Ruthless Creatures: Chapter 7

“He said that?”

“Verbatim.”

“Holy shit.”

“That was pretty much my reaction, too.”

Sloane pauses. “And you didn’t throw yourself to your knees, rip open his zipper, and latch on to him like a sucker fish?”

Rolling my eyes, I sigh. “And they say romance is dead.”

It’s the next morning. I’m at home, where I’ve been doing the same thing I’ve been doing since the cab dropped me off last night. Namely, pacing.

No lights were on next door when I got home. There’s been no movement at his house this morning, either. There’s been no sign of Kage at all. I don’t even know if he’s there or not.

“Seriously, babe, that’s got to be the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. And I’ve pretty much heard everything.”

Chewing my thumbnail, I turn around and pace the other direction.

“I agree that it’s hot. It’s also way over the top. What kind of woman would react with ‘Sure, great, please fuck all my holes, Mr. Complete Stranger, sounds like a totally solid and not at all dangerous plan’?”

“Well, for starters…me.”

“Oh, come on! You would not!”

“Have you even met me? I totally would! If he would’ve been into me, I was ready to leave with him at the bar the other night without even knowing his damn name!”

“I think it’s time you seriously reexamine your life choices.”

She scoffs. “Listen to me, Sister Teresa—”

“It’s Mother Teresa, and stop comparing me to frickin’ nuns.”

“—that man is not the man you pass up when he offers you a ride on his elephant.”

I stop pacing long enough to look at the ceiling and shake my head.

She’s still talking.

“With that level of dirty-talk game right out of the gate, I’ll bet you a million bucks he’d give you thirty orgasms within ten minutes if you slept with him.”

“You don’t have a million dollars, and that’s not even physically possible.”

“It is with him. Hell, I could get off a dozen times alone just by looking at him. That face! That body! Jesus, Natalie, he could melt the polar ice caps with a look, and you turned him down?”

“Calm down.”

“I will not. I’m indignant on behalf of sex-starved women everywhere.”

“Excuse me, but the only sex-starved person on this phone call is me.”

“My point is that he’s a once-in-a-lifetime fuck. You could be having lovely daydreams about him at eighty when you’re in your rocking chair in the nursing home, soiling your diapers. Instead, you’re out here acting like you’re constantly being showered with prime sausages like confetti.”

After a moment, I start to laugh. “Oh god. The mental image. I’m gonna have to search the web for that meme.”

“Forward it to me when you find it. Have you listened to anything I’ve said?”

“Yes. I’m an idiot. You’ve made your point.”

“I don’t think I have.”

“Am I going to need to sit down for this? I have a funny feeling I’ve got a long lecture coming.”

“Let me just paint a picture for you of how perfect this is.”

“By ‘this,’ are you referring to his penis?”

She ignores me. “He’s gorgeous. That’s a given. He’s totally into you. He’s also leaving soon.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning there can be no emotional entanglements. That’s your favorite thing, remember?”

I grudgingly admit that it’s a check in the Pro column.

“Also, it would break your tragic dry spell. It might even help you move on. Think of it like therapy.”

“Therapy?”

“For your vagina.”

“Oh my god.”

“All I’m saying is that I don’t see a downside here.”

She might if I shared the tidbit about him buying the house with cash so he could launder his money and how he equivocated at first when I asked him if I should be afraid of him.

On second thought, that would probably just make her like him even more.

According to what she told me about Stavros earlier in the conversation, it sounds like his tech job is a cover for his real gig as an arms dealer. Nobody needs that many passports or cargo planes.

“I just feel like…I don’t know anything about him. What if he’s a criminal?”

“What are you, running for public office? Who cares if he’s a criminal? You’re not marrying him, you’re just bouncing up and down on his dick for a few days until he leaves. Don’t make everything so complicated.”

“What if he has an STD?”

Her sigh is loud and heavy. “Have you heard of this newfangled thing called a condom? It’s all the rage with the kids these days.”

“You can still get an STD with a condom.”

“Okay. I give up. Enjoy your celibacy. The rest of us will be out here having enriching sex lives with totally inappropriate partners like normal people.”

We’re quiet for a moment, until she says, “Oh. I get it. It’s not that you think there won’t be any emotional entanglements…it’s that you think there will.”

