But I came, and all the feelings went. My head is clear now, at least for a few minutes, until that nagging feeling of wanting more returns.
I pull out of her, yank a few paper towels, and quickly clean myself off. I sense her watching me, her eyes questioning, insecure.
And I won’t look. I can’t.
I pull up my pants and head over to the living room, picking up my shirt from the floor.
In my periphery, I watch her slide off of the counter. I can feel her befuddlement, she’s dazed.
This is good.
I slide on my shirt.
“The pizza,” I say.
“Oh shit...” she says, running to the oven. “It’s fine, just in time.”
She thinks I’m staying for dinner. Poor fucking thing.
After placing the pizza on the range top, she looks over to me and her eyes grow sad when she sees I am headed towards the door.
And as usual, I make sure to remind her, and myself.
“This changes nothing, Mia. Do yourself a favor, don’t convince yourself that I am a nice guy, or that I can receive love. I am not a good person and you will be sorely disappointed. I’m only using you. I don’t care how you feel.”
I turn and walk out the door before I can see the hurt spread across her face.
I get home to find an unusually decadent dinner spread waiting for me.
Jude wants something.
“Where have you been? I’ve been calling you.”
“Around,” I say. I am not in the mood for discussion. I feel like a huge fucking piece of shit right now, for hurting Mia when she tried to reach out to me, but even more because I actually care that I did.
“Well, I had a nice day, thank you very much. I was in the mood to cook, so I made us dinner.”
“I noticed. Thank you.”
“Have a seat before it gets cold,” she says, far too nice. This feels like a fucking ambush.
“Where’s Rex?” I ask. If she’s around, there’s a 95% chance he’s lurking somewhere near.
“He’s coming later. He’s out with some friends.”
I take a seat and shovel some food on my plate. Fucking Mia runs up my appetite, and today I did it twice, so it’s time to chow. Also, these self-imposed four am wake-ups are killing me. I am ready to crash after this meal.
As I eat, Jude just watches me, not even picking at her plate.
“Just fucking say it. What is it?” I ask.
“I was just wondering how you’ve been, twin brother.” I hate when she does that, throws “twin” in there to emphasize how we are even closer than typical siblings.
“I’ve been fine. Perfectly fine,” I say, stabbing my fork into a potato.
“You’ve just been...distant.”
“Distant? You mean I’ve been myself?”
“Oh cut the shit Sil, this is me you’re talking to.”
“Don’t call me that, Judith.”
She rolls her eyes. We both hate our names, me because it only made me stand out more, and Jude because it was old fashioned. Apparently since we are half American and half Romanian, our parents split the names accordingly. And they went overboard in both instances.
“Fine, sorry. But stop acting like I don’t know you. It’s me. We’re fucked up, but we get each other.”
She’s right. It’s that twin psychic voodoo shit. Fucking twinstinct.
“I just want to eat in peace. I’m hungry and you know better than to fuck with a hungry Tax.”
“And I want nothing more for you than to fill your belly. Can’t a girl just talk to her big brother?”
She also likes to remind me that I am four minutes and thirty-two seconds older than her. And that I am 6’4” and she barely breaks five feet.
“Talk then, but I’m eating.”
“Okay, I’m just concerned about the plan.”
I roll my eyes. Not this shit again.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you’ll take care of it. I just wish I knew more. For the past ten years, we have done this whole thing together. We confided in each other every step of the way. We are a team. And now, when we are so close to finishing, you’re shutting me out. It’s been months since Mia was supposed to be gone. You haven’t even mentioned her since you bought Alea. I think I have been pretty patient.”
“No I’m not.” Yes I am.
“Then tell me.”
“It’s shit I don’t really feel like sharing with my sister. Nothing personal.”
“Are you really trying to pretend like there’s anything that’s off limits between us?”
I sigh, already exhausted from fighting my constant craving for Mia, the last thing I fucking need is my sister piling on. “You want to hear the fucking details Jude? You really want to hear them?” I ask in a raised voice.
“Yes!” she pleads, with a tone of relief.
“Okay,” I slam my fork and knife down on my plate. “The night I went to the house to kill her, I fucked the living shit out of her instead. I fucking came in her and everything!” I pause almost imperceptibly for a disgusted reaction from Jude, but she doesn’t even flinch. “Then I bought Alea, because I wanted to make her my whore. I have been fucking the shit out of her right in the middle of Alea. Making her suck my cock, fucking her in the ass, degrading her, calling her a slut and a bitch. She loves it and she hates it. I am slowly sucking her soul out of her body, making her fall in love with me. I keep taking more than I give. I am slowly showing her a little more tenderness each time I see her so she’ll fall hard for me. So she thinks she can save a broken man. And when she does fall all the way, when she can only see a life with me in her future, then I will tell her who I am, and when she’s crying, when she realizes who I am, remembers what she did to us, I am going to look her in the eyes and kill her. Then I am going to burn Alea to the ground.” Jude sits taller in her seat, drawing in a slow breath. If I didn’t know any better, I would think those words just turned her on. “Those are the specifics of the plan. Getting someone to fall in love with you this hard, in this complicated of a fashion, takes a lot of time. So please get the fuck off my ass and let me eat my dinner in peace!” I say, pushing away from the table so I can take my plate to another room.
