Abbey
His smile was the first thing that popped into my head this morning, helping to clear the migraine last nights high left behind. I rolled over in bed, half expecting him to be there. Half expecting to run my hands through his bed head, laughing while he rolled on top of me, planting an unforgettable kiss on my mouth.
But he wasn't there.
I could almost smell him in the sheets. There was a subtle hint of him that pricked the inside of my nostrils. It was that musky sweet. The scent he left behind that clung to the bed sheets blankets and pillows that took weeks to get out. It's been gone for years but will always be embedded into my memory. I pressed my face into the fabric, trying to get it come back full force.
Years have passed and it still feels as if I only received the news yesterday. I want to move on from it. From him. He would have wanted me to.
He would have wanted me to do a lot of things I haven't done.
He wouldn't have wanted this life for me.
Something won't let me escape Braeden. When I pack those troubles away, when I shove him into a closet and hide myself away from him, that voice calls out to me. It tells me not to give up yet.
It tells me that he could still make it back despite how long he's been gone. The thought holds me captive, makes me a slave to the idea of him walking back into my life.
I'd give anything for that chance. I'd give anything to receive word that he's out there, alive.
It doesn't seem possible. Seven years gone is enough proof he won't be back.
The military liaison assigned to his case doesn't bother returning my phone calls anymore. At first I'd hear from him every couple of weeks and then it turned into a monthly call. After the first year I'd get a call from him every other month and then five years were gone and I was only getting bi annual courtesy calls instead of updates. Two more years have passed and now I get letters instead of phone calls.
They won't say it, because officially, they can't.
Braeden isn't coming home.
Bray was leading a group of men on a classified mission. He was 'in the woods', a slang term that meant he couldn't give me details about where he was, or what he was doing, just that he didn't know how long it would be before I'd hear from him. After that last video call I didn't hear anything for three weeks. I spent every night wide awake, worried sick about him. The stress was overwhelming and being as pregnant as I was made me even more of an emotional wreck.
When the officers came that morning it took a few minutes before I was able to accept their presence in the apartment. I was basically catatonic, couldn't speak, couldn't react. One of them had to call my mother for me because my hands were shaking too badly to grip the phone. I clutched the folded American flag to my chest while they delicately described the situation, explaining the Army was exhausting every option and sparing no expense in order to locate Braeden and bring him home. They classified him as missing in action, but never said he'd come home alive.
All I have left are the bits and pieces of his case made declassified to myself and his family. Braeden's group was captured by the Taliban on the fifth day of their mission. It's been said they were held for two or three days in a detainment compound, but that hasn't been officially confirmed by the Army, it's simply hearsay from an educated case worker. There were seven in the group, Braeden included. They found five bodies in the desert a month after the reported capture, and one surviving soldier clinging to life in an embankment about a mile from where the bodies were discovered.
Braeden's body wasn't among them and they haven't been able to locate his remains.
He was most likely killed at the same time, in the same way, his body destroyed. Or he could have been blown to bits by a bomb, or killed some other way that makes me vomit when I think too hard about it. Since he was the ranking soldier in charge, they probably tortured him more than the others in order to obtain information. I know Bray though. He wouldn't talk, even if it could have meant his release. He was too dedicated to his cause, too loyal to the Army and what he stood for. He'd been trained how to handle that kind of situation and was too damn stubborn for his own good.
I'm sure it's what got him killed in the end.
The surviving solider, Specialist Adam Sanders, will never walk again and doesn't remember a thing about the capture or his time as a prisoner. He was shot in the back and hit over the head, left for dead before those soldiers found him. None of it matters though. His wife and kids got him back. He has a life with them now. His wife is nice. She sends me a Christmas card every year and invites me to spend the holidays at their ranch, which I always decline.
They're the lucky ones.
As for me, I know I've held out long enough.
"Abbey."
I put the finishing touches on my hair, taking care to adjust my breasts into place and check my makeup once more. I went a shade darker on the concealer today. I'm pale as a ghost and look like hell without it. I glance over my shoulder. My best friend is standing behind me, arms crossed with a scowl.
"I'm coming."
