by Monica James
“No! I can’t,” she exclaims, racing through my house with me following closely behind.
She’s feet away from the front door, and she’s seconds away from walking out of my life. “Please,” I plead. “I would never judge you. You can talk to me. You need to talk to someone about what just happened.”
She spins around so quickly her hair nearly whips me in the face with the force. “So you can psychoanalyze me? Or try and fix me? No thank you. I’m broken, and no amount of talking will ever fix that.”
“You don’t know that. Just trust me,” I press, taking a step toward her.
“No,” she barks, lowering her eyes. “I can’t. I can never see you again, Dixon. I’m sorry, I never should have let it get this far.”
Her words leave me winded, but I try my best to be levelheaded and understanding. “Hey, I was right there with you,” I state, her words making no sense. “You certainly didn’t feel sorry when you kissed me back.”
“It was a mistake,” she harshly rebukes, and I flinch.
I know she’s scared and probably confused, but I’ll be damned if she downplays what just happened in my room.
“You and I both know that’s not true,” I retort with a heated chuckle.
“I…I have a boyfriend,” she pathetically states, clutching at straws, but I see red.
How dare she bring him into this, because using him as an excuse to hide behind is just cowardly.
“Well, it wasn’t your boyfriend’s hands all over your willing body five minutes ago, was it?” I challenge with a bite to my tone.
“You bastard,” she spits, narrowing her eyes. “This should have never happened.”
“Well, too bad, it has happened, now deal with the consequences.”
“No, I take it back,” she stubbornly counters, and her bullshit denial infuriates me further.
“I told you,” I say, stepping forward and caging her body with mine as I place both hands against the door behind her. “You can’t take it back.”
“It was a m-mistake,” she stutters, her green eyes fearful, her back pressing further into the door.
“So you call what we just did a mistake?” I question, and she unconvincingly nods.
“You and I, we would never work. It was fun, but we’re both very different people. We want different things,” she says, her words cutting deep as they mirror Lily’s parting speech.
“Fun? It was more than just fun and you know it. Grow up and talk to me like an adult,” I say. A touch harsh, but I need her to be honest and tell me what’s really going on.
But she’s so damn pigheaded. “So you think I’m a child?” she counters, the hurt reflected on her face.
“As of right now, yes, you’re behaving like a child,” I reply. I don’t understand her actions. This isn’t the Madison I know. But maybe I don’t know the real Madison after all.
“Well, this child wishes to leave.” Her final words are my undoing. “Like I said, this was a mistake.”
I open my mouth to protest, but shut it quickly when she cruelly adds, “You are a mistake.”
I take a moment to process what’s just been said, and although I know she’s lying, I refuse to continue this conversation if she won’t meet me halfway. “That’s bullshit and you know it. The only mistake here is me letting you leave.”
I push off the door and step back, my breath leaving me in labored breaths ’cause I’m so pissed off.
If she wants to leave, I’m not going to force her to stay, but once she’s gone, she’s gone. I don’t give second chances, and I sure as hell don’t give them to someone who thinks I’m a mistake.
“Goodbye, Madison,” I say, turning my back on her because I can’t bear to watch her turn her back on me.
“Dixon,” she replies with a sigh, but I don’t turn around. I simply look around my apartment, wondering when this turned to shit.
“For what it’s worth, it’s not you, it’s me.”
“Just leave,” I say, not interested in hearing her excuses. Not interested in fighting for someone who doesn’t want to be fought for.
“I’m sorry I hurt you.” And with those parting words, Madison closes the door on what could have been, but never will.
Act III
One month later…
24
Back to the Beginning
DIXON
Bob.
Bob.
Breathe.
Bob.
Bob.
Gag.
I like getting my dick sucked as much as the next guy, but when it’s my fourth blowjob of the week, and I have no idea who each giver is, each suck and lick all tangle into one.
Looking at my smudged reflection in the bathroom mirror, I despise what I see.
Over a month ago, I allowed the only girl I’ve liked in a very long time to walk away from me because she hurt my damn feelings. What a soft cock. But that’s the problem. My not-so-soft cock got me into trouble in the first place, and now I’m back screwing endless women, not giving a damn who or when or why.
My lackluster release comes spilling out of my uninterested dick, and the random brunette at my feet takes it all without missing a drop. My orgasm is the same as the one I had this morning, pointless and hollow. But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, and I gotta do every woman in Manhattan because I can’t have the one I want.
Wiping her red painted lips, the chick whose name I’ve already forgotten looks up at me from under her fake lashes. “My turn,” she purrs and stands, boosting herself up on the basin, spreading her legs out wide.
Her short skirt bunches up around her waist and I can see she’s not wearing underwear. Her smooth entrance is slick and glossy, and where most men would be on their knees in a second, pleasuring this wannabe model, I simply rearrange myself and zip up my fly.
“Maybe next time, sweetheart.” I’m lying through my teeth.
“What?” she gasps, incredulous that I would leave her high and dry. “You’re not going to return the favor?”
