by May Bridges
Hell, why did I let that happen? I gave myself to someone, not something I’d done in a while. A stranger, one who didn’t even finish. Watching him drop an empty condom into the trash by the bed was further proof, and for some reason it made me more ashamed. I’d taken what I needed, every twisted bit, and he wasn’t even interested enough in me to try and orgasm too.
I must’ve looked like a pathetic mess, welted and twitching on the bed. Please, stranger, beat me, make me bleed, and then screw me ’til I forget everything. I was sure he thought I wasn’t right in the head. He might have been correct. He was offering to clean me out of courtesy. I knew it wasn’t because he wanted to be there any longer. He would have at least taken the time to orgasm if that had been the case.
“Just go,” I whispered.
“I don’t think—”
“Go!”
Cade left without another word. When the door clicked shut I closed my eyes. Lying naked in the soft gold light, I focused on the way the cold loft air stung my skin. I still felt his hands on me, on my hips, digging for purchase on my skin, long after he left. My body ached because of him, for him. It wasn’t supposed to be that way.
I’d gotten the release I needed from him, the release I found in the pain, a taste of my drug of choice, but his presence shouldn’t have lingered on me. It should’ve been the aftereffects of the pain I was riding out, not the high of the pleasure he’d given me. I knew it was because I took it further, let him inside me. But that’s how drugs are, right? You only need a little at first, and then a little more.
I didn’t start my love affair with pain by letting men put a cane to me. It started small. Hair pulling, biting. But like any drug, after a while that wasn’t enough to get me high. I needed more, a paddle, a clamp. I never thought there’d be anything past the cane, but as I let Cade sink into me, I knew I’d found a new level. The pain alone wouldn’t be enough anymore, and like a junkie after the first needle, I feared I was hooked.
I woke hours later, sober. My high was gone, both from pain and pill. Jack had deserted me too. Not that there was an absence of physical ache. It was vivid with every twist of my body, burning through both skin and muscle. I took another moment to absorb the chill of the satin sheets before trying to right myself again.
I usually took pain in smaller amounts for fear of overdosing. I’d reached a new limit with Cade. It was either a proud triumph, or a sick fact. I chose to believe the former. It was the only thing I had to be proud of from that night.
I hated the first conscious thoughts when I was solidly myself and sober after a night of being June. Feelings swirled like the inside of a washing machine, none of them good: ashamed, dirty, sick, numb, lost.
I was thrust back into my world sober, left to pick out the pieces of who I wanted to be. The pieces left after that night with Cade were dark. What I did to clients was one thing, a job. When I asked for it, and a lot more, in return? That’s a different beast. It’s the dark parts of who I am, who I’m scared to admit that I am, seeping through the facade.
These sections of my life existed on different spectrums. Who I needed to be for others to keep up appearances and who I was still denying I was couldn’t exist in the same space. Much longer, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to let any piece of it go. Maybe I’d always be a mosaic of fractured parts.
Pushing off the bed, my arms shook. I stumbled past my torn underwear on the floor and into the bathroom. A tight want gathered in the pit of my stomach at the idea of my fitted skirt sliding over my welted flesh. New pain was a new high, but I wasn’t entirely sure I could handle it. It had been so long since my body was in that kind of pain. Either way, bending to get the damn thing on seemed impossible, so into my purse it went. Limping down to my car I looked like a C-class hooker in my green bathrobe and heels. Good thing it was dark and no neighbors were in the building halls.
The car stereo read 4 AM. Reaching for my phone I cursed myself for not letting Cade clean the cane marks. They really did have to be cleaned. I couldn’t reach them myself to do it. There was only one other person to ask, so I pulled out my phone.
Where r you?
Denny’s getting breakfast before bed. What’s up?
Meet me at my house when you’re done?
Be right there.
How long had it been since I’d needed Rachel to do this? I couldn’t recall. During my experiments with pain, back in college when I started exploring ways I could be touched without freaking out, I’d ended up with all manner of bumps, scrapes, and bruises. Rachel saw them all during our various stages of dress and undress, getting ready to go to the clubs. We had a don’t ask, don’t tell policy on the issue. Still, I hated to have to ask her and didn’t think of much else on the drive back.
