Trapped in his End Game (Series)

It’s still dark inside when I wake and if it weren’t for the smell of him wrapping around me, I would think it was all a crazy, lust-fueled dream. His broad back faces me and there are faint red lines etched into his skin. My whole body aches and I know I’ll have bruises on my neck and ass.

The alcohol is gone from my system, along with my hazy thoughts. I feel pressure building inside my chest. I wonder what’s going to happen when he wakes. Will I see him again, or is this a one time only deal? No matter how fast and how fucked up it all was, it was the best sex I ever had. Bar none.

And no nightmares.

A faint ringing from his nightstand startles me. Vincent’s body jerks and his arm lazily grabs the phone, pressing it against his ear.

“Yeah?”

I listen hard at the faint garble against his ear.

“Wait-what? No, I didn’t hear about no fucking sit down.” His voice becomes louder as he sits upright, his whole body tense. He looks back at me, sees my widened eyes, and gets up out of the bed to leave the room. “I knew we should have taken care of it weeks ago…”

When Vincent returns some ten minutes later, I’m tense under the sheets. He peels them back and joins me in bed, this time lying on his back, his eyes staring at some point in the ceiling.

“Come here.”

I slide up against him, heart pounding as my head nestles on his shoulder, his arm curling around my back. It’s making my skin heat to be on top of him, both of us naked. His attention seems to be somewhere else, his hands absentmindedly stroking my body.

“Is everything okay?”

He shifts so that I’m underneath him. His fingers stroke my neck, rubbing the sore wounds lightly with his thumb. “Yeah.”

That doesn’t really answer my question, but I find that I don’t care when Vince’s body covers mine and he kisses me. His kisses almost seem like an apology for my neck.

“Did you enjoy last night?”

“Yes, very much.”

Vincent utters a groan when I reach down to grab his hardness. He takes my hand away from him gently. “You’re going to hate me for this, but I’ve got to take you back. There’s a problem I’ve got to deal with.”

His eyes look remorseful, but still I can’t help but worry that he is just using me.

“Believe me, I’d love nothing more than to stay here in bed with you.”

Tired and aching, I lean upright, nodding. I understand, even though I feel glum. Maybe I’m just cranky because I’m tired. We dress in silence; Vince pulls on something casual but still manages to look like he just went to a photo shoot.

“Don’t look so sad, Adriana. You’ll see me again.”Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

It sounds like a promise.

* * *

The rest of my morning is restless as I toss and turn in my bed, my mind still blazing with the mind-blowing sex I had last night. Finally, I give up and slide off my bed, resigning myself to wakefulness. Maybe I’ll go to the gym or read a book somewhere. After showering and applying a copious amount of makeup around my neck, I grab the phone on my desk and see several missed calls from unknown numbers.

“Ms. Baldino. This is Larry from CFA again and under federal law I must advise you that this is an attempt to collect debt from you. We have a claim in our office from American Express of 7, 348. 52.”

Annoyed, I delete the message. They’re just stupid scammers trying to get my information. I don’t even have an American Express card. It makes my blood chill to hear them say my name. I know it’s a scam, but it makes me uneasy. So much so that I completely forget about my plans to go to the gym. I walk into the living room, checking the mail pushed through the slot in the door, and see an envelope addressed to me from Sallie Mae. The private loans I took for this year’s tuition is probably in. Columbia is too damn expensive to pay with just federal loans.

I rip open the envelope and scan the single page. My eyes fall on a bolded word that makes my head spin: denied.

Due to your recent credit score, your request for a private loan of $23, 548 has been denied.

Denied. The word bleeds across the page as I hear a high-pitching, ringing sound. Denied? How could I be denied? My credit score isn’t that bad. I only missed one payment and that was months ago. I pace in the too small dorm, wishing Maria were here so I could ask her what she thought.

I open up my laptop, silent waves of panic rising and crashing inside me. I don’t acknowledge them. I can’t. Surely, there must be some mistake.

With heavy fingers, I type in the website that gives free credit score reports and enter in my information. Even though I fucking know what happened already, I still cry out when I see my credit score: 540.

One credit card with a 7, 348-dollar debt. A fifty thousand dollar private loan taken from some company I’ve never even heard of.

Mom.

I back away from the screen, which seems too bright and my chest constricts. I can’t breathe. It’s like my throat has closed to a pin-sized hole. Everything inside me collapses and I crumple over myself like a paper doll.

