He raped you. Shit. He raped you.
I was stunned and stared at her, mouth agape. Her head was down. The life was gone from her movements. Yesterday when she was hungover she had been moody, but in a tough, gregarious way. I couldn’t tell if her current mood was because of the sex last night or because she had more to drink or because she wasn’t a morning person like Mark.
I pulled ice out of the freezer and scooped it in a bag then placed it on the table in front of her, along with the bottle of tylenol and a new cup of water. “Thanks,” she mumbled. “Fucking faggot.” She didn’t direct the slur at me.
So... what happened? She wasn’t... flowing... and he... was rough. Really, really rough. Had he ever fucked a woman before? Were there special considerations you needed to take when fucking a woman? Did he expect her to be naturally lubricated at all times? So he just stuck it in her whenever he wanted?
“Did he wear a condom?” I asked suddenly, fearful and horrified.
“Yes. Shit, I’m not picking up anything from that douche.” She spoke to me hotly, like flames were pouring out of her mouth. I started a cup of tea and a cup of coffee. Mark had gotten me a tea kettle for the mornings when I would share a warm drink with him. It was especially nice to drink tea in the fall, like how we did while camping with his family.
I retreated to the bedroom and woke Mark up.
“UUnngghghghg,” he grumbled at me.
“You need to get up,” I said sharply. That stopped his bear noises. “Your sister is in a rough spot.”
“What?”
“I think... I think Greg might have...”
“Did what? You need to lay off this Greg thing.”
“Mark. I think he might have raped her. Or gotten so close to rape that it makes no difference. She was drunk. I don’t know if she gave consent to have the things done to her...” That he did.
“He didn’t rape her,” Mark denied.
“I don’t know if I would call it that. But he was nasty. She has bruises on her arms.”
“WHAT?”
“Babe. You need to get up. I’m in over my head here.”
Mark changed quickly. His face was fierce instead of playfully grumpy. Mark was normally an affable fool with a handsome smile and an easy attractiveness, but he was a completely different animal when he was focused... like when he played a tough tennis match or like when he used to play baseball.
Or when he was pissed off and ready to protect someone he loved.
I made my way back to the kitchen. Mark stomped after me. He paused in the bedroom hallway and observed Melanie. Her head was still down. I poured a mug of tea for Mel, then placed it in front of her.
The bruises were clearly visible along the edges of her shirt sleeves. She was wearing one of my tees. Her dress from the last night had thin shoulder straps and the shirt she’d worn yesterday revealed her upper arm.
So she wore my shirt to cover up the evidence because her clothes were too revealing.
Mark was so fucking pissed. I was scared.
“Mel,” he said gruffly. “What happened last night?”
“Just your regular old asshole. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”
“Did you ask for those bruises?”
“I thought he was nicer than what he was in bed...”
Greg is a fucking psychopath. He wasn’t having sex with you. He was pretending that you were Mark. He was conquering Mark by conquering you. He was exerting his power over you. Fucking fuck. Piece of shit, Greg. Why didn’t I speak up earlier? Why didn’t I show Mark the dirt I had on him? Mark would think I was the weird one for having a dossier on the guy... but fuck it. I shouldn’t have let this happen!
The truth was that I had no idea Greg would be capable of something like this. I thought he would use a more psychological approach to prickling Mark. Never... violence.
“There’s blood in the bathroom,” Mark stated. I had shown him that evidence.
“He didn’t wait for me. I can take a while to get the juices flowing.”
Yuck. Why does she talk like a dude?
I was disgusted by the frank talk. Mark looked like he was about to kill someone. I’ve only seen him that way one other time—the week we got back together after our Big Fight and I made a certain... revelation.
The shower turned on. All three of us looked to the hall simultaneously. I gripped Mark’s bicep—thinking he was going to barrel into the bathroom and rip the guy’s head off. None of us knew what to do. Melanie talked a good game, but she later revealed to Suhail that she hadn’t had something like Greg happen to her before. She was a tough girl and had been through her share of compromising positions... but this was different.
The previous night she had been unusually vulnerable and had been looking for a fun rebound—not a hellish experience. From everything I had heard about her from Mark, Mel ran through guys like rain through a screen door. We could be flippant about her on-again, off-again relationship, but for whatever reason, that rejection had stung.
Mel’s ex had apparently found a virginal sorority sister from a family with a big name. Normally in romance novels, the evil girls that swoop in and steal a man are portrayed as gold diggers, but that is not always the case in real life. This girl might or might not have been a gold digger. In fact, I doubt it. She was just a random girl and Mel was heartbroken so she used a readily available epithet. In reality, it was Mel’s ex who was the gold digger... but society doesn’t have terminology for that situation. Even to a supposed feminist like Mel, gold diggers are women and men who chase skirts are bastards, but men who chase money are what? Alphas? And women who chase suits are... sluts? It’s these kind of asymmetrical gender roles that pushed me towards a relationship with a man in the first place. I have a compulsive need for balance... and there’s something deeply satisfying about being in a same-sex relationship when it comes to internalized gender roles.
I never met Mel’s ex, but I heard he was a complete tool. (Melanie was also a tool, so they should have been well-balanced in that regard.)
