Maybe she was right. Maybe beneath my rich, successful outward appearance, there was only a sniveling asshole who needed things his way. Maybe that was all I had to offer her, not love, but jealousy and desperate, pathetic scrabbling.
I’ll buy you. I’ll pay for you. I’ll lock you in my dungeon. That will make you stay.
It didn’t escape my notice that I’d spent thousands of dollars outfitting a dungeon I’d never allowed her to see. She needed a happy life, not a slave collar. She needed a good man, not me. I was selfish, empty, violent, and not enough of what she wanted.
Now I didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t fair to string her along, and I couldn’t survive another shakedown like the one she’d subjected me to today. If I didn’t walk away from her and eventually manage to forget about her, I’d slog through the rest of my life losing my fucking mind.
I’d just have to distract myself for a while. Block her number, delete her contact information, stay close to home. I had work projects I could concentrate on. Those were great for distraction, and eating up mental energy. I had books for when all else failed.
As for the physical, I could create profiles on BDSM dating sites, and find women to fuck and beat on, women desperate to surrender to men like me. There were plenty of them, the majority willing to subsist without love, only to have some dominant guy’s attention.
Or I could try to write poems for Chere, or paint some fucking painting, exposing my soft, cowardly insides to try to win her back.
No. Solitude was so much safer, so much less risky. I went to the guest room closet and dug out the binoculars, and turned out all the lights and prowled to my spot by the window. I trained the lenses on her apartment. All the lights were on, and her drapes were open. There was a rectangle of paper in the center window. I focused on the words.
There’s always a way, it read, in her swirly, girly-shit writing.
I put down the binoculars and sat on the couch with my head in my hands. I should never have told her that, because there wasn’t a way. My dungeon would remain as empty as my heart. She was right, there was nothing inside me.
Without Chere, there was absolutely nothing at all.
Chere
“Chere, baby. You need to get out of bed.” Andrew nudged me, checking for life. I’d been hiding under my covers for about a week now, because I didn’t want to face the world.
“Chere,” he said again. “You haven’t eaten all day. I brought cookies.”
“Don’t want cookies.”
Andrew’s eyes widened. “You always want cookies. I’m calling a mental health hotline.”
I sat up and tried to hit him with my pillow. And missed. Maybe I did need to eat something. “I don’t need a hotline,” I said, to make the worried look go away. “I just can’t believe...”
I can’t believe he left me again.
I’d tried to call. I’d tried to write to him, but my emails bounced back. I shouldn’t have been surprised. I’d told him he had nothing inside him, which was so awful and wrong. His expression when I said it...
Now I was the one who felt empty inside.
“I have to go apologize,” I said to Andrew, huddling deeper in the bedsheets.
“You know what’s going to happen if you go to him. More sex. More confusion. From what you’ve told me... I don’t know.” He touched my hair, brushing it back on the pillow. “He’s warned you he would be bad for you, that he can’t give you the relationship you need.”
“You’re the one who said he loved me.”
“But if he can’t express that love…” He gave me his worried-best-friend look. “What has he brought to your life besides a bunch of drama?”
Oh, I don’t know. Everything. He’d bought me a place to live. He’d supported my dreams and given me the nudge to make them happen. If he hadn’t left me the first time, maybe I wouldn’t have gone about my coursework with so much focus. Everything he’d done had benefitted me, except this idea that he couldn’t give me love.
“He told me that love lies,” I said. “That’s what he believes. He doesn’t know how to trust.”
“You didn’t know how to trust either, six months ago.”
“Yeah, but I still wanted to trust at some point in my future. I wanted someone to prove trustworthy.”
“You think Price is trustworthy?”
“Maybe,” I said weakly.
Andrew frowned at me, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what Price had said. I can’t be what you want. I don’t have it in me. If that was true, why had he done so many generous things? Why all the help? Why all the kisses and poetry?
“He doesn’t realize he’s a good person,” I said softly.
“He can be a good person, babes, and still not be right for a committed relationship.”
“I think other women have made him believe he’s shitty and cruel. But he’s not. They didn’t understand him.”
“And you do? You’ve been a wreck these past few weeks, feeling freaked out and confused all the time. It shouldn’t be that way. Since I’ve met Craig—”
“Oh, Craig. Perfect, well-adjusted Craig,” I snapped. “We can’t all be so lucky. Before you had Craig, you used to gush about Price. Ooh, he loves you so much. Ooh, he’s so hot. Ooh, I want that.”
“That was before I knew how, uh, complicated he really was. And I’ve changed now. I have higher standards because Craig has changed me for the better. Can you say the same about Price?”
Yes, I could. He’d changed me. He’d made me see the potential in myself. Now I had to do the same for him.
“I need to go see him,” I said, throwing back the sheets. “I need to explain that I was wrong, that he has plenty of love inside him, that he’s not this monster women have made him out to be.”
“Oh, Chere.”
