Until I Break (13 page)

I spread my makeup bag on the vanity in front
of the mirror and I begin applying eye shadow. I put a dark green
on my lid and line my lower lashes with the gray, giving them a
smoky look that I think perpetuates the image of Laura Drake, an
image that is nothing like that of the fresh-faced, unremarkable
Samantha Jansen.

A little blush and some crimson on my lips
and I’m ready to don Laura’s smart-yet-sexy suit. Several minutes
later, I stand once more in front of the mirror, pushing strands of
dark red hair under the stocking that goes on before my wig. Once
the silky black hair is in place, non-prescription glasses finish
me off.

There is nothing left of Samantha Jansen
looking back at me. It’s as though she ceases to exist entirely
when Laura Drake is on stage.

Stuffing all remnants of Sam on top of
Laura’s cosmetics, I close the zipper then throw the bag over my
shoulder. I’m ready to face Portland now.

As promised, Ari is waiting for me at the
baggage claim area, my garment bag and small suitcase at his feet.
His pale blue eyes light up when he sees me. He’s always loved
seeing me in full Laura gear.

When I reach him, he tries to take the bag
from my shoulder. “No, I’ve got it. You’ve got your hands full,” I
observe, nodding at the two luggage pieces he claimed for me.

He shrugs and picks up my garment bag and
suitcase. “So,” he begins. “Tell me what’s going on with you. I
smell man all over this funk you’re in.”

“I’m not in a funk. Besides, you smell man
all over everything.”

He grins at me. “I wish.”

I grin as we make our way to the cab waiting
along the curb. Once inside, he continues as if there hadn’t been a
pause. “Well?”

I sigh. I probably shouldn’t say anything,
and I certainly don’t
owe
Ari an explanation, but for some
reason I
want
to talk about it.

“I met a guy.”

Ari’s eyes light up and he turns in his seat
to face me. “I want details. What’s he look like, is he a good
kisser, and will he be a good father to your children?”

“God, slow down! You’re as bad as Chris.”

“Okay then let’s start with the most
important first. Is he a good kisser?”

I can’t help but laugh.

“As a matter of fact he is.”

“That’s a good sign. And where did you meet
this diamond in the rough?”

“Do you remember the last guy to ask a
question at the—”

Ari doesn’t even give me time to finish. He
gasps and slaps my arm. “NO! Not that delicious hunk in blue jeans
and boots?”

I should’ve known Ari would remember someone
who looks like Alec.

“That’s the one.”

“Girl! I should’ve known that, when you
finally found someone, it would be a stud like that.”

I ignore that statement for what it
is—assumption that my private life is like the life I write about.
It’s the same thing most people think.

And they couldn’t be any more wrong.

“Well, it’s pretty complicated.”

“So that’s where the mood swings come
from.”

“I don’t have mood swings.”

“Sure. And I don’t have a thing for great
pecs.”

Again, I ignore him. “Anyway…”

“So he knows who you are then?”

“No!” The single word is propelled from my
mouth with all the anxiety a disaster such as that inspires. “No,
he doesn’t.”

“So, he only knows you as Laura?”

“Actually, he only knows me as Samantha. He
doesn’t know it’s me he met last week.”

“Oh,” he says deadpan. The single word is
flat and ominous, like a death knell. And I don’t like the sound of
it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ari’s eyes widen innocently. “What’s what
supposed to mean? I didn’t say anything.”

“That ‘oh’ was definitely something.”

Ari shrugs. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

“It is. I just…”

“You just what?”

“I worry about you. You know that.”

“But why are you worried? Ten seconds ago you
were all ‘give me details’.”

“Yeah, but that was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before I realized you didn’t tell him.”

“Why does that matter?”

“I just can’t imagine any relationship going
very far when you’re keeping huge secrets right from the
beginning.”

I feel my lips thin in anger. I want to snap
back with a snide comment, but I can’t. There’s nothing to say.
Ari’s right. And that’s what makes me angry.

********

I’m lying in bed when the phone rings. It’s
still early by Oregon time, but my body still thinks it’s in South
Carolina. That’s another reason I came in early—to give myself a
day to adjust.

