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The sudden imagery of the funeral hits me, my dead husband coming soon after. I crumple to the ground, knees buckling under the vision, and then the memory of what he did hits home. It was that woman. What was her name? Deborah. He fucked her behind my back and then died. Bleak and barren. I laugh lowly, my fingers tapping the floor and my eyes looking at the thin gold chain on my wrist. My life is what’s bleak and barren. Widowed. Alone. But Gray Rothburg. Gray was real. And I was with him, linked by this gold strand of chain.
“Gray,” croaks out of me. “Where are you?”
A calm settles back into me, as I lay on the floor and keep tapping my finger. A sullen, melancholic calm maybe, but it’s better than the irrationality I was just in before I remembered what my life is. I rub my cheek on the carpet, grating it back and forth for reality in this place. It hurts after a while, itches and scratches. I don’t mind that. It’s enjoyable, grounding. It’s tangible against whatever this room is around me.
I don’t know how long time goes on before I hear the door creak. I twist my gaze to look at it, my body still curled up on the floor, and keep tapping the carpet under my finger. Shoes appear. Shiny shoes with laces. Black trousers. I watch them move to me, and then watch as a hand presents itself in front of my eyes.Gray.I don’t recognise the look of the hand, but I do recognise the smell for some reason. I can taste it on my tongue, as if it’s been in my mouth.
“Hannah?”
I keep grating my cheek, trying to make sure this is real, and gaze upwards a little. He looks down at me, scowling eyes meeting mine. I should be scared of a look like that, like I was of the monster, but I’m not. It’s real to me. Dark and black under the shadow he’s making against the chandeliers. I can see the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw foreboding and ominous above me. I smile at it, remembering it as we cut through tunnels to the place I was in before here.
“Where am I?” I mumble.
“In Malachi’s guest wing. Recovering.”
“Malachi?”
“Jones. I believe you met his wife earlier – Faith.”
I don’t remember a Faith. I only remember monsters and veins in faces, people dancing around me, laughing. At me.
“You left me.”
“You don’t like to dance?”
“Yes. No.” My thoughts blur. I don’t know. Not like that.
“I wasn’t going to stop you having fun. It’s what you’re here for.”
His hand reaches closer, attempting to touch me or get me up. I scuttle backwards, retreating further under the curtains I’m near. I don’t want to move, even into him. I want to stay and think, lay in my misery and melancholy. “There were veins in faces, Gray. Monsters. He held me, wouldn’t let me go,” I mumble.
A shiver rides over my exposed skin as I hear him sigh. It’s only then that I realise I’m in my underwear, lace panties and bra on show. Not that it matters, he’s seen me be fucked by a man I didn’t know. My eyes widen – that really happened.
My finger stops its tap, as the memory beds in and makes me smile wider and laugh a little. Drugs. I remember the pills now. Blue, white, orange. I wonder what that man’s name was. He was tall. Blonde ruffled hair, as if it styling had been abandoned. Hard muscles. Big. Tattoos.
My thighs scrunch together, memories of being taken flooding me.
“Malachi isn’t a monster, Hannah. Mostly,” Gray says, sitting on the floor near me. That was Malachi? A woman said that earlier, said he owned the place. Gray leans his back on the wall, legs long in front of me. “You tripped out. That’s all.”
That’s all.
I lift my body slightly, getting closer to him with the move, as if drawn there. He’s looking at me, his forearms perched on his knees and legs bent. No jacket or tie now. Just an open collar on a white shirt. His throat bobs, as if he’s swallowing something down rather than saying it.
“What next?” I ask.
“What do you mean what next?”
My finger taps my head, body inching closer to him. “I don’t want this in here, Gray. You said you’d distract me. There’s a dead husband in here now. He’s messing with me and making me remember things. Terrible, tragic things.”
“I didn’t say I’d distract you Hannah. I said this place beneath us would. And I think you’ve had enough.”
“Beneath?”
He nods and moves away from me, his body rising from the floor to create distance. I watch him pace over to the bed, his fingers dragging along the length of the crumpled sheets. His hands go to his pockets as he stares at them, a shake to his head, and then he turns to look at me again.
“Get up. I’ll take you home.” What?
No.
