Prologue
I had to leave. It was bad this time.
Each time it happened, I stupidly forgave him. I knew it wouldn’t be the last time, and not to my surprise, each time after that it was worse.
I’m not even sure if I felt the physical pain anymore. I was numb, inside and out. A shell of the person I once was.
But this time … this time he had gone too far. I had needed medical attention. His kick to my left side had broken two ribs, one of which had punctured my lung. My kidneys were bruised from his fists slamming into me repeatedly, and my wrist was broken from the impossible angle he had twisted it.
Until now he was careful not to mark my face or anywhere that someone could see. Each time it happened, he whisked me away for a weekend to ‘make things okay’ and let the bruises fade, and each time he took a little more of my soul.
My mom had her suspicions; I could see it in her eyes, and her gentle probing questions without asking directly for fear of accusing him of something he may not have done.
But she knew.
I wanted to tell her, someone … anyone. It was a lonely burden, an elephant sitting on my chest. He had worn me down so far that I didn’t have an identity. Functioning on a daily basis but not feeling.
I was his.
Nothing more, nothing less.
He was a powerful, well-respected businessman, so no one would ever believe me, and even if they did, he would pay them off and it would all be forgotten. Initially, I found it unbelievable that money could buy the conscience of a man, but it had become such a familiar occurrence that nothing surprised me anymore.
He had taken me to a private hospital and visited every day, the devoted fiancé. He had cried when he told the nurses how I was attacked in our home by an intruder, and I had cried at my helplessness.
I had ten days in that hospital with no fear and no pressure to conform because he couldn’t do anything to me while I was there. It was the longest I had been away from him in five years, and it was the best thing that could have happened to me. Every day my confidence built, and I found a little more of the girl I once was. Only now, the girl had grown up. Now I was a woman, and I knew what my future held. The fire in my belly was small, barely a spark, but it was there, and I knew that if I stayed, that tiny glow of hope would be extinguished, and very possibly so could I.
So I did the only thing I could do …
I ran.
Chapter 1
I thought I was pretty tough. I’ve learned to adapt and grow with each situation I’ve been faced with and have suffered in far worse ways than I am now, and survived it.
But I’m living a lie.
Unhappily married to a man I don’t love, answering to a name that isn’t mine, and not being able to see a way out because, after all, I’m responsible for my own actions and it feels so tangled I can’t see past it.
I chose to run. I chose to hide. And now, I don’t know where to go from here.
I want to go home, but I don’t know if I can. I want to be me, but I don’t know how to find my way out of this mess.
My legs start to pound harder on the treadmill as the thoughts and possibilities battle their way through my mind. I welcome the burn through my thighs as I push forward, and my lungs fight to take in more air, a welcome distraction, my only distraction from the false life I’m living.
It’s not a bad life—arguably better than the one I ran from. I’m also not ungrateful. But I’m not happy. Is the goal in life to survive … or is it to thrive? I miss my mom; I haven’t seen or spoken to her since I left Boulder City, and I miss my friend Lottie, the only true friend I’ve ever had.
I regret the fact that I let Jonny push those closest to me away, let him destroy my life. He’s the reason I’ve lived with a false name for eighteen months. He’s the reason for everything bad that has happened to me since the day I met him.
I now live in a beautiful house in LA. I’m married to a wealthy music executive, Aaron Jamesson, and I have the world at my fingertips. Money buys a lot of things, a lot of distractions, and it makes it easier to conjure smoke and mirrors, but it doesn’t fill the hole in my heart.
At first, Aaron seemed to be everything Jonny wasn’t. We had a fun courtship and a beautiful wedding. He offered me a friendship which I welcomed, and gave me the opportunity to start over with a new life and a new identity, something which I never thought would be possible. Being honest with myself, I used him to stay under the radar, to make it harder for Jonny to find me. I reinvented myself to save my life, created a persona much different to my own and agreed to things I wouldn’t have otherwise. Like having a baby. God, the thought makes me break out in a cold sweat. I know it won’t be long before Aaron starts to wonder why we’re not pregnant yet, and I don’t know how to delay the inevitable.
I’ve lived a life as Natalie Jamesson and tried to keep as little of my true self from creeping in as possible. For a long time, I didn’t feel bad. The freedom of leaving my past behind outweighed the guilt that lurked on the periphery. How can you feel guilty when you’ve forgotten how to feel?
It’s the same story that battles through my head every day.
I never come up with a solution but I can’t see a way out and again I find myself being unhappy. I just take each day as it comes and hope it works out somehow, leaving fate to find its path and hoping for a little luck along the way.
