Chapter 78


    I get off the subway and slowly walk the four blocks to my apartment. Tired, dirty and mentally


    exhausted from a day’s gruelling shift, repetitive life, and generally just can’t be bothered anymore.


    I have been feeling thisck lustre andpletely empty for weeks on end and cannot seem to shift


    the hovering grey clouds which follow me everywhere I go.


    I should quit, move on and find another job, but I’m stuck. Like I am superglued to the cesspool I


    identallynded in for some respite in the sun, and now I’m withering away in the heat of the day.


    I have no clue what I’m going to do beyond this and no energy in me to try. I haven’t been able to


    function properly in months, and every night I still dream about thatplete monster, Alexi Carrero.


    Tormenting me, making me hate him over and over. Heart breaking to icy shards every time he walks


    into my dream with those soulless grey eyes and an evil smirk on his face.


    I can’t deny that his face alone gives me an iparable heart ache.


    In between the shadows and the monsters and the bad memories, he’s always lurking, face shaded


    and shadowed sometimes, so I can barely see who he is … but I know. I can feel him, smell him. Close


    enough to touch. He stands in my dreams and stares at me silently, in the most foreboding way. Then


    other times he’s there in my face, in clear daylight and stroking my cheek tenderly as though he might


    actually care, melting me to liquid and destroying my mind all over again. That is, before pulling out his


    gun and forcing it into my hand with a cold smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.


    ‘Do it.’ It’s all he ever says and then I wake in a flood of tears, unable to breathe with the freezing biting


    feel of that heavy steel still in my palm.


    It haunts me still. That I stooped so low as to try and end my own life because I was that broken. How


    far he pushed me to that cliff and only fate saved me from carrying it out. I was so caught in his power


    that I couldn’t see how weak I became until it was toote.


    I shudder at the thought, a weird chill creeping over my entire body, and I try to shake it off. Sometimes


    when I am working, I can still feel it in my grasp and rub my hand across my hip to remove the horrible


    sensation from my skin. It’s something I will never do again.


    I have no longing to die. I don’t even know why I did what I did, and I am eternally disgusted at myself


    for letting him push me. I hate him for making me go that far.


    Despite all I dream about, he is the most terrifying of them all, even though mostly, all he does is watch


    me, stare at me, close enough to hear him breathe. It’s all in the mind games and the way he could pull


    me into his control and it’s thest thing I will ever let happen again.


    I will never let someone like him ever have that control again. I will run far away and always protect


    myself from here on in.


    In these months I have built up hardness in my heart and a wall of thick steel that no smooth Carrero


    charm will ever be able to prate. No one will ever get close to hurting me like that again. He will


    never get a chance. No one will. If he were to walk back into my life, I would run a million miles in the


    opposite direction.


    I was weak and stupid and I gave him too much to use against me. I let him in and I let him break me. I


    fell in love with the parts of him he designed to draw me in as I was supposed to do. He sought out my


    deepest cravings—security, safety, a home, a chance to be someone else, have someone to care—


    and he used them to bring down all my defences. The hints of caring, the split personality character, it


    was all a ploy to grind me down, get under my skin and into my head. He is a devious yer, with a


    Masters in maniption, who needs control and destruction to thrive and I will never make that mistake


    again.


    I push open my door in the dark, damp hall, the smell of ck mould and years of disrepair hitting my


    senses with a bitter foul scent in the air that dries my throat on impact. Keeping my senses alert even


    though no one is around. It’s not a good neighbourhood, Washington near 14th street, the crime central


    and downtrodden area of the city where both attacks and break-ins are frequent. I’m already tense and


    on high alert, overly aware of every noise and sensation as my skin prickles in anticipation. I always


    feel this waying back here at the end of the day. It’s hardly a home at the end of the day. It’s a stop


    gap.


    I carry mace and a taser with me at all times again, and always on the watch for men in the shadows. I


    look around quickly, scanning the hall for followers, before I slide inside and immediately lock the


    several deadbolts I put on the door when I moved here. Not that they are much of a deterrent. They are


    barely gripping the rotten wood and one of them has fallen off twice. I have no doubts that with a little


    force they would be worthless. Sometimes I feel like it’s a waiting game before my apartment is


    targeted. Ity empty for a long time before I moved in, rotting away, and I try to make it seem as


    though it still is; less chance of being the next break in, in this building.


    I pull myself up to stand when I slide thest low bolt near the foot of the door and sag against the


    chipped and peeling surface with a heavy sigh. I feel empty. Going through the motions, tired and just


    drained of life. My mood has been deste for so long now that I don’t remember how to feel any other


    way. I honestly do not know what happened to Cami, this Meghan I have be is a depressive


    state of affairs, and she is a pitiful shadow of the girl I once was.


    I catch sight of myself in the mirror I have propped by my door as I pull off my sodden crusty dress and


    apron and dump them on the floor hatefully, disgusted by the smell and mess of them.


    Cami is long gone and this new me ‘Meghan’—she is a paleparison to who I was.


    I sneer at the mousy brte in the mirror, with her pale face, no makeup and chipped and broken


    nails, discarding the dress like every other city server who makes less than minimum wage.


    I look like a no one. A girl you would step over if she was sitting crying in the street.


    I look like a long-forgotten version of myself, whom I despise with my very soul. in faced, nothing


    extraordinary, just a young down-and-out trying to make ends meet. Someone who has had their very


    soul ripped out and never managed to find it again.


    I wonder if Alexi has it—in a jar on his desk—along with all the other souls of broken women he has left


    in his wake.


