Of Happiness (23 page)

A buzzing in my bag alerts me to a message, and just because I’m worried about what it may be, I wrestle the grocery bag off my shoulder to seek out my phone. While I’m searching through my bag, I don’t notice the flurry of activity barreling toward me. The loud vibrations distract me from the sound of expensive heels clicking against the floor. When strong, but slim arms make contact with my chest and shove me backward once, twice, until the back of my skull slams into a hanging wall mirror, I’m caught totally by surprise. Unbalanced by the heavy objects swinging on my shoulders, I sway on unsteady feet. My eyes blink rapidly as they try to stay open. But they’re falling, falling like me as I tumble toward the ground heavily.

Just as my eyes sink close, a powerful kick slams into my side, stealing all the breath out of my lungs. As I gasp, her skinny-heeled shoe collides with my ribcage again. “Welcome home, little mouse,” she says nastily, erupting into cackles.

A cool breeze flutters across my face and drags me from the darkness. Before I open my eyes, a loan groan emerges from my throat. It feels like a musician pounds a heavy drum in my head, and my ribs are furious, tender, and aching.

As soon as I remember what happened, my eyes pop open and I struggle to sit up. I realize that I’m unable to move because my arms are locked above my head, tied to something. Frantically, I look around only to find that I’m bound to a chaise lounge on Harris’ balcony. My legs are immobile too, wrapped together tightly along the bed of the lounger. Despite the warmth, my teeth start to chatter in fear. There’s not one imaginable reason why I’d be in this position. Only one person I can dream of with designs to hurt me. It rattles me to my bones, knowing she’s probably just a few breaths away.

The sun sets in the sky, illuminating the deck, but it won’t be long before I’ll be surrounded in darkness.

“You really need to buy some expensive clothes. The shit you have is so fucking cheap it wouldn’t even hold to the chair,” she says, sounding bored.

My eyes jerk to find Claire stretched out on the chair next to me examining her blood-red nails. “I had to use one of my brother’s ties. How embarrassing for you, little mouse.”

“What is going on?” I ask feebly. It’s the first thing I think to say, and as soon as the question tumbles out of my mouth, I know it was the wrong one to ask. There’s no way she’ll tell me the truth.

“I wasn’t wrong when I thought you were stalking my brother, I guess.”

Twisting my hands slightly, I test the strength of the tie. Knowing Claire’s upbringing, she probably took sailing lessons in Lake Michigan and learned to build sturdy knots. From my vantage point, it feels impenetrable.

She swings her legs off the side of the chair, moving her body to face mine. She rests her forearms on her legs, then gives me a wicked smile. “Yes, you are definitely stalking him. What kind of person frames of photo of themselves and leaves it next to his a bed?”

“I live here, Claire,” I spell out patiently like I’m not quivering in terror.

What is her plan? What does she want from me?

“Right.” She drags out the word sarcastically. “I’m sure you think you live with Harris, but he told me himself just a few minutes ago that he doesn’t want to see you ever again. How else would I have gotten up here? He begged me to take care of you… his inconvenience.”

She’s delusional
.

I know the girl has all-access to Harris’ condo; she told me herself on the day I moved in with her, and never made it secret when she went to spend time with him.

Through my rambling inner monologue, I remember I had plans this evening. Plans that were arranged to take place in this apartment and could be my saving grace. “My friend Luke is coming over,” I blurt out. “If you don’t untie me, I’m sure he’ll call the police. Let’s stop this.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says in a faux nurturing tone, “there’s no one coming for you. I made sure of it.”

“What happened to Luke?” I shout, furious and terrified. How long have I been out?

“He’s fine.” She rolls her eyes which are dangerously devoid of emotion. The woman hovering next to me is so far from whom I believed her to be in the past. Roommate, sister, friend, all wiped away by the terrifying callousness before me. “I canceled your plans. You have a more stirring engagement with me. We’re here to chat, and then I’ve come up with the ideal way to get you out of Harris’ hair. Don’t worry, you’ll love it!”

I try another tactic in my desperate attempt to reach a rational Claire. “Someone could easily see us.” Jerking my head, I look at the surrounding buildings. “There are tons of other balconies nearby.”

Not really, though. Some of the surrounding buildings are easily tall enough, but not close enough for a clear view of what’s happening.

“Good one,” she says nonchalantly. “I’m not too worried about other people. They’ll think it’s a naughty little game.”

Until she utters those words, I’ve blocked the memories of how Jared nearly sexually assaulted me. But with that, the dam breaks and everything rushes back. His alcohol-tinged breath and the bruises left across my body from his punishing fingers. In my mind, I’m drifting terrifyingly closer and closer back to that night. I blink furiously to try and erase the memories. Panic trickles down my spine. I remember the heat of his breath on my body, the glassy-eyed expression.

“Why did you make up that story about being raped by your ex? Jared told me it wasn’t true. Come on, Edith, you know I frown upon lying, especially when you tarnish the name of a good person like Congressman Gordon’s son. Bad behavior like that deserves consequences. Harris and I decided you needed a taste of your own medicine.”

How many lies can this girl spit out?
It’s impossible to decipher what’s true with her. Not to mention I could never believe Harris consorted with her to make me suffer in this way.

I’m shocked back into somewhat rational thought. Jared’s attack flits away and there’s a rush of vibrant emotion—rage.

“What are you doing with my ex-boyfriend? Can’t find one of your own?” I snap.

She smiles sweetly. “You didn’t make it hard to find him—told me the name of him and his father. Took a few phone calls, and I met up with him instead of that little trip to therapy that Harris suggested. Jared was the one who came up with the plan to get you back. I don’t really get it, but he misses you tons, little mouse,” Claire tells me pointedly like I was foolish to leave the man who nearly sexually assaulted me.

