Nothing can compare to the anger that sloshes inside me. She betrayed me, my blonde sweet, my favorite. The fighter.I underestimated her strength. No matter how hard I tried to break her it obviously didn't work.

The Zippo flips over and over between my fingers. Glinting and full of secrets. I know the police will be looking for it. My bare back lies tensed and toned against a thick rug on the floor of my childhood bedroom. My legs are stretched, one arm is bent to support my head. The waking sun shines a glowing beam through my windows creating a shower of rays. It shines bright, too bright. The lighter flips again with a turn of my finger. Contemplating how I'll escape and find her, my jaw twitches while my nostrils flare releasing a long stream of air.

Where are you? What have you done to me, to us. Why must you force me to end you, Chloe? 

The chains I bound to my love have found their way to my ankle in electronic form. I cut my eyes from the lighter to the receiver on my dresser. A small black box with a fat antenna pointed from the top. My lawyer instructed me that if I venture beyond my allotted space it will begin to beep. Smashing the thing won't help, apparently it would send an emergency signal to the police. I lift my ankle within reach and try tugging at it, spinning it around my leg to loosen the synched band. It doesn't work.

Only a few more days and it will fall off. I tell myself with a smirk.

The rug underneath me scratches at me so I hoist my legs into the air. I shove off the floor and land smoothly on my feet with a hard thud on the carpet.

My bare feet sulk to a half empty bottle of whiskey. I snatch it into my hands and turn it up. The burning liquid slides down my throat. I pull the lip of the bottle away, and wipe the drips from my chin with my hand. It floats in my stomach like fire and ice. I then wander around the room aimlessly while the booze numbs my body, but not enough to drown out her face. I need her.
My naked feet dig hard into the wood floor as I pace. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window, it stops me in my tracks. I look like hell with my hair in a shuffled mess. The monitor on my ankle sets my teeth on edge, jiggling with each step.

I do a double take stomping past my desk littered with empty liquor bottles. Squinting at the closed laptop that waits there, longing for me to take a trip down memory lane. I hold the lighter in the air, toss it up and catch it until I give in. I grip the wooden desk chair with angry seduction blazing in my eyes. It glides over the floor without a sound despite the force used. I plug in the lighters USB and wait impatiently for the screen to explode with sweet twisted faces. I find her immediately.

The silver of my belt buckle makes  busy tinkering chimes as I begin to unbuckle it. Another swig from the glass bottle splashes around my mouth. I swipe my face wit my hands to wipe away the voices.

Play it. Play them all.  They scream between my ears, demanding release. Offering countless promises.

Someone knocks at the door behind me.
"What?!" I yell behind me while Mt belt sways away from my jeans.
The housekeeper, whom I've never cared to learn the name of speaks in a Spanish whisper on the other side.
"Mr. Duncan you have a visitor."
"Who?" My brows furrow.
"Ms. Ava." She shouts back mocking my tone.. I slam the laptop closed and fasten my belt. Quickly snatching the USB from the side of the laptop and put the lighter together again. I hide it deep into my jean pockets.

My mind twitches, "Send her in." I tell the housekeeper while I hide behind/beside the door. I wait for the feathery tap of her steps approaching followed by the door knob. I stare at the knob placed in the center of the door. It turns, Ava walks in slowly with unsure tension. She doesn't know I stand behind her. Her sweet perfume fills the air with a familiar fragrance. My open hand slams the door, it makes her entire body jump. She stands in the middle of the room, silent, and failing to conceal her fear.

"Chanel No.5" My voice turns to smoke with an edge as sharp as my whip. I stomp toward her, my fists balled at my sides. I rip the scarf from her neck and it floats to the floor.

She trembles as I caress the curve of her throat. Caramel silk that shimmers with the slightest movement.

My mark has started to fade into a yellowing mess. Ava shuffles back as the tip of my lips touch the diminishing hand print and open to take a little bite. She nears a wall, I can see her chest heaving.

"Please." Her breathy whisper ignites an explosion in me.

"You were there!" I grit my teeth and wrap my hand around her gurgling  throat. The force of my hand pushing and squeezing shoves her hard into a nearby wall sending an Omega plaque to tumble to the floor. Avas eyes round and tear.
"No. I swear." She struggles under my grip. I bring my face close to hers. I can only describe my face as a snarling dog.
"Don't lie to me, Ava!" My voice roars, "Everywhere you go you leave your scent. Chanel No.5 It's the only perfume you wear. I know you were there that night." I release my grip. Ava stays put against the wall as I return to pacing.

"You. . ." I breifly stop mid step and point an accusing finger at her, "after what you helped her do, you have the nerve to come here to collect? I swear to god you'd be in the basement if this fucking thing..." I jab a finger towards  my foot, "wasn't on my leg." My blood starts to boil while my pants get tighter. She stands frozen, flat against the wall.
"I wasn't there, Avery I swear." She whispers through sniffs. Her lying mouth enrages me. I bring the back of my hand down hard across her face. She hits the floor in a heap cupping her face, her fingers come back bloody. It lights another fire behind my zipper but with too many witnessing ears just outside the door I fight it.

"Where is she?" I squat in front of her and manually tilt her chin up, letting one limp wrist hang from my bent knee.
"I don't know." She wimpers. I hit the wall beside her head with an open hand and she yelps, "Where, Ava?"
"The news said she was going home." Home?
"The dorms?" I lower my tone.
"Her home town." She wipes a drop of blood from her lip.

