Othello Station

by Rachael Wade

  My knuckles turn white as I grip the fridge door handle.

  “Orange juice, water, or wine?” I call out, voice tight.

  “Too early for wine,” Mira calls back from the living room, her voice distant, as if it’s caught in a wind tunnel somewhere. “Water’s fine, thanks.”

  I yank the door open, ridding the reflection from my view, and reach for the filtered water. I pour us each a glass and return to the living room, surprised to find Mira on her knees in front of the television. She’s thumbing through the DVDs on the shelves, pausing when she reaches a section of books and photo albums. “There are no movies there,” I say quickly, my voice sharp and stern.

  “You have good taste,” she says proudly, holding up a book from my Vonnegut collection. “Oh, this looks interesting.” She moves to a thick album next. A photo album I positively have no intention of showing her. Ever.

  “Wait!” I dash toward her, slamming the water glasses down on the coffee table first before lunging in her direction. Her eyes pop wide and she jumps, dropping the album onto her lap. Photos spill out and tumble all around her, littering the carpet. She scrambles to pick them up, collecting them one by one and shuffling them into a pile.

  “I’m so sorry,” she mumbles, unable to look at me.

  “I told you there were no movies on that shelf.”

  “I said I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Just stop,” I bark, snatching the book from her lap. I swipe the photos from her hands, moving like lightning. “Don’t touch them. Just don’t worry about it. I’ll clean them up.” She freezes for a moment, letting me take the reins, then suddenly rises to her feet in one fluid movement. She remains still, staring down at me as I hurry to pick the photographs up. “Your water’s on the table,” I say gruffly, without glancing up in her direction. My hands are acting on their accord, my fingers possessed with the need to conceal each and every photo that’s spilled from the album.

  When I finally risk a glance at Mira, I discover it’s too late. She’s already seen each and every picture. There is no going back, no undoing the damage.

  “Grant, I never meant to intrude. It was a mistake. Please, forgive me.”

  A rope inside of me snaps. This is why I do not bring women to my place. This right here. This is why I refuse to see the same woman more than once, unless she knows better. Unless she knows to stay the hell out of my goddamn business. Unless she knows to not push herself in to my life, my mind, and my memories. Mira does all of those things without even trying. She’s a living, breathing, walking liability. Everything about her is one big fucking risk. She might be a kind, gentle, beautiful dove, but she’s a fucking landmine and she needs to go.

  “I think you’d better leave.” The words are out so quickly, spoken with such certainty, that I know there will be no confusion. She’ll hear it, loud and clear, and she will never, ever step foot in my apartment ever again.

  “Grant—”

  “I said, go!” I rise to my feet, photos in hand, unable to control the rage that powers through me. My limbs shake and every muscle in my neck bulges as I yell in her face. She winces and lifts her hands, stumbling back until her heels hit the edge of the coffee table. “Please, just leave!” A beat passes and she still doesn’t move, stunned in place. It isn’t until I chuck the album and the loose photos across the room onto the leather couch that she jumps into action. She sails through the living room, past the kitchen, and out the door. Out of my life. Out of my apartment.

  Out of my tomb.

  ELEVEN

  My heart, lungs, and mind ache as I stalk through the hotel lobby doors and up to the front desk. My calves burn, matching the pain that radiates through me like bubbling lava. I haven’t stopped running until right now, until I reached the hotel’s awning. The second Mira fled the apartment, I did, too. I ran and ran, hopped back on the Lightrail for Westlake station, then ran some more. The world whizzed past me, bright and lively, while I chased away my demons. The pictures of my father and me in his final days still flood my memory. I can still see them scattered all over the living room floor, pooled around Mira’s ankles and knees. I should’ve known better than to bring that damn dove into my apartment. I should’ve kept her locked in a goddamn cage.

  But I know better now.

  “Can I help you, Sir?” Carina looks at me curiously as I slam my hands on the reception desk. “Do you need some water?”

  “Yes, and yes. But first, I need you to extend my reservation.”

  “Okay…”

  “That means right now, please,” I snap, nodding to the computer screen. “Give me another week, at least.”

