His To Have

by Devon Birchley

  I grin, full of affection for him. “I’m really glad you’re moving here, Hugo. I’ve missed you.”

  He stiffens, then looks deep into my eyes. “I’ve missed you too, girl.”

  I can see in his eyes how much I hurt him, and it cuts me. “I did love you, you know. I never would’ve broken up with you if I wasn’t leaving.”

  He sighs. “But I never really felt that Reagan. I felt like I was trying to tame a wild horse. You were too big for Springfield. And I knew you’d leave me. I loved you, deep inside, but I also knew it’d hurt me if I acknowledged it to myself.”

  “And now you’re here.” I didn’t mean to say that. It was the beer talking, and I hide my face in my drink.

  “Yes, I am,” he says.

  I was too embarrassed to mention the sleeping situation earlier. And now we’re back home, in my small bedroom, staring at my bed. I pull the extra comforter out of the closet.

  “Thanks. Don’t worry, I won’t hog the bed.” He strips down to a T-shirt and loose boxers and climbs in. The sight of his big, stocky body gives me a twinge of wistfulness. I get ready and slide into the other side, thinking what a freaky repeat it is of the previous night. Hugo and I used to play-fight a lot in bed. He used to get into bed, just like this, and I’d launch myself at him, and we’d wrestle until we were both breathless. And then we’d have sex. Nice, vigorous, vanilla sex, which I used to think was the only kind of sex there was. Could I go back to that? Date someone like Hugo and put the two crazy nights I’ve just had with Adler in the back drawer of my mind, never to be thought of again? Hugo beats the pillow a few times, turns from side to side, his bulk making the bed lurch like a boat in a storm, and he’s asleep. It takes me a little longer as I think things over, resisting the urge to crawl across the bed into his arms. I don’t think he’d even try to fuck me. He’s always been such a gentleman. He’d just hold me tight like a huge teddy bear. But I can’t. That wouldn’t be fair.

  The next day we have a busy schedule, going from one apartment to another. Luckily they’re all in the same neighborhood. Ashford is an up-and-coming suburb, made famous in a bunch of Hunter Jackson movies and only recently gentrified, and Hugo is psyched about it. It’s a weird experience. All the home owners assume we’re together, and it feels uncomfortably couply. I used to dream about Hugo moving here with me, us getting our first apartment together, and this is like a sad enactment of it. At one point I almost take his hand as we’re saying goodbye to a real estate agent, but snatch it away just in time.

  By the end of the day, Hugo has found an apartment. It turns out that portfolio execs earn quite a lot more than ad execs, and he can afford his own place. It’s a cute one-bed with high ceilings and a lot of light. I feel a tug of something as he signs a contract and pays the bond. Something spiky and hard to swallow.

  When we get back to my place, Dominique and her sister and friends have already gotten the party started. They’re drinking sparkling wine and dancing to Rihanna and Beyoncé. Hugo joins in right away with his trademark lumbering, ironically camp moves. I roll my eyes and let him pull me in, too. I’d forgotten this side to him. No matter how cheesy the music, he’d always get in on the action, making a big clown of himself and getting lots of laughs. The girls love him too, and soon he’s got one of them grinding on each thigh.

  “Your boy is dope!” Dom says when we’re in the kitchen together. “Why did you let him go?”

  “Just because I was moving away from home.”

  “And now he’s moving heee-rrre!” she says in a sing-song voice, eyes full of mischief.

  “Yeah. I–I don’t know. It’s a lot of fun seeing him again, but I don’t know if that spark has gone now. He started dating somebody else. I dated somebody else. Maybe there’s too much water under the bridge.”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. If you’re meant to be together, it’ll happen.”

  After we get warmed up with a few drinks, we head out to one of Dominique’s favorite underground clubs. It involves a long, sobering walk along the waterfront, and the wind is bitingly cold. Putting any tensions aside, I cling to Hugo, and he wraps his arm around me, enveloping me in his warmth. And then I see Adler. He’s coming toward us in a tan wool coat, jeans with ripped knees and his glasses, and he’s walking beside a girl who I’m pretty sure was tied up in knots at the Sexpo. Something passes across his face as our eyes lock. Perhaps anger, but it’s gone too fast for me to tell. My heartbeat speeds up as I start to say something about the weird coincidence.

