Breathe Page 2

  “Bunny, wait.” He sounds concerned. That's a first this evening. A first most evenings, actually.

  Selfish bastard.

  I stop and slowly turn only my head to look at him; trying not to show any more emotion, of any kind. He doesn’t deserve any emotion. And he really needs to stop calling me Bunny. I hate that. I really fucking hate that.

  I put Duritz down and remain silent.

  “This is not how I wanted this to go.” He says trying to be sympathetic. It’s not working though. He's still a douche bag.

  “But this is how it’s going.” I say calmly in a low voice. “I can’t look at you anymore. I can’t stand you in my house anymore. Go.”

  He doesn’t move. I’m sure he expects me to change my mind, run to him and collapse in his arms. I’ve done it before. Three times to be exact. He loves the control he has over me when I do that. But I won’t. I will not chase after this boy anymore. I’m stronger than I was then.

  “GO!” I slip the other shoe off and pick it up.

  “Are you sure you want me to leave right now, Bunny? I can stay. We can talk this through some more. I really don’t want to leave you like this.”

  What is this? Does he finally care how I feel?

  Too little, too late buddy.

  “You think I’m going to fall to my knees and beg you to stay?” Not this time. Not again.

  “Go! Go to her. Run to her. Tell her all about how you’re finally rid of me so you can be together without the sneaking and the lying and the deceit.” My voice cracks and starts to rise again, as more tears well up in my already red eyes. I catch myself. I can’t let him see me fall apart. He thrives on my falling apart. It’s his way to control me. I must be strong. I lower my voice to an almost whisper. “I have nothing more to say to you.” I drop the shoe on the floor and turn away. “And stop calling me Bunny. It’s fucking annoying.”

  With that said I walk calmly down the hallway to the only bedroom on this floor; my room, my sanctuary. I shut the door and lean against the dark cherry wood, sliding my back down it until I’m sitting with my knees to my chest.

  A few moments pass and I hear the front door open then quickly close. He’s gone. The only man I have ever loved is gone. The only man I let inside my body is gone. The only man I thought could ever make me happy and complete is gone.

  I miss him already. Ugh. Why do I have to miss him already?

  I stand and walk past the sitting area. I fall into my king size bed, curl up in a ball and release the dam. I don’t just cry. I sob. Huge tears seep uncontrollably from every part of my eyes. Duritz jumps up next to me and cuddles against my stomach.

  A knock on the door startles me. “Come in,” I say quietly, already assuming who is on the other side.

  “Grace, are you alright dear? May I get you something to drink? Or a bite to eat perhaps?” the middle-aged woman asks in a calm, soothing voice.

  “No thank you, Amy” I say without lifting my head from the bed.

  Amy has been with us since I was eight. She stayed in Daddy’s employ after we grew too old for a nanny and when he bought me my apartment on the Upper East Side after I graduated from Princeton, she moved with me and became my housekeeper. She’s really more like a glorified roommate that happens to cook and do my laundry. I love having her around. Since my mother passed away when I was nine, she’s also been a mother figure and one of my closest confidants.

  “Would you like to talk about it?” She paused, clearly trying to choose her words wisely as to not upset me more. “I saw Patrick leaving. He looked, well, different.”

  “Not right now.” I lift my head. “Wait. What do you mean he looked different?”

  “Well, he had an odd look on his face that looked like...I don't know exactly. Then I heard you crying. Did something happen?”

  “Let’s just say you will not have to cook any more hotdogs for the bastard. Someone else is going to be making those for him.” Patrick loves hotdogs. He’ll only eat them here, though. He has Amy make them for dinner when I'm not home. He didn’t live here, but he sure treated her like she was his maid.

  “Oh honey.” She walks to the bed, sits next to my head and starts strumming her fingers through my bright blonde hair. “Maybe it’s for the best. I’ll leave you be. Let me know if you need anything.” Amy stood and walked toward the open door. “Oh, and don’t forget, Asher will be staying with us this weekend. He will be dropped off tomorrow after school.” And out the door she went, shutting it quietly behind her.

