Page 35 of Save Us
“That’s not my n…” I instantly shove my hand over my mouth before I can finish that sentence, realizing I need to end this before I give everything away. “Never mind. I shouldn’t even be talking to you. My life literally hangs in the balance if I step out of line. Fuck! Forget I said that…please, don’t…oh, God!”
I begin to hyperventilate as I clutch hold of the covers so tightly my knuckles blanch white. How could I have opened my big mouth to the man I still love?! A man I’m still trying to protect and who owns one of the biggest media companies in the country.
“Hey, hey, Mrs Lawrence, I’m sorry,” he rushes out, seemingly trying to reassure me. “You’re right, I can’t ask this of you, it’s too dangerous. Please don’t cry, I won’t say anything, I promise!”
His words, his comfort, and just knowing he’s on the other end of the phone, all have me panicking as to what to do and what to say next. So much so, my vision begins to blur, and all rational thought begins to unravel.
“You don’t know, Mr Fenton, you just don’t know-”
“Please, Beth, I-”
“What?!” I gasp. “What did you just call me?”
“I meant Angela, sorry, I meant Angela.”
“I have to go, this was a mistake, I have to…” I click on the chunky red button before I can let anything else escape from my big, fat, distraught mouth.
As soon as I drop the phone to the mattress, Leo bursts through the door and wraps his giant arms around my quivering body. I’m still trying to breathe in as much air as possible, just to stop myself from passing out altogether.
“Breathe, breathe, Beth, honey,” he whispers, trying to soothe me by stroking his hand over my hair.
“It was Xander,” I eventually manage to cry through tears and whimpering, “it was Xander on the phone!”
He says nothing but continues to offer me comfort in his usual Papa Bear way.
Xander
Holy fuck! What the hell was that?!
As soon as I hear the click of the phone that signals she’s hung up, I drop it to the desk. For a long while, I continue to eye it like it has betrayed me in some evil way, as though holding onto it for any longer will infect me. I then grab hold of my face between my sweating, trembling hands, all while cursing myself for being such an idiot. Not only to call her in the first place, but to then call her Beth, to even mention her name with anyone other than my family. Why the hell did I do that?
It was as if my mind had slipped back five years ago, when she was still mine inside of that cabin, like none of the pain of losing her had ever happened. Her sass, her laugh, even her voice called out to that desperate eighteen-year-old still inside of me, the one who still lives just for her. As I let out one tear, just one, I shake it off and decide to text Jonah straight away. I need to tell him that it’s far too dangerous for me to contact Angela again. For both of us. He wastes no time in replying to me. In fact, I barely take a breath before he sends through his response.
Fair enough, Mr Fenton. How did she sound?
I stare at the words across my screen, scowling at the response because what kind of question is that? The guy is clearly unhinged and enjoys playing with people. I laugh over my shocked reaction to his behavior, because he’s Mayfield; it’s a given he’s some degree of crazy.
I don’t bother to reply, instead, I audibly sigh and decide to leave the phone behind in the office and spend some time with the living - my daughter. I hear her before I lay my eyes upon her, playing with her doll’s house in the playroom. Stephen and I assigned an entire room for her epic collection of toys. When she began toddling, the whole place ended up looking like a toy store, and neither of us could face treading on another tiny, plastic creature without being able to curse about it.
This is her usual spot, where she spends hours coming up with all kinds of stories for her barbies, horses, cuddly toys, and other figurines. She makes them all live together in her make-believe world. She’s so imaginative, and always puts on voices for each individual character in her small world play, and I’m always fascinated by it. After what just happened, I take a few minutes to listen in on her current conversation between the barbie dolls and a toy monster.
“Go away, monster, you can’t come into our house, you’re too scary!” she shouts angrily in the voice of a little brown-haired doll.
I smile to myself when an image of my twin springs to mind, for she sounded just like this when she was younger.
“But I don’t have any friends,” she says for the monster, putting on a sad and lonely voice for him.
“Oh no, really? That’s sad,” the doll says, now sounding much more sympathetic and less raging bully. “But my mommy says monsters are bad and we mustn’t let you in.”
“I don’t have a mommy, that’s why I’m a monster!” she replies in the monster’s voice again, and my smiling over her vivid imagination now turns into deep concern for my little munchkin. Not only have her words struck a chord with me, but she’s also just dropped her toys to the floor and sighed so sadly, I’ve no choice but to reveal myself to her.
“Hey, baby,” I say softly, no longer able to stay quiet on the matter, but she doesn’t even turn around to face me. Instead, she sniffs loudly and breaks down into fits of tears with her sad little whimpers breaking my already fragmented heart. I waste no time in rushing over to wrap my arms around her, bringing her in close to my chest and kissing her little bobbing head before trying to wipe away her tears for her.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, Rosie?”
“Andy Simmons said my mommy probably ran away because I am so ugly, like an ugly monster!”
She breaks down even harder than before and I have to remind myself that Andy Simmons is only five years old, so I can’t go round there and kick his ass.