As I say my new plan aloud my stomach grows tight with anxiety.
Jude smiles, “perfect,” she says, impressed with my Plan B.
14 Years Earlier
“So, I think you’re onto something with this Radiohead and Tool you’ve suggested,” Mia says to me, smiling.
The thought of this perky, pretty girl singing about wanting people to die and wash away into the Pacific Ocean makes me grin from ear to ear.
“Well, maybe, just maaaaybe, I might understand why Backstreet’s back, alright?”
She shoves me playfully. “Now I know you’re full of shit. Snacks!” she declares, spilling a bunch of bags onto the floor of her den. It’s been a few weeks since we started this project together, which is due at the end of next week. During that time, we have hung out at least two evenings per week, usually when her dad is working late.
I get the sense that she doesn’t like to be at home alone with her mom because it makes her sad.
In that time, I’ve learned she is honestly the most amazing person I have ever met. And I know it’s not her outer beauty that’s blinding me. In fact, getting to know her has only made me more attracted to her, and I didn’t think that was possible.
She doesn’t treat me like a weirdo, she doesn’t look at my long hair, gaunt face, baggy black clothes and chains and see an “other.” She just makes me feel comfortable. I don’t feel so different when it’s just her and me. She’s even nice enough to let Jude do homework in the dining room when Jude has nothing else to do while we work on our project.
I think I’m in love.
Well, I’m pretty sure I am. All I do is think about her, especially at night when I’m lying in bed. Jude can tell, she’ll catch me smiling and say, “What? Ya thinking ‘bout Miaa
aaaa?” as she rubs her index fingers together in a shame-shame motion. It kind of aches a little, to think about her. I think that’s why they call it love sickness, because you feel queasy and your heart feels like it weighs a ton.
Oh, and I jack off to her a lot. Like a lot.
I know I don’t have a chance with her. In this den, in this small box, it’s just Sil and Mia. But in the hallways of Clint High, she’s got a football player boyfriend, hot friends, and all the other stuff that comes with being beautiful and well-liked. But I’ve thought about it, and...I’m going to tell her. I don’t have the guts to tell her face to face, but I am going to write her a letter and give it to her after school next week. And if there is a speck of a chance that she might like me back, then it will have been worth the potential embarrassment.
And if she doesn’t like me back, I trust her enough to be kind about it. And maybe she’ll even stay my friend after this project is done.
“Well Mia, seeing as I have initiated you into some real music...I can’t take it away from you now. You can keep the Radiohead cd.”
Her eyes light up like I just offered her a pony or some shit.
“Really? Awwww, Sil...you jerk!” She says, and then she hugs me. She fucking hugs me. I try not to stiffen up as her breasts rub up against me, but my muscles lock up. People don’t hug me. Just my sister, and that’s only sometimes.
I think Mia feels the tension, because she pulls away quickly and then nudges me on the shoulder. “Thanks, music snob.”
And now, I am even more certain I have to tell her how I feel.
It’s been a week since Tax came to my house, showed a shred of his humanity and then said the cruelest thing he might have ever said to me. But I know he’s doing it because he felt something. I know he’s trying to pretend he only sees me as his victim. I get under his skin the way he gets under mine and he can’t handle it.
So I’ll play along, but he won’t get all of me anymore. I’ll lay there like a cold fish, he can take my vagina, my ass, my mouth, but he won’t have anything else. I am tired of being sucked dry. If he didn’t want more, fine. But I know he does, and while I can let him use my body as a toy, I won’t let him use my soul as one.
So I march up to Alea with my poker face on, ready to be fucked by the world champion of fucking. But I am done trying to see any humanity in him. He doesn’t want me to.
Maybe there really isn’t anything inside of him. Perhaps he really has no empathy. Maybe I keep telling myself he’s more than just a heartless psychopath to cope with the situation I am in. Because the reality, that he purely feels hatred towards me, that he sees me as nothing but a piece of garbage he can use and dispose of, that I did something to earn this treatment, that I am truly alone right now, is so much harder to bear.
Alea is locked again, this time there is no surprise attack. I enter the office and switch on the conference room lights. Then I wait.
5:15am
5:25am
5:30am
Where the fuck is he? Is this another one of his games?
My façade of indifference starts to break down. Maybe he’s done with us. Maybe he’s not coming back. He’ll just leave me a hollow shell because I know I will never feel the way I feel with Tax with another man.
Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.
Am I broken? Is that why no matter how many dates I went on, no matter how “together” or handsome the guy seemed to be, they could never hold my interest? Do I require someone to brutalize me in order to feel an attraction to them? And does this make me destined to suffer?
I try to imagine what I would want from Tax. If he could just give me more, if he could keep the intense and angry side, but show me something else, I could deal. I might even be happy. But his hardness only works if there is some other softness. It’s one thing to bend me over and fuck me like a gutter slut, it’s another thing to really see me as one.
