by Jaci J
Not only is it more than I care to deal with, but it fucking painful. I hate being emotionally dependent on the little monster that is insistent on breaking me any way she can.
I’m not sure what sort of reaction London is seeking from me now or why. I’ve followed her, collected her, and kept her. I’m always chasing and I’m about at the end of my fucking rope.
If anything, London is consistent. I had her in my bed last night and not twenty-four hours later, she’s on a mission to break my will, again. She will do anything to hurt me.
Watching her bump and grind her way across NYC is not my idea of a fun night, but I do what has to be done. I watch her because I’m a fucking fool. I can’t leave her alone because once I have her, I have to have more of her. If she wants to be chased, I will happily comply.
Sitting at the bar, London’s back is to me. Matt is to her right, and of course to her left is a man paying her an extraordinary amount of attention. He’s touching her, complimenting her, smiling at her, and she’s eating it up because she knows it’ll ruin my fucking night. She’ll do anything to ruin it for me.
Yeah, I get a thrill out of watching men lust over my woman, but when she’s not mine, there is nothing there for me other than pure fucking rage. She’s changed the rules of my game, no longer making it fun, and that shit doesn’t make me happy.
Bending into her, he brushes his lips across her cheek and at the exact same moment, she moves her head, tipping it. Looking over his shoulder at me, she smirks the moments his lips touch hers and I see red.
She’s testing me and I’ve had enough. She knew I’d come after her and she knew she’d get a reaction out of me. If it’s a goddamn reaction she wants, then who the hell am I to deny her the reaction she begging for? I’m sick of being treated like shit. It stops now.
Twelve
Miss Too Far
London
I’m jerked clean off my feet. Falling, I land on my ass and I skid across the bar floor. I knew Dante would come. I knew he’d be mad, but I never thought he’d react this way.
Violent and furious, Dante attacks the man. Yanking the man’s body away from the bar, Dante knees him in the gut, but that’s not good enough. He wants to hurt him. Dante wants to kill him.
Over and over, Dante’s fist meets the flesh of the man’s face. His suit is a mess, wrinkled and now stained with blood. He won’t stop. The man is a heap of blood and broken body parts on the floor. My stomach is in my throat and my heart has completely stopped. No one makes a move to stop Dante. No one seems inclined to help. Vinn, Pete, and the other guys stand back, holding the crowd away.
“Get the fuck up, London,” he yells down at me, still on my ass. He doesn’t offer help or a hand. He points down at me and demands, “GET.THE.FUCK.UP!”
“Jesus Christ, Dante.”
Turning to Vinn, he yells, “Handle this.”
His chest heaves with each breath. Those black eyes are distant and cold. Spinning around to me, Dante sets his sights on me. It’s now my turn.
“You did this,” he shouts, pointing to the man slumped against the wall behind him.
“Me?”
“From the moment I met you until this very second, everything I’ve done has been because of you. You forced my hand, London. I had no fucking choice.”
“You had a choice,” I whisper, feeling braver on the outside than I do on the inside. I’ve never seen Dante so mad.
“NO I FUCKING DIDN’T! Jesus, London. Why do you make me do these fucking things?” Pacing back and forth in front of me, he looks completely unhinged. Running a bloodied hand through his unruly hair, he glares down at me. I look up into unfocused eyes and it occurs to me that I don’t know the answer to that anymore. Punishment and penance would have been my answer a few months ago. I’ve lost all sight of the ‘why’ now.
“I get it. I lied to you, but at least it was out of love. I never intentionally hurt you. Never did any of my lies come from a bad place. You though,” he starts glaring down at me at me, shaking his head, “you do everything out of hate. I fucking get it, London. You hate me. Point fucking taken.”
Turning on his heels, he’s ready to leave, leaving me wide eyed and scared to death. Maybe I finally punished him to the point of no return. Maybe I did break him.
Stopping with his back to me, I watch his shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. He’s holding back. Turning to face me once more, I see something I’ve never seen in Dante―I see a hopeless, lost man. In his coal eyes I see all the damage we have done to each other. It’s all there in the cracks and tears. Sucking in a deep breath, he frowns down at his feet. I did it. I finally broke the unbreakable.
“You win, London. I’m done. You fucking win, Miss DelaCourt. This is finally over.”
~~~~~
“London, I don’t understand why you keep doin’ this.” Matt says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and tugging me against his side.
“I don’t either.” Laying my head on his shoulder, I replay the last few months; the fighting, the arguing, the sex, and all the anger. It all seems so pointless now that it’s accomplished what I set out to do. I’m no better than Dante. In fact, I’m so much worse. I purposely broke him. I did to him what he did to me, but I what I did was so much more worse. I’m a fucking immature brat who didn’t get what I wanted and blamed him. He may have lied and took what should have been mine, but he loved me. He has never once denied it and up until now, has always made sure I knew it.
Tears sting my eyes and my throat burns from holding them in. I did it. I did it. I won.
“Here’s some wine, babe. Me and wine will make it better,” Matt offers, handing me a full glass. Taking it from him, I chug down the entire glass. Holding it out to Matt, I wait for the refill. I’m going to need about nine more to feel like anything other than shit.
