When we finally reach the black sedan, Kent and Daniel climb into the back seat on either side of me, sandwiching me in the middle. Pressed between them, I fold my hands between my knees and try my best to breathe evenly.
“Go,” Kent says firmly to Carlos, who obediently peels out. Kent continues to look out the window, surveying the landscape for any more threats which he didn’t catch the first time.
Daniel, instead, turns to me. He takes my face in my hands and carefully looks me over. When he ascertains that I’m not scratched or bruised, he moves on to the rest of my body, putting a hand on my knee and taking me in.
“How are you, Fay?” he asks quietly. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m f-f-fine,” I say, shivering a little. I don’t know whether it’s shock still, or perhaps the cold –
Suddenly, I remember my beautiful mink stole – still in the coat check at the country club. I turn backwards to look out the rear window with a little “oh,” regretting the loss of it.
“What,” Kent says, worried, following my gaze. I instantly feel guilty – here he is, looking for assassins wielding guns or blades and here I am, sorry to have lost my coat.
“N-nothing,” I say, looking up at him. I notice that he’s still clutching his arm and that blood is still seeping from behind his hand.
I lean across him to look at it. “Are y-you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he says, pulling away from me with gritted teeth. “Just a graze – nothing the guys at home can’t patch up –“
I look up into his face, then, my eyes wide, finally putting the pieces together – god, what the hell took me so long – “do you mean you were shot!?”
Kent looks at me, then, frustrated and like he doesn’t know what to say – because of course he was shot.
The knowledge, though – after all that we’ve been through tonight – sends me. I lean back into the leather of the seat, my whole body shaking, pressing my teeth together so that they won’t clatter.
“Oh my god, Fay,” Daniel says, pulling off his coat and wrapping it around me. He looks towards his father, who looks straight forward in the car. “What should I do for her??”
“Nothing,” his father says. “She’ll get through it. Just keep her warm. Everyone’s first time is rough.”
Daniel wraps his arms around me as the tears start to leak from my eyes, sliding down my cheeks in a silent torrent. All of a sudden, I’m so fed up with all of this –
So fed up with this world, with this life – how people think it’s just normal to have a first shootout, as if there will be more and I’ll just get used to them –
I saw people die tonight – people with families – people who were coming after me, maybe, trying to take me because I’m a powerful pawn in whatever fucking game they’re playing – Kent and Alden and Daniel –
I hate them all then – hate everything they stand for.
Daniel tries to be kind to me, tries to shush me and stroke my hair softly.
“I hate this,” I whisper between my clattering teeth. “I hate this, I hate this life, I hate everything it represents –“ I turn to Daniel then, hurt and damage all over my face. “I wish I’d never met you – I was right to dump you the first time, when –“
But I snap my mouth shut. I don’t mean all of it, not really – I don’t hate him. If I did, I’d tell his dad his secret to punish him for wrapping me all up in this – for not letting me go, for being complicit in keeping me here, trapped in this life, when all I want to do is leave.
“I’m sorry, Fay,” Daniel says softly, and I can tell by the guilt in his face that he means it.
“Then let me go,” I plead, desperate.
Slowly, though, he shakes his head.
Deep down, I know the choice isn’t his. But I weep bitter tears anyway.
Next to me, I feel Kent slump in his seat. I turn to look at him then and see him looking out the window then, more pensive than I had expected. I stare at him, at his stark profile against the light of the window. He doesn’t move or say anything, so I suppose he lets me look my fill
He hangs his head, then, letting out a sigh. And, shocked, I note that the lines of his face match Daniel’s. He feels guilt as well.
The next morning, I just laid in my bed and stare at the ceiling for a long, long time. I skip breakfast and no one comes up to get me, which has never happened before. I guess they’re giving me my space. I’m grateful, I suppose, but overall…I just don’t really care.
Things moved quickly last night after we got home. The three of us spent the rest of the ride in silence, but when we arrived at the house everyone was expecting us.
Fiona had made a beeline right for me – not even asking how Kent was doing. Instead, she had wrapped her arms around me and bustled me upstairs as Kent got himself patched up and Daniel – well, I didn’t really know what Daniel did. Or care.
She had rushed me right to my room and run a bath for me, stripping me of my clothes while I continued shaking. Then she helped me to step into the hot water and sit down.
“That’s all right, baby Fay,” she murmured to me, using a cup to pour water over my head like a little kid. “Shh, baby,” she continued. “You’ll be all right.”
I had noticed, passively, that the water turned a little pink from the blood washing off of me. Not my blood, of course. Kent’s. I couldn’t help staring at it.
After a long time, when the water was growing cool, Fiona helped me out, bundled me into warm flannel pajamas – too warm for the spring, but so, so comfortable against my skin – and then tucked me into bed. Before she left, she opened a cabinet in the corner that holds a television and put on some mindless reality show at extremely low volume.
“So you don’t have to sit in silence,” she whispered to me, kissing me on the head. Then, intuiting that I wanted to be alone, she left.
I fell asleep, gratefully, almost immediately. A few times in the night I got the sense that I woke up a little to someone peeking through my door, probably checking on me, but no one bothered me.
It’s almost noon before someone does. I sit up when I hear the door creak open. I rub my eyes, expecting to see Daniel or Fiona there, or the housekeeper, or the chef – and get the shock of my life when I see Kent Lippert standing in my door.
He’s dressed casually in a fine camel-colored sweater and black slacks. I’ve never seen him wear anything but a suit, I don’t think. “Come on, Fay,” he says, stern but not unkind. “That’s enough.”
I sink back into my pillows a little, resenting his command, giving him a little glare.
To my surprise – again – he laughs at me. “Don’t pout at me, girl,” he says, leaning against my door frame. “It won’t work.”
He nods to someone behind him in the hallway – the housekeeper, apparently, who brings in a tray of food and a stack of clothing. As she brings the tray closer, I sniff the air greedily at the scent of blueberry muffins. I’m shocked to find that I’m ravenous.
“Good,” Kent says, watching me pick a muffin off the try and bite into it eagerly. He nods to the clothes. “I’ll see you downstairs in twenty minutes. Wear your boots.”
I stare at him for a second, considering, and then I nod.
Boots. Boots means horses. I look towards the pile of clothing at the edge of my bed as the housekeeper leaves silently. Riding gear.
Well, he’s certainly found my weak spot. There’s nothing, really, that could get me out of bed today except for Heathcliff.