Playing Dirty

by Cheryl McIntyre

  Aaron has continued to live his life as if he didn’t rape and murder a young woman. As if he wasn’t a part of destroying so many lives. As if he didn’t make Livie’s final moments absolute torture. All those men have just gone on. Gotten married. Had kids.

  They go to parties. Movies. They have fun. They smile and laugh. They don’t allow that night to affect them.

  So how far is too far?

  No matter how many times I ask myself this question I can’t seem to find the answer.

  I always come back to one important fact.

  Livie is dead because of them.

  I haven’t recognized myself since she left me. She was so much a part of my life—a vital piece of who I was—that without her, I’m just missing.

  Does it matter if I cross that invisible line? If I go too far? If I can never come back?

  I don’t think so. Because what’s left for me here?

  Nothing.

  I’ve been told over and over how time heals all wounds. Time will make it easier. People say whatever they can think of in an attempt to make you feel better.

  But here’s the truth: It’s been years and she is still all I think about. All I miss. All that is missing from me. Time has not healed that loss or filled that hole. If anything, it has only taken her farther away from me.

  It doesn’t get easier.

  It just doesn’t get easier. And I can’t stand it. I can’t stand myself. I can’t stand that these men are free. Unpunished. I can’t stand pretending. Restraining myself.

  I need them to suffer—to pay—before I go insane.

  Maybe I already am.

  Four

  Rocky

  I lie in bed, unable to sleep. This isn’t unusual. But the reason I can’t sleep tonight is. My thoughts are stuck on Linken Elliot.

  I can’t stop wondering what happened to make him start teaching self-defense classes. Joe said there was a girl. That Link does it for her. Who was the girl? His sister? Mother? Girlfriend? Wife?

  What happened to her?

  If I know the answers maybe I’ll feel better about the classes. About him.

  I replay the class. What Link said. How his eyes met mine when he talked. How dead his stare is. How much his smile transforms his face.

  I think I want to know him. Understand him.

  I imagine what it would be like to touch him. To let him touch me.

  I don’t allow men to touch me. I haven’t had sex with a man since Garrett forced himself on me. Now all I’m able to do is order men to their knees so they can go down on me. I have to be in control.

  My need for power came to me by accident. It was just after the prosecutor broke the news that there’d be no charges brought against Garrett. I was…upset. Enraged is probably a more fitting word.

  So I did what any teenager unable to deal with her emotions would do. I went to a party and got mind-numbingly drunk. Several things occurred that night. The first being that I realized I liked—no I loved—the effects of alcohol. I was numb. Free. And it felt amazing.

  I also found out that Cecily, my friend since childhood, didn’t believe I was raped after she very bluntly explained, “Whores weren’t allowed at her party.”

  Doug kindly offered to drive me home after witnessing Cecily berate me in front of all her guests.

  As we drove in silence, I looked at Doug and was astonished that I was still attracted to him. The thought of having sex with him both turned me on and sickened me simultaneously.

  And then I wondered if Doug could possibly erase what Garrett did.

  I told him to pull over. He did so, quickly, thinking I was sick. I told him how I could still feel Garrett inside of me. Against me. His breath and his hands. All of it. Always. I asked him if he could take it away.

  When he asked me how, I explained I didn’t know. But the need was real. It was overwhelming. It was consuming me. So we played a dangerous game of trial and error. What I could handle and what I couldn’t. It became apparent fairly quickly that I couldn’t handle much. But I liked this game because I controlled it. I controlled him. And when he lowered his head and swept his tongue against me as I ordered him to, I liked that too. I liked it because it felt good. And it felt good because Garrett didn’t do that.

  I was too embarrassed to see Doug again after that. By that point I had stopped going to school, so it wasn’t hard to avoid him. Though I didn’t like to be touched, I had become addicted to this new game, so I began searching for ways to reenact it. On a search for that person who could finally erase Garrett.

  As soon as I hit drinking age, I started hitting up bars. Bathrooms became my room of choice because I felt a false sense of protection remaining in a public place. The fact that a public restroom is similar to a locker room is something I refuse to think too hard on.

  I haven’t felt a man’s hands on me intimately in three years. Yet, I can’t stop picturing Link’s hands now, gliding along my heated skin. Pressing and caressing all the right places. His callused fingers prodding all my girly spots. The thought scares me and excites me at the same time.

  I slip my own hand under the blanket and rest it on my belly. I concentrate on the pressure of my touch, flexing my fingers one at a time. The heat of my palm against my stomach stirs my need. Arousal flares within me.

  Link’s smile flashes behind my eyelids. I envision he’s smiling at me. For me.

  And I want to play the game with him.

  My fingers work under the waistband of my sleep shorts and into my panties. I keep my touch soft, gentle, barely there as I caress my mound. Once, twice, three times. I’m so warm. My eyelashes flutter. My toes curl into the mattress.

  I part my lips with my first and ring fingers, letting my middle finger play in my wetness. I’m slick and hot. I circle the sticky moisture around my clit. Each sweep pulls me closer.

  My hand is no longer my own. It’s Link’s. It’s his fingers parting me. His finger rubbing, touching, causing my hips to jerk with each stroke.

