by Mia Asher
And then he proceeds to fuck the living daylights out of me.
“What are you doing over there?” I hear Ronan ask in a sleepy voice. “Come back to me. The bed still smells like you.”
I’m sitting on his chair by the window when he wakes up. I turn around to find a naked Ronan on his back, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. His wavy hair sticking out in every direction possible screams sex. I smile, pulling my legs closer to my chest, and shake my head no, looking out the window again.
I watch the early morning sun bathe buildings and the streets in light while people go about their business, ready to start their day. My eyes follow a couple walking, and I feel such despairing sadness come over me, erasing any trace of a smile off my face.
And I know why …
I grab a piece of my hair and begin braiding. “I’m just looking at the city … isn't it so dazzling, so free, so uninhibited?”
“I’ll show you free and uninhibited, baby.”
I slant my eyes in his direction, memorizing the way he’s looking at me, memorizing the way it feels to be with him. But when our gazes connect we break into laughter, filling the room with fleeting happiness.
With the laughter dying, leaving what feels like the beginning of a gap between us, Ronan sobers up, and adds, his voice like liquid velvet, "Come here, baby. I need you."
“Nu-uh. I know what you want and I'm tired,” I lie.
“If you don’t get your cute little ass back here, I’m coming to get you.”
I want to tell him to come and get me, but I’m afraid that my voice will betray me, so I just shake my head and continue to stare out the window, braiding my hair. Before I know it, a hand is reaching for mine, helping me to stand up, and I’m enveloped in a choking embrace. Without saying a word, I bury my face in his chest, feeling his skin soft as silk against my cheek, and breathe in his smell. I can also hear the beating of his heart, and like a lullaby it helps to soothe me. After a couple of minutes pass by in silence, our breathing the only sound in the room, Ronan places a hand under my chin and makes me look at him.
“I got something for you.”
“You did? Why?”
He lets me go, walking toward his nightstand. “Just because.” He retrieves a package and makes his way back to me.
“Because why? How?”
He smiles an impish smile that makes him look so much younger than he is. “Just open it, Blaire.”
The memory of what it felt like kissing Lawrence flashes through my mind. “But I don’t deserve it.”
“Let’s agree to disagree on that, shall we?”
“But—”
“Shh. Will you stop being so stubborn for once and just let me give you something?”
I purse my lips as I stare at him with daggers in my eyes. “I hate you sometimes, you know?”
Ronan laughs out loud. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”
I’m about to tell him he’s so full of himself when he raises his hand. “Nope. I won’t hear it. Open the gift first, then you can continue telling me how much you hate me.”
“You suck.”
I look down at the small package in my hands, the wrapping paper a soft purple. Smiling, I unwrap the gift, and as the paper falls on the floor completely forgotten, I uncover a Hello Kitty watch. The beating of my heart comes to a full stop as I stare at the dial. There’s an ache in my chest and butterflies in my stomach.
“You remembered,” I whisper softly.
It’s not the same as the one I wanted my parents to get me—it’s better. This is probably the most unassuming and least expensive gift I’ve ever received, but as my vision begins to blur from tears, I know that it’s priceless.
My hands trembling, I stare at the gift when I feel his hand under my chin, gently tipping it up until our eyes meet. And the way he’s looking at me …
Oh, the way he’s looking at me is what love poems are written about.
“How could I forget?” he says softly.
My chest is full of emotions—good, bad, and confusing. It feels as though it might burst with the intensity of it all. And if I had any questions as to whether I was falling for him or not, they are completely answered at this moment.
I am.
Hard.
I look up as I fight the tears that threaten to spill over, ready to thank him, but the words get stuck in my throat.
“Damn. My purpose of giving you that watch was to see you smile, not make you cry.”
He reaches for the watch, but I slap his hand away and cradle the gift close to my chest. “Don’t even think about it! I love it.”
“Then what made you look so sad?”
“No … it wasn’t that. It’s just the nicest thing anyone has ever given me.” I pause, losing myself in his eyes. “Thank you, Ronan. Thank you so much.”
“Here, let me put it on you.”
Ronan takes the gift away from my hands and puts the watch on my wrist.
“So you really like it?”
As I stare at his gift, memories of my childhood, of broken dreams, and of the past few weeks spent with him swirl in my head: Ronan, my parents, happiness and heartache, tears and laughter, loneliness and companionship.
The memory of a particular dream I used to have all the time as a little girl fleets back, flooding my entire being with physical pain. In that dream, I’m holding my mom’s hands as we spin in circles as fast as our legs would allow us. The speed of our bodies propelled us to go faster and faster with each turn, while colors and shapes became a blurred rainbow around us. Careless and free, we threw our heads back laughing as hard as the forever young—the easy moment feeling magical. I shouldn’t have been able to see my dad, but because it was a dream, I knew he was watching us. Reclined lazily against a tree, a smile on his attractive face, he didn’t look drunk as he usually did. Instead, his clothes were immaculate, his black hair smoothed to the side. But it was what I saw in his blue eyes that I loved the most. They sparkled with love for both his wife and daughter. And at that moment, when our eyes connected, my mom’s sweet laugh filling my ears, I knew I was loved.
