Break it to Love

by Secret Narrative

  Her mobile rang as she made her way to the Tube.

  ‘Yes, Sara, I’ll be home in an hour.’ She switched off her phone and wondered how she’d deflect her sister’s questions.

  Across the road from Citybar, Scott watched Lizzie head for the Tube. ‘No sign of that bastard.’ She looked upset, but it was difficult to see. Glancing at his phone, he considered calling her…

  oOo

  ‘Lizzie Fyne’s sister phoned in sick for her today,’ announced Mary Sharp. ‘I’m sorry, Scott, but HR say they have to let her go. That’s twice in the past week she’s been off sick. She’s unreliable, and it sets a lousy example. I’ve agreed that HR terminate her contract.’ Mary Sharp tried to hide her pleasure, but it didn’t matter, Scott scarcely seemed to hear her. Backing out of his office, she closed the door and raised her eyes to the others in exasperation.

  ‘What did he say?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘Nothing, he seemed preoccupied. Homesick or lust sick.’

  oOo

  Scott left the bed unmade. He inhaled until Lizzie’s scent seemed to be stuck inside his airways, breathing her in and out, filling his lungs. He stripped off, leaving his clothes in a heap on the floor, poured a drink and went through her texts one by one; he had not been able to bring himself to delete them. He poured another slug of bourbon and got slowly smashed, but pride prevented him pressing the key that called her.

  ‘Fuck her, why did she have to date that fucking tosser? I’m a fucking idiot.’ Scott raged. Eventually, pissed, he fell asleep.

  oOo

  ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with her, I honestly don’t,’ said Sara Michaels to her husband as they prepared for bed.

  Earlier that evening, she heard Lizzie sobbing in her room.

  ‘It’s probably a guy,’ said Phil. ‘Christ, remember what we were like at her age? Try not to worry, Sara. Give her space and she’ll tell you when she’s ready.’

  ‘I can’t help thinking it has something to do with Scott.’

  ‘Scott Worth? Don’t be daft, Sara, he arranged a job for her, and he’s been terrific about helping her out. Scott’s got nothing to do with it. It’s more likely that Charlie Green who keeps ringing. How many times tonight?’

  ‘Three.’

  ‘And she won’t take his calls? There you are then. I’ll bet it was him she was with the other night when she rang saying she wouldn’t be home. She’ll get over it, you’ll see. You were never this protective with Anton. I guess you think it’s different for boys, but it’s not and anyway, you have to know when to let go. Now come to bed, I’ve got something to show you.’

  ‘If I find out that Lizzie’s hurt is anything to do with Scott Worth, I’ll see that he regrets it,’ she vowed. Turning away from the mirror, she joined her husband in bed.

  ‘You’re over-protective.’ He put his arm around her, and she snuggled into him. ‘You’ve done a great job since your parents’ death, but you can’t be a mum and dad to Lizzie and Anton for the rest of your life. You’ve done your best. They’re all grown up now.’

  ‘Maybe, but Anton’s settled.’ When it came to her little sister, there was nothing Sara wouldn’t do.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘I’ll give you my answer on Monday.’ Scott shook hands with each of the partners.

  ‘We look forward to hearing from you,’ replied one of the most ruthless businesswomen in the city. ‘Here’s my card. If you have any further questions, please do not hesitate to contact me.’

  Unusually, Scott’s cock didn’t respond. If he accepted the tempting offer her firm had set out, he wondered if she would expect his undivided attention. Leaving the boardroom, he retrieved his coat from the delicious looking secretary, made his way to the ground floor and, stepping out onto the street, dived into the nearest coffee shop.

  Scott stirred his extra shot Americano and stared out of the window. Relentless shards fell from a blackened sky, rolling with purple clouds, swelling across the dark expanse, their wind-driven progress punctuated by shouts of thunder and brilliant flashes of sheet lightning. Fleeting forks flared the streets. Sodden commuters criss-crossed the city, following their usual paths. With the exception of couriers, few cyclists braved the roads. No wonder; it was a filthy day to be out on two feet or wheels. Scott lingered. ‘Thor’s mood is the perfect match for mine,’ he muttered, thinking the storm an ideal metaphor for his own black state of mind and inner turmoil as he pondered the options offered by Stock, Bond, and Partners.

