Fading Into Nothing Read online

  “I can come on a little strong. I think you needed it to relax a bit. Plus, we were talking about some pretty heavy topics.” He swirls the ice in his glass.

  I don’t know if I like that he’s aware he made me so nervous. I lift my chin and straighten my posture. “Not at all. I asked you if you wanted to talk about your brother.”

  A slow smile builds on his face. “I meant the topic of how beautiful you are.”

  “Stop,” I whisper and look away. My hands automatically clutch the inside of my elbows, trying to hide from him. I don’t deserve to be beautiful. I don’t remember the things I’ve done, but the evidence is scarred on my body. The track marks don’t lie when it comes to the life I once lived.

  I don’t hear him get up and sit next to me, but I feel his breath against the delicate skin of my neck. “You don’t like being told how beautiful you are?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Well, if you don’t believe it, then maybe you need to be told more often.”

  I shut my eyes because I can’t look at him. “It’s much easier to believe the bad things about yourself.”

  My eyes fly open when he laughs out loud and sits across from me again. “Tell me, Maggie, what about you could possibly be bad? Are you a serial killer?”

  “No.” I almost laugh.

  “Are you a thief?”

  “No.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  He leans forward. “Are you a sadist and like a little kink?” he says with a wink.

  My jaw nearly hits the floor. I look around to see if anyone heard him. “Now you’re just being ridiculous,” I whisper. I find myself not only flustered by his question but strangely turned on.

  He sits back against the bench and drums his fingers on his chin. “So tell me, Maggie Harper, who are you?”

  “I’m an elementary school teacher.”

  “Ah, I see, the provincial spinster. Is that why you see yourself as not beautiful?”

  “No…I…”

  “But that didn’t answer my question? I want to know who you are, not what you do.”

  He’s staring at me, waiting for an answer that I don’t have. I decide to turn the tables on him. “You first. Who are you? But unlike you, I want to know what you do for a living too.” I glare back with the same fierce look.

  His face lights up like sunlight. “I’m a lawyer.”

  “Ah-ha! I knew it. I pegged you for a lawyer or an accountant the minute you sat down.”

  “No you didn’t,” he retorts. “You didn’t even look at me when I sat down across from you.”

  My brows draw together. He’s right; I can’t argue the fact. “Do you notice everything?”

  He chuckles. “Just everything about a beautiful woman.”

  “There you go again. Quit saying that.”

  “You need to be told a million times until you believe it.”

  “And you think you should be the person to do that?”

  “I do.” His smile fades, but his expression is filled with something I can’t place.

  “Okay, mister lawyer, tell me who you are?”

  “I’m a man that knows what he wants when he sees it. I’m a man full of passion and love to give. I’m the man that wants to make you believe you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He takes my hand and leans toward my ear. Lowering his voice, he says, “And yes, I’m a man that loves a little kink.”

  A shiver of pleasure runs through me, and my dry mouth becomes moist. I’m suddenly very aware of my own heartbeat for the first time in my life. This stranger has lit something inside of me I didn’t know existed—lust. I’m not a virgin, but sex has never been that great. I’m not that girl. I dream of falling in love, having children of my own, sharing my life with the perfect man, but sex has never been my drug of choice.

  I pull from his grasp and gaze out the window, again, watching the world speed by. He sits back and sizes me up, waiting for me to respond.

  I begin to speak without looking at him. “I’m a woman who has no idea who she is or what she wants. I’m a woman who’s been shattered yet survived. I’m a woman who has no idea how to love a man.” I turn to look at him straight on. “I’m certainly not a woman that has known any kind of kink, nor have I ever thought about it.”

  In all the seriousness between us, he starts to chuckle. He gets so choked on his throaty laughter that I join him. I’m not sure what’s so funny, but it feels good, almost euphoric. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard other than at some of the things my second graders say.