My heart stutters, as has become my usual
reaction since meeting Alec. Until I see that it’s Chris calling.
Then it shrivels just a little.

It’s ridiculous that I should be so upset
about not hearing from Alec since Friday. I should be grateful that
he’s taking me out of a difficult situation, one I might not have
been able to extricate myself from, no matter how self-destructive
it was.

Yet I can’t be thankful. Not when I’m feeling
so hurt and disappointed and deflated.

I think it’s the erratic ups and downs that
are really getting to me. When Alec is around, he’s “on.” But when
he’s not, it’s like he just disappears altogether. Radio silence.
Like we never met. Like I don’t exist.

“I thought I left you back in the south?” I
say in lieu of a more traditional greeting.

“Um, you did, whore. I’m calling because
you’re such a paranoid crackpot you wouldn’t even give your
therapist your phone number.”

“That’s called plausible deniability. If I
don’t like how things go, I can always swear on a stack of Bibles
that I never attended one therapy session with Dr. B. No one would
be able to prove a thing.”

“You really take this whole thing to an
unhealthy level, you know that, right?”

“Yes, I know. But are you surprised?”

Chris sighs. “I guess not. It’s par for the
course, I suppose.”

“Right. Now, what do you want?”

“God, you’re so cranky! You really need to
get laid, Sam. I think it’s getting to the point of being an
imperative.”

I ignore her comment.

“Spill it. Why are you calling me?”

“Because Dr. B’s office called to see if an
eleven o’clock office visit on Tuesday would be acceptable.”

“I haven’t decided I’m going in yet.”

“Well, you are now.”

“Chris, what did you do?”

“I confirmed your appointment. You would’ve
had that time blocked off for your online session anyway. A short
trip downtown won’t hurt you one little bit.”

“I hate you. Have I ever told you that?”

“Yes. You hate me just as much as I hate
you.”

It’s my turn to sigh. “If only I didn’t love
you so much.”

“Pain in the ass, isn’t it?”

“More than you know.”

I hear a giggle and then a click. Just like
that, she drops a bomb and disappears.

Typical.

Now I
know
I won’t get any sleep.

********

Sunday melts into Monday, and Monday into
Tuesday. With every day that passes without so much as a single
word from Alec, my mood darkens into something eerily similar to
despair. Before I know it, I’m on my way to keep an appointment
with a therapist that I neither wanted nor (technically) agreed to
meet. This reminds me of how desperately I need to be more
assertive.

Maybe if I write a book about an assertive
woman in complete control of every aspect of her life, I could
experience some of
that
in real life instead
of…
this.

On the up side, if she can get me to loosen
up and talk, she’s liable to regret it. I am loaded with issues
today!

My sigh is swallowed up by the blues music
coming from the stereo in the cab. It doesn’t seem nearly long
enough before he’s dropping me off at the curb in front of my
destination.

The building is sleek and glass-fronted. It
looks posh, which comforts me from a confidentiality standpoint.
Usually the more things cost, the less likely you are to have to
worry about blabbermouths. Rich people certainly don’t want to bite
the hands that feed them, so discretion is a must.

I leave my sunglasses in place until I get
into the elevator and hit the button for the fourteenth floor.
According to the signage in the lobby, Buraquinho and Associates
occupies that entire floor.

A muted ding followed by the
whoosh
of
the doors opening signals my arrival. I step out into an elegant
reception area.

Gone is the coldly formal marble-and-chrome
décor of the lobby, replaced by a calming cream, beige and sage
palette. I have no doubt the colors were specifically chosen for
their soothing effect, an effect that is lost on me in my current
state of anxiety.

I walk to the half-moon shaped desk and stop.
The girl behind it, a gorgeous, wafer-thin female with
wheat-colored hair and enormous blue eyes, looks up and smiles. I
feel immediately inferior, like a drab buffoon.

“I’m here for an eleven o’clock with Dr.
Buraquinho.”

