Lilly
Cole…
Strangely, I didn’t feel that hurt by the way he just sped off. I knew that he was wounded deeply by his brother’s words, and I knew that withholding sex from him had probably not felt great. But just because I didn’t feel affronted didn’t mean that I didn’t feel fucking terrible.
How was I ever going to thank Cole? How was I ever going to reach out to him?
I didn’t have his phone number, and even if I had gotten it, it had disappeared under the weight of his boot at the bar a week ago. I didn’t memorize his address. I somehow had my doubts that he had Facebook, and even if he did, I wouldn’t want to have an online presence. I didn’t want my father or his goons tracking me down because I posted a photo of myself in New Mexico.
This was goodbye forever.
It was goodbye to a man that, while “love” was perhaps too strong a word, “liked very much” was not too strong a phrase. It was goodbye to the man who had opened me up, who had shown me that the supposed enemy was not always an asshole. It was goodbye to the man who had pushed my boundaries in a respectful manner, always stopping when those boundaries became much too firm to push.
And what had I gotten for that goodbye? A touch on the shoulder, followed by a quick get-away? I understood Cole’s pain, but…
It was yet another reminder that just because I wanted life to go a certain way did not mean that it would. I would never forget Cole, but I would never get to be with him as I would have liked. I just needed time, and time was something that I never could get.
I stood at the outside of the train station and watched until he not only disappeared from view, but the sound of his motorcycle’s engine vanished from my ears. Once Cole could no longer reach ne, I trudged through the train station, looking for platform six. It was easy enough to find, but I still had an hour to kill before the train took off.
But right now, all of the benches were taken. I guess everyone else was eager to get out of town on a Thursday evening as well. Perhaps I wasn’t the only one looking to start a new life somewhere.
I had to imagine, though, I was the only one starting a new life not only against the wishes of my father, but against his physical restraint as well.
I had in my hands the printed paper with my train ticket. It was, strangely enough, the only physical possession I had that would remind me of Cole. Meanwhile, practically everything else had come from my father. Would I keep all of these things?
The immediate reaction was hell no. But there was a second reaction that said I couldn’t just forget everything my father had done for me. It wasn’t like I woke up every day to a father calling me a shitty person and berating me for being a terrible woman. His sin wasn’t in making me feel terrible, but in never allowing me to have the agency to feel anything.
But I had to lead my own life at some point.
I walked closer to the platform and looked around. Most of the people here didn’t have the clothes I had; most of the people here didn’t have the jewelry that I had on. Most of the people here took the train because they had no choice; I had taken the train because I had lost the ability to have a choice, no longer having access to my father’s money but perhaps gaining something more valuable. I was leaving behind a life of privilege, but a life of privilege that came with so many strings attached I couldn’t even move my finger, let alone an entire arm.
At least I’d finally have freedom.
I looked over to see one guy walking toward me with a black jacket on. It looked vaguely like the Fallen Saints jacket, but I reminded myself that lots of black jackets could look like the Fallen Saints from a distance. And in any case, it didn’t look like anyone I had ever seen at the house.
I turned my mind, instead, to what kind of work I could get when I got to Albuquerque. Bussing tables, maybe. Bartending, perhaps?
“You know, we wondered when you’d show your face.”
I looked to see the man standing to my right. Only now, with him as close as he was, could I see that he was, indeed, a Fallen Saint.
I’d never seen this man before; he had a dark mustache, curly hair, and menacing brown eyes that looked like they wanted to burrow into my body. If the intent of my father was to get as many evil, dark men in the club as possible, he was succeeding.
I decided to play dumb.
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
“That’s not important,” he said, lighting up a cigarette. “What is important is who you are. You are Lilly Sartor. You are the daughter of our leader. You have been missing for some time.”
“I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong—”
“I can do this the easy way or I can do this the hard way. It’s up to you.”
I thought about what Cole and his brother had said—how my father would have his sense of self-preservation overtaken by madness to find me. How I had been discovered here... it couldn’t have been Cole’s fault, but someone, somehow, had to have sold me out. Someone had to have figured it out.
Someone had to have had connections I couldn’t even begin to imagine.
“Care to explain what the hard way is?”