When I merely shrug, bored by her melodramatics, she yells, “You pig!”
“Well, that’s what happens when you blow a stranger in a public bathroom,” I say, adjusting my cufflinks.
“You said I was beautiful!” she shouts, her eyes filling with tears.
“You are.” I reach forward and pull her dress down, as her cooch is giving me the stink eye. “It’s just too bad beauty only gets you so far in this world.”
“Huh?” she replies, scrunching up her nose job.
“When you’re older, you’ll understand beauty is only skin deep. But all this—” I flick my hand at her materialistic getup “—gets you fucked, and not in a good way, by bastards like me.” I unlock the bathroom door, avoiding the glares of irritated females who are in desperate need to use the restroom.
Making my way back to our table, Finch and Hunter take one look at me and roll their eyes.
“Again?”Finch asks, raising his eyebrows.
I casually shrug, stealing Harper’s beer. “What can I say?”
“You can say you’re a dirty man-whore,” Hunter pipes up in disgust. “You can keep that,” he adds, pointing to his beer. “I have no idea where your mouth has been.”
“Not listening,” I reply, flipping him off.
“Dix, we’re worried,” Finch says, and I can’t help but compare his comment to the one he made all those months ago.
Same bar. Same night. Same issue. Although this time, it feels a million times worse.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” I reply. “I’m fine. Life is peachy. I’ll be leaving for Boston tomorrow, and I plan on knocking the socks off all of those bigwigs and making myself known.”
“Well, you’re certainly doing that here.”
Needless to say, Hunter is pissed at me for not being a man and calling Madison. He really took to her, and although I’ve told him numerous times that it ended before it even began, he’s still living in denial.
“Just call her,” he exclaims for the twentieth time this hour.
“Why don’t you call her?” I suggest, but instantly regret it as his face lights up. “It was a joke. You will not be calling her, or seeing her at her work, for that matter. All forms of communication are off. Understood?”
When Hunter ignores me, I repeat. “Understood?”
“Yes, loud and clear,” he replies unhappily. “I just wish—” but I cut him off by holding up my finger.
“This conversation is over.”
Hunter huffs and folds his arms across his chest, but I refuse to give in.
I entertained the notion of maybe contacting Madison within the first few days after she walked out on me, but after those few silent days transpired, I realized her silence was almost deafening, and we were done.
I’m sick of women and their head games. I’ve had enough to last me a lifetime. So I’ve decided to go back to what I know, and what I’m good at. Work, sleep, and sex.
Work is easy. Sleep is easy. Sex is easy. It’s all the stuff in between that gets in the way.
“You looking forward to Boston?” Finch asks, trying to change the subject, and I nod.
“It’ll be nice to get away for a few days,” I reply, as I’m extending my trip out, and having a few extra days of R&R.
Thankfully, I’ll be going alone, as I haven’t heard from Juliet—bar a lacy thong she sent to my office—since the night I told her it was over. At least one good thing came out of that night.
Getting out of NY will do me good because, like the city that never sleeps, neither do I.
25
Kicking the Habit
DIXON
I arrive in Boston early the next morning.
The moment I enter my lavish room, I draw the curtains, switch off all forms of technology, and drink myself into oblivion thanks to the two bottles of scotch I purchased on my drive down here. I plan on staying this way till I pass out, as I’m too exhausted to face the harsh light of day.
* * *
Nature calls some time later, so I crawl out of my drunken stupor, unsure of what day or time it is. Quite frankly, I don’t give a damn. I have no plans, and the awards ceremony isn’t till Saturday evening, which is six days away…I think. On that note, time to face reality, as I think I’ve hibernated enough.
I shower, but don’t bother to shave. I throw on some jeans and an old tee, and I’m ready to face the world. Firing up my laptop, I groan when I see the three hundred plus emails waiting for me to read. But they can wait. Anything important, Susanna would have attended to anyway.
Checking my stocks and the Yankees score, I switch off my computer, having had enough for the day.
I power up my cell, and when I see it’s Monday evening, I can’t believe I slept through the entire weekend. But what was the point of staying awake?
My cell dings, indicating I have a text message. When I see who the sender is, I nearly fall out of my seat.
Miss me? ;)The message taunts me with its winky emoticon.
I really don’t know what to think other than why the hell is Juliet messaging me?
Honestly, I believed she would have forgotten all about me and moved onto the next chump. So when she texts me once again, I can’t help but think that maybe I was wrong.
I’ve missed you. All of you.
No guessing what part she misses the most.
I decide to reply, afraid that if I don’t, she’ll continue messaging me like nothing happened.
Hello Juliet. What do you want?
Not the nicest way to say hello to someone you’ve slept with, but I’m not in the mood for her formalities.
I was just wondering what time I should come down for the ceremony.
I read the message twice because it surely can’t say what I think it did. But it does.
Is she insane? When she sends through another text, I know the answer is yes.
I can’t wait to show you my dress…and what’s underneath.
