A few moments later I heard the shower start again. The two of them going into the bathroom, closing the door. Now was my chance. I didn’t care about the risk, that they might catch me. Now nothing mattered as much as getting out of there. I ran like I was running for my life.
Back in my room, back in the apartment, I fell to pieces. I was sobbing so hard I could hardly breathe. The pain was too much; I couldn’t bear it. I thought of all the plans I had made for the two of us. I knew he had felt it too, what had been between us in the park that night. And now he’d broken it. He’d ruined it all.
I took out the paintings I’d made of him and forced myself to look at them. Grief became rage. Fucking bastard. Fucking lying fils de pute. All those horrible, twisted, lying words on his computer. And then he and Maman, the two of them together like that—
I stopped, remembered what I’d seen on his computer. I had called her Maman, but after everything I had read I wasn’t even sure what she was to me now—
No. I couldn’t think about that. I wouldn’t, couldn’t believe it. It was all too painful. I could only focus on my anger: that was pure, uncomplicated. I took out my canvas-cutting knife, the blade so sharp you can cut yourself just by touching it to your thumb. I held it to the first canvas and I sliced through it. All the time I felt like he was watching me with those beautiful eyes, asking what I was doing, so I punched holes through them so I couldn’t see his eyes any longer. And then I ripped into all of them, stabbing through the canvas with the blade, enjoying hearing it tear. I pulled at the fabric with my hands, the canvas rasping as his face, his body, was torn to pieces.
Afterward I was trembling.
I looked at what I’d done, the mess, the violence of it. Knowing that it had come from me. I felt like I had an electric current running through me. A feeling that was kind of like fear, kind of like excitement. But it wasn’t enough.
I knew what I had to do.
Jess
“I have to go,” Irina says. A nervous glance out at the dark, empty street beyond the windows. “We’ve been too long, talking like this.”
I feel bad just letting her wander off into the city on her own. She’s so young, so vulnerable.
“Will you be OK?” I ask her. She gives me a look. It says: I’ve been looking after myself for a very long time, babe. I trust myself to do that better than anyone else. And there’s something proud about her as she walks away, a kind of dignity. The way she holds herself, so upright. A dancer’s posture, I suppose.
I think how Ben promised to take care of her. I could make promises, too. But I don’t know if I can keep them. I don’t want to lie to her. But I make a vow to myself, in this moment, that if I can find a way, I will.
As Theo and I walk toward the Metro I’m reeling, running through everything Irina told us. Do they all know? The whole family? Even “nice guy” Nick? The thought makes me feel nauseous. I think of how he told me that he was “between jobs,” how it clearly didn’t make much odds to him. I suppose it wouldn’t if you don’t need an income, if your lifestyle is being bankrolled by a load of girls selling themselves.
And if the Meunier family knew that Ben had found out the truth about La Petite Mort, what might they have done to prevent a secret like that from getting out?
I turn to Theo. “If Ben’s story had printed the police would have to act, wouldn’t they? It wouldn’t matter if the Meuniers have some high-up contacts. Surely there’d be public pressure to investigate.”
Theo nods, but I sense he’s not really listening. “So he really was onto something, after all,” he mutters quickly, almost to himself. He sounds very different from his usual sardonic, downbeat self. He sounds . . . I try to put my finger on it. Excited? I glance at him.
“It’s going to be a huge scoop,” he says. “It’s big. It’s really big. Especially if establishment figures are involved. It’s like the President’s Club but way, way darker. It’s the sort of thing that wins awards . . .”
I stop dead. “Are you taking the piss?” I can feel anger pulsing through me. “Do you even care about Ben at all?” I stare at him. “You don’t, do you?” Theo opens his mouth to say something but I don’t want to hear another word. “Ugh. You know what? Fuck you.”
I march away from him, as fast as I can in these ridiculous heels. I’m not completely sure where I’m going, and of course my stupid phone ran out of data, but I’ll work it out. Far better than having to spend literally another second in his company.