by L.J. Shen
“If you say so,” he taunted, placing his palm flat against my throat at the same time he thrust himself into me in one go from behind. I cried out as he pounded into me, the blood in my body rushing to my head, my sex, everywhere. Dean wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to hurt me. This time he didn’t hold back. He fucked me so hard, I was sure my inner thighs were going to burn and my insides throb for weeks later.
“Turn around,” he ordered out of nowhere, still riding me, pumping in and out. Was he that drunk that he didn’t know what he was asking me? I managed a little frown between moans.
“I can’t. You’re on top of me.”
“So? Turn. Around.”
“You’re heavy.”
“And you’re strong. Fight me for it.”
Ignoring the tickling sense of orgasm, I placed my palms on his floor and tried to push myself up, but he leaned forward, deliberately putting more of his weight on my back to stop me. The fact that he actively tried to make me fail irritated me, so I pushed harder. Dean was built like a professional rugby player. Six-three on two hundred pounds of lean, defined muscles. I stood no chance. At the same time…I was wired to fight back.
This was what my disease had forced me to do.
What living next to Vicious and his HotHole friends had taught me.
What life made me.
I went slack, allowing him to manhandle me. And when he began to pound into me even harder, punishing me for my defeat, I pushed on my palms in one sudden movement, gaining momentum, and whirling around. His abs were now glued to my chest, and he chuckled as he pulled out of me, still completely hard.
“Push your tits together,” he hissed, and there was no point denying…dude was weird. Usually, it was light that seeped through the cracks of darkness. With him, darkness glimmered through his walls of normality and daylight.
I used my bra to do as I was told. He took his sleek cock in his hand and guided it to the valley between my breasts, coming inside the gap. His thick, white cum pooled inside my cleavage, and he watched it through droopy eyes. My ass was on fire from the smacks, but I still took a moment to forget everything and drown in him.
“Drink it,” he whispered, dipping his forefinger into his arousal and bringing the warm liquid to my lips. “Every single fucking drop.”
I did, and after I was done licking his cum from my fingers, he awarded me with two more orgasms.
I fell asleep in his arms that night, feeling the safest I’d ever been. Safer than I was with Millie, or with my parents. Definitely safer than I had ever felt with Darren.
I fell asleep in the arms of his demons, knowing I’d wake up in the arms of a sweet man.
For Dean ‘Ruckus’ Cole had many faces. And all of them were beautiful. At least to me.
WELL, FUCK.
Rosie was still asleep when I woke up, and guilt swiped through me like an angry earthquake. What the fuck was that all about yesterday? One second I was entertaining her friend in one of Manhattan’s finest joints, the other I was fighting her on the ottoman while smacking her sweet little ass like it had tried to run over my puppy. Apparently, there was no middle ground when it came to her. Either I tried to pull the type of Hugh Grant shit that wasn’t me or I showed her all of me, in all of my fucked-up glory.
Not that this was who I was. But that was the part Nina left behind and I never bothered to fix.
Yesterday drove me insane and right into the arms of the brandy. I wish Rosie hadn’t seen it, but at the same time, I was kind of relieved she stuck around after all.
Peeling myself off of the bed and feeling a blooming headache pounding its way out of my temples, I sauntered to the kitchen to make scrambled eggs, bacon, and coffee. Fuck if I knew where all the shit I needed for it was, but I had to show her that I could do this. The whole boyfriend mumbo-jumbo.
What was I even saying? If Vicious could do it, I sure as fuck could, too.
Last night’s conversation with Nina played in my head as I cracked the eggs and poured the spicy grains into the coffee machine. She called me from a New York number, so I thought it was one of the many lines from my office and picked up. Totally by accident. Totally a train wreck.
“I’m here,” Nina said when I answered the phone. Fuck my life sideways. Not even the complimentary hello.
“You’re here where? Hell?” I asked-slash-hoped. That was where the bitch belonged. If she ever came there, she would probably take over and become president.
Nina’s flirty laugh assaulted my ears.
