Peep Show

by Starling, Isabella

  The shame after she’d found me with my packed suitcase was still there, painful whenever I thought of it and ever present in the back of my mind. I wished I’d never reached for that suitcase. I wished I’d never even thought of leaving her when she was what I needed most in the world. Even if it was a selfish decision, I wasn’t going to let go of her that easily.

  It was after five a.m. when I got the urge to take a bath.

  But Bebe didn’t know my shameful secret. She didn’t know about the bleach I poured into my baths, the dirty cigarettes I sneaked while I was in the bath or even the occasional cigar, and I was scared beyond belief of her finding out just how fucked-up I really was.

  I kept glancing at her. She’d made countless cups of tea, changed into a shirt of mine that barely covered her butt in the tiniest thong. She was fucking delectable and I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into her.

  Both of us were wide awake, and there was no way we’d be able to fall asleep after the day we’d had. But Bebe seemed intent on staying, even though I’d told her a couple of times I’d be totally fine on my own.

  She came over with another steaming cup, this time coffee. I accepted it gratefully and gave her a shy smile. I felt ashamed about showing her this side of me. About her seeing just how fucking vulnerable I was. I wanted her to know I could be strong for her, too. Wanted her to realize I’d always have her back… But now, she’d seen the absolute worst of me, and the shame was threatening to eat me alive.

  “I want a bath,” I told her easily as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “Would you mind if I took one?”

  “Not at all,” she replied with a smile, but then I saw the memory flicker through her eyes.

  She’d remembered Dr. Halen’s words, no doubt, remembered the doctor’s warning about letting me in the bathroom. She seemed to hesitate, but I’d already gotten up.

  “I’ll leave the door ajar,” I promised her. “I’m feeling so much better now, sugar, and I’m so fucking grateful.”

  She gave me a little smile and nodded, and I walked away from her. But instead of feeling relieved, it felt like the world’s burdens had been placed directly on my shoulders. I was nervous, nervous and scared of what this meant for our relationship. I couldn’t bear the thought of her walking out on me—not now, not ever.

  I walked into the bathroom and drew a bath, the water so scalding hot it steamed up the whole room. Just like I’d promised, I left the door ajar, and I heard Bebe turning on some music as I got rid of my clothes.

  I was a fucking mess, the whole evening leaving me in pieces. But mostly, I was just deeply fucking ashamed of Bebe catching me in that state of mind, of seeing me at my most vulnerable. I would’ve done anything to keep that side of me from her, but if I was being honest with myself, it was going to come out one way or another, and she’d know sooner rather than later about all my dirty little secrets.

  She still didn’t know the whole story, though. I wasn’t sure when I’d be ready to share that.

  I watched my reflection in the mirror. I’d lost some weight recently, my mind preoccupied with all things Bebe. But I still looked good, my muscles rippling and the ink stretching tautly across them.

  I checked to make sure Bebe was still in the living room, and then dug in the cupboard until I found the nameless white plastic bottle. I turned it upside down above the bath, pouring in the entire contents and filling the bathroom with the stench of bleach.

  Then, I climbed in.

  The bleach made me hiss out loud, but I took it, just like I always fucking did. Sometimes, weeks went by without me taking one. Sometimes, I’d take three in a day. Either way, for years it had been the only real thing I felt, back before when I’d met Bebe. Now, the sting was still there, and so was the pain, but somehow, my bath was lacking what I wanted from it so badly.

  To feel alive.

  “What are you doing?”

  I turned around abruptly, seeing Bebe standing in the doorway with a sweet little smile on her face. But it dissolved as she sniffed the air, making a face at the stench of the bleach.

  “It stinks in here,” she said, scrunching up her nose. “Want me to open a window?”

  She strode inside before I could stop her, trying to reach the window but tripping on the white plastic bottle. My heart fucking stopped and I watched her lean down and pick it up as if it were in slow motion.

  “What’s this?” she asked softly, lifting it up to her nose and making a face when she smelled the remains. “It fucking stinks.”

