Chapter 5
In the VIP lounge, I kept my head down, not daring to meet Andrew's eyes.
My vision was doubled, and I was terrified that my vacant gaze would give me away.
"Did you break your hand or something?" Andrew asked. He grabbed my right hand and squeezed my fingers hard. "You used to play fine. Now you're this useless?"
He was squeezing the two fingers that had gone completely numb.
He squeezed so hard.
But I couldn't feel any pain, just the faint crackling sound from my knuckles.
If this had happened before, I would've screamed in pain.
But now, I didn't even bat an eye.
Andrew saw how I didn't react at all, and a flicker of irritation flashed in his eyes.
"Speak up. Are you mute or something?" he snapped.
"Mr. Grant," I said, keeping my eyes down, "I haven't practiced in a long time. I'm out of practice."
"Out of practice?" Andrew sneered.
Rose lounged beside him, peeling a grape and feeding it to Andrew. She smiled and said, "Looks like Ms. Lane's heart isn't in the music at all. Word is, Michael was cradling you at the hospital the other day; he was so protective of you."
Andrew's gaze sharpened like a blade.
"Charlotte, did you forget what I told you yesterday? Don't make a fool out of me," his voice was icy.
I had no intention of explaining.
The pressure in my head kept building, and I felt like my nose was about to start bleeding again.
"Mr. Grant, I've finished the piece. Can I go now?" I asked.
"Leave?" Andrew sneered. "Drink this whole bottle, and I'll let you go."
On the table sat a bottle of strong vodka.
I stared at the bottle.
If I drank it, I might die right here.
Michael said my blood vessels were already fragile; alcohol would make them rupture sooner.
"No," I refused him outright.
It was the first time I had ever defied him.
Andrew froze for a moment, then let out a mocking laugh. He said, "So, you've got guts now, huh? Not drinking, is that it?"
Andrew got up and closed in on me, each step heavy with menace.
He sneered, "Fine, we'll do something else."
He grabbed me, shoved me onto the couch, and started yanking at my dress with rough, careless hands.
The spoiled brats around us started hooting and whistling.
Rose giggled behind her hand, making no move to stop him.
It was humiliation, plain and simple.
I fought with everything I had, but up against Andrew, I was like an ant trying to take on a giant.
"Andrew, I'm sick. You'll catch it from me!" I yelled.
Andrew froze, stopping dead in his tracks.
He shot me a look of pure disgust and asked, "What, you got HIV? Syphilis?"
I was gasping for breath, my hair all over the place, a complete mess.
"I'm sick in the head," I said, tapping my temple and laughing like a lunatic. "Seriously, Andrew, if you touch me again, I'll drop dead right here."
Andrew stared into my eyes.
Those once-clear eyes were now bloodshot, my pupils strangely wide and unfocused.
Something in his chest gave a sudden jolt.
"Get out," he spat.
Andrew shoved me away like I was something dirty, sneering, "You make me sick."
I scrambled to my feet, straightened my clothes, and stumbled out of the lounge.
As soon as I stepped out, I slammed right into the wall.
I had to feel my way along the wall.
Because my world had gone completely dark.
After that day, my vision was hit or miss.
On good days, I could make out the outlines of things; on bad days, everything was pitch black.
I holed up in my tiny apartment, wrapping every sharp edge in the place with foam.
On the tenth day, my mind started to unravel.
My memory began to break apart, leaving empty spaces.
Sometimes I'd forget I was even divorced, and without thinking, I'd grab my phone to text Andrew, asking if he was coming home for dinner.
Other times, I'd forget where I was, sitting on the toilet in a daze for the whole day.
That day, the landlord knocked on my door.
"Ms. Lane, Mr. Grant is waiting for you downstairs," the landlord called out.
Mr. Grant?
My mind was foggy.
Which Mr. Grant?
Oh, Andrew.
I fumbled around, changed my shoes, and grabbed my makeshift cane, a plain curtain rod. I didn't dare use a real white cane, too afraid someone would realize I was blind.
Downstairs, that familiar Maybach was parked out front.
Andrew was leaning against the car door, a pile of cigarette butts scattered at his feet.
When he saw me coming down, he frowned and asked, "What's with the stick? You begging now?"
I quickly hid the curtain rod behind my back and replied, "What do you want?"
"Rose's necklace is missing." Andrew stared straight at me. "You were the only one who got close to her bag that night at the lounge."
I laughed.
Here we went again.
First it was documents, then a ring, now a necklace.
To him, I was always a thief.
"I didn't take it," I said.
"That necklace is worth a million," Andrew said, ignoring me. "Charlotte, give me the necklace, and I won't call the cops."
"I told you, I didn't take it!" I lost it and shouted back at him.
The pounding in my head was so intense, I felt like smashing it against the wall.
Andrew looked startled by how I reacted.
He moved in, grabbed my wrist, and sneered, "If you didn't take it, why are you freaking out? Guilty much?"
"Go ahead, search all you want," I said, shaking off his hand and spreading my arms wide. "Search me, search my place, do whatever you want."
Andrew stared at me, silent.
The autumn wind caught the loose hem of my clothes. I was so thin, I looked like I'd break apart with a single breeze.
Something complicated flickered in his eyes.
"Charlotte, why are you so skinny these days?" Andrew asked.
I stayed silent, keeping my chin raised in defiance.
My eyes had no focus; I could only face his direction by instinct.
Andrew reached out, as if he was about to touch my face.
Just then, his phone rang.
It was Rose.
"Andrew, I found it. The necklace was stuck in the couch cushions. Sorry, I wrongly accused Ms. Lane," Rose said.
The call was so loud, it cut through the quiet street like a knife.
Andrew's hand hung awkwardly in the air, frozen mid-motion.
The moment was painfully awkward.
I dropped my arms, no sarcasm, no anger, just a crushing exhaustion.
"Mr. Grant, is it clear now?" I asked.
Andrew pulled his hand back, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Since it was a misunderstanding..."
"It wasn't a misunderstanding," I cut him off. "You never believed me, not even once."
I turned and walked toward the hallway.
Unable to see the steps, my foot slipped, and I lost my balance.
"Ah!" I went sprawling forward.
This time, Andrew caught me.
I fell into his arms, taking in the familiar smell of cigarettes.
But I didn't push him away.
Because in that moment, I forgot who he was entirely.
My face blindness struck again.
I lifted my head, disoriented, and everything was still pitch black, trying to recognize him by his voice alone.
"Sir, thank you. Did you happen to see my cane?" I asked.
Andrew froze, his body stiff as a board.
He looked down at me, terror flooding his eyes.
"Charlotte, quit faking!" Andrew snapped, shaking my shoulders. "I'm Andrew. Look at me!"
I blinked, my vacant eyes catching his panicked face.
"Andrew..." I muttered, my brow furrowed. It felt like I was trying to remember someone from ages ago. "It rings a bell. But I think he's dead."