Infinite Fear Read online

  Infinite Fear

  By Jacqueline Abrahams

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2014 Jacqueline Abrahams

  Ebook formatting by Jesse Gordon

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Prologue

  The same song is playing on three of the five radio stations in this damn car. I slam my hand over the power button, deafening the irritating noise. I flick open my phone for the thousandth time in the last three hours. 11:45am. In fifteen minutes, Shana will be back with me. And I won’t be so fucking antsy anymore.

  The weather outside is dismal. The thick layer of fog that shrouded the clinic earlier this morning has lifted, only to reveal a mass of angry-looking grey clouds above. The heating in dad’s Mustang cuts out every ten minutes, blasting my face with cold, frosty air. I wind down the window and light another cigarette. I don’t usually smoke, but this morning I’ve gone through a full pack already. Puffing on the cigarettes was the only thing that seemed to stop my leg from shaking uncontrollably.

  I wish I were inside with her. But Shana made her wishes clear yesterday. She didn’t want me to come in with her. She wanted to be alone. I had pleaded and yelled and then pleaded again, to no avail. The events of the last few weeks replay over and over in my mind as I sit here. The vivid memory of the two pink lines on the pee stick that changed our relationship forever. The horrible memory of me asking her to marry me, telling her we could do this together if she wanted to, and her saying no.

  I don’t give a damn that we’re eighteen. I was raised to do the right thing. And that’s what I would have done. Not to mention the fact that I fucking love her. And if I loved her properly, then I would have thought to prevent this in the first place. It was my responsibility, and I failed. I rub my temples in frustration. The past three hours have felt like an eternity.

  My phone vibrates in my hand and Jade’s name flashes across the screen. She’s called every half hour, all morning long. I stopped taking her calls at 10:30. I understand her concern for Shana, but the constant calling is driving me insane, worse than I already am. I dismiss the call and see that the clock has finally hit noon.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, I grab the keys and race up the stairs two at a time, yanking the door open as I reach the top. The receptionist behind the worn desk wears a tight bun that pulls back her eyes in a very unnatural way.

  “I’m looking for my girlfriend,” I say abruptly. She doesn’t acknowledge my presence at all.

  Different approach. “Excuse me,” I say politely.

  “Yes,” she says, barely looking away from her computer screen.

  “I’m looking for my girlfriend, Shana,” I state through gritted teeth.

  “No one here by that name,” she says flatly.

  “She’s here, I watched her walk in the door this morning,” I say, my voice rising with agitation.

  “Well, I’m telling you, she’s not here now,” she answers in the same irritatingly flat voice.

  “Check again!” I yell, too loudly. The people in the waiting room all look up from their phones and magazines to see what all the fuss is about.

  The receptionist drops her pen and raises her eyes to meet mine, her glare venomous. “Look, little boy, I told you there is no one here by that name. Maybe you should consider the fact that she would have told you if she wanted you to know that she left!”

  “Fuck!” I shout before slamming through the clinic doors. Racing down the stairs, I dial Shana’s number. Answering machine. And again, voicemail. And again. My hands tremble as I fight for control of my panic. I’ll try one more time. I dial, and the call goes straight to voicemail, without even ringing this time.

  That’s the point where I lose it. I’m not angry. I’m terrified. Terrified of what may have happened to Shana. But more terrified that nothing at all happened. That she just left. I raise my fist and slam it straight through Mustang’s window. Shards of glass fly into the car, splinters embedding into my skin, blood oozing instantly from the cuts. Why the fuck would she do this to me? I promised her the world.

  My phone vibrates in my left hand. JADE CALLING. My voice trembles as I answer the call.

  “Jade, she’s gone,” I say quietly.

  “Gone? Gone where? Did something happen to her at that clinic?” Jade’s voice rises hysterically.

  “No, Jade. Just listen. She’s gone. She left.”

  Chapter 1

  The windows shudder as the back door to my bedroom slams in her wake. The bang sends a searing pain through my already aching head. Ten minutes ago, there was silence. I awoke to the blistering Atlanta summer sun streaming through the window. Next to me lay a female of unknown origin, with nothing but my thin sheets covering her bare ass. Her arm rested leisurely above her head, and it was only after my hung-over eyes adjusted to the glare of morning that I noticed a raised red area on her left wrist. I cautiously leant over to examine further. Holy fuck! Is that a tattoo of my name on her wrist? I let out a laugh. I don’t know this girl, or didn’t before last night. What kind of a stupid female gets the name of some random dude tattooed on her wrist?

  At the sound of my laugh she stirred, opening her bloodshot eyes. Yesterday’s makeup seemed to have all converged under her eyes, giving her the appearance of a drunk panda. “Hi,” she said quietly. I just stared. Who the fuck are you? Her senses seemed to have all come rushing back at once, and with it the realization of the pain from the now scabbed skin on her wrist. “What the fuck!” she yelped, licking her thumb and rubbing her wrist in a desperate effort to remove the offending moniker. The sheets fell away to reveal her slender, clothing deficient body, in all its glory. My dick perked to attention below the sheets.

