by Penny Wylder
Is anybody listening?
9
Sylvia
I'm watching him from the corner of my eye as we ride the bus back to the fancier side of the city. I feel different about him now. I don't want to, but his little act of kindness is more than I can handle.
My heart screams, beating with such vigor, I almost can't breathe. Every inch of my being is thrust into this complex equation. Hate, lust, lust filled hate, all of it swirls in my gut, trying to destroy me.
It's like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. I thought I was seeing him clearly. I thought I knew what to expect from him.
I'm wrong.
He isn't a pompous jackass. He isn't a dumb meat-head who only thinks with his cock. It's all an act, an image he keeps up for the ring and the fans that have grown to love the zealous a-hole he's created.
“What?” he asks, looking down at the dirt on his hands. He's slowly brushing one palm over the other, feeling the grit.
“What now?” I'm curious, a little excited, and I can't stop smiling. It feels weird.
Dropping his hands onto his lap, he lifts his eyes to mine. “It's—”
“Don't say it,” I quickly cut in, holding up my hand. “It's a surprise.”
“Bingo.” He points his finger at me and shoots me with his finger gun. “I will tell you it's not work, it's fun.”
“Oh, well, that totally helps.” Giggling, I smile, rolling my head on my shoulders to look back out the window. “It's a good thing you don't get off on being a pain in my ass.”
“Of course not,” he says sternly, grabbing my chin and turning my face back to his. “Your ass is much too fine to hurt. I'd rather hear you beg me to keep going, not beg me to stop.”
My pussy is wet instantly, soaking my panties like he just turned on a faucet. I try not to show him the volatile need he's causing me to feel. I've never felt so unstable in my life. I've always had control of my body around men, but this man seems to take that control and crush it between his large, pussy filling fingers.
“I bet you would.” My voice is weak despite the force I use to get my words out.
The bus slows down, and Phade stands. Holding out his hand, he grins. “We're here, let's go have some fun.”
Taking his hand, I stand. “You sure we can even go like this? Where the hell are you taking me? I mean look at us, we're filthy.” Glancing down at my clothes, I look back up at him.
“We're fine, I promise.” Tipping his head towards the front, he says, “Come on, don't be shy. No one cares what you look like. I bet no one will even look at you twice.”
“I hope you're right.”
His hand is warm, strong, protectively coddling mine as we exit the bus and start walking. He takes us up a few blocks, and after a long straight walk up Center Boulevard, Phade stops us on the corner.
“Now turn around.”
“What?”
“Turn around,” he says, spinning his finger in a circle in the air.
“Why?”
“Can you not ask questions and just do it? Please.” Pouting his lips, he holds his hand over his heart.
“Okay, fine, I'll turn around.” Throwing up my arms in defeat, I turn to face the opposite direction.
“See, that wasn't so hard.”
“Don't push it,” I bark playfully, looking back over my shoulder.
“Okay, I'm sorry, just turn around.” Phade moves my head and slips his hands down over my eyes. “No peeking now.”
“Are you serious?” I'm smiling as I say it, my heart is in my throat and my chest feels heavy.
Phade starts to turn me around, guiding me forward while using his hands as a blindfold. “Almost there.”
As we move, I reach up and grab his hands. My stomach flips, and the feeling that I'm going to fall courses through my body. Taking long, blind steps, I try to feel the ground with my toes before I set my foot down.
Holding onto him tighter, I'm afraid to let go, afraid I'll trip and land on my face. Phade nuzzles his face into my neck and whispers. “Don't worry, I won't let you fall.” His voice is soothing, and I feel my body start to loosen up.
The tension subsides as I pull in a gulp of fresh air and slowly release it from my lungs. Relaxing my hands to my sides, I do the one thing I've never done; I clear my mind and just let go.
“Almost there,” he says. His body presses closer to mine and I find myself leaning back into him.
