Enemies & Lovers

by Christine Zolendz

  Vaughn stays silent. He must remember all the internships I had been promised, he has to remember how bright everyone in this town thought my future would be.

  “I’m am so sick of no one noticing me trying to crawl my way out from under the darkness they buried me in,” I grind out.

  Every muscle in Vaughn’s body is taut, his teeth clench tight. “It’s not you? In those pictures? It’s really not you?”

  “No, Montgomery, you fucking moron. It isn’t,” I say in a huff.

  Without warning, Vaughn lunges forward, arms up, reaching behind me. His hands slam over the surface of the bureau so hard the mirrored wall attached to it cracks and splinters. Everything on the cabinet gets swiped away violently, until his hands get a hold of the bag of rice I placed there when I first came in to change.

  He’s trying to get my phone.

  The bag explodes with a pop. White rice rains down everywhere.

  I suck back an audible gasp and try to jerk the bag away. “Are you crazy?” I scream.

  Vaughn pulls one way on the bag; I pull the other.

  Rice spatters across my face. It fills my mouth and flies into my eyes, but I keep my grip on that damn plastic rice bag with all my strength.

  “Let go,” he growls, wrenching the bag into his chest.

  “Fine!” I grunt, letting go. He stumbles back into the wardrobe and I laugh at his stunned expression. I’ve checked the phone three times since he buried it in the rice, it hasn’t turned on once. I highly doubt that archaic device will ever be usable again. He can have it. It’ll make a great paperweight.

  He twists away, and turns his back on me, taking the phone from my view.

  I’m going to laugh in his face when it doesn’t go on. Like a madwoman. I’m going to bust out a little jig and point and whoop and howl.

  Vaughn’s head is still tilted down toward his hands.

  Why is this taking so long? He should be just staring at a broken phone that won’t go on. That shouldn’t take all this time!

  Then his body slowly spins back around facing me. He looks down at the phone, up to my eyes, back down to the phone. This happens over and over, because of course my phone would work for him.

  A heaviness settles at the bottom of my belly as I watch and wait.

  His head snaps up, his steel gaze piercing right through me.

  My heart starts beating too fast. My breathing becomes a ragged, shaky mess.

  A dark expression flashes across his face that sends an explosion of heat rattling through my chest.

  The next second he’s on me, hands grabbing and yanking at the hem of my shirt.

  “Vaughn!” I scream, shoving at his shoulders and arms. “Get away from me.”

  With one hand, he fists my shirt tight against my stomach, then gazes down into my eyes. “Stop fighting me.”

  He reaches his other hand out, slow and gentle. He’s not trying to hurt or scare me. I can tell by the heat in his eyes, he’s pleading with me, looking for the truth. That’s all I can guess, I’m just not sure how he thinks he’ll find any answer.

  His fingers reach the button of my jeans and he pauses, his breath catching.

  “Vaughn,” I warn.

  The hand balled in my top pulls me tight against his body. He’s got me so trapped in the material I have no choice but to lean into him. His muscles are tense, his heart thrumming wildly.

  “I can remember every inch of your body, Claire. Your smell. Your taste.” His voice is a straggled whisper.

  “Good for you. Now, get your hands off me before I bite you until I taste blood,” I threaten.

  “You had a birthmark,” he continues without missing a beat.

  “I still do,” I say, suddenly understanding what he’s after. I’m divided between wanting to show him and letting him wonder for rest of his life.

  “It’s not in any of the pictures,” he says.

  I feel the pop of the button, the quick descent of the zipper, cool air hitting my skin.

  I teeter on the edge of what to do. On one hand I want the world to know the truth and this will definitely prove it to at least Vaughn. On the other hand, I don’t want him to think he has the right to put his hands on my body whenever he wants.

  I bite into his chest. Hard.

  “Claire, what the fuck?” he grunts, loosening his grip on me.

  “Rich boy, you need to learn you can’t manhandle me whenever you see fit,” I say.

  The hand that wrapped in my shirt lifts up and clamps around my chin, holding my jaw in place. “Then show me yourself.”