I knew I was loved.
But then I would wake up, finding myself on a cold bed in an empty room. I would touch my cheeks and find that they were wet because I was crying in my dreams.
Again.
So as I continue to stare at the watch that Ronan gave me, I lose what little composure I have left and break down completely.
But a part of me wonders …
Is love really so bad?
Is wanting something as beautiful and simple as love such an awful thing?
It must be because it hurts. My chest hurts. My heart hurts. The beauty of this is driving me fucking insane. What will happen to me when this ends? Maybe before today, I could have walked away from him unscathed, but I don’t think that’s possible anymore. I can’t continue lying to myself. I’m falling for him, and because of that, it has to come to an end.
I can’t help the hysterical half laugh, half sob that escapes my mouth.
“I’m sorry … I need a moment,” I say, pushing Ronan away and running to the bathroom.
I’m drying my face with a tissue when I feel Ronan come up behind me. He grabs me by the arm and spins me around so we’re face to face.
“Why are you crying?” he asks as his thumb touches some of the moisture left from my tears on my cheeks. “What’s the matter, babe?”
I shake my head. “What are you doing with me, Ronan? You’re too good for me. You should be with someone who doesn’t have so much fucking baggage. Someone who will be able to give herself completely to you. You do something nice for me and I break down and cry. Don’t you see how fucked up I am? I’m not right for you. I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you.”
I keep repeating myself over and over again, hoping that I’ll make him believe those words, and convince my heart that this is over.
But Ronan won’t listen to me. Pulling me into an e
mbrace, he says, “Shhh … You deserve me and I’m not going anywhere.”
I speak into his chest. “You shouldn’t. I’m—”
“Yeah, yeah, you keep saying that you’re not worthy of me and that you’re so fucked up. But you know what? I don't fucking care. I don't want perfect—I don't need it. I just want you, Blaire. I just want you. Look at me!”
I raise my face and drown in the depths of his warm eyes.
“One day you’re going to let me love you, and I'm going to hold you so tight I’ll never let you go. I'm going to love you as if it were the one thing I was meant to do. As if it were my purpose in life. Don’t you see it, Blaire? Don’t you get it? You’re in me. In everything I see. In everything I touch. You’re in the air I breathe, in the water I drink, and in every dream I dream. I want to tell you so much more, but I know that you’re not ready to hear it.”
Listening to his words, wanting to believe them, wanting to make them real is what makes me realize that it’s over. I can’t. These feelings will destroy me. They already have. I’m numb from the inside out as I recognize that our halcyon days have come to an end.
Ronan cups my face in his hands. “We’ll be okay. I promise you, Blaire.” He seals the space between us with the first of our last kisses. However, this time I don’t get lost in the dance of our tongues and the feel of his hands gliding across my skin. This time, when he guides me to his bed and we become one on top of his sheets, I fake my climax. It’s like my body knows what my conscience hasn’t admitted yet. It feels … final.
And as he comes inside me, his body shaking on top of mine, it’s not the words he whispers in my ear that I hear. They aren’t the ones spinning inside my head—they are Lawrence’s.
He was right.
Later that night …
LIKE THE COWARD I AM, I WAIT UNTIL I’m sure that Ronan has fallen asleep to get out of bed and put my clothes on.
The numbness remains. There are no tears to be shed. I’m cold to the bone, but I’m finally at peace. I thought that I wouldn’t be able to tear myself away from Ronan, but oddly enough, it’s quite easy. I went from feeling so much, to feeling nothing at all.
I’m empty. Hollow.
After I grab my bag, I walk toward the bed and stop to watch him sleep, his brown hair partially covering his eyes. A part of me wants to lie down next to him and hold onto his body as if it were my anchor and get lost in his beauty. I want to run my fingers across his hair, feeling its softness one last time, but I don’t. I’ve lost that right.
And isn’t that how life works, after all? All good things in life never last. Like a good high, at some point you must come down and crash and burn. Things end. People break unspoken promises. People break hearts. People move on and forget.
After a while, I put my bag down by the foot of the bed and remove his gift from my wrist. As I take off the watch, I feel as though I’m ripping my heart out from my chest.
I place the watch on his nightstand, lean down and give him one last kiss. “Good-bye, my sweet, sweet boy.”
Straightening, I pick up my bag and run my hands over my wrinkled skirt. Dispassionately, I notice my hands shaking, but I still turn on my heel and walk out of his room, his apartment.
Out of his life.
Fear is a prison. A feeling of crippling power that spreads darkness within. It blinds. It questions. It takes over every decision we make, coloring it with doubt. Fear, for most of us, rules our lives, and it’s only when you conquer it that you can truly live your life to the fullest.
However, fear isn’t a bad thing. Because fear prevents me from getting hurt over and over again—from being careless with my emotions. And it’s the same fear that propels me to ignore Ronan’s calls and not answer his texts for the next two days. I delete every single text and voice message without opening them.
And it’s that same fear that drives me to walk over to my vanity, grab the business card propped against a perfume bottle, pick up my phone and give Lawrence a call. Dismissing Ronan and memories of our halcyon days once and for all.