His arms around me make my heart pound, his chest against my back makes my nerves explode and my pussy throb. Every step Phade takes, his hips shift forward, forcing his cock to press against my ass.
I'm tempted to reach back and touch his bulge. Everything about this is turning me on. I don't hear the traffic anymore, I don't feel the ground vibrate from passing cars or the subway.
I'm caught up in Phade. In his hands on my face. In his breath as he exhales across the back of my neck. In his dick as it brushes my ass, teasing me, calling me to come out and play.
“You ready?” he asks as he stops us, his hands pulling against my face, pressing my head against his firm chest.
“Yes I'm ready.”
“Ta da!” he calls out as he tears his hands away.
I'm still blind for a second, blinking and trying to adjust to the sun going down over the horizon. Squinting, I see a huge ferris wheel, all lit up and spinning. People are screaming as they drop on a roller-coaster, kids are laughing, and there are bells and whistles going off all over the place.
“When was the last time you went to a fair?” Stepping to my side, he proudly folds his arms across his chest.
“Honestly?” I ask him, looking up with a scrunched face.
“Holy shit, you've never been to a fair before—have you?” Shaking my head no, I smile through grit teeth. “Wow, you really have no idea what you've been missing out on.” Grabbing my hand, he yanks me along. “I'm going to show you the time of your life.”
And he was right. After riding the roller-coaster three times, we share a dough-boy covered in powdered sugar. It’s sweet and greasy, and simply delicious.
Licking my fingers, I groan. “Wow, that was good.”
“I fucking love these things.” Phade looks straight ahead, his lids pop open wide. “Nice!” he calls out as he drops the paper plate into a trashcan. “Check that out.”
Following his finger, I see a small shack with stuffed animals lining the walls. There are guns sitting in holders, and on the opposite side of the counter are clown faces with balloons for noses.
“What is it?”
“It's game time.” Pulling a few dollars from his wallet, he throws it onto the counter. “Go ahead, you take that one, I'll take this one.”
“So what do I do?”
“Shoot water into the clown's mouth and whoever fills the balloon first and pops it, wins.”
“Sounds easy enough.”
The man behind the counter rings a bell and Phade pulls his trigger. Water is shooting out of his gun, going right into the mouth of the clown. I'm all over the place, trying to aim and not even getting close.
“This thing is rigged!” My voice is excited and loud as I keep glancing from my clown to Phade's, seeing his balloon is almost full.
Pop!
Another bell rings loudly, and the man calls out, “Winner!”
“No fair!” Laughing, I turn to Phade who is lightly blowing air over the end of his squirt gun. “Okay, get it in now, because next round, I'm kicking your ass.”
“I'll take that blue dinosaur right there.” Phade points up, and the man grabs it with a hook, passing it over. “Another round.” Tossing a few bucks down again, the bell chimes.
Only this time, there are two kids next me, both boys, maybe around the ages of nine or ten. Their parents are behind us, rooting them on before we begin.
Phade glances between us, nodding his head as if to say good luck. I glare at him, with a frown on my face and a stink eye.
“Oh it's going to
be like that, okay, I see how it is. You're going down.” He's smirking as he holds his gun up, looking down the barrel with one eye closed.
“We'll see who's going down.”
Another bell rings and we all lay on the trigger heavy. Water is spitting back at my face, but my aim is still horrible. I swear my gun's been tampered with. I'm holding it straight, aiming right at the gaping mouth of the clown. And still the stream bends hard to the left, missing it completely.
Pop!
The boy next to me jumps and yells out excitedly as the nose explodes on his clown. His parents congratulate him and console the boy next to him, who I assume is his brother. The kid picks a stuffed alligator and to my surprise, he hands it off to his brother.
It was a sweet moment. The sad kid smiles, and the older brother ruffles his hair. The family moves on and it's back to just me and Phade.
“One more,” he says, holding up a finger. “That one didn't count.”
“Be scared, Phade, I'm not going to go easy on you this time.”