“I’m here in New York, silly. I told you I would come for you. You need to meet him.”
“Didn’t I tell you I don’t wanna see his face?” I gritted, walking to the bar and leaving Rosie and her friend, Elle, behind. I’d signaled the bartender to pour me a drink. So she was in town. Of course, she was. Why the fuck not? I gave her the money, after all, right? So why was I even surprised?
“All you have to do is wire me the money and I will leave you alone, Dean.”
“Nina.” I chuckled, loosening my collar. “I’m not going to give you six hundred K just so I can see him. You’re fucking tripping. Babies are usually made by two people, right? Hence, both parents hold the responsibility. You fucked it up,” I ground out. “Now you clean that mess.”
“I’m thinking of pulling this offer off the table, Dean. You’re terribly snarky with me nowadays.”
“When have I ever been anything but a complete asshole to you?” I retorted, downing my drink and pointing at the empty glass, asking for another. “Because I would like to turn back time and rectify that if I was ever anything but.”
“There was a time.” Her sugary voice reminded me. “There was a time when you’d do anything for me.”
Worst part? The bitch was not wrong about that one.
“How’s your husband?” I changed the subject.
“Still alive,” she huffed. “Unfortunately.”
At least we could agree on one thing.
“How’s your new girl?” It was Nina’s turn to ask.
“Why are you asking? Think you could fuck that up for me, too?”
“Now, now.” She chuckled. “Come on, Dean. Don’t be like that. I’m happy for you. All I want is to secure my future and leave my goddamn awful husband behind. You’ve got plenty of money. I have what you want. Why are we running around in circles?”
“Because I want you to stay poor and miserable.” There. I said it. “And, because, apparently, I don’t mind paying the price to keep you that way. Enjoy your filthy motel, Nina. Bye.” I hung up and downed three more glasses of liquor.
As I was making breakfast, I heard Rosie shuffling in my bedroom. My heart sank. If I scared her away by being an aggressive asshole, I had no one to blame but myself. Was she buying time to try to avoid me? I made out the sound of her turning on the faucet, flushing the toilet, and wondered how much longer she could postpone facing me.
“Good morning.” I heard her gruff voice and turned around from the stovetop to watch her walking around in my dress shirt, her light brown hair a hot mess. She smiled at me, a toothy one from the heart, then turned around when she found her jeans. Her bare ass—I tore her underwear last night—peeked from under my shirt when she bent down to pick them up, and fuck, her skin was red and raw. It was bruised down to her inner thighs, and there were streaks and little cuts from the broken glass I cleaned this morning. I wanted to throw up, but held myself together, turning off the stove and piling scrambled eggs and bacon onto our plates.
“Hungry?” I cleared my throat.
“Famished,” she said absent-mindedly, pulling her jeans on. “But I need to go down and put on my percussion vest, take my medicine, all the rock ‘n’ roll stuff. My own version of breakfast of champions.” She pretended to flex a non-existing bicep.
She wanted to go. Leave. Of course, she got scared. I showed her the ugliest side of me and expected her to just…what? Roll with it? It was too soon. Way too soon. Frankly, when you�
��re my type of fucked up, the best time to show your significant other your inner scars is never o’clock.
“I can bring them to you,” I said, hoping to fuck I didn’t sound too desperate. She flashed me an odd look.
“You don’t know what I need.”
Right. I had no fucking clue. Other than that ugly-ass vest. I recognized it from Todos Santos.
“I made you some breakfast.” I tilted my chin to the dining table I’d never used. I usually sat at the island when I ate, and even that was rare. In fact, I didn’t remember the last time I ate at my apartment. Every time I was there, it was a protein shake and fruit to keep me going until my next meal. I was pussy-whipped to the max here, with a table full of whatever-the-hell I could find in my fridge. I bet Rosie didn’t have the greenest clue I’d never done something in my life for anyone. Anyone but her.
Her baby blues scanned the table, a smirk on her face.
“Hey, Dean?”
“What?”
“I’m just going down to get my meds and vest, then I’m coming back up. You know that, right?”