  “Hello, Reagan,” he says, cutting me off, and continues walking. Fuck.

  “Who’s that?” Hugo demands.

  “No-one important. Why?”

  “Uh, he just gave me a filthy look. Like he wanted to kill me.”

  I startle. “We dated for a little while, but it didn’t work out.”

  “Good. Because he looks like a goddamn hipster.”

  I laugh. “That’s what I said.”

  There’s only a short line outside the club. Hugo’s a little quiet, and although my stomach is lurching with thoughts of Adler, I force myself to act upbeat. By the time we reach the ticket booth, he’s perked up again. And then we’re inside. It’s crazy. I’ve never been in a place like this before. There’s a kind of alien Lolita theme that makes me wonder if we’ve gone through a time warp and ended up in Tokyo. As we put our coats away, I wish I’d taken Dom’s advice to dress up a little. The girls all look great in different kooky costumes. Hugo and I are wearing black at least, so we kind of fade into the background instead of looking like a pair of squares. The club is vast, with different rooms and art installations that form tunnels and caves, and the music varies from one place to another, from minimal techno, to drum & bass, to high-energy sugar pop. We all keep losing and finding each other again. I keep thinking about Adler, trying to interpret his reaction when he saw me, but I’m determined for Hugo to have a good night, so I put it to the back of my mind. He’s being a good sport as usual, acting like he likes nothing better than to spend the night in a Japanese alien wonderland. I’m so lucky to have him as friend. I always knew that he was the best of my boyfriends.

  We drink a lot and dance like maniacs, and Hugo pulls out his party trick, picking me up and spinning me around like we’re rejects from the Dirty Dancing musical until we collapse in a heap, laughing.

  At one point, I’m by myself in the minimal techno room. Hugo has joined a giant bathroom line, and I’m leaning against a pillar, letting the stuttering beat resonate through me.

  “I don’t like being lied to, Reagan,” comes a familiar voice very close to my ear. I spin around. Adler towers over me. He’s wearing what I can only describe as an evil lizard-man costume. He looks freaky, but kind of sexy. His face is tight with anger, enough to make me quake. But I don’t like being accused of lying, and I’m drunk enough to be belligerent.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I yell over the music.

  “You know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the fact that you said you couldn’t meet because you were spending the weekend with a friend.”

  “Which I am.”

  “You’re clearly together.”

  “What? How would you know that?” I’m aware that I’m waving my arms about like a lunatic, but I don’t care.

  “He was walking with his arm around you, and in here you’ve both been acting like no-one else exists.”

  “We’re old friends. We used to date, as it happens, but not anymore. And who are you to question what I’m doing when I’m not with you?”

  He looks madder than ever. “Come with me, someplace quieter so we can hear each other.”

  I raise my hands in exasperation and follow him. He takes my hand and leads me to a small, cave-like area with dim, purple lighting. “We had an arrangement, Reagan.”

  “What’s the big deal? It’s not like we’re exclusive. You can do whatever you want.”

  He shakes his head, as if mystified by my wor
ds. “Why don’t you think we’re exclusive?”

  “Because we’re only meeting for sex. You don’t want me to know anything about you. We don’t even meet at your place.”

  “I’ve answered every question you’ve asked me about myself. And we don’t meet at my place because, as you said, we don’t know each other very well and I want you to be comfortable and feel safe with me. I thought meeting you in a hotel would help your desires to blossom. I don’t want you to think that because our relationship is primarily sexual, you don’t matter to me. I take these things very seriously. And I expect my submissive to have sex with me exclusively.”

  I blink hard. “And what about you? Are you telling me you’re not hooking up with that girl I saw you with earlier?”

  “Of course, I’m not. I can promise my exclusivity to you too, Reagan.”

  “Really?” I’m frowning a lot, I know. It seems crazy that someone so elusive would make such a promise.

