Page 47 of Veiled in Brick

We all flinched as Liam snatched the flowers by the stems, pulling them out of the vase so roughly that water was splattered on the table. He stomped to the kitchen, around the island, yanked open the cupboard under the sink that contained our trash can, and threw them into the garbage with a vehemence that I was certain forced the petals to go flying. He returned with the white knit cloth that was usually located beside our sink. He wiped at the water spots between us all, ensuring that the space was sufficiently dried, folded the towel neatly, and then sat back in his seat in a calm fashion.

He let out a long breath and attempted to smile at us all, his teeth looking more like they were being bared rather than displaying a grin.

“So,” he voiced, looking to Luke. “Florist?”

“Um—yeah,” Luke spoke slowly as if he were expecting another outburst. “You could call and see who sent them.”

I nodded, and what felt like my wild goose chase began.

The local florist was more than happy to help me with my questions regarding the anonymous flowers that were sent. After all, these types of inquiries were normally the birth of a romance that the employees were able to witness from afar. I could tell even over the phone that they relished in the delight of it all so, naturally, I didn’t admit that this was part of the plot to my own personal horror film. I simply waited as I listened to the clicking and clacking of their fingers against a keyboard until I heard a disappointed sigh.

The order—along with any previous orders sent to our address—was purchased with a gift card, which was, in turn, purchased with cash.

The news that there was no paper trail at all was disconcerting, to say the least. With that knowledge and no further leads, Claire, Luke, and Liam all decided amongst themselves that, firstly, I was to carry pepper spray on me at all times, and secondly, they would establish a rotation of sorts in which one of them would escort me to and from Zest.

Though the situation indeed felt like a subplot to a thriller documentary I would watch in my spare time, I wanted to argue and say that it was unnecessary. That I could easily take care of myself and that their help was unwarranted. Unwanted, even…but I was the type of person that had a far larger bark than their bite. I didn’t care for the thought by any means but considering how my first encounter with this mystery man went, I knew that a chaperone for the time being would be in my best interest.

For my first accompanied excursion to Zest, Liam was to be busy working at a construction job that he had locked down recently. The contract only lasted a few weeks and to his deep dissatisfaction, he needed the money, therefore he couldn’t take any time off. Claire was initially required to hold down the fort at Henry’s as Henry himself, who typically worked the daytime shift along with some part-time help, was to be otherwise occupied for the day. However, Luke was ever-insistent that Claire was not to be alone on the street after dark considering the circumstances, and he had happily covered her shift so she could accompany me in the light of day.

Claire and I ambled down the street, the warm yet cloudy day bringing a happy ambiance to our otherwise gloomy stroll. Our steps clogged along, and I found that the noise that used to bring me a gentle smile now caused the hairs on the back of my neck to bristle with anxiety. I sighed at the thought, and Claire glanced at me curiously.

“You good?” she asked.

I returned quickly, “What do you think?”

Claire shrugged, her heavily freckled shoulder bobbing up and down.

“Yeah, I imagine you’re probably feeling like shit for multiple reasons,” she noted offhandedly. I nodded in response, and she stated, “You have three blocks to vent. Not that you normally do, but…y’know. If you want.”

I looked to her thoughtfully. “You’re giving me the option?”

“Considering the circumstances are less than ideal,” she tilted her head from side to side as if she were contemplating it in her mind. “Yeah, figure you’d appreciate the option rather than the Spanish Inquisition.”

“Mhm; thanks for that.”

I pursed my lips as I considered what would best be discussed on our short stroll. The stress of the assault was ripe in my mind but, despite that, I supposed that speaking about it at length would do me little to no good. The anger—guilt—whatever feeling that resided in my chest regarding James remained within me. The reminder that our so-called relationship had dissolved into a messy puddle beneath my feet caused the emotion to rise in my esophagus like vomit. It was nothing, however, compared to when I thought back to my occurrence with Liam. The feel of his lips on mine ever so briefly had left me wanting to be…consumed. I wanted to be swallowed whole by the sensation, but it was ripped from me. Our friendship felt as though it had been ripped from me because the desire to deepen it all felt like a necessity.

And that—fucking that—made the burn of tears rush to my eyes with such a force that my throat was stripped dry. We had one measly block of our walk to go by the time that I grunted to clear it, and the sound came out in a miserable whine that ushered Claire’s alarmed eyes to me.

She spoke in a gasp, “Zoey.”

Claire reached for my arm in a consoling touch, and I moved it away from her reach, throwing her a thankful glance to soothe the blow of my aversion to her comforting pat on my forearm.

“I liked James,” I croaked.

“I know,” she replied in as understanding of a tone as she could.

“And then Liam fuckin’—” I let out a frustrated sound that itched at my throat. “I’m getting torn apart here, Claire, what the fuck?”

She considered my words for a beat and asked, “Are you mad at him because he fucked up you and Jay?”

I looked to the sky. “I mean, yeah, but—”

“But what?”

“I’m mad about me and Jay. I’m pissed that Liam started something that he doesn’t want to finish.”

Claire muttered, “Oh,” thought to herself for a moment, and then noted, “So, you want to—”

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