“Now, that’s classic,” I say. “That’s what you always say when you can’t come up with anything better.”
“What do you want me to say?!” Tom screams at the top of his lungs.
His voice is loud and booming and it sends shivers down my spine.
“What do you want, Ellie?!” Tom booms again.
His voice echoes over the treetops and disappears somewhere far over the ocean. Even though there’s a party raging inside with some background music, it suddenly occurs to me that someone inside can probably hear him.
“I don’t want anything,” I say quietly and turn on my heels to leave.
I need to simmer this situation down.
“Where are you going?” Tom follows me.
He jumps in front of me, blocking me from going inside.
I decide to turn around and head down the steps instead. But again, he catches up with me.
“What do you want, Tom?” I ask.
“I want you,” he says as a matter of fact.
“Well, you can’t have me. I’m with someone else. And even if I weren’t…we’re not good together, Tom.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because we fight all the time. We disagree.”
“Do you and Aiden not fight? C’mon, if you fight, that’s how you know you care.”
“No, that’s not true. That’s bullshit, Tom. Aiden and I disagree, but we don’t fight. I don't have to prove anything to him. And he doesn’t have to prove anything to me. Besides, it’s not about you and Aiden. It’s about me. I don't want you, Tom.”
The words sound much harsher coming out of my mouth than I really meant for them to sound, but I stand by them. I look straight into Tom’s eyes and refuse to look away. I have to get him to get this part. I have to make him understand.
The expression on his face softens a bit. Finally, I think, he’s getting it.
“Fuck you, Ellie,” he says after a moment.
Okay, maybe not.
“Okay, fine,” I say, walking around him and down the path toward our cottage.
“Fuck you, Ellie!” Tom yells after me. I pray that he doesn’t follow me and, for the moment, my prayers seem to be answered.
“And you know what else, I hope your book fails. I hope it is the piece of shit that you’re afraid it is.”
I shake my head when I hear this.
I can’t believe that these words are coming out of the mouth of someone I once cared about very deeply.
Of all people out there, only Tom knows how important my writing is to me.
And here he is shitting all over it.
Wow, what a loser. What a pathetic person he has become.
Tom continues to shout as I close the door to the guesthouse behind me.
At the end, I can’t make out any of his words anymore, but I know that they’re full of bile and hate. And I can’t have that around me anymore.
I deserve better.
Still, knowing all that doesn’t change how I feel. I sit down on the edge of the bed and bury my head in my hands.
Tears start flowing and there’s nothing I can do to stop them.
Chapter 4 - Ellie
When things start to look up…
Back at the cottage, I lose track of time.
At first, I plan to only be here for a few minutes, but my eyes refuse to dry. I continue to cry until all of my makeup is smeared and I have big black circles around my eyes.
I don’t know exactly why I’m crying so much. I mean I know that Tom was just drunk and probably didn’t mean even half the things that he had said to me.
But I also don’t care. I’m done coming up with excuses for his bad behavior and for his hurtful words. He sees me only as he wants to see me, not as I really am, and maybe I see him the same way.
Maybe, that’s why I was still hanging on to this idea of us that I’d had since college. Maybe it’s all an illusion. In any case, I need to accept that Tom is no longer the friend I’d had all those years and that’s a difficult thing to lose in the course of a night.
When I finally get a hold of my emotions, I head to the bathroom to take a look at the damage that I’ve done with all of my tears.
My face is red and splotchy. My eyeliner and mascara are completely smudged all over my eyes all the way to my eyebrow line.
The remnants around my lash line are making their way into my eyes, creating a burning sensation that makes it feel like I have a thousand little tiny razor blades slicing at my corneas. I turn on the water and splash some on my face.
I take a small hand towel, soak it in lukewarm water, and then wipe every bit off my face. When I finally look in the mirror again, I’m no longer such a mess.
Unfortunately, all the crying has left a mark that will probably be difficult to cover up completely, even with a full face of makeup.
Just as I’m deciding what to do next, put on makeup again and return to the party, or just stay here for the rest of the night, Aiden walks through the door. His demeanor is upbeat and he has a wide smile on his beautiful face.
“Hey, babe,” he says, giving me a kiss on my forehead. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Everything about his sunny disposition disappears in a second and is quickly replaced by a look of concern and worry.
“No, nothing,” I say.
“You look like you’ve been crying.”
Dammit.
I really thought I could just get away with saying that my makeup was bothering me and that’s why I had to take it off. Why does he have to be so observant?
I try to play down what happened with Tom by just going over the big points.
“He tried to kiss you?” Aiden asks. “And then he told you to fuck off? What an asshole.”
Okay, maybe leaving out most of the details wasn’t such a bright idea, I decide.
“Listen, none of that matters, okay? I took care of it. We don’t have to make it a thing.”
“Of course it’s a thing, Ellie. I mean, who does he think he is saying those things to you?”