  This man is a complete stranger, yet I’m drawn to him. Maybe it’s just curiosity. He goes from funny to serious and back to funny within seconds.

  When he recovers from his fit of laughter, he points a finger at me. “You know, you’re even more gorgeous when you’re flustered.”

  “Gah, are we back to that?”

  “Let me prove it to you.”

  “How do you plan on proving to me that I’m beautiful?”

  “I don’t know yet but come with me to Savannah.”

  “What? Are you crazy? I don’t even know you.” I can’t keep my eyes from rolling.

  “When is the last time you took a chance on something?”

  “Never.”

  “Then do it. Don’t think about it.”

  “I can’t.”

  He crosses his arms this time exposing more of his tattoo. “I bet you plan everything out, even sex.”

  He keeps saying things to make my jaw drop. “I do not.” It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  “I dare you to come with me.”

  “I’m not some second grader that needs to accept a dare.”

  “But you want to — don’t you?” He wags a finger at me.

  There he goes, smiling at me again. I do want to. “No.”

  He moves next to me again. “I promise to be on my best behavior.”

  Now he’s pouting like my school kids, and it’s charming. I reach down into my bag sitting on the floor and take out my laptop. I open it, turn it on, and connect with my hotspot.

  “What are we looking for?” He slips his arm around my shoulder.

  “I’m Googling you.”

  “I like kink, but I don’t put any photos on the internet.” He laughs, and I know he’s teasing me.

  “I want to make sure you haven’t escaped from an insane asylum,” I poke back at him.

  He takes his arm from around me and leans over, placing his elbows on his knees and his hands under his chin. I get the sense that he’s feeling vulnerable. I’m curious now as to what I will find.

  I type his name into the search bar. Several William Taylors pop up. He puts his finger on the pad and scrolls down. “It’s actually, Wills Taylor, not William.”

  He stops on a link titled addictedtohealing.com. I take over and open the link, and his handsome face pops up in the corner of the screen. Pro bono attorney and volunteer services, is what it says under his name. I place my finger on volunteer services. “What exactly is it that you volunteer to do?”

  A deep chuckle rumbles through him, and he clicks on a photo. “I volunteer at an addiction center. I help men and women get back on track with their lives. Actually, I do more than volunteer. I own the center. I hire doctors and teachers to come work with each individual. Most of them are kids who’ve had a hard upbringing and need a way back. They need to know someone cares to give them hope for a brighter future.”

  Hope. The word rings through my ears and vibrates in my soul. I’m not sure why, but the word pierces me. I want to hold on to it, but the feeling passes as quickly as it ran through me. I look back at him, and I swear his eyes have a glistening of tears behind them. I’m betting he started this for his brother, but he couldn’t help him.

  I slowly reach over and lay my hand on his. “So, you are a good guy.” It’s a statement, not a question. “I’m sorry about Patrick.”

  He sits back and blinks rapidly, trying not to let
his tears fall. I now, more than before, want to go with him to Savannah. Not only do I feel the need to comfort him, but I want to get to know him.

  “I’ll go with you to Georgia.” His face shows as much shock as I feel about doing something totally out of the ordinary for me — completely unexpected and unplanned.

  Chapter 2

  I feel utterly nervous as Will takes my hand, leading me off the train, even though we have done nothing but talk for hours, sharing things about our lives with one another. I’ve learned that Will grew up here in Savannah. I’ve never been here before, but through his eyes, it’s a place that I could fall in love with. His parents own eight large bed and breakfasts scattered throughout the town. His dad is a land attorney and acquired land and property over the years. His mom is a Southern belle and loves the hospitality business.

  Will went to law school in New York and never moved back. His brother Patrick, who was only a year older than him, went to law school too and they shared a dorm. Patrick was smart, but he never really wanted to be a lawyer, according to Will. He struggled with wanting to follow in his father’s footsteps and trying to find the man he was supposed to become. Will says that’s how he got caught up in drugs. He had always been on the introverted side and never knew how to deal with the sternness of his father. Will said his father is a good man, but he ran a tight ship at home. He was always harder on Patrick than him. Will swears it was because his father loved Patrick more. I can already tell by the way Will talks about his mother that he adores her — a good old mama’s boy.

