He's got it coming: Love is the best revenge

by Alexandra Winter

  I run upstairs and rip my clothes off, turn on the shower, its heat enveloping me.

  My mind spins so fast I can’t make out one single thought. I twist the knob to the coldest temperature to jerk me out of my panic. Like stabbing thrusts of pain, the cold water does its job. I don’t know if I want to punish myself or if I need the pain to clean my mind and body from what I’ve done.

  I kissed the man who killed my husband.

  Water runs through my hair, making it curl around my neck like a tightening fist. I shut the water off, gather my hair in one thick grip to strangle out the water, and wrap it in a towel. My lips shiver and my fingertips are stiff as I lift the phone.

  I’m keeping my assessment to myself.

  What? Why?

  Because telling you the truth will let you know how I truly feel about you.

  I can’t write that, so I type a more teasing answer.

  Because you’re asking ;)

  Pffffff. I have to say it was a unique experience to hold someone back from running away from my kiss. Never done that before, and grateful for it. (Seriously)

  Of course, you are. Any new experience to rock your boat is great.

  My mouth fills with saliva again. I just make it to the toilet before my body jerks while I gag. I flush the green acid down and lean my back against the wall.

  I’m stronger than this. Lie, just lie.

  I liked it when you tilted my head.

  Haha. I’ll make sure to do it again. Do you use What’s App?

  I don’t think I can do any of this again.

  He sends me his phone number, and I add it to my contacts before continuing the conversation, happy to get away from Tinder. The second he deletes his profile, I’ll follow. It’s been nineteen days since Cecilia created mine, and the thought of someone I know seeing me on that app freaks me out. I need to speed this up and to get closer to my goal, he needs to open up more. I text my suggestion.

  How about I make you a deal? You share more of your thoughts and feelings, and I’ll share my opinions about the kiss when I feel you’ve opened up enough.

  Deal. Instant reactions coming up.

  More real. I like real

  I’m surprised by how much I enjoy spending time with you. I like getting to know you. Understanding you better. In short, I like you.

  You’re clearly looking for me to say that I like you too, but that would make this too easy for you. You’re not emotionally invested enough yet.

  Pffff. I think you like the illusion of me. But nice.

  Still, compared to when he’s texted other women, they would ask if he liked them, and he’d respond to their question. Now, it’s spewing out of him without any encouragement from me.

  Cecilia stops by the next day, the wind howling outside. She gasps when she reads Henrik’s messages to Simen.

  Last night, we made out, then she ran off.

  ??? Ran? Why?

  You’ll have to ask her. She keeps it interesting, I’ll give her that.

  “You ran?” She looks at me for a second in disbelief before hooting with laughter. “That’s a reaction he won’t forget. At least you made out with him.”

  “It was dreadful.” I water the peace lily to show her I’m still caring for it. “Henrik’s invited me over to his place for dinner for our fourth date.”

  When I place the plant back on the counter, she strokes its leaves. “It’s homier here now.”

  “No other choice if I’m to win Henrik over.” I scroll through the iPhone messages to show her Simen’s response to the news that Henrik is bailing on him to meet me instead.

  Having Skis over for dinner Saturday.

  Enjoy the dessert ;)

  “Oh, no.” Cecilia rolls her eyes. “The sex date.”

  Upstairs, a window blows shut with a loud bang.

  “I’m not ready for that.”

  “Obviously he is. On our third date, he invited me to his apartment for pasta bolognese. We had sex that night.” She shudders. “Ugh, thinking of all those women in his bed before me.”

  “I won’t be one of them.” I’ll find a way to end the night without insulting him. “One more date and I’ll get a break. He’s traveling for work and visiting Katelyn.”

  Cecilia winks at me. “I can always call you, pretend there’s an emergency.”

  “Thanks, but if he hears you, he’ll recognize your voice. I’ll think of something.” I’m grateful for her support in postponing this for as long as possible.

  The only question is, what the hell will I tell him?

  Walking from my place to Henrik’s takes a little under twenty minutes. I wear sneakers with a jersey dress and one block away, change into heels, tucking the sneakers into my bag. I expected to see more people in the streets since it’s Saturday evening, but then again, it’s Oslo where most people don’t go out before midnight. I ponder reasons to leave Henrik’s place early. I don’t want to say I’m not feeling well and appear weak. Even as he buzzes me in, I’m racking my brain to find a good enough excuse.

  Why do I need one? I should be able to leave without explaining myself.

  Henrik’s door is wide open when I exit the elevator. The scent of pasta bolognese oozes from inside.

  He peeks around the corner wearing a huge grin and his usual man bun, pecks me on the lips, then disappears. “I’m burning the sauce.”

  I remove my heels. Copying his example from when he first visited my place, I enjoy not commenting on his apartment. With its oak parquet, white walls, and a white matte slab kitchen, it’s bland, like every other apartment built around this time.

  No personality whatsoever.

  It feels good not to bother inventing compliments as I would have before. Instead, I focus on the food, wine, and him throughout the evening.

