Mendacious (9 page)

“It’s none of your business.”

Libby rolls her eyes. “Jeez. Fine. I won’t ask anything.”

“She’s a friend,” I throw out into the open after she’s understood my point about being nosy.

Which is absolutely true. Holli is nothing but a friend to me. She’s my sister’s friend. Not mine. We don’t share any personal feelings at all.

And probably never will.

I know the dangers of becoming too close to women. I’ve been burned badly once before, and I won’t let it happen to me again. They’re useful for one thing and one thing only in my eyes.

Keep telling yourself that.

My mind feels truly fucked up.

I know this, but I don’t ever freely admit it. I’ve struggled to trust any woman since Libby. Everything was placed on lockdown where it’s stayed since that fateful day; the day that fuels me and sparks the driving force in my plan. I’m here for a reason and I must abide by the rules of my own game.

Focus on the task at hand, and don’t let your guard down. Keep your identity hidden.

My subconscious rattles around in my head. It speaks a lot of truth. I know I’m better off closed from the world. Shutting down and feigning ignorance is the best way forward. Ignore the advances, the looks and the predatory prowling, because it’s not worth it.

“She made you smile,” Libby snorts, her tone oozing with jealousy.

“And?” I cock my head to the side and shoot her an accusing look. “What’s with the twenty questions?”

“I’m just curious.”

“It’s none of your damn business. We’re
divorced
, Libby,” I reply, making sure to emphasise her earlier words.

Part of me wants to ask her why we’re divorced, though. Right now, we are acting like a married couple. She keeps asking all these questions that she has no right to ask. We’re nothing, yet she seems to feel like she’s entitled to know about me.

“Just because we’ve divorced, it doesn’t stop us talking to each other, does it? Quit the melodramatics.”

“Says the woman who threw a temper tantrum because her designer knockoff got ruined by a cup of coffee?”

Libby screws up a Post-it note and throws it at my head. “I do not buy knockoffs, thank you very much. You owe me for a new dress.”

The door knocks at the right time and two young girls enter. One holds a dress bag and the other a suit bag. I’ve never been more relieved to see fresh, clean clothes in my life. The coffee stained shirt is starting to dry, but I’m giving off an Americano odour, which isn’t tasteful in the slightest.

Turning toward Libby, I nod at the two bags and say, “Get ready and we’ll go for that early lunch.”

~

Libby slides into my car and buckles her seat belt. She puts her bag on the floor by her feet and clucks with approval at the black leather and walnut covered dashboard.

“You’re not afraid to splash your cash,” she murmurs, her hand running over the soft and smooth leather on the seat. “You’ve done well for yourself, Alex.”

“I know,” I reply, switching on the ignition and buckling my own belt. “I didn’t turn into the waster you thought, huh?”

She flushes at my statement and looks out of the window. There’s a sudden tension in the air around us. It’s uncomfortable.

My subconscious on the other hand continues to yell at me inside my head. I’m being urged to ask the question about our divorce that I’m dying to know the answer to. I feel like I need to know, but I’m afraid of hearing what she’s got to say. Is it really worth cutting open that old scar?

“Alex—”

“Libby—”

We both look at each other when I pull into The Mailbox car park in the City Centre.

“You first,” I offer.

“No, it’s okay.”

“I insist.”

Libby swallows and runs her hands down her dress. “You know you said earlier about the company and whether you succeeded with or without me?”

I nod.

“How hard is it going to be for us to ‘get along’ for the sake of the business? I don’t want things to be awkward. We have a lot of history, but I don’t want that dragged into the company. Could we not just keep it between us and try and put on a friendly relationship?”

My expression remains unchanged and I mull over her proposal. I can vehemently state that I do not want to be friends with this woman, but if it makes her feel better then I don’t mind playing along. It’s a chance for me to learn how much she’s matured, and also for me to get deeper under that pretty porcelain skin.

But I’ll have to keep my own guard up. If I reveal too much, I run the risk of being infected by the venomous poison that she is, and jeopardising the whole plan. She cannot under any circumstance seep too deep into my cracks. It’s all about sticking to the game. I’ve got to win her over, but be careful while I’m doing it. Calculated seduction is going to be key here.

“I can do that,” I reply, tapping my hand against my steering wheel, looking for a parking space.

“Thank you.” Libby tosses her hair and a waft of her scent drifts across the small space between us, and I not so subtly inhale deeply, enjoying the old smell I used to adore as it fills my nostrils. “So you’ve brought me to The Mailbox for lunch, hey? Reminds me of when I used to beg you to bring me here.”

“Money was tight then.”

“Well, your job wasn’t exactly the best,” she shrugs.

I don’t think it’s meant as a dig, but I find I’m gritting my teeth and my temperature soaring. “I tried my best for you.”

Libby looks at me and narrows her eyes. “You were always working, Alex.”

“Not all the time,” I counter.

“You were.”

“I had a career to build.”

She scoffs mildly. “What about your wife?”

“I loved her. Wasn’t that enough?”

Her breath catches and her lips part marginally. “You didn’t spend any time with her. Ever.”

“Can we not talk about you in third person?” I ask coolly, pulling the car into a parking space and shutting off the ignition. “I spent as much time with you as I could. My job—”

“Was always in the way of everything,” she finishes. “I was never top of your priority list.”

“That’s not true, Libby.” Her breathing becomes rushed, and I’m wary of an impending war breaking out between us, so I try and soften things before they go too far. Now isn’t the right time to get into this, despite how wrong I think she is over my list of priorities. “Didn’t we just agree to
get along
? This doesn’t strike me as us ‘trying to put on a friendly relationship’.”

