I dressed quickly, in as many layers as I could stand. I put as much fabric between my skin and the outside world as I could.
But I kept shaking.
My grandfather’s fridge had been cleaned out. But his cupboards weren’t completely bare. I opened a bag of expired pretzels and jammed as many of them into my mouth as I could, then kept searching. I turned up a box of shriveled raisins, a half empty sleeve of Saltines and two packs of instant mashed potatoes.
And in the pantry above the cleaning supplies… jackpot. A six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon.
I grabbed one and popped the cap with trembling fingers. I’d forgotten to hide. I knew better. This wasn’t a game, no matter how much I was enjoying Derek’s attempts to unsettle me.
I’d forgotten to be careful and now he’d seen the bruises. My head whirled, spinning together a plausible reason, a believable story to go along with them. What would it be this time? A fall down the stairs or a stage accident? I’d feigned clumsiness for so many years, I was sure I could make him believe the lie.
But did I need to?
I chugged the warm beer, grimacing at the taste, but relishing the warmth in my belly. With the edge gone, I chugged another one. It tasted like backstage memories and long tours as the only woman on a bus full of men. One who’d said he loved me, three that actually did.
I knuckled away the tear that dared prick at the corner of my eye. I wouldn’t think about that right now. Right now it was doubly important that I get Derek the hell out of here. Before he asked me any questions.
I stepped back out onto the deck. The speakers were still set up from last night. I turned the music back on again, lower this time.
The beer was going right to my head. I stifled a burp behind my hand.
Then wondered, why bother stifling? Derek was down there at the carriage house, stacking wood under an overhang.
I took a deep breath, summoned all my vocal training.
Then belched as loud as I could.
The noise echoed off the hills, sending the crows cawing upward into the sky. Derek stared across the lawn. I couldn’t see his face, but shock was written in every line of his body.
I stifled a semi-buzzed giggle. Good. Let him think of that when he thought of me. Instead of the marks on my body.
I’d rather have his disgust that his concern.
“Cheers!” I slurred, raising my beer in a cross-lawn toast. “Come on! I bet I could drink you under the table!” I burped again, unintentionally this time.
His face was still in shadow, unreadable. But instead of answering, he turned and strode right into his house, slamming the door behind him.
“What the fuck was that?” I muttered into my beer. Then remembered he’d said something about being two-years’ sober.
“Whoopsie,” I muttered. “Guess I’m the asshole this time.”
Three warm beers later, I felt dizzy and grumpy. But I was no longer worried about what Derek had seen on my body, and that was what I was going for. “Drinking warm beer alone,” I said aloud. “Is this rock bottom?”
Talking to myself seemed somehow sadder then drinking alone. I wished I could FaceTime Jules right now. The bassist for Wrecked was the best drinking buddy you could find, always down for a prank or a game of truth or dare. His name was there on my screen, a missed call sandwiched in between all the missed calls from Killian. I longed to listen to his message, hear his thick Northern English accent mangle familiar words into a distinctly Jules-ish stew.
I longed to hear the voice of someone I could trust.
I had my phone halfway out of my pocket before I realized what I was doing.
My phone was ringing.
Killian.
Again.
I was sure he somehow knew I was looking at his number right now. Somehow he could see me refusing to answer.
Terrified, I let it drop from my hand. It landed with a clatter on the deck, face up, His name still pointed at me like an accusation.
I reached over and flipped it upside down.
I looked around wildly. Was that the call letting me know that he’d found me?
The buzz of a far-off helicopter made me cry out. I hurried for the safety of being under a roof instead of the open sky.
But even the living room felt too exposed. I rushed into his old bedroom, slammed the door behind me, and leaped into my grandfather’s bed. “Go away,” I moaned, burying my face in the bare pillow, chanting, “Please, please, please, please.”
My side ached. My head ached. My arms, legs and head all ached in unison, all the pain flaring up at once like Killian’s call had awakened it.
He was far away but he could still hurt me.