I could see Andrew was torn between supporting me and trying to protect me, the same way I’d been torn when he’d decided to start escorting. But in my heart, I knew Price and I were meant to be together. We’d been drawn to each other even when we were apart. He’d said himself that I was the only one who ever understood him, and I understood that he’d run away now because he wasn’t okay with himself. He’d held me off all this time because he didn’t believe he was good enough. He was afraid because women had lied to him and betrayed his trust. Love lies.
My love was no lie, and I had to make him trust me. And somehow, too, I had to let go of my own fears and trust him.
I crawled out of bed and went to the kitchen. I needed some juice and a sandwich, and chocolate to fortify me. I had to make plans. Andrew followed me and watched in consternation as I tore into a bag of chocolate chips, since I didn’t have any other chocolate in the house.
“I think he chooses not to do relationships for a reason,” he said, leaning on the counter. “Think about what he’s into, Chere.”
“He’s into the same stuff Craig is into. He’s a Dominant and a sadist.”
“But Craig takes care of me. Price, on the other hand, takes what he wants whether you want it or not. He’s very…controlling.”
“I like being controlled.”
He waved a hand at my cellophane package of chocolate chips. “What if he decides he doesn’t want you to have any more chocolate? Ever? Dominance seems oh, so sexy, until he says, ‘Oh, by the way, you’re never eating chocolate again.’”
I froze with a mouth full of chips. “He wouldn’t say that.”
“He might say it. Or he might decide you only get chocolate twice a year. Or he might decide you only get chocolate if you let three of his Dom friends stick their huge dicks in you at the same time.”
I stopped scarfing the chocolate and wondered if Price had a stable of Dom friends. “You know, that would actually be hot.”
“It’s a hot fantasy,” he said. “But you need to think about realities, because if you draw him into a more serious relationship, you’re going to be dealing with his controlling shit all the time. Sometimes it might be wonder
ful and fun, but other times it might be awful and depressing.”
“Kind of like my life now?”
“Chere.” Andrew refused my proffered handful of chocolate chips. “Listen to me. Really listen. You’ve just graduated, you’re feeling pressure about a job, you ran into Simon again, Price just deserted you for the second freaking time—”
“Because I blew up at him and said a bunch of shit I didn’t mean.” I put the chocolate chips away and rooted through the refrigerator for something healthier.
“Are you sure you didn’t mean it?” asked Andrew. “A few weeks ago, a few months ago, you doubted everything. You’ve always had doubts about him, and he’s always had doubts about you. He had so many doubts, he left you twice.”
“Fine. Yes, he left me twice. You keep saying that. I know, Andrew. Do you want a sandwich?”
He shook his head. I made a sandwich for myself and then followed him over to the couch. He picked up right where he’d left off.
“I’m just saying that we feel things for a reason,” he said. “We feel anxiety and fear for a reason.”
“I’m not afraid of him.”
“Maybe you should be!”
“He cares about me,” I insisted, mostly in an effort to convince myself. “And kink-wise, I don’t know anything that could hurt as much as the way I feel right now. I miss him.”
A bite of sandwich stuck in my throat as emotion overwhelmed me. “What if he was the one, Andrew? What if he was my happily ever after? If I don’t go to him—” I blinked through gathering tears. “If I don’t go to him, if I don’t give this craziness between us a chance, I’ll never know.”
Andrew took my sandwich and put it on the table, and pulled me into his arms. “Oh, Chere. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what’s right.”
“I wish he was like Craig. I wish this was easy and civilized, and that I didn’t have all these feelings.”
“I know. It sucks.”
“I don’t know how to let Price go and wait for someone better, when he’s the one who’s still consuming all my thoughts. Since I met him, since the beginning, he’s consumed me.”
“I know, babes. I know.”
“So how do I just give all that up? Ugh, this sucks so bad. It’s so horrible. And now, after the things I said...” I swallowed hard, feeling panic. “He’s blocked me out, my calls and emails. Even if I apologized, I’m not sure he’d take me back. ”
Andrew snorted. “He’d take you back. He’d have you back in a heartbeat, because as much as you think you need him, he needs you more. But Chere, honey.” He made me sit up, and wiped at my tears. “How much are you going to give him? You need to draw a line before you even consider going back. After Simon…you know what I mean? There has to be a line in your mind that you won’t cross. You can’t lose track of yourself again, and wind up stuck in another bad relationship you can’t extricate yourself from.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen. I’m different now. I met Simon when I was younger than you, and I’m in my thirties now. I’d recognize the signs.”
He arched a brow. “Age does not convey wisdom.”
“You’re too young to say that.”
“And you’re not exactly an old hag. Think about it. You’ll have other opportunities, other guys you’ll meet…”
His voice trailed off as I shook my head. “Not like this guy.”
He grimaced. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“I need to go see him. We need to talk things out when we’re not all overwrought about running into Simon. I think that’s what set everything off, running into Simon at your party, and the fight, and getting hauled off to jail.” I shuddered. “But Simon’s the past, and maybe…maybe Price is…”
“Your future?”
I let out a breath. “Yes.”
We both lay back on the couch under the weight of this decision, this choice that felt like life or death. “You should wait a couple more days,” he said. “You should wait until you’re feeling a little stronger. I mean, what if it doesn’t go well? What if he tells you to get lost?”
