Every now and then, I hear him yelling on the phone in a different language and I hear my name. It sounds weird and foreign when said against the backdrop of a different language.
So, I guess the threat against me is out there. It’s real. A part of me yelled out that he was making it up, like he had used it as an excuse to get me back. A part of me still yells that out. I wouldn’t have been angry, either. Well, I that’s not entirely true. I would have been angry, but I would have understood.
The magnetic pull I feel with Vic is so intense that I could understand if he had lied to get me back because I’d have done the same to be with Vic. I think that’s bad; to need someone so much you’re willing to break rules and values to have them. Sometimes, I think I should leave him before we do something one of us regrets. That will never happen though. We’re stuck together, like a kinky covalent bond.
I sat against Vic’s headboard, staring at the blank TV. I hadn’t returned to work. After Dean had dropped the Bethany bomb, I didn’t know what to do about it. I’d been given a break after the Regal event, and now I’ve been calling in sick ever since. I really have no fucking clue what to do.
I’m still not entirely convinced Bethany had anything to do with what happened. Sure, she’s a brutal and, at times, crazy boss, but is she psychotic? Can I imagine her plotting with Dean to rape and murder me? No, I can’t. Bethany gave me a job here. She helped me out when I needed it. Of course, all of that could have been an elaborate plan. Wait, Zoe is the one that had gotten me the interview with Bethany . . .
Listen to me! Elaborate plans, crazy siblings, traitorous friends . . . I sound like Dean. The easiest way to find out if Bethany is Dean’s sister is to tell the police. If I bring up Bethany’s role to the police, though, it brings up questions about Dean—as in, where is he? And then I’m stuck trying to explain away his absence. Which, in turns, means I’m stuck trying to explain Vic. So, all I can think to do is hide in Vic’s house.
I don’t want to bring Bethany’s possible connection with Dean to Vic’s attention, either. What would he do? Vic wouldn’t kill her, right? This is the part of our relationship that I stumble and fumble over. I feel like we both have too many secrets from each other.
It sucks.
I picked up the remote and turned on the TV, flipping channels to find something mind numbing to watch while simultaneously trying to dull my senses and kill the questions in my head.
Occam’s razor says the simplest solution is often the right one. Well, the simplest solution is that Dean made everything up. He was off his rocker and most of what came out of his mouth was a deluded fantasy. Including the nonsense about Bethany.
I’m almost out of PTO. I can’t keep calling in sick to HR. (No way was I calling Bethany directly, and because I no longer have my old cellphone, Bethany can’t call me.) Even if she wasn’t involved, I still can’t stand the connection Bethany might have.
The Regal buzz will wear off and people will forget about me, and then bye-bye job. I need to come up with a plan, and soon.
Or, I could just let people forget me.
“What are you doing?” Vic asked, coming out of the shower. Bethany and all other worries fell out of my head. With a towel wrapped around his waist, I’m practically drooling.
“Melting,” I replied, turning off the TV. “It’s so hot in this house.”
“I think it’s cool in here,” Vic said, dropping his towel. I stared, mouth agape. It was like looking at a real-life statue of Michelangelo's David, but better—Vic has a bigger cock.
Vic padded toward me, his movements slow and steady like a big cat on the hunt. His cock grew with each step. He stopped in front of the bed, cock now fully erect. “Your mouth looks empty.”
“Will you fill it?” I asked, tilting my head.
“Get naked,” Vic demanded.
Hurriedly, I obeyed, stripping off my tank top and underwear.
Vic lied on the bed and gestured to me. “Come here.”
I crawled over to him, and pressed my body against his. He gave me a deep, long kiss. I could feel his pre-come on my inner thigh.
“Let me taste you,” I whispered against his mouth. “Please.”
“Whatever you want, babe.” Vic grinned, squeezed my ass, and then let me go. I crawled down his body until I reached his cock. I took all of it into my mouth, sucking it back until it reached the edge of my throat, and then going further. I never did have much of a gag reflex.
Vic groaned, stroking the hair out of my face. I stared up at him, bobbing my head up and down. His eyes locked with mine, and I sucked all the way to the top, smiled, and went all the way back down to the base.