  “A week? Well, I’m not certain I can do that, Sir.”

  “Grant. The name’s Grant. You know damn well who I am. You stitched me up.”

  “Okay, Grant,” she shifts uncomfortably, no doubt taken back by my agitation. It’s rolling off me in thick, voracious waves, but I really don’t give a damn. I don’t give a damn about any of this. Not this place, not this mousy nurse-in-training behind the desk, and definitely not that soft, holy, intrusive dove that flew into my life and fucked everything up. In a matter of days, my world has been turned upside down—again—and I see it, now. It’s all thanks to Mira. No way am I putting up with this shit anymore. I’m done. That goes for her friends, too.

  I hold a hand up to stop Carina’s spiel. “Before you ramble on about it being Valentine’s week and no room availability, let me tell you something. I’ll pay double—make that triple—the nightly room rate. I’ll buy this fucking place out, do you understand? If you need me to speak with your manager, I will. I already have a lot to say to whoever owns this place, anyway. You’ll be hearing from me, believe me. So, for the sake of your ridiculous customer service scores and for the sake of the sanity of everyone on the premises, how about you work your magic on that computer and find me a room for the week. Got it?”

  Carina blinks, sputtering as she searches for words. “Wait just a minute, Grant. It doesn’t work that way.”

  “Do you want to keep your customers satisfied, or don’t you? It’s that simple, Carina.”

  A curtain suddenly drops over Carina’s sweet, innocent features, and she shifts into full-on Bitch Mode. I’ve officially unveiled her dark side, and I have to admit, as a heavy flicker glints in her eyes, I’m a little scared. “You’re not just a customer, though, are you, Mr. Michaelson?” A hand flies to her hip and she lowers her voice. It’s firm and angry and hell-bent on putting me in my place. “I warned you not to hurt her. You demanding to stay here—for another week!—is a surefire way to hurt her, and you know it.”

  “You don’t know anything about this.”

  “Oh, I don’t?” She nods sharply over my shoulder. I glance behind me to find Mira waiting tables in the café area. Her face is pale, and her eyes are red and splotchy. “She came in this afternoon crying. She’s a mess. I know all about it.”

  A sharp pang strikes my chest. “I didn’t hurt her. I had every reason to—”

  “The hell you didn’t. You had zero reason to kick her out of your apartment the way you did, with no explanation, no apology, no nothing! Now, I don’t care what demons you have in your closet. We all have them, so man the hell up.” She quickly straightens up and smooths out the edges of her suit jacket as a customer approaches behind me to wait his turn in line. “Go to another hotel. Don’t do this.”

  “No,” I insist. I pull my gaze from Mira, unable to focus on the pain there. I’ve inflicted it, but I had no choice. Just like I have no choice, now. I cannot go back to my apartment. And I refuse to go to another hotel. Not until Mira sees just how wrong she is to get involved with me. Not until she realizes that pure, unselfish doves have no place in my world. Somehow, I have to shatter that illusion. If I don’t do it now, she’ll never give up hope. She’ll just keep flying around and around my head and heart until she has nothing left. And that’s the worst kind of pain of all.

  “Open
up my reservation,” I demand, gesturing for Carina to get to work. “I don’t care what room type you have to put me in or how much I have to pay to be here. I’m not leaving.”

  Carina’s nostrils flare and that glint in her eyes hardens, but she moves into action tapping away on the keyboard. “We’ll be with you in just a moment, Sir,” she calls to the customer waiting behind me. “You can’t just leave her alone?” She whispers under her breath. “At least have the decency to say you’re sorry.”

  “What is it with you girls?” I laugh, slapping my hand on the counter. “You all stick together, defending one another and making each other’s business your own business. Mira’s mess is her own damn mess. Let her clean it up, will you?”

