FRAGMENTED Read online

  I’m beginning to walk away when Griffin quickly catches up to me and touches my shoulder, causing me to pause. “You need to start facing things instead of running.”

  I shrug away from his grip and head for the kitchen. It’s empty, and I’m thankful for that. Pancakes are being kept warm, and I dish myself up some breakfast and then settle at the island to eat.

  I wonder where Elena is. She’s usually in the kitchen the most, and as much as I hate to acknowledge it, I’ve always been a little curious of her. Her anguished expression down in the weight room when I’d witnessed her at her most vulnerable flashes in my mind. She doesn’t act like a woman after money, and she’s done absolutely nothing to earn my attention. Then again, Knight is the one she knows best. Why seduce me when she can seduce Knight.

  How had she handled Oliver? My eyebrows knit together as I frown. Everyone apparently likes her. Either she’s a hell of an actress, or she’s exactly as she seems—kind and compassionate. Most people run the other direction when faced with me and my alters, but she hasn’t.

  The cynical side of me points out she’s likely desperate for money and that’s why she’s choosing to stay. Yet, she’s been careful around me, taking care to not invade my privacy—except the time I’d found her in my studio. That had pissed me off. Other than that one mishap, she’s tried to stay low-key.

  Griffin’s advice echoes in my head. Maybe focus on the why’s instead of the how’s.

  Elena and I are long overdue for a real conversation.

  After I’m finished with my breakfast, I go in search of her. She’s in the laundry room with earbuds in her ears as she listens to an iPod. Completely oblivious to me standing behind her, she moves a little to the music and looks contented to be folding laundry.

  As if sensing me, she glances towards the doorway and starts, her green eyes widening as she pulls the earbuds from her ears. “Stop sneaking up on me like that,” she admonishes even as she smiles, her eyes lighting up. “I was wondering when you’d surface.”

  Instead of responding, I regard her silently. It’s apparent she was expecting Oliver, and her friendly demeanor has me wondering if that could be a bad thing. From what I’ve heard, Oliver is your average seventeen-year-old with teenage hormones. How the hell we haven’t picked up any STD’s is baffling to me.

  Elena’s smile fades, and the light in those expressive eyes diminishes when she realizes she’s not looking at Oliver.

  For some reason, that disappointment tugs at me. I’m a difficult man to be around, I get that. I gave up on anyone embracing who I am and the baggage I carry a long time ago. Yet I feel a twinge of something over the fact that Elena has easy relationships with my alters, except for Brick that is. Even Cameron and Griffin have grown to like her.

  “Nathan?” she asks with a hint of caution.

  I nod. “I think we need to clear up some things,” I tell her, careful to keep my tone light so that she doesn’t think she’s in trouble.

  She gazes at me for a moment and then nods in agreement.

  I glance at the pile of clothing she was folding. “Can that wait?”

  “Sure.” She sets the iPod on the dryer, and I lead her to the main room that overlooks the pool.

  We both sit, and I’m aware that she takes care to sit on the opposite sofa rather than beside me. She then patiently waits, and I study her. It’s apparent that she thinks I’m going to tear into her or something. Have I been that terrible towards her? I inwardly grimace. I hadn’t exactly been welcoming.

  I rub my face and consider my words before speaking. “Knight’s the one who hired you, and I’d like to know how that came about. A little insight into your background would also be helpful. I don’t want to interrogate you with a bunch of questions, so I thought maybe you’d be willing to volunteer the information.”

  She’s silent a moment, and I can tell that she’s uneasy over sharing things about herself. “That sounds fair,” she slowly agrees.

  I don’t blame her for looking uncomfortable, this is going to be a very one-sided conversation, and she won’t be getting anything in return.

  She settles more comfortably and looks momentarily uncertain before visibly pulling herself together. “My mother came from the states illegally from Brazil. I was just two at the time,” she confesses.

