Page 150 of My Lovely Tragedy
After pushing my glasses up my nose, I glance in the upper right corner then release a sigh before hitting the answer button. Charlie’s tanned face appears on my screen, taking up nearly the entire window of Brooklyn’s show. I drag the screen smaller and move it to the upper left so I can still see everything that is happening—which is still nothing since my darling disappeared from sight. Which is also very apt, given everything he told me.
“Tobias,” Charlie drawls, hands clasped together across the top of his desk.
“Calling for confirmation, I suppose.”
“Yep, that’d be it. Amongst other things.” His face pinches tightly, obviously uncomfortable, the words practically oozing from his pores.
And he deserves better; I know he does, but I cannot be bothered with outside feelings. Not now.
“Well, you have it. Though, I would give it until tomorrow. It’s late.”
“It is,” he replies easily. Then, a moment later, “Wouldn’t it be easier tonight?”
“Why would that be?” My eyes flicker between Charlie’s eyebrow and the darkened stage. I muted the chatter, so it didn’t echo over Charlie, but I am beginning to regret that. I am wasting time.
“The sooner the better, I’d say.”
“Well, I suppose that may be the case most of the time, but I will not ruin this night for him, Charlie.”Or any. But inevitabilities…
I finish off what is left of my wine before setting the glass down on the coffee table in front of me. When my screen comes back into view—it’s of Charlie giving me his signaturelook.
I sigh and drag my fingers over my temple. The headaches are far worse than they ever have been, and the lights forever dancing in my peripheral never ease for a moment, even behind closed lids.
But worse than the visual impairments are the damned tremors and the prickling numbness. I can barely grip something for a length of time before it just… slips through. Like satin against satin. Water against water.
Brooklyn against me.
Unobtainable. Forever elusive.
“Tobias.”
My breath hitches, despite my resolve. I reach for the bottle of scotch beside the half-gone bottle of Merlot and nearly take a page from my darling’s book and neck the two-thousand-dollar liquor. But I resist the messy compulsion, and instead, pour a few fingers in my glass. I swirl the amber liquid around before drawing a sip and holding it, relishing in the heavy burn. The dance of citrus, spice, and wood smoke.
“Tobias!” comes much louder this time. With a swallow, I replace my computer with a weak grip. “I’m fucking serious,” Charlie snaps. I blink at him.
“Quite.”
“Don’t—” he cuts himself off with a grimace and a sharp inhale. I watch his hands fist before he pulls back and drops them below the surface of his desk. The wrinkles in his forehead are prominent, deepened by his discomfort.
My own gaze flickers toward the piano. A sleek and glossy onyx, stained with a splash of pristine white—a thick stack of papers positioned directly in the center of the closed lid that will never be raised again in this lifetime. “I am sorry, if it’s any consolation.”
“Are you?” he bites back. I lift a brow as I take another sip, contemplating his question.
“Only on a shallow surface level,” I reply honestly. “I shouldtrulybe—I do know that—but I cannot bring myself to feel sorry for anything other than what I did to him.”
“You could have ended up in prison, Tobias. If he went to the cops. You do know that, right?” The vein in his temple bulges the louder he gets.
“Yes, I am aware of that.”
He drops his head into his hands, giving me quite the view of the top of his head. Dark hair, tangled like he’s been tugging on it for many hours. “Then, do you just not fucking care?”
I purse my lips, dragging my index finger along my chin. “My, your language is foul today.”
“Don’t start with me, Tobias. I’m not in the fucking mood. All of your shit has my headpounding. All the time.I’m sick to my stomach.”
“Because of what I did?” That draws a frown.
“Yes! And everything else. But more than that, you’re my friend. We’ve known each other for fifteen years. You know my wife, my children. They call you Uncle T, for fuck’s sake. I’m used to you disappearing, even expected it after you told me a few months ago, butthis?” He drags his hand through his hair. “This isn’t you.”
