Charity's Warrior (41 page)

"Then what, what would you tell me? What did you come to say about it?" I asked.

I turned and looked out at her through the bathroom door. Her face is softer, more understanding, than I expected to find.

"I want you to hit him," she answered.

I'm stunned. "What?"

"I want you to smack his face sideways, fuck it, I want you to punch it, break his God damn nose. Kick his nuts into his throat. Yank a fistful of his fucking hair out. Split a lip. Do every one of these things to him if you want. It will make you feel better, get the anger out—and he deserves it," she said.

"Yeah, he does. I'm just surprised to hear you say you want your friend hurt," I replied.

Lena shook her head. "I don't want him hurt."

"You just told me to punch his face, rip out his hair, and kick him in the balls," I said.

"Yeah," she said. "It will do you a world of good. It will get you past all this anger, which is good for both of you."

"And it will hurt him," I pointed out.

"Not really," Lena said. "Not nearly as much as what you're doing to him now."

Okay, I'm even more stunned by that one.

"I seriously don't think I'm hurting him that bad. I'm sure he's just moved on," I snapped.

"Charity, he's a fucking mess!" Her snap sounded much more serious than mine. "This is killing him. I'd rather you kick his teeth in and get yourself over this than what you're putting him through."

"He hasn't even been around, Lena," I said. "There was no fight. He never came back."

"He never left, Charity! He's been sleeping in the room next door. He gets every update before and after the doctor sees you. How do you think I knew you were being discharged today?" she asked.

Even more stunned now than I thought possible.

He’s been right here this whole fucking time?

"He told me what things to get for you. I told him he should do it for you, but he insisted it was too much of a violation and he'd done enough damage to you already," she added.

I am beside myself at the moment. I'm still bitter at Justin for what he did to me, of course, but over the last few days, it was his absence that was upsetting me the most. My mind was convinced he was out getting over me. Why wasn't I worth a second effort?

This changes things.

"Charity, I know what you're feeling, and I know you still love him. Don't let anger and stubbornness get in the way. That won't last forever, and if you still love him when you're over that, you won't want it to be too late," she said.

"If he really loves me, it should never be too late. He wouldn't give up," I countered.

"He will never give up on you," she said, "but if he believes there is no way back, that you will not forgive him—Charity I'm scared for him."

Tears welled up in Lena's eyes, the second time I've seen her this emotional. It made my eyes glass over as well, so I stepped back into the bathroom to hide it as I finished getting ready. I know what will be next out of her mouth anyway.

I have to remember his father.

"I just want to get out of here right now," I said softly.

Lena had composed herself. "Finish up and let's get you out. I'll get the nurse."

I finished and went through the papers. There was a car and driver waiting for us that drove us to my building. We didn't talk much during the drive, but she insisted on coming up with me and getting me into my apartment.

"We had a service come in and clean for you," Lena said as she moved into my kitchen. "They cleaned out your fridge and Justin was going to have it restocked for you this morning." She opens the door and gave a glance inside. "Yep, you're all set here."

I sat on my couch and leaned back, glad to be home. I let my cane drop to the floor where I could reach it easily when I get up. Lena came and sat across from me.

"Listen," she said, "we're taking care of you. Don't be afraid to let us know what you need. All off your bills have been paid, and Justin has already ordered a dinner for you. There's nothing you have to do or worry about. He knows you won't call him, so we want you to call me for anything."

"Okay, it's a little disconcerting and annoying that he went through my personal accounts. I still don't fully understand how he gets away with this."

Lena smiled mysteriously. "I'm sure when he explained it to you, that he did it modestly. He always down plays himself."

I know I look puzzled. "Meaning?"

"Meaning, I'm sure he told you we help our clients with things they can't get done by anyone else, and that we are pretty successful," she said.

"Yes," I answered.

"Justin is not just good at providing these services—he's the man the richest and most powerful people in this country come begging to," she said proudly. "He has the money and connections to do
anything
, and get away with it. You're the first thing he's wanted so bad and can't have, and he's willing give up everything he has to get you. He's also willing to give
you
up if that's what it takes to make you happy, even if it makes him miserable."

I make my best “I don't give a shit” face. It didn't feel convincing.

Lena laughed. "Okay, I feel better," she quipped.

"How's that?" I'm fairly insulted at the way she is dismissing me, laughing at me.

Her face turns into a scowl. "Charity, I read you like a book. You're mad, rightfully so, but you're more hurt than angry, and you're putting up a wall to protect yourself. Problem is, walls come down. Justin's wall was much bigger and thicker,
and needed
, than yours, and the love you two have was able to break it down. Your little wall—it doesn't have a chance!"

Why does she always have to be right? And why does she always look so beautiful? I'm beginning to suspect she's not human.

