Taboo

Keywords: Rebuilding, Faith, 05, Ch.,

"We already got the answers out. Now it's just girl fun time. 'Sides, I'm planning on taking my share."

I just shook my head.

"And," she added, setting the bottles down and reaching back into her pack. She produced a couple packs of cigarettes.

I laughed again.

"Not only that . . ." she pulled out some DVD movies and a pack of playing cards. She bit her lip. "Ca-ching!" She laughed. "But you buy the pizza."

I smiled fondly upon my friend. "Deal," I said.

***

Being around Ian, Cleo, and just about everyone else in my life, I had always been constantly reminded of what I was. But with Julie, I felt like just another teenaged college student, even with what had happened. Her bubbly effluence, her simple outlook on life . . . Julie was no bimbo airhead who thought everything was black and white, but she had a very concise philosophy. Good things and bad things alike happened in everyone's life, period. It was how you dealt with them that mattered.

"So what's the worst thing that ever happened to you?" I asked.

Julie shrugged as she dealt another round of Gin. We sat on the floor before my TV, the first bottle of vodka half-full between us. The half-finished pizza – pepperoni, mushrooms, and Italian sausage, what Julie called a 'PMS' pizza – sat to the side.

"When my folks died," she said casually.

I stared at her.

Julie made a little smile. "It happened when I was thirteen," she said. "Car accident. We flipped over and over and over . . . mom died right away; she broke her neck. Dad, well . . . it took a while. All he wanted to do was hold me. He kept telling me that everything was gonna be all right; I just kept crying the whole time. The firemen had to pry my arms off him."

"Jesus Christ," I breathed. "God, Julie, I never . . . ."

She shrugged again. "Bad things happen, Alyssa," she said simply. "They happen to everybody. I lost my mom and dad. You got raped. Other people get shot, or robbed, or . . . whatever. You can't go through life thinking it's always gonna be cherries."

I looked down, staring at the cards. "Yeah. Guess you're right."

"Don't get me wrong," she said, flipping down cards. "I was pretty fucked up for a while. Just ask my Aunt Jesse. But . . . well, you just gotta go on. Right?"

I sucked my lip, nodded. "Right."

***

I found it strange that, as long as I had known Ian, I had never been to his office. I knew where it was, of course. Cleo had casually mentioned going to the Pyramid Building a few times to see him. From what I understood, Ian owned most of the space in the building, and it was his central headquarters for his ventures.

Most of them, anyway.

I was nervous about heading out. I had been a recluse for over a week, afraid to show my face. I'd had Julie and Cleo get groceries for me, afraid to even let a delivery driver see my bruises. But the time had come. I had to find out what happened, and Ian wasn't going to come over to my apartment and tell me.

I didn't know what to think of Ian now. He'd always had that air of quiet intimidation about him, giving the impression he was a dangerous man to cross. But to actually "murder" someone?

That wasn't the Ian I knew. But then, did I ever really know him at all?

I felt like everyone in the world was watching me, whispering under their breath and making comments about my bruises as I got out of my car in the lot of the Pyramid Building. My hair was down around my face, and I wore dark sunglasses even though it was a cold, cloudy day. I no longer needed the bandage for my nose, but it was still tender and blotchy, no matter how I applied my makeup.

The Pyramid Building was impressive, all steel and glass, the bluish windows reflecting the ominous sky. It sat on a hill overlooking the highway, like a king on his throne overseeing his domain. "How appropriate," I thought.

Keeping my head down, I stepped into the lobby, dodging businesspeople and couriers. I knew I was out of place in my jeans and leather jacket, but I certainly wasn't going to wear any of my dresses. Just wanted to get to Ian's office and get this over with.

There was a giant directory on one of the walls, opposite the bank of elevators. Predictably, Ian's office was on the top floor of the nine-story building. I tapped the button for the elevator, waiting amongst several others for the car to arrive. This time, it wasn't my imagination; people "were" looking at me, wondering what a teenaged girl was doing in a center of business.

I stood in a corner of the elevator car, my head bowed, hidden by my hair. A man stood beside me, simple dark suit and smelling of Old Spice. I stiffened a little. He didn't need to be as close as he was; there was plenty of room in the elevator.