    Only, that would imply he cared enough to treasure it, even as a trophy, which I doubt. It’s probably


    rumpled and strewn in the gutter behind his club where he swept it out of his building after he was done


    with me.


    I’m disgusting and pathetic.


    Lisa was weak and na?ve; she only knew how to keep running and looking for shelter. Escape was her


    only thought and nothing else. She did what she needed to do to survive, and she learned to take all


    that made her frail and broken and shove them deep inside an icy cavern to die of exposure. She


    numbed everything out.


    Cami rose from her ashes and held her own for a long time. She built a business and for a while, she


    thrived at it. She was bold and sassy, even while underneath it was all a lie. She yed the part of


    aplished hostess, and somehow along the way found a little self-worth, despite it all. She would


    never have epted this as her fate and would have kept chipping away endlessly to w herself back


    to some sort of cushy life and social standing. She was born to be in charge of her fate and her mindset


    was that of getting somewhere that she would never have to be controlled by anyone again.


    Why did I let him take it all away from me?


    He didn’t save me from Tyler’s men. He just prolonged my death. He strung it out and made it stretch


    over almost a year of agony before snapping me like a twig.


    Meghan, she’s the ruin that is trying to limp on. She works, she eats, she sleeps … then she repeats.


    Not living, not going anywhere, just trying to breathe and lick her wounds in the hopes that one day she


    wakes up and that spark of something is still there to get her out of her self-made hellhole.


    Meghan is eternally tired and has no eye on the future.


    Alexi destroyed me and I can barely look at myself anymore.


    I walk away from my reflection and yank off the rest of my clothes clumsily, heading to the bathroom to


    run a bath and dodge the buckets I have propped around this leaky room. Pushing my foul mood and


    self-pity aside and dropping it on the floor with my discarded underwear, dishevelled.


    It’s a miniscule apartment, barely enough room to swing a cat but it’s safer to be in small confines;


    even shitty run-down ones.


    The pipes overhead are always dripping, but myndlord is an arsehole who requires blow jobs for


    favours, and I am so done with all that bullshit. I would rather live in squalor than do anything for a man


    in return for basic needs.


    Sex and seduction, they aren’t part of my life anymore, and I am breaking habits of old at work to try


    and tone down my learned mannerisms and dialogue. I have tried to sound New York as much as I


    can, keep my sexy on the low, and avoid any sass or flirty skills to make life easier. All the things I


    spent twenty-eight years perfecting, and I am trying to throw them off like an unwanted coat in a bid to


    hide in this world.


    Cami is gone … this weird American ented nobody is nothing like her and anyone looking for


    Cam would think she was dead already. I guess in a way she is. I miss her. She was the realest me, I


    guess.


    I have kept my nose clean and my head down and don’t intend to change that any time soon. Living in


    poverty is temporary while I regroup, and I am not passing out sexual tasters to anyone for anything


    anymore. I would rather sweep up pig shit all day. I just have no set n on where I will go, or what I


    will do, and I am biding my time until I can figure it out.


    I scan what’s left of my expensive cosmetic products and sigh dejectedly. That heaviness sweeping


    over me once more. I have been scrimping what I can, knowing it’s foolish to waste money on the stuff


    I really don’t need. That’s why my hair and nails were first to go, and I sold a lot of my expensive


    wardrobe, jewellery and perfumes, to pad out my savings.


    No more designer or elegant clothes, no more shoes or handbags. I pawned everything I could to travel


    light and blend into the shadows. I have nothing of value anymore. Just a shoebox filled with all my


    money, hidden under the floor with my passport, ready to go at a moment’s notice.


    I haven’t even unpacked my bags. I live out of them, never settling down and setting up this ce as a


    home, as I never had any intention of staying, even for this long. I’m perched just waiting to go on to


    the next ce when it’s time and I see an opportunity. Scraping everything I can together to build a


    fund that will take me a million miles from here or anywhere I have lived before.


    I’m thinking somewhere hot and sunny and far out of the reach of any Carrero. Somewhere I can fade


    into a peaceful existence without anyone lording over me ever again.


    That is the only thing keeping me goingtely.


    I climb into the tub and soak my weary bones in the hot almost clear water, sliding down to submerge


    all of me to the very edges of my face and try to drown out the noises of downtown New York. Body


    rxing from stiff, stressed out achiness to an almost relieved sag.


    The sounds of sirens, traffic, constant noise and motion, is never-ending, especially around these


    parts. It’s a high crime dump after all and only two days ago, a body was found only one block away.


    Daylight robbery gone nasty.


    I can still hear the wail of a car rm nearby and hear the screaming of the couple upstairs as they


    have another violent fight. Scraping furniture, heavy thuds and raised hysterical ranting overhead that


    echoes through the walls eerily. She gives as good as she gets and the gnawing grate of wood on


    wood over my head signals another epic battle.


    Fuck love if that’s what it does to you.


    Why tie yourself to someone for a lifetime if they treat you like a punching bag?


    Why give your heart to a man who pounds it to dust like it doesn’t mean a thing? Like HE did. Alexi


    never deserved mine.


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    I should have run far away from him that night in the Hamptons and I know it now. I had a chance and I


    should have just kept going. Instead of being a feeble fool who let her fear rule her decisions, I should


    have had the sense to trust my gut.


    My pathetic weak heart held me back every time I had a chance to go, and I was stupid not to see it.


    I numb it all out mentally, push it away expertly and shove the heavy lump lodged in my chest back


    down to the empty gut and try to rx and let today go. Try so hard to push the tension and pain I feel


    every second I let him in my head out of my limbs and body, and concentrate on hot water and the drip,


    drip, drip of my tap.