Page 7 of Indigo

“Indigo,” he purrs, a smug look on his face as he pockets his phone into his dark grey slacks and pulls a bouquet of red roses from behind his back, presenting them to me as if they’re a gift I should be grateful for.

I fight the urge to scoff at what I’m sure is an incredibly expensive bunch of flowers. If he’d paid attention to me at all throughout the duration of our relationship, he’d know that I hate roses, especially red ones. I prefer daisies. Seaside daisies.

I’m sure he marked that fact early on as another one of my annoying flaws.

“Michael,” I reply with a nod, pretending as though his presence doesn’t bother me.

With my chin held high, I attempt to pass him to get to mum, but his hand darts out just as I brush past his suit jacket with my shoulder, clenching around my upper arm,hard, taking no notice of the fact I’m not alone.

“Where the hell are you going?” he hisses, his voice lowered to an almost whisper.

I’m sure if someone was to walk past us, it would look as though he was being affectionate, whispering sweet nothings into my ear.

“Out,” I bite back, trying to jerk free.

For the past four months, I’ve built myself back up from the shell of a person he’d turned me into. Self-talk and forcing myself into a fuck load of uncomfortable situations has made me stronger, and yet, my heart is still racing, and I can feel the shame building in my chest as his eyes roam over me with disgust.

“In that?” Our eyes lock as he speaks, and I shrink into myself a little, as I always do, and I fucking hate that.

“Please let go,” I say, proud that my voice remains strong, only wavering slightly as his grip tightens.

“I suggest you let go of her, young man,” Mum interjects, angling her body in front of me as Michael keeps a firm grip on my arm.

He blinks, turning his attention to her momentarily, the anger slipping from his demeanour. Releasing me quickly, he uses his now free hand to pat down the front of his jacket. “I just want to talk.”

Seriously?The bastard cheated on me. We’ve been broken up for months. Fucking months, and it’s not like we were in love prior to that. I thought we were, at one point, but that feeling died off pretty quickly, and fear more than anything kept me in my place. I should have ended things earlier, like the last time he threw a lamp at my head because I didn’t wear the perfume he bought me. But no, apparently, I needed to see him rutting into Grace, the only other receptionist employed at his father’s practice, on his kitchen counter to call it quits.

Who knew that was my line?

I shake my head and take a step to the slide, pushing mum along with me, trying to get both of us closer to the elevator. “We have nothing to say to each other, Michael.”

The grin that spreads across his face scares the shit out of me. He’s never hit me, but honestly, the last few months of our relationship, felt as though I was just waiting for the day that he snapped and finally did.

“We will talk, Indigo. Because I want to. You need to remember your place in this relationship and stop rebelling against me. I’ve made reservations at The Black Swan on Friday night. 6pm. You will be there.” His tone leaves no room for negotiation.

“She won’t be going any-fucking-where with you,” Mum hisses from beside me, pointing her index finger at him. If looks could kill, Michael would be dead right now, no doubt.

I ignore her protests and nod at him. “Fine. Friday.”

Michael isn’t the kind of man to give up when he wants something, and the possibility that this conversation could be the final thing to make him leave me alone is too appealing to pass on. We’ll be in public, I’ll be safe, and maybe, just maybe, this will be the end of the worst years of my life.

“Good,” he says with a victorious grin.

And then, just like that, he drops the flowers to the floor and steps on them as he makes his way to the elevator, leaving a trail of destroyed petals behind him.

I stand there, watching as the doors open and close with him inside, and when the numbers above the elevator show that he’s reached the ground floor, I let out the breath I didn’t even realise I was holding.

“Oh, we need to talk, Indie-girl,” Mum says, her eyes on the closed doors in front of us. “I think perhaps we should order breakfast on the app instead and go back inside, yeah?”

-2-

PAXTON

“PAX, SWEETHEART, what a lovely surprise,” Lana says, dressed in the most ridiculous pink and green tie-dyed muumuu, and the usual welcoming smile on her face as she holds the front door open for me. “Come in.”

I kiss the top of her head as I slip past her, into the house that feels more like home than the one I grew up in ever did.

I don’t think many people understand my relationship with Lana. Not a lot have bothered to ask. My dad was a drunk. A fucking mean drunk, and when my mum took off, leaving both Jagger and me behind to escape his fists, I was only nine. Jagger was five.

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