I finish up my workout, grabbing my towel and draping it around my neck as I switch off the lights and come out of the gym room. The front door slams and Aaron’s loud voice carries through the foyer, his agitated tone making me feel a little uneasy. Since we came back from our honeymoon, where a small part of me started to think we might be able to be genuinely happy, things have gone downhill and proven that I should have kept my heart locked and my head on straight. That tiny band of gold around my finger has changed things, changed Aaron. Something shifted the minute we touched back down in LA, and from my experience, if something doesn’t feel right in the first instance then the chances are it probably isn’t.
“I’ve told you I don’t fucking have it at the moment … No, the earliest I can get it to you will be next Friday … Fine.” He abruptly hangs up the call and stands just inside the doorway, running his hands through his hair. His stress is almost visible, and I don’t know if it’s worth trying to talk to him when he is in this kind of mood but ignoring him will definitely make things worse. He glances up to find me looking at him.
“Hey!” I say cheerily before I walk over and reach up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. The strong smell of alcohol coming off him indicates that he’s had more than one drink with his lunch. He’s been drinking a lot lately, but whenever I mention it, he dismisses my concerns.
“How long have you been standing there?” he snaps.
“Um, only a couple of seconds. I just had a workout and finished up as you came in. I’m just going to take a shower, then I’ll be down, okay?”
“Fine.” His tone is flat, completely indifferent, and it throws me. It shouldn’t make me feel so disappointed, but it does.
“Uh, just gimme ten,” I mumble.
“Sure.” The monotone answer makes me feel further deflated. I stupidly look forward to him coming home because a very naive part of me thinks each day he might be different, but today is no different from yesterday and all the conversation he can manage is monosyllabic. Dread crawls through my senses and I push away the feeling that I’ve been here before. Wouldn’t I just be better off alone?
I turn and take the stairs two at a time, hoping he’ll have mellowed by the time I come back down. Stripping off my sweat soaked clothes in record time, I fling them into the corner of the bathroom. Why do I even let him make me feel like this? Maybe a couple of years of marriage was too much to hope for; we’ve only just made it twelve weeks. I release the clip that has been gripping my hair in place and run my fingers through my long blonde locks. I haven’t had it cut or colored since the wedding and it hangs nearly to my waist.
I turn the shower on as hot as I can stand it and step in. The multiple jets pummel my overworked muscles and I close my eyes as the burning water stings my skin. It’s bordering on painful, but the feeling is a welcome distraction from the workings of my mind. Tipping my head back, I close my eyes and let the water flow down through the lengths of my hair.
A cold hand on my waist makes me jump, and I snap my head up and my eyes open to see Aaron standing in front of me. Judging by his lack of clothes, he’s joining me in the shower whether I like it or not.
“Baby,” he says softly, “I’m sorry I was blunt with you …”
My whole body tenses as his hands work their way around the curve of my hips and settle on my ass, pulling me closer to him as he plants kisses along my shoulder and collarbone. His arousal presses against my stomach as his hands slide along my wet skin. As much as I crave the physical closeness that we used to have, I don’t want him. Not now, not like this. His recent behavior has pushed me away and the distance grows further with every second that passes in his company. My pre-marital guarded self is returning slowly and surely, and instinct tells me I have to brace it to survive.
I roll my shoulder away from him and step back. “Not now, Aaron.”
His hands stop their exploration of my body, and he pushes me away from him a little, holding my shoulders with his hands and crouching to look directly into my eyes.
“What do you mean, not now?” His hard stare makes me shiver, but I square my shoulders and refuse to be ground down.
“I mean exactly that. Not. Now.” I punctuate the last few words through gritted teeth so he fully understands that I will not be persuaded otherwise. I push his arms away and brush past him to get out of the shower, but his fingers grip my elbow tightly before I make it out.
“Not now? You’re denying me? I’m your husband for Christ’s sake. How are we ever going to get you pregnant?”
I hate how selfish he’s being, acting like I’ve ruined his plans. Well, he’s not the only one who is angry. I’m angry for letting him in, for letting my guard down, and most of all I’m angry at myself for falling for this shit and getting into a crappy situation yet again.
I put my hands on my hips and lean my body toward him, brave in my rising anger. “What about me? What if I don’t want to get pregnant, huh? Did you think of that?”
His face pales and his grip on my arm tightens. Shit, did I really just say that? Shit, Shit, Shit … I instantly regret voicing those words out loud. His expression tightens changes, his stance changes and suddenly the space we are in feels so small.
