by T L Swan
I stare out of the window of the car on the way to the detention centre. My mind is constantly flicking between current events and images of Mr Stanton making love to me. I’m over it. I need to grow up.
“So, Peter, tell me the drill when we get there.”
He smiles warmly. Peter is in his fifties and one of the most senior qualified psychologists we have. His silver hair is the only giveaway to how old he is; if not for that he could be in his thirties. He really looks after himself. He deals with sexual violence and crimes of that nature. The majority of his clients are male and in prison. I’m interested in why he needs a witness today.
“I’m seeing Coby Allender.”
I frown. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
He smiles. “He’s the guy that they suspect is a serial killer. He’s being charged with fourteen counts of murder.”
My eyes widen. “Did he do it?”
He shrugs. “Not sure. The man is smarter than any of us. Has the highest IQ of anyone I have ever met. They think he has an accomplice, so they keep sending me in to try and find out. Don’t worry. You won’t be in the room with us; you will be in a glass interview room behind a mirror. Although all the sessions are taped I just need a witness to come with me. Prison policy.”
I nod. “Ok. I can do that.”
We arrive and we are escorted through the office and searched. The place is unnerving and my heart rate rises just being behind these walls. We are led down a long corridor which looks like part of a hospital. There we are introduced to two prison wardens.
“This is Natasha Marx. She will be witnessing today.” I smile and shake the hands of the two wardens.
They are tall and strong and exactly like I would picture them in my head. The first dark guy shakes my hand, “Nice to meet you. George Hamil.” I smile and nod. The second warden shakes my hand, “Jesten Miller.” I shake his hand and am jolted by a shock of sexual energy. My eyes fly up to meet his and he smirks a knowing smile. Hmm. I jerk my hand out of his.
“Hello,” I stammer, shocked by my physical reaction to Jesten. He’s tall, blonde, big and muscular. Looks like Thor or something. Hmm, the mind boggles. We continue down the hall and George and Peter turn to me.
“You go with Jesten. He will stay with you in the witness room.” I smile nervously at Jesten and he nods warmly. Jeez. Jesten leads me down another long corridor and opens a door. We both enter, the room is dark and has seats in a row that look onto another interview room. I nervously take a seat, he takes the one right next to me. Bloody hell, he smells good. I smile awkwardly at him as I realise he is the only man other than the beautiful Mr Stanton that has had a physical effect on me.
”So your name is Natasha?”
I nod and smile. “Jesten, that’s an unusual name.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, my mum’s a tripper.”
I smile and he winks at me. Hmm, he’s a little bit cute. He has a naughty boy appeal going on.
“You haven’t been here before have you?”
I frown. “How do you know that?”
“Because we don’t get hot psychologists here often.” His eyes lock on mine. “And I would have remembered you.”
Is he flirting with me? “Um, no I haven’t. This is new for me.”
“I doubt that.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I’m sure you turn on a lot of men you meet.”
“Jesten, are you flirting with me?” I bite my lip to stifle my smile.
“Totally. But you dig it right.” He gives me a cheeky grin. Hmm, there is definitely something about this guy.
“I might.” Shit. Did I just say that? I’m flirting back now.
He smiles and winks again as the interview room door opens. I watch as Peter and George enter the room. Then I watch as a prisoner in handcuffs enters the room, Coby Allender. A cold shiver runs down my back. He’s intense and very intelligent, I can tell by the way he looks at Peter. He looks up at the glass and blows a kiss. I sit back affronted.
“He can’t see you. He’s just trying to fuck with your head,” Jesten says.
I nod nervously, “I know.” It’s working—this situation is freaking me out. For the next forty minutes I watch as Coby Allender manipulates everything that Peter says. This man is very bright and super–frustrating. I find I am intrigued by this interview. It really is interesting. I had considered going back to university part–time to study Criminology last year but decided against it. Maybe I should reconsider. Eventually I am led out of the room by Jesten and we wait in the hall for Peter.
“So, are you going to give me your number?”
I do wide eyes at him. “No I’m working. This is totally unprofessional.” I smirk, unable to hide it.
