“Dad?”
He sat in his wheelchair, staring through his window at a spot in the garden. Dazed with drugs, he didn’t hear me. His eyes were glassy, his skin dry and pale. The nurse had tried to comb his hair, but it was all wrong. My dad never combed his hair to the side. It was always combed back.
Stupid nurses. We paid them so well, and yet they couldn’t do their work properly.
I pushed myself up from kneeling in front of him and opened the drawer in his nightstand. He always loved his things in order. When I found his comb, I smiled and walked back to him.
“I’m just going to fix your hair, okay, Dad?”
I squeezed his hand, then I started combing his hair back. He used to have thick, dark hair, but it was now thin and graying. It terrified me how the people you love get old.
I didn’t like old people. They scared me.
“Dad? Do you remember the pet rabbit you gave me when I was four? His name was Atlas, after that Titan you told me about who carried the world on his shoulders.” I paused, feeling tears prick my eyes but held them back. “I miss your stories. You used to tell me all these fascinating stories, and I think Mom was jealous of me. Maybe that’s why she always hated me, do you think?”
When I smoothed his hair back with my hand, his eyes fell closed. I kept at it until he relaxed.
“I know what you did, Dad. I never told you, but I saw you that day.”
I studied his face for any sign that he understood what I was telling him, but his eyes were closed, his face calm and expressionless.
“I heard your car outside, and I was so excited to see you. But Mom was home and she hated it when I interrupted your time with her, so I stayed inside my room for a bit. I knew you’d come knock on my door soon anyway, bringing a present.”
My dad always had big hands, but the ones in his lap now were thin and old, with spidery veins popping out under his skin.
“But I waited, and you didn’t come. So I went looking for you. I went in your room. Mom told me I wasn’t allowed there, but I really missed you. You’d been gone for so long. You were gone all the time.”
I tried to keep the resentment out of my voice. I was an expert at hiding my real feelings, but sometimes I couldn’t help something slipping through the cracks. My mom never loved me, but my dad did very much. I was his spoiled little girl. The only problem was that he was always away for business, for a party, for something. That was a long time ago and I had forgiven him for it, but the feelings of abandonment remained.
“When I saw your suit on the floor, I picked it up. There was a hole on the sleeve, and I knew, Dad. I knew Atlas had chewed it. I was so scared. So I went to search for him. He loved to hide in your garage. Did you know that? So I went there. And I saw it. I saw the blood and white fur on your worktable. I saw the hammer you used to kill him… It was still bloody. I knew you did it because I hid under the table when I heard you come in and I saw you clean it up and I saw your face. You were upset.”
I was scratching my arms and I knew I was bleeding from them, but I didn’t feel anything.
“That night during supper, when you told me you had bad news to tell me, I wanted you to confess. But instead, you lied to me and told me Atlas ran away. You lied to me, Dad.”
My knees felt weak, and I squatted in front of him, holding on to the armrests of his wheelchair for support. I was shaking. I had kept this inside for so long, and I had never forgotten about it. Why did I decide to tell him now? Maybe because I was afraid he would leave me soon. He would die, and he would leave me. Again.
“But I want you to know that I forgive you. I understand why you lied to me. You wanted to protect me. You didn’t want me to get hurt. You didn’t want me to hate you. You didn’t want me to see what you really were. Because we all have roles to play, right, Dad?”
He finally opened his eyes, but he didn’t speak.
He didn’t have to. I saw in his eyes that he had heard me, and that he was grateful and sorry. And that he loved me very much.
I got up and left.
* * *
We all had roles to play, and dealing with a lowlife like Justin was part of mine. I changed into a dark-red, long-sleeved dress to cover the scratches on my arms, and I told him to meet me at the photo studio on campus where I stored my equipment. I had a shoot later with a fat-ass socialite I’d met last week. She absolutely disgusted me, but she was friends with my favorite designer and she’d drop my name if I impressed her. Gotta do what you gotta do.
Justin had a role too. Someone I could use to keep tabs on Cal when I was away in Paris or wherever my mom wanted to send me. Someone who could get rid of the hungry sluts who wanted a piece of what was mine.
Caleb was mine. I was his first.
