(Unknown number) Do I owe you a new lipstick now?
I can’t help the smile that lights up my face as soon as I see the text. I look at the time. It’s 2 a.m. and that makes me strangely happy. It’s late, and he’s thinking of me. I picture him laying in the bed he laid me down on, my ghost shape still imprinted on his sheets. It’s only a few hours later.
(Me) What do your pillows smell like?
(Jack) Vanilla and gardenias. What does your perfume smell like?
(Me) Vanilla and gardenias.
(Me) Do you want to come over?
(Jack) I’m in my car already.
I bite my lips again, feeling turned on and wanting him so, so bad. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I start putting together a reply when my phone scares me by ringing. I check the number and it’s him. Nervously, I smile and press reply.
“Yes?” My voice is trembling with desire.
“What’s your address?” he asks gruffly.
I’m trying to be rational. Trying to tell myself this is crazy. But my desire is too strong and I babble my address so fast I wonder if he got it right as he abruptly hangs up. I lay in my bed for a moment longer, listening to the happy beat of my heart. It’s still not quite right, but it’s pumping good things into my veins.
Excitement.
Desire.
Happiness.
I jump up from the bed to a cry of complaint from Pearl, then rush into my bathroom. I reach for my makeup bag and look into the mirror.
I look nothing like Opal.
I look everything like Opal Meyers.
Crazy wild red waves, creamy skin sprayed with a layer of freckles. Eyes so green they almost hurt to look at. Full lips, trembling with desire for him.
I decide I don’t need makeup. I don’t even brush my hair. I want him to see me like this. Understated, in my white sheer camisole and black lace panties. My hair wild, my heart wilder.
The door bell rings as I sit impatiently at my counter, flipping through a magazine. My go to errand to make myself look busy. My heart goes crazy.
Pumping – heat.
Spreading – love.
Carrying – emotions.
I get up and rush to the door. I’m young. I’m wild.
I unlock it. I open it. He’s here.
I’m free.
Chapter 14 – Run, baby, run
I was trapped.
There was nowhere to go anymore.
It started with him hitting me. A bruise here, a broken bone later in the game, a handful of hair yanked out of my scalp. Wounds that would never heal, because I would pick at them constantly, disturbing their healing process until they turned into nasty, ugly scars. And as if that wasn’t enough, I started doing things to myself.
You might be wondering why the hell I’d do that, since he was beating me senseless already?
I guess I felt the satisfaction of knowing he wasn’t the only one who controlled my body. He wasn’t responsible for the neat little row of scars I had carved in my leg. Wasn’t to blame for the sweet, bitter pain as they healed and I kept digging my fingers in them, scratching them to oblivion. I was the one behind that, and he could never take that away from me.
When he felt loving, though, he massaged anti-scarring lotion onto my scars. He called me out on them when he was mad, and he soothed them when he wasn’t. Both because he was so mad I still had control over this tiny, small thing. Even that was too much for him.
I was sitting at a coffee house with my mother. I was wearing a head scarf, a pretty printed thing he got me after pulling out clumps of my hair and skin, to hide the bald spots. My hair was falling out. I was stressed, and scared, and nervous. He hated it – said he always loved my thick curls. Like it was my fault it happened.
My mother was crying.
Drip, drip, drip, her tears were falling down.
My mother felt sorry for me.
Leave, leave, leave, she kept repeating.
My mother didn’t know the half of it.
Lie, lie, lie, I told myself.
We were no longer daughter and mother. We were messed up, like a story you’d see on TV. But there was no happy ending here, and there never would be. Sure, my mother noticed my bruises, noticed me wearing sunglasses indoors, wearing long sleeves in the summer.
She begged me to leave.
How was I supposed to explain I was bound? He would kill me if I thought of it.
Should’ve got out when you had the chance, a petty little voice said in my head. But did I ever really have a choice? He took what he wanted, and he wanted me. So there you have it.
