Some Sort of Happy

by Melanie Harlow

  “I want you, Sebastian,” she said breathlessly. “I want you to fuck me. Hard.”

  “Hard?” I took my dick in my hand, stroking it as I took in the image of her bent over my bed, hands tied, legs straight, feet apart. I teased her pussy with the tip, smearing wetness from front to back, sliding it in the crack of her ass.

  “Yes.” Her eyes were closed, her mouth open.

  “Apologize.”

  “Huh?” Her eyes popped open.

  “Apologize,” I growled, pushing inside her. “For being so beautiful. For making me want you so badly. For breaking me down. For making me so fucking hard for you all the time.” Words slipped from my mouth as I grabbed her hips and thrust slowly in and out. “From the moment I saw you again, I knew you could undo me. I knew I should stay away from you, but I couldn’t. I can’t. The only thing I can do is make you mine.”

  “I’m not sorry,” she rasped, her bound hands clenching into fists just like her pussy was tightening around my cock. “I’ll never apologize. Never.”

  “So you want this?” I pulled her back onto me, slowly but not gently. I watched myself disappear inside her body, mesmerized.

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I want this. I want to break you. I want to be yours. I want you inside me.” Her voice hushed to a whisper. “I want everything.”

  “Fuck. Fuck.” It was too much—all of it. The rope around her hands and her pale skin and curvy body, her words and the memory of her, the possibility of us. I held her hips and fucked her fast and hard and deep, and nothing—nothing—in my entire life had ever felt as good. Strength and power and indestructible certainty that I could do anything flooded my veins, and as I reached the breaking point, my entire body seizing up and then exploding deep within her, all I could think was taking her inside me, caging her within my bones, enclosing her within my ragged, imperfect puzzle of a heart.

  Mine.

  • • •

  Later, after I’d unwrapped her wrists and kissed the tender red marks on her alabaster skin, we undressed each other and slid between the cool white sheets in my bed, arms wrapped around each other tight. She fell asleep first, and I lay there stroking her hair, ignoring the ghosts that tried to fill my head with punishing dread, filling it instead with the scent of her skin, the softness of her breath, the weight of her head on my chest. Then I closed my eyes and held her as I drifted off to sleep.

  In the morning, I woke first, facing away from her, one of her arms slung over my torso. I picked up her hand and kissed it before sliding out of bed and pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from my dresser. Soft, golden morning sun was just starting to come in through the skylight, and I smiled at the way it fell across her features. I could get used to seeing the first light of day on her face.

  It reminded me of a poem I liked by Robert Frost about the ephemeral beauty of the beginnings of things.

  Was this our beginning? Would we always remember the first night we spend together? The first morning here at the cabin?

  Don’t be fucking melodramatic, snapped the voice. You have no idea what she’s feeling. You think the things she said to you when you had her tied up and defenseless were real? It was a fucking game.

  Fuck. It had been kind of a game, but I hadn’t sensed any guile or pretense in her. It felt like she was speaking the truth. I wanted it to be the truth.

  Could this work between us? I wasn’t ever positive about anything, but something tempted me to think maybe, just maybe Skylar Nixon could be the one woman who was strong enough, sweet enough, forgiving enough to be with me. The thought was both terrifying and beautiful.

  Quietly I climbed down the ladder, used the bathroom, put the coffee on, and took my notebook out onto the porch. I felt rested, but throughout the night I’d woken up repeatedly with words scattered in my head, and I wanted to see if I could make some sense of them on paper. Sometimes letting the voice have his way in writing demystified it—lessened its foreignness inside my mind. These were my thoughts, my words, my feelings, and I owned them. I wasn’t their victim. Pulling the pencil from the spiral where I’d tucked it, I looked out into the woods for a few minutes, letting the raw words weave themselves together.

