Love Drunk

by Marita A. Hansen

“You used to have blonde hair,” he said, letting go of my pink locks. “It wuz in my dream. Long, gorgeous, honey-coloured hair. Still…” he brushed my hair aside, “I like it more like this.” A sexy grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. “You like my hair too. You couldn’t stop touching it in my dream, I mean, my memory.”

  I bit my lip, wanting him to remember more about me, so he could remember the time he’d said he loved me. I also wanted him to remember the laughs we had together up in the beach house, or the way we made love, not caring that his cousin could hear us in the next room. We’d been the only ones in the world in those moments, no one else mattering. Marino could’ve walked in on us and we wouldn’t have cared, would’ve just continued what we were doing. Making love. For a second I considering telling Dante about it, about everything, then Killer’s threat returned, reminding me of why I couldn’t.

  “Dante,” I breathed out. “Please stop this.”

  He retracted his hand. “Why?”

  “Dredging up memories won’t do either of us any good.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Maybe for you, but it’s been driving me fuckin’ insane. I just wanna get those months back, cos obviously people have been lying to me, leaving out massive chunks of what really happened. Or did we keep most of our affair a secret? Is that why Jasper didn’t know the full story, just thought we had a fling?”

  “He…” I grimaced. “He knew it wasn’t a fling, but since we couldn’t be together, he probably downplayed it, so you wouldn’t get upset.”

  His face turned angry. “So, you’re tellin’ me he lied to me?”

  “I said downplayed.”

  “That’s fuckin’ lying in my book, and what else did he downplay? Eh? And what ’bout my dad? Did he find out ’bout us?”

  I grimaced, not wanting to lie to him, but also knowing telling the truth would lead to trouble.

  He scowled at me. “From your expression, looks like he did. Is that why you took off to Oz? You ran?”

  “Can you please stop talking about this?”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t talk about it with you.”

  “Cos of my dad? Did he threaten you in some way? He would do sumpthin’ like that. He can be a right bastard at times.”

  “He didn’t threaten me,” his boyfriend did. “It’s just… things didn’t end well with us. I was twenty-four, you were fifteen, it was never going to work out, so I left.”

  He frowned. “How long did our affair last?”

  “A few months, but it ended on good terms,” with me in jail and you in a coma, “like this conversation needs to. This is my place of work, Dante, not a walk down memory lane.”

  “But you’re here to help me, and tellin’ me things ’bout my past will do that.”

  “I don’t think it will.”

  “Why? Unless you did sumpthin’ you don’t want me knowing ’bout. What is it? Or are you just ashamed you fucked around with an underage kid?”

  I leaned my head closer to his, lowering my voice to a hiss. “Yes, I am ashamed. Is that what you want to hear?”

  He flinched, what I’d said obviously upsetting him. I went to apologise, but he cut me off. “What I wanna hear is the full truth. So, you will tell me everything we did together, everything you heard, everything you know ’bout those lost months.”

  “Dante,” I said softly. “You can’t force me to do something I don’t want.”

  He glared back. “Is that right? Well, I may not tell your boss what happened between us all those years ago, but what ’bout you watching me while I swam naked? What would he say ’bout that?”

  Fear shot through me. “You can’t blackmail me.”

  “Why not?” he growled back. “After all, you’re bein’ a right bitch.”

  My eyes widened. “You didn’t just say that!”

  “Bitch.” He breathed on me. “One with a fuckin’ tasty cunt.”

  I bolted out of my chair, almost knocking it over. “I don’t have to put up with this.” I went to leave, stopping at the sight of Candace standing in the doorway.

  She smiled at me. “Why are you a bitch, counsellor? And how does he know you have a tasty cunt?”

  “I assumed it wuz tasty,” Dante replied. “While I assume yours is rank.”

  Candace’s eyes widened. “Fuck, you’re one foulmouthed bastard.”

  “That’s what happens when you lick too many rank pussies like yours.”

  Her face dropped. “Who says things like that?”

  Sniggering, Dante turned his back on her, giving me a wink.

