Page 23 of Felonies are Forever

I am avoiding going back to the house, so I had my driver drop me at the market for a few things. As much as I love my father, I still feel nothing from him. It’s like he’s acting a part. Saying the right things, showing me how different he is, but it just feels contrived.

Maybe I’m just jaded or I don’t understand him. We were never close. It’s unreasonable for me to think that things will change just because I came home.

The wicker basket that hangs on my forearm is full of junk food. The classics from when I was a little girl. And a box of donuts. They will taste like air and cardboard, I’m sure, because I’ve been spoiled.

But I need them.

Stupid fucking donuts.

As I check out and pay for my evening’s edible decadence, I think about just heading to the airport. Flying back.

I don’t know, but flying somewhere. Flying anywhere.

Déjà vu all over again.

Then my self-loathing cuts through me. How am I this indecisive about my life? Why can’t I just know what is right and wrong? Not good and bad, necessarily, but just right and wrong. For me. Everyone else seems to just know, but here I am like a damn flapjack on a hot skillet.

I thank the shop owner as I pay for my goodies and step out into the sunshine. The chatter of tourists and locals ticklesmy ears as I push my sunglasses along my nose and look up and down the block for my driver and car. It’s strange being back, living this way. Going from my single room over Mrs. Takashima’s grocery to chauffeurs and a mansion by the sea.

A black Lincoln comes into view at a slow, steady crawl up the street. The car itself is not all that uncommon around here; they are what many tourists use to get around instead of the common folk cabs. So I’m not sure the black sedan is my ride, but I step out into the street, ready to wave my hand if I recognize Henri behind the wheel.

Even with my sunglasses on, I have to squint to see though the glare of the windshield. It takes me just a moment to realize it’s not Henri so I start to step back when there’s a muffled shout from inside.

“There she is, stop!”

I don’t know why, but somehow I know they’re talking about me, and I turn to flee just as the driver’s side rear door flies open. I stumble, but manage to step back onto the sidewalk without falling on my face. Trying to regain my balance, I glance back to see a man slamming the back door.

I don’t need another second to realize who it is.

He’s on me in three strides, his fingers taking my sunglasses from my face and stuffing them in the front pocket of his suit.

“What the hell are you…?” I’m sure there are a trillion and one other things that would have been more appropriate to say, but sometimes my filter is just flicked off.

Thorne leans down to whisper in my ear. “You can run, but you can’t hide, CeeCee.”

Those are psycho stalker words, right? But they send a shiver through me that tells me what I’ve known every night since I came back here. He’s right and I like it.

I should never have left. He’s in my soul and as much as I had questioned everything about my decisions, now that he’s here I’m exactly where I want to be.

“I’m sorry.” I look up as he settles me under his arm, draping it across my shoulder. The world is spinning, not just in my vision but throughout my whole being, and out of the corner of my eye I see Henri pull the car over and step out. “That’s my ride.”

Another fine, engaging choice of words in this situation, CeeCee. Way to communicate the tirade of feelings that are swirling like a tsunami inside of you. Don’t hold back, say what you really feel.

“You want a donut?” I reach into my basket and hold up the box of horrible donuts for him to see.

He smiles that smile and I swear I’m levitating. Nothing feels attached, let alone me, to the ground or anything else.

“We’re fine, little bird. Let’s go talk.” He squeezes my shoulder. “But don’t ever buy donuts from someone else again, okay?”

“Where do you want to go?”

“I’ll follow you anywhere.”

“You want to see where it all began? The mess than is me?” My words are hesitant but for some reason, I want to take him home. I feel safer knowing he’ll be there with me, even if just for a short time.

The whole drive back to the house, Thorne holds my hand. I’m frozen.

Not sure what to say or if I should tell him about the baby. Ask him how he found me. Why he’s here. But we don’t speak. We sit in silence in the back of the car, and it’s a comfortable silence. When we finally get home, my father’s limo is gone and we walk silently through the main living room and toward the wall of windows.

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