The Pursuit of Passion (Taylor & Adam)

by Liv Bennett

  When the lunch ends and Zachary pays the check, I can’t help but notice the disappointment that creeps into me over the ending of our chat. I feel like I’ve just started talking. As my aunt used to say, “Sometimes it takes a stranger to open up your heart.” By stranger, I don’t mean a heart surgeon. The sense of easiness he radiates helps, too. He’d easily make a good therapist, much better than mine at least for taking years and years to improve my emotional health without much success.

  On the ride back to work, he tells me some more about himself and how he landed his current position. He pulls up in front of the building where my company is and turns to me. “I had the most delightful lunch with you. We must repeat it very soon.”

  “We most certainly must.” I smile and unbuckle the belt.

  His face turns serious in an instant. His eyes gazing deeply into mine, he holds out his hand to me. I hesitate but place my hand into his moist palm, and before I know he pulls me toward him and plants a kiss on my lips. Stunned by his unexpected action, I let a moment pass, until my brain realizes the inappropriateness of the situation. When my senses start reporting back, I squeeze his hand hard until mine hurts. Without making me try further, he pulls his face only an inch away, breaking the connection of our lips.

  “Pat Carter. My girlfriend was Pat Carter, the famous country singer,” he says, his gaze furious as if it was me who attacked his lips without his permission. Then something, the strangest sensation, makes me turn my head toward the building entry, and I see Adam’s piercing eyes staring at me with those ‘if eyes could kill’ look in them.

  Unable to tear my gaze away from Adam, I release my hand from Zachary’s.

  “And Adam Garnett stole her from me,” he says. “I’m sorry for the kiss, but I had to show him how it feels for someone to be stealing his love.”

  Adam makes the first move and storms inside the building, freeing my gaze from him. I turn to glare at Zachary. I’d slap him in the face if I had time. The entire feeling of light-headedness disappears, leaving the traces of headache to return to the root of my head. “You just lost yourself the chance of meeting me again.”

  With that, I open the door and climb out. Running through the sliding doors, down to the elevators, I scan around for Adam. He’s nowhere to be seen. I step into an available elevator and press the button. I don’t even know what I’ll tell him if I find him. I wanted to end things with him, but not like this. He deserves a decent explanation, not a disgusting kissing scene with me in the arms of another man.

  The elevator doors slide open, but Adam is still out of sight. He must be waiting for me in my office. Unwilling to confront with him, although I owe him an explanation for the kiss, I drag my feet toward my office. Much to my surprise, Adam isn’t there, either.

  “Don’t put through any calls,” I tell to Bree as I pass by her desk and slam the door of my office. Good thing I keep a bottle of scotch for emergencies, generally for clients, but I need a generous sip of it to put my thoughts in order, or better, suppress them.

  I pour a glass and toss it back instantly, enjoying the shock of the high level of alcohol in my mouth and then in my system. I start to pour again when I hear noises outside, and the door is flung open.

  Adam stands behind it, his furious eyes boring into mine. “Bree, you may leave now.”

  “Excuse me?” Bree looks as curious as I must be looking with my dropped jaw.

  “You’re dismissed,” Adam says without moving his gaze from me. “You can take the rest of the afternoon off. Hurry.”

  I nod briefly when Bree turns to me for confirmation. “How about the change order request?”

  “Can you bring it to my place in the evening, say around eight? You have the key to my apartment, right?” I ask quickly before my voice can crack with the fear that Adam’s presence is giving me. She nods and sets off to collect her jacket and purse.

  I leave the glass next to the bottle of scotch and proceed to my desk. If only I could hide myself under it. Adam has come here to confront me; I can see the anger, disappointment, and frustration in his eyes.

  Bree is at the door faster than I’d hope for. For some reason, I don’t feel up for a deep conversation with Adam yet. The truth is I’ll never be. What can I tell him when I, myself, don’t even know why I used him, and not a random stranger from the street?

  Bree wishes us a good afternoon and leaves, closing her door behind us. Without responding to her, Adam closes my office door and strolls to my desk.

