Gagged (25 page)

It sounds so stupid and ridiculous when Jasmine spells it all out, but I don’t like my past being turned on me like a weapon.
 

“Look,” Jasmine says. “I don’t want to give you advice. But do you want to know what I’d do if I were you?”
 

“I don’t think you understand the definition of
advice
.”

“I wouldn’t run from this. I’d step into it.”
 

“Wait. I must not be understanding you right. Because it almost sounds like you’re suggesting I keep things going with Caspian. The guy who tied me up and left. The guy who keeps messing with my head. The guy who, I’ll remind you, bought off your journalistic integrity and made his assistant or whatever pretend to like you so he could get to me, and — ”
 

“James called me today, Aurora. He told me a lot of this. But you’ve got it all backward. Do you know where James is from? I thought he seemed familiar.”

“Where?”
 

“School. He’s in my big economics lecture. Caspian pokes around in LiveLyfe and doesn’t pay much attention to the privacy settings, so he sees all sorts of shit. James says Caspian was looking for someone specific to play the role of
right-hand guy
. Someone with an existing connection to me, because I’ve got this big connection to you. Turns out Caspian hired James because he was … well … I guess
already
into me. He didn’t have to fake it, even though they both told plenty of lies. I was pissed at first, but — well, don’t judge me, I like the guy. He came clean without my asking. We talked a long time. And we decided to wash it clean. We’re going to kind of
start over
. Beginning tonight.”
 

It’s a non-sequitur to our discussion about me and Caspian, but I feel warm hearing what Jasmine just said. James always struck me as a nice guy — unless the
confession
Jasmine just told me about is another of Caspian’s grand machinations.
 

“That’s nice. But still … ”
 

“Caspian isn’t really betting against you, Aurora. The man is a killer when he wants to be. We both read all that stuff about how he operates before the first interview. He doesn’t
bet.
He
takes.”
 

“Well,
this
is convincing me to spend more time with him.”
 

“My point is that he likes you. Somehow. Deep down, maybe, where he can’t even see it yet. But he’s not making bets with ugly old men. He’s making a single bet with the sweet, pretty girl whose sunny personality he can’t quite decipher. He’s not trying to
defeat
you. He’s not even trying to
fuck
you. He could have done both of those things already, much more easily than through some bet, and you’d have begged him to do it. What’s left to explain his reasons for the wager, if not an excuse to spend time with you?”

I’m sure she’s wrong. I’ve had boyfriends and I’ve had men try to court my attention, but Caspian’s not like any of them.
 

“I don’t need dysfunctional men in my life. When two messed-up people get together, it’s codependence, and good for no one.”

Jasmine shrugs. “Only if you don’t change him, and he doesn’t change you.”

“That’s not just naive. It’s downright Pollyanna.”
 

“I don’t know, Aurora,” she says, looking me over. “You’ve changed so much already.”

“How?”
 

“You’re just …
tougher
. Not as obnoxiously shy and coy as you usually are. The shit you just told me about? The girl I knew a week ago wouldn’t have done any of that. Or even
talked
about any of it.”
 

“So now I should be proud?”
 

“Maybe.”
 

“Why?”
 

She gives me a look. I sense something annoying about to come out of her mouth, maybe about how women were meant to spread their pussies far and wide. It’d be a very Jasmine thing to say.
 

Instead she says, “Practicality.”

I frown, not understanding.
 

“Funny thing about shame — it’s only shame if you
choose
to feel ashamed. The same actions and events, if looked at differently, might make you feel powerful. You have to make the choice to not be taken advantage of all the goddamned time. Practical applications of slutty behavior, don’t cha know.”

“I’m not like that, Jasmine. That’s not me.”

She shakes her head. “Everything that’s happened is
clearly
you, A. All that’s left is for you to admit it … and then
own
it.”
 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

C
ASPIAN

B
ERNIE
CALLS
ME
ABOUT
THE
Einstein UI and then the API, and I tell him again that he’s the programmer and that these days I’m the boss. I tell him that if he tosses another acronym at me, he’s fired. I tell him to get it done. He knows how much is at stake, and about the time constraints.
 

Interestingly, I hang up civilly with Bernie. That might never have happened before. Our calls usually end with him bitching and whining before I’m shouting him down then hanging up. I’ve broken a few phones talking to Bernie.
 

But this time Bernie says, “I’ll get it done, Mr. White. No problem.”
 

And I say, “Thanks.”
 

And he says, “Goodbye.”
 

I say the same, then press END.
 

There’s an odd shroud around me. It’s hard to sort out. I consider pulling up the hack app I’ve installed on my jailbroken phone to poke around under LiveLyfe’s skin, then I think about going back to my apartment, pulling up footage of Aurora from yesterday, and clearing the pipes. It’s the first time I’ve nabbed decent video of her naked. There were no cameras in the bathroom that first night, and she didn’t take her top off the second day in my office. I like her tits. They’re small but not flat, and when she’s leaning forward, they make beautiful little teardrop shapes.
 

I get to thinking of her pussy. The way it felt. I hadn’t touched it before yesterday, and slipping my finger inside that wet hole made me imagine putting my cock inside it. I know she’ll be tight, but I doubt she’ll be that uncomfortable. She’s using the vibrator I sent, and I’m sure she’s putting it all the way in. As wet as she was yesterday, I’m sure she’ll be ready for me. Not that I’ll last long our first time — I’ll maybe move to the shower, clean her up, and eat her into bliss.

And now I’m hard in the fucking diamond lane, just as it’s ending, headed out of the city. Great. I’ve got a raging erection and nowhere to put it.

And still I can’t stop thinking of Aurora.
 

Her delicate features.
 

Her sweet, pursed lips.
 

