Against her will, Cash’s deep brogue floated through her consciousness.
We have all the time in the world.
She closed her eyes tighter and Cash’s scent came to her from his pillow as it did every morning she curled into it after he left her. It wasn’t just his cologne, it was the scent of his hair, his skin, him.
We have all the time in the world.
Then she remembered.
She remembered something she’d pushed so deep, its resurfacing caused pain, like she was pulling barbed wire out of her heart.
After Ben was killed, after the police left, after she’d called Jenny, she’d walked in a fog up to their bed and curled into his pillow.
And she breathed in the scent of him.
She stayed there for over a day, until Jenny came to the front door. She didn’t answer the phone, she didn’t eat, she didn’t drink, she often slept but she only took herself away from the bed to go to the bathroom.
She simply remained curled around Ben’s pillow, eyes closed, mind blank, breathing in the scent of him.
It was the only physical thing she had left. Not one of his belongings, it was a part of him, still there, still within reach, still able to fill her senses.
Days later, when Jenny had Abby functioning again, Jenny had started to tidy.
In a panic, Abby had taken the pillowcase and rooted through the wash hamper, sorting bits and pieces that still held his essence, shoving them in a plastic bag and hiding them in a place Jenny couldn’t find them.
And when Jenny would go to the grocery store or out on an errand, Abby would go to their walk-in closet, get the bag and pull out the pillowcase or one of his shirts. Then she’d sit in the corner of the closet amongst her shoes, his shoes and other detritus that she always promised herself she’d organise, the tangled evidence of their lives together, and she’d breathe in his scent.
Eventually, Abby stopped doing this and when Jenny came years later to help her sort through her life, Abby knew she’d found the bag Abby hadn’t touched for years. She also knew Jenny had disposed of it without saying a word to Abby.
We have all the time in the world.
That wasn’t true. It was despicably, awfully, unfairly, completely not true.
They may have years.
They could only have hours.
Abby couldn’t do it again.
Never, never again.
Her battered heart beating wildly, her mind held hostage to a panic so extreme she couldn’t begin to control her actions and she didn’t try.
She threw the covers off the bed and launched herself from it. She snatched her panties from the floor and tugged them on. She turned on the light and ran from the room to the guest bedroom where Cash had put her four suitcases after she’d unpacked on Sunday.
She grabbed two and ran back into the room.
Zee was standing on the bed. Still somewhat uncertain of his new surroundings he’d chosen elsewhere to sleep the last two nights.
Now, for Zee, at Cash’s or on the moon, it was kitty breakfast time.
In a panic, Abby ignored her cat and threw a suitcase on the floor, one on the bed and she pulled it open.
In the flurry of Abby’s harried movements, Zee took off and Abby ran to the wardrobe, throwing it open, seeing her clothes neatly hanging next to Cash’s. That was something she’d struggled with Sunday when she’d hung them. Now it tore at her shredded heart.
But she didn’t stop.
Not even taking the clothes from the hangers, she grabbed handfuls of them and hurried back across the room, tossing them into the suitcase and going back. And back. And back.
The door to the bathroom opened and Abby, with an armful of t-shirts from the dresser, halted, as did Cash, just steps from the bathroom door.
His hair was wet and he was wearing nothing but a towel around his hips. His eyes moved from her, to the bed, back to her.
It seemed, to Abby’s terror-clogged mind, this happened in slow motion.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Cash asked, his voice hitting the room like a whiplash, and Abby’s body jerked out of its temporary paralysis.
She walked to the suitcase and threw the clothes in.
“I quit,” she declared, heading back to the dresser. “I don’t know if you owe me or I owe you but whatever it is, we’ll just call it even.”
She was heading back to the suitcase with an armload of underwear when Cash’s fingers curled around her bicep, bringing her to an awkward stop.
Her eyes lifted to his and she demanded, “Cash, let me go.”
He didn’t respond to her demand, instead he asked, “You quit?”
She yanked at her arm but his fingers only grew tighter so she ceased this endeavour.
“Yes, I quit,” she told him.
His fingers squeezed deeper into her arm. “You quit what?”
“I quit being your escort,” she explained, “your pretend girlfriend. This isn’t working for me. Therefore, I quit.”
“My pretend girlfriend?” Cash repeated, eyes narrowed, and Abby was too much in a state to register that the air in the room had grown dangerously thick.
“Yes, your pretend girlfriend. I quit. Now, let me go,” she jerked at her arm but he still didn’t release her.
Their eyes held and she didn’t feel anything. So caught up in her act of self-preservation, the house could crash down on them and she’d rise from the rubble and continue packing.
Suddenly, his hand released her arm.
“All right, Abby,” he said quietly and she immediately walked to the suitcase, threw in her underwear and, seeing it was over-full, she hefted the top over and attempted to zip it closed.
“Would you like to tell me why you quit?” Cash’s voice came to her from behind.
No. No she definitely would not like to tell him that. Hell, she wasn’t even allowing herself to think of that.
“No,” she replied shortly.
“I see,” his voice said and Abby’s desperation increased as the zipper refused to budge against the gap created by her clothes.
Abby’s body was gently moved away as Cash murmured, “Allow me.”
Abby took a step back and watched him bend to her bag. He was still wearing his towel, the muscles in his back worked and she watched them with a detached fascination.
Therefore, at first she missed the fact that he wasn’t going for her zipper. He was picking up her bag. When he had it in his hands, he turned and tossed it to the floor. It landed, went skidding and slammed against the wardrobe, her clothes flying out in different directions.
“Cash!” she shouted but her breath left her in a whoosh as his arm hooked around her mid-section and she found herself on her back on the bed, Cash coming down at her side then rolling over the top of her.
She blinked rapidly several times and when he came into focus, he noticed and started speaking immediately.
And he used a voice she’d never heard before. It was somewhat like the hard voice he’d used when he first told her he took care of what was his. But now it held an edge of unbendable steel that sent her spiralling into a terror that made her recent demented panic seem like an insignificant tizzy.
“All right, darling,” he declared, “I’ll tell you how this is going to go.”
Abby went solid as she stared into his eyes, which were hard and glittering and very, very scary.
He continued. “I’m pleased you don’t want to be my pretend girlfriend, considering you haven’t been that since you begged me to fuck you the first time. I’ll not be paying you the next instalment on Friday as agreed, nor will I be paying the remainder you’re due at the end of our arrangement. Instead, I’ll be setting up a monthly allowance to be transferred into a joint account which you can draw on and not have to worry about taxes.”