THE PRICE OF REDEMPTION
Prologue
Fear.
Despair.
Regret.
He found himself drowning in them, one after the other in a matter of seconds. From the moment that frail little body hit the bumper of his speeding car, to the heart stopping thud that signaled it has fallen back down against the asphalt road, and finally to the ear splitting screech the tires made as they grated against the pavement when he stepped on the brakes.
Fear.
Despair.
Regret.
It was like being plunged into icy waters over and over again, the cold stabbing his skin like a thousand tiny knives and seeping into his bones. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.
Fear.
Despair.
Regret.
The events following that were a blur, like a painter’s palette left in the rain, all the colors running together to form one swirling mass of confusion. Nothing was clear. Everything was just a colorful mess of days and nights blending into each other, not sure when one ended and the other began.
Fear.
Despair.
Regret.
The first one made him stop breathing, his heart gripped by an invisible iron hand. The second one pierced his eyes with unshed tears and left his mouth dry. The last one was the reason he was here, in a calm, relaxing place where he was supposed to face his demons.
He didn’t know if he was ready to do it, if he had the guts to. But the one thing he knew, the only thing he was sure of, was that he wanted the nightmare to stop. He wanted fear, despair and regret to leave him alone.
***
Hate.
It consumed her every breath. Like oxygen it travels in her veins, fuels her blood, pumps life into her body. She lived it. It owned her.
Hate.
It saved her from an otherwise monotonous existence. The presence of hate doesn’t prove the absence of love. It’s the same life engulfing feeling. Intense. Deep. Disturbing.
Hate.
She relished it, welcomed it at night when she lay on this narrow bed unable to sleep. She lets it fill her to the core, waiting for it to overflow like hot lava from a volcano’s mouth, exploding, dribbling down the sides, flooding and burning everything in sight. Burning her. Burning only her.
Hate.
It’s never ending, a bottomless pit, a black hole sucking the light and joy and love out of everything and anything and she lets it.
Hate.
She can’t wait until she finally lets it go. She wonders what would happen when she does. Will she be an empty hollow shell, breathing but lifeless? Or will she really be free? She wonders if she wants hate to leave her alone.
Chapter One
Shadows of the Mind
Anonymity. That’s what they promised him. But with a face like his, how can he possibly be anonymous? He had been on the cover of major magazines for years and more recently the trashy tabloids plastered his mug on their front pages to sell a thousand copies or so. Remaining a nobody in a place like this will be nothing short of a miracle.
He paused to wrap his brain around the predicament he was in. Over the years he has worn so many masks, played so many roles, how come he was hesitant to play one more? Bartender, musician, Idol, rock star, celebrity… and now addict. It felt like a natural progression of things. That’s the way the cookie the crumbles. That would be the headlines pretty soon. If he cared about the headlines, but he had stopped caring months ago.
The mess of colors left him muddled, numb and alone. He couldn’t feel, taste, hear, smell and see anything except her. Her long blond hair streaked with the dark red liquid oozing out of her head. Her lids closed over the blue eyes he longed to get lost in. The smell of her sweet perfume drowning in the pungent smell of blood.
Nothing made sense. He’s been swimming in memories and regret, what if’s and could have been’s. He thought breathing in fresh air after being underwater for so long would make him feel better but oxygen dug its sharp talons into his lungs, raking them raw until each breath he took hurt so much that he longed to be underwater again.
Too bad. He couldn’t take it back. He couldn’t turn around and go home. It was too late.
***
Drowning. The warm water embraced her naked body and pulled her under. Her knees growing weaker, her arms heavier by the second. Her entire body felt like a massive rock dropped in the middle of the ocean, never to see the light of day again.
She welcomed the peace. This is how a baby feels like, in the womb of its mother, swathed in protection, engulfed by love. She had longed for peace like this but it had often been taken away.
Like now.
Her body was being pulled up, away from the comforting warmth of the water, from the shelter she enjoyed. She trashed her legs, kicking, pushing. Why can’t they leave her alone?
Then she was out, exposed, vulnerable. Every inch of body recoiled in shame as life was breathed into her.