I feel small.
“What did you just say?” He comes closer so his face is only inches away from mine; his tone is lowered and his pupils are so dilated with rage that I momentarily wonder if he’s taken some kind of drug. I’ve had this feeling before, and it’s not one I had planned on revisiting, but here I am with the nervous adrenaline flowing through my body and making my legs shake, unable to find the courage I need to get the hell out of here. Aaron’s moods have been unpredictable of late, and I’ve been putting it down to him having a bad day, or the stresses and strains of work demands. I’ve been falling back into my old ways, making excuses for his snappy retorts, his unreasonable moods.
“You don’t want to have my baby?” he questions.
“Aaron it’s not like that.” I let out an exasperated breath. “I’m tired, you’re tired, and you’ve clearly had a bad day. So please, let’s just go and get dressed and have something to eat.” I sound desperate and I fucking hate it, but right now I feel desperate, I will do anything to fast forward from this conversation and the tension that has rapidly filled this space. I just want him to let go of me so I can get out of here.
“We’ve been trying for a baby for three fucking months.” He grates the words out, his voice tight and strained and his teeth clenched. He’s still holding onto my arm, and his fingers are gripping me so tightly that I’m sure it will leave bruises.
Then his expression changes as though a thought has just plunked into place, his grip loosens and his brows pull together in a deep frown. He backs out of the shower, and in the time it takes me to put on my robe, he is pulling everything out of the cabinets and tearing the place apart. Creams and lotions are hitting the floor all around us, smashing and leaving a slippery mess.
“Aaron, what the hell are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer as he continues to empty the cupboards and drawers until the bathroom floor is covered. He kicks some of the things out of the way as he pushes past me, out of the en suite bathroom and into our bedroom.
“Where are they?” he roars, rushing to my dressing table.
“What are you talking about? Aaron, stop it …” I try to grab his arm to make him stop, but he jerks it away, pulling out the top drawer and emptying the contents on the floor, and it dawns on me what he’s looking for. We both see it at the same time.
Shit.
His eyes fly up and lock onto mine.
I can’t move. Can’t speak. I know he knows.
We both dive for the box at the same time, but he’s quicker than me and picks it up, snatching it out of my grasp. He opens the tab and pulls out the half empty packet. He looks at the little white pills, calculating how many there are as I’m rooted to the spot, nervous for his reaction the longer he stays silent.
“You fucking bitch!”
I flinch involuntarily at the sheer volume of his voice, then brace for a further onslaught. He flings the pills on the floor and in two strides he’s in front of me, his face just inches from mine. “You lied to me, Natalie.” He’s so close I can feel his breath on my lips. “You let me think we were trying for a baby, yet all along you’ve been taking your fucking pills.”
I look down, to avoid eye contact with him and try to think of a way to diffuse the situation a little, but there is nothing I can say to make this any better.
He roughly grabs my face with one of his hands and lifts it so I’m forced to look at him. He squeezes my cheeks, his thumb and forefinger digging into my cheekbones, and I wince with the pressure. “I’ve been working myself into the ground to provide for you, to pay for all your nice clothes and your expensive lunches out with the wives so that we can have a family together, and this is how you repay me?”
“Aaron, please, I—”
“You what? Explain why you FUCKING LIED TO ME!” He yells the last words in my face, and I slam my eyes closed to try and block it out.
“Aaron …” I can feel my bottom lip start to tremble as images of what may happen next fill my mind. I know what’s coming. I’ve been here before.
His fingers release their pressure on my jaw before my head snaps to the side, the back of his left hand connecting with my cheek and stunning me. It takes a couple of seconds to comprehend what he has just done. His wedding ring leaves a sharp sting, and my cheek starts to burn. I instinctively put my hand up to touch my face as my eyes meet his.
“Fuck.” He releases the word on a breath. His eyes are wide, and his mouth is gaping open in shock. “Natalie, oh god … I didn’t mean to, I don’t know why …” He reaches out to me, and when I recoil, the tears well in his eyes. “Please, Nat, I’m so, so, sorry.”
“Get. Away. From. Me.”
I start to walk backwards, my hand still covering my cheek in disbelief. I could see it moving in this direction. But I’d told myself that not all men were like Jonny, that not all men got mad and hit out. But it’s happened again.
I back into the bathroom on shaky legs, slamming the door behind me and sliding the bolt as fast as I can. I throw on a robe, then scrape my wet hair into a messy pile on top of my head and secure it with a band. My cheek stings when I touch it, making me wince. I’m bleeding.
