Corrupt Love

by Cee Perkins

  “Absolutely, sir. My lips are sealed.”

  Mr. Whitman nodded his dismissal.

  Back at my desk, I composed the email to Mr. Walker that I would no longer be on the account, and that he will be getting the VIP treatment.

  And I really, really hoped I was wrong.

  Chapter 14

  Dan

  Worried about my mom again, I visited after work. I didn’t call, which was unusual for me, but I didn’t want to allow Mom to prepare. For my comfort, I needed to see her honest reaction when I asked her if she was ok. And that required a sneak attack, so to speak.

  “Mom,” I called, after opening her front door and walking in. Getting no answer, I walked toward the kitchen and called out again, “Mom?” The house was dark, and the air was stale like she hadn’t been home in a few days.

  A quiet sound from her bedroom steered me that way. Why wasn’t she answering? I knocked on her bedroom door, though it was open, and stepped in.

  “Mo—” I couldn’t be seeing correctly. “Mom!” I rushed to her bedside, crouching down to her eye-level.

  Both her eyes were blackened, and I could see her nose out of joint. She opened her eyes and tried to smile through her split lip. “Dan,” she said, breathing harshly, “I wasn’t expecting you. How are you?”

  “Mom, what happened?” I asked.

  She tried to roll to her back, and I noticed her painful breaths and the tears gathering in the corner of her eyes. That likely meant her ribs were hurt in some way.

  “Oh, you know…muggers near the grocery store. You know how that neighborhood has—”

  “Mom. This didn’t happen at the grocery store.”

  “Danny, please. It was outside of the grocery store,” she said, with a desperate plea in her eyes.

  “I need to get you to a hospital,” I rose and looked around for her purse.

  “No! No, I’m…I’m ok. See? I have these Tylenol,” she said, reaching for the bottle on the bedside table next to her.

  “Mom—”

  “Danny, listen to me. I was mugged. I don’t need to see a doctor, ok? I just need to rest,” she insisted, staring hard at me.

  Defeated, my shoulders dropped along with my head. I could see she was in pain, and she needed a doctor. But she wouldn’t go, I could see that. Even if I got her in the car and to the hospital, she wouldn’t say anything to the doctor and defeat the purpose of going. “Ok...ok, no doctor. But let me get you some food at least, and some water for that medicine.”

  Her sigh of relief was audible. “Thank you, Danny-boy. I know I can always count on you.”

  Yeah. That might very well be the problem.

  *****

  After making sure Mom had eaten and taken more Tylenol and had everything she needed until I came by tomorrow, I called my therapist. My panic gripped me tightly, and I had a difficult time remembering why I ever felt like I needed to loosen up. I know Mom had always had a gambling problem, and this wasn’t even the first time I’d seen her beaten up. It was, however, the first time she didn’t have Dad to take care of her and I felt guilty for not insisting on her coming home with me so I could keep her safe while she recovered. I was feeling overwhelmed by the need to control my environment, and I was spiraling out of control, losing grip on the reasons I ever thought I wanted to be normal. I was normal, why should I change?

  Unfortunately, it was after 6 p.m. and Dr. Amato’s office was closed. I took some deep breaths and started my car, pointing it in the direction of my house. There, I could control what happened around me. There, I could breathe easier. There, I could forget that life is a dangerous place that could put you out on the streets with one poor decision.

  I just needed to get home.

  Corra

  Cay was right. I needed a night out, a night to see how Dan was affecting me, to get away from Dan’s influence. The man caused a drool pool from both sets of lips and made me all fuzzy.

  He was kind of like vodka in that way. Grey Goose, to be specific, not that cheap shit that high school kids steal. Then again, maybe I’m was just thinking that because I’d had so much Grey Goose tonight and Dan was still on my mind. Like, I saw the hot as fuck guy at the pool table who’d been sending me the look that said “Let’s fuck in the bathroom,” but he didn’t have Dan’s silky hair and his jeans were a pale imitation of the cut of Dan’s slacks.

  Jesus, fuck, he had me fucking hot and he wasn’t even fucking there.