How could she?

My own mother.

The slightest twinge of doubt makes me grab my cell phone. I have to confirm it. I have to know for sure-and a part of me wants her to admit it. I stab her number in my phone and hold it to my ear. It goes to voicemail. I call again and again until finally she blocks me, or it goes straight to voicemail.

“Fucking bitch!”

My scream echoes in still apartment as I curl my fingers around my phone. I need to cancel the card, but I can’t fucking do it. I would have to declare it as fraud, and then they would investigate the charges, and eventually Mom would go to jail. I try her number again. No answer.

I yank my purse off the wall. Fuck it. I’ll break down her goddamn door if I have to. Her silence has already confirmed what I suspect, but I need to hear her admit it. I check my phone restlessly as I get on the subway to head for Brooklyn. Lately, her house was filled with more useless crap than usual. She stole my identity to pay for all of it.

It’s a beautiful day outside when I finally emerge from the subway, but I can’t enjoy it. There’s always something in the way, always something bringing me down, and I’m ready. I’m so fucking ready to cut her out of my life. Finally.

After running two blocks, I approach her shitty, crumbling brownstone and I hammer the hell out of her front door. My fist is like a battering ram. Finally, the door swings open and my mother stands there in her too-small pajamas, a cigarette trailing out of her mouth.

She doesn’t look at all surprised to see me there. Mom, steps aside, kicking a stack of newspaper to make room for me.

I hate this hovel. It’s a nightmare. I always think about what Dad would say if he saw his house in this condition and it depresses the hell out of me. Do you ever think about all the ways your life could go wrong? Well, that’s what this house is. A literal nightmare. My Dad died here. We all did.

The door closes, shutting me into her stuffy maze of junk. She sits down on the couch, but I don’t want her sitting down. She has no business sitting down when I want to rage and scream at her.

“Why the fuck did you do it?”

“Do what?” she says tonelessly.

“Don’t fucking do that. A fifty thousand dollar loan and a credit card in my name? You didn’t think I would notice?”

“I needed the money, Adriana. You wouldn’t listen to me.”

I want to shatter the calm on her face.

“What, to buy this shit?” I seize the stack of Vogue magazines sitting on the chair next to me and hurl them all. They’re all the same issue. They slide all over the floor as my mother protests. For too long I accommodated her disease, sitting on stacks of things on furniture instead of a clean space. Fuck her. She screams in protest.

“I don’t care! I don’t give a shit about any of this! You ruined my life. I can’t stand you.” I watch her bury her face in her hands and I hate her. I hate her for her fucking crocodile tears. “Fucking cry. Go ahead. I’m going to file a report and you’ll go to jail for fraud.”

She stands up, screaming. “They’re not just my debts! They’re your dad’s!”

What?

It’s another trick. My hand’s on the doorknob, but she’s standing there like she said something horrible. Her pajamas tremble.

“What are you talking about?”

She presses her thin hand over her eyes, shaking her head. “Oh, Adriana. Your dad wasn’t a good man.”

“What?”

“He left us with a lot of debt. I’ve been paying it all this time! That’s why you were never able to have anything nice in your life, because he left us with nothing.”

“Bullshit!” I explode. “I never had anything nice, because you blew it on all on this shit we didn’t need.” I kick the stack of metal racks leaning against the wall.

“No, that’s not true.” Mom walks closer to me and I see that the dark roots of her hair have grown in. Her nails are chipped and her face is ashen. She hasn’t taken care of herself for weeks. “You know it’s not true. Look around. I don’t have anything near the amount I borrowed. He was bad with money, Ade!”

“How much?”

She just shakes her head.

“How much?”

“I-I’ve paid half already. There’s two-hundred thousand left.”

In my mind I count all the zeros, because counting is better than feeling the emotional destruction in my soul. One, two, three, four, five.

There’s no way I can make a dent in that amount of money.

And I know when I see my mother’s shoulders curl forward that she’s just as much as a victim as I am.

“Show me. Prove it to me.”

My mother shows me all the accounts made in his name, the invoices, most of them casinos.

“This is not all of it. I don’t have receipts for all of it, but you get the idea.”

So my father was a degenerate gambler. I swallow that down like it’s poison.

There’s no way I can make a dent in that amount of money.

And I know when I see my mother’s shoulders curl forward that she’s just as much as a victim as I am.