Feels Like Falling, page 6
After walking around for five minutes, I took a deep breath and made my way back to the room.
My teeth were chattering as if it were zero degrees outside, I was that nervous. I gripped my cell phone in my left hand and my car keys in the other. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do if something happened, but at least I had my car keys and my phone ready to go. I stopped outside of the room and peered in. The curtains were drawn and I realized that I couldn’t see anything. So that definitely ruled out my stalker being outside of the hotel room when the photos were taken.
Somehow, someway, the photos had been taken from inside the room. Shit. I wish I’d brought the photos with me so I could look at the angle that the photos were taken from. I tried to think. It had looked like it was from the side, but which side? I knocked on the door gently and took a deep breath. What would I do if Jackson was there?
The door opened slowly.
“Hi, it’s me,” I said before I could see who was behind the door.
“Hello? Can I help you?” It was the housekeeper. She had a slight Spanish accent.
“Oh, I was hoping to see the guy that was staying in this room.”
“No guys staying in this room.” She shook her head. “Room empty.”
“Oh, I guess he checked out.”
“No one checked out. Room been empty for weeks.” She nodded. “No one stay here.”
“Okay.” I chewed on my lower lip. “What about the room next door?” I nodded to the left. That was the room that Jackson had said my stalker was staying in.
“No one in that room.” She shook her head. “That’s not even room. That storage. We keep towel, sheets, pillows in there.”
“So no one stays in that room?” This didn’t make sense.
“No one stays room.”
“Is it possible for me to have a quick look in this hotel room?” I gave her a small smile as I gestured at the room she was standing in. “I think I might’ve left something here when I was here recently.”
“This room not been rented. Not been rented for a long time.” She shook her head, looking nervous. “Sorry. No, you can’t come in room.”
“If I rent the room, can I come in?”
“You can go to the front desk and you can rent a room, but you will not get this room. We don’t rent it.”
Well, that wasn’t helpful. “Okay.” I shrugged and walked away.
I had only gone a few steps when suddenly it struck me that I’d caught her in a lie, a very blatant lie that I could call her out on. If no one had stayed in that room recently, why would she be in there changing the sheets?
I hurried back to the door and knocked. She didn’t answer. I stood there again and continued knocking. “Hey, I just had another question for you, please!” I shouted out and knocked again.
A few moments later, the door opened. She looked nervous. “Yes. Can I help you?”
“So you said no one stayed in this room for weeks?”
“Da, must be over four months. No one stay here for long time.”
“Then why are you changing the sheets in the room?” I raised an eyebrow. “Just curious.”
“What?” Her face went pale as she realized her mistake. I looked past her and I saw the cart behind her stacked with towels and sheets.
“You’re changing the sheets in the room, and you’re changing the towels. Why would you be doing that if no one was staying here?”
She slammed the door in my face.
Okay, so she was obviously lying, which I’d known before, but why would she lie? What did it matter if someone had been staying in this room or not?
I walked back to my car and thought about what to do next. I had no clue.
My phone beeped then and I looked down and I saw a text message from James. Hey there, Chica. Lunch was amazing, but not as amazing as you. Send me a naked selfie tonight. XO, XO.
I deleted the text message without responding. Did he really think I was going to send him a naked selfie? Jackass. Before I could put the phone down another text came through. Make sure to get a close-up of that tight pussy of yours, it read.
I shook my head again. Really? Was he so nasty and disgusting that he thought this was acceptable? Or was this some sort of test? Was he trying to figure out if I was a freak or a whore or a slut or what?
The phone beeped again, Also I’m a big tit guy. So if you could send me a photo of you squeezing your nipples, I would love it. XO, XO.
Pervert.
I responded quickly, not able to stop myself this time. I’m not sending you jack shit, James. You’re a nasty pervert and I’m starting to understand why you would agree to an arrangement like this. No woman would ever marry you of her own volition. Send.
I shook my head as I looked at the message I just sent. It was rude, but it was true. And I didn’t owe him any politeness, not after the texts he sent.
So is that a yes or a no? His reply came quickly with a smiley face. Did he think this was some sort of fucking joke? I was about to text him back again when I looked up and I noticed that the maid who had been in the room was pushing her cart past my car. I jumped out of the car quickly and ran over to her. “Hi, excuse me.” The lady looked at me with fear in her eyes.
“I can’t talk now. I can’t talk now. Sorry.”
“I just want to ask about the room. I just—”
“If you have questions you ask the front desk. I’m just maid. I don’t know anything. Okay? I’m just maid.”
“Okay. Are you … Russian?” I asked suspiciously.
“Da, What of it?”
“You had a different accent when you opened the door initially. It sounded Spanish, but now you sound Russian.”
She looked even more scared than before. And that’s when I noticed the front of her hair. She had dark hair, but her roots were blonde.
“I cannot talk to you. Okay?”
“Look, I was in that hotel room a couple of nights ago with my...” I paused, “...boyfriend.” She didn’t have to know that was a lie. “And, well I left something there, and I wanted to get it.”
