No Strings Attached

Chapter Ten

“Oh, like fuck!” he exhaled angrily, “Even if last weekend had never happened, you always have been, just stop boxing shadows and fucking tell me!”

“He’s a fucking nutjob,” she muttered, “What’s the issue? He just wailed on calling me pet and slut, before not really saying much else at all. I overreacted, panicked, he just reminded me so much of my father, and I just ... couldn’t help it. I’m over it, seriously.”

She could hear his teeth grinding against each other down the phone – the enamel making a tiny scratching sound that was almost like static.

“I’m going to kill him,” he spoke in a cold, dead voice – not one single inflection in his tone that he was as angry as he seemed, “You get that right? It won’t be pretty, or heroic, it’s going to be fucking brutal and messy. I don’t want you to know that bit, but I feel like I should tell you. Franchetti doesn’t get to do it – neither does Jay, much as I know he’s chomping at the bit to do so. That piece of shit is all mine – but I’m going to ruin him first.”

She nodded her head, his tone more than anything was the most terrifying thing she had ever heard coming from his lips – he didn’t sound like Nate at all, he sounded like a piece of human fucking weaponry – cold, solid and fucking deadly.

Realising he couldn’t see her, she cleared her throat before speaking in a small voice with a simple “Yeah.”

His own voice softened as he heard the fear in hers, “It’s not your fault, babe.”

“It feels like it is.”

“It’s not. The only thing that his dirty little obsession with you in this big pile of fucking shit changes is that I’ll be making sure it’s my hand he goes by, that’s it. I want him finished – in every fucking way I can think of, I want him gone, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I just want you to be careful, keep your head down. Don’t make any arrangements to go over to the city, I know you’re in London right now, but just keep your head down.”

“I don’t want to be scared like this again,” she murmured, pulling the blanket up over her chilled flesh, “I just don’t want to keep running.”

“You’re not running, and I’m not asking you to hide either,” he said softly, “But I want you to be safe, I really need to know that you’re safe. Can you do that – if not for you, then for me?”

Quietly, in a voice so like her seventeen year old self that he closed his eyes on the other end of the line and savoured it as it emerged, she agreed.

                                   ***************************************

Three days passed in a blur, as she went from her Estate Agent, to her solicitor, and back to the flat, packing up boxes for the Charity Shop, and others to take back home. Rory was sort of helpful – in a similar way to the help of a small child with a large capacity for physical exertion.

As long as she gave him exact instructions, he would be fine – she just had to be aware that he did have the attention span of a four year old, and would probably wander astray if she didn’t keep an eye on him.

But when she spotted her baby album, on the bottom shelf behind all the old copies of Cosmopolitan she’d binned, she was suddenly drained by his twitchy fidgeting, and sent him out for a little fun.

The chances were that she wouldn’t see him for another three days, she thought, as he grabbed his McKenzie jacket off the hook, blew her a kiss from the front door, and then disappeared through it.

Pouring herself a strong shot of whiskey, she curled up against the cushions, flicking through the delicate pages, until she rested on the only picture she had of her beautiful baby girl, and stroked the soft cheek of her child through the protective plastic that lay over the image.

She wasn’t expecting visitors, so the knock at her door surprised her as she hadn’t heard the intercom either, which anyone would need to get into the building. Deciding Rory had probably forgotten his keys, she unfolded herself from the couch and turned the latch without locking through the peephole.

So when Nate’s eyes met hers from behind the door, she started softly, looking back over her shoulder into the sparse empty living space, before back at him.

“How did you get in?” she murmured.

“I uh, a woman was leaving,” he turned his head as if she would pop up behind him, confirming his story – hands in the pockets of his dark combat trousers, he looked a little nervous, “She let me in. She had a kid with her ... and some shopping, I gave her a hand with the bags ...”

“I don’t know any of my neighbours,” she murmured, a frown marring her features, “Uh, come in I guess? You want some tea?”

He nodded, his eyes looking around the room slowly as he followed her in, taking in the decor, the space – eager for some insight into her life without him in it – drinking in every tiny detail.

She’d forgotten the album laying open on the table, and the birth certificate in the back that she’d had to have written out so that she could register the beautiful baby’s death.

She’d forgotten she’d had his name put on it.

So when she came back into the lounge, and saw him holding it – despair and agony playing across every plane of his face as he looked up at her in confusion, she dropped the mug of hot tea to the floor, the scalding liquid burning into her flesh as the porcelain shattered at her feet.