I left my mother in tears, throwing some money on the table as I went away. At least that was never a problem – we were always full of cash supplied by Christian’s wealthy parents.
I trembled as his name rang out in my head. I had stopped calling him by his name ages ago. It scared me – it was like he was this nameless monster, always on my trail, only an inch away from reaching out and grabbing me. He wasn’t even a man. He was a natural disaster, a volcano eruption, an earthquake, a tsunami.
I came home, trembling as I opened the door, not knowing what mood he was in.
He greeted me at the door with a bouquet of flowers, a box of chocolates and a loving embrace.
I smiled naively, so stupid, so young, so insecure. Anything for his attention, his love.
He whisked me off my feet, carried me into the bedroom. Smothered lotion on me. Fed me chocolates. Then he fucked me.
You’re judging me right now, I can tell. But when Christian and I had sex, it wasn’t just sex. It was an explosion, wild and free. He pushed me into oblivion, into such a state of extasy it didn’t matter if he hurt me. It was nothing like that first time in his car. It was pure passion, pure joy, pure madness.
It was the best sex I ever had.
When we lay next to one another after he was done with me, it was easy to forget all about the bruises, the lanky hair, the healing bones. I was just Opal, and he was just Christian, and the world was ours for the taking. We were endless.
I walked around in extasy for days, minutes or hours. Sometimes it took a while for him to break, sometimes it happened straight away. Today it happened as he noticed a shopping bag on the floor.
“What did you buy, baby?” he teased me, stretching his taut naked body over mine as he reached for the bag. I smiled widely, hoping he would like what I bought. I had taken some of his parents’ money and treated myself to sexy lingerie from the Agent Provocateur store.
All for him.
My lover. My hater. My tormentor. My best friend.
He ripped open the box inside and glared at the corset, the stockings, the lacy thong.
“What is this?” he asked very quietly, very calmly.
Here comes trouble.
I love you, I repeated to myself as he slammed my head into the antique full-length mirror in our bedroom.
I need you, I told him silently as the shiny surface cracked and split the skin on my forehead.
I’ll stay, I thought as he shouted at me while banging my had against the wall.
I’m yours, was my last thought before everything went black.
Chapter 15 – Come a little closer
The air between us is charged with electricity. I can feel how badly he wants me. Feel the heat coming off of his body. I want this bad.
I’m about to grab his shirt and pull him closer, when he looks down and reaches a hand up to my face. He’s touching me now, softly stroking my cheek as I stare at him, confused. He’s still looking at the floor, like he can’t bear to even look at me. I don’t understand.
“We need to talk,” he says finally, the weakness apparent in his voice and once more, I am completely confused. I step back so his hand falls down between us and make space for him to come inside. He slowly follows, still unable to look at me. I have no idea what happened in the space of the few minutes since we ended our call, but he can’t meet my eye, can’t meet any pa
rt of me. I sit down on the couch, hugging my legs closely to my chest. I’m very aware suddenly that I’m only wearing a nightgown, and I feel vulnerable. I don’t want him to see.
But oh, god, I want him to touch.
He sits down on the other side of the couch. It’s painful to look at him. His eyes are bloodshot and he’s breathing heavily. His hands are trembling in his lap. I can’t quite help myself when I slide next to him, taking his hands in mine, bringing them up to my lips and touching them lightly. I want so much more though.
“Tell me,” I ask softly.
He shakes his head.
“Please,” I beg.
Finally, finally, he lifts his head to look into my eyes and I’m pained with the hurt I see in his eyes. “I can help you,”I whisper softly, trying to keep our eyes locked even though it seems as if he’ll look away any second.
I lock him in. Don’t let him go.
“Help me, then,” he asks, his voice strained, his hands clenching in his lap.
I do what he asks.
I do what I do best.
I reach down with trembling eyes until my hands are at his zipper, pulling down slowly. I can feel how hard he is. Feel how much he wants me. Why do I feel like crying, then?