  Asher is my fifteen-year-old brother. Since he never knew our mother, I’ve been the closest thing he’s had. She died twenty-four minutes after Asher’s birth from an aneurysm in her brain. My three older brothers and I had to help Daddy cope with her death and the birth of our little brother. We had nannies and other house staff, but it wasn’t the same as a real family or a real mother. He stays with me often when Daddy is out of town or has late meetings or functions to attend. I don’t like him staying with the house staff for extended periods of time. I’m not so sure he likes it either. Frankly, I could use some brotherly love from him right about now.

  I’m so over this black hole of a day.

  Slowly drifting off to sleep, I keep thinking of the good times with Patrick and wonder what I did so wrong to cause this.

  I can hardly breathe through the tears.

  I’M STARTLED AWAKE by the alert sound from the intercom system. It buzzes again. Amy must be where she can’t hear the annoying noise. I hustle out of bed, run down the hall into the foyer to the speaker inset on a keypad near the front door. “Yes.” I say in annoyance while pressing the square white button.

  “Miss Stratton. Mr. Colby is here to see you,” Harry the doorman says politely.

  “Of course,” I answer. “Please let him up.” I stay by the door waiting impatiently.

  What seems like an hour later, I hear the elevator doors. I throw open the door and bear hug the man in front of me. He's tall, slender and handsome; the looks of a male model. With his dark blond hair and grey eyes, one could get lost in his charm.

  “Red,” I whisper into his shoulder.

  “Shhh. I know Gracie. I know” he answers in a hushed voice, stroking my hair in comfort.

  We just stand still in our tight embrace. I bury my face in his neck, cover my eyes with my left hand and cry. Rafe Colby has been my best friend since we were eighteen-year-old freshmen at Princeton. We had a lot of the same classes and shared a love of fashion. I love him like no straight girl should love a gay man. We're like our very own prime-time sitcom. We don't care what anyone else thinks about our relationship. It's our thing and it works for us. We’re always honest with each other and always there for each other no matter what. Nothing happens in my life without him being there. He's not had a great start to life, but I'll be damned if he isn't going to have a blessed future. I've shared everything with him; my life, my family, my heart. That's how we've worked for six years. We’re a package deal. You take both of us or leave both of us.

  “Double red,” I whisper again through my tears. He starts to rock us back and forth.

  'Red' is the word we use to let one know we need the other. It started back when we were getting to know each other. After filling him in on my life and what comes with it, he thought it best that we have some kind of signal or code to let the other know when trouble is around or we need each other. Our other friend Briar started using it too. Whenever we need someone, all we have to do is call or text and say the word and they’re there. No hesitations. No questions asked.

  A few minutes later I release him and wipe my face with the palm of my hands. We walk into my apartment hand in hand.

  “You look like a hobo,” He says holding my arms out and looking up and down at my V-neck t-shirt and yoga pants. I don’t remember changing into them. I curl one side of my lip up in a half smile and let out a small laugh. “So, Gracie, what’s going on? I got a manic call from Briar telling me to come over here right awa
y. She mentioned something about Patrick and some skank. The girl was talking so fast I could hardly make out what she was saying. I hung up on her and came over as fast as I could.”

  I led him to the sofa to sit on the larger side. I grab a pillow, hug it in front of me, and play with the lily charm on my bracelet. He plops down on the same cushion causing us to bounce.

  Obviously, word has gotten out. I look over at the oversized wall clock and see that it’s 10:23pm. Patrick left the house at eight.

  What the hell!

  “What am I going to do Rafe? I don't know how to be without him.” I let out the biggest sigh; partly from frustration, partly from being tired, partly from being so God damn pissed off.

  Rafe looks confused.

  “What's going on? Did he injure himself jacking off or something?” he laughs out.