Her eyes opened and she found herself drenched in cold sweat. It was a dream. Her dream that turned into a nightmare. Why didn’t they let her die? How hard could it be to just let her die?
Chapter Two
Bitter and Tainted
The detoxification left his body weak. He welcomed the tremors that racked his body as it craved the drugs he had fed it for months. Tears ran down his cheeks uncontrollably as he sobbed, limbs shaking from the cold that seemed to live within his bones. His fingernails had dug into his skin, scratching, fervently trying to peel it off until his arms and legs were throbbing with a dull ache.
By the third day, he was sure he had gone insane. It wasn’t just the pain. His body felt starved, defeated, numb. He lay on the bed, motionless, breathing sharply, staring at the ceiling. He would wake up soaked to the skin with perspiration.
One morning, he opened his eyes and was blinded by sunlight. He covered his face with both hands before realizing for the first time since he was kept in this room, he noticed the sunlight. He must be getting better. The numbness was wearing off, his senses were alert as if he had woken up from a deep and long slumber.
He was consumed with a feeling that he immediately recognized as hunger. A smile of relief and pride crossed his lips. It wasn’t a hunger for drugs.
***
What a delicate flower, the breeze tickling its petals under the afternoon sky. She watched it, appreciating the graceful movement of nature’s recital. The afternoon was balmy, the air heavy with the scent of lavender and lemony winter savory.
She closed her eyes for a brief second before opening them and looking down at the book she was attempting to read. The words jumbled in a preposterous manner and her eyes ached trying to make sense of them. Giving up, she closed the book and her heavy legs carried her away from the lovely veranda and back into the library.
She smiled at the petite woman in charge of the library as she returned the book. “Nora Roberts is not doing it for me today, I’m afraid.”
The woman nodded, taking the book from her hands and signing the card at the back of it. “What are you in the mood for?”
Involuntarily, her eyes flew to the lone chair beside one of the bay windows where she found the man, his face taut with solemnity, silently reading a book. He was occupying the same seat, reading the same book for three days now. She stared, rather openly and rudely, grateful for the distance lest the man notices her.
She cleared her throat. “I think that’s all for today. I have my therapy session in half an hour, anyway. Thank you, Aimee.”
The kitten heels of her shoes left soft tapping sounds as she left the library in haste, afraid to be caught staring at the intriguing man.
***
A low profile was what he wanted. He kept mostly to himself, staying in his room or in the library during the free time he was given between therapy sessions and meals. It wasn’t because he didn’t want people to judge him. He just didn’t like socializing. The less contact he had with people, the better.
For years he had built a wall around himself, protecting him from the public, the paparazzi, the fans. He thought by building that wall he was preserving his true self. Then he met Autumn, with her hair that reminded him of delicately spun gold, eyes that seemed like deep pools of fiery blue skies and a smile that could break the coldest of hearts, his. Inch by inch, the walls came down. Slowly he found himself opening up, being vulnerable and falling desperately in love.
She was a drug and soon he was addicted to her. Later, he was addicted to so much more. She was the reason he was here. He was the reason she isn’t.
A low profile was what he wanted. So he can heal the wounds he had caused, so he can build the walls up again, make them stronger than before so no one could ever tear it down. Not even love.
Chapter Three
Cling and Clatter
It was a well deserved reward and she savored every millisecond, each time her fingers sliced through the surface of the water, each glorious kick of her legs, the feel of the water on her skin. It was fantastic.
Every day she would sit by the pool, always ten feet away from it as required by her therapist. She watched the water as it beckoned her to come near, the sunlight bouncing off the surface like glittering diamonds seducing her. She stayed away as directed. But her heart longed for the water, after all her father always said she swam before she even took a step.
As a child she had fantasies that she was born a mermaid but her real parents were cast away from the underwater kingdom and exiled to live on land. She always felt at home in the water. She wanted to die in the water, too.
Hence the punishment. No swimming allowed until her therapist said so and after weeks of watching, of thirsting for water it finally happened. She was finally allowed.