  He must have been joking about burning the sauce. It exceeds my expectations. Although this is his typical sex-date meal, I figure a little flattery will make me appear friendlier. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

  Henrik clears our plates. “My grandmother. Do you enjoy cooking?” He gestures for me to move to the couch while he cleans up. It’s soft, and I sink into the charcoal cushion.

  “Depends on what I’m cooking. I usually wing it. Never made this good of bolognese sauce, though.”

  His cheeks lift in a smile while he rinses off the plates. I have a direct sight line into the bedroom where he installed his new wardrobe. Instead of the glass-front drawers, I recommended, he’s opted for regular drawers the same as his kitchen in a matte slab front. “Nice wardrobe,” I say. No doubt he’s left the bedroom door open to see if I’ll go in there to inspect it, giving us easy access to his bed.

  Did you really change your wardrobe, or is this your way of tricking women into entering your bedroom when they visit for the sex date?

  “I’m pleased with it.” He brings wine and glasses from the dining table. “Those drawers you recommended were insanely expensive, though. I’ll do that for another apartment later on, one that I plan to live in longer.”

  “You don’t plan to stay here?” I struggle to maintain a worried expression as I take in the sterile environment.

  But you’ve made it so cozy.

  Not one picture or anything else shows who lives here or what he likes. There are only white walls, a fresh canvas for anyone to imagine themselves here.

  His hand is under my chin again. This time I get through a make-out session without the gagging reflexes.

  “You want to sleep over?”

  Sleep? I practically hear his comeback to me if I say that I’m not ready to sleep with him. Everybody needs sleep. Yet we both know that’s not what he’s asking.

  “I should go.” I stand to get my coat but stop.

  Calm down. I can’t run out as if I’m scared of sex.

  Henrik lingers as I pull my shoes on. “I’m traveling a lot these next few weeks…so…I guess we’ll text?”

  Show you’re interested in more happening with h
im, but not right now. He’s got every other woman on speed dial. An easy lay isn’t what he’s looking for.

  I smile as flirty as I can and cast a glance to his bedroom. “A part of me wants to stay.” I make sure he understands I’m talking about sex, which he does. I tilt my head, continuing my flirty tone. “I’m attracted to you, and I think it would be fun, but it’s too soon for me. Not my style.” I lean my body on his and let my lips and tongue do the rest of my talking.

  When I lean back, he looks at the floor. “I’d expect no less.”

  Waiting for the elevator, I’m about to do a victory dance when the click of Henrik’s door handle stops me. He strides out of his apartment and kisses me one last time. He stops the elevator doors and pulls me close. “I want to see you when I get back,” he says.

  I grin. “You know how to reach me.”

  On my way home, I don’t scare any old ladies at any bus stops, and once I get in, I’m left with a sense of empowerment.

  I can do this.

  The next three weeks fly by and October arrives while I watch Henrik’s dating life start to change on the screen like the colors on the trees outside my windows. He’s less active on Tinder, and when Thea nags him to spend more time with her, he ignores her. While Katelyn, bless her heart, lets Henrik live with her in Bergen when he’s there for work.

  My boss calls to check on me when a month has passed. “I’m hiring a temp to fill your place.” He sounds sad delivering the news.

  I didn’t expect to care when he hired a substitute, but I guess it’s like dumping a guy. I wouldn’t care until he fell for someone else, so this stings a little too.

  “When you’re ready to return, the job’s yours,” he says, which comforts me.

  I get up at approximately the same time as Henrik every morning, get my coffee, and watch the entertainment unfold.

  I’m pleased to be the first person he contacts in the morning, and the last he chats to at night.

  I used to want Katelyn gone, mainly for her own sake, but she’s given me enough time to mentally prepare myself for sex tonight, on our fifth date.

  16

  The agony of knowing I’ll have sex with him tonight has felt like a band-aid I have to rip off. Cecilia’s told me to only do what I’m comfortable with, but I’ll never get him emotionally invested enough unless I show him he can get everything he wants sexually with me.

  I’ve researched his porn account to get enough information for him to come as soon as possible. The better it is for him, the shorter it’ll last.

  Henrik prepares scallops as an appetizer, and I make my signature dish, roast chicken. Neither of us eats a lot as we’re more concerned with this dance towards what we both know is coming.

  I laugh at his jokes, smile, and flirt. He kisses me over and over, clearly hinting we should proceed. Yesterday, he shared a bed with Katelyn. Tonight, he’ll share mine.

  It’s two o’clock in the morning when we finish our meal and teasing. Unlike our Californication night, he’s not yawning or showing strange behavior. He just keeps moving closer and closer.

  I clench my fists as though preparing myself for a fight. Not against him. He’ll be more than willing to go along, but against my own mind and body. Having sex with him is a means to an end, but I must fight myself from throwing up or climaxing. Henrik can have my body, but I refuse to let this be real. Isac was the last person I opened my soul to and shared my orgasms with, and there’s no way I’ll allow Henrik to take his place or share that pleasure with him.

