Filth

by Dakota Gray

  “Why are you here?”

  “Because Duke told me who Robyn really was. After he sends the email.”

  I lean back against the door and stare at Tarek. The tats on his brown arms and neck seem to stand out more in my porch light. But his eyes tells me all I need to know. He’s worried for me. He’s also pissed. Likely at me.

  I lean harder against the door. I may also be having trouble standing upright. “You sound angry.”

  “Angry?” he practically yells at me. “You knew this whole time she was friends with one of your exes.”

  “Yup. Didn't think it mattered.” I push off the door and drag my sorry ass to the couch. The world is spinning faster than usual.

  “Even you have to admit that's pretty fucked up.” He glares at me for a second then takes a drink for himself. “What are you going to do to make this right?”

  I gesture to the bottle. “Step one was to get drunk. And I think I'm there.”

  “Then?”

  That's the harder problem. I ignored every goddamn sign she was broken, and that's how she was able to hurt herself with me. The one thing I've avoided, no matter how much of a dick I was with women. That's something I prided myself on. And I didn't want to see it. Doesn't matter the lies I've told myself, I let her use me as a self-punishment. I wanted her too much to care.

  So I have to forget Robyn. I have to let go of how much I need her taste, her laughter—her. It was easy to lie to myself thirty minutes ago but this hole eating at my gut is the mutherfucking stark truth. I can't drink it away, even though I just tried.

  “Where's Duke?”

  “He has closing arguments tomorrow.”

  That's why he’d wanted to go out. Before big cases, he hits a club, finds a woman and fucks out any stress. He can get OCD about drama before a big day at court. I'm not going to hold his absence against him. I don't want to be around myself.

  “Did he find someone to take home before you abandoned him?”

  “Stop talking about Duke.” Tarek raises his voice again. “What the fuck happened with Robyn?”

  She told me my former lover hadn't just died, but killed herself. She did it so she wouldn't suffer from cancer anymore. During her last moments, Loraine cursed my very existence. Robyn carried that around. Then she saw me. She wanted me to hurt, just a little bit, for the pain I'd caused her best friend.

  There was never anyone I could call and apologize to. How Robyn must have felt every time I half-heartedly offered. How could she not hate herself a little bit when she was with me? And I'd made sure she loved every second of my perverted nature.

  Where to start to answer Tarek's question? Robyn would have never been in my life if I wasn't a dickbag. I swallow down the bitter taste in my mouth.

  “Do you want to hear how...” I clench my fist. “I fucked her up. I did it without a care. Without stopping to poke at my conscience. And I can't fix it. I can't fix her. And I want to. I want to make it all right for her. Is that what you came for? Good. Now get the fuck out and let me drink by myself.”

  “It's still about what you want, Nate. What does she want?”

  That is another truth eating at me. Robyn wants her best friend to be alive. She wants the grief of that loss to hurt less. She wanted to fuck the hurt away. Had I known, I would have told her she couldn't. Had I known, I would have been more than a mouth and a cock. At every turn I'd deepened the pain. That's not what I am. Or it wasn't.

  I deserve the ache in my chest. It's only fair that I have to live the rest of my life without her. And I'd do it if it would put joy on her face again.

  “Just go,” I tell him.

  Tarek hands me the bottle and sighs. He settles on the loveseat. “Someone has to make sure you don't die after drinking that bottle. 'Cause at some point you're going to puke.”

  I give a small smile. It's funny. It's likely true. I'm a lightweight, but tonight I don't want to feel anything. I want to drown out the way Robyn looked at me.

  I shake the image out of my head.

  But Robyn crying, as though once again the world had taken something from her—that image remains. And I couldn't comfort her because of who I am, what I am.

  Who gives a fuck about my rules or my moral code? Did it help Robyn? Anyone other than my own sense of I'm not a bad guy if I'm honest? No.

  I hurt Loraine. I helped break Robyn. No personal code of ethics can undo either.