The guard watched her with narrow eyes, making sure she was safe and moving as she swam the entire length of the pool. Above the water there were people everywhere, making conversations, laughing, enjoying the sun, playing but once she was underwater there was silence, peace. Oh the sweet taste of peace! How she longed for it, dreamed about it, consumed by it. She hated that she was still searching for it when months ago she could have ended everything and had peace for eternity.
But she would not dwell in that, not anymore. She was getting better, said her therapist with his coal black eyes and receding hairline. The only way she could have slivers of peace handed to her was if she got better.
Better… better would be death. But she can take it one step at a time.
She heard the guard said her time was up and before she was dragged out of the water, she swam to the edge and pulled herself out, the sun warming her skin and the breeze cooling it off at the same time.
***
His mouth went dry. He had been staring at a distance, the din of mundane life surrounding him, buzzing under his radar. He was instructed to stay outdoors, to “enjoy the sun” and he did. He wore a hat and dark glasses and sat on the farthest end of the complex where he would not be noticed.
Out of nowhere a figure came out of the silvery water of the pool. It was a woman. She swung her head, caught the dripping length of her black hair and squeezed it with both hands. She sluiced water off her body in long fluid motions with her hands before she bent forward to grab the towel lying conveniently by her feet. She dabbed it on her chest, the pale yellow fabric darkening as it soaked the moisture off her skin. The towel kissed the length of her thighs down to her calves, whispering against them softly before it embraced her waist and covered them, protecting them from his gaze.
The sounds around him were silenced and he could hear his nerves buzzing. It took a long time for him to realize what it was and the realization hit him with the subtlety of a ten wheeler truck. He was attracted to someone else. He wanted to revel in the feeling, the racing of his heart, the sweat forming in his palms and the sudden parched feeling in his mouth. But he didn't.
The second he realized it, he pushed the feeling deep down. There was no way he was letting the ugly monster rear its head once again. The only way to control it was not to tempt it. As much as he would love to get to know that leggy brunette, he knew he had to avoid her. She was nothing but bad news.
Just like Autumn was. The best god damned bad news he ever had.
Chapter Four
Red Handed
“Are you ready to tell us your story?”
He sat there, feeling their eyes boring into him, penetrating into his soul. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to it. For years he felt like he was under a microscope, everything he did was magnified a thousand times.
When he was shoved into the limelight by the show, he was grateful. After years of wearing the struggling musician’s cap, of sleeping on friend’s couches, selling his CDs after a show, asking his mom for gas money, bumming a ride from one gig to the next, he was finally living his dream. He wanted to do it right. He owed it to a lot of people. To the 10,000 who just like him got in line and auditioned. To the 17-year-old kid he had admired who had to take second place to him. To the people who voted for him so many times it was ridiculous to even think about it.
He owed it to his mom for having his back, supporting him and understanding that he needed to follow his dreams before getting a “real” job.
He owed it to his dad for giving him his first guitar.
He owed it to his big brother who, thanks to the tumor growing in his head, didn’t have the semi-charmed life he was given.
He owed it to his little brother whose dreams gave way to the realization of his own.
He owed it to them to do it right. And he did. He worked hard, poured himself into the music he created. He worked long hours and loved every minute of it. He wore his heart on his sleeve and it was easy for people to see it, touch it, love it. But fame is a double edged sword. Some people took it and trampled on it.
He got burned by trusting the wrong people but he fought on. He had worked too hard to let anyone take this away from him. And so he built the walls, protected himself from any and all forms of betrayal. Little did he know that the worst betrayal he would face would be one that he had created.
It all started one night.
It was a party by one of those record producers at one of those mansions tucked in the hills of Hollywood. He was bored, mingling, drinking champagne, making superfluous conversations with people who he was pretty sure would get in line to stab him in the back. The business taught him that. There will always be people who would love to see you go down in flames. He made sure he was going down swinging.
Suddenly feeling claustrophobic, the fumes of cigarettes and God knows what else clinging to his skin, sticking into his hair, seeping into his clothes made him yearn for fresh air so bad that his lungs burned. He saw an escape, the magnificent apparition of double glass doors that led to a terrace. Striding towards it purposefully, he waved off another bimbo starlet giving him a free view of her ample breasts struggling against the flimsy material of her low cut top.