  He holds me like this for a moment then pulls his hands away, dropping his eyes to the floor. “You don’t get it, do you?” His voice is full of some emotion I can’t pinpoint. “I need to know.”

  I shove my palms to his chest and push him away. I want to show him. I want someone, anyone to believe me, but it isn’t fair. Why is it me that always has to prove my worth to everyone else? I don’t think anymore, I just move. I tie up my shirt, just below my bra, then slide my jeans and undies over my hips.

  He stares for a moment, and his expression softens. Then he drops to his knees in front of me. And before I could yank back up my pants, he presses his lips to the heart-shaped birthmark he remembered from a decade ago.

  Jumping away, I wrestle my jeans back up over my hips and end up with an instant wedgie. I’m too angry to care. I bounce back and slap him hard in the arm. “Thanks for questioning my morals, there’s a mirror,” I shout, pointing to our shattered reflection in the glass. “Face it and ask yourself why you’d sleep with someone you thought did that if you were so upset by it. And don’t tell me because at the moment I wasn’t Claire and you weren’t Vaughn. So why did you sleep with me?”

  “Because you are Claire, that’s why,” he whispers.

  “I don’t understand what that means,” I whine.

  He takes a step closer to me. Oh, he’s got to be stupid.

  “It means, standing in front of you I’m fifteen again. And I’m—” his voice cracks. “I’m absolutely enthralled by you—everything about you excites me and turns me on.”

  “Well, good for you!” I shriek, waving my hands in mock celebration. “You got to screw the slut then and now! Congratulations, you’ve won nothing but a ten-second orgasm.”

  “Don’t do that, Claire,” he breathes. “Don’t stand there and deny what we were.”

  “Enlighten me with what we were then, Montgomery.”

  “We were naïve and very happy. Jesus Christ, Claire, I fell in love with you because of a smile. The silliest little thing. A twist and curve of your lips and I was done. And I was fucking six years old.” He takes another step closer and lifts his hand to my chin, brushing a thumb along my bottom lip. “That smile, Jesus. I thought it was just for me. Because of me. It was like the sun lived in the blush of your cheeks and the pink of your lips. You were my sunrise, until that day when all the lights went out. You know what, Claire Radcliffe? In my life there were a few women, but there was only ever one where it felt right. And that was you; it’s always been you.”

  “If any of that were true, how could it have been so easy to forget me?” I ask.

  “I have never said I forgot you. Ever. I’d be lying if I did,” he says.

  “None of it matters now,” I whisper.

  “Our parents hurt us more than anyone could ever know. We should have been together this whole time. We could have been more…We could have been us.”

  Vaughn and I sit on the bed silently for a while. Both of us staring out the bedroom window, fogged with our breath, as the sun rises in the sky, above the heavy storm clouds and snow that rob us of the view.

  Chapter 16

  Vaughn

  Claire pours us more whiskey while I start a fire in the living room.

  Thirty minutes ago, we lost power because of the storm. Ten minutes after that, we realized this house runs on those brand-new net-zero electric heat pumps. Very contemporary and cutting ed
ge of my father and his mistress. It all runs on solar power, very Green. Hardly any monthly bills to pay—no carbon footprint. My old man even had a generator in case of an emergency like this—he just must have forgotten to refill its gas tank before he died.

  It got real cold, real fast.

  Claire hands me the whiskey and a blanket, and we settle in on the couch in front of the fire. The light from the flames transforms everything in the room softly and casts an ethereal glow over her skin, showcasing her exquisite beauty. I can’t take my eyes off her.

  “Why are you staring at me like that? What are you thinking?” she says, bringing the rim of the glass to her lips. She takes a small delicate sip, and her brows furrow.

  I want to kiss her—every inch of her. I want to make her cry my name in pleasure—make up for all the lost time, for every moment I had to endure without her in my life. Her lips part, just the smallest bit, and I imagine what my cum would look like across them—between them.

  “Forget it,” she says, shaking her head and chuckling. “I don’t think I want to know.” She gulps back the rest of her drink.

