Never Better: A Dark Obsession Novel

by Charlotte Stein

  And it didn’t seem to help much when he only said, instead of doing.

  “Okay, now imagine I grab you with it. I get hold of your throat or the back of your shirt—because both are pretty typical if someone is coming up on you from behind. They might even grab your arm, but that’s fine too. Because the exact same move is going to apply.”

  “Right. So now you’re going to show me this move. Hopefully before I pass out.”

  “You’re not going to pass out. Just keep your eyes on me, and lift your right arm.”

  “You want me to lift my right arm?”

  “I want you to lift your right arm.”

  She would have disobeyed anyone else. At the very least, she would have thought they were making fun of her. But he just said things so directly and so plainly, and his expression was so calm and still.

  It wasn’t that hard to do it. Though, it did seem pretty silly, once she had.

  “I feel like I’m asking for permission to go to the bathroom.”

  “Doesn’t make any difference. In fact, thinking of it that way will help you remember. The second you feel anyone touching you, that’s what you do. Arm up like a kid in class.”

  “Right. Okay. Okay. Now what?”

  He beckoned, with his free hand. “Now you’re going to turn towards me.”

  “That still doesn’t seem to make much sense.”

  “It will. Because as you turn towards me you bend that arm around mine.”

  She didn’t mean to laugh. It just burst out the second he said it, and it lingered through her words. “All right, now I know you’re just fucking with me.”

  “Nope, I’m not fucking with you. Try it.”

  “You seriously want me to hug your arm with mine.”

  “If you can manage it, yes.”

  “I can manage. I think,” she said, though she wasn’t really sure until she tried. She turned toward him and swung her arm around and over his, like a clothes peg over a sheet.

  And, of course, as soon as she did, she understood.

  She felt his arm bend under the pressure of hers.

  Felt the way that it locked them together, and put her in control.

  “Oh my god.”

  “You see?”

  “It pushes your arm down.”

  “Uh-huh. And even better—”

  “You’re trapped, now. I could just hit you in the face.”

  Her voice went way too high and hushed on hit and you and face.

  Almost as if the idea excited her—though truthfully, there was no one in the world she’d ever wanted to punch less. Up close, his manner was even more soothing than it had seemed from far away. He didn’t look at anything but her face the whole time she held him, even though she knew her tits were practically thrust in the air. And though this had to be a tense moment for him too, he didn’t let it show. His curl of mouth didn’t thin down to nothing. Those liquid ink eyes stayed heavy lidded and serene.

  Even his voice didn’t waver, when he finally answered her.

  “Absolutely, you could. You can use your free hand to hit me, to shove against my shoulder and get me down on my knees, to punch me in the side. From here, there are a ton of moves you could make—though chances are you won’t have to. The last thing a man who grabs women wants is a shock. He wants to be the one who shocks. He is sure is grip is strong and his control absolute. You bring that arm up and he’s immediately on the back foot, even if you don’t manage to break his hold.”

  “Yeah. Yeah that makes a ton of sense.”

  “Good. So now we go again. You ready?”

  “I am. I think,” she said, as he stepped away.

  But she wasn’t. He reached for her again as slow as anything, yet somehow it just didn’t go right. She practically elbowed his arm, instead of hooking her own over it. And even worse—she sort of stumbled a little. As if the aim has been to run into him.

  Not that he seemed bothered by that.

  He didn’t even roll his eyes.

  He just explained as he stepped back, “Almost. But you’re trying to hook before you turn.”

  “Yeah, I can feel that. It’s like with the handshake. I’m too eager.”

  “Of course you are—but to be honest, that’s good.”

  “I don’t see how. It just makes me super clumsy.”

  He nodded, as firm and reassuring as a hug. “It does. But that’s how you’d be if it really happened. So, everything we do now, everything we train into you, is something you can do under duress. Make sense?”

  “Totally makes sense.”

  “Good. Now: again.”

  This time he was faster. He lunged just a little.

  But that was okay, because she was better.

  She snapped her arm around his with the minimum of stumbling.

  And he appeared to agree. “That’s it. One more time.”

  He moved almost before he’d finished speaking.

  Still though, she caught him. And she did it so hard and so well it brought him almost eye level with her. It left an imprint of his arm on the underside of hers—the obvious swell of his bicep and the jut of his elbow, deep in that suddenly sensitive place.

  Though, she shook it off quick.

  She had to, because a second later he said, “Hey, check it out.” And when she turned to see what he was pointing at, she felt it. She felt his hand brush the back of her sweater, so light it could have been nothing.

  But her body didn’t take it as nothing. Her body responded automatically, as if this short lesson had already left its mark on her. She hooked her arm over his in one fluid move.

  Much to his delight. “Good girl. Yes, perfect. You feel that?”

  “I feel it. I don’t know what it is, but I feel it.”

  “It’s you, being in control. No one can take it from you. I can try to trick you, but it won’t ever work now. Because you’re ready for me, aren’t you?”

  “Hell yeah, I’m ready.”

