Soap from my hair drips into my eyes, stinging, but I revel in the pain.
Dammit. I shake my head at the memory of me yelling at her. God, and the things I yelled. Why had I reacted that way? Why hadn’t I been able to hold back?
You know why. You didn’t want her to ever see the real you.
Well, she’s seen that and so much more now. There’s no reason she should ever forgive me for speaking to her that way. No reason.
There’s a tearing pain in my chest, and I thump my fist against my sternum, like I’m restarting my heart.
Go after her, you absolute fool, the voice says. And this time, I listen.
I skid out of the bathroom, glad that I know the layout of my apartment inside out. Even in the dark with burning eyes, I know my way around.
“Jade!” I yell, running past my bedroom and out to the living area.
Her things are gone.
Except for the shirt she was wearing the day she was mobbed. It’s laying crumpled on the floor in the hallway on the way to the elevator.
No. She can’t have left so quickly.
I run to the elevator, catching a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the mirror splashback in the kitchen.
Fuck.
I’m fucking naked!
I run back into the bathroom, pulling on the pants and hoodie I’d taken off to shower and run back to the elevator.
She can’t have gone far. It’s barely been a few minutes. She can’t have gone far. She can’t have, I repeat to myself.
As soon as the elevator hits the ground floor I hurl myself out of it, running to the front entrance.
“Patrick! Patrick!” I call out to the night doorman. He comes over to me, tipping his hat. “Did you… did you see a woman come out here just a few minutes ago? Brown hair, very pretty…”
“Oh yes, Mr, Ashley, she just left. In that taxi over there,” he points to a cab turning the corner. “Poor girl, I hope she’s okay.”
“What- what do you mean?”
“Oh, well, when she came down she was crying and she looked like she was in a bit of pain.”
“What? What happened?”
“I don’t know, sir, I just saw her grab her side, and when she pulled her hand away, she was bleeding. Not a lot but not a little either, you know?”
Fuck, no. I’m dizzy at the thought that I’m the reason something’s happened to her. Probably aggravated her wound from the mugging.
“Where is she going? Do you know, did she say?”
“Just that she was going to the hospital.”
“Which one? Did she say?”
“No, sir. I’m sorry”
I barely let him get the last word out before I run in the direction of the cab, I turn the corner, but it’s gone. The taxi’s gone.
And so is she.
***
“I don’t care if you have to call every hospital in the five boroughs. Fucking find her, Xavier!”
I hang up and fling the phone across the room, hearing it land on the couch with a thud and falling to the floor.
I walk over and pick it up, checking for cracks, before placing it on the coffee table.
Ring, dammit, ring, I beg of my phone, willing it to be her. Telling me she’s okay, telling me she forgives me.
She’s been gone just over an hour and already I feel like there’s a vacuum in this place. She made this place hers in the one day she was here, and now that she’s gone, it’s emptied of air, of life.
I flip open my laptop and rewind the security footage of her watching me in the bathroom. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I know what I don’t want to see. Fear. Disgust. Pity. Horror.
I pause on the moment she must’ve seen the scars and zoom in on her face. Her eyes are wide, her mouth slightly open. But there’s no fear, no disgust; there’s surprise, but nothing else.
I run the tape again, from the moment she discovers my secret.
I was wrong.
There is something else, something in her eyes as she watches me. Something soft and tender. Understanding. Empathy.
I watch it again. And again.
No. It must be there. The repulsion, the look of horror. It must be. I’ve seen it so many times. On so many faces. Of people who were supposed to love me and of strangers on the street. On children’s innocent expressions and from adults who should know better.
But it’s not there.
Fuck.
What’ve I done?
The phone rings and I jump at the sound. It’s Xavier.
“What?”
“She’s not at Lenox Hill.”
“Then keep calling.”
“I will, it’s just…”
“What?”
“Woah, don’t bite my head off, I’m just trying to help.”
“Sorry.”
“Convincing.”
“I’ve had a really long fucking day, don’t give me this cry baby shit.”
“Yeah, I heard about your long day.”
“Has Henry been talking?”
“No.”
“Who, then?”
“From the donkey’s mouth itself.”
“Jacob called you?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. And that makes me uneasy. His premise was that he was worried about you. About your binge drinking. But of course I know better.”
“Do you think he has anything to do with the stolen prototype?”
“I’d be more surprised to find out that he’s not involved, but I don’t have any proof either way.”
“Yeah, let’s get Dylan on him,” I refer to my private investigator.
“Okay, I will. But… back to the matter at hand. Maybe… maybe her leaving is a good thing. It’s not like your life has been smooth sailing since you met her.”
“Stop.”
“I’m just saying, you’re not sleeping, you’re grumpy as fuck… you’re drinking? Come on man, when’s the last time you drank that much.”
“I’m telling you… stop.”
“Kaine.”
“Xave.”
There’s a pause. And I’ve known him long enough to know what he’s thinking and I don’t want to hear it.
“Okay. Okay, I’ll let it go. I’m just saying, is this the best time for you to be in this kind of head space?”
“Find her. Call me when you have.”
***
The call doesn’t come. After another sleepless night, I know what I have to do.
“To the New York Genealogy Library please, Henry. And about last night, I’m sorry.”
“Yes, sir.”
The traffic in Manhattan is unusually brutal this morning.