Chapter 52 warm embrace
The figure was tall and broad. His face was a blur in my drunken vision. “Annabel?” he said. His voice was not Carson's. It was deeper, more of a rumble. The voice was familiar.
“Fred?” I whispered, my voice thick.
“Yeah, it’s me. What are you doing here? I was worried about you.”
His hand was warm on my shoulder, a solid, grounding weight in my spinning world.
“I… I just needed to get away,” I said, my head dropping forward.
The world spun again, the neon lights of the bar swirling into a nauseating kaleidoscope of color.
“From what? From who?” he asked, his voice now laced with a protective anger that was both fierce and comforting.
I looked up at him. I couldn't focus on his face, but I could see the concern in his eyes, a genuine worry that sliced through the alcohol-fueled haze.
“Everything. All of it. Victoria, Carson…” The dam I had been holding back for hours finally broke. I started to cry again.
The tears came easily now, a hot, wet torrent on my face, mingling with the sting of the whiskey and the cold sweat on my skin.
The sobs were uncontrollable, ragged gasps that shook my entire body. It was a release of all the pain, the humiliation, the profound loneliness I had felt in that mansion.
Fred sighed, a deep, weary sound. “Annabel, you shouldn't be here alone. Not like this.”
He took the glass from my hand, his fingers firm and gentle, and placed it on the bar.
He pulled me gently from the bar stool, but I was unsteady on my feet, my legs feeling like they were made of cotton. I swayed, and he had to hold me up, his arm a strong anchor.
“I’m not alone anymore,” I mumbled into his shirt, the fabric rough against my cheek, smelling of laundry detergent and his subtle, comforting scent.
He put his arm around me, his hand resting on my back, a silent promise of support.
“Let’s get you out of here. You’ve had enough.”
I nodded, my head too heavy to argue. I was too tired, too emotionally drained to resist. He led me out of the bar, into the cool night air.
The cold helped clear my head a little, cutting through the fog of alcohol. I leaned against him, grateful for his presence, for his quiet strength.
He was a safe harbor in a storm I hadn't even realized I was in until that moment.
“I called you. After you hung up. You didn't answer.” Fred said as we walked down the street, the distant sounds of the city a low, constant hum.
“I know. I’m sorry. I just… I couldn’t.” The words were difficult to form, my tongue feeling thick and slow.
“I figured,” he said softly, his voice full of understanding. “That’s why I came looking for you.”
I looked up at him again, the streetlights illuminating the worry in his eyes.
“How did you find me?”
He shrugged, a casual gesture that belied the effort he had made. “I called a few of the people you know. Your old roommate. They said you liked to go to this part of town when you were stressed. It was a guess. A lucky one.”
I laughed, a weak, hoarse sound. “A lucky guess.”
We were silent for a moment, walking side by side. The only sounds were our footsteps on the pavement and the distant city noises.
He was a solid presence beside me, a physical manifestation of a friendship I had long neglected in my new, suffocating life.
“What happened, Annabel?” Fred’s voice was low and serious, cutting through the silence.
I took a deep breath. I could still feel the stinging on my cheek, a phantom burn that was as real as the bruise itself.
The memory was sharp, even through the haze of alcohol. I recounted the events, the words spilling out in a rush, a release of a story I had been holding in for hours.
“She slapped me,” I said. The words hung in the air, heavy and full of shame.
Fred stopped walking. He turned me to face him, his eyes searching mine. He took my face in his hands, his touch so gentle, so respectful.
He felt the faint bruise on my cheek. I winced slightly as he brushed his thumb over the spot, the simple touch feeling like a profound act of compassion.
“Did he see this?” Fred asked, his voice now a low growl, a sound I had only ever heard from him when he was truly angry.
I shook my head, tears welling up again. “No. He wasn’t there.”
“Then what did he do?” The anger in his voice was palpable, a stark contrast to Carson's passive silence.
“He came back to the room. He told me he was sorry. Then he just… he left. He just walked away.”
The words were a bitter pill to swallow, the reality of it hitting me all over again.
Fred’s face hardened, his jaw tight. He dropped his hands from my face. His fists were clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. “He just left?”
“He had a meeting. He said he would be back.” The excuse sounded so flimsy, so ridiculous, even to my drunk ears.
“A meeting? A meeting was more important than you?” His voice was full of disbelief and outrage.
I shrugged, a helpless, exhausted gesture. “I don’t know, Fred. I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
Fred sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration a physical thing. He looked at me, and his face softened, the anger in his eyes replaced by a deep, heartbreaking sadness.
“Come on,” he said, his voice gentle again. “Let’s get you out of here. I’m taking you home.”
A fresh wave of panic washed over me. “I don’t want to go back there.”
“I’m not taking you back there. I’m taking you to my place. You can stay with me. Just for tonight. You need to be safe.”
I didn’t argue. I was too tired. I just wanted to be somewhere safe. I just wanted to be with someone who cared.
Fred hailed a cab. He gave the driver his address.
He sat next to me in the back. He put his arm around me, and I leaned my head on his shoulder, the world finally slowing down to a manageable pace.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely a sound.
“You don’t have to thank me. I would do anything for you, Annabel. You know that.”
I didn’t say anything. I just closed my eyes, the words a balm on my wounded heart. The cab moved through the city.
The lights of the buildings blurred into streaks of color, a beautiful, abstract painting. I felt a little safer. A little less alone. I knew I had a friend in Fred.
A true friend. Someone who would stand by me. Unlike Carson.
I didn’t know what would happen next. I didn’t know what I would do.