The first breath of air was rushed but relished nonetheless. He inhaled the second one slowly like oxygen was a luxury he couldn’t afford. He looked out into the hills of Hollywood, somewhere his own mansion hid, the tall juniper trees protecting it from the invasive glare of every paparazzo’s camera. Silently he longed to be back home, writing music, his fingers running over the ivory keys of the baby grand he had recently acquired. The melody that haunted him since that morning was stuck in his head and he played it over and over, memorizing it, mesmerized by how simple yet ethereal it sounded, still amazed after all these years by how music could affect him, touch him in ways he never thought possible.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of breaking glass. He turned to where the sound came from and it was from the den that also opened onto the terrace. He watched as the curvy figure of a woman with curls of blonde hair piled on top of her head, the silver fabric of her dress clung to her like second skin, showing off the small of her back and the flare of her hips stumbled in, a delicate hand covering her mouth as she stared at the broken vase scattered around her feet. She wasn’t alone. A pair of arms snaked their way across her back, pulling her close to their owner.
As he watched the couple in silence something inside him moved, yearned. He took a step forward before he stopped himself short. He mustn’t be seen.
They kissed passionately until the man shoved her roughly on top of the office table where David could see them clearly. He knew it was wrong, simply voyeuristic but he was nailed to the ground. Something told him to stay, to watch. He wanted to see her face. His mouth went dry as he was involuntarily aroused by the two bodies moving against and with each other.
The woman tilted her head back as the man kissed her neck, leaving a trail of bright red marks against her pale skin. He could see a part of her face now, her mouth was open slightly, the tip of her tongue caressing her lower lip. Without wanting to, he took another step forward which made her open her eyes.
“Oh fuck!” he saw her mouth, as she pushed against the man. The man looked down on her to ask what was happening. He could clearly read her lips as she exclaimed, “Someone’s watching us!”
David Cook was caught and he couldn't move for he thought he'd seen an angel. That is, if angels cursed.
Chapter Five
Slow Burn
The man turned around and his eyes narrowed to tiny slits when he saw David standing there, dumbstruck. He flipped him off angrily and grabbed the woman’s hand abruptly, all but dragging her out of the room.
David stared after them, her face still etched into his mind’s eye. The wide eyes made alluring by her long thick eyelashes, the straight nose with nostrils that flared slightly when she was consumed by desire and of course her delicious-looking mouth with the corners tugged upward for the secret smile she had for him. He shook his head gently to awake from the surreal dream he was trapped in only to find the den empty.
His heart thumped against his chest. He had to find her. He felt compelled to. Walking back into the party, he was engulfed in smoke and extremely loud techno music he wasn’t much a fan of. Weaving his way into the crowd, he trained his eyes to catch a glimpse of her. A flash of silver. Blond hair. But she was nowhere in sight. He was afraid he had lost her.
Giving up and resigning to the thought of having a cold shower when he got home, he finally said goodnight to the record producer. He waved to a few more people as he walked out of the house and to where the valet was.
Then a flash of silver. Blond hair. A curse. It was her. She was arguing with the valet. And winning.
“What the fuck are you doing? You can’t stop me from getting in my car! Ass hole!” She looked absolutely feral. Her hair was no longer piled on top of her head, they were now wildly framing her face, swinging as she struggled to get her car keys from the valet. Her fingers curled as she grabbed the poor valet’s jacket. “Give me my keys!”
David stepped between them, one hand over the guy’s chest, the other wrapped around her wrist. He couldn’t believe how thin yet strong it was . “What’s the problem?” he asked.
Her angry blue eyes collided with his. “This asshole is stealing my car!”
“I wasn’t!” the valet replied. He looked to be young, a college student perhaps hoping to earn a couple of hundred bucks doing this gig. “Look at her, man. She’s not fit to drive.”
He looked at the girl, for now she looked like a girl. Moments ago she was this ethereal woman but now at this distance, with her unruly curls and anger flashing out of her eyes, he was reminded of a little girl who was told she couldn’t have the toy she wanted for Christmas.
“Not fit?’ she shrieked and she kicked the valet, her toe connecting with his shin.