I’m about to issue a loud and fervent denial, but take a second to consider it instead.

“He’s the first man I’ve had any kind of reaction to since David. The other guys I’ve dated have felt more like brothers. Like, they were nice and I enjoyed spending time with them, but that was it. I would’ve been just as content sitting at home with Mojo as going out with any one of them. I certainly had no desire to sleep with them. They were just…safe.

“But Kage puts my endocrine system into overdrive. He makes me feel like I’m hooked up to electrodes, getting juiced like Frankenstein’s monster. And that’s with barely knowing him.”

“You’re not gonna fall in love with him if you have sex a time or three.”

“Are you sure? Because that’s exactly the kind of horrible thing that would happen to me.”

“Argh! Will you listen to yourself?”

“I’m just saying.”

“And I’m just saying you can’t live the rest of your life in fear of what might happen, Nat. So what if you did get all emotional over him after you had sex? So what? He’ll go back to his life, you’ll go back to yours, and nothing will have changed except you’ll have some great memories and your vagina will be gloriously sore. Nothing can hurt you as much as you’ve already been hurt. You’ve survived the worst thing you could imagine. It’s time to start living your life again. Do you want to be having this same conversation with me twenty years from now?”

We breathe at each other for a while until I say, “No.”

She exhales heavily. “Okay, I’m going to say something now. It’s gonna hurt.”

“More than what you just said?”

“David is dead, Nat. He’s dead.”

It hangs there in all its awful finality as my chest gets tight and I struggle not to burst into tears.

Her voice gentles. “He has to be. He’d never voluntarily leave you. He loved you like crazy. He didn’t get abducted by aliens or brainwashed by a cult or anything else. He went for a hike in the mountains and had an accident. He slipped and fell off the trail. It’s the only explanation.”

My voice breaks when I answer. “He was an excellent athlete. He knew those trails by heart. He’d hiked them a thousand times. The weather was perfect—”

“And none of those things protect people from accidents,” she says softly. “He left his wallet at home. He left his keys. He didn’t just wander away. He didn’t make himself disappear, either. The money in his checking account was never touched. Neither were any of his credit cards. You know the police said there were no signs of foul play they could find.

“I’m so sorry, babe, and I love you so much, but David is never coming back. And he would absolutely hate to see what you’ve done to yourself.”

I lose the battle with trying to hold back tears. They slide silently down my cheeks in meandering hot trails until they drip off my jaw onto my shirt.

I don’t bother wiping my face. There’s no one here to see me but the dog.

Closing my eyes, I whisper, “I can still hear his voice. I can still feel his touch. I can still remember the exact smile on his face when he kissed me goodbye before his hike the morning of the rehearsal dinner. I feel…”

I inhale a hitching breath. “I feel like he’s still here. How can I be with someone else when it would feel like cheating?”

Sloane makes a noise of sympathy. “Oh, honey.”

“I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s loyal and romantic and, unfortunately, totally unjustified. It’s the memory of David you think you’d be cheating on, not the man. We both know the only thing he ever wanted was for you to be happy.

“He wouldn’t want this for you. You’ll honor his memory much more by being happy than by staying stuck.”

My lower lip quivers. My voice goes high and wavering. “Dammit. Why do you always have to be right?”

Then I break down and start to sob.

“I’m coming over. Be there in ten.”

“No! Please don’t. I have to…” I try to breathe, though it’s more like a series of gasps. “I have to move on with my life, and part of that is to stop relying on you so much as my emotional support animal.”

She says drily, “You could’ve just said ‘crutch.’”

“It doesn’t have the same ring to it. Plus, I like picturing you as a big green iguana I take with me on planes.”

“Iguana? I’m a fucking reptile? Can’t I be a cute little dog?”

“It’s either that or a Siamese cat. I figured you’d take the iguana.”

Chuckling, she says, “At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

I wipe my nose on the sleeve of my shirt and blow out a hard breath. “Thank you, Slo. I absolutely hate what you just said, but thank you. You’re the only person who doesn’t tiptoe around me like I’m made of glass.”

“You’re my best friend. I love you more than people in my own family. I would cut a bitch for you. Don’t ever forget it.”