Everyone knew that he would marry me someday. We were perfect for each other. Our families were close, and we’d known each other our whole lives. Everyone knew—except that bitch Veronica. I hated her like I had never hated anyone in my life.
I was on my way to the photo studio when I froze in my tracks. I watched her now as she walked through the hallway, her head bowed low. Her face was sharp, almost fox-like, with big dark eyes and a wide mouth. She wore jeans and a white tank top that made her dusky-gold skin glow, but I knew she’d gotten those clothes from the Salvation Army.
The glow probably came from fucking Caleb day and night. I couldn’t blame her. He was irresistible. I wasn’t even jealous. He was just being a guy. Soon he’d cast her aside, and Caleb would be beside me again.
I watched as her long, dark hair swayed behind her back, reminding me of a cheap whore.
My mother’s voice echoed in my mind. Whores use their hair to seduce men, Beatrice-Rose. Don’t be a whore. Tie your hair appropriately, or you will get the belt.
What did Caleb see in her?
“She’s fucking hot,” Justin said, walking up beside me.
I eyed him with disgust. “You’d fuck anything with a skirt.”
“You’re not wearing a skirt, and I already fucked you.”
“Well, I’ve had better.” I smirked at him. He hated being looked down upon. “I need you to make sure Caleb doesn’t see her. I need to talk to the bitch.”
“Ooh. Catfight. Can I watch?”
I held my breath as I spotted Caleb in the hallway. If he kept walking, he would see Veronica. I couldn’t let that happen.
Caleb was an honest person, and very protective. Even when we were kids, we’d get in trouble a lot. I always begged him to lie, to make up a cover story, but he never would. He’d tell the truth and take the blame.
And I knew he had told Veronica what happened. I knew, just from a single phone call from someone, that Veronica had left his apartment, crying her heart out. I barely stopped myself from giggling at the picture. It was a really good day for me. I would not let her steal Caleb from me again.
“He’s going to see her,” I hissed at Justin. “Do something!”
“He loves that ass. Not you. When will you learn to swallow it, babe?”
“I said, do something! Distract him. Pick a fight with him, but don’t hurt him. What am I paying you for?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
My fingers clutched the pendant around my neck as I watched Justin approach Caleb. I turned and saw Veronica rush inside the washroom. Perfect.
I walked in there, making sure to put on my fake I’m-so-sorry face. I just needed to make sure that she knew what happened last night. And of course, exaggerate a little bit. Just a little to push her to the edge.
The devastation on her face when I told her I had sex with Caleb made me want to squeal with glee, but I held it in. She absolutely believed me. And why wouldn’t she?
I was an expert at this. I’d been at it since high school ever since Caleb slept with other girls and I had to get rid of them. Oh, how I loved this game. They were all pathetic and so easy to manipulate.
My work here was done. I should win an Oscar for this.
I was going to find Caleb and celebrate with him—comfort him, give him what he needed—it was me he needed. No one else.
But the bitch was smart. How the fuck did she know I was faking it? Who did she think she was, acting all righteous? She was nothing.
When she slapped me, I wanted to drag her to the toilet and drown her, but I couldn’t let her see the real me. I had to be very careful with this game, especially when it came to my Caleb, so I let her go.
I followed her out of the bathroom and when I saw Caleb waiting by the door, I nearly had a heart attack.
When did he get here? Did he hear me?
Shit.
I ducked back into the washroom and took deep breaths to calm myself, thinking carefully about what I should do next. When I finally came out, I heard Veronica shout, “Stop them!”
It sounded like a fight down the hallway, and when I heard Caleb’s name, I ran. I reached them just as the fight was over. Cameron was holding Caleb back. I went to him, ready to give comfort.
My baby needed me.
But he didn’t even look at me. Instead, he walked past me and went to her.
Her!
A blade sliced through my heart as I watched him go to her, begging her. The desperation in his voice, the look of love in his eyes made me want to throw up.
Caleb! You’re mine!
“Red,” he whispered.
But she ignored him and walked away with some hot guy.
Caleb stood there for a moment, then stormed off down the stairs.
I followed him outside to the parking lot. “Caleb, please talk to me,” I begged, trying to keep up with his angry strides.
