Love to Hate You

by Jo Watson

  “That’s not what I looked like the first time you met me,” I said with a slight laugh.

  “True.” He looked like he was considering this for a moment. “But I’m also fond of the pay-by-the-hour look.”

  “What?” I gasped and burst out laughing.

  My laugh tapered off and our eyes met with a jolt. I’ve never received an electric shock, but this was pretty damn close.

  “So, are you in love with me yet?” Ben asked with a devilish smirk smeared across his face.

  I blinked at him. “Uh, no.”

  “Well, if you’re not now, you will be after the next course.” He got up again and walked back to the kitchen.

  54. Cool-Uncool-I-Am-So-Cool

  “Oh God,” I moaned loudly. “I don’t think I can breathe.” I was pulling at my dress, trying to make some space between it and my skin. The three dessert courses, which I’d polished off—I had practically licked the bowl—were taking their toll, especially on the already too-tight dress. Ben smiled as I lowered myself onto the couch with great difficulty and the grace of a large walrus.

  “No, I’m being serious,” I urged. “I don’t think I can breathe.” I grabbed at my ribs, which felt like they were being crushed. “Unzip me, please.” I tried to roll over, it was very ungraceful. “I swear I’m going to faint, or something.”

  Ben jumped up and went to work on the back of my dress. I sighed loudly as he unzipped me and I could suddenly breathe again. My stomach also finally had the space it needed to pop out.

  “So Victorian of you, Sera,” Ben said as he dragged his fingertips over my exposed back. “Soon I’ll be getting out the smelling salts when you have a fit of the vapors.” He lowered his lips to the back of my neck and kissed me, moving across my shoulders.

  “Or not.” His voice dripped with sex. “Maybe I won’t resuscitate you and I’ll just have my way with you instead.” His kisses moved back to my neck and then started creeping down my spine.

  “That’s disgustingly pervy,” I whispered.

  “I can be very pervy, Sera. Just wait and see.” He had a smile in his voice, but it almost sounded like a threat—a threat I hoped he would carry out. “So you know I totally lied when I said I was going to have you home by twelve.”

  “Really?”

  “I thought we could go out, have a few drinks, hit the dance floor. You know, a trip down memory lane.”

  I did like a good dance, and images of that first time Ben and I danced together flooded my mind. “Why not!” I said. “As long as I can change out of this dress.” I got up, holding the dress up so it wouldn’t fall down.

  “Will you wear that blue sequined thing again?”

  “Absolutely not,” I said. Then I smiled at him and walked out.

  An hour later we were deposited at the bar area of one of Jo’burg’s trendiest clubs—in that non-cool-non-trendy sense. It was a place crawling with creatives from the film, advertising and art industries. To be honest, places like this always left me feeling uneasy, a less-than outsider. People walked around in clothes that cost more than my entire wardrobe, clothes that ironically were designed to look old and secondhand as if the wearer didn’t care what they wore (only, they all cared very deeply)—Why buy new clothes that look that old?

  Ben had lined up some shots of Tequila across the countertop—I hated Tequila.

  “Well.” Ben held up a shot. “To us, on our first date.” I smiled at him, as he threw one down and bit into the obligatory lemon—a custom which makes the whole hideous experience … well … even more hideous than it needs to be. I scrunched up my face as I threw one back, grabbing a glass of water to try and wash it down without gagging—did I mention I hate Tequila? Ben laughed at me and pushed another one my way.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?” I asked, noting the bad-boy look plastered across his face.

  “Of course. And then I plan on taking total advantage of you.”

  “Maybe I’ll be the one taking advantage, Ben.” I said it in the sultriest voice I could muster before I threw back yet another shot. “Aren’t you having another one?” I said and pointed at the last one on the counter top.

  Ben shook his head. “I’m transporting precious cargo tonight.”

  “Fine then.” I took the last one and threw it down as well. The warmth and the buzz was instant, and it gave me the courage to take Ben by the hand and lead him onto the dance floor.

  The cool crowd was already there swaying to some obscure electronic music, but after some laughter and our own version of swaying about, our bodies finally began to move in time to the strangely rhythmic music. I quickly learnt though that going out with Ben equated to going out with a celebrity. Every few minutes we were interrupted by über-cool people popping by to say “Hi,” including a large handful of rather attractive women. The kind that simply walked up to him and planted kisses on his mouth, or hugged him for a little too long, or let their hand linger on his shoulder. One even tucked a stray piece of his hair behind his ear.

  Every time it happened, Ben looked my way sheepishly, trying to shrug them off. There was really only one way to deal with this. I pushed my way past one of them—the one batting her eyelashes and flipping her trollopy hair as she talked—and I pulled Ben towards me, and into the most inappropriate kiss that cool club had ever seen. The kiss continued until our bodies began to get into the rhythm again, swaying together as we kissed deeply and passionately, not caring who was watching. I felt Ben’s hands come around to my lower back and he pulled me in even tighter, slipping one of his legs between mine, pushing them apart so his knee rubbed against me.

  Perhaps we lost ourselves a little too much because the people and the background melted away into a distant muffled blur. Our kiss intensified, growing hungrier and more desperate by the second. He pushed his hips into me and I could feel that he was rock hard. I lost myself even more as I rubbed into him.

