Burn Into Me (28 page)

“Great you could come.”

I feel a heavy hand on my shoulder, and I swivel around to find Mark standing behind me, grinning lewdly.
 

I step away from him. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not here to support you guys. I need to talk to Adam. Urgently.”

Ignoring what I just said, he pushes me forcefully towards the window and points down at the street below.
 

“Isn’t this great? Look, the TV crews are here already. We’ll get so much publicity with this. They’ll know not to mess with The 99. Ha.”

I gaze down at the mass of people that have gathered around in front of the site, looking up, probably at the banner. As Mark has pointed out, a couple of TV network vans are parked next to the police car with its flashing lights reflecting in their windows.

Mark shoves me right in front of the open window, and I raise my hand to hit out at him and push him away when I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Behind the throng of people, on the far side of the street, I spot a lone figure. My heart jumps in my chest. It’s Ryder wearing a perfectly fitted dark suit, and he’s gazing up, directly at me. The distance between us is too great for me to see the exact expression on his face, but I can feel sparks of fury emanating from him. They dart straight into my heart, ripping it apart into a million painful shreds.
 

Mark snakes his arm around my shoulders and before I can wrest him away, he screams out the window, “Down with the one per cent! No more palaces for you!”

The mass of people below cackle at the two of us in amusement, but all I see is Ryder’s long strides in his rush to get away, gazing straight ahead of him.
 

Shit, shit, shit.
 

Even though I knew, deep in my heart, that Ryder and I could never be together, I never anticipated that it would end like this. That I would be the one who’d be betraying him by being here, seemingly to declare my allegiance to The 99 for the whole world to see.

I shove Mark away. “Get away from me. You’re such an asshole.”

I spin around and make my way back to the staircase.
 

“Hey, I thought you wanted to talk to Adam! He’s just here. I’ll get him!”

Ignoring Mark’s shouts, I sprint away, down the stairs and around the buildings, and find the hole in the fence, taking me back to the street. I stand in the middle of the road, peering in the direction where Ryder was heading, but of course he is long gone. Cars are passing me from both sides, their drivers beeping and launching foul curses at me from the windows.
 

What am I going to do?
 

Ryder will never want to see me again. Not only was he right in blowing up at me when I didn’t believe him, but whatever suspicions he may have had about me were confirmed when he saw me there, looking like I showed support for The 99. Perhaps he even thinks I knew about the occupation all along and deliberately kept it from him.
 

How can I ever explain this to him? He won’t believe me, just like I did not believe
him
. And I wouldn’t blame him one bit.
 

A drop of rain lands on my head, then another. Within a minute, a violent downpour drenches me from head to toe, but I don’t care. I sink down to my knees, the rain masking the tears streaming down my face. What have I done?
 

I know I’ll never find anyone like Ryder again, nor that special connection we had. It kills me that I was so, so close to finding real happiness. He was even willing to talk to me again, and forgive me for not trusting him. And what did I do? I blew it. And in the process, my heart got shattered. I don’t know how I’m ever going to piece back together the broken shards that are piercing into my soul, producing a throbbing, burning pain unlike any I’ve ever felt before.

What do you do when your whole world falls apart?

Ryder

My head hurts like hell, like my skull has been cracked open. My eyes feel like they are glued shut, and with a superhuman effort I open them a sliver.
 

It’s daytime. My hand is resting on something hard—some kind of bottle. The air around me smells disgusting—a mixture of whisky and stale vomit—, and I realize the stench is coming from me.
 

I open my eyes fully and realize where I am: my office bedroom. Adjacent to my office, this is where I stay when I work late and there is no point going home for the few hours before I resume work. This is also where I occasionally bring women for quick sex—never to my apartment, as it is sacred to me. That is, until Elle.
 

I know why I’m here and not back there. I wouldn’t be able to bear the memories it would evoke: walking through the hallway where I carried her in my arms, eating at the table where I fed her breakfast, and worst of all, sleeping in that big, lonely bed between sheets that would still carry her sweet scent.
 