  If only it were that simple.

  “We had a fight. I lost a shoe.”

  “No! Which one?” Figures he cares more about the shoe than the fight.

  “A navy Manolo.” He gasps. “I threw it at him.”

  “Good for you. Not good for the shoe.” Rafe shakes his head. “But did you puncture him?”

  “No.”

  “Damn. Too bad.” He flashes his perfect teeth wrapped in a smile. “All shoes aside, Gracie, what's going on?”

  “Patrick decided to call off the engagement.” I stare down at my hands and fidget with the corner of the pillow in my lap. “And he broke up with me.”

  “Excuse me, what?” Rafe said leaning in to me. “He decided what now?”

  “He broke up with me.” I repeat. “He met someone a few months ago on a photo shoot and now he’s leaving me for her. He says he loves her,” I say very matter of fact like. God, I want this gross feeling to get up and go.

  “He loves her?” Rafe spits out in disgust. “What an asshole. If I wasn’t wearing my best Prada loafers I would go hunt him down right now and kick his cheating ass!” This is why I love him so much. He’s always the protector, though he is much better fighting with words than with his body. He can physically fight, I've seen it first hand, but he has a much better bite verbally. “Too many shoes have been lost to him already. We don't need any more casualties.”

  I grin slightly. “What would I ever do without you?”

  He pulls me in for another hug. “I'm not sure. But you'll never have to find out.” He grins back. “I'll never leave you Gracie. You know that, right?”

  I nod.

  “Good.” Rafe kisses me on the forehead. He rises quickly, goes to the kitchen and grabs a bottle of Riesling out of the wine fridge along with a stemless wine glass from the cupboard for me and a bottle of beer from the big fridge for himself. He may be gay, but he loves a good bottle of beer. He calls himself a macho gay. I personally don't really think that's the case here but I'll let him have his label.

  We sit, talk, cry, laugh and drink until about two o’clock in the morning.

  When we’re both tired as hell, we tuck ourselves into my bed and cuddle up. A sleepover with my bestie is the ultimate cure for anything. He wraps his arms around me and hangs on tight.

  “I’ll never leave you,” he reassures me again. “It would take too much time to break in a new drinking partner.”

  He gets a tired laugh out of me and kisses my cheek in response.

  Rafe never disappoints. He fills me up and he's all the man that I'll ever need. Yep...I just referenced a Whitney song.

  This is not how I envisioned my night progressing when I woke up this morning. I drift off to sleep in the arms of my best friend, thanking baby Jesus that he’s in my life. And that I’m still breathing.

  Chapter Two

  I awake to the sound of an annoying beep.

  It’s the damn alarm on my phone.

  It must be seven thirty.

  Ah, Hell.

  Sitting up, I stretch and take in the sunlight from the large window above my head. Rafe is gone. I know he had an early style appointment to get to in Chelsea this morning.

  A note on my pillow reads:

  You're a beauty.

  He's an ass.

  I love you.

  R

  Rafe is so amazing. I don't know what I did to deserve him in my life, but I don't care. I'm never letting him go. Ever. I'll fold him up and carry him around in my pocket if I have to.

  I slowly get out of bed and make a beeline to the bathroom and begin my morning ritual, getting ready for work.

  Bathroom, closet, kitchen, out the door.

  I pull myself together the best I can under the circumstances. As I stand in the middle of my obscenely large closet, I manage to somehow put on an acceptable outfit of a charcoal grey pencil skirt and an ivory long sleeve blouse with ruffle detail at the open collar. Skipping the thigh high stockings, I usually wear in the fall, I grab my grey round-toe platform sling-backs and slip them on my feet.

  I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror. My usual milky, pale skin that resembles a china doll has a dull hue to it and looks paler than normal. If that's even possible. The sparkle in my blue eyes is gone and replaced with a sadder, darker color that doesn't go with any of my outfits. It'll have to do for today. I don't have the energy for a re-do.

