by Poppet
"Before you had Shauna move in with you, she secretly had a male visitor. A regular male visitor."
"What!"
"The Watcher says that whoever he is, knew where the cameras were placed."
"Who the fuck is he? I'll shred the skin off his body with a toothpick!"
"We have no idea. At best Alpha has a grainy profile silhouette of him. You have to find out who he is. We have to tie up the loose ends. Alpha is enraged Victor. You've slipped on this one. You've slipped badly."
The blood drains from my head, instantly light-headed as I keep an iron grip on maintaining consciousness. Alpha and myself have long gone past the point where he disciplines me. If I'm lucky, he'll let me live.
"I'll take care of it."
Standing up, without a backward glance, I head back out to the car, and Shauna. She is going to pay, and pay dearly.
***
Suddenly free. Free! He's gone and can't ever hurt me again. Euphoria should be the name of a perfume, because it's how I feel right now. As if I'm floating with sheer happiness. It's been months, almost two years, since my nightmare began. And now, finally, and it feels oddly strange, I'm a free agent. Free to do as I please. Free to wear what I want, date whoever I want, I can go out again without wondering where he is, if he's behind me, watching me, stalking me.
I could leap over the mountain beyond the window with sheer exuberance! Giddy with a smile I simply can't erase no matter how hard I try, I pull my favourite jeans on. I love jeans. What Vengeance and his fucking god don't understand, is that this place is freaking windy. A skirt is hell on a good day, never mind a windy normal day. That's why women used to wear sixty trillion petticoats under their skirts in the good old days. They're impractical. Second to that, is that they're cold to wear. They offer no insulation from a cool breeze, even worse is the eyeball freezing wind which blows through in the early morning. I hate them. It's fine if you're going out, or it's a special occasion, but for every day, jeans win hands down every time.
Skipping from the bedroom to the bathroom to brush my teeth, my hair tied up so it doesn't get caught by the toothpaste, I start brushing. Leaning in afterward to floss, I inspect my teeth, when my eye catches the earring in my right ear.
A sense of malice mingled with satisfaction grips me as I lean forward, carefully turning it to loosen it, watching what I'm doing in the mirror. Unclipping the butterfly holding it in, I have my eyes cringing shut with the discomfort of carefully extracting the bugger, when Victor's voice breaks the silence with such vehemence my heart nearly stops. Instant vertigo flirts darkness on the edge of my vision as I whip around to face him, blurting out my confession.
"Taking out these fucking earrings."
These fucking painful earrings that mark me as his special victim. He's dead and I can do what I want!
He moves faster than my eyes can register, his hand gripping my wrist so hard it hurts. Pins and needles flood my fingertips as I watch with confusion.
His tone is an order. "Don't, I like them."
I've never heard him speak to me like this before. This is serious. My happiness evaporates with the fear creeping up my spine from my stomach. "Oh … oh okay …"
Shocked; coherent thought isn't working. I don't know what to say or how to respond.
"Sorry angel, my nerves are shot too, from last night. That earring matches my arm, leave it in for me, please?"
His hug is tight as I hear his explanation without it registering. Everything feels delayed. It occurs to me that he's overwrought with guilt, and I'm being frivolous. Cupping my chin, he kisses me. There's no gentleness in it. It's as if he's stamping his ownership on me.
In a way I'm really pleased I can move home today. He can have his privacy back, and we can go back to normal dating. Secretly I'm looking forward to being able to paint my toenails in private. I can wax my legs and leave the conditioner in my hair. And he'll never know. Yay! I don't even have to shave everywhere any longer. I can go back to being me!
I tell him as he withdraws his head to stare deeply into my eyes, "I can go home today."
I know he'll be just as thrilled at this return to normalcy. Except … except … oh God, his face. It's frozen in shock. His delicious face turning sickly pale as he gapes at me. What?
"You used me …"
The accusation is saturated in disgust and scorn. I feel like he just spat in my mouth. Is that what he thinks? No! No – no – no!