  I’ll keep my mouth shut on that subject. For now.

  I lean back into the cushions of the couch and clear my throat. “Who do you think it is that’s blackmailing you?”

  Her eyebrows pull together again, “I have no idea.”

  “Could it be one of your friends?” I ask cautiously. How could she have no idea?

  She slides her tumbler on the table and gives me a sad expression. “I don’t keep many friends, Vaughn. I have major trust issues in that respect.”

  “Out of the few you have then?” I continue questioning.

  A slight sigh passes through her lips. “My closest friend is Maddie, and her family is very well-off, she wouldn’t have to shake someone down for money, all she needs to do is ask her parents and she gets whatever she wants.” Her shoulders pop up in a shrug.

  I knew about the Maddie friend from reading through her text messages. I’m more curious about the Paul guy who texted her about some lesson plans. “Anyone else? A boyfriend maybe?”

  “You really have a knack for insulting me, don’t you?” she mutters, shaking her head.

  Huh? “I’m not insulting you at all,” I say in a shocked tone. How am I insulting her?

  “I’m not seeing anyone, Montgomery, and if I were, what happened between me and you would never have happened,” she says dryly.

  Ah, shit. I did not see that question from her point of view. I suck at this. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that you would have…that you’re the kind of…” I stop talking.

  Maybe I should just shut the fuck up about it.

  “Okay,” I say, blowing out a deep breath. “Let’s look at this from another angle…who knew about Silas and Libby?”

  Claire stills as she thinks. “I’m not sure, really. I mean, I didn’t know. You obviously didn’t know.” Then her eyes suddenly light up, “Oh wait. Maria Lowell seemed to be in on their affair. She was here when I got here, putting some of my mother’s stuff in boxes.”

  Ms. Lowell was here? “Really? What did she say to you when she saw you?”

  “Um…What did she say?” she mumbles to herself, taking a moment to remember. “She was sorry for my loss. She was anxious to get down the mountain before too much snow accumulated, which I understand better now. She was afraid of me getting stuck here. And something about never feeling right about our parents’ arrangement.” She shrugs again and sighs low. “I really didn’t give her a chance to talk, honestly. I wanted her to leave so I could look for the accounts. And she didn’t want me to stay either, and the texts were coming through while she was here with me and she didn’t have a phone in her hands, so it couldn’t have been her, right?”

  “Ms. Lowell’s been our housekeeper for more than twenty years, I’m sure she had to know about their affair. I’ll bet a lot of the staff had to help them keep the secret.” It’s crazy. All of this. All the lies. My father was a freaking asshole. “But I don’t think it would be Ms. Lowell blackmailing you either. If it were, she would have just looked for the accounts herself while she was here.”

  She nods her head and stares into the fire. She says nothing else.

  “What about Paul?” I blurt. I’m really not good at this prying, investigating thing.

  Her head snaps back, “Paul? Paul who?”

  She’s got to be kidding me. My knee starts bobbing. I don’t want to bring up the fact I went through her phone again, but how can I not? “There was one other person who you were messaging with on your phone—the contact was named Paul.”

  Her eyes narrow. She’s definitely still pissed off I went through her phone.

  “You mean Mr. Luger. He’s a colleague. He’s a little strange, but I don’t think it could be him,” she says, annoyed.

  “Strange how?” I keep pressing.

  “He’s…well…” Even in the dim light I can see her cheeks darken. “He seems smitten with me. I can’t see him doing anything like this.”

  “Smitten with you? How does smitten and strange mix together in your thoughts?” Shit, my voice is too harsh, I sound absurdly jealous. No, I sound downright ridiculous.

  She rubs her hands over her eyes and lets out another long sigh. “I don’t know really, it’s just, well, he sometimes shows up places I am, leaves little snacks for me in my classroom, things like that.”

  “He sounds like a psycho,” I fume.

  “That’s your definition of a psycho?” she laughs.

