by J. A. Huss
I take one more look at my roommates, find them all frowning, and then walk to my room and slam the door.
TYLER
The problem with what Maddie just requested is that I already am back where I came from. The whole reason I’m here is so I can try to live out the rest of my probably short life just kind of anonymous and doing as little damage as possible.
Shit.
I turn to face the three women who are staring at me with trapped-in-between-knowing-what-to-do looks on their faces.
“We used to be friends,” I smile and say.
“So,” the one with the empty wine glass—Caroline, I think—says. “A millionaire?”
“OK!” intervenes the apparent leader of this bunch, whose name I caught earlier as Annie. “So, uh, we’ve gotta get to work. We’ll leave you guys to talk. Or whatever.”
I nod. “Yeah. Thanks. Where do you guys work?”
They don’t answer right away. They just sort of all look at each other like maybe they forgot what they do for a living.
“On the Strip/WE’RE CALL GIRLS,” Annie and Wine Glass Caroline say at the same time.
“Oh,” I say, “Well, that’s, uh… I’ve known quite a few call girls in my day. You guys… um”—wow, this is awkward—“look like you’re very… good? At your job?”
The looks have now traversed over into a very precise direction. It’s the visual equivalent of someone saying, ‘Bitch, is you stupid?’ (I am, is the answer.)
“OK, well, it was… nice to meet you,” says Annie.
“Yeah, and listen, if you ever feel like you just need to talk, or…” begins Wine Glass Caroline before Annie and the other one push her out the door, her going, “What?”
After they’re gone, I stand there for a moment, suddenly unsure how to proceed. I know what to do in the abstract, I’m just not sure how to go about it. What I need to do is to prostrate myself. Lie at Maddie’s feet and beg for her forgiveness. The way she begged for me to come help her when she needed it.
That’s what I need to do. But at the same time, I can’t. I can’t do that. Because I am not all in the wrong. I just can’t let myself believe that. I don’t have a bunch of ego about apologizing when I know I’m at fault. I’m a super-vulnerable and sensitive motherfucker. Everybody says so.
So I’m not wary of asking for forgiveness to protect my image or any moronic shit like that. I’m wary because an additional truth of this matter is that I was staying away from her to protect her. To protect her from me. To avoid exactly the kind of something that’s happening between us right now.
And, y’know, oh, well, that didn’t work out, so now we just kinda have to deal with it. So I think we both have to just sack up and admit that while the way things went was shitty, the past is the past, and living in the past is no fucking good for anybody, and the best thing for us now is to give in to the reality of the present and move forward.
What did James Franco say when I was dead or dreaming or whatever the hell that was? I can make a heaven on earth with Maddie? That seems pretty fucking far away at the moment, but I think there is a shot that I can make her tolerate being next to me for five minutes. And if I can start there, then at least it’s something to build on.
I stand in front of the door to her bedroom knowing she’s on the other side, hurt, shocked, and pissed. It’s just a regular, normal-sized wood door, but right now it might as well be a steel gate that reaches to the sky protecting some forbidden city. So, I calculate what I’m going to do to charm her and win her confidence long enough to get her to listen to me. I can’t just barge in like a bull in a china shop, as is my usual wont. I have to be very, very tactical about how I infiltrate the precious lands on the other side of that gate if I hope to have any chance of the queen letting me stake my claim and till the soil so that I can plant my seed.
Hm. I didn’t really intend for that imagery to wind up taking me there, but it sure did.
Ha.
That’s funny.
MADDIE
I don’t know how long I lie there in bed, face buried in my pillow to mop up the tears, but it feels like eternity. It feels like I’m stuck in purgatory. Neither here nor there, just waiting for my sentence to be handed down.
Just go away. Please. Now.
And stay away. Forever.
But no one stuck in purgatory receives peace as a punishment. So the knock on my door and the soft “Maddie?” that comes with it isn’t a huge surprise.
I don’t answer. I refuse to engage with the devil.