  His other hand slips under my tank top, finding my breast. He pinches my nipple, gently at first, and then firmer until it almost hurts in an exquisite way. I moan, low and long. It feels so good.

  It’s his hands—not his mouth that I want. I want his touch. I crave it.

  My clit pulses against my fingers in blissful aftershocks. I blink my eyes open and try to calm my breathing. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to fantasize about a man like that.

  ***

  My fridge is empty minus a package of string cheese and half a bottle of vodka.

  I take one of the cheeses, leaving the refrigerator door open for light as I perch on the counter. I tear the plastic wrapper open slowly. Take a bite and wash it down with a large gulp of alcohol.

  Sometimes I partake in a mundane task, like eating and drinking by myself in the middle of the night, and contemplate how I find the strength to go on each day. How haven’t I given up? Why do I bother to live when this is all I have to offer?

  I haven’t been home in months. Every time my parents call, I send it straight to voicemail.

  I’ve cut off all contact with the few friends I had left after the school divided over the rape. Some believed me. Some believed Garrett. Most didn’t give a shit either way.

  I work from home, when I actually have work to do.

  And I can’t have a real relationship with a man. I’ve resorted to banging my own hand to get off.

  I’m pretty sure the only one who would be affected if I ceased to exist is my brother. But Joe’s strong. He’d be okay.

  The thing is, I don’t have the strength to end my life. I have no desire to slit my wrists or OD on pills. I’m too tired. Too lazy. If I could just fade into nonexistence, that’d be perfect.

  I swallow down more vodka. This is the closest I’ll ever come to disappearing.

  Five

  Link

  I was a nervous wreck the first time I called Olivia. Not only was she my principal’s daug
hter, but she was also the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She was a year younger than me and attended a different school.

  I quickly learned our age difference didn’t matter because she was a hell of a lot more mature than I was, and being at different schools just made seeing her that much sweeter.

  As I put the phone to my ear that first time, I was so worried she wouldn’t remember who I was. But Livie put all my unease to rest as soon as she answered. I’ll never forget her words for as long as I live. “It’s about time you finally used my number. I was beginning to worry that you stumbled into The Lost Woods.”

  It took me all of about three stunned seconds to realize she made a Zelda reference, which was cool as shit. And then a couple more to understand she did so because of my name. By the time my silence hit an uncomfortable level, I think I had fallen in love with her. An awkward, teenage love, but it was love all the same.

  Not only did she remember my name, but she waited for my call. And on top of that, she knew video games. I was convinced she was an angel, sent to me from God.

  I think girls just assume guys have a shit-ton of confidence and always know how to talk to them.

  We don’t.

  At least, I didn’t.

  Not when it came to Livie. She was, hands down, the coolest female I knew. I was left a stuttering, bumbling idiot. It made her laugh, which I learned was actually a good thing. We had our first date that weekend—Batman at the local theater. We shared a Coke and held hands. After that we were inseparable. To this day, I don’t know how I got so lucky. Not just for the time I had with her, but because she loved me. Me. Of all the guys in the world. She was mine.

  Now she’s gone.

  Not once in four years has that gotten easier.

  I sit behind my desk at the gym, staring unseeingly at the stack of papers in front of me. Some are bills. Some are client info that needs to be filed. Some are just junk that needs weeding out.

  I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with this today. Or any day, for that matter. My existence is tied to one thing and one thing only.

  Vengeance.

  I roll away from the desk, scooping up the pile as I go. Augie and Joe are in the ring, sparring for fun before we open for the day. I slap my papers down on the mat. “Aug, I need a secretary,” I say. “Know anybody that might be interested in the job?”

  Joe drops his guard, lowering his arm, and giving me his full attention. Augie, being the asshole that he is, takes full advantage of the distraction. He effectively nails Joe with a right hook, throwing the poor guy off balance. It’s a total dick move that has him stumbling into the ropes.

  Augie claps his gloved hand down on Joe’s shoulder, chuckling around his mouth guard. “They teach that in the Marines?”

  Joe spits his mouthpiece. “No, but they did teach us how to use a gun.”

  Augie glances over his shoulder at me, smirking. “Never piss off a Marine.”

  “Noted,” I reply.

  “I might know someone,” Joe says as he climbs out of the ring. It takes me a second to realize he’s referring to my secretary question.

  “Good. Get her in here today. I need this shit sorted.” I nod to the pile. “I’ll pay twelve an hour.”

  “Pay me an extra twelve an hour and I’ll do it,” Augie says.

  “Can’t,” I say as I begin backing toward the exit. “I have some shit to handle this week and I’m going to need you to pick up my slack around here.” I flip the open sign before pushing through the door.

  “What? Where you going, man?” Augie calls. “You’ve been here ten minutes.”

  “Errands.”

  ***

  I find myself parked outside of Gregory Anthony’s insurance agency. I don’t know why I keep coming back, watching. Waiting for him to screw up. To give me an opportunity to kill him.

  I don’t understand why I continue to torture myself when I know I can’t kill him.

  But God, I want to.

