Free Tryst by Arie Lane Page B

sister was grabbed from behind, with my voicemail the last testament of her struggle. That and my mother's promise to make me disappear as well, a vow I'm sure if given the chance she would make good on, would be enough to make anyone jumpy I tried to convince myself she was just hurting, but I knew better. Years of experience taught me that. One night, I wrote a letter to Dante telling him everything. I also told him not to open it unless something happens to me, but he opened it anyway. He's now the keeper of my darkest secret, well one of them.
    I start to turn, my eyes glued to the ground, trying to avoid the speculation I know I'll find in his eyes. When I face him, though, what I see isn't even close to what I expect. There’s a hint of something else there, maybe sadness. It’s almost as if he knows there is something seriously fucked up torturing my very existence.
    I know everyone has their demons, but the look in his eyes tells me he may be just as fucked in the head as I am. Thing is, even if he does understand, I'm not ready to shout it out to the world. I'm not thrilled with him knowing as much as he already does, so telling him my mother is a psychotic, ruthless, bitch, hell bent on snuffing me out of this world doesn't exactly make for good dinner conversation. Luckily, Tristan caught onto my apprehension and wraps an arm around my shoulders and leads me to my couch.
    There is a small relief in knowing I managed to return home unscathed, but it does scared me a bit that Tristan, a relative stranger, was able to find me this quickly. I really have to wonder how safe I am behind my fortified walls, triple locks and double layered glass, if I can be found so easily. Sure it's only on rare occasions I leave the house, and when I do I’m never alone. Can all of that really protect me from the wrath of a woman scorned and out for a vengeance? As my mind floods with all of the messed up details of my even more screwed up existence, I barely hear the knock on the door. The instant void of warmth coming from beside me finally rouses me from my thoughts as Tristan heads to the door to retrieve dinner.
    The sudden churning in my stomach alerts me to the fact I won't likely be holding it down, but the grumbling noises erupting from inside me tell me I at least need to try. Of course, that all might change once he flips the lid on the box. I was already giving my credit card information when he scared the daylights out of me earlier, so I doubt he heard what I ordered. Somehow, back at the hotel the subject of favorite toppings came up. While I tend me be an extra cheese only kind of girl, his list of mile high toppings alone were enough to make me want to vomit. Yet I still ordered all of that crap on half the pie knowing even if it grossed me out it would make him happy. Oddly, as I sit here debating pizza with my inner voices, it never occurred to me that subconsciously I wanted to make him happy, even if it was with some greasy slice of heaven.
    I watch as he places the box on the table in front of us. He reaches for the remote and starts clicking through channels. That is something that would normally drive me insane. I hate when Dante comes over and instantly takes control of my TV, especially when he forces me to endure hours of ridiculous sports I have zero interest in. Yet here I am, watching to see what he's going to decide on. It isn't until he lets out a sigh of frustration that I lean over his lap, press a few keys, and the TV bleeds to the red menu of Netflix.
    The action may be lost on me, but it apparently isn’t lost on him, as I am rewarded with one of his come hither smirks. My face turns a slight shade of red as I quickly sit up and correct my posture. I give him a sheepish grin and turn my head back down towards the pizza as he flicks through the movie selection, eventually settling on a comedy I have actually been meaning to watch.
    I try not to show how frazzled I am, but in reality I’m a wreck.