  “Eyes front, then.”

  “Eyes front,” she echoed, and the moment she did she felt his hand. Not hovering this time, not whispering against her sweater. He grabbed a handful of it, in a way that should have sent her reeling—and especially when she felt his knuckles against her shoulder blade. Like him, she thought. But instead of panicking, she moved.

  She got her arm around his.

  And even sweeter, she forced him to his knees.

  She didn’t know how. She wasn’t even sure whether she had done it herself, or he had helped her. She only knew how it felt after it happened. Suddenly, every possible joyous emotion inside her was bubbling up to the surface, as if they’d never actually been away at all. They hadn’t died, the way she had sometimes feared they had. They were all still there, just waiting for her arm around his and him on his knees and those black eyes looking up at her, with something like triumph flashing in them too.

  “Oh my god. Oh my god, I can’t believe it works,” she said.

  And then his eyes flashed brighter. They burned, as he replied. “Wouldn’t have taught you it if I thought it might not.”

  “But even so, fuck. I just did it. I can just do it.”

  “Of course you can. Of course.”

  He stood, as he spoke. Brushed his hands off, all calm and composed again in a way she just couldn’t be yet. That joy was still bubbling through her. She still felt breathless.

  And more than that, she felt grateful.

  “Thank you. Thank you,” she said.

  Though he just shook it off.

  “I told you. Don’t thank me.”

  “I can’t do anything but.”

  “Then just do it in your head.”

  “I would, but I think you’ll know what I’m saying, anyway.”

  His eyes met hers, as steady as ever but somehow different at the same time.

  She couldn’t pinpoint what the difference was, however.

  And before she could fully grasp it, he looked away. “That’s probably tru
e. Though, at least this way, I can pretend it isn’t happening. That it never needs to happen. That I’m just your friend, and we’re just having some fun here. Nothing more.”

  “We can be those things, too. It doesn’t have to be either/or.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  “I promise. Friend who I’m grateful to,” she said, but as soon as she did she knew she’d said the wrong thing. The word friend was too close. It was too intimate—even though she’d only used it in lieu of the name she still didn’t know. He had never shared it, and she hadn’t ever wanted to press, and now this was where they were:

  Him balking at a word she hadn’t meant to use.

  More than balking, really. He stepped back, as if what she’d said had slapped him.

  Then sure enough: “Okay well, I think we should probably wrap it up for today.”

  “Yeah, totally. Think my arm’s about to fall off.”

  “We can pick this up again, next time.”

  “Absolutely. That sounds great to me,” she said.

  And she meant it, too. If he needed space now, that was cool with her. She didn’t mind if he wanted that separation between them—her on one side and him on the other and nothing like friendship in between. In fact, it was probably for the best, she told herself, as she followed him outside. As she watched him walk into the darkness of the crumbling parking lot behind the place, with those hands in his pockets.

  Then he turned suddenly. He called to her, across the acres of space now between them. “It’s Isaac, by the way. Isaac Morales.”

  And though she didn’t mean to feel a burst of sheerest happiness to hear him say those words, she knew it happened anyway.

  Chapter Five

  It was strange, not telling Letty the truth. Like all the stuff she had done the night before was some kind of dirty secret. She had a lover she was ashamed of, only instead of sex it was self-defense training, and instead of shame it was the dawning realization that she’d sat down in the lecture hall without carefully choosing her seat. In fact, dawning realization wasn’t even the term for it.

  She plonked herself down and was busy picking a pen to use when she noticed Letty hadn’t sat down too. That actually, Letty was just standing on the steps that split the hall, staring at her curiously. “You really want to sit here?” her friend asked, at which point, it hit Lydia full in the face.

  Her back was not to the wall. There were three whole rows behind her.

  And yet, she hadn’t paid attention to that at all.

  She still wasn’t paying attention to it now, even though that guy with the patchy moustache was back there. The one who lived in the apartment above hers. Usually, she avoided the elevator because, too often, he was in it, and he always looked at her funny.

  But right now?

  Nothing. Not one damned thing.

  “Yeah, here is fine,” she said, and oh, the look on Letty’s face. It was better than the one she’d had after Lydia had learned the handshake lesson. It was bright and brilliant and so beautiful, all Lydia wanted to do was say what had happened. She wanted to describe his face, when she’d gotten him to his knees. To tell her about that bubbling joy.

  But then Letty whispered, “Man, those meetings must be amazing.”

  And all that came out was, “They really are.”

  “To be honest, I kind of want to marry them right now.”

  “You kind of want to marry a group therapy session?”

  “Well, unless you get around to marrying them first.”

  “I’m not going to marry anything. It’s not like that.”

  She knew she’d said the last part too loud. But the actual content of the words only struck her when she saw Letty’s puzzled expression. Letty had only been fooling—she had been joking the way they always joked, turning the meeting into a thing you could be with.

  And she’d responded with the truth, unwittingly.

  She’d spoken as if it was a person—and now she had to fix it, fast.

