by Mj Fields
I keep catching myself, just standing frozen, eyes closed in an attempt to drive away the sexual demons that haunt my every waking thought. Though I might seem frigid on the outside, inwardly I am a hot mess. Silently, I beg for it to go away. But I keep fixating on the way his lips never touched mine. I brush my finger across my lower lip, feeling the weight of Sabato’s deep, shadowed brown eyes. I wonder how long it will take for me to forget what color they are.
I manage to get through the next few days without being lured by my vagina to his club. Paige has asked me several times if everything is all right. Of course, nothing is. But I can’t tell her that.
To placate my conscience, I focus on one thing that is right, and answer with at least a halfway-truthful response, like, “Yes, new city, new life, new beginning. What could possibly be wrong?” Then I smile a big smile, the one my friends are used to seeing. I am Pollyanna, Polly positive, Polly…. Well, I guess that’s it.
“Don’t look at me that way, Paige,” I say, smiling like an idiot. “We have a busy day. It’s time to go check out some of these shoebox-sized apartments.”
“It’ll be fun,” she laughs, grabbing her purse to follow me. “Just pretend they’re like the dorms.”
*.*.*
We walk back to the hotel carrying a huge stack of folded boxes.
Paige huffs behind me. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I am,” I tell her. “I’m so sure, that I am moving in later today. It’s a great little place. Off-street parking, second floor—”
“With a scary-ass fire escape.”
“And a bad-ass security system.”
“It’s a forty minute commute to your school,” she points out. “Why couldn’t you stay in one of the places in Manhattan?”
“Because...reasons. Five times the cost, one third the size, for a few.” I roll my eyes. “Paige, it’s a done deal. Let’s grab our stuff and go shopping.”
Later that night, we sit together in my new place, looking around warily. The furniture store just outside of my little community was going out of business, so I went a little crazy. Thankfully, they were able to deliver my new bed, chaise, desk, side tables and television.
It’s official. 7 Deep Place, Staten Island, New York will be my home for the summer. If all goes as planned, I might even be staying longer. Laney is moving in across town tomorrow, and we’ll both be living about the same distance from where Nikki and her fiancé live, near the Jersey Shore.
“This bed is so big!” Paige flops back, bounces on it and laughs. “I can’t believe you bought it. It just screams ‘seduce me.’”
I laugh and flop down next to her. “Seduce me? How so?”
“Four poster bed....just add some handcuffs and....”
“Half-price,” I remind her. “And only fifty dollars more than the one you liked. Plus, I like the canopy. I can hang curtains around it and pretend it’s a bedroom.”
“I think the sleeper sofa would have been more sensible.”
“Sensible can suck it. I slept on a crappy twin bed for four years. This is a queen,” I roll to my stomach. “And look at that! I rolled over and didn’t fall on the floor.”
Paige reaches over and smacks my ass. “Don’t get too comfortable, we have walls to erect.”
She grabs the basket with the bedding and material we bought, then washed and dried while waiting for the delivery truck.
“Slut red,” she says, holding up one of the sheets. “I like it.”
The color perfectly matches the room Sabato painted at the club. I haven’t really thought of that, until now. Even my subconscious is on dirty Elsa’s side’s… side.
I shrug. “It’ll do.”
After dressing the bed and moving furniture around, Paige and I order Chinese and have it delivered. We sit and talk about what the summer might bring for both of us. Paige is planning to go home, take the summer off, chill with her family and look for a job. She majored in marketing and wants to be part of the entertainment industry—badly. She doesn’t think her odds are good, but I know she can achieve anything she sets her mind to.
We zone out on TV for a few hours, then fall asleep together in my queen sized bed/bedroom.
*.*.*
It has been a few weeks now, and I am sick. I walk out of the clinic with a prescription. They think I have bronchitis. My chest is sore; the pain is not intolerable.
What is intolerable is the fact that I swear, I still feel the weight of his stare, all the time. Like he is around every corner. But I know he’s not.
I still fight to keep myself from going to him and I am sinking even deeper into a self-loathing state. My only reprieve comes when I distract myself with my classes, or my chats with Laney, Nikki, and Paige.
Laney knows something is going on. She asks me often and I tell her I am just overwhelmed with school—which I am. Earlier this week, she set up a time for me to meet Dominic’s sister Valentina. I’m guessing it’s her way of drawing me out, by double-teaming me with another strong-willed girl.
I don’t like her new home.
It isn’t safe.
I don’t like that I know she is in danger.
I hate that it is my fault.
It’s strictly physical, I keep telling myself. Guilt, at the very most.
I don’t like how my dick jerks whenever I think of her.
I hate the fact that I have been watching her for two weeks now and I haven’t touched her, not once.
I want her to come to me. I need her to come to me. I need her to come on me. I hate that I need it, almost as much as I need to know where she is at all times.
No woman has ever denied me, or made me want her, this much. Not for a long time. Even then...it was different and that was long ago.
Salvatore is going to court tomorrow. He is behind bars and I should get some sort of satisfaction out of it. But like coming, true satisfaction is found at the end, the very last thrust, the very last release. Until that point, you cannot be truly satisfied. When that motherfucker is dead, when he’d finally been fucked right out of this world, then and only then I would truly be satisfied.