“I don’t know,” I say. I walk up closer to him and put my arms around his shoulders. “But it’s all over. It’s between me and Tom. I don’t want you to get into a fight over this or anything else. I don’t even want you talking to him.”
“I don’t know.” Aiden shrugs me off, clearly angry.
“Please. I mean, we’re here as guests of his fiancée’s parents. I don't want this to get worse. Plus, he’s really wasted. So, I don't even know if he will remember any of this in the morning.”
Aiden shakes his head, pacing around the room.
I feel myself getting through to him because he is a sensible person who isn’t one to fly off the handle at a moment’s notice.
Aiden isn’t a hothead, and that’s what I love about him. I know that he cares about me but that doesn’t mean that he has to start fights for no reason.
Especially, when there is actually no reason to start one. What happened between Tom and me is between Tom and me.
“You seemed to be in such a good mood when you first walked in.” I try to change the subject. “Did you want to tell me something?”
I wait patiently for Aiden to respond and after a few moments, he eventually does. “Actually, yes, I did have some good news.”
“Really?” I ask, my eyes light up. I really could use some good news right about now.
“Well, I had that private chat with Robert in his study,” Aiden says. “And he seems very interested in investing in Owl.”
“Really?” Oh my God, I can’t believe it.”
“Well, nothing’s official yet. But I went over the basics and his eyes definitely didn’t glaze over like many other people I’ve spoken to. He has invested in a few other tech companies and has been on the lookout for a bigger fish for quite some time.”
“Oh, wow, that’s awesome news, Aiden,” I say, wrapping my hands around his neck and giving him a big wet kiss on the lips.
&
nbsp; He reciprocates and buries his strong hands in my hair, tugging slightly until I let out a moan.
“But what about all that’s been going on with the other investors pulling out? Does he know about that?” I ask in between my kisses.
“Yes, somewhat. I mean, he’s pretty up to date on everything they’ve been covering on the news. I went over the details with him, but he didn’t seem phased, which is pretty awesome.”
“I know.” I kiss him again. He kisses me back and pushes me down onto the bed. We lose ourselves in our bodies for a few minutes until I say, “but what about the party? Shouldn’t we go back?”
“Maybe in a bit,” Aiden says. “No one is going to miss us.”
I don’t believe him for a second, but I can’t push him away that easily.
I want him.
I need him.
I crave him.
And suddenly, nothing else matters.
Chapter 5 - Ellie
After the party…
After Aiden comes to the cottage and tells me all the good news about what Robert said and his interest in investing and saving Owl, we are supposed to go back to the party.
That’s why we’re here after all.
That’s why we came all the way to Maine - to meet all the fabulous people that Tom, Caroline, and her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Warrenhouse, know.
We’re at their annual fall party in their sprawling 1890’s Queen Anne estate overlooking the vast Atlantic Ocean, and it would be rude not to go back to the party. I know all of these things. Of course, I do.
And yet, when I look into Aiden’s fierce eyes and see that mischievous way that he’s looking at me at this point, I know that he has other plans. And I know that I won’t be able to resist.
“I want you,” he whispers.
“I want you, too,” I say, but try to get away.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“We can’t just stay here. There’s the party—“
“Oh, who cares? They won’t miss us.”
I’m not so sure that’s true, but when Aiden wraps his arms around me and licks my ear lobe, I suddenly forget all obligations. I feel his thick cock pushing into my back and I get wet.
“I want you, now,” he says. But before he even makes a move, I lunge at him and we collide. Our mouths slide over each other. He lifts me up and wraps my legs around his hips. He carries me, stumbling, to the couch in the corner of the room. Right when we get there, we collapse under our combined weight.
I find myself sprawled underneath him. Suddenly, I’m naked from the bottom down. My dress is around my waist. I try to catch my breath, but he slides to his knees and opens my legs. This time, he isn’t slow or deliberate.
He is rushed and impatient. He has to have me right now. He licks me a few times and then shoves his cock inside of me. I get wet immediately and open up for him. He massages my clit as I open my hips wider and wider to welcome him even deeper.
“Aiden!” I moan, digging my fingers into the couch. He pushes my shoulders into the couch and pushes his body away from me. He’s holding me perfectly still and having his way with me.
“Ellie.” He leans down over me. He covers my mouth with his and our tongues collide. His movements speed up and he burrows himself deeper inside of me with each lunge forward.
“You’re mine,” he mumbles.
He wants to possess me and the thought of that drives my lust up the wall.
My body quickens and tightens with each thrust.
Suddenly, his body erupts in a loud groan as he comes inside of me.
I hold him close as he climaxes, running my fingers over the protruding muscles in his back.
When he’s done, he sighs deeply and pulls out my breast and pops it into his mouth.