  Candace clenched her hands and walked towards us. “You may be hot as fuck,” she muttered at Dante, “but you’re the rank one. Your soul is fucked up.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Dante muttered, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

  Another patient entered the room, Gerald following Candace to the circle of chairs. Candace ignored him, her eyes remaining on Dante. Despite her disparaging comments about his personality, she was still eyeing him up like she wanted to ride him. I bit my tongue, stopping from telling her to keep her eyes to herself. She reminded me of Phelia, a girl that used to be in Dante’s class, just much more forward. Everything was written across Candace’s face in giant neon letters, screaming, I want you, Dante!

  “You should take a picture for your wank bank, love,” Dante said, obviously noticing it too.

  A smile pulled at her lips. “I’d love to take a picture of you—minus the clothes.”

  He rolled his eyes, glancing back as more people started to appear, the rehab patients quickly settling into their chairs.

  Candace went to open her mouth again. Needing to put a stop to her inappropriate to-and-fro with Dante, I sat back down and started the session. Despite the rocky start, the session went relatively painless, neither Candace or Dante causing any issues. At the end of the session, I waited a few moments to see if anyone wanted to ask me questions, but the patients got up and left, only Dante staying behind. When the last of the group disappeared through the door, I rose to my feet.

  “Things ended between us for a reason,” I said. “So leave. I’m not having this discussion with you anymore.”

  He shook his head. “You aren’t listening, cos I will fuck things up for you if you don’t help me remember.”

  Frustrated beyond belief, I threw my hands up in the air. “I’ve finally moved on, stop making this so hard for me.”

  He rose to his feet, his face turning angry. “I’m making this hard for you? People have lied to me for a reason and I needa know why. Is it cos you did bad shit to me? Is that why Jasper and my dad didn’t tell me what really happened during those months?”

  “I didn’t do any bad shit to you,” I replied, not understanding why he was being so aggressive. “And how has all of this escalated from just one memory?”

  “I’ve had other dreams of you, nuthin’ like the one last night, but I still had ’em. Last night’s one…” He shook his head, “it wuz different. More than a snippet, sumpthin’ deeper. So, let’s go to your office, talk some more ’bout it.”

  “Dante—”

  “You’re here to help me!” he yelled, jolting me. “So fuckin’ do your job, cos whatever you know can’t be worse than what I remember my stepdad doin’ to me. Nuthin’ can be that bad.”

  I went silent, always having a feeling his stepdad had abused him.

  His expression darkened further. “You know ’bout him, don’t ya?”

  “You mentioned your stepdad hurt you in yesterday’s session.”

  “And it looks like I’ve mentioned more to you in the past, so don’t pretend differently.”

  I exhaled. “Fine, but you’re only partially right. You wouldn’t admit to it when you were younger, I just had a feeling he did something to you.”

  “He did more than sumpthin’. He raped me.”

  I flinched, his confirmation so much worse than suspecting it.

  He continued, his Maori a
ccent growing thicker with emotion, “I wuz thirteen, he wuz drunk. He thought I wuz my older brother. The sick fuck had a thing for Ash, raped him too. He stabbed my mum to death when she tried to stop him from fucking my bro. She had no idea he’d done the same to me earlier that year.” His eyes darkened with emotion. “If I’d told people ’bout what he’d done to me, my bro wouldn’t have been raped and my mum wouldn’t have been murdered. It’s one of the reasons why I drink. It’s also why I let people fuck me over. But I don’t wanna let people fuck me over anymore, like my ex is tryna do. And I won’t let you fuck me over either. So, you will tell me everything you know, cos it can’t be bloody worse than my stepdad raping me, me catching him raping my brother, or seeing him stab my mum to death.” He pointed a finger at me. “And what you went through, can’t be as bad as the shit I went through, so don’t play that bloody heartbroken crap with me.”

  I stiffened. “What I went through was a hell of a lot worse than heartbroken crap.” I turned my back on him and yanked up my lilac top, showing him just how much I’d gone through. “But I guess getting stabbed in the back is nothing.”

  “What the fuck?” he gasped. “Who did that to you?”