  Will releases my hand when a loud squeal comes from a beautiful, curly blonde-haired older woman a few feet from us. Her arms fly around him, and she kisses him on the cheek.

  “I’m so glad you’re home, Son.” She rubs her red lipstick from his face with the tips of her fingers.

  “Me too, Mom. I just wish it was under better circumstances.”

  She wipes away tears when I stand next to Will. “Who is this pretty young lady?”

  “This is Maggie Harper. She’s a friend of mine. I hope it’s okay that I brought her with me.”

  I’m surprised when she hugs me to her. “It’s so nice to meet you, Maggie.” She’s squeezing me so hard I can’t respond.

  “Mom, let her breathe.” Will pulls us apart.

  “It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Taylor.”

  “Please, call me Caroline. Mrs. Taylor makes me sound old and stuffy.” She fluffs her hair with her hands. “Come on you two. The car is waiting.”

  “The car?” I whisper as I grab my luggage.

  “My dad insists on having a driver. Mom hated it at first, but I think she’s grown accustomed to it.” He laughs.

  Will puts our luggage in the trunk of the black stretch limo as I slide into the back seat. His mother sits next to me, and Will gets in beside her. She talks our ears off on the short ride to town. I’m only half listening to her talk about all the family that is in town. I’m looking out the window, admiring all the old historic buildings. I even saw an old plantation house on the drive.

  There was a sign as we entered the peaceful town that boasted, “Savannah is the oldest city in Georgia.” The architecture and the cobblestone streets are a charming touch. Small shops line the street opposite of the Savannah River, and tables with red umbrellas run along the riverside. Lamp posts are just starting to turn on as dusk is settling in for the night.

  “This place is absolutely beautiful.” I glance over at Will, and he mouths, “just like you.” I look up at his mother to see her reaction, but she didn’t see what he said. I smile at him, and he shrugs one shoulder.

  “Where are you from, Maggie?” his mother asks.

  “New York City.”

  “This has to be a big change for you then?”

  “Actually, I love small towns with lots of history and charm. I’d like to one day move away from the busy city.”

  “If you can stick around for a while after the funeral,” she sniffs, “I’d love to show you around.”

  Before I can respond that I’m only here for a few days for Will, the limo stops in front of a three-story white house that looks like it’s something out of a fairy tale. The limo driver places a keycard in the box at the gated entrance and the large wrought iron gate sculpted with lion heads, slides open. He circles around the long, curved driveway and stops in front of a statue of an angel that has water pouring out of a bucket into a pool beneath it. The fountain is captured by a round wall of white concrete with more angels dancing on the outside of it. All kinds of colored flowers are covering every inch of one corner of the perfectly manicured lawn.

  Will gets out and opens the limo door for me and his mother. “Is this where you grew up?” I ask, gawking at the beauty around me. The smell of fresh cut lawn and flowers fills my nose. The only sounds I hear is the birds chirping around the fountain and the water splashing into the pool beneath it. The white stucco walls of the mansion are lit up by the many floodlights casting gray shadows toward the third story.

  “This is home sweet home,” he says as he pulls the luggage from the trunk. I follow Caroline to the massive double front doors. Even the door knocker is the face of an angel. As the doors open, my sandals click across gray marble flooring. There is a mighty staircase in the middle of the room with a shiny polished wood banister leading the way.

  “Are you guys hungry? Several neighbors have brought over food.”

  “I’m starved, but I’d love to get cleaned up first,” Will tells her. “When will Dad be home?”

  “He’s making the last of the funeral arrangements, but it shouldn’t be too much longer. How about I give Maggie a tour of the house?”