I can’t help but laugh.

“Are we good to hang up now?”

“Yes,” I say, sniffling. “We’re good.”

“And are you going to march next door and get your freak on with that fine piece of manhood?”

“No, but my vagina thanks you for your concern.”

“Okay, but don’t complain to me when the next guy who asks you out has genital warts and killer halitosis.”

“Thank you for that vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome. Talk tomorrow?”

“Yep. Talk then.”

“But call me before then if you accidentally slip and fall on Kage’s enormous pe—”

“Goodbye!”

I hang up on her, smiling. It’s only with Sloane that I can go from sobs to laughter within the space of one minute.

I’m lucky to have her. I have a sneaking suspicion that all these years she’s been more for me than just a best friend and a shoulder to cry on.

I think she’s been saving my life.

The doorbell rings, distracting me from my thoughts. I grab a tissue from the box on the coffee table, blow my nose, run a hand over my hair, and try to pretend like I’m a functioning adult.

When I get to the front door and look through the peephole, there’s a young guy I don’t recognize standing there with a white envelope in his hand.

When I open up, he says, “Natalie Peterson?”

“That’s me.”

“Hi. I’m Josh Harris. My dad owns the Thornwood Apartments over on Lakeshore.”

I freeze. I stop breathing. My blood turns to ice.

David was living at the Thornwood when he disappeared.

I manage to rasp, “Yes?”

“We did some big renovations recently—the roof, lots of interior work. Last winter was brutal—”

“And?” I interrupt, my voice climbing.

“And we found this.” Josh holds up the envelope.

Wild-eyed and terrified, I stare at it like it contains a bomb.

He looks sheepish. “Uh, my dad told me what happened. To you. I wasn’t living here then. I was with my mom in Denver. My parents are divorced, but, uh…”

Obviously uncomfortable, he clears his throat. “Anyway, this envelope was caught between the wall and the back of the mailboxes in the lobby. They’re the kind that open from the front, you know?”

He’s waiting for me to say something, but I’ve lost the power of speech.

I see my name and address on the front of the envelope.

It’s David’s handwriting.

I think I’m going to throw up.

“We’re not sure what happened. I mean, the outgoing box was pretty tweaked. There was a gap on one side where it had rusted, and I guess…I guess this just fell through the crack and got stuck behind. When we went to replace the boxes, we found it.”

He holds the envelope out to me. I recoil in sheer terror.

When I just stand there gaping at it like a crazy person, he says, “It’s uh…it’s addressed to you.”

I whisper breathlessly, “Okay. Okay. Just…hold on a sec.”

He looks left. He looks right. He looks like he’s really, really regretting ringing my doorbell.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry.” I snatch the envelope from his hand, whirl around, and run back inside, then slam the door behind me. I collapse against it, clutching the envelope and gasping for breath.

After a moment, I hear his voice.

“Do you want me to… Do you need someone to be with you when you open it?”

I have to stuff my fist into my mouth so I don’t sob out loud.

Just when you think the world is a worthless pile of meaningless shit, the kindness of a random stranger can knock you flat on your ass.

“I’m good,” I say, in a strangled voice that I’m sure broadcasts exactly how not good I am. “Thank you, Josh. You’re so sweet. Thank you.”

“Okay, then. Take care.”

I hear footsteps shuffle off, then he’s gone.

Because my knees can no longer support the weight of my body, I slide to the floor. I sit there shaking against the door for I don’t know how long, staring at the envelope in my sweaty hands.

It’s stained in a few places. The paper is dry, tinged faintly yellow. There’s a stamp in the upper right corner: the American flag. It hasn’t gone through the post office, so there’s no date stamp to indicate when David put it in the outgoing box.

But it must’ve been only a day or two before he disappeared. If it was longer than that, he would’ve asked if I received it.

And why would he mail me something in the first place? We were together every day.

I turn the envelope over slowly in my hands. Gently. Reverently. I lift it to my nose and sniff, but there’s no trace of his scent. I run my finger over the letters of my name, written in faded black ink in his precise, slanted handwriting.

Then I blow out a breath, turn it back over, slide my fingernail under the flap with its brittle, crumbling glue, and rip it open.

Into my palm slides out a heavy silver key.