Libby closes her eyes and sucks in a lungful of air. “You’re right,” she mutters, “this isn’t us trying to move forward. But I do think you need to know where it went wrong in the first place, Alex. You can’t bury your head in the sand forever.”

“I don’t believe I am.”

“You always have an answer for everything,” she sighs. “Why don’t you ever just listen?”

I purse my lips. “I’m waiting for you to tell me, sweetheart. I can’t be accused of burying my head in the sand when you won’t tell me what went wrong to start with. I’m not a mind reader.” And I don’t take too kindly to listening to fucking lies ... but I don’t tell her that part. I’ll let her tell me how she
thinks
it is, and then I’ll correct whatever story she fabricates.

“See, this is it with you. You don’t open your eyes and look what’s beyond the world of Alex Lewis.” Libby angles her body toward me in the car. “You never switch off from work. Even when you used to be at home, you were always in work mode, and really distant from me. Nothing was ever about us because you didn’t have the time. And if you had bothered to pay attention you would have seen the warning signs. And also would know that I’ve—”

My fingers curl around the steering wheel with a deathlike grip as I struggle to keep my temperament under control. “I worked fucking hard, Libby. Every damn day I ran myself into the ground to keep a roof over our heads. You were never grateful for anything I did for you. For us.”

“Work. That’s all it ever is, Alex. You didn’t care about me. And now look at you,” she hisses. “You look like you’ve managed alright over the years. You’re doing well for yourself with your own company, your money in the bank, and your fancy cars. You don’t know the half of what I’ve been through.”

“I’ve managed
alright
? Libby, you don’t know what the fuck I’ve lived through over the past seven years.” Her earlier words stab at me, and I feel like she’s dragging a rusty blade through my chest cavity without remorse.

Don’t rise to it, Alex.

I’m getting more and more wound up, and I feel the situation spiralling out of control. Libby hasn’t got a clue what happened to me over the years. Nor does it sound like she actually gives a shit.

“Quit playing the victim in all this. I won’t have it,” I snap, my eyes flashing aggressively and bitter.

“You are actually trying to put this back on me,” Libby cries, her voice rising and cracking with each pronounced word. “You hurt me so much, Alex. There’s so much you don’t know.” Tears begin to pool in her reddening eyes, and eventually spill over the curve of her cheeks. “Do you have any idea what I went through, too?” She leans across the car, our faces mere inches apart. “You don’t have a clue. Everything was fine and dandy in your eyes, but you don’t even know how you practically ruined me ... destroyed me, even.” Her shoulders slump with each heartbreaking sob that rips from her throat.

I’m stunned by her immediate and alarming breakdown, my eyes widening with surprise. There is a sharp, twisting grip clutching at my windpipe, choking the air from my lungs with its forceful strength.

I have no words; I don’t know what to say. She hasn’t told me what happened to cause this breakdown, but she’s in no fit state to do it now. The sound of her violent sobs echo around the inside of the car, and I see her tears burning uncontrollably over her blotched skin.

“I loved you with
everything
I had,” she chokes. “And I felt like I had
nothing
in return from you.”

Her pained cries force open the seal welded around my heart. A torrent of emotion cascades from the vault, and rips me open violently with a rush of long buried hurt and pain.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t think straight.

So I do the only thing I can think of doing at this moment, and I grab hold of Libby’s hands, jerk her close, and I kiss her with every built-up emotion that is releasing from my body.

Stop thinking with your heart! You’re showing her your weakness. Stay strong. Keep yourself hidden.

I ignore my subconscious once again. My lips are on fire, practically blazing hot, and I continue to press warmly against Libby’s tear-soaked mouth. I get a taste of her familiar freshness and immediately want to devour her.

So I do.

Libby stops fighting me, her fists softening in my grasp, and she submits, parting her lips. She’s still crying, and I feel her tears trickling between us. Releasing her hands, I cup her face and tenderly brush against the moisture on her cheeks.

My touch is intimate and gentle. It’s far more loving than I’ve been with anybody else since her. But that was always going to be the case.

Libby has always been the exception for me. I’ve had one bite of the cherry and I’ll always want more.

Remember what she did.

I see the memories flash through my head, reminding me of our once happiness, but also our despair.

But in the midst of all those memories, I’m reminded of one in particular. It fills my head completely, the video playing out in full view.

I remember Libby staying with her parents for a few days after we’d had a fight, over money nonetheless, one morning before I had left for work. It had been pretty nasty, actually. Her words were vile, disgusting, and she had no shame or remorse. They spilled from her lips in a sadistic flow of abuse at my lack of ... well, everything according to her. In the end, I’d left for work in the foulest mood, leaving her to fester alone in the house. I had wanted her to reflect on what she’d said. It was a lesson I was teaching her, but that didn’t mean I didn’t love her.

I mean, every couple has the odd blip in their relationship, but this ... I knew this argument was bigger. I felt it after it happened, and I was afraid.

So, when she text me later that morning and told me she was spending some time at her parents, I didn’t do or say anything to try and change her mind. I had figured the breather would be good for both of us; a little space to weed through the stress.

But I was wrong.

It was almost a week before Libby came home. I had put my key in the front door and found her suitcase and travel bag waiting by the stairs. My mind had started to run amok at that point. And then I saw her along the corridor.

Waiting.

She was sitting at the kitchen table, her eyes puffy and red from the tears she had already spilled. She was clutching a thick envelope, and it was then that it all dawned on me, and I wished I could take everything back.

“Alex, I want a divorce.”