by Esme Devlin
Fantasy and reality are two completely different things. Fantasy is safe. Reality is dangerous.
“I know what I’m doing,” I assure her. “Just don’t be double taking when we’re not at each other’s throats, okay? In fact, scrap that, maybe you should act surprised… maybe that would make it more believable?”
“I’m not getting myself dragged in to your little schemes,” she says, giggling. “Kidding… what is the scheme?”
I can’t tell her. I want to, but that would put her at risk. The less she knows about the plan to get money, the better. “I’m just going to be nice, like you said, hoping he trusts me. Then I can run when he’s least expecting it.”
She leans her elbow on the table and rests her chin on her hands. “You better pray to the moon and all the gods that he doesn’t catch you.”
I take a drink of my wine and set it down on the table. “He won’t.”
She looks at me with narrowed eyes for a few moments, and then sits up, as if she’s decided to change the tone, and the subject. “So… how was it?!”
I start laughing and my cheeks flush. I’m not a prude — it’s the wine. And it’s hot in here. It’s definitely the wine. “Good.”
She giggles at me, “Pull the other one, Shell. Spill the beans. Where? When? Did he take you home? How did this happen? I thought he was going to be so fucking angry!”
I start laughing. “He was fucking angry!”
“Ah — you had yourself a little hate fuck? I’ve only ever read about that.” She tilts her head to the side. “And thought about it. I don’t really hate anyone though…”
“You don’t want to hate anyone the way we hate each other…” I protest. “It’s a mind fuck — seriously.”
She shakes her head. “Then I feel like since Ada isn’t here I must be the voice of reason and tell you, you probably shouldn’t have let him stick it in you.”
I laugh. “Well, thank you indeed for stating the obvious!”
“No, seriously you need to tell me what it’s like,” she says, leaning in closer to the table.
“I will. But first we need to get our arses up those stairs before he sends out the search party.”
She starts laughing. “You not ready for a round two just yet?”
I stand up and split the last of the bottle between our two glasses. “Don’t think I’ll ever be ready for a round two.”
We head up the stairs to the club and the first thing I see is Stacy What's-her-name draped around Tommy — and there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop the surge of jealous anger that is shooting right through me.
They’re just taking a photo together, it’s completely excessive for me to react like this but I don’t care.
I hate her.
Why is she touching him?
I see him looking at me like he’s been caught with his trousers down and I walk straight over to him, not even bothering to check if Lawrie is following me. I walk over and I give them both the sweetest smile I can manage.
“Michelle, there you are darlin,” Tommy says, pushing free of Stacy’s arm and taking a hold of mine. Good.
I know I’m being ridiculous. I don’t even like him. But whether I want him or not, he is mine. And no one else has the right to touch him.
He leans in puts his mouth on the top of my head, and I feel his warm breath on my hairline. I smile over at Stacey and she quickly fucks off.
Again, good.
“What took you so long?” He takes a step back and looks down at me.
“We were downstairs,” I tell him, lifting my glass of wine and glancing down at it in explanation.
He nods and turns around, putting his hands on the back of Ryan’s chair. “Shift your arse, mate.”
Ryan gets up, and Tommy nods for me to sit down. I look over at Lawrie but she’s already squeezing onto the sofa next to Jody and Stuart, opposite us, so I take a seat. Tommy sits down next to me and checks I’m good for a drink, which I am.
“You got your swimsuit on under that dress tonight, Michelle?” Stuart says.
The boys start laughing and I can’t help the smile breaking out on my face.
“I’ll be keeping my clothes on tonight, I’m afraid. Sorry to disappoint you, Stuart — I know you mustn’t get to see tits very often,” I tell him, the saddest edge to my fake apology I can muster.
If they were laughing before, then the laughter is tenfold in comparison.
I sense a presence behind me and look up to see Ryan standing behind us. The laughter goes quiet when he clears his throat. “A wee speech, for the Birthday Boy. And also we all pitched in and got you a wee special something too, for later.” He looks down at Tommy and winks.
“Right, where do I start with this one? Tommy Heenan. The heartbreak kid. Wanker of a man. Plays the bad guy well. And now he’s met himself a permanent victim who I don’t know very well, but no doubt seems a sensible lass considering she’d rather jump off a bridge than be with him.” He pauses while the table starts laughing.
“Few things you should know about our very own village idiot, Michelle. First of all, Tommy’s idea of date night is a few £1 vodka shots at the local shit-hole pub, followed by a bus home — aye, you heard me right, a bus — and then it’s straight upstairs for you with a bottle of olive oil and a few cable ties.” He pauses again, because he’s laughing himself, and I look over at Tommy.
“Ryan, mate. Shut the fuck up!” He shakes his head at me, smiling, while he bats Ryan in the stomach with his fist. I might be mistaken, because it’s fairly dark, but I think he might be blushing and I can’t help laughing at him.
“But fear not, Michelle,” Ryan continues, “cause he’ll bring you breakfast in bed, which for Tommy consists of a blowjob and an ashtray with two fags in it.”
“Where the fuck are you getting this shit from?” Tommy says.