  Skylar

  You fall softly

  like snow

  mine

  I am beneath you (I fall hard, like stone)

  so I will catch you

  on my tongue

  You melt there like sadness

  mine

  I tied your hands (mine)

  a vain, exquisite endeavor

  to break you

  mine

  Shards of bone and soul

  mine

  littered the bedroom floor this morning

  I stepped carefully around them

  for fear of injury

  mine

  but you are brave, I think

  You will gather them close

  and try to smooth their jagged edges

  mine

  with the fearless, infinite grace

  of your foolish heart

  mine

  Guess he wasn’t kidding about the sunrise.

  I had the day off, so arising at dawn hadn’t exactly been my plan, but when I woke up and found myself alone in Sebastian’s bed, I missed him right away. Holy hell, last night had been amazing. From the blowjob in the car—I don’t even know what came over me, I’d never done that before—to the sex in his bedroom to the things he’d said…my mind was spinning. Jesus, had he really tied me up? Sebastian Pryce, who was so nervous about hurting people he kept his sharp knives hidden above the fridge, had actually tied my hands behind my back with rope?

  Spying the rope on the floor, I brought the sheet up to my mouth and giggled silently. God. He was such a study in contradictions. But I loved that he felt comfortable enough with me to do it. I loved the things he said while he did it. I could still hear his low, intense voice in my mind.

  Apologize… For breaking me down… The only thing I can do is make you mine.

  Every second of it had been perfect. I’d meant what I said—I’d never apologize for wanting him—but I didn’t see it as breaking him. And as for being his… my stomach tightened at the thought. What did he mean by that? Like his his? The forever kind of his? Or was it just great sex? Maybe he was the kind of guy who said things in the dark he wouldn’t repeat in the light. I wanted to talk about it, but it would probably be like pulling teeth. Tugging the sheet from what were assuredly perfect hospital corners, I wrapped it around myself and managed to get down the ladder without slipping.

  The smell of freshly made coffee filled my head as soon as I started to descend. I didn’t see him in the kitchen or living room, but I noticed the front door was open. Through the screen door I heard the morning song of the birds, and I remembered he liked to watch the sun rise from the front porch. I set the sheet aside and scooted into the bathroom, where I found a new toothbrush and washcloth laid out for me. God. He’s the sweetest hot-and-cold asshole ever. This could be really good between us…will he try? After using the bathroom, brushing my teeth and scrubbing off what was left of last night’s makeup, I poured two cups of coffee from the full pot, and waddled to the door, holding the sheet tight under my armpits.

  “Hey,” I said through the screen. He’d been sitting there writing, and jumped at the sound of my voice. “Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “No, it’s all right.” He quickly closed the notebook, stuck the pencil inside the spiral, and set it on the porch floor before standing. “I didn’t expect you up so early. Here, I’ll get the door.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Wow, it’s so beautiful out there.”

  He opened the door and took the cups from me. “I like your outfit.”

  “You’re not mad I pulled the sheet off the bed?” I stepped past him onto the porch and took one cup from his hand.

  “Uh, no.” He let the screen door slap shut and brought his coffee to his lips. “I’m particular,
but I’m not totally insane.” He paused. “Usually.”

  Smiling, I swished over to the other rocker, sat down, and looked around. “So this is sunrise.”

  Sebastian laughed. “This is sunrise. Ever seen one before?”

  “Yes. But not after a night’s sleep. The bars close late in New York, as you know, so if I worked till close, sometimes the sun was coming up by the time I got off. But it didn’t look like this. Or sound like this or feel like this.” I inhaled, the scent of dark roast coffee mixing with the fresh, woodsy air. “Or smell like this.”

  Nodding, he sat in the other chair, and I tried—I really tried—not to bombard him with personal questions right away. But there was just so much I wanted to know about him! Everything from What do you like to eat for breakfast to What do you write about in that notebook to What did you mean last night that you wanted to make me yours to Are you ready for another round?

  But I didn’t want to spook him too soon, and anyway, it was nice just sitting here. I could get used to this.

