Darien Grace
I woke with his name on my lips. I turned lazily in my sleep. My entire body was blissfully sore as I burrowed deeper into the soft bedding, reaching to pull the blanket higher up onto my shoulder. The quilt was heavier than I remembered, softer. Groggily, I opened my eyes. Pale moonlight filtered into the room—too much moonlight.
We never forgot to close the blinds.
I peeked up at the offending glow. The window was too large for the old brick building. The tale-tell lines of the fire escape I knew to be poorly adhered to the side of the building were nowhere to be seen. Instead of the cheap wooden blinds, it was bordered on either side by thick velvet curtains.
Confused, I turned back to examine the thick blanket. It wasn't a quilt at all, but rather a heavy down duvet with an embroidered, gold brocade. The sheets felt like satin, smooth and cool against my bare skin. A chandelier hung above the bed, set within the elegant relief decorating the ceiling. My heart rate increased. Where the hell was I? My memories of the night were hazy, dominated by emerald eyes and a searing touch.
Cautiously, I turned. My heart beat faster still as I examined the man sleeping next to me. I was simultaneously relieved and horrified. Where I'd been hoping to find silken, chocolate curls I was met with thick, coal-black hair. The dimples that puckered even as he slept were replaced with high arching cheekbones and a straight, proud nose. Long dark lashes, splayed across smooth olive skin much too dark to belong to fair-complected Brit.
The man I'd dreamt I'd spent the night with was nowhere to be found. Instead I lay next to Zayn.
My stomach churned with guilt, threatening to upend itself at the realization. Not over what I'd done; no, but rather who I'd dreamed I'd been it with. Who I'd been hoping to find when I opened my eyes. Why couldn't I just move past this already? Why was I determined to bring myself further pain?
There, sleeping so soundly next to me was a gorgeous, gentle man who truly seemed to care about me. Why couldn't I bring myself to feel the same way about him? I thought I had, but the more I fought to summon the images and feelings from the night before, the more sick I felt. My body may have been with Zayn, but my mind was across the city with Harry.
I lurched from the bed, scrambling to keep from waking him even as my chest threatened to explode. My breath came in short quick gasps, the hysteria building as I fought to locate my belongings. Our clothes were strewn throughout the apartment, breadcrumbs of the debauched and the damned.
I found my dress, discarded on the floor just inside the kitchen. As I bent to pick it up, a strange set of gouges in the wood of the doorframe caught my attention.
Antoinette — 2yrs
Antoinette — 3yrs
Antoinette — 5yrs
Nausea rolled through me as my balance failed. I fell to my knees, shifting and turning to brace my back against the wall. Slowly, my eyes scanned the kitchen. Pages torn from coloring books were plastered to the fridge in an artful display—a gallery wall depicting an innovative use of crayon. A pair of tiny heart-shaped sunglasses sat inoffensively on the counter propped against a vase full of bright, artificially colored daisies.
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, glued there from the dehydration of the evening's many cocktails. I clambered to my feet and pulled my dress back up and around my body. Stumbling to the sink, I yanked the dishwasher open. Inside I found a series of clean glasses. I grabbed one before spying a single pink plastic cup and matching plate. The glass slipped from my trembling hand, dropping back down onto the top rack. I eased the door to the dishwasher shut. My entire body was quaking.
Desperately I looked around the kitchen. I scooped up my heels from where I'd dropped them next to the island. But my phone... I knew that I'd had it at dinner. I couldn't remember what I'd done with it after. How the fuck had I lost my phone? I had to get out of here. Call an Uber, take the subway. It didn't fucking matter at this point. I just needed to leave.
A slim black rectangle rested innocently in the center of the kitchen island. I scrambled to pick up his phone. I slid my thumb across the bar and the device opened. I said a silent prayer of thanks and punched my number in. The phone in my hand rang, but the penthouse was silent. Fuck. I tried it again. And again. Still, silence. My eyes burned in frustration. I dialed the first number that sprang to mind.
Someone answered on the fourth ring. "Whoever this is, you better be on your fucking death bed."
"Lee—Lee thank god," I whispered, craning my neck to peer back toward the master bedroom. I'd dialed Jas's cell, but that didn't matter. I'd take whatever help I could get.
"Darien?" Leala asked. I heard her yawn on the other end of the line, and I glanced at the clock. It was just after 5:00 a.m.
"Yeah, I—look I need you to come get me or send a car. Please, something. I lost my phone and I need to get out of here."
There was a muted shuffling and the sound of a door closing. "What do you mean? I thought you went home with your new Daddy?"
I gagged, swallowing down the bile that rose up in the back of my throat. I sucked in a haggard breath, leaning against the counter for support. "Lee, I can't do this with you right now. You have to help me. Please." The desperation in my voice was obvious, the last word breaking.
"Alright, gods, don't have an aneurysm. Where are you?"
"I don't know. I wasn't paying attention, but we walked here from the restaurant."
"Open Maps and tap on the blue dot. It will let you share your location." The quaking in my hands threatened to make me drop the phone at any moment, but I did as instructed. She was silent for a moment before speaking once more. "Okay, I'm thirty minutes away."
