Page 32 of Dangerously Deceptive

“No. Four days.”

Before I even get a chance to argue, he hangs up the phone. I consider calling back, but know there’s no point. If he was going to let me speak to her, he would have done so already. I’ve already waited a month, what’s another four days?

* * *

It turnsout that those four days were some of the longest in my life, even longer than the original thirty. No matter how much I tried to distract myself, or Liam sent me work in an attempt to keep me occupied, it didn’t work. My brain was my own worst enemy. I kept thinking up worst-case scenarios, and they were all horrific. I convinced myself that there must be a reason why Jamieson didn’t want me to talk to her, or maybe she didn’t want to talk to me. Or maybe she was so fucking badly hurt she couldn’t talk to me. All of these scenarios were running rampant in my head, and by the end of the four days I was losing it.

Arriving at Travis’ Cafe, I use my breathing techniques to keep myself calm, and as I walk inside, I hope like hell nobody notices me. Luckily, the young girl who welcomes me doesn’t look familiar. I ask her for the same seat by the window, which she happily obliges. This time I order a simple Diet Coke, because adding too much sugar to my already fried nerves is not the best idea.

I was in two minds about what time to arrive at the cafe. I realised I never agreed on a time with Whiskey, but we said the same as before, which I'm guessing meant the same time and place, just a different day. But, the other part of me would have quite happily been sitting here from when they opened at seven this morning, just in case.

I am not even halfway through my Diet Coke when the door opens, and in walks Shayla, followed closely behind by Jamieson. At first, I don’t even notice him, I’m too caught up on her. I have pictured this reunion in my head so many times, how I would feel, how she might look, what we would say, but I never pictured this.

The Shayla who left me almost thirty-five days ago is long gone, and I barely recognise her. This girl is so thin, her face almost looks gaunt, her cheekbones so much more pronounced than usual. Her skin, whilst being paler than normal, is also patchy, covered with different shades of make-up, which no doubt hide her real issues from the rest of the world. Her eyes, that normally shine, look dull and almost sunken into giant black circles. She appears to be glancing around, like she is antsy and not sure what she wants to do. Her clothes hang off her, and she looks like she has made no effort with her appearance at all. Hell, even her long blonde hair is wavy, matted, and greasy. She looks like she stopped taking care of herself the minute she walked into the compound.

I hate thinking it, but as she starts to scratch at her right arm, it suddenly dawns on me why she looks the way she does. She looks like a fucking addict on a downer, looking for her next high. My heart sinks. What the hell happened to her?

When I finally drag my eyes away from Shay, I notice Jamieson is following closely behind, wearing his Reaper cut proudly. He appears to have his hand on the small of Shayla’s back and is guiding her, like she might not remember where she is going if he wasn’t there. When he sees me, he actually looks ashamed, and I see him cast his eyes downward, almost like he is too embarrassed to meet my gaze. So he fucking should be. I may not be big or strong, but I sure as fuck wouldn’t have let this happen to the woman he claims to care about. She looks like a fucking walking, drugged-up zombie for Christ’s sake!

Jamieson leads her to the table, and they both just stand there next to me, like they are waiting for me to make the first move, but I have no idea what to say. Luckily, the young waitress comes across and interrupts the awkward silence that was gathering. “Sorry, I thought this was just going to be a party of two. Can I get you another chair?” she asks, and I can’t help the sarcastic snort that escapes.

“So did I, love. But, yeah, it looks like we are going to need another chair.”

She brings over the chair and they both sit down, Jamieson opposite, and Shayla in the middle. Her arms are wrapped around her tiny frame, and she seems to be so focused on scratching at the skin on her arm, although every so often her eyes do dart about, as though she is looking for something. Whenever she lifts the fabric on her jumper to scratch at the top of her arm, I can see the track marks on her arms. Fuck, here was me hoping she was a bit spaced out on too much weed. How the fuck did she manage to get addicted to heroin in a month?

Jamieson must be able to tell I am pissed, because he gives me this pointed look, like he wants me to deal with this in a certain way, but I have no idea what fucking way that is. Hell, I have no fucking clue about anything anymore. All I know is the Shayla I left isn’t the Shayla who is sitting in front of me now.

Didn’t I promise to be here for her, no matter what she had to go through? I remember making that promise to her just before she left. But when I did, I don’t think I was ever picturing this very moment. I don’t think I ever anticipated that this is what I would have to cope with.