I rush to the mirror to take a look. Underneath my left eye is already starting to swell and my cheek is covered with an angry red mark. I know from experience that this color will only deepen until the blackness of a bruise covers it. There is an inch of broken skin along my cheekbone, and the blood is starting to trickle down the side of my face.
“Natalie … please, let me in. I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry …” he begs.
Hearing his pitiful voice through the door brings back memories. Only this time it doesn’t fill me with fear. It makes me determined.
This is not going to happen to me again.
I know he probably feels terrible, and if I gave him the chance, he would apologize a thousand times to ease his guilt. He would beg and plead and promise that it would never happen again. He’d make it up to me with jewelry and a weekend break.
I know.
I’ve been here before.
But I don’t feel sorry for him. I know I lied, but I didn’t deserve that. “Go away,” I manage to say, still staring at my reflection.
“Nat, just let me in …”
“I said, GO AWAY!”
I hear his footsteps walk away, and the loud bang of the bedroom door slamming makes me jump. My legs suddenly feel very weak, and my head is spinning as a wall of tears builds in front of my eyes, threatening to spill at any minute.
The fear, the shouting, the feeling of helplessness … it’s emotional overload and too much for me to take. I lower myself to the floor in a heap and curling up in a little ball, I tuck my knees tightly to my chest and wrap my arms around them. Then the tears start to fall freely, and I let them, not holding anything back. I begin to acknowledge that the last three months have been chipping away at my self-imposed armor and reduced me to the girl I used to be all too familiar with, the place I thought I’d never go again, the life I tried so hard to avoid. I might have changed my name, my identity, but the path my life is taking feels very familiar.
I don’t know how long I’ve been crying for, but when I lift my head up and open my eyes it’s dusk outside. My shoulders are tight and my chest aches from my body wracking sobs. When I stand up and straighten my body out, every muscle is protesting and my head pounds as I look around me at the evidence of the earlier argument. Flicking on the light switch, I survey everything with a stark realization. Everything feels so much worse in the dark but looks so much worse in the light. Resting my hands on either side of the bathroom sink, I look into the mirror, staring at my reflection and acknowledging the feeling of resignation that is setting in. My eyes are swollen and red and it stings every time I blink. There are trails of black mascara that have mingled with blood and dried in smudged lines down my cheeks. This is a face that I have seen many times before, a distant, broken look that I hadn’t ever wanted to see again.
I can’t stay here.
I can’t stay married to Aaron.
Deep down, I never truly believed this would be a permanent arrangement, and I was stupid and weak for letting myself think that what we had could possibly become real. Jesus, the guy didn’t even know my true name …
Happily ever after was never a possibility.
I know what I have to do.
It’s fight or flight and we have been fighting for far too long.
Unknowingly, Aaron has given me an out. He’s given me the perfect reason to leave.
Splashing cold water on my face soothes the heat I can feel surrounding my eyes. I’ve cried out every last tear left in my body and there is nothing left to give. I feel nothing now. I’m empty, devoid of feeling any emotion other than annoyance at myself for letting this happen again. The cold water awakens my skin and spurs me on to what I know is the next step in rebuilding my life.
I clean up the cut on my cheekbone and wince at the sting that comes from my touch. It’s superficial and will heal fairly quickly. It may not even leave a visible scar.
Just an addition to the invisible scars I carry.
I open the bathroom door quietly and slowly, taking in the mess that surrounds me. I listen for any signs that Aaron might be here, but there is nothing but silence and a heavy air around me. I look out of the bedroom window and note that Aaron’s car is gone. Relief washes over me. I know I might not have long to get out of here, but it’s better than facing him. I throw on some clothes, drag a big suitcase from the top of the wardrobe and fill it with as many essentials as I can: handfuls of clothes, a few toiletries, and my sketch pads. My life, thrown together in a suitcase and packed up in five minutes flat.
I wheel the suitcase to the bedroom doorway, willing myself to stay strong and forcing my feet to keep walking. I walk faster and faster until I run down the curved staircase, the suitcase hitting every step with a thud as I drag it behind me.
When I reach the foyer, I pick up my purse. I don’t know how far away I can get with my credit cards before Aaron puts a stop on them to cut me off, or a trace on them to find me, but I have a separate account that Aaron doesn’t know about. I think deep down I knew it wouldn’t work out, so I kept my backup quiet while still putting a little away in savings.