  “No,” Carina says sharply, her eyes hitting mine like a fiery missile. “Her mess is my mess. That’s what friends do, Grant. We carry each other’s burdens. Even when we know we can’t help, we carry them because their pain is our pain.” She swipes a key into the key reader, tapping on a few more buttons, then leans over, planting her hands on the counter, matching my stance. “Maybe you’ve spent so much time alone, with no one to look after you, and no willingness to look after anyone else, that you think that’s stupid and pointless. And you know what? That’s just sad. No man is an island. Everyone needs someone, and we don’t get to just use and dispose of people for the sake of self-preservation. One day, maybe long after you push Mira out, you’ll learn that.” The key reader beeps and she grabs the keys, shoves them into a key packet, and chucks them toward me. “You’ve got five more days. Move your things to room 305. Next?” Her chin jerks up and she smiles brightly at the man behind me, welcoming him to step up and take my place.

  I stumble aside like a wounded animal, sliding the keys toward me as I step out of the way. The man behind me walks right up to the counter, happy to take my place. Happy to have his turn. I walk toward the elevator in silence and jam the button, refusing to look back in Mira’s direction. I don’t need to look at her again. I’ve already seen her face. I’ve already seen the damage. I already know what I’ve done, and what I’m about to do. It certainly wouldn’t make my father proud. It would probably break his heart. But I already did that—broke his heart. I stuck the nail in that coffin the day I didn’t go to see him. The day I never went to say goodbye. And every day before that, when I failed to meet him at Othello Station, to go to his chemo appointments.

  I dropped out of his life, just like I’m about to drop out of Mira’s.

  ***

  My muscles ache from running and I’ve loaded up on my vitamins. My blood pressure numbers are logged—some of them pretty damn high—and I’m ready to flush Mira out of my system for good. There’s a hard knock at the door. When I answer, Samantha’s standing there with her arms crossed. “One of these days, maybe I’ll figure you out.”

  “Today is not that day.” I reach out and grab her, pulling her inside and slamming the door.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing with you.”

  “You know exactly what you’re doing with me. And I know exactly what I’m doing with you.” I line her up against the wall and step back to take a good look at her. I fight to push out images of Mira at every turn, flipping the switch. Samantha is as fake as they come. As usual, her makeup is plastered on and perfect, and her barely-there clothing show off every delectable curve of her body. “Clothes off, come on.”

  She leans back against the wall and a pleased smile curls her lips. “Need it fast and rough today, do you?”

  “Always.” I close the gap between us. I’m not interested in playing games today, and I’m definitely not interested in making small talk. I pin her wrists up above her head and grind against her, slamming my mouth onto hers. She moans against my tongue, stirring my dick to life. Her taste is all wrong. Her scent makes me home sick. Nothing about this feels the way it used to, just as I’d feared.

  And I’m really fucking pissed about the fact.

  “Oh my God,” Samantha’s head falls back as I bite into her neck. “You’re so good at this.”

  “I know.” I kiss her hard to shut her up, abruptly reaching up her skirt to drag her panties down her legs. We won’t be making it to the bed. We won’t be moving an inch. I won’t be satisfied until I pound my way home. Her purse slides from her shoulder and tumbles to the floor, and I wrench her leg up just as quickly as I undo my fly. I squeeze my eyes shut, as tightly as I can, until I see nothing but black, black, black. White wings try to seize my thoughts, but I shoot them down, focusing instead on Samantha’s strange coconut scent and the taste of her red lipstick.

  One of her wrists wiggles free and she reaches down, grabbing my cock. She squeezes me in her hand, bringing me to her pussy. I quickly dive into my pant pocket for a rubber and then drive into her, harder and faster than I’ve fucked in a long, long time. Samantha’s head knocks painfully against the wall, but she’s loving every second of it, and my hands and knuckles are scraping against it as I hold her up and ram into her. I lean into her as her arms fall, landing on my shoulders. I bounce her up and down, keeping my eyes glued shut, resting my forehead against her shoulder. She begs for more. I give it to her and then some.

  We both climb higher and higher, each second bringing us closer to the edge. Just as I’m about to explode, I open my eyes and yank her hair, pulling her head to the side. I can’t look into her eyes. I can’t look at her face. I just need to feel her body, feel her desperation for the release, but the sound of that god awful flapping distracts me, pluming around me from every direction. I try pressing my face into the crook of Samantha’s neck again, hoping that will push out the sound. Hoping it will drown out the image of the woman moaning before me and replace it with a different fantasy.