My throbbing head starts recalling what happened before I fell asleep here. I was getting ready to talk to Elle, to make it up to her, to tell her how I felt. But while I was on my way to her apartment, Martin Rosenberg called to tell me that the demolition would be delayed due to the occupation of the site by some left-wing activists, and I decided to have a look at it on my way to Harlem. And then I spotted Elle, in the window next to that despicable asshole who had punched me at The 99 meeting, his arm around her shoulders. It felt as if he punched me all over again, but this time he hit my most vulnerable spot.
 

I press my hand to my chest. Just the memory brings back the feeling—the blinding ache that tore through me, right into my heart and radiating out, causing an unbearable pain to reach each and every fiber of my body.
 

I still can’t believe it. Just one setback between us, and she ran back to
them
, right back into the action. It just goes to show how little trust she had in me, in spite of all we went through together. She should have warned me about the occupation when she found out about it. But maybe that was never her intention. Maybe she was playing some devious game to expose me as the rotten capitalist who is out to exploit the masses.
 

But soon enough she’ll find out that I have been telling her the truth. What will she do? Will she come back crawling on her hands and knees, begging for my forgiveness? And if she does, will I take her back?
 

No way in hell.
 

If I have ever considered giving her a second chance, she has completely blown it by running back to her old friends. However much it hurts to admit it to myself, I can’t possibly be with her if she won’t trust me.
 

A loud knocking on the door makes the throbbing in my head even worse, if that were possible.

“Ryder, open up! I know you’re in there!”

Alex. Thankfully I had the sense to lock the door before I slumped in bed.
 

“Get lost, man,” I croak.

“Let me in. I have to talk to you and it can’t wait.”

“I’m sick. I can’t talk.”

“I’m going to kick the door in. You know I will.”

Groaning, I roll off the bed and drag myself to the door, opening it a crack.
 

“Alex. Go away.”
 

I push the door closed again but he slips his foot between the crack and forces himself in.

“Bro, bro, bro. You look like shit,” he says, shaking his head.
 

I dump myself back on the bed. “Thanks, man, that’s just what I needed to hear.”

My hand finds the bottle under the covers—Johnny Walker, it turns out—and I take a swig, savoring the burning in my throat.

“Drink?” I hold up the bottle.
 

Alex furrows his brow. “Scotch? What’s up with you, man? I’ve never seen you like this. You don’t even drink.”

“Well, I do now.”
 

I turn away, taking another swig.

“Hey, something happened between you and GSX? She dump you?”

I grunt. I might as well tell him. He’s the only one who would understand.
 

“It’s nothing. We just decided it wouldn’t work out. She doesn’t trust me. She thought I lied to her.”

“Lied? Lied about what?”

“The homeless project. Those wacko friends of hers told her we’re developing luxury apartments. And she believed them.”

To my surprise, he keeps quiet and turns to the window, his back facing me.
 

“Ah. Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
 

I raise my eyebrows. “What is it?”

“I don’t know if I should tell you this, especially seeing you in this state.”

“Come on, I’m sure I can take it,” I say.

Alex swivels around to face me, his eyes hard. “The demolition’s been put on hold.”

“You must be kidding. All because of those jokers?”

“Yeah. The City doesn’t want us to touch it until the publicity around it has died down. It’s too sensitive right now, with the occupation plastered all over the news and on the net. I’ve got PR on it, trying to get the message across that we’re genuine, and that what they’re doing is based on a lie. But you know the media. They’re more than happy to keep the story alive, especially if it’s going to stir up some controversy. It really sucks, but now Home Depot and Yahoo have withdrawn their support. Even your friend Rosenberg is getting cold feet. He’s been going berserk trying to reach you. Just switch on your cell, you’ll see.”

I bury my head in my hands. Damn. I can’t believe it.
 