"No! God no!"
I'll never forget this as long as I live. I've hurt him. I can see it. His eyes have glazed coldly, all emotion has left them.
"Yes. You used me. Now your life can go back to the way it was."
My entire uterus, womb, stomach, kidneys and liver are all melting into a puddle. I feel like I just lost everything inside me, as if it vanished into another dimension. Instantly empty and feeling ill, my head is moving in denial, I have no control over it. All I'm aware of is the pain burning into my chest as he blurs in my vision. I'm watching him slip away right before my eyes. I love you.
"Victor, never. I just … I …" My mouth seizes up with dryness. I think I'm going to faint.
"You just what? You just couldn't wait to run back home. You don't care how I feel? You just announce it. I've been through hell for you, and now you're casting me aside, now that I've served my purpose."
Every atom of my being wants to soothe. To stop this. I want to kiss him better. Love him and erase this pain etched into his face. To change the loathing in his tone, returning him to my Victor. Stepping closer, I run my hands over his chest, trying to communicate my feelings through touch.
The pleading in my tone mocks me after his words, "Victor please …"
He cuts me short, his eyes rebuke me silently. His reproach evident in his tone and words, "Please what? I've done everything in my power to help you, everything."
"I know."
I do know. Why is this happening? My world is dissolving when we should be celebrating. I'm desperate to distract him. I need him to know how much I love him. Caressing his body, I try again, communicating how much I want him, need him, hoping to reawaken his desire and halt this insanity.
"I love you. I didn't mean to hurt you. I thought you'd be pleased?"
Staring into his eyes I'm willing him to hear me. I did think he'd be pleased. Please Victor, stop.
His reflexes are faster than a bullet. I didn't see his hands move, but feel them so tight on my wrists, he could break them. Does he even know how strong he is?
"Just get out." His words and body propel me away in his disgust.
Please, no. Oh God. No, Victor, I need you. I fucking love you. How did this happen? My shocked hurt annoys me because I try to tell him, but nothing comes out of my mouth. My body and mind paused in sobbing shock. My beautiful hero blurs in my vision. The blob of his body moves as his angry words reject me. He's misunderstood all of it.
"I'm going out. Don't be here when I get back."
My legs wobble, and I sit down heavily on the bathroom mat, misery engulfing me completely as the front door slams. Curling into a ball, bawling like a child after punishment, my head and shoulders shaking, everything inside me quivering. The enormity of my loss squeezes every last remnant of happiness from my morning.
"… please Victor … come back."
Chapter 36
Every Scripture is God-breathed and profitable for instruction, for reproof and conviction of sin, for correction of error and discipline in obedience, for training in righteousness
~2 Timothy 3:16
In numb disbelief I finally summon my bones to support me. Shocked stupor fogs everything. Using instinct more than sight, I extract my clothes from his closet. Picking up my keys and phone, I trudge heavily toward my home. Leaving my spare keys inside his. They're the keys to his home, his heart. He should have them back.
Hopefully, I leave my own spare keys next to his, a silent invitation if he changes his mind.
I don't care what els
e I've left behind. The walls are closing in on me. Everything smells of him. His taste and lavish lifestyle mock me. I feel orphaned, as if my parents just abandoned me again. The sense of loss and grief so severe that my knees buckle two steps inside my apartment. Clutching pink and white material, I bury my face in my clothes. Wailing. He just tore my heart out, and left me here to deal with the loss. How do men stay so self-composed at the end of a relationship? How do they carry on functioning?
What did I do? He's over reacting and won't even listen to me! We've come so far, lived through so much together. He's my rock. He's kept my sanity hidden inside his heart, keeping it safe. Holding me together when I was falling apart. Scrunched up on the floor, my body succumbs to shock. Shaking, my limbs and digits become rigid in their quaking.
"Nooooo!"
I didn't hear my door open. I didn't hear footsteps. The grip on my shoulder nearly makes me pee myself in fright, jerking away in terror, twisting so fast that my neck seizes in burning pain.
