29
Chanel
I can feel Ares watching me as I grip the phone, all my carefully laid plans falling apart within seconds.
“I’m heading back now,” my mom says. “I doubt the driver’s gone that far—”
“No,” I say again, resisting the urge to scream. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. “Mom, you can’t just—you’re going to miss your flight—”
“But I need my sunglasses, Chanel,” she says matter-of-factly. I can hear the buzz of activity in the background, suitcase wheels rolling against polished concrete, the announcements calling for boarding, repeating the names of passengers who need to come to the gate. “I can’t go to Sanya without those sunglasses.”
“Right. But... couldn’t you just buy another pair once you get there?” I suggest, my stomach churning. “Sanya has that huge duty-free shop—”
“You know I can’t just get anyregular pair,” she says, like I’mbeing absurd. “I need my customized VCL sunglasses. They’re the only ones that properly complement my face shape.”
“No, but... Mom, I... please—” I press a hand to my temple and blink hard, like I can somehow blink this reality away, hit restartthe way you do on a malfunctioning computer. It’s too much. I don’t have enough control, you simply can’t control other people. I’ve always known this, but it’s hitting me now, the full, paralyzing weight of it. There are only so many strings you can pull, there’s only so much you can manipulate. But every single person has an individual life of their own, their own history and plans for the future and mistakes and their own way of seeing the world and carrying their pain. Like my mom right now, like my father, like Ares, who’s still staring at me while I try not to hyperventilate. Everything is spiraling out of my control, and there isn’t enough time to do anything. “Can you please stay at the airport?” I ask my mom. “I’ll get your sunglasses for you—it’s faster that way.”
“Really?” She sounds skeptical. “They’re in the bottom drawer of my walk-in closet—the smaller one. I don’t know if you’ll be able to find them—”
“I will, trust me,” I say quickly. “Just... just stay there. I’ll bring them.”
It’s only when I hang up that I hear how strained my breathing is, like I’m choking on air.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Ares asks at once, his hand stretched out toward me as if he wants to take away whatever is hurting me. There’s no lust in his eyes, only concern. That’s what makes me pause, an idea dawning on me, new and utterly terrifying. I can’t control him, I know that, as hard as itis to accept. If I run back to my house right now, there’s nothing else I can do to stop him, unless—
Unless I tell him wherethe house is. That’s my last card, the only thing I haven’t tried: total, terrible, damning vulnerability. It would be a massive gamble; the consequences wouldn’t be just devastating but deadly if I’m wrong. I’d be giving him exactly what he needs to make the fire happen.
But maybe that’s the risk I have to take. Maybe that’s always the risk with falling in love. You can’t just decide for yourself whether or not someone will hurt you, you can’t move them around like a chess piece, keeping them a safe, calculated distance away at all times, and you can’t expect them to love you if you don’t let them.
So I let him.
I take a deep breath, look him straight in the eye, and I tell him. “I was lying before, about the vision. I do recognize the house.”
Shock ripples over his face. “What are you saying? How... how do you know?”
“Because,” I say slowly, and as I do, I imagine all the countless possibilities, all the moments shared between us, all the versions of our lives that might exist, leading up to now, to the two of us here, “the house is mine.”
The moon is slowly starting to rise by the time the driver drops me and Ares off at my house. I give Ares a quick nod before I rush inside alone, the door slamming shut behind me, and practically run to the closet, fumbling through all the drawers, not caring how much of a mess I’ll have to clean up later, if there even is a later.
At last my fingers close around the leather case. Thank god. I brandish it high in the air, as if I’ve just procured the elixir of life.
got them,I text my mom.
I take one final look around my home: at my parents’ bedroom, where I’d hover on nights when I had a stomachache, whining until my mom murmured sleepily for me to come inside; the birthday gifts collected over the years, crystal roses to blossom in perpetuity and yellow wine from the last century; the photos displayed on the mantel, snapshots of my childhood, hiding from the sun at the beach, picking baskets of strawberries.
Then I turn around to leave, to hurry back to Ares, who promised he’d be waiting outside the house for me. He had looked so sincere when he said it, like he couldn’t even imagine himself setting my house on fire, that I’d almost felt safe coming back here tonight.
But when I pull the door, it won’t budge.
No, no, no—
My heartbeat kicks against my chest. I hear a low buzzing in my ears, panic lashing through me. I yank again, harder, with clammy palms, but the door’s stuck. It shouldn’t be. It was working just fine this morning—
I wriggle the lock with all my strength, but it doesn’t do anything. The buzzing has dialed up to a shriek inside my head, the realization pounding against my skull.Someone’s locked me in here.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
30