"You're late. It's the third time this month." Charlene Joyson leans against the doorframe and narrows her eyes through her glasses. "I told you this is a good gig but it's not like waitressing. Mike is going to go ape shit on me. I told him your attendance wasn't going to be an issue.."
"I called him earlier and got a lecture about it. Don't worry, you're not in trouble. It's all on me." I turn away from the mirror and walk towards her.
"Ab."
"What Char? Move. I have to start setting up."
"Just be honest with me."
I let out a breath. "It wasn't the best visit."
"I take it they left."
"Day before yesterday."
"Damn, why didn't you come home...or call at least? Were you on a binge at the hotel?"
I sigh, nodding out a yes before pushing past her and slinking under the counter, immediately beginning to dry the glasses she washed before I got here and shelving them. I eye the clock. In an hour this place will be packed. The thought of spending another Friday night pouring champagne for New York's elite is exhausting me already.
"I was wiped clean. You should have let me know you had some," she says. "I couldn't track down my dealer."
"Sorry. I wasn't thinking that clearly."
"It's cool," Charlene gives me sympathetic look and reaches into the sink so she can help me. "Is Ethan coming around?"
I shake my head.
"Maybe my boss at my day job can help. She probably knows a good lawyer."
Charlene means well and I love her. We've been friends since grade school and she just wants the best for me. At the same time, she knows Ethan as well as I do, and the power he holds.
"I was high and he found out. It's my own fault," I say, swallowing back the lump in my throat.
"Seriously, Ab? He's a cop. He can sense that shit from a mile away. You know better."
"I didn't know how else to handle the visit." I push past her.
"Well did he even try to work with you? I mean, obviously you could use his support right now."
"No. He doesn't think it's a good idea. He says if I moved back home it would be too risky. He got Chels into a charter school and doesn't want me screwing things up."
She snorts. "What would you do? Light the school on fire?"
I shrug.
"Well, what about your Mom?"
"The last time we spoke it didn't go well. I'm sure she feels the same way as Ethan. It's a losing battle, Charlene. I have to accept responsibility for the choices I made, that's all."
"Is he going to lift that fucking restraining order at least?"
I scoff. "Nope. He's sticking to this bi annual visitation."
The door opens and our boss, Mike, walks through the door. Our conversation ceases and he grunts a hello before going through last nights receipts.
"There's a group tonight, about ten VIP's. Some birthday celebration. You girls are going to be behind the rope," Mike tells us without glancing up from his paperwork. "I don't want to see an empty glass or ice bucket at their table and I don't want to see either of your faces until the lights come on, got it? You use the walkie and make the bussers bring in what you need."
Charlene frowns. "What about Beth and--"
"These guys want mature ladies pouring for them, not a couple of NYU freshmen." Mike cuts Charlene off and turns to face her. "You think you and your friend can handle that, sweetheart?"
Charlene glances at me, obviously interpreting Mike's explanation much differently. She warned me this could happen. Helix is one of the most elite nightclubs in Manhattan and it's no secret that Mike only hires women based on their age and their look. I guess I lucked out. Despite Charlene's warnings that Mike's interview was going to be rough, he hired me immediately after giving me the once over. It made me feel sick to my stomach, but it's not like I haven't done this routine before--for less compensation.
"Did you contract a tip already?" Charlene asks.
"Of course, but whether or not you get it depends on how well your service turns out tonight. If you fuck this up, I'll pocket it."
Mike laughs to himself and his gaze lands on me for just moments. My body goes tense as he stares at my chest.
"Late again and you're done, Abbey. Understand?"
I nod.
He turns back around and ignores us again.
At ten forty five the DJ begins to spin the familiar electronic music that makes this club so popular. Charlene and I enter the VIP area near the DJ booth and set up the bottles that were pre-ordered by tonights group, while the bussers help get all the glasses and ice buckets in place. My hands are shaking as I pour the first ounces of Dom Perignon into the flutes on the tray and await our party.
I'm a nervous wreck.