  I quickly dropped my top and turned to face him, not believing I’d shown him my scar, my reaction not thought through.

  “That’s not a knife attack,” he said, looking wide-eyed and shocked. “That’s a shank scar. I’ve seen enough to know; my old gang is full of ’em. Did’ja go to jail?”

  “No, I—”

  I paused mid-lie, a different male voice cutting me off. Simon was standing in the doorway, looking between me and Dante, his expression angry.

  “I said, are you all right, Clara?” Simon repeated, heading for us.

  “She’s fine,” Dante barked, obviously annoyed at the interruption.

  Simon stopped next to him. “It doesn’t look like it,” he replied, glaring up at him. Dante was a few inches taller, his muscles also accentuating the difference between them. “It looks like you were upsetting Clara, asking things you shouldn’t.”

  “What I’m asking is none of your fuckin’ business,” Dante snapped back.

  Simon stiffened. “It is my business when one of my colleagues is being harassed.”

  “I ain’t fuckin’ harassing her, so fuck off!”

  “No, you will leave this room right now, or you can pack your bags.”

  Dante’s eyes flashed hellfire. He clenched his right hand, looking like he wanted to plant it in Simon’s face.

  I shot in between them. “Don’t do this, Dante,” I said. “You’ll get kicked out.”

  He turned his glare on me. “So you think I should let this prat speak to me like I’m scum, not a client? You do know my manager is your boss’s mate?” He looked over my head at Simon. “Someone who could get your white-bread arse fired.”

  “There are unions for unfair dismissals,” Simon replied a touch haughtily.

  Dante snorted out a laugh, the sound derisive, not amused. “Yeah, you pansies like to use bureaucrats to wipe your lily white arses. Fuckin’ pussies who are too chicken shit to fight their own battles.”

  “Oh, believe you me,” Simon spat back, “there’s nothing more I want than to rearrange your pretty boy face.”

  Dante snorted out another laugh, this one amused. “Pretty boy? Have you looked in the mirror lately? How much did it cost ya to get that dye job? Do you blond your pubes too, pussy boy.”

  “Watch your mouth!” Simon growled.

  “Nah, don’t needa, since you love eyeballing it.” Dante ran his tongue over his upper lip, his grin wicked. “Are ya imagining fucking my mouth? Pity for you I don’t suck off guys, only chicks. But I bet you’ve sucked off quite a few guys behind closed doors or in dark alleyways, pretending it didn’t happen the next day. Or maybe you prefer receiving. Is that why you look so frustrated? You want me to fuck your cunt of a mouth, ram my cock down your throat.”

  Simon’s mouth dropped to the floor, my ex looking stunned by what Dante had said.

  Dante indicated to him with his thumb. “Yeah, he defo wants to suck me off. Look, I can even see his tonsils waving at me.”

  “Dante!” I yelled. “Apologise!”

  He sniffed derisively. “Fuck apologies, I’m done with ’em. You can’t fuckin’ handle me, go perv at his dick instead. Just get a magnifying glass, cos it looks like he ain’t got much down there.”

  He wriggled his little finger, then walked off, raising his middle finger high as he disappeared through the door. Simon looked back at me, still appearing stunned, our clients nowhere near as foulmouthed as Dante, even the ones who’d fallen off the wagon having cleaner language.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “Dante’s just—”

  “You know him,” Simon cut me off, “from before he came here.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement.

  I grimaced, wondering whether I should tell him that Dante was the one.

  Simon looked over his shoulder, then back at me, his expression telling me he already knew. “You called him Dante. Is that the same one you went to jail for?”

  Feeling like crying, I bit my lip and nodded.

  “Holy hell, Clara,” he breathed out. “Why on earth are you even talking to him? You almost died because of that bastard.”

  “It wasn’t his fault.”

  He shook his head. “I might’ve thought that before seeing him, but I can’t imagine that lowlife was ever innocent.”

  My back bristled at his words. “You can’t blame him, and he’s not a lowlife.”

  “Whether he is or isn’t, you’re not to counsel him anymore.”

