Still clutching the shampoo bottle, I curse at him. “Stay the fuck away from me.”
But he doesn’t listen. He’s stripping off his underwear and shaking his head. As soon as his underwear lands on the floor, he steps into the shower with me, invading this one small place I thought was my safe haven. I choke back the tears. He doesn’t deserve them.
“Move over,” he orders, taking up the better half of the shower.
He stands under the stream of water and tells me to close the curtain. I refuse to listen. I glare at him through irritated eyes. I want to tell him to get out. I want to tell him to leave me the fuck alone. I want to tell him to get a fucking life.
But I can’t.
I put down the shampoo bottle and close my eyes, jumping when Finlay shouts at me.
“Close it!”
I blindly listen, swiping the curtain shut. He nods toward the soap. I hand it to him but try to keep my distance. I can’t let him touch me. I know exactly what he’s doing as he lathers the bar of soap between his palms.
“You can’t stay mad,” he insists, rolling a soapy hand over my breast and squeezing it gently.
I close my eyes, torn between the shame and desire now blooming low in my belly.
“I’m sorry, Clarisse.”
My eyes flash forward. He doesn’t look sorry. His body is rather erect, like this game of cat and mouse is the ultimate thrill for him.
Finlay licks his lips and strokes my breasts again. “Come here.” His lips hook onto mine as he continues to massage a swollen breast with the bar of soap pressed between his palm and my wet skin.
I bite his lip, drawing blood. He smiles because he likes it. His hand slides slowly down my body, leaving a foaming trail down my middle, until he’s stroking me at the juncture between my thighs. My body defies me, warming to his touch and craving more of his affection. This is a new low for me.
What am I supposed to do? My mind is telling me to chop it off, but my body is begging him to make better use of it. I know this is not healthy. I know in my heart that a man would not do this to the woman he loves. But I also know what he would do if I were to ever leave him. I could never live with myself if that happened.
Finlay holds on to a very erect penis and gives it a stroke, licking his full bottom lip in the process. He pushes against me, making me step backwards until I’m flattened against the cold wall of the shower. He presses it between my thighs, sliding through the soapy softness.
“Let me in.” He looks down at me like he’s the big, bad wolf and I’m a vulnerable little piggy.
“Fuck you,” I rasp, glaring into lust-filled eyes.
He loves the chase even more than the finale, and I don’t like the way he makes my body ache for the very thing that causes a lot of my pain.
“This isn’t right.”
“Clarisse,” he hisses, sliding against me. “You know I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was no big deal. I know you want this. Let me make it better.” He pulls back and pushes forward again, the pressure of his stiffness making me tighten with anticipation. “We’re just fine. This is okay,” he says, playing the part of the little devil on my shoulder.
I try to stifle the tears that prick the back of my eyes, knowing what seeing them will do to him. I hate fighting, but my independence orders me to punish him for this even while my body argues the matter.
“You want this, Clarisse. You do, baby.” He plunges between my thighs again, burying his soapy dick in my softness.
“No!” I screech, wanting to stop myself from giving in to him, wondering if someone will come to my rescue if I shout loud enough.
No one responds. There’s no knock on the door. Once the echo of my voice subsides, so does the threat of tears. Finlay drags away the hair where it’s fallen into my eyes and sprinkles my eyelids with kisses, one at a time. He draws soapy circles down my body, spiraling toward my crotch, where I let him touch me.
He knows how to handle me, relying on the soft texture of the soap to gain entry, first with his fingers and then with the most rigid muscle on his body.
“See?” he says. “You like it. Your body doesn't lie.”
I whimper from the sensitivity when he slides in deep, partly from lust and partly from the knowledge that I will never feel completely safe with him again.
He continues to enter my body, with practiced motions, and my body forgives his deception meeting every thrust. “See that, Clarisse. You do want me.”
“No,” I answer, but he keeps going, my own body responding to him, defying my spoken words.
“Yes,” he repeats, with a solid, slippery shaft proving it.