Everyone has cracks and fissures inside them, and no one had fixed mine like Caleb did. No one understood me like he did; no one appreciated me and showed me love like he did. I needed Caleb almost as much as I needed air to breathe. I would not give up now.
His long legs ate up the asphalt with confidence, but there was an edge to his movements—an anger, a danger that turned me on every time I saw him move. I caught the glint of his bronze hair in the sunlight, his sweater stretched across his broad back and wide shoulders.
He was so beautiful. Everything about Caleb was sex and charm. The way he moved with style and purpose, the way he smiled, the way he looked at someone like they could light up his world. When he spoke, his deep voice made people want to shiver in pleasure. And the way he fucked made his partner forget her name.
I knew he was mad, still shaken from the fight. I was uncertain if he had overheard me in the washroom. I hoped he hadn’t.
“I kept calling you last night, but you weren’t answering my calls.” He continued walking, ignoring me. “Cal, please, wait. Let’s talk.”
I stayed calm. Caleb always forgave me, even when we were kids. He always protected me, took care of me. And there was no reason for him to not do the same thing now.
When he reached his car and opened the door, I realized he was really going to leave without talking to me. I grabbed his arm.
“Cal, we need to—”
“Get away from me.” He jerked his arm away.
He had never pulled away from me with anger before, had never spoken like this to me before. His voice was so cold. At first I wondered if he was being playful, but then I saw that his hands were curled into angry fists, his veins standing out on his forearms. My heart started to pound, and with a deep sense of foreboding, I slowly lifted my eyes to his.
I stopped breathing.
He was furious. The look of hate and disgust in his eyes was nearly paralyzing. I reached for him for reassurance, to make sense of it all, but he backed away.
No…
“I heard every word. Every fucking lie you told her.”
I gasped.
All the years I’d spent socializing and cozying up to my parents’ business associates had trained me to present the perfect face, the perfect gestures and responses. I was bred to be the perfect socialite. The perfect fake, the perfect liar. But as I stared at the absolute hate in his eyes, I panicked. I couldn’t think of anything to defuse his anger.
I knew I had to say something, to repair this somehow. Tears usually got me what I wanted, especially from Caleb. I forced them out, and they cooperated beautifully.
“Cal, I don’t know what you heard, but I only apologized to her. To make her understand that last night wasn’t your fault.”
“It was my fault,” he whispered dangerously, glaring at me. “For trusting you.”
“No.” I shook my head. This wasn’t happening. “You don’t mean that. I only wanted—”
“We both know what you wanted. Congratulations, you’ve fucked up my life.”
I swallowed my panic. Everything had been perfect between me and Caleb before she came into the picture. Now that I was back from Paris, I was going to get Caleb back in my bed—permanently. I’d had it all planned out, and she’d ruined it.
“Caleb, no! I just wanted to protect you. Can’t you see who she is? What she’s doing? She slapped me, Caleb! And she left you for that guy. She left with him. She knows how to manipulate you—”
“The only one who manipulates people is you. You played me. Tell me, was it hard faking your panic attacks?”
I paled. How did he find out about my panic attacks? Who told him?
I was shaking in fear. My world was crumbling right in front of me. I was going to lose him. I could feel it.
“You told her we’re in love. I never loved you that way, Beatrice-Rose.” The next words he uttered tore apart my insides. “I’m sorry if you thought I did.”
Even though he was angry, I heard the sincerity in his voice.
The tears that poured down my face weren’t fake anymore. It felt like someone had ripped my heart out. It hurt so fucking bad.
He was so cold now, so unreachable as he ignored me and opened his car door. He didn’t even look at me again when he drove away.
What would you do if the only person you wanted to comfort you was the one who had caused you pain?
Caleb was just confused, blinded by his lust for that whore. Why else would he be obsessed with her, if not for sex?
Once he had sated his lust, he would come back to me. Like he always did. I had been patient and waited for him while he dated other girls, while he gave them his body. I knew I had his heart, and that was enough to reassure me. I had been with Caleb since the beginning, since we were kids. I knew him to the core. We had a history that she could never replace. Caleb loved me. He was just distracted. I’d make him remember. I’d make him remember how much he loved me.
Did he think I was going to let him get away from me? Never.
He would come back to me. I’d make sure of it.
I have a lot of work to do.
