by Zoey Long
She has no idea what I’ve just done. I am such an asshole. I just fucked my first love, my dad’s old assistant when I was a kid, with the love of my life waiting just outside. At her first professional art show. I feel sick to my stomach. In my postorgasmic haze, anger and disgust rise up in me as I start looking around for Madison. My mind begins to run frenzied. I never had any intention of fucking around on Madison. Not her. But if I was going to fuck around on her, I had to do it here? Like this? It’s the most important day of her life so far and I’ve gone and fucked it up. Am I trying to ruin everything? I never wanted to hurt Madison. I thought we could just be happy.
“You just don’t get it,” I snap at Elena, buttoning my pants.
“What, you love that girl?” Elena laughs. Her laugh is effortless. It flows out of her, light and melodic. She begins straightening herself up. She smooths her dress down, stands in front of a small mirror and replaces a few pins in the back of her hair. Looking at her, you’d hardly know she was just banged so hard into the wall that I probably bruised her ass.
“You and I, we have something between us,” she says, pins in her mouth. “We always have.” She continues to straighten up, and sticking the last pin in her hair, Elena steps toward me, using that same lilting walk she used when she led me in here. When she unashamedly sat on top of her wooden desk and spread her legs wide in front of me, showing me that delectable shaved pussy of hers.
My eyes meet hers. Her eyes are brown and so large they used to envelop me. Not anymore.
“We probably…always will,” she offers, moving to touch my torso.
“Fuck you, Elena,” I spit, jumping back.
“I think we just did that,” she jokes stiffly.
“I do love her. I don’t care what you think,” I say decidedly.
Elena throws her head back and laughs again. A free, totally bemused laugh. A laugh that could only come from someone who has known you forever. Since you were a kid.
“You will never change, my darling,” she starts, purring at me in her velvet accent. “You’re always after the next best thing. You always will be. That’s why you stopped seeing me, don’t you remember? Even I could only hold your attention for so long.”
Elena’s large eyes continue to hold my gaze, but there’s cruelty behind them. I look down to the floor.
“You were so young! I was your first and then you dropped me like I was nothing. I outgrew you too, by then, but you fixate. You’re obsessive. First it was me, then it was sex with whomever you could get your hands on, then it was jiujitsu. Now you think you’re in love. You’ve found this young innocent girl who you think can reform you, who can make you good. No one can do that for another person. You’re not in love, Derrick. You love the idea of her. Until you’re on to the next best thing. Mark my words.”
“Do you think that little of me?” I ask her.
She smiles.
Enough of this shit. I need to find Madison. I can’t have her looking for me when I am in this state. I run off to find her, but Elena’s words are left still ringing in my ears.
“You will never change. You’re not in love.”
I don’t even reach the end of the hallway before Madison is standing in front of me, face red and blotchy, out of breath. Her hair is still perfect, her dress flowing around her like a queen.
“Oh my God, Derrick. There you are,” she blurts out at me, chest heaving.
“I’ve been looking all over for you. Where have you been?”
There’s worry in her voice. Anxiety. Undetectable to anyone but me. There’s something gnawing at her, telling her that she shouldn’t trust me completely. Perhaps she never should have trusted me to begin with. Maybe she’s right. I stand dumbfounded, not sure what to say to her. I have no game left. No way to spin this. I don’t think she knows, I don’t know what she knows. I take a breath to explain myself. Somehow.
“I’m… I’m sorry, baby,” I say.
“Well, there you are Madison. He’s been looking all over for you.” Elena’s voice has a hint of mockery in it. It snakes around us from behind and ensnares us both with its toxic, telling tone.
Madison’s face changes, her eyes narrow. Her mouth opens slightly.
“Oh. Wow. Fuck you. Fuck you, Derrick. I can’t believe you,” Madison yells at me, turning to run.
I chase after her. My heart is pounding in my throat. We whizz past the guests here to appreciate her work, our parents, our friends, that asshole Noel. I chase Madison outside of the building. The air is crisp and cool and provides a sharp contrast to the heat built up in my body.
“Madison, please stop.” I reach out to touch her shoulder. She recoils from me like I’ve just set her on fire. She whips around, tears on her face.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Here? Now?” Her chest is heaving so fast, it’s clear she’s angrier than I’ve ever seen her. With good reason.
“That woman? I know who that woman is, Derrick. I’ve heard Frank talk about her. You think I don’t know anything, but I do. I know about you. I’ve heard about you from so many people. So many people told me not to trust you.”
Madison covers her face with her hands. They’re shaking with rage. She continues.
“Do you have any idea what it has been like to be with you? So many fucking people warned me about you. All of my friends. Even strangers, they come up to me and tell me how they’ve been with you, how you’re such a playboy and I can’t ever expect to rein you in. I never tell you because I don’t care. I trusted what we had.”
Every word she utters is so true and it’s making it worse.
“Even stupid asshole Noel,” she says. “He may be an asshole, Derrick. But you’re a motherfucking cheating bastard. That’s worse. Your father told me about Elena. She was your first girlfriend, your father’s assistant. She wanted to marry you. He had to fire her. You probably bought her this gallery and that’s why my show is here. You haven’t fooled me. I know who you are.”