I take off my rings and leave them on the side table next to the front door so he will see them when he walks in. If he didn’t already know that our sham of a marriage was over, he will when he finds my rings there. I snatch up my keys, fling the front door open, grab my suitcase and flee. Pressing the button on the key fob, my Porsche Carrera blips, and the lights flash to indicate it’s unlocked. I bundle my suitcase across to the passenger’s seat and jump in.
The wheels spin out of the drive and kick up a cloud of dust and dirt behind me as I glance in the rearview mirror at the house I am leaving behind.
It is beautiful, but it was never home.
Chapter 2
After driving for a couple of hours, I can feel my eyes closing, and I don’t want to risk falling asleep at the wheel, so my safest option is to stop somewhere for the night and take it from there.
I pull off the highway and into a motel. It looks rundown, but it’s the last place Aaron will come looking for me. He’ll expect me to go to a high class hotel, with full room service and every luxury available. But I guess he never really knew me. Maybe I don’t even know myself.
I shut the door behind me and glance at my room for the night. A solitary single bed, one pillow and a small pile of sheets and blankets. I haven’t slept in a single bed since I was seventeen.
I feel like I’m constantly going backwards …
The patterned carpet is psychedelic patterns in what I can only guess should have been red and yellow but now looks more like shades of browns, and threadbare in the places that suffer the most footfall. An armchair in the corner and a nightstand next to it are the only other furnishings and they are well worn and used. The lamp on the nightstand has no lampshade, making the light harsh and casting obscure shadows around the walls. I actually think this room might not have been updated since 1975.
I drop my suitcase and throw the keys onto the armchair in the corner. It takes four steps across the small dingy room to the bathroom door and I close my eyes as I push the handle, afraid of what I might find in there. Squinting them open, I turn on the light and I’m met with a very old bathroom suite but it’s clean and I’m pleasantly surprised. I shut the door again and let out a long exhale. As I sit down on the bed, the springs groan and protest with my small weight and a stale musky smell invades my nose.
I glance at my watch. 10pm. I’m exhausted emotionally and my body has made its way down from the adrenaline high and feels twice as heavy to move as it should. I have no idea where I go from here, and my head is too weary to decide right now. Sleep, I need sleep. I’m hoping all will become clearer in the light of day.
I make the bed up with the surprisingly clean sheets and climb in fully clothed. My face throbs from the cut and I instinctively bring my fingers up to my cheek, touching lightly underneath the wound and recalling the events of the night. I never thought it would come to this. I just wanted to feel settled, like I belong somewhere. I just want to let my guard down and not have to keep up some sort of pretense.
If this is what my life is going to be like on the run, maybe it’s time to think about taking some of my old life back. The scenarios running through my head exhaust me as I drift off into a surprisingly deep sleep.
***
I open my eyes just a fraction and snap them shut again. When the sleep mist clears and I work out what day it is and why I’m here, I groan. I don’t know what’s worse, my dreams or reality. I sit up and swing my legs out of the bed, cringing a little as my bare feet hit the not so clean carpet. I take a deep breath, stretch my arms above my head and go for a shower.
The scalding water beats down on my body, and with every minute longer that I’m in here, things become a little clearer. I have to satisfy myself that I haven’t lost the girl I was just because I have a different name. Natalie isn’t a fictional person; she’s me. I’m still me.
I’m sick of this.
Running.
Fighting.
Always looking over my shoulder and having to think before I speak for fear of revealing who I really am.
This is my life and I’m taking it back.
I dress, put on some makeup, and then pack up my things. After leaving the keys at the front desk, I head for my car. It’s crazy that my front seat is more comfortable than the bed I spent last night in; comfort really does come at a price.
When I turn on my cell, it’s flooded with incoming messages from Aaron.
His messages start off frantic when he’s realized I’ve packed up and gone. He’s obviously sorry, telling me to call and to let him know where I am, telling me how important I am to him, how he loves me. However, he doesn’t take long to change from worried, apologetic husband to angry and demanding.
When I’ve listened and deleted all of the voicemails and texts, I ring the one person I actually want to speak to, hoping that her number hasn’t changed in all the time that I’ve been gone.
My insides shake with anticipation and excitement as my fingers fumble with the numbers. The familiar warm voice answers on the other end of the line.
“Hello …”
I’m overwhelmed with emotion at hearing her voice. “Mom?” A sob rises up from my chest and escapes my mouth.
“Baby girl, is that you?” she asks in disbelief.
