The Business of Revenge

Names and Histories

"You don't have to walk me to my door, you know that right?" My voice was back to its peppy tone, a little like I was tipsy, but I was just tired. Drunk at work, I wasn't much of a drinker, I hated the idea of not being able to control myself or remember what had happened. That was one of my greatest fears.

"I feel obliged to," he spoke carefully in a much softer tone as though he didn't want to scare me. I hated that I had cried, it was pathetic totally and utterly.

"So, I'm an obligation now, you really do know how to make a girl feel special,"

He gave me a look that couldn't be more disapproving if he was tired. A permanently etched-on, half smile that wasn't a smile. If that made any sense.

So, he walked me to my door, and not just that, he didn't just stop at the gate that led to my flat, he continued following me up to my floor.

I mean I couldn't just tell him to get lost, that would be rude.

"Do you live alone, Miss Laurence?"

"You are sure that information isn't in that file you definitely have on me,"

"The file only contains the information necessary to the plan."

I barked out a laugh that was extremely unladylike but given I had already cried and screamed in front of this withering man; I didn't think my unhinged laugh would push me over the edge of sanity in his eyes.

I already knew I was insane; I had agreed to this absurd deal after all.

"So, there is a file," my words caught him off guard which I revelled in. It was a certain kind of hilarity to see a man so poised and unbothered be even the slightest bit flustered.

"Yeah, I live alone. I don't really have anyone to live with."

"Parents? Siblings?"

"Unfortunately, my Parents aren't here anymore, may god rest their souls, and my sister is living her best life as an actress back home."

"Back home?"

"I know I look a bit ambiguous, but can't you guess where I'm from?"

"I know where you were born, you were born not too far from here, in Havendor Hospital."

"Ok that's weird, really weird that you know where I was born," I reached for my keys and in all my distraction they managed to fall to the floor.

I let out a sigh as I bent down to pick them up not expecting Mr Emerson to have the same idea. And of course, our fingers had to brush against each other. His hand was so cold, I started to question whether comparing him to ice was that far off. He managed to scoop my keys up first as I was overcome by the chill that ran through me at our hands touching, I put it down to the coldness of his soul and nothing more.

"Here," he placed the keys in my outstretched palm, and I didn't miss how he made sure that our skin didn't touch again. There was a look in his eyes, it was dark but maybe that was just the low lighting. My half-broken outside lamp was fighting for its life.

"I'm Malaysian, well half Malaysian, that's where my sister is, living her dream. England never really was for her, she loved the colour of back home, the culture, the land. It's beautiful. You should visit it sometime. I really do miss it. She does call when she's not busy and she's tried to convince me forever to move back home."

"And why don't you?"

"My Dad, he was proper British, like beans on toast and rainy weather, and all the passive aggressiveness in the world, British. Crazy about football, you should have seen him watching the World Cup where Croatia beat us. I mean I still think there were a bunch of yellow cards that were given," I didn't care that I was rambling and that my door was just hanging open letting the cold in. I didn't really have many people to talk to about this, "And we both cried. And he wasn't afraid to do that, he was a bloke in every sense of the word. But he taught me so much and I miss him like crazy. He was a journalist, travelled the world, met my mum, fell in love and had us. It was all so perfect. Too perfect."

He was careful with his next words, as though he realised just how fragile I was, that the boisterous no funny-business girl he had seen in the office was just a facade. This was the real me, sad, and lonely and so very broken after everything, "I mean after I lost them was when I and Niklaus got serious. I thought it would be like them. That I would meet this perfect guy. Have what my parents had. Fat a lot of good that did me. I'm such an idiot."

"You are not an idiot Miss Laurence, and even if you are that means I am too,"

My eyes never snapped up quicker, they narrowed as I was analysing him as the words began to catch up with my brain, "I too was..." he thought for a moment, of what word would be appropriate I could see in his eyes, "Mislead by Artymov. And if we were both tricked, I guess that means we are both as you say," and he said the word like it would burn him, "Idiots."

"Thanks,"

"Do you mind me asking, what happened to them, your parents?" I knew the question was coming so I decided I should just say it like ripping off a band aid, he would find out on his own if I didn't tell him. I was sure after just this day of events he would look into me more. I was sure Mr Emerson was not a man that appreciated surprises.

"They died in a drunk driving accident,"

His face fell into the depths of pure despair, and it was the most emotion I had seen from him. His fists clenched and his eyes widened ever so slightly, there was horror in them, as though he had realised what he had done. And it was all too much, I turned my head, I couldn't look at him, couldn't look at the pure hatred there, hatred for himself when he realised what he had done.

"Don't worry about it," I was turning away from him, but I couldn't take the cracked glass that was his eyes.

"Mis Laurence-"

"It's fine Mr Emerson. Don't worry about it. It's fine, truly," and I was at my door ready to close the door, but Corbyn Emerson wasn't one to just let things happen. He needed that control. He needed the last word.

I knew more than anything he, like every other prideful man, needed forgiveness, even if it was just for him to feel better.

I was jaded, I know maybe it was true concern that made him stop the door from closing. Catching between incredibly responsive fingers that pried it open with ease. I turned my hair falling in front of my eyes in a veil that concealed the tears ready to burst.

"Miss Laurence, I-"

He was at a loss for words. So, I just gave him a soft smile, "Don't worry I know,"

I wanted to close the door, but I guess it didn't matter because Mr Emerson wanted to keep it open.

"Andrea-"

And I felt my heart explode, my eyes widened, and my lip trembled as I stared up at him unable to process what he had just said.

"Andrea, I am sorry. I am so sorry. I should have never-"

"You didn't know it's fine."

"Andrea," he had said it three times now and it was bolting through me, igniting each nerve. Just my name, and it wasn't anything special. But I didn't miss how we both in the span of one night after convincing ourselves that we would merely address each other as we would in the office. That we both in some way tether ourselves together to ground each other, to implore each other to just listen had spoken the other's name.

I guess, there really was power in a name.