Love Abstract (The Art of Falling Book 2) (16 page)

“So what’s new? Any love interests?” I ask, happy to catch up with my best friend live and in the flesh.

“Nah, unless you count my new found love for dry shampoo. Which probably isn’t a good thing because I’ll likely have the same hygiene habits as my Great Aunt Betty, who spends her days in a nursing home.”

I playfully take a whiff of her and she swats me away. I’ve missed the way sunbeams radiate from her smile.

“So what time do you have to go in to make your statement?” Rachel reaches out and grabs my hand, giving it a quick squeeze.

“This afternoon.” I swallow hard, trying to keep my nerves at bay. I’ve been doing my damnedest not to let everything consume me. “Except I don’t have to go downtown. They’re going to send someone out to your apartment to meet with me.”

It was a huge relief when I called the RAINN hotline and learned more about the reporting process. A small part of me was worried that I had waited too long, but they assured me that everything would be fine. I can feel the bile rising in my throat just thinking about what I’m going to say.

“Well, I, for one, am extremely proud of you. Anything that you can do to help get that two-timing, dickless spunk bubble, shit lord, pathetic excuse of a man behind bars needs to be done.”

I snort involuntarily and raise an eyebrow. “Dickless spunk bubble?”

Where does she come up with this shit?

“Catchy, isn’t it?” Her face beams with delight.

Oh, how I
’
ve missed your colorful commentary, Rachel.

We grab my suitcase from baggage claim and take the quick cab ride back to her apartment in Wicker Park. Rachel’s place is different from when I stayed here in a numb haze. It’s nothing like I remember it. The beige walls are long gone and she’s painted the living room a soft elephant gray. She’s scattered coral and teal accent pillows all throughout the room. Rachel always had quite the eye for style. Her life here is definitely anything but beige.

I follow her into the kitchen, which she’s painted a soft mint green that picks up the sunlight from the window above the sink. “Can I get you anything to eat?”

“Nah, I’ll just make myself some coffee. But thanks.” I walk over to her Keurig and look over her selection of k-cups before pulling out the strongest blend I can find. I’ll need it to get me through today.

“But I have waffles,” she sing-songs temptingly as she waves a bright yellow box of frozen waffles in the air.

She knows me so well. “Well, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I grab the box from her hands and pull out a pair of waffles, dropping them into the toaster.

“So does your family even know you’re in town today?” she asks before pulling down two plates from the cabinet.

“No. And frankly, I intend to keep it that way. I wouldn't mind seeing my dad, but I'm still processing everything he told me when he was in town a few weeks ago and I'm just not ready to go there again just yet.”

Rachel nods in understanding. I spent the better part of the weekend after my dad left on the phone with her analyzing everything he told me. I felt bad making Phoenix listen to me for hours on end and finally told him I needed some girl talk. There’s just something about your best friend knowing exactly the right thing to say to help make things a little more okay.

When the waffles pop up, I toss one onto each plate and climb onto the counter, making myself at home. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

I slather a generous layer of Nutella on my waffle and listen to her yammer about her upcoming interview with a notable interior design firm. It’s just for an internship position, but it sounds like there is a lot of promise if they like her. I’m thrilled that she seems to be figuring her shit out …
finally
.

“Okay. So before I go, do you need me to get you anything?” Rachel asks.

“Only a getaway car in the event my afternoon goes to shit.”

I grab our plates and clean up the few dishes in the kitchen before slipping into the shower in a feeble attempt to de-stress. But being alone with my thoughts only seems to make my nerves worse. I’m thankful Rachel won't be here for this. She, like Phoenix, wants to hold my hand through it all, but this is something that I have to do on my own.

The hot water does little to calm my nerves. I’m pretty sure that even a bottle of tequila wouldn’t be capable of settling my busy mind. If only it were as simple of shutting off your brain. But no, mine remains electric with anxiety.

When I get out of the shower, I keep my hair wet so the natural waves come through and I slip into my favorite pair of jeans and one of Phoenix’s old shirts. It’s my way of having him here with me today. I don’t bother putting on any makeup, but I do find the energy to at least brush my teeth.

Examining myself in the mirror, I realize that I actually
look
like a victim right now. I fucking hate that. I hate that I was oblivious to everything that happened. I hate that it happened, period. I didn’t ask for any of this.

I turn away, disgusted by own appearance.

Walking into her living room, I notice an envelope on the coffee table with my name on it. I instantly recognize Rachel’s chicken scratch and inwardly smile. I open the envelope to find an email from Phoenix to Rachel’s account with the subject line “Please give this to Ivy when she arrives.”

Dear Ivy,

I would give anything to be there with you today. I know how difficult this is for you and you may even be second-guessing your decision. But please know that you are doing the right thing and we are all so incredibly proud of you.

Never forget that there are people in this world who care about you, that you deserve nothing less than the best, and that not everyone in your life is a horrible, shitty person.

Do me a favor? I want you to fold this note up and put it in your pocket. That way, you
’
ll carry me with you today. If you ever find yourself needing a hand to hold, simply take this out and hold me tightly. It
’
s the next best thing to having me sitting next to you. Know that I
’
m with you in spirit and love you fiercely. I
’
ll see you tomorrow.

Love,

Phoenix

PS
…
I hope you know that you are my most favorite person in the history of everything that ever existed.

Seriously? This man thinks of everything.