Deciding I need to handle this situation delicately, I try to channel Liam as I take a big, deep breath before releasing it, along with all—okay, well, some—of my tension. “Maybe we should just start by saying hello, and ordering a drink?” I ask, earning me a small smile from Jamieson, but very little from Shay.

“That sounds like a good idea. What do you fancy, Shay?” Jamieson asks, and she shoots him a look filled with pure venom.

“You know what I fancy, but you wouldn’t let me have any. I told you I couldn’t do this without a fix. I can’t do it like this. I need something, it hurts so bad. My brain just won’t focus. I wanted to do this right!” I don’t know when her voice stopped being angry and turned into pain and sadness, but as her eyes begin to fill with tears, the hurt is obvious.

I don’t even know what to say, it’s like she barely wants to look at me, let alone talk to me. I say the only words I can think of that might make this situation better, other than ‘shall I grab you a hit?’ because there’s no fucking way I’m doing that. “Maybe I should go.”

My words hang in the silence before I see the tears falling down Shay’s cheeks, her soft cries feel a lot louder in the silence. Jamieson shakes his head, like he’s disappointed in me. I’m the one that left her in his care for a month and she comes out a smackhead. I should smack him upside his head.

Thankfully, the young waitress either is really incapable at reading social situations or she just doesn’t care, because she comes barrelling over to take their order. Jamieson orders a tea, and we all wait patiently for Shayla to speak. “Decaf latte, please.” Her voice is small and soft, sounding so fragile. I’ve never known a fucking junkie order decaf, particularly in the middle of a low. They crave any form of high, usually.

Once the waitress has gone, Shayla’s soft cries continue, and I can’t take it anymore. I reach over to place my hand on top of hers. “Shay…” That’s all I have a chance to say before she pulls her arm away, her gaze snapping up to meet mine. I wouldn’t say there’s a fire in her dull eyes, but there is a small spark. Like there’s still a little bit of Shayla left inside. Is that enough for me to keep trying?

“I told you he wouldn’t want me anymore. Can we just go?” Shayla’s words cut through me like a knife. How did she know what I was thinking? But, it wasn’t so much that I don’t want her, it’s more that I'm not really sure who she is. I barely knew the Shayla that left a month ago, but this is a complete stranger to me.

I try to rationalise, to tell myself that the chances are she has done this to make her time with the Reapers easier. After all, they made it clear that no matter how badly she was injured, she wouldn’t be allowed to leave the compound. She would have nowhere to run. Putting up with their shit, their abuse, constantly. It’s hardly a shock she would have looked for a way to get her head out of her body. To not have to be present there. Or, maybe the Reapers got her hooked so she wouldn’t want to leave. Either way, I need to get this girl clean and then deal with the fallout. I promised her one day at a time, no matter what, and I sure as fuck am going to stick to it.

“Shayla, I only asked if you wanted me to leave because you seemed upset about being here. Of course I am here for you, and I still want you. Why else would I still be here?” I explain softly, placing my hand next to hers, careful not to touch it, as I know how much that irritated her before.

Her tears that looked to be drying up now have become full-on sobs, attracting the attention of the people at the surrounding tables. I’m definitely never going to be allowed back in this cafe again after all this. Jamieson hands her a napkin, which she accepts, just as the waitress comes over with their drinks.

“Is everything okay? Can I get you guys anything else?” she says, looking uncomfortably between me, the crying junkie, and the big, burly biker. It’s no wonder she looks shifty.

I watch where her gaze goes on the other side of the room, and realise the man standing in the corner, the one who was obviously forcing this poor girl to bring the drinks at the wrong moment and ask what is wrong, is the exact same manager that came to kick me out a few days before. Given the way he suspiciously glances at Jamieson and the Reaper cut he wears for all to see, I can tell he has experienced the Reapers before. He also keeps looking out of the other large bay window, not the one we are sitting in, but the one we can’t see out of, and as he glances between the window and Jamieson, that’s when it hits me, he isn’t the only one here. There are more Reapers outside. Something the waitress is quick to confirm after we tell her everything is fine and we don’t need anything more.

“Erm, so my manager, he is asking if your friend would like to come in and have a seat too. We can move you to a larger table, as adding another in here would be a bit crowded,” she mumbles, her voice shaking about as much as she is. My opinion of her manager has just gone downhill rapidly. What kind of asshole sends a teenager who can only be around sixteen to ask that sort of thing?

Jamieson answers brusquely. “No, he is fine, thanks.”

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