Bent not Broken

by Lisa De Jong

  After I park the car in the garage, I make my way to the foyer, turning the lights on as I walk through the hallways. Once I’m sure that Ben isn’t home, I stand under the large crystal chandelier hanging from the cathedral ceilings and consider my next move. I tap a finger on my chin, make up a quick excuse as to why he didn’t hear from me all day, and give him a call. His phone rings five or six times before it goes to voicemail.

  Odd.

  Looking at my cell, I make sure of the time—yes, he should have been done with work hours ago. After two more unsuccessful attempts, I leave a message telling him that I’m home but heading straight to bed and that I will speak to him in the morning. This is how my days and nights have been for the past three weeks. I ignore his calls during the day and avoid him at night. With a chest full of guilt, I look around the big house, our home, and wonder what will happen to all of this if I go ahead with what I think will be my final decision.

  I groan as tears begin to fill my eyes. Since when did I become such a watering pot?

  I lift the Barneys garment bag that I put down on the floor when I first walked in and make my way to the master bedroom. I need to rest. Yes, that’s it. All the lying, cheating, and sneaking around has finally caught up to me. I’m exhausted. I’m emotionally and mentally wrung out.

  Seeking solace in sleep, I never hear from Ben.

  ****

  The next morning when I open my eyes, I notice that Ben’s pillow looks untouched. Wondering if he slept in his office, I get up and go in search of him, not exactly sure why I’m suddenly consumed by this…this necessity to see him, to touch him, to feel his warm skin against mine, to make sure he’s real.

  The moment I stand outside his office, I can’t help but notice the way my hands are trembling. After a few seconds of taking calming breaths, I knock once, turn the knob, and open the door.

  What greets my eyes shocks me to the core.

  I survey the unrecognizable room.

  What the hell happened here? It looks like a tornado hit Ben’s pristine office.

  There are papers and articles scattered all over his desk and on the floor. His clothes are thrown in one corner. Th-the couch…the love couch is gone and in its place sits a new dark wine colored leather one.

  Brand new.

  With shaky legs, I approach the alien piece of furniture that doesn’t belong here. That shouldn’t be here. Slowly...tentatively...I kneel down in front of it and let my fingers caress the smooth surface. The coolness of the leather is a welcoming sensation. Funny, I didn’t realize until now how warm I felt. Tugging the neckline of my robe away from my neck, the room suddenly feels oppressive, constricting—I can’t breathe. I need to get out of here.

  “How do you like it? It was delivered yesterday,” Ben says flatly.

  I turn around when I hear his unexpected voice, my hands flying to my chest. “Ben! Babe. You scared me!” Ben is reclining his shoulder against the doorframe, watching me. His suit jacket swung over his shoulder carelessly. Briefly, I observe he’s still wearing the same clothes from yesterday.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Moving away from the door, Ben approaches me carefully as my pulse begins to accelerate. When he’s a foot away from me, he extends his hand and offers me his help to stand. I take his hand in mine, letting the strength of his pull help me up, bringing our bodies flush against each other. Unsteady on my feet, I hold onto his hard chest for support as I look up and stare into his eyes, eyes that usually sparkle with so much light, but today appear to be as flat and rough as unpolished gemstones. They watch me intensely. His gaze robs me of breath, strips me naked, and sends my heart beating into a wild frenzy. Ben lifts his hand and lets the back of his fingers caress my cheek. Not closing my eyes for once, we stare at each other as if trying to memorize our features. And I do. I memorize his rugged beauty until it’s imprinted in every crevice of my soul.Ben is the first one to break the silence.

  “The couch was delivered yesterday. I like it.”

  “Oh. B-But who…”

  “I did. I came home since you weren’t here.” There’s no suspicion or accusation in his voice. Just cold-hearted resignation. “Anyway, I’ve got to shower.” Ben lets go of me, “Remember, tonight is Alan’s masquerade party. I hope you didn’t make other plans,” he says coldly.

  “No. Of course not. I bought a dress yesterday.”

