Philophobia

The Preface

April 28th, 1984
3:24 pm
Belfast, Ireland

The wind blew strong against the villa, trees scraping the window with a terrifically horrible sound. The rain hit the windows, dripping down like tears on a woman's face. Safe inside, the young Lauren Reynolds felt very much connected to the weather as she sat on the plush, four-poster California king bed, twirling a pregnancy test between her pale pink manicured fingers. Her heart raced as she glanced at the monologue clock position on one of the mahogany nightstands. She desperately longed for Clyde or Tsia or even Sean to burst through the ornate, wood bedroom door. For them to take her in their arms, to promise everything would be alright. Alas, she knew this was not the case. That test now in her lap, Lauren's hands played nervously with the necklace hanging from her neck. The silver chain had held up through all her adventures, the Hamsa Hand charm hanging from it daintily, adorn in small diamonds. Clyde had given it to her before she'd come to live with Ian before she'd become the prized possession of a cruel man. The Hamsa Hand meant protection. Lauren needed protection, especially in the precarious situation she was in now.

Collecting her thoughts, Lauren tucked the pregnancy test into her back pocket of her jeans. She stood up cautiously, headed towards that ornate door. She'd just about reached it too when he came storming in.

"Fucking Christ, why do half of my staff suck balls! You'd think men who make millions a year would be more competent! I'm telling you, Lauren, all American's are fucking useless!" he shouted, throwing a duffle bag on the ground. "Lauren?" His voice was familiar, gruff.

"Behind the door," she replied meekly.

"Nearly hit you, did I?" It was supposed to be a concerned question but it can out more condescending.

"I'm sorry. I was just coming to find you." Lauren crept from behind the doors.

"Well, you've found me," he chuckled, wrapping his arms around Lauren.

"It would appear so," she replied, raising an eyebrow.

"You'll never believe what happened today," he began, "I was dealing with an American arms dealer, by far the worst arms dealer I've ever met. This deal would make him millions, and yet they show up late with the wrong weapons. Highly inconvenient. I have to get them to bring the right ones, they expect me to pay for the incorrect ones but I'll be damned if I pay for both orders."

"Have you seen Declan today?" Lauren asked, peeling herself out of his arms and entering the long, dark, hallway.

"No, I came to see you before checking on him," Ian told her, watching her walk away.

"Shall we go find Declan then?" Lauren sped up slightly, towards the staircase. She was desperate to find Declan, to turn Ian's attention from her to Declan.

"Lauren, Lauren!" He called out. She could hear his footsteps behind her eventually feeling his strong arms wrap around her waist stopping her from moving forward. He began to kiss the right side of her face, leaving a trail of kisses down to her neck before landing somewhere in the nape of it. Her hands traveled to his, their fingers locking together.

"Ian..." she moaned. She let him titillate her for a few moments before coming to her senses, a wave of nausea hit her like a brick. "Ian, stop." She turned in his arms, pushing him away from her. The spot on her neck where his lips had left throbbing slightly.