I keep opposing a fight I am bound to lose. He smirks into my eyes, slowly entering me and pressing me into the shower wall.
“No,” I say.
My body may be enjoying this, but my heart dearly wants him to stop. It’s like he knows this and deliberately takes his time, kissing me like he hasn’t just ruined me for all men. His tongue is soft and sweet, but I will not feel guilty for how I’ve treated him. I whimper from the depth of his thrusts, but not because it physically hurts. He answers my natural plea and moves faster, driving me into the wall, with gritted teeth and brut determination.
“No,” I repeat, not wanting him to finish me. “No,” I huff, feeling my body winding up for a cosmic end. Every time he drives into me, I cry out. “No. No. No,” screaming when I find my release.
Finlay’s lips seal over mine, and his tongue sweeps into my mouth, just as my body shatters from the most outrageous orgasm.
He thrusts into me again as I let go, giving in to the storm of sensations and emotion. He finishes too, gazing into my eyes as I sink to my knees, soaking up my moment of weakness and feeding on his power over me. Satisfaction radiates from his expression like an all-consuming darkness, as he pecks my cheek and leaves the shower soaking wet.
8: Imprisoned
I attend school the next day, lost in a blur of dependence and unspoken insults, the captain of the varsity cheer squad and a complete prisoner in my own home. In the quiet of my own mind, I make a few decisions. This is not who I am. This is not who I aspire to be. Where is the independent woman I was when I started this journey? I will find her, if it is the last thing I do.
After the hell Coach Kyla put me through the other night, I half expected her to test me again. Instead, she lightens up and sends us all home from practice a few minutes early. I take those few extra minutes and cruise home, contemplating life. I pull into the driveway and stare at the house. Just because all the lights are off doesn’t mean nobody’s home. I scour the shadows, but no monsters appear, so I rush to the door, yank off my shoes, and sweep into the bedroom, surprised but relieved to find it empty too.
Believing this might be my only chance, I begin to frantically throw my undergarments into my bag together with a few toiletries. Killing myself is not the answer, but at the rate Finlay’s been escalating, I fear he’s going to turn violent one of these times and make that decision for me. I see the way his anger takes over, and it’s not the first time I’ve feared for my life. I don’t plan on hanging around to find out whether he can push that boundary with me again.
As soon as I throw a few items of clothes together, I turn for the door. It’s like I almost expect Finlay to be standing there with his gun. That thought gets me hurrying faster. I race to the door, again rather surprised that I’ve made it to my shoes without a gun being waved in my face. I slowly turn the knob and exhale, preparing to make a run for it. If I could only get to the street, I would be free.
Where will I go? One step at a time. When I step outside, darkness envelopes me. It has to be past nine, which makes me wonder where I’ll find Finlay or, worse yet, where he’ll find me. I fumble with a handful of keys, squinting to find the one to lock the deadbolt.
“Going somewhere?” His voice is as dark as the night.
I see a shadow standing there, backlit by the light I’d left on in the bedroom. All I see
is a silhouette of his body, holding a bow and arrow pointed directly at me. He’s going to kill me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I drop my bag on the ground and hold out my hands, palms faced out. If I run, he will find me and take me back to this hell I call life. I’d rather he just end it here and now.
Finlay kicks something hard, and it lands next to my feet. Before I can even take a breath, three arrows slice into the object. The neighbor’s Golden Retriever bounds toward me and attacks the flattened basketball. Out of habit and alarm, I squat to pet the poor dog, thankful she is too old to beat the ball to the ground. When I stand up, Finlay’s there lifting my bag back onto my shoulder.
“You really thought I’d shoot you?” I can hear the dark emotion thick in his voice. I’ve offended him deeply. There is redness in and around his eyes. He’s been crying again—struggling with the monsters inside his head. “I’d never hurt you, Clarisse.”
I used to believe that, but he’s already done irreparable harm. Tears begin to sting my eyes and soon roll down my cheeks. My heart screams for me to get the hell out of here, knowing full well that I will never be free of this man. I can’t leave. I know this now.