  “Bebe,” I said, sinking deeper into the bath, my heart pumping panicked blood through my body. “Please, just go.”

  “I’m not leaving,” she said, a hint of surprise to her voice which soon turned into anger. “Why are you trying to get rid of me again, Miles? There’s no fucking way I’m leaving.”

  “Go,” I begged her, my voice fucking breaking. “Please, Bebe. I don’t want you to watch…”

  “What’s in there?” she finally asked. “The bottle, Miles. Is it in the bathtub?”

  Before I could protest, she’d reached me, sitting on the edge of the tub and smelling the water.

  “Is it…” she whispered, her eyes finding mine. “Is it bleach?”

  I didn’t reply, just shut my eyes as tightly as I possibly could and willed the whole moment to go away.

  But next thing I knew, she was sliding into the bath with me.

  “No,” I growled, my arms grabbing her as she gasped. The heat and the bleach were too fucking much for her. I hated myself for making her do this, for putting her through all this fucking embarrassing shit.

  “Bebe,” I begged her, trying to get out. “I’ll stop, I swear, just get out… I don’t want you getting hurt, sugar, please…”

  “Too late,” she growled in reply. “Now, every time you do this, I’m getting in with you. And you’ll only have yourself to blame if I get hurt.”

  I howled in pain, but she climbed on top of me, my white shirt sticking to her skin as she sunk her body in the bath. She writhed in my lap, hissing at the sting of the bleach, her legs wrapping around my waist, that tiny fucking thong the only thing separating her from my engorged cock.

  “Bebe, no,” I begged her. “Please, get the fuck out.”

  “No,” she said. “Kiss me, you fucking fool.”

  I kissed her. I kissed her with so much desperation it shocked me, and felt her gasp against my lips as she let the bleach eat away at her skin. I’d never hated myself more, but the passion I felt for her in that moment overcame anything else I could have possibly felt. I tore at her, my fingers twirling in her hair, desperate to pull, tug, get her fucking closer.

  “Miles,” she breathed desperately. “Miles, please…”

  “Get out,” I said roughly. “Last fucking warning, Bebe. You need to get the fucking shit out of here.”

  “NO!” she cried out, and I shut her complaint with a kiss, desperately claiming her mouth.

  And then the sting from the bath was gone. The heat was gone too, my burning skin now on fire for different reasons than the horrible water we were in. She was igniting me. She was the fucking spark, she was the one lighting me up.

  I kissed her with absolute desperation, not trying to hide a single bit of it anymore. She returned the kiss with the same passion, sinking her teeth into my lower lip so angrily she drew blood. She gasped when she felt it between us, but I wouldn’t let her move away. I kept kissing her, claiming her pretty little mouth until she begged for more.

  “Let me in,” she said angrily. “Let me in your fucking head, Miles.”

  I was scared to. Who knew how she’d react when she saw all the terrible things that were inside my head? She’d never look at me the same way again, that was for fucking sure.

  But for now, I couldn’t fucking resist. I had a gorgeous woman rubbing herself all over my dick, and I was desperate to have her, claim her, teach her some fucking manners.

  “Mine,” I growled against her t
hroat, my fingers finding her pussy and ripping the thong off under the water. She gasped when I did it, my wet shirt clinging to her skin and revealing her pretty, pert nipples beneath the wet cotton. “I’m not letting go, Bebe. I’m never. Fucking. Letting. Go.”

  She mimicked my desperate movements, getting up and then sinking herself fully on my cock, impaling herself on my thickness until I hissed at the contact her pussy made with my dick.

  “Ride me,” I growled at her, and she bounced up and down, splashing water everywhere. “Fucking ride me, sugar, don’t you dare stop now. I’m too fucking desperate for you now.”

  She rose and fell, riding my cock into an orgasm that made her pussy twitch and spasm. I could tell how badly she needed it, how fucking desperate she was for my cum. She groaned and gasped as I filled her up, our skin burning together with the bleach.