THE SHOWER STOPPED. We still hadn’t settled on a plan of action other than for me frantically wishing that everyone would disappear. The best I could hope for was that no one would resort to violence.
Please don’t kill him. Please, please, please. No cops.
Greg joined us at the table. He sauntered into the room—he didn’t walk, he didn’t sulk—he oozed confidence. He fixed a firm smirk on Mark.
Greg’s hair was wet and dark, his skin looked fresh and rosy. He looked like a normal human being.
I wanted to bite his nose off.
Greg moved to the island and took a plum from the fruit bowl. Mark was too furious to say anything. Melanie just watched, speechless. Greg loomed in the room—he loomed in front of Mark.
“Why don’t you leave, Greg,” I said, since no one else would break the ice.
“Cute,” Greg replied. He sneered while eating his plum.
Fucking idiot!
“What the hell did you do?” Mark asked, breaking out of the spell he was under. “Why the fuck does she have these bruises?” Mark raised a sleeve on Mel’s shirt.
I felt so embarrassed for Mel. I feel other people’s embarrassment and pain much more than my own. I cared about Mel and imagining her pain had me sick to my stomach.
Put the shirt down. Don’t touch it. Don’t show him. The fucking psychopath.
“She liked it,” Greg said simply. “I had her moaning all night.”
Melanie didn’t say anything. Mark was coiled like a spring and about ready to explode. Greg was nonchalant and camped out near the kitchen island like he owned the place.
“Greg,” I said, following my non-confrontational instincts. “Why don’t you just leave. Please?”
“Sure, boi-pussy. You think you’re holding back Mr. Tough Guy?” Greg looked at Mark, who was clearly unsettled. “That’s what I thought.” Greg smirked at me. “Why don’t you leave? Mark and I have some things to
work out.”
“You don’t have anything to work out,” I growled. We locked eyes and stared at each other. I left my body for a moment.
When I came back from the red haze, I found that Mark had his hands on my arm and was holding me back.
Greg was still talking. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about. We had a good time last night. Didn’t you guys enjoy listening?” Greg looked very pointedly at Mark. “I know one of you did.”
Melanie was behind the two of us. Greg didn’t include her in the conversation other than to refer to her as if he were discussing a piece of meat. Mark looked like he wanted to strike the psychopath.
I stopped him.
“Go outside,” I said to Mark with a low, calm voice. I was beyond the point of emotion, entering my ‘serial killer’ mode. I yanked Mark’s arm and forced him to look away from Greg and to look at me. “Take your sister outside. Walk down to the Lake. Get a drink.” I blinked at him. My voice was dead. “Give me a minute with Greg. We have some things to work out.”
Mark didn’t leave me that easily. I had to force him away. I didn’t look at Greg until both Wolffs were out of the apartment.
Then I turned and looked him straight in the eye. “Sit on the couch,” I ordered.
“Fuck you.”
“We’ll see. Just sit on the couch. I don’t have much time.” I walked into the living area and woke up Mark’s computer. Then I looked up the document I had stored in the cloud. During my research, I had found multiple pressure points that I could apply to this psycho, but only the first one would be required. When I fought—I went for the killshot.
I’M AFRAID THAT DUE to legal reasons I cannot describe the nature of the dirt I had on this psychopath. If my identity should ever be revealed, I honestly could be sued. I talk a good game and believe I would win... I have consulted with a lawyer on the subject. But I can’t be certain. What I did is ethically improper and if I ever started a service that uses private user information, what I did while investigating Greg would sink the project. The lawyer advised me that using the least amount of conjecture and editorializing about these events, the better. Also, by simply having access to these records, I may be in violation of a law of some kind, perhaps even retroactively. I did not inform my lawyer where I got the information from.
It is not, technically, in the public domain. Well, some of it is, but the pieces I used to get there should be more protected than they are.
I’ve since decided not to publish Greg’s history. In general, he was abused as an adolescent and that’s all I feel comfortable publishing.
Also, the other insight I wanted to add is the idea that Greg and I probably aren’t wired all that differently. We both go on power trips and instinctively manipulate people. But I have a layer of empathy—extreme empathy—which keeps those darker instincts in check.
Also, I used this short essay to say that Greg probably views himself as the hero of his own story. See, I can be nice. There’s my olive branch. I removed the section where I said Greg was worse than a slug.
GREG FOLLOWED ME INTO the living room—he sauntered and loomed. He sat on the couch in such a way as to prove to me that he only did what he wanted when he wanted to do it. I didn’t roll my eyes. Eye-rolls were fun things—meant to convey light-hearted emotion. I did not like Greg. He would no longer receive any emotion from me.
I sat on the opposite side of the couch.
“I know you spiked my drink,” I accused without inflection in my voice. I didn’t know for sure that this was true, but I was fairly certain.
Greg didn’t deny it—in fact, he reveled in it and clearly knew what I was referring to. “Sure,” he agreed. “I thought you were going to drink it, but much to my surprise I nearly caught the big fish.”
That’s what Mark is? A big fish. You fucking waste of space!
