by Roya Carmen
Did you get the flowers I sent?
—
I hope you like them.
—
I wasn’t sure if you like purple.
—
Can you reply when you have a chance?
—
Are you not getting these texts? Are you very busy?
—
I’d really love to know if you received the flowers.
—
How is Ethan? He’s a cute boy.
—
It’s been hours. I think you’re being kind of rude.
—
I’m sorry. I’m just impatient. Please text back when you have a chance.
Ten texts in three hours. I really need to deal with him.
Hi Samuel. Sorry, I’ve been swamped at work. Yes, I did get the flowers. They’re beautiful. Thank you so much.
I debate sending a happy face for the longest time. Finally I decide that yes, this definitely calls for a happy face.
:)
He replies a second later.
Glad to hear it. Can’t wait to see you again.
I blow out a breath. He’s obviously kind of obsessed with me. And I’m not doing him any favors by leading him on. I need to nip this in the bud. Right now.
I hate having to do this, but there’s no other play here. Ive been going to the group for weeks now, and I’ve gotten all I could get from it. I never really enjoyed it, and life is too short to do anything you don’t want to do, unless you really need to. And now, with Samuel’s infatuation, I think I’ll be doing everyone a favor if I leave.
My heart is heavy as I call him. He answers on the first ring.
“Hey, Gretchen. How are you?”
“I’m… great. Thanks so much for the flowers. They’re sitting on my kitchen table. They really brighten the room.”
“I’m glad you like them. I just wanted to thank you for coming over. I had a really good time.”
“Well, I’m the one who should thank you. I’m the one who enjoyed a nice home cooked meal.”
“So you liked my meatloaf? It’s my mother’s recipe.”
“Yes, it was great.”
“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”
My heart sinks. “Uh… about that. I was calling to thank you for the flowers, but also to let you know… I won’t be coming to the group anymore.”
A long painful silence fills the line.
“What?”
“Honestly… It’s not doing anything for me,” I try to explain. “You know how I hate it.”
“Well, I hate it too,” he points out. “But we both need it.”
“I don’t,” I argue. “I’m doing really well these days. Ethan is too.”
He sighs loud enough for me to hear. “Well, I think you’re making a huge mistake,” he scoffs. “You’ll regret this, Gretchen.”
My heart skips a beat. Is he threatening me? I really should end this conversation now before he gets more worked up. “I’m really sorry,” I tell him. “I really enjoyed our friendship. You’re a great guy. I gotta go now.”
Click.
Damn, I really could have handled that better. I’ve never been good at this kind of thing.
My phone rings. It’s him. I decline. He calls again. I decline. And again. And again.
Finally, I block his number. I have no other choice.
God, what a mess.
I walk into Weston’s office first thing in the morning.
“We need to make amendments to the agreement.”
He smiles. “Already done. I’ve taken out the ‘no undies’ and ‘no kissing’ clauses.”
“Oh, good.” I say, brought back to the day before. I glance over at the loveseat. I want to do that again, but this time, I want to take it further. I spent hours tossing and turning in my bed last night, imagining his mouth on my pussy. “Can we scratch the ‘no oral’ too?”
His beautiful mouth curves into a slow smile. “What the lady wants, the lady gets.”
I lean against his desk. “I guess all that’s left now is intercourse.”
“That’s right.”
“Okay… well,” I say awkwardly. “I should get back to work.”
He smiles. “Come here.”
Yes, Sir.
I walk over eagerly. He motions me around the desk, until I find myself standing next to him, between his legs again.
“Turn around.”
I spin like a top, and he grabs the skirt of my dress and pulls it up. “Wow. The bruise is still there. It’s yellow now.”
“Yes, I think you should kiss it better.”
He grabs my hips and pulls me toward him. He plants a soft kiss on my bruise. He licks a slow circle around it, and I almost faint from the pleasure.
Then he slaps me, and sends me on my way. Just like that.
Such a tease.