  So she’s an illegal immigrant. I thought I’d detected a hint of an accent in her voice, and now I know why it sounds familiar. One of the women at the gallery speaks Portuguese and has a similar accent.

  Elena continues, pulling me out of the thoughts. “My mother got a job working as a maid for a wealthy family. We lived on their estate in separate living quarters, of course. We never really left the premises, and when my mother began to grow sick, she feared we’d be put out on the streets, so she hid it well.” She looks sad as she clasps her hands on her lap. “She died when I was fourteen. By that time, she’d already had me working with her so that I could do the things she wasn’t able. It was natural to take over the cleaning duties after she passed.”

  I can’t resist cutting in. “You didn’t go to school?”

  She shakes her head, expression grim. “You don’t need an education to clean. My mom did her best to homeschool me in the evenings.”

  “What about your employers? Didn’t they care that you were lacking education?”

  “We were illegal immigrants. We worked for them, but that didn’t mean they concerned themselves over our well-being.”

  “So they just allowed a fourteen-year-old to take over?” I ask, thinking her old employers had to be complete assholes.

  “Yes.” Her eyes drift towards the pool. “I always suspected my mother was our employer’s mistress, but I wasn’t certain until he began hitting on me,” she murmurs. “He made it very clear that sex was to be a part of the job description.”

  “Christ.” What kind of sick fuck solicits a teenager?

  Her eyes slide back to mine. “At the time, I was mourning my mother and thought there had to be something better out there. I didn’t want to lead the life my mother had, I wanted more for myself.” Her lips twist. “I packed my meager belongings and the cash my mother had saved, and I left while they were on vacation. Turns out, there were worse things than living on that estate with a pervert.”

  Her eyes dim, and she looks down at her hands. “The money didn’t last, and it was hard to find a job. I was homeless and got caught up in prostitution just to survive.” She’s not looking at me, but her expression darkens. “The only thing I had that was worth anything was my body, so I sold it and worked my way up to the pimps that seemed to treat their girls better. Eventually, I ended up at the strip club, dancing and selling my body.” She seems to shake herself out of her reverie. “That’s where Knight found me. He paid for an hour with me.”

  “You had sex,” I say simply.

  Her eyes return to mine. “Actually, no. I wasn’t feeling well, but the manager of the club drugged me and sent me to Knight anyway. I recall dancing for him and trying to seduce him, but he wasn’t having any of it. He talked me into meeting him behind the club, and then he promised me two grand to go home with him. The rest is a blur until I woke up the next morning. He asked me if I wanted to be working at the club. I told him no, and he suggested I work here to get back on my feet. You know the rest.”

  I’m silent for a moment as I process her story. Life’s definitely dealt her a shit deal.

  “I’m not sleeping with Knight,” she clarifies.

  I study her, and her eyes meet mine unwaveringly. “Not at all?”

  “He made it clear that it wasn’t part of the job description.” She hesitates and adds, “He’s also made it known he’s willing if I’m interested, but I’m trying to keep things strictly platonic.” Her eyes turn intent as she gazes at me earnestly. “This job, it can turn my life around, Nathan. I don’t want to do anything that could ruin it.”

  Oddly enough, I believe her. “I’m sorry for how Brick came at you. I
heard he was quite brutal.”

  Something flickers in her expressive eyes before she quickly hides it. “He was only trying to protect you.”

  “It was still undeserved.” I turn naturally curious and ask, “You’re getting along well with Oliver?” Whether I like it or not, the little shit is an important part of my life.

  She becomes amused. “He’s a handful.”

  “So I’ve heard,” I state. “Thank you for helping me understand your situation a little better,” I tell her.

  She nods. “If you have further questions, don’t hesitate. I have nothing to hide, Nathan.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Was there anything else…?”

  I shake my head.

  She rises to her feet, offering me a kind smile. “I’ll get back to work then.”

