Weak for Him

by Lyra Parish

  I became bored with books, TV, exercise, and even eating. I was going stir-crazy. Several meet-ups happened over the course of a few weeks, and I wasn't allowed to go because Luke had paid enough to reserve me for him, and him only. Drinking and sleeping didn't even curb the oncoming depression. Nothing could save me from myself.

  It crossed my mind to go back home, but I had nowhere to stay, and I didn't want to rent a hotel room. Better to stay in Vegas.

  Two nights before Luke arrived back, I dressed myself like a cheap whore: fishnets, a tight black skirt, and low-cut shirt that made my breasts pop out. Black eyeliner and eye shadow accompanied my teased hair. Forget a bra and panties, I was going to the Vegas Strip. I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.

  I needed fast, pulsating music, so I could dance the night away.

  And I would find it.

  On the corner, a club bled the music and flashing lights that I so desperately craved. It would be my kryptonite. After three shots of tequila, I made my way to the dance floor. The liquor quickly found its way through my bloodstream because I hadn't eaten. I felt as light as a feather as I shook my ass, dry humped a few guys, and even got asked back to a hotel room or two. Even a few girls hit on me and wanted to take me home. I never knew gay clubs had so many straight people.

  Three more shots of liquid gold and I was the pretty girl on top of the world: the virgin who could command them all with her toned legs and tight ass. The one wearing the slutty outfit and dirty mouth that made the filthiest of filthy blush. I gave them fake names, and numbers, batted my fake eyelashes, and said nasty things I wouldn't normally say.

  In a matter of hours, I had transformed into someone I didn't know. Another person wore my skin, used my voice and body, and I watched from the sidelines as she acted out, fulfilling the destiny of becoming the little slut that Finnley created, in a place where creeps and perverts roamed and ruled. No one would judge me where the sin of the city ran wild. How could they? And there was no one around to reel me in from my mistakes. Not even Finnley could save me from the shadows of wickedness, and for a moment, I thought I might lose myself.

  Once I was tanked on the brink of oblivion, I called Charlie to deliver me back to the mansion. While I waited, a young man, no older than me, offered me a shot, and I took it as I spoke filthy things to him: sucking cocks, eating pussy, and other nasty things that I never said to strangers. He wanted to leave with me in tow. If I continued to act out, virgin girl would be no more. But I had standards no matter how much of a whore I pretended to be.

  A few more shots and my face went numb.

  I barely could stand. The cute guy carried me to the parking lot, and I could hardly see. My world rocked and swayed, and my vision went hazy, then black.

  Hard slaps across the face, pointless cursing, and I had come to—barely awake, alive even. I felt like I was dying and I had no control of my body.

  Finnley held a flashlight in my eyes, and I tried so hard to talk.

  Nothing.

  "She's been fucking drugged. Who the fuck let her go alone? Jennifer?"

  Finn's voice echoed like my name had been said a million times, but I was fading.

  Fading away to nothingness.

  "Jennifer. Stay with me. Please."

  Blackness.

  Then silence.

  ***

  I woke to an empty, dim-lit room. I didn't know which day it was, or whether it was early morning or late afternoon. The last thing I remembered was going out, alone. Oh god, and being ridiculous.

  I reached for my phone. It wasn't there. Damn it.

  My mouth, sticky like I had swallowed liquefied sugar, needed water.

  Stumbling from bed and down the stairs in a T-shirt and underwear proved to be harder than I imagined. My legs felt weak and shaky. Damn, my whole body did.

  I chugged the water like it was going out of style and could hear a steady beat of music coming from somewhere in the house. The microwave read 6:21 p.m. I peeked out the window; no cars lined the drive except for V.

  But the music continued and my head pounded along with it. I needed to find it and ask someone really nicely to turn it down.

  As I walked to the stairs, I stopped and listened.

  Was that… I heard it again… jazz music? Ray Charles?

  Leaning my head against the basement door, I knew it was Ray Charles. "Get Around, Woman." I had danced to it one time in school.