“Maybe I don't want you to go easy on me.” Winking, he picks up his gun and the bell goes off.
With one quick jerk, he aims the gun at me, splashing me briefly with the water. “Hey!” I yell, but he's got his weapon pointed back at his clown and he's filling the nose up quickly.
It's no use. Before I even get a chance to line up my stream right, his clown's nose bursts and he throws his arms up in the air.
“Woo!” he yells, holding his arms up high above his head, strutting around me like a peacock with its tail feathers spread open.
“I would have had you if you hadn't sprayed me in the face.” Lifting my hands to my face, I wipe the water. My eyes are closed as drips of water come into my eyes from my hair.
Opening my eyes, I find Phade on one knee, holding up a small box. He took his hat and sunglasses off, setting them down on the ground beside him.
“What's this? What are you doing?”
“Sylvia Fontain, will you marry me?”
A small crowd is starting to gather around us as people realize what's going on. Some are watching because it's a proposal, but most are stopping to watch because they realize it's Phade Manson doing the proposing.
Women are eyeing him, swooning.
“Are you serious right now?”
“Yes, I'm serious.” Laughing, he pulls the ring from the box and reaches up to take my hand. “Well, is that a yes?”
“Yes! Say yes!” a woman yells from the back of the crowd.
My eyes fill with tears, and I cover my mouth. “Yes,” I say, nodding excitedly. My heart breaks a little, knowing that this is all an act.
Tears cascade down my cheeks. Tears not meant for this. Tears that should be forced and fake, like an actress in a movie. Only, these tears are real.
It hurts.
It hurts because this is the most perfect proposal any man could ever do, and it's not real. It hurts because I feel myself falling for this man, and we're not a real couple. It hurts because I know at some point this all going to end, and I don't want it to.
Flashes are going off all around us as he stands up and takes me in his arms. Picking me up off my feet, Phade kisses me.
The heat in his kiss is like nothing I've ever experienced before. It's not full of tongue and sloppy. It's not uptight and dulled down for the sake of the public.
This kiss is more. I feel his tongue as it slips into my mouth. It's slow, but the hunger, the desire, the need is in every inch of his lips.
I hold his cheeks in my hands as I kiss him back, absorbing every last drop of his lips on mine. I suck in his breath, letting him fill my lungs, and it soothes me from the inside out.
Every inch of my skin is on fire, covered in goosebumps, and my heart is about to bust out of my chest.
This isn't a kiss that two people faking would have. I can't help but feel something else, something deeper, something more tangible.
And then it hits me, sending my heart into the black pit of my gut.
My binder. . . He has my binder.
Phade lowers me to the ground, pulling his lips off of mine. I wobble on my feet, so he wraps his arms around my waist, and keeps me from falling down.
My lips are buzzing. I touch them lightly with my fingertips, softly caressing where we had just been fused together.
A kiss can't be just a kiss, not if you feel it deep in your bones. I don't care how much of an act that's supposed to be.
I feel that kiss everywhere.
10
Sylvia
“This—” Stabbing a finger at the newspaper, Daniel grins. “This is good, Syl, really, really good.” Picking it up, he passes it across the desk. “Here, take a look.”
Reaching, I take the paper. There's a bright colorful picture of me covering my mouth, with tears in my eyes, and Phade on one knee, holding the ring box.
It really is a stunning image, a beautiful proposal. . . If any of it was actually real.
“That caption is perfect.” He leans back in his chair, stroking the air with his hand and spreading an imaginary rainbow. “Is the wild Phade Manson really trading his brass knuckles for a diamond?” His voice is raspy and thick. “Your performance deserves an award. I couldn't have done it better myself. How did you come up with this? The carnival was an excellent idea.”
“Actually, it was Phade's idea.”
His eyes pop open wide and his jaw jets to the side. “No shit, this was his idea.” Pulling the paper back in, he holds it up high and smiles. “I should frame this, seriously, I couldn't have done this better myself.”
