Blake's text message said that the door was unlocked. She was just supposed to let herself in. It did not occur to Vanessa to think this unusual, despite the fact that she had her own key. She was humming to herself as she pushed open the door, and nearly tripped over the unfamiliar pair of lady's heels. They were slinky and black and exactly the sort of shoes Vanessa would have picked out for herself in the spirit of being especially sexy. She quirked an eyebrow, surprised that Blake had company so late at night, and did not slip out of her own shoes. They were heels too-- not quite as sharp as the pair on the floor, but still dark, and they did wonders for a pair of legs that were already long and toned.
Maybe one of his girl friends had come over for a visit. Hoping that it was Olivia and not Jennifer, Vanessa closed the door.
"Blake?"
There was no answer. The light was off in the living room, and there was a hint of lilac on the air. Neither Olivia nor Jennifer used that scent.
That was kind of weird.
Vanessa hung her jacket on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, and flushed a little when she caught a look at her reflection in the mirror on the fridge. She'd chosen a little red dress for the evening, hoping to make up for the kisses that Kam had not solicited from her, but which she had given anyways. It was right of Blake to be angry with her. She'd been so busy lately, between long shifts at work and long nights on patrol, that she'd hardly had any spare time to spend with him. He deserved better. She hoped to make it up to him with kisses and champagne-- the latter was as much for her benefit as it was his. Since Kam's return, Vanessa had discovered that letting Blake touch her felt better after a glass of the bubbly.
The fabric of her dress was tight. It clung to Vanessa's body in all of the right places, and exagerated the softness of her curves in a way that appealled to her vanity. The skirt was short enough that Blake would have no problem pushing it up, when he tried.
She'd wanted it that way.
"Blake?"
There was an answer this time. It came in the form of a distinctly feminine giggle, from-- Vanessa was surprised to discover it wasn't the spare bedroom. Sometimes Blake let friends stay over. He was a good guy like that. She frowned, fingers tightening around the neck of the champagne bottle, and started down the hallway to push open Blake's bedroom door.
Inside a woman gasped. Vanessa came to a dead stop, standing in the door frame as if she'd just been struck by a bolt of lightning.
The champage bottle slipped from her fingertips to shatter on the basement floor. Liquid splashed up the length of her legs. Glass, glittering softly in the low light of Blake's bedside table lamp, scattered everywhere.
Her boyfriend sat on the bed beside an unfamiliar woman, who Vanessa noticed was exceedingly pretty, with hair that looked spun from gold and milky white skin. They were both half-naked, propped up against the headboard with the sheets around their waists. At the site of Vanessa the woman smirked and placed her hand on Blake's thigh. Vanessa guessed that her fingernails were acrylic. They'd left marks on his chest. Blake took a long drag of his cigarette, pinched it between two fingers, and then exhaled. The smoke lingered in the air, coupled with the scent of lilac and sex.
"Hey, babe," he said, hair greasy with sweat, "I almost didn't expect you to show up."
Time felt as though it had slowed to a crawl. Vanessa wasn't sure whether she wanted to scream or cry or be sick. Her brain was struggling to keep up with the rest of her. She swayed on the spot, shaky in her heels.
The woman leaned in to n** at the shell of Blake's ear. He let her. Her teeth were almost too white to be true.
"Blake," Vanessa said, vision blurring with tears. She squeezed her eyes shut. "What the ********, are you upset? I thought this was what you wanted."
"What?" Vanessa's voice cracked. She opened her eyes to stare at Blake, and was chilled to the bone by the ice in his, "How could you think that?"
"You've been in love with that ******** paki since the day I met you," Blake put out the ashes from his cigarette on what Vanessa had previously considered to be her side of the bed. The woman wrinkled her nose and pressed closer to him. "Seems you like men who ******** up their own lives just enough to forget about you. I thought you'd like me better if I started sleeping with other women. Nice skirt, by the way. Did I pay for that? I bet I did."
Vanessa wrapped an arm around her waist, and lifted the hand of the other one up to hide the way that her lips trembled. "You gave it to me for my birthday."
"Yeah, that's what I thought."
She could not remember ever having to search for her feelings before, but struggled now to grasp at anything. There should have been anger. Fury, even. Instead she felt hollow-- carved out from the inside, stung by the understanding that Blake had lured her to this moment in order to punish her for loving another man. Vanessa's heart ached with a pain that she'd only felt shadows of before. Every time Kam blew her off to spend time with another woman. He'd always been open about how much of a whore he was, and she'd respected him for his honesty. As a consequence, it had both confused and overwhelmed Vanessa when she'd started sleeping with Blake and he hadn't wanted to share her. He knew how important that was to her. She felt the pain of that loss now as intimately as if he'd slapped her across the face.