  “Since you’re here, and I’m here, why waste a golden opportunity?” I cooed, leaning in towards her.

  “Get the fuck away from me!” she practically screamed. “I don’t even know your name.”

  I smiled coyly back at this irate woman, clamoring to retrieve her G-string. “If you remembered anything about last night, you wouldn’t be so quick to forget my name. But if you don’t remember last night, and I suspect that that may be the case, your wrist should answer your question.”

  “Fuck you,” she said scathingly. “Do you even remember my name?”

  “Sure,” I said slowly, searching the recesses of my memory for a clue. Or better yet, a name. My eyes quickly scanned my bare chest, in the hopes that I didn’t also do some stupid shit and brand myself. Sadly for her, owing to the sheer amount of toxic substances that were in my body last night, the search of my memory is futile. And my body bore no new permanent markings. Fuck it, I’ll guess. “Melanie?” I said with as much feigned confidence as I could muster.

  “It’s fucking Paige, asshole,” she spat before leaving, slamming the door behind her.

  I shrug indifferently and smile at the irony of it all. That’s precisely what I spent last night doing: fucking Paige. I liked her; she was ballsy. Unlike the chick fro
m the night before, who cried when I informed her as she handed me her phone number that unfortunately, I would not be using it.

  I grab a pair of shorts from the floor, walk over to the door, and start doing chin-ups on my bar. One...twelve…twenty-five…thirty-six. My triceps and core burned in response to the self-inflicted torture. I welcome the pain, though. I get to fifty and continue on. My quads are aching, which can only mean two things. The first, that Paige was a wild one. And the second, that I fucked her from behind. Oh, if only I could remember.

  Next up on the agenda were coffee and aspirin, just what the doctor ordered. I wander into the kitchen and pour myself a steaming cup. Examining my phone, I see four text messages, three from women who I gave my number to last night. Delete, delete and delete. No damn point to responding, since I don’t remember what any of them look like. The last is from Emmanuel, my best friend.

  Call me tomorrow. No damn point in talking to you now, you won’t remember.

  I do the next thing on my morning to do list. I dial the first number on speed dial in my cell. Calling SHANA flashes on the screen.

  For the first year after she left, my calls went to her voicemail, allowing me to hear the sound of her voice as if she was right here beside me. Then, one fateful autumn morning, about a year ago, the voicemail didn’t pick up. A robotic voice informed me that the number had been disconnected. I still call, though. It’s been two years. Two years since she walked out of my life. Two years that I have been waiting for her to come back. Two years that I have spent worrying, obsessing over what I could have done differently. Two years since she ripped my heart out and fucking stood on it. Every morning, I fight the urge to fling my cell across the room when I hear that fateful recording.

  Rinsing the empty coffee cup, I go to the fridge and grab a Corona from the bottom shelf before making my way out to the front porch with it and a cigarette. My neighborhood is rough, but at the same time, it’s so real. Children play on their front porches, and the local women gather in small tight circles, gossiping about the one that hasn’t yet joined them. Every family on my street has painted their house in various colors of the same cheap ass paint from the local hardware store, with the result that it’s peeling and flaking in wide sections.

  A few locals walk by. I raise a hand to the guys. The women who have been unfortunate enough to end upin my bed all walk by, eyeing me quickly then rushing past. I can never figure out if they truly hate me, or if they just wish they were riding my dick again, and they’re so mad because they aren’t. The ones that I have yet to conquer walk by more slowly, stealing glances at my bare chest. To those, I offer a small smile, always keeping my options open.

  But for the last two years, this neighborhood has been a painful reminder of Shana’s absence. We’d been friends since middle school. Back then, she hadn’t grown into her breasts or her face, but once she did, she was beautiful. We began dating in high school. She was my first kiss. Right here on this porch, in the fucking love seat. We carved our names into a heart on the tree that bordered between my house and the neighbor’s, like lovesick children. Heart, arrow, and all. A few months ago, I had ceremoniously taken my knife and gouged out the offending reminder. I was drunk and regretted it the next day. My bed, which has now been relegated to entertaining random women, was where we lost our virginity to each other.

  Everything was fine between us; we were so happy together. Right up until those two pink lines appeared on the drugstore’s pee stick. Then nothing was ever the same again. Now I’m sitting out here alone, enjoying the sunshine and scantily clad women walking by, as Emmanuel’s old, beat up Chevy Camaro rolls up and pulls to a stop outside my house. Heavy bass shakes the windows. Only Emmanuel would have a sound system worth more than the fucking car.

  “He’s alive!” he jibes as he makes his way up the path. Emmanuel is scary as hell. With broad shoulders, dark skin, and even darker eyes, he’s built like a fucking brick house. Everyone is terrified of a beat down from him. Except me, because when we met, he was so scrawny that you could look right past him if he stood sideways.

  “Where the fuck were you when that chick was getting my name tattooed on her arm?” I ask.

  “What?” he says, laughing. “Man, Jackson, I have no idea how you get women to do such stupid shit.”

  “Talent,” I say sarcastically.

