Scorned (From the Inside Out #1) (4 page)

I was shocked as hell to find out she kept the apartment. I took a chance and ventured over to the part of the city that still feels like home, even though it hasn’t been in three years. I wasn’t aware of the date when I woke up this morning. That was just coincidence, but after seeing her two nights earlier, well,
who I thought was her,
I had to verify with my own eyes.

When I googled her, it brought me back to the old apartment. I showed up early because she was always a morning person. I am too now, but I used to be more of a night owl. Today, I got there early and waited, like a stalker. Man, I’m fucked up. I waited knowing how fucked up what I was doing really was, but I couldn’t get her off my mind. Now, like then, I can’t sleep, but for very different reasons these days…

I can’t sleep because of the guilt I carry. I watch Juliette instead. There’s just enough light from the bathroom for me to see her face. She has this nightlight that she leaves on in there. She said it made her feel safe at night. I teased her because I didn’t understand and thought nightlights were childish. But now I hope she finds comfort in it. Comfort I can’t seem to give her anymore. Comfort she’s going to need if I keep going in the direction I’m going.

I carefully slide my head onto her pillow and press my nose down so I can smell her hair and her skin. I love her scent. It’s inviting, drawing me near, and gives me security.

I’ll miss that.

I’ll miss her, though I know she won’t believe me in the aftermath
.

Biggest mistake I ever made was leaving her. Three years later, I’ve paid a price for that decision. Now I’m paying the debt, chipping away at it little by little as I watch her during an early morning stakeout. She came out of her apartment, and from behind sunglasses I watch, from the safety inside of a small grocer’s window. She doesn’t see me, but I see her. She is nothing less than stunning but she doesn’t look happy, her mouth never deviating from a straight line as she walks down the street.

I miss the neighborhood, the apartment we shared, that coffee shop, the grocer, her… us together. I lost myself the day I walked out of our apartment the last time. It was the opposite back then. I thought I had found myself. I finally had what I thought I wanted—a shortcut to success. I quickly discovered that success comes with a price and I had to pay up.

I took a leap of faith, put everything into storage except my best suits—I had two—and knocked on Hillary’s door.

It started out as harmless flirtations in the office, but it grew into something more on New Year’s. She lit a fire in me that I hadn’t felt… I hadn’t felt since I first met Juliette. She made me feel good, like the world was ours to conquer if I’d just accept some fake destiny she laid out before me.

Hillary was a predator and I was her prey, weak to temptation. She smiled when she saw the suits in my hand. She took them from me, hung them on the coat rack that stood by the door and jumped on me, her laughter filling the corridor of her high-rise condo.

We partied—hard. I’m shocked we still had jobs, but she gave me power. Power I had never felt before. I was made a manager within two months.

She took me places and introduced me to people of society—people of wealth, people I discovered were as loyal as conmen. I was the toast of the town one day and when they were through with me, nothing. She came from money and she loved to spend it on me. I thought I wanted all that, that life. I hadn’t had money in years.

With Juliette, we had to be careful. We were young and broke because we had just started our careers. She landed an associate sales position at a gallery downtown and I had been accepted into a Manager-in-Training program for a large telecom firm. We felt like real fancy somebodies, living the high life, or so we thought: An apartment in New York City, nice furnishings, take-out three times a week, and a new car. I’d never owned a new car before. It was exciting—ridiculous in Manhattan but exciting.

That car was the start of our downfall though neither of us recognized it at the time. Over time, I resented her for keeping me from a bigger life. Back then, I didn’t know how false and fleeting that life was. I hated that new life, the life with Hillary.

My watch beeps twice, alerting me that my lunch hour is over. I swing my feet down and toss the sandwich in the trash. I depress the do not disturb button to allow calls back in and I turn on my cell. My afternoon is swamped with papers and proposals, clients and business calls. I now manage a team of sixteen at an investment firm in the Financial District. I’m making five times the money I made three years ago. One would think I’d made it big by all appearances.
I haven’t.
The money doesn’t matter to me anymore. I was happier when I didn’t have much. I was happier when I had Juliette.

I’m lonely though I’m always surrounded by people. I miss the warmth of her arms, her gentle sighs in the night. I miss the damn nightlight. I miss her, everything about her.

Hillary and I broke up after six months. We ended just as abruptly as we began. It was all fire and passion in that relationship. A tit for a tat. Heated arguments. Heated make-up sex.
It
was never satisfying.
She
was never satisfying.
She
wasn’t Juliette. She could never replace her.

My four o’clock invites me out for dinner and drinks. I accept. I always do. It’s part of my job. Dinner is on the company, which pleases the clients. We have cocktails with our meal. I have two. They each have three. Then they tell me there’s a new bar about six blocks from here—a strip club.

I agree to go because I’m supposed to. I walk, they stumble. I laugh, they crack up. I play the charismatic wingman to their antics, keeping the clients happy. On the way, we pass a party, a gallery holding an event tonight. The painting in the window grabs my attention, causing me to stop and stare.

I love art. I love looking at paintings, in particular. I prefer them to sculptures and such. Juliette was always so passionate about art and loved to talk about how art opened our minds to the endless possibilities. I loved listening to her.

