by Bea Paige
Just like Amber had believed with me.
I want to look away. I want to shout at him to stop, that he’s breaking her just like I broke Amber, but the words are lodged in my throat, trapped within a body that has finally succumbed to the aftermath of heroin use. My teeth chatter, and I fucking ache, but I can’t look away.
This is red in all its fucked up beauty.
This is the bitter truth of love both given and unrequited.
I’m not sure how much time passes, it’s an infinite amount, it’s nothing but a blink of an eye. Soon I’m lost in the vortex of emotion that pours from my best friend. Even here on the other side of the room I feel it gushing from him, a great wave that laps at me, taunting me with everything I’m incapable of.
Then the wave crests as Ivan comes with a deep guttural moan. He presses a heartfelt kiss against Rose’s lips and releases her chin. For a second, they just breathe in each other, then Rose turns her head to the side and stares directly at me whilst Ivan buries his face in the crook of her neck.
I expect to see desolation and destruction. I expect to see pain and emptiness. I expect to see the ghost of Amber staring back.
But I don’t see any of that.
Instead, I see strength despite the anguish. I see power born from pain. I see the absolute determination to not let love in.
And that last part, that I understand, that I recognise.
Rose gently slides out from beneath Ivan and strolls towards me, stopping to pick up the length of ribbon discarded on the floor. I look up at her. She isn’t a ghost, she isn’t a pale apparition, she’s so much more than anything I ever expected. Crouching down, she holds out the ribbon. I take it from her, clutching it against my chest.
“Now do you understand?” she asks.
“Yes,” I respond, even though I wished I didn’t.
Red is passion and pain, it’s selfless and destructive, it’s life-affirming and fucking soul destroying, it’s love.
And by the look on Ivan’s face, it hurts like a bitch.
Chapter Eighteen
Rose
Ivan leaves with a swift goodbye. He doesn’t try to smother me with his newly revealed feelings. In fact, since what happened in his room this morning, he’s been quiet, reflective. For the past hour I’ve kept my distance from him, both of us needing time to lick our wounds.
Ivan’s will mark him for days, maybe longer.
Mine, mine have joined all the others within the aching chasm of my chest to be absorbed by the darkness that thrives there, feeding the demon who possesses me.
Ivan loves me…
In another life it might have brought joy, but the knowledge of his love has had the opposite effect.
Why did he have to cross that line? Why?
Sighing, I run a hand through my hair and watch Ivan as he places the last of his bags in the boot of the car. The car idles, Patrick waiting in the driver’s seat. He gives me a sideways glance and a curt nod acknowledging me. I can’t even smile at Patrick in return.
Inexplicably, my heart feels heavy. Blue.
Not an expansive blue like the sky on a summer’s day, but the deep bottomless blue of the ocean before a storm churns it even darker.
Ivan stands before me, he’s more guarded. Not in the same way he was when we first met, not at all. This time, rather than seeming predatory, he has the look of an animal wary of a new foe; respectful, uncertain, biding its time.
“I’ll call when I arrive in Moscow,” Ivan says, breaking the heavy silence between us.
He swipes his hair off his face only for it to fall promptly back into his eyes once more. Something about that simple gesture and the way he’s trying to dampen his true feelings from me has me feeling both angry and regretful at the same time. Back in his room, he had stared into the depths of my soul with those beautiful blue-grey eyes and come up empty, leaving him cast adrift in the aftermath of my wrath. He’s still struggling to stay afloat now. I see that, and it hurts to see the damage I’ve caused.
“I’d appreciate that. I’m sure Anton and Erik will want to know you’ve arrived safely,” I respond, trying and failing to maintain some normality when everything about this conversation is stilted and awkward.
Ivan nods sharply, crossing his arms against his chest. I see the faintest whisper of pain, but he covers it quickly.
I hurt him. Anton had been right to stop me.
“Have you taken something?” I murmur, not quite able to look him in the eye.