  “It’s important to me for my own participation in this relationship,” he says. Then he dips his head and gives me such a tender kiss that endorphins surge through my body. I wrap my arms around him, craving the press of his body against my own. In a second, he’s hard. I want him to take me in one of the room’s dark corners, yank my jeans down, and push himself into me with no preamble.

  “What the fuck, Reagan?” I tear myself away from Adler and turn to face Hugo’s anger.

  “I’m sorry, Hugo. I thought you’d be gone longer.”

  “What the hell are you doing? We’ve been getting on so well this weekend. Everything’s perfect between us. I thought we were going to get back together.”

  “I–I–” I stammer like a stuck record. “I was thinking the same thing, too–”

  “What?” Adler butts in. “After what we did on Thursday, you were thinking of getting back with your ex-boyfriend a day later?”

  “I–I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

  “But why?”

  “Because I’m just not comfortable with this whole thing. It’s not me.”

  “You were really going to end it? Why couldn’t you have spoken to me if you weren’t feeling comfortable?”

  “Because I felt way out of my depth, that’s why.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you still have a boyfriend so I didn’t make a giant fool of myself?” Hugo interrupts.

  Somehow my anger turns up a couple more notches. “Why would you assume we were going to be together again? I let you stay with me because we’ve become friends.”

  “You let me sleep in your bed!”

  “What? This guy was in your bed?” Adler demands.

  “Because there was nowhere else for him to sleep.”

  “I’m leaving, Reagan. I’ll go stay in a hotel.”

  “No, wait!”

  “Don’t worry. I’m leaving,” Adler snaps. Then he turns on his heel and stalks away. I stand stock still, watching him go, my mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

  “What the fuck? Seriously, what the fuck?” There’s real pain in Hugo’s voice. Is it really my fault? Did I lead him on in any way? Everything feels fuzzy right now. He’s ranting at me, but I drown it out as I stare at him through my eyelashes, at his big, handsome body. I don’t know how I feel about him right now. But one thing I do know is the whole time we were dating, Hugo never turned me on as much as Adler did from that one kiss.

  “I’ll see you later.”

  Realizing that he’s leaving, I snap back to reality. “It’s fine, stay in my room. I can crash with the others in the living room.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He stalks off, too.

  It would be funny if it wasn’t so tragic, abandoned by two angry men in a single night. I stare into space for a while. What now? I don’t know, but I don’t want to go home yet. I decide to find the girls. They’re still in the club, dancing in a pink, fluffy room to a series of high-pitched bleeps and squeaks, eyes huge and wild. Dominique greets me like a long-lost friend.

  “Have a dab.” She passes me a small bag of white powder. I don’t usually, but right now I want to forget. I reach into the bag with my pinkie and tap a little dose of euphoria onto my tongue.

  10

  I wake up spread-eagled on top of my comforter, my eyes gritty and my throat parched. My phone is still in my purse. It’s 12:37 p.m. and I have two text messages. There’s one from Hugo at 11 a.m. apologizing for getting so worked up and asking if we can go for coffee. Then another one an hour later asking if he can at least stop by and pick up his stuff. Nothing from Adler. My heart sinks. Why do I feel like this? I should be relieved to be free of this fucked-up situation that totally isn’t what I want from life. But I want him. I want him to finish what he started last night. Because just the thought of him hard, wanting me, is enough to wake me up inside.

  I stretch and roll over with a groan. Then I call Hugo.

  We meet at 1.30pm in a café around the corner from my place.

  “I’m buying you breakfast to apologize, kid,” he says.

  “Okay,” I say and pick the biggest, greasiest thing they have on the menu.

  “I know I shouldn’t have assumed. It was a real Neanderthal, guy thing to do,” he says once we’re drinking our coffees.

  “I guess I shouldn’t have led you on by letting you share my bed. But by the time I asked Dom if you could stay, the living room was already booked out.”

  “I know it was. And I know you were only being nice. You could’ve told me there was no space, but you probably wanted to save me the expense of a hotel.”

  “I did.”

  “One-fifty a night at the Holiday Inn. Wooh. That was something.” He raises an eyebrow, and we both laugh. His eyes turn serious again. “Rea, when I saw you kissing that guy last night, it really hurt. And it hurt because I realized you’d never kissed me like that before. Like you wanted me more than anything. Like you were hungry for me.”