He smiles back, “You’re into me though. I can tell.”
“I am not…into you. You’re on yourself.” I smile broadly at the cheeky hot specimen in front of me.
“Well, I’m into you. Come back for another interview at the prison and we can have another witness date.”
I laugh, “Witness date. Did we just go on a date?”
He laughs and nods. “Yep. Hot wasn’t it?”
I laugh again. “Totally hot.” I roll my eyes.
Peter comes out, “Ready to go?”
I nod and smile at Jesten, “See you later.” He smiles and gives me a wink.
“You can count on it.”
Hmm.
The problem with being involved with a prickface is exactly that. He’s a total prickface who never rings me when I expect him to. It’s 9.00 pm Tuesday night and I am waiting for the girls at Oscar’s. Abbie arrives first in her work clothes and I instantly feel under–dressed in my gym gear.
“Hi, where’s Bridg?” She smiles and I instantly feel better knowing that my beautiful friends will put this into perspective for me. I always feel better after talking things through with them.
“Not here yet,” I answer. She nods and flops into the leather lounge next to me.
“Have you already had a coffee?” She looks at my empty cup. I nod.
“Yes, I’m trying to keep myself busy.”
She rubs my leg in a sympathetic gesture. “So he still hasn’t called?”
I shake my head. “No and I don’t think he will.”
“Mmm,” she answers, “I totally get lesbianism you know. Imagine not having to deal with all this shit we cop from men.”
“I know, right,” I answer. Bridget breezes in, oh no she’s back on the love boat. Abbie and I roll our eyes at each other.
“Hi, sorry I’m late. Jim and I just had Thai together,” she gushes.
“Don’t you mean Jeremy?” Abbie asks flatly.
“Oh yes,” she smiles. “I just like to call him Jim,” she looks around to the counter and Abbie sticks her fingers down her throat, simulating ‘I’m going to be sick’. I stifle a giggle.
“So, Tash, did he call?” she puts her hand on my knee and I shake my head.
“That’s it, dump the stupid ass.”
I smile. “I don’t need to. It seems I have already been dumped, by him.”
“What an idiot,” she rolls her eyes. “So what happened on Sunday? I want all the details,” she sits forward.
“Well, we went shopping and then we had a fight and then we made up and then we pretty much had sex for the next six or eight hours.”
“Eight hours?” Abbie spits. I smile as I take a sip of my coffee. “Hell, is he on Viagra?”
I shrug, “I have no idea. I’m not sure what’s normal for him.”
“I’m lucky if I get forty minutes,” Bridget snaps.
“So, how was it? Is he as good as he looks?”
“Abbie,” I snap. “It’s not like that,” though I smile, unable to hide my glee at being able to report back.
Bridget points her teaspoon at me. “Don’t you dare hold out on us. We need details.”
“Let’s just say, I felt well and thoroughly used on Monday and
my throat was sore.”
“Sore throat. Oh god, were you giving head all night?” Bridget winces.
I laugh. “No, my throat was sore from screaming. I think he was trying to kill me with orgasms.” Abbie simulates melting down the lounge, while wiping her forehead. “Kill me now. I knew he’d be amazing in the sack. How did you get so lucky, bitch?” she snaps.
I giggle, “Though to be honest, I think I would have rather gone without. Now I know what I’m missing out on and, trust me girls, there is nowhere to go after Mr Stanton. He’s the whole package.” I rub my forehead as I contemplate meeting a very mediocre version of man and how disheartening that day will be.
“So did he say he would call you?”
“No, he told me we could just have one night together.”
“So why are you waiting for him to call?” Abbie frowns.
I shrug. “Wishful thinking probably. I’m telling you he felt it too. He told me he adores me. Actually, no, he said he fucking adores me.” I place my hand under my chin and blow out a deep breath as I swoon at the memory.
“Oh I forgot, what did he say about the ink?”
“Um, this sounds weird but if you were me it wouldn’t.” I don’t know why but I feel embarrassed to elaborate. “He…he got it on my twenty–first birthday as a birthday present to me.”
“Fuck off,” Bridget snaps.
“I know, right,” I nod.