I don’t have Tax’s phone number. I have been fucking this guy for seven weeks now, and I don’t even have his phone number. But I do have his email, so I send him a message:
Was our meeting cancelled this morning?
As soon as I send the message, I start to fume. Everything Tax does is deliberate. He knows I am sitting here waiting. In some ways, this blatant lack of consideration for my time makes me angrier than him blackmailing me for sex. I could have used the extra sleep. This is just another one of his games.
I send the email, not expecting a quick reply, but my text box pings with a message.
I am rescheduling to Friday. 5 am. See you then.
Well, I guess I have his phone number now.
It would have been nice for you to tell me this last night so I could have slept in. But I guess that would require a modicum of consideration.
My sincerest apologies, Mia. See you in a few days. And watch your mouth.
Ugh, his smartass response makes me want to punch a puppy.
I can’t help but snicker at that last line, but I still want to kill him for being such an asshole.
Friday comes along, and I trudge my way through the parking lot. Today is going to be a loooong day. Tiff is throwing a party at the bar, a grand reopening of sorts to celebrate a major renovation. And partying with Tiff means a very late night.
This morning, out of spite, I don’t wear my sophisticated and sexy getup. Instead, I wear my usual jeans, boots and a white t-shirt. I don’t apply an ounce of makeup and I throw my hair up in a topknot. Serves him right. It’s not like he doesn’t make me get completely naked 95% of the time anyway.
The door to Alea is locked. Again, no surprise attack as I go for my keys. I enter the office; all the lights are off.
5:10am
5:20am
5:35am
He’s stood me up AGAIN.
And I hate to admit it, but I am disappointed. Of course, I am livid too.
This time, I text him. I don’t know if the fact that I have his phone number means anything. But I like to think with him, everything has meaning.
I am here. Alone. Again. You said Friday 5am.
I expect a quick response, but there is nothing. Complete radio silence.
Is he done with me?
I resist the urge to call him. To come off as some desperate wannabe girlfriend, but he’s always showed up. Hell, the last time we saw each other it was twice in one day.
A sadness comes over me, wondering if this is really it. He’s bored with me and has moved onto the next woman. There is also the possibility that I scared him off when he came to my house. That he felt something, and now he’s running away like a big fucking coward.
I should be thrilled about this possibility.
Well, it’s official: I am crazy, missing the guy who has made it his personal hobby to torment me.
I watched Mia leave her house this morning. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. She’s either tired or silently protesting me. Little does she know, I think she’s just as hot in a t-shirt and jeans as she is in a silk blouse and skirt. Win-win for me.
I made the decision not to see her this week. I need distance.
Jude’s hunches are hitting a little too close to home. I told her my plan to shut her up for a while. It’ll work, because I have always come through, and I know she’s not interested in hearing any more details about her brother’s sexcapades.
But things aren’t adding up for me. I’m not an idiot, I read people incredibly well. That’s how I have been able to destroy the lives of everyone else who destroyed mine and single-handedly take an entire town off of the map.
But I don’t see it. I am just as baffled now as the moment I learned of Mia’s betrayal fourteen years ago.
Could I be wrong? Impossible.
She’s blinding me again, making a fool out of me like she did long ago.
I used to think of her and see blood, thirst for her painful end. But now, when I think of her, I start feeling...warmth. Motherfucking warmth.
It’s her pussy, I
think it’s so good that it’s making me soft. So this week, I’ll fuck with her head, get distance, get focused, and then I am going to come back strong and make things right once and for all.
But there’s one major problem with my ingenious plan: I am giving her distance, but I’m not giving myself any distance from her as I sit here in my car following her every move.
Stone Temple Pilots – Sex Type Thing
I am parked across the street from the bar that Mia’s friend, Tiff, owns on Water Street. It looks like there is a big party as there is an unusually long line out the door, but Mia goes straight in.
I call Rex.
“Yo Tax.”
“Hey, I need you to come downtown.”
“Sure bro, what’s up?”
“Mia’s at Cuddy’s and I need you to keep an eye on her.”
“Oh, always a pleasure. Off all the people you had me tag, she was the most fun to watch.”
My collar heats up. “I bet. How long are you gonna be?”
“I’m five minutes out.”
“Good. Keep your phone close. And keep your distance from Mia. I just want eyes on her.”
“Always, man.”
I turn off my phone and wait. I get the feeling she knows I am watching, because the outfit she had on tonight was designed to taunt, to make me want to bend her over and remind her she’s mine.
It’s this tight black dress with spaghetti straps that stops at about mid-thigh. Basic, but designed to perfectly frame a tight body like hers without any distractions. Her cleavage was peeking out and she’s wearing these red fuck-me heels with ankle straps. Ankle straps. Something about those things get me every fucking time.
She usually keeps her hair up in a ponytail or bun, but today it’s loose and full and she looks so fucking...womanly. All thick glossy long hair, and tits, and legs and ass.
Aaaaand there goes my goddam trouser snake, missing her pussy. This guy is fixin’ to get me in a world of trouble if he doesn’t start getting interested in other women.
Debt Page 12
