“I know. Want to burn it down, too?” he asked. When she looked up, he was staring down at her.
“You're so good to me, Constantine Masters,” she sighed, hugging close to him.
“Only because you're so bad,” he teased. “Now let's go make some fireworks.”
CONSTANTINE SHOULD've been a boy scout. Hell, maybe he had been. She'd never asked. But he seemed to know at least a little bit about nearly everything.
Like he knew that if they broke the gas line to the stove in her mother's trailer, it would be easy enough to make the fire look like a simple accident. Gas fills the home, water heater's pilot light kicks up, BOOM. Not exactly fun, but the light show would be impressive.
No one was home, which was kind of a shocker. She wasn't sure whether she was disappointed or not. Neither her mother nor her step-father had been particularly cruel to her. They hadn't harmed her or really abused her. But neglect was its own kind of abuse, as was exposing her to things she never should've seen. And of course, allowing Matt to be in her life was its own crime. For that alone, they almost deserved to die.
But they weren't there, so they wouldn't die, and Dulcie figured it was probably a good thing. She still didn't think of herself as a murderer. She didn't just arbitrarily kill anyone who'd upset her. Jesus, if that were the case, then she'd spend all day every day killing people.
The door was flimsy, one solid kick from Con broke it in. She went right back to her old bedroom. It was disgusting, filled with garbage. Empty packages that had once been filled with all the ingredients needed to make meth.
Hmmm, that could make things interesting.
In her absence, a shed had been built alongside the house and sort of crudely attached. A doorway was cut between the two buildings and when she peeked her head through, she saw what was going on. Her step-dad had gone from simple dealer to a full on drug producer.
“Highly unstable,” Con mumbled, popping up next to her. “Sneeze wrong and this shit can explode. Only an idiot would make meth so close to their house.”
“Thank god he's the biggest fucking idiot there ever was.”
The trailer was old and shitty, definitely not up to code. First, Dulcie made sure the pilot light was burning nice and big. Then they headed back to the kitchen. The stove was tiny and Con pulled so hard on it, it actually flipped over as it came away from the wall. The pipe connecting the gas line hung on for dear life, but gravity won, and the metal was yanked out of the back of the small oven. There was a hissing noise and she could faintly smell the propane.
“Kind of a sexy scent,” Con commented. She laughed.
“Only you would think that. We should go take our seats now.”
They parked up on a hill which overlooked the trailer park from a safe distance. Dulcie took her shoes off and stretched out her legs, propping her feet on the dash near the wheel. Con leaned back in his seat, one of his hands resting high up on her thigh.
“This isn't going to be enough,” he said in a soft voice. She'd been nibbling on some chips and stopped when he spoke.
“No,” she agreed. “No, it won't. But it'll help, for now.”
“For now, for now,” his words came out on a sigh. “I feel like you're keeping me on a leash.”
“I'm keeping us safe,” she reminded him. “And you're free to do whatever you want.”
“No I'm not,” he laughed, and he shifted around in his seat till he was almost on his side, stretched out across her, his head on her chest. “I'm only half. We need to be whole to do the things I want to do.”
“Yeah, yeah, can the sweet talk and just watch the show.”
She combed her fingers through his hair while he nuzzled her breasts. Then his hands were yanking at the sweater, pulling it up and over her head. Then her hands were at his t-shirt, ripping it clean in half.
When the trailer exploded, Dulcie didn't even notice. Her back was to the gigantic fireball because she was straddling Con, taking him deep inside to a place only he'd ever been before.
“I love you,” she panted into his ear.
“I love us,” he whispered back, pulling at her hair.
“God, yes, us. We should've done this sooner,” she groaned, leaning back so she could scratch her nails down his chest. He hissed and his hands moved to her hips, his fingers leaving bruises in their wake.
“It's okay,” he assured her. “We'll do something even better next time.”
“I hope so. Fuck, tonight, and you, and this fire ... I can't, Constantine, I can't ... I'm going to ...”
“Explode,” he whispered, and she did just that.
By the time they were dressed again – Con now wearing the sweater Dulcie had started in, leaving her in a thin tank top – the fire had burned itself out to mostly just black smoke. A large crowd of trailer park dwellers had gathered around it. In the distance, they could see flashing lights heading towards their area.
“We should go,” she was still struggling to catch her breath. Con gave her one of his broad grins, the one that reminded her of the Cheshire cat, and then his hand was around her throat. He squeezed and yanked her close, kissing her hard. His tongue took over her mouth for a moment and she stopped caring about the fire below them. She pulled at the bottom of his sweater.
“You're the sexiest fucking woman I know,” he growled, then he shoved her back into her seat. “Let's get out of here so I can fuck you properly.”
The car's tires spit gravel as he peeled out of the spot, and she leaned out her window, laughing down at the fire as they got further and further away from it.
Of course, coming back to Fuller had been a dangerous idea. Con was a wanted criminal – a suspect in the deaths of multiple people, including possibly Dulcie's. Dulcie herself was classified as missing, but most people assumed she was dead. Her ghost was allegedly haunting the old train station.