“No, I’m pulling your leg. Our Tommy, for all his shit, is a sensitive guy with a sensitive side that only those of us who know him get to see. But, knowing what I know about you — who jumps off bridges and steals cars, and knowing what I know about Tommy, well I’m going to say that Tommy is still the lucky one.”
He pauses while people chuckle. “Can everyone raise their glasses please?”
We all do as he says, and I put my wineglass up into the center of the table.
“To Tommy Heenan, and there being no escaping from him,” Ryan says.
“To Tommy Heenan, and—” The whole table repeats his words but I stop when I see a pair of hands appear from behind me, taking a hold of my right wrist.
I grab on to my wine with my left hand to stop it from spilling all over the table. I look on at the scene aghast as a pair of metal handcuffs snap shut against my right wrist.
Ryan jerks my arm across the table while he snaps the other side on to Tommys left wrist and stands back to admire his work. “To Tommy and no escaping him,” he says, his eyes dancing while he laughs.
“Ryan, you’re fucking dead mate if you don’t hand the key over right now.”
Ryan just shakes his head and Stubsy pipes up from the other side of the table. “The key’s under your pillow, mate. Put it there this morning while you were out playing gypsy with your ponies.”
“Aye, figured it was the safest way to ensure she’s not away jumping off shit and hurting herself,” Ryan says.
“I am right here, you know?” I tell him, but I’m laughing. I can take a joke. And I’m sure they’re joking about the key being under his pillow.
They better be joking.
I’ll give them an hour — max — to have their little laugh and then I will kick up a fuck, and that’s only if I can last the hour without needing to use the toilet.
Lawrie comes around the table and motions for me to scoot over on the chair before she sits down next to me. “How exactly are we supposed to dance with you carrying that around all night,” she says, laughing at us.
“Don’t worry doll, I’ll stand with my back to youse,”
Tommy says.
“We’ll just save the dancing for after these come off,” I tell her, shaking my wrist so the metal cuff jingles against my silver bangle.
We sit there for a while, laughing and joking with his friends while Lawrie or Ryan make trips to the bar for us.
He wanted to go around the tables, have a drink with everyone, speak to his family… but I made him swear he’d wait until they gave us the key back so he can do it alone. I have no interest in seeing his family or mine. They’re sitting at the far end of the room, almost as loud and boisterous as our table. It’s not a nerves thing… It’s more that I don’t want my dad or his dad to see us together and think what they did wasn’t wrong.
So I stay rooted in place at the table, drinking and gossiping with Lawrie and occasionally becoming the subject of another “jump off a cliff joke”. The fuckers.
The wine is sweet like summer berries, and it goes down way too easily. After a while and too many glasses of it, my worst fear becomes reality.
I need the toilet.
I lean in close to Tommy and whisper it in his ear.
He nods once. “We need the key.”
They all look from one person to another, and I get the feeling that they weren’t lying about hiding the key.
Fucking hell.
“Tommy, mate. It’s under your pillow,” Stuart says.
I lean in close and whisper in his ear, feeling panicky. “I can’t hold it.”
He gets up, taking my hand and leading me away from the table.
“I’ve been needing a slash for the last twenty minutes, darlin, so we can take a trip to the boys first.”
“You are not being serious,” I tell him.
He starts laughing. “What do you want me to do, chop my arm off?”
“Well I’d rather that than me having to gouge my eyes out.”
He pushes me to the side playfully as we walk shoulder to shoulder across the club towards the toilets. “We’ll use the disabled,” he says, pushing the door open with the side of his body.
We get inside and I try to brush away the visions of what happened the last time we were alone in a toilet. Not wanting it to become the thing that defines us as a couple, I turn my back to him and attempt to cross my arms over my chest while he does what he came in here to do.
“Michelle darlin, I’m going to need that hand back,” he says, chuckling. He’s drunk… or at least tipsy. His voice is usually low and gravelly and his speech is normally clipped, he speaks his words fast. Tonight he is more lighthearted than normal, not exactly slurring but not sharp either. It puts me more at ease than I usually am around him.
Or maybe that’s just the wine.
“Fucking hell,” I hiss under my breath, but I drop my arm anyway and let him pull it back behind me towards… wherever it needs to be.
When he’s finished, I have to hang my hand there while he washes his own, and then he washes my cuffed hand too and I giggle at him.
“Right, turn around and shut your ears,” I tell him.
He stands in front of me with his back to me and arms at his side, while I try to pull my dress up one handed. I pull both our hands over to the sink and put the tap on, full force. “I can’t pee when I think someone can hear me,” I say, and he shakes his head.
The whole thing is one fucking awkward maneuver after another and since I’m right handed, and can only use my left, it only adds to the stress of it. I finish washing my hands and we both inch around each other, trying to get on the correct sides so we can get out.
I go for the door but he keeps his hands pressed by his side, and since I’m a weakling of the highest sort, there’s nothing I can do about it.
I turn around to face him, watching him cautiously as his eyes roam over me.
“I’ve been waiting all night to have you all to myself, you really think I came in here just to piss?”
