by Hazel Hughes
Sebastian stared at her like a hunter closing in on its prey. Elizabeth felt a thrill of fear mingled with excitement. She had that edge-of-the-cliff feeling again, like she was standing on a precipice with Sebastian by her side, urging her to jump.
As if he sensed her ambivalence, he touched a finger to her lips to quiet her. “Don’t worry. You are going to like this.”
Just then they heard a tinkling chime. It was the doorbell.
“Oh, good,” he said, his eyes narrowing, his mouth curving in a dangerous smile. “They’re here.”
*
Elizabeth lay on the smooth cotton sheets, staring at her still-booted toes and feeling slightly ridiculous. Sebastian had snaked off the bed and closed the door that divided the bedroom from the sitting room behind him with a wink, ignoring Elizabeth’s hoarsely whispered, “Who’s here?”
He had been talking with them now for over fifteen minutes. Seventeen and a half, according to the clock on the bedside table that didn’t hold the collection of sex toys. They were women. That was all Elizabeth knew. And Sebastian was pulling his flirtatious routine with them. She could tell by the sound of their laughter, prolonged and wicked.
Who were they, and what were they doing here, she wondered? More to the point, what was she, mother, wife, somewhat respected professional, doing in a swanky hotel room chained up like a victim of the inquisition while her lover exchanged cocktail banter with some other women? The buzz she had felt in Sebastian’s presence had worn off and now all she felt was trapped, humiliated and cold.
Elizabeth flipped over onto her stomach, trying to kick and wriggle some of the bedspread on top of her. Then she heard the bedroom door open.
“Well, well, well,” a female voice said. She felt long-nailed fingertips sliding up the back of her leg. She twisted her neck, looking over her shoulder to see who was touching her.
“Hello, honey-girl,” the woman said, her fingertips now gliding over her buttocks and onto the small of her back, smiling knowingly, her voice a lilting combination of West Indies and west Birmingham. Long silky black hair hung down past her brown bare shoulders, and she was dressed entirely in skin-sucking black PVC, from bustier to thigh-high boots. She had one of those enviably ageless faces and could have been anywhere from twenty-five to forty-five.
Elizabeth stared, speechless, as she was joined by another woman, fair as the first was dark, her hair as obviously fake as the birthday-balloon breasts straining against her white-leather tube dress. She wrapped her pale arm around the first woman’s shoulders and gave her a long, lingering kiss.
“Hello, darlink,” she said, nuzzling her friend but smiling at Elizabeth. “Are you ready to play?”
The dark woman’s full red lips split into a wide grin, revealing a sizable gap between her front teeth. “Look, lovey,” she gestured with one inch-long red talon to the bedside table. “They’ve brought toys.”
She picked up the enormous dildo and, eyes glued to Elizabeth’s, caressed it suggestively.
Elizabeth felt her cheeks burning and her pulse racing. “Sebastian!” she yelled.
The two women laughed, the black woman’s a throaty chuckle, the blond’s a high whinny, as Sebastian came up behind them, looping his arms around their waists. He was sniffing, and his nose and the skin around his eyes was strangely pink. He smiled down at her, his eyes lit with an inner fire.
“What?” he asked, his face a caricature of innocence.
The blond had started stroking him through his jeans, while the dark woman had put down the dildo and was sucking on his earlobe.
“I need to talk to you,” Elizabeth hissed, sure her face must be the color of the lipstick marks the black woman was leaving on Sebastian’s skin. “Alone!”
A smirk twisted momentarily on Sebastian’s face before he replaced it with a neutral stare.
“Ladies, ladies,” he said softly, disengaging himself from their eager hands and lips. “Give us a sec?” He nodded his head in the direction of the sitting room. Pouting comically, the women withdrew. “Help yourself to the goods,” he called after them. He absentmindedly sniffed, smearing traces of white powder off his nose, before turning his attention to Elizabeth.
She stared at him, her mouth agape. She had seen enough movies to know he’d been doing coke.
