by Monica James
Juliet must sense my detachment because her eyes pop open and drop to my very unenthused lap. Her hand stills from fondling herself. “Is everything okay?”
I scratch the side of my head. “Sorry. I’m just not into it.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re not doing it for me,” I bluntly reply.
Her hand falls out from under her slip. “Why? You never had a problem getting hard before.”
Shrugging, I casually cross my ankle over my knee. “I know, but that was before…” and I pause on purpose.
“Before what?”
I remain silent, allowing her to fill in the blanks. “Before I got fat and resembled a beached whale?”
I look away, not because her words hold any truth but because she’s played into my trap perfectly. I couldn’t care less that she’s put on weight. She’s not doing it for me because she’s not who I want. She doesn’t stimulate me emotionally, and my emotions are now the ruler of my dick.
Just like I knew she would, she’s jumped to the conclusion that her looks are what have left me with a flaccid cock. She would never presume that I can’t get a hard-on because she’s a blackmailing, lying bitch. I never once said her pregnancy is the reason for my impotence—she did.
In this moment, a small, tiny, stupid part of me actually feels sorry for her. To live her life like this must be so…tiresome. She’ll never understand that true beauty is found within.
Just like with her relationship, I’ve planted a seed and now I’ll watch it grow. “I’m revolting.” She self-consciously tugs at the hem of her slip. “No one wants me anymore.”
“And that bothers you?”
“Of course it does.”
“Why?”
“Because there was a time when people were begging to have sex with me. Now I’m the one who’s begging. I’m begging for sex,” she scoffs.
“How does that make you feel?” I lean forward, implying I’m listening.
She slumps onto the sofa across from me. “It makes me feel like a fucking leper, Doctor. Going from being wanted to unwanted in a blink of an eye is a slap to a girl’s ego.”
“Maybe it’s time you work on that then.” I’m slowly deconstructing her. There has to be more to her than just sex. She can’t be all bad, can she? But I know the answer is yes, she is. What she did to Madison reveals what kind of a person she is.
“How? I’m not even halfway through my pregnancy. I’m only going to get fatter,” she reveals, totally missing the point.
“I know you’re creative. Think of another way.”
She purses her lips, appearing to be deep in thought. “The only way is if she disappeared.”
I count to three before I speak. “You can’t wish all your enemies to disappear to solve your problems, Juliet. You need to take responsibility for your actions.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Do you think you hide behind sex? That you use it to gain control?”
She laughs incredulously, but when her lips pull into a thin line, I know I’m on to something. “And now that sex isn’t working, you feel helpless and powerless?”
She shrugs. “For argument’s sake, if what you’re saying is true, what do I do about it?”
“Well, for starters, you could stop hiding behind your pussy and start working on yourself.”
She pulls back, appearing hurt. “So now you’re saying I’m ugly on the inside as well as the outside?”
If possible, she’s even uglier within. “I never said that,” I reply, omitting my true thoughts.
She folds her arms over her chest. “You may as well have.”
“Why do you think that?”
She appears overcome as she looks away.
Her defeat has me pressing. “Juliet, are you happy?” I intend to keep asking her this until she cracks. I need to find out her weaknesses as this is the key to breaking her.
“As of this moment, no, I’m not. I’m unhappy because I’m sexually frustrated,” she replies, hiding behind sex once again.
I shake my head. “Take the sex out of it. Are. You. Happy?” I repeat slowly.
She blinks once, then twice. “Yes. Very.”
“I think you’re lying,” I state with poise.
“Well, I’m not,” she replies defensively.
“You’re only lying to yourself. I think you’re extremely unhappy, and you have been for a very long time. As they say, misery loves company, and I think you’re the most miserable of the bunch.”
Tears prick her eyes.
Her vulnerability gives me an idea. “Have you ever thought your misery was a consequence of your actions? They do say karma is only a bitch if you are.” She pulls back like I’ve slapped her. “Maybe this is your karma catching up to you?”
“Nobody’s perfect.” She sniffs, wiping her nose.
“You’re right. But some people are just born bad. And those people are the ones who end up alone.”
Juliet blanches, her worst fears expressed out loud.
I’m tearing her down both physically and mentally, and when a tear runs down her cheek, a sense of wrongdoing passes over me. Breaking Juliet is going to be a lot easier than I thought it would be, and suddenly, I feel like the villain in this story.
I quickly stand before I lose my cool and fuck up everything I’ve put into motion. I’m here for a reason. I must never forget that.
“Where are you going?” She jumps up, wiping her eyes, embarrassed.
“Home.”
“I want you to stay. We don’t have to do anything. Maybe you could…hold me?”
Hold her? Even when we were involved, not once did I hold her. But I squash down that response. By tonight’s short evaluation, I’ve diagnosed Juliet as being a vulnerable narcissist with a borderline personality disorder. I still believe she has a deep-seated sense of shame that emerged during early childhood. Could it be she secretly feels guilty for what she saw? Or was her mother’s passing the one event that totally fucked her up?
