Page 16 of A Taste Of Truth
“I’m done,” she says, hurrying the outskirts of the room. “You’re all fucking freaks.”
Picking up the pile of clothes I had brought here for her, she then runs into the bedroom, the sound of the lock engaging immediately.
“Idiot, “Gray snaps. “What the fuck is wrong with you. Life so awful, is it?”
I turn and find him scowling at me as if I’m a disorder to be analysed, probed, and studied. I’m not. Or maybe I am, but that’s not his fucking concern. None of this is. My life included.
And now he’s blaming me for something he caused with his actions?
His head shakes, body folding backwards until he’s in the chair she was sitting in, and he looks at his watch. “I need you to consider all this rationally, Malachi. Learn, or I’ll have you moved to a place where you’ll be taught to learn. Stop fighting me. I gave you a chance, use it wisely.” My eyes narrow, as he rests his elbows on the chair casually. “One week now. Deal with yourself before I do it for you. I suggest you start with apologising.”
Fuck that. There isn’t a chance I’m apologising to him any time soon for anything.
He looks at the door behind me. “Not me, Malachi. Her. She’s where your chance is. Use it.”
Her.
Chapter 7
Ally
Throwing the clothes on the bed, I rip the sheet from my skin and start getting into whatever has been given to me. I was just eating. I was eating and thinking and discussing the possibility that I might be able to help regardless of being given a way home by him. I really was. I was considering staying, helping, making him talk to me because … I don’t know why. But him coming back into the room, crawling as if his life depended on it, was enough for me to recognise this feeling inside me to full effect. I wanted to stay in those seconds, needed to. He was everything in his pain, everything to the point that, once again, his feelings consumed mine and I was here – with him – for him.
And then he hit me.
The trousers get tugged into place, slim fitting shirt buttoned, regardless of the too small bra, and I’m pacing the room not knowing what to do. A locked door isn’t going to stop him for long. And I don’t even want to be in here. It smells of him, and me. And let’s not even think about the bed we’ve shared or that fucking kiss that lasted an eternity and promised peace and safety.
Stupidly, I stare at the same bed and spin the knife on my finger, confused and annoyed and utterly lost in ridiculous thoughts that are not mine to think. We didn’t even do anything in it but sleep, but that alone is intimate enough to make all kinds of sensations ride through me every time I think of waking up in his arms. They were tight around me, secure and safe, as I lay on his chest – naked. Not that he seems to care about that. I’m just something to be pushed around to him, to be hunted when he feels like it. Just another thing to play with.
Pills or not.
Huffing, my hand unlocks the door, fingers tucking my hair behind my ears. I’m going. He said the car would be waiting for me when I was ready. I am. With any luck, he’s at least honourable where that’s concerned. And if not, then I’ll find that tunnel again and fucking walk my way across wind and snow to get to a fucking house, or airport, or any-fucking-thing that might get me home.
They’re both still there when I get out into the lavish lounge, both of them looking at me even though I’m pretending not to notice either of them.
Whatever.
I bypass them and head straight out into the corridor, now knowing exactly where the main door is after my little jaunt around this morning, afternoon, evening. My head shakes, eyes looking out a window into what seems the dead of night. I don’t know what time it is – again. Either way, they can deal with themselves now – get on with their strange little world of fucked up intentions and debauchery. I don’t care. I don’t.
Ducking into the dining room, I collect the boots from last night and pull them on before carrying on with my homeward quest. Maybe I’ll look them up when I get back home, find out who the hell Malachi Jones and his friend Gray are. I’ve only got a plane ride to deal with and then I’ll be there, if Malachi’s true to his word, anyway. I hope he is, because I can’t cope anymore. Don’t want to in reality. None of this is anything to do with me, and random strange feelings or not, I’m done.
My fingers press my temple where the table knocked into it, as I leave this place and walk out into freezing cold air. He didn’t really hit me, the table did, but that’s not the point. He pushed me into it, used rage and force to send me sideways when all I was trying to do was calm things down enough for sensible conversation between two ego’s the size of this fucking castle. I remember the feeling well from way before him, remember the sense of fear it levelled in me at the time on my home streets, too. Men fighting to claim ground. My father trying to stake his own patch. Threats, violence. The ongoing street wars between rivalling gangs attempting to prove their worth.
Not again – never again.
“I enjoyed sleeping with you, Alice.”
The sound of his voice behind me doesn’t stop me walking towards the car that is, in fact waiting. But it does make my insides remind me of feelings that are not real. They can’t be. He’s just an attractive man. Okay, a really attractive man, but this place, him, the air and even the fucking pills make this impossible. Whatever this is. I mean, what is it? Feelings or dreams?
Reality or imagination?
I spin, maddened by the continued confusion roaming all over my skin, and point the knife at him. Go, stay. Help, not give a fuck? I can’t process it. None of it. “You’re an asshole. And this place isn’t real. Or maybe it is, but not really real. I’m not even sure you are. None of it’s like a real place or real people or normal.” He walks slowly down the steps, still in that thin shirt and jeans, and waits for more to come out of my mouth. He’s right to. More’s coming. I know it is. Or I think it is, if I can just make up my mind what it is that I’m trying to say. “Stay back.”
The sound of a bird caws somewhere, wind whistling at the same time. It makes more sense to me than he does. At least it’s real. My gaze flicks out towards where it came from, up towards the sky and stars. I think it’s real anyway. No birds in the sky, though. I’m going mad.
I clutch, one handed, onto the door of the car behind me, part hoping it’ll ground me into reality. It doesn’t, and the knife still pointed at him isn’t helping me with reality either.
“Keep going,” he says, half smiling.