  There's only one thing I can do. Once the ache stops, I'll let her go. I'm the last person she needs right now or ever.

  I take another swig of tequila and yet her taste, her, colors my tongue. The stark truth: I don't want her gone.

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ROBYN

  “What is it?” Steve asks as I stand frozen in the banquet hall's doors.

  Up until that moment I've managed to plaster a smile on my face and play the good paralegal. That paralegal discreetly tucks all the business cards her boss gets into her clutch. A good paralegal laughs at all her boss's jokes. She also gets contact information if promises are made, make excuses when he clearly doesn't want to further a networking contact.

  It's what I've been doing for a month in various ways. Definitely what I've been tasked to do for the banquet.

  But I can't remember how my legs work when my gaze falls on Nathan. It's taking all my willpower to stay upright.

  He's wearing a suit, and that feels like an understatement. The black material has to be silk, from how well it drapes over his frame. The red breast pocket only seems to highlight the stark difference from the crisp white shirt and the black vest. He hasn't cut his hair, so that leaves his blond strands in a wavy mess. He could strut into a boardroom or onto a red carpet and no one would think twice.

  If not for the shadows beneath his eyes, he’d look immaculate.

  “Nothing,” I say, but it's more of a rasp.

  What is he doing here? This is a mixer for attorneys. I'm at the event because my boss received a personal invite from Lance and Chase.

  I manage to tear my gaze from Nathan. A man with slicked back hair and dark cold eyes sits beside him. If Nathan's outfit was a Porsche of suits, Duke—it has to be him—is wearing a Bugatti. His gaze rounds the room, and when he meets mine he smiles.

  “It's not nothing,” my boss says. “What is it?”

  When Steve told me about the event, I assumed Preston Lance, part owner of the firm, had extended the invite. “You're meeting someone from Lance and Chase, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was it Duke Alexander?”

  “Is he here?” Steve sounds like a girl who just spotted her latest crush.

  I point to Duke while wishing the man a painful death. “Do you want something to drink?”

  He doesn't even bother to look my way. “No. No, I'm fine. I'm just going to chat him up.”

  I grab my dress and lift it enough so the train's not dragging as I make my way to the bar, but all I can hear is a roar in my head.

  It's been four weeks and three days since I left Nate's house, my heart an open wound. I closed it by telling myself our end was for the best. The sight of me disgusted him. I'd never see him again. I had betrayed my friend enough.

  Yet my heart is climbing up my throat because he's here. I could touch him again. I could bury my face in his suit jacket and breathe him in. I can be pissed later that he set this up so I have to see him again. Right now my limbs don't feel as heavy. I hadn't even noticed the weight until that white scar along his cheek beckoned to me.

  I try to shake it off. He can't see me raw and vulnerable. For all I know he's fucking someone else by now. No way would he spend a month sexless, not voluntarily. He wants to rub my face in the fact he's doing fine without me and all my baggage.

  Funny how the shoe is on the other foot now. I’m the one who fucked him over, and he wants a small taste of revenge. I should suck it up and let him have it. It’s only fair.

  I tell myself this ov
er and over again as I wait behind the pack of attorneys thirsty as hell for booze. I'm feeling like the Sahara myself knowing at some point I'm going to have to face Nate.

  Eventually I get to the counter and hold the bartender's attention. “Can I have a martini? Two olives.”

  “Robyn.”

  My name is barely a whisper but Nate's voice strums into me. There's a person between us, and not even that a second later. I want nothing but shame to fill me when I glance at him. That's not the emotion rolling around in my stomach. He'll see it if I meet his eyes. So I force myself to focus on the bartender.

  “Nate,” I manage to say without throwing myself at him. “Where's Duke? I can only assume he's the culprit. That man is a goddamn shark.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He's going to pretend like he doesn't know, and that makes it easy for me to face him with anger. “He called my boss. Gave him a personal invite to this event. Said he wanted to meet.” I gesture to where Steve has settled in for the night. “My boss. This is my day off, but I had to come for business.”