  I pulled her closer, her body hot and tight against my own, holding on for dear life as we spilled water all over the bathroom floor. She gripped me by the hair, her fingers digging into my scalp as she breathlessly fucked herself with my dick. It was an act of desperation, an attempt to get as close to me as possible. Did she want to be in my head? Then I’d let her see it all, as long as it meant having her in my arms for as long as I fucking wanted.

  “Oh, Bebe,” I grunted. “Ride me. Fucking ride me, I want to feel you.”

  She did. She rode me like it was all that mattered in the world, her hisses turning into desperate little cries and mewls until she crashed down on me, her orgasm taking her by surprise just like it had me. She was about to stop, but I couldn’t let her do that, not there and not then.

  “Keep fucking going,” I growled at her. “Keep. Fucking. Going.”

  She let out a desperate little whimper, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. I grabbed her hips and fucked her burning cunt viciously, with every shred of emotion left in my body.

  The anger.

  The pain.

  The love I felt for the innocent woman in my arms.

  I showed her everything as I took her, and I never fucking let go. I fucked her relentlessly, and from that moment on, we both knew she belonged to me completely. She was mine.

  “Don’t let go,” she hissed, just like she had the first time we’d made love. “Please, Miles, just don’t let go of me.”

  I looked right into her eyes and pumped my cock into her and she mewled, biting her lip. We were both a fucking mess, and I’d never wanted anyone more than I did her. I was a man obsessed, possessed and overtaken by her beauty, grace and the fucking firecracker personality that made her shine.

  “Will you stay?” I asked her, teetering on the edge of an orgasm, so fucking close to filling her up. “Will you stay with me, Bebe? Will you be fucking mine like I need you to, baby?”

  “Yes,” she replied breathlessly, and the world stood still for a second. “Yes, I will be yours. Only yours. All yours. Forever, Miles, forever…”

  My orgasm was fucking brutal, ripping through the walls of the bathroom with its intensity, our grunts and screams echoing around the room and making me grateful I owned the whole fucking floor.

  “My girl,” I grunted, driving myself into her one last time. “My. Fucking. Girl!”

  Eunoia, noun

  Beautiful thinking.

  My teeth were chattering, even though my most intimate parts were stinging from the bleach and from the pounding he gave me.

  Miles wrapped a towel around me, and his eyes lingered on mine for a long second before he moved away, smirking to himself. His cock hung between his legs, still semi-hard and dripping.

  He was at his most vulnerable in that moment, and he’d let me see him. He’d let me see the side of him he was afraid of showing the most.

  He drained the bath, and I tossed the white plastic container into the trash. He didn’t comment on it, and I didn’t say a word either. But I was absolutely determined I wouldn’t let him close to it ever again. And if he did, I’d stay true to my word and get in the bath with him.

  We settled on the sofa, and through the wall-to-ceiling windows of his apartment, we watched the sun rise over the city.

  I had seen the sunrise many times before, but that day it felt especially significant. It was the dawn of a new day, the start of something special. And I was going to make sure this day was the first of many when both Miles and I would get better, slowly but surely on our path to recovery.

  Me, from being a fucking mess, and him, from whatever inner demons he had haunting him all these years.

  I was desperate to know more. I wanted to find out every little detail that made him the man I knew, eager to find out what had shaped him. But he didn’t seem willing to share, not until that morning when I gasped as the sun colored his apartment in so many hues it felt like we were sitting inside a beautiful rainbow.

  “It’s stunning, isn’t it,” Miles said softly. “All the colors in the world in one fucking room.”

  “It’s incredible,” I admitted.

  “The realtor told me about it,” he said with a grin. “Said I was paying for the view. I complained for weeks until I fucking saw it. And now, I would be happy to pay double the price to see this every morning.”

  I settled into the crook of his arm, cuddling close as he held onto me.

  “It’s why the apartment is white,” he said, and I looked up at him. “I wanted the sunrise to color it.”

