C5 Chapter 4

IT’S STILL EARLY afternoon, and the rain has finally eased off. Luckily, traffic is relatively light, apart from the bus drivers who honestly thought they owned the roads, and the irate Hackney cabbies, who fisted their horns at whatever annoyance irked them – usually the bus drivers.

As I sit in traffic, contemplating, riding the biting point, I wonder if it would be advantageous to get the Tube or the bus home. If I did, at least I wouldn’t be sat burning money on petrol and moving at a snail’s pace for miles. The bus in front of me pulls up to its stop, and I wait further back, seeing the mass exodus of bodies alighting and boarding. My skin feels itchy just watching them as some part of my body scales off, thanks to the Almighty am alone driving.

No, I definitely wouldn’t do well with public transport.

My condition isn’t just becoming worse; it has already exceeded that stage. It is now bordering on the line of clinical expertise. I’m not ignorant to it, but it will be a cold day in hell when I openly offer to find help. The only reason I have a long list of numbers pertaining to New York shrinks, albeit the NHS ones, was because Nancy would put me in the car and spring it on me as late as she could, namely when we were already in the building, and I was speculating. It would take something, or someone, amazing and exceptional, to get me to seek help of my own free will in an attempt to finally cure myself of this self-loathing.

I make it home ten minutes earlier than I usual. Slowly pulling into my parking space, I notice a very expensive grey Mercedes in the space next to mine. I can’t ever recall seeing it before, and naturally, I’m curious. This isn’t the kind of area you leave a beautiful machine like that. I carefully open my door, ensuring I don’t scrape the side of it. I stare at it for a few more moments, knowing I will probably never own anything as stunning in my pathetic life. Pushing open the main door to the dilapidated building, I boycott the lift and start to take the stairs up to the flat. A few months back, the owner - Brian’s father - decided the staircases needed to be freshened up in order to procure himself some new tenants. Under duress, I was resigned to get in the bastard thing. As my luck would have it, my reasons for avoiding them were strengthened when it suddenly stopped. Given my fear of confined spaces anyway, it’s not an experience I want to relive anytime soon, if ever again.

Approaching my flat, I hear voices coming from the other side of the door. I turn the handle, and it opens in my palm. he didn't even lock the fucking door! My patience for him is wearing thin as the day goes on.

Marching into the living room with purpose, I’m stopped short by its occupants. My eyes expand in shock at what he has done.

He has broken The golden rule: no men in our home. Ever.

I look over the two men sat on our sofa and tilt my head up in acknowledgement to them. These could easily be the two scary guys Isabelle had spoken of at lunch. Both large in stature, they are dressed head to toe in black. They each have brown hair and dark eyes, and I have to admit, they are very easy on the eye. The fairer one is grinning at me, and fear starts to course through my body under his relatively attractive, but watchful glare. His companion’s eyes are trained on the floor, never abandoning the spot they are fixated on.

A strong feeling cuts through me, and a bizarre sense of familiarity is too intense to brush aside. Except, I am absolutely positive I’ve never laid eyes on these two prior to today.

“Hey! My friends came by. Hope you don't mind,” Maxwell says cheerily, literally bouncing into the room, obviously forgetting our unfinished argument from this morning. It’s more than likely she probably doesn’t even remember.

Drugs will do that to you.

He’s all big smiles and optimism now, whereas I’m as angry as hell, balancing precariously on the edge of sanity and reason. He knows he isn’t allowed to bring anyone back here, and I sure as hell don’t want these friends thinking we have an open-door policy and dropping by whenever they see fit.

“Maxwell, can I talk to you for a minute?” I calmly walk down the hallway and into the bathroom, with him following a few steps behind. He closes the door, and I quickly spin on my heels.

“What the fuck?!”

“I’m sorry, they just came by,” he says, his pleading tone laced with guilt, which is corroborated when his eyes widen, and he starts to wring his hands together.

“Maxwell, nobody just comes by! Nobody knows where we live, not even Our parents! You gave them our address, didn't you?” I ask, feeling the pressure of the day finally spilling over the surface. His head drops down in confirmation that he most certainly did. I bring my hand to my forehead and rub it firmly.

“Get them out now! I can't take any more of your shit today!” he reaches out to me, but I flinch at his action and quickly move away. “Don't.”

“What’s happened now?” he asks, apparently forgetting he is what happened this morning. he crosses his arms over his chest, clearly pissed off.

Well, that makes two of us, because I feel ready to commit murder!

“The bastard called. He owes money to Samson Again!” I answer, turning to the sink to stare at my pathetic reflection in the mirror above it.