She’s crying now. I feel like a stone wall that’s being broken down with a sledgehammer, her words swinging at me, taking large chunks out of me as I struggle to remain standing.
“I know you love me. But I also know being with me is foreign to you. Loving someone is foreign to you. At my fucking art show? Are you serious? Of all the places, you must really want to sabotage this. Fuck you. The thing is, Derrick, I knew everything and I loved you anyway.”
She starts sobbing now. All I want to do is throw my arms around her. To tell her she’s right. I move toward her.
“Don’t touch me,” she screams. “Don’t you ever try to touch me again.”
Madison’s hands are still shaking. A few people gather from inside the event around us. Some I know, some I don’t. I couldn’t care less who sees us. I say the only thing I can think of, the truest thing I can offer.
“I love you,” I say. “I love you. You’re right. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I fucked up. It meant nothing to me.”
I hear how pathetic I sound. If I were her I wouldn’t forgive me either. I’d probably try to punch myself out.
“Listen to me, Derrick Bourse. From now on you stay away from me,” she says. “I am tired of believing that you’re better than everyone says you are. I’m done. When someone shows you who they are, believe them. I read that somewhere.”
She pauses.
“Do me one favor. You tell me. Was it worth it?”
My heart breaks. No. Nothing has ever been as worth it as loving her.
Chapter 2: Madison
The sound of my studio being ripped apart is a comforting one. My important finished works are stacked in the corner, but I am tearing the workspace apart. The slices of paper being torn from my easel, paintbrushes, pots of paint clanging together and being piled in the corner of the room. I’m closing up the shop, washing my brushes, splashing water violently in my sink as colors run freely down the drain.
I can’t wo
rk in this house anymore. I can’t live in this house anymore. Not with him. Derrick fucked that woman at my art show and I can’t stand him. I never thought he’d actually do that to me. Not in my heart of hearts. I knew he had a reputation, but I trusted that his will could outweigh his patterns. I guess people don’t change, not really, no matter how much you want them to. Azure paint runs over my fingers and down the sink.
There’s a knock at the studio door and I’m sure it’s Derrick. He keeps trying to talk to me and “make it right,” as he says, but he can’t make it right. Living here is absolute hell.
“Madison… please. Don’t trash your stuff.” I can hear him through the door.
I start slamming more paint bottles in the corner of the room. Louder this time. Let him think I am throwing out everything that means anything to me. Let him think that’s all his fault. He can’t have me whenever he wants me. I don’t care. I walk over to the door in a huff and swing it open. That surprises him. My oldest pair of jeans hang relaxed around my tight torso. I’m in a white tank top without a bra. I must be covered in paint all over the front of my body. Good. Let him suffer.
Derrick’s eyes meet mine and they lock. His are hazel, deep, longing. I can see remorse in his eyes. I try to ignore it.
“What?” I snap, blinking. “What do you want?” I put my hand on my hip, jutting it out slightly.
He jerks back a bit, surprised that we’re face to face. I’ve been avoiding him at all costs since that night at the show. In my bedroom, I have more bouquets of flowers than I care to count. I’ve broken almost all the vases, thrown the blooms directly in the trash cans. Red roses, pink roses, white roses, wildflowers. Peonies. With typed-up cards that say, “All my love, I am so sorry.” Did he have some secretary type those? Every bouquet infuriates me more. I’m not something to be handled. To be crossed off a list of “things to do.” No. Fuck him.
“Another bouquet from Derrick, darling?” my mother asked me yesterday, cheerfully. She’s in such denial. She thinks his display is “old-fashioned” and “sweet.” That he must be doing this as an apology because he’s rich or different from us or something. People aren’t that different from one another.
I nodded and ran past her with the towering bouquet of peach roses, almost comically large, letting the weight of them fall headfirst into the kitchen trash bin. She caught the vase, just before it crashed into the basket.
“Well, don’t throw that vase out!” she yelled. “It looks like it might be crystal!” The vase thudded against her palms and she turned to put it on a shelf. Then she began:
“Did… did you and Derrick have a fight?” She hesitated. “He must be really sorry. He cares about you.”
“He’s an asshole, Mom,” I said, hoping to nip all further questioning in the bud.
“Don’t say that about your brother!” she yelled. “I thought you guys had been getting along so well! He’s clearly making an effort. Flowers may be a little old-fashioned on his part, but I think it’s lovely, truly. Have you talked to him?”
Denial is amazing. I scoffed, pushing past her to get back to my room.
“He’s not my brother,” I said sternly, slamming the door behind me.
Derrick is still staring at me in the doorway of my studio.
“I didn’t think you’d…” he starts.
“Answer the door?” I finish.
“Yeah.”
We stand silent for a moment. I am so angry at him, but finally allowing myself to look at him, to be in his presence after all this time, is making my body respond in ways I resent. Our connection is still there, strong as ever. My face flushes. I can feel waves of excitement surge through my body. My heart is pounding with either anger or sickening desire, I don’t know which.
“It’s good to see you,” he says softly.
“Well, what do you want?” I ask, more sternly this time, trying to shake him off.
