Chapter 91: Chapter 91

ANGELIC...

Sometimes we need big bandages for big wounds. But sometimes all it takes is a long bath to heal the painful openings. I mean, honestly, when all that hot water slides down my body, it's like I'm purging myself.

That's why I end the shower with some regret. I could spend all day in the box.

I wrap a towel around my body. The smell around the bathroom became familiar to me. The smell is clearly masculine, but I don't mind smelling like him. In fact, when I'm alone in the middle of the night, I can feel him all around me, and I can almost convince myself he's next to me.

I walk over to the misty mirror above the sink and stare at my reflection. I turn my head from side to side, studying the mark on my neck. Vicenzo's fingers dug into me. I feel bile rising in my throat, but I refuse to vomit again.

I can't be disgusted with myself. It wasn't my fault.

I constantly remember what happened in the hospital. I kissed Vicenzo, of my own free will. That bastard can say he touched me on purpose, at least once in his miserable life.

I pull the towel tighter around me and step out of the bathroom. There is only one transparent glass wall between the bedroom and the bathroom, which means that the two rooms have a view of each other. Sometimes, I admit, I wonder what it would be like to share that with LeBlanc. What would it be like to be in the tub while he's in bed? Would he look at me? Would you come to me? Do you want me to come to his house?

I shake my head. I can almost smile to myself. Almost. If it wasn't depressing, I'd be smiling.

LeBlanc didn't touch me after what happened in college three days ago. He barely spoke to me. Leave before I wake up, come back when I'm already asleep...

And I swear to God I tried to think of the possibilities. Maybe he's just busy, right?

Yet that hurt, pessimistic part of me keeps thinking he's … I don't know, maybe disgusted?

He knows it wasn't my fault, and he knows Vicenzo is a disgusting rat. But the marks are on me. I am no longer the perfect, immaculate girl he saw in the White House ballroom that night. I am no longer the president's daughter. I am no longer the pure, naive girl who tirelessly went to church every day.

I am no longer me.

I hear footsteps outside the room, and it scatters me. Supposedly, I was alone in the apartment. The person is walking down the hall with a heavy step. I've been awake for a few nights and heard LeBlanc come home late, walk down the hall, and enter the guest room. Every day, religiously, I focused on the one thing I had about him - the sound of his footsteps.

LeBlanc stops in front of the room. I see the shadow of the feet in the crack under the door. I hold my breath, afraid to make the slightest noise. But, I admit, the anticipation is starting to boil inside me.

I don't want your feelings. I don't love him and I don't want him to love me. But I desperately want him to come into this room, lie on the bed, spread his legs and do something useful with his fingers. It's purely carnal, because I've never had that before.

I walk slowly towards the door, on tiptoe. I put my hand on the doorknob, but I don't open it. I look down and the shadow of his feet is still there.

Holy Mother of God.

I unroll the towel and drop the terry cloth on the floor. LeBlanc hasn't approached that door in days, and now she's all that stands between us. A door. At twenty centimeters.

I grab the handle in the palm of my hand. I'll open it in the next five seconds.

Five.

My heart is pounding in my chest, pumping blood to every part of my body, exciting me like in New York.

Four.

My breathing is heavy, so much so that I have to part my lips to avoid hyperventilating. At the same time, my legs are shaking. Not with the expectation of what is to come, but with the memories of what has already happened.

Three.

I hear a loud sigh coming from the other side of the door. Then a brief noise, and I guess he rested his forehead against the door.

Of them.

I start to turn the crank, and when the steel slips, I realize that my hand is sweaty. I press my thighs together, as anxiety and anticipation eat away at my self-control.

A.

When I turn the knob all the way, I watch the shadow on the floor. And before I can open the door, the shadow begins to move away. LeBlanc takes a step back. I force myself to keep the door closed, because I'm a little naked, and the situation would be embarrassing. The shadow disappears, proving that he is no longer on the other side of the door. His heavy footsteps echo down the hallway, getting further and further away as he walks away.

In places, I am irritated. Frustrated. But why am I still surprised, right?

It's LeBlanc. Master at playing mind games.

I pick up the towel from the floor and wrap it around my body again. No matter! If he's developed some sort of dislike for me, that's just one more reason for me to keep my distance.

I walk to the closet. LeBlanc kept his word and bought me everything I needed to live here. Clothes that perfectly match my style, with the same perfumes that I had at home. It's weird that he knows so much about me, but at this point a lot of things about him are weird. I also have a new cell phone, but that shouldn't mean much since only Aaron's number is listed.

All the things are in the bags on the counter in the center of the closet. I didn't want to organize it because that would mean I would have to stop using his stuff.

Yes, I am incredibly ridiculous, and I admit it.

I rummage through designer bags. Because, of course, he doesn't know the brands that don't put a hole in your credit card. Lots of rooms, more than needed for my brief stay. I take them out of the bags, cut the labels and fold. It's the first time in my life that I have to fold my own clothes.

Independence has to start somewhere, right?

Looking around me, I can't find the place to put them. LeBlanc's pieces are perfectly placed in every millimeter of the room, so my clothes wouldn't look out of place.

Sigh.

It's not just the clothes that are out of place.

I need a cup of good old black coffee so I can focus on what I need to do rather than what I want to do. In this way, I pass to the kitchen of the apartment.

Thanks to Gabe, the coffee pot is full. I pour myself a cup of coffee. Since the episode in college, I was addicted to gorging myself on caffeine and staying up all night. Study sometimes. Often in tears.