"Hey," he said, casual and friendly. "Cold day, huh?"

I chewed my lip, barely seeing him from the corner of my eye. "Uh-huh."

"Your, uh, dad work here or something?" he asked.

I shook my head, feeling my blood pumping, my skin prickling. His mere presence was making me nervous.

I heard him smile. "So what's a pretty girl doing here?"

I bristled. I knew he was just being friendly, just casually flirting. But it seemed the most offensive approach in the world at that moment, as if he had slapped my ass and told me I had perfect dick-sucking lips.

I snapped my head up and took off my sunglasses, staring up at his face. He was middle-aged, handsome in a typical way, a little heavy in the cheeks. His amiable smile vanished instantly as he saw my dark eyes and broken nose.

"Still think I'm pretty?" I asked coldly.

He stammered something – an apology I guess – and backed off, giving me a sheepish look. I glanced around at the others, feeling stupid and girlish. I put my sunglasses back on and ducked my head once more.

No one else bothered me for the eternity it took to reach the ninth floor.

I stepped out as soon as the door opened, brushing past men and women in suits and power-walking down the corridor. I wanted to get it over with, as quickly as possible, even if I didn't really know what 'it' was.

I shoved open the glass door at the end of the hall, stared down at the woman in her white blouse and 'severe' bun as she sat behind the reception desk. She wore one of those wire headsets attached to the phone on the desk. An immense window behind her bathed the room in pale light.

"I'd like to see Ian Holloway," I said.

The woman gave me a look that said, 'and just who the hell are you?' Her lips curled in an amused smile. "Mr. Holloway is in a meeting right now, Miss . . .?"

"It's important," I said firmly. I slipped off my sunglasses and stared her down. Or tried to.

She didn't look the least bit fazed. "He's a very busy man, dear," she said in a condescending tone. "I'm sure that whatever you need to speak with him about can wait."

I didn't back down, no matter how foolish and out of place I felt. "No, it can't."

The receptionist sighed, rolling her eyes for effect. She tapped a couple buttons on her phone, touched the headset beside her ear. "I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Holloway, but there's a young woman here to see—"

She paused, listening. "Yes, sir, I told her that. She seems to be very adamant."

"Tell him it's Yvette," I said, loud enough that I figured Ian could hear on the other end.

The receptionist frowned, annoyed, and listened to Ian's voice. Finally, she nodded and sighed, giving me a forced smile. "He'll be right out—"

"Thanks," I snapped, and stepped away, turning my back on her. I heard the receptionist mutter 'little bitch' under her breath. I entertained the idea of returning the insult, but forced my pride down. I was just nervous and scared, that's all. I breathed in, trying to calm myself.

I heard doors open, looked toward the far wall as wood-paneled double doors gave way to Ian. He looked the epitome of the Business Tycoon in his midnight blue, pin-striped suit and white shirt with black tie. He gave me a look that was at once sympathetic and confounded.

"Come on," he said simply, stepping to the side. I marched past him, into a short hallway. There were double doors about fifteen feet ahead, closed, and a single door to the right. It was to this smaller door that Ian lead me.

There was a small board room beyond, dominated by an oval mahogany table and several plush leather chairs. Ian closed the door behind us and I whirled around to face him.

"I wanna know how Gary died," I said, struggling to restrain my emotions.

Ian pursed his lips. "Read the police report," he said simply, stepping around me toward a little water tower. "From what I heard on the news, its was a robbery that went wrong. Very tragic."

I glared at him. "Don't you give me that bullshit, Ian," I said. I leaned on the table. "I wanna know what happened. I wanna know if he said anything before you shot him in the fucking head!"

Ian matched my glare with one that was ten times as intense, making me gasp and thoroughly destroying my self-righteous anger.

"Don't ever speak to me like that," he said darkly. He came around the table, every step and movement of his body deliberate, powerful, threatening. I scampered back, against the wall behind me, suddenly and totally aware that I was in a room, "alone", with a "murderer". I stared up at him in abject fear.

Keywords: Rebuilding, Faith, 05, Ch.,