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"Well, you can't sleep and never wake up. I'm too busy to organize your funeral right now, in case you haven't heard, I'm supposed to get engaged and I'm not in the mood for looking for another woman who can actually hold her liqueur."
"Dieasshole."
"You're right, you're not a bitch at all." He kisses me on the cheek, jumps to his feet and leaves.
Over the course of however long, I manage to sit up, lie back down, sit up, and fall back down again, but it must be at least twenty minutes because Matthias knocks on the door and there's nowhere in the West Village where you can get breakfast in less than twenty minutes.
I contemplate letting him stay out there, but at some point, I'm going to want to eat whatever greasy thing he's brought back. "Coming. Geez, why didn't you take the keys?"
I pick up his shirt that still has my scent on it, wrap it around me and make my way to the front door, hoping that no one else will be around.
"Next time, take the damn key, Matthi—"
I stop.
It's not Matthias.
"Hey Clarissa, looks like you started the party without me."
***
Nine months ago
"Clarissa. Are you crying? Oh, my dear, come here. Tell Uncle Gerry what's going on. Is this about Damien?"
I don't know where he came from, but it's actually comforting to see a familiar face at the bar. Not only because the bartender has threatened to cut me off.
"He needs to pay, Gerry. He can't do this to me. No one messes with a Masters!" I quote my father and thank him for instilling me with a sense of familial pride.
He gestures to the bartender to bring me another drink. "I know, dear, I know. And what are you going to do about it?"
"What can I do? He's a Baxter, I can't touch him."
Gerry pats my hand and slides his chair a little closer, a smile on his face. "Well, I'm a Baxter too, sweetheart, or have you forgotten that? In fact, I'm the most powerful Baxter. And I'm not going to let my nephew do this to you. You deserve better. So, we're going to have a drink and talk about what can be done, okay? And maybe we can come up with some ideas on how to make sure that he doesn't get away with this."
"You think so?"
"Oh, sweetheart, if you and I put our heads together, there's nothing we can't do."
***
Present Day
Gerry.
Gerry Baxter, the man behind my downfall.
The Baxter that triggers my anxiety and reminds me about every mistake I ever made.
What is he doing here?
I move to close the door in his face but he stops it, sticking his foot inside my club. Like a slug, he drags his eyes over my body making me feel even more exposed than I actually am. My arms wrap around my body, trying to hide it from him. But is there really any point? He's seen it all before.
"What do you want, Gerry?" I ask, my voice teetering on the tightrope between fear and anger.
He smirks, enjoying my obvious discomfort. "Well, I've been trying to call you, sweetheart. Call, text, email... but you haven't responded. I was getting worried about you."
"Well, I'm fine." No thanks to you, you slimy fuck. "You can go now."