“Is your vulgar attempt at flirting supposed to turn me on?” I retort, cocking my head.
He takes a step towards me, raising his eyebrow. “Are you not aroused?”
“Should I be?”
He takes me by the shoulders and moves me back against the wall. “You seemed to like getting your hands pinned above your head the other night, I would have thought the handcuffs were just a natural progression?”
I eye him up as I take stock of the familiar racing of my heart, the thing that always seems to happen whenever he gets close. It’s like it’s an instrument, and Tommy is the only one who knows how to play it. It does what he wants it to do, with no regard for what I think.
“That was a once in a lifetime opportunity, darling. And one that I won’t be repeating anytime soon.”
Even if the hussy between my legs would like it better otherwise. It’s a slippery slope, and I really don’t want my “just this once” attitude to change to “just one more time”.
He laughs while he bends his head down and looks into my eyes. “You won’t win, princess.”
“I was doing a good enough job up until Thursday night,” I tell him, shrugging and trying not to let the blue of his eyes affect me. Or the curve of his lips. Or the way his jaw ticks when he clenches his teeth. Or the way he smells like whatever I imagine testosterone and adrenaline and danger to smell like.
“You would still run from me, if you could?” He’s watching me closely for a reaction.
What do I say? Do I tell him yes? Then he’ll be suspicious. But if I lie and tell him no, I think he’d probably be more suspicious, and I hate barefaced lies. I keep my face straight. “I would.”
“Because you think I’m… what? The villain? The monster?”
I swallow. I do think that. Tommy is cruel in ways that I can’t even fully understand. I can be cruel, too. But not like Tommy. He wants to own your body, your heart… even your mind. He finds your weakness, and he hones in on it, focused on the target, and then he watches you closely just so he can revel in hitting it. He puts the knife in and he twists it, and then sometimes he gives you what you want, just so you’ll be so grateful to him for taking the knife out and licking your wounds that you almost forget he was the one who stuck it in.
He was going to leave me tied to that post all night, and somehow I ended up beholden to him for giving me an orgasm instead.
If that’s not the definition of a monster, or a villain, then I don’t know what is.
I nod my head while I bite my lip, not meeting his gaze. “You’re the thing that stands between me and what I want.”
“Tell me, little princess. What is it that you want?”
He knows what I want. He just wants me to say it, probably so he can shoot it down and make me feel ridiculous. Fuck him. “I want my freedom.”
“That’s a make believe concept,” he says, almost before I’ve even finished my sentence.
“Really?” I look down at the handcuffs, the thing that has me locked to him. “Feels real enough to me.”
“I could let you go,” he says, and my eyes meet his. “I could let you go, but what would you do? Where would you go? No friends. No family. No job. No money. No prospects. No one to keep you safe. No one to stop you doing stupid shit. No one who wants you. No one who cares if you’re dead or alive. You’re running from the monster, but tell me, darlin, what are you running towards?”
I swallow because I don’t know. For as much as I’ve thought about the reasons why I need to escape, and how I’m going to do it, I never sat down and figured out what I would do when I achieved my freedom.
I always assumed I would just figure it out when I got there.
“What do you want?” I ask him. “Don’t you want more than this?” I swing my arm, jerking our arms together, and the metal of the cuff hits against the tiled wall, the sound filling the tiny room.
Tommy shrugs. “I’m happy enough with what I’ve already got.”
“So that’s it for you? Marry the girl, have children? Go and work for dad? Inherit the in-laws company?”
He sta
rts laughing. “You make it sound so fucking boring.”
“It is boring,” I argue. “Boring and predictable.”
He shakes his head while he slides his knee between my thighs, parting my legs. “There’s nothing boring and predictable about either of us. And I guarantee you there will be nothing boring and predictable about our life together.”
I snort at him, trying to hide what his thigh pushed up hard against my… my traitor between my legs is doing to me.
“Tell you what is boring and predictable. Running away. Getting yourself a one bedroomed apartment and working nights as a waitress. Going home to your empty bed, flicking through Tinder because you’ve not been fucked in a month, having fake friends, ones who don’t even know you. That’s what you want? Why? Why would you choose that when you know I’ll give you whatever the fuck you want?”
“That’s the point, Tommy. I don’t want you to give me what I want. I want to get it myself.”
He tries to throw his hands up but stops when he realizes he’s going to take mine with him. “Then fucking do it. I’m not stopping you. I’m just saying you don’t have to do it alone. Let me help you?”
I don’t believe him.
I know what he is and I know what he wants. He has wanted it since the day I turned 16, because that’s what’s always been expected of him. To get married and settle down and further the families interests.
And I don’t see how I would ever fit in with that. I don’t actually know what I want from life, or what I want to do… I think maybe something with animals though, and not people. I think I’m pretty much at my limit when it comes to people.
And I can’t do any of that when I’m providing him with heirs to the little kingdom he wants to create. I don’t want to be a queen sitting at home all day in the beautiful castle. I’d rather be the milkmaid, out in the fields with my cows.
But since there is no point continuing this argument, I just look away, as if I don’t have a good answer for him. “I want to go and get the key now.”