by Tara Sivec
His arm is so long and it’s wrapped so tightly around my waist that his fingertips skim my hip all the way on the other side. I moan again into his mouth, this time from pain instead of pleasure. His fingertips dig into the fresh burn on my hip and instead of bringing me a sense of relief like it normally does, I feel a shiver of apprehension run through me, like someone dumped a bucket of ice water all over my body. Not only are we in a very public location and my place of employment, if I allow myself to continue down this path, he’ll feel my scars…he’ll see my scars. No one is allowed to see the damage I inflict on myself. It’s why I wouldn’t allow DJ to remove my underwear the other night, no matter how much he protested. He’ll never be able to adhere to my demands a second time, so sex with this man cannot happen. He’ll question me and he’ll argue and push until there’s nothing left for me to do but show him what I’ve truly become.
I smack my hands against his hard chest, pushing with every ounce of strength I have in my arms. He tears his mouth away from mine as I stumble backwards, pressing my fingers to my swollen lips.
“Phina,” he whispers, moving towards me.
I hold my palm up in front of him and take a few steps back, putting some more distance between us.
“Don’t ever do that again,” I threaten as I slow my breathing and lift my chin in show of defiance that I don’t feel.
I feel like a puppy that’s been kicked; like I’m standing outside of my body, watching myself curl up into a ball waiting for another blow. I hate feeling so weak. I hate that this man makes me ashamed of who I am and what I’ve become. He was one of the catalysts that set me on this path to destruction, pushing me deeper into my addiction after what happened between us in high school, but I will never allow him to see how much his actions affected me. I will not give him that power.
“We had our fun, and now it’s over. If you’re expecting tit for tat and think you deserve an orgasm because you went home with blue balls the other night, that’s not my problem. Go home and jerk off,” I tell him angrily as I turn and walk away.
Once again, he grabs onto my arm and pulls me back against him.
“Oh, don’t even try to pull that bullshit with me now,” he mutters lowly as he stares down at my lips. “You want me. It may not be as obvious as my cock pressing into your stomach right now, but it’s there. If I slid my hand inside those scrubs, I’ll find your pussy wet and ready for me. Nice try, Fireball.”
I scoff at his words and feign indignation, even though hearing him speak like that intensifies the throbbing between my legs. I push away from him again, crossing my arms in front of me to stop myself from grabbing onto him and refusing to let go until he makes good on his threat and slides his fingers inside me.
“Fine, have it your way,” he chuckles. “We’ll pretend like you don’t want me and I’ll pretend like you going to fucking Dax about the note someone left you on your porch instead of me doesn’t make me want to punch my fist through the wall.”
I roll my eyes at the idea of him doing something so childish. “In case you forgot, Dax is a detective. Obviously, I would take something like this to him instead of you. It doesn’t concern you, anyway.”
Dax and I will most definitely be having a few words about him letting the cat out of the bag to DJ. And to think, I actually let him make me believe he was afraid of DJ kicking his ass. Stupid man and his stupid smirk turning me into an idiot.
“The fuck it doesn’t!” he argues loudly, glancing around us quickly before lowering his voice. “You’re not the only one who got a strange note about our night together.”
My mouth drops open in shock and fear ripples through me. It was stupid of me to go to Dax when I knew damn well who was most likely responsible for that fucking note. There is only one person in my life that would stoop to something so disgusting and pathetic. The fact that he’s been behind bars for the last fifteen years doesn’t even matter. He had plenty of loser friends back then, lowlife scum I’m sure he’s kept in contact with and would still jump to do his bidding. All these years of declining his collect calls and putting his letters right into the shredder without opening them or responding must have finally pushed him over the edge. Even from prison, he’s still trying to tell me I’m worthless and don’t deserve anything good in my life. Staring up at DJ now, knowing that his association with me put him on that man’s radar, makes me feel sick.
The past doesn’t matter. Getting revenge doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but putting a stop to this before it escalates and DJ is caught in the crossfire.
“This is because of me. It’s my problem and I’ll handle it,” I tell him, biting down on my tongue hard enough to make it bleed so that I don’t throw myself in his arms and allow someone else to take care of me for once.
“You know who’s doing this, don’t you?”
I refuse to answer and he wraps his hands around my upper arms, bending his knees to bring himself eye level with me.
“Answer me, Phina. If you know who did this, tell me. I’ll take care of the sick son of a bitch.”
I shake my head back and forth and jerk out of his grasp. “You have no idea what you’re talking about or who you’re dealing with. Just leave it alone and go away. I got what I wanted from you, and now I’m finished. Fuck. Off.”
He finally lets me go as I turn away and rush down the hall.
“This isn’t finished, Fireball!” DJ yells to my back.
I ignore him and the urge to run back into his arms as I turn the corner, pulling my cell phone out of my pocket as I go. Dialing the number to the county corrections unit that I have saved in my contacts under Never Fucking Answer, I ask to be put through to the warden immediately as soon as someone picks up.