  In a quandary, his personal life shambolic, and in spite of trying to bury his longing for Lizzie beneath a flurry of displacement activity, he had become lethargic, unfocused and bored beyond imagining. He was unable to concentrate at work. Pissed off with Charlie fucking Green, the bastard who had been the cause of recent issues, and Mary-miss-fucking-goodie-two-shoes-Sharp, of beaky nose and big mouth metaphorically if not literally. Scott couldn’t believe he’d got Lizzie so wrong. He thought they had something going, but she turned out to be just like every other woman he’d ever been involved with, fickle, and untrustworthy too. Stunned at how easily he had been taken in, self-pity settled itself into a black cloak of gloom that enveloped him, matching the dismal weather. He had never been so miserable in his life.

  Now, his favourite activity lay in counting down the days until he could hand the new systems over to his UK replacement and deliver the keys of the apartment to the next inmate. He felt as if he was a prisoner in the flat, although it hadn’t felt that way when Lizzie had been stretched across the bed, spread in invitation, the delightful centre of his universe just begging to be devoured.

  That mouth. Oh, fuck. How he loved everything about her. Scott’s cock hardened, and with an inward groan, he turned his attention away from all imaginings, and returned to his current, and, for the moment, urgent dilemma. He was about to book his flight home, one way, no return. The easy-going lifestyle of Australia beckoned and there was nothing to keep him in London. His work was almost complete, and in no way did he want to winter in the crappy, soul-numbing cold of England.

  Thank God he’d managed to field all calls from the Michaels family, having Reception deal with calls at work, and pressing ignore every time Phil or Sara’s number flashed up on his mobile. They each left numerous voicemail and text messages, all of which he ignored and deleted. He even contemplated changing his number, but part of him hesitated, in case Lizzie decided to make contact. If he changed his number, the chances of hearing from her again would diminish, and the masochistic part of him that hoped she would get in touch, kept a tiny flame burning, which flared expectantly every time his mobile vibrated.

  At last, the storm passed. Wrapping his scarf around his neck in a loose loop, he pulled on his coat and left the cosy, noisy warmth of the coffee house and stepped onto the rain-soaked street. Sidestepping the throng of people walking towards him, he went against the flow and hurried away from the underground. A walk would give him time to think. In any case, he wasn’t in the mood for pressing up against the steaming human mass. Their damp clothes inevitably smelled faintly unpleasant, and it embarrassed him to think that he probably smelled the same.

  His pace slowed, as thoughts of Lizzie and the time they spent together, collided with an image of her legs wrapped around Green’s body. Scott tortured himself day and night, conjuring pictures of Charlie’s undeniably hot physique, spreading Lizzie open beneath him, spearing her relentlessly with his cock, which Scott imagined being huge. He succeeded in making himself feel sick and gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. A muscle pulsed his cheek as he scowled his way along the streets.

  His secondment was about to end and the firm expected his return to Australia in the coming week. Although he had been eager to finish the job and go home, suddenly, he couldn’t see himself making the journey, suddenly he couldn’t visualise the airport or boarding the aircraft. He couldn’t see himself on the flight, couldn’t picture his homecoming. Doubt descended, triggered by the unexpected and flatte
ring offer of troubleshooting for Stock, Bond and Partners. Nevertheless, if they wanted him, they would have to wait. He intended to take a holiday, a proper break. There had been no time off in the last year. Yeah, he’d done plenty of partying and plenty of sleeping around too, but he hadn’t taken a holiday. He needed to get away from everyone, his current firm, the flat, and everything Lizzie.

  oOo

  Dropping his bags in the hallway of the suite, Scott chucked his coat onto the bed, untied his shoes, loosened his tie, stowed his jacket and poured a large whiskey. Sinking into the sofa, he idly flicked through the TV channels until the screen burst into life. Placing his drink on the table beside the bed, he finished undressing.

  Naked, cock slowly hardening, reacting to the action unfolding on screen, a redhead and a blonde, the filmmakers often chose contrast, but it didn’t matter to Scott, they could be green and blue for all he cared. The entertaining portions were bare, bald, naked, flushed and moist. Tongues, lips, cunts and arseholes. Scott gripped his shaft while the girls on film moved into a perfect 69, mouths buried in peachy, dainty cunts. His cock leaked, and his mouth watered.

