Not Looking for Love: Episode 6 (A New Adult Contemporary Romance Novel) (9 page)

It's Sunday morning, and a family of birds is singing right outside my window. Spring has started. At Phillipa’s urging I enrolled in a bunch of extra-curricular classes. I now do yoga, dance, am a member of a classics book club, and all this on top of my school work, does at least keep my mind from wondering too much during the day. But at night it all comes back. Or on mornings like this. Or anytime when I let my mind wonder.

I dream of Scott. Not every night, but every second or third one for sure. And the love I feel in all those dreams, especially the ones where we're holding each other, is completely out of this world, a physical presence, a relentless weight that barely lessens by the time I have to go back to sleep. Somehow, it's worse than any nightmare I've ever had. I could forget the nightmares, chase them away. But this is love, this I have to hold on to. Can't chase it away.
 

Sometimes we kiss in the dreams, sometimes we just sit on the beach watching the sun set. And then I'm left with butterflies in my stomach, and my eyes wet with tears for the rest of the day. Which is stupid. Because he's not calling me, and I'm not calling him. It's how it is. How it has to be. He was right, I know that now, even though I still don't feel it. With his past, my future, I'm not sure there was ever a way for us to even be together. Which hurts, but I'm getting better at facing it.
 

My phone ringing brings me out of my head and back into the sunlit room where I'm supposed to be studying.
 

My heart sinks in disappointment when I see it's not Scott. Though why I'm even still expecting a phone call from him, after almost two months of silence is beyond me.

"Leo, how are you?" I say as I answer.

"Fine and you?"

"Getting by," I say, perhaps a little too morosely.

"Do you have any paper due?" he asks. "I would love to help you again."

I'm a little taken aback. We haven't actually spoken that much since the last time he checked over one of my papers. I went for one drink with him and Phillipa about a week ago, and apart from that, we only chatted a bit in between classes.

"Thanks for offering," I finally manage. "But you don't have to. Maybe we could just meet for a drink or something, talk about stuff."

I can't believe I'm saying it, but it feels good at the same time. I can't keep pining over Scott. It's been almost two months since he left me. Time to forget.

"That would be great," he answers and I can hear the smile in his voice. I would give a lot that it was Scott on the other side, saying those things. I actually shake my head, as though that will get rid of the thought.

We agree to meet for lunch, and I spend the whole time waiting for it fighting the urge to call him back and cancel. I don't though, which is quite an achievement.
 

He's wearing a light blue polo shirt and a thick, cable knit cardigan when we meet, along with his black rimmed glasses and a pair of skinny jeans, but somehow he looks cool and not nerdy. Maybe it's the fact that he's Italian. They can all dress so well.

He kisses both my cheeks as I walk up, his lips brushing against my skin. Heat rushes to my face and I'm sure I'm as red as a tomato. But it's because I'm worried that Scott will find out—a totally irrational fear that I squash.

I sit across from him at lunch, not next to him though, and keep the conversation strictly on school. He keeps dropping hints that we could maybe go see a movie after, have a drink later. I finally have to tell him straight out that I have too much studying to do.
 

"So when you have the next paper done, just send it over. It is no trouble, I will look it over for you," he says once we're standing by my car and I'm about to leave two hours later. For all my earlier apprehension over meeting him, the time just flew by. And I don't know whether to be glad about that or cry.

"You're too nice," I say. "I feel like I'm taking advantage of you."

Maybe those are the words I should've said to Scott, back in the beginning. Then he wouldn't feel like I was just using him all the time. Though maybe that wasn't ever the real problem between us. Maybe he just didn’t love me all that much.

"You are not," Leo says and I wish Scott were the one saying it.

I need to get home and take a nap. No, I need to stop thinking about Scott all the time.
 

"OK, I'd love your help then," I say. "I'll call you."

"Please do," he says, and kisses both my cheeks again. And this time I let myself enjoy it.
 

A hot and really smart guy is interested in me, and I can be happy about that. On paper Leo is perfect, even if the brush of his lips on my skin leaves me quite cold.

I couldn't sleep at the new apartment either. Too much light maybe, or just too many thoughts and memories. Mostly it was the idea that Gail was waiting for me at my mom’s apartment, and the urge to go there and check that kept me awake. But she would've called, and she wasn't.

I went up to the roof at four AM, tripped the fire alarm, then stood right at the edge, the wind gusting in my face, the street lights pin points in the street. The guard finally found me made me go down to some dingy room in the basement where I spent the next hour explaining I was actually supposed to be in the building.
 

I did finally fall asleep at dawn. I usually can, once it's light out.

But now it's like two in the afternoon and I have no idea what to do for the rest of the day. I'm actually a little happy when Mike calls at six, but I try hard to stifle it.

"Get ready," he says. "I'm picking you up at seven."

"Why?"
 

"Vlado wants to see you," Mike says and my heart skips a beat, or ten. I haven't actually seen Vlado since the day I met him, and I was seriously beginning to hope I never would. "And wear something other than your washed out jeans. Try to look presentable."

"What does he want from me?"

"Just be ready at seven," Mike says, and I can hear him smiling.
 