“Do you want me to look at you as I do it?” I ask, my voice breaking a little over the words that are coming out of my mouth. He’s told me I was a whore so many times. It only feels right. Only feels fair. The only thing to do.
“Fuck, no,” he groans, getting up from the sofa and pulling up his zipper as he paces the room. “What the hell is this,” he murmurs to himself as I sit there, feeling rejected. Again. Again. And again.
“I can’t. I don’t need this. I need to get out. Need to breathe. Need to leave,” he’s saying.
I curl up into a small ball, making myself invisible. I’m not here. I’m not in this body. I’m not Opal. I’m just … floating. Nothing. Bare. Naked. Invisible.
NO.
I look up, feeling determined for once in my life. Clench my teeth against the pain of rejection and let my heart pump adrenaline through me. I get up from the couch slowly, gathering my strength as I go. I stand up and smooth down my camisole. I can feel his touch on me, so I put my hair in front of my body to cover up my nakedness. I don’t want him leering at me. I know he’s damaged.
But so are you, a malicious voice whispers in my ear. You two are perfect for each other.
“Would you like to leave?” I ask politely, my voice strong and unfaltering for once.
He shakes his head, keeps staring me down. Looking at me like he can see right through the fabric of my lingerie and my wild hair.
“Would you like to stay?” I offer, with as little emotion as possible, though it is hard as hell.
He nods a yes.
And then we’re coming towards one another, fast, faster, fastest, until we meet in the middle and our bodies crash together, hotter than I ever thought possible.
My hands are buried in his hair, and his are busy with my clothes. Quickly, like he needs to save me from something, he pulls off my camisole, rips off my panties. And I’m naked. Stark naked.
I’m covering my body with my hands, trying to hide, conceal all the things I normally don’t feel embarrassed about. My scars, my bones, my freckles.
He gently pries my hands away until I’m standing there, completely exposed.
It’s too fast. It’s too sudden. But it feels to good to stop now.
My hands are ripping off his shirt, shredding it like I want to hurt it instead of him, for hiding so many things from me. I’m prying his jeans down, impatient, insecure, but needy. I strip him down as his hands roam all over my body as I moan for him to do more.
I’m no longer Opal. I’m love. I’m passion. I’m sex.
I let him literally sweep me of my feet and carry me into the bedroom, let him put me down and let him climb on top of me. I’m already arching my back and he’s not even inside me yet. I try to close my eyes but I want to watch, want to see. I look at him as his gaze sweeps over my body, finally touching me where I desperately need it. I watch him lick his fingers, rushed, panicked. I watch him slip them inside, see him grin as I moan deep from within my body. Watch him grab his cock with strong, but shaky hands, watch him plunge inside me. Watch him pump, watch him groan, watch him stroke, lick, feel, need, cry out.
Then I stop watching.
I can’t focus. Not my eyes, not my thoughts, not my body. I’m convulsing, arching my back, flexing my legs, pulling on his hair. I’m about to …
He covers my mouth with his, stifling a cry of pure pleasure as I come with a gasp in his mouth. He’s grinning, his mouth pressed against mine as I try to catch a breath, still pushing, pushing, until I’m about to lose my mind.
This time, he lets my mouth do what it wants. He bites my bottom lip as I scream again, moans against my mouth as he does the same.
“Mine,” he groans into my ear as he comes deep inside of me.
Chapter 16 – Make me happy
I only let him fuck me once. I let him lay in my bed with me for a little while, feeling blissfully happy, until I felt the darkness coming out to play.
This was wrong.
I wasn’t made for love.
I was made for sex.
And I must not ever forget that.
I wanted to tell him to leave, biting my bottom lip in the process. He was half dozing off on the side of the bed, clutching me to his chest, and try as I might, I found it increasingly difficult to let him go. He sighed and cuddled me closer, whispering in my ear. “Good?”