It was a relief to be home in my Highland Park apartment, and away from the loft. Its white walls, light fabrics, and airy feeling seemed worlds away from the dim lights, solid surfaces, and dark walnut woods of the loft.
Mr. Heart was there to greet me, rubbing against my legs, thinking no less of me for what I had done that night. That was part of his appeal, very nonjudgmental.
I dragged myself into my bedroom, losing the robe and heels along the way. The carpet felt good on my sore feet. Not wanting the sting of a shower on the cane marks just yet, I cleaned up with a washcloth. Rachel would be able to clean them better than I could. I twisted to see the marks in the full-length mirror. I had no idea how Rachel thought I usually ended up marked, but these were clearly lashes, plain and simple.
I wished I hadn’t texted her when I laid out over my favorite fluffy, white-and-yellow poppy-covered comforter. The cotton was cooled by the early morning air through my bedroom windows. The world outside was quiet, only crickets and the occasional frog. I laid down and breathed it in for a bit, dozing off.
* * *
“What the hell!” Rachel shrieked at the sight of me laid out in my underwear on my bed. She kicked off her strappy stilettos in the doorway and rushed to me, almost sitting on Mr. Heart. He cast her a disdainful look and moved to lie on the yellow pillow by my head. Rachel smelled like vodka, Old Spice, and maple syrup.
“I need your help cleaning them.” I kept my tone light.
“You need help, Alex, but it’s not that kind of help. I know I’m not supposed to ask, but really? You expect me to come in and see you like this and be okay with it? It looks like someone beat you with a damn stick.”
“I’m okay with it, Rach. That’s what you need to know.” After fifteen years of being the other half of the Rach and Alex duo, I had mastered staying calm in the face of her outrage.
“Then you’re a crazy bitch. Nothing about the way you look right now is okay.”
Rachel stomped to the bathroom. She slammed my drawers and medicine cabinet with undue force. “Did a man do this to you?” she yelled from the other room. “Do you need me to kill someone for you? Hell, Alex, tell me something so I’m not going crazy over here.”
An image of Rachel attacking Cade popped in my head, her long blond hair whipping around like a superhero’s. There was something amusing about the idea.
“Would you tell me if you were in trouble? At least answer that.” Rachel stood next to the bed with a tube of ointment in one hand and a steaming coral washcloth balled in her other fist.
“Yes, I would tell you if I was in trouble. I know it looks bad, but we’ve been here before and—”
“No! We have not been here before. We’ve been a lot of places. I’ve seen all sorts of weird shit on you. Last time I saw marks like these I told myself I wouldn’t keep doing this for you if I ever saw them again. It has been so long that I thought—hoped, whatever it was—you’d moved past it. This is so much worse than last . . . last time.” Her yelling broke into tears and she sank onto the bed next to me.
I turned, gingerly, to my side to rub her back. “It’s okay, Rach. I’m okay.” I didn’t know if my words were true, but she needed to hear them.
I’d
told Rach I was okay when she found me crying in the girls bathroom my freshman year of high school. The junior I’d asked to the Sadie Hawkins dance had not only turned me down, but mortified me in the packed school hallway. I told Rach I was okay when she kicked a soccer ball into my face our senior year of high school, sure my nose was broken. I told her I was okay our sophomore year of college when she found me in our dorm room covered in vomit. I’d downed a fifth of Southern Comfort after a particularly bad night.
I had been telling Rachel I was okay for years, never really knowing if it was true.
Rachel cleaned my welts with tears hanging in her eyes, making the blue sparkle. She finished as the morning sun began brightening the room ever so slightly, then curled up next to me, still in last night’s shimmering party dress. She was all long legs and arms tangling around me, careful not to press against the welts.
I liked sleeping with Rachel. She was a cuddler. The feeling of her wrapped around me was comforting, and because it was Rachel, there was nothing threatening about it. It was the contact I denied myself from anyone else, and I finally relaxed.