29
I’m a ball of nerves. All my work has culminated to this moment. Everything needs to be perfect. I’ve worn my most professional outfit, a two piece black Donna Karan skirt suit and sensible pumps. I’ve set the presentation on the dining room table; all the mock-up designs I’ve been working on these past few weeks. I make sure I have my notebook handy to jot down feedback if needed.
I check my phone. It’s 3:59 PM. They should be here any minute.
I check my email and Facebook accounts to kill time.
Finally, Rosetta makes an appearance. She’s wearing her Valentino suit, and her hair is up.
“Wow,” she says. “This looks good, Honey.”
“Thank you. Please have a seat.”
She settles comfortably in one of the upholstered chairs across from me. “Where are the donuts?”
“Pardon?”
“You host a meeting, you need to have donuts… or muffins or something.”
I laugh. “You’re kidding again?”
“Yep, I’m joshing. Are you going to offer me coffee or tea?”
“No… I think you can get your own. This isn’t that kind of meeting.”
She shrugs. “Well, if that’s how it’s going to be.” She struggles to get up.
“I’m so sorry,” I’m quick to say. I’d momentarily forgotten about her broken ankle. “I’ll get you a coffee. Two sugars right?”
I quickly go fetch Rosetta a coffee, and we’re both smiling when Weston shows up.
“I’m here,” he announces, and I steal a glance. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and I suddenly feel overdressed.
“I was helping out at Lizzie’s school,” he explains. “I didn’t get the chance to change.”
“No worries. You look fine.” More than fine.
“Wow, these are fantastic, Gretchen.”
I blush a little. “Thank you.”
He sits right next to me, and leans over the table, diligently studying the designs; the logo, business card, informative flyer, website template, and so forth. Rosetta also seems quite riveted. They exchange boards and compare. They argue over some aspects of the designs. Rosetta favors the first, and Weston prefers the third. I also have a preference for the third design.
The conversation is lively, and the room full of energy. Weston in particular, seems wired up. He pulls his chair closer to mine and presses a hand over my knee. I stifle a smile.
He slowly slips a hand under the fabric of my skirt. I should tell him to stop, but I don’t. I should really pull his hand away but I don’t. “This one is softer,” he tells Rosetta.
“Yeah, but this one pops more,” she argues.
He travels further up, reaching my sweet spot. I close my eyes for a second. “Remember the emotions we’re trying to convey here. Calmness, hope, serenity…”
Rosetta shrugs. “I suppose.”
He rubs my pussy over my panties. God, it feels good, but it needs to stop. I reluctantly pull his hand away, and he shoots me a wicked smile.
He doesn’t try to get fresh with me again, and the rest of the meeting flows smoothly. We all agree on a design, an
d I’m free to proceed with the official design of the different components of the campaign.
I follow Rosetta out of the dining room. Weston nips at my heels, and slaps me on the bum as we turn the corner.
I laugh inside. The man is incorrigible.
“Hey, Dad,” Ashton calls out. “You wanna go shoot some hoops?”
Weston has the kids this week, and they’ve been around in the late afternoon. They’re usually glued to their phones, heads buried in the refrigerator, lounging on the living room sectional, but often, they stay in their rooms. I guess they're at that age when kids need their privacy.
“Sure,” Weston says. “I can spare an hour.”
The goddess walks into the kitchen, and I freeze. I study her as she hands Weston some papers. “The latest bill from the orthodontist. He says Lizzie needs to brush her teeth better. You need to really stay on top of her.”
Lizzie manages to both scowl and pout as she leaves.
“Thanks,” he says. “I don’t believe you’ve met Gretchen yet.”
This woman is larger than life. Bleach blonde and beautiful, and impeccably dressed. She’s almost as tall as Weston in high black Louboutin heels, the red bottoms striking. How can she even walk in those? I study the pumps more carefully. They appear to have a platform which probably helps. Perhaps, she has a long foot and a high arch. I’m fascinated.