I should feel proud, but I don't.
Instead, I feel sick to my stomach. I don't want him to proud of me for a lie. A lie that's his, not mine. He's congratulating me for fooling the world, for playing a grand trick to turn his name into gold.
But I don't want recognition for this.
My heart twists as I look at my finger and see the ring. It's supposed to be a symbol for love, but this ring is mocking everything love stands for.
In my heart I'm sad that this ring on my finger is built from a lie. And as the jewel sparkles, bright and pretty on my hand, I feel something deep inside. It's light, but warm, filling me slowly. It moves up through my belly, across my chest and up over my shoulders, running down my arms.
Shit. I have real feelings for Phade.
I don't want it to be true, but it is. That's what I'm feeling, it's building and growing and turning from paper thoughts into actual emotions. Touching the diamond, I fiddle with the ring, rotating it side to side.
“You're quiet, why are you so quiet?” His brow arches as he pulls a cigar from the wooden box on his desk and clips the end off. “What's wrong? You should be excited this is all going so well.”
“I am,” I halfheartedly say. “I just don't want to get ahead of myself is all. We're still in the beginning stages of cleaning up his bad image.”
I lie.
What I'm feeling has nothing to do with any of this, and everything to do with Phade. And then there's what he said about my step-father.
Maybe Phade is right? Maybe all these years Daniel really only has cared about himself. Maybe he's been manipulating me because I don't really fit into the life he wants. Maybe I've been his burden and not his family at all.
It's hard let myself believe it, but looking at my step-father, I don't see the same man I used to look up to. His mouth is slack, his forehead tight and tense. His eyes are cold, sinking into his head and lacking any real color. His gaze is flat, void of emotion and fixated on a thought he has, and not on me at all.
It's sad to see him in this light, with his latex expression, like a thick mask he can peel off when he needs to change his mood.
Daniel isn't proud of me, he's never been proud of me, he's only ever been proud of himself.
No, that's not true.
I'm not going to let myself believe any of it. I've known Daniel longer than anyone here, if anyone knows the man,
I do.
There has to be some truth, Daniel has to feel at least a little appreciation for my role in this. He must love me like a daughter on some level.
“Well, keep up the good work, it's all going smooth at this point. And with Phade on board, this should be a cake walk.” Lighting his cigar, he takes a long deep inhale, letting the smoke billow out from behind his lips. “We have some big things coming up soon. In the next few weeks, Phade has the semi-final fight, and you two are going to be on The Sun Daily to do an interview.”
“The Sun Daily? Are you kidding me?”
The Sun Daily, a local morning news show, where the hosts look like they drank ten pots of coffee and did an eight ball before filming.
“It'll be good, Sylvia, I promise you that.” He draws in another big pull on his cigar, his eyes move down to the end, watching the red embers flake off as he taps the head over the ashtray. “I've never steered you wrong, have I?”
The way he says it makes me shake my head like I'm eleven years old again. He has this way with words, a tone that seems to flip a switch in my brain and make me agree.
But this time something isn't right. His face is shaded, a dark wave washes over his skin and the emptiness I tried to disregard is now bold and visible. His smile is sinister, his eyes beady and looking right through me.
He's the creator of this entire movie, the puppeteer pulling the strings. If it wasn't for him, this wouldn't be happening. And he knows that. He feeds off the fact that he's the foundation of our story.
“Well, Sylvia? Have I ever wronged you?” Tipping his head, he waits for an answer.
“No, you haven't.” Even as I say it, I don't believe it. There's nothing behind my words. I'm running moments through my head now, trying to pick out those subtle nuances I failed to see back then.
Smoke rolls out from his mouth and across the desk. “Do you trust me, Sylvia?” Daniel cocks his head, peering down his nose at me.
He makes me feel so small, like I'm about to get in trouble. I'm shrinking, my arms coil in, my legs tuck up and I cross my ankles. I don't even realize it's happening until I look down at myself.