I don't want to be groped by a drunken Wall Street executive tonight. After Ethan's visit I'm only in the mood to do the bare minimum and shut myself away from the world for the rest of the weekend. The thing is, I need this money. I really need it if I have a prayer of hiring a lawyer. If I don't please this group tonight, Mike will fire me for sure. I don't want to think about what Ethan would do if he found out I was unemployed. It's enough motivation to grin and bear the groping for one night, even if it means degrading myself.
"Here."
Charlene grabs my hand and presses the pills into my palm before knocking back a couple herself, washing them down with a flute full of high end champagne. I know what they are without having to look. Speed. Something to take the edge off.
We promised we would stop this at work. I promised myself after the last time. It's too risky.
Tonight warrants something extra though. Just to get us through the night.
"Abbey, quick," she pleads.
I knock mine back. The champagne is cold and refreshing as it runs down my throat and into my gut.
I didn't eat today. I did some lines of cocaine instead.
"You good?" Charlene asks me.
"Yeah, I think so. Should be enough to blur all of this out."
"When you wake up with a grand in your bra, you'll thank me," she chuckles. "It's not that bad, you'll see. Most of these guys are just looking for a fun night out."
I don't want her to feel guilty about this so I put on my best smile for her. I knew what I was signing up for when she previewed her work wardrobe for me. Anything that happens tonight, is what one would come to expect from a job like this.
The drug begins to work its magic in my veins. I feel energized and upbeat, a perfect attitude for the group that walks into VIP about ten minutes later. They're a bunch of young executives accompanied by half a dozen model type women. Most of them are half drunk as they slide onto the comfortable sofas, laughing and making out with their dates.
Two men in particular catch my eye. They are dateless and extraordinarily good looking. Tall, muscular and handsome, clad in suits that probably cost three months rent. I can tell they are elitists, trust fund kids turned Wall Street moguls, probably among the richest in New York. They're every gold digging bimbos wet dream and I'm shocked that the leggy sluts aren't all over them by now.
They sit apart from their drunken counterparts, taking in the ambiance of the club and digging the music. Of course it doesn't take much time before they catch me staring at them. One of them nudges the other, whispering something in his ear. They laugh together and then one of them, the one that seems just bit more bold than the other, gets up and makes his way over to me.
I look for Charlene. She's off on the other side of the VIP area with another member of the group, lost in her high as she speaks to him.
I'm all alone.
"Hey beautiful." Trust Fund Guy finally says once he gets close enough.
His cologne is expensive, but that over the top kind that you buy to impress a woman. The kind of stuff Ethan wears. I start to feel nauseated as he smiles and moves closer to me. His breath stinks of booze and by the way he's swaying I can tell he's already over his limit.
Still, the night is young. The drunker he gets the better he'll tip.
"Can I get you a drink?" I retrieve a bottle of scotch from the edge of the table.
"Sounds good." His brown eyes dance playfully. "How about you come over to the table and pour for us?"
I glance at the friend he left back on the sofa. This guy isn't as drunk. He's focused on his phone at the moment, furiously texting away despite the late hour. He's that city never sleeps type, up at three am trading shares with Zimbabwe or whoever is in the right time zone. Charlene dates those types. She says they're the only ones she can hold an intelligent conversation with. The relationships fail after a month or two. She can't stand that they refuse to put their work away when she wants attention.
I try to remember if I've seen him before. If she dated that one or the one standing in front of me. I can't recall and that could be awkward later on.
"I can pour here for now."
"Come on sweetheart. I don't bite. My name is Mitchell, and my buddy over there, his name is Cole. He's looking to have a good time." He sticks his hand out for me to shake. "What's your name?"
"Um, Abbey."
"Abbey," he smirks. "See, we're already hitting it off. C'mon. Come hang out with us. Your boss won't care."
"He might."
"Nah. He knows better." Mitchell takes the bottle out of my hand and puts it down on the table. "Let's go."
I don't fight him as he guides me back across the VIP area. I'm extremely uncomfortable of course, but the drug coursing through my veins leaves my head swimming. I can't completely focus on the feelings.
"This is Abbey." Mitchell wedges me between himself and his friend Cole. "She's down for the party tonight."
Cole shoves his phone inside his blazer pocket, his brow furrowed until he takes a good look at me. Then he smiles. It's a dazzling perfect smile that lights up his ridiculous crystal blue eyes.