I’m still staring when she offers her hand. “Hello, I’m Bridget,” she says in a sultry voice. “Weston’s ex-wife.”
“Uh…” I’m speechless. Even her voice is sexy. “I’m Gretchen… I work here.” And your ex-husband spanks me occasionally.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” she says. “I hope Weston is not working you too hard.”
I blush.
“Oh, he’s working her hard all right,” Rosetta pipes in.
Oh, God, Rosetta. Go away.
“How are you, Rosetta?” Bridget asks very politely.
“You know… same old.”
Bridget nods, and an awkward silence fills the kitchen.
“Well, I need to go file these papers,” Weston says, and he’s gone in a flash.
How dare him leave me alone in the kitchen with the ex-wife. Thankfully, Rosetta is here to break the ice.
“So what exactly do you do here?” Bridget asks, clearly curious.
“I’m here on a six month contract,” I explain. “I’m working on the branding for Mr. Hanson’s new charity.”
“Oh… that’s great.”
“She’s really good,” Rosetta chimes in. “Isn’t she adorable?”
Bridget’s gaze travels from the top of my head, down to my vintage Chanel heels and back up again. Her assessment is cool and deliberate, but when our eyes meet again, she smiles. “I like your hair.”
“Oh… thanks,” I say, not sure if she’s being genuine or not.
“I could never get away with that. Us professionals need to keep it bland. My work is boring that way.”
Us professionals? What does she think I am. Some willy-nilly flaky artist? Well, I kind of am. On some days.
She shrugs. “Well, I best be going. I have a yoga class. It was very nice to meet you, Gillian.”
“It’s Gretchen,” I say, annoyed. “It was nice to meet you too, Bernadette,” I say sweetly. “Uh… sorry, I meant Bridget.” What can I say? My snarkiness sometimes knows no bounds.
She throws us both a forced smile as she leaves the kitchen. I smirk and wave goodbye.
“I’m kind of in love with you,” Rosetta whispers as soon as Bridget is gone. “I love how you just gave her a dose of her own medicine.”
I laugh.
“She’s such a witch,” she goes on. “So snobby.”
“Why don’t you like her?” I ask, secretly glad the ex-wife is not revered.
“Well, she didn’t like me as a hire when I first started. She thought Mr. Hanson could do with a classier assistant. I overheard their conversation. He fought for me, despite her many arguments. I’ve hated her ever since.”
“No shit…. bitch.”
“You’re all right, Honey.” She pats me on the shoulder. “Great work on the designs by the way.”
I wonder how many germs are living on the play structure as I watch Ethan climb a tunnel. Another small boy, about his size, follows him into the tunnel. They’re both having a blast. Oh… to be young again, and so easily entertained. I can’t remember the last time I was so excited about something. Actually, I can. I get that excited anytime Weston is around.
Perhaps that’s the attraction. It’s the excitement, the taboo of it all, the sneaking around. I feel like I’m a teenager again. He makes my heart race.
I sip my shake and stare at Ethan’s uneaten McNugget. He loves it here. We come here about once a week. It’s tradition. I usually get a Big Mac or a Junior chicken, and he loves the nuggets with sweet and sour sauce.
I check my phone out of pure boredom. Nothing. Thankfully, there are no more texts from Samuel since I’ve blocked him. No emails from Weston either. He’s not much of a texter. He’s very old-school. Sometimes I forget that he’s about ten years older than me. That’s almost a whole decade. I’m a millennial, and he’s Gen X. Or is it Gen Y? I should Google it.
After what seems like hours, Ethan finally tires out and we head home.
We walk to Orchard Heights, hand in hand. It’s a long slow walk, but the exercise is good for the both of us. He’s exhausted when we finally get home. I’m carrying him in my arms as I toy with the door lock, but strangely enough, it’s not locked.
“No bath tonight.” I lead him to the washroom. “But we need to do the three things. What are the three things, Ethan?”
