We steer clear of the topic of other women. I brought it up earlier, much to my chagrin, but thankfully, he hasn’t mentioned anything else. He hasn’t tried to explain himself, either, and I haven’t asked. It’s smarter this way. The less I know, the better. I shouldn’t even care who he’s sleeping with. I have no right to know anything this man does. The only thing I should care about wholeheartedly is where he stands when it comes to the death of my sister.
I find it difficult to tamp down thoughts of her while sitting across from him. When he laughs at something I say and his Adam’s apple bobs, or when he’s contemplating something, and his brows draw in, I stare, wondering if Madison saw a similar gesture the night she died. Did she, too, look at Sebastian and wonder how anyone could be that handsome? Did she, too, wonder how any of them could be so deceiving?
While Baz talks about his work and his family, I look down at his large hands. Hands that have roamed my body and touched me in places he should have no right to be touching. Were those the same hands that killed her? Were those the same hands that stole her last breath?
There’s a sharp pain in my chest at the thought, at the chance that Baz could’ve been the killer. I picture him at the kissing rock with Mads. I picture him standing over her, hurting her, killing her, and I can’t make it go away. I try to breathe through it, but it spreads. It travels through my chest, squeezing my lungs, making it impossible to pull in a single breath. I realize my eyes are watering as Baz’s large form swims before me with his head cocked to the side. My emotions are clogging my throat, making it difficult to swallow. I blink away the sheen, and I can feel a tear glide down my cheek.
“Mackenzie?”
Baz’s voice is distant as though he’s miles away. I grip the edges of the table, trying to hold on to reality, but out of the corner of my eye, I can see her. I can feel her watching me, judging me, waiting for me to fuck this all up just as she knows I will.
I shake my head, slamming my eyes shut to make her go away.
She’s not here.
This isn’t real.
She’s dead. Madison is dead.
There’s movement, then a warm touch on my hand startles me. I inhale a ragged breath, and my eyes shoot open. Baz is there, crouched near my side of the table, watching me with an intent expression on his face. It’s an odd combination of ice and concern mixed into one. As though he cares, but not really.
It’s all a fucking farce.
“Everything okay?”
His voice stirs everything awake inside me. His voice makes everything else completely disappear, including Madison. His voice makes me feel things I shouldn’t be feeling, least of all near him.
I push away from the table, stumbling off the chair as I go. Swiping quickly at the tear on my face, I dash it away even though it’s clear he’s seen it already.
“I think … I-I’m suddenly not feeling that well. I think I need to get go—” I take a shaky step back on my heel as Baz stares up at me, that crease between his brows growing deeper with each passing second. Other than that, his face remains aloof and completely impassive to my meltdown.
Spinning on my heels, I hurry out of the restaurant and push past the people milling around, blocking my escape. My nose burns, and my throat tightens, constricting with my anger and my passive-aggressive emotions. I can feel the heat of his stare at my back, watching me as I flee. Everything around me is spinning, wreaking havoc on my alcohol-fogged mind. I know this has to do with the wine. It happens every time I drink too much. The past resurfaces, threatening to take me down with it. It’s always Madison. She’s always there when I least expect her to be.
Anger rapidly surges through my veins. At Madison. At myself.
We just ruined everything. We’ve fucked everything up. Royally.
Doesn’t she realize she’s screwing things up?
Baz is never going to want to see me again after tonight. He was my only way in with the rest of the guys. He was the only one out of all those heartless bastards who I wanted to prove was innocent. How the fuck am I supposed to do that now?
Back in my room, I slam the door closed and toss my clutch at the wall angrily. It smacks the plaster, bouncing right off, then tumbles onto the floor. I curl my hand into a fist, and like it has a mind of its own, it knocks the lamp off the end table, hitting the floor with a deafening shatter. More tears spring to my eyes as the weight sitting on my chest becomes unbearable.
“You couldn’t just stay away for one fucking second?” I yell, spinning in a circle with my arms splayed out at my sides. “I’m doing this for you! Don’t you get it? You’re ruining everything, Mads!” I scream at her even though I know she can’t hear me.
She never fucking hears me.
I collapse onto the floor and let the tears free. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. My whole life wasn’t supposed to be like this. I shouldn’t still be competing with her. But I am. Every single day, I’m competing with a person who is dead.
It was supposed to be me.
It should’ve been me.
If the roles were reversed, Madison would be thriving right now. She’d be successful, no doubt. Beautiful in her own right with a man like Baz hanging on her every word. She wouldn’t feel the need to compete with a dead person because she would’ve left the past in the past. That’s just how Madison was. She excelled at everything. And here I am, nine miserable years later, with nothing to show for in my life. I have no huge milestones. I have no ring on my finger, no happy family. I don’t have a job I’m in love with. I don’t have anything but my anger, my regret, and my fucking guilt.
Dropping my head into my hands, I pull in a deep breath, trying to get myself together. This is what I hate about me—about my life. There’s this emptiness inside me. A part of me knows it stems from Madison’s death: years of living in her shadow and being neglected. It’s the fact I hate myself and my life so much, not because it’s bad, but because I hate my brain and everything else about myself; it makes it difficult to enjoy the rest, to be normal and forget the past.
I know this isn’t going to do me any good. I’ll never find out what happened to Madison if I keep letting the past resurface. I need to remember what’s important. I need to find a way into their lives, and to do that, I need Baz to trust me. I might look like a complete and total psycho after tonight, but if I can just pull myself together long enough to keep him interested, everything will be fine. He might not want to see me again after tonight, but it’s worth a shot.
Clambering up off the floor, I head into the ensuite bathroom and check out my reflection. The damage isn’t as bad as I thought. I’ll just need to touch up my mascara. Besides that, I don’t look anything like the total wreck I feel on the inside.
I give myself time to settle, to clean myself up, and sober up before I send Baz a text. I wait. Minutes tick by. Those minutes turn into an hour. After two hours of sitting around like a complete idiot, I’m about to give up and call it a night when my phone chimes on the nightstand with a text from Baz.
His reply to the last message I sent brings a smile to my face.
Me: How crazy do you think I am after tonight, on a scale of 1-10?
Baz: Easily 100
I shake my head, biting my bottom lip to hold in the smile.