“Thank you.”
Sitting on the couch, cuddling Matt, Dante’s words play on repeat in my head. He had said ‘You win,’ with such finality. Those words were like the period to a very long, dysfunctional sentence.
My heart hurts. I feel sick to my stomach thinking that was it, that that was the end to what has been the craziest, best, worst, and most heartbreaking year of my fucking life.
Everything rational in me says good riddance. This is exactly what I’d wanted. I wanted Dante out of my life. A few months ago, this was exactly what I had hoped and prayed for, but now I’m not so sure and I have fucked it all up beyond repair.
I can’t help but to feel that wishing Dante away was a huge mistake. I want him gone, but the idea of never seeing him again kills me inside. My heart wants something completely different than what my brain wants. Pieces of me are with Dante and I’m not sure I’ll survive if he leaves me, taking them with him.
“Matt, I just don’t know anymore.”
“Know what, babe?”
“Anything. I don’t know what I’m doing with Dante.”
“Yes, you do.”
~~~~~
I debated with myself the entire walk over here, fighting with myself as to whether or not to turn back around and go home, or to keep moving forward. I debated until I found myself standing outside his door.
I’m not sure what I’m doing anymore. All I know is I can’t stay away from him, even when I know I should.
I knock on his door. It opens and a man I don’t know regards me. He looks like Dante, but he’s not really Dante. No, this man hates me.
“What do you want?” Dante asks, leaning against the doorframe. He doesn’t invite me in. Hell, he doesn’t tug me inside like he usually does either. Instead he crosses his arms and looks at me like I’m a solicitor that he wants to go away.
“I don’t know.”
“Figures.”
“Dante,” I start to say, even though I have no words. I want to hate him and I want to love him. I want to go back before I ever met him and save us both the heartache.
“I do it every time, London,” He says, catching me off
guard.
“What?” I whisper back.
“I stand here with the door open and a smile on my face, like it doesn’t kill me to let you in when you’ll just leave me. I let you in because what the fuck else am I supposed to do when you look up at me with those eyes?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. Dante doesn’t want to know what I think or what I have to say. “You push and you push, London.”
“I don’t always leave,” I lie. I leave whenever the chance presents itself. Dante snorts a humorless laugh. He knows I’m lying.
“Should I shut you out? Should I tell you to go when you show up here, when I know you’ll fucking leave the moment you get whatever it is you come to get from me?” My heart pinches painfully with his words. I’m using him and he knows it.
“Dante―,” I plead softly with him, anything to stop him. Chipping away little pieces of what is left of my heart with every word, he doesn’t stop. He wants to hurt me back, intentionally crush me.
“No, London. I let you come back time and time again, only to let you walk right back out. You use me and I let you because what am I supposed to tell the woman I love when she asks for me?” I have nothing to say to that. A violent hand finds his chest when he yells me. “And I let you in, even though it fucking hurts when you leave. It tears me up. I do it because I’m desperate and I’m fucking pathetic, but you know what? I don’t care because for those little moments, I have you again. You’re mine and I can breathe again.”
Taking a step away from the door, he shakes his head while running angry hands through his mess of hair. I was wrong and I know it. I never should have come. I won. I finally did it. I broke the unbreakable, steel frame that is Dante and his heart of concrete.
“Please,”
“Please what? Please keep being your punching bag? Please be a fucking doormat until you find someone better? Please WHAT?”
“Please understand that you hurt me too.” And he did. Dante crushed me.
“You don’t think I don’t fucking know that? Even if you don’t say it I know, and I’m paying for it every time you look at me like you hate me. You beat me down and you take it out on me, and I let you. I’ve told you I’m sorry, London. I’ve showed you I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do anymore,” he says in defeat. I don’t like this broken, conquered Dante.
Standing in his hallway, I’m at a loss. I don’t have the fucking courage to look into his eyes because I know I’ll see the same hurt reflected in his that I’m sure are in mine.
“There are three fucking walls London. Three,” he barks, startling me. Holding up three fingers, he shoves them in my face. “You know what makes three walls, London?” I search for the right answer, knowing there is none. Nothing I say will make him feel better.
“Nothing,” I whisper back, tears stinging my eyes.
“That’s exactly right―nothing. But four walls, London, that’s home, and you’re that fourth fucking wall here,” he points at his chest. “You’re the fourth goddamn wall and I hate that you have that power over me.” I’m home … his home.
“I’m sorry.” I take a step closer to him. I need the contact, anything to numb this pain.
“No, you’re not. You’re not sorry. I hate to let you go, but you still make me do it. You still push me to let you go and do whatever you want. You force my fucking hand, London. I let you leave my bed and my house because I love you. I let you in and I let you leave because I know you’re trying to fucking punish me. You’re constantly trying to hurt me, but I suffer and I deal, all to try to make up for what I did to you. I’m doing whatever I can to repair that fourth fucking wall, but baby, you’ve made it impossible for me.”
“Stop. Please,” The please leaves my mouth as a pained whisper. His words have knocked me back.
“I’m starting to think this,” he motions between the two of us, “will never be okay. I love you and you’re it for me, but I don’t think I believe anymore that you’ve ever loved me.” That couldn’t be further from the truth.
