God help me. I still loved him, so deep it hurt.
I shut my eyes, not wanting that burning image of the man I once loved to stay imprinted in my memory. I felt his hot lips on my nipple, clamping on that bud, sucking it so hard I winced.
Forcing my legs apart, I opened my eyes to find I was exposed to his hungry gaze. He wedged himself against me. Rolling on the condom, he slid into me. It was all too quick and fast.
I winced again. He was so big inside me. It’d been seven years since he was inside me, and all those memories came crashing into me again. Those cold windy nights in his little shaggy house while his grandfather slept in the next room, those stolen moments when we used to touch each other when no one was looking. His soft kisses, his lighthearted caresses, they were all beautiful memories that I had catalogued for the rest of my life.
He used to make love to me like I was his princess, the only woman in his world. He put me on a pedestal. He protected me from danger, even when he himself lived in a dangerous world. And when we made love, it was so beautiful that I cried.
But now I also cried, silent tears dripping from the corners of my eyes unknowingly. Not because I wasn’t happy to be in his arms again, but because our relationship had now changed.
Seven years ago, I was the one who made the request. Seven years ago, I destroyed his life. And now, seven years later, I came back into his life. Fate had brought us together again, but this time, I must pay the ultimate price. I was no longer his love. I was his toy.
He continued to thrust into me, not knowing of the thoughts going through my head. I realized this was not love. This was hunger. This was need. The basic human instinct of a man who just needed to fuck another human, to satisfy his lust.
Sweat poured off me. I clung to him. Each stroke brought me back to the surface. I panted, my mind frozen from thinking any further thought. Skin-to-skin, we were meshed together.
We were so close, but the distance between us could be measured in miles. He embraced me, not with love but with lust. Each stroke he bestowed upon me fired up the forbidden lust within me even more.
I still loved him. I knew that now. I’d never stopped loving him. I was consumed by this love sickness.
But I knew he’d changed. I’d damaged him. I was the reason he’d turned into this ruthless broken billionaire. He was not like me. I was infected by his love. He was immune to my love. In our love story, I was only a mere plaything for him to satisfy his craving.
It was a done deal. He fucked me and left. I woke up naked and cold. Beside me on the table was a note with one single key.
* * *
Move in with me. Then I’ll agree to your deal.
* * *
Two sentences. Ten words. But those words could ultimately change my life. I reached for the key, holding the cold metal in my hand.
It must be his house key. He wanted me to move in with him. Had I sealed the deal by sleeping with him? But this was my only solution.
The lust between us was still as strong as ever. Nothing could compare to the passion flaring between us last night. But would I be satisfied with just being his temporary lover? Could I endure other women entertaining him? Because I knew I wasn’t the only one.
Seven years ago, he was mine alone. But I’d destroyed his trust. I’d crush his courage to love again. I was the culprit in this lovesick game of ours.
I couldn’t blame him. I could never blame him for what he’d done. He was a man who had endured so much to get to where he was today. I congratulated him for getting this far. Within the span of those seven years, he’d built himself up from scratch and had now become the world-renowned Justin Valenti, the president and CEO of Valenti Real Estate.
But would I be satisfied with the situation I was in? My mind traced back to when this all started seven years ago, when the story of our love began, when I was first infected by his love.
Chapter 1: Justin
Seven years ago
* * *
There were twenty-four hours in a day. I spent four hours sleeping, seven hours studying for my college degree, and thirteen hours working to support my life. And the morning started now, with the alarm jolting me awake.
I allowed myself a good five minutes of freedom in bed before starting the day. But staying in bed this morning was a luxury that I couldn’t afford. The air inside the room could almost freeze a newborn lamb to death. If a healthy twenty-year-old boy like me couldn’t even tolerate this cold, then what about a fragile medically compromised sixty-eight-year-old man.
Rubbing my eyes to wear off sleep, I slipped into my three-year-old slippers. It was a well-worn pair, despite it being a little torn, but still in usable condition.
Padding out of bed, I grabbed the blanket off my bed on the way to check on Grandpa, who was in the next room.