“Yes, Mom, it’s me …”
The floodgates open and we both sit there, on opposite ends of the line, crying tears of happiness at hearing each other’s voice. It doesn’t matter that I’ve spent most of my childhood looking after her, picking up the pieces after each failed marriage and being her strength when she was weak. It wasn’t until I had spent so long away from her, unable to contact her that I realized we had always been each other’s strength.
She’s the only family I have.
“Where are you, my girl? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, it’s just … I’ve missed you so much, Mom.”
“Darling, every day I’ve hoped you would call. I knew why you didn’t, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to hear your voice.”
“I would have called you sooner but … you know …” I’m so choked up I can hardly speak.
“I wished every day that you would.” Her voice hitches, full of emotion.
“Mom, please don’t get upset.”
“I’m sorry, darling, but not knowing if you were happy or even where you were …”
It was hard for me to be away from her with no contact and I’m just glad that she has her husband, Brent. I knew she was in safe hands with him. I killed me to think how she felt seeing her child go through all that, only to be left not knowing where or how I was.
“Well, there are few things that I need to get worked out, but it isn’t going to be like this for much longer, I promise you that.” I sound more determined now, even to my own ears.
“Why? What’s going on? Do you need my help? Is there anything I can do?” She speaks fast wanting to do something after feeling helpless for so long.
“I just need to know … have you seen him?” I can’t even bring myself to say his name out loud. That name would feel like poison to my tongue.
“Jonny? No. He came to the house once after you left. He was angry, frantic, and he yelled …” her voice trails off.
“Mom?”
She sighs. “He beat Brent up. He thought we knew where you were.”
My stomach sinks. I didn’t think it would put them in that position. I didn’t think about anything. I just knew I needed to leave. “Oh god, Mom, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Was Brent okay?”
“Yes, he was sore for a few days, but it was mainly superficial. I think he realized we didn’t know anything. We haven’t seen or heard from him since.”
“Nothing at all? He hasn’t been around Boulder City?”
“Nothing at all. No one has seen him.”
“What about his offices?” I ask desperately.
“I’m not sure, darling, I was just pleased we had seen the last of him. You want me to find out, I can do some digging?”
“No, no, it’s fine. I don’t want any waves made …” I trail off as I think about what to do next. “Mom, I know this is going to be hard, but can you forget we’ve spoken today? Just don’t say anything to anyone, not even Brent.”
“But he’d be so happy that you’ve been in touch … are you coming back? I really don’t think there’ll be a problem anymore, honey …”
“I don’t know. Honestly, I think he will probably have just moved on but until I know how the land lies, I want to be safe. I want you to be safe. You know how it was.” I say this, but she didn’t know the full extent. I kept so much from her. “I want to come back, I really do, but we’ll see. Please, just give me a few days.”
“Okay, if you know what you’re doing.”
“Not yet I don’t, but I will.”
“That’s my girl.”
I smile. She always said that to me as a child and she’s right. I am her girl, even at twenty-six years old.
“I love you, Mom. I’ll call soon, okay?”
“I love you too. Stay safe.”
When the phone disconnects, I sit there for a whole minute and look at the screen. Just a short conversation with my mom and everything seems so much clearer. I have to work out a way to go back, a way to be near to her. She is my only family, and she feels like my calm in the storm. I’ve wasted enough time running away, and I’m not the person I used to be. I’m stronger for everything I’ve been through, and with family in my corner I’m sure I can get through anything life throws at me.
Where to go from here? I’ve been driving in the direction of Boulder City knowing I can’t go there just yet, but I need to be close. I take a deep breath and dial the only other number I know off by heart, hoping it hasn’t changed since I last called it. When she picks up, I smile.
“Hello?”
“Got time for a dirty martini, party girl?” I open our conversation with the greeting we always used to use. Her usual reply doesn’t come though.
Radio silence.
“Lottie?”
“Almost two years … it’s been two fucking years since you called me …”
“I know,” I whisper. “I’m sorry … stuff happened.”
“Don’t give me that shit. Your control freak motherfucker of a boyfriend happened.”
“Lottie—”
“No, don’t you ‘Lottie’ me. He didn’t like me, so you chose him.” My heart breaks a little that she thinks I would do that.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“No? So how was it? He got bored and now you want your friend back?”
“Lottie! Stop being a bitch, you know it was never like that,” I say before dropping my voice to a whisper “He—”
“He what? What did that motherfucker do?” Her tone changes to protective. She’s the stereotypical redhead—sharp, hot headed and fierce!