“He’s hot and sentimental,” Abbie sighs. “I think I’m in love with him myself.”
“Me too,” Bridget chimes in.
“Well that makes three of us,” I groan as I lean my head back onto the lounge. “What the hell am I going to do?”
“What drives him mad,” Abbie chimes in. I shrug my shoulders. “You know was there a point when he lost control?”
“He likes dirty talk,” I whisper, a little embarrassed. Both their eyes light up.
“What? What did you say?”
“I’m not going there,” I giggle. “But I dropped the C Bomb.”
“You’re kidding,” Bridget laughs. “You hate that word.”
“I know,” I rub my eyes as I remember how he loved it. “It amped him right up actually, he totally lost control. He took me to the dark side…and I need to get on a fast train back.” “Well use your head Tash, if he loses it over dirty talk.” Abbie’s phone texts a message which she reads.
“You are kidding,” she snaps, “I’ve had enough.”
“What’s wrong?”
“James hooked up with that tunnel cunt and now he’s asking me not to come home tonight so he can make lots of noise. He can forget it.”
“Why do you hate this girl again?”
“Because she’s after his money.”
“How do you know that?”
“The brother of a girl at work hooked up with her a couple of years ago and apparently she gave him six months of terror after the event. She used to be a stripper in an upper–class strip club. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s a high–end hooker or something now, and I just don’t trust her.”
“What does she look like again?” Bridget asks.
“Caramel blonde, beautiful. A killer body, but I’m telling you the girl is evil. If she hurts him I’m going to disembowel the bitch with a hairbrush.”
We all laugh. I knew if I spent a couple of hours with my friends I could forget about the dread that is creeping over me—the sick ball in my stomach that is telling me I’m just another notch on his bed post, one that he went back to simply for old time’s sake.
Wednesday, 12.00 am—I lie in bed on my back while the hot tears run into my ears. I have been lying here since 10.00 pm and still I can’t sleep. I haven’t eaten all day, and I have a thumping headache. My mind is constantly assessing the situation. Is he in someone else’s arms now? Does he have someone in his bed? Maybe he was already seeing someone when he promised me he wouldn’t be with anyone else. Of course, he’s with someone else, who am I kidding? My chest is physically hurting.
Thursday 9.00 pm—I am heartbroken after crying on and off for most of the day yesterday. Reality, the bitch, has hit me hard. He’s not going to call. He obviously doesn’t feel the same. I totally imagined the chemistry we shared, no actually I felt it. It was just him that felt nothing. I sit on the lounge in my gym gear after devouring a family block of chocolate. Honestly, why bother going to the gym? What’s the goddamn point? I feel sick to my stomach and it has nothing to do with the sugar coma I’m just about to slip into. I shower, put on my robe and pour myself a glass of wine. I head out to my balcony and sit on my day bed while I watch the city lights below me twinkle and listen to the hustle–and–bustle noises, a towel wrapped around my head. What should I do? I know the answer but how in the hell do I forget him? I wish last weekend never happened. It has just brought painful feelings to the surface again, ones that I’m not coping with.
I thought I was stronger than this. My life is a mess.
An hour later I go and retrieve my phone and glasses to check my emails and return to my spot on the balcony. I stare at my phone for a good thirty minutes. Should I ring him? I know I shouldn’t, but what do I do? Am I really going to put myself through this? I would rather he reject me than this waiting around crap, it’s killing me. I want to hear him say the words. I need to hear him tell me he doesn’t want me. My eyes fill with tears as I even contemplate hearing those painful words. Only then can I move on. Only then will I be able to start to heal. I can’t go on like this…I text:
Why don’t you ring me?
I suddenly start to freak out, what am I doing? My phone immediately beeps a text:
You know why.
I text back:
Don’t you want to hear my voice?
I instantly regret sounding so needy, but I need answers. My phone beeps again:
More than anything!!!
I sit up. What! He wants to hear my voice more than anything…With exclamation marks. For the first time in four days I find myself smiling at my phone. I text back:
I need another night baby. I can’t do this.