He sat down on the bed beside her, stroking her hair. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“What’s wrong?” Elizabeth hissed, staring at him angrily, trying to shrug off his hand. “I’m shackled up like a convicted serial killer while you’re in there getting high with those whores and you ask me what’s wrong?”
“You’re right,” he said, unlocking the handcuffs. “I should have had you join us.”
Her hands freed, Elizabeth leaped off the bed, her eyes casting around the room for her clothes. “Damn!” she said, realizing they were in the sitting room with the coke-snorting hookers.
“You don’t like my surprise?” Sebastian asked, the smirk on his lips again. He was moving toward her slowly, stalking.
The high boots and push-up bra that had made her feel powerful and seductive minutes before now made her feel vulnerable. “No,” she said, feeling herself being backed into a corner, literally and figuratively.
Sebastian cupped her face in his hands. She looked into his coked-out eyes, the dilated pupils making him look devoid of emotion, alien. “Elizabeth,” he sighed, his voice low and persuasive. “I made your fantasy come to life. Remember your last night in New York? What was his name?” He moved closer to her, trapping her with his body. Elizabeth’s mind flashed back to that night. Her naked body pressed between the young man’s peach-fuzz smooth skin and Sebastian.
“Brandon,” she said.
Sebastian nibbled along her jaw. “Mm. Brandon.” He wedged his thigh between hers, grinding against her. But what had made her ache with desire earlier just irritated her. Her clitoris felt raw and sore and Sebastian’s loamy scent was clouded with the reek of alcohol. She could smell the women’s mingled perfumes on him, too, overly sweet and musky. She felt like she was going to throw up.
“So, now, Elizabeth,” Sebastian said, wrenching down her bra strap to expose her left breast. “It’s my turn. My fantasy.” He bent his head to pull her nipple into his mouth, sucking it too hard.
“Ouch,” she said, trying to twist away from him, but he clamped his teeth on her nipple biting down.
“Sebastian!” she yelled, slapping the side of his face as hard as she could.
He staggered back from her, his hand held to his reddening cheek, shocked. Then he smiled and advanced toward her again. “Now you’re getting it,” he said.
Elizabeth dodged him, running for the closed bedroom door.
He was too fast, pinning her against it. She could hear the hookers in the other room talking and laughing.
He clamped his hand over her mouth with one hand, holding her wrists over her head with the other. His body crushed her. “Be fair,” he whispered, his breath hot and sour. “Indulge me. You’re just scared. But you’re going to like this. These girls are professionals. They’ll make you come so hard you’ll be seeing stars.”
Sebastian released his grip on her mouth and slid his hand down the length of her body, easing it between her legs. He began to tease her clitoris with his fingers, still talking, but Elizabeth neither felt his touch nor heard his words. She was experiencing a moment of cold, complete clarity. Two thoughts rang out with crystal certainty in her mind.
One. Whatever it was that Sebastian called what he felt for her, it was not love. Two. She had to end this, now, or be destroyed by it, as Mel had.
She finally understood what the agent had been trying to make her see. Sebastian had to push things further each time. He had to make it more dangerous. He had to cause her more pain. He had to control more of her. Elizabeth flashed back to the night before he had first seduced her. He had her pinned against the door of her hotel room, just as he did now. She remembered how she had felt, her b
ody throbbing with lust, her mind clouded by confusion. “What do you want from me?” she had asked. “Complete and utter submission,” was his answer. She had thought he was joking. Of course the irony of it was that if she did submit to him fully, give up everything for him, let him know she was his entirely to do with as he would, he would leave her, just as he had left Mel. Like a curious and malevolent little boy, it was the breaking of the toy that interested him. Once it was broken, it was just trash.
Elizabeth let herself go completely slack, offering no resistance. Sebastian pulled away from her.
“That’s more like it,” he said, but Elizabeth was sure she saw a brief shadow of disappointment in his eyes. “Now, are you ready to play nice?”
Elizabeth looked away without answering. She opened the door, found her clothes where she had dropped them, ignoring the women taking turns snorting white powder off the glass surface of the coffee table.
Finally, she spoke. “No, Sebastian. I’m leaving.”
