The Revenge Games Duet

“I’m fine, Milana. Go get yourself a coffee. You look beat, and that crab comment…” she giggles lightly, “… gold.”

“I’m sorry, she just… irks me.”

“It’s fine. But you really need to let these things go. I’m used to it, and the questions they throw at me… same, same.”

I smile weakly and make my way to the small kitchen adjacent to the room. I’m utterly exhausted. Time zones are a bitch. Coffee has never smelled so good percolating. I pour myself a cup, bringing it to my lips to inhale the heavenly aroma.

My emotions are running high. I read, once, that sleep deprivation is the number one reason why people are emotional messes. That outburst toward Kitty is driven by my lack of control over Wesley’s and my relationship. I know he has baggage as do we all, I just don’t expect the baggage to be following me around wherever I go—a broken record of how the bad boy is a destructive bed hopper.

I wish I was like Emerson—confident and in control of her life. The question that Emerson was just asked replays in my head.

What is your greatest fear?

Emerson had answered that question so easily. Comfortable in telling the world exactly what she feared. I could barely admit the truth to myself. My greatest fear involves Mama, and every time I think about it for a split second, that sick feeling crawls into my stomach and forces me to heave from panic. And running a very close second is Wesley’s need to forward our relationship.

He’s the bad boy, the one who’s not supposed to get attached or even think about the future. It’s not like I don’t want to move forward, but many times in the past week, he threw in quips about marriage and babies. A joke in his eyes, yet nevertheless it makes me extremely uncomfortable given that we have technically been together for weeks. We haven’t even hit that one-month anniversary.

Things between us are moving too fast, and I have no idea how to slow it down.

We left on unusual terms. After the night I stayed at his place and witnessed what I believe to be an exchange of narcotics, I put distance between us as much as I can allow. I came up with many excuses, like Emerson needs me to work on some projects, I have my period, and trivial things like I’m going shopping for New York. Anything to create some space between us and gain some perspective.

At first, he was unforgiving. Fought with me and demanded I drop everything for him. By day two, he was more understanding, though he did come to visit, and while Flynn stepped out with some friends, he fucked me three times and left for the night.

It’s a rollercoaster of emotions, feeling the need for space, but when he touches me, I don’t want him ever to stop. The confusion is overwhelming. I feel used and cheap after he leaves but appreciative at the same time because I simply want to be alone.

He left for Vegas the next day for some business he needed to take care of and told me he’d see me when I came back from NYC.

I didn’t ask another detail.

About the impromptu ‘business’ or if he had a drug problem.

I don’t know how to help him.

The truth is, Wesley frightens me. There is always something about him, this aura of untamed madness that sums up the world he lives in. I get it, I really do. He had a not-so-perfect childhood and a mother who puts her many husbands before her son.

But the drugs are unknown territory for me. I was raised to turn a blind eye to drugs, and Mama instilled in me after my one-time usage of pot, how damaging it could be to my body. I listened, I allowed the fear to be instilled in me, and now, I’m living it.

I’m partly grateful that it has been nonstop chaos from the second we landed. New York City is one of those places that you either dreamed about visiting for your entire life or a place you avoid for fear of crowds and dirty streets. It’s like nothing I expected. Compared to back home, it’s loud, overpopulated, and noisy with cabs honking their horns for no apparent reason, driving like maniacs, and almost crashing a dozen times.

I don’t care for that unorganized nonsense. What I love is the culture. The beautiful buildings with so much history behind them. The art galleries that people say is a must-do if visiting the city. Granted, we have been here for only two days, and most of it has been spent indoors, though if I were to get a spare moment, I’m hoping for the chance to explore.

The caffeine begins its journey into the depth of my brain and gives me a much-needed boost of energy. With two more interviews scheduled for the day, we dart between locations and battle the nasty storm that buckets outside, out of nowhere.

My cell is pinging repeatedly, notifications of weather warnings and emails from Charlie. Nothing from Wesley.

It’s odd behavior coming from him. I sent him a simple text yesterday when we landed telling him we were here, and explained that the day would be chaotic so I probably wouldn’t get a chance to chat much.

He simply responded with a ‘K.’

Infuriating, but what do I expect? I want space, and space is what I’m getting.

And how wrong am I to assume.

After Emerson’s final interview, she makes her way back to the hotel, and I decide to explore. With some free time, I head out to the Guggenheim Museum. I absolutely love it, immersing myself in art. I didn’t expect to find art so entertaining, fulfilling, while smiling to myself as I walk around for hours.

Losing track of time, I pull out my cell to call Mama as soon as I exit the building.

Eight missed calls.