  He winces and my anger fades. He didn't know Duke had set this up.

  “I'm sorry,” he says. “I didn't know he'd do this. I told him to leave you alone no matter how...”

  My life is in that pause.

  “I'm sorry about everything, Robyn.”

  I face the bartender again because I can't function and look at him at the same time. The woman places my drink on the wood. I nod a thanks.

  “A scotch on the rocks, please,” he says to the woman and drops enough money to pay for my drink, too.

  I steal another look at him and his expression is strained. I waver. “You look like shit.”

  His perusal of me is slow. I expect him to call me edible or something much more obscene.

  “You're beautiful.”

  I don't know what to say to that. His demeanor is too somber for him to not mean the words. And when has he lied? When did he have to? What was he going to say in that pause? I want to hear it. I want to know I wasn't alone when my heart ached.

  Maybe I wouldn't feel like shit, like the worse kind of friend, if my feelings were mutual. If he felt like he was walking through molasses since I left him. If he picked up his phone, ready to tell me a dirty joke or send me a dirty vid, and then he'd remember.

  But those are girlish dreams and I'm not a dreamer anymore. Instead of seeing how much more I can hurt myself just by standing beside him, I leave to sit at the table where my boss has parked his ass for the evening. Neither Duke or Steve acknowledge me, too deep in their conversation. It's not until I'm settled that I see the discarded bow tie on the table.

  I hadn't even noticed it was gone, but I know it's his. Because I'm part sarcastic and masochistic, I pick it up to wrap around my fingers.

  A minute later Nate pauses at the table, his gaze fixed on my hands. Finally he sits in the chair beside me. This will be our night. Sitting next to each other and not speaking a word when there is still so much left unsaid.

  Not to mention I can feel his gaze on me. “Stop staring at me,” I say, low enough only he can hear.

  “Can't. I won't touch you, but I have to look.”

  “Stop it.” I bow my head because I can't spend my night like this and there's only one solution. “Excuse me, Steve. I need some air.”

  My boss blinks me into focus. “Sure, sure. I'll text you if I need anything.”

  I meet Nate's gaze and give him a nod he won't miss. I move slow so he can see where I disappear to. The balcony adjacent to the hall is my destination.

  I lean against the railings for support the moment fresh air hits my lungs. He'll know to wait a minute or two so our departure isn't obvious. That's how long I have to get myself together to face him, alone.

  It's not enough time because my shoulders tense when I hear him close the door behind him. He doesn't move to me and that means he doesn't touch me. I'd expected that. The ache begins again. I don't know how to escape the cycle of wanting him and hating myself for it.

  But that's not important. I need answers.

  “Did you mean it when you apologized to me?” I ask without turning to look at him. “Or was it just something you think I wanted to hear? You do that, you know. I can't be sure if your remorse is sincere, or if I just need it to be.”

  “Loraine deserved better.”

  The words hit me. “You remember her name. Still.” Whatever armor I put on falls away. “Why couldn't you have done that when she was alive? Something that small.”

  “Because despite my parents raising me to be a better man, I'm a shit human being. And I liked her. I enjoyed spending time with her.”

  The words mean nothing now, but they feel like a balm. “Then what went wrong?”

  Silence, and I don't think I'll get an answer this time. I face him. “Tell me, Nate. What could she have possibly done to make you fuck her and drop her?”

  He frowns. “I didn't. She dumped me.”

  Loraine hadn't told me that. “But you would have.”

  “I wasn't what she needed. I was never going to be. Staying with her would have been unfair, because I couldn't love her back.”

  His response knocks me back for a moment. It's a simple truth—one I should of have thought of by now, but Nate hadn't been a person. He'd been the thing that hurt my friend. He'd been what I could hurt in return. He'd been a fuckboy, object of my pleasure and desire and need.

  He'd been everything but a man.

  Was he supposed to stay with Loraine because she loved him? No. I wouldn't ask that of anyone. Could he have been a decent man? Yeah, but he'd never lied about what and who he was. Not with me and I know not with Loraine.