Zandor keeps offering money, but I continue to decline. There is no income to be made here. Not now, possibly not ever. He pushes and argues and looks at me like I am insane. He has even offered me a job, which I declined.
What none of them know, is that I have a trust fund of my own making. I have money, I have property, and I have more than I need. No one can touch it. No one knows about it. Soon it won’t be connected to me.
Also, I have a secret: I am about to become a married man. My wife will become a millionaire and hold more power than she could ever imagine. But first, she will have to submit.
I sit at the bar, staring at the window, which is still uncovered. As if somehow, she will come and peer through it at any moment.
I fantasize about binding her to the cross, so she can’t squirm beneath my touch. Blindfolding her so she doesn’t see me, stinging her ass with my flogger, then a whip, then fucking her with every tool in my cabinet. I want the words ‘no’ and ‘stop’ to be cut from her vocabulary. I want to force my cock down her throat and hear her choke on it. I want to come on her face, in her mouth. I want to bury my dick in her ass, then leave her alone and wanting for hours, to contemplate what she can do to earn more of my torture.
I want her so sated, exhausted and submissive that the word ‘no’ never again falls from her lips.
She lied to me. That night at dinner, her eyes lied to me. She will pay for that lie, I’ve decided. Then, I will be able to move forward as planned.
My birthday was a few months ago, but this will be a belated present, one I give to myself.
Before I realize it, I am drunk. I decide to lay my head down and think about those sweet lips, that skin, those thighs....
I hear footsteps and pull my head off the bar. I look at my watch, eyes bleary. It is seven in the morning. I hear it again, the sound of footsteps and I recognize
them immediately.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up and every cell in my body vibrates. I look next to me, where my gun rests, ready. I look up at the newly-added skylight. It took two weeks and several thousand dollars to complete. Etched across its surface is a perfect replica of Peter Paul Rubens’ ‘Adonis.’
I shift my eyes to look in the mirror behind the bar. He is in perfect position. I reach for my gun.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Salvatore hisses.
I don’t care what will happen. I shouldn’t care. I’m not afraid. I shouldn’t be afraid. I fire into the skylight, over my head. Then I dive out of the way as bullets fly from Salvatore’s gun. There is a loud shattering sound and then Salvatore screams out in pain.
I roll, dodging the bullets from his men as I dive behind the bar. Most of them are smart enough to stop shooting and get out of the way. Salvatore, though, he’s always let his anger get the best of him. I watch his reflection in the mirror as he keeps shooting, as the glass rains down on him, thick shards impaling his shoulders and arms.
I smile as I run, dodging bullets as I make for the back door.
“Forget him,” I hear Efisto gurgle. “Get me out of here!”
Something in my leg burns, stings, but I continue making my way through the back parking lot and into the trees. I can’t stop, even though it fucking hurts.
I have gone over this scenario at least once an hour, every waking hour. I’ve dreamt of it often. It went exactly as planned. I push on and make it through the woods, across the street, to the copper-colored Mercedes Benz GLA that was purchased with cash, weeks ago. I reach for the hidden key under the bumper, unlock the door, jump in and take off down the road.
Once I pull onto the main road, I turn at the light and see a large piece of glass buried in my leg. I pull over on the side of the road and yank at it. Pain rips through me and the bleeding increases. I push against the wound, gritting my teeth against the pain it causes, but knowing I need to apply pressure to slow the bleed.
I can’t go to the hospital. I only know one person who may be able to help, but she is an hour away. I press harder and hit the accelerator. I try to breathe slowly, aware that my heart beating so quickly can’t be helping at all. I want to focus on something that calms me, but nothing does. I turn on the radio, finding no comfort in music. I think back to a time when I believed I could be happy. Luciana’s face pops into my head. Aside from my mother, she was the only one who ever loved me.
My heart races and the pain intensifies.
The picture of the last time I saw her, kissed her, held her, is far from calming. It was the day my last bit of hope in humanity died.
I look ahead, ignoring my pain, focusing instead on the pain I caused her. Luciana, the first girl who told me she loved me. I told her once that I would make her my queen. I would protect her from the war that raged in my family. She took comfort in me. I took comfort in her. Eventually, I found the longer I gave her pleasure the longer the look of awe remained in her eyes as she looked at me.
Luciana made me believe what my mother had said to me the day of her death. One woman may have been enough, after all. But I couldn’t protect her, be her Adonis, her eroe any more than I could save my Mama from my father’s evil schemes.
I fight to keep my eyes on the road, as the oncoming headlights begin to blur together. My phone. Where is my...?
“Fuck.” I slam my hand against the steering wheel, smearing it with blood.
I pull into a parking garage in the city and pay the attendant for an all-day pass. I park between two vans, behind a cement pillar. I know the dark tinted windows will keep me invisible to anyone walking by. I kill the engine and recline the seat. I am thankful it is cold and that the bleeding seems to have slowed. If I die today, I will die knowing I have made him bleed twice.
The same amount of times he has made me bleed inside.