She gathered herself and stood up. "I'm telling you, go up there and punch him in the face. It will do you a world of good. He's home. He left the hospital when I got there so he could be here when you got home. Says he just wants to be wherever you are."

I moved to sit up and get my cane so I could see her out properly.

"Are you nuts?" she teased. "Sit your ass back. Unless you're going up to him right now, you don't need to move. I know my way out."

Human or not, I adore her. "Thank you, Lena, for everything."

MOPING AROUND MY APARTMENT
was not a healthy thing. Every so often I'm finding my eyes fixed on the ceiling, as if I might spontaneously develop x-ray vision and be able to see into Justin's apartment.

When I try to think past what he did to me, I suddenly remember aiming my laptop between my legs so JP could watch me masturbate. Or I remember the way JP made me laugh, the mystery and excitement behind wanting to see his face.

And I'm staring at the ceiling again!
I really have to get a hold of myself.

Every half an hour, I stand behind my couch and use it for balance as I perform the squats and lifts they taught me in therapy. Just a few each time, like they said.

A few hours have passed since Lena left, probably a good thirty squats into my day, when my doorbell rang. I instantly had two simultaneous thoughts.

That son of a bitch really thinks he can come down here?
And,
Thank God, it took him long enough!

Nope, no internal turmoil happening here!

To my great disappointment, and relief, it's not Justin. A young, gangly, barely post-pubescent, still battling pimples, man-boy is standing in my doorway with a couple bags in his hands. He held them out to me.

"Here's your dinner, Miss Powers," he said.

I had forgotten. Lena did tell me dinner had been ordered.

I take the bags from his hands. "Do I owe you anything?"

"No, Miss Powers. Everything is taken care of."

I hate that he keeps calling me that. What am I, like five years older than he is?

He grabs my door knob and smiles sheepishly as he flicks his other hand in what I think is a wave. "Goodnight," he said, closing the door behind himself.

And I'm alone again, quickly darting my eyes toward at my ceiling, toward Justin. I drop the bags on my kitchen counter and begin to unload them. The first bag was full of boxes from Casa Bella, where we had eaten for my first trip into Little Italy, our first date. The smells coming from the packages are incredible, making my stomach growl. The bread is still warm. I find angel hair pasta and Chicken Marsala in the two containers. There is enough to feed two of me at least.

The other bag intrigued me. What more could there be?

In it I find a bottle of Riesling and a box with a note on it.

"Open last, save room!"

I have a feeling I know what it is. A little smile spreads across my face. There is no way that I am waiting to open it, and who is going to stop me?

I tear viciously at the flaps, pulling it open with all the excitement of a child on Christmas morning. I was right. Inside, another note was written on the Junior's Cheesecake box.

"Go ahead, eat this first,"
it read.

A short laugh exploded from my chest.
God damn him!

And I did eat it first, too—the fucker!

The Riesling threatened to disappear quickly. A very impolitely full glass vanished with the cheesecake. I rip off a piece of the bread and dip it in the Marsala sauce. It isn't even hot anymore and it's still to die for.

Before I eat the rest, I want some atmosphere. I aim the remote at my TV and change to the music channels. Italian classics, something from a composer named Giovanni Gabrieli, perfect! Just enough G's and I's.

I eat while listening to the music. My full stomach starts to call it quits before I am halfway through. The only thing in danger of being finished is the wine. Another glassful had somehow vanished even though my glass is full now. The bottle stared at me, concerned.

My emotions are fueled by the alcohol at this point. The meal was wonderful, and that was upsetting. I swig another large gulp from my glass and contemplate my anger, justifying myself. After another swallow, I think I could forgive him.

Back and forth.

What are you going to do about it?

There seems to be only one answer to my problems.

I look for my cane and find it beside me under the couch, bobbling in my drunken view. Steadying my hand, I grab it and stand up.

I clear my apartment, the hall, and press the button to go up on the elevator. It took a bit for the car to get there. I think it's confused that someone up here wants to go up further instead of down to the lobby. It did eventually come for me, and I got in and pressed Justin's floor.

When it opened, I sauntered to his door. I ring and knock, still having no idea what to say when he answers. I'm going to wing it.

Nothing happened.

I ring and knock again.

So much for him staying near me, wanting to be close.

He isn't even home!

Probably with another woman.

You know better than that!
I tell myself.
He's home, you're just in the wrong place!

Shit! I should have known that sooner.

I went back to the elevator. Thankfully it had waited for me, and I lean against the wall, using my cane to press the penthouse button.

If everything Justin showed me before was a cover, that apartment was part of the show. The night he was going to tell me the truth, before Steve took me, Justin brought me to the penthouse.