"I can't stay here, Lee. You have to hurry." My eyes burned more insistently now, the tears only just kept at bay.
"I'll do what I can, but I need you to stay in that building. You don't have to stay in the apartment, but if you leave that building I won't be able to find you. Got it?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"Okay, I'll see you soon."
"Lee?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
* * *
I curled into myself further, hitching the thick blanket up higher around my shoulders. Leala filled the electric kettle with water from the tap. The noise of the running water was the only sound in the otherwise quiet house. It was still much too early for any of the McKenney's to be awake. The first dim rays were only just beginning to light the otherwise black sky.
After finding me shaking on the stoop of Zayn's building, Lee drove me straight home. She sent me to change while she looted our kitchen. I was too tired to manage the stairs so I headed to the laundry room instead. I dressed in a haze, my mind still wrapped up in the events of the night. Once I returned, outfitted in Caleb's sweats, my old Saint's hoodie, and wrapped in a blanket, she set to work. She pulled a set of mugs from the cabinet, tearing open two packets of Swiss Mix and dumping them in. Silent, she filled the mugs with the now-boiling water and dropped a spoon in each. She passed one to me.
"I didn't even know we had Swiss Mix. Jon's more of a make it from scratch kind of guy," I muttered.
Leala snorted, but otherwise ignored my comment. She was silent for a moment longer before asking, "Did he hurt you?"
I dropped the spoon back down into my mug. "No."
"Make you do anything you weren't comfortable with?"
"No."
"Say anything to upset you?"
"No. God, no. Leala. He didn't do anything wrong!" I exclaimed, scrubbing the heals of my hand against my eyes. They came away smudged with eyeliner. Of fucking course.
"Then what happened?"
"Nothing—I, we... I just couldn't stay there."
"You woke me up before dawn to come and save your ass from a consensual night with the man you were salivating over a few hours before. What happened?"
"He deserves better than me," I mumbled. Guilt still churned violently inside of me. I took a sip of my hot chocolate to try and force the bile taste from my mouth. It was too thin. I reached across the counter to retrieve a second packet of instant cocoa. I ripped it open and poured it in, absently stirring to mix the sugar and water together.
"What are you going on about?"
"He's good and nice and pure... and I'm just too broken and fucked up."
"Not this again." Leala rolled her eyes. "You're not broken, Darien. Sure, maybe a bit fucked morally speaking, but we can deal with that."
"You don't understand—"
"Then make me. We've got nothing but time. The rest of the bloody world won't be up for hours."
Tears burned behind my eyes, and I struggled to find the right words. "I...we—we slept together. Zayn and I."
"Yeah, I got that bit when you had me pick you up in the middle of the night."
"Only we didn't. I didn't."
"And now I'm lost."
"He was there with me, but I was imagining someone else."
Leala was silent, her face a blank mask. It was impossible to guess what she was thinking. She stirred her cocoa, and, for a moment, I swore I saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward. But that couldn't be right. She'd made her feelings about Harry and I perfectly clear.
Finally, she spoke, "Don't think. Just give me the first answer that comes to mind. Can you do that?"
I nodded.
"Do you see yourself staying with Zayn?"
"No."
"Do you see yourself with someone else?"
"Yes."
"Harry?"
"Yes," I whispered. The truth of my admission filled the room, draining the weight from my body and lessening the crushing pressure on my lungs.
"Okay then," Leala said. She set her mug down on the kitchen counter and turned to walk from the room.
"Wait, what?" I scrambled to my feet, tripping over my blanket as I struggled to follow her up the stairs. "What does that even mean?"
"It means follow me." Leala led the way up to the third floor. She pushed my door open and flicked on the light. Sitting just as I left it in our rush to leave before dinner was the meticulously wrapped package. "Open it," was all she said before turning away.
The door clicked shut softly behind me and my legs felt like lead once more. I stumbled toward my bed, reaching a trembling hand toward the card tucked delicately beneath the blooming bow. The card itself was a single page of heavy card-stock with a gold relief set around the edges. There were only three lines written in his scrawling pen:
Last year, you asked for a do-over.
Now, it's my turn.
12:00 p.m. Whitehall
I stared down at the card, the memories of the year washing over me. The salty spray of the sea whipping across our faces as we crossed the bay, content in our own private world. My hangover was all but gone, despite the incessant rocking of the boat as it crossed the churning waves. It had been a perfect day, a blissful second chance to reimagine the day before. Would the Universe really offer a third chance after the second had been so horrible botched?
I set the card aside and lifted the gold-wrapped lid to Harry's gift. Inside, nestled into velvet bed was a small box made of smoothed African Blackwood. A single cursive "D" was etched into the lid. Gingerly, I removed the box from the packaging and lifted the lid. The music boxes' movement was exposed. I turned the lever and the delicate gold-plated mechanisms began to rotate. I gasped aloud as the sound filled the room. My sonata—simplified into a gentle chiming melody.
A/N: Happy 10 Years! I love you all. I thought today deserved a little something special.
I love you all so much. I am always here and thinking about you. COVID has been hard on us all, and I know we're all doing everything we can to get by. I hope this little update brightened your day even if only slightly.
See you all again soon.
Loads of love,
xx-E
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