"It looked better on me," the woman spoke for the first time. She had an accent that Vanessa did not know enough to place. She looked Vanessa up and down from her place at Blake's side, a grin twitching at the corner of her thin lips, "in the store when I tried it on. Her chest is too small."
"Oh my god. Oh my god."
Vanessa burst into tears, hands flying both to tear off her dress and throw something -- anything-- at Blake and the woman beside him. The zipper got stuck just long enough for Vanessa to remember she wasn't wearing anything underneath. She hesitated a moment, and then ripped it down, breathing a little easier when the fabric loosened around her ribs. Fingers grappled at a nearby dressing table, coiled around a stick of deodorant. She flung it at Blake's head, reached for his hair gel, and then threw that too.
Blake ducked behind the other woman, who shrieked and lifted her hands to shield her face. The deodorant cracked against the side of her head, but the hair gel missed them both. It smashed a framed picture of his mother that hung on the wall. Both fell to the floor with a clatter. Glass cracked. Hair gel oozed out of the lid onto the carpet.
Sobbing, red in the face both with tears and fury, Vanessa tripped out of her dress and flung it at the bed. Blake ignored the woman in his bed whining over her bruised skull and got to his feet, arms outstretched as if he would try and embrace Vanessa. His expression was hard-- not the look of a man seeking to apologize for the wrongs that he'd done. Naked and unwilling to be subdued, wanting to be as far away form Blake as possible, Vanessa slapped his hands away. He tried again, so she slapped him across the face instead. Blake's head rocked backwards with the force of her strike. He swore.
"Don't," she said when he was looking at her upright again, cheek shining an angry red with the shape of her palm. Vanessa danced out of his reach and took a deep breath to steady herself. She pulled at her own hair, voice fading into a whisper, "please don't."
He didn't, and stepped back onto a piece of glass from the shattered champagne bottle. It sliced into the tender flesh of his foot and made him bleed. Blake swore again, handsome face suddenly pinched with pain, and sagged onto the edge of the bed to examine his wound. The other woman scrambled to help him, cooeing words in French that Vanessa did not care to understand, but which made her sick to hear.
Vanessa watched them, chest heaving, fury surrendering to despair. She trembled, and knelt to pull a pair of sweatpants from the drawer where, for the last three months, she had kept her overnight things. Glass cut into her knees. She grit her teeth, but otherwise welcomed the pain, grateful for the distraction from the knife that Blake had stuck in her back. In the drawer there were a couple pairs of clean underwear, and some socks. Other things important for women to own. But she did not want them, now. Not ever. Blake could keep them. The sweatpants were an unfortunate necessity, because not even Vanessa could fathom wandering naked through Destiny City. Alone. At night.
She pulled them on with shaking fingers. The fabric grated over the little pieces of glass imbedded in her shredded knees. Fresh tears shone on Vanessa's cheeks. Goosebumps peppered the soft skin of her arms. Focusing on the physical pain helped her push past the ache in her soul. She took another deep breath, and left Blake alone with his French woman. The door shut behind her with a soft click.
It was dark in the hallway. Vanessa stumbled and then took a moment to remove her high heels, bracing herself against the wall for support in order to avoid falling on her face. Barefoot and crying, naked from the waist up, Vanessa collected her jacket from the back of the kitchen chair and put it on. The fabric was cool against her skin, but comfortable in a way that the red dress had not been. It smelled like home, and reminded her of her father. She did not feel suffocated inside of it.
Her cellphone weighed down one of the pockets at her side. For a moment Vanessa considered calling someone, fingers pausing on the zipper...
"I'm always going to be here if you need me. I don't have anyone else."
... Kam's voice echoed in her memory. He'd been so sweet that night in the park, drunk and tender and caring for her, despite the fact that she was with another man. Vanessa wiped the mascara from under her eyes and sobbed again. A couple of weeks ago she would not have hesitated, but Kam no longer really responded to her text messages. When he did, his answers were brief. And they always came hours later.
The clock on Blake's stove said it was 2:30 AM.
Kam was probably asleep. Possibly he was with another woman. It was better to leave him alone.
She could call a cab, or her daddy. Of all the men in the world, Vanessa knew that he would not fail her. But Mr. Rae's heart had been troubling him again recently. He hadn't said a word about it, but Vanessa had noticed the way he sometimes pressed a hand to his chest and leaned against the wall. When he did that he always shut his eyes, as if he would drift off to sleep. She was frightened of doing anything that might get him worked up. And Blake had never been one of Mr. Rae's favourite people.
It was better to leave him alone too.
She could walk alone.
___
continued here
