Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Coming back to LA was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Fortunately, Luca kept paying my rent so I have a place to stay. All my stuff’s still here, although there was a pretty intense smell coming from the refrigerator, and the place needed to be dusted and cleaned up, but otherwise, it’s just the way I left it.
Except now it feels like someone else’s stuff.
I got fired from my job. That’s fine though. I weirdly don’t miss it. I spent so much time at that office and now, looking back, it’s like all of those moments disappeared the moment I left the door, like feathers in the wind. Just gone, like they were never here. I don’t miss it.
So basically, I’m miserable.
I spend twelve hours doing nothing but watching Seinfeld, Friends, and The Office. Eventually, I have to eat, and on the way to my favorite vegan place, I spot a couple of girls in a nearby park working out together. They’re both around my age, pretty in the way that everyone in LA is kind of attractive and put together, but something about them makes me think about Peter. About the hours we spent sparring. I look at my hands and the bruises are gone, the scars faded, the marks of all that effort dissipated.
But the fear’s back. I feel that too. The old fear, the fear I thought I’d banished out in Greece. It’s beginning to creep into my life and I hate myself for it. I want to pound on something, punch someone in the face, but the only person I really want to hurt is Peter, or myself, or maybe both of us. I don’t know how long I can live like this hiding out in LA and feeling like a worthless coward.
I take out my phone, sick of myself, sick of feeling so passive, like I can’t do a damn thing to help the people I love. I take out my phone and make a call.
I don’t expect her to answer, but she picks up right before it goes to voicemail. “Oui?”
“Reina. It’s me.”
A short pause. “Adrienne. I didn’t think I’d hear from you.”
A strange flood of relief hits me. “I didn’t think you’d pick up. How are things?”
“Things are good.” She sounds cagey and uncertain. “He’s not here, you know.”
“Okay, that’s okay. I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought.”
“You could call him, you know.”
“I doubt he’d answer.”
She sighs. “Still with this? How long have you been away? Do you not have some—what is the word? Perspective?”
“I have perspective.”
“Non, you do not.”
I clench my jaw, suddenly wondering why I put myself through this. Why did I think talking to Reina would make me feel better? She’s done nothing but belittle me and make me feel like an idiot since the day we met—why did I think this would be any different?
“You know what, if it weren’t for Peter, I’d say I hope the Filos catch you. You’re miserable, and rude, and—”
“There it is,” Reina says and laughs. “A little spark from the meek girl.”
“Screw you.”
“Yes, you as well, my sister.” I hear the flick of a flame and I picture her taking a long drag of a cigarette. Time has passed, but nothing’s changed. “Why did you call, if not to chastise me?”
“I wanted to see how you were doing. And to see if Peter was okay.”
“We’re fine. Short on funds. Scrambling around. But okay. Anything else?”
“I guess not.”
“Bon. Tres bien. Don’t call again.”
“Wait.” I take a deep breath and let it out. “Peter.”
“He’s okay,” she says, her voice softening a touch. “If you want to help, stay where you are, and don’t contact him. I think you will send him into a spiral, yes? He was not well after you left. He is still not well, but better.”
I know it’s wrong but a strange thrill runs through me, knowing my leaving hurt him as much as it hurt me.
“When can I come back?”
“If you have to ask, the answer is never. Goodbye, Adrienne, my sister. Good luck with—well, with whatever.”
The phone clicks and the line goes dead.
I stare at my hands, at the ground, then up at the sky. It’s like I’m spiraling, lower and lower, a plane coming in for a landing, losing altitude, crashing. I want to scream, throw up, curl into a ball and cry. I hate LA and all the people in it, myself most of all.
Except there’s one thing.
One thing she hasn’t considered up until this point.
It’s what Reina said. Short on funds.
They need money for something, and I have money.
I have a lot of money.
For so long I’ve been afraid of my inheritance. I’ve been terrified that the cash is drenched in blood, that it’ll turn me soft, that it’ll ruin me. I didn’t want it, not a single cent, until right now.