by Kate Stewart
Tobias is still standing at my deserted table with the book in his hand when I push out of the doors and into the freezing wind.
I shoot up in bed, my latest dream leaving me exhausted as my limbs protest, remaining heavy with sleep. Attempting to clear the haze, I see the tell-tale double flash of lightning out of the French doors.
The thunder must have woke me.
Breaths evening out, I try to remember the dream and am thankful when I come up empty. But the air around me, the heat in my cheeks, the fast breaths coming from me make it clear it wasn’t harmless.
My dreams seldom are. I’ve failed in every way to free myself of them.
Pound. Pound. Pound.
That’s not thunder.
Leaping from the mattress, I search the room around me and come up empty.
Now isn’t then, Cecelia. Get the door.
Rattled, I slip on my robe and grab my gun from my purse, trying to shake myself free of the fear.
Now isn’t then, Cecelia.
The longer I stay, the distinction of past and present are becoming clearer, and I’m relatively safe. I’ll never be the girl incapable of fighting or attempting to save myself again. I’ve been an armed woman since I left Triple Falls. Collin and I got into a ton of fights over my selection of small guns. I always won.
Pound. Pound. Pound.
Rain batters the house, washing the new snow away as I keep my gun lowered, padding down the staircase.
Ding. Dong. Ding. Dong.
“Dominic, no!”
I inhale a calming breath as I reach the front door and look out to see headlights shining through sheets of rain. I can’t make out the car.
I scream out as the bang sounds again, and he hears me.
“Open the fucking door, Cecelia.”
I flip on the porch light as the hairs on my neck rise. He pounds once again, and I open it to see Tobias drenched from the rain, his eyes glossy, his expression stone. He’s dressed in the suit he was wearing at dinner, the tie around his neck pulled loose and hanging, his glossy dark locks drenched.
His eyes drink me in pausing on the gown he bought me years ago before he takes an aggressive step forward, and then another, until I’m backed against the foyer table, my hand outstretched behind me for support.
He glances down at the gun in my hand and in one swift move, slaps it out of my grip. It slides across the floor and lands with the barrel pointed against the wall.
“You idiot! The safety was off!”
“You’re unarmed now, and that’s what you’re worried about?” He staggers forward, his posture searing with intimidation. He’s been drinking, and he’s furious.
“You won’t hurt me.”
“Won’t I?”
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
“You happened. Why haven’t you left?”
“Why does it matter? I’m not doing anything to you. I’m not bothering you.”
“Your presence bothers me!”
He’s soaked through, the water dripping down his profile. I lift my chin.
“Tough shit.”
He glares down at me as the sky lights up behind him, and thunder rolls in the distance.
“You won’t hurt me.”
“Think again,” he grips my face so tight I know I’ll have faint bruises tomorrow. “I told you to leave it alone. But you just couldn’t. When are you going to understand we were nothing but a weak moment?”
“So much of nothing you’ve been at the bar rehearsing this speech for how long?”
He jerks my robe open, and I slap at his hands.
“Go take your shit out on your girlfriend. I’m not dealing with this.”
“Not dealing with this?” He hisses, sliding a thick finger down the strap of my nightgown before jerking it free and exposing one of my breasts.
“Think of Alicia, Tobias. This isn’t right.” I push at his chest to no avail. “You aren’t that man.”
“No, I’m not. You made sure of that.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“She was a good woman who deserved all the attention I could give her.”
“You broke up?”
“She seems to think we have unfinished business. I agree. I say we finish this.” He rips at my gown and unveils my other breast before roughly cupping it.
“Stop it, Tobias, we’ve played this game before.”
He knocks the empty vase off the table behind me, and it shatters on the floor. I jerk my chin from his grip. “Stop it, you bastard! Stop it. We’re better than this.”
“No, we’re not. This is who we are,” he presses me against the table, his weight and strength pinning me. “This is all we are. And this,” he pinches my nipple painfully, sending a shot of lightning to my core. “This is why you’re here, right? Waiting for me?” He rubs his hard length along my stomach as I hold in my whimper. “Well,” his voice drips acid, “here I am.”
“This is how you want to play it? Fine.” I push at his chest, and he stumbles back. I lift the hem of my nightgown, unveiling myself in nothing but panties and toss it down. His eyes roam freely, lust hazing out some of the anger. His nostrils flare as his thick hair drips, the droplets falling over my breasts and sliding down my stomach.
“You don’t scare me, Tobias. You never have. That’s what pisses you off the most.”
“No,” he leans, and I inhale leather, citrus, and rain. “What pisses me off the most is that I let you go because I don’t want you anymore, and you’re too blind to see that.”
“No, what pisses you off the most is any woman you find won’t ever be me.”
He releases my jaw and dips his head, biting into the flesh of my breast, and I cry out, ripping at his hair as he pierces the skin, before drawing me into his mouth.
I don’t have time to blink before I’m pushed onto the table, and he’s jerking my panties down my legs. I gasp as he runs his erection along my thigh, his fingers tightening around my throat.