  “I’d love that, but I’d like to freshen up a bit and maybe change clothes.”

  “Sure, sweetie. Will can show you to his room.”

  “I…we…” I stammer.

  “We are just friends, Mom. New friends at that — I’ll show her to one of our guest rooms.”

  She winks at him. “Whatever you say, darling.”

  I start to say something but Will grabs my hand and leads me across the marble floor up the stairs. “Your mother seems very sweet.”

  “She is, but she’s been trying to get me married since…”

  “Since what?” I ask when he doesn’t finish his sentence.

  “Never mind. This is your room.” He opens the first door we come to. “This is the pink room.”

  He isn’t kidding; it looks like Pepto was spilled on the walls. A grand four-poster bed with a canopy sits in the middle of the room. I swear the house I grew up in would fit inside this bedroom.

  “Make yourself at home. That door is the closet, and the one over there is the bathroom. You will find it fully stocked with everything you need.”

  I suddenly feel lost in this big room. “Where is your room?”

  He steps up close to me. “I will gladly let you stay with me,” he says in a seductive voice.

  “I only wanted to know where you would be.”

  He laughs as he walks to the door. “Two doors down on the right, in the shower if you would like to join me.”

  He shuts the door behind him, and I explore the room. Even the deep chocolate dressers are exquisite. Pale gray curtains cover the double-pane windows. I pull them back to see that the property borders the Savannah River. It’s absolutely stunning.

  I unpack a few things and head for the bathroom. A double vanity lines the wall and a shower the size I’ve never seen before fills the room. If this is the guest room, I can’t help but wonder about the master suite. I pause in the mirror at my reflection. My big, round, brown eyes take me in. I try for a moment to see myself as beautiful as I unbutton my blouse. I brush my hand down my long, lean neck and rub my collarbone that sticks out more than I would like. I continue to unbutton my blouse until it fully opens and my white lace bra is what I see. The swells of my breast fill it. The girls are the one thing I do like about my body. They are perfectly round with
proportionally shaped nipples. I have a lean stomach with a heart-shaped belly button. My long hair falls in my face as I shrug out of my blouse, exposing my arms. The one thing I hate the most. I rub at the scars like I could make them go away, but they never do. I turn away from the mirror and shimmy my ass and long legs out of my lacy underwear. Opening the glass door to the shower, I turn on the water and wait for it to warm up. Even though it is hot outside, I hate taking a cold shower. We never had hot, running water in our house growing up, so the warmth soothes me and keeps the memories at bay.

  Stepping into the marble shower, I notice the expensive shampoo bottles, and I’m hesitant to use them. I slowly twist off the cap and the fragrance of lilacs drifts into the steamy air. I use only a small amount, then rinse out my hair. Even the soap is expensive and in the shape of a seashell. The coconut oil infused in the soap glides over my body. Its silkiness feels elegant and all thoughts of showering quickly disappear. I linger way longer than I need to.

  I dry off with the soft fluffy towels that smell of springtime and head over to the dresser where I laid out my things. I know no matter what I wear, I will feel underdressed in this fancy house. I slip on a pair of white cotton shorts, a long-sleeved navy-blue blouse, and a pair of blue sandals adorned with an anchor on top.

  I cover my shoulders with a towel and brush out my long, brown, wet curls. I apply eyeliner and mascara along with a nude-colored lip gloss. I’ve never been one to wear too much makeup, mainly because I couldn’t afford it. Now that I can, I don’t see the need for it. I’m plain and painting my face up isn’t going to change who I am. Of course, I did tell Will earlier that I don’t know who I am. I only know that I don’t need a lot of things to be happy. I like the simple life that I lead. I like my small apartment in New York, and I love teaching young minds. It may not be much, but those are the things I know about myself.

  My silence is broken by a knock at the door, causing me to jump. “Are you decent?” Will asks, peeking his head in the door.

  “Yes, come on in.”