  I finally manage to pull myself together at least sufficiently enough to explain the scene with Zachary. “The kiss meant nothing. Zachary pulled a stunt just to upset you. He knew you were watching us.”

  “Get on all fours,” he says with the deep tone he was using when I was playing his whore.

  My hands tremble with anxiety. Now it’s my turn to ask for clarification. “Excuse me?”

  He points with his hand toward the couch. “You heard me.” He stands in front of my desk like a sculpture, without breathing or blinking, and I think he won’t move an inch until I comply to his order.

  I want to demand an explanation again, but his intense gaze numbs my lips and I move obediently. I don’t break our eye contact as I walk over to the couch. My heart is thumping against my chest. I stop when my thighs touch the arm of the couch. There is no way I’ll go on all fours.

  “Hike up your skirt.” His order sends a sharp shiver of excitement through my body, and I feel my nipples hardening and wetness pooling between my legs. I hate the eager way my body reacts to him, the hunger he entices in me just by mere words. What’s wrong with me? I can’t allow him to take control of me like this.

  “No,” I say, although I already start fantasizing him inside me, his hands all over my breasts, my belly, on my thighs. This is all wrong.

  He fists his hands and inhales deeply. “I swear to God, I’ll resign from my job and leave you alone if you reject me one more time.”

  Oh, no. What have I done? It hits me all at once. I’ve just ruined my relationship with perhaps the only person who has cared about me and stood by me for many years, besides my family. How silly and selfish I’ve been all this time by letting myself indulge in sex with him.

  I close my eyes, pull my skirt up to my panties, and turn my back to him. I don’t hear his steps, since my heart is too loud to allow me to pay attention to anything else.

  He grabs me by my hips and pushes me face first over the arm of the couch. I fall on my hands on the leather cushion. I hear him unzip his pants and then feel his hard-on brush my skin when he shoves my panties down to my knees.

  Air hitting my skin creates goosebumps on my bare buttocks. I breathe in an out heavily, anxious and frightened of the imminent seconds.

  Without even touching me there, he plunges his entire length deeply inside me, nearly splitting me in two. I gasp from the sudden assault, but work hard not to scream. Giving me no time to adjust to his size, he starts pounding into me so hard that I have to bite my lip to hide the pain he’s giving.

  “I love you. You hear me? I love you so much that it hurts,” he screams between his thrusts, which are shaking my body to the core.

  I bury my face into the cushion and cover my ears, for his words hurt me more than his cock. He can’t love me. Shouldn’t. He deserves better than a woman who loves a dead man. I can’t give him anything but misery and sorrow.

  He drives hard into me, pushing me farther onto the couch until my legs aren’t touching the floor. He’s mad, but I’m madder than him, to let him play with me like this and take his revenge. Besides the ragged breaths, he doesn’t show any sign of thrill, as though I’m just an inflatable sex doll. A drunken man from a bar would fuck with more emotions.

  His fingers dig into my hips, and he slows down his speed to pump me with rough strokes again and again, until the furious friction of his cock sends me off on a solid wave of uncontrollable spasms. I make no noise and keep the screams for the intensive orgasm hidde
n deep inside, where he can’t hear. He can’t know how much pleasure he’s giving me, even when his sole intention is to hurt me.

  I feel his grip on my hips tighten as he slams into me one hard, final time and detonates his warm liquid deep inside me. His grip remains locked for a long moment before he pulls out.

  I close my eyes and stay still, trying to hold onto the pleasure and the vibrating sensation a little longer. But, mostly because I don’t want to face him and see the satisfaction in his eyes.

  “I can’t play this game any longer.” His words snap me back to the reality. I straighten up and pull my skirt down. His sperm is trickling down my legs toward my shoes, taking with it the little dignity I’ve left. He continues, “I fell in love with you the first day we met, and I swear to God I haven’t touched another woman since then. I couldn’t. No one came close to the perfection I thought you had.”

  “No, don’t tell me that.” Not touching another woman? How about Pat? He can’t be serious. Now way. I’d rather have him fuck me cold-heartedly a dozen more times than hear such a profound love confession.