Despite all of my heart screaming yes, yes, I want more, I turned around in the bed until I was facing him. “I need you to leave now,” I said very softly, but determinately, letting all of my animal instincts take over. I felt trapped, and I needed to get out. Needed to breathe.
I thought he would put up a fight. Thought he would refuse to go, ask to fuck me again. And it hurt a lot when he just nodded quickly, got up to his feet and started pulling his clothes on. He wasn’t quite meeting my eye, but then again, I was trying to look away, too.
I waited until his back was turned to me before slipping on my clothes. This was always the most humiliating part of the sex, right here – having to hide my body when, only a short time ago, I was reveling in it.
I put my panties on as well as the sheer nightie I was wearing, and to top it all off, I added my cozy bathrobe that I only wore when I was alone. Since we were done now, I figured I didn’t need to pretend much anymore.
I walked out of the bedroom, leaving him there alone, and came to sit as usual, behind the counter in my kitchen. I stroked Pearl who was napping on the countertop and briefly contemplating if I should let her sleep on my kitchen surfaces. Deeming it just as highly inappropriate as my entire life, I dismissed the thought as Jack walked into the kitchen, looking rumpled, but still so incredibly sexy. My appetite for this man was voracious.
But you need to know how to tame it, I told myself sternly.
He still wasn’t looking at me, instead fiddling with something in his pocket as I walked him to the front door. Without another word, I opened it and he stepped out. When I was just about to shut the door on him, he turned around and placed a hand on the door frame, finally meeting my eyes.
And oh, his eyes … They would be the death of me. I sank knee deep in their depths and had to pull myself tightly together so I wouldn’t lose it.
“Wait,” he said softly, almost reaching an arm out to touch me, but instead still fiddling in his pockets.
I looked at him breathlessly, my ragged breaths caught somewhere in my ribcage, and at that moment, I let myself hope. I let myself be the stereotype, like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, pretending this would end well for me. I hoped until it hurt.
Finally, he pulled out his hands and offered me something. I looked down.
“How much do I owe you?” he asked roughly, already counting the hundred dollar bills.
&nbs
p; I slammed the door in his face.
***
I tried to forget that I was livid, tried to convince myself I didn’t give a damn.
It’s hard to do so when both your heart and mind know it’s not actually the truth.
However, I didn’t let myself dwell on the events of the evening, instead keeping myself nice and busy. I wonder how possessive, rough Jack would like the fact that I slept with someone on the same bed as him, only a day later. How he would react to the fact that I didn’t even change the sheets, but washed them immediately after the man left, despite wanting to keep his scent close to me after he was gone.
I had to come back to reality, though, and here it was – it was a done deal, a future that was gone before it even became a possibility. So I did what I did best.
I ran, I forgot and I escaped.
I danced.
I slept with other men.
Stroked Pearl.
Lay in my bed, eating chocolates.
Threw up the chocolates in my pretty pink marble bathroom.
Tick tock, tick tock, the clocks sounded.
And time was passing, just as it always seemed to, no matter how chaotic my life was. Somehow it just kept on going, not stopping even in the most tragic of times, and I just kept on living.
What a sorry life it was.
Chapter 17 – That’s enough, baby
It was just a regular day, like any other. Sunshine with a bit of clouds, a bit of wind and the occasional drop of rain that was signaling it would turn out to be rainy in the evening. I was making dinner in the kitchen, waiting for Christian to get home. It was Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes tonight – his favourite.
I made the steak. Made the potatoes. Warmed everything up. Set the table. Waited at the table.
He didn’t show.
I waited some more, but realized he would probably be home late. Lately, he didn’t tell me much about his whereabouts. Just came in and went out as he saw fit. I didn’t mind much, as long as his hands weren’t banging my head against the wall, but were instead grinding my hips against the door as he fucked me. That was our relationship now.
Break Me: A Dark Romance Serial Page 5