“He might. He probably will.” I shrugged and twisted my fingers together. “He’s probably going to say all kinds of awful things and order me to stay the fuck away from him. I still have to go.”
Price
My house was quiet, but I liked it quiet. I wasn’t a big TV watcher, or a music person. I was a reader, and I was reading a lot to keep thoughts of Chere from crowding my mind. If I thought about her too long, I’d go to her, and I was determined not to. I’d put away the binoculars. No more stalking. No more manipulation. She’d had enough, and I...
Well, I had a stack of books in my living room, and a bottle of wine, and silence to lose myself in the words. I was halfway through Pablo Neruda’s Winter Garden, a collection of poems I’d read numerous times. It was always a transcendent experience, but I hadn’t been able to lose myself in the imagery the way I normally did. Maybe it was too quiet.
In the silence, I heard a footfall outside. The neighbors across the hall? It was late, after ten. I glanced at my watch but didn’t go back to the poetry. I had a sense of recognition, of waiting. Then, the knock.
It took just a second, maybe two, for me to realize it had to be Chere. No one else could get by the doorman at this hour, and besides that, I think subconsciously I’d registered the rhythm and weight of her steps. I thought for a moment of not answering. Just a moment, though. If she was here, I was going to see her. Maybe something had happened, some emergency.
I put my wineglass on the side table, and lay the book of poems on top of the others, still opened to my place. I’d go back to reading it shortly. I would not embrace Chere and invite her inside, or kiss her, or fuck her. By her own words, I had nothing to give her.
She knocked again, louder, then rang the doorbell. And rang the doorbell again. She wanted in, the little nutjob. Of course she’d ring the doorbell repeatedly. If I waited a few more seconds, she’d do it again. I pictured her with her finger poised over the button as I threw the lock and opened the door.
And there she was, standing two feet away. She lifted her chin as I stared at her in her pink Lanvin suit, and the black leather mask I’d instructed her to wear to our first meeting three years ago. The air whooshed out of me, taken up by the emotion in my chest. That pert nose, her set mouth, even the tilt of her chin was the same.
“Are you there?” she asked when I couldn’t produce any words. She reached out, groping for me, not quite touching me. Then she reached to take off the mask. I almost stopped her but then I remembered, you can’t stop her. She’s not yours to control. Don’t touch her. Don’t look at her.
She pushed off the mask, blinking at me through a sheen of tears. She held it out to me, and gestured down at her outfit. It hugged her curves as enticingly as it had that day.
“I just thought...remember? The W Hotel?”
“I remember.” I drank in the sight of her, trying not to look like I was dying inside. “I remember,” I repeated, keeping my tone neutral and civilized. “Why are you here?”
“Well, I thought... I wanted to come back and...” She looked past me. “Can I come in?”
“No.”
“Is there someone else here?”
Ha, someone else. Like I would have moved on from her in the space of a week. “No one else is here,” I said, “and you shouldn’t be here either.”
She clutched the mask in front of her, twisting the straps. “I’m here because I need to talk to you. I’m sorry for the crazy shit I said to you, about you being empty inside. I didn’t mean it. I was just freaked out from seeing Simon.”
“Chere—”
“No, wait. That’s not the truth. The truth is, I freaked out on you because I love you. I tried not to fall in love, but I did, and you said—”
“Chere, I need you to go.”
She was so sad, and so beautiful. It was so hard to keep my walls up when she looked at me that way,
her clear brown eyes full of longing and apology.
But I had to keep my walls up. I nudged her back and shut the door.
The doorbell rang as soon as I threw the lock. I returned to my wine and my book, but my quiet had been shattered. She rang ten more times before I got up and yanked open the door. She was wearing the damn mask again.
“I’m not interested,” I said through my teeth. “If I wanted a whore, I’d have called one.”
She pitched herself at me, knocking me backward. I tripped and fell and she landed on top of me, a masked pink dragon, breathing fire. Somewhere along the line I’d forgotten she was such a fighter.
“I know you love me,” she said, holding me down.
“I don’t believe in love.”
“Then surrender. You believe in surrender. I tried my best to be the kind of partner you wanted. Why wouldn’t you ever let me in your dungeon?”
I glanced at the open door, wondering what the neighbors and their two young children might think of this scene. “You’re a fucking pain in the ass,” I said, pushing her off me.
She lay back on my floor in her damned designer suit. I remembered it as vividly as I remembered that day we met. The skirt I’d cut off her that day was still in the back of my closet, folded into a pale pink square. She kicked off her shoes.
“I’m not leaving until you talk to me,” she said. “Or hurt me. Either one.”
“I’m very close to hurting you. Why don’t you move on with your life? Why don’t you get a fucking job?”
“Because I want to work for you. I want to work at Eriksen.”
“You don’t have the resume for Eriksen.” I took off her mask and flung it across the room so she couldn’t put it on again. “I paid for you to go to school so you would make something of yourself. Wasn’t that the plan?” Her eyes widened as I yelled at her. “Now you’re lying on my fucking floor in the same outfit you wore three years ago—”
Taunt Me (Rough Love Book 2) Page 21