I noted the cracked floors and the carpet slightly worn on the way to his room. Just another list of maintenance items to put on my to-do list.
Grandpa was curled up like a little baby on the bed. His shoulders looked tense. I put my blanket on his sleeping form, and when his shoulders relaxed, and he burrowed farther into the blanket, searching for that warmth, I couldn’t help but smile. His wheelchair sat on the opposite side of his bed. It must have been Elma, his home aide, who had parked the chair there.
I parked the wheelchair closer to his bed, just so it would be easier for him to get into when he woke up, if Elma hadn’t arrived yet.
Walking quietly so as not to disturb his sleep, I closed his bedroom door and got straight to work on the morning chores. Build the fire in the log burner to heat the house, cook Grandpa’s breakfast, hit the shower, grab a banana, and off to work. All in that order.
Except it didn’t pan out that way.
“Shit!” I forgot to chop the firewood the night before. Grandpa would freeze to death when he woke up.
Slapping on my woolly jacket and work boots, I ran outside to the shed in the backyard. It was pitch-black. Hardly surprising, since it was only three in the morning.
Thankfully, the shed was equipped with a light bulb, so chopping wood was an easy task. Except, by the time I was finished with the job, I could no longer feel my fingers.
Carrying a good few in my arms, I trudged back inside and lit the fire. The heat warmed me up in no time. Once oats porridge was also made, and nicely wrapped in the microwave, I hit the shower.
The hot spray warmed my soul. Loving the feel of the water, but thinking of money wasted, I got dressed, grabbed a banana, and went to say goodbye to Grandpa. Grandpa was still sleeping in bed, a lot more comfortable than the first time I came to check on him.
“Nonno,” I bent and whispered into his ear. A loud grunt erupted from his mouth. I smiled at that. “You sleep well, all right? I’ve made you breakfast.”
“Porridge again?” he grunted in response, his eyes still closed.
“Yes. Porridge again.”
Grandpa slowly opened his lids, lined with wrinkles, and peered at me through his cataract-filled eyes.
A knife sliced through me that second. Eye surgery for cataracts was in the thousands. I didn’t have that kind of money, yet.
Wait a little longer, Nonno. I’ll be graduating by the end of this year. Then I’ll work even harder and get you that eye surgery.
“I don’t like porridge. I want cake for breakfast. Ask your boss to give me some cake for breakfast.” He shifted on his bed, making the blanket drop below his shoulders.
“No, Nonno.” I shook my head and pulled the blanket up to his neck again. “You can’t eat cake for breakfast. It’s not good for your teeth.”
“Bloody teeth. I ain’t got any. I have dentures.”
“Well, yes. But I still won’t allow it. Now go back to sleep. Eat your porridge when you wake up. It’s in the microwave. Just heat it up when you want it, okay. I’ll be back before midnight.”
“Will you bring me sweets then, Nipote, if I eat porridge?”
I smiled. “Yeah,
Nonno. I’ll bring you your favorite sweets. If you don’t cause Elma any problems.”
“I ain’t causing Elma any problems. She’s always the one who’s complaining about me and not getting paid on time.”
Guilty arrows jabbed at my heart. I couldn’t blame Elma for that. Looking after an invalid, an old man who required full-time care and had a foul mouth, too... It could get stressful. Guess I had to take up that underground fighting match tonight, just to pay for her overdue wages.
“Yeah, well, you behave too. We don’t want to lose her. So, here’s the deal. If you eat your porridge and don’t cause problems to Elma, I’ll bring you sweets tonight. Do we have a deal?”
Grandpa smiled his gummy smile at me, nodded, then closed his eyes and fell back to sleep.
I smiled somewhat strangely at this, my heart a little constricted with pain. But I shoved it aside before it took full form. Taking my bike out, I cycled through town toward the bakery at the other end of the city.
Opening the door to freshly baked breads was one of my favorite moments in the day. Jim, the head boss, was already there, face pudgy and red with the heat from the oven.
“Howdy, Justin. Your loaf is on the cooling rack.”