  Since no one was home, maybe Finn forgot to turn off the radio or something.

  I opened the door and stumbled my way down the steps. The lights were low. But bent over the bed, ready to fuck, was a face I never thought I would see in Vegas.

  Abbie.

  Abbie and Finn.

  My Abbie? My Finn?

  What. The. Holy. Fuck!

  I reached for something, anything to grab as my legs went from under me.

  Twenty-one

  Finn carried me up the stairs in his arms, alone. He laid me on the bed and sat down. We looked into one another's eyes and refused to speak a word.

  Not one single word.

  I wanted to, but how could I? What would I say?

  The last time we spoke to one another—and seeing him almost fuck my best friend—left me speechless.

  A few minutes passed, and I turned my back toward him and stared out the window. No words could describe how I felt.

  Betrayed?

  Jealous?

  I hated that I cared. I hated that I hated my best friend for wanting to be with him. There, in that room. But if I were single, and not contracted, would I have done the same?

  The shadows of the trees floated past the window, nightfall was upon us, and I knew he wouldn't leave regardless if I demanded.

  "Why is she here?"

  "Because you almost died, Jennifer. I had to let someone know. She was on your emergency contact list."

  I rolled over and peered into his eyes. "What did you just say?"

  "You were drugged at the club. Almost overdosed on Rohypnol. You didn't respond well to it, and you were out for almost a week. In the hospital for a few days until you were stable and then I brought you home. I didn't know when you'd wake up. We were all worried."

  The last thing I remembered was the cute guy at the bar handing me shot after shot, and I took each one like a damned idiot.

  "I was worried," he added.

  "Bullshit. You didn't look too worried when you were about to fuck my best friend in the basement, did you? To me, it looked like you were having a grand time. Completely carefree!"

  His jaw clenched. Speaking of the fucking devil, Abbie entered the room and stood next to Finnley. Her hand met his shoulder and squeezed.

  I couldn't watch it.

  Watch them.

  Watch her be touchy-feely with him.

  I knew her. Everything about her and how she worked, and flirted, and…

  "Go away," I said, pulling the blanket over my body. I wanted to sleep, although I had slept for a week.

  "You're being a baby," Abbie said.

  I turned my body around and looked at her. "You're being a whore. But then again, what else is new?"

  "And you're being a bitch, and hypocritical," Abbie said.

  "Ladies, really?"

  "Get. Out!" I said. "Both of you. Now!"

  "Abbie, leave," Finnley said. She refused until Finn spoke with that dominant Sir tone that said "listen to me."

  She pleaded with her eyes, asking if she could stay, but with a slight shake of his head, she was gone.

  "Unbelievable," I whispered. "Un-fucking-believable. How long has this been going on? Few days? The whole time I've been lost in dreamland?"

  "I'm not talking about this with you. I owe you no answers."

  I sat up in bed and crossed my arms.

  "First you decide to fuck with my emotions? Then you allow me to get over it and then fuck with me again. After I am on my deathbed, my fucking deathbed, you decide to fuck my best fucking friend. Then y
ou have the nerve to stand here and tell me you don't owe me any fucking answers. Finn, I wish you would just fuck straight off. You are a prick. An asshole. This biggest douchebag I have ever met, and if I ask you for a fucking answer, I expect it."

  His stance loosened, and his face softened.

  "I'm sorry."

  "Wait. Wait a fucking second. What did you say?"

  "I'm sorry. I was wrong. It was a misjudgment on my part," he said.

  "I'm glad that you're man enough to apologize and admit you were wrong, but it's still un-fucking-forgiveable."

  "What more can I fucking say to you, Jennifer? I can't take it back. All I can do is tell you that I'm sorry and that I was fucking wrong. Either you can accept it or not."

  I didn't want to. I wanted to yell at him, tell him to get the fuck out, and stay away from me until my contract expired. But the look on his face pulled me from my rage. As much as I wanted to hate him, I couldn't. Fucking weak for him.

  I sighed and swallowed. "I shouldn't have to feel like this."

