Page 31 of Gilded Lies

“Yes, ma’am.”

I hang up and call the cops next. The first thing I did when I arrived in the city was contact the police department and tell them my story and why a man named Einar Weston would be at the top of the suspect list, should I ever go missing. Am I a little over the top? Fuck yes, but I enjoy living and I watch all those true crime shows. I don’t feel so paranoid now.

It takes two hours before the security team on the Golden Key Society’s payroll and a couple of seasoned cops clear the entire twenty-three-floor apartment building.

A female cop comes out of my bedroom replacing her weapon while her partner comes back in from the outside hallway with his notepad out. “It’s all clear, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Officer.” The idea Weston could be in here the whole time has me freaking the hell out.

Her partner takes out a card and puts it on the dining table next to my phone. “Call us if you have any more trouble. You were smart to call the first time, too. Someone matching the stature of Mr. Weston entered the building wearing a cleaning-service uniform. We couldn’t see his face, or any identifying markings, but there was no scheduled cleaning crew for today.”

The freaking security guy likes to sleep on the job. As of tomorrow, he will be looking for alternative employment without a recommendation. I’ll personally see to it.

And with that I’m all alone again. I triple check the locks and shove a chair under the handle just to make sure.

I got little sleep that night or for the next ten days. I’ve grown to hate the bags under my eyes and the dark circles that take a ton of makeup to hide.

Three weeks later and Christmas is over and New Year’s is spent in front of the TV binge-watching crime shows with either pizza or ice cream as my companion. I go to work, have security escort me to my car, and another escort sees me to my apartment after checking it. I glance in the direction of my phone. No one has called or messaged me outside of work for weeks. I used to run to it when the soft chimes went off.

Not anymore. Being ghosted feels like your lifeforce being drained from your body by a drop of blood at a time.

Fire burns the back of my eyes. Tears fall and like every other night I brush them away.

“I can’t live like this anymore. I just can’t.”

I toss my spoon on the living room coffee table and shut off the flat-screen. Silence cocoons me. It terrifies me how muchI’ve grown dependent on the likes of Danika’s lingering touches. Oliver’s comforting silence and Rune’s raw need to be filling me with his seed.

I toss a small blanket from my legs and head to my bedroom. I pull a suitcase from under my bed and start packing. I catch my reflection in my vanity mirror and cringe. Shaggy hair, no makeup. Zombies look better than me.

I don’t recognize who I’ve become. I grab the bedside telephone and throw it into the glass. Millions of pieces shatter onto the marble floor. Rune once liked to use that mirror to watch himself fuck me.

Liked, as in past tense. Never happening again. He’ll never touch me again. That era of my life is over.

I have only a few days left before I have to give Raja a name for the New Orleans position, and I haven’t even looked at anyone’s resume yet.

I grab my cell phone. If this is ghosting, I don’t like it one bit. I guess they fulfilled their thirst for their kink of coming in a willing woman and playing house until they grew tired.

I pull up Raja’s name and shoot off a message.

If you still want me, I’m in for Nola!

I hit SEND and almost immediately I receive a message back.

When can you start, sweetheart?

Immediately.

I have a private plane on standby. Use it. I’ll meet you there tomorrow. I’ll have a room waiting for you.

I grab my suitcase and call security to escort me out of the building and into a cab. I have little belongings. Just clothes and a few keepsakes from around the city. Whoever moves in next can trash all of it. I don’t want a single reminder of this place or this city.

I slide into the taxi and don’t look back when the driver pulls away from the curb.

“Airport please.”

I’m out of here and done waiting around like some used flower for men who never wanted me in the first place.

I take out my phone one more time and shoot off one last message.