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ALIX
* * *
This is how Leo has lived for years. All this time, I thought he was weak, that he was broken. But now I understand.
The Crash has opened parts of my brain that have always been locked away.
Here’s the secret I learn, one week into taking Crash: the music is my angel. She first came to me in Herzog’s study. She showed me how to leave my body when Herzog and his brothers hurt me. She fed me strawberries that tasted like diamonds, and she sang to me.
The music is her voice. The music is my angel folding me in her wings and keeping me safe in a world that holds men like the Herzog brothers.
And now that I’ve found her again, now that I know she’s always here around me, I’ll never leave her again.
That’s why I stop going to my office, over in the freeport tower. I don’t want to fill my brain with computer messages and ringing telephones and dozens of people talking about meaningless business details.
And that’s why I stop going to my gallery, to the library Trap gave me. All the paintings I could ever want live inside my mind now. The angel paints them for me, using colors I’ve never seen before. She sings them into my soul, remapping my cells to match her designs.
And that’s why I move into the guest room. Now, I can stay awake all night, without disturbing Trap. I can walk through the windows with my angel. We can travel to the stars and back, without bothering a soul.
Once, I tell my angel I should speak to Trap. I should tell him where we’re going, what we’re doing, what I’m finally able to see and hear. But the angel tells me he isn’t ready. He won’t understand. We need to give him time to find his own angel, somewhere down the road.
Another time, I tell my angel we have to go back to Swallowtail Cottage. I have to see Leo. I have to tell him I’m sorry for all the times I tried to stop him, for all the times I tried to keep him from his own private angel.
But every time I think about going to my brother, I remember the slap of my hand against his face. I remember the look of betrayal in his eyes. I remember the pain of what he told me, the truth of his words that cut so deep I almost bled out.
Trap was my drug. He was my reason for living. That wasn’t right. It wasn’t healthy.
I understand that now, because I have my angel. And I’m never letting her go away again.
34
TRAP
* * *
Hell is knowing the woman you love would rather sleep in the guest room with her arms around a goddamn stuffed panda than spend a night with you doing…anything.
I tried.
I respected her privacy. I knocked on her door. I didn’t invade her space, didn’t even turn on the overhead light, just stood ten feet away and acted like everything was perfectly normal.
She didn’t want to come down for dinner. She didn’t want to drive to Lewes for a midnight walk on the deserted beach. She didn’t want to fly to New York, to Boston, to the fucking North Pole.
Every time I suggested something, she just said, “No, thank you. I’d prefer to stay here.”
My palms itched to go in there, to throw the bedclothes on the floor, to yank off her sweatpants and that over-size sleep shirt and make her remember everything we have together.
But I told her I understood. I told her if she changed her mind, I’d be downstairs.
And now, it’s three hours later, and I’m still staring at my fucking computer screen, trying to remember what I did with an empty evening before Alix.
That’s the division of my life now: Before Alix and after Alix.
I’m terrified that the “after” part means something new, that it means after Alix left me. And it’s going to stretch forever.
I’m halfway through my second double Pigwhistle when the doorbell rings. My doorbell never rings. I live in the middle of a fucking business park. There’s a six-story office tower and a matching underground warehouse. There’s a fucking NASCAR-quality racetrack. There’s an electrified security fence running the perimeter and guards on duty 24/7. Who the fuck goes door to door?
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter when I check the security screen. It’s Alix’s brother. Leo.