  Finn kicked his shoes off, crawled on the bed, and placed his hands behind his head. Then, he had the audacity to laugh. Not one of those fake ones, but a deep, hearty genuine laugh. I elbowed him in his stomach, but he didn't stop with that contagious laugh that stood out so brilliantly when we first met. The one that could make anyone join in, even the saddest person in the world.

  "What's so damn funny?"

  "Nothing." More laughter.

  I grumbled.

  He rubbed his hand across my back and placed his chin on my shoulder and we spooned.

  "You can't stay mad at me forever, you know?"

  "Yes, I fucking can."

  He placed his arm around my stomach and held me. Minutes passed, hours even, and we stayed there, in that spot with one another. Mr. Sandman visited me, and in my dreams, I imagined Finn and me sleeping that way forever. But I wanted him to leave. I wanted him to get the fuck out.

  When I woke, he lightly snored in my ear. I tore his arm from my tummy and rolled over to stare at him. Although the darkness continued to linger, strips of moonlight stretched across the floor.

  Peacefulness covered his face.

  No lifted eyebrow, no half-smile, just beautiful lips and strong jawline. Eyelashes that seemed to go on for days and scruffiness on the chin with messy hair made up this fallen angel of a man. No one this picturesque really existed. But he did.

  I sucked in a deep breath as I memorized every inch of his face. My body ached for him and hated him all at the same time as he lay beside me in dreamland.

  Who the fuck do you think you are, Finnley Felton?

  His eyelashes fluttered, and shiny eyes, the color of green grass in the summer, stared into mine. He inched his body closer, removing the gap of space between our lips. Our mouths were close, and his intoxicating breath and scent encapsulated me. Just an inch and we would kiss, just one little movement, and we would be as one. But I didn't dare. I couldn't keep putting myself in the line of fire. His hand traced my jawline, and he grabbed the bottom of my chin and paused.

  "Do you like what you see?" he asked, softly, gently sliding his lips on the outside of mine and then he kissed me. My mind dizzied, and I thought I might melt into his inebriating taste. At first, I didn't kiss back and then I lost myself in the sensation of his softness. The sensation of him, which I missed and craved, rolled through my body and when I opened my eyes, I thought I saw stars. Every bit of Finnley, the man that seemed too much at times and the one that I could not get enough of at others, melded with me.

  He didn't continue, or try to undress me and make me his whore. Instead, he lay next to me, twirling my hair in his fingers, kissing my cheeks, rubbing his nose against mine without saying one word. Words never could replace emotions, no matter how powerful or well written. I'd once heard that words could move mountains, but so could Finn's lips.

  Finnley continued to poison me with his light touch, which caused me to instinctively part my lips, tilt my head ever so slightly, and close my eyes. His lips found mine again as if they were long lost lovers, and danced. This, I thought, would be the end of me, as he nibbled on my bottom lip between smiles.

  The addictive, forbidden kisses would be what destroyed me from the inside out. I snuggled into him as much as I tried not to, and we fell asleep.

  Smells of freshly roasted coffee beans and sugar filled the room as Finn sipped and stood at the window, watching the sunrise. I watched him from behind—taking in every muscle and curve of his body in tattered jeans and a T-shirt—as he drank. A smile crossed my face as I snuggled into the feathery blanket. He turned around when I moved, and I closed my eyes quickly.

  I heard him set the coffee on the little table next to the bed, then his hand touched my head, and his lips on my forehead. I opened my eyes as he pulled away.

  "Good morning," he said. "My mother used to say that a person could kiss away fever."

  "Really?"

  He nodded his head and sat on the edge of the bed.

  "Are you feeling better?"

  I sat up, and he handed me a cup of tea. Blueberries and honey hit my lips and warmed my soul.

  "We need to talk," he said. He was all business.

  After clearing his throat, he continued. "Luke called. He's very worried. Since you are his, currently, he asked if he could visit. I told him that would be your choice whether to see him or not. My answer is…"

  "Yes. That will be fine," I said.

  "All right."

  Finn stood, gave a smile, and walked down the stairs. When the door opened, Luke appeared.