He shakes his head. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re hurting…” Because I hurt you. Without thinking about it, I lift my hand to his chest, laying my palm flat against him. He winces again, drawing in a sharp breath. I want to say I’m sorry, that Anton was right. I wasn’t thinking of him in my anger, I was thinking of another man who hurt me. I went too far.
Ivan presses his mouth shut in a hard line and stares at me. I know he’s trying to read me, trying to dig deep into the heart of who I am, but I can’t let him see. I draw my hand away, but he grasps hold of it, pushing it hard against his chest.
“No apologies. Not to me, not ever.”
I swallow hard. He’s so handsome in his dark blue jeans, black hoodie and trainers. It’s the most dressed down I’ve seen him. Part of me wants to grab his hand and pull him back inside so I can have him kneeling at my feet, head bowed waiting for my demands. The other part wants him far, far away and is glad he’ll be on the other side of the world with miles of land and ocean between us.
“You don’t have to do that,” he responds.
“Do what?”
“Give me sympathy as though you did something wrong, Rose. Nothing you’ve done is anything I didn’t want.”
He steps back, allowing my hand to fall away and keeps a respectful distance between us. Ivan obeys our rules even though they’re more tenuous than they’ve ever been since I became his Domina. I know he’s struggling because I am too, though for very different reasons.
“Ivan…” I begin, but something about the look he gives me has me clamping my mouth shut. I think we both know that if he used his safe word there was no guarantee I would’ve stopped. In fact, I’m certain that’s why he didn’t. There’s no relationship between dom and sub if the safe word can’t be respected. Trust is paramount, and I overstepped because of what he said. It was wrong, and it was why I allowed him to make love to me even though it was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to endure.
He endured for me. I did the same for him. We’re even now.
Another wave of emotion rolls over me, and instead of anger, it’s the beginnings of despair. The gulf between us widens.
“In that room you asked me to trust you, and I did. I do. But you must trust me, just because I love you, it doesn’t mean anything has to change, Rose,” he implores.
I hold my hand up, cutting him short. “Don’t say those words. I don’t want to hear them, Ivan!” I bite out, unable to hide the depth of my anguish at hearing them again.
Those words trip off his tongue so easily, as though they cost him nothing, when they cost me everything. I’m hanging onto my sanity by a fucking thread.
“Rose…”
“No!”
I hadn’t signed up for this. I’d wanted to set him free, yes. I’d wanted to find a way to live with my own demon, but I never, ever wanted love.
Love only has the power to destroy everything.
And I refuse to let it destroy me.
“You wanted Anton to understand,” he continues, not backing down. “I think it’s safe to say he does now. I only did what you asked.” He folds his arms across his chest, watching me intently.
He’s right, he did. Ivan did exactly what I asked, but I hadn’t expected that. I need the space to think through what this means and whether it changes anything.
Of course it does, Rose. He loves you. Love destroys, it kills. You fucking know that.
“You should go, you don’t want to miss y
our connecting flight to Gatwick airport,” I say in response, fighting off the darkness that’s beginning to swell once more.
“Fine,” he says coolly, the Ivan of old resurfacing. “I’ll see you in just under three weeks. I’ll be calling daily at noon, just to check in. If you don’t answer, I’m on the first flight back.”
“Goodbye then,” I retort, not able to say anything more.
“Goodbye, Rose,” he says, giving me one more intense look before turning on his heel and climbing into the car, slamming the door shut behind him.
Wrapping my arms around my chest to fend off the bitter cold, I watch Patrick drive away. Perhaps the time away will set Ivan’s head straight and give us both time to breathe. Perhaps he’ll find some Russian beauty to keep him entertained.
Fuck no! My demon thrashes at the thought.
I groan inwardly. I don’t want him to love me, but I sure as fuck don’t want him to love someone else… This is getting messy.
See, that’s what love does. It makes something perfect into something complicated, dangerous. We had rules. At no point had I ever agreed to him loving me. Never.
