Breaking Out (24 page)

Her back stiffened. “Parker Hughes, if you dare hand me a dollar right now I'm afraid of what will happen. Enjoy your life. Send my best to the poor girl you're after.” She opened the door and shut it without a second glance.

Part VIII

Scout

Chapter 22

Walls

She was definitely under some form of paralysis. If she knew how to move, she would get up and find a phone, then perhaps try to call Dr. Sheffield, but she couldn't. So she lay there and continued to cry.

Under a ceiling of untouchable stars, she lay with no walls holding her in. Something was holding her physical body together. Her mind had unhinged many days ago. She was floating, lost somewhere between two names, and neither one told her who to be.

It was evening and the sun had set. Her fuzzy mind worked to count the days. The first night she'd slept on the floor by the door. The second night she moved to the couch. The third she stared at the pristine bed awaiting her tired body but was too afraid to touch it.

Days were lost to sleep and nights were filled with anxious need to do
something.
So tired. Waking hurt, and she dreaded the moments before her conscience roused her physical body. All she wanted to do was sleep.

Seeing the thought he had put into her apartment was agony. The walls she had envied all of her life were suddenly suffocating her. She needed to get out.

She'd taken to sleeping on the balcony. It was cold, but she wasn't as claustrophobic under the blanket of sky. Walls. She hated those fucking walls.

It was day eight, she believed. Eight long, lonely days and she wasn't quite dead yet. She'd formed an addiction to sadness. When her mind slipped away and took a reprieve from the desolate introspection of her life, she felt its absence. Interestingly enough, Scout realized, even when she'd been one of several, sleeping on a mat on the floor of an overcrowded shelter, she was never really a part of anything.

She was and would always be a loner. She didn't fit in at the tracks. She didn't fit in at St. Christopher's. And she didn't fit in at Patras. So where was she supposed to go? She wanted Pearl, but didn't know if her heart could tolerate her mother's cool welcome. Getting to Pearl was a daunting task as well, so she shoved off any plans of visiting her mother.

As she stared up at the clouded night sky, she tucked her quivering shoulders under her blanket. The apartment was filled with parts of her that only existed through him. She hated it. Spring was coming, and she found solace in the terrace garden where she spent most of her time gazing at the empty, cold sky, wondering what the point of it all was.

She'd sleep with no recollection of letting go, only waking up. Her body temperature adapted to the gentled elements, and she simply adjusted her blankets and snuggled deeper into the soft cushion of the lounge chair she was slowly becoming fused to.

She had everything she needed. A wool cap, her thick cable-knit sweater, heavy socks, a blanket, and her picture of Pearl. The tattered sketch was no longer stiff. The lines were smudged from too many foldings and fingers brushing the paper. It was her most cherished possession, and in times of sadness it always comforted her.

She didn't need to look at the image to see that long-ago day in her mind. It had been cold and rainy, and Pearl had again stuck that ridiculous rubber hat on Scout's head. The artist had captured the desolate look in her mother's eyes, but that was not what Scout saw when she looked at the drawing. No, she saw her mother holding her hand, a silent promise that they would make it through anything. And they did.

Rain never lasted forever. After every harsh winter she'd experienced from the outside looking in, there came a rebirth of life. It seemed that was all Scout had ever done, get reborn time and time again.

She was tired of starting over. She was tired of fighting and clawing her way to the top. For the first time ever, she lacked the reserve of determination she'd been known for all her life.

She hurt. She hurt, not the way an empty belly aches or even the way a scrape burns. She hurt from someplace hidden deep inside of her, and she had no idea how to make the terrible ache go away.

He'd deserted her when he promised to love her. She didn't want to think about
him.
The problem was she couldn't recall how she used to think before
he
interfered in her life.

Her eyes shut out the stars moving behind the clouds and, mercifully, she slept. Her thoughts subsided for broken moments in her timeless mind.

There was a sound. Something woke her. Her lashes slowly fluttered open. Her nose was chilled, her lips tucked under the wide satin trim of the blanket. She scanned the area without really moving. When she saw nothing out of the ordinary, she shut her eyes and tried to return to her dreamless sleep. That's when she heard it.