I don’t know how long I cowered in the bedroom. But the slant of the sun was decidedly lower by the time I could move again.
The ache in my body had quieted, muted by hunger pangs and the throb of a beer-induced headache. I pulled my knees up to my chest and whimpered.
For ten years, I’d lived in fear. But I’d also lived in luxury. One phone call, one press of a button, and I could summon a member of my staff and have them fetch for me. Water. Aspirin. A three course meal from a four-star restaurant. Any time, any place, I could have whatever I wanted.
Now, for the first time in ten years, I was alone. I had no one to rely on but myself.
And Killian knew that. The fact that I had to fend for myself made finding me so much easier. I had no bodyguards, no security team. If he could figure out how to hack into my email then he’d see the letter from Grandpa’s lawyer sitting right there in my inbox, like a giant neon arrow pointing in the direction he should look.
He’d probably done that right at the start. He probably had a helicopter circling the area already. He was just waiting at the bottom of the hill to fuck with me. Letting me think I was safe so I’d let my guard down and do something stupid like leave the safety of the estate to buy food and tampons.
In fact, I could hear the helicopter right now, buzzing like an angry hornet as it circled overhead.
I should have deleted that email as soon as I got it.
Just like I should have deleted the one that came a few weeks before it.
It came from some kind of secure address, a string of letters and numbers that meant nothing to me. I shouldn’t have opened it, but I’d always found spam e-mails - with their bad grammar and ludicrous promises - hilarious.
Aria - that was my first clue it was legitimate, it addressed me by my given name rather than my stage name - Killian is cheating on you. Check his texts and see for yourself. His passcode is 8094.
It took weeks to work up the courage to follow through.
Then it took several more weeks to work up the courage to confront Killian with what turned out to be the truth.
My fingers probed my tender ribs. He’d only stopped kicking me because I’d gone limp and quiet enough that he lost interest. But even through the haze of pain, I knew that was the only thing that had saved me.
The next time he hit me - and there was always a next time, I finally understood - he wouldn’t stop until I was dead.
I whimpered, and listened. I listened for so long that my ears started ringing. The silence was unnerving. My life had been noise and music for so long, the silence was like being entombed.
Groaning, I sat up again, moving stiffly and carefully through the living area to the glassed in atrium in the rear of the house.
The open sky above my head was unnerving, but I took a deep breath and focused on my goal.
The baby grand piano in the center of the room.
Filling the silence with music was the only way I knew how to deal with it. I walked over to the instrument, lovingly brushed my hand along its polished surface then trailed it down to the lift the cover.
I’d played a piano much like this on our last tour. It was a bitch to ship it from show to show, but I’d insisted. It had been one of the only times I’d ever put my foot down and disagreed with Killian about… well… anything. When he’d sighed and kissed me on the cheek and told me I won, I’d beamed. Just like I had so many times before, I’d convinced myself that this was it. A turning point. The moment where his words would match his actions, and he’d start loving me the way he said over and over that he did.
That night, after the rest of the band had gone to bed and we were alone, he’d sworn at me for making him look weak in front of the “help.” Then punched me right in the stomach.
My finger rested on a white key. But try as I might, I couldn’t bring myself to press it and shatter the silence. I couldn’t stand the idea of making noise like that. Playing music written by someone else during my showdown with Derek? That was one thing.
But playing something I’d written was beyond me. Gone.
As far away from me as the girl I used to be.
I turned away from the piano and headed sadly back into the kitchen to take stock of my situation.
Besides the expired pretzels, I had enough food for maybe four more meals. Five if I was careful.
I needed more but leaving felt… impossible.
I glanced across the lawn.
In the two days I’d been here, I hadn’t seen Derek leave. But he had to eventually, right? He needed food and supplies just like I did.
Sure, he wanted me gone, but if I’d learned anything over the past ten years, it’s that principles didn’t last long if the price was right. I had eight hundred dollars in cash left in my wallet, all that I could withdraw from my joint account before hitting the daily limit on my ATM card.
Hopefully it was enough to pay for a truce.