Shit, have I gone too far? That’s definitely needy. I screw my face up. Oh shit who cares, I am frigging needy. My phone beeps again:
I can’t change my DNA, Natasha.
My heart sinks. It is the cousin thing. That’s something I can’t change either, no matter how hard I try. My eyes fill with tears. I text back:
You are thinking too much.
I wait for his reply but he doesn’t answer. Fifteen minutes go by and still no answer. I start to pace while ringing my hands. Forty–five minutes later, still nothing. With a heavy heart I text him one last time:
I put a key to my apartment on your keyring. Please use it. xxxxx
An hour and a half and a second desperately hot shower later I fall into bed. That’s it, I tried. He can’t let the cousin thing go and I can’t change the circumstances. I give up. It’s an exhausting situation, one that I can’t change. I am just drifting into sleep when I hear the key go into my door.
Shit, he came.
Chapter 12
I jump up and then I jump back onto the bed. Oh, crap, should I pretend to be asleep? I jump up again, no asleep. I lie back down. I flick my lamp on and I hear him put his keys onto my foyer table and walk towards my bedroom. My heart is in my throat. It is then I feel the intensity of his presence. His body is radiating heat like kryptonite, my body instantly weakening to its strength and softening under his gaze. I roll over and we stare at each other in silence, tension hanging thick in the air. I hold my hand up to him and he takes it and sits next to me on my bed in silence.
“Stop thinking so much, baby,” I whisper.
“No,” he answers. “You are not thinking enough presh. This is wrong, Natasha. We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Josh, if it’s so wrong, why does it feel so right?” I kiss the back of his hand. He closes his eyes at the contact. “Why did you leave the other night without saying goodbye
, Josh?” He drops his head.
“I had a 5.30 am flight to Melbourne, and my brothers are here, remember.” I smile a sad smile and nod. That’s right, I had forgotten that.
I pull back the covers. “Come and lie with me.”
His eyes scan my body and he smiles a crooked smile. “I thought I told you to throw out the flannelette pyjamas.”
I smirk back. “They’re snuggly. I have a good mind to buy you some so we could be matching.” He smiles and lies down next to me fully dressed.
“Are you wearing jeans to bed?” I ask.
“No, I’m not staying,” he answers.
My heart drops. “Why aren’t you staying, Josh?”
“Tash, sshh stop it. I’m here because you asked me to come. I don’t want to fight.” I nod as I cuddle him and start to run my fingers through his hair. He relaxes into my arms. I feel him gently kiss my neck as he leans into me.
“Can you stay with me tonight? No sex,” I whisper.
“No sex,” he repeats.
I shake my head. “Josh I don’t want to be with you just for sex…even though the sex is awesome.”
“Awesome,” he smiles as he raises his eyebrows.
“What do you want to be with me for, Tash?” I stay silent as I try to think of the right answer. I know the answer to this question is important to him. I can feel it.
“I’ve missed you, Josh. Just being with you makes me feel better. I can’t explain it. You are my medicine and you calm me. When you’re with me, I can stop worrying.” He nods as if he understands and snuggles deeper into my neck.
“Just hold me baby,” I whisper. “Don’t leave me again tonight. I can’t bear it.” I gently stroke my fingers through his hair and up and down the length of his neck and gently kiss his forehead. I can feel his body relax. I feel that he too is suffering from inner turmoil and that he also feels better just having me near. I haven’t truly relaxed since I was in his arms on Sunday night, and it feels good. It feels like home. Truer words have never been spoken—he is my medicine and just having him near makes me feel better. I continue to run my fingers through his hair and down his neck. His regular breathing notifies me that he has drifted off to sleep—he must be exhausted. He’s so tired. Has he not been sleeping well either? A tingle of unease runs through my body as I realise that the man I have with me tonight is a different man to the one I met on Sunday night. The Sunday night man was dominant and confident and in control of his emotions. The man asleep in my arms is gentle and broken and I feel a surge of protective instinct for him. This is the beautiful Josh I remember. The one I fell in love with. He obviously has two very distinct sides to his personality. One strong and one weaker, as we all do I suppose. I myself have two sides: I am strong in every part of my life except when it comes to him.