  “Just making sure.”

  Ben walks out of the room, not once glancing back.

  Chapter 25

  After a short drive to Greenwich, we arrive to the home of Alan Vanderhall. The beautiful estate is located off the very private and coveted Round Hill Road. There are two majestic gated entrances that lead us into the private gravel drive to the main house. As the car makes its way through the property, I see lush grounds with both ardent lawns and formal gardens. The road is illuminated with Japanese paper lanterns and the trees are wrapped in winter twinkling lights. The lights are a magical contrast against the darkness of the night, and I can’t help being awed by the beauty and the feeling of electricity and magic in the air.

  As I look at the lights twinkling, I try not to think about Arsen. Earlier today, when Ben left the office to go take a shower, I’d called Arsen to let him know that I couldn’t meet him today, but he didn’t answer. He hadn’t even texted me back. Suddenly cold, I begin to rub my arms. Ben glances my way and shakes his head wearily.

  I feel panic settling in the pit of my stomach.

  I’m afraid.

  Has my indecision cost me Arsen?

  No.

  He was just busy. That’s all.

  Dismissing my negative thoughts, I watch as we continue to drive through the lit pathway until we reach the main house, an extraordinary larger than life Georgian stone mansion. After Ben parks the car to the side and dismisses a valet attendant who comes to help us, he utters the first words he’s said to me all night without even glancing my way.

  “Would it kill you to smile and not look so miserable for once, Cathy? I know my presence is repugnant to you, but please, could you give it a try? Alan is a very important client of the firm.”

  Disbelief in my eyes, I’m stunned by the harshness of his words. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Nothing, Cathy. Forget I said anything. Just pretend that you want to be here with me and not somewhere else.” A dark look crosses Ben’s eyes, but it’s gone before I get a chance to fully understand it.

  I grab his hand and make him turn to look at me as I frown. “Hey…babe, Ben. I want to be here. I want to be with you.” The truth flows out of me as pain gathers in the back of my throat, but I mean it. No matter what tomorrow brings, no matter what my final decision is, I want to be here with Ben tonight. I want to pretend for one last time that I’m Cathy Stanwood. His wife. And, that he’s mine.

  Without once looking at me, I wince when Ben reaches for his domino cape and a black leather half mask depicting a panther and begins to put them on in silence. When he’s finished tying the mask behind his head, he turns around to look at me. I can only see his dark eyes through the slits of the mask shining like black marbles, his full lower lip, and the strong lines of his jaw covered in a slight stubble. Dressed in a crisp black tuxedo and with most of his face covered, he appears to be as dangerous, graceful, and beautiful as the feline he’s pretending to be for tonight.

  “If you say so, Cathy. Would you like me to help you with yours?” He points at the mask sitting on my lap.

  “Yes, please,” I say quietly.

  I watch as his large and strong hands slowly caress each side of my collarbone. His touch as gentle as a butterfly’s wing makes me want to close my eyes and lean my head against his shoulder, not caring that there’s a stick shift between us, but I don’t. Instead, I continue to watch him as one of his hands reaches for an elegant silver half mask covered in black lace and brings it to my face. After he’s finished tying the black ribbon under my French bun and making su
re that my hair isn’t ruined, he places his hands on my shoulders. As my body trembles from the warmth of his touch spreading through me, I’m about to thank him, but the manner in which he’s watching me so closely, so absorbingly, arrests all thought.

  My gentle Ben is watching me like he wants to fuck the shit out of me. As if he wants to own me with his dick and the strong muscles of his body; mark me with his seed, crush me with the might of his powerful arms, and strangle me with his bare hands while he thrusts so hard into me that the headboard of the bed makes the wall behind it shake.

  This is not him.

  And it’s my fault.

  An angry stranger has replaced my sweet husband, and somehow I can’t make myself look away from his dark gaze. I continue to stare at him as he lowers one of his hands towards my knee that’s exposed by the slit of my gown. His fingers pull the fabric further away from my knee, and when his hand makes contact with my bare skin, arousal spreads through me. His hand begins to trace an upward path on my leg, closer and closer to my pulsating core, not caring that the silk of my dress may rip. He stops when he reaches the outside of my silk panties.

