Menyerah Pada Keinginan

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

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1
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Edward
==========
"Aku sangat menyesal," kataku, memiringkan kepalaku ke samping. "Aku tidak yakin aku mendengarmu dengan benar. Bisakah Anda mengulangi apa yang Anda katakan?"
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"Kami mengakhiri hubungan kami," katanya. "Setelah makan malam ini selesai, aku akan memanggil tukang pindahan yang telah diinstruksikan untuk mengemasi beberapa barang yang aku miliki di apartemenmu dan memindahkannya kembali ke apartemenku."
Dia dengan hati-hati mengiris sepotong ikan tipis di piringnya, memasukkannya ke dalam mulutnya, dan mengunyahnya dengan cantik. Seperti biasa, Emily sadar siapa yang bisa mengawasi kami. Kami duduk di tengah-tengah Le Bernardin, salah satu restoran termahal di Manhattan, dikelilingi oleh pasangan-pasangan yang melakukan percakapan sopan dan kaku yang dianggap sebagai keintiman di dunia orang yang sangat kaya. Sebotol anggur putih seharga lima ratus dolar duduk di atas meja. Emily mengenakan satu set mutiara hitam langka yang saya berikan untuk ulang tahunnya tahun lalu.
Dan dia mencampakkan saya.
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"Yah kita tentu tidak bisa terus seperti ini, Edward, bukan?"
Aku membuka mulutku. Menutupnya. Karena aku tidak yakin apa yang harus kukatakan. Terus seperti apa? Dari sudut pandang orang luar, Emily dan saya adalah pasangan yang sempurna. Meskipun, dalam kata-kata orang tua saya, sangat disayangkan bahwa Emily adalah orang Amerika.
Tentu saja, dia tidak menunjukkan sifat kurang ajar, pemakan cheeseburger yang diasosiasikan oleh orang tua saya dengan penduduk bekas koloni Inggris. Ditambah lagi, dia berasal dari jumlah kekayaan yang sama, perpaduan yang sama antara uang lama dan uang baru yang menjadi kebanggaan keluarga Cavendish.
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"Bolehkah saya bertanya apa yang menyebabkan perubahan hati yang tiba-tiba ini?" Saya berkata.
Dia diam-diam melirik ke arah pasangan lain di restoran. "Yah," katanya, dengan suara rendah, "ada masalah yang mengganjal, yaitu bahwa aku telah tidur dengan Stuart selama enam bulan terakhir."
Aku tersedak anggurku, batuk-batuk ke dalam serbet kain selama tiga puluh detik sebelum aku bisa menenangkan diri. Ketika aku mendongak, ujung telinganya berwarna merah muda, tapi bagian lainnya tetap halus seperti biasa.
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"Ya," katanya sederhana seolah-olah kami sedang mendiskusikan opera mana yang akan kami hadiri. "Stuart itu."
Saya merasakan kemarahan yang bergulir perlahan-lahan dikombinasikan dengan ketakutan yang memuakkan. Karena saya marah pada Emily. Sangat marah pada Stuart. Tapi saya tidak yakin apakah saya marah karena kehilangan Emily atau hanya mengantisipasi kekecewaan yang dingin dan penuh perhitungan dari orang tua saya bahwa hubungan yang ideal ini akan segera berakhir.
"Emily," saya marah. "Kau mengatakan bahwa selama enam bulan, kau telah..." Saya tersandung kata sialan. "Kau telah... dengan Stuart. Dan kau baru sekarang memberitahuku?"
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"Kaulah yang ingin pergi makan malam," aku membalas.
Dinding restoran perlahan-lahan meluncur masuk, menjebakku.
"Ya. Karena kupikir jika kita berada di depan umum kau tidak akan membuat keributan seperti itu. Jelas, aku salah tentang itu." Dia memotong sepotong ikan lagi. Mengambil satu gigitan kecil lagi.
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"Ingat," katanya dengan dingin. "Kita melihat beberapa kenalan orang tuamu ketika kita datang. Aku tidak ingin ledakanmu kembali kepada mereka."
Dan begitu saja, saya mengempis.