His words give me strength and I want for nothing more than to be back in New York City with him. I reread his note several times, feeling a little more confident each time. How he manages to make me feel this way when he’s not even around baffles me. I want so badly to be worthy of his love. Hopefully today will bring me one step closer to that.

An obnoxious buzz pulls me from my thoughts and I walk over to the receiving box on the wall. I inhale and exhale slowly, counting to ten. I reach my hand to hit the button on the wall and hesitate a moment. The buzz shrieks again.

I need to do this. I need to do this. I have
to do this.

“Hello?” I don’t recognize the shaky voice that comes from my mouth. It scares me.

“Hi. It’s Officer Danya Brown. I have my partner, Officer Lori Webster, with me. May we please come up?” Her voice is kind. Warm, even. And although I haven’t even seen her face to face, it already offers me the slightest bit of relief.

I don’t respond but push the buzzer, allowing them inside the building before I change my mind. Quickly, I fold Phoenix’s note up and clench it tightly in my fist before unlocking the front door, leaving it cracked.

I move to sit on Rachel’s couch.

And wait.

“I HATE THAT I CAN’T remember anything,” I admit feebly.

“Just because you can’t remember doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.” Officer Webster’s voice is compassionate and puts me at ease.

I’ve spent the past hour recounting the party in Madison, sharing every detail that I can remember ...

Arguing with Matt, the drinking, Sully introducing me to Phoenix, drinking some more, the strange exchange between the guys, the shots, the dancing, drinking the keg dry, and then waking up the next morning feeling like I’d been plowed by a steamroller.
My heart hurts and my soul aches, but I finally feel like I can breathe again.

I look at the folded piece of paper in my hands and mindlessly trace my fingers along the creases of it. I’ve been clutching onto Phoenix’s note like my life depended on it ever since the pair arrived. I genuinely wish I had allowed him to travel back here with me. His presence makes me stronger.

“Do you think Phoenix would be willing to make an official statement? Knowing Mr. Sullivan’s history of illicit behavior, he could really help us strengthen our case,” Officer Brown says, closing her notebook shut on her lap.

“I ... I don’t think that would be a problem.” If it would help put Sully away for a while and bring a small semblance of justice to what happened, I have no doubt he would cooperate with authorities.

Even though there’s no time limit on stepping forward, I feel guilty for not reporting Sully sooner. Going to the police would have sealed his fate weeks ago and Genevieve, while she no doubt would hate me even more, she would at least not be bruised and battered. But I know firsthand that not all scars are visible.

“Well, let us know,” Office Brown says, handing me a card with her contact information on it. I look at it carefully and nod slowly as the pair stands to leave.

“Listen, Ivy ... You’ve been through a lot, not just physically, but emotionally as well. I want to encourage you to seek counseling if you haven’t already done so. There is nothing to be ashamed about. You are a survivor of sexual violence. By speaking with us today, you are taking the right steps in bringing justice not only for your situation, but for countless of other women.”

I nod, knowing she’s right, then stand to walk them to the door, thanking them for their time. As they leave, they take the weight of my reality with them.

THE AFTERNOON PASSES IN A blur and I am emotionally exhausted by the time they leave.

I open Phoenix’s note in my lap and reread, “
I hope you know that you are my most favorite person in the history of everything that ever existed.”
I place my palm over the words on the page. I would rather be holding him than his words right now. I often wonder what life would be like if I had met him in another place at another time. Would he be as overprotective of me? Would we be this crazy in love? I honestly don't know.

The whole notion of each person having only one soulmate baffles me. I mean, there have to be countless people that you can fall in love with, right? But I imagine that only a select few can be epically great.

And Phoenix and I …

Our love story can be more than epic.

I pull out my phone and look at it quickly, feeling a flash of disappointment when I see he hasn’t reached out to me today.

Ivy:
I miss you.

Phoenix:
I miss you too. More than you know. How did it go?

Ivy:
About as good as it could, I guess.

Phoenix:
Good. I'll call you tonight when I get off of work I love you, cubby bear

Ivy:
I love you, too.

I’ve got a little bit of time to kill before Rachel gets back home, so I settle back onto her couch and flip through the TV channels. I’m desperate for some mindless banter in the background so I don’t have to sit alone in my thoughts. It doesn’t work very well.

When my phone rings, I jump up to grab it, thinking it’s Phoenix. Annoyance jolts through me when I read Genevieve’s name on my screen. I send it to voicemail. She calls again. Voicemail. And the third time she calls, I simply silence my phone.

I know I need to talk to her. And I will. Just not right now.

When my phone silently lights up on the cushion with a text message, curiosity gets the best of me.

Genevieve:
Are you in town?

Shit. How the hell does she know I
’
m in Chicago right now? There
’
s no way she knows. Nobody but Rachel and Phoenix know I
’
m here.

Genevieve calls a total of seven times and sends me three more text messages before I give up, turn my phone off and close my eyes, shutting out the world.

Much to her chagrin, when Rachel arrives home that night I’m not really in the mood to go out and paint the town fuchsia. What I really need is some girl time.

“Fine,” Rachel eventually agrees, “but I’m picking the food and the movie.”

I fold my legs up underneath me on her couch as I listen to the rain come crashing down against the window. Rachel orders from my favorite Chicago-style pizza joint and we have ourselves a good old-fashioned pajama party, complete with wine and a Channing Tatum movie marathon.

“I swear I could watch this one scene on repeat and die a happy woman,” Rachel comments just as Magic Mike begins to grind the floor during
Pony
.