He stays in me for some time, licking my nipples. When he does eventually pull out, he only does it to reposition himself.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Well, you didn’t think we were done yet, did you?” he asks. He lies flat on his back and pushes me on top of him. His cock is not as hard as before, but it quickly grows in strength.
“How are you so hard?” I ask.
“I’m always hard for you.”
Aiden cups my breasts and closes his eyes. He starts to move his hips to nudge me and quickly I take over.
“Come for me,” he says and that pushes me over the edge.
I start to whimper and moan as the orgasm comes much faster than I ever expected it to.
Much faster than before. It rolls through me like a wave of pleasure.
I clench my thighs and hope I don’t fall off.
But he’s holding me tight, even as my body goes limp from all the warmth and pleasure that just rushed through every last bit of it.
As I collapse on top of him, time stands still and nothing else exists or matters in this moment but us.
After we make love, I can’t sleep.
My mind is going a million miles a minute, and I feel like I just downed a can of energy drink.
I look over at Aiden.
He has the exact opposite reaction to sex.
His arms are wrapped tightly around me, but his eyelids are heavy and droopy.
He can barely register what I’m saying and doesn’t really respond.
He’s falling asleep.
Fast.
I don’t mind.
I give him a brief peck on the forehead and extricate myself from him.
I push his arms back to himself and pull the covers tightly around him.
He’s so beautiful when he sleeps; it actually causes me pain to look at him. But a good kind of pain.
Since it already feels like it’s the middle of winter outside, I get dressed as soon as I get up and wrap myself tightly in a scarf that I brought for the occasion.
Despite the cold, my body feels so antsy that I consider going outside.
But I don't want to put on a coat and boots just quite yet.
Instead, I do a few stretches and yoga moves to calm myself down.
Reaching up to the sky and around for three sun salutations, I immediately feel a little bit more at ease.
I close my eyes with each deep, deliberate breath, and when I open them again, they focus on one thing on the far side of the room.
My laptop.
My fingers almost ache to open it.
No, I shouldn't do it, right?
I should just get back into bed, snuggle up to Aiden, and try to sleep.
But when I look back at him and how comfortable and gorgeous he looks sleeping, I know that I won’t be able to fall asleep.
Not yet.
No, what I really want to do right now is write. What’s wrong with that? I mean, why can’t I?
Deciding not to fight my urges anymore, I sit down at the desk and open my laptop.
Typically, if I’m procrastinating and wasting time, I first check my emails.
Then I read some news. Then I take some quizzes on BuzzPost. Then I read some useless celebrity gossip on sites like Daily Mail and US Weekly.
But tonight is different.
None of those things interest me much at all.
No, instead, all I want to do is open the last thing I’ve written for Auctioned Off and continue the story of us.
It’s as if I need to get it down to make sure that I don’t forget anything. It’s as if it has to be written to make it real.
When my writing is going well, there’s a flow to it. There’s nothing more natural and easy. I simply put my hand to the keyboard and words just come out.
Sometimes, I can’t type fast enough to actually catch up with what I’m trying to say.
The world outside stops existing and I lose all sense of time and place. The words and the characters on the page are the only things that exist.
I don’t even stop long enough to wonder if I exist. I know I don’t.
Instead, I’m simply a vessel for the muse. I am the physical being writing down
what is going on out there between the two of them.
The reality between fiction and real life blurs so much that when my characters suffer, I suffer.
When they are happy, I am happy.
When they cry, I cry.
When my writing is going well, it becomes so much more meaningful than what’s going on out here.
Except that this story is different, of course.
This story isn’t fiction.
It’s the truth.
It’s what really happened between Aiden and me. Here, I’m not making anything up.
What I experienced is exactly what’s in the story. And that makes the writing even more meaningful, in a way.
I can live through those moments I cherished and those moments that terrified me again and again.
As I write, I don't really know where I’m headed with this book. I don’t have an outline or a plan.
Instead, I simply sit at the keyboard and bleed onto the page. I’m using fake names, but the characters are us. And will always be us.
Suddenly, a strong pang of fear hits me. I tense up for a moment and consider the question.
Will I be strong enough to write the truth even when it’s not something pleasant anymore?
I mean, the way that Aiden and I met was exciting and enticing. But what about what happened with Blake?
Will I be able to write the truth about what he did to me?
And what he’s now doing to Owl?
I’m still a bit off from there, but those moments are coming. Especially, if I intend to write the whole truth as it happened. Is a pseudonym enough of a protection to tell the truth and keep what is private between us?
I don’t know the answers to these questions. The more I think about that, the more questions I come up with, without many accompanying answers.
Eventually, I decide to put these feelings aside and focus on the task at hand.
I write for almost two solid hours and my hands ache when I stop. I have been typing too fast and for too long. I rub my wrists to relieve some of the pressure as I scroll through the pages that I’ve written. The words aren’t perfect, of course.
It’s just the first draft.
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