  “You have to hear me out.” He points his index finger toward me. “I never wished Jack’s death. Never. He was more than a brother to me. But I just couldn’t be with another woman. That’s more than three fucking years long. All because of you. I kept thinking, wishing, maybe one day. Who knows? And then it happened. You gave yourself to me. It was unbelievable, mind-blowing, and so much better than I’d ever dreamed of. But, I can’t stay like this anymore. It’s not enough. I want more. I want to be a part of your life.”

  I shake my head to each word that comes out of his mouth. I can’t give him anything, let alone a part in my life. I don’t have a life to begin with.

  “Look at me.” He approaches me to lift my chin; his eyes are glassy with threatening tears that make me wish it was me who died in the accident in place of Jack. “I’m not asking you to forget Jack and fall head-over-heels in love with me. All I want is a chance to have a place in your heart. Is that too much to ask, after waiting for you for so many years?”

  “Jack,” I mumble.

  “Jack is gone. For God’s sake. He’s dead,” he yells. “Three fucking years have passed. Why can’t you come to terms with it and move on? Give us a chance. Let me heal your heart.”

  “I can’t. I can’t do it. Please, forgive me.” I cover my face and burst into heavy sobs. “I can’t. I can’t.”

  “That’s what I’d expected.” I hear his steps toward the door. “I’ve already sent my resignation letter to HR.”

  “What?” I yell and pull my hands off my face at the same time. “What the hell did you do? You can’t leave the company.”

  “Oh, yes, I can. And I promise you’ll never see me again.”

  I run forward to grab him by the elbow. “Why, then, did you fuck me if you already resigned?”

  He tilts his head and shoots me a side glance. “A small farewell present for you.”

  ***

  It feels like time jumped without me realizing it, and I find myself clinging to a martini glass in a bar with Valerie. I gulp down a large sip, trying to remember how I ended up here. I have only faint memories of collapsing on the couch with the scotch bottle in my hand. Probably, the contents of the bottle traded places from the bottle to my stomach, taking away all my memory functions for the time being.

  Just perfect. As if my problems with Adam weren’t enough, now I have to cope with a heavy hangover, too.

  Valerie’s blood-shot eyes catch my attention. It’s hard to see the whites of her eyes, thanks to her heavy makeup and glasses, but the red spots aren’t hard to miss, even for someone as drunk as I.

  “Why did you cry?” I ask, causing Valerie burst out in loud laughter. I notice some heads turning to our direction, but I can’t move my own head. Everything is too shaky out there.

  “Have you not been listening? William dumped me,” she says, or better yells.

  Her words echo in my ears for a long moment. When the torture of echo ends, I shoot another silly question, “Who is William?”

  She empties the glass into her mouth with one move and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Some friend you are.” With the same hand, she motions the waitress for more alcohol.

  I shake my head when the waitress collects my glass. That little head shake makes me dizzy, and my stomach twists in disgust, as if I’ve just inhaled a long-forgotten trash can. Suddenly, my hands are covering my mouth. “I’m gonna leave now,” I try to say between my fingers, but from the funny look on Valerie’s face, I might have as well have said I peed myself.

  “I’ll call a cab.” She holds her phone against her ear. I didn’t even see where the phone came from. My hands are still on my mouth even though I work to push them down. They seem to have found a way to get control of their own moves.

  Valerie pays the check; we walk to the exit; the cab arrives. All the while everything is blurry. I try to remember the last time I drank so much that I lost the command of my senses. And of my hands. Maybe a couple times following Jack’s death, but nothing recently.

  Time jumps again. This time I find myself staring at the roof of the cab. My head is pounding with the worst kind of headache. It aches so much that I wish I had a gun with me so I could shoot directly at the source of the ache. I remember Adam’s gun. Did I give it back to him?

  “Gun,” I mumble for no reason.

  Valerie’s hand grips tightly on my arm. “The driver will drop you directly in front of your apartment building, okay?”