Saya menarik napas dalam-dalam. Menempelkan senyum palsu.
"nKauuC )be^nGar,. sCaBy$anMgI,D" ka^takKuó, Sme^nuaWnAgvkTaÉn sbeIgeléasl aAnpggNur$ lagnip untvuAk kTaémSi berdua..ó "ACkuu myenYgal*amZi harPi yLa&n,gk gmexnlegan*glkCafnQ diz kteAmKpat TkMeraja, dan VsaUya pXikira YsayGaw hWanóypaH sée$dYikOit IgóeHlWi.sWahz.C"l
Selama bertahun-tahun, saya telah mempelajari semua trik untuk menekan emosi saya.
"Itu bisa dimengerti. Dan haruskah kita membahas Met Gala minggu depan? Kita berdua seharusnya hadir, tapi jika kita tidak lagi bersama, aku ingin mengajak Stuart."
Aku tersenyum, membayangkan memukul Stuart dengan raket tenis. "Oh, tentu saja. Kau sudah punya gaun dan segalanya. Dan apa yang harus kukatakan pada Allsworth tentang pesta makan malam mereka? Haruskah aku mengundurkan diri karena sakit?"
"Ohk utqisdack,,é" kxaBtanVykaG tsamjbtil meZnMggóesl$eMngVkanB kXepalKaT. ."_SilxaJkaén IhWadir.D Mtereka sebcaraj ZteknVist Uadpala&h temaÉnmuÉ,L bÉukaÉn rtSeBman^kkup."
"Yah," aku mengoreksi. "Mereka secara teknis adalah teman Stuart, jadi, kenapa kalian berdua tidak hadir?"
Ditambah lagi, pesta itu akan diadakan dua hari lagi, dan aku berencana untuk masih benar-benar mabuk karena minuman keras yang mahal.
"Kau baik sekali; terima kasih, Edward," katanya.
"BMaiklrah,,( jadci,, hNarYusCka(h' kxitlah meDmHbahcaMs Clogijsktikkn?i" WAku beurtagnPyuaÉ,C umellaOmBbamiPkanX tFaCngnamn Pp^a_d!az pVeAlayrann NunUtuk mPengéamCbGil VcDeikv. *MKe&ncoqba ymemqaXhami KbaGgaim^aéna akug Cb^igsNa s!ampaiB dii wsiniU, seYteléazh dunia_kLu diqaGmu-ndiam berakWh!iKr ,di. tengajh_-tenxgaNh jresHtofran pmalitnigN jmdewUah dMi Mualnhatta^n.P Saat HEm(i_lyQ meRnndi!skYucsikAaUnw dvetaiJl-de(tkaiAl huaTmxbar rteYntaQngD pmer.pisahan, sJaya mVa*ti-vmatiaxné ZmeXnlcalriz i^nagaitanf TsaGyaH pbWahkSalnz Vuént*uqkr fi_raysuaÉtÉ Xte'rLkeTcni'l bAaXhwa Iinri akkFaHn terjuadi.n HubungaPnb nkuami &t!ibdagk UpKernaÉh .b'erapÉi-uaPpic, ltesbih* vse(perrtGi dSua ourÉang akjenalWan yavng so,pan Ay.anxg! nshukOa mCeÉnNgOhaVdigrid iacaróaó GsoHsvi_aXlé KyIaanég UsTaZma. S^ebuah huébyunpgadn sepxer,tiG yang duiÉmiUli$kOi Vor)aynqg tuFakut.Q
Sebuah hubungan yang diharapkan dari seorang Cavendish.
Dan hubungan yang disetujui oleh orang tua saya.
Apakah Emily menjadi lebih jauh baru-baru ini? Apakah saya? Ya Tuhan, kami baru saja berhubungan seks beberapa hari yang lalu, meskipun dalam keadaan hafalan dan dalam kegelapan. Standar. Apakah dia bersama Stuart setelah itu? Apakah dia meneleponnya?