  I press my lips together. “You always made me feel so comfortable. So safe. Like I could goof around and wear a ratty old shirt, and it wouldn’t matter. And I was happy with our sex life. I had no complaints at all. But I’ve discovered that I need something else. Maybe I don’t need it for very long, but I have to try.”

  “Well, you’d better not count on me waiting around until you’re done.” He’s saying it in a jokey way, and it makes me sad. “We’ll always be friends, Reagan. I’m looking forward to hanging out with you. And I promise not to crack onto you again. Okay?”

  “Okay.” We clasp hands across the table.

  After he’s gone, the Sunday blues hit me with full force. I walk aimlessly along the bay. My heart aches every time I think about Hugo. I can’t explain to myself why he’s not the one for me. He’s perfect in so many ways. There’s nothing I don’t like about him. I wish so much that things were different. But weird as it is, having sex with Adler twice has taught me that I need real passion in my life. And Hugo has never woken me up inside like Adler does. I groan. Not that Adler is the one for me either. He just wants to dominate me, mark his territory, take what he wants. And leave me in pieces without a backward glance.

  I end up walking for hours, tracing the almost deserted streets of the downtown and warehouse districts. It feels like a lonely place today, and the thought of work tomorrow sits heavy in my stomach. It’s been dark for a while by the time I turn back and find the nearest metro station.

  I’m just coming through the door of the apartment when Adler calls me. I hesitate for half a dozen rings, then answer. It’s startling to hear his deep, well-spoken voice on the phone for the first time ever.

  “Reagan, I’m sorry for how things played out last night.”

  “It wasn’t good.”

  He gives a kind of long, tortured groan. “I realize that I haven’t been very fair to you. I know this kind of arrangement is new to you, and I should’ve been more open with you and explained what I’m looking for in this relationship. I know you’ve got every reason to
think I’m not very involved. But it’s not the case. I’m serious about making you my long-term submissive.”

  He falls silent, but I don’t reply. Two phrases, “relationship” and “long-term submissive,” are bouncing off each other in my brain.

  “Are you free for dinner tonight? I’d like to cook for you, at my place, and explain everything to you,” he continues.

  “Ummm,” I say slowly, stalling as long as possible. I’m intrigued. While sense is telling me I should put an end to this right now, every other part of me is responding to him, to that sexy voice, which sounds a little less assured than usual. “Yes, I’m free,” I find myself saying.

  “Great.” There’s genuine relief in his tone. “Is eight okay?”

  “Yup. Eight is fine.”

  “Feel free to spend the night, of course. I’ll send a car for you at seven-forty.”

  I shower and deliberate over my closet, eventually picking out a knitted dress, black, patterned wool pantyhose and flat knee-length boots. I have no idea what to expect from tonight, and I don’t want to turn up dressed up like a gift and make it too easy for him.

  The Uber turns up on time, and I watch the route out the window, curious about where we’re going. We pull up in Belmont Hill, an upscale neighborhood, in front of a rambling redbrick house. Not what I was expecting. It must be divided into apartments. As I get out of the car, he’s there, opening the front door, waiting for me. He’s wearing a white V-neck T-shirt and black pants. He watches me walk along the path and up some steps and then pulls me close and kisses me. Against my will, there’s a little fizz of pleasure in my belly, but I hold myself stiff, and don’t let myself fall into the hot, dizzying press of his lips.

  “Thank you for coming,” he says.

  I shrug. “I had nothing else to do tonight.”

  He takes my overnight bag from me and puts it down. “Shall I give you a tour?”

  “Yes.”

  He shows me around the entire house. Inside, it’s very tastefully decorated in a rustic chic style, bare boards on the floor, some painted in baby blue and white stripes. Vintage rugs, comfy, well-loved leather couches. A huge bookcase covers one wall of the living room. The kitchen has black and white tiles and teal-colored fittings made of distressed wood. There are lots of photos of an elegant older woman with laughter etched into the lines of her face.