While I wait, I cross my fingers, silently praying that he hasn’t been released. There’s no way they could release him without notifying me first. After all, it was my testimony that sent my father to prison fifteen years ago. They would have to tell me if that monster made parole. I would be the first person on his list to visit, demanding retribution for ruining his life yet again.
“Tell me everything you know about Phina’s life since high school.”
Collin freezes, his bottle of beer hovering right by his mouth. He quickly brings it down and looks over his shoulder before glaring at me.
“Will you keep it down? Finnley is right in the next room. If she hears that you’re trying to get me to give you the scoop on her best friend, she’ll castrate both of us.”
I sigh, leaning back into the couch cushions and shake my head at him. “Quit being so fucking pussy whipped for five seconds and tell me what you know about her.”
Collin huffs. “Why the sudden interest in her? I thought you said she was crazy and you didn’t want anything to do with her.”
He leans forward and glares even harder at me. “DJ, what did you do?”
“Of, fuck off. I didn’t do anything.” Much. “You know, running into her again just made me wonder what she’s been up to.”
Jesus, the lies roll right off my tongue these days.
“She’s a phlebotomist manager at the hospital. Works a lot of overtime, that’s about all I know,” Collin finally tells me, still looking at me with a suspicious stare.
“Yeah, I bumped into her at the hospital the other night when I had a patient transport. That’s not what I meant, though. I mean, like, does she have any family? Is she seeing anyone?”
Collin laughs, bringing the bottle of beer back up to his mouth and finishing it off. “She’ll never date you.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Excuse me, asshole. You just got done telling me you don’t know that much about her and now you’re the expert on her love life?”
“Phina doesn’t have a love life, she has a sex life. From what little Finnley’s told me, it’s pretty active and doesn’t have anything to do with love. You know, now that I think about it, you two would be perfect together. You both have an aversion to settlin
g down.”
I shake my head at him in irritation. You make one comment about how it’s unnatural for someone to settle down with one person for the rest of his life, and suddenly you have a permanent label.
“Who knows, maybe I’m changing my mind in my old age. It worked for you. Maybe I just haven’t meant the right woman,” I tell him with a nonchalant shrug.
Or maybe I’ve met the woman and she’s hell bent on denying that there’s something between us.
“You are the worst fucking liar in the world. I think we should change Fight Night to Poker Night. I could take all of your money with that shitty poker face of yours,” Collin laughs.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Finnley announces as she walks into the living room and sits down on the couch next to Collin, curling up against his side. “What are you guys talking about?”
Collin raises his eyebrow at me and I try to subtly shake my head so he’ll keep his mouth shut. Finnley looks back and forth between us, not missing a thing.
“Alright, what’s going on with you two?”
Collin wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls her closer. “Our friend here was just asking about Phina.”
“She won’t date you,” Finnley states flatly.
“Jesus Christ, what is it with you two?” I grumble. “I never said anything about dating her. I just wanted to know more about her. I haven’t seen her in fifteen years, I just wondered what her deal is.”
Finnley narrows her eyes at me and for a minute I seriously consider covering my balls. She’s one of the sweetest women I’ve ever met and I’m glad my best friend found her again. She also went through some tough shit with her estranged husband and, with the help of Collin, she was able to find her backbone and turn into quite the little firecracker.
“Maybe if you didn’t have selective memory loss you might remember what her deal is,” Finnley says sarcastically.
“What the hell does that even mean?”
She huffs and leans forward, mirroring my pose with her elbows on her knees. “If you can’t remember, then I’m not going to tell you. Besides, it’s not my story to tell.”
“What the hell is she talking about?” I ask Collin.
He shrugs. “I have no idea. Finn, what are you talking about?”
She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t take them off of me when she speaks. “I swear, the two of you must have shared a brain back in high school.”
I rack my mind, trying to think of what I could have possibly done to her all those years ago to justify her animosity, but I’m drawing a blank. Anyway, who the fuck holds onto something that happened when they were teenagers? Jesus, get over it already. I remember having a stupid ass crush on Phina and her barely acknowledging me, and then we graduated and I never saw her again.
“Ask me a different question. One I might be able to answer,” she adds.
I think about the email I got and the note Phina received and how she seemed to know who it might have come from but shut down when I tried to get more information out of her.
“Okay, here’s a question. Has she pissed anyone off in the last fifteen years? Someone who might want to fuck with her?”
I watch as Finnley’s expression goes from irritation to worry as she bites her bottom lip. “What are you talking about? Did something happen?”
I didn’t come here with the intention of freaking Finnley out or telling her about what happened with Phina, but obviously Phina isn’t even confiding in her best friend about it and I don’t like that one bit.