"Just tell me," I counter.
 

"You'll find out soon enough," he says and hangs up.

I don't call him back, because with the sick way he's all attached to me, I'm probably gonna be OK. Or not, whatever.

My other phone is ringing again while I'm in the shower and I get out, all soapy, because it might be Gail. It's a strange number though. I almost don't pick up, since it might be Derek, and I'm not ready to talk to him yet. Might never be. If any member of my family had listened to me when I was telling them what a sick bastard Mike was, none of this would be happening right now. And I'm not sure I'll ever forgive them. I pick up anyway, since I can always just hang up if it is Derek. Besides, he hasn't called since I visited him in the hospital, and neither has my dad. Which leads me to believe they don't even know Mike's out.

"Scott? This is Dr. Kraus, your brother's doctor at the—" a woman's voice says, and I can just see her squinting.

"Yeah, I remember you. What do you want?" I interrupt.

"I've been trying to reach you," she says, which maybe she has. I haven't been picking up any calls on this phone. "I wanted to warn you, now that your brother is out."

"He's been out for weeks, what took you so long?" I interrupt her again.

"Me calling falls outside the sphere of regulations and normal procedures," she mutters, sounding like she's speaking to herself. "But I had to…"

"Why?"

"Because I believe your brother is unstable and with the way his anger is focused on you, you could be in danger," she says breathlessly. "You need to be careful."

"A bit late for warnings," I say. "That boat has sailed."

"How so?" she asks.
 

"Not really something I’ll talk to you about," I say. "Why couldn't you just keep him locked up?"

"He was deemed fit for release by a colleague," she says. "There was nothing I could do."

"Well, goodbye then," I say.
 

"Wait, don't hang up!" she yells so loudly I have to hold the phone away from my ear. "Whatever you do, don't aggravate him to the point that would make him lose control. Go along with his wishes, at least on the surface. Try to get him to seek counseling. I can recommend some good psychiatrists."

I laugh. "Me trying to get him to see a shrink would aggravate him completely. Believe me, I've been there."

I wish things were so simple. That I could just get Mike into therapy and all would be back to normal. But going along with his plans has already made me more of a criminal than I ever was, and only pretending to do it could get Gail killed.

"Thanks for calling, anyway," I say. "But it's really too late."

I hang up, not wanting her to give me any more false hope, because I really can't take any more disappointments.

She calls back, sends me a couple of texts with shrink names when I don’t pick up. I guess she feels better having warned me now, but it sure as hell hasn't done much for me.

Mike is double parked when I come down a few minutes after seven, arguing with some deliveryman.
 

"You took your fucking time," he snarls at me, pulling out so fast the guy has to jump back to avoid getting hit. The whole thing does not faze Mike in the slightest.

"Where are we going?" I ask pointedly.
 

"Vlado's holding a little dinner party." He eyes me up and down. "I told you to dress up."

I shrug. I had tried, but most of my old clothes still don't fit me. Though I lost some serious weight in the last few weeks.
 

"I'm not really in the mood for a dinner party," I say as though that's enough to get me out of it.

Mike digs in his pocket and tosses a small vial into my lap. "Do some of this. It'll improve your mood."

It's his coke, and I set it on the dashboard. "I don't feel like it."

"Suit yourself," he says, and grabs it, does a hit while we're stopped at a red light. I might be worried normally, but I'm kinda hoping we'll crash. And these death wishes should frighten me more, I know that too, but they don’t.

"You haven't told Dad and Derek that you're out, did you?" I ask after a while.
 

Mike shakes his head. "They don't need to know just yet, and I can't really deal with all the family drama right now. They think I'm still inside. I call from time to time."

I turn to him sharply. "You're pretending to still be locked up? You realize they fucking disowned me for not helping you with the shrink bullshit."

I probably shouldn't be yelling at him about this. Dr. Krauss' warning not to antagonize him is echoing somewhere deep in my brain. But it's not very loud.

"You should've been eager to help me, Scott," Mike says, chuckling. "Consider this some more punishment for that. But I'll tell them all we're cool eventually."

My throat is clenched so tight, I can hardly get a breath in. I have to squeeze my hands together in my lap to prevent myself from making him crash the fucking car. I don't know how much more I can hate him before I have to do something about it.

But it can't be now, because we're finally being let into the garage of a tall Upper West Side building and I've never been less hungry or less in the mood to socialize than right now.

Mike parks the car and walks to the elevator like he owns the place, and I follow a few steps behind, trying not to let any thought linger.

The elevator door opens right into the penthouse. Vlado strides over from the bar, as we enter, swirling a glass of something brown. Greg's standing by the huge, wraparound windows, and four guys I don’t know are sitting on the leather sofas.
 

"You made it," Vlado says and gives Mike a hug. I have no idea how to greet him, but luckily he forestalls any action on my part by hugging me as well. It feels like being pressed into a wall.
 

Up close I realize his eyes are the same color as my mom's were, only much colder, like blue ice. I had no idea I even still remembered the color of my mom's eyes and now this sick bastard's reminding me. I'm not sure how any of this shit could get worse.