  One of Mira panting in front of me.

  But the moment I allow my mind to go there, I’m bombarded with a tidal wave of desire. I’d give anything to taste her lipstick. To inhale her scent. To hear her moan in my ear. I want that angel’s wings wrapped around me again, just as much as I want her legs wrapped around me in a vice grip. Samantha’s voice grows louder. I cup my hand over her mouth to dampen her cries, and she thinks I’m being kinky or something, so she only moans louder. The sounds shuttle through me, sending the blood pumping until it’s pounding thickly in my ears.

  I come hard, emptying myself into her, delivering quick, sharp thrusts. I try to bite back the name, try my best to push back the damage before it’s done, but it’s no use. Mira’s name bursts from my lips and my weight sends Samantha’s bones crushing into the wall. I’m smothering her, covering every inch of her body, clinging on in pure desperation. For a moment, she’s so immersed in the high of her own orgasm that she doesn’t even notice. She rides it out, letting me smash her against the wall, then slowly drops her legs and slides down as I release her from my grip.

  “I need a shower,” I tug at my sweaty t-shirt, wrenching it over my head.

  “Well, hello to you, too,” Samantha sighs, sagging against the wall. She fusses with her hair and shimmies her skirt down, then saunters over to the bed to sit and stretch. “I’ll happily take another round of that whenever you’re ready.”

  “Give me fifteen.” I retrieve a towel from the vanity area and disappear behind the bathroom door, immediately turning the hot water on full blast. The steam fills my lungs and I let it work out what tension is left in my neck and shoulders. The scorching water cascades down my back, washing away the evidence. Once I’m freshly shaven and in my boxers, I stroll out of the bathroom to find Samantha in a hotel bathrobe, lounging on the bed with the TV remote in hand. She’s flipping channels, looking about as bored as I already feel. I’m down for another round, but then she’s got to go. She better not get any crazy ideas, like spending the night here with me.

  It’s not happening.

  “Anything good?” I drop down next to her, turning my attention to the TV.

  “Nope. Looks like you’ll just have to fuck me again.” She tosses the remote an
d rolls onto her side, delivering me a devilish grin. She crawls over and climbs on top of me, letting her white robe fall open. My hands glide up and over her hips, then move further north to the curve of her breasts. My eyes close while my mind shoves the sound of her voice to some distant, far-off place. I let my body take over, giving in to pure sensation.

  A familiar, timid knock at the door sends my eyes snapping open wide.

  “Oh!” Samantha rolls off me and rushes to the door, making quick work of her robe tie. She waits until she’s sufficiently covered up to answer.

  “Samantha, wait—” I jump up and race after her, but it’s too late. The door is open, and there stands Mira, a flicker of pain drifting over her face when she spots me. A hint of anger flares hot in her brown eyes, but the disappointment lurking there overshadows it, bringing the root of the emotion straight to the surface. Pure, undiluted hurt. I’m the cause of it, and nothing I can do or say in this moment or from here on out can take it back.

  I swallow hard, eyes dropping to the silver tray she’s holding. She needs to see this. I need this dove to fly away. I don’t know what I was thinking, spending time with her to begin with. Let alone getting involved with her—touching her, fucking her, holding her. It was downright stupid. And now we’re both paying a price. We’re both standing here, looking in a mirror. Seeing each side of this thing. Facing it all head on. She can’t have me, and I can’t have her.

  “Relax, Grant,” Samantha giggles, glancing over her shoulder at me. She reaches out to accept the tray Mira’s offering. “It’s just the room service I ordered.” She laughs again and rolls her eyes at Mira. “Sorry, honey. He’s a little on edge today. Is this everything?”

  Mira’s hands tremble a little as they hand Samantha the silver tray. The exchange is simple, but Mira’s expression lances me. I can’t bear to watch. So I step forward to take the tray from Samantha’s hands, moving to set it down on the edge of the desk. “Yes,” Mira’s voice cracks. “That should be everything. Can I get you anything else?”