  Nate as a person is funny, thoughtful, honest to a fault, single-minded. He loves his mother. Misses his father.

  I finally look at Nate. The shadows beneath his eyes are stark in the low light. He rarely slept when we were together, and I have to wonder how much is he getting now? Not enough if the strain around his mouth tells the story.

  I turned his world upside down because I could.

  Not once was I truly honest about that. Not once was I sorry, because he deserved my wrath.

  Maybe.

  But it's not a cock and a mouth standing in front of me. It's a man who looks at me like I'm his salvation and his torturer.

  “I'm sorry I just didn't tell you,” I say because we both need these words. “That wasn't right. I knew it, but I was pissed at you, and I had myself convinced it didn't matter. We were just fucking.”

  “I know.”

  His fast acceptance seems to let in more guilt. “She died, and you got to live. You could barely remember her, and your name was...” My throat thickens and I swallow down the ever-present grief. “I don't know what happened. I got my revenge. Then you hunted me down. You were just sitting there in the coffee shop. My coffee shop, and I couldn't think past wanting you.”

  “And then it turned into self-loathing,” he whispers.

  “A little bit. I fell for your whole devil-may-care appeal.” I glance away from him. “You're good at that.”

  “And the more you slapped me down, the more I wanted you. You're a first, Robyn. You're the first woman I've wanted to be with in a long time. And now I'm not sure if we can.”

  My breath catches. Nate wanted to be with me? I can't process that. Small things. Start with the little things first. “You're not pissed at me?”

  He tilts his head as though I've said something insane. “Why would I be?”

  “I used you.”

  “You were hurt, and you told me that's what you wanted to do to me. I was dumb enough to ignore the warning.” He shake his head. “I didn't care. I wanted you too much.”

  It was real between us. The moments where I'd felt the most alive in almost a year were real for him too. My skin prickles and I tell myself one damn thing at a time.

  “Don't give me a pass.” I hold my breath.

  “This once, it's
deserved.”

  Air whooshes out. I hadn't known I was seeking forgiveness from him until the weight of his words sink in. I fold my hands over my stomach. I close my eyes and bask in the feeling. I'm alive. I'm not cold, it's not dark, and this time he is the light.

  I open my eyes, drop my arms and go to him. I cup his cheek once I'm close enough to touch him. He turns his mouth into my palm. There's no kiss as I expected. He's content with the intimate touch.

  My throat tightens again. “I told myself I wouldn't touch you again.”

  “Stop listening to common sense.”

  I laugh. “Nate.”

  Our eyes meet for a long second. In the next my mouth is on his—for a moment he's mine again. When he grips my waist and pulls me up, I hang on for my life. To him. The kiss is urgent yet soft. It's...Everything I've been missing for a month. Everything I told myself I couldn't have, shouldn't.

  Nothing about his mouth, his teeth, his tongue feels like a betrayal. He feels like the man I should have been kissing all my life. I grip him harder, not wanting this moment to ever end.

  But what about Loraine?

  I pull away at the thought, and the light goes out inside me. He puts me back down on my feet. His mouth is covered in my lipstick. I hesitate to wipe it because I want him to be stained by me, and not because he hurt Loraine.

  I take the excuse to prolong our embrace by wiping what's left of me away. He does the same with my mouth.

  Eventually I have no more reasons to touch him.

  “I have to get back,” I say.

  His face twists, and I realize it's not anger or disgust—it's longing. “Robyn, if you can...” He swallows the rest, but now I know what he'd planned to say at the bar.

  My life is in those unsaid words.

  Nate still wants to be with me.

  He's missed me too.

  I hold my breath to see what he says next.

  “Goodbye.”

  The moment he says it, I know he's not going to hunt me down. He's not going to be cocky, asking for just ten minutes. I'm going to go back inside the banquet hall and he's going to let me go. He's leaving the next step up to me without pushing.