Page 31 of Their Cruel Love

13

Phoebe

Razor has organized everything, and for that I am grateful.

The flight back is mostly silent, apart from the flight attendants’ polite inquiries and the plane’s background sounds. Even the torrent of voices and the hustle and bustle of London after we land seems merely…noise. I don’t have the spoons, as they say, for thinking about anything except the disaster I’ve retreated from. Though escaped from might be the better phrase. I escaped with wounds, and they’ve sunk deep inside, locking themselves in with barbs. They’re spreading poison. I’m afraid I will never ever dig them out. No matter how angry he was, I still want him back. Weak, I’m weak.

I have to scrub tears from my face in the middle of the airport.

I cannot help thinking about how Marcus must be feeling. Is he sad? Angry? Is he still disgusted? I think half the disgust is at himself.

Razor could be right. Given time, we could heal this.

I hope so.

I need to—Imustfix this, and right now I have nothing. Endlessly, I wheel a small suitcase through the throng of happy arrivals as they scurry to find their luggage. The little burr of the wheels and the weight on my arm reminds me that this is my only companion—a suitcase. The limo taking me back to my apartment has a taciturn driver who only glances at me a few times in the mirror.

He drops me off near the steps that climb to the Towers entrance.

The security guard is on a wander through the foyer and barely notices me. I’m invisible.

I’ve decided what I must do. That is a start. I will sell my apartment and use the money for a better purpose than slumming around being a spoilt rich, depressed bitch. That is how Milli would’ve described me…would describe me. I have to believe she’s alive.

In the elevator going up, I’m alone. I let out a sigh that fills the space and masks the machinery noises for a few seconds.

I’m lonely. The ache in my chest brings more tears.

I thought I’d found some people to care for, people who might come to truly care for me.

Guess I was wrong.

The chime as my electronic key unlocks my door is the only sound in the carpeted hallway.

Pushing through the door, levering the solid thing open, makes the lights come on.

“Hi,” I tell my apartment, smiling wanly.

Selling this place will be like burying a dead pet. The day drones by. I sleep the sleep of an Egyptian mummy that’s had too many tomb robbers annoying her. Then I jerk awake in the dark, staring at the shadows on the ceiling. It’s sometime past midnight, and the nightmare is back.

When next I wake, it’s early and the tomb-mummy deadness is still with me. My feet are filled with cement. When I crack open the balcony doors, the sun floods in through the gap and hurts my eyes. A few small boats drift below. It’s Monday morning and the streets out there will soon be swirling with people getting busy on their way to work, or maybe getting coffee so they can work in their apartments.

I pad back inside to find something better than underwear so I can venture into the world.

Nine-to-five work is not for me, and it never has been. I’m swearing off university study too. I’m going to sleuth out what happened to Milli, and it’s not just because I need an aim in life. I want to know, even if it means finding her dead.

“Fuck. Morbid bitch.” The nightmare did not cheer me up, strangely.

With a mug of tea in hand, with my elbow leaning on the balcony railing, I look out over the city skyline and remember being here with Milli, laughing, talking, being good friends. I return to the fridge and find a bottle of Moët. I pop the cork on the champagne and raise a toast to her against the morning sun.

“I will find you, girl. I will.” The bubbles mock me.Sure you will.

Given liquid courage by three glasses of the Moët, I find my phone and text Marcus.

Can we meet? Talk?

I’m thinking of whether I should say more but am worried I’ll ruin it, when his reply comes in.

Marcus:No.

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