  Ben’s eyes don’t leave me as he cups me, his palm feeling the moisture gathering in between my legs through the soaked silk. Ben hooks his finger and pulls the thong to the side, baring me to him. And only then does he enter me with one finger, sliding it slowly, yet assuredly. I want to close my eyes, but I can’t. After slowly pumping it in and out of me, he withdraws his finger and brings it inside his mouth, washing my taste with his own. Bringing his hand back to my core, he enters me with two fingers this time, stretching me as his saliva lubricates me some more. Throwing my head back, I can’t help groaning as his movements become more forceful.

  Everything becomes a blur of heady sensations as I get lost in the feel of his hand, the sound of wetness my body makes, the smell. Yes, my husband is hand fucking me and it is heaven. There’s a feverish brightness sparkling in his eyes, the stick shift in between us, my legs spread open for him, and that’s all that matters. As his breathing accelerates, I can hear myself panting louder and louder.

  I feel close, so close.

  I’m about to come when he withdraws his fingers from me, leaving me bereft. With his touch gone, I feel empty, aching, and wanting his hand inside me again. He lifts his wet fingers, tracing a path along my lips, inviting me to take him in. Shocked with Ben’s reckless behavior, I don’t move.

  “Open your mouth, Cathy. I want you to taste yourself…taste what I can do to you,” he growls.

  Feeling color stain my cheeks, I open my mouth as he dips his fingers inside.

  “Now close your mouth and suck them, Cathy.”

  So I suck, hard. Even as the motion reminds me of Arsen and what happened in Barneys.

  By the time he removes his fingers from my mouth, I think he’s going to allow us to pull ourselves together, but he surprises me once more when he leans down and kisses me on the lips. We get lost in the sweet oblivion of his kiss sealed with my taste. It’s demanding. Needy. It’s a kiss that wants to engrave itself on our lips—our souls.

  When he pulls away, Ben is breathing heavily and appears to be as discomposed as I feel. “I want you to remember that once we get to the party…I now have you branded on my lips.” He leans towards me and whispers roughly in my ear, “You are mine.”

  I watch him righting his mask and attire, before getting out of the Maybach and making his way towards the passenger door. Still feeling breathless and aching everywhere, I’m about to touch up the red on my lips when he opens the door for me.

  “You look breathtaking in that dress, by the way. I’ll wait for you out here while you touch up your make up.” His voice is cool and detached once more, so unlike my Ben.

  Inside the car, I’m alone, uncomfortable, needing to orgasm, and looking at myself in the passenger’s visor mirror. I look at my reflection, and all I see are lies…but at this moment, when I’m sore between my legs because of Ben’s rough yet divine handling, one truth becomes apparent.

  I feel like I’ve just cheated on Arsen with my own husband.

  ****

  After I exit the car, we make our way to the brightly lit majestic entrance as orchestra music floats through the air, surrounding us. Climbing the stairs with one hand lifting the front part of my gown to avoid tripping over it, and the other on Ben’s forearm as it lends me support, I take in the scenery.

  At first I’m blinded by the potent lights emanating in all directions from the house but as I grow accustomed to the splendor of the environment, my first thought is how dazzling everything looks wrapped in a golden blanket of light.

  After handing our capes to an attendant, I glance around the splendid home and let myself be enraptured by the beauty. There are majestic crystal chandeliers sparkling like little diamonds in the air, candles glowing its amber light, white orchids by the hundreds, thousands maybe, surrounded by green moss. It’s enchanting.

  Against the muted color of the walls, hundreds of colors in the form of evening gowns move like a kaleidoscope, floating around the room, as men become the perfect background in their black tuxedos, allowing the women to shine.

  Careless and free, there’s a sort of reckless atmosphere enveloping us as every person wearing a mask pretends to be someone else for tonight.

  There’s electricity in the air. A kind of magic.