  I giggled to myself. Fuck is a funny word. Cay, sitting next to me and flirting with the Wall Street wannabe on her other side, turned with a look on her face. “What’s so fucking funny that you’re laughing like a fucking braying donkey?”

  I laughed harder at her use of fuck. My mouth tasted like fucking screwdrivers— ha, fuck and screw in the same sentence— and all I wanted was to feel Dan, so much so that I believed I could feel him next to me. God, he felt so amazing. I loved it when he wore his “casual” ironed jeans— wait. I did feel denim under my hands, and a package that would definitely need to be weighed before mailing, but it was wrong. The jeans were wrinkled and the package was...not as titillating. “What the fuck?” I said, scowling up at the man who had been at the pool table. “Don’t touch me, dude!”

  His kind of handsome smile twisted into a scowl, “You fucking put your hand on my dick. I didn’t touch you, bitch.”

  “Hey! Don’t call me a bitch, asstart. You don’t know me. I’m a very fucking nice person!”

  A chorus of laughter sounded around me. Cay, the bartender, and a couple other people I swore I’d seen before were laughing. Huffing, I stood and stalked off to the bathroom. “Fuck off fucktards! I have to fucking piss.” Then started laughing again because fuck was still a funny word. I was still chuckling as I wiped and then washed my hands.

  Reclaiming my seat at the bar, I reached for my phone. I wanted Dan. I couldn’t be pre-Dan Corra. I tried, ok? And I fucking wanted him. I mean, I had my hand on what I used to consider a fuck-hot guy, and all I could think was how Dan felt so much better.

  I texted him. “Hi, sweet, sweet, Dan.” I put my phone back on the bar and stared at it. By this time, Cay had gotten her free drink from Wall Street and told him she wouldn’t be sleeping with him because she had a man.

  “You texted Dan, didn’t you?” she said, smirking.

  I rolled my eyes. “Duh. I want him. I’m drunk, horny, and he’s hot and mine.” I paused, thoughtful. “He is mine, right Cay? Did Ryan say if he said anything?” Shit, I sounded like a high school cheerleader begging for crumbs from the quarterback. Goddammit, he had me strung. Sprung. Wait, what?

  Cay looked amused. “Well, they went out last night, and they did talk about you. Dan likes you, no worries. But sexting him is probably a bad idea. Don’t wanna pressure him or anything, right?”

  “You can pressure me,” the dickbag behind me said.

  I turned around and looked at him. Average. “I’m not nearly drunk enough,” I said, then turned back around.

  Cay was fiddling with her phone. “I’m getting us an Uber. I want to go dick my boyfriend and you...want to fantasize about yours.”

  That reminded me. I grabbed my phone up to see what Dan said.

  Nothing. He said nothing.

  Frowning, I put my phone in my purse and followed Cay outside. Her phone beeped a message, probably from her boyfriend. Who she had sex with. Often. “What’s it like?” I asked.

  “What’s what like?” she said, tapping on her phone.

  “Fucking your boyfriend?”

  Her head snapped up at me, then she burst out laughing. “What?” I asked, pouting.

  “I couldn’t decide if you were curious in general or about Ryan specifically,” she said, still chuckling.

  Snorting, I said, “I mean, I am curious about his package, but look at the man. Who wouldn’t be? But I mean in general. Better than hooking up?’

  “Oh yes. Aside from the whole learning my body and what I like, the fact that he ca
res enough about me to legit want me to get off, then make me coffee afterward makes it more.”

  Hm. “More better?” I asked.

  I thought this drunk was going to be an introspective one. Or one that lead to one fucking hot masturbation. Yeah, probably that one.

  Cay smiled, then glanced at the car that pulled up to the curb. “Yeah. More better,” she said. “Get your pansy ass in the car.”

  After she had the driver drop me off, I made my way up to my apartment and slung my shoes off. I dug out my phone, glaring at it since it dared to not have a message from my Dan. I just needed to text him again.

  Me: I just want to say that i like you. you’re hot as hell and I live that you play with puppies and iron your jeans and proably have your books helf organized by gener and alphabetical.

  I decided to drink some water and take some Advil to head off my hangover. Oooh, grapes. I reached for a handful from the bag in the fridge.