Have I just been transported to the twilight zone without my knowledge? Why on earth does she think she’s still coming? I thought the whole “it’s been interesting, but I think it’s best we stop seeing one another” speech made my intentions clear, but she obviously thinks it was some kind of foreplay.
It’s time I set her straight.
I apologize if there’s been some kind of misunderstanding, but I thought I made myself clear. You and I, we’re done. Therefore, you turning up to an event, which is highly important to me, is really not appropriate. I do apologize for any confusion.
This is the nicest possible way I can tell her to fuck off. I don’t have the time or patience to be dealing with this, and quite frankly, I’m insulted that she thinks she can just message me after all this time and believe I would welcome her, dick in hand.
When I don’t receive a response for a few minutes, I don’t know if I should celebrate or hide. My growling stomach screams at me, demanding I stop being a pussy and go eat. I send a brief text to Hunter, Finch, and Susanna, letting them know I’m alive. I then grab my wallet and room key, and go in search for some food, making sure to leave my cell phone behind.
* * *
The moment the glaring sunset hit my light-sensitive corneas, I decided to dine in at the hotel restaurant, as I’m not that ready to face the world. I’m also quite certain I still might be a touch intoxicated—but two bottles of scotch over a weekend will do that.
Looking over the menu, I decide to order a feast and make up for lost time because I’m ravenous. After placing my order, I begin flicking through my iPad and decide to take some notes on the paper I’m currently writing. I finally have the time to focus on my research, and I plan on utilizing every second, seeing as I will be amongst fellow comrades who will appreciate my findings.
Lost in the current edition of the Medical Journal, I fail to notice someone standing beside me until I hear a throat being cleared. Looking up, I see the blue-eyed waitress who took my order earlier standing by my table.
“Can I get you another beer?” she asks, looking at my full Budweiser.
“I’m okay for the moment,” I reply, and notice her looking down at my iPad.
“Are you here for the doctor thingie?” she gushes, and points above her head, indicating the ballroom where the event will be held.
“Yes, I am.”
“That’s really cool,” she says, brushing a blonde lock of hair behind her ear. “Are you a doctor?”
“Psychiatrist,” I reply, slipping off my glasses and reaching for my beer.
“Ooh, so you can read people’s minds or something?” she says, and I’m not sure if she’s being serious or not, so I chuckle, not wanting to offend her.
“It’s one of my many talents.”
“I can believe that,” she says, her voice dropping low as she does a quick sweep down my body. “What other talents do you have, Doctor?”
God, this really is too easy. You’d think I’d be put off women, considering everything that has happened. But I’m not.
Curling my finger and beckoning her to come closer, she complies and stoops low, cupping her ear when I indicate it’s a secret.
“It’s probably better if I show you,” I say, my voice filled with empty promise.
She giggles and pulls back slightly, but she’s still close enough that I can see her pupils dilate in desire. “Maybe you could show me after my shift, then? I get off at ten.”
“Oh, you will be getting off at ten, sweetheart,” I say with a confident nod. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Her cheeks instantly flush and her mouth parts, and yes, I feel like a dirty old man, seeing as she looks to be no older than twenty-one, but hey, when in Rome—or Boston. She reaches into her apron pocket, pulls out a notepad, and quickly writes something down.
“Here, handsome.” She slips me her number across the tabletop. “Make sure you call. I’ll be waiting.”
I reach for it, but she stops me
by placing her palm over mine. “Oh, and by the way,” she says, daringly. “You’ll be getting off at 10:05.” She gives me a coy wink before walking away, leaving me with a clear view of her tight behind.
Watching until she disappears from sight, I fold up her number and place it in my pocket. I really should steer clear of women, seeing as five minutes ago I had the intention to dedicate all my free time to research. But all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
I cringe the moment the phrase enters my mind, as it reminds me of Madison. But a lot of things remind me of her. This past month has been tough, and I’m man enough to admit that I do think about her from time to time. I wonder how she is, what she’s doing, who’s she doing, but more importantly, I wonder if she’s thinking about me half as much as I’m thinking about her.
Blowing out a frustrated breath, I tell myself this is the last time I will allow my thoughts to stray to her, because the lack of contact is a sure sign she’s forgotten about me—just as I should do with her.
“Dixon?” a voice asks, and I look up to see the kind, weathered face of my old college professor, Dr. Wellington.
“Dr. Wellington?” I say, unable to keep the surprise from my voice. “Whatever are you doing here?” I ask, standing up and shaking his hand.
“Oh, I’m the guest speaker for the awards ceremony, which is nonsense. I can’t imagine what they think an old coot like me would have to say that would be of interest to you young folk,” he modestly replies, and I laugh.
“Don’t be ridiculous, you taught me everything I know. Without you, I dare say, I would have given up in the first semester.”
Dr. Wellington chuckles, which gets caught in his throat, and he coughs while patting his chest. “Well thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment, seeing as I’ve heard you’ve made quite a name for yourself, Dr. Mathews.”