  Whoa. Whoa there.

  Somewhere inside me, rational sense suddenly spoke up. You just spent your first night together, so don’t go getting all attached to him or this or anything else. He already told you he moved here to get away and doesn’t want a serious relationship, so don’t go thinking one night of great sex was going to change his mind about that. You are not a special snowflake. I lifted my cup to my lips.

  “Hey. No frowning at sunrise.”

  I sipped and smiled at him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to. I was just thinking too hard.”

  “Bout what?”

  Inhale. Exhale. “About last night.”

  A dark look crossed his face, and he looked out into the trees. “It was too much for you.”

  “No! No, not at all. I liked it.”

  “Did you?”

  It was cool on the porch, but my body warmed. “I loved it, actually.” I dropped my eyes to my coffee. “I’ve never done that before.”

  “Me either.”

  I looked at him, surprised. “No? My God, you knew exactly what you were doing! You seemed so sure of yourself.”

  “I know how to tie a good knot. And I’d certainly thought about doing it plenty of times.” He looked away from me for a second. “I’ve just never met anyone I felt comfortable enough to do it with.”

  “Not even your fiancée?” I couldn’t resist.

  “Especially not her.”

  Oh my God, what did that mean? I was trying to work it out in my brain when he reached over and tugged on the sheet. “Hey. Stop analyzing. Last night was fun. Let’s leave it at that.”

  What? Was he fucking kidding? I couldn’t leave it at fun! What about all the things we’d said? Didn’t they mean anything? “But—”

  “No buts. Come here.”

  A little frustrated, I got up, coffee and sheet and all, and went over to his chair, where he opened his arms and motioned for me to sit onto his lap. His chest was warm, and I leaned back against it, trying not to feel disappointed that he wasn’t going to tell me anything else.

  And then the notebook at our feet caught my eye.

  “Are you a writer too?” I ventured.

  “No. Not really.”

  “I noticed you have that notebook with you a lot.”

  He hesitated. “It’s part of my therapy.”

  “Oh.” I paused for a sip of coffee, wishing I could see his face. Could I keep asking or was I pushing it? “Like a journal?”

  “Sort of.”

  And that was it. We talked a little about the reunion and the job at the winery he wanted me to apply for, but nothing more personal. When our cups were empty, Sebastian offered to refill them, and I stood. He kissed my cheek. “You’re even prettier with no makeup on. Do you know that?”

  I blushed. “Thank you. I appreciate the things you left out for me in the bathroom. You do that for all your dates?”

  “Stop it. I’ve never had a woman here, Skylar. You’re the first.”

  As I watched him go inside, the thought of another woman here with him struck me with a jealousy so fierce it knocked the wind out of my chest. Shit. I really liked him. I wanted this to be something. Why wouldn’t he talk to me? I looked down at the notebook again, the powerful urge to peek inside it overwhelming me.

  No. Don’t do it.

  But when I heard the bathroom door open and shut, I acted without hesitation. I wanted to know—was he feeling anything like I was? Was he just too scared to tell me? Crouching down, I flipped quickly to the last page and looked to see what he’d written. My heart was already beating madly when I saw my name.

  Skylar

  You fall softly

  like snow

  mine

  I read through the words on the page quickly, gooseflesh covering my skin, and when I didn’t hear the door open again, I read through it once more, savoring the words this time. Tears welled in my eyes—I did want to gather the broken pieces of him close to me. But what did he mean by my “foolish” heart? Was he saying I was dumb to think this could work?

  I flipped back a couple pages and the word kissing caught my eye. As I began to read, my stomach turned over.

  I’m kissing her. We’re on the couch, and she’s sitting beside me. My hands are in her hair, and it occurs to me that I could have the urge to put my hands on her neck and squeeze her throat, cutting off her air. I am weak and will give in to this urge. I pull back from the kiss and she smiles at me. I wrap my hands around her throat and watch the confusion come over her face, her blue eyes widening in concern. She is vulnerable and helpless and trusting. Helpless to control the impulse, I squeeze hard, so that she cannot breathe. Her pale complexion purples as she struggles to breathe, and her eyes are terrified. In a moment, it’s done. I’ve crushed the life out of this beautiful creature, and I deserve to die for it.