  In spite of the hot screen sex on offer, Scott’s mind-set switched, suddenly filled with images of Lizzie. Lizzie eating an ice cream, licking, long, slick laps, her pink tongue travelling all the way from the base of the cone to the top, dripping, sweet vanilla making a sticky trail down her hand, her 99 far sexier than the 69 on screen. Lizzie laughing at his jokes, her mouth wide, gleaming teeth on show as her laughter reached his ears. Lizzie on all fours in front of him, her perfect, poppet arse, ripe and just begging to be spanked, Lizzie’s arms and head disappearing into a sweater, popping adorably through their respective holes. Lizzie’s shining hair swinging to and fro, providing curtains as she leaned forward to kiss him while she rode his cock relentlessly to climax. His erection subsided, the pain of loss penetrated his senses, his moans of lust became groans of despair. Finally, he slouched his way beneath the bed covers and leaving the film flickering in the background, tried to drown out all thoughts of Lizzie with as much whiskey as he could handle before passing out.

  On the other side of town, a girl was dreaming, and when she woke, reality banished euphoria. Tumbling out of bed, she dashed into the bathroom and threw up. For the fifth morning that week.

  Lizzie crawled back to bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, layers of natural white, Capiz shell surrounding the central light swayed in the breeze from the open fanlight, she always left the small windows open, even on the coldest of nights. She liked the sound of the wind-chimes hanging from the curtain pole.

  Tears trailed and dripped onto the pillow. As the sting drenched the back of her throat, the heat behind her lids intensified, and she abandoned herself to the deluge. Tears made a path down the sides of her face, pooling in her ears, trickling out onto the pillows, joining the stains from the previous night, and the night before. Every night. She could barely believe that she had any tears left to cry, but still they came, awash with misery, more painful than any feeling she experienced before, and devastating, juxtaposed with earlier days.

  She knew Sara was worried, but her usual zest had been replaced by dark depression, which entombed her, and threatened to bury her alive. Charlie Green had tried to make contact since the disastrous evening when they went for a drink, but she had nothing to say to him and didn’t want to hear another word he uttered. Ever. His confiding of Scott’s choices for sexual kicks had been shocking. Worse though, was the sliver of jealousy which penetrated her heart and from the point of entry, splintered, bedding deep into her blood supply, and created a creeping cluster of haematoma beneath her skin.

  ‘Lizzie, please let me in,’ begged Sara. ‘You can’t go on like this. We need to talk, please, Lizzie, we’re worried about you.’

  ‘Not now, Sara...’ Lizzie managed to hide the tears in her voice. ‘I’ll come down later.’

  ‘Promise? We’ve tried giving you space. Whatever it is, we are here to help.’

  At the sound of her sister’s retreat, Lizzie went to the bathroom, trying to hold her breath against the floating smell of breakfast cooking. On hearing Sara’s second advance, she turned the key.

  Sara banged on the door until Lizzie relented.

  ‘I need to go shopping. Why not get washed and dressed? We’ll talk when we get back. It’s clear something’s wrong, and it’s to do with that Charlie Green, whoever he is. I don’t want to interfere, but me and Phil are worried about you, look at the state of you… Oh, Lizzie. You must have lost half a stone, and you’re so pale. You haven’t even been in touch with any of your friends. I know you’re ignoring Summer’s texts because she called last night. At the least, please text her, she’s your best friend, and if you won’t speak to Phil or me, ask Summer to come. I’m sure she’ll be here like a shot.’

  ‘She’s working; they’re in the middle of a production.’

  ‘It’s Sunday tomorrow, their day off, text her and ask her over, or go to her place, but, Lizzie, you must do something. I’m tempted to call the doctor out to you.’

  ‘No, I don’t need the doctor. I’ll text Summer, okay?’

  ‘Okay... for now.’