“Oh, shit! What does he want now? You to bail him out? Fuck him, you've been doing it for years. He needs to learn to deal with his shit himself. He’s not down here, is he?” It’s times like these I could almost forget the rumours I’ve heard about Maxwell. The Maxwell same way I could almost forget that my father isn’t the only person in my life who is a financial drain on my resources.

Almost.

“No, he’s still in our habitat now. Well, at least I think he is.” I turn to look at him, hesitant to ask my next question, but the time for ignorance has been and gone given the men currently sitting in our living room. “Maxwell, I've heard some stuff recently, and I want you to tell me the truth-”

“Leave it, Nelly!” he says defiantly, twisting his head towards the living room. “Look, I'm going out. I'll see you when I get back.”

“And will that be tonight, next week, or next month? I don’t know, next year, maybe, if I’m lucky?” I mutter sarcastically. He doesn’t respond. Instead, he just glares at me and shakes his head. She walks out of the bathroom, and I follow.

I hang back in the living room doorway, watching as he collects his things. I cross my arms over my chest and look at the men on the sofa again, their eyes trail me from head to toe while I wait impatiently for them to get out. Their perusal makes me shiver. Something just doesn’t feel right.

“Hey, I'm Dennis,” the larger of the two says. He stands and moves a little closer, and his body casts a shadow from the sunlight penetrating the room. I inch back discreetly under his evident curiosity. His eyes are judging me closely. He licks his lips, and his pupils dilate, pinning my body with invisible barbs. I feel nauseous. The look is all-knowing and all-seeing.

“And this is Jeremiah.” He jerks his hand towards his companion, who is a little smaller, but no less intimidating. He merely looks into my eyes once, then drops them back down. Very strange.

I tilt my head a little but don’t say a word; they don’t deserve anything from me. I look at Maxwell, his eyes appear weary, old before their time. He walks over to me, and I stiffen when He grabs me and kisses my cheek hesitantly.

“Don't wait up.”

A few moments later, the door closes behind them, and I put my ear to it, listening to their collective footsteps retreating further down the hallway until the lift pings faintly. I quickly lock the door and rest my head against it. At last, I’m finally left alone, with nothing but the hum of the refrigerator, and the burning sensation slowly dissipating on my skin.

I kick the wood in frustration.

This is bad.

This is very, very bad.

A buzzing resounds in my head, and I shift in bed. Slowly registering the noise, my eyes feel heavy, and my mouth is dry as I fumble for my vibrating phone. Disorientated and tired, I look at the screen wearily.

“Maxwell?” Still half asleep, I roll over to see it is two o’clock in the damn morning.

“Nelly, please come and get me, I'm scared! Please come!” Oh shit, He doesn’t sound good. His voice is shaky, interspersed with tears.

I am instantly on high alert, wondering what the hell He has been doing for the last ten hours or so. I hate to say I told you so, but I knew it would end badly. “Maxwell, where are you?”

Cradling the phone between my head and shoulder, I dash across my small room, throwing on my battered, old jeans and a t-shirt, listening to her mumble incoherently the name of the hotel. I grab my keys and wallet, lock the door behind me and bolt down the stairs.

I turn the key in the ignition and will my Fiesta not to be a bitch, and thankfully, He cooperates. I reverse out of the space at speed, quickly checking my blind spots and mirrors to make sure no police are about, then plough out of the car park faster than I usually do.

Turning onto the main road, I run red lights where I can, well aware I’m breaking a dozen traffic laws and at risk of getting caught by the cameras, but all I can think about is Maxwell. As much as He made me want to do time for her earlier today - yesterday - I couldn't care less, because right now, He’s all that matters. He’s in trouble, and I know I should turn and walk the other way, but something inside won’t let me.

I won’t let him down the way that others have done to me. It just isn’t an option.

Driving into the city, I ease down on the accelerator slightly and maintain a speed just above the limit. My hand grips the steering wheel tightly, as I wonder what situation might face me when I eventually find him I want to scream out in frustration that He keeps getting herself into these shit predicaments. That, no sooner does He have a good thing going on, He screws it up disastrously. Nearly three years of living together have taken their toll on me. I have witnessed his drift through life without a care in the world, going from job to job, and girl to girl while I was left running behind him, picking up the pieces each time the shit hit the fan and blew up in her face.

My head is on the verge of exploding with thoughts of what state He might be in as I get closer and closer to the hotel. And more importantly, what He has got herself involved in this time. Except, in my heart of hearts, I already know.