You Don't Own Me(15)

‘I’m torn. I want to rant, but I’d really like to hear how his cook explained away a kidnapping too,’ she says sarcastically

‘Basically, she believes that Zane has suffered some horrendous trauma and that is why he is the way he is. He’s like a tortured soul,’ I pause, ‘and she thinks I’m the person to save him.’

She folds her arms. ‘It’ll be interesting to hear how you plan to do that?’

‘Well, I don’t know yet, but I’m working on it.’

She shakes her head in disbelief. ‘So you’ve forgiven him and all is hunky dory in your world.’

I look at Stella’s understandably horrified face and I realize don’t know how to explain what Zane and I have. How can I tell her that I am so connected to Zane it feels as if I don’t derive my real nourishment from food and drink but him? Sometimes it is impossible for someone outside a relationship between a man and woman to appreciate or even comprehend the nature of the bonds that hold the couple. The bonds that hold me to Zane are like tempered steel. I want him. I need him and I cannot even imagine my life without him in it anymore. He holds my wellbeing in the palm of his hand.

‘It’s not that I’ve forgiven him,’ I explain, ‘it’s just that I’m trying hard to understand him. I come from a loving, close knit family so I have no right to judge someone who might not have had the things I take for granted.’

I shrug.

‘I don’t know anything about Zane’s past. He won’t talk about it, but I can tell that he is the product of something unhappy. He exists in a violent world with brutal rules and has to abide by them just to survive, but underneath the cold exterior that he projects to everyone, I’ve seen glimpses of a beautiful but wounded and suffering man.’

For a few seconds she simply stares at me blankly then she grabs the neck of the champagne bottle and pours herself another glass. I know she is trying her best to grasp what I am telling her, but it is hard for her. She takes a big gulp.

‘Did he know?’ she asks, jerking her head in Noah’s direction.

‘Apparently they had all guessed.’

‘Bloody cheek. Pretending to be all nice and helpful to me. I’ve a good mind to go there now and tell him off.’

I reach out and grab her hand. ‘Don’t you dare do any such thing, Stel. It’s not his fault. This is between Zane and me. They didn’t know for sure. They just guessed.’

‘I’m surprised that you are not more angry.’

I look down at my hands. ‘I guess it’s because I understand what it feel like to want someone so bad you’re willing to do almost anything to get that person.’

She looks at me curiously. ‘Do you feel that way about him?’

I bite my lower lip and nod slowly.

‘Oh no,’ she gasps in horror. ‘What a mistake it was to let you go in my place that night.’

I shake my head. ‘Don’t say that. I wasn’t even truly alive until I met him, Stel. Even if it all falls apart tomorrow I’ll never regret what I’ve had with him.’

‘Oh Dahlia. I hope and pray things work out for you,’ she cries softly, but her voice is full of doubt and worry.

I smile. ‘Look no matter what happens I’ll survive, but here’s the thing, we didn’t come out tonight to be depressed. Remember we’re getting irretrievably wasted. Let’s just do that. Come what may.’

She smiles back. ‘OK, bottoms up.’

We empty our glasses and Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive comes on the music system. We both look at each other with widened, disbelieving eyes.

‘Is that the universe talking to us?’ Stella asks.

‘If it is what’re we waiting for?’ I ask, jumping up.

Together we race to the tiny little dance floor at the back of the wine bar. No one else is dancing, so we have the whole floor to ourselves. We’ve danced to this track is so many times.

‘Go. Walk out the door,’ Stella and I scream as we strut our stuff.

It is just like old times, Stella and I kicking it on the dance floor. Well, all right, making a total fool of ourselves on the dance floor.

In the background Noah stands watching us. We call him over to join us, but he shakes his head and gives us a thumbs-up signal. Laughing we dance and down our drinks and dance some more and drink some more.





Eight


Dahlia Fury

‘I am positively drunk,’ Stella slurs.

‘Me too,’ I agree, my voice no less wobbly.

‘Kebab?’ she asks.

I shake my head.

She grimaces. ‘It’s all right for you. You’ll be settling down to a super size sausage with lashings of sperm?’