“I need some help, Lottie, and you’re the only one I trust to help me.”
“Don’t change the subject, young lady! What did he do, and what can I do to help? You know I’d do anything for you, babe,” she adds softly.
I’ve missed her straight talking.
I’ve missed her loyalty.
I’ve missed her friendship.
“I’ve missed you, Lottie.” I hope she can hear my smile down the phone.
“I’ve missed you too,” she says quietly before taking a breath. “Right. Now that we’ve got the sappy shit out of the way, are you gonna fill me in?”
She hasn’t changed one bit. Straight to the point, no messing.
“Yes, but not over the phone. Do you know of anywhere close to Boulder City that I can stay? A hotel or something?”
“Stay with me,” she states.
“I can’t. I mean, I just don’t think it’s wise. Not yet.”
“Okay.” She pauses. “My boyfriend’s brother owns a hotel on the Vegas Strip. Head there. I’ll sort it and text you with details,” she says firmly.
“Perfect. I owe you one, Lottie.”
“Yes, you do. Call me when you get there. I’m heading over there in about an hour anyway, so I want to know the minute you arrive.”
“I promise.” I know she is going to have a fit when she sees my face, but there’s not a lot I can do about that now. I’m just pleased she hadn’t been around to see me before I left Boulder City. “And, Lottie… can you put it under the name Natalie Jamesson?”
“Natalie who now?”
“Just… I’ll explain everything when I get there.”
We say our goodbyes and hang up. After speaking to the two people I hold dearest to me in the whole world, I’m happy. I turn the music up and open the windows, letting the wind blow away some of the weight that has been holding me down. I smile to myself and sing along with the music.
I’m going to Vegas.
***
After three hours on the road, I finally pull into Las Vegas. I’d lived fairly nearby in Boulder City for quite a few years and had come here occasionally, but it wasn’t a place I’d frequented. Aaron had been taken here by the boys for his Bachelor Party, although he had remained tight-lipped about what went down that weekend. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”
I take a deep breath and remind myself why I’m here.
Move on. Move forward.
I follow Lottie’s directions to the hotel. It’s huge with beautiful fountains outside and a gleaming glass frontage. There is sparkling gold lettering above the entry that reads ‘The Kingdom’ and I momentarily wonder if they send someone up there to polish it every day it’s that shiny. The valet takes my car, and a bellhop greets me at the door, taking my case and walking me to the reception area. It’s stunning. The floors are highly polished marble as is the main reception desk, and there are huge arrangements of bright green foliage and pure white fresh flowers. Everywhere you look there are subtle accents of gold—the desk has a gold trim. The tall ornate pedestals either side have gold flourished indentations. It’s the kind of place Aaron would take me to for a weekend getaway.
I turn my attention to the friendly receptionist. I’m just about to speak when I hear a familiar squeal and I’m tackled from behind by a five foot redhead who has her arms wrapped around my neck and is squeezing me so hard I might pass out.
She lets go and bounces in front of me. “I’m so freaking happy to …” Her beaming smile freezes and drops as her brows knit into fierce hard lines and her tone changes to angry. “What the fuck happened to your face? Talk …” she says, putting her hand on her hip.
I smile at her softly. “Can I get out of these clothes first? Then we’ll go get a drink … please.” I don’t want to discuss this right here, and I really do want to freshen up.
“Fine. Come on, I’ll see you up to your room.”
My room is on the second floor and is beautiful. It has floor to ceiling windows, which are dressed in crisp white drapes with a gold trim. It’s simple, but elegant and not overdone. I leave my case in the bedroom where the colors of white and gold are carried through, and I freshen up in the marble bathroom before Lottie and I head back downstairs to find an outside table at one of the bistros. We are served immediately, ordering drinks and a light lunch.
“Okay, spill it,” Lottie says, putting her elbows on the table and clasping her hands under her chin.
“It’s not really that bad,” I say, waving my hand as if to prove my statement is true.
“You always were a crap liar.”
And just like that, the brave face I have managed to put on for several very long years starts to fall away. “It’s all such a mess.” My words come out as a whisper, not wanting to really acknowledge how much of a disaster everything is, but knowing I have to get it all out in the open. I wouldn’t tell my mom without it hurting her too much to know what I’ve been through, but I know Lottie is strong enough to handle it.
Her hand gently covers mine, and my throat aches with all the things I want to say, but I don’t know where to begin.
“Start from the beginning, babe. I have all day …”
So I tell her everything, from the day I fled Boulder City to this moment here and now. The elephant that has been sitting on my chest is lifted, and the hurt and pain I feel lessens.