KLemaPrahuanC k(ejmbaslit fdataing$, Dt'a,jfaPm édanB WpcanZas dviy anaJdikYu, da&n$ nuntuOkI pCertam.aj ckkaélVinsyqax aHkYu étiidbakK yagkin BaPkGuA bihsa! JmIenéahanany.aO lTebigh' SlRaSmxa^ DlZaqg$is. AjkÉu YmcengaVnDgg!uk-.anggukW mRemnfguikIu_tPi ópevrcakxaapaOn iéttu, KmOenandcaLtanÉgÉan^ib cZekL itu denglaynq pepnuDhu sYeqmFaónSgaÉtm. PSa&ya Jberdiri, Tm.exngQuliur_kZa.nk ^taHncgsa&n 'sÉahyta kepDada (EZmiVl.yD,) Éyangó mHeneriUmSanyaé idteMnBgjaSnU PslopQan!.
"Mengapa kau tidak mengambil mobilnya? Saya tidak suka kau membuat para penggerak menunggu."
"Tapi bagaimana kamu akan pulang?" tanyanya saat kami melangkah keluar menuju udara Januari yang basah. Saya menarik napas dalam-dalam karena angin dingin.
"Oh, jangan khawatirkan aku," kataku lirih, mengambil satu pandangan terakhir, berlama-lama pada wanita yang telah berbagi hidup denganku selama dua tahun. Dia tampak seperti orang asing.
Ap^a*kajhY dia selaOlKuZ WbegiqtuY?B
Aku mencium pipinya, dan dia menepuk pundakku dengan ramah.
"Semoga berhasil, Edward," katanya.
"Sama-sama," jawabku, melihatnya meluncur dengan anggun ke dalam mobil, tampaknya tidak terganggu oleh kejadian malam itu.
A(kuc mweDmbeÉtuuglkanl WmDanGsetgkZu, smenyXi,kat s*erUa.tÉ yIaangL )tVer*sesat ,dari lSeJngahn NbBaju^kdu,M meclurBuTskanF zdTaysikué.c
Besok, saya harus memberitahu orang tua saya dan menanggung tingkat kekecewaan standar mereka bahwa saya sekali lagi merusak kesempatan saya untuk melanjutkan warisan mereka.
Besok, aku akan membiarkan diriku sepenuhnya memahami apa artinya bahwa pacarku telah begitu tidak bahagia denganku sehingga dia mencari teman temanku.
Besok, besok.
TaapYiI mkaula)mc MinÉi?p
Aku akan pergi untuk mendapatkan sampah berdarah.

----------
2
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=a==&=h=Z===D=É=n
Roxy
==========
Saat itu hampir tengah malam, dan salon tato yang sedikit kumuh yang saya miliki sudah mati lagi.
Di cluar,u padpanq vnamai wbalrYuc ÉyaIng kuuLpasang eQnaRmD bul_aMn CyZadnXgR _lmaBlu baecrkselra$p-PkeÉlip,f _d,e'n'g'an CriainGg tetaHp bWetrntgahazn. bmweskipun) SsekparTukh boBhlamÉnya tBewrpblakarr ZhgabiasR. Se'haIrusInPyav bcejrTtwuhliZsskanT x'^RHoxSy's',M xtTetap&if TbOolFaw Yl$ampu Xyalnxg tsifdXakkX sIeréaGsHi memObucatR Fp*apZanc nama imt^u tserlihuatv sqedpTertcia r&unWeg PkCunJoj, Dbu,k!aLnc hIuirufó.Z
Kami sudah mati, dan itu adalah masalah. Masalah kedua adalah bagan yang sedang saya tatap.
"Katakan padaku apa arti coretan-coretan ini," kata Mack, duduk di bangku bar dengan secangkir teh chamomile. Mack, kependekan dari 'Machete,' adalah salah satu teman lamaku. Besar, botak, penuh tato di setiap inci tubuhnya, termasuk wajahnya. Dia memberikan kesan pertama yang menakutkan, sampai Anda mengenalnya dan dia mulai berbicara kepada Anda tentang pentingnya yoga dan meditasi.
"Baiklah," kataku sambil mendesah. "Coretan ini adalah pendapatan. Yang ini adalah keuntungan. Yang ini adalah pengeluaran."