"Get out." I stand, "His assistant is downstairs." I grab her hand and help her to stand. Her watery eyes dodge mine. I wrap the scarf neatly around her neck after scooping it from the floor. I press my lips under her ear and kiss her glowing skin, "Don't do anything stupid." I whisper a warning into her ear before she hurries from the room. I lock the door behind her, and find another bottle of whiskey. I swallow down four long gulps, and place the bottle on my desk beside the closed laptop. I give, Ava three minutes before I leave the room.

In the hallway beyond my childhood bedroom I can't remember a time when tiny speakers didn't lightly play opera and classical music. It echos throughout the penthouse perched on the thirty-ninth floor. Modern cold surfaces decorate the home I grew up in. I creep down the dizzying staircase to the thirty-eighth floor. When my frigid mother found out she was pregnant with my smug detective brother, my father decided to stay in the city rather than move upstate. Too much dirt I assume. He searched until her decided to buy the entire top floor of a newly erected highrise; he then bought the two floors below and connected them into a massive cloud tickling mansion overlooking the city.
A monster of a building, it soars from the street below; bruting proud with it's mirrored glass and royal stature like a Greek god on steroids.

When I turned five they purchased another abode; an intimate three story brownstone to allow me a more homely experience. I spent years being shuffled back and forth between the two. The penthouse when my father craved the space he could put between him and mother, and the brownstone when she complained.

As the stairs twist I suddenly wish I'd taken the elevator. Three steps separate me from the next floor. Whiskey sours in my stomach, I stop and fall on a step top sit for a moment. The room spins but I stand up anyway and trudge on to my fathers office.

"Have you seen the news?" I slur to my father who sits in a wingback chair sipping brandy. His eyes cut to my drunken face and slightly puckers his tight lips. He examines his glass sitting in the light of a never ending window. His hand swirls it in the air, it glitters behind the thick crystal.

"Do you have any idea the mess you've made?" My father asks not taking his eye off the glass.
"Can you for once just look at me when you speak?" I slur, sliding into the chair opposite of him. A chess board with gold plated pieces are all that separates us. A mirrored image of past and present. The alcohol takes over my body, condensing my limbs to weak noodles.

I study my fathers face, pondering an example on myself in the future; greying hair crowns his head like thick cotton, multiple injections of Botox have left his face smooth and polished. An old photo of him hangs on the wall behind his head, only a hint of time can be detected on his face.

"My stock has dropped substantially since this hit the headlines. How many, Avery?" He finally looks to me, "How many girls have you preyed on, how many girls have I had to pay to keep their mouth shut?" His anger surfaces as the brandy glass shatters across the room. His favorite display of emotion. Shatter something.

I try to sit up but my clammy hands slip on the hard leather. "I don't know. I lost count."
"I can't keep covering for you, neither can your brother." My stomach falls weak, the back of my throat burns as the booze fights past my mouth and spews on to the floor. My father shoots from his chair disgusted, "Maria!" He shouts toward the door. A housekeeper stationed close by rushes into the room to tend to my vomit.

"Go clean yourself up and sleep it off, I'll call your brother and see where the case is going." He says from the door before leaving the room. I slump further into the chair feeling defeated.

...

I wake lying on the floor of my fathers office, my face flat against the floor. Drool soaks my cheek. I groan against the splitting headache that comes with utter dehydration. I seem to be spending a lot of my detained time on the floor. I slug to the elevator, ride to the top floor and drag my feet into the shower. The cold water stings my skin but wakes my mind immediately. I glance down to my foot where the monitor sways loose around my ankle.

Funny thing about being arrested and staying the night in a cell is that the police are required to feed you. A smile breaks on my face as the memory floods back to when I was twelve and had a pear along with my peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch at school.

I had never eaten a pear until that day. After lunch I scooted on to gym class as usual. While dressing into my gym uniform I noticed that my feet wouldn't fit into my sneakers, and my fingers seemed too fat to work properly on my child sized hands. I mentioned to my teacher that I couldn't wear my required sneakers because they wouldn't go on my feet. Coach Frank the gym teacher took a look and sent me to the nurses office where, Nurse Sarah determined I was allergic to pears. Apparently they make me swell, but not enough to startle someone at the sight of me. So when a burly, big bellied officer slid a tray of food into my cell I looked to the pear and ignored it.

Moments later my arrogant brother wearing an ironic trench coat came to warn me, "They're gonna to let you go, but you'll have to wear an ankle monitor." He told me in a hushed whisper accompanied by hooded eyes and a few days of stubble. As he walked away I looked back to the pear with hope. I plucked it from the tray and devoured it in three bites. It took only half an hour for the swelling to begin. I remained silent but triumphant as the bracelet was secured around my swollen ankle.

"I'll only make it loose enough for you to wash under it in the shower. These things can start to stink after a while." A fat woman who smelled of garlic told me while she placed it on me.

A thrill mixes with cold water like a joyous cocktail and consumes me.
I trot from the shower nude, smiling, and sit at my desk. I plug in the lighter USB and find her file. Letting the audio of her fearful screams play like a love ballad in the background as I look over the city from my window. "I'll find you, Chloe." I grin, tossing the ankle monitor into the air and catching it.