They were both easily recognizable in such a small town, and even the areas surrounding it. Especially Constantine, he had a very distinct look. Attractive as sin, tall, built. He stood out wherever he went. Dulcie's new brunette hair and slight stature helped her to blend in, but all it would take was one former classmate, one former coworker, and all their hard work would be gone. All their planning, their year spent in hiding, poof. Done. They'd both go to jail. Be lucky if they didn't get executed.
Con had always assured her that if it happened, if they were ever caught, he would take the complete blame. He'd abducted her, brainwashed her. Whatever it would take to make sure she'd stay free.
So sweet. He would literally die for her, she knew that. She firmly believed that. But she would never, ever allow it. If Constantine died, then she wouldn't want to exist in a world without him. So if they were caught, she would go down with him, regardless of what he said or wanted.
If they could kill together, then they could certainly die together.
They were staying at a little motel outside of Fuller. Some place just off the interstate, mostly used by truckers or people passing through on their way from New York to Chicago or somewhere else more interesting. Dulcie felt anonymous there. Safe there.
They had sex again after they got back, then just lazed around for a while. Finally, Con's hunger got to him and he ordered a pizza. Dulcie pulled on her shorts and tank top, then offered to run to the vending machine.
“Want anything?” she asked, tying some of her hair back behind her head, keeping it off her face.
“I don't care. A Coke, or water, something,” he said, waving his hand at her. She nodded and scooped some cash off the dresser.
“Got it. Be back in a sec.”
“Careful.”
“Always.”
They were on the second story. All the rooms had external doors over looking a parking lot, and she knew there was a vending machine at the opposite end of the walkway. As she made her way towards it, she noticed a man coming to the top of the stairs. He was carrying a small roller style suitcase, carry on size. As she approached, he gave her
a small smile. The kind one stranger offers to another, hoping for kindness in return.
You've got the wrong stranger for that, mister.
“Hey,” he said as she reached him. She ignored him and walked past, but he didn't move from his spot. “Are you from Fuller?”
That made her pause. Why would he assume that? Fuller was about fifteen miles away. She slowly turned around to face him.
“Why?” she asked. He shrugged.
“I'm doing some work there, I have to find someone.”
Internally she felt panic rising, but on the outside, she remained aloof.
“Oh? Why? Are you a cop?” she tried to sound nonchalant. He chuckled and she noticed the laugh lines appearing around his eyes. He had to be about ten years older than her, maybe. Sandy hair, soft green eyes. Good looking, in an apple-pie kind of way.
“No. At least, not anymore. I'm a journalist.”
“Journalist? Why would a journalist be in the middle of bumfuck, West Virginia?” she gestured to their surroundings while she spoke.
“I told you, I'm looking for someone. Why is someone like you in the middle of bumfuck, West Virginia?” he turned her question around, and she realized he was flirting with her. His eyes dropped down, taking in her bare feet. When he looked back up, his gaze paused briefly on her chest. She was wearing a very thin white tank top, and no bra. She took a slow breath and put her hand on her hip.
“So who are you looking for?” she asked.
“A guy named Jared Foster,” he said, and Dulcie was pretty sure her blood froze right in her veins.
“Did he do something bad?” she kept questioning.
“No, he just knows some stuff about a story I'm working on.”
“And what story is that?”
“Well, over a year ago, there were some murders in this area. A town near here, this kid went crazy, I'm writing about him. Killed his dad, a bunch of other kids,” he explained.
“And his girlfriend,” Dulcie added. The man raised his eyebrows.
“You know the story?”
She thought quickly. She didn't like making decisions without Con, but sometimes it had to be done.
“I'm from Fuller,” she stated. His eyebrows got even higher.
“Really? That's ... that's great, were you there when this all happened? Would you be okay if I asked you some questions about it?” he asked, and she could hear the excitement in his voice. This was his moment, he was thinking. This would be his big break.
Poor, stupid man.
“Sure,” she said, tucking a fly away strand of hair behind her ear. “Let me just drop some stuff off in my room, and I can meet you in yours. What's your number?”
“Uh, 2C,” he said, glancing at his key card. “It's kinda late, you sure you don't mind?”
“I'm a night owl, I don't mind at all.”
“Great. Perfect. I'm Aidan, by the way,” he held out his hand and introduced himself. Dulcie managed a smile and shook his hand.
“Shannon. Shannon Cork.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Shannon.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Aidan.”
My Time in the Affair
~Mischa~
Once a cheater, always a cheater.
If they can cheat on their spouse, what's to stop them from cheating on you?
Have a back bone. Be strong. Don't trust them.
All things people have said about me, thought about me, believed about me.
Which is fine. After everything I've done and everything I've been through, I certainly believe everyone is entitled to their opinion.
But that doesn't make it correct.
Yes, I cheated on my husband. I made a choice to cheat on him, I set out to cheat on him.
Because you see, nothing is ever how it seems. Love, marriage, relationships, honesty, lying. You think everything is cut and dry. I know I did. Even when things were awful, even when they were the worst, at least I wasn't that person.
Then I became that person. I walked right across the line between right and wrong, settled myself in, and had a good look around. And you know what I realized?
