by H. M. Ward
I extend my hand, and Graham takes it. We walk to my bedroom, and I pull him down on my bed, next to me. I gently remove his glasses, placing them on my bedside table.
"Make love to me, Graham. Please."
He bends down, brushing his lips on mine, each of his movements perfect. The way his mouth acquaints itself with each inch of my skin. The way his hands touch me, cherishing the feeling of me, only one goal in mind—to show me how much he loves me. The way our hips connect and move so exquisitely together. For every push of his, I counter with a roll of mine, getting closer and closer to bliss every time.
In the back of my mind, I keep waiting for the restraints, but they never come. My hands roam freely, touching where they want as they want.
I'm waiting for him to silence me or, oppositely, to command I scream his name—but he does neither.
I brace for the sting, the pain, the resounding crack, and the degrading punishments for disobeying. But they never come.
The more I wait, the more painfully my heart fills with conflicting emotions. One thought nags at me, always there. I imagine his shocked expression as he discovers the truth about what I did.
"Kia, look at me," Graham's voice breaks me out of my thoughts. "We can stop if you want to. It's okay. I love you."
His feelings are so pure. It's my undoing.
"I love you, too. Please never stop loving me." My fingers dig into his firm behind, slick with sweat, urging him to give me what I need. He slips a hand in between us and caresses me with every push. I shatter around him, my back arching off the bed, trying to keep up with the cadence but unable to continue. My body seizes in a moment of euphoria, and Graham is not long to follow. Our fluid synchronicity becomes a hectic mess of sporadic pushes and groans, each of us trying to prolong the feeling as long as possible for the other.
Breathless, Graham lies down beside me, tracing my curves with the tips of his fingers. "So how was that for pulsating man meat?" His voice is teasing and happy.
It gives me hope that I can have it all. He sounds like my Graham again. "Meh! I've seen throbbier." I want to laugh, but my emotions are a mess. It comes out as tears instead.
Graham wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a hug. I bury my face in his chest, wrapping my arms around his waist, relieved.
He loosens his hold on me and wipes the happy tears from my cheeks, brushing away some strands of hair sticking to my face, making me shiver.
"Kia, I know you don't like to share, but where did your mind go before? One moment you were with me, the next you were somewhere else entirely. If I'm doing something wrong, if I'm triggering something, we'll need to learn to avoid it in the future."
I open my mouth and close it instantly.
"Tell you what. Let me give you a minute to gather your thoughts, and, when I come back, I'll share something with you first. We've both been keeping stuff from the other and maybe if I go first, it'll be easier for you." Graham kisses my forehead, gets out of bed and heads to the bathroom.
I roll over, my back to the bathroom, and close my eyes, pulling the covers up to my chin. I feel too exposed, physically, mentally and emotionally. I clutch the sheets to my chest and hold on tight.
The invading images are vivid—her face, her blood, her accusations. My body starts to tremble, and my legs twitch. The walls cave in around me, and my air runs out. I have to get out of here. I push the blankets aside.
Grabbing my black satin robe and my cell phone, I run from the room.
There’s no way to stop the panic attack now.
CHAPTER 28
I make it out onto the balcony, making sure to close the door behind me. Graham can't hear this. I wrap the dressing gown around me and punch in the numbers.
“Midtown Crisis Call Center, Cathy, speaking. How may I help you?”
Dammit! Why can't Parker ever be the one to answer? I try my best to keep my composure, but my voice comes out rude and commanding, like a Delacroix.
“Cathy, I need to speak to Parker. Now. It’s important. Please put me through to him.” I cringe as the words come out of my mouth. Father would be proud. His daughter finally grew lady balls. I let out a frustrated scream and pull at my hair. When the phone starts to ring again, I pace across the balcony, staring inside the penthouse. Graham will be looking for me soon. He’ll probably be worried that I ran out of the bedroom.