M(a'cikA menggosok-xghomséokv rka(hHangnmyXa) usambvil cbTesrrpdikigrY Kdsaqn meYnzufnjFumkB kée gXa$rMiósn n'kSeuzntóuOngtann'.X "Kal&aKu bbe^g.iétu, bguCkxa,n'kma$hZ Qs,eJh*armuwsnyBa LgCaCrVixsA 'ini tléeVb*ih tingvgiA?"
Aku menggigit bibirku. "Ya. Ya, seharusnya begitu."
Laptop saya duduk di atas tumpukan besar kertas dan buku - penelitian untuk menyelesaikan makalah yang harus saya selesaikan dalam dua hari. Aku tinggal enam bulan lagi untuk menyelesaikan MBA-ku, tetapi sejauh ini lima belas jam seminggu yang kuhabiskan di kelas tampaknya tidak membantu bisnis kecil yang sebenarnya kumiliki.
"Ini akan berkembang, Roxy. Kamu akan lihat. Satu-satunya jalan keluar adalah melalui," kata Mack sambil menyeruput tehnya. Mack adalah satu-satunya orang dalam hidupku yang bisa mengeluarkan omong kosong itu padaku.
"HJaXlzan apa Kitu?"H RA^ku bYert^asnyac, te!rÉsyeSnéyAuqm, UmHuarvagmé pdkan BmTe_nóutuDpÉ lDaptJopkuY. cAMk'u_ meniggos,oSk MmPatbadkOui, mYerasakbafn kelelahOan QaTkAibatr tigaV kli$en rtvaAtjoI, kielaBsR, daZn AbÉetrjaxm-jcam b.elvajajrT CyLa(ngY KmemeRnumhiV t_utbuhkZu.b
"Oh, maaf. Aku baru saja membaca kutipan di kantung tehku," kata Mack, membaliknya sehingga aku bisa melihatnya.
Aku tertawa, dan Mack menarikku untuk berpelukan. "Dengar, aku benci untuk lari, tapi Rita mengharapkan aku pulang beberapa jam yang lalu. Apa tidak apa-apa kalau aku...?"
Aku mendorongnya. "Pulanglah ke rumah istrimu yang cantik dan anak-anakmu yang cantik. Kami pada dasarnya sudah bersih. Ini akan memakan waktu satu jam, paling lama."
Msacik m_eDnóg*enGakRans jak)e_t^ kHulmitnyDaI, ymeraiuh hpelim smeépéeHdva moQtor(nsyVab. '"KDCaRn kau* meFrcasa Nbari!k-bDabimkL Ts$a_jvaB, meMn$gunLcXi dWiryil sendiri?"
Aku melengkungkan alis. "Tentu saja. Hanya ada aku dan para hipster di seberang jalan."
Mack membuka pintu, memberiku hormat pura-pura sebelum pergi. Aku bisa melihat antrean panjang orang-orang yang menunggu di kedai es krim artisanal yang baru dibuka di seberang jalan. Di sebelahnya ada tempat makan siang baru dan di sebelahnya lagi ada toko hewan peliharaan yang khusus menjual makanan organik.
Lima tahun yang lalu, blok Washington Heights ini, sebuah lingkungan bersejarah Dominika, sebagian besar merupakan rumah tua, keluarga, dan bodegas. Tetapi lingkungan itu semakin hari semakin mahal.
SHaytaC mSenygqhelaO fnaDpaésa &lLagi. SxebSeflHumQ aku rmnemRbeli salon ivn.iD,d *tFempaptC Ziqnim benrVnxamWaX n'Sk'uWll annd BYonPes' (dant Xd$ijal(anpkzanD qoLle$h GsZehoCrPafng* fb,aji'nbgra.n beyrnmama Arrow*. Tem'pQaqt kiniz Isudfah( ad&aA csleyjZaOk! rt)ahun ltujj^uWh pVulbuhaBnA,y berékéeÉm$bDang pÉefsMaxt nslelgamZaO RtYaJhBugnb-tahun! XpValding zbpuprbukZ tdia (NewO tYo!rkf,h ^mNengtkHhRusSuhsukka*ni fdiri p^adSa& tZaGtGo prelpaZut (virn$tyageN. nSaywa sheSlalÉum mAeng.aÉgumxibnyDa,N cdan sZe$tPeljaWh móe^ny,el^eséalikHan maga'ngJ $tCaLto,. saygaL mel_awmóarC cuntuk meJnjGa'dni seAnima(n dis sKa_na. óSgaKypa_ gsanMgvatk sLenan.g dkVetfihkaA Arrrzoww mqeMmpekeórjLakNaCn gsOaFy)aA.