In her own way, Juliet has a fragile self-esteem. The fact I haven’t succumbed to her spell has left her feeling disempowered. She also feels inadequate. When I walk out that door, she’ll be preoccupied with fears of rejection and abandonment because her charm no longer works. She can no longer control those she wants with the lure of her golden cooch. And, to a narcissist, that is their worst fear.
She actually cares what Dylan and I think of her. That’s what distinguishes her from being a total sociopath.
The problem is, now that I know what’s “wrong” with her, what do I plan on doing with that information? I could really crush her, but do I want to? By playing this game with her, I’m lowering myself to her level. I’m totally manipulating someone who could use my help. I suddenly feel like I’m kicking a defenseless puppy.
But when I think about Madison and how Juliet could have saved her, my emotions overthrow my conscience and I know what has to be done. I must remind myself that a narcissist is always playing to win. And by not playing, but rather by playing her back, is how I win.
“Maybe next time,” I reply without emotion.
I need to leave her wanting and craving more because she’s too damn proud to beg. She replies as I know she would. “Okay.”
I stroll toward the door, going over my Psychology 101. Compliments are like food to starving narcissists. “By the way,” I say over my shoulder. “I’m still as intrigued by you as I was the day I met you.” This is in fact true. But just not in the way she thinks I mean it.
Her cheeks flush and she appears sated…for now.
She doesn’t reply and allows me to leave. I’ve stoked her self-importance and therefore she thinks she’s won. But she has no idea who she’s playing against.
She never did.
ACT II
One month later ...
17
All Great Achievements Require Time
DIXON
“Now remember what I told you?”<
br />
“Yes.”
“Say it out loud.” I adjust the volume on my Bluetooth to ensure I hear her properly.
“You’ll be gone for ten days, and you will be unreachable because you’ll be stuck in meetings all day.”
“Good girl.”
This past month has been trying, but in the words of a great woman, Maya Angelou, “All great achievements require time.” And there is no greater achievement than seeing Juliet become putty in my hands.
I’ve molded and manipulated her into whom and what I want her to be, and that person is somehow keeping Dylan away from Madison. She’s also no longer threatening to tell Madison about us because she’s under the pretense that she’s in control.
To achieve this power over her, I’ve had to continue lying to Maddy, seeing Juliet behind her back. Yes, I feel guilty, but that guilt has slowly been replaced with victory. I’ve finally won the game Juliet was so sure she’d win.
I haven’t done anything too deplorable, and not once have I touched her to get what I want. I have encouraged her to touch herself, but only when I’m gone, as I’m not interested in seeing that sight ever again.
From the time spent with Juliet, I have discovered that her addiction stems back to one person: Dylan Roberts. She is completely and totally infatuated with him, and has been since the day they met. Too bad his obsession lies with someone other than her. Juliet knows who that person is, and it haunts her every day. Because of that, she despises Madison. She always has. Madison has what Juliet wants—Dylan’s unconditional love.
It’s safe to assume that I was right and she saw Dylan’s act of violence as an act of love, and the reason she didn’t tell anyone about what she saw was because she was jealous, so from that day forward, she used sex to reel Dylan in. When that didn’t work, because she still didn’t have Dylan’s complete affection, she used sex to control other men and women because the one person she wanted didn’t want her back. And, like a complete and utter moron, I fell into her trap.
But not anymore.
She’s now filled with self-doubt over everything, self-doubt I planted.
Clearing my throat and squashing down my feelings of shame, I say, “Okay, I’m just heading to the airport now. I better run.”
“I wish I could come too. I’ve always wanted to go to Switzerland.”
I indicate to make a right-hand turn. “Maybe next time. Do you have anything planned for this evening?”
Her unimpressed sigh answers my question. “No. Dylan has to work late.”
“Check your emails,” I command, zipping in and out of traffic, as I’m running late.
“What? Right now?”
“Yes.”
I hear her phone beeping away and then a gasp. “Dixon, this is amazing. Thank you.”
“The pleasure is all mine. You deserve some R&R, and what better place for that to happen than the Hamptons?” I state, referring to the spa and hotel package I purchased for her.
“The ticket is valid for two people,” she says, reading over the details.
“Yes. I thought you may want to take Rachel along,” I reply, knowing damn well she won’t take her stepmother.
She pauses before asking, “Would you mind if I took Dylan instead?”
I fake-sigh. “I suppose not. Do whatever makes you happy.”
“Thank you, Dixon. This is exactly what we need. Seven days away from Manhattan and everybody who lives in it.”
“You’re welcome.” Little does she know, this is exactly what I need.
It’s Madison’s birthday in three days, and I meant it when I said I was taking her to Rome. However, I didn’t want Juliet to know. I have been playing off my relationship with Madison as just a casual thing, but taking her to Italy for her birthday doesn’t really support that claim, so I needed Juliet busy, and the only way I can do that is by sending her away to some girly retreat and occupying her time with foot massages, yoga, and whatever else they do at those places.