Derrick’s brow furrows at me and there’s that tender-hearted look again. Like I should know what he wants. He wants my forgiveness. He wants me to love him.
“Why are you…what are you doing in here?” he asks me, looking behind me at the chaotic mess of my studio.
I wipe sweat off my brow.
“None of your business,” I tell him.
“Don’t destroy your things. Please. You have so much talent, Madison.”
Okay, definitely anger. This guy has some nerve.
“Holy shit. Are you serious? I have talent? You’ve come here to tell me I have talent? Don’t you dare. I know I have talent. My show went off really well despite my boyfriend fucking his ex, or whatever she is to you.”
He winces at that.
“I can’t work here anymore, Derrick. Do you know what it’s been like for me living here with you since this happened? When people break up, they don’t have to still see each other every day. It’s excruciating.”
“I know,” he offers.
“We have to see our parents most every day. My mother thinks it’s some kind of old-world wealthy guy gesture that you’re sending flowers to my room, delusional as she is. We’re clearly in the midst of a breakup and she thinks we’re having a sibling quarrel. This is disgusting. We never should have started fucking each other when we live together like this. Don’t shit where you eat, you know?”
He smiles, puts his hand on the edge of the door, touching my fingers.
“We couldn’t help ourselves. And it’s more than that. You know it.”
A surge of feeling rushes through me from our point of contact to straight between my legs.
“I just… I wish we could talk about this. I am so sorry,” he says again.
“There’s nothing…what is there to say? You betrayed me,” I say, a bit breathless.
“I know I did.”
There’s sincerity in his eyes. I hold his gaze for a moment, longer than I’ve let him since this happened, and I feel warmth in my chest.
“Madison, please listen to me for a minute. I love you. I don’t love Elena. She means nothing to me. She hasn’t meant anything to me in a long time. There’s no excuse for what I did. I am so sorry. I gave in to my old instincts. I fucked up.”
Well, at least he isn’t delusional. There isn’t any excuse for what he’s done. And I don’t care if he loves me. He should have been able to control himself. I shake off my attraction to him long enough to say what I need to say.
“Derrick, look. I’m not an idiot. I know who you are. When I think about the Derrick Bourse I met at the studio that first day, the grunting alpha male flirting with every woman in the room, this makes sense. You’re used to getting everything you want all the time with no consequences. Without a thought for anyone else’s feelings. I just thought there was more to you than that.”
“That’s not who I want to be anymore,” he offers. “I made a mistake.”
“I’m glad you’re coming to some epiphanies about yourself, but I won’t be a casualty of your self-discovery.”
I shut the door in his face, hard, surprising myself, the sound of the door slamming serving as a punctuation on my last sentence. It feels good to shut him out like that. You know, when you’re really angry and you let anger carry something out of your mouth that you don’t mean, it’s exhilarating in the moment. Catching my breath, I put my hand on the door, holding it closed. My chests heaves and I start to wonder if he’s still on the other side. Touching his hand to the door just where my palm meets the flat surface.
Chapter 3: Derrick
I hold my hand warm against the door of her studio. I’m stunned that she slammed the door in my face like that. I’m not sure what to do. I laugh to myself, realizing that this is probably the first time in my life that it’s been so difficult to get something I want. I need to prove to her that I love her and I’ll do anything it takes to get her back. Looking into her eyes, touching her fingers, seeing the shape of her body through that shirt, I ached for her. I wanted to push
through the door, take her in my arms and lay her down, right there on the floor of her studio, paints and brushes all around us.
I need to get out of here. I head into the foyer of the apartment, and on my way out I see one of the porters throwing our trash down the garbage chute. It’s full of flowers.
By the time I get to Bay Ridge, my friend Dave is already there. He stands a bit taller than me, lanky, nowhere near as built. He fights MMA but he’s mostly a yoga guy. Go figure. He greets me with his signature goofy grin, which splits his face open with excitement from ear to ear. Those aren’t that small, either.
“Hey, Derrick.” He offers his hand and I shake it firmly. We’re standing in an empty parking lot, full of potholes and cracked concrete.
“See, isn’t it just like I said?” he says excitedly.
I stand with him in the deserted lot and look up at the large abandoned warehouse space he’s referencing. It’s immense, concrete, insipid grey. What windows it once had are mostly broken. The staircase leading up to the front of the building is mostly concrete, no railing, cracked in places. The outside is a mix of concrete and brick. From the looks of it, no one has looked twice at this property in a very long time. It’s basically a shithole.
“Yep. Just like you said.”
He kicks a few pebbles in the lot, then smiles at me again. It looks like he’s about to start jumping up and down. I think he missed the irony in my statement.
“And this is for lease?” I ask him.
“For lease, for rent, to buy…if we could put together the money to buy this place it’d be awesome.” He hesitates. Wondering if I’ll take offense.
“It’s exactly like what you’ve been talking about. Great location. This place was built in the 1940s, but it has been renovated some since then. I think it used to be a textile mill. Not sure when they renovated it last. Not the point. The point is, we could turn this into an MMA studio for sure. There’s plenty of space. It’d be a lot of work, but… let me show you the inside.”