“Enough!” David bellowed. He grabbed the keys from the valet, who was hopping on one foot while he soothed his injured shin. “Get me my car.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m taking you home,” he answered her, still not letting go of her wrist.
She laughed. It sounded like a thousand bells tinkling. “You have got to be kidding me. I am not going home with you.”
“You have no choice. You are obviously drunk. I owe it to society not to let you drive.” The girl with her angry eyes stared at him, her nostrils flaring. David bent down, pulling her wrist towards him and she fell on his chest. “And I’m the kind of person who pays what I owe.”
She continued to stare at him, her chest rising and falling with each breath when he felt her go limp in his arms. He held her to him, fast, confused. Until he realized she had fallen asleep.
The valet returned with his car and helped him deposit the girl on the passenger seat of the car. The girl’s car will be picked up in the morning, he told the valet who generously thanked him after seeing the tip he left.
After strapping himself in for the ride home, David looked at the sleeping girl and the desire he felt for her a few minutes ago were ignited once more. He cursed at himself as he turned on the engine and gunned for home.
He might need that cold shower after all.
Chapter Six
Her Mouth Was So Dirty
The cool water was as refreshing as an oil spill. It didn’t douse off the arousal he felt for the now sleeping girl in his guest bedroom nor did it clear his head. He had tons of questions swirling around his already crowded mind. Who was she? What happened to the guy she was a second away from having sex with? Why did he care?
He turned off the shower and grabbed one of the thick cotton towels with his initials monogrammed on them. Without bothering to dry off, he wrapped it around his waist and strode into the master’s bedroom, barefoot and still hot. Even after the shower.
Upon reaching the foot of the king sized bed, he dropped the towel and proceeded to climb onto the bed and slide under the 600 count silken sheets. He crossed his arms over his head and tucked his wrists under his neck, staring at the ceiling.
He didn’t know why this woman-child elicited such desire from him. He had long resigned the fact that his sexual needs was something he needed to give in to once in a while. She was attractive yes, but he could tell there was something more he wanted from her. He wished he knew what it was.
He awoke with a start. The beautiful California sun streaming down in stripes through the vertical blinds greeted him warmly. Remembering he wasn’t alone in the house, he immediately grabbed a robe and wore it before leaving his room. His feet carried him to the guestroom, expecting to find her silver-dipped figure draped on the bed and he was surprised to find it was empty. And made.
A note sat on the pillow and he eagerly unfolded it. The feminine scribble looked carefree but neat.
Thanks for saving my ass. I borrowed a shirt from the laundry room. Will return it if you meet me tonight at Citrus at Social Hollywood, say nine-ish? See ya!
His eyebrows furrowed together in thought. He still didn’t know her name.
***
The restaurant was buzzing with conversation and wonderful smells of the dishes that was paraded around him by waiters dressed in their striking uniforms. He glanced at his watch. It was a quarter past nine. What was he doing here?
He was about to signal a waiter to give away his table, which he got without a reservation only because his name still meant something to some people, when he saw her walking towards him. She was wearing a mischievous smile and a rather plain white dress that was so short it looked like her legs went on forever.
She took the seat across from his and stared at him for a full minute before saying, “I know you.”
He raised his eyebrow quizzically. Was she right? Had they met before last night? If they have how come he couldn’t remember her?
The smile tugged at the left corner of her mouth, revealing a small dimple. She pointed a well-manicured fingertip at him and gushed, “You’re that American idol guy, aren’t you? Wait. Don’t tell me your name.”
He shrugged, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on the seat, silently enjoying the show she was putting on.
She pouted, looked down in thought her eye lids partially covering the blue pools of her eyes. “David… something… like… tailor or…farmer or something… you know one of those last names that are actually jobs or something…Cook! David Cook!”
Her tinkling laugh filled the air and a few of the patrons looked at her, obviously charmed by her presence. She leaned forward and whispered, “I’m right, right?”
He smiled back. “I’m at a disadvantage here. I don’t know your name or if I’m supposed to know it.”
She sighed. “You’re not supposed to know it. Not yet.”
Her name was Autumn Sinclair, 22 years old and a struggling actress who at that time had only been in a handful movies always cast in the roles of “Sorority Girl 1” or “Hot Chick 5”.
