My Beautiful Lies (Beautiful Nothing #2) (8 page)

I get home to find Laney sleeping on the couch, TV on, and her cuddled up in a blanket. I sit down at the end and it wakes her up. At first she jumps when she sees me, then she looks shocked. “Oh my god! What happened to you? Your face is all cut and bruised!” she asks, jumping up touching my cheek, and I flinch. “I’m sorry!” 

I tell her it was a mugger out behind the office. She gives me an odd look, asking for more details. I tell her we fought and he ran away empty-handed. I don’t need her to freak out with the truth. She insists she needs to clean it up again, running to the bathroom for supplies. She returns with rubbing alcohol, and I move away. 

“No way are you putting that on these open wounds.” I laugh at her. She wipes all the scrapes clean, spraying Bactine spray on some of the bad spots. When she’s done cleaning, she patches me up with bandages like a child.
She will be a good mom
. I ask about the competition, if it will bother her me showing my face there all banged up. She tells me, no, shit happens, and she wants me there with her. I should have guessed that because it’s really important to her. 

I make her a bowl of chili and ask her when she will be ready to see a doctor. “I guess we can make an appointment for Monday before we leave for our trip,” she says, and I nod my head agreeing with her. 

On a positive note, I haven’t had any episodes hearing voices, so I think the medicine is starting to work. I don’t want to end up like the girl in my office the other day. I’m not crazy, I just think when you have been through some traumatizing events, it sometimes it flips a switch. Making you block out the bad, the voices are things that haunt you. We lie around watching movies for a few hours until we get a knock at the door. The mechanic is here and ready to work on her car. I walk him out showing him the damage, and he gets to work. When I get back in, Laney has dozed off again. I’m really getting nervous about her health. She shouldn’t be sleeping this much, should she? I decide to break out the laptop to read more about pregnancy.

I sit for an hour, taking in all the information I can. I think she may be a high-risk pregnancy. I will keep my thoughts to myself until the doctor appointment or she will probably think I’m crazy. I go upstairs to change out of my slacks and dress shirt; they’re uncomfortable. I look through the clothes Laney has hung in the closet and all I see is more suits. The only other clothes I have here are my workout clothes. I really need to grab more casual clothes if I’m basically living here. I grab one of my t-shirts and joggers off the hanger. I pull my arms out of the sleeves slowly—it hurts to move at all, let alone quickly. It’s not until I lift my arms up to slide them into the t-shirt that I double over in pain. A sharp pang in my shoulder radiates down my side like lightning. I get the shirt on, breathless and grunting. If it hurts that bad to raise my arms, then I don’t want to know how bad it’s going to be bending down to slide on the pants. I push through and get them on. Turning around to leave, I see my reflection in the mirror over the dresser. I look worse than I did when it first happened. More bruises cover my unshaven face. My left eye is bloodshot, no longer green, but the blood has seeped through. I look bad, cuts and scrapes all over the place; but it hurts more on the inside than anything.

The night comes fast, the sky darkens early, the only light coming from the TV. Laney is still asleep and the way she’s been sleeping lately she will probably sleep through the night. I lie down next to her, bringing her closer to me. I hold her close, drifting off to sleep, but not for too long. It’s nearly two o’clock in the morning when I wake with a dull ache in my back. I have to move; I can’t stay on the couch anymore. I go to the kitchen to get a drink and notice headlights driving out of the driveway.
What the fuck?
I quickly reach the front door and go outside looking around. Nothing looks out of place, no one is around. I turn off the light outside and close the door. Maybe it was my eyes playing tricks on me. I return to the kitchen for my drink and sit on the opposite side of the couch. Flipping through different channels, bored and I’m unable to sleep. I want to try to sleep upstairs, but I don’t want to move her—she looks comfortable. I land on an antique show hoping it will make me so annoyed my eyes will close. 

