhere else you need to be today, Sir?” No.
I shake my head, trying to stop my mind warring with itself about right and wrong before I get out. It’s been a long time since I considered something other than my normal, though, and while the singularity I’ve been in has been both calming and reassuring in ways, it’s also been desolate.
“Sir?” Tom looks at me again, his head tilted as if asking why I’m still idling in the back of this car. I know the feeling. I don’t know why either. I should be in the lab by now, researching. Instead, I’m here considering something I shouldn’t be considering at all.
Words grumble beneath my breath, words I don’t even comprehend, as I get out and slam the damn door. I’m into the elevator and getting my card out before I think anymore. I need to get a grip of reality, remember who I am and what my point on this planet is these days. The thought doesn’t seem to stop my eyes looking at the eighth floor button, though. It’s tempting. She is.
I flip my card in my hand, holding it back from going into the penthouse slot, and check the time. Eight pm. It’s not too late, and I would just be checking on her after last night. I frown again and look at myself in the mirror. I’m not checking in on her at all and I know it. I’m thinking about what it would be like to fuck her. And not only am I thinking about that, but I’m thinking about taking her somewhere I haven’t been for a long time so I can entertain myself with that thought.
Regardless of the stupidity, I’m pressing the eighth floor button before I realise I’m doing it. The cart moves quickly, both doors sliding open within a minute. I stand on the precipice and frown, partly amused at the notion that that is exactly what it is. This would be a step outside comfort zones I’ve kept harsh and delineated to rationalise the behaviour. And now I’m thinking of a woman with a particular interest in mind, one who might tempt me into being more than just a wealthy recluse that goes out occasionally. It’s still beyond me why I even went to that damn wake in the first place.
My card knocks against my hand as I hover here, my gaze directed at the fourth door on the left. That’s where she is. Without a husband. And without a clear path forward. I flick my gaze to my shoes, wondering what sort of clear path I could offer her. My life is less clear than most, and with no hope of anything lasting for her either. Whatever I show her, or get into with her, will have a time limit that I’ll draw down when I’m done with her. No connection. No love or sense of happiness. It will only be an awakening for her, a new direction.
Or a diversion from this lie she’s been in.
I walk forwards slowly, still tapping my card on my hand in thought. Each steps becomes more laboured, as is the direction I’m playing with. Right or wrong. She’ll just be a plaything. Nothing more than that. Something to perhaps divert me as much as her. I should be honest about that. Make sure she sees nothing other than the reality of the circumstance.
Two sharp knocks before I change my mind and I wait. No one answers. Probably best. I nod at the floor and start turning back for the elevator, accepting the facts. The door creaks open the second I do, just her head and slicked back hair coming out of it sideways. She looks me over from head to toe, less than no reaction in her features, and then goes back inside leaving the door open.
I turn back slowly and ease the door wider, instantly noticing clothes discarded on the floor beneath my feet. “Are you dressed?” I call, looking around at more scattered items and clothes.
“Maybe,” comes back at me. “Or maybe not. Do you mind?” A smile tips my lips.
“Not necessarily.”
I walk further in and find her on the couch, a glass of red wine in her hand and a nearly empty bottle on the side table. Silence for a minute, as I look around, taking in the apartment. It’s cluttered with empty packaging discarded about, a few pieces of artwork and photos lying around.
“Drink?” she asks. I turn back to look at her, taking in the near sheer black dressing robe she’s wearing first, and then I notice the hair. Not wet, just darker than the blonde she was. “There’s some in the wine rack in the kitchen.”
“You’re dressed. Annoying.”
“Well, I’m not an easy lay anymore. Men will have to work for it as of yesterday. I’ve changed”
“Noted.”
She looks back at me sharply, a venom in her eyes that wasn’t there yesterday while we drank. I contemplate the reaction, taking my time to analyse where I go from here. More silence. It’s interesting to me given her mouth running away from her last night. All night.
“And this harsh outlook is the new you?” I ask, pushing some crumpled paper off a chair to sit. “New hair and attitude?”