  “Shouldn’t you be at the shop?” he asks. I shrug my shoulders indifferently. I’m supposed to be working at my father’s mechanic shop right now. Not that I’m ever actually there. When I do decide to show up, I’m either high or drunk. Or both. I suspect that my father prefers it when I just stay home.

  “After a couple more beers,” I say uncertainly.

  “Well, since you’re free, we have work to do,” he says before walking inside to grab himself a beer.

  Chapter 2

  It’s no surprise that when I do finally check in at the shop, that my father tells me he doesn’t need me today. I get the sense that my parents have all but given up on me. It suits Emmanuel, though, since he has other plans.

  “We have to go move some stuff today,” he says, eyes fixed on the road ahead. Emmanuel is slowly becoming the go-to guy for all things illicit in our neighborhood, and making a fortune at it. I can’t say I don’t like the kickbacks, myself. We make our way over to Club J, owned by Emmanuel’s cousin Julius, who also happens to be the distributor for the shit that he moves. It’s a seedy joint, like a half derelict bar with neon lighting and stripper poles. It has a crazy vibe, but doesn’t make much money. Then again, it isn’t supposed to. It exists to clean the money.

  Inside, we find Julius lounging on a sofa, auditioning his latest round of wannabe strippers. He’s a scrawny-looking dude, the kind that no one should be scared of. I could take him with one hand tied behind my back. Except I won’t, because he is dangerous, and contrary to what he looks like, he would definitely kill me. Either that, or one of his many armed ‘friends’ would. And I don’t particularly want to die. Not yet, anyway.

  “Free show, boys?” he asks, grinning when he sees us.

  “Man, you are not hiring any of these girls, and you know it. You just wanna watch,” Emmanuel retorts, leaning in to give him a quick shoulder bump. He shakes my hand, just as a pair of arms wrap around me from behind. I swing quickly, always cautious that it’s a jilted ex-lover armed with a kitchen knife. It’s not.

  “Hey Jade!” I say, embracing her in a fierce hug. “What are you doing here?” I’m not happy that Jade is hanging out at this dubious joint with these unscrupulous fools.

  “Setting up the booth. I’m playing tonight,” she replies.

  “Here?” I ask skeptically. Jade is a prolific DJ, the best one in this area in my humble opinion. She could definitely score a venue better than this.

  “I needed a space quickly. Julius did me a favor. I have a guy from Atlanta coming down to see me, and if he likes what I do, he may sponsor my EP. Plus he has some friends who he could talk to about getting me into the music program at Brown,” Jade explains. Her Cheshire cat grin shows how truly excited she is.

  I leave Emmanuel to talk with Julius and head over to the DJ booth with Jade. I don’t get involved in semantics when it comes to Emmanuel and Julius and what they do. My role is simple: I’m the wingman. I have Emmanuel’s back, and he has mine. I get a cut after the job is done. He does his part to prevent me from getting arrested or shot and I do the same. If any shit goes down, we leave together, and fuck everybody else.

  “Like the new girl? I convinced Emmanuel to hire her,” she says, nodding over to a scantily clad chick doing warm up splits on the stage.

  “For him or you?” I ask sarcastically. Jade and I have been friends for as long as I have known Emmanuel and Shana. She is one of the few girls in our neighborhood that hasn’t done the walk of shame from my bedroom for two reasons. Primarily because she was Shana’s best friend and is now mine, but also due to the fact that she definitely does not like what I have to of
fer. Jade has wide, sparkling green eyes, and long, sleek black hair. She’s the stuff fantasies are made of for most men.

  “I could turn you. Make you love dick, you know,” I tease.

  “You could not,” she answers matter-of-factly. “Besides, after the way you love them and leave them, I hear most women have decided to defect to my side.”

  “Very funny,” I say jabbing her in the rib. “Although not entirely untrue. What can I help with?”

  I move and reposition a few subwoofers for Jade. Amber, the stripper that wishes she could, hands me a whiskey and performs a once over of my body while licking her lips. I shudder involuntarily as she walks away. I was sitting on the sub, browsing my cell while I waited for Emmanuel to finish talking shop, when a pair of high top Jordans appears in my view. I look up slowly as the picture unfolds. Tight black leather pants and a crisp white tank, hugging a pair of awesome breasts. I’m a little jealous of that tank top. And finally, long, almost black hair on a make-up free, but still unbelievably hot face. I stare in awe at the refreshing sight. Besides Jade, everyone in here had fake everything, plastered on make-up, and just exuded classlessness.

  Jade jumps off the platform and gives the girl a quick hug. “Ready?” she asks her.

  If this girl is into Jade and not me, fuck, there is no justice in the world. I shut the fly trap that is my mouth, trying not to look like an idiot.

  “Jackson, this is Nina. Nina, Jackson,” Jade waves a hand dramatically. Nina meets my gaze with a determined glare, her icy blue eyes terrifying yet completely entrancing all at once. One night with her. Lord, just one. She scans her eyes over my chest, mentally undressing me, until she lands her sight right on my crotch, gaze fixed. I clear my throat, but she doesn’t avert her eyes. She continues her shameless investigation of my concealed dick, clearly unashamed.