by R. J. Lewis
Eight
Aidan
“How are you going with that vain Instagram stick I saw you with?” my grandmother asks.
I smirk at the phone as I unbutton my dress shirt. “She invited me to Monaco.”
I hear her “ugh” under her breath and I can imagine her shaking her head in loathing. “And will you be going?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I broke it off too.”
“Even better. I really wish you’d steer clear of spoiled girls like her. They smell money from a mile away, and besides, I can’t picture you standing next to a woman with a poodle in her purse and a hand wrapped around her pearl necklace.”
“Depends what kind of pearl necklace it is.”
She gasps. “Aidan! That is too vulgar.”
I chuckle. “Alright, I apologize.”
“I thought I beat that language out of you.”
“You did.” For the most part. “So let’s get to the point, Ruth. What are you calling me for?”
“Alex.”
I sigh long and slow. “What has Alex done this time?”
“You know the way he is. I was hoping you’d have a talk with him and smoothen him out a bit. He’s running off the rails.”
“That’s what guys do. They need to lose their way to find themselves again.”
“This isn’t like you running away from home at thirteen because your mother died and we had nothing, Aidan. This is Alex being an idiot twenty-one-year-old who thinks getting drunk and not coming home until four in the morning is appropriate. I found condoms in his underwear drawer this morning. I didn’t even know he was sexually active.”
I cringe and peel my shirt off. “That’s not really something we like to inform you about, Ruth. He’s also entitled to his privacy.”
“What if he knocks up a girl?”
“That’s what the condoms are for.”
“Aidan, please stop defending him.”
“I’m not.”
She’s distressed and I feel bad for it, but my brother isn’t a teenager anymore. He’s an adult now. I can’t scold him when my earlier years were less than innocent. He’d never buy my words, and as much as I want to lead him down the path of biblical righteousness, he needs to make his own mistakes.
“Look,” I tell her, "He's been in Ottawa for some time the last I heard. I’ll take him out on Saturday and have a man-to-man chat. I’ll give him some advice and tell him to be careful. It’s the best I can do.”
“Thank you.” She sounds grateful, and it hits me in the heart. My grandmother has been dealt with a shit hand in life, and it explains her overprotective nature. That nature saved me, so I’m not going to curse it. “That makes me very happy, Aidan. Take care of yourself and find a damn woman that isn’t dense and after your pocket.”
I laugh lightly. “Alright.”
“I want grandbabies.”
“I know.”
“There’s more to life than hook-ups. Just because you’ve been burned before, it doesn’t mean they’re all the same.”
I sigh and shut my eyes briefly. “No more, Ruth.”
But she rattles on about my sex life, and I sit through it until she’s finally happy to let me go. When I disconnect the call, I stand in my bedroom and blankly look at my surroundings. My eyes focus on the bed, and I wonder how many women have fallen into it. How many women have I undressed? How many have fucked me senseless, cock-hungry and salivating for more? And why the fuck can’t I remember a single face?
The silence feels loud somehow. The loneliness I feel inside of me is like a pickaxe chipping away at my soul. There’s a gaping hole in my chest and for the life of me, I can’t fill it with the bodies that have come and gone.
I find myself gravitating to my phone again. I swipe the screen and open the conversation I’ve been having with Ivy. She didn’t respond to the messages I left last night, and instead moved on to other things. I knew she would do that. I set the phone back down, determined not to get distracted. Then I change into loose clothes, take an elevator down to the gym and wreck myself over the next two and a half hours, until my lungs ache and I’m broken from lifting.
Why can’t I stop thinking about this woman?
It’s defying all logic.
I’m pissed off that I don’t understand it. One flight, one chance encounter with this girl, and nothing has felt the same.
I think about her smile, her big eyes, her cheeky little mouth. God, what a mouth. The fucking things I would do to that mouth. Fuck. I think about those random red strands of hair. I imagine fisting that hair, of shoving my cock inside her mouth. I imagine her looking up at me, full of me.
Have I blown her out of proportion? I don’t know. I don’t care. I just want her.
“You are a machine,” a feminine woman remarks as I wipe the sweat off my head with a towel.
I recognize the voice. Sienna. “I have to move,” I reply. “Why are you so late?”
She comes to stand next to me and I peer at her. She looks fresh, her blonde hair tied up, her face make-up-less, wearing the usual torn up workout tights and motivational tee. Sienna is a workaholic like me. She works as a contract lawyer, lives in the same apartment building, and works out at night the same time I do. Usually, anyway. We’ve acquainted well the last two years, never taking our dialogue outside the gym. Mostly because we have no time. It works well.
“Long night at the office,” she explains. “I’m pretty run down.”
“That’s the perfect time to work out.”
She shrugs. “I suppose. How have you been?”
I shrug back. “Same shit, different day.”
“You’ve been making rounds on the news again.”
“What have I done this time?”
“Apparently you’re an asshole and you abuse your staff.”
I give her a flat look. “So what’s the problem?”
She smiles. “You’re going to need friends in your corner, Aidan. You can’t sit at the top of that mountain alone.”