Why the hell has he gone and made this harder than it needs to be?
I almost let out a frustrated cry but stiffen when I hear footsteps on the gravel behind me.
“Rose, do you have a moment?”
It’s Fran.
I turn to face her, plastering a smile on my face. “Is everything okay?”
She wrings out her hands in front of her. “Anton isn’t well. He’s feverish, in pain. He made me promise not to tell Ivan. I should’ve said something before he left. Perhaps we should call him, tell him to return.” She looks at me with worry.
Walking over to Fran, I capture her hands in mine and give them a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay, Fran, I’ll go. Please, don’t worry.”
“Should I call a doctor?” she asks as we both hurry inside.
“Let me see to him first. Then we’ll decide what to do.”
She nods her head, some of her worry lifting now that’s she shared it. I wonder where Ms Hadley is, given she seemed so desperate to help yesterday. Or perhaps it was all just an act, and if so, what was the purpose? To make me believe she cared? Letting out a long sigh, I resolve to worry about that later.
“Maybe it’s that swine flu everyone’s so worried about?” Fran says, a note of fear in her voice.
“It’s not the flu, Fran.”
“Well, whatever it is, he’s suffering. Let me take you to him.” She dips her hand into the pocket of her pinafore and pulls out a bunch of keys that look suspiciously like Ms Hadley’s. I cock a brow at her, and she wafts her hand at me. “Ms Hadley has left me in charge. She’s taken off for a couple of days. Something about meeting an old friend.”
“She’s left Erik alone?” I ask, astonished.
Fran nods her head. “He’s a grown man, Rose.”
“Yes, but…”
“He’s getting better.”
I frown. “Ms Hadley has left you in charge of keeping the doors locked?”
“That she did. Don’t worry, I know the rules. We all do.”
She turns on her heel so I’m unable to ask her any more questions. I follow her through the maze of corridors to Anton’s room, stopping at the door she turns to me.
“We don’t know each other well, but I know a good person when I see them. Anton needs care and a firm hand, but I suspect you know that already, Rose. Take care of him.”
“I’ll do my best,” I respond.
She nods, then walks away leaving me staring after her and wondering what she sees in me, what any of them do.
Chapter Nineteen
Anton
Curled up into a ball on the middle of my bed, I ache everywhere. No part of me is left untouched. Since leaving Ivan’s room my body has finally succumbed to the effects of withdrawal. Right now, even death is preferable to this living hell I’ve found myself in. Nausea rises again and even though I know that there’s nothing left in my stomach, I lean over the side of the bed and heave into the bucket that’s already filled with putrid smelling sick.
My stomach roils.
I’m a fucking mess.
My head feels like it’s been cracked open by a vice and someone is digging a sharp knife into my brain. I’ve lost so much sweat that my clothes, bed cover, sheets and mattress are drenched.
Fuck this shit.
I know taking heroin is idiotic, I know that, but I needed something to get me through these past few weeks. I needed something to stop me from stealing Rose from under my brother’s nose and locking her away. Something I promised Rose, and now Ivan, I wouldn’t do.
Can I keep that promise…?
“Anton?”
I hear her voice, but don’t even have the strength to turn around despite my attempt to look at her. Pushing up on shaking hands, I collapse on my side. Helpless as a newborn baby and with about as much strength. Fuck knows how I got through this morning.
“Get out,” I croak, my tongue thick and furry in my mouth. I don’t want her to see me like this. I still have some fucking pride.
She walks towards me, the door clicking shut behind her.
“Rose, I don’t want you here,” I say as forcibly as I can.
She ignores me. Groaning, I press my eyes shut not willing to see the disappointment and disgust in hers.
“You look like shit,” she says.
Her voice is abrupt, uncaring, but the gentle feel of her cool hand against my clammy head speaks a whole different story. She’s such a mystery. Saying one thing, doing the other. I’m not even sure she’s aware of how much of a contradiction she is. There are many faces to Rose, I’ve discovered. This morning in Ivan’s bedroom I saw the face of his Domina. I saw Rose, the woman who stands beside me now, and I saw the demon within her, the one that keeps her strong.
