Page 55 of Twisted Little Thing

CHAPTER XX

Nicky

"Nicky!" I hear his breathless voice at the other end of the line.

He sounds exhausted and upset.

I am sitting on a chair in the kitchen with my legs curled up under me and in the company of my worried roommate Yuka. She has been spitting fire since I told her what happened. She loathes Evan so much right now that I felt driven to defend him at one point. If it was up to her, I would just "dump that egocentric weirdo" and get on with my life, assuming that tabloid readers have a short memory and will forget all about me and the terrible pictures they saw of me associated with Evan.

I am not completely convinced of her suggestion, but I know that – if anything – she is the voice of reason in all of this. The person who does not have her heart wretched and distorted by a man's inexplicable appeal.

His charm, his smell, his loving voice and soft gestures that exist in vivid contrast to his brute and domineering way to take me just the way I love it. I hate the control he has over me, yet I love it at the same time.

Yuka would never understand.

"Evan," I say, speaking to him in a voice sounding nowhere as cold and distant as Yuka told me to be just a minute before. She frowns at me, obviously annoyed.

"Nicky!" he gasps again. "Are you okay?"

What kind of stupid question is that? Of course, I am not okay. I called him at least half a dozen times, hanging up before his voicemail picked up, and then left two very distraught voicemail messages that were a clear sign of how much I am not okay.

"Well, what do you think?" I ask. His idiotic question made it a lot easier to remember that I am mad at him. "Of course I am not okay."

He lets out a desperate sigh. Even though I cannot see his face, I do have a pretty good idea of what he might look like right now. And I cannot help but wish that I was standing right next to him.

"I am so sorry," he says. "For all of this."

"Are you?" I respond.

The tone of my voice has changed. Yuka appears to be satisfied.

"Nicky, you have to trust me," he adds. "I didn't know they would be there. I was just as shocked as you were."

"Okay," I say.

"But," he continues, "I should have known. I should have been prepared. I should have taken better care and not let this happen to you."

He pauses, possibly to give me time to speak. But I have nothing to say. He is right. He should have done all those things.

But he didn't.

"Trust me," he proceeds. "My publicist and I tried everything to prevent these pictures from being published. But it was too late. I spent hours on the phone with him to –"

"You should have talked to me," I interrupt. "How come you found the time to spend 'hours on the phone' with your publicist, but I hear nothing from you? Even worse, you don’t answer my calls or respond to my messages, instead completely ignoring me when I needed to talk to you the most!"

"Yes, I know, I was advised not to–"

"Advised? Why on earth were you advised not to talk to me?"

"We were trying to figure things out, I wanted to protect you," he tries to explain. I swear he is almost pleading with me to understand. "I tried... so hard. You have to believe me."

"How come you didn't even warn me?" I add, on a roll now. "If you knew those pictures were going to be published, how come you never said anything to me? Instead, I have to run into these bitches at work and –"

"What do you mean?" he asks, worriedly.

I tell him about what happened at the restaurant. About the two ladies, their shocked stares as they realized who I was.

A waitress. Just a waitress.

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