A lightness in my chest eased some of the ache, as foolish at that might be, and I slipped the pills into my pocket, thinking that maybe fate would change my path anyway.
Nan
The flight home had been lonely and painful. I wouldn’t be going back to Las Vegas again. That was it. I’d never be able to look at that city the same way. It kept a piece of my heart that I hadn’t been able to take when I’d walked out of that suite. I took the memories, and it took something more.
At least my house held no memories of my time with Gannon. He’d only come to me in my dreams here. I fought the urge to run to my room and go to bed in hopes that he would visit. Even though deep down, I knew that, too, was gone.
My heart had been crushed, and with it my dreams. I was officially broken. Every past sin I’d committed, every hurtful word I’d spoken, every cruel action I had taken were coming back around. This was my payback. This was me reaping what I had sown. All those I’d wronged would believe I deserved all the pain and sorrow eating me alive, and they’d be right. I did. This was my penance, and either I’d survive it or it would destroy me.
Either way, I knew there was no one out there to care. I wasn’t a favorite child, sibling, or friend to anyone. I was tolerated. It was the life I’d made for myself, and now I had to live it.
Four weeks later
Running had taken over my life. I did it every morning when I woke up to ease the emptiness, I did it every afternoon to overcome the loneliness, and then I did it again at night hoping I’d get lost and this would all end. It was how I’d coped for the past four weeks.
This morning, however, was different. I’d gotten up to run but ran to the bathroom to vomit instead. Surprisingly, I’d felt better afterward, so I had gone to drink some orange juice and make an egg-white sandwich to have with some Greek yogurt. But when I had smelled the egg cooking, my stomach had soured, and I’d once again run to the bathroom to vomit.
I stood in the kitchen now, staring at the stove as if it were my enemy, although I was hungry. I wanted my yogurt, but the egg scared me. Covering my nose, I dashed to grab my yogurt, then hurried for the door to get out of the house and away from the smell of egg, because as of this morning, I hated that smell.
Jerking my front door open, I screamed in surprise, then froze, staring up into a face I hadn’t seen in a long time. One I had never expected to see again. I couldn’t think of one good reason for him to be here or how he had gotten here or how he knew where I lived.
There was no joy in this reunion . I’d never expected there to be. The concern that he would one day come after me had always been tucked inside, but I’d ignored it. Until now. I’d have to face this. Hiding wasn’t an option.
“Franco?” His name fell from my lips easily enough, but his face wasn’t welcome. I’d left him in Paris. Where he needed to be. A small knot of fear settled inside me, as a million reasons ran through my head for why this man was at my house almost a year after I’d seen him last.
“Hello, Nan. You look, ah, unwell, actually. Are you doing OK?” The smooth, cultured timbre of his voice had once intrigued me. Now I was frightened of it. I knew there was more to him than a pretty face and wealth. He was dangerous. He wasn’t here because he missed me.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, wishing I had my phone on me so I could call Rush. He knew about Franco and why I’d run away from him. It had been a mistake in my past that I wasn’t sure I could ever overcome. As much as I tried to pretend this man was just a casual fling, my secret was that I knew things I didn’t want to know. Things that could very likely get me killed.
“I missed you, bella.” He used the endearment he’d used with me when he’d brought me into his world without me knowing.
“No, Franco, you didn’t. You were bored with me. You said so yourself. So why are you here?” I asked, wishing I’d curbed the sass in my voice, because this man wasn’t just anyone. He was a psycho. A cruel smile curled his lips, and I knew that meant pain would soon follow. Maybe I would vomit on him. Or get him sick. Franco with a stomach virus sounded appealing yet almost impossible. He was untouchable.
“You’re alone. I’ve watched you.” He took a step toward me, and I wanted to run away, but I stood firm. Moving would give him access to my home. And would give him privacy with me.
“Rush is on his way to take me to breakfast,” I lied.
Franco laughed and shook his head, as the evil gleam in his eyes sent shivers down my spine. “No, dear, he’s not. He’s at the country club with his sweet little family having breakfast. I cover my bases. You know that.”