  "I waited downstairs because I knew you'd see me." Luke came to me, and hugged my neck. His jaw clenched when he caught sight of me and he released a long breath.

  "I will kill the little bastard who did this to you. You could have died."

  "Yeah. That's what they tell me. How did your painting go? Good I hope?"

  He pulled his phone from his pocket and showed me the picture of the finished product. Luke had outdone himself. A huge green pasture with a nice yellow and pink sky sunset spread behind it. On the far corner sat a farmhouse, a barn, and various colored horses: paints, Arabians, and palominos.

  "You can scroll through."

  On the porch, a woman with golden brown skin, and sunlight reflecting on her brown hair.

  "Oh god. That's me, again. You always make me look so pretty."

  He had painted me in cowboy boots, tight blue jeans, with my arms crossed, smiling while leaning against the railing. On the bottom of the picture in a cursive script, read Pioneer Woman. The grass blew in the breeze, and the background went on for miles. I felt as if I had traveled back to the house, and I was looking at it directly. The shadowing, coloring, everything was perfect. He even added a few oil derricks in the background to give it that Texas oil look.

  "I tried to remember the time we shared. The company said they wanted a picture with a country feel to it, pioneerish. While I was gone, I couldn't stop thinking about you and the house. Now everyone around the world can appreciate you both."

  I blushed.

  "It's beautiful. I… I just don't know what to say other than thank you. The things you can do with paint. It's unbelievable."

  I handed back his phone, and he grabbed my neck and hugged me.

  "I was really worried."

  I pulled away and looked into his eyes.

  "I'm not going anywhere. Seriously, everyone is making a big deal about it. I'm fine."

  Luke lifted his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.

  "If you say so."

  The door cracked open, and Finn walked in with Abbie trailing behind him like a puppy with her tail between her legs. Sickening.

  They all sat on the side of the bed, and the silence dragged on.

  Luke said his goodbyes and Finnley walked him out, leaving me alone with the girl I once trusted with all of my secrets. The only person still alive that knew every detail about me, but I didn't speak f
irst because I had nothing to say.

  "I didn't tell him, you know. About your parents."

  She knew how to get me talking.

  "I didn't think you would."

  "We didn't have sex."

  The word "sex" made my blood boil. The thought of them in the basement, her bent over the bed with her ass in the air waiting for him to take her, made me sick. If I wouldn't have walked in, they would have gone through with it, and if I wouldn't have woken up, it may have went on for days. Would she have told me she fucked my boss?

  "But you would have fucked him," I said.

  "Yeah. I would still do it right now if he came in here and asked me. But he told me no. Not sure what happened between the two of you last night, but after that, he's been different."

  "We didn't have sex," I said in the same tone as her.

  "Would you?" she asked.

  "No. And I don't want you having sex with him, either. He's my boss, and you're my best friend, it would put me in an awkward situation. I don't want to deal with it."

  The silence nagged on for minutes.

  "Why don't you tell me the truth? You don't want me to fuck him because you want to."

  "No. I do not."

  She scooted closer to me on the bed and grabbed my arm so tightly that it hurt.

  "Tell me to my face. Look me in the eyes and say you don't."

  "I do not want to fuck Finnley."

  Finn opened the door, and she whispered under her breath, just loudly enough for me to hear, "You're lying."

  Twenty-two

  The next day, Abbie was on an early plane back to Texas. I didn't care. I needed time away from her to think and get over it. I would get over it, maybe.

  After I fell back into my routine, Finn visited me in the night. He crawled into my bed and wrapped his arm around me as I turned around. I saw nothing but sadness in his eyes.

  "Jennifer. We have to stop this. It's bad for business. Unfair to my clients. And the Girls are starting to talk. I can't have that."

  "Then I'll quit."

  "No. I can't have that, either. I'm not worth it, trust me. Sometimes I can be a son of a bitch. I treat women I'm in relationships with badly. I'm toxic. And I owe that to you. To stop this before it becomes too much or something too serious. It has to stop now."