Through the windows, I see him walk out of the bedroom, stumbling as he walks and pulls his pants up. His head turns every which way, and he looks like he’s calling my name while searching through his duffle bag. I back up into a corner of the balcony so he can’t see me.
I’m on the verge of desperation after the third ring. If it goes to four rings, the call will be transferred back to the call center. I don’t need to talk to fucking Chatty Cathy! I need Parker! Tears start to flow freely down my cheeks. Everything was going so well. I was finally happy. I don’t deserve happiness. I deserve to be miserable and alone.
Before the fourth ring comes through, a worried voice comes on the line. “Midtown Crisis Call Center, Parker speaking. How may I help you?” His deep voice sounds frantic. This emotion is so unlike him.
“Hi, Parker, this is Anna. I'm glad you're here.” I sit down on the lounge chair beside me and lean my elbows on my thighs, slumping my body forward. I can’t sit up straight. The weight is too much.
“Oh, thank God! Where are you?” Parker asks.
Now I feel worse. The guy has been worried about me. I haven’t kept up with my calls. The last time he heard from me was the night I tried to kill myself. He probably thought I went through with it. “I’m sorry, Parker. I know I should have called to let you know how I was doing, but things were going well, and—”
“Where are you right now, Kienna?” Parker says into the phone.
How does he know who I am? An eerie feeling creeps its way up my spine, and I start to look all around me, expecting to see photographers and journalists spying on me. My breathing accelerates and I feel my cheeks prickling. I’m hyperventilating. “What? I don’t understand.”
The glass door to the balcony opens, and Graham steps out, holding his phone to his ear. He looks to the opposite side of the small area before turning my way. When he sees me, his shoulders slump with relief, and he says, “Please don’t ever do that to me again, Kia.”
I hear two voices simultaneously—the one coming from the phone and the one coming from the man in front of me. They don’t sound the same at all, one is much, much deeper, but the words are the same ones. My hands start to shake, and I drop my phone on the ground.
“What's happening, here?” I try to speak between rapid breaths. My brain is trying to put the pieces together, but the only logical conclusion is that Graham is Parker. That can’t be. It’s too much of a coincidence. Even if it was true, how did he know I was Anna? The calls are supposed to be anonymous. My sanity is cracking like a thin sheet of ice on an early winter puddle. One little step and it’ll shatter into a million pieces. My hands tremble so badly, I ball them up into tight fists.
Graham tucks his phone into his back pocket and takes a tentative step toward me, hands in front, palms toward me. I move behind my chair, creating a weak physical barrier between us. As my back presses against the cold wall, I gasp. I’m trapped.
“Kia, talk to me, please. What set you off?”
My body is shaking in fear and anger. I shake my head slowly, clenching my teeth. “I think I’ve done enough talking to you, Graham, or Parker, or whoever the hell you are. How could you?”
Graham’s head drops down, as do his hands and he exhales loudly. When he looks back up, his eyes are filled with remorse. “I’m so sorry about that, but you have to let me explain.”
“I don’t have to do anything. You used me. You knew who I was all along, didn’t you? That night on the ledge, you knew everything. You knew I was weak. Do you also believe all the crap in the papers? You wanted to get a piece of that ass, too? Well, congratulations,
you got it! What's your next move, Parker? Were you going to use all that information to get close to my money? Is that it? Admit it! It was all about the money this entire time! Or was it the easy fuck? Tell me. How does it feel to fuck a wealthy chick, or do you do that with all the clients here?” Words explode from my mouth in a wild torrent, completely unstoppable.
Graham’s eyebrows knit together in the center. His shoulders square off. “I did no such thing. You know I would never do something like that. I don’t care about any of that. I care about you, Kia. Please let me explain.”
“You don’t get that privilege, you sick bastard. Is that why you work at the call center, to prey on vulnerable women? Is this some perverted fantasy of yours? To mind-fuck crazy women like me?”
“You have everything wrong. I understand why you’re angry, but you have no right to judge me without hearing my explanation. There are so many things you don’t know about me. Please, let me talk and I’ll explain everything.”