“Howdy, Jim.” I greeted him and went to the front of the bakery, where several small tables and chairs were situated for customers to sit and eat. I’ve never had the privilege to see the rowdy customers. My work in the bakery usually started at four a.m. and ended right before they opened at seven a.m.
Sitting at one of the tables, I pulled out the banana I got from home, mashed it into the bread loaf, and wolfed down my breakfast. Water completed my morning meal.
All done with food, I got into my uniform, scrubbed my hands under soap, and—
I paused, taking a second to examine the scar that ran forth from my left wrist. It was a small cut, a small mistake, but also a firm reminder that if I had died that night, then I wouldn’t be here today.
Maybe Grandpa knew I was vulnerable at that age. Eleven, parents recently died, and a granddad who was about to leave this world, too, what choice did I have back then, except suicide.
But I had grown past that phase of my life now. And it was Grandpa who had saved me. I must be brave and look forward to the day ahead. Because today was a new day. And a new day brought new possibility.
After washing up, I got straight to work. After a good thirty minutes of silently pounding dough, Jim said his first full sentence to me.
“How’s your granddad? His health is on the mend?”
“Yeah. Grandpa is okay right now. Though I worry when the winter comes around. I need to get him more blankets. His joints are going to feel it the most.”
“Yeah, you know what it’s like when you age. Once you pass fifty, all sorts of conditions come knocking at your door. The wife was complaining about her arthritis playing up the other day, and she’s only forty-eight. But you listen, Justin. We’ve got some extra blankets if you don’t mind secondhand stuff. The wife is planning to redecorate the room for the tenth time, and she wants to recycle some old stuff. We could drop it off at your place tonight if you want.”
I took a deep breath and looked at him. “I—”
“Look,” Jim began, cutting me off.
He knew I was about to refuse. After years of being looked down upon, criticized and bashed in the head during my high school years, I became cautious and withdrawn. And the word pity got tagged along with it, too.
“Look at that poor orphan boy, whose parents had died in a car crash.”
“Look at that poor orphan boy who wore his uniform a size too small.”
“Oh, the poor thing.”
The leers, the jeering, it sickened me to see those looks on their faces. Parents, teachers, classmates, all of them, taking pity on me, yet gossiping about me from behind.
People avoided me. People were scared to touch me. As if one touch would rub my poorness onto them.
I wasn’t stupid. I could tell from a mile away I was hated. So, the word pity always came with a sharp warning.
“You don’t have to give me that look,” Jim carried on. “I know how you hate it when people pity you. And this is not charity. You’re working here for me. Let me thank you by giving you some stuff. Waste not, want not. That’s what I say. The blankets are still in good condition. I want to give them to a good home. It’s not so bad, is it? That’s how life revolves. You help me, I help you.”
I thought about what Jim had said. Waste not, want not. It’s not charity. He didn’t need those blankets anymore. Grandpa could benefit from them anyway.
“You’re right, Jim.” I smiled, accepting his proposal. “That’ll be mint. Thanks heaps.”
“Not a problem, kiddo. I admire kids like you. Hardworking with a strong sense of perseverance. And you study like Einstein. I wouldn’t be surprised if you turn out to be a millionaire someday. Just as long as you don’t forget me, that’s all I ask.”
“Jesus, Jim.” I rolled my dough and pounded it a bit more, using all the strength in my muscles to produce the result. “You make it sound like I’m some privileged kid here.”
“Well, it’s the privileged blue-blooded kids I don’t give an ass about. They think they got gold in front of them, so they don’t work to preserve those golds. You, my boy, you know the secret to being a millionaire. You know how to manage time.”
“Yeah, whatever you say, Jim.” I shook my head and got back to work.
Don’t tell me the secret to being rich was all about time management? My life was bound to time like a dog bound to a leash. Hell, even a dog got to be free and untied from that leash from time to time to socialize. But me, I didn’t have that privilege. Each second to me was precious. I needed to spend each second in exchange for some form of money or commodity that was of value to me. Sleep in exchange for recovery and energy. Work in exchange for money. Education in exchange for a better future.