  “Abso-fucking-lutely. He’s probably your blackmailer. I bet he even tries to swoop in at the last minute acting like a hero before any of those pictures get sent out.”

  “And what if that isn’t his plan or it’s not him?” she asks. Her eyes glisten with tears. “My career is over.”

  I lean forward, devouring the space between us. “I’ll make sure you get an even better job, Claire. I promise. If you want to continue teaching in private schools, I can send a huge donation in your name and we can—”

  “Vaughn, stop,” she says, placing her hand over mine. “Montgomery money will never be the answer to any of my problems. Ever.”

  She can’t be serious—I need to make her understand—I want to help her. I want to be there for her and see what me and her could be, together. “Claire, I…”

  “You’re insulting me again, Vaughn. Please. Just stop.” She stands and walks into the kitchen, trailing the bottom of the blanket that’s bundled around her shoulders along the floor.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll stop,” I lie, raising my hands in surrender. I’ll call the private school Chloe and I attended growing up, and by the time I get off the phone with them, Claire will have the choice of teaching any grade she wishes, making as much money as she wants. She’s not the girl in those pictures. She didn’t know about our parents, then or now. I need to make it all right again, what it was supposed to be. I want to give her everything. I’ll show her I can give her the life she missed out on. I’m the one that will be her hero.

  “I’m hungry,” she mumbles, staring into the dark pantry. “There’s not many appetizing choices here. What if we eat all these,” she waves a box of Ritz crackers at me, “and we run out of food?”

  Maybe I’ll just eat you.

  “I remember liking when you did,” she giggles. I didn’t realize I said the words out loud.

  “Well, I got much better at it.” I can’t help but brag, if she let me I’d do it all night long.

  She sits back down next to me and offers me a sleeve of crackers, “How about for now you just eat these?”

  “You’re no fun,” I say, frowning.

  “Uh-huh,” she says through a mouth full of crackers.

  We eat every cracker in the box, then stare at each other in awkward silence.

  She’s so closed off. I need to make her see I’m not the enemy anymore. I want her to realize I can change everything for her, make her life better. She doesn’t deserve t
o be in the hole she’s in. “I’m sorry about everything, Claire. Please realize you aren’t what was done to you.” I don’t think I’m using the right words, because she’s watching me with those same guarded eyes as the first time she saw me. “I shouldn’t have ever accused you of anything, or treated you like your mother.”

  She looks away and exhales a heavy breath.

  “You were my person. I should have never thought—”

  “Don’t, Vaughn. I get it, you feel sorry for me, but you don’t have to, okay? It doesn’t matter,” she whispers.

  “It matters to me,” I say a little too harshly.

  “Well, don’t let it.” She crumbles up the plastic wrapper of the cracker sleeve and tosses it on the coffee table. “The only thing I’m concerned with right now is how to make those pictures disappear.”

  “You do know that whoever it is isn’t going to stop just because you give them what they want. After they get it, they’re just going to find something else to take from you. It’ll never end. They’ll never be satisfied with what they think they want,” I say, trying to make her understand how it all works.

  “I hate this. I can’t begin to explain how heart-wrenching and terrifying this is to me. I don’t know what to do. The thought of people thinking that’s me in those pictures, it’s sickening.” She grasps at her stomach like she’s really in pain. “I am in a constant state of thinking I might vomit at any time.”

  She looks toward the window and throws her hands in its direction. “And why is it still snowing and dark? It’s nine in the morning! Is it the Montgomery apocalypse here? Can’t we call someone to come get us?”

  “Do you have anyone to call?” I did of course, but I was really starting to like the thought of being here with her.

  Her hands start fidgeting.

  “Look,” I say, “let’s wait until the snow stops and then we can get someone here, okay? I’ll call someone and we’ll get your car down the mountain and everything will be fine, got it?”

  She doesn’t look any more relieved. Her fingers continue moving restlessly, and her knees, both of them, start bobbing up and down quickly. I need to get her to talk it out and not overreact in her own head. God only knows the terror she’s feeling about all of this, but I’m betting she’s building it up to theatrical heights in her mind.