Her little upturned nose.
 

Her pale skin, and spilling blonde hair.
 

Her slight frame, tall and thin, surprisingly strong.
 

Those beautiful little tits. That sweet pussy.
 

I feel that pall over me again and realize the strange emotion must have something to do with Aurora. Like maybe I pissed her off yesterday. Maybe I had my chance and didn’t take it, and now she’s finally fed up.
 

My phone rings. It’s Lucy. I watch the expressway drop one lane and then another.
 

“Where are you?”
 

“I’m using the company phone. Track it all you want.” I’m short with her, but that’s the feeling’s fault, not Lucy’s. I was having a fine morning. Even Bernie didn’t ruffle my feathers too much.
 

“I meant, you were supposed to be at Mom and Dad’s place. We agreed.”
 

“For what?” I’m sure I knew, but it’s not the kind of thing I’d put on my calendar. It clearly wasn’t something I ever intended to remember.
 

“For Dad.”
 

I avoid saying,
He won’t mind that I’m not there
or something else smart. The repression must not be good for me because I get a quick flash of a thousand moments from a shared past with my father. It’s like being shot five hundred times; the negative memories are always most vivid.
 

“For
what
, Lucy?”
 

“We were going to clean out his stuff.”
 

Now I remember. Lucy is confused because she thinks that informing me of this errand meant I’d agreed to attend. I very much did not. I’m sad for Lucy that she feels she has to, that our mother guilted her into it. Lucy is, in many ways, the number two person at GameStorming. She has an impressive list of accomplishments and is, now that I’ve gone into a nearly complete media blackout, slowly being sniffed out for her own cover stories as the power behind the throne. She’s better than cleaning out our father’s shit. There are junk companies that can do this with a phone call.
 

“Just get a dumpster, Luc. Seriously. We have better things to do.”
 

“Caspian! What the fuck is wrong with you?” She sounds like I’ve stepped on her puppy.
 

“What?”

“This is Dad’s personal stuff. His Cross pen collection. His writings.”
 

“You mean his garbage.”
 

She doesn’t respond to that last bit. Of course I know our father wrote short stories. He even used to read them out loud when we were little, before I was the free world’s wealthiest disappointment.
 

“You promised you’d help sort it.”
 

“I didn’t.”
 

“You said you’d help me, Caspian!” And again I hear her brewing tears.
Tears
. Over
him
. From a woman like
Lucy
. It’s so disappointing. So indicative of the psychological trap that son of a bitch held us in, how Lucy keeps insisting he had value — that it isn’t just good riddance to bad rubbish. I have no ill feelings toward my sister, but it sure does make me hate that man even more.
 

“I will help you.”
 

“Then come help me!”
 

“Not with this. We can hire a truck. We can have it all taken away so neither of us has to deal with it.”
 

“I don’t just want to throw him away!” And now she really is crying.
 

“Then we can hire a PODS. Have them put all his stuff away and then keep it in storage forever. I think I can afford it.”
 

Lucy kind of stutters. She knows there’s something wrong with this proposition but can’t articulate it. To me, it’s the same as throwing it all away, without the final step.
Win-win.

“I need to do this, Caspian.”

“Fine.”
 

“And you should do it, too.”
 

“No.”
 

“He was your father. You had your differences, but it wasn’t all bad and you know it. You need to say goodbye before the funeral.”

I stop. Lucy seems to cogitate as my engine hums in her ear.
 

“Caspian?” she says, suspicion in her voice.

Shit
. I was hoping not to be cornered until I’d built myself an exit.
 

“You
will
be at the funeral, won’t you?”
 

“I know you’ve never understood the choices I made, but — ”

“No!
Do you hear me?
No, Caspian!
You won’t do this to me; you won’t!”
 

“I’m not doing anything to anybody. This is my choice. It doesn’t affect anyone else.”
 

“It affects
me!
It affects your
sister
, who has to go through this alone! Don’t you get it, asshole? Your pretending to be this cold, hard, impossible motherfucker isn’t just about protecting yourself like a goddamned coward. I know you, Caspian! I grew up with you! I know how you are, and this is
fucking bullshit
to keep the act
now
, when I need you to — ”
 

“Look,” I say firmly, trying to ignore her hysteria, though I can feel it dulling my edges. “There’s no
acting
here. You may feel like you’re my psychologist, but whatever I am? Whatever son of a bitch you feel I’m
pretending
to be? It’s not some goddamned joke. This is
who I am,
Lucy. And that man? That man you expect me to give a shit about now that he’s dead?” I exhale, feeling hot. “That man
made me
this way.”
 

I think she’ll fight back, but all I hear is quiet sobbing. From a strong woman like Lucy. It’s so disturbing, what that asshole did to us both.

The link beeps. On Lucy’s end, it’ll sound like a click. It’s someone else, trying to call me, and both of us hear it. Saved by the bell.
 

Lucy’s voice sounds different, not nearly as tearful, when she asks, “Where are you now, Caspian? Are you coming up on the Conservatory?
 

I look up. That’s exactly where I am, but it’s not the kind of thing Lucy would easily see by tracking my phone. That’s all numbers and routes and roads and miles. You have to have an intimate knowledge of the area to pair streets with landmarks, and this isn’t Lucy’s or my end of town.
 

“Yes,” I say. “How did you?”

The phone beeps again. I pull it away from my face and see it’s Aurora.

Before I can say goodbye to Lucy, she says, “Tell her hello for me.”
 

And the line goes dead.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

A
URORA

A
S
THE
SUN
SHINES
AND
birds chirp behind me, Caspian’s voice comes on the line. He sounds like I’ve never heard him before — not in person, not on the phone, not in any of the interviews or prepared talks I’ve run across.