“Right,” Sebastian said, with a chuckle.
Elizabeth perched on the edge of an armchair as far away from the hookers as possible and unzipped her boots, sighing with relief as she peeled them off. “I’m not joking.” She looked into his eyes, those bottomless black eyes, and saw something shift in them. Fear.
“Aw, come on, lovey,” the dark woman said, coiling her arm around her friend’s waist. “We guarantee a good time.” Both women stared at her with come-hither, half-lidded eyes, the black girl fondling the blonde’s pneumatic breasts.
Elizabeth wasn’t moved. She felt completely calm and flat inside, as if everything that was happening around her was a movie she was watching. She pulled on her jeans and sweater and began to root around in her suitcase for her hiking boots.
Sebastian crouched down beside her and put his hand on hers to stop her. “Elizabeth,” he said, his voice low and persuasive. “Don’t be like this. Please.”
She paused and glanced at him. He touched her hair, tenderly, and she felt his hand trembling, from the coke or from nerves, she didn’t know which. The way he looked at her was almost pleading. She felt a worm of emotion slither its way into her hardened heart. He was so beautiful.
She touched his cheek, softly, and felt the rasp of his dark stubble. “Sebastian,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion. Something shifted in his eyes again. Triumph. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry.” She turned away from him, pulling her hiking boots from her bag. “It’s over.”
She heard a snicker from the women on the couch.
Sebastian exploded. “Out!” he yelled, standing up and pointing at the door in one violent movement. They stared at him, unfazed. The black one held out her hand, palm up, and looked at him levelly.
Sebastian wrenched out his wallet and flung a wad of colorful bills at her. The two women picked up the scattered money with the speed and calm determination of sparrows descending on crumbs of bread.
“Now get the fuck out!” Sebastian spat. His beautiful features were contorted into a hideous mask of rage.
The two women picked up their long beige trench coats and moved as a unit to the door. The black one tucked the wad of bills into her pocket and winked over her shoulder at Elizabeth as she left.
Sebastian slammed the door shut and, turning toward Elizabeth, tried to rein in his anger. His eyes were rimmed in red and his jaw was clenched.
Dressed now, with her boots on, Elizabeth stood up, shrugging on her jacket and reaching for her suitcase. She avoided looking at Sebastian, a quivering presence in her peripheral vision, coming closer.
“They’re gone, Elizabeth. You got what you wanted.” She could hear the tension in his voice, the effort it cost him to control his emotions. “Now can we start over?” He put his hands on her upper arms. “Elizabeth, look at me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again, genuinely feeling it, as she pushed past him, eyes down. Regret hung like a weight around her heart.
Sebastian grabbed her and whirled her around to face him, shaking her violently. She met his eyes. They were wet with tears of rage. “No!” he shouted, his face inches from hers. “You don’t get to end this!”
He pushed her away from him. Elizabeth staggered backward and fell, hard, against the armchair. Her heart pulsed with adrenaline. She tried to stand up, but Sebastian had grabbed her again, wrenching her onto her stomach and pushing her down onto her knees with her face mashed into the seat of the chair. She struggled to get up, but Sebastian was heavy, on top of her, reaching around to rip open her jeans and yank them down.
He grabbed her hair and pulled sharply. Pain shot through her scalp and she reached up to try and stop him. That only seemed to make him angrier. He pushed her head down into the cushion of the chair, making it impossible for her to speak, or breath, even.
“You don’t leave me,” he choked out, his voice thick with angry tears. She heard the sound of his zipper and felt him plunge into her, hard and tearing. But she emptied herself of all emotion. She became inert. When she stopped struggling, he released her head, thrusting into her again. She raised it off the cushion, sucking in air. Then she spoke.
“No,” she said.
He attempted to enter her once more, failing.
She said it again, louder. “No!”
He hesitated, hands on her hips, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Then he collapsed against her, sobbing, before dropping onto the floor.
Elizabeth lay still for a moment, feeling the cool fabric of the chair against her cheek, the solidity of the floor beneath her knees, the tingling burn of her scalp. She listened to the sound of her heart beat slowing down and Sebastian’s choking sobs. Then she stood, unsteadily, and zipped up her jeans.
