Beneath This Man

He throws his hands in the air in a Lord-give-me-strength gesture. ‘I can’t be around you right now,’ he bellows. He clenches his teeth, and I see the muscles of his jaw ticking. ‘I f**king love you, Ava. So f**king much, but I can’t look at you. This is f**ked up!’ He stalks out of the kitchen.

I hear the front door slam and moments later, an almighty crash. I run out to the penthouse foyer and Jesse is nowhere to be seen, but the mirrored door of the elevator is shattered into a million pieces. Through my derangement, I instantly think of what further damage he has done to his poor hand. Then, I cry. Hopeless, howl at the moon, blubbering. I feel completely helpless and out of control. I feel like I’m being tested, like he is trying me to see if I have the strength to get him through this total mess and on top of that, I’m battling with the incessant niggling thought that it’s me who has made him like this. It’s not healthy.

I walk back into the big open living area and see all of my bags placed in a neat row at the side of the stairs. What should I do with them? Am I staying?

I leave them and not knowing what else to do, I go and sit myself on a sun lounger on the decking area and cry to myself – loud, shoulder shaking, pouring tears crying, while I try to find some direction and guidance. I’m coming up with nothing between my relentless tears. I’m staring into space and feeling nothing but abandoned. Familiar feelings, all of which I never wanted to feel again, are flooding back into me – the empty feeling, the lost, lonely and dejected emotions that had me residing in the lowest levels of hell while Jesse wasn’t in my life. How have I come to need him so much? How has this happened to me? He’s walked out, and now I’ve got a good idea of how he felt when I did the same to him. It’s not a nice feeling. I feel like a massive part of me is missing.

It is.

The thought of him not being around makes my heart jump into my throat, makes my breath hitch and panic attack me. This is hopeless. I take myself back into the penthouse, upstairs to the master-suite and have a shower. I stand under the sprays of water absentmindedly soaping myself. Everywhere I turn, I see us – me and Jesse on the vanity unit, against the wall, on the floor, in the shower. We’re everywhere.

I get out, suddenly needing to escape the reminders of our intimacies. I flop on the bed, but soon shoot back up into a sitting position, panic invading my entire being. The times we have been apart he’s had a drink. Will he have a drink now? My hearts starts a painful gallop in my chest, working its way up to my mouth. The thought of Jesse mixed with alcohol is enough to have me dashing down to the kitchen to get my phone.

As I enter the kitchen, I get a waft of something smelling really good. Oh! I run to the oven and turn it off, grab my phone and dial John.

His low rumble seeps down the phone after the first ring. ‘He’s here, Ava.’

‘The Manor?’ I’m so relieved but at the same time, I wonder what he’s doing there.

‘Yeah,’ John sounds regretful. It makes me straighten up.

‘Should I come?’ I don’t know why I’m asking. I’m on my way back up the stairs to get dressed.

He hums down the phone. ‘Probably, girl. He went straight to his office.’

I hang up and scrape my wet hair up before shoving my discarded work clothes back on. My car keys. Jesse hasn’t given me my car keys back. I fly downstairs and dive into the boxes of my belongings, praying I’ll find the spare set. Eventually, I lay my hands on them.

I get to the smashed elevator and punch the code in, at the same time thinking that Clive won’t be happy. Since I’ve been here, the maintenance bill must have gone through the roof.

I run through the foyer in my heels and notice Clive knelt down behind his desk. I swiftly pass him without a word. I’ve no time for him this evening. The poor man will wonder what he has done to upset me.

‘Ava!’ I hear him yell after me. I wouldn’t stop, but it sounds like something is seriously wrong. Maybe the mystery woman has been back.

‘What’s up Clive?’

He runs towards me in a panic. ‘You can’t go!’

What’s he talking about?

‘Mr Ward,’ he pants. ‘He said you mustn’t leave Lusso. He was very insistent.’

He what? ‘Clive, I haven’t time for this.’ I carry on my way, but he grasps my arm.

‘Please, Ava. I’ll have to call him.’

I don’t believe this. He’s got the concierge performing prisoner guard duties now? ‘Clive, it’s not your job to do this,’ I point out. ‘Please, let go of my arm.’

‘Well, I did say as much myself, but Mr Ward can be very insistent.’

‘How much, Clive?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ he says quickly, re-arranging his hat with his spare hand. He couldn’t look guiltier if he tried.

I pull my arm free from Clive’s grasp and walk over to the concierge desk. ‘Where do you keep Mr Ward’s numbers?’ I ask, scanning the hi-tech display screens in front of me. I notice Clive’s mobile sat on the desk too.

Clive walks over with a befuddled look on his face. ‘It’s all linked to the phone through the system. Why do you ask?’

‘Do you have Mr Ward’s number on your mobile?’ I ask.

‘No Ava, It’s all pre-programmed into the system. Resident’s confidentiality and all.

‘Good.’ I yank out the wires leading from the phone system to the computer and drop them in a tangled mess to the floor where they meet Clive’s jaw.