  The screen door opened. “What the fuck?”

  I jumped up, my face burning hot, my skin prickling with shame. “Oh God, Sebastian. I’m sorry, I—”

  “Godammit, Skylar. This is personal.” He set the cups on the wood floor so hard coffee sloshed over the edges and picked up the notebook, which was still open to the page I’d read. As he glanced at it, his complexion darkened. “Fuck. Fuck!”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, tears spilling over. “I just wanted to know how you felt and you wouldn’t tell me. But…what is that stuff about choking someone?” Those words…what the hell was that about? Was it some kind of fantasy? Or was it therapy?

  He slammed the notebook shut and stared at me. I’d never seen such rage in his eyes. “Did you need to see if I was the monster I say I am? Got your fucking answer, didn’t you.”

  “Please. I don’t think you’re a monster.” I yanked the sheet up higher and wiped at the tears coursing down my cheeks.

  “Yes, you do. I can see it on your face.”

  “No. It was so wrong of me to look in there, Sebastian, and I’ll never do it again. Please say you’ll forgive me.”

  He closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled loudly.

  “Talk to me!”

  He opened his eyes and stared hard at me. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want the truth. Did you look in it the first time? The time I left it at the shop?”

  Oh fuck. This really sucked. I wasn’t even wearing clothes—I had no armor at all. Taking a deep breath, I nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

  “What did you see?”

  I swallowed hard. “I saw the list of things with the numbers, and I saw that Talk to Skylar Nixon was written.”

  “Anything else?” The cold fury in his voice made me tear up all over again.

  “Yes. I saw a poem you must have written about me the day we saw each other again at the beach. It was so beautiful, Sebastian. I was so drawn to you after reading it.”

  He laughed bitterly. “Really.”

  “Yes! At least I’m being honest!”

  “You got caught. You have to be honest now.”


  I bit my lip, torn between wanting answers and knowing I should shut up. “What was that about choking a woman? Was it therapy? Was it about me?”

  “Fuck off. Not everything in my life is about you.” He turned and stormed into the cabin, leaving me to sob uncontrollably on the porch.

  God, why couldn’t I have minded my own business? Why hadn’t I just asked him directly what I wanted to know? Why couldn’t he and I make this work, and was it even worth trying? If our start was this rocky, should we just forget it?

  I collapsed onto the porch steps and cried hard into my arms.

  Up in the loft, I threw the fucking notebook on the floor and sat down hard on the edge of the bed. I was mad as fuck, and I was horrified. Skylar had seen really fucked-up things that I’d written—things that I wasn’t comfortable sharing with her yet, so I’d lashed out. The SUDS list was one thing, I might have talked with her about that eventually anyway, but the stuff about her…God. She’d seen the exercise Ken had recommended where I imagine the worst—I’d written that the night I’d seen her at the beach in the attempt to lessen the impact of the thought, to wrest control away from it. I’d written in graphic detail about strangling her—my God, what she must think? She was probably down there calling the police!

  It was a matter of time, anyway.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Maybe that was true.

  Still, I’d treated her cruelly. As if I didn’t know what it was like to mess up and be sorry for it. And yet she’d apologized and asked my forgiveness.

  I was a monster.

  You warned her. She can’t say you didn’t.

  “So now what, asshole?” I muttered, rubbing my face with my hands.

  From downstairs I heard the screen door shut, and a moment later I saw her messy blonde head coming up the ladder. She got to the top, struggled with the sheet, then stood up tall. Her face was tearstained and her eyes were red, but the set of her chin was defiant.

  “Here’s the thing,” she announced. “I’m not letting us ruin this.”