I also saw the darkness… the part of her that has the capacity to kill.
She’s the sum of all those parts. Layered, complicated, full of depth and colour. So much colour that I don’t even know where to begin.
Red… it all began with red.
My hand curls around the ribbon she gave me, a piece of her and Ivan shared with me. I may not be able to see the colour, but I understand it better. With that comes a sense of peace I’ve not felt in a very long time.
“That bad, huh?” she asks me gently, keeping her voice low. She’s done this before. Rose brushes the tendrils of hair away from my clammy face, her concern is obvious but locked within a face that’s impassive.
“Has Ivan left?” I manage to ask.
Part of me wants her to say no, hoping that he stayed behind for me. But I can’t deny what I’d seen when I’d looked into his eyes. He went to Moscow for Rose because she asked him to, because she proved to him that he could trust me, and that she was strong enough to deal with whatever I throw at her. I’m left knowing that my best friend has given us the freedom to be together, but on the flip side, that he didn’t stay despite my current condition. Then again, what did I expect? He’s nursed me through countless withdrawals… it’s little wonder he’s had enough.
“Yes. What can I do to help?” she asks, a wash of perspiration appearing as she removes her hand.
“You can leave me be,” I say, looking up at her through heavy eyelids. I’m so fucking tired. Bone-tired, my goddamn soul is tired.
She shakes her head. “No can do.”
“I will do this on my own.” I don’t want you to see me like this. Weak, shattered, broken by addiction and the reality of my past decisions.
“Not going to happen, Anton. I’m not leaving you to get through this alone.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s what I do,” she says with a long sigh.
“What, help addicts?”
“Something like that.”
I cringe as Rose picks up the bucket of sick and walks to the bathroom with it. I hear her flush it away down the toilet and rinse it out
. She comes back into the room with a hand towel and washcloth. Settling on the bed beside me she wipes the washcloth over my face. The cool material is like heaven to my overheated flesh.
Catching my eye, her eyebrows pull together. Then as though making up her mind about something, she suddenly begins to talk.
“I started working for Roman when I was sixteen. I remember the day so clearly. It was a Saturday, the beginning of my school summer holidays. I’d spent the morning at the beach with my friends basking in the sun. The sky had been an azure blue, cloudless, and when it met the horizon the sea seemed to merge with it. I remember thinking that I felt like that endless expanse of sky; my heart was wide open and ready for endless possibilities.”
Rose smiles sadly at the memory and not willing to interrupt her train of thought, I remain quiet, unmoving. She swipes the washcloth over my face a second time, then presses her fingertips gently over my brow, massaging the frown that has appeared there. My heart constricts at her kindness but rather that push her away like I normally would, I accept it, too weak to protest.
“Roman was a collector of antiques and had a shop in town. I noticed a sign in his window looking for a weekend assistant. My parents didn’t have a lot of money and if I wanted to spend the summer hanging out with my friends and keeping up with all the clothes shopping and trips out, I needed some money.”
Rose lifts my head and very gently wipes the cloth over the back of my neck then around to the front before placing it on the side table. Grabbing the hand towel, she dries the places she just washed. I feel minutely better.
“I still remember how I felt the very first time he laid eyes on me. It was as though all the air had left the shop and I was left gasping. When he looked at me, it was like my heart literally stopped beating.”
A smile plays around her lips as she remembers, but it’s suddenly overshadowed by a sadness that has me feeling restless. Her gaze wanders and through the haze of my own pain I see hers bright and harsh in the depths of her eyes. Absentmindedly, she slides her hands down my drenched t-shirt. When she reaches the hem, she seems to come back into the present and lifts the hem, urging me to remove it. With her help, I manage to take it off, but even that simple act has me breathing hard with exertion. My skin prickles with the cold, making my teeth chatter even though inside I’m burning up.