I was robotic; my voice, dead. My eyes were blank. My face was completely relaxed—every muscle sank against my skeleton. My eyelids hung low over my eyes.
“You are never to go near Mark again. You are never to speak to him or seek him out.”
“What about his sister?” Greg smirked.
Poor Greg... you don’t know me at all.
I was neither predator nor prey, submissive nor dominant, top nor bottom. I was a chameleon—a mirror able to reflect an illusion of what others wanted me to become. When Mark wanted a top, I could be a top. I could be dominant, if need be.
Anything Mark wanted... that could be me. But I could also become the nightmare... there was a dark side of my talent that could intuitively sense fear and feed into it.
Greg fancied himself a predator, and what did a predator fear most? Being hunted—being made to feel small, to lose control.
So I became Greg’s nightmare... and, as was my nature, I had come prepared.
“You laugh. Greg is a confident man.” That was an intentional use of the third person. My voice was cold, robotic. “Greg knows what he wants... Greg gets what he wants.” My voice was flat and my eyes dead... this was serial killer mode. I imagined that my words were like gently teasing a knife’s edge across my opponent’s skin, charged caresses before slicing the jugular. “But what does Adam think, I wonder?”
Greg’s eyes widened in surprise, then the rush of fear forced his pupils to tighten.
“Haven’t heard that name in a while?” I stuck my finger into the edge of his jawline directly in front of his ear so that his face was forced to turn away from me and his jaw opened automatically. Thought you were the only predator flying in these skies? It takes one to know one, and I came prepared. “Finding your former name was the trickiest part... but after that it was almost too easy.”
I set the computer in his lap. He flicked past the first page and his entire demeanor changed. It was like his ghost had finally caught up to him and whispered in his ear that he was already dead. His face showed horror, then shock, then anger.
“How did you get this?” he whispered.
I ignored his question and intimated that I knew more than just what that document implied.
“How did you find this? This is sealed.”
“You may have changed your name, but you can’t hide everything.”
“How long have you known?”
“You will not contact Mark again. You will not bother us again. You will leave and I will never have to exert a thought about you. If I have to think about you, I’m going to remember this.” I nodded to the computer.
“You’re a fucking psycho,” Greg said, impressed.
I jumped at him.
I stuck my fingers in his damp hair and violently yanked his head so that it slammed into the back of the couch. I set my mouth by his ear. “You have no idea,” I whispered. “I’m more like you than you realize. I don’t feel anything. I only have feelings when I see them in other people. But I don’t see any in you, do I?” I gently touched his exposed neck.
He didn’t react. He didn’t pant or yell or curse. He watched me out of the corner of his eye and I watched him like I was a wolf looking at an insect. I cocked my head... so interesting. And slid into the crazy. Normally, I worked hard to keep up appearances, trying to monitor every person I encountered—to understand their emotions so I could reflect them back. I was a blank slate like that. That’s how Mark could convince me to do so many things. I got a thrill when he was thrilled. I got angry when he was angry.
But he was out for a walk with Melanie. I had a psychopath in my hands. I could fight psycho with psycho.
And I used my psycho side with expert efficiency.
“So now we have an agreement. Leave The Ugly Rhino to Mark. If you see him again... leave. If you pass him on the street, walk to the other side.”
“Or you’ll do what?”
“Nothing. I don’t care about you. Give me a reason to care about you and this shit will go where you don’t want it to go. How long will you be a nurse when your employer sees this?”
“A threat,” he said cal
mly. “I can’t say that I haven’t been preparing for this.”
My fingers were still at his throat, but he was relaxed under my pressure.
“Perhaps you wanted someone to find out? Now that it’s here, you must feel relief.” I stood. “I don’t care about this shit. I really don’t. As long as you don’t give other people a reason to go looking, you won’t have to worry about it. Am I the first to find this?”
Greg nodded. I was momentarily impressed with myself.
“Leave us alone. I don’t give a shit about you.”
Greg stood at the other side of the couch. I pointed to the door. He followed my unspoken command. “Mark doesn’t know what a problem he has in you,” Greg said.
“He knows I don’t fight fair.”
I stalked Greg as he walked to the door. He assured me of his respect for our little pact. Then he sneered as he turned away from me—his hand on the door.
I reacted instinctively. My hand shot at his face and my index finger hooked into his mouth like he was a fish. His head yanked towards me and I kicked the back of his knees so he collapsed to the floor.
He grunted.
I grabbed his damp hair with my other hand and pulled his head back, once again exposing his neck. Again, he didn’t resist.
“You will show me respect,” I rumbled. “How can I trust you if you don’t show me respect?”
He blinked calmly.
I traced his throat with the finger that had been in his mouth. I really wanted a wipe to clean off the germs, but there wasn’t time to show that weakness. All the hesitation in my personality had been stripped away.
I was dead on the inside. Greg would respect me... or I would take him down.
He averted his gaze and nodded once.
My body language changed in an instant. He had truly submitted to me. It was a weird feeling and one that I hadn’t expected, but I could respect that decision.
I released him and let him crawl to his feet. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re in neutral. I have no reason to cause you any pain and you have no reason to fight me. Are we agreed?”
The Lover (It's Just Us Here Book 4) Page 21