“You hide the crazy side of you so well, even I didn’t see it for so long,” A familiar, resonant voice recites next to me. Cracking my eyes open I see Jake standing over me as I lie on the concrete floor of my basement. When I try to push myself up, ready for a fight, I am glued to the cold block of cement beneath me. 

“Why can’t I move, Jake? I swear to god if you don’t kill me tonight, I will rip your fucking head off,” I spit out. He just laughs, moving out of my sight. That’s when I hear her. Her sobs echo throughout the walls of the basement. I have no feeling in my body, no strength to turn my head. I can’t see her, or him, and the fear is eating away at my heart. “See, James, I brought you both here yadda yadda yadda, you know why. It’s time to finish our game, bro. You forgot to finish it.” His shadow is to the left of me now, laughing and haunting. If I could get up, I would rip his head clean off his shoulders. I hear scraping next to me, the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor. It’s like nails on a chalkboard—the hair on my arms stand on their ends. I see her eyes, red and swollen, hands bound together behind the back of the chair. 

“Tell her what you did, James, tell her now or I slit her throat.” He raises his voice, running his knife across her neck lightly.  

“No, Jake, that’s enough, you’ve hurt her enough!” I scream, focusing my eyes on his. 

“We’ll see about that,” he says as he puts pressure on the knife. She squeals beneath the blade. 

“Fine! You fucking win, don’t hurt her.” He smiles wide, waiting for me to tell her what I’ve done. I open my mouth to tell her, but no words come out. It’s not that I can’t tell her, I really can’t say anything, my mouth isn’t working. Minutes pass by, and Jake gets irritated. He tells me I have five seconds to speak or she’s dead. And just like that, the blade slices deep across her throat. Her head goes back as she gurgles and chokes on her own blood. She’s gone, head falling limply forward, and my heart shatters. My voice comes back a minute too late, and I scream.

“James. James, wake up! James, you’re having a nightmare, wake up!” Laney shakes my shoulders. I fly off the couch, tears gushing and lost. 

It was a nightmare, she’s okay, and it wasn’t real.
It was so vivid, so frightening. I thought he killed her. His words still sting; I felt the blade dig into my throat as it went across hers. When I realize it was all a dream, I glance at Laney’s terrified expression. I rush toward her, taking her into my arms and squeeze her tight. 

“You’re okay, thank God you’re okay.” My words come out fast, jumbled, and anxiously.  

“Why wouldn’t I be? What did you dream?” she asks. All I can do is tell her I’m glad she is okay, kissing her with more effort than I ever have before. I don’t think twice about anything, I carry her straight to her room and make love to her until she can’t feel her legs. 

My body is sore, ten times worse than yesterday, waking me from my sleep. Maybe if I roll over onto my other side it won’t hurt as bad. I attempt to and fail. Trying one more time I come face to face with Laney’s beautiful sleeping features. She looks peaceful, happy, even. I could look at her all day. Although, I would love to, I have to wake her up. Today is the competition at the school, and she instructs the kids. I playfully brush my finger on the tip of her nose, awaking her senses. I don’t stop until she stirs.

Peeking one eye open she grins. “You sleep better in the bed?” she whispers, half-awake. 

“I sleep better when you’re near, yes.” I tell her to get up—she has a job to do—and I hop in the shower. When I get out she is still in the bed, hair in chaos encased around her face, making me laugh. I sneak over lightly not to make the floor creak, and stroke a finger across her foot dangling out of the blanket off the bed. 

“Noooo…” she groans, pulling her foot back into the blanket. She mumbles that she’s getting up, but I jump in the bed in my towel. I can’t help myself, I dig my fingers into her side and she spasms, laughing. I stop when I see her face go pale. Concerned, I let her out of the bed to see her dash for the bathroom. I hear her hacking away, and it makes me feel sick myself.
Well, that’s a great way for me to start her morning: make her sick.
Feeling like a dumbass, I go to the bathroom to check on her, finding her leaning against the toilet. Her arm lays over the seat, as she gags but nothing comes out since she doesn’t have any more contents left in her stomach. I sit down next to her, gently caressing her back. When she’s done, she sits back, weak and out of breath. She needs a shower, but I don’t see her standing for a while; she seems extremely nauseous. 