Chapter Six
Saturday afternoon sun bathed my bedroom through the sheer teal curtains, waking me. The soft light helped to wash away my dark night. Rachel was snoring, strands of blond thrown over her face, and she had been drooling on my pillow. Mr. Heart was curled up half on my head, half on my pillow. He pushed his flat, orange face into mine, rubbing it across my forehead. It was the best good morning you could get.
Advil. It was the first clear thought I had. My muscles were sore from clenching, my skin tender from the cane, and between my legs ached from Cade. Hell, Cade. I regretted that. Not that it wasn’t good sex, it was. Best I’d had in a long time. Shit, the only I’d had in a long time. Still, I shouldn’t have taken it there. I might not have if the news that Robert had been using me, and not actually looking for Becker, hadn’t sent my world crashing down.
Damn it, I still couldn’t process it, like some part of my brain was set on rejecting the idea. Robert had known where Becker was the whole time. I knew what kind of man Robert was, the kind that would do just that, but he hadn’t always been that way. I was naive perhaps, but I thought our past dictated that I be treated differently.
I took some Advil, leaving a few by the full coffeepot with a note for Rachel. She would be expecting to find them there, as was our routine. The idea of pulling rough denim jeans over my welted ass wasn’t appealing that afternoon. I chose a soft blue cotton sundress instead. With the day’s destination, it was necessary to strap my S&W to my thigh under the dress. I didn’t fear Robert, ever, but I couldn’t say as much for the company he kept.
I headed out on the I-30. Robert had a place between Dallas and Fort Worth. There was a conversation we needed to have, and it couldn’t wait. It was time for June to die.
I’d known Robert almost as long as I’d known Rachel. Since before high school, when he had zits and I wore braces. We met after my eighth grade year. I thought the world of him then. My mother hated him, hated all of the kids I hung around. They were the kids from the wrong neighborhood, kids that went to the wrong schools and didn’t show up at church service. Mama saw lower class trash. I saw potential, especially in Robert.
Looking back on it, I think I wanted to save him. I might have been wrong about which of us needed saving.
Pulling up outside the gates of his brick home, I hit the call button and smiled to the camera. The buzzer sounded a moment later. The front door was opened before I knocked. Mike, Robert’s right hand, let me in.
“Robert home?” I asked, stepping into the white marble foyer.
“In his office. You have business with Rob today?” His deep baritone voice shook through me. Mike was big. Scary big.
“Yeah.” I nodded and walked past him. I hated answering to Robert’s goons.
There was a small collection of men gathered on the leather sofas in the living room, eyes fixed on the big screen, volume cranked up on the first person shooter game they were playing. The sound of an automatic weapon drummed through the space. They didn’t look my way. Robert had made it clear to the guys that I was off limits. Most of the time they didn’t acknowledge me at all. With the exception of Mike.
I heard Mike’s heavy footsteps fast behind me as I entered the hall. I doubted Robert would be happy with him if I reached his office door and let myself in before Mike got there.
Mike caught me, stopping me with a large, dark hand on my shoulder as my hand hit the office doorknob. He didn’t say anything, but narrowed his eyes and pushed me back a step. After knocking and poking his head in, he opened the door for me. I narrowed my eyes and gave him a smirk as I walked past.
Robert’s office was presidential, white with thick crown molding and gold fixtures that caught the eye. The door clicked closed behind me and the sight of Robert, beautiful as ever in his suit and tie, held me where I stood. He sat behind a large, heavy redwood desk and tilted his head forward, lips pressing into his laced fingers in front of him. Dark gold locks fell forward onto his forehead.
For a moment, when his admiring gaze met mine, he wasn’t the monster I’d come to confront. He was the boy who first stole my young heart with a kiss in the back of an old barn. I was fifteen again, and he was the boy who looked at me with wonder.
The subtle motion of a man shifting his weight brought me back to where I was. Men in baggy jeans and muscle shirts leaned against the walls like they were holding them up. It brought the reality of where I was, and the company there, back into focus.