I don’t answer.
“How is your conceited girlfriend going?” she then asks.
Fucking hell. She was never my girlfriend. “She’s out of the picture.”
“Is she really though?”
“No. She called my office another sixty-seven times today.”
“Bunny boiler.”
“I’m starting to think that.”
Sienna smirks and heads over to the elliptical machine. She sets her water bottle inside the cup holder and wraps her towel around one of the handles. Then she turns to me and leans against one side against the machine. “So now we’re hunting for more pussy?”
I don’t respond, my gaze returning to the weights as I finish wiping them down.
“You know I’m here, right?” There’s a hint of fun in her voice, but also seriousness too. “I’m not crazy. I don’t want a relationship. It would work well.”
I start making my way to the exit of the gym. “Have a good night, Sienna.”
“Aidan,” she says in a hard voice.
I stop and look at her. “What?”
“It would work well,” she repeats sincerely. “What could go wrong?”
I don’t answer. Nothing would go wrong technically. Sienna is a beautiful woman. She’s independent, flirty, and intelligent. But…nothing stirs when I look at her. She doesn’t get my blood pumping the way Ivy did on that plane.
Ivy has ruined flings for me.
“Good night, Sienna,” I tell her again without looking at her, and then I’m gone.
Ivy
If someone were to ask me, why do you take so much shit from him? I’m not sure what I would say, but it’s definitely a question I mull over in my head the next morning.
Why do women take so much shit?
Why don’t we just walk away?
What are we holding onto exactly?
How much hope has been wired in us until it’s gone? At this rate, I’m n
ot sure it’s hope I’m even clinging to. Maybe it’s habit?
I’m packing lunch in the kitchen, brain absorbed by these questions, trying so very hard not to concentrate on the fact that Derek has disappeared into the toilet and has not come out in nearly forty minutes.
He’s doing it again. I pause and run a weary hand through my hair. When trust has been blown, paranoia follows, and that damn paranoia ensnares you whole. I feel it in every part of my being.
Derek is doing one of two things.
He’s either watching porn to get off, or he’s talking to a girl.
Before our separation, adrenaline would have kicked into gear and I would have gravitated toward the bathroom door, hovering outside it, listening intently. But I just ignore it now. It doesn’t consume me like it used to. I think I want to know he’s talking to a girl so that it gives me the final push to get out of this cycle.
“Where the fuck is the toilet paper?” he suddenly growls, whipping the door open. “Ivy!”
“Yeah,” I mutter. Here we go.
“Why can’t you put the fucking toilet paper in the fucking bathroom where it belongs?”
“It’s in the closet outside the bathroom.”
He appears at my side, pissed. “Yeah, that’s not my fucking question, Ivy. Why isn’t it in the bathroom?”
“It’s literally a foot outside the bathroom.”
“I don’t know if you’re fucking deaf or you’re just trying to piss me off, but you’re still not answering the fucking question.”
I stare at him, feeling my pulse quicken with anger. He’s such an asshole.
“Derek,” I say slowly, “the cupboard inside the bathroom is tiny, and I usually put an extra roll in there –”
“Why isn’t there an extra one in there now?”
“Because I didn’t realize I needed to put another one in. When you’re finished with the roll, you throw the cardboard bit back into the cupboard, which I don’t understand –”
“So, it’s my fault?”
I grit my teeth and return my focus on the lunch I’m making for the both of us. “If you see that we’re down a toilet roll, why don’t you make it your job to make sure we have plenty of them inside the bathroom, Derek? Nothing stops you from helping out.”
He mutters how fucking stupid that is and stalks off. I hear the closet door rip open. He’s angry and slamming around. I hear the bag of toilet paper get thrown into the bathroom. My heart jumps at the sudden loud sound. Anxiety is already through the roof.
“There, they’re inside the fucking bathroom where they belong!” He rants. “How’s that for helping?”
I don’t respond.
I finish lunch and disappear inside the bathroom. He literally threw the entire eighteen roll bag on the ground and left it. I hear him stomp around. I sit down on the edge of the tub and run my hands through my hair, waiting for him to leave. I don’t want to even look at him.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I check my messages. I reread my chat with Aidan, feeling my heart tighten in my chest.
My fingers begin moving. I type out Good Morning, and then my finger hovers over the send button. I feel that same panic from before in my chest mixed with adrenaline, and then I delete it.
I put the phone down, get ready for work, and leave for the day.
Nine
Aidan
I’ve asked Ivy what she’s up to, and she hasn’t answered. It’s bad – really fucking bad –that I’m already feeling withdrawal from not hearing from her.
This is going to be a long afternoon.
“I’m curious to know about your stance on capitalism in North America, Mr West, and is it something you still stand behind in light of recent economic strains on the everyday Mom and Pop shop?” The woman asking me this has been giving me fuck-me eyes ever since she entered my office fifteen minutes ago. She speaks in this deep, breathless tone, and she angles her head like she wants me to stare at her bare neck, or the long black hair she’s gathered to the other side of her.
I blink slowly, distracted.