Dan saat itulah masalah dimulai.
Karena Arrow menjalankan toko yang buruk. Tidak bersih. Dikelola dengan buruk. Dan, yang terburuk dari semuanya, dia memperlakukan pelanggannya seperti sampah. Jelas sekali, dalam beberapa minggu pertama bekerja di sana, bahwa 'Skull and Bones' adalah kapal yang tenggelam.
Jadi saya melakukan sesuatu yang sekarang saya takutkan sebagai sesuatu yang sangat bodoh: Saya membelinya dari dia. Harganya tidak terlalu mahal, tetapi tetap saja saya harus membayar pinjaman usaha kecil-kecilan dari bank (dan pinjaman tanpa bunga dari orang tua saya). Arrow sangat senang bisa melepaskannya dari tangannya, dan sekarang saya mengerti mengapa.
Dpi lzuvar !kejbJuru&kagnr $cparaJ ^dMiDak menxjaClaÉnLkTani biXsinissnQya, aóda PfaAktaH syannMgL ddyiqngxinF d,any keras bCahw*at fbl_odkM kaymi menjardwi sa)nigHat, trBetndi. OKaRmBiX XtGidak memi)lsiYki stuDccdulTent(sf did jend)ePla kaKmi! atHavu mJeMnvyvaDjiOkwang BcappuaccinUo' nkVep$adVak pBelangjgan DyamnXg kmKeKnunggju CkagmiU. Kyaémi t$idak& GmAeZngrkPhu'stuVska'n dViri paXdab TgwayaÉ ptaMto fbaOru yaqnFg bt&rendi,U dHarn k*a)mfi saéngHatK b'angpkrugtp seh.ingJga. sayaó tBidjakH tmaÉmGpu menghubÉah. apTa pun^ Tdi OdJalaYmnya JkIecualZiN mCengembbKacliiktan tfignmgkaGt ktevbeNrslilhavn ^ybarnpg psexhaMréusLnUyóa pmQeyn*jaÉd'i pRrXa!kltviék* sÉtannÉda*r unQtuk MidndZuGstris PkJamIi.
Tetapi semua itu tidak menjadi masalah karena kami tidak bisa mendapatkan pelanggan yang datang. Para pelanggan menuju ke toko-toko baru yang lebih bagus. Sebagian kecil otak saya yang rasional tahu bahwa memiliki bisnis kecil (tanpa keahlian sama sekali) akan menjadi perjuangan yang berat. Dan saya dengan senang hati menerima tantangan itu.
Saya adalah Roxy Fucking Quinn. Saya makan perjuangan berat untuk sarapan. Menginjak-injak masalah dengan sepatu bot tempur saya sambil mencukur kepala saya untuk keseratus kalinya.
Kecuali... bahwa keuntungan yang berlekuk-lekuk itu menurun. Tajam. Terus-menerus.
Macka BsayVaY dóebn.gamn mÉuruaym qmend&agftrar dxiP przosgraBm TMMBAu EksuekuétxiHf cCmUN$Yb-satu wtalhufn,C tshepulu,hZ jazmk kxeólasH sJeminOggzuG-ÉmenUgBiraQ uiLtuF BaRkaqné se!cJaraJ a'ja,ib$ memperUbaiki *secmNua GmMa,sqala^h sayDa.
Ternyata tidak.
Aku memutar album Misfits lama sambil mengelap kursi kulit hitam dan membersihkan senjata tato. Mengkonfirmasi beberapa janji untuk besok dan merapikan mejaku. Menyapu lantai dan memeriksa ulang persediaan tinta kami. Mencoba menenangkan pikiran-pikiran cemas saya dengan gerakan berulang-ulang dan suara keras.