“If you want to go, go,” he says. “I’m sure your boyfriend will be happy to see I’m finally out of the picture.”
“There is no boyfriend, Finlay. You’re the only man in my life,” I tell him, because it’s true and because no matter how badly I need to leave I don’t want him to hurt himself.
The lies I’ve told in my lifetime work against me, but he can’t possibly know the truth. It’s clear, though, he doesn’t believe a word I say, his fingers gliding up the bowstring and pulling it back with an arrow pointed straight at my chest.
Feeling threatened, but with acceptance, I close my eyes and wait for whatever fate he deals me. “I love you,” I cry softly, “but I can’t live like this anymore. I have to leave.”
The friendly dog licks my palm and, sensing my pain, whines into the night. Finlay lunges forward and kicks the flattened ball, knowing what will happen next. Without fear or logic, the dog chases after the ball.
“No!” I scream, as another arrow stabs into the ball.
Finlay speaks with vulgarity evident in his tone. “You don’t like it here? Leave. But know that it’ll be my blood on your hands if you do.” He turns away but his voice doesn’t soften. “Have fun explaining to my mom how selfish you are—taking my heart. I can’t live without you, Clarisse.”
My stomach retches with anxiety. I now fear not only for the dog’s safety, but for Finlay’s and my own. “Don’t say that. Yes, you can.”
He shakes his head with certainty. “If you leave, Clarisse, I’m a dead man. I’ll sink these arrows right into my chest. You might as well do it right here, right now. That’s what it feels like to know you’re leaving me.”
“Finlay, no. You can’t do that. But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t take it anymore.”
“I will do it. You know I will.” He holds the arrows in front of his chest and presses the heads into the fabric of his hoodie.
“Don’t do it. Please,” I beg. “I could never live with myself.”
He closes his eyes and tears pinch out. “If you don’t love me, I have no reason to live.”
“Stop it!” I shriek. “I love you so fucking much. I don’t want you to do it and you said you’d never hurt me.”
“This won’t hurt you one bit, Clarisse. I promise.”
I shake my head furiously. “Don’t you see? By doing this you are hurting me!” I’ll say anything to stop him from harming himself at this point. I’ve already lost two people in my life to mental illness; I doubt I could survive another mishap. “I love you.”
Emotion creeps back into Finlay’s voice. “You love me?”
Even though I know I need to leave this relationship, I do love him with all that I have. “I do.”
He throws down the arrow and captures me against his chest as he sobs into my neck. “I’ll never leave you.”
I wrap my arms around him, as he leans the bow against his leg. He hugs me tightly.
“I never want to lose you, Clarisse. I love you more than life itself.”
And I believe him. “I know you do, baby,” I say, melting against his hot body. “I’m so sorry for tonight.” The words are rushing out of my mouth before I can even think to stall them.
“I’m sorry, too. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
I sigh with relief. The neighbor’s elderly dog would be safe another day. It paws at the gate and lets itself out of the backyard. We return inside the house and make our way to Finlay’s bedroom. I quickly dress the bed with clean sheets and flop back onto it. Finlay crawls over top of me, his body so lean and stiff. After the rush of emotions, I expect he wants to feel a connection with me that can only be fused by one thing.
“I need you,” I whisper, thinking it’s what he wants to hear. The way he presses against me, it’s hard to believe he’s leaning toward anything else, but he kisses me once and rolls aside.
“Not tonight.”
Confusion cripples me. I lie there stiffly, lost in a pool of my own anxieties. He doesn’t want me, but he won’t let me go. I can’t leave him. If I do, he’ll kill himself and I’ll be dead inside. I have to accept that we are a pair. He is made for me, as I am for him.
I stare at the shadows on the ceiling and then close my tear-filled eyes. This is my life now.