I take a sip of coffee, strong and hot, and my body immediately relaxes. I watch the steady, subtle drizzle falling over New York. Soon we will have snow, then the task of going out and looking for an apartment will become an impossible task.

I have to settle in soon, because the semester ends in a few weeks, and then I will graduate. Sigh. Adult life has never been a problem for me. I mean, before being kicked out of the family like a dog.

I throw the leftover coffee from the sink. And for a moment, I watch the coffee flowing down the drain. I didn't used to do that.

Oh yes. A LeBlanc craze, which is now my craze too.

Excellent!

I look up at myself, then walk back into the bedroom. I pick up the cell phone on the side table and notice that there's a missed call from Aaron five minutes ago. He could have said it himself, but instead he left the house and called me, saying probably the most mundane thing in the world, like "Don't forget to turn on the heat".

Idiot.

I return the call and he answers almost immediately. The first sound that reaches my ear is the steady beat of music playing – wherever LeBlanc is. I put the phone away so as not to lose part of my hearing.

- Wait a minute - he asks, however, the distance in his voice indicates that he is not talking to me - Angelique - my name is followed by a tired sigh, as if I was a must on his list of things to do.

Loud music is starting to annoy me. It's nine o'clock in the morning!

The sound is muffled and I think he's covering the phone's audio jack with his hand. It somehow makes me more irritated. I hear a female voice nearby – too.

I'm literally in bed, and I have to be on hold while I talk to someone else?

Frankly...

I don't think twice before ending the call, putting the cell phone aside.

Twice asshole!

I get up from bed. I have a pile of clothes to organize. I head to the closet, still feeling that nagging feeling of rejection. As if he had chosen to leave me here and reserve all his time and words for someone else.

Tamed by a childish instinct, and a little resentful too, I remove LeBlanc's shirts from the hangers, putting my own back in place. I make room in the drawers for my underwear, and on the shelves I organize my shoes. I put his coins in the bags, then leave them on the counter.

I know I'm probably exaggerating. But this knowledge does nothing to stop the freight train of emotions running through me.

Some time later, when everything is organized, I return to the bedroom. The drizzle turned into driving rain. My cell phone rang several times, but I was busy being a spoiled brat, so I didn't answer. However, I check the missed calls, coming to the unprecedented and startling conclusion that they are all from LeBlanc.

I'm sure he's in the Persada Club. It's a great place for men like him. Men with money and without conditions.

I look down. I always use a towel. I can trade it for pajamas with fried eggs on them, or the smallest dress I can find.

Second option definitely.

It doesn't matter if he's in Persada or not, I'm going. I want to drink, I want to dance and I want to live my fucking youth like I don't have to account for it. Because guess what, I shouldn't.

To hell with all the bad decisions.

I weave between one body and another, trying to get somewhere. It's still early evening, however, the Persada is completely full. There are dancers on stage, dressed in nothing more than a feathered coat, and that encourages me. If they're okay with their naked body, I don't need to feel bad about the micro dress I'm wearing.

I order a shot of tequila at the bar to fill my loose body with booze. I drink all at once. The attendant stares at me with this expression that says he's seen this scene before, and it didn't end well. However, he quietly shuts up and pours me another drink.

When I feel lighter and more relaxed, I walk away from the bar. Now, yes, I can start having fun. I need it. It would be nice to have Skyla here, as she is the queen of all the parties she attends. But if I called him, I would have to explain to him that my theater is nothing more than a false attempt to detach myself from LeBlanc's attention. So of course it's better to be alone.

I hit the dance floor. It's not complete, but the number of people makes me comfortable to feel the music. As soon as my body starts moving, I notice the first pair of eyes on me. I could stop, because with attention comes shame. But I don't stop. I turn around, looking away from the blond man at the bar.

He is tall, dressed entirely in black, and has his hair falling over his eyebrows. A slight smile forms on his lips when he realizes that I am staring at him.

I dance thinking to myself that I love attention, no matter where it comes from. I look over my shoulder, and his attention is completely on me. His eyes clouded over with every movement of his hips. The drink in his hand is intact, suspended in the air.

The man is standing, leaning against the bench. I wonder if he would lock me in his house, if he would buy me off, if he would beat up a guy just for making fun of me. Would he come after me? Would it show me the dangerous and inviting side of the world? Did he put a gun in my hands?

Not. Nobody's crazy like LeBlanc.

I sigh, frustrated with myself. I stop dancing the moment I realize I can't lower my expectations. I don't want a man's attention, I want his attention.

I walk to the bar. I want to go to the other side of the bench, but the blonde follows me. Maybe, just maybe, my little dance made him think I was available.

To hell with all the bad decisions.

- A bottle of water, please – I ask the attendant. At the same moment, the man who was watching me dance stops next to me.

“Wow,” he whispers, “that's all I have to say.

"I'm so sorry..." I start, but he quickly cuts me off.

- I'm gay, so you don't have to worry about a perv on your trail for the rest of the night.

I smile. My cheeks are hot, and that means I'm starting to get drunk.

- I'm Angelique - I hold out my hand.

- Daniel – he accepts the take – Two shots of tequila – Daniel speaks to the attendant.

I think of refusing, but the refusal dies in my thoughts. On the other hand, I feel ridiculous. I could dance for a thousand years without attracting the attention of the handsome blond man in the bar.

"You are beautiful," he said. Our drinks arrive, and I choose water first – That makes me wonder…why on the dance floor?

- I like to dance.