Which makes me huff an ironic breath into my pillow, because I’ve been engaging with the devil for a while now.
“Mads,” he says, the word muffled, like he’s pressing his face to my door. “Please? Let me in?”
I say no in my head.
He twists the handle and the door opens.
“Oh, it was unlocked. Look at that. Hi,” he says as he enters my space.
Normally, this would be my cue to rage at him. To set him straight. To scream and demand he leave. But that’s what he wants. And I’ll be damned if Tyler Morgan gets one more thing he wants, just because he thinks he deserves it.
Footsteps as he enters. Soft click as the door closes behind him.
“Um… what’s up?” he says.
I shake my head. Face still buried. New tears in my eyes as my cheeks press into the wetness of the ones not yet dry.
After a few seconds he says, “Wow. Uh, can we talk about your room for a second?”
“What?” I snap, turning my head so I can open one eye and get a peek at what he’s doing.
“It’s a mess. Do you need a good housekeeper? Because mine’s gonna need a new place to clean while—”
“Get. The fuck. Out.”
He lists back and forth like he’s unsure which leg he should stand on. Which he should be. Because he doesn’t have one. Finally, “Why do you have this?” he asks, picking up the controller for my drone.
“Don’t touch that,” I say. “It’s fucking expensive.”
“Yeah, no shit it’s expensive,” he says. “This is the Raven 900XZ. Military grade. Why the hell do you have a military-grade drone in your bedroom?”
I jump up off the bed, trip over that goddamned stripper shoe—again!—and stumble towards him to rip the controller from his hands. “It’s my real-estate drone, asshole. To make property videos. Go away.”
“What’s this?” he asks. Now he’s bending down to pick through a pile of dirty clothes on the floor. And I see that he has found—
“Give me that!” I snatch it from him before he can get a good look and hide it behind my back.
“What is that? Is that a loom?” He laughs a little. Which pisses me off even more.
“Yes. It’s a fucking loom. I know how to fly a drone and use a loom. Do you? Asshole.”
He clamps down on his smile, but it’s clear he thinks he’s charming me. Which he is not. Not at. All. Not one little bit. OK. Maybe a little bit, but not enough to make me forget that he’s the source of all my misery.
“It’s kinda tiny,” he says. “Just, y’know, as looms go. Like, what kind of things do you weave with a minuscule, plastic loom?” The smile is back.
“I make potholders, OK? It’s a mindless task that relaxes me.”
“Potholders…” He chuckles a little bit. “Yeah. You used to make those when you were a kid too. I feel like I got one every Christmas.”
“Yeah, and you laughed at me then, too. Asshole.”
“That’s not true,” he says, walking over to my bathroom. “I was charmed beyond belief.” He disappears inside.
I follow. “What the fuck are you doing? Get the hell out of my bathroom!” Christ. He’s like a bull in a china shop. I follow after him, and find him opening my medicine cabinet.
“The fuck are you doing?” I ask, infuriated.
“I dunno. Just, y’know, looking. But it occurs to me now that I probably should’ve asked about this”—he’s holding u
p my birth control pills—“y’know, before.”
“Yeah, well there’s a lot of things we probably should’ve fucking talked about before I let you stick your dick inside me.”
“I didn’t… come in you, though. Right? I mean, I came on your ass, but the second time we—”
“Get. The fuck. Out.” I grab the pills out of his hand.
“I’m clean, by the way. Promise. I would never have done anything if I wasn’t tested and a total ‘A’ student. Scout’s honor.” He holds up four fingers. Which, of course, isn’t the Scout salute, but who gives a shit?
He’s now back in my bedroom. “Tyler, I swear to God, I’m not in the mood for this charming bullshit act. I know you, remember? It’s not working.”
He looks on my nightstand. “How To Make Friends and Influence People. Ah, c’mon, you don’t need this. You could write it, Mads!“
“Would you stop calling me that!” I grab the book, throw it across the room, and point my finger at his face. “What the fuck do you want?”