  I sit here, alone in my car, my eyes fixed on the front doors, and I just wait. And wait. The longer I sit here, the angrier I get. It just plays over and over in my head on a loop. He shouldn’t have this life. He shouldn’t be allowed to watch his daughter grow up. He shouldn’t be allowed to go home to his wife each night and make love to her.

  I wonder, for probably the millionth time, what my life would be like right now had these men not ruined it. Olivia and I would be married. She’d be pregnant with our first child. A boy. Livie always wanted a little boy. She wanted him to have my eyes and smile. I secretly hoped that any children we had would look like her.

  I imagine what she would look like with that pregnancy glow people refer to, and her belly rounded with life. I know she’d be absolutely gorgeous. She’d be happy. Nervous about being a first-time mom, but content. I laugh softly as I picture her nesting, cleaning everything in sight. And the shopping sprees she’d drag me on to prepare for our baby.

  I close my eyes and try to take a breath. There’s a tight pain in my chest making it impossible. My shoulders shake as if I’m crying, but there are no tears. Not anymore. I’ve cried all I can cry.

  My hand curls, forming a fist, and I bring it down swiftly into my chest. It forces the air from my lungs and I’m able to suck in a breath.

  This agony is consuming me.

  I’ve lost everything.

  I have nothing.

  Nothing to live for. Nothing to fight for.

  Six

  Rocky

  I knew I would take the job as soon as Joe called to tell me about it. I knew that even if I wasn’t hurting for money, I still would have accepted it just to have the opportunity to be around Link.

  Maybe it’s because he didn’t tell my brother about the night he found me receiving head from a stranger in a bar bathroom.

  Maybe it’s because he’s trying to help women. Teaching them how to stop an attack before it happens. Before they can be broken.

  Maybe it’s because he’s as broken as I am.

  Whatever the reason, I’m drawn to him. Intrigued. Attracted. Curious.

  Joe meets me at the door to the gym, pushing it open for me. He smiles, pleased I actually showed up.

  “Hey,” he says. “You look nice.”

  I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear as I narrow my eyes. I put no extra effort into getting ready than I usually do. My brother’s buttering me up like a dinner roll and I don’t like it. He continues quickly before I can call him on it.

  “You’ll basically be filing paperwork. Link didn’t give me any instructions, but I glanced through it. It looks like you’ll need to determine which bills need to be paid, which fees need to be collected, and toss the junk. Then I guess just keep up on it.”

  I follow him to Link’s office. He nods his head to the desk. “You can work in here. Answer the phone if it rings. If you have any questions, just come find me.”

  “Okay.” I pull the office chair out and plop myself down.

  “You good?”

  “Yeah,” I say slowly, looking up at him. “I think I can handle this.”

  He grins at me, his steady gaze exhuming pride. Nobody’s looked at me like that in a long time. It makes me uncomfortable. Like I won’t be able to do this. I’ll screw this up somehow and disappoint him.

  “I need to get out there, but I’ll be close by.”

  I nod, swallowing tightly. My eyes trail him to the door. When it shuts behind him, I blow out a long breath. I twist myself back and forth in the chair, glancing around the small room.

  For obviously not being a simple man, Link has very simple taste when it comes to decorating. The desk—buried under stacks of file folders, slips of paper, and empty Styrofoam cups—is old, faded, and stained in water rings.

  The chair cradling my ass is a dark cracked leather and undeniably comfortable.

  There’s a calendar on the wall to the right of the desk, flipped to last month. I tug the pushpin out and fix it.

  A fe
w posters displaying famous boxers’ images align the other walls, but no personal photos.

  Really, the only details I can determine about Link is that he’s unorganized and careless with his drinks.

  The phone rings and I jump at the unexpected shrill sound. It’s been a while since I used a real phone with a base and receiver. Hell, it’s been years since I’ve heard the actual ring of a real phone.

  I pick it up slowly, unsure how I should answer. “Um, Livie’s gym. Can I help you?”

  “May I speak with Mr. Elliot, please?” a sweet female voice asks.

  “Uh, he’s not here right now. Can I take a message?” I stumble over the words, making it up as I go. “This is his secretary,” I add unnecessarily.

  “This is Taylor from Forever Florist. Mr. Elliot places an order with us every Monday morning, but we haven’t received his call today.” She pauses. I hear her take a quick breath. “It’s unusual…”

  I have no idea what to say. If he didn’t place the order then he didn’t want the flowers this week, right? What kind of florist calls because you skip ordering flowers one day?

  “I’ll leave him a message to get back to you.” I scribble on a scrap of paper. Pushy flower lady called.

  “Oh, okay. Thank you.”

  “Mm-hm,” I mumble before dropping the receiver into place.

  ***

  I’ve made it through about a third of the pile when the office door opens. My head snaps up, eyes meeting Link’s. He stares back at me, confused. I hold up the electric bill in my hand for him to see.

  “This is two months behind. And are you aware you haven’t collected fees from a lot of people. Like, close to half. In at least two months. How do you keep this place running?”

  I watch recognition soften his features, but not by much. His shoulders sag slightly as he walks around the desk to get a closer look at the bill in my hand.

  “Is this the newest one?”

  “Yep.” I point to the date and he leans in. The scent of his cologne causes