“Scout.”

Her breath sucked in and her eyes pulled open. A dream, she must have been falling into a dream, her consciousness pulling her back just before she stepped over the threshold of sleep. Curling further under the blanket, she searched for a warm place to tuck her hands.

“Scout! You up there?”

That was real. She frowned.
Parker?
Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Her voice so neglected she had to concentrate to talk. With shaky limbs, she sat up and cleared her throat.

There was a whistle, a familiar whistle, the kind of whistle that rang out “Shave and a Haircut
.
”

“Two bits,” she rasped, her whispered reply floating away on the fingers of a far-reaching breeze. Her sleepy mind snapped to life.

Scout clumsily staggered to her feet, catching the blankets before they fell to the cold cobblestone floor.

“Parker?”

“Scout?”

Her mouth parted, as though too skeptical to smile. “Parker!”

“Scout! I'm down here.”

His voice was like the sweetest music to her ears. Her legs propelled her to the edge of the garden balcony, and there was an extraordinary release of tension from her shoulders. There he was, as real as ever, in jeans, Converse, and a cozy crewneck sweater. So very Parker.

Her face split with the greatest grin. Muscles she hadn't used in days protested, but gave way as the first sense of happiness washed over her in what felt like an eternity.

“Oh my God, Parker! Is it really you?” How did he find her?

“Of course it's me, ass. Let me in! I've been waiting down here forever.”

Was he really there? Did Lucian tell him what happened? Maybe he came with a message from Lucian? No, that didn't make sense. Who cared? He was here!

“I'll be right down!”

She turned and bolted on her bunchy socks to the glass door. Not realizing how weak she'd become, she struggled to slide it open. Once it gave way, she shouted for her own reassurance, “I'm coming!” Part of her feared he'd disappear like a mirage in the desert.

Ignoring the familiar pieces of her life appointing the apartment, she ran to the door and pressed the intercom. It buzzed. “Park?”

She released her finger and waited, bouncing in place. It buzzed back and a scratchy version of her friend's voice said, “I'm in! I'm coming up.” It was late and the doorman must have gone home.

Scout turned and caught her reflection in the mirror by the door. Her cheeks were gaunt and her eyes appeared overly large for her face. Her hair hung in ratty waves over the shoulders of her sweater, her brows hidden beneath a tight wool skullcap.

She looked like a ruffian. She looked like a kid. Her lips, unadorned with any gloss or any artificial color, curled upward in a slow half smile. She looked like Scout.

The sound of the elevator in the hall drew her back to the present. Her fingers quickly twisted open the locks on her door and flung it wide.

He stilled and smiled at her. He seemed as shocked to be seeing her as she was at the sight of him.

“How did you know I was here?” she whispered, her breath coming fast.

“I always know where you are. How else can I watch over you? I lost you for a few days there, but I'm here now. Are you okay?”

No, she was definitely not okay, but she was a world better now that he was there. Parker. Her friend.

Her trembling lips formed a thin line as too many words tried to force their way out and each one seemed to fail. She shook her head sadly and fought back a sob clawing its way up her throat.

His smile faltered and his brow pinched. “Oh, Scout . . .” He held out his arms and she ran to him.

It was magical to be held. For days she'd known a side of loneliness that was fathomless, unending, and so terrifyingly hollow. To feel the warmth of another body holding her now . . . it was remarkable.

All of her defenses came tumbling down the moment her mind recognized his familiar scent, the way he protectively sheltered her with his body. It was all so nostalgic and so incredibly needed. She simply gave in to the vortex of emotions eddying inside of her and didn't think.

His lips pressed into her temple as she cried. When her knees gave out he scooped her up, carrying her like a baby into the apartment. “Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm here. Scout, please don't cry . . .”

Her nose pressed into the warm skin beneath his collar, her tears leaving salty tracks from her eyes to her lips. Pain cut through her as she admitted what a fool she'd been.

“You were right. He used me. He wanted me to be something else, and when I couldn't he sent me away.”