“How many nights have you touched yourself thinking of me, closed your eyes and thought of me while your fiancé was fucking you?”
“Every night,” I hiss, clawing at every part of him to get him closer, “every night.” He pauses his assault, glaring down at me.
“You’re right. You’re sick. This, we, are fucking sick. And it isn’t going to end the way you want it to,” he seethes.
“I know,” I gasp as he presses a finger inside me, his grip on my neck tightening as I hoarsely cry his name. I’m soaked, so much so that I feel his cock twitch through his slacks when he finds me needy.
Lightning flashes behind the open front door as he finger fucks me ruthlessly while the thunder rolls in. I push off his jacket while he drinks from my neck. Slowly, he lifts his head as thirst pools in his fiery depths while he crowds me, our eyes connecting as he unbuckles his belt, jerking his cock from his pants while I yank off his tie. His hands cover me, mapping my body, his touch damning, branding as I rip at his shirt.
He stops my movements, flattening me to the table with his palm as he runs the head of his cock through my slit before he drives into me, burying himself in one thrust. Once locked, he hangs his head and curses as I cry out, reaching for him.
And then he’s moving, his mouth taunting me with a kiss he refuses to give as he wildly fucks me, savage and without care, his anger unyielding. His strokes are unforgiving as his face twists between anguish and rage. Lust swallows me whole as I call out to him again and again, begging somewhere between heaven and hell. The slapping of skin, our connection consumes me whole, fueling my desire as I start to shake with the build. He pulls back, eyes lit, and thrusts into me to the hilt, his hands covering my breasts, his need taking over. He angles his hips striking along my walls, restraining me with just the pressure of his palm.
“Tobias,” I call out, as he tears into me, possessed by anger while giving into us.
He groans as he finally releases me, pushing my thighs wider as
he drives in. He leans over, gripping my neck and lifting me, his grunts and exhales hitting my lips. Our mouths collide, his tongue diving deep as he kisses me and kisses me. I shudder around him, my core clenching as I moan my release into our kiss. My orgasm seems to unleash him as he fucks me deep, pinning my hands beside my head. Inching the table forward with each thrust. I take his brutal licks because it’s what he needs and what I want. His anger, his passion, the proof of life that still beats in his chest. His regret and resentment for the love I still harbor for both the man and the monster that dwells inside him.
It’s possession and reclaiming. It’s too much of everything he can’t get past and can’t forgive either of us for. Flickers of torment cross his features as pained grunts escape him.
“We are nothing,” his voice cracks with his lie.
“You love me,” I counter. “You still love me.”
He roars as he comes, forehead pressed to mine before spilling the rest of himself on the table between us. Chest heaving, he backs away, while jerking up his pants. The porch light blankets us in light as he retreats, his face going ashen as he gathers his jacket and the state I’m in—torn, bitten, and flushed from my orgasm. His face twists in anguish before he hangs his head at the threshold of the door.
I gather myself from the table. My limbs still shaking, but I manage to keep my voice steady. “It takes a queen to love and understand a king. Did you think this would break me? You made me!”
His silence is answer enough.
“You really thought that would do it? Would change what I feel for you and get me out of your system? You should know better than that, you fucking fool!” I wrap myself in the ruined silk.
He palms his mouth, frozen on the doorstep, unshed tears in his panic-filled eyes, a plea on his lips when he speaks. “Please leave, Cecelia. I can’t give you what you want.” Shadows of our undoing sneak in, casting darkness over his features, his eyes wild and haunted while an agony-filled groan escapes his throat. I see it then, the ironic truth, I might be strong enough, but he’s not. He turns and stalks out, leaving the door open.
The next morning, I pace the house, my core sore, throbbing, as I contemplate my next move. I know I have to go. I know what needs to be done. I’m trying to break through a door that’s long closed and sealed shut.
I will leave, for the both of us. I’m only hurting us by staying. I admit to myself I had hoped we could put it behind us, never Dominic, but all of the heartbreak and deception. We were torn apart before we had a chance to be. His unreasonable anger with me, I can’t fully understand. It was horrible circumstance that ruined us that night, and I now know that the easiest way for him is to blame our relationship as a whole and deny me for himself as penance. And I get to share in that punishment no matter how much I want just a measure of absolution.
In a haze, I find myself in my father’s room. When I lived here, I never, not once, was curious about his living quarters. It was just a part of the house I never dared enter aside from the night Tobias showed up injured. Entering his room now, I see the room of a stranger. The whole of it covered in floor to ceiling windows, offering a spectacular view of the mountains. His furniture is simple, elegant, dark mahogany, and void of much life. Aside from the fading smell of lemon polish, it remains untouched. Just the way he left it the day he died. I open his chest of drawers and lift some of his socks before pulling out one of his T-shirts. I’ve never known my father’s smell. He never hugged me, held me. Never. He wasn’t that man. That thought saddens me as I inhale the laundered shirt. And then it occurs to me.
Roman died without a single soul mourning him, not even his only daughter.
His cover-up of Dominic’s death had settled my fate with him. I never spoke to him again after that, and he rarely ever reached out.