  One of his hands left my lower back and traveled slowly up to my waist, but it didn’t stop there. It traveled a little further up my side, and with his fingers splayed working their way up to my rib cage, he very quickly, and deliberately, moved his thumb around to my front and grazed my breast through my dress. I gasped, stopped kissing him and looked into his eyes only to find pure, unadulterated lust etched into them.

  Keeping eye contact, I slipped my hand between us and ran it over the front of his pants, watching with delight as he bit his lips in response before taking me by the nape of the neck and kissing me once more. We moved to the music, our hips rocking against each other; the tension building and building, until it felt like too much to contain in this place.

  I broke away and took Ben by the hand, marching him out of the club past several girls giving me some looks. A few of them turned to each other and whispered. But I didn’t care. He was mine and I was going to make sure they all knew. I’d probably regret this in the morning—Tequila courage often comes with morning-after regrets—did I mention I like Tequila?

  Minutes later, we were in the car, and Ben was speeding off to “find a quiet spot.” We were like two teenagers out of their minds with hormone-induced madness. I slipped my hand into Ben’s jeans while he drove and continued to touch him. I could see he was desperately trying to focus on the road as his breath quickened and he gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white.

  “Sera …” His tone was whispery and urgent. “You’re going to have to stop doing that.”

  “Why?” I continued. I was loving the way he looked right now, almost out of control—in my control.

  Ben grabbed my hand and pulled it away. “Fuck. Stop. You’re going to make me come.” He took my hand in his, kissed it and ran it across his cheek. Then he took a deep breath and looked at me again.

  “So come,” I said, trying to pull my hand away and put it right back where it had been.

  Ben shook his head. “No. Not like this.”

  “Then how?” I asked, the alcohol and dopamine was
surging through my veins in a way that was turning me on more than I’d ever been in my life.

  “The right way.” He took my hand and kissed it again. What the hell was the right way?

  “I’m starved. What say we book ourselves into a ludicrously overpriced hotel and order everything on the room-service menu?” Ben asked, changing the subject.

  “Um.” I felt the color drain from my cheeks and a knot twist in my stomach. This, right here, was one of the many reasons I never socialized with people from work. Ben might have the money to book an expensive hotel room whenever he wanted to—I did not. I would never be able to contribute financially if this was the kind of thing he had in mind.

  “On me!” he clarified quickly. “This is my date.” He slipped a hand around the nape of my neck in a comforting way, as if he’d somehow read my mind. But, even though he was offering, I still hated not being able to pay my way, or at least contribute as an equal.

  “Hey!” Ben clicked his fingers in front of my face. “Stop thinking.” He ran his hand over my forehead and playfully straightened my scrunched up brow with his fingers. “Or you’ll need Botox soon.”

  “Okay.” I half smiled and nodded at him, even though I still didn’t feel good about it.

  Then his fingers slipped down the side of my face and he took me by the chin and tilted my head towards him. He took his eye off the road for a second and looked me in the eye. “You’re far too young and beautiful to worry about stuff like that.”

  “How do you know what I’m worrying about?” I asked.

  A strange look passed across his face, but as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared, and he shrugged. “My powers of telepathy,” he said flippantly and the subject was dropped.

  55. Bump Into A Backstreet Boy …

  In the dictionary, under the word spontaneous, there should simply be a picture of Ben, although I doubt anyone would ever look up any other word in the dictionary if that really were the case.

  From a three-course dessert meal dressed in formal wear, to dancing at a club, to an impromptu hotel checkin, Ben was full of surprises. There was no one else quite like him.

  And he wasn’t joking about ordering everything on the menu either. As soon as we got to the room, he picked up the phone, dialed reception and started ordering everything he could, including several bottles of champagne. The room was amazing: a huge bed, massive TV, huge bathroom, massive bath—everything there was big.

  As soon as Ben put the phone down he walked over to me and kissed me again. I don’t think I could ever get used to the feeling of him kissing me.

  “Start running a bath,” he said, slapping me on the bum as he pulled away and started fiddling with the TV. I walked over to the bath, it was situated on the other side of the bedroom in a very open plan bathroom. One could sit in the bath and watch TV and talk to the person in bed if you wanted. The bath was also huge. It was big enough for two, which was clearly the point. I poured in the sweet-smelling bubble bath and added a spot of fragrant bath oil, then sat on the rim running my hand in and out while I watched Ben flip back and forth through the stations until he found the music channels.

  “Um … We have the soothing sounds of Kenny G, the groovy sounds of Motown, the killer riffs of hardcore rock, some bump and grind Hip-Hop, and some pop stuff.” He cringed. “Let’s give the pop a miss, I’m not a fan of barely pubescent boys singing and dancing.”

  “Me too.” I moaned, “Bruce and JJ are obsessed with One Direction though. It’s a bit pervy old-man if you ask me.”

  Ben turned. “It must be a gay thing,” he said. “My brother worships Gaga and secretly hopes to bump into a Backstreet Boy in a back alley.”

  I laughed loudly.