“Get out.”
"Kia! Listen to me, please. When was the last time you talked to Parker?"
"Get the hell OUT!"
"NO! When was the last time you talked to Parker? Please, think back. I need you to remember."
I throw my phone at him with all the strength I have. "I just did, you freaky motherfucker. Now get out before I call the cops and have you arrested. And believe me, my family knows people in very high places. I have the power to make your life a living hell. I could destroy you if I wanted to.” I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Didn’t you know? That’s my superpower. I ruin other people’s lives.”
“Kienna, this isn’t you talking. Come back to me, baby. I love you, and I want to help you. Tell me what I can do to help you and then let me explain.”
Graham sucks in a sharp breath as he rubs his eyes with his hands. When he looks back up again, his eyes are red and glistening.
"We can get through this, Kia. I know we can. I won't give up on you. I promise." His voice hitches, choking back tears.
"Get away from my daughter!" Never in my life have I ever been so happy to hear my father's voice. He's approaching the balcony, beyond livid.
He grabs Graham by the shoulders and tosses him violently into the veranda. I clasp both hands over my mouth and scream.
Graham straightens and is immediately up in my father's face. "Get your hands off of me."
Dad charges at Graham, swinging a punch toward his face. Graham manages to duck and run inside the penthouse. Dad is quick on his heels, swinging again. Graham avoids him a second time, but Mr. Sin isn't as lucky. His head goes flying across the floor. Rationality left the building long ago. I scream at the sight of the beheaded sex doll on my couch. He could kill Graham with a punch like that. He could easily bust his skull. Dad cocks his arm back, ready for another hit in Graham's direction. I run to grab his elbow, pulling on it as hard as I can. Dad turns around and the next thing I know, I'm on the ground, my cheek stinging and a ringing sound in my ear.
Things are confusing, but I'm pretty sure I see Graham running toward me. I think he says my name. But he's blocked from sight by my father's imposing figure. I push myself off the floor and try to steady myself. Dad and Graham are in a showdown, glaring at each other.
"If you don't want your ass tossed in jail and that little girl taken from you," my father says cruelly, "I'd suggest you leave now."
Graham's face goes white. "What?"
"Dad, please! Leave Lori out of this, she's just a little girl."
My father whips his head my way, and I flinch away from him, making me dizzy once more. "Next time you decide to whore around, try not to choose someone on the hotel staff. Quelle honte! Ma fille est une salope!" After calling me a whore in both languages, he turns his attention back to Graham. "I have been watching you for the past forty-eight hours and have sufficient proof for Child Protective Services to charge you with negligence."
Graham doesn't back down. "What negligence?"
My father takes pictures from the inside pocket of his jacket and hands them to Graham. "How about entrusting that little girl to a cocaine addict at a rock concert while you left to screw my daughter in a public restroom? Or even better, having that little girl witness a cocaine transaction with a bodyguard?"
Voices battle inside my head. No, no, no! I've messed up Lori's life. If only I hadn't invited Mindy. She was my responsibility. No! Graham should never have left her alone. Lori was his responsibility, and he neglected her. But he was helping me—wasn't he? I squeeze my skull between my fists and crumple to the ground, my head pounding.
"Kia!"
"Stay away from my daughter."
I hear voices. Real ones and not-so-real ones. I just want them to all stop. I don't know who to believe. What's right? What's wrong? Who's the good guy? Who's the bad guy?
"Do you see how badly you've messed her up? Kia, look at me."
"My daughter is no longer your concern. Get out, now, or you'll lose that little girl forever."
The voices stop. Only one defeated voice remains. "I'm sorry, Kia," Graham says. "I can't lose Lori." I listen as he walks to the elevator and allows it to shut behind him.
Heavy footsteps come toward me, but I don't get up. The cold marble tile feels good against my throbbing cheek. Shiny black shoes stop an inch in front of my face.