And if I’m not careful, I might not have many who mourn me when my time comes.
But from what I knew, we were two different people who live and lived completely different lives. I’m still reeling from the fact Tobias swallowed his pride and met with him, told him he loved me, swore to keep me safe all the while protecting him, a man who covered up his parents’ deaths, accidental or not, and gave him money in return.
Tobias got the same consolation I did.
Money.
The most necessary of evils that can completely change a person for better or worse.
My mother lives comfortably now, but she’s grown used to it, and it’s brought her no greater happiness. It never brought my father any either.
And for me, it is an insult. I hate it. I hate the power it gives to those who don’t deserve it, and the lives it steals for those who are a slave for just a little of it. I hate the greed, and the thirsty deeds done to acquire it, and the fear and the bitterness it inspires in those who don’t have it.
I hate everything it stands for.
It’s not a God, but a runner-up to blame for a lot of life’s cruelties.
I lay on Roman’s bed, on the stark white comforter, and stare up at the ceiling. Despite my need for something, closure, or just the necessity to grieve properly because I was denied, I’ve caused more damage to myself.
But I asked for it.
And now I’m lying in the bed I made.
In truth, I got some of what I came for, answers. And I fight myself to be satisfied with that.
Last night, getting physical with Tobias only opened an old wound and helped us bleed out a little faster, but the truth is, we are bleeding out. He’d ended his relationship, but that meant nothing if he couldn’t accept us. And his words and actions last night only told me he never would.
It is love, but it’s love lost, no matter who’s to blame, and it’s time I face it.
Fighting with him brought me back to life in a way, and having him inside me, no matter how angry he was, was proof that nothing or no one can take his place. His touch will forever be the only touch I’ll ever want.
I turn on the bed and gaze out the window wondering why the men in my life could never embrace or fully trust the love I harbored for them.
Had I made it so hard?
Briefly, just briefly, I imagine what my life would have been like if I’d had a father. One who loved me as a father should. Who did more than support me financially.
I never had it rough as far as life went.
But when it came to a father’s love, I just…never had it.
I don’t want to feel sorry for myself.
But just for a few seconds, I do. I mourn that girl who grew up knowing she was an obligation.
A low-lying simmering anger trickles into my subconscious. I lift to sit on the edge of the bed as it starts to engulf me whole.
Fuck them all.
All of them.
I wasted my heart—wholly, completely. I wasted it, and it will never be mine again. I’ll never be whole.
I want to take back the years I spent hoping and praying for some returned affection. For the days and nights, and years, and months and hours and minutes, I questioned myself, my existence, and lost myself in them all.
I resent my father and my love for him.
I resent the men who made me.
I wish I never met any of them.
“FUCK YOU!”
In a burst of anger, I clear off the top of Roman’s dresser scattering mail and his cologne bottles.
Just as fast as it comes, it ebbs, but it’s there, it’s always been there, my pride, my self-respect, all that I had put aside just to give my fucking a heart a chance.
And for what?
I’m a lover who got nothing in return but a broken heart and tattered self-image. I betrayed myself for the chance of being loved.
“No more! No more!”
It was never worth it.
But I am. I am worth it.
I didn’t ask him for anything, but why did he have to make it so fucking painfully clear that he didn’t love me?
I’m the daughter of no one.
How c
ould my mother love a man so cruel?
How could I follow in her footsteps and fall for a like-minded man, whose agenda, role in life came first over my affection?
Money. Power. I’d give it all up just to make myself whole again.
The smell of cologne permeates the room, and I open one of the windows before I kneel to pick up the glass from the broken bottle. I open his bedside drawer to place the pieces in and see a letter resting underneath a watch box. I study the thick envelope and pull it from beneath the box. The note atop of it is addressed to me.
Cecelia,
I’m everything your eyes accused me of being. You were better off.
Forgive me,
Roman
I pull it out and open it. In seconds I recognize the writing. It’s from my mother.
Roman,
I’m sorry I bombarded you the way I did. I’ve humiliated myself in a way I’ll never be able to forget. Please forgive me.
I came back after all these years to apologize. To thank you for all you sacrificed for me while carrying hopes of the girl you banished from your life.
You still haven’t married. And that gave me hope. I always secretly wondered if my lingering feelings were returned. I hope you’ll forgive me for reaching out to find out.
But I can see it now. I need to give up.
I can still remember our time together so vividly. It seems just like yesterday I was starting at the plant, and you walked in, and we just stared at one another.
You saved my life, in more ways than one with the way you took me in, the way you cared for me.
I’ve never known that kind of love before you and haven’t experienced it since. And every single day, I wonder if it meant as much to you. I couldn’t face the end of us. I still haven’t recovered from losing you, and I never will.
But I feel I stole your life from you with that horrible secret. One I would do anything to take back. My conscience eats at me daily, that I locked that door. It was my fault that fire started and my stupid judgment that caused such great loss. If only you had let me claim responsibility, if only you would now, I’d take it a thousand times over if only to set you free of the burden you carry.