9: A Real Goodbye
By the March break, my grades have taken a nose dive. It must be the first night I’ve not cried in weeks, which only leaves me worried about the shit I’ll have to take when I get home. Finlay knows the basketball team has a big away game tomorrow and I absolutely cannot miss it. I’ve been working my ass off for this one, and I’m going to be there no matter what. He knows this.
I make it to practice without a fight for a change. I take the bus home and get there by nine thirty, scarf down a few crackers, and chase it with a bottle of water. I tiptoe past his mother in the living room, sneak into my bedroom, drop my pants to the floor, and slip into bed.
The fact that Finlay’s already dimmed the lights and drawn the covers up to his chest makes me nervous. I don’t turn on the light, because I don’t want to wake him if he’s legitimately sleeping, but who am I kidding? He’s not asleep. He’s surely stewing, just waiting for me to say something to set him off.
I fight the tightness in my chest and force steady breaths. I imagine the sun and sand and a nice calm beach—anything to help me fall asleep and avoid the fallout that happens every time there’s an away game. I pull the covers to my chin and close my eyes, drifting off into a restless sleep. As uneasiness settles over me, crazy dreams wrack my brain. Something bad is going to happen. I just know it.
Saturday morning comes slowly, and I awaken to an empty bed. I’m not at all shocked when I find the covers pulled firmly over the pillows next to me. I glance at the alarm clock mere minutes before it’s due to go off and quickly shuffle across the room to shut it off, wearing a T-shirt that just barely covers my butt. I allow myself to take a deep, relaxing breath. The calm will be short-lived.
Without seeing Finlay’s face or hearing his voice, I can tell this morning is going to be a trying one. Although it’s silent and I haven’t laid eyes on him yet, I can sense the way anxiety rolls off him from across the house. I enjoy the last moment to myself, packing my things for this weekend’s trip before all hell breaks loose.
I tiptoe through the sitting room and let myself into the dark bathroom before Finlay realizes I’ve even awakened. I turn the lock on the silver handle and flick on the light. I’m not in the mood for a conjugal visit, and I know if I don’t lock the door that’s exactly what I’ll get. Although that’s not stopped him before, I’m not about to make it easy for him. I yank open the shower curtain and, with a twist of a handle, hot water rushes from the shower head.
I strip off my shirt, test the water, and hop in. By the time I’v
e soaked my hair with water, I hear Finlay jiggling the door handle. I know I’ll pay for locking the door later, but I can get past this. The bus leaves the school in an hour. I have little time to spare for fighting.
With towel-dried hair, wearing a short, black robe, I pad toward the kitchen. Our eyes connect like magnets, but I don’t move toward him. I go straight for the cupboard and pull a spoon from the drawer. When I shake my cereal into my bowl, it cuts the silence like the gunfire that starts a race. Ignoring the chill in the air, I grab the milk, fill my bowl until my cereal’s floating, and then return it to the fridge.
As my chair screeches across the kitchen floor, still, no one speaks. Finlay leaves me to eat in peace. Well, sort of. He sits in the chair across from me, brooding. I can see the words boiling inside. I eat quickly, waiting for an explosion that doesn’t happen.
When I drop my dish into the sink, Finlay gets to his feet. He follows me to the bedroom and watches me closely, as I dress and run a brush through my hair. I pull my hair into a high ponytail, shove my costume into the top of my sports bag, and strap it over my shoulder. I smile at him softly, but I don’t get a response. Losing the smile, I leave the room and make my way across the house. Again, he follows me nimbly, like a mute stalker. We both pull our shoes on, and he walks me outside.
“So, are you planning on ignoring me all morning?” He’s livid. “I’m not going to see you all weekend and you’re avoiding me? How do you think that makes me feel, you being shady like that? Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
I sigh, thinking about how close I was to getting out of here on time for a change. I guess taking the bus is out of the question now. “It’s nothing, Finlay. I’m just tired. I had a long day yesterday and didn’t sleep well last night.”
Playing House: A Black Widow Novel (Dark Secrets Duet Book 1) Page 5
