I look at the address on my cell phone before putting it away. I see the bookshelves at the back of the small coffee shop; the yellow light of the place makes everything look warmer, more welcoming. I walk in; a small bell welcomes me. I smile at the girl at the front desk, approaching the front table, where several of the author's books are being sold. I grab one, pulling out my card to buy one.
The girl thanked me, handing me a receipt at the end of my purchase.
She points me to the small library at the end of the coffee shop, where the event will be held.
I open the book, curious as I read the author's biography.
I freeze at the sight of the photograph.
It was as if the noise of the world had disappeared. As if the air did not exist.
My hands begin to tremble.
A male voice is heard over the small speakers in the place. Slowly, I look up from the book, looking at the improvised stage.
I feel a hand touch my back, placing itself on my waist.
It's not until I feel Ian's kiss on my cheek that I manage to see him.
The bubble bursts, startling me with the noise of people, background music and the movement of chairs.
The place hadn't felt so tiny seconds ago, but the amount of people in there is insane.
"Everything okay?" Ian looks at me with his brow slightly furrowed.
I smile at him as best I can, nodding. I open my mouth to say something to him, but the girl at the entrance points to one of the empty booths near a table with a candle.
We walk in silence, listening as, as I would believe, the owner of the café gives a few words before introducing the author, who laughs humbly at her side.
And I just sit there, watching as my grandfather announces his book, a book that has my mother's name on it.
The applause at the end of the interview startles me. Ian closes the book, which I hadn't even realized he'd bought, clapping too.
"Young." Ian's soft voice in my ear makes me look at him.
He's still frowning, concern traveling through his face.
People start to stand up, so I do the same.
The book I bought and had left on my lap falls off, but I don't care; I need to get out of the damn coffee shop.
I open my mouth as I feel the cold night. I open my mouth and try to breathe.
I pull the turtleneck shirt away from my throat as best I can, desperate for air.
I manage to calm my breathing when Ian comes out of the cafeteria.
He had a ticket in his hand for the drink he ordered, as well as both books. He approaches me.
"Young?" My last name comes out as a question. I turn to look at him, smiling at him.
"Sorry, the story—that lady's story—moved me; I needed to get out of there if I didn't want to turn to tears." half-truths, half-lies. Like everything since I came to this damn town.
Ian holds out my book to me, opening it to the first page, where an autograph appears and a small message that I dare not read.
I grab the book, thanking him softly.
I swallowed thickly, squeezing the book so hard my knuckles turned white.
"Wait for me; I think I forgot something." Before Ian can answer me, I walk once more into the coffee shop, still crowded with people but far fewer.
I see the staff door behind the stage, and I walk there without stopping.
The café owner tries to stop me, but my hand is on the door handle before her shout finishes reaching me.
I scan the small room, finding it empty.
I see the post-it on the wall in front of me.
I walk over to it, tearing it off seconds after reading it.
"8:45pm."
I walk out of the coffee shop, not hearing a few scoldings from the coffee shop owner. Approaching Ian, who checks his messages on his phone.
"Asher just got home from Luna's; I'll tell them we're on our way; I'll ask someone to come pick up my car; we're leaving in yours."
"No." I look at the time on my little watch.
Ian looks at me serious. I know well all the questions he is dying to ask about tonight—my attitude, my reaction, everything.
The guy spent the whole damn interview watching me without opening his mouth. Watching as I had to constantly remind myself how to breathe, how not to scream, how not to run out to my grandfather and break his teeth.
But he didn't say anything, just like he won't say anything at this point.
"I need to go home to get something; go ahead to Luna's house; I'll get there as fast as I can."
"Let me go with you." I run my hand through my hair, exasperated.
The damn sound of the clock is getting louder and louder.
I take Ian's hand, holding my gaze. I smile at him—a fake smile, a smile that overflows with poison.
Poison that will end up killing us both if I don't pull away this damn second. If I hadn't moved closer in the first place.
"See you at Luna's." I release my grip, walking the other way, looking for my car among the cars parked on the street.
I start up, not turning to look at the guy who follows my car with his gaze before I disappear.
A trip that normally takes me 45 minutes, I cover in 25, speeding as fast as I can, blood rushing through my veins and my fists so white that I groan when I finally arrive and have to pull them away from the steering wheel.
I get out, slamming my car door as hard as I can, wanting him to hear when I arrive.
Knowing full well that he's already waiting.
I look at the figure with his back to me as I step out onto the terrace.
"By what fucking right!" my grandfather turns to look at me slowly.
Boredom incarnate.
Managing to make me feel like a stupid, whimsical child. But the pain in my chest is greater.
"How could you write her story? How could you publish it without telling me? How could you do it by showing your damn face, so everyone could see it?"
His lack of response made me angrier.
"She was my mother!"
"She was my daughter!" His scream shuts me up.
Tears run hot down my cheeks, my sobs are so loud that I need to silence them with my mouth.
"You had no right, not without telling me-"
"SHE WAS MY DAUGHTER!"
My knees tremble, trembling as they did when I saw the title of the book for the second time, and trembling when I realized I had practically forgotten it, forgotten after months and months of planning revenge.
My mother's name.
My real name.
"Why didn't you tell me?" My words are no more than a whisper.
"This was always part of the plan," he replies after a while. "If you had read the whole damn plan,"
"This wasn't part of the plan I-"
"The plan was created since the son of a bitch abandoned her! Long before you knew anything!" my words disappear, my knees finally giving way, dropping me to the rotting wood. "You were the one who insisted on being a part of it! Hours after your mother passed away, you ran to me, asking for this! I told you that you weren't ready!"
"I've done everything you've asked." I whisper, no longer feeling the tears still streaming down my cheeks.
"Have you? Do you know how long it's taken you to do things? Months! You were supposed to disappear months ago! But you're still here, still with them. You think I don't know what a distraction today's guy is? Every time you go out with him? Every time you sleep with him?"
My body tenses up.
"You let him into your life! You let him into your house! You let him fall in love with you!" I close my eyes, taking in every word as if it were a slap in the face, unprepared for the last few. "You fell in love with him."
My eyes widen, fury filling them.
"He won't stop me from doing what I plan to do." My words are venomous, determined enough for silence to reign for a few long seconds.
"The gubernatorial election is in a month. The bomb needs to drop sooner."
"I'll do it." I say, picking apart every damn letter.
His eyes scan me with a slight sneer in them.
"The bomb will be dropped whether you're there to drop it or not. Don't forget that."
I stand up as best I can, wiping the dried tears from my cheeks.
"I'll be the one to destroy it." my shoulders slump, my gaze just as empty as my chest as I blurt out a warning. "If anyone else decides to step forward, I'll take their eyes."
I turn around, walking toward the exit.
"You'll want to take that with you." I turn to look at him, his finger pointing to the side.
I see a pile of papers and folders so big they almost reach my knee.
"What's this?" I ask, bracing for his response, not sure if I'll endure another bomb myself.
"We should have done more research on Sara Morgan. She plays the role of housewife perfectly.