I also needed Dylan to be gone, as I have no doubt he’s secretly been watching Maddy’s door, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Although the majority of her time has been spent with me, she still drops by her apartment every couple of days to pack clean clothes. If he didn’t see her, he’d start asking questions, questions that Rachel knows the answers to. I can’t risk him accidentally spilling the beans to Juliet. I know I’m being extra cautious, but I won’t have anything ruining my time away with Maddy.
As much as I hate to admit it, this double life is growing old, just like Hunter and Finch said it would. But I have a plan.
I can see a change in Madison. It may be small, but it’s a change nonetheless. She never divulges what she discusses at therapy, but I know that sooner or later she’ll be ready to tell Rachel and Sebastian her secret. And when she does, I’ll be free.
I’ll no longer have to continue on with this charade, as I have no doubt Dylan will want to get as far away from Rachel and Sebastian as he can get. So will Juliet. She’s just as guilty as he is, and I know he’ll take the coward’s way out and run. I also know Juliet will go with him. She’ll move heaven and hell to be with him, so I’m hoping he runs far, far away and never comes back.
This is the only thing keeping me going, and as much as I want this reality to be now, I won’t push Madison in any way because this is something she can’t rush.
“I just got to the airport. Enjoy your time away,” I say, pulling up at the curb.
“Thank you. You too. I’ll speak to you when you get back.”
I can’t help but smirk. “Yes, you will.”
I end the call and wave to an excited Madison who is waiting for me in front of her workplace. She runs over to the car and yanks the door open. “Please tell me you remembered to bring my luggage?” she says as she jumps into the passenger seat.
I look over my shoulder to answer her question—my backseat and trunk is filled with suitcases.
She chuckles and leans across the seat to give my cheek a quick kiss. “Well, that’s what happens when you don’t tell a girl where you’re taking her. We could be going to Alaska for all I know. I needed to pack for all seasons,” she explains, while I playfully shake my head.
“So you’re really not telling me where we’re going?” she asks as I pull into traffic.
“Nope. It’s a surprise. But I can assure you, it’s not Alaska.”
She slumps low in her seat and crosses her arms over her chest dramatically. “Okay, I suppose I’ve waited this long. A few more minutes won’t hurt…too much,” she adds with a smile.
Her excitement is palpable, and honestly, so is mine. I can’t wait to spend ten whole days with her. And ten whole days without the she-devil. I’m quite certain Madison has no idea that something is out in left field, and a small part of me is concerned that I’m getting better at lying to her. But being away from Manhattan allows me to forget all about that and focus on what’s important—her.
“How was work?” I ask, taking the turn for JFK. Maddy couldn’t get out of her morning shift, but was able to leave at ten-thirty so we could catch our one-thirty flight.
“It was boring. I was able to cram in a ton of homework though. Hey, are we going to the airport?” she questions, sitting up tall and practically pressing her nose against the windshield.
“Maybe,” I reply, unable to hide my smile.
“Oh my God! I thought we were going on a road trip.”
“We still might be.”
“Ugh.” She falls back into her seat. “You are too good at keeping secrets.”
I know her comment is harmless, but I still feel a heavy weight form in the pit of my stomach. Ignoring that sinking feeling, I focus on Maddy as she talks about internships. She really wants the gig at Mount Sinai Hospital, and her chances are looking good.
The drive into JFK is thankfully short and as I park my car into the long-term parking lot, Maddy raises an eyebrow.
“Can you please tell me where we’re going?”
She interlaces her fingers into praying hands.
“No,” I reply, kissing the tip of her nose.
We jump onto the shuttle and ride it until we reach the international terminals. I unload Maddy’s three suitcases, while she bounces on the spot excitedly.
“Dixon, you’re killing me!” she whines behind me as I steer our cart through the glass doors.
She really is too adorable, and I can’t wait until she finally finds out where we’re going. As we make our way through the crowd, I can’t stop thinking about what lies ahead. Our own private villa allows us complete seclusion, and truthfully, I don’t know how I’m going to keep my hands to myself.
“Oh my effing God! No? No way!” Madison’s almost curse alerts me to the fact that she’s guessed where we’re going.
I come to a halt and smirk. “See, now wasn’t that worth the wait?”
Looking down at her, I realize that this secret, all my secrets, have been worthwhile because nothing can ever compare to her throwing herself in my arms while crying happily. “You’re really taking me to Rome? I thought you were kidding!” she says, sniffing back her tears.
“No, I think I took a wrong turn,” I tease, hugging her tight.
She chuckles and sobs in the same breath, but then suddenly pulls out of my embrace, looking troubled. “I didn’t pack my passport!”
“Looks like you can’t come then.” I sigh, but quickly grin when she looks like she’s about to start crying again.
“Oh, you’re so mean, Dixon Mathews.” She pokes her tongue out at me playfully.
I lower her to her feet and reach into my jacket pocket, producing her passport. “Lucky your mom did.”
She raises an eyebrow. “My mom was in on this?” When I smirk, she snatches the passport from my hand. “Don’t answer that.” As we check-in at the first-class counter, Madison’s eyes grow wide. “I’ve never flown first class before.”