  Lizzie closed the door, leaving her bewildered sister to trail her way downstairs.

  oOo

  Having made his way over to Greenwich, Charlie Green skulked just out of sight of the Michaels’s home. He had not made plans, but his patience was rewarded when he saw Lizzie’s sister and her husband leave the house, and drive away. If Lizzie was indoors, she might be alone; she had mentioned that her brother was up at university. He licked his forearm and waited a second before sniffing. The minty aroma from the gum he had just discarded lingered and his breath was perfect. Casual, but immaculate clothing flattered his powerful frame, and a barely perceptible whiff of aftershave reached his nostrils, a new fragrance, so he could still smell it on himself. He loved it. Charlie hadn’t yet resorted to carrying a mirror, but often checked out how he looked in windows, and anywhere else he could get a reflection. The wing mirror of a parked car confirmed that he looked cool. He sprinted towards the front door and pressed the doorbell. After thirty seconds, he pushed again, pressing a third time after a shorter pause. Then counting to ten, left his finger on the button and decided if nobody answered by the time he counted to sixty, he would leave.

  ‘Christ, you look like crap,’ he said, when at last the open door revealed his quarry.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘What sort of greeting is that? I was worried about you. Can I come in?’

  ‘No. Sara and Phil are here, and I’m not dressed.’

  ‘No, they’re not. I just saw them leave.’

  ‘I was just going to have a bath. I don’t need this, Charlie.’

  ‘Just for a minute, I’m worried about you. That fucker, Worth is a bastard, just say the word, and I’ll knock his block off.’

  ‘Don’t, Charlie… it’s not Scott’s fault. I don’t feel well...’

  ‘Look, you’re shivering; let me come in, just for a minute.’

  ‘Okay, but only for a minute, Sara and Phil won’t be long.’

  ‘Hmm,’ he mumbled, closing the door, stealthily dropping the latch before following his prey into the house.

  oOo

  Scott woke to the incessant sound of ringing. ‘Fucking voicemail, must try to fix the fucker.’

  Whiskey fumes emanated from his pores. ‘Fuck it!’

  ‘Mr Worth. Cara Wallace. I’d like to discuss a few issues. Please call me.’

  Fuck. Fuckity fuck. What now?

  ‘Cara Wallace.’

  ‘Hello, Ms Wallace, Scott Worth.’

  ‘Thanks for returning my call, Mr Worth, are you free for a quick, off the record chat later today? I’ll text the address.’

  ‘Yes, sure.’ Scott suppressed a vague tingle of misgiving.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Come on, Lizzie, you put out for the old guy, why not me? Com
e on, just a tiny little feel, you know you want to really.’

  ‘Get off me, Charlie. Get off. Don’t. Charlie… stop, I said stop!’

  Lizzie tried pushing Charlie away. Victimised by unwelcome kisses, she was held in a vice-like grip. Vulnerable, in pyjamas and dressing gown, Lizzie struggled, but it was no use. If she could not convince him to stop, she was in real danger.

  Teeth clashed as she clamped her jaw, preventing his tongue from wriggling into her mouth. Grabbing her face hard in one hand, he clenched her buttocks ruthlessly with the other. She contemplated biting him, before bringing her knee up, connecting with his groin.

  ‘Oomph,’ he snorted, breaking away for an instant, before renewing his efforts. He pushed her head back hard, until she thought her neck would snap.

  ‘You little slut,’ he snarled, diving for a bite of her exposed flesh. Her ragged breathing excited him. ‘I’ll have you… you’ll love it. I’ll make you like it… I’m going to take you, right here, right now.’ His hot breath seared her skin.

  ‘Stop, Charlie. Don’t!’ Lizzie’s inarticulate squeak trapped her words somewhere inside. A charge of adrenaline flooded renewed determination into her limbs, but behind her temporary resistance lurked the certainty that she couldn’t win.

  The music of the doorbell sang into her ears and brought him to his senses. Released suddenly, she crumpled to the floor.

  ‘Someone... at... the... door… Sara and Phil… must have forgotten… key.’ She clutched her dressing gown around her.

  ‘Not a word. Not a fucking word. Do you hear me? Or I’ll tell them all about Scott Worth and you. Do you hear me?’

  Nodding slowly, she got herself together.

  ‘I’m warning you, sluttage. I’m going to let them in now. Not a word.’

  oOo