  I watch her leave the room, and I remain seated and gaze at the pool outside. It was a real eye-opener talking with Elena. I’d judged her before understanding the situation, and I feel bad for that. It bugs the shit out of me when I’m judged because of my DID, and I’d been guilty of that kind of judgement. It doesn’t sit well with me.

  I have that call to my uncle that I need to return, and my mood sinks lower. I can already predict how the entire conversation will go down, because we’ve had it plenty times before.

  Every time an alter brings attention to the Lancaster name, he starts talking about how I should sign over the company to him, or at least sign over sixty-percent. That way, if my reputation goes to shit, the company won’t go down with me.

  I was the sole beneficiary of my father’s will, so I had inherited the company my father built from the ground up. Evidently, my father and uncle hadn’t been close growing up, because William had no part of the company prior to his brother’s death, but he’d stepped in when someone needed to take the reins until I became of age. At eighteen, I had enough shit to deal with, so I’d signed over twenty percent to William and kept him on to run it. He’d offered to take over the entire company and buy me out, but something had made me decline the offer.

  Now, I’m glad I’d held on to my eighty percent. My life is never going to be normal; I gave up on that idea a long time ago. These days, it costs quite a lot to keep Cameron and Griffin on the payroll, and now Elena. The upkeep of the estate isn’t cheap, either. Keeping my eighty percent of the company guarantees that my income will never dry out, because I can’t assume my paintings will continue to sell as well as they have been. That eighty percent is what allows me to hide out here on the estate so I can keep the DID from the public eye. So when William brings up my selling to him, it grates on my nerves. I know it’s well-intentioned, because it’s not like he’s hurting for money. My father and William had come from old money, and with that and their social connections, both had made themselves successful careers.

  William could easily buy me out, but eventually, that money could run out—depending on where the rest of my life takes me. Fuck, I could get sued or something thanks to one of my alters and lose it all.

  I’m no fool, keeping the company—no matter how much I try to stay out of it—is what will keep me financially stable.

  Though to be fair, I can see William’s reasoning for trying to buy me out. I could single-handedly tank the company, though I’m certain Corbin would never allow that to happen and would probably be able to fix anything. From what I’ve been told, he’s a smart motherfucker, and not even my uncle can control him. Which is probably good, because the company is flourishing.

  I rise to my feet, deciding not to call William, and instead, I head for the studio. My fingers are twitching—something that hasn’t happened in a long time, and I feel the need to paint.

  After I close the door to the studio, I pause in front of the stairwell painting.

  I don’t feel a damned thing when I look at it.

  It’s just not going to happen.

  With a resigned sigh, I remove the painting from the easel and set it aside. Then, I attach a new canvas and turn on the stereo before picking out brushes and paint.

  Five minutes later, I stand in front of the blank canvas, legs planted wide, arms crossed.

  Something’s got to come to mind.

  Anything.

  * * *

  It’s late by the time I set aside the paintbrushes.

  The stereo is playing low, and the sky outside the windows is dark. If it hadn’t been for Elena leaving my meals outside the door, I would have gone the entire day without eating.

  I run my paint-stained hands through my hair as I stare at the nearly finished painting. My body aches from standing for so long, and so do my fingers from clutching the paintbrush for hours. It’s an ache I welcome. It’s been a while since I’d become so engrossed in a painting that the time seemed to slip away from me.

  I have Elena to thank for this new inspiration.

  Her story had stayed in my mind, and I’d painted her. She’s wearing an elegant masquerade mask that hides her upper face, but her brilliant eyes shine brightly from the mask—painfilled with a tear on the brink of escaping. Her dark hair is down, surrounding her delicate face.

  It’s a dark painting, as with all my work, and the anguish in her eyes speaks to me. Her past has touched me on some level, and I’d felt the need to put it on canvas.

  This painting, it’s renewed my ambition. Somehow, it’s helped me gain what I’d lost this past year. I’m already itching to paint more with Elena as the focal point. I usually don’t paint people, so this is new and exhilarating. I can already visualize and entire collection of just Elena for the upcoming art exhibit.