Sometimes, it doesn't look a whole lot different, regardless of which side you're sitting on.
No, you should never cheat on your spouse. Ever. It's a horrible, terrible thing to do. I wish I hadn't hurt my husband the way I did, I regret that more than anything else.
But in all honesty, I do not regret cheating on him. Because to regret doing that would be to regret where it led me, and that I could never do.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, you never know what anything is really like, until you're experiencing it first hand. Something wonderful can be downright awful, and something awful can be ... well ...
I think you get the picture.
“WE'RE GONNA BE LATE!” Mischa shouted up the stairs. There was silence, so she waited a moment. Glanced at her watch. Let out an annoyed groan. “Seriously, Tal, move your ass!”
Finally, she heard a door slam, quickly followed by the sound of feet pounding down the stairs. A few seconds later, the tall, dark, and handsome bane of her existence jogged into view.
“We're fine, we're fine,” he said, lifting up his hands in a calming gesture. She glared even harder at him.
“We're not fine – we're late as of right now,” she said, holding up her wrist so he could see her watch.
“Barely.”
“And we still have to get there, so we're going to be even later.”
“Stop. Worrying,” he insisted, holding open the front door for her.
“Are you serious? This is the first -”
She cut herself off with a small shriek when he slapped her on the ass. She stumbled across the sidewalk, then he caught her by the arm and yanked her to his side.
“This thing has got you so tense, Misch,” Tal sighed, wrapping an arm around her and holding her close. “We'll get there when we get there, we won't miss anything, I promise.”
“But what if -”
“Not buts. Everything is going to go perfectly. Nothing can go wrong tonight. So just stop thinking about it and tell me all about your phone calls this afternoon,” he insisted. She snorted.
“Please. I know you have the phone tapped, Secret Agent Man. You've probably already read the transcripts of my conversations.”
“You wound me, madam,” he said in dramatic fashion, pressing his free hand to his chest. “I would never tap my home phone. Your cell phone, however, I have synced to a tape recorder in an unmarked van.”
“Har dee har har.”
He was annoying, for sure, but god, she loved him so much. Just as much as when they'd first gotten together. Even more than that, now. The affair had never ended, they were still so wrapped up in each other. Every day, every moment, was like the beginning of a relationship. New. Fresh. Exciting. Different.
Exactly how a marriage and relationship should be.
Mischa told him about her phone calls. The first had been with her mother – Mischa'd had a difficult relationship with the woman her whole life, and her affair with Tal had only put an even bigger strain on it. Tal had eventually won the woman over, and over the course of recent events and the passing years, Mischa had found some common ground with her mother. They were finally bonding. Ish.
“My parents want to come visit again,” she warned him as they approached a large concert hall. People were still filing through the doors, so she knew that meant the curtain call hadn't happened yet.
“Awesome, I love when your dad comes. I'll make sure to block out the time from work,” Tal replied. She took a deep breath.
“And then I spoke to Michael,” she told him. He raised his eyebrows.
“Wow, really? I feel like you just saw each other.”
Three months ago, her father had undergone a hip replacement. Nothing too dangerous, but Mischa had wanted to be close to home, so she'd flown from Rome to Detroit to spend two weeks with him. While there, she'd actually stayed at h
er ex-husband's home. In the guest room, of course.
“Yeah, I guess he wants to come, too. He wants to bring Daniel,” she explained.
“We should open up a hotel, the way all these people are always wanting to visit us.”
“You want me to tell them to stay somewhere else?”
“No, I'm kidding. I like Mike. Now. Kinda.”
It was a lie, she knew. Tal was fine with Michael – it was Michael's long-standing hatred of Tal that had kept them from being friends. And that hatred had of course been understandable; Tal had stolen the man's wife, after all.
Luckily, Michael had eventually jumped back into the dating world. He'd explored his life as a bisexual and went out on lots of dates, going back and forth between men and women. He'd actually settled down for a while with a woman from his office. Mischa had wished them well, she held absolutely no ill-will towards her ex. It hadn't lasted, though, but she was still happy because Michael was the one who'd cut it off. He'd actually said something, voiced his thoughts and concerns.
He was growing up.
His new boyfriend, though, a marathon runner from the suburbs of Detroit, seemed really good for him. Daniel had been the one to convince Michael to let go of his rage towards Tal. Now he was making an effort to be a part of their lives, in a small way. Mischa and Michael had been friends for too long, been too close in a lot of ways, to fully let each other go.
“Well, if he comes, you better pretend you like him – and Daniel – a lot, okay?” she told Tal. He nodded.
“You know I'll be cool, Misch. I like everybody.”
“Now that's a lie.”
“Be quiet now, darling wife of mine, we're here,” he shushed her, then held open the door to the hall. They walked into a large crowd, then threaded their way through, showing their tickets to the ushers at the theatre doors. Just as they took their seats, the lights dimmed up and down several times.
“It's gonna start soon!” she hissed, smacking Tal in the hip as he stayed standing.
“Calm down, woman,” he laughed, finally sitting down. “Nothing's happened yet. Stop acting like we're at a Broadway show.”
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