The two words hit me like a sledgehammer.
The air escapes my lungs.
I shuffle uncomfortably in my seat, trying to ground myself, and rub away a smudge from the corner of my laptop before I’m able to start speaking.
“And this concerns me because?” My tone is more measured this time.
See, I can control my temper.
Great. I’m talking to myself as if my mum were in front of me.
“We know we can trust you,” Connie jumps in, her tone softer. “We fear this will end up like it did a couple of years ago, when his drinking got out of control after he lost Samuel, and wehad to stage an intervention. We want to do everything we can to prevent that. To remove anything that might tip him over the edge.”
The way Connie sayslost Samuelimplies that he was much more to Alexander than just his former assistant.
But this conversation doesn’t answer any of the questions I’ve been torturing myself with for the last ten weeks, and just adds a bunch of new ones. Does Alex have a substance issue? Was his ex-assistant also his partner? Why didn’t he tell me any of this?
Connie stares at me, waiting for a response.
“Oh, and you think I’ll tip him over the edge.” I reject the implication.
“No. Well, not exactly. We just need you to be on the same side as us. He’s got a busy week ahead and we don’t want to do anything to add to his stress levels,” she says.
“That’s rich, coming from the person who has single-handedly caused me more stress in the last three months than in the rest of my life combined.” My brows furrow; my nostrils flare.
The number of times I’ve dreamt of this moment. Of reading Connie, reading them all, the riot act for how they turned my world upside down. Chewed me up and spat me out. Leaving me feeling like some prostitute, discarded after I was no longer useful.
“Look,” Paul says matter-of-factly. “We can sit here pointing fingers at who is to blame for what was done to you. But Alexander has fallen off the wagon, and if we don’t address the bigger issue of how we are going to deal with it… Of how we get him through this next week, then…”
Paul stops himself. He takes a big breath and diverts his attention to the ceiling.
My focus drifts to Connie, who looks away.
Is this all a game? A way to manipulate me into getting what they want?
Will they dispose of me once again once they’ve got it?
“You’re the only one who can get through to him, Christopher.” Connie’s attention turns back to me when Paul doesn’t continue. Her voice is delicate like a flower and she reaches her hand across the table toward mine.
“Oh, so that’s why you’re really here. To get me to do your dirty work for you.” I instinctively withdraw my hand.
“Do you want to be responsible for sitting by and watching this all unfold? To wake up one morning and turn on the news to find out Alexander’s dead because you refused to help?” Paul’s voice is thick with conviction.
“Fuck you! How. fucking. dare. you.” I push myself up from my seat, slamming the chair into the wall behind me. Bile rises in my throat as I grab my laptop and head to the boardroom door. “You’re all as manipulative and evil as each other. And as far as I’m concerned, you can all rot in hell.”
Paul’s eyebrows shoot up, forming a high arch of astonishment, and Connie’s face contorts with a mix of disbelief and shock. Both sit frozen in their seats.
The door ricochets as I leave the room, and I pause momentarily on the other side, wondering how big of a dick I’ve been before realizing I don’t give a shit. They’ve royally fucked my life up, and I will be damned if I let them do it again.
7.Alexander
Friday
Caged animal doesn’t even begin to sum up the last seventy-two hours. Rob’s been watching me like a hawk ever since he found me pacing up and down the hotel hallway, convinced that David Rishton, straddling a dragon outside my window, was coming to get me.
Apparently, MDMA doesn’t make for a good replacement for when your Xanax prescription runs out. The intrusive thoughts that the medication was supposed to quell consumed me in Technicolor surround sound. If that’s what a bad trip is, I’d hate to experience a catastrophic one.
Rob still carries the battle wounds across his face and arms from when he forced me into the shower. I’d reacted like a cat being given a bath. My senses have been on high alert ever since. My lack of sleep and the intrusive thoughts returned in full force yesterday, and today has done nothing to soften the blow of the comedown.