“Of course.” I snorted. No. No, I didn’t know that.
My face must’ve given away a peek into my inner shitshow, because she giggled as she tiptoed to me, pressing her lips to mine as she wrapped her arms around me in a hug. I gathered her and squeezed, this time careful not to hurt her.
“Are you enjoying my morning breath?” she droned, exhaling on my face on purpose.
“I want to bottle it and make all my employees wear it as their new perfume,” I retorted, kissing the side of her head. “But just in case, I’ll buy you a toothbrush so you don’t have to go downstairs when we have breakfast. Ever. Bring your meds. Your clothes. Your vest. Do you want a drawer?” I refrained from asking if she wanted my whole fucking closet, although I did think it’d be fun to have her shit around. All those secondhand, tattered shirts and Forever 21 skinny jeans in my nickel hardware, black imperial walk-in closet that was the size of her whole living room.
“Mmmm.” She leaned forward for another kiss, and my hands itched to clutch her ass and throw her on the counter for a morning fuck, but she needed her medicine, and I needed to not make new marks on her before the day had started.
“Maybe?” she purred. “I just don’t want to take things too fast.”
“I think we’re taking it a little too slow,” I admitted. “What’s fast about what we’re doing? I want you. Always have. I know who you are. You know who I am.” Though, really, she didn’t know all parts of me until last night, and my Nina secret was like my dick—big and long and certainly uncomfortable if you weren’t ready for it. “This is not two people dating each other for the first time. We have history. Chemistry. And a shit-ton of sentiments toward one another. I’m serious as hell about this,” I said, in case a thousand roses, dinner with her friend, and making her breakfast didn’t tip her off.
“Sold.” She smoothed my unbuttoned shirt, reminding me that I needed to get dressed for work—and shit, I never stayed home beyond eight o’clock in the morning. People at work must have thought I was finally murdered by one of my flings. And I bet Sue was already planning the party memorial. “I guess a drawer would be nice. Thank you.”
“Do you have a shift today?” I found it hard to let go of her waist.
“Not at the café.” Rosie shook her head. “But I’m going to the children’s hospital for a shift later this afternoon.”
“Can I visit you there after work?”
She laughed. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. New parents are a little icky over strangers hanging around their premature newborns.”
“Go figure.” I rolled my eyes, ignoring the stab in my chest when she said that.
“Yeah. Tomorrow?”
“It’s a date.” I nodded, watching her walk toward the door, the realization that the decision whether she came back up or not was completely hers hitting me in the gut.
“Oh, and Dean?” she said when she was at the door. I looked up.
“Yeah?”
“I really enjoyed last night. You can let your inner Pierrot come out to play more often if you’d like.”
I bit my fist as she closed the door behind her, knowing for a fact she was going to come back up.
Well, fuck indeed.
What makes you feel alive?
First dates. Holding hands. Forming jokes that are only ours. Memories that no one else but us has. Creating life with a man who doesn’t even know that I cannot create life, not really, and feeling the remorse churning inside me.
SEPTEMBER CAME AND WENT, AND October followed suit. Seasons bled into one another. The trees had changed, but we hadn’t. In fact, it was when the leaves started falling, dancing together in orange, pink, and yellow, that what we had grown together became stronger and more alive.
Dean and I fell into a routine. It wasn’t flawless, but I learned at a very young age that nothing was. Even if it seemed so from the outside.
We spent every waking, available moment together.
When he was at work and I didn’t have a shift at The Black Hole, I came to see him. We would always lock the door to his office and close the electric blinds. Sometimes, it would be enough to hide what we were doing there. Mostly, though, I walked out with cheeks the color of beetroot and watched the whole floor judging me with their gazes as I fixed my hair and covered my stubble-scratched neck with my hand.
Sue, especially, would look at me like I sacrificed innocent babies for a living.
One time, I came in wearing a thick coat and nothing else. When he slipped the coat off of me, he was so happy to find me naked, he ate me on his desk for forty minutes and missed his Skype meeting with the rest of the HotHoles. He did scold me right after for not wearing clothes.
