Dissatisfied

Who: Brett
Where: His apartment
When: Morning

Brett sat behind the office desk glaring at the spilled roses he could see by the elevator doors, aware of the hole he’d left in the office wall where he’d thrown a paperweight at it minutes ago, in frustration at the fact she’d walked out on him again.

They were getting nowhere. He’d thought they were just edging around sitting down to talk yesterday. They’d been going to, they’d been approaching it, but then there’d been a subject change and suddenly they weren’t any more. No. He looked back over it, considered it from a new light. She’d changed the subject, and then they weren’t talking about them any more. Sure, he’d gone with it - but it had been her who had started the subject change, deflected them away from talking about where they were going. Now, after this - he had to wonder whether she’d pulled that shit on purpose. Whether she hadn’t wanted to talk, because nothing had changed. And if nothing had changed, how much of it was all bullshit. Where was that line drawn? He’d thought it was all real, their conversation the other night. But - what if it hadn’t been?

He didn’t want to believe that. He’d meant it all - as hard as some of it had been. And he’d tried to listen. He’d tried to take on board and react to what she was telling him. She had accused him of not being willing to try, but he was.

And he still didn’t seem to be able to do anything right. No - he was always wrong, and she was always walking away. Wanting him to come after her. She’d admitted that much to his face. She ran so he’d chase her.

Well, right now, he was tired of the fight. He was tired of being treated like he was some kind of puppy that couldn’t bear to be without his master. Of being made to behave that way. If she wanted to go, this time he would let her. He wasn’t going after her this time. And he wasn’t waiting here for her to come home like some loyal hound either.

He pushed away from the desk and stalked out into the entrance, stopping to look down at the flowers. She’d taken the fucking ruby necklace and he hated that she’d done that. The bitch. The name was given unfairly, unreasonably, because the reason had nothing at all to do with anything she could have known about. It was solely to do with the fact that he’d been thinking of buying her one himself, to give to her before the ball. He’d looked for one and everything. But he’d never bought it. They couldn’t really afford for him to spend the kind of money he would have had to pay to get her anything he would have considered suitable. And anything less than that wasn’t worth it in his eyes. And, anyway, he hadn’t known how to give it to her. Or if she would accept it. And she had so much jewellery already, he’d never thought she would have considered it special.

And then the one thing she took away from the gift she hadn’t even been able to hold had been that ruby fucking necklace.

From him.

Bitch.

His mouth felt dry as he bent to start picking up the fallen stems, not thinking too hard on his motives for doing so. He didn’t want to admit to himself that he was doing this for her. That he was doing this because he didn’t want her to come back and have to see them again. Hell, he kept in the forefront of his mind that she might not be coming back. Especially if he didn’t come to find her. For all she said she was going out for ‘a walk’. She’d tried to leave him too many times for him to be able to believe that. Leaving was leaving. So, he told himself he was doing it to keep the place tidy, that they had a reputation to uphold, that this was a place of business.

He knew he was fooling himself. He was doing this for her.

He held the stems in one hand, picking up the belt and the few stray petals in the other, before crossing to throw the petals and the stems in the trash. He kept the belt though. He knew he was a fucking cynic, but he could see it. He could see Andrei going through the bins tonight, looking for this belt. He could see the guy certain that this strip of leather would be the one thing that Eris would want as far away from her, as quickly as possible. He could imagine Andrei coming looking for it. He’d want to know the reaction. Want to know what she’d done with it. And if he found it, Brett could imagine that Volkov would take it, so he could produce it again in future. And so Brett wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

He wrapped the leather strip around his fist, balling it over and over as he walked into the bedroom and hid it firmly at the back of his closet, along with the other things he didn’t want anyone to find, underneath the wooden box in which he still kept the medal of bravery he’d been awarded all those years ago, with it’s yellowed newspaper article.

He’d come back and find it next time he had the opportunity. When he could dispose of it more thoroughly. After the event, when nobody would be looking. He’d take that away from Andrei. Let the guy search the trash all he wanted. And Brett was fairly sure he’d come. He considered waiting for the guy, staking out the bins in the alleyway behind their building. Bypassing this bullshit about dinner and finding him now. But, really - did he want to meet Volkov in a darkened alley? Alone?

Well, did he?

He left the question hanging in his mind, redirecting himself. What he wanted to do, right now, was get out of her. Fuck her and her leaving. Two could play at that fucking game. He grabbed his coat, and his gun, and headed out, locking the doors behind him and pocketing the keys.

He rode the elevator down to the ground floor and stopped on his way out to leave the keys at the front desk, telling the concierge there very firmly that they were to be given to Miss Stockard and Miss Stockard only if she returned before he did. And they were to attract her attention to deliver them if that were the case. That done, he walked out the door and into the sunshine, really not sure of when he would be coming back.