Yes, fear is not all that bad.
WORRYING MY LIP AND CHIPPING away the gunmetal polish from my nails, I wait for the man who has been in the periphery of my thoughts to answer the call. I feel short of breath. My hands are sweating. The beating of my heart escalates with each ring of the connecting call, bringing him closer to me, but there’s no dread, no panic—just acceptance.
With Ronan, I thought happiness could be attainable, almost within my grasp. And it was for a while. But love is never enough, is it? And really, what did I expect? A tiger can’t change its stripes. Even if I hadn’t ended it, how long before the reality of who I am, of what I want in a man—what I seek—became a burden? How long would it be before Ronan realized I was just a beautiful shell with nothing inside but an echo of my former self? I don’t want love since I have no need for it. I don’t want to feel. I want everything that money can buy, even if it’s at the expense of my soul, or whatever is left of it anyway.
A memory of a smiling Ronan on our first date flashes through my mind.
“Go out with me, Blaire.”
I shake my head, fighting a smile. “I know I’m going to regret this.”
“Maybe … but why not? Live a little.”
“I don’t want to. I like my life to be planned and uncomplicated.”
“It’s better to live a life full of regrets than not live at all.” Lowering his voice, he adds huskily, “Let me show you how it’s done.”
I close my eyes and tighten my hold on the cell. No. No. No. I won’t let him do this to me. I won’t let him and the memory of his sweet words prevent me from reaching my goals. If I’ve had any small and lingering doubt that I made the wrong choice by leaving him, this reinforces my decision.
After five or six rings without an answer, I’m about to hang up when he picks up. “Hello,” is all he says in that toe curling and delicious voice of his.
I grip the phone harder. “It’s me. Tell me when to meet you and I’ll be there.”
“Good girl. You won’t regret it.”
“Wait!”
“Yes?” He sounds amused.
“I want a lot of money.”
“That’s fine. I have more than enough.”
After he tells me to expect a call from his assistant, Gina, to finalize the details of the date, I hang up without saying another word. There’s no need. I’ve already made up my mind, and once I do, I never change it.
I’m about to put my phone away when I see an alert for a new message from Ronan. Without bothering to open and read it, I reply.
B: I don’t want complicated. Please don’t contact me again.
And he doesn’t.
AM I REALLY GOING TO DO IT?
Can I possibly go through with this?
I step closer to the mirror and grab a chunk of my black hair. I tug. Hard. As hard as the men who fuck me pull it. It makes me want to throw up. But I like this, right? I watch the way my blue eyes sparkle feverishly as I pull harder, making myself wince, and think to myself that there is no difference. Well … yes. There is one. Instead of gifts or living rent free for a couple of months because the guy I’m screwing has it covered, I’m going to actually get paid for my services and then ta-ta, see you never.
And that’s exactly what I want.
Especially after …
I can’t even bring myself to say his name.
I watch indecision reflect in my eyes, but I shake it off like I’ve shaken off every single kind of emotion that comes close to making me feel. I don’t want to feel anything. I can’t. Feeling is bad. It leaves you vulnerable. And I don’t have time for emotions like guilt or shame.
I like money.
I like power.
I like adoration.
I like sex.
I’m good at it, or so the guys I have screwed tell me. Maybe looking pretty and being someone’s fuck toy is all I’m good at. But hey, I can’t complain becau
se that’s all me. My fault. My choice. And it’s not like I’m the first gold digger to ever spread her legs for the right amount of money.
I just wish the nausea would go away.
I turn around and head toward my bed, leaving a mirror full of lies behind. I put on the tiniest black thong I own, grab the deep red bandage dress lying on top of my duvet and slip it on. As the dress goes down, I feel the way the silk begins to constrict my body as it covers more areas of me, and I love it.
I walk to my bathroom and finish putting my makeup on. Tonight, I want to steal Lawrence’s breath away, so I take my time with my usual ritual. I want to look my best when I kill what little innocence and beauty I have left inside of me, and what better way to do it than by burning as bright as a star.
I fluff my hair and watch the way it covers most of my back, like a shiny black river. I take a step back and take a look at myself. Smiling into my reflection, I notice the way my smile doesn’t reach my eyes. How empty and cold they look.
My mask is on.
“Excuse me.”
“Yes, miss?” the chauffer responds.
“I was wondering where exactly in Long Island are you taking me?”
I’m riding in the black Rolls Royce that Lawrence sent to pick me up and bring me to him. I know that the air conditioner is on in the car, but I feel like I’m standing next to an open fire I’m so hot.
“I’m driving you to his estate—Rothschild Hall. It’s located in Center Island, miss.”
“He lives in a place that has a name? That big, huh?” I ask, my voice ringing with sarcasm. But I guess I should believe him. Only houses that pretty much have their own zip code forgo a number for a name. I’ve been to a few summer parties in those kinds of places.
The driver chuckles, our eyes connecting in the rearview mirror. “You could say that.”
“I’m Blaire, by the way. What’s your name?”
The man with skin the color of cinnamon smiles. “I’m Tony.”
“Nice meeting you, Tony.”