  I took my snack to the couch and sat down. Still nothing from Dan.

  ME: I’m kind of drunk. Imma to go stick my fingers in me pussy while thinkin of when it was your tonge. I hope we get there again some deay.

  Sighing, I stood and went to my bedroom to do just that.

  Chapter 15

  Dan

  Corra: I just want to say that i like you. you’re hot as hell and I live that you play with puppies and iron your jeans and proably have your books helf organized by gener and alphabetical.

  Corra: im kind of drunk. Imma to go stick my fingers in me pussy while thinkin of when it was your tonge. I hope we get there again some deay.

  Well, that explains it.

  I heard the messages when they came in last night, but I was in no mindset to answer them so I didn’t look. This morning, when I looked, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to laugh and shake my head at the spelling or delete them and pretend they never happened.

  On the one hand, I liked Corra. I liked the way she made me feel, I liked how she looked, and I liked how she looked at me when we were together, as if I was the only man in the vicinity.

  On the other, she scared me. Well, no, not her, but the idea of her and what she represented. She made me think of an alternate me, one who lived, interacted, didn’t iron his jeans, and didn’t blush furiously when he read texts where she talked about doing...stuff to herself.

  I wanted to get to that place where it was my tongue again. Though I suspected if I couldn’t say the word, I shouldn’t play with it. I didn’t know if I’d ever be comfortable saying things like that though. For now, I needed to think on it. I needed to see my therapist.

  I got through to his office secretary and made an appointment for that day on my lunch break. I’d have to tell him how grateful I was that he fit me in.

  The morning went smoothly, and I allowed my work to take my mind off my knotted life. At lunch, I headed to see Dr. Amato.

  “Why the urgency, Dan? Are you feeling overwhelmed again?” he asked over his sandwich. The man still had to eat.

  “No, well, I was, yesterday. I hadn’t heard from my mom in a couple of days, so I went to check on her. She was beaten up pretty badly but insisted that she was mugged outside of the grocery store and refused to see a doctor. I made her food and left her to rest, but I felt so guilty that I couldn’t manage to try and convince her to stay with me a couple of days. The thought of another person in my space makes me itchy. I know my mom wouldn’t hurt anything but the idea of her being there, touching stuff and probably not putting the remote back in the holder makes me uncomfortable.”

  Dr. Amato studied me for a moment, then picked his sandwich back up and said, “What about it makes you uncomfortable?”

  I shrugged. “I can’t exactly put my finger on it. I guess because I think she might take it away or lose it.”

  “It’s a TV remote. Replaceable.”

  “Yeah but...I don’t think she’d stop at the remote.”

  “I think I see the issue here, Dan. I don’t think having anyone in your space is what’s making you uncomfortable. I think it’s your mother specifically, or rather, your lack of trust in her.”

  I thought about it for a minute. “I never had anyone over before for any real length of time, but thinking about Ryan, or Corra— the girl I’ve been seeing, or even Cay— the girl Ryan’s been seeing— sitting on my couch, using my cups, my bathroom...it didn’t hurt like the thought of my mom doing those things.” Wow, I really was a crappy son.

  Dr. Amato seemed to pick up on my thoughts. “It doesn’t make you a bad son. It’s a result of a lifetime of seeing your mother fail at keeping you safe and secure. If she couldn’t take care of you properly, it makes sense that you feel that she can’t take care of your things properly. I think in some ways, your mistrust of her expanded to include everyone in your life simply because of association. If your mother can’t take care of your things properly, who’s to say your friends could? It’s not that you’re a bad son. Your feelings are simply a result of your insecurity throughout your childhood and it’s affecting all of your other relationships. Like this Corra, you said you’ve been seeing. I’m assuming you haven’t been intimate with her?.”

  I shook my head. “The thought makes me think of bodily fluids getting...places...and stains and—“

  “Dan, it’s ok. We still have things to work on to get you comfortable with those things. One step at a time, just like any relationship.”

  “But...she’s more, erm, experienced than me. What if I’m not good at it?”