“Fuck, Lennox . . .” I could feel him tensing, so I upped my pace and I placed my left hand on his balls, rubbing gently. Vic let out a hiss, tugging my hair.
Vic came in my mouth. I sucked him back, relishing the feel of his cock as his body shivered beneath me. I sucked him, but I didn’t swallow.
I would love to swallow; too bad it ruins my stomach. The last few times I’ve swallowed a guy’s semen, I’ve spent the rest of the day in the bathroom with a manufactured flu. It’s not that I don’t like the taste; it’s that the acidity doesn’t agree with my stomach. Literally, not ten minutes after swallowing semen, I’m in the bathroom. It’s horrible. I hate the saying that “good girls swallow.” I’ll swallow if you’ll make me chicken soup, turn the heating pad on, and leave me alone to watch my favorite TV shows. Is swallowing worth that? Probably not. So, I spit.
One time I gave a guy road head. He came in my mouth. What was I going to do? Roll down the window and get semen all over the car behind us? So I swallowed. Naturally my stomach revolted. We were on a road trip and two hours from home. I sat, holding in vomit for two hours. That is simultaneously one of my greatest achievements and biggest failures.
So, yeah, I don’t swallow.
“Swallow,” Vic said sternly.
I shook my head.
“Swallow.”
The longer Vic pulled his ‘I am the boss of you’ routine, the more semen leaked down my throat. His dominant routine was not sexy when it had the side effect of a very upset stomach.
“Swallow!” Vic demanded.
I glared and got up, about to run to the bathroom.
He grabbed me, forcing me down on the bed. “Swallow me inside of you.”
Clearly, he wasn’t going to let me go. I spit his semen back at him, covering his chest. Daintily, I wiped the corners of my mouth, like some vampire who’d just feasted on blood.
Vic stared back at me, nonplussed.
I shrugged.
“Semen makes me sick,” I said flatly.
“You should have told me. We could have avoided . . . this,” Vic said, indicating the semen all over his chest.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I like the point this makes.”
Vic’s eyes darkened. “Go get a towel and clean me up.” His tone sent shivers down my spine.
“Or what?” I couldn’t resist baiting him. I loved making him angry. It was sick, I know; but, he was just so magnificent when he was upset.
Vic reached down and pulled me up by the forearm, his fingers wrapped around my flesh. He pressed me against his chest so that I became sticky with his semen.
Vic seized my mouth, capturing it so fiercely that I couldn’t breathe. He tightened his grip on my arm and I cried out into his mouth. He swallowed my cry with a guttural sound of approval. I melted, molding onto his muscular frame.
When he released me, I was breathless, panting, and drenched between my legs. I whispered, breathless, “Your punishments make me want to disobey.”
After cleaning off Vic and proceeding to get messy with him a few more times, I called up Lissie and Zoe. Sure it was a weekday but I was in job limbo and, this was a big “and,” I was trying to be a better friend. Lissie, Zoe, and I went out for drinks. It was my idea. This was how you were a better friend, right? I was planning on paying for the
drinks too. Well, at least a reasonable amount.
“Okay, so tell me how you found this place?” I asked Lissie. We were back at the infamous bar, home to the first time I danced with Vic and the first time Lissie and I ever went out. It still boasted swarthy sailor-types and run-down accouterments. It was an amazing bar, and I still didn’t know how she found such a place. I was going to get to the bottom of this, dammit.
Lissie shrugged. “It’s not a great story, but, here it goes. Before I went into NA, I used to score my coke in the alley around back. One night, well, one night I couldn’t wait, so I came in here to use the bathroom. The owner found me on the floor and saved my life. He’s my sponsor now.”
“Can you still get coke back there?” I asked.
Zoe hit me on the arm. Hard.
“Oh shit, sorry. I don’t know why I asked that.” Really, I didn’t. It’s not like I was looking to score some cocaine. I think I was already a bit drunk.
Lissie laughed. “It’s not a big deal. And no, you can’t. Joe, the owner, made sure that scumbag never came back.”