“You could get sick.” He bit my ass cheek—and not softly. “Stop fucking with what’s mine and wear a goddamn sweater.”
When I did have shifts, we tried to do lunches together. Sometimes he would drop by unannounced, sit at the bar, ask for an Americano, and pretend like we didn’t know each other. Especially if there were other customers around, we would play a game where he hit on me by dirty-talking his way to a quiet orgasm that came in pleasant chills. It always made the person sitting next to him squirm. One man even asked me if I wanted him to call the cops on Dean.
I said yes before I declined, just to see the look on Dean’s face.
We laughed. A lot.
We cried some, too.
Well, I did all the crying. When you volunteer at a children’s hospital and work with premature newborns three times a week, sad things are bound to hit you in the face. At the end of October, we had lost a newborn. A baby girl named Kayla. She was tiny, born at twenty-four weeks yet wrinkly as a hundred-year-old woman. I broke down in tears in the hospital hallway the night her doctor told me that she didn’t make it. When I got off from that shift, Dean was waiting for me on the other side of the road.
I collapsed into his arms and cried until I had no more tears in me, and he kissed my head and told me that if he could suck the pain out of me like venom, he would.
And I believed him. One hundred percent.
Not everything was great, though.
Dean’s phone was bombarded with Nina phone calls every single day. He never took them—ever—and was careful not to answer unidentified calls. She wasn’t a mistress, and wasn’t in the picture anymore. Those were the crumbs he’d thrown my way when I asked him about her. Anything else about Nina remained a complete mystery.
Countless times I found myself itching to pick up his phone, call, and ask her what the hell did she want and why couldn’t she leave him alone. But I didn’t. Because I was a freaking hypocrite to try to milk a truth I wasn’t ready to deliver myself.
When October rolled in, and with it the official signs of winter, Mama and Daddy got back to their nagging, but it was better than the radio silence I’d suffered through September. As far as they were concerned, I was s
ingle and alone and dying a slow, painful death. Which couldn’t be further from the truth. My health issues were under control. My lungs, along with the rest of my organs, were in good condition. Other than my heart. This one was in the hands of the man who had once broken it, and I had no guarantee that he wouldn’t do it again.
Our Todos Santos crowd and friends knew about Dean and me. First, there was the Facebook relationship thing that got people talking, and then—there was the fact that the HotHoles knew almost everything about one another.
Millie was happy for me. Vicious was indifferent—as he was toward everything else—Jaime and Mel were wary but glad for us, and Trent, who still lived in Chicago with Luna, didn’t give a damn because he had more urgent matters to deal with.
Dean never answered Nina, but sometimes, he would still drink when her name or number showed up on his screen (he said there was no point changing his number. She always found out what it was, somehow.) When I asked him why he didn’t have her arrested, he said it was complicated.
I hated when he drank, but it didn’t happen more than once every two weeks or so. When it did, I had to humor him all the way down to the pit of hell and drag him back into the light once he was done. I bowed down and let him use me like a pawn. Perhaps ‘use’ was not the most accurate term for what we were doing. I enjoyed his evil version as much as I enjoyed sweet lovemaking in front of the TV, carton takeout boxes decorating the floor beneath us.
I enjoyed it when he spanked me. I enjoyed it when he fucked my mouth with his cock until tears ran down my cheeks. I did not complain when he angrily took me in a dark alleyway behind Madison Square Garden and fucked me against a brick wall that made my back look like it had been scrubbed with sandpaper.
The night before Thanksgiving, we were going to grab dinner at a diner across from The Black Hole. Or so I thought.
I was jogging my way across the road in my thick, black hoodie and wool hat—it wasn’t anywhere near freezing, but I always kept myself covered just in case—and slipped into a red vinyl booth, placing a little brown paper bag on the table, containing Dean’s favorite chocolate chip cookies I got him hooked on, the ones Elle kept begging me to stop eating so I wouldn’t balloon. And now, ironically, not only did I eat them all the time, but my boyfriend was wolfing them down, too.