  “You can’t tell me—”

  He cut me off, “You can’t seriously think you can continue counselling that man? You know him, went to jail for him. You’re breeching your contract in more ways than one. And are you even allowed to go near him?”

  “He’s an adult now.”

  “Still, why, Clara? Why didn’t you tell me the boy you went to prison for is one of our patients? It’s a conflict of interest.”

  I grimaced, knowing he was right. Also knowing I shouldn’t have listened to Georgie. I should’ve taken the time off no matter what she’d said.

  His eyes went wider, whatever he was thinking definitely not good. “Is he blackmailing you? Is that why you two were arguing?”

  “No,” I lied, not wanting to get Dante into trouble. “He thinks I can help him regain his memory. Remember what I said about the car accident?”

  He nodded. “You mentioned he almost died, was in a coma for months.”

  “He also lost his memory of our time together.”

  He frowned. “Then how come they prosecuted you for statutory rape? How could they prove it?”

  “I admitted having sex with him to my husband. Markus went outside and yelled it across the fence at my father, who lived next door to us at the time. A neighbour overheard. The cops also found a poem written by Dante, a sexual one about me.”

  “Which is exactly why you can’t be around him. He’s the type of man who ruins women. You saw his ex. She may have been horrible, crazy, but she was practically begging him to take her back. She looked broken. He broke her, like he broke you. You’ve only just managed to glue yourself back together, don’t let him do it again.”

  I nodded, knowing he was right, because Dante could break me so easily. Could shatter me into a million pieces.

  “Good,” Simon replied. “Move him to Maggie’s group. That old biddy will put him in his place.”

  I didn’t reply, knowing no one could put Dante in his place, the man untamed.

  Simon frowned. “Or I can get him thrown out.”

  I shook my head vigorously. “No. I don’t want that.”

  “Then, what do you want?”

  To get back what I’d lost with Dante. “Do the first option,” I said instead. “Put him in Maggie’s group.”

  He nodded. “I’ll rearrange the rosters.”


  “That would be good, thanks.”

  Simon smiled at me. “You’re more than welcome, Clara. I would do anything for you.” He placed a hand on my arm, his smile fading, a more serious expression taking over. He stepped in closer, looking like he was going to kiss me.

  I quickly backed away, banging into a chair. “Um, I forgot, I’ve got a client to see.” I rushed off, but not before catching the hurt in his eyes. Feeling guilty, I continued out the door, wishing I wanted him instead of Dante.

  12

  Dante

  I stormed towards the reception desk, having had enough of this shit. Of people keeping things from me, or more accurately, lying through their teeth about what went down. And my dear ol’ dad was no doubt behind it, nothing passing Go without his say so. I’d stake my left nut it was him who’d forced Jasper to lie, because there was no way my best mate would’ve kept shit from me unless my dad had put him up to it. Also, Clara probably would’ve spilled everything if my dad hadn’t threatened her… Okay, the threatening part was purely guess-work, but it bloody made sense with the way she was acting so jittery.

  I stopped in front of the desk, the receptionist yapping away on the phone. The retro chick looked up at me, her fake lashes giving her Betty Boop eyes. She quickly excused herself from the call, whoever she was talking to sounding like a friend rather than a client. She was probably socialising on company time, the bird looking like a slacker. But I didn’t give a fuck as long as she lent me her phone.

  “I need your phone,” I said. “Gotta call someone urgently.”

  She hung up, putting the phone back on its stand. “Patients can’t use the phone, it’s in the agreement you signed.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what I signed!” I snapped, making her jump. “This is an emergency.”

  “Ah…” she picked up the phone. “I’ll get the acting manager for you.” She started dialling.

  I leaned over the desk and pressed the button, hanging up.

  “Mr. Rata!” she said loudly. “You can’t do that.”

  “I can do whatever the fuck I want, I’m payin’ for it.” I snatched the phone out of her hand and was dialling my dad’s number before she could say boo. He answered just as she came rushing around the desk, looking like I’d jammed my cock up her arse without prep. I ignored her whining, instead focusing on my dad’s voice.