  There’s just one problem.

  I need permission from the woman that’s suddenly turned into my muse. How the hell do I ask for that when I’m in a way, exploiting her pain?

  FOURTEEN

  Elena

  “What are you doing?”

  With a loud yelp, I scramble backwards out of the open dishwasher and look up at Nathan, who’s standing above me, eyes curious. I haven’t seen him since our discussion yesterday. He’d holed up in his studio, and I’d left meals for him outside the door. My chest twinges knowing that he knows my past and just how low I’d sunk with my desperation.

  I draw together my pride and rise to my feet. Whether I like it or not, this is who I am and my past will always be a part of me. “I’m cleaning out the dishwasher.”

  His brow furrows. “Isn’t the point of a dishwasher to clean dishes?”

  I adjust the rubber gloves on my hands, a little amused. “Yes, but where do you think all the crud from the dishes go? The filter needs to be cleaned every so often, and the food build-up in all the crevices needs to be removed,” I explain.

  “That makes sense.”

  I wait expectantly to see what else he’d wanted. Earlier, he must’ve come down for his breakfast while I was in the lower level dusting the theater room.

  Nathan looks visibly uncomfortable, and he rubs the back of his neck.

  My chest clenches. “Is this about our conversation yesterday?” I ask. I don’t want him to treat me any differently.

  He blinks and then frowns. “No. Why?”

  I try to shrug nonchalantly. “You just seem…awkward around me now.”

  Realization dawns across his face. “I’m not going to judge you because of your past, Elena,” he says firmly.

  I’m still not sure why he’s sought me out, so I remain quiet and wait to see what’s on his mind.

  “Can you come with me? I’d like to show you something,” he suggests.

  I’m surprise by his request but try to hide it. “Sure.” I slip off the gloves and set them on the counter before I follow him out of the kitchen. I’m incredibly curious to see what he wants to show me.

  He leads me to the studio and over to an easel that has a painting secured to it that happens to be covered with a sheet.

  I’m amazed this is where he’s led me, and I look around with interest. Last time, he hadn’t
wanted me here. Why now am I invited?

  Nathan, still looks awkward as he watches me with those dark eyes of his. “For the last year, I’ve been really struggling with my painting. The inspiration just wasn’t there,” he confesses.

  “That must be very frustrating,” I say quietly, taken aback that he’s confiding in me.

  “You have no idea. I have a deadline coming up for a new collection in New York.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” I ask, genuinely wanting to help in some way if I can. I’m not sure why he’s telling me this, but I’m pleased that our relationship seems to be progressing. He no longer looks at me like I don’t belong.

  “Funny you should offer,” he says wryly.

  I clear my throat, slightly embarrassed. “I mean, obviously there isn’t, but I just thought I’d offer.”

  “Hey, I wasn’t mocking you, Elena. I want to show you this.” He pulls off the sheet covering the painting that he’d led me to.

  It’s…me.

  My lips part as I gaze at it. Is that how he sees me? Tragically broken? My emotions are all over the place as I stare at it with a sense of spiraling desolation closing in on the outskirts of my mind. He’d captured so much pain in my eyes… All the terrible choices I’d made, they’re there—for anyone to see.

  Nathan clears his throat to break the silence. “It wasn’t planned, it just…happened. I couldn’t stop once I’d started. I haven’t felt that drive to paint in a long time,” he admits.

  “I see,” I murmur, not quite sure that I do, my eyes still focused on the painting.

  “I have so many ideas in my head that I want to put to canvas, but I can’t go any further until you give me permission to show them.”

  I look at him sharply. “You want to paint more—of me?”

  His eyes search mine. “I do, if you’ll let me.”

  “To sell?” I verify. My eyes return to the painting as I look at it doubtfully. My pain would be on display for the entire world to see. My shame, my sadness… Just the thought sends quivers through my soul.

  “Yes. Fifty percent of the earnings would be yours.”