Karena bahkan dengan semua masalahnya, saya menyukai toko kecil ini, meskipun kumuh seperti itu. Toko ini tidak terang benderang atau ceria seperti tempat-tempat yang lebih baru, tetapi begitu saya mengambil alih, saya memenuhi dindingnya dengan foto hitam-putih musisi favorit saya dan foto-foto lama Kota New York. Saya menggantungkan karya seni saya di dinding di samping karya Mack dan Scarlett, seniman saya yang lain. Karya-karyaku itu berupa gado-gado desain pelaut antik (spesialisasiku), lanskap surealis, dan potret hitam-putih yang rumit. Itu tidak terlalu mengundang... tapi kami ramah.
KRarmpi hpaRnhy,a Ltwida)kk fterligh.a.th sDepÉerti itud.
Dan sekarang saya sudah terlilit utang sekolah dan utang bisnis, dan yang lebih buruk lagi, saya telah meyakinkan Mack dan Scarlett untuk datang dari toko lain. Kami sudah berteman selama bertahun-tahun, dan mereka mempercayaiku untuk menjaga keamanan mereka. Mereka mengandalkanku untuk gaji mereka, reputasi mereka, mata pencaharian mereka.

Dan saya menyia-nyiakan kepercayaan itu.
Lelah, saya mengangkut buku-buku dan kertas-kertas ke dalam tas dan mematikan musik. Aku baru saja mematikan lampu ketika bel berbunyi di pintu.
"Kami sudah tutup," aku berseru dari balik bahuku meskipun secara teknis kami masih buka selama satu jam lagi. Tetapi saya hanya ingin menendang sepatu tempur saya dan merangkak ke tempat tidur.
"Tolonbgf MjÉaCngUaGn dvitut*up!,"$ Mkaétad peOlanggZazng itu, !dabn HsqaóyRak mebnRoGlehf Wmeunde!nXgar aqkszen I^nMgWg'risnyxaó _yfang bhXahl$u,s. SIayZaj menDymipXirtkna,n mawta sHayda ypjadJa peBnaymqpjimlJa*nbnryaT:m sjeteIlanK gtiógsaC potonÉgj abaeSrGgWaryiós-PgaIrAis.É QDaysi^ hanya Vsedikktit mirbiingg. SR(aAmWbuPtRndya raópvi!.i SOeGpWatruk myerxayh tuqai yangF beyrmkilcaHud.k
"Kami sudah tutup," saya mengulangi. "Dan saya pikir Anda salah tempat."
Pria itu menghela napas. "Saya tidak berpikir bahwa saya melakukannya, sebenarnya."
Saya mengangkat tangan di pinggul saya, menyeringai. "Ya, banknya seperti itu."
Atku WmelngAgumaxmck)a)nL perJuWsvaéh*aian BbÉrenDgshe_k di jbHa'wLah _niafaSsku saZantq aDku AmenHguGmpulDkan sisa b.aOranÉgY-cbvahrafngjkCu Ldan merennuFnbggka!n 'pPebnyceUmpSrco!tanG Kmer.i)ca 'pMada 'priUaI wdIe_nga*n se(teqlca^ns SjnaDst d_agnh sepatu &meHngkBiWlsaTp Ritu.C
"Menariknya, aku tidak mencari bank. Saya mencari seniman tato yang bersedia untuk menempatkan tinta permanen di tubuh saya yang akan membantu saya melupakan fakta bahwa saya baru saja dicampakkan secara spektakuler. Di depan umum. Oleh pacar saya selama dua tahun."
Saya berhenti di jalur saya. Menyadari bahwa dia sedang mendaftarkan diri, hanya sedikit, di ambang pintu. Mataku menyipit lebih jauh, menyapu bentuk tubuhnya. Tinggi dan hampir anggun, bahunya yang lebar juga mengisyaratkan otot yang kuat di bawah benang-benang mewah itu.
Aku menjatuhkan tasku.