"Victor!"
Relief, and a lover's relief grip me. Petrified still – like a fossil, I watch his eyes, his mouth, intently, as he speaks. Hushing my pounding heartbeat.
"Shauna? What happened?"
Dropping the now wrinkled clothes I am still clutching, I lock my arms around his neck, bursting into tears anew, "I love you. I thought I'd lost you."
"Why are you on the floor like this?"
Shamed, I look away from his curious expression, focusing instead on his throat, "It's called pain. Mental and emotional anguish from losing the one thing worth living for. I fought back so hard to regain my body after that last beating, because of you." Pausing, wiping my eyes on the back of my hand, I harness the courage to look back into his eyes, "I love you. I didn't mean to hurt you. You misunderstood me."
Taking his free hand where he crouches next to me, my husky voice pleads, "I love you. I love you! I need you more than air."
A smile is tugging his mouth. I can see it. Hope? Is that hope?
"Go wash your face woman. We're taking the day off and escaping our demons."
"We are?"
Finally he smiles, standing, pulling me up with him, "I'm not going to say that your eagerness to get the hell away from me didn't sting." He wrestles with his smile again, trying to look stern, "I had this planned for us already. After last night I thought the best thing we could do is just distract ourselves." He gives my shoulder a gentle push, "Now go clean up. You've messed today up enough already."
I feel indecisive. I just want to press myself along the length of his body and reassure myself this is real.
His commanding strength makes the move for me, pulling me into his body and wrapping tight arms around me, squeezing the breath out of me, "Don't ever fuck with me like that again."
Nodding, too breathless with relief to speak, I agree.
I do as told, washing my face in the kitchen and returning to him. Sunglasses at the ready to hide my red eyes still stained with grief. I rejoin my tall Tyr at the door, lifting his hand to my mouth, kissing the palm tenderly, before slipping my hand into his.
***
The day was planned, except now the dynamic has changed. She's such a good actress. Once I thought I could see right through her, how very wrong I was. She's playing me, and I'm ready to test her, to see just how far she's willing to go in this charade of hers.
I start our afternoon off in Simonstown. Walking with her past the military dull grey ships, explaining warfare to her and the sheer magnificence protecting these waters. She's quiet, nodding and humouring me. Simply increasing my ire.
It's an easy walk into Kalk Bay down the main road. This neck of the woods is littered with second hand and antique shops. This seems to animate her more, as she rifles through dead people's old photos, picking up their teacups, and inspecting old pocket watches.
Spying an ancient looking broach of an angel, I purchase it secretly while she flicks through hangers of vintage clothing. Walking with her into the closest coffee shop, we sit down for a quick brunch. I need a cup of coffee like a man needs a good woman every once in a while. Does a good woman exist? Is it a myth like the muse that inspires the artist whose soul is shades of ghostly charcoal to draw forth his creativity
Sipping the hot brew, I watch my angel. Dirty filthy fallen angel. Her photo came so close to being developed. Only pregnancy will save her now. I refuse to stop her judgement. She honestly has fucked with the wrong man.
I slide the broach over to her, smiling with all of the charm I can muster. "I found something for you, angel."
She stares at it, her little hands pick it up and finger it, worry creases her brow as she looks at me with fake hurt in her eyes, "Thank you."
"Put it on."
I'm not in a debating or bartering mood. If she doesn't do as I say, she'll be sorry. I'm not sucking up to her with support today. Today she will do the sucking. All of it.
She examines my face with deeply blue eyes before pinning the broach without a word to her t-shirt. I smile, lifting one of her hands and brushing a kiss over a knuckle. Barely making contact. I let my focus stare over her head. Watching milling pedestrians wandering past the window.
"What would you like to eat?" I finally ask as she's being so quiet.
"I'm not hungry."
"Sulking doesn't suit you."
"I'm not sulking."
Scouring her with disdainful eyes, I force a humourless smile, "Is that so?"