The girl clicks her mouse button a few times.
She looks back up at me and smiles, a bland smile that says either
she’s never heard of me or she’s good at pretending she knows
nothing. It’s not like I’m famous or anything. Just paranoid, I
guess. Either way, her ambivalence comforts me.

She clears her throat. “Yes, Ms. Drake.
Please have a seat. I’ll be back in a moment.” She waits until I’ve
made myself comfortable and then asks as she passes me on her way
to…wherever, “Would you like some coffee? Water?”

“No, thank you,” I decline with a smile.

She nods and walks away. In her absence, I
try to convince myself that this wasn’t a colossal mistake.

I’m just settling in to wait when she
returns.

“This way, Ms. Drake.”

I get up to follow her. She leads me down a
long hallway to a set of double doors that dominate the end. I’m
not surprised that Dr. B would have this portion of the floor. Such
prestige comes with having your name before the “Associates”
part.

The girl knocks once and opens the door,
holding it as I pass then shutting it quietly behind me. I stop
just inside to look around and get my bearings.

The black, leather chair behind the enormous
mahogany desk that’s centered in front of the wall of windows is
empty. The lamp on one corner is on. That, coupled with the soft
light being filtered through the partially opaque window shades,
gives the room a safe, intimate feel that I can really appreciate
at this point. The effect is accentuated by the cozy sand colored
furniture arranged on a thick rug in front of a lit fireplace. I
can see myself spilling my guts right on that sofa.

I hear the click of the door opening behind
me. I don’t turn, but wait for Dr. Buraquinho to make her way to
her desk. I’m startled when I hear a deep rumble break the
silence.

“Ms. Drake.” I turn toward the voice,
expecting to express my surprise that Dr. B is not a woman. The
words die on my tongue
and
in my head, however, when my eyes
collide with bottomless jade ones that I can’t quit thinking about.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Standing at my side, with his hand extended
in introduction, is Alec Brand.

“I’m Dr. Buraquinho.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO- Alec

If she had looked away one second sooner, I
might not have recognized her. But she didn’t. She hesitated one
breath too long, just enough for me to place the soft, heather-gray
eyes I’ve been fantasizing about.

Despite her hesitation, I’m stunned into
speechlessness, which doesn’t happen very often. I scramble to mask
my surprise at this interesting turn of events.

Laura Drake is Samantha Jansen. Samantha
Jansen is Laura Drake.

“Well, well, well. The sweet and innocent
isn’t so sweet and innocent after all,” I mumble finally, crossing
my arms over my chest. This puts an unusual spin on things. It adds
a degree of complication that I’ve never before encountered, much
less prepared for.

Socially, I stay away from women like Laura
Drake. They’re too much like Alyssa. Too many things can go wrong.
That’s the one thing I’ve learned, the one thing that has stuck
when nothing else would. I make an exception for no one. Ever.

Yet here I am, faced with an exception I
didn’t even know I was making.

She speaks slowly and deliberately as she
moves away from me like a spooked deer. “What the hell is going
on?”

Although I’m every bit as shocked as she is,
I slip effortlessly into the calm of my training. It’s been my safe
haven for years.

“I could ask you the same thing. I think we
both have some explaining to do.”

“I don’t have
any
explaining to do!
You know all there is to know.
I
didn’t lie,” she snaps.

She’s magnificent in her anger. Laura Drake,
I’m sure, is too cool to get angry, Samantha Jansen too sweet and
mousy. Yet this girl, this amalgamation…she’s a fiery collision of
the two. I’m intrigued. Tempted beyond what I’ve ever been tempted
before. To know her, to open her up. To break her.

That’s what makes her dangerous to me. But
it’s what makes
me
most dangerous
to her
. I’ve been
here before. And I swore never to come here again.

I should tell her to go. To leave and never
look back. But first, I want answers. I want to know. I
need
to know…

“I didn’t lie either.”

“You told me your name was Alec Brand. Unless
I’m really off on the spelling, I think that’s quite different from
Buraquinho.”

“Buraquinho is my family name. It’s very
difficult to pronounce.” She eyes me skeptically. “Also I
had…reasons for wanting to separate myself from it. Not unlike the
way you live your life, keeping some areas isolated from
others.”