  Amy is already hard at work making an omelet as I enter the kitchen. I sit on a tall metal bar stool at the granite-topped island counter and wait patiently, picking through the newspaper for a section that looks appealing. Yes, I read the newspaper. There’s something about it that’s relaxing in the morning, more so than reading through technology.

  “Good morning, Amy.”

  “Good morning to you, honey. How are you feeling?” she asks motherly.

  “I’m ok. Rafe stayed the night. Made things a bit more bearable.”

  “I thought that was him I heard laughing. He’s loud...and quite a charmer, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.” I giggle.

  “Here you are dear. Eat up. And take these.” She slides my breakfast plate over to me with a glass of orange juice and two Advil. “They will help with the headache.”

  She knows me so well. I love her.

  The buzzer by the door goes off. Amy answers and lets me know that Thomas, my babysitter, is downstairs waiting with the car. He’s not really my babysitter, more of body-man.

  I grab my black leather jacket and all the other crap I need sitting on a chair, kiss Duritz on the head and walk out the door to the elevator. Keeping my head down, I exit the building through the main door. Jack, one of the doormen, holds the door open for me and, as always, tips his hat in my direction and bids me a good day. It's an old school move, but I love it all the same.

  Thomas is waiting by the passenger side door of my fully-loaded, black Audi A6, a gift from Daddy, of course. He’s wearing a handsome charcoal grey suit over a black button-down shirt, open at the collar. He takes my hand and guides me into the backseat.

  “Good morning, Thomas,” I say to the tall, dark, muscular, thirty-something man.

  “Good morning, Grace,” he replies graciously. “You look rather nice today.”

  “And you are quite the flirt,” I respond. I really like him and try to make his job escorting me around everywhere enjoyable, because in actuality, it’s probably quite annoying and tedious. He's young (I think he's the same age as one of my brothers) and good-looking with his caramel colored skin, light brown eyes and shaved head. He doesn't have a dress code to follow, but he still likes to look his best. He's always in well-fitted jeans or suit slacks and some kind of button-down shirt or sweater. I have no idea why he agrees to be my babysitter. Daddy must pay him billions.

  He was hired to be my driver and bodyguard after I graduated and moved out of our family home. Daddy didn’t want me to move far away from him, so he bought me a place on the Upper East Side. His apartment is fourteen blocks south, three east of me. Not too far by New York standards. I’m the only daughter of a high-profile man. That makes him way too overprotective. I love being as ind
ependent as I can, but I tend to do dumb things and get caught in not-so-great situations, or positions. So, I have Tommy Boy to help prevent that.

  Thomas pulls up in front of the Stratton Building, Daddy’s building, and rushes around to my door. He takes one of my hands in his and helps me onto the sidewalk.

  “Thanks, Thomas.”

  “I’ll be waiting for you here around six.” He says to me with a lovely smile. “Please call me if you need my assistance before then.”

  I nod, smile back at him, and walk into the building. As I wait in front of the bank of elevators, I hear whispers behind me. I turn and see a few young ladies who work at my magazine taking glances at me.

  Real subtle bitches.

  Does everyone know already?

  The break-up just happened, like, twelve hours ago.

  Why did I even come in to work today?

  This is going to be one hell of a long day.

  I step off of the elevator on the twenty-first floor, walk straight past the reception desk and through the large glass doors. No one is looking at me. Everyone always looks to greet me in the morning.

  Awesome. The silent treatment.

  Walking through the open space of the office, I take aim at the office straight ahead. Ashlyn, my assistant, stands when I approach her desk.

  “Good morning, Grace,” she says in a soft voice. Her big green puppy dog eyes look at me with sympathy.

  “Morning, Ashlyn,” I mumble.

  She looks as though she’s going to say something or lean in to hug me, so I pick up my messages and walk straight into my office, gently closing the door behind me. I don’t think I’m going to deal with people very well today.