*.*.*
I wake shivering, in a pool of sweat. It is night and I know there isn’t any reasonable explanation as to why I am still alive, but I am. I get out of the car in the darkness and hobble across the road. As I stand looking up, I think I see her standing on the balcony above, staring at the sky.
Miraculously, she senses me. She looks down and calls out my name. I hop into the alley. What the fuck was I thinking, coming here? She will call the police. She yelled my name, for anyone to hear. Stupido, stupido. I slide down the brick wall, ready to succumb to the darkness, when I hear footsteps and look up.
“Oh my God, you’re hurt!”
“Please don’t call for help,” I plead, weakly. “Don’t call the police. No one, Valentina. Not even your brother.”
Yet another fucking secret to keep.
“Good timing, then. Franco is out. Let’s go hide you in my place.”
I groan as I push myself up. Valentina slides under my arm and helps me inside.
When we are in her apartment—though I can’t remember getting there—I feel the need to tell her something. I look at her, blinking against the darkness.
“When I pass out....”
“No, don’t you dare.”
“It won’t hurt so fucking bad when you pull out this glass,” I move my hand away from the wound and she cringes.
“Do your animal doctor shit, or look it up on YouTube. No hospital, no help. No one knows but you understand? Promise...I need you to promise.”
Valentina rolls her eyes. “Sure thing lover. But you are gonna owe me. Big.”
“For God’s sake, not now.”
I groan as I hop beside her into the bathroom. She makes me a pillow out of towels and helps me lower myself into the bathtub.
“You know,” she says, looking down at me. “This actually isn’t all that....”
Everything goes black.
*.*.*
I wake in her bed. It smells like Italy. I look over to find her beside me, asleep. I look to the other side, and the clock blinks 3:00 AM. I vaguely remember waking up, and her insisting I do so, throughout the night. But I don’t remember how I got into the bed. “Are you all right?”
I groan, shaking my head. “Hurts like hell.”
“Here.” She sits up and grabs a bottle of water and two pills. “This will knock you out.”
“How was it?” I ask, nodding to my leg before swigging down the pills and water she offers.
“Disgusting.” She shudders. “It’s a good thing I look forward to my payment, because I can’t stand blood.”
“You went to veterinary school.”
“You remember?” She looks shocked.
I roll my eyes. “I’ve looked into you since the other night. All the players in this game have become persons of interest. Do you know how many of you there have been?”
“One.”
“Valentina Segretti, you and I are the same. We know that fucking is just fucking. I’ve been with you once—”
“Twice,” she corrects me.
Really? Shit. “Okay, twice. I’m sorry, I didn’t remember.”
“Well, I do,” she says. “You don’t just fuck. You perform. Regardless, it’s memorable. Plus, I’ve been going through a dry spell lately. I expect two encores.”
I feel dizzy. “Demands will get you nowhere.”
“I’m going back to sleep, then.” She shakes her head at me and lies back down. “By the way, they’re looking for you.”
“Is he dead?”
“They haven’t found a body.” She pauses. “Did you kill him this time?”
I close my eyes. “I hope so. Thank you Valentina. I am going to…”
“Lie down and get some more sleep. I have to score some antibiotics tomorrow, or you’ll get an infection and lose your leg.”
*.*.*
The next time I wake, I have a fever.
Valentina is frantic, talking to someone on the phone.
“How the hell is it possible to score painkillers in two minutes, and then when you try to get your hands on legitimate
, non-recreational medication, it’s like you’re trying to buy national security secrets?”
“I’m fine.” I try to sit up and she puts her hand on my chest.
“You’re on fire.”
“The fever will break.” There is a knock on the door and we look at one another, with the same fearful expression.
“Whoever it is, get rid of them.”
She doesn’t answer, but I hear the beep of her phone receiving a text.
“Praise Jesus, Sabato! Apparently, Laney’s friend, who was here a couple days ago, lost her prescription when her purse dumped on the couch!”
With that, Valentina gets up and runs out of the room. I don’t understand what the hell is going on, but maybe that’s the fever. Maybe I’m sicker than I realized.
I blink, or maybe pass out and wake to the sound of a man’s voice. It’s a voice I feel like I should recognize, but I can’t place it. I want to get up and make sure everything is all right, but I feel so weak.
Valentina’s voice drifts in from the hallway.
“Sorry, Franco. Just tell her...tell her that she must have dropped it somewhere else. ...I don’t care, just tell her not to come over. I’ll look between the couch cushions later.”
A few moments later, Valentina comes into the room, wearing a self-congratulatory smile. She’s shaking something in her hand—a bottle of prescription pills, one of those orange ones.
“Look! Free antibiotics,” she says.
In the depths of my fever, I try to reason through what is happening. “...What friend?”
“Just some girl.” She shrugs. “More like, friend of a friend. She came to have drinks. Nice enough, but kind of boring. Blonde. It doesn’t matter, just take some of these and get some rest.”
I take the pills she’s holding in her hand and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I follow a woman’s orders.
*.*.*
I don’t know how long I am out this time, but when I wake it is dark.
The pain is still there, but the fever has broken.