  “It might be a bit late to go home?” The second the question pops out of me, I want to take it back, correct myself, and at least tell him he’ll be sleeping in the guest room, as if there’s any room among the boxes.

  “Yes.” His smile shows his determination, but there’s also a small hint of insecurity in his eyes.

  “I’ll get linens for you.” I run upstairs to get away, hide for a second, and get myself mentally ready. I lift the lid of the top carton to pretend I’m searching, in case Henrik follows me. Isac’s scent rises and fills the room. The cannonball of boxed in memories shoots out at me—late mornings, Isac and I making our bed together, our love. A lump forms in my throat, and a part of me wants to cry. The other part of me floods with determination to avenge my husband’s death. It slams the sentimental emotions out of me. I wrap my fingers around the edge when Henrik’s hands slide around my waist.

  Shit, did I clear this room of evidence?

  I scan around me but am relieved I’ve left everything in the office. Henrik reads my half turn as an invitation. He spins me around and pulls me hard to his lips. His stubble scrapes the skin on my chin.

  The thought consumes me. I struggle to restrain myself from screaming that I hate him when he releases me, and I draw in my breath.

  “I want you,” he says.

  I hate you!

  This moment has haunted me ever since Cecilia and I started our revenge plan against Henrik. But what I feared would happen, that I wouldn’t be able to go through with it, isn’t coming true. I have no fear, only pure determination. I will sacrifice myself for this, separate my mind from my body, my heart from my mind. This will be my gift to every unknown woman Henrik might hurt in the future, and every man he might still kill with his careless behavior.

  “Oh, do you?” I tease.

  Without a word, he pulls my lips to his again. For the first time in my life, I understand what people mean when they say that love and hate border each other. I love Isac. I hate Henrik. But at the moment it’s irrelevant whether tonight is about taking me one step closer to destroying this man, or about my body aching for closeness and deserting my morals. I want this. I want to take my rage out on him for what he’s done to so many people, for what he’s done to me.

  I bite his lip, holding back, so I don’t rip it off.

  I will kill you.

  My reflection in the black window reveals an expression I haven’t seen on my face in two years, the same one driven by love and lust for Isac. My lips curl in a grin and my eyes are fierce, burning with determination.

  I grab his hand. “Come here!”

  His face beams as I pull him with me into my bedroom. Henrik pushes me onto the bed, and I turn around to face him.

  I can do this.

  We both undress as if we’re working towards a goal.

  I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, bracing myself.

  His breath is hot on my thighs, and he grabs my legs to pull them apart.

  I clasp them shut. “No foreplay tonight.” I force a grin. “I want to feel you inside me.”

  I almost gag from hearing myself say the words, but it’s the only way to get this over with as fast as possible.

  In a second, he’s wearing a condom.

  I’m hungry, eager, and willing, motivated now more than ever to do whatever it takes to break his heart. Removing my white lace underwear, I spread my legs towards Henrik, and he beams before gliding into me.

  I fight the urge to hit him, to kick him off me. I hide my anger behind a smile, I laugh when I want to cry, and I scream through the groans and moans I fake to convince him I’m enjoying this. His revolting wet lips touch my neck and my chest before they move down to my breast and nipple.

  He gazes at me with mischievous eyes. But behind the look, an insecure boy waits, searching for love like he told me. He might think he’s hiding it, but there’s a hidden look of someone with an utter urge to feel wanted, lusted for, to belong with someone.

  I can’t put my finger on what it is, but it’s there. At that moment, I know I can break this guy. Fresh motivation is building and overcoming my morals, my self-worth, allowing me to lose myself entirely.

  Beads of sweat run down his forehead and splash onto my breasts, but he shows no sign of tiring. My body begins to shake in answer to his thrusts, and an intense desire fills me. Each thrust leaves me balancing on the edge of pain and pleasure, but I refuse to let myself go with him. I groan and thrus
t back, which both my body and his respond to.

  Come on!

  He has to finish and declare me the most amazing woman he’s ever slept with. If not, this won’t work. I can’t make him love me if he goes to someone else for sex. I need him to compare other women to me when he fucks them later, to miss me as they moan in ecstasy.

  I wrap my legs around his back, flip him over, and straddle him. According to his porn playlist, he’s a boob guy.

  Let’s give you a front row seat.

  Leaning back, I grab both breasts as I slide my hips forward, feeling him deep inside me. I caress my stiff nipples while he’s gaping at me, eyes burning with lust.

  It’s working. Henrik’s losing himself, but so am I.

  Fuck!

  I tighten my muscles for a narrower fit, and he moans louder.

  Climax! Come on, I can’t hold back much longer.

  My body’s failing me as the pulsing sensation grows and spreads between my legs and climbs up my back. I thrust two more times, then stop to ensure I don’t orgasm and instead fall beside Henrik before it’s too late, and I’m unable to hold back.

  “You can’t stop now,” he whispers and grins while spreading my legs and entering me.

  No, no, no!

  My body’s deceiving me, tingling towards climax.

  Imagine disgusting things to make it stop.

  Sticky floors, dirty toilets with urine on the walls, and feces drooping from the porcelain.