Alex’s warm hand presses on my shoulder. “Listen, don’t worry about it. Tomorrow this will be yesterday’s news. You’ve got the mayor wrapped around your finger, so it’s going to happen sooner or later.”

“Yeah, but with the holiday period around the corner, everything will come to a stop. And the construction will be pushed back later and later.”

“All the more reason to enjoy the festive season. We’ll go and party this away, man.”

Alex chuckles, and I half-grin back at him. He is an eternal optimist, always seeing the positive side of things, and he normally never fails to cheer me up. But now, I can’t seem to feel better. I take yet another swig from the bottle and plonk down on my back, closing my eyes. I feel and must look like a train wreck, but I don’t care.
 

“I don’t know, bro. Seeing you like this really pisses me off. I wanna wring her neck. The bitch,” Alex says.

“Don’t call her that. She’s not—I don’t know. I’ve done some stuff to her that I’m not proud of, either.”

I tell him about buying up her building and how she reacted when she found out.

Rolling his eyes, Alex raises his hands. “Jesus, no wonder she freaked. Don’t you see that’s over the top? I know you’re trying to help, but look at it from her point of view. She thinks you want to control her.”

“I know that now, but at the time I just couldn’t help myself. You should see where she lives. It’s goddamn dangerous there. I almost got robbed when I took her home one night. I offered her to move into one of my properties, but of course she wouldn’t. This was the only thing I could do to protect her.”

“Come on, she’s a big girl. She knows how to protect herself. Otherwise she wouldn’t have lived there all those years. The least you should’ve done is talk to her about it. And let
her
make the decision.”

I scowl at him. “You don’t understand, Alex. I don’t want anything bad to happen to her. I want to make life easy for her, give her a break in life. If anyone, she deserves it. She’s had it tough, you know. And I was going to tell her about the building. I just didn’t expect her to find out about it so soon.”

Alex breaks into a wide grin. “Sounds to me you’ve been pussy-whipped. Who would have guessed I’d ever see this day—my bro head over heels in love?”

Love. That’s what I thought it was. But how am I able to love her when she clearly doesn’t love me back? But how else can I explain my bizarre behavior, which is so out of character for me? I haven’t been drunk for years and almost forgot what it felt like. Suffering its debilitating after-effects, I now remember why I’ve abstained from alcohol. I loathe myself for being so weak, for succumbing to it. No matter how much I try to fight it, when it comes to the crunch, it appears I’m still my mother’s son: a weak-willed, pathetic failure.

Am I?
 

I glance around the room, my eyes falling on the numerous certificates and prizes on the walls that I decided not to hang in my office, never having felt the need to show off. I have overcome great odds to achieve what I have.
 

And I decide: no, I am not.

Because I have chosen not to be. I would never choose to neglect the ones I love. Nor to abandon them when they need me most.
 

But even so, the pain Elle has inflicted on me feels unlike any I’ve ever experienced before. Can I ever forgive her for not trusting me, for turning her back on me, for betraying me? I pinch the bridge of my nose.
 

I just don’t know.
 

I am still lost in thought while Alex is babbling on about some new-model motorbike, thinking of buying it. A week ago I’d be all over this, discussing all the technical specs with him and organizing a test ride. Both fervent motoring enthusiasts, we often talk cars and bikes for hours, which usually cheers me up, but not today. I hear his voice and see his mouth moving, but have no idea what he is talking about. The pounding in my head also doesn’t help.

Alex shoves the computer tablet he’s grabbed off my nightstand in my face, showing me photos and videos of the bike. I nod, but it’s not easy to pretend I’m remotely interested in this motorbike while all I can think about is Elle.
 

Finally, Alex stops talking and throws the tablet on my chest, probably sick and tired of my less-than-lukewarm responses.

He says, “Listen, bro, you can’t go on like this. I won’t allow it. I’m gonna go home now and leave you to wallow in your misery for one more day. But tomorrow, you and I are going out for a climb. It will clear your head. For now, just get a good rest. I’ll give you a call later.”