“I loved you,” I snap with conviction. I loved him until it broke me.
Dante
“I loved you,” she says. Past tense, meaning ‘not in the present.’ She loved me.
“It’s good to know that you loved me, I guess.” She wants to punish me, fine, but I’m no longer going to be Mr. Nice Guy and think about her feelings. She wants me to love her, I do, but it’ll be on my terms now. I’ve tried nice, and I’m over that shit.
“Love!” She yells, throwing her face in her hands. I’ve suffered enough, but she thinks that she’s the one who’s been fucked over. She’ll have to see that this world doesn’t revolve around her and her hurt fucking feelings. It’s London’s turn. I would have sharpened the knives and loaded the gun for her, willingly and happily given London whatever she wanted to hurt me with, just as long as I got her in the end. I’m not so fucking sure anymore.
“You fucking hurt me. Lied to me.” She says like I don’t already fucking know. I’ve replayed it all, over and over in my fucking head. I know exactly what I did and how I screwed it up.
“And I’m not denying that, but what the fuck has all this been for? You’ve punished me. You got your revenge on me, so I get it.”
“To show you. To make you pay. To make you feel like I did.”
“You don’t think you disappearing for six fucking weeks was enough? Don’t you think all the ‘I hate yous’ weren’t felt? How about you telling me you wished I would die. I’m well aware of the damage I’ve caused you London, and I’ve tried to fix it. I’ve tried to fix us.” Jesus, what more does she want from me? Does she want me on my knees, begging and pleading? She’s forced me into an unwinnable fight.
I’m finally starting to see that there is nothing I can do. She had no end game, no goal. It wasn’t going to be fifty fucking apologies and then she would finally accept. Ten miles crawled on my knees, pleading for her love and sympathy wouldn’t have done the trick. Nothing would have. London is fucking serious.
“So again I’ll ask you, what do you want?”
“I don’t know.” I’m not doing this with her any more. I’ll love her until I take my last breath, but I can’t do this anymore.
“Then I think it’s time you went home.”
Shutting the door on her with tears in her eyes was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I’m not living this sick and twisted tragedy anymore.
~~~~~
I hardly pay attention to the articles of clothing I’m cramming into my suitcase. My mind is still stuck on the look on London’s face when I shut the door on her. I don’t enjoy hurting her. It doesn’t make me feel good like it seems to make her, but I’m running out of options and shutting her out was the last thing I could think to do to get through to her.
We can’t continue on like we have been. Even I know it’s not healthy. As much as I want to follow her around and force her to be with me, I’m just not that mean. It’s not fair.
I have to let her go. If she wants me, she knows where to find me. She doesn’t have to beg and there are no hoops to jump through. I’ll be waiting for her, but I’ll no longer let her destroy me.
~~~~~
“Christ, how long is this flight?” Cam gripes next to me. Looking over at the small table in front of me, he eyes my untouched Scotch. “You gonna drink that?” Before I have the chance to answer him, he’s already pouring it back.
“By all means …”
“What is it that we’re even doing?” Josh pipes up from the seat behind mine.
“Business.”
“What about London?” Cam jibes. He knows talking about her serves to ruin my mood. Fucking prick loves to dig at wounds.
“She’s at home, alone.”
“Alone?” Is that skepticism I hear in his voice? Is he doubting my words?
“Are you insinuating that I’m lying?”
“Fuck yeah. You never leave that girl alone.” Yeah, well, things are different now and I’m trying a new gam
e.
“Mind your own goddamn business, Carmine.”
The flight’s been long and slow. Carmine’s been a nosey asshole and I can’t wait to get away from him. Nothing productive happened on the flight because he wouldn’t shut the fuck up about London. All I’ve managed to do is think about her, which almost had me telling the pilot to turn it around. I refrained and drank my emotions down with my Scotch.
“Are you going to stay on the plane all night?” Cam asks, grabbing my shoulder as he walks by, towards the door of the plane. “We landed, like, twenty minutes ago.” I need to get off this plane. I have business to attend to and sadly, London is not that business.
“Yeah.”
~~~~~
A few days without your vice is a test of anyone’s strength, but eight goddamn days are hell without it. I’m tired, hungry, and not in the mood for this shit.
I’ve searched high and I’ve searched low. London’s father has outrun me and that does terrible things to my ego. I pride myself on my ability to run people down, but the rat it quick.
I followed his trail halfway across the country to a blonde woman named Linda, his “girlfriend”. The asshole is circling London and it doesn’t make me comfortable. He’s building his army and he’s building his case. I know he’s waiting to strike and I just can’t have that.
That company doesn’t belong to me, really, but it sure the fuck doesn’t belong to that asshole, and I’ll do everything in my power to bring him down and keep him away from my world.
Thirteen
Miss Man-eater
London
“He just shut the door in your face?” Matt repeats slowly, mouth hanging open in shock. We’ve been replaying and discussing this for two days now and Matt still can’t comprehend it. Nodding sadly, I slump further into the couch, curling my feet under myself and tucking my blanket under my chin. I’m numb. I have no words or thoughts. Two days hasn’t helped at all.