Maybe a bath would be better. I put the plug in, letting the luke-warm tub fill up while I help her remove her clothes. We get them off, and I pick her up to lay her in the tub. Relaxation spreads across her face, and I smile in relief. I love that I know what makes her feel good, it gives me a sense of hope for us that I never thought we’d have. While she rests, I ask her to sit up some to be able to wash her hair. I get the shampoo, dab a drop on my hands, and mix it through her hair. Raking my fingers through her hair, she moans. I tell myself,
down, boy, she’s sick.
My dick never listens; it has a mind of its own. Hearing her faint moans brings it to life. I ignore my urge and rinse her hair. I leave her in there to relax for a bit longer, then help her get out. We both get dressed, eat breakfast, and get ready to leave.

Walking through the crowded hallways, people talk over other people and bodies are touching. I hate closed-in places—it’s suffocating. I follow lines of parents with kids and grandparents, through the big blue double doors to the theater. Once I make it in, I watch the people all pile in and fight for front row seats. In the meantime, I make a beeline for the back. I am here for Laney—to support her; she’s not even playing just directing so I don’t need to be close. Laney went in the back entrance to prepare the kids for the stage. While I wait, I notice I have tons of missed calls from Harry.
Great, what happened now?
I pull up his name and hit dial. It rings several times before he answers. “Hey, man, I can’t stay at your house any longer. I have a fucking family at home,” he says in a pissy mood before I can even say hello. 

“Hello to you too, and your fuck buddy and her child aren’t your family, you know that, right? I mean you have no problem fucking with other women in your free time. Well, not until there’re consequences, right?” I tell him covering my mouth over the phone. 

“You don’t have to be a dick. Can you ask one of the other guys to watch her? I mean shit, what about Casey? I am sick of sitting here.” 

Fuck no, Casey is just down right creepy.
If I left Lindsay with him she would probably be molested to death. See, Casey lost his virginity by raping the first girl at that party where it all started. He’s been fucked up ever since. I don’t think he has ever been with a willing woman in his life. I ponder the other guys, and I just can’t trust them with her. I don’t really know them that well—we hung out when we were younger, but they’ve all changed since then. I can only trust Harry, even though he is a sick motherfucker. I can still count on him not doing anything more to put him at jeopardy. That’s when it hits me. What does Harry care most about besides being a cop and taking advantage of girls?
Money.

“What if I gave you ten thousand, and you watch her from now until two weeks from now? I have a business trip, and I won’t be able to trust anyone else,” I offer. 

“10k?” he asks with more interest, and I know I have him when he sighs on the line. 

“Yes. That will give you enough money to play with, and I know she’s safe. But Harry, if anything happens to her, I will make sure you lose your badge.” He gets pissed when I threaten his job, but he agrees. “One more thing, has she woken up yet?” I ask, hearing the first note sound off stage. 

“Yeah she did; I think she’s all right. I have been doing what you asked, man, I’m not an idiot. She still doesn’t know what’s going on. She won’t talk, just stares at the wall.” I tell him okay and thanks. Hitting end on my phone, I shove it back into my jacket pocket and watch the performance.

I forgot to ask him if he’s seen Jake. Oh well, at least everything is handled for now. I can deal with Jake later. Music gets louder, booming around the room, pianos, violins, and other instruments in sync with each other. When the stage goes dark everyone claps in rhythm with one another, my cue to join in. Over and over, groups play. It’s beautiful. Each group gets better and better, and I start to realize why Laney loves music and her job so much. I haven’t seen Laney and her group go up yet—they must be saving the best for last. After a few more groups, voices start ringing into the microphones, young kids with some amazing talent. It makes me think of how it will be when our baby will be in school. The plays we will get to experience, the joy of being normal. I never thought I would get a chance at this life, but the more I think about it, the more I believe I deserve it.