  It takes only a few seconds for me to forget what she’s just said. She throws some bills to the driver and leaves. I keep on staring at the ceiling, without caring where the driver is taking me. All I can think of is the headache. The mother-fucking headache. I feel my lips move. Did I just say my thoughts out loud? Shit.

  The taxi stops with a force that pushes me toward the front, and I bang my head on the back of the front seat. Like I didn’t have enough of a headache. The door opens, and I’m sure it’s not my hands opening it. They haven’t taken that much control to be able to open the door from outside.

  Michael, the doorman, greets me. “Ms. Edelman, may I help you out?”

  Please help me out and up and in. Whatever you can. I push myself toward him, hoping I didn’t verbalize my damn thoughts. After today, I may have to consider moving to another apartment to avoid the walk of shame every time I pass by him.

  The time jumps again, and I hope this is the last time or I’ll start believing the possibility of time jumps being real, and not just that my mind is blanking out. My eyelids are closed. I can’t open them even if I try. But my other senses begin coming back to me. I feel warm water hugging me, but I shiver as if I’m sitting on ice. My hands feel weird under the water. Have they gone totally numb after their odd self-control attempts?

  My wrists itch so strongly that suddenly it’s all I can think of. I force open my eyes, as if they’ll help me locate my hands, so that I can finally get them to scratch those fucking itchy wrists.

  It’s dark, and a sharp smell of iron hits my nostrils. What are the odds of being in a hot tub in an iron factory? Where am I? I wait until my eyes adjust to the darkness before I set myself to seek my arms. From the feel of it, they might have just abandoned me.

  I look down at the water and see how dark it is, but not because of the darkness in the room. The water is dark as if it’s muddy. And I see my arms floating on that dark water, and it dawns on me why the water is so dark. I shriek with fear when I twist my arms to see the deep cuts on my wrists spreading from one end to the other and the blood gushing out of them.

  The next thing I see is Bree’s horrified face, but my ears can’t register any sound beside my deafening screams. She disappears as quickly as she appeared. When she comes back, I notice her widened eyes, as if they’re seconds away from popping out of their sockets. She presses towels on my wrists and tries to carry me out of the bathtub. I recognize
the tiles on the wall. I’m in my own bathroom.

  Have I just tried to commit suicide? I’ve never forgiven my father for taking his own life without caring about me or my newborn sister. And now I’ve attempted to do the exact same thing, without caring about my sister, my aunt, my cousin, and Adam.

  I close my eyes for a while, and when I open them again, I see two paramedics hovering over me and ushering me out in a matter of seconds. I see Jack on their faces, reproving me for the easy way I decided to take. Trying to take one’s own life. Hadn’t I promised myself I’d never do such a lowly thing? I’ve never thought of myself as a hypocrite, but here I am. A hypocrite through and through for trying to commit suicide; something I’d once been so enthusiastically against.

  But, the worst thing is that I have no memories of the events that led me to slashing my wrists. I don’t even remember whether I used razors or a kitchen knife, for God’s sake, let alone what had been the ultimate thought that crossed my mind in my last minutes.

  I feel like I’m floating in the air and watching my nearly dead body from up above. Maybe, I’m already dead and I haven’t realized it yet. An oxygen mask is covering my almost lifeless face. Seeing myself so clearly is disturbing and makes me think I’m really dead. Shouldn’t there be some angels coming down here to guide me up? That is if I go to heaven, of course. Perhaps those of us who commit suicide get a different treatment, namely no treatment at all. I’ve been contemplating my loneliness after Jack’s death, now I may be facing loneliness for eternity.

  I’m vaguely aware of the ambulance stopping and my body being carried out of it. It must be a good sign. I might not be dead after all.

  I try to focus more on the sensations of my body parts to make sure I’m in it and not above it, all the while praying for forgiveness and showing my regret. I may be a crazy hypocrite, but there is no pretending the deep remorse I’m feeling right now. I want to go back to my life, it doesn’t matter how much pain it has in store for me. I don’t even care if I’ll get headaches every fucking day for the rest of my life. It’s still better than this freaking ocean of loneliness that’s threatening to drown me.