Resist (Songs of Submission #6)(20)

“No. I’m still buying my own drinks.”

“Whatever.”

I sat in the corner in the same spot Jonathan had been known to occupy and tried to arrange a car for the next morning. Darren had work the next day, but once he found out what I was doing, he refused to let me drop him off in the morning and borrow his car, texting me like he was my f**king therapist:

—You have a way of sabotaging your own happiness. I’m opting out—

A guy with glittering dark brown eyes, messy black hair, and a mouth like a movie star leaned on the bar next to me. “What are you drinking?”

“Piss and vinegar.” I was busy answering Darren’s accusation in a flurry.

“That a new thing?” he asked. “What’s in it?”

I pulled my eyes away from my phone for a second. “Piss. Also, vinegar.”

He laughed. Ignoring my bludgeon of a hint, he leaned toward me. “Let me get you your next one. I’ll piss in it myself.”

I slugged the dregs of my whiskey, letting the ice cube linger on my lips. I parted them to touch my tongue to it, reminding me of Jonathan, the master of melting ice. I slid the glass to Mister Eyes and said, “Piss your little heart out.”

He looked at the empty glass then back at me. I turned to my phone. I should have known better than to be a total bitch, because in L.A. you never knew who you were speaking to, but I missed Jonathan. I was angry at him and I was trying to avoid lashing out.

—Nice try with the car. I’m not Kevin. You can’t orchestrate my demise—

—Lil can take you anywhere you want to go—

“Someone break your heart today?” Mister Eyes asked.

“No, but really,” I said, “it’s not personal. I’m sure you’re awesome. But there are a hundred girls in here right now who are available. Okay?”

—Except where I want—

—Please wait until I get back. We can talk—

—I am officially done talking—

I slipped my phone into my pocket. When I looked up, Debbie was watching me. That alone was not abnormal, but I felt as if they were Jonathan’s eyes watching me talk to a handsome man, and I was suddenly uncomfortable.

I texted around and got some responses. A party in Koreatown. A show in Silver Lake. Nothing appealed. Fuck going out. I walked out to catch one of the cabs that usually waited outside the hotel. If I was seeing Jessica, I’d need a good night’s sleep.

Chapter 18.

JONATHAN

The machines beeped and sighed, blinking like the dashboard on a 747. The room smelled of rubbing alcohol and dying flesh, and in the darkness laid a once beautiful, intelligent woman who had been reduced, by me, to a pile of idly reproducing cells. I’d been driving that night. Drunk. Stoned. Stupid. Then I passively let my family cover it up while I sat in a padded room feeling sorry for myself.

Sixteen years, a dark room, and maybe she would finally get what she’d always wanted. She’d wanted to be free of her family, and by the time Jessica and I had found her, they were dead or missing. She’d wanted to be free of hunger and pain, and she’d gotten just that. But I didn’t think this was what she’d had in mind.

I’d gone from her lover to her guardian because no one else cared. She’d been forgotten, and I was the carrier of her memory. The man who broke her became her keeper. When she’d “died”, everyone felt sorry for me. Even though I had no memory of what happened, I knew something was wrong. I knew there was a debt to be paid. When Jessica and I found out she was alive and we’d sent a team of smart men and women to find her, I’d hoped she’d be in some suburban house with two kids and a dog. But the trail had led us to an expensive, secret facility for people who couldn’t move. Fuck, how I’d cried and thanked God and the saints for Jessica’s shoulder.

A million years before, we’d lain on our backs on the grass of Elysian Park, where my family would never find us. Rachel liked to wonder what it was like to be me. She thought I had not a worry in the world. Yes, my father was a f**king sociopath, but he didn’t stick his fingers inside me like hers had, and he didn’t scream and hit me and lock me in the house like her stepfather had. Whatever I endured would end when my trust fund spread its legs at twenty-one. For her, the light at the end of the tunnel had not appeared.

“Do you wish for things you can’t buy?” she’d asked.

I’d looked over at her. Blades of grass sat in the foreground of my vision, slashing her face, which was turned to me. Her eyes were tobacco brown, wide and light with sun inside them. “You’re fascinated with money,” I said.

“I think I am.” She’d smiled. “It’s made you different, you know. You’re fearless. It’s exciting, kind of. Watching you is like watching someone who’s really, truly free.”

I’d laughed. I never felt free in my life. “What do you wish for? Besides money.”

“You make me sound like a gold digger.”

“You are, but you’re terrible at it. I think a few more years and you’ll be sleeping with the right guy.”

She’d flung herself on top of me and pinched my sides. I laughed and rolled her over until I had her pinned.

“Tell me what you wish for, and if it’s any part of my body, your wish will come true at the Regency Hotel in forty minutes.”