David couldn’t believe he was actually thinking about leaving earlier. This was clearly the best date he has ever been on. Thirty minutes into it, he found himself wildly attracted to her, at how she bit her lip as she tried to say the names of the dishes on the menu in French, how her eyes lit up when she bit into the cheese puff appetizers, the way her fingers danced across his arm when he told stories about his life. An hour later he was sure he was falling in love.
By the time they were back at his place, mouths locked in a passionate kiss, fingers clawing, pulling, and tugging at each other’s clothes, a tiny tear here, a missing button there and finally falling onto the silky soft sheets of his bed, he didn’t know how he could have lived without her all these years.
If he only knew then that she was a recovering cocaine addict and that she fell off the wagon a couple of weeks ago. If only he knew that upon finding that out he would start getting high with her instead of getting her the help she needed.
More importantly, if he only knew that in less than a year she would be dead and he would be the one who would kill her.
He struggled with these thoughts, each night and now as nine people in his group therapy session stared at him, he found he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t talk about Autumn and the love they both shared. He was afraid that by talking about his feelings, by throwing the words out into the air, by saying them out loud, his love for her would turn into something frivolous, something childish or, worse, something dead.
Chapter Seven
Unsturdy
The eight pairs of eyes, plus hers, were fixed on him. He had been a participant of the group therapy sessions for the last couple of days but he remained quiet and alone. She had wanted to say something to him more than once especially since she recognized him as the man from the library but somehow she couldn’t find the words.
Whatever caused him to be here, it was obvious he was still battling with it. He wasn’t ready. And the worst part is, he still didn’t know that he might never be ready.
She cleared her throat. The eight pairs of eyes turned to her. His gaze slowly lifted and she finally saw those blue eyes trained on her. She looked back at him, her throat suddenly too dry to speak. Her tongue swept her bottom lip uncomfortably.
The stares never bothered her. People loved to stare and talk behind her back. She didn’t care. When you’ve lost everyone that meant anything to you, you just stop caring. And she has.
She cleared her throat again, leaned back on the white rattan chair and crossed her legs, locked her palms together on top of her lap. “I lost my husband in an accident.”
And so she started the story that led to her being here. But of the seven words she first spoke, two were lies. He wasn’t just her husband and it wasn’t an accident.
***
He stared. He listened. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. And the words… the words… they spun a tale so tragic, so heartbreaking that one or two of the other members had to blot out a tear. Her words swam in his head sparking a song idea. His heart lurched. He had never even thought about music since Autumn died and yet now, this woman with her dark hair, gray eyes and husky voice was filling his head with notes and words.
By the end of her story, he knew in his gut he had to talk to her. She might just be the key he needed to open up the door that he thought had irrevocably obstructed the magic of songwriting.
When the session ended, he hurriedly stood up and walked decisively towards her. As he neared her he could smell the scent of lemons and lime in her hair. And when she looked at him, the gray in her eyes so luminous they looked like silver, he suddenly found he couldn’t speak.
***
She was surprised to find him standing just a feet away from where she stood and saying goodbye to the therapist. She turned to face him, her eyebrows lifting, as if to silently ask what he wanted. When he didn’t speak, she asked, “Something wrong?”
He blinked. “I’m sorry.”
She waited for him to say something more. “For?”
“For your loss.”
His eyes looked troubled and she couldn’t tell whether they were green or blue or a wicked combination of both. His lips were perfectly shaped, like cupid’s bow except the corners were pulled down instead of up which made them even more… luscious. He had a face that anyone would love to look at. And she was doing exactly that until she realized he was waiting for her to say something.
“Me, too.”
They stood there in the middle of the white washed wooden floors, the warm afternoon sun shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows and the hum of other people talking or walking embraced them snugly.
He reached out his hand. “My name is Da—“
She knew he stopped because real names weren’t allowed. She grasped his hand with hers and started, “I’m Nara.”
“Dave.” And he finally smiled at her. It was a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. And it made her heart skip.
***
TBC
Hey guys, let me know what you think so far, if i should continue or not.
thanks!
I 'heart' it!
somehow. LMAO!