"Thank God some people are still easily bribed," my father says. "If it wasn't for the concierge alerting me to his presence, I would have had to watch endless hours of security camera footage." His voice takes on its usual condescending tone. "You're walking a thin line, Kienna, and I will not hesitate to remove you from the Delacroix trust fund if you fail this family. Your focus is working with Stephen, on aiding his campaign and gathering information—nothing more. Now, get up. You're pathetic."
I stay on the ground until after he leaves. He never once offers to help me up.
CHAPTER 29
Two hours, a shower, and a self pep talk in the bathroom mirror later, I call Mindy. She agrees to meet me in the hotel bar. It feels rash, but I have to ask her. I have to know.
I hide my swollen cheek by sweeping my hair in front of it, just until I reach the booth in the corner. She’s already waiting for me when I arrive.
“I was beginning to think I’d only see you with your nerdy new boyfriend and that snot-nosed kid. What does he call her? Lobster? Seahorse?”
“Her name is Lori.”
Mindy frowns. “So what gives? Why do you suddenly have time for… God, Kienna! What happened to your face?”
I sit at the table and tuck my hair behind my ears. “I didn’t ask you here to talk about my face. I asked you here to talk about Lori. Did you buy cocaine from a bodyguard in front of her at the Trystan Scott concert?”
Mindy swipes her nose absentmindedly with her left hand and clutches her purse to her chest with her right. “I… Why would you think… Did she say something? You know how kids are, she must be mistaken.” She clutches the purse tighter, her eyes flicking toward the door.
“Let me see your purse, Mindy.”
“I’m not on trial. I don’t answer to you. Why do you suddenly care about me anyway? What difference does it make if I’m enjoying myself or not?”
“The difference,” I hiss, “is that someone claims to have photographed you buying cocaine while you were watching that little girl and Graham could lose custody of her because of you!” It hurts to even say his name, but I’m angry enough to push forward. “Now show me what’s inside your purse! I want to see what was so goddamned important it couldn’t wait until you were alone!”
I reach across the table and grab for the purse just as she tries to bolt from the booth. The flap comes open and the contents spill out across the table—lipstick, a single hoop earring, her cell phone, and three tiny plastic bags of white powder. But it’s not the cocaine that catches my attention--it’s the teal-colored fountain pen landing directly in front of me.
Mindy freezes as I pick it up, turning it
over in my hands and popping the cap off to reveal a large gold nib. I reach into her purse to snatch the corner of a wrinkled sheet of hotel stationary, placing it on the table in front of me. My eyes flick from the gold nib to Mindy to the paper, as my brain knits together all the pieces.
Mindy says nothing, still standing frozen with her empty purse.
I place the pen nib against the cream-colored paper and begin to scrawl out a message in playful teal-colored ink:
I KNOW YOU SENT THE NOTES, MINDY
A visible shudder runs through her body as she reads, then collapses back on the bench across from me. “Kienna, you have to under—“
“Stop.” She closes her mouth, mid-sentence, cutting the word in half. I return the cap to the pen with a snap and place it back on the table between us. “I just want to know why. What do you think I’ve done, and why would you send notes instead of talking to me?” She opens and closes her mouth a few times before getting a sound out again.
“Did you know you talk in your sleep?” Her eyes stare unblinking into mine.
“Excuse me?” Her response is unexpected.
“A few months ago, you spent the night at my place. I’d done everything I could think of to make you notice me, to make you love me, to convince you it was safe to have fun with me, but all you wanted me for was a refuge from your family. That had been enough for me, but that night you screamed in your sleep for Alyson—over and over again, always Alyson. I was jealous.” She shrugs her shoulders and waits.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. You sent the notes because you were jealous? Jealous of who?”
“Of Alyson, of course. If I convinced you the relationship was no longer secret, maybe you’d break it off with her. Or better yet, you’d confide in me and I could confide in you. I wanted to tell you how I feel for you, how much it hurts me to hear you scream another woman’s name in your sleep.” She reaches out to touch my face but sees my expression and lets her hand drop back to the table.