He stares at me for a second. Then, without warning, he grabs my cheeks and forces his tongue in my mouth.
‘Forces’ probably isn’t accurate. ‘Works it in’ is more like it. Tenderly. Softly. I melt a little. And then every ounce of resistance I had just kinda melts too, because his kiss is just what I need right now. Just a little kindness. Just a little affection. Just a little…
That is until I come to my senses, and retreat backwards. “Nope. Un-unh. This isn’t gonna work,” I snap.
“What?” he asks, coming toward me. “What’s not gonna work? Why? Why can’t it?”
“Why can’t it? Are you fucking insane?”
“Maybe. It’s been suggested before.” he says, stepping close to me so that I back up and bump into my dresser, which causes some shit to fall off onto the floor.
Including my bright purple vibrator.
He bends down and picks it up. He holds it between us, again not breaking eye contact with me. The he asks, “Where would you like me to put this?”
I shake my head. “I’m not playing this game with you.”
“I’m not playing a game. Honestly, Maddie, I’m just… I’m just trying to make you smile.” He turns on the vibrator and waggles his eyebrows. The buzzing starts low, but gets louder and louder as he fumbles with the controls.
“Wow, man. You really don’t get it at all. I don’t know how I ever fell for your bullshit in the first place. I guess it’s because I was a kid, and I looked up to you, and I believed in you, and”—the vibrator continues to buzz—“and all that fake we’re in-this-togetherness bullshit you used to spout back when we were young. Well, it won’t work on me now. Because you and I both know who you really are.”
The sound of the humming vibrator is the only noise. That and what I imagine is my galloping heartbeat, which is way too fast right now.
And finally, the Tyler Morgan façade drops. His smile falls and his blue eyes seem to darken. He says, “Yeah? Who am I?”
And for a second I see the old Tyler. Underneath the beard. Underneath the lines at the corners of his eyes that beg me to ask where he’s been, what he’s been doing. Underneath the years of separation and sadness.
But fuck it. And fuck him. I don’t need to ask where he’s been. I only need to remember where he wasn’t. So I press in close and I whisper, “You’re just another very bad guy.” I squint at him and nod my head tightly. “That’s who you are.”
My chest is heaving up and down now, my breaths shallow. Somehow, this feels like some kind of moment of truth.
And then, “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’d fuckin’ make it up to you if I knew how. I swear I would. It was just… I was just… my life, Mads. I—It’s not what you think.”
“Yeah? OK. Well, I’m not thinking about your life,” I say. “In fact, I’m not thinking about you at all. I’m only thinking about me.” It sounds very selfish. And it is. But I don’t care. I want him to go away. And if I have to say nasty things to get what I want, I will.
He reaches up to my face again, but before I can pull away, he’s tucking a stray strand of red hair behind my ear.
The vibrator is still on high. The buzzing fills the otherwise silent room as I now hold my breath to keep from damn near hyperventilating.
“I’m trying my best to not think about my life too.”
“So what am I supposed to be? Just another familiar distraction?”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No. I don’t have a ton of regrets in life. I really don’t. Not to say there aren’t a ton of things I should regret, it’s just not my gig.”
“Wrong answer,” I whisper. My words are soft now. Low, and sad, and pitiful. “So not what I wanted to hear.”
He swallows. I swallow. He strokes the strand of hair he just pushed away. I let him. I don’t want to let him, but the fight inside me has died a little.
“Except, y’know, the way I handled everything with you, and the way I just failed. Yeah, I regret that a whole fucking lot. So…”
He looks like he’s choking up a little bit. Don’t. Shit. Just don’t.
“Because I loved Scotty. I love Scotty. It’s hard to think of him in the past tense. And I loved you too. Always loved you. I used to tell Evan and Scotty that you were gonna grow up to be a fucking heartbreaker. And Scotty used to always tell me to shut up and watch myself.” He smiles, absently, remembering some long-ago moment with him and my brother. “And when I saw you, up there dancing… I saw you. I think. That’s the only way I can explain it. Remember I told you I dreamed about you?”