“Pee, hand… and brush teeth,” he cheers proudly.
“Good boy… you remembered.”
I help him brush his teeth and wash his hands, and then following a little encouragement, he does a big pee for me. I carry him to his bedroom and take off his clothes. He’s practically sleeping already as I slip on his pajamas.
I kiss him goodnight and smile all the way to my bedroom. He might not be having a bath, but I sure am. It’s been another long day.
I flip the light switch, and my whole body freezes.
Samuel is sitting on my bed.
30
My heart hammers as I try to process what I’m seeing. I want to move, get the hell out of there, but I’m rooted to the floor.
“You left me no choice, Gretchen. You blocked me on your phone. You won’t show up at group. I needed to see you.”
I feel suddenly very dizzy. “How… d-did… you get in here?” I finally manage.
“Easy peasy. I have my ways.”
The man is a security expert and has a history of breaking into residences and businesses. Of course he has his ways.
He rises from the bed and moves toward me.
I bolt. I run in Ethan’s room direction, but before I can reach his door, Samuel grabs a hold of me. He slaps a hand over my mouth. “Be quiet.”
I struggle to free myself, to no avail. Samuel is a large man, much bigger than me.
“Stop wiggling or I’ll hurt you.”
My limbs tremble. They feel like putty. And I finally settle down. My brain is whirling, struggling to come up with an escape plan.
“Now we’re going to walk back to your bedroom,” he breathes into my ear. I’m dizzy with confusion. How can this seemingly normal man be doing this?
As soon as we’re back in my bedroom, he closes the door and locks it.
“Help!” I scream at the top of my lungs.
He grabs me again, and covers my mouth. “Shut the fuck up, bitch.”
My pulse speeds up as my gaze darts around the room for weapons. The red vase, the bedside lamps, the glass jewelry box.
“Lay down on the bed,” he barks. “If you make another peep, I swear I’ll strangle you.”
I’m still frozen, still struggling to process the situation. It’s more than my brain can handl
e.
“Now,” he scoffs.
I’m breathless as I obey him and scurry to the bed. I shake uncontrollably as I imagine the worst. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a rope.
My stomach turns to stone. I can’t let him tie me up. If he does, I lose all control. I bounce from the bed, and he grabs me again. I squirm. I put up a good fight. We both struggle on the floor. “Help!” I scream again. “Someone help!”
I manage to escape his grasp and I slither on the floor. I reach for my bedside lamp. In the flash of a second, I’m brought back to the day Donovan and I chose the bedroom lamps. We’d argued endlessly about them. I thought they were too heavy, too medieval, but he argued that they would man-up the room, and he’d made a good point. I finally conceded and let him have his lamps.
I grab the lamp so hard and fast, the electric cord rips off the wall. I bang Samuel on the head repeatedly, over and over again, with a force I didn’t even know I possessed. He’s turned me into a crazy woman. It’s the fight or flight instinct. I bash his face in, and blood splatters all over my floor. It doesn’t scare me, it relieves me. I’m winning. I’m surviving.
When I’m sure I’ve finally beaten him into submission, I attempt to stand, but my legs are too shaky. I crawl to the door instead. My hands are trembling as I try to turn the door knob. When I finally open the door, Ethan is standing on the other side, and his eyes widen in fear when he sees me. I wrap my arms around him. “It’s okay, Ethan. Mommy is okay.”
The feel of his touch calms me, and my nerves settle just a little. I’m able to stand. I pick him up, and run straight out of there. I run straight to Abigail’s — she’s the closest.
I’m still shaking when she answers the door. Her jaw drops when she sees us. “What the hell is going on?”
I push my way inside. “Lock the door.”
“What’s going on, Gretchen?”
“I need to call 911.”
“What the heck is going on?”
“You know Samuel?” I ask. “Well, I-I found him…” My voice cracks. “I… found him in my bedroom.”
She studies me with wide eyes. “No way.”