Constance thought she could finally stop looking over her shoulder. She has a steady job as a hairstylist, rents a small apartment next door to her best friend, and keeps a routine that distracts her just enough to not have to dwell on her past.
All...
Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
When I got released from the hospital, Nick brought me over some paperwork to sign regarding my new. . . fortune. It felt so unreal to look at all those numbers, the deeds and contracts with my name on them.
I don't want any of this, that is why the past few months since Luca disappeared I've been renting a hotel room. I fought everyone about it and made an unnecessarily large scene but eventually I caved in. Yes, I signed on the dotted line if for no other reason than to take care of it for Luca. I refuse to go see the house or use the money. Michael and I have gone in circles about this topic a hundred times a day and my answer is still the same. We've sold our things back home, returned our apartment keys to management and have basically started fresh in New York.
Part of me feels guilty that Michael followed me. His parents died in a car wreck when he was nineteen and not long after that we met. Neither of us had anybody so we became each others only family.
When I told him this, his response was, "I'd move across the world for you."
My bike also got sold which is fine. I loved riding but these days I feel to unstable to straddle any moving object. Trying to cheer me up, Michael suggested I buy a Rolls Royce because I'd feel better crying in that than on my 50 dollars a night bed.
"How much booty would you have to sell to buy one of those?" I half teased him back.
"This body? Twice should do it." He wiggled his eyebrows at me.
I know he wishes I'd talk to him like we used to but I can't. Even though I know Michael and there isn't a doubt in the world that he would hurt me, I can't let him close again. It's not his fault he has a penis but when a man touches me, I see Vincent.
Twice a week we go to therapy together but separately. I guess because of what I went through with Abasi, I've managed to come to terms easier with what happened a few months ago. Although I have nightmares about both times, the ones that keep me up are always about Vincent's breath, touch or looks. The therapist thinks if I allow myself to trust someone that I've trusted in the past, that I can over come my anxiety.
Maybe.
With the help of the twins, we have managed live a somewhat normal life. . . from the inside of a hotel.
"I really don't want to." I cross my arms definitely.
Michael looks ready for a fight. "For me? It's just coffee and maybe a drive around town. If I don't move my body, I get stiff." He rubs his already healed scar, playing dirty knowing I still feel guilty about that.
"Fine. Just coffee."
***
"I thought you said coffee and a little drive!" I slap his arm.