Boys my age may have privilege, the life with easy food and good parents. But I didn’t have either. All I had were my own two hands, a mountain of college fees, a sick grandpa, and an old house that required constant maintenance. But sooner or later, I’d get Grandpa and me out of this hellhole called poverty.
Chapter 2: Lily
I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was orientation week and there were many clubs and societies that were out and about in front of the university field park, hoping to capture any interested individuals to join their clubs. I was interested in the art club, so I had applied and asked for directions to the club room. But somehow, my sense of direction in this new profound university had my brain fried, and I ended up in this underground boxing club.
There were people everywhere. Behind me, in front of me, beside me, so many that I could hardly breathe to save my life. This reminded me of one incident from ten years ago, when I was at the zoo. I found myself lost, jam-packed in the middle with all the animals around me, barking, mooing, and hissing at me.
In here, it was the same. There must be about a hundred, maybe more, in a room that should house forty, maybe fifty people max, all packed with some degree of raging hormones, like those animals in the zoo. The only comfort I had was holding on to my precious cupcake in the box, which at least reminded me that I belonged to a real society outside of this door, a civilized society that didn’t act like crazy animals.
And their behaviors were crazy. The men were throwing out curses, while the few women were displaying their personal assets to the men across the room. My eyes almost bulged out of my sockets at their acts. It was awkward and bizarre at the same time.
Did college students behave like this after finishing high school? I had attended a Christian school, so bizarre things like flashing your twin assets were not the norm. I should definitely find an exit point and get out of here before the picture got any more graphic.
Just as I was about to wedge my way back out, a deep voice broke through on the speaker, reducing the loud rowdy crowd to
a deafening silence. It was possibly the emcee announcing the battle. I didn’t get a look, since my mission to exit this place was stronger. But instead, I found myself stuck in between a group of stocky boys.
The air was knocked out of my lungs. I couldn’t move. Having nowhere to turn to, I faced the emcee who stood in the boxing ring, while waiting for another opportunity to make an exit.
The emcee was a large built man with stocky shoulders, blond hair, and a face that could cheer anyone up with that wide smile of his. Of course, when he did speak, the atmosphere hyped up.
“All right. That’s enough folks,” he pacified everyone. “I’m your emcee, Hagen. Let’s get to the real deal. I welcome you to O-Weeeeeeek!”
Instantly, the crowd went wild. It was like a circus show. Some were pounding on the wall. Others were stomping on the floors. While still others were screaming their lungs out. It seemed like their goal was to make the loudest noise possible. As for me, I was still pawing my way out of this pack of hyenas.
“We have a new contender this year. A freshman. But that doesn’t mean he’s new in this sport. He deserves his own accolade. Our freshman holds a black belt in karate. I welcome you to the boxing ring, Wayne Anderson.”
The crowd instantly quieted down when Wayne walked out.
Wayne was a lanky boy-man, and he was tall. I could even see his head from where I stood at the back. He marched with style to the boxing ring and stood next to the emcee, somewhat embarrassed since there were no cheers for him.
“Now, everyone. This is it. This is the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” our emcee began again. “Ladies. Gentlemen. Boys. Girls. Are you all excited?”
Another cheer erupted. And someone faked a drumroll to dramatize the atmosphere in the background. Hagen lifted his hand, and all was silent again.
“But just a word of caution before we start. Because seriously, I think we all need to hear it. Now, ladies…” He turned his attention to the women around the boxing ring. “You’d better guard your hearts. Even better, lock them away in a safe somewhere and throw the keys out the window. As for you gents, I urge you to protect your girlfriends. Now, for the rest of us. It doesn’t matter if you’re a girl or a guy, that doesn’t change the fact that our next contender will surely steal your heart. Don’t even pretend that he doesn’t affect you. Don’t even pretend that you don’t love him. Because you do. And you wish he was yours, in bed and out. But that isn’t gonna happen, because ladies and gentlemen, he’ll surely break your heart. And for the first time this year, fighting for a full two hundred in cold hard cash, I give you, Heartbreaker.”
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