“Your boyfriend?” Her eyes widened. “Is your boyfriend that stays in that room, da?”
“You know him? You know the man that stays in the room?”
She paused for a few seconds. I could tell that she was thinking hard. “I cannot talk. I’m sorry. I cannot talk.”
“Do you know Jackson?” I said softly. “Please. This is really, really important to me. Really important.”
“Jackson?” she laughed and shook his head. “Jackson is not his name.”
“Are we talking about the same guy? He’s tall, has dark hair, dark eyes, very handsome.”
“Da.” She nodded her head and looked around. So she was definitely Russian. “He’s man.” She bit her lip and leaned forward. “Do not see him again. I think you nice lady. And maybe you get mixed up in something you shouldn’t. Do not see him. He’s man. I cannot say anything else. Please leave. Leave now.”
“What’s his real name, please?” I ran my hands through my hair. What the fuck was going on here? Why would Jackson lie about his name?
“I cannot tell you his name. Please. I already said too much. I not want to get into trouble.”
“I can protect you,” I said, even though I had no fucking idea how I could protect her, I couldn’t even fucking stop myself from getting engaged to a pervert, let alone protect this Russian woman who was pretending to be Latina.
“You cannot protect me.” She shook her head. “Just leave. I think you most probably cannot protect yourself, either.”
“Please just tell me his name. I know he stays in that room. I’ve been here more than once. Please.”
“His name is Alexi. He goes by Alex sometimes.”
“Alexei?” I paused. “He’s Russian as well?”
“I not say anymore. I go.”
She hurried away from me and I let her go. I knew she wasn’t going to give me any more information. So Mr. X had told me his name was Jackson, yet if this lady was to be believed, his real name was Alexi. And he went by Alex. Why had he lied to me?
It didn’t add up. How had he known my name? Who was sending the photographs? How had I gotten myself into this situation? I felt like I was in some sort of daytime soap opera, but it was too crazy for even a daytime soap.
I headed back to my car, pulled off my beret, and grabbed my phone again. I typed “Alexi Jackson” into Google just to see if anything would pop up. Of course, it didn’t. Then I typed in “Alex Jackson,” and a million results popped up. I then added “Russian,” but that didn’t help. I looked through the images that popped up, but none of them were of him.
I didn’t know what to do. I was completely and utterly out of my depth and out of my league. I had no idea what was going on in my life, and I had no one to go to—
But that wasn’t quite true. I did have one person. I had the guy in the bar, the friend/acquaintance I told you about. The guy that had arranged to get Joey beaten up. I hadn’t seen him since everything had gone down, but I could always go back to that bar. I could see if he was there. I could see if he could help me get information. It was worth a try.
I sighed. I was getting myself deeper and deeper into a hole that I had no business getting into. Maybe I should just walk away. Maybe I should just go with the flow. I could text James dirty pictures of myself, marry him, and live the life that my father wanted me to live. I could close my eyes and pretend it was someone else fucking me. It would be easy to just go along with it. I’d be miserable, of course. It wasn’t the life I wanted. But how many people really got the life that they wanted? How people really found true love? Not many. If I was honest with myself, I couldn’t think of one friend who was in a happy relationship. I couldn’t think of one friend who was in a marriage that I myself would want to be in. Humans are fallible. Most marriages sucked, relationships were complicated and hurtful and tricky and painful and full of angst. Maybe there was not a happily ever after for anyone. Maybe I shouldn’t hold out for that. it would be so easy to just give up and accept my life and just forget about Jackson.
But I couldn’t. I was finally coming out of my cocoon. I wasn’t going to spend the next 30 years of my life the way I’d spent the first 30. I wasn’t going to be someone who went along with the plan, lived in some sort of veiled world where I ignored everything that didn’t fit in the way it was supposed to. I wanted to be happy, really and truly happy. I didn’t know if Jackson was the guy who would make me happy, but I needed to get to the root of everything. I needed to figure out who Jackson was. He knew who I was, and I needed to know him.
It struck me that it was because of him that I was starting to become more independent, more confident, more seeking of the truth and answers. It was because of him that I was living the life that I should have been living since I was a teenager and had my own mind. I was actually figuring out who I really was and what I really liked, what I really wanted
Ironic that it came from a stranger, a man who fucked me as if I was a ragdoll. Ironic that I loved it more than anything in the world. Ironic that those dark eyes looked into my soul and offered me no answers. It didn’t matter. I was going to get to the bottom of everything, no matter the cost. I deserved it.
So tonight I’d go to the bar and I’d pay a visit to my friend Patrick, and I’d start my journey to the truth.
Chapter 12
I suppose I’m a bit of an enigma. On the one hand, I’m crazy and sexy and sensual, doing things with a stranger that no one in their right mind would do. On the other hand, I’m meek and mild and subservient to my father and his wishes.
I suppose you’re wondering how can one person be two such different people, but we’re all complex. You are too, whether or not you want to admit it yourself. I’m sure there are things you’ve done that you wouldn’t normally want to do. I’m sure there were times when you kept your mouth shut when you really wanted to speak out. It’s just the way that life goes. It’s the hierarchy of the food chain. It’s what it means to be a woman.
