A smile shows up to the party, and he holds out his elbow for me to take. “Then the first stop is a bank. That way you can deposit your winnings and get a credit card sorted. Even if they don’t give you one right away, I know a very lenient landlord who can let you an apartment just because I know you’re good for it.”
“Oh, really?” I slip my arm through his and let him direct me outside and into a waiting vehicle. “And would he be close by?”
“Dangerously close, my dear. So close, you’re lucky he’s got his own engagement party to organise for next week, otherwise he might change his mind and scoop up a certain damsel in distress to teach a friend a lesson.”
He arches his right eyebrow at me, and I feel a blush creep its warm tendrils up from my neck to my face. If it weren’t for the tattooed hands and neck that lend a cutting edge of danger to his appearance, Teodor would look remarkably like my jilted fiancé. In another time, in another world, I could imagine being seduced in the back of his chauffeured car and not minding it one bit.
The process at the bank takes less than an hour. On Teodor’s instruction, I text my new account number to Stefan.
“The funds won’t be there for a while,” he warns me as we leave the branch. “But the starting deposit”—he’d gifted me ten thousand—“should give you some wriggle room while he works out the safest way to get it to you without raising any red flags.”
“And, as you already said, there’s a sucker of a landlord waiting to be fleeced.”
“Not quite in those words.” He leads me back to the car, then stops when his fingers are on the handle. “You don’t have to stay there. I’m happy to put down a card if you want another address.”
“Does it have a roof?” When he nods, I say, “Then that sounds like the perfect solution.”
The apartment has more than a roof. Although the entire two bedroom layout would squeeze three times over into Micah’s top floor alone, I immediately love it.
“Do you have a construction firm at your bidding, too?”
Teodor’s laugh makes me wonder if he’s on a different financial plane than his friends. “My father bought the penthouse when the building first opened but he never uses it, so I’ve made it my city home. Rather than wondering who my neighbours are, I’ve taken to snapping up any apartments that go on the market. That way, I can thoroughly vet who’s living here or keep them empty.”
“Well, lucky for me you don’t trust your fellow residents.”
“Here.” He hands me a second keycard. “This’ll get you up to my level if you need it. I don’t stay here often but when I do, I’d appreciate the company.”
Now it’s my turn to arch an eyebrow. “And your new fiancée won’t mind a strange woman spending time with her man?”
He pulls an expression I can’t read, then shakes his head. “No and you can check with her yourself one of these days if you’re worried. I’ll introduce her when she next stops by.”
After he details where the nearest supermarkets are and gives me a recommendation for the local takeaway restaurants, he leaves me alone to settle in. I walk through the six rooms with wonder. The apartment is compact, but it’s the largest space I’ve ever had to myself. The soft buzz of city life coming through the windows is a comfort, reminding me I might be alone in here but if I need company, the largest city in the country waits outside my door.
Curling up on the couch—so comfortable—and with no immediate demands, the memories I’ve pushed back for more than half my life are waiting.
I don’t like them. Don’t like any of them. But they’re there.
There was no hospital. The vision of my mother in a bed with flowers on the windowsill was just a creation my mind dreamt up to fill in the blanks.
In the genuine memory, I can hear the piercing ring of my tinnitus, feel the pulse of blood running down the side of my face from the blows she landed on me. Hear my father yelling. Then there’s a pop followed soon by two more.
I can see her feet as she lands facing away from me. Feel the tidal wave of guilt as I understand what’s happened.
And at that I have to stand and pace, driving the images back.
Nothing more. Not now. Not yet.
Maybe there’ll be other snapshots to join those in the future but for now that’s enough. Enough to piece together other strands that were always hanging loose.
I remember being back in school, my head still ringing, my jaw clicking with each bite I ate.
It’s lunchtime and I’m trying to find some enthusiasm for my sandwich when Gabriel gets into a fight with a boy nearby. Probably nothing—at our age no one’s calling anyone out for serious shit—but Gabe turns and knocks him to the ground with a single blow.
He’s smaller than the other boy, but it doesn’t matter. Surprise plays a major part.
The reason I remember the altercation so clearly is because that was when I decided I liked him. The assault followed months of his teasing. About my hair. About my clothes. Negging on me like a baby incel.
A glut of bile rises in the back of my throat at the thought. Had I really spent so many years entranced with a boy for nothing more than he took after my mother? Was I looking forward to getting married so he could start hurting me exactly as I deserved?