Something inside the gallery draws me to this exhibit and I want to see more. Signaling for the guys to go ahead without me, I tell them I’ll meet them there. They’re too busy stumbling to care.

Walking around the room, I scan all of the paintings to get a feel for the collection as a whole before going back to the beginning to appreciate them one at a time. That’s just how she taught me. The fifth painting captures my attention. I grab a glass of wine as a waiter passes, and stare into the depths and ridges of the oil.

“It’s Rusque. He painted it last year while on holiday in Cannes.”

Tensing, I don’t turn, afraid she’ll run away again. Instead, I let her voice blanket me in warmth, familiarity, comfort, and I try to relax like we talk all the time.

“If you look closely,” Juliette continues. “You’ll see lavender mixed in with the orange, black, and red in the bottom left corner. I really like the unexpected lavender.” She pauses and I glance over. She appears to get lost in the painting for a moment before she adds, “It’s something soft found within the harsh.”

That sounds a lot like how I would describe her after seeing her this morning. I keep that thought to myself though.

She giggles out of nowhere and I turn to look at her, hoping I’ve elicited the sweet sound. But I see a glass of champagne in her hands and have fond memories of how it always made her laugh. I should have known it wasn’t me.

Her back is to me as she moves to the next painting, and I can’t pretend to be respectful by restraining myself to quick glances any longer. I look at her, really look at her, watching wholeheartedly, and allowing myself this indulgence. She walks with grace, and refinement, an outer confidence. After placing her glass on a table nearby, she holds her hands behind her back, her delicate fingers wrapped around a small wrist. Her pace is slow, feeling much like an invitation to stay, so I follow.

I can’t turn back the clock and appreciate what I had, but I still feel the loss of her every day. Realizing I have nothing left to lose since I already lost her, I take a chance. “I don’t know what to call you.”

She stands there studying the painting in front of her, no anger gracing her beautiful face like it did this morning. “I go by Jules now.” She glances my way and that’s all it takes to be utterly captivated by her, just like I was years before.

“I LIKE JULES,”
I reply, leaving the words lingering between us.

Juliette turns her head and looks past me. Her eyes widen like she sees someone in the distance, someone she recognizes who makes her smile. “If you’ll excuse me,” she says, not making eye contact, her gaze planted on my chest. I can see her struggle not to look up before she walks away.

Disappointment and relief covers me equally. I like the time I spent with her, just like this morning at the coffee shop. But it’s intense, heavy between us. I’m relieved to have the chance to take a breath and gather my wits back together. She throws me entirely off my game.

That makes me wonder if I’m playing a game with her. I don’t mean to. It’s not my style anymore.
When did I get game anyway
? Juliette loved that I had no game… when we met. I was popular, but didn’t screw with people’s heads to get my way.

With Hillary, it was all games. Life was a game to her. People were puppets to be toyed with, their emotions and lives irrelevant. Unlike my family, who are financially secure, coming from money for Hillary taught her not to value anything or anyone. People destroyed in the process were just consequences to the petty game. The first time I met her, I saw the devil in her eyes…

She was there. I think she was waiting for me and I don’t normally drink strong cocktails like martinis, so it was easy to lose my better judgment. What happened became a blur in the darkest of corners past the small antiquated payphone booth, hidden from the rest of the party.

Targeted. She had targeted me and knew she would get me eventually. I wasn’t strong enough, the liquor loosening my grip on the important things in my life, like Juliette.

Hands firmly wrap around my neck, pulling me toward the dark. My body ruled my mind in its weakened state. It was obvious that fate had already decided, it was obvious what her craving for me did. She was not shy, but like a woman possessed. Maybe obsessed was more appropriate when looking back.

Her lips found mine, but I resisted, turning my head. I’d never been with an aggressive woman before. The sudden stirrings I felt were unexpected. Somehow as she whispered the things she would do to me, for me, I knew. She was not going to take no for an answer. She would be relentless until she broke me.

She brushed across my cock, just on the outside of my pants, but it shamed me that my body wanted more. She couldn’t see my anger as I grabbed her wrists and removed them from where only Juliette had been since the day I met her. She couldn’t see the guilt that was already washing through me as I spoke of the love I had for my girlfriend. She wouldn’t have cared anyway.

Taking advantage of my faltering, she dragged my hand down her body demanding that I touch her. Suddenly I realized that I wanted her. Not as a whole, but on some level, some buried part of me liked her touch, her directness, and the words she spoke in hushed tones in my ear. She had to have me and she wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted. She wanted to please me. She was eager. I told her no, then Juliette came to mind and I stepped back. She reached for me, started pulling me back to her, but I ran. I ran into the restroom and I threw up.

My stomach rolled as I emptied the contents along with my heart and my life into the toilet, and flushed it all away. I avoided my reflection in the mirror as I washed my hands and my face, trying to bring color back to my cheeks, not wanting to worry Juliette. I scrubbed my mouth clean with paper towels before escaping quickly while making sure she wasn’t out there again waiting to pounce. I made it back to my girlfriend just as the clock struck twelve, giving her a closed mouth kiss.

Hugging me tight, she told me how happy she was, how lucky she was that we get to spend another year together. The moment was ruined when I saw Hillary over her shoulder though. She smiled at me like she knew she already had me. I closed my eyes, trying to block her out while I appreciated what I held in my arms.