“That’s the bitch.” Twitch popped out of a high-backed chair in front of Robert’s desk. The top of his lip was mangled from connecting with Cade’s fist and his cheek was purple from my S&W. The sight piqued a sadistic joy in my chest. Thinking of Cade renewed the ache between my legs.
Twitch stormed toward me. “Ain’t no one here to save you now, cunt.”
I glanced to Robert, who seemed content to watch things unfold. My S&W, strapped above the hem of my sundress, was level with Twitch’s head by the time he reached me. And I was, once again, thankful to have it. Twitch put the brakes on, pulling up short. Fury flamed in his dull brown eyes at the sight of it.
“Stupid bitch. You ain’t shit without that gun.” He was close enough that I could smell his foul breath. “You can put it down and I can show you how we handle hookers like you around here.” True to his name, Twitch bounced up and down and fidgeted.
My answer was to pull back the slide. He might’ve been right that without it I didn’t have much of a chance against him, but I did have it.
Twitch jutted a finger in my direction and opened his mouth to speak.
“Enough.” Robert struck the desk with his fist, rattling it. “Sit down, both of you.” Robert gestured to the high-backed leather chairs in front of his desk. “Lay the gun on my desk, Alex.” He pointed to the far end of his desktop, away from both chairs.
Reluctant to let it go, I laid it on a stack of papers, never taking my eyes off Twitch. Robert took the S&W, disengaged the slide, and put the safety back on.
Twitch smirked, his tongue hanging out, watching me hand over my weapon. No attempt made to hide his pleasure in this. Unease made my insides quiver as I moved to sit in the seat next to Twitch, now unable to defend myself. I lowered myself gently into the seat, mindful of the welts on the back of my thighs and ass.
“This is the girl you got into it with last night?” Robert kept his tone calm and even.
“Sure is. And this is the second time this bitch has pulled a gun on me.” Twitch bounced around in the confines of the seat, jutting his finger into my personal space.
A childish notion urged me to bite the finger in my face. I refrained.
“You said Cade hit you because you hit a whore?” Robert leaned back in his chair, elbows relaxing on the arm rests.
“He did.” Twitch pointed at me again. “This whore.”
“I see,” Robert said.
/>
His clear gray-blue eyes moved back and forth between Twitch and me. He was one of the few clear-eyed people in that house. Everyone else was in a drug induced haze of some kind or another, but not Robert. He was always sober, focused, with a sharp eye.
Unable to read him, I swallowed against my drying throat. You never knew which side of Robert you’d get. And as much as I tried to deny my fear of him, the racing of my heart said otherwise.
“Were you hurt last night, Alex?” Robert asked. No emotion in the question. Just an inquiry.
My fingers ran thoughtlessly over the back of my head and I winced when they met the tender mound there. “Not much,” I answered.
“This whore,” Robert continued after a moment, turning to Twitch, “is my friend. My very dear friend Alex.” His eyes softened and the corners of his lips turned up when he said my name.
Relief was instant when I heard his words. The tension that had been pulling my back and shoulders taut released, making me slouch forward. I watched Twitch deflate as the jovial air was knocked out of him.
Robert’s eyes shifted to one of the men leaning against the wall. His head dipped ever so slightly, and the man moved to stand behind Twitch.
“Rob, you gotta hear me out. I—”
“Oscar, take Twitch downstairs. I’ll be there in a bit.” Robert waved a dismissive hand.
“Come on, Rob. It ain’t really gonna be like this over some ho? I thought we were boys?” Twitch made an increasingly desperate case as he was pulled by his shirt collar to the door by a bored-looking Oscar.
I didn’t like Twitch, but I tried not to think about what he was being escorted to. I wasn’t sure what the punishment for striking me was, where Robert was concerned.
“Pete,” Robert said to the other wall holder, “wait outside.”
Pete gave a nod, followed them out, and we were alone. Robert’s frame sunk down a bit, making him look more relaxed. The hard shell he kept in place in front of his boys always softened when we were alone.