Sebastian sat knees up, arms folded, head down. His jeans were open and his penis lay limp and impotent between his legs. His body shook and heaved, the labored grunts and gasps coming from him, pathetic and ugly.
“You need help,” she said, without judgment or anger. Just a fact. “You’re sick, but I’m not a doctor.” She picked up the handle of her suitcase and her jacket and walked shakily to the door.
It was only when she was in the cab on the way to the airport that she remembered. Her ring.
Chapter 13
Steve threw Elizabeth’s bags in the trunk of his Lexus as she sat in the dark in the passenger seat, watching him in the rear-view mirror. It was nearly midnight and she had been traveling for the past eighteen hours. She was beyond exhausted and still hadn’t recovered from her show-down with Sebastian, but something told her she was going to be put through the emotional wringer yet again. She gnawed on her thumb, a chilling dread creeping over her. Steve had been grim faced and monosyllabic from the moment he greeted her in the arrivals lounge.
Pretending not to notice, Elizabeth had chattered away about the book tour. But with each sentence she uttered into the vacuum, it became more and more clear that she was only prolonging the inevitable. Steve knew.
As Steve climbed into the car and put his seat-belt on, closing the door behind him almost wearily, Elizabeth became more convinced that she was right, but she just couldn’t stop talking.
“And you wouldn’t believe how expensive everything is in the UK.” Elizabeth picked up right where she had left off, even though Steve hadn’t started the engine and was just sitting with his hands on the steering wheel, gazing into the distance. “Twelve bucks for a crappy white bread tuna sandwich and a ginger ale on the train. The sandwich was so dry, I thought about actually dipping it in my ginger ale.”
Elizabeth caught herself unconsciously rubbing at her ring finger. It wasn’t the first time. The fingers of her right hand seemed to be drawn to the empty space. She took a deep breath, willing her voice to sound normal.
“Oh, and would you believe I lost my ring? I took it off for the flight because my fingers just puff up when I fly, for some reason. That never happened before. Must be an age thing.” She let out a nervous-sounding laugh, silentl
y cursing herself before she continued her ramble. “And I swore I put it in the outside pocket of my purse, but then I had to stow my purse in the overhead bin, and who knows? Maybe it fell out? I’ll call the airline tomorrow, but I think we can kiss it goodbye.”
“Elizabeth, we need to talk,” Steve said, as if he hadn’t heard her, still staring straight ahead. The key dangled in the ignition.
Elizabeth gulped. She felt guilt oozing out of every pore. “Okaaay,” she said, stretching the word out, still buying time. “But maybe you should start driving. It’s almost midnight and I’m pretty sure tomorrow’s a school day. Somebody’s got to get up with the kids ...”
“Your mother’s taking the kids to school tomorrow.”
“And you have to work ...”
“Elizabeth!” Steve looked at her with a pained expression. “Please. This is hard enough as it is. Don’t make it worse.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard but didn’t say anything. She looked into the eyes of the man she had fallen in love with over Tiger beer and pad Thai, the man she had married, the father of her two beautiful, impossible children and thought, This is it. This is where he tells me he wants a divorce.
Steve looked away from her again, inhaling a deep, shuddering breath. His nostrils flared and his chin quivered.
“Oh my God. Steve. Are you crying?” Elizabeth put a tentative hand on her husband’s shoulder. She had made two men cry within a twenty-four hour period. That had to be some kind of record. And once again, she found herself at a loss for what to do. Tears from a grown man seemed somehow shameful and private, an aberration of nature. But this time, Elizabeth didn’t feel revulsion. She felt deep, deep sorrow and utter remorse. Her eyes welled up with tears of her own.
“Oh God, Steve,” she sniffed. “I am so sorry.” Her hand was still on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off angrily and looked at her, his eyes red.
“You’re sorry?” he asked, “What are you sorry for?”
Confused, Elizabeth sputtered, “Everything.” What was going on here, she wondered.