Her words send me into a furious tailspin. The encounters at the coffee shop now make sense; it was all part of their twisted plot. Unfortunately, it doesn’t occur to me what Claire just revealed. 

“I hate that fucking nickname!” I explode, breathing heavily, arching against my restraints. The combination of my twisting body and deep breaths cause my ribs to shout in protest. I still my movement, attempting to cease the pain.

Suddenly Claire leaps to the side of my chair, rearing back her hand and slapping me across my cheek. There’s an instant sting, and my eyes well with tears. Despite the pain, the aggression strengthens my resolve, making me defiant.

I won’t let you get away with this,
I tell her silently.

“Shut up,” she snarls, her face now so close up to mine that her breathes skitter across my cheeks. Each one reeks of vodka, the scent overpowering.

“That name means more to this earth than you ever will. Do you know where it came from? Do you?”

“Am I allowed to speak?” I spit back, droplets of my saliva flinging from my mouth and landing on her angry red cheeks. She rears back, using the back of her hand to wipe the wetness away. There’s a trickle of liquid sliding down my nose. A metallic taste hits my upper lip. Blood from the trauma of the vicious slap.  

“Cooper’s nickname was little mouse.” She drops the shocking statement, then sails out of the terrace and back inside, leaving me alone. Will Claire abandon this scheme until Harris returns home?

Unlikely.

Several minutes pass in silence. The only sounds I hear are the muffled cars down below and my labored breaths. My head continues to throb painfully, demanding attention. Idly, I wonder if I have a concussion, if Harris will return home early and rescue me, if Luke might still show up.

Claire flicks on the outdoor lights, flooding the terrace with more visibility. The heavy glass door lugs open and she returns, a wicked smile in my direction. Now I have time to study her. She wears a white eyelet sundress like she’s headed to a summer barbecue instead of imprisoning me on her brother’s urban oasis.

“Where were we?” she wonders, sitting down on the chair next to me again, crossing one leg over the other.

The anger I felt before has calmed considerably as I contemplate what I can say to get me out of this situation. Hope still buns that some reason will break through.

“Cooper’s nickname was little mouse,” I mutter, though curiosity demands to know more about her casual statement. It explains why every time she used the name in front of Harris he would appear furious.
Why didn’t he tell me?

“And I’m sure you’re wondering why I gave it to him,” she says with a gleeful grin that I can’t begin to analyze.

“Yes.”

“When he was just a baby, I had a stuffed mouse that I would carry with me everywhere I went. After my mom had him, I was so happy to have a new baby brother that I gave him my toy. Cooper lugged that mouse with him everywhere he went, always wanting to keep a part of his big sister with him,” she says almost smugly. “He was always a bit smaller than me, and since he carried around the mouse, which he aptly named mouse, the nickname fit perfectly. Of course we never got the chance to see if he’d become a bigger mouse.” The final sentence is said darkly and her eyes narrow on me.

“I’m sorry for you loss.” I try to appeal to her emotionally. “It must be so awful.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid; I’m over his death.”

Right.

“Claire,” I say gently, “you lost more than a brother; you lost your best friend.”

She throws back her head, laughing manically. Her chest heaves with the exertion, and she places a hand to her stomach as the sounds churn out.

Eventually the laughter settles and she fixes me with a dreamy look. “Cooper wasn’t just a brother or a friend, he was something you’ll never have.”

“What’s that?”

“We were soul mates. He was… no,
is
the love of my life.”  

I try to hold my gasp, but it breaks free and my eyes widen.

“Don’t judge me,” Claire snaps. “You’ve never been in love, never found your other half.” She starts pacing up and down the length of the deck, wrapping her arms around her stomach defensively. “After he died, no one believed me, believed that he and I planned to be together when we were old enough.”

“Why didn’t they believe you?” I ask quietly.

“Lies,” she growls, and digs her fingernails into the cotton of her dress. “They tried to tell me he was gay. Mom said they needed to ‘prepare me’ for when he came out. Wanted me to accept his sexuality. Can you imagine Cooper being gay? That’s crazy!”

There’s only one part of the story that’s unbelievable—you.

She stops mid-stride, turning to stare at me, though her wild eyes dart around the space. Then she’s sniffling and wiping a hand across her nose.

It’s clear she’s consumed cocaine recently.

“I asked you a question!”

“No, no, I don’t believe that he was gay,” I say automatically.

“Every night we spent together until the early morning hours. Talking, talking, talking about everything! Never once did he tell me that he was gay.” She inhales a deep breath, pausing the tirade.

We both exhale at the same moment. It’s probably the last moment of synchronicity we’ll ever have.

“Anyway, none of that shit matters, because he kissed me back,” she says vehemently. “The night before I left for summer camp, he told me he was worried he liked boys. So I kissed him to show him that he was in love with me. And he kissed me back. Passionately. At the end, he was panting because he
liked
it. We slept in the same bed that night. It was obvious that he wanted me just as much as I wanted him. I don’t understand how everyone could lie and say that he was gay, because he
wasn’t
.”

By the end of her rambling, I realize that my body is trembling. The revelations are staggering. I’m mourning the loss of a young man all over again, seeing his death in a new, tragic way. Instinctively I know Harris has no knowledge of what Claire just announced.

Cooper had a journal and Claire got it, refused to share it with me or my parents,
he told me in Michigan.

“Claire,” I try to gentle my voice, hide the tremors.

The vehemence falls away as she rearranges her stick straight hair, parting it around her back and laying it on either side of her face, around her shoulder. “What?”

“Would you untie me? It would be easier to talk to that way. You could tell me more about Cooper. I’d love to hear about him.”

Her lips twist into a devious grin. “You looked scared, little mouse. Are you scared?”