“Someone left a note on her door the other night. It wasn’t signed and let’s just say it didn’t have the nicest words written on it. She went to a mutual detective friend of ours to have him look into it and he let me know about it,” I explain, trying not to growl the word friend. “I got a similar email from an anonymous person and when I confronted her about it at the hospital the other night, I could tell that she knew who it might be, but she wouldn’t admit it.”
Finnley looks back at Collin. “It can’t be him, can it? I mean, she’d know if they let him out, right?”
Collin rubs her shoulder comfortingly and nods his head. “Yeah, they would be obligated to send her a letter informing her of his parole since she testified. She hasn’t said anything to you about it?”
Finnley shakes her head.
“What is going on? Who are you talking about?” I ask, my worry growing tenfold at the mention of parole.
Finnley turns back to me and I watch her throat constrict as she swallows nervously a few times. “Why would both of you get similar notes? You guys have only seen each other that one night at the bar a few months ago and then at the gallery.”
Deciding now isn’t really the best time to inform Phina’s best friend about her proclivity to threesomes and how I practically fucked her in the middle of the hospital, I change the subject.
“Not important. The fact is, someone isn’t happy with her and now I’ve been pulled into it. Tell me what you know.”
Finnley runs her hand through her hair and takes a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “She didn’t have the best childhood. Her mother left when she was little and her father blamed Phina for it. I don’t know everything, she’s not exactly forthcoming with that information, but I know it was bad. There were times in high school when she would just shut down for days at a time. She wouldn’t eat, she wouldn’t speak, she just…existed. And then, she’d snap out of it and pretend like nothing was wrong. Her dad owned his own garage in town, but towards the middle of our senior year, it was starting to go under. He was drinking a lot, not showing up for work, arguing with customers, that sort of thing. All of a sudden, right before graduation, he came into a bunch of money. He flaunted it in front of Phina and told her she’d never see a dime of it.”
Finnley pauses to collect herself and I take the time to try once again and think back to high school. Phina was smart, beautiful and had just enough of an attitude that no one ever fucked with her. She was in the same popular, jock group that Collin and I hung around with and I never once witnessed the kind of sadness or shutting down that Finnley spoke of. Maybe I just didn’t notice. I was a hormonal teenager. My small head was so occupied with trying to get in her pants that nothing else mattered at the time.
“Phina left that big party at Tony Calloway’s house around seven in the morning the day after graduation,” Finnley continues, pausing to shoot a glare at me when she mentions Tony’s party. Before I can question it, she continues.
“She snuck into the house and as soon as the door closed behind her, she heard a gunshot from her father’s bedroom. She ran back there and found him standing over a body with a gun in his hand. When he saw her standing there, he chased after her. Thank God she was on the track team. She made it to the neighbor’s house and called the police. Turns out, he borrowed money from a loan shark. When he didn’t pay it back on time, the guy came to the house. Her dad walked him back to the bedroom telling him he had to get the money out of his dresser and then shot him in the head instead. Phina testified against him in court and he got twenty-five years to life with a possibility of parole in fifteen.”
Finnley stops talking and the room is dead silent.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “That means he’s up for parole this year.”
Finnley nods. “Why the hell didn’t she tell me about the note?”
“She probably just didn’t want to worry you for nothing,” Collin reassures her. “There’s no way that bastard is out of prison. It has to be someone else.”
It could be, but the possibility of that is slim to none. As much as I hate having to go to him, I know I need to share this information with Dax. If her father is out on parole and Phina doesn’t know, this could get really ugly, really fast.
“I’m going to call Phina,” Finnley announces, pushing herself up from the couch. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me about this.”
Speaking of getting ugly really fast…
; Most people can close their eyes and pinpoint a certain memory from their childhood where they felt safe and loved. With the melody of an old song or a particular smell that reminds them of being young and cared for, they can picture it perfectly in their mind. The soft press of their mother’s lips on their forehead as she kissed them goodnight after a bedtime story or the scratch of their father’s beard as he blew raspberries on their stomach to make them laugh. I stole these specific memories from Finnley when we were in college and had a night of bonding. I told her about the time my mother brought home a Happy Meal from McDonald’s as a way to apologize for not being around that much recently and how my father picked up the red and yellow cardboard box, tossed it into the sink and then lit it on fire with his Zippo. Finnley wrapped her arms around me and told me I could keep any of her memories I wanted and use them as my own, so that’s what I do from time to time when I’m feeling unusually sorry for myself.
Everywhere I look today I see smiling, happy families wandering through the park. I volunteer to spearhead the blood drive booth for every function the hospital sponsors and I tell myself that it’s all for the cause, but I do it for entirely selfish reasons. I like to torture myself by staring at all the families meandering about and wonder why I wasn’t blessed enough to have something like that. Why couldn’t I have a mother who ran her fingers through my hair and kissed the top of my head as I looked at a craft table? Why didn’t my father ever tickle me until I screamed with joy and then lift me up onto his shoulders so I could get a better view of the activities?
