Denied (One Night 2)

Once I’ve been in the lift for what seems like for ever, the doors slide open and I force my legs to carry me to the shiny black front door. It takes even more mental encouragement to knock. I would question whether he’s even here . . . if it weren’t for the heavy air surrounding me. Miller’s anger is lingering in the space, closing me in and suffocating me. I can feel it spreading over my skin and settling deep.

I jump back when the door flies open on a harsh yank and I’m met by Miller, looking no better than he did when he stalked away nearly an hour ago. There’s been no attempt to restore his perfect self, his hair still messy, his shirt and waistcoat still ripped, and his eyes still reflecting rage. A glass of whisky sits in his hand, his fingers coated in Gregory’s blood. White fingertips indicate the unforgiving grip he has of the glass as he brings it to his mouth and tips the rest of the contents down his throat, keeping steely eyes on me. I’m fidgeting, my eyes now darting across the floor at my feet, but they fly up when I catch an almost undetectable shift of his shoes. Or stagger. He’s drunk, and when I look harder, focus on those eyes that never fail to capture my attention, I see something more – something unfamiliar – and it catapults my unease to a place beyond anything I’ve ever experienced while in Miller’s presence. I’ve felt vulnerable before, hopeless and helpless, but always on an unsure level. I’ve never felt frightened like this, not even during his psychotic displays of madness. This is a different fear. It’s snaking up my spine and wrapping itself around my neck, making words impossible and breathing challenging. It’s my nightmare. The one where he leaves me.

‘Go home, Livy.’ His tongue is heavy in his mouth, making his words slur slowly, but it’s not his usual, purposeful lazy rasp. The door slams in my face, echoing around me, and I jump back, startled at his maliciousness. I’m pounding the wood with my fist before I can decide if it’s a wise move, fear sailing through me.

‘Open the door, Miller!’ I yell, not relenting with my hammering of the black, shiny wood, ignoring the fast numbing sensation spreading across the side of my balled hand. ‘Open!’

Bang, bang, bang!

I’m going nowhere. I’ll hammer all night long if I have to. He doesn’t get to shut me out of his apartment or his life.

Bang, bang, bang!

‘Miller!’

I’m suddenly attempting to hit thin air, and it sends me on a few disorientated staggers forward. I just manage to steady my flailing body before it collides with Miller’s.

‘I said go home.’ He’s restocked on dark liquid, the tumbler near to overflowing.

‘No.’ I raise my chin in a brave act of defiance.

‘I don’t want you to see me like this.’ He steps forward hostilely, an attempt to make me retreat, but I stand firm, unwilling to be frightened off. We’re closer because of my tenacity, nearly chest to chest, and he’s breathing liquor vapours all over my heated cheeks. ‘I won’t ask again.’

I inwardly wither on the spot, yet sheer determination is refusing to allow him to see it. ‘No,’ I fire simply and confidently. He’s trying to repel me. ‘Why are you doing this?’

In obvious uncertainty, he polishes off the tumbler of dark liquid, a slight wince and gasp spilling from his mouth, accompanied by potent liquor fumes. They make my nose wrinkle in distaste, both at the sight of Miller and the smell of the alcohol.

‘I won’t ask again.’ I push the words through my clenched jaw, playing him at his own game.

He looks me up and down, musing quietly, mumbling incoherent words under his breath as he does. Then his heavy gaze lazily climbs back up the length of my body, apparently in its usual manner, but drunkenness is the cause this time, not Miller’s customary sultry way. He begins to sway. ‘I’m f**ked up.’

‘I know.’ I don’t disagree with him. He’s speaking the cold, hard truth.

‘I’m dangerous.’

‘I know.’

‘But not to you.’

My heart shows signs of life again. I knew that. Deep down, I knew that. ‘I know.’

His head performs something between a nod of satisfaction and an uncontrolled bob upon his wide shoulders. ‘Good.’ He turns and wobbles through his apartment, leaving me to shut the door and follow behind. I know where he’s headed before he momentarily stops and changes course, going to the drinks cabinet. He’s drunk enough, at least to me. However, Miller has other ideas. He clangs the bottle against the glass and tips more on the cabinet than into his glass. ‘Bollocks!’ he curses, dropping the empty bottle haphazardly between the masses of other bottles, causing a loud clattering of glass. ‘Fucking mess!’

On an exasperated sigh, I wander up behind him and set about rearranging the bottles and wiping down the mess he’s made, hoping that restoring part of his perfect world might inject some peace into him.

‘Thank you,’ he murmurs, so quietly I almost don’t hear.

‘You’re welcome.’ I can feel his stare burning through my profile as I mess with the bottles, taking my time . . . or biding it.

Bang!

I fly around quickly towards the sound, Miller a little slower.

Bang, bang, bang!

My previously settling heart rate ramps up a few gears, and I look to Miller, who’s staring in the direction of the door, too. But he doesn’t seem in a rush to go and find out what the commotion is, so I make for the entrance hall and circle the table, just as another harsh knock rings out through Miller’s apartment.