  It was a small offering, a glimpse into the way his curious mind worked, and I loved him for letting me be a part of it.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, and he grinned down at me. “For telling me. For including me.”

  “I want you to know everything,” he told me gently. “Everything that makes me… me.”

  “Really?” I asked eagerly, and he laughed at me, making me blush. “Sorry, it’s just… You haven’t seemed very eager to divulge any kind of information about yourself, and I’m so desperate to know more…”

  “I’ll tell you,” he said softly. “You’re the only person I’m willing to tell. Ask what you want to know, sugar. But please don’t be disappointed by my answers, okay?”

  I nodded and found a comfortable spot underneath his arm. We watched as the sun turned the room the most brilliant of colors, and I fell in love with his apartment, which I’d always thought was a little lifeless and impersonal. But now I understood it, from the stark, undecorated walls to the all-white furniture. He was an artist. An artist through and through. And he preferred the play of nature to whatever he could have done to the place himself. I loved that about him.

  “Tell me,” I asked softly. “I want to know everything there is to know about Miles Reilly.”

  “Where do I start?” he asked, and now, it was my turn to grin at him.

  “Start at the beginning,” I said simply. “Tell me about your childhood.”

  Immediately, I felt like I’d said something wrong. His face darkened, his expression fell, and the walls went back up.

  “Or not,” I was quick to say. “You could tell me about something else, anything. Tell me about your job. I’d love to know more about it.”

  “Okay,” he said, seemingly perking up at the opportunity to speak about his work. “You know I’m a photographer.”

  “I could tell you were into it,” I said cheekily and he tickled me under my chin, making me giggle. “But tell me more. What kind of stuff? What are you into? What kind of art do you like? Is it a hobby or do you make a living from it?”

  He laughed and shook his head at my curiosity, and for a second I was worried his walls would go back up again. But then he started talking, his voice deep and kind as he filled me in on the details.

  “I like watching people,” he said, and I watched the sunrise through half-open eyes as I listened to him. “I like their expressions, the way I make them feel. Women, especially. I like their reactions to stimulation. Any kind. Music, sex, things that make them feel.”

  “Do you take photos of them?” I asked, trying
to fight back the jealousy that was spiking my heart into a faster beat. “Of women?”

  “You know I do,” he said simply. Of course I knew. I’d Googled him, saw the photos of girls, overlaid with this and that. The very thought sent a wave of jealousy through my body, but confusing me further when he laughed lightly. “Maybe I should say I did. Before a certain someone came along.”

  I beamed up at him and he flicked my nipple with his long, strong fingers. I gripped his arm and made him wrap it around me, hugged into him.

  “Go on,” I whispered. “I want to know more. So much more. I want to know everything.”

  “Everything, huh?” he asked, chuckling. “There’s a lot to tell. You sure you wanna stick around for it?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, giving him a vehement stare. “There’s no place I’d rather be, actually.”

  “Good,” he growled, an edge I couldn’t interpret present in his voice. “Do you know what double exposure is?”

  I nodded. “You overlaid their pictures with another picture.”

  “Yes, I take most of my photos on film and then develop them. After, I alter them digitally, creating a double exposure. It basically means joining together two photographs into one, overlaying one on top of the other. I pick whatever I think is fitting for the woman in the picture. I’ve done an innocent girl with church candles, her dad was a minister. I had a hippie chick with flowers blooming in a field. And so on and so on.”

  “What about me?” I asked impulsively. “What would you pair me with?”

  He laughed and ruffled my hair and I made a show of sticking my tongue out at him.

  “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” he said, and I furrowed my brow at him, prompting him to explain. “I have an exhibition at La Gallerie in about a month. I’d love for you to come and see the photos.”

  I stared at him, and wondered out loud, “Will you be there?”

  “I hope so,” he said simply. “I really would love to be. It’s my first big exhibition. Most of my work is sold online as prints.”

  “Do you make good money?” I asked him, and he laughed at my honesty. “Sorry, I’m just curious. I don’t know anything about this stuff.”