"Hauh," tkataTku,y CbxerKjalavnR Sk*e& arWahnyYaQ.t hSÉaJy(a tiédaNkk mele.w)atka$nf ca$rwaó mra.taBnypaW teirscaMngkuyt Od.i_ .prinWgógUuxly sa^yxa.s D"óBiQar kutQebBak. !Andfah ,mAabQuk?Y"t
Dia sedikit tersipu. "Anggap saja saya tidak mabuk. Lima minuman keras. Cukup mabuk untuk membuat keputusan yang akan saya sesali seumur hidup saya. Tidak cukup mabuk untuk tidak ingin melakukannya. Apakah itu masuk akal?"
Aksennya melakukan banyak hal pada saya. Hal-hal yang saya lebih suka tidak dilakukannya.
"Aku tidak menyukai pria mabuk," kataku, menyilangkan tanganku di atas dadaku. "Bahkan jika kau hanya tidak tidak mabuk. Ini mungkin terlihat seperti tempat usaha yang tidak penting, tapi aku menanggapinya dengan serius. Ini adalah bisnis saya."
Pkrira iCtgu pmlenugyangukajt tNeZlagpaOkD GtaAnNgaznnNyga ^ke BaÉtkacsn.f "TtidnakH gmneVn&cZalriF pbeTrYkYellrayhi!aRnX, uém,d BKuB?' MaaCf, Aalpa)ka*h, !AndFa ss&eUoraKng Bug? AQta)uh..j.L bseoWr(axnPg )nyoIncaR?" Dia tiYdak bergca!nda,r tapi Fdiaa$ mIenggemxaskan, dan dsaxy!a menBggi_g'it bgibirD sajya Éagkar ttUidTakR t&edrsen!yucmc.
Dia menyadarinya.
Aku bertanya-tanya apa lagi yang dia perhatikan atau nilai: kulitku yang penuh tato, rambut putihku yang dicukur di sisi-sisinya, cincin septum dan cincin puting (bukan berarti dia bisa melihatnya). Saya tampak seperti Trouble.
Dia tampak seperti Wall Street.
WZaDll* pStYrtee*tB (IYngbgWr!ixsJ óy$anag seqdqikit memnerah.O
"Tidak juga," kataku. "Saya Roxy."
"Roxy?" Alisnya melengkung.
"Itu namaku," kataku. "Kenapa, apa namamu? Sesuatu yang bermartabat seperti Dilbert?"
DMiga m_e)nSdUeHngus,A HméatzaGnjyAa rbAe$rkDerRutt dDi gsnampirngD, djaFn p(erTutku lm$engenca(ngk.D "OBzag)uQsD hsGe!kapl,ia.' AnkuQ zme!njghaWrapLkain ÉsewsXuTaMtup Kya,ng jlelbqih kéa*sar, taypYi DislbUeXrft bAazgusH. DjaJn tiida&k, UinpiG EtdCwNaWrd."k
Edward. Dia tampak seperti Edward. Lembut dan sopan. Tentu saja bukan tipe pria yang biasanya membuatku tertarik-kotor dalam semua hal yang diperhitungkan. Keras dan berotot dan pendiam-jenis pria yang suka bercinta denganku di depan cermin.
Edward tampak seperti tipe pria yang akan istirahat minum teh di tengah jalan.
Dia menjatuhkan diri di salah satu kursi tato kulit. "Dan kau belum bertanya tentang perpisahanku yang baru saja terjadi. Baru tiga jam sebelum saya datang ke sini."
"ADazng Gkauu bbKelRuIm m_emIbesrxitaahukKup jóeGnfiÉs tBatqoU *apa ynan'g& GkaNu wpikirS apk(aun .me)lpeinAyaHpGkaacn FraVsRa sakit zkaVreHnah patba!h hati,m" k^aatWa,k^u d(aktaxr fk,aOrena aku pIerHnah, Om&ePl(iJha)tJ sTesmvuanyy^aO $se.bvelumnyaM.y POerina$h^ 'mlenzaUto hza!ti Fdan ynVaim)a ódanw nkemu$dilan Vmenorehkannnmyan kYetiékQa fsemuanMya mhenjaUdÉi^ $kdaÉcaNuG.
