Chapter 61 Anchor
Fred turned the ignition key. With a steady low purr that filled the night's silence the engine roared to life. He shifted into reverse and backed out of the long immaculate driveway slowly.
In his rearview mirror, the mansion, a symbol of riches and authority, grew smaller. With the streetlights fading into specks of light, he turned left onto the main road.
Even though the city was asleep, his mind was racing with ideas and feelings. He made an effort to concentrate on the road, the well-known curves and the deserted streets. However, his mind kept returning to her.
He remembered her standing in front of the car, her face lit by the porch light, a look of resolve replacing the tears. He remembered her in Carson's arms, her head resting on his chest and her hands encircling his waist.
There was a tiny unwanted stab of jealousy that he felt. Deep inside, he pushed it down and stored everything he didn't want to feel. He had to be her friend. Just that.
The silence in the car was deafening as he continued driving. The radio didn't work. He didn't want to listen to music. To escape his emotions, he simply wanted to drive as far away from that place as he could.
He recollected how she felt in his arms, sobbing and trembling. The position of her head on his shoulder was ideal. He had wished to be her anchor, her defender and her forever companion. She did have an anchor though.
And it wasn't him.
He reached his apartment. Except for the lone streetlight at the corner, the street was pitch-black. After parking he sat for a while with his hands on the steering wheel.
He was reluctant to enter because he felt afraid. The flat would be too deserted and too quiet. He would be alone with his thoughts. The sound of his sigh weighed heavily on the quiet night air.
When the car door finally opened, he stepped outside into the cool night air that was stinging his skin. He echoed his footsteps in the silent hallway as he made his way to his apartment.
He pushed the door open after unlocking it. The apartment was tidy, uncomplicated and vacant exactly as he had left it. He poured himself a glass of whiskey after making his way to the kitchen.
His personal turmoil was reflected in the amber liquid swirling in the glass. With the fiery liquid burning a trail down his throat he took a long slow sip.
Walking to the living room, he sank into his couch's plush cushions. The blank TV screen he gazed at was a reflection of his own thoughts. The images flooded back to him as he closed his eyes.
While he had a day beside her earlier, he had watched her talking with a smile on her face. He recalled her laugh which was a soft melodic sound that always made him feel a little better. He recalled the day she had revealed Carson's actions to him, her voice shaking and her eyes wide with agony.
He had desired to confront Carson and demand answers as well as to beat him until he realized how much he had hurt her.
He had been a friend though. Friends don't act in that manner. He recalled what he had discussed with Carson only hours before.
Outside he was pacing and appeared to be lost.
“Fred, I have to see her. I'm no longer able to do this. I'm going crazy. I just want to see her please.” Carson's voice sounded desperate and ragged.
“You can't.” Fred had stated in a steady calm voice. “Not just yet. She's not ready yet.”
“But I am. I must give an explanation. I want her to understand.”
“What will you say, Carson? You're sorry? You made a mistake? Do you really think that's enough? You let her go man. You allowed the threats from your mother to control your life.” Fred said.
Carson had gazed at him, a look of unadulterated pain in his eyes. “Fred, you don't get it. You don't know anything, you don't know my mom. She was going to take everything away from me. Not just Annabel but me as well. I wanted to keep her safe.”
Fred shook his head. “Not at all. You made an effort to defend yourself. You feared forfeiting your inheritance. Your mother was the source of your fear. Running away isn't the point of love, Carson. The point is to fight. It all comes down to putting your loved one first. You will defend her if you genuinely love her. Be it with your heart or your fists. She will be the one you pick each and every day.”
Carson had bowed his head and listened. His voice was hardly audible above a whisper as he asked “What do I do?”
“Since she wouldn't pick your calls, how about you write her a letter? Share with her all that you just told me. Tell her the truth. Admit to her that you were a complete moron. Then you return when you're prepared to be a man.”
The memory faded and he opened his eyes. He sipped his whiskey once more. He had given her an opportunity to be happy .
They had a chance because of him. He had truly been a friend. He had made the right choice.
But what caused the intense pain? Shutting his eyes once more he remembered her standing in the living room, her hair neatly combed and her face free of tears.
She had changed into a classy, understated dress. She had an attractive appearance. She had the strength.
He was extremely pleased with her. Until she gained the strength to stand by herself he will hold her. And she was gone now. She had returned to her beloved partner.
He felt the dull throb of a love that would never be the familiar ache in his chest. He was in love with her. There was nothing he loved more than her. She did not however return his love. Not that manner.
She only liked him as a friend. He could only ever be that. He must have been pleased for her. Surely he was. As the cool air filled his lungs, he inhaled deeply.
He had been an anchor. A ship can't sail with an anchor but it keeps it steady. It must remain behind. He was her rock, her loyal companion and the one she could always rely on.
And that was enough. It must have been. Warmth spread through his chest as he drained the last of his whiskey.
With a gentle thud, he placed the glass on the table. He would be able to cope. He would manage to be alright somehow. He would serve as her confidant, friend and haven.
He would be everything she needed him to be, except for the one thing he desired to be