I nodded, sipping on my drink.
Zoe was rubbing Lissie’s arm for support. They looked so nice and couple-y. I envied the simple strength they gave each other.
“So . . .” I said, spinning in my barstool.
“So . . .” They both repeated in unison.
I turned my attention to Zoe. “What’s up with you, Zoe?”
“The usual,” Zoe responded, taking a quick drink from her beer.
“What’s the usual?” I asked.
“You know, freelancin’ the night away.”
Despite all the time Zoe and I have spent together, all I know about her is “computers” and “lesbian.” Not much to go on. She accused me of being a bad friend, but she refused to let me be a friend. I told her as much.
Zoe raised an eyebrow. “Not bullshitting tonight, are we?”
I shrugged. “Blame the whiskey.” I raised my glass for effect.
“Okay. What do you want to know?” Zoe asked
“I don’t know. You know about me. You really know Lissie,”—I gave Lissie a salacious wink—“so tell me something about you,” I said.
“Oh!” Lissie practically jumped up in her seat. “Tell her about when you lost your virg—” Lissie abruptly shut her mouth when she caught Zoe’s glare.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I said quickly. “I just want to get to know you better.” Fuck, this was a weird night. It was like some twisted first date.
“It’s nothing,” Zoe said. “Popular boy meets closeted lesbian, closeted lesbian meets popular boy. She thinks she likes him. They have sex. She realizes she can’t hide the truth anymore. She tells him, because she thinks he’s decent. He tells everyone he fucked a dyke, and because high school is high school, you can fill the rest in.” Zoe chugged the last of her beer, eyes closed. Some memories never stop hurting.
“Now you,” Zoe said. She eyed the inside of her beer mug as though there might be a few renegade drops left.
“I thought we’d had enough of the Lennox Show,” I said. I know that I sure had. I would love to turn off the TV on me for a while. Sometimes, I wished they’d cancel the Lennox Show. My therapists would say those were suicidal ideations and not to indulge in that type of thinking—fuck ‘em.
“Nope,” Zoe said smiling. “We just needed a break from it for a while.”
Lissie nodded. “Yeah! Now we need a recap of what we missed. Like . . . Where have you been? Do you even still work for Simply Santa?”
My gut clenched at the mention of Bethany’s business. Though I wasn’t convinced that she had had anything to do with Dean, the association still made me anxious. I ordered another whiskey and contemplated my options. Both Zoe and Lissie had shared with me; it would be an asshole move for me to leave them in the dark. I couldn’t tell them everything, though.
So, I told them what happened. I told them who Dean was (though Zoe already knew) and how he had come to Santa Barbara. I told them the things he had done to me in Seattle, how he had tormented me while I was here in Santa Barbara, and that had nearly caught me again. I told them an abridged version of what happened to Dean (he’d gotten scared off) and that Bethany might be the reason he showed up, but I wasn’t sure. I told them what happened between me and Vic. I told them that I couldn’t quit Simply Santa, because I needed the money; but, I couldn’t handle seeing Bethany because of her possible connection to Dean. So, here I was now, drinking and planning the rest of my life.
I needed another drink after telling all that. I waved to the bartender for another round for all of us.
“Wow.” Lissie said.
“Shit,” Zoe said. “I had no idea.”
“I didn’t tell anyone,” I said. “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. That backfired,” I grimaced at Zoe, remembering her getting thrown against the wall. “I meant to come to you Zoe after I’d gotten away—”
“Stop. It’s okay.” Zoe patted my hand.
“But it was my fault that happened to you! You should have been my priority!” I exclaimed. I took a deep breath. “I . . . well, everything got so fucked with Vic and he said he had it covered and that you were safe. I don’t know. I was just selfish and preoccupied.”
“He did,” Zoe assured me, “or, I guess that was him. I woke up in a private hospital and I wasn’t even hurt. Just a little bruised. When I went to leave, I was told that all my bills had been taken care of.”
Private hospital? I guess being an assassin for the government has its perks.