“So does he know where you are, this Aaron guy?” Lottie curls her lip as she says his name. She might be small, but she can be pretty fierce.
“No.”
“And he hasn’t tried to contact you since you left? I mean, you are his wife.”
“I know.” I shrug. “But seeing as he married a fictional person, I’m not even sure the marriage is legal.”
“Are you going to let him know that you’re not going back? I mean, you’re not going back, are you?”
“No! I don’t plan on going back, but I don’t plan on telling him anything either. How would I explain all of this shit? I disappeared once, and I can do it again.”
“I don’t want you to disappear.” She pouts. “I’ve missed you.”
I nod gently, reciprocating her feelings. “I just don’t know where to go from here.”
“We’ll figure something out. I know people, who … know people.”
“What do you mean?”
“You need help?” I nod. “Well, I’ll help. You need info, I know just the guy. If it means keeping my best friend safe, then I’ll pull out all the stops.”
“Thanks, Lottie. I’m sorry I didn’t come to you before. I just couldn’t drag you into it all like that.”
“Look, I know why you did it, but you’re my friend, my best friend. Actually, you’re more like a sister to me, so no more going it alone, okay?” She makes me laugh by following her mushy shit as she’d call it with a stern voice and a telling off.
“Okay, enough of my drama. I want to hear about you. Your boyfriend owns this awesome place?”
“Noooo, my boyfriend’s brother.”
“Tell me more.” I lean forward, wanting to hear how happy she is.
We continue to chat, eat and laugh. It’s great to do “normal” but before I know it the day has run away with us, and Lottie has to leave for her shift in one of the local bars. I leave her in the foyer with a tight hug and a promise to call tomorrow to formulate some kind of plan. I don’t know what she has in mind, and I have no idea where to begin, but it feels like it might just all work out okay. Loneliness is hard on the mind when you have so many obstacles in your way, but when you have a friend like Lottie who is willing to hold your hand the whole way through, it suddenly feels easier. It actually feels possible to make some kind of sense out of this jumble I call my life so far.
I make my way to the elevator, and although my mind feels lighter, my legs feel heavy. The last twenty-four hours have exhausted me, and my head is racing with all kinds of thoughts and possibilities. The ding sounds on the elevator, bringing me back to reality from my daydream and when the doors open, I instinctively step forward, my feet thinking before my brain, and walk straight into the person exiting. My hands fly up to correct myself, landing on a hard, wide, chest, and I look up to apologize.
Time stops.
I take in the features of the guy in front of me. This guy is not botoxed or surgically sculpted, but he is chiseled—all natural.
His hands grasp my shoulders to steady me, strong but gentle at the same time. He must be about six foot two as he stands a head above me, and is dressed in a slate gray suit, with a crisp white shirt which is unbuttoned twice, giving me just a peek of his flesh at my eye level. As my gaze slowly travels upwards, I notice his dark hair is damp and falls gently across his forehead.
His lips curl into a sexy little grin, and that simple movement breaks the trance-like state I seem to have put myself in. I blink twice and shake my head.
“My apologies, miss …?” he asks huskily. The vibration in his voice ripples through my body and down to the tips of my toes. Every follicle reacts by standing on end and my skin tingles.
“Uh … Jamesson. Miss Jamesson,” I manage to stutter, earning a low chuckle from him. I give him a nervous smile before I side-step to let him pass; he might be attractive, but I am not interested. But he doesn’t let me move away from him as easily as I would have liked. He makes it almost torturous instead by sliding his hands down my arms, and letting his thumbs trace the inside of my elbows, finally breaking contact when he gets to the very tips of my fingers. It isn’t sleazy or disrespectful, but I know it’s more than I can allow myself to want right now.
It’s only once he’s not physically touching me that I can breathe, and my brain returns to some kind of normalcy. For a moment, I question my sanity. Men have only ever brought me trouble, but I’ve never had someone make me feel so mesmerized and so nervous at the same time. Clearly, I’m tired, possibly hormonal, and definitely emotional. It’s been a long, tumultuous few days, few years, and I’m clearly not in control of my reactions.
I force my feet to scuttle forward and stop just inside of the elevator, pressing the button to my left repeatedly with my back still facing the door. Wanting so badly to turn around, but not actually being able to let myself, I continue to face the back of the elevator, head down, willing the doors to shut and get moving. As the door closes, I rub at my bare forearm to calm the unusual reaction across my skin.
What the hell just happened?