  Though god, fixing it made her feel very odd.

  “The meeting and I are barely friends,” she said.

  “Uh-huh. So you tell yourself. But then one day, the meeting gives you this lingering look, and your hands briefly touch over terrible coffee and bam.”

  “The meeting would never bam me. He’s a gentleman.”

  “You say that, and yet you’re already referring to a thing as a he.”

  “Well, last I checked it did have a five o’clock shadow.”

  “So you noticed huh?”

  “I noticed what?”

  “His sexy stubble.”

  She had to look at Letty then. Just to double check that this was still a joke, and not some secret way of revealing that her friend actually knew.

  Though, what she saw there didn’t comfort her.

  Her gaze was so steady, so knowing.

  Joking was the only option.

  “Actually, it’s his broken pipes and dental hygiene posters that really turn me on.”

  “Hoo, boy. How the fuck do you keep your hands to yourself?”

  “With intense and incredible difficulty” she said, then immediately wanted to take it back. It wasn’t true—or at least, the real version of it wasn’t true.

  She had no problems not touching Isaac.

  But then, this was just a game. So, what did it matter?

  It didn’t, she told herself, about a second before Letty snorted. ”I bet sometimes you just want to plough that meeting like a field full of delicious fucks.”

  And after she had, things just fully veered into very odd territory.

  Lydia’s face flamed, for reasons she couldn’t fully grasp. Suddenly, her palms were all sweaty, and her whole body was too hot, and even though she never snapped at her friend she found herself doing it. The words practically cracked out of her, too loud and too weird.

  “Letty. The lecture is starting,” she said.

  Though luckily, Letty took it the right way. She immediately looked contrite, and then during the lecture passed her a note. Sorry I forgot that sex stuff makes you uncomfortable now. I’m such a clumsy idiot, it read, and god, the relief that went through her when her eyes ran over the words. It was almost ecstasy. It was much too big and much too good, until she just had to wonder.

  If there was no smoke, why she was so happy to find the fire had been put out?

  * * *

  She refused to let things be awkward the next time she saw him. After all, she didn’t really think about his sexy stubble. There was no actual wild urge to rub her hands all over him. He was just a friend, helping out another friend. And true, his hair was great and his eyes were very black, and his body was fucking amazing.

  But those were just facts.

  She couldn’t have avoided them if she tried—especially not when he just decided to strip off his leather jacket, five minutes into their next “class”. They were in the middle of a conversation about nothing, and suddenly, he was unzipping and unbuttoning everything. He was sliding the jacket off his shoulders, to reveal a bizarrely thin jersey underneath.

  Or maybe it wasn’t bizarrely thin at all.

  Maybe it just seemed that way, because now she could see a lot more of him. She could make out the curves of his biceps, quite clearly, beneath those soft sleeves. And then there were the planes of his pectoral muscles—harder and flatter somehow than she was expecting. She was used to football players, who ate steaks for breakfasts and burst out of everything they wore.

  But he wasn’t like that. He conjured up images of men fighting up mountains in the dark. Of being attacked by wolves, then having to kill them with your bare hands.

  In fact, that was probably why she was staring.

  Instead of paying attention to what he was saying.

  “Hello? Lydia? You want to get started?”

  “Oh god, yeah. Yeah, sorry. I was just—”

  “I can put the jacket back on if you want.”

  She flushed when he
said it, though he didn’t seem to mean it any particular way.

  He was just thinking of her feelings towards powerful looking men, she thought.

  Yet somehow that didn’t comfort her. In fact, it just made her sound more defensive when she finally answered him. “What? No. No, it had nothing to do with the jacket.”

  “Are you sure? Because it’s not a big deal for me to wear it.”

  “Honestly, I don’t need you to do that. In fact, I’ll take off mine, too.”

  “Sure. Go for it, if it makes you more comfortable,” he said.

  And she did. She shucked her own leather, in the hopes of restoring some kind of equilibrium. He had done a perfectly normal thing, and then she had done a normal thing in response, she told herself.

  Only, it didn’t quite seem that way, once she was standing there in her sweater.

  It seemed like she had stared while he point blank refused to. She had goggled at him like a total dipshit, when he had taken off his coat. Yet, he in no way behaved as intrusively. His eyes went everywhere but her body, truth be told—as if to look at her would cross some kind of line.

  And his tone when he spoke was just as cool as always.

  “So, what were you hoping to learn today?”

  How to be a fucking gentleman like you, she thought.

  Then did her best to be just that. To be restrained and indifferent, like him.

  To focus on what they were doing and not on anything else.

  “I don’t know. Maybe the best way to incapacitate someone?”

  “Simple blow to the windpipe. Will drop anybody, fast.”

  “That sounds good. Show me how you would do that.”

  “Sure. Make this shape with your hand.”

  He held up his own as an example—palm leading, fingers folded over.

  Then waited, patiently, for her to do the same.

  “How’s that?”

  “Good. Tighten it up.”

  “Yep, got it. I got it.”