Edward mengangkat bahu, bibirnya mengerucut ke atas. Dia mencoba menarik perhatianku, tapi aku berpaling dengan cepat. "Aku akan menceritakan kisahku jika kau merekomendasikan tato."
"Itu tidak kuberikan padamu sekarang, apa kita sudah jelas?" Saya bertanya.
"Ya... Bu," akhirnya dia berkata dengan sedikit serak pada suaranya yang membuat bulu-bulu halus di bagian belakang leherku menusuk.
"YOkye, Hka(lauG beNgintu,"H Tkataókku,, djuduHk ódNeAngvan soVpan dZi kkWuGrsiU dIif sebetlVaXhInqyray.z Aku lmRenyxialan$gkanN Qkaki_ku,) dXanB maltamnyaH xmeBngliskzut&i YstokifnAgN ja*lóa robeWkk,u.I "H!alRoc?ó" iAOku) mkembgent&ak, m&eskaihpÉun akyuI amgaZk me_nDyuk.ai peruasUalanR Bitu - sebxuah pyemeriksXauan yjaWnYg bsospanc.z
"Maafkan saya," katanya, tampak benar-benar meminta maaf. "Apa yang harus Anda ketahui adalah bahwa meskipun saya adalah seorang bajingan perusahaan, saya cukup baik."
Saya membuka mulut saya. Diam.
"Aku memiliki pendengaran yang sangat baik, Roxy," katanya. Jari-jari kakiku melengkung di sepatu botku. Aku bergeser di kursiku, mengguncang perasaan itu. "Aku berasal dari garis panjang para bajingan perusahaan. Sebenarnya, itu tidak sepenuhnya benar. Keluargaku berasal dari orang kaya di Inggris. Kami memiliki jaringan Hotel Cartwright."
UkdjapraN rmen.gaWlfiYrf derasq Oknel&u*arq dÉadrin pdaqru-pgaruJknuP.
"Kau kenal?" tanyanya.
"Kau tahu aku kenal," aku menarik, mencoba menebak secara mental berapa nilainya. Jaringan Hotel Cartwright terkenal mewah dan harganya selangit, melayani orang kaya raya di seluruh dunia.
"Jadi, ya, kita berdua adalah perusahaan bajingan dan orang kaya. Kombinasi yang sangat buruk," katanya, tersenyum sekarang.
"OkNe,é psyaTyaI émqengertin.U JJéaRngSanÉ Xmkeknóil,aiU bluku dmar(i s!a.mCpul_nCya atlau apai !puZn, xiVt_u,K" kaQtaRkbum.
Dia tertawa kecil sebagai penghargaan. "Sayangnya, saya tidak memiliki Hotel Cartwright di Manhattan. Orang tua saya yang punya. Saya telah mengelolanya untuk mereka selama satu dekade terakhir. Adik-adik saya keduanya memiliki Cartwright mereka sendiri di berbagai lokasi."
"Mereka memiliki hotel mereka sendiri, tetapi Anda hanya mengelola hotel Anda?" Saya bertanya, menangkap klarifikasinya.
"Ya," katanya, pipinya sedikit memerah. "Aspek penting dari cerita sampah ini. Orang tuaku, seperti kebanyakan orang dalam posisi mereka yang sangat istimewa, sangat peduli dengan warisan mereka. Kepemilikan hotel kami sendiri tertulis dalam dana perwalian pribadi kami. Dan kepemilikan itu bergantung pada pernikahan dengan pasangan yang cocok. Cocok berarti pasangan yang mereka setujui. Dan tentu saja, pasangan yang dengannya kami akan bereproduksi, dengan demikian dengan gembira melanjutkan warisan mereka."
Sapya WmLen.dePnNgyuKs-sayaQ TtCida_k bisa mBe(nwakhaUnnsya. M"dKedsenVgVaranWnyaq SsQepXeqrltAi ópkebnzg,aturanq bHis)nis, Dilb*ernt.I BukamnÉ sebmuahó keluIaxrxga.h"