Lissie slammed her glass on the table. “Will someone explain what the hell you two are talking about?”
“When Dean came for me, he got to Zoe first,” I whispered, ashamed.
Lissie gasped, clasping a hand to her mouth while simultaneously reaching for Zoe.
“I was perfectly fine, though,” Zoe said, calming Lissie. “He didn’t do anything to me.” Zoe turned back to face me. “He was after you, Nox. Jesus, the things he said he was going to do to you. I didn’t even check on you afterward. I was just so pissed that I woke up alone. I guess I took it out on you when you showed up at my door the other day, as if you’d just gotten back from a short vacation.”
“Things got really fucked,” I said, completing Zoe’s sentence.
“Yeah,” Zoe exhaled.
The three of us sat on our warped wooden bar stools staring at our empty or nearly empty drinks. I, for one, was wondering how things had gotten so screwed up. Time stretched on as we sat in silence, the melancholy rock music droning on around us.
We were three semi-young and relatively beautiful girls with more shit in their life than necessary or fair. But that was true of everyone, wasn’t it? That was the truth about life: it was just shit, and each of us was working to get the best sewage system.
That was a bad analogy, but then again, I’m a little drunk and more than a little depressed.
“Who wants to get really, really drunk?” Lissie asked.
Zoe and I both raised our hands.
I pulled out my credit card.
I stumbled back to Vic’s place, still uncomfortable with calling it home, absolutely shit-faced drunk. It was almost three in the morning. By the time Lissie and I called a cab, Zoe had passed out. It’s funny, she puts on such a tough-girl act, but she really is all nougat on the inside.
We got Zoe awake enough so she could help us help her up to her apartment. I said goodnight as Lissie half carried Zoe inside.
When I entered the penthouse, Vic was still awake and watching a movie on his laptop. The blue glow from the screen created peaks and valleys on his face. He looked gaunt and menacing, which was just the more hilarious because of the movie he was watching.
“I’m sorry, what is this?” I asked, gesturing to the movie Vic was watching. I walked over to him, careful of my movements. I was drunk but just drunk enough that I was aware of the fact. I wanted to appear sober, but I was pretty sure that was makin
g me look even drunker. Have you ever tried walking normally while shitfaced? You come off looking like a baby calf taking its first steps.
“I waited up for you. I was worried,” Vic said, standing. “You stopped returning my texts after two.”
I nodded and began to explain, enunciating my words with exaggerated care: “Zoe got really drunk and started challenging everyone in the bar to arm wrestling contests. When no one would do it, she got really upset and declared herself Master of Arms and ran out into the streets yelling. It was a little hectic.” I left out that she threw up in the street, which caused Lissie to vomit in empathy, and then I got sick from the smell, so soon we were all vomiting in the street like a couple of sorority girls at their first party. It was a gross and unnecessary detail, for sure.
“So, what’s this?” I said again. I gestured a little too enthusiastically at the laptop.
“You know what this is.” Vic waved dismissively at the screen. “So, is that all that happened tonight?” Vic stared at me.
Sometimes I wondered if he spent all of his off-time with a Ouija board. To be honest, arm wrestling and vomiting wasn’t all that happened. After we vomited up a couple hundred dollars’ worth of alcohol, we attracted the attention of some rent-a-cops. Not a big deal, right? Wrong.
Zoe stole one of their batons and ran away screaming, “I’m Paul Blart, mall cop.”
She’s a horrible drunk. I would have found the stark dichotomy of her drunk self versus her sober self a hilarious thing, if not for the shenanigans she kept putting me and Lissie in against our wills. I was drunk too! I didn’t have my mental faculties available to deal with her. So, instead of doing the rational thing, I ran after her, laughing like a hyena. So did Lissie.
It was nice, dare I say therapeutic, to have some stupid and careless and harmless fun. There was too much Zero Dark Thirty shit going on in my life. Every now and then, you just need to steal some poor rent-a-cop’s baton and run away with it.
Instead of telling Vic this, though, I brought the attention back to what he was watching. “I want to hear you say it,” I said.
You Own Me (Owned Book 1) Page 20