  And it’s freaking me out because, call it intuition, but I can sense that he’s here.

  All eyes on us, we make our way to a large group of people standing by a grand piano, where a very famous virtuoso is currently playing an achingly beautiful melody. With Ben’s arm encircling my waist, I feel the exact moment when he tenses up, his grip growing stronger, almost hurting me.

  “Ah. I see Alan and his wife, Loretta, with their daughter. Let’s go greet them. I need to have a word with him before we can make our way to the bar.”

  “How do you know who Alan and his wife are when everyone’s wearing masks? I can’t recognize anyone. Will Megan and Micky be here?” I stare into his eyes as I ask.

  “I could recognize Alan and his wife anywhere and at any time. They’re both very tall people with a very distinctive blonde hair color.”

  I glance at the group parting to welcome us amongst them, and notice three people with hair so blonde that it’s almost white. “Oh. I guess, you are right. I do see how unique their—”

  Oh, God. No.

  I want to stop walking. Completely.

  I can’t.

  I can’t take another step.

  Oh, no, no, no.

  However, Ben seems to have other ideas. Not letting go of my waist, he pulls me forward as he continues to walk.

  I manage to whisper accusingly, “No-o, Ben...p-please. You...you knew.”

  I see Ben’s eyes through the mask, and the anger reflected in them. “No, I didn’t know that he was going to be here. I wasn’t sure anyway. And it doesn’t matter. It’s about time that he saw you with me, your husband. Now, keep moving Cathy, or do you want me to drag you toward him?”

  “No, no, no, no. Please, Ben, not like this. Not like this.”

  Vile rising in my throat, I want to vomit. My stomach hurts, and I can feel tears in my eyes. No, I don’t want Arsen to see me like this. Not after the way we parted last night…not with Ben.

  “Yes, Cathy. Maybe by doing this you will finally understand how much you—”

  “Well, well…look who decided to finally grace us with his presence. The mighty Benjamin Stanwood and his beautiful wife Catherine, correct?” I flinch when Alan says my name. Ben never calls me Catherine.

  No. Only Arsen calls me by that name.

  I avoid looking at the man wearing a full mask of what looks to be a cross between the sun and fire with flames or rays pointing in every direction. I can’t. Instead, my eyes land on the beautiful female standing next to him. She’s wearing an exquisite white princess gown. The bustier is filled with white Swarovsky crys
tals, and her mask depicts a swan with silver and white feathers adorning one corner. Her lips are as full as mine, and her neck is long, thin, and elegant. Her blonde hair, swept back in a simple ballerina bun, allows me to see her perfect bone structure. She is breathtaking, and she’s holding Arsen’s hand in hers.

  Do you hear that? That’s karma shouting in my ear, “Eat it, you bitch,” as I watch Arsen with another woman.

  Jealousy is such a potent threatening emotion. It doesn’t just eat you alive—it eats you from within. It’s venom that spreads in your bloodstream, polluting you, killing you. It corrodes you until there’s nothing left. And right now, I’m being suffocated by it. I hate her. I hate her.

  Feeling faint as sweat breaks in the small of my back and my temples, I can hear Alan speaking, “Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to Ben Stanwood and his—”

  Ben interrupts Alan. “My wife, Cathy Stanwood.”

  That’s when I finally lift my eyes to stare at Arsen, and I just know. As I stand next to Ben in a room full of people, I watch and yearn for the man standing in front of me, and I know there’s no going back for me.

  I choose Arsen.

  I choose him.

  Chapter 26

  The blonde girl extends her long and pretty hand first. How I hate her hand.

  “Hi! My name is Jillian, but you can call me Jill. And this,” her free hand settles in the center of Arsen’s solid chest, “is Arsen Radcliff. A close family friend.” Her stupid face lights up when Arsen smiles down at her. Fisting my hands so hard I can feel my nails breaking through skin, I fight a visceral reaction taking over me. I want to slap the smile clean off her face.

  He is mine.

  Mine. Mine. Mine.