Parker tensed and stilled. She wiped the back of her hand under her eyes and sniffled. She was a mess, but beyond caring. Her pride was trampled the minute she stepped foot into this horrid place. She was a fool. Her fall from grace was an excruciating tattoo on her heart, a branding still raw that would permanently stick with her, reminding her love was cruel and she was a fool.

He sat down on a piece of furniture and tightened his arms around her back, rubbing in soft, wide circles over her thick sweater. “Scout, have you been crying like this the whole time? You've been here for days. Have you eaten?”

She stilled and drew back. “How do you know how long I've been here? Did Lucian send you? Have you talked to him?”

Parker scowled at her. “No.”

The atmosphere cooled at his clipped reply. She looked down and noticed how inappropriate their position was. She was straddling him and he had his arms around her. Pressing her lips tight she pulled to the side, intending on easing off of him. His grip tightened. She made an uncomfortable sound in her throat and he let her go.

Embarrassed, she slid beside him and tucked her hair behind her shoulders. “Sorry. I . . . I've been really emotional lately. I shouldn't have jumped on you like that.”

Fingers traced softly over her denim-clad knee. He grinned sadly at her. “Hey, that's what friends are for. I came because I was worried about you. Whatever you need, I'm here for you.”

She felt her brow furrow as she slowly attempted a smile. Everything was blurry. Confusion and too many questions of how he'd found her spun in her mind like clouds turning a day to night. “Did you see him?” she whispered and Parker's face shuttered.

“What if I did, Scout? The guy's a jerk. Seriously, who does that?”

She frowned. Had he seen him? “You know what he did?”

Parker scoffed. “I can imagine. I mean, you're here and he's in Europe—”

“
Europe?
With who?” Something vicious and cold came alive inside of her. He was in fucking Europe? They just broke up! “How do you know all this?”

His mouth opened and closed. “I . . . I work with people who do business with him. I mean, the guy's everywhere. People talk.”

“And you heard he was in Europe?”

“Paris, actually, for an extended visit.”

She could almost see the black webbing tightening over her heart like a suffocating cocoon, squeezing so tight she thought she might die. “Did he go alone?” she choked.

Parker's expression looked uncomfortable. His fingers gently pinched at her chin as he eyed her sympathetically. “I don't know many people who visit the most romantic city in the world alone.”

The cocoon tightened and something inside of her suddenly shattered under the vise of misery. And that was when she threw up.

Her head flipped forward, and right there, on the polished wood, whatever little bit of food she had in her belly came spattering out. Parker leapt to his feet. “Holy shit, Scout! Where do you keep the paper towels?”

She spit and whipped the back of her hand across her lips. Moaning, without answering, she rolled to her side and collapsed on the sofa. Parker moved around, mumbling and cleaning up her mess, then thrust a glass of cool water in front of her face.

“Here, drink this.”

She sat up weakly, took a sip, then pushed it away. Why bother? He was with someone else. She stared numbly at the wall. A flat screen was mounted against the exposed brick. What a waste. She didn't watch television. All of this stuff was a waste, severance to ease his guilt for pretending to love her. He
never
fucking loved her.

She vaguely registered a much more flustered Parker sitting down beside her. He seemed unable to meet her gaze. He fidgeted as though uncomfortable in his own skin.

Folding her hands and wedging them between her knees, she awkwardly sat through the silence, aware of her friend intensely observing her. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Scout, this isn't like you. I . . . I figured you'd be upset, but . . .”

“I fell in love with him, Parker. I swore I wouldn't, but turns out I don't always have control of everything.”

He blanched. “You don't love him. I think you loved the
idea
of him.”

She turned and shot him a withering look, but she was too raw to act tough. She felt her face puckering into something that surely looked pathetic. Her words should have come out with a touch of hostility, but there was no bite left in her.

“What's that supposed to mean, the idea of him? Meaning because he's rich? Thanks a lot, Parker. I can see you're still thinking as highly of me as ever—”

“No, not his money,” he said holding up his hands. “I just think . . . Patras is a complicated man. From what I understand, his last relationship was a train wreck at best. I just don't think he's the right guy for you, Scout. It has nothing to do with you. It's him. Men like that don't ever truly commit to anyone but themselves.” He sighed. “You can't love him.”