  Dr. Amato smiled. “Trust me, Dan, if you care for her when it happens, there’s not really a way for you to be bad at it. You will get there. You’ve just got to give yourself time— time to get to know her, time to be comfortable with her, before any acts involving bodily fluids happen. You’ve let your childhood color your vision of adulthood.”

  I looked down at my hands in my lap, trying to will away the trembling. “How do I fix it?” I asked shakily.

  Dr. Amato just looked at me with an understanding expression. “You take chances,” he said. “And try to give the benefit of the doubt to the person you’re taking the chance on.”

  Corra

  I fucked up. I knew the moment I woke up the next afternoon. I fucked up badly.

  That word isn’t so funny today. Fuck.

  Maybe he hadn’t seen them. Maybe there was an undo button. Maybe he lost his phone.

  Because he hadn’t answered, either. Fuck.

  My phone rang while I was staring at it, making me jump and fumble. “Shit, Cay, you scared the shit out of me,” I answered.

  “I didn’t even do anything, you crazy cunt,” she said.

  Shaking my head, I said, “Sorry, I’m just basking in the regrets from last night.”

  “You sexted Dan, huh?” she asked, and I could hear the laugh in her voice.

  “Shut the fuck up. You got your dick. Mine still hasn’t even answered the texts.”

  She was silent on the other end. “Cay?”

  “It’s just...he’s obsessive about answering his texts. If he hasn’t answered, you may have actually fucked up.”

  “Well, aren’t you just a fucking supportive fucking rainbow.”

  “If you want someone to lie to you, ask a gay salesman at Bloomingdale’s if yellow is a good color for you.”

  I huffed. “What did you want, anyway?”

  “I needed to give you a message from the work phone. 555-6972.”

  “Thanks, I’ll give them a call. I feel like shooting something anyway.”

  “Bye hag,” Cay said and hung up. I held the phone out and made a face at it, as if Cay could see me call her a gnome.

  I dialed the number from a burner, let it ring once, and hung up. It rang back and I got the information I needed from the client. With my next mark identified, I made the plan to do the hit that night. I wondered why the guy needed to be offed. And seriously, I wondered if anyone would ever put a hit on me. I’d probably see it coming, because, let’s face it
, no one could sneak up on me. Since I know what’s out there, I always pay attention to who is around me. I shrugged it off, then went to get my rifle to clean it.

  Still nothing from Dan. I was all tied up for the man, and not hearing from him was grating on my nerves. Did I really ruin things with drunk texts? Again, I was reminded of why I don’t like feelings being involved. I act without a filter 98% of the time and if Dan avoids me because of it, we have no future. I’m not changing myself. We’re not in a damn rom-com. If I truly make him uncomfortable, well, he can fuck off.

  There. Decided.

  I picked up my phone and sent him a text.

  Me: I’m sorry about last night. I was drunk and I really do like you and wanted to talk to you. But...if you can’t talk to me after stuff like that happens, I’m not sure how we can work out. That’s my personality and I rarely filter myself, much less when I’m drinking. I hope we can work through this.

  I was prepared to put the phone down and force myself to be content with whatever happened. However, I knew myself better than that, and I was going to be a dick until I get an answer I like.

  Surprisingly, my phone rang. Dan’s name flashed across the screen.

  “Good morning,” I said, trying to temper the glee I was feeling.

  “Good morning. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you this morning. I wasn’t offended or scared off by last night, I promise. I had a sort of rough day yesterday, plus I didn’t quite know how to answer you, because I do have my bookshelf organized by genre then alphabetical by author, but I really like you too and hope we can get back to that place, too.”

  Giddy did not describe me. I had the dopiest smile on my face, my chest was tight with happiness, and laughter bubbled up out of nowhere. What the fuck? Maybe I was in a rom-com.

  “Rough day? What happened?” I asked, concerned.

  “A couple of things. I had to turn an account over to my boss because I couldn’t do what the client was asking me to do, and I don’t like turning over client files that I can’t handle. But the account is one I definitely can’t handle because the client is being dishonest. I can’t work for someone who is not truthful and knowingly committing illegal acts. I can’t in good conscious condone things I know are wrong.”