Not distracted by her throaty words.
Or her hair.
Or her fuck-me eyes.
I’m distracted by how fucking annoying all of it is combined.
I glower at my personal assistant Fran, who is standing by the door of the office, looking chuffed with herself. It is rare I allow interviews. I have told her on many occasions to pick the best of the best. If this is her idea of the cream of the crop, I’d rather just remain known as the Asshole of the East.
Fran senses my annoyance and gestures with her head for me to answer the woman.
“Well, Jolene,” I begin.
“Janet,” she corrects.
I blink again. “I stood for what capitalism used to be.”
Before I can continue, she replies, “Is it too broken now?”
“No,” I reply. “It’s actually working too good, and we’re actually worse off because of it. With the excess materialism and market failure –”
“I don’t follow.”
I pause. If she shut the fuck up, I might actually be able to explain. I glance again at Fran, and Fran is now shooting me the thumbs up.
“There’s a trend, if you’ll notice,” I try again. “A cycle of boom and bust –”
“A cycle of boom and bust,” she cuts in, writing that down. “Wow. That’s insightful. Would you consider the boom-and-bust cycle a reflection of your personal life as well, Mr West?”
My lips twitch.
Ah, so that’s the real reason she’s here. She wants to know who I’m fucking. It’s really fucking bizarre what people are interested in. My cock seems to be a major source of fascination to the public.
I look back at Fran now, and she’s frowning at a clipboard in front of her. I’m pretty sure she’s looking at the list of questions Jolene was supposed to ask me and hasn’t.
“I thought you guys were over all of that,” I muse, smirking now. “It’s been a while since I’ve been hounded by you idiots.”
“It’s been a while since you’ve showed your face, Mr West,” she replies, confidently. She leans in closer, hoping the view of her tits in that too tight of a top will entice me to answer her. “Don’t men like you love the limelight? You sold all your assets in Montreal. Your apartment went for a whopping 37 million dollars, and now you’re here of all places, playing it safe.”
“Maybe I got tired of your bullshit stories.”
“Maybe something else happened. Your face was everywhere two years ago, and suddenly you went dark. You must miss the attention. After all, you bedded Instagram goddess Nina Hamilton for a long time. Did that breakup destroy you? Is Nina the reason why you fled?”
Before I can answer, Fran is at her side. “This interview is over.”
Jolene isn’t looking at her. Her focus is still on me. “Just give me something, Mr West. I’d really love to humanize you to the public. Don’t you want to redeem yourself?”
Fran’s glaring at her now. “I will call security if you don’t leave.”
But Jolene is very persistent. “I mean well, truly.”
I keep my lips sealed. I know she’ll wind up twisting anything I say. I dismiss her by looking down at my phone.
“Please, Mr West, just try me!”
Ivy’s messaged me. Fuck yes.
Ivy: I’m on break and having sushi at the food court and listening to music.
A.W.: What are you listening to?
Ivy: Trampoline by Shaed and Zayn.
A.W.: I’ll listen to it too.
Ivy: I’m not sure it’s your style, Aidan.
A.W.: I don’t care.
“Mr West, please respond.” Jolene is getting desperate, moving to me now. Fran is chasing after her, crying out for her to stop.
I turn my bluetooth speakers on and search for the song on my phon. I blast it in my office, completely ignoring security who have now barged through the door. They’re forcing pissy Jolene out of th
e room and she’s throwing a fit. I still don’t look at her.
“Fuck you, Mr West,” she curses. “FUCK. YOU.”
I raise the volume and lean back in my chair, closing my eyes, imagining Ivy listening to this at the very same time.
Wait if I'm on fire
How am I so deep in love?
When I dream of dying
I never feel so loved
Ivy
Really wish Aidan was faster at messaging me. It’s taken me fifteen minutes to walk home from work and I’ve received nothing from him.
This is getting bad, isn’t it?
This weird dependency shit.
“I need twenty bucks,” Derek tells me two minutes after I’ve come through the door.
I rest my bag on the kitchen counter and run a hand through my hair. I haven’t even had two minutes to myself since knocking off work and he’s already demanding shit. “Twenty bucks for what?”
Then I look at him. He’s dressed in jeans and a jersey. He’s run gel through his hair. I go still when I really stare at his face. His cheekbones are poking out more than usual. He’s been drinking instead of eating.
“Game’s on tonight,” he tells me. “I’m going out with the boys.”
I frown. “I don’t know where I’m supposed to pull twenty out of the budget. Don’t you have any allowance left?”
“I’m not a fucking kid. You barely give me anything to rub together.”
“We’re struggling, Derek. That’s all.”
“It’s only twenty fucking dollars, Ivy.”
“Wouldn’t it be cheaper if you just drank here?” I return, feeling a headache come on. Panic is already forming at the pit of my stomach because he might get pissy any second now.
“You wouldn’t mind the boys coming here?”
I would mind, but I also know Derek’s spending will be less if he’s home and drinking from here. He gets impulsive when he’s at a bar. He would not stop at twenty dollars.
“Well, how many are we talking about here?” I ask.