It's a smile I haven't seen since Braeden.
I want to cry.
I force myself not to.
"Hey," he says and leans in close to me. "It's nice to meet you sweetheart."
He gives me a light kiss on the cheek and then his hand lands on my bare thigh, rubbing it for just seconds before it begins its journey up my skirt. Cole fingers the rim of my pantyline and inches his fingers downward while kissing my neck. His breath smells of liquor--beer, mostly. It's subtle. He might have had two or three on the way here but he hasn't started with the hard stuff yet. That means he's just horny.
I wasn't counting on that.
It's only been ten minutes, but I let him pursue me anyway. Soon enough, I'm making out with him. The drug causes my heart to race faster as the adrenaline from being touched starts to kick in. My mind is swimming. A million different visions of the past, of today, of my daughter and Braeden and my family flash through my brain. Then I'm standing outside of myself, looking at the mess that I've become before I warp back to reality.
I kiss him hard and heavy and he only presses me for more. I feel the bulge in his pants. He's ready for me right now, but I won't go there. Not at work.
I need to stop this, but can't. The music, him, the lights, the drugs, everything is keeping me right here.
He feels good. Safe. I don't know why.
Cole breaks the kiss. I look up into his eyes and then glance behind me.
We're alone. His friend has moved on.
"I need a drink. You want a drink?" He asks, breathless.
"I---yeah sure."
He takes my hand and guides me to the table filled with bottles. Marcus, a busser, smirks my way as he pours us our drinks. I'm too stoned to be mortified at this point.
Cole downs his drink in two swallows. "You wanna dance?"
His eyes are filled with laughter. He's having a great time. I don't know how I should feel. I can't focus long enough to make sense of all this. Instead of trying I down another drink and smirk. "Sure."
He pulls me by the hand and we leave the VIP area. It's rare for someone like him, but he's not like the rest of his buddies. There's a humbleness about him, like he wasn't born into wealth and privilege.
I'd like to spend the rest of the night with him.
We dance for more than an hour. Cole grinds against me and puts his hands every place on my body imaginable. All I want is more of him. I make out with him in the middle of the dance floor, not caring who sees. The straps of my bustier are down around my shoulders and my breasts are practically falling onto his chest. Cole can't seem to get enough of it.
I can't get enough of him.
"You wanna get out of here?" He laughs it in my ear as he holds me close to him. "I can get us a room uptown."
"Aren't you celebrating?"
He grabs my lips hungrily, smiling once he breaks the kiss. "He'll get over it."
"Go back to the lounge and I'll get my stuff," I giggle. "Ten minutes."
"Don't keep me waiting."
Cole kisses me once more, gives me that dazzling smile and then departs. I head back to the dressing rooms and begin to gather my things. I see the small silver box on the makeup counter, hesitate for just moments, and grab it. The pills fall into my hand before I can stop myself. I down a mouthful without counting, washing them down with a nip of whiskey lying on the table top.
If nothing else, I should get a bigger tip out of tonight. It won't be so bad, doing this. I won't remember. Won't have to face it in the morning. Cole will be like the rest of them, forgotten after tonight.
I walk out and across the club. It takes a lot longer this time. The drugs have taken hold and I feel like I'm floating through the air. There's a million colors that crash down like the ocean below me. I try to call out but no one hears me. They're all laughing and clapping in time with the beat.
I'm lost.
I need to sit down, have another drink to take the edge off.
"What the hell are you doing out here?"
Mike breaks through. The grip he has on my arm really hurts. I try to tug away but he holds on tightly.
"I'm going back to work--"
"I didn't say you could take a break, did I?"
"The client---"
"Don't try to lie your way out of this, Abbey."
I stare but not at him, just blankly ahead into the darkened night club. I feel the bile rise in my throat, a sharp pain twists in my gut. The pills. I took too many pills.
"What are you looking at? Come on girl, snap out of it."
I think he's shaking me but can't be sure. I keel over, vomiting all over Mike's expensive floor.
"Jesus Christ."
It's the last thing I hear before I collapse. Then everything grows silent, still, and black.
ns 15.158.61.23da2