Let’s be real. It’s easy to be judgmental. It’s easy for you to think that I’m weak and I’m stupid. And maybe I’m a bit of a mess, but what would you do if you were in my position? What would you do if you’d been coddled since childhood? If you had everything provided to you? I didn’t ask for that. Yes, I was lucky. My father was a rich man, and a powerful one. And when I was young, I benefitted from that without really understanding what it meant. I didn’t hate my life at that point. If I hated it, maybe I would have done something else.
It was only when Joey broke my heart and everything that followed that I realized that I was just a pawn in a game of chess and that I had no real meaning. That my life had no real meaning. It’s funny how pain can wake you up to a reality that you never would have known existed before it, even though it was lying there, dormant, your whole life.
So yeah, I’m an enigma. But that doesn’t mean that it’s too late for me to start fighting.
I decided I was going to go to the bar looking sexy as fuck. Because if you’re a woman, the best way to get information from a man is to flirt and look hot. You don’t have to have sex with him, though you might have to let him think you will. You might have to be overly flirtatious, show a little skin. And if he’s straight and hoping to get some, you’ll get the information that you need if he has it because he’ll be thinking with his cock and not his brain.
At least, that was my plan.
I stared at my reflection. Objectively, I know that I looked sexy. I had on the shortest black dress I owned. It barely reached past my ass. If I bent over, my ass would be seen. I wasn’t even sure why I owned it because I wasn’t the sort of person to wear revealing outfits. It just wasn’t in my nature. When you’re the daughter of a senator, you don’t go around looking like a hoochie, at least not on purpose and not in public.
I looked at my watch; 10 p.m. It was a good time to get to the bar. He’d be there. At least I hoped he’d be there. I just needed to get out of the house without my mother and my father knowing. You would think it would be easy, but it never was.
You’d think I’d be used to the stress of sneaking out, but I wasn’t. On the nights that I went to go and see Jackson in the hotel room.
And we’re still going to call him Jackson … because if his name is Alexei, that says that he’s been lying about so much more to me.
Even though maybe technically I can’t classify it as lying. Can anything I find out about him really and truly be a lie if he never revealed any information to me in the first place?
I had been going by my gut instinct this whole time. I’d always said to myself that the one person I could trust was Jackson. But what if I was wrong? What if the one person I couldn’t trust was Jackson? What if it had been a set-up all along?
I shivered as I brushed my hair one last time. It kind of freaked me out to think I had been sleeping with the enemy. Though wasn’t that how it always usually worked?
I grabbed my handbag and my lipstick and made my way to the hallway.
My parents’ room, thankfully, was down the hall past the stairs. So as long as I made it to the stairs without them coming out of their room, it was highly unlikely that they would know I’d left. And it was late enough at night. No one came to check on me this late. At least if they did, I didn’t know about it. My mom would most probably know I snuck out because obviously she knew I’d been sneaking out, but I didn’t care. She didn’t have the power over me that my father did. I made my way down the hallway, walking timidly, my heels in my hand. I couldn’t afford for the click-clack of my heels against the wooden floor to alert anyone to the fact that I was leaving.
As I reached the top of the stairway, I took a deep breath. There were a couple of stairs that creaked thanks to my house being somewhat old, and I just had to avoid them. Fortunately, I’d lived in this house almost all my life, aside from when I’d gone to college and gotten my own apartment. I was pretty sure I knew where all the creaky stairs lay. I’d snuck out many times as a teenager.
Don’t tell me you’re shocked. Did you think just because I didn’t have many friends, I wasn’t a totally crazy girl? I was a teenager that had a lot of fun. You don’t have to have great friends to get in trouble. You just have to know guys. And while I don’t like to toot my own horn or anything, I’m considered to be pretty beautiful.
I guess you don’t really know what I look like, and that’s a shame, but at least you can’t judge me on my looks. I’m about average height, five-seven. Long dark hair. Light brown eyes that some say are hazel. I don’t think so, though. Some people think I look like Cindy Crawford, though I don’t really think that’s true. She’s much more beautiful than me.
But you get the picture. I’m a girl—or rather, a woman now—who can skate by on her looks, who can flirt and get men to do what they want, just because of the way that I look. I didn’t want to lead with that information because I didn’t want you to think I was that sort of woman. I didn’t want you to judge me on the fact that I was beautiful. But the fact is I am. The fact is many men want me, but I want my life to be about more than that. I want my own self-worth to be about more than that.
I crept down the stairs and thankfully I made it to the bottom without any of them creaking. It looked like luck was on my side tonight. I walked down the hallway and was about to grab my keys from the foyer table when I heard a noise behind me. I froze. Why me, God? Why?
“Ms. Rosie, is that you?”
I turned around and I saw Esmeralda standing there, a towel in her hands. She had a surprised look on her face as if she knew what I was doing was bad and she wished she hadn’t caught me.