I think I nod. I’m not really sure.
“I did. I dreamed of an angel who was kind to me even though I didn’t deserve it. An angel who I was trying to help. In my dream, I realized that it wouldn’t be possible for me to save everyone, but this angel… this kind angel with the beautiful green eyes and the red hair… I could save her. And I didn’t know it was you, because I hadn’t seen you in so long, but…”
He bows his head. I can feel the tears welling up in me. Which I fight.
“Did you?” I ask.
“Did I what?” he says.
“Save me. In your dream. Did you save me?”
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “No. No. But I never stopped trying. And that’s why I can’t stop now.”
He opens his eyes and looks deep into me. And then he closes the already narrow space between us and kisses me gently on my cheek. And I puff out a breath and the tears just pour out.
I close my eyes and let him place his mouth against my ear, powerless to move. Caught in a web of memories, and laughter, and shared happiness that I want back so badly my chest aches with the loss of it all. And when he says, “So you’re not a distraction. You’re the only hope I have left,” I cry. Hard.
He kisses the sobs coming out of my mouth. He covers them, captures them, and holds them between us like he’s desperate to make them stop and this is the only way he knows how.
And the next thing I know, the fucking vibrator is between my legs, pushing up against my pussy through the thin cotton of the boy shorts I have on.
His other hand squeezes my hip, pressing into my flesh until it burns, and even when I twist and squirm, he refuses to let me go.
I don’t even have the energy to resist. I can’t do anything but submit. Because I’m just too tired of losing to lose again. And there’s no way I’m not gonna do this. When all you have left in the world is this one bad thing, you keep it. You hold on to it for as long as you can because it’s all you’ve got left. It doesn’t even matter that it’s bad for you. It doesn’t even matter that it’s the worst possible decision. It doesn’t even matter if it’s killing you.
Hell, maybe that’s why all this is happening? Maybe we’re both back on top of Mount Everest, looking down at that fucking fall, thinking… it ain’t so bad when you’ve already done it and lived.
The devil you know is the one you keep.
�
�What can I do? Tell me what it is you need and I’ll give it to you. Anything,” he says.
My mind races. There are so many things I need that Tyler could provide. And right at the top of that list is money. Tyler could pay off my debt to Carlos. Tyler could probably fund my whole real estate business endeavor. Tyler could…
What the hell am I even saying to myself? Even if this weren’t Tyler Morgan, I could never ask for that. I would never ask for that. It’s one thing if you’ve built something together with someone else, it’s another thing entirely to take what someone else has. But… there is one other thing I feel I need right now. And it is something I can ask for.
“Fuck me,” I say into his kiss, reaching for his cock beneath his jeans.
He doesn’t wait for another invitation. He just pulls me backwards, his mouth still on mine, refusing to let my sobs escape. Until the back of his legs bump into the mattress and he sits down.
He doesn’t wait then either. Our eyes don’t even have time to meet. He just pulls me down with one hand until I flop next to him onto the mess of covers, and he rolls me over onto my back, pulling my shorts off as I rip the t-shirt off over my head, and then he lifts my legs up as I feel the vibrator pressing against my clit.
Warm wetness pools as he plays, and I moan. I can’t help myself. I want him.
He slides the vibrator down, all coated and slick with my desire, and pushes it into my pussy. I close my eyes, my fingertips picking up where the vibrator left off, rubbing myself in small, quick circles as he fucks me with the toy.
His chest covers my breasts now, his hand still pumping in and out as he continues to kiss me, his hard cock pressing against my outer thigh, practically begging me to touch him.
I undo his belt one-handed, enjoying the sound of the jingling buckle, and then my hand slides inside and takes hold with such force, it’s like a promise to never let go.
It’s a lie, but aren’t all promises lies anyway?
“Tell me to stop,” he says, breath heavy and coming out ragged.
“Keep going,” I say. Meaning it as I unzip his jeans, slide them over his hips, and start furiously pumping his cock.