  Ben flipped channels again. “Oooh, what’s this?” The sounds of a babbling brook, birds chirping and wind chimes filled the room.

  “You’re not serious?” It was the kind of stuff they played when you went for a massage, or the kind of stuff a stoned hippie might listen to while contemplating matters of deep, esoteric importance.”

  “Why not?” he said, moving towards me. “It serves my purpose.” He was wearing his dirty bedroom look again and sat right next to me.

  “What purpose is that?”

  “To get you to relax some more and then shamelessly seduce you.”

  I shook my head. “I’m already relaxed,” I said, as the sound of a wave crashing into a wind chime filled the air.

  “I know. It suits you.” Ben started walking over to me with a look in his eye that could not be misinterpreted, but a knock on the door interrupted the moment. Room service had arrived. I sat on the lip of the bath as I watched him clear the little dining table, pick it up and carry it towards the bath. He then grabbed some glasses, dimmed the lights and opened the champagne.

  “Ever had a midnight feast in a bath?” he asked, popping the champagne and pouring me a glass.

  I took it, smiling at him and shaking my head.

  “Well, it’s very simple. Just take off all your clothes and climb into the bath.” His eyes moved over my body slowly. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  56. I Googled You

  “So …” Ben said once we’d settled into the bath together and had adequately stuffed ourselves with food and drunk more alcohol. We were facing each other, our outstretched legs intertwined. I’d just had the pleasure of watching him undress, again. It was definitely not something I could ever get tired of. His entire back and torso were covered in intricate tattoos that ran all the way up his neck. One arm was completely covered too, all the way down to his hand, even some of his fingers. Looking at him like that, you could dismiss him as nothing more than a total bad boy, but he wasn’t. He was so much more than that.

  “Do you realize I know nothing about you, Sera?” he said, lifting my legs out of the bath and resting my feet up on his shoulders. The move caught me off guard.

  “What do you mean?” It was hard to concentrate when he started rubbing his hands up and down my legs.

  “I mean just that. I know nothing about you.”

  I smiled. “I thought you told me once that you knew everything you needed to know about me.”

  “I did. But that was then, and this is now. And now I want to know everything.”

  I shrugged. “There’s nothing that interesting, to be honest.” That was a blatant lie.

  Ben looked at me flatly. “I don’t believe that for a second,” he said. “Because you once told me that your life was very complicated and that you also had secrets.” He leaned in. “So what are your secrets, Sera?”

  I shrugged again, becoming very uncomfortable with where this conversation was headed, but also knowing full well that it was probably time to tell him.

  “How about I tell you what I know about you, and you fill in the blanks?” he offered.

  I nodded.

  “Okay, so I know you live next door with JJ and Bruce who are super protective over you, way more protective than just friends. But they’re also not your dads, so I’m guessing there’s an interesting story there. I also know you work at a restaurant at night and on weekends to supplement your income, because you need money for something. You never talk about your family, so my guess is that there’s another story there too, not a particularly good one either, I’m guessing.”

  “Well, that was straight to the point.” I pulled my legs off his shoulders and brought them up to my chest, clutching them and getting into a sitting position. Suddenly I felt more naked than I really was.

  “Sera …” He sat up and moved towards me, wrapping his arms around my knees and placing his chin on them. Then he looked up at me. “There’s nothing you could tell me that would make me think, or feel, anything less for you.”

  I knew this conversation was inevitable, but I still didn’t feel ready for it, even though I knew that Ben had shared everything with me.

  “Your life can’t be more fucked up than mine,” he said and smiled at me as if it was meant to reass
ure me—I wasn’t reassured.

  “I … I …” I tried to start, but the words seemed to get caught in my throat.

  Ben sat up further and moved even closer. “Okay. I have a confession, I already think I know what some of it is.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Well, I Googled you and an article about your father came up …” His voice tapered off. It sounded like a question rather than a statement. I knew immediately which article he was referring to. The delightful one about my fraudster father being arrested for ripping off his company—my family’s proud heritage—leading to our very public eviction that gave the entire neighborhood something to watch that Sunday—I’d half expected people to grab lawn chairs and make popcorn. My shouting, crying mother, my drunken father, my terrified sister watching her room being packed away—and me, trying to calm everyone down and be the sixteen-year-old adult that I should never have had to be—should I tell him all that?

  Should I tell him about life in the trailer park? My dad’s gambling and the prostitutes, and all the money he owed and all the jail sentences he’d served for petty theft. Tell him about my mother’s complete pathetic devotion, depression, anxiety, co-and pill dependence? Is that what I was meant to tell him? Was I meant to tell him that my sole purpose in life was to give my sister a better future, a responsibility I would have for years to come?

  I was lost in thought and barely noticed that Ben had been watching me.

  He moved closer. “Why are you so afraid of telling me?” he asked. He was so close to me now that it left me nowhere to go unless I could miraculously melt my way into the water. “Can I tell you what I think?” Ben said. Then he jumped out of the bath with a splash and, before I could react, I felt him get in behind me. He slid me forward a little and then pulled my body back so I was leaning against his chest. Then he wrapped his arms around me and I let my head fall all the way back against him—it felt good.