She literally pouts, and stares away to examine the painting on the wall opposite. Deciding to draw it out, I order their largest English breakfast, eating leisurely, happy to simply watch the idle traffic of people, completely ignoring her.
It must be at least thirty-five minutes later, as I sip my third cup of coffee, when she finally whispers, "Victor, I really am sorry."
"How sorry are you really?"
Her expression is pained, that cute mouth trembles slightly as her hand reaches out to cover mine. Her voice cracks as she whispers, "I'd do anything to prove it to you."
Arching a sardonic eyebrow, I challenge, "Anything?"
She nods at me, biting her lip.
Smiling I stand, walking to pay, then walking out, leaving her to walk quickly to catch up with my long legs. I walk straight into a tattoo parlour I spotted earlier. Her huge frightened eyes watch me furtively.
Walking straight to the lay-about moron behind the counter, with more piercings than a voodoo doll, I order, pulling up my shirtsleeve, "This tattoo, on her." I indicate Shauna with a nudge of my eyebrow.
He looks at her, "You want this on your arm or where?"
Stuttering in shock, shooting me reproachful glances, she tells him, "Inside my wrist."
"Which arm?"
I answer for her, "Right."
He gives me a challenging frown but addresses Shauna, "You sure?"
Without looking at me, her chin set with determination, she nods, "Yes."
"Who's paying?"
Answering quickly, "I am."
He nods, showing Shauna to a seat and asking me once more to see my tattoo. She closes her eyes, sitting rigid as a mussel clinging to a rock, waiting as the buzzing begins. She doesn't flinch, but I notice her leg jumping nervously.
Well I have to give her credit. She certainly knows how to put on an act. She's willing to go as far as I say. Smiling, I walk out of the shop while she's stuck in her place, taking out my phone to give Pete my location and next move.
Her chin hasn't stopped quivering. I walk with her over to the beach, sitting her down on a rock with me, wrapping a firm arm around her shoulders, I finally face her.
"What's going on inside that pretty head of yours angel?"
"Nothing."
"Do I look stupid to you?"
A tear escapes, rolling down her pale cheek as her eyes widen fully to stare at my sunglasses.
"Why are you so angry with me?"
"Because you think I'm desperate enough for a fuck that I'll let you play
me."
"I don't think anything like that."
"Then why try and dump me the minute I save you from him? Why rush back to your old life and lifestyle? Did you honestly think that putting out is enough for me to want to keep you around after such a betrayal?"
Now the precious swollen deep pink lips are trembling. Her voice is so husky, I admit it does affect me physically.
"No." Staring away at the waves breaking below us, she asks quietly, "Then why the tattoo?"
Smiling coldly at her, "You can take your 'fucking' earring out now. You knew how I felt about it, but still you wanted to take it out. Now you can match me every day, without me ever wondering if it's a hardship for you to give so little back in this relationship."
Slipping my sunglasses up, I glare hard at her, forcing bitterness into my tone, "I asked you for nothing. Except that. You knew I loved that your earring matched my arm. I gave you everything I could. My surgeon's skill, my self-defence knowledge, my patience, my time, financial security, I opened my home and heart to you, and the minute you're free of your friend, you drop me like a viper that bit you." Pausing, I challenge, "Did I deserve that, Shauna? How do you justify that in your head?"
She shakes her head, staring down at her tightly clasped hands. Tears drip off the quaking chin. "I love you. You just heard me wrong. I wasn't rejecting you or dropping you."
"Have I ever told you how angelic you look in a dress? Why do you insist on dressing like a boy with such a fabulous feminine body? You have such grace, with your long hair framing you, but you make it so ugly with slut pants."
Her eyes snap to mine, finally anger reveals itself to me. "They are not slut pants!"
"Did your naked slut friend give them to you?"
"Who …?"
"Sarah! That's her name, the whore that got you drunk and got you to open your door naked to me. I could have been anyone on the other side of the door. And you wonder how you got into trouble? How many men have you done that to? How can you wonder why someone stalked you? Where is your logic?"