by Nikki Chase
“I … Well, when I was a teenager, home was hell. My parents used to fight all the time. When they got divorced, I thought finally, we’d have some peace and quiet. But my mom always found a way to get to us.”
“She’s nothing if not determined,” I agree.
“I was an awkward kid, and I didn’t have many friends. I didn’t have many places I could escape to—except when I was spending time with my boyfriend at the time.”
“Martin?” I surprise myself with the chill in my voice.
I’m not usually a jealous lover. But then again, I’ve never wanted to own a woman as much as I want Sarah.
I’ve got her now, and it feels fucking great. But at the same time I’m also acutely aware of how much it would fucking suck to lose her after finding out what I’d be missing out on.
“Yeah. It felt like the only time I was free from my problems, like the only time I could stop thinking about what was going on at home,” she says.
Jealousy burns in my chest, thinking about her with someone else, even though it happened when she was a young girl and I wasn’t even in the picture.
Yeah, it doesn’t make any sense.
I try to change the subject. “Did Peter know you had trouble dealing with stuff?”
“Not really.” Sarah goes quiet as she ponders my question. “I mean, he was dealing with the same difficult stuff, too. And my dad was busy trying to stop my mom from completely destroying our finances.”
I nod.
“Do you really want to go back to the city?” Sarah asks.
“The city was too full of bad memories, but it’s been a long time, and I can handle living there now if that’s going to make you happier.”
Joy radiates from her baby blues as she gazes at me. She’s practically beaming.
“So you want to move to the city?” I ask.
“No. I’m just happy you’re willing to make the move for me.”
“Of course I am. I’ll go wherever you want to go.”
“I don’t know why you should feel guilty about what happened to your sister. Like you said, you can’t help someone who doesn’t want your help, right?” she asks.
“Well … I tried to stop her.” I take a deep breath. “But I was in prison when she started hanging out with my friends who were into some kinky shit.
“These friends, they were running a pretty successful BDSM club in the city. It was secretive and exclusive, and my sister wouldn’t have gotten into that scene had it not been for my friends.”
My body jerks in surprise when I feel Sarah’s hand on my arm.
“Sorry,” she says, withdrawing her hand. “I was just trying to help you feel better. It sounded like you were blaming yourself, and I don’t think it was your fault.”
“Thanks,” I say, even though I don’t fully believe what she’s saying. Guilt has taken root within me and become part of my being by now. “By the time I got out of prison, her addiction was already in full swing. She’d outgrown the club my friends owned, and she was doing riskier and riskier things. And then, before I could help her … she was gone.”
Grief and regret covers my insides, thick and black like tar.
“Hey …” Sarah says softly as she rubs my arm. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“It sure as hell felt like it was. I knew my parents weren’t paying attention to her. I knew I was the only family she really had, and I failed her.”
Sarah wraps her delicate arms around me. “It wasn’t your fault,” she repeats as she plants a light kiss on my head.
“I was the one who introduced her to the lifestyle, Sarah. I felt responsible. Hell, I still feel responsible.” My brain replays the fuzzy memories from all those years ago. After my sister’s death, I went on a binge at the club, buried myself in pussy and only emerged, days later, vowing to steer clear of the scene.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Sarah repeats for the third time.
I pull her into my arms. “Thank you for saying that.”
“I’m serious,” she says, her doe eyes widening with sincerity.
“I know.” I give her a smile. “Don’t worry about me. What about you? Don’t you want to go back to the city?”
Sarah shakes her head. “I don’t know. I want to keep the clinic running. But I have to admit, my mom’s driving me crazy.”
I chuckle. “Let me worry about her.”
“She’s my mom. She’s kind of my responsibility.”
“We’re a team now. Your problem is my problem. Don’t worry. I have a plan.” I grin as Sarah eyes me suspiciously.
Sarah
“Are you sure about this?” I ask Luca for the hundredth time.
“We don’t have any other choice.”
The mood is somber as we huddle inside the cramped phone booth.
“I didn’t even know these things still existed,” I remark, trying to stall.
“What, a phone booth? Of course they do. What if your phone runs out of battery, and nobody will lend you a phone?”
“Or if you need to give the cops an anonymous tip?” I ask.
Luca grins. “Exactly.”
“I mean … I guess we’ve tried everything else,” I muse out loud.
“Yeah. We tried talking some sense into her, and she still insists on harassing us. She’s blackmailing us, Sarah. There’s no need to feel guilty about this.”
“You’re right …”
“You have such a good heart, Sarah. But if we don’t do this, there’s a chance she actually might make a report instead of just threatening us to do that.
“You know if someone looks into it and discovers the codes on your bottles look suspicious, you could get your license revoked. And then what would you do? What would happen to the clinic?”
It’s hot in this glass box. I wonder if it’s because this is essentially a small greenhouse. Or, maybe I’m just nervous.
This is a dirty tactic, and I don’t like it, but my mom’s essentially threatening to destroy everything that my dad and my brother worked so hard for their whole lives.
I don’t have any other choice.
“Okay.” I nod resolutely. “Let’s do this.”
The sooner we get this over and done with, the sooner we can get out of here.
After this unpleasant task, we’ll have a long, lazy day ahead of us. We can get brunch and chat over coffee. We can buy ingredients to cook together for dinner tonight. Or, we can skip dinner and have each other instead.
Luca keeps his unblinking eyes on me as he dials the non-emergency number for the local police station.
My heart races as guilt and anxiety rage in my chest.
I’m sorry, Mom. I tried to tell you to back off, but you wouldn’t. You’ve even been getting more and more aggressive. Still, I hope they won’t punish you too harshly.
“Hello, I’d like to report someone for drug possession.”
Luca covers his mouth with the collar of his jacket to muffle his voice as he speaks into the phone receiver. He pauses to listen to the person on the other side—a police officer, presumably.
“The name?” Luca watches me, as if looking for signs of me having changed my mind.
I give him a nod.
This is it. There’s no going back now.
“Donna Ellis,” he says into the phone. He gives the officer my mom’s address, then hangs up the phone.
My vision blurs as tears fill my eyes.
“Hey, are you okay?” Luca asks urgently as he puts his hands on my face. “Are you regretting it? I promise you, it was the right thing to do.
“And for what it’s worth, based on what I know about how much your mom has, she’ll probably get away with a warning. It’ll be just enough to spook her.”
“I know,” I say. We’ve already gone through all the reasonings and options last night. “I don’t regret it. It’s just that … All my life, I’ve never fought back against my mom. There was always my dad or Peter to deal with her for me.”
�
�And you have me now,” Luca says gently as he gazes into my eyes.
“Yeah. Thank you for being here for me.”
“My pleasure. If you let me, I want to always be here for you.” A strange smile appears on Luca’s lips. When he speaks, there’s a hint of unease in his voice. “I was planning to do this later, but this feels right. I wouldn’t have been able to do this a few years ago because there were always lines outside phone booths. But nobody’s waiting outside now.”
I throw a glance outside. Yes, it’s deserted out there. That’s the whole reason why we’re at this particular phone booth—because nobody ever comes here. I tilt my head and shoot Luca a quizzical look. “Do what?”
“This.” Luca reaches into the pocket of his jacket and fishes out something small and dark.
My eyes are fixated on the velvet box. Could this be …?
I raise my gaze to find Luca getting down on one knee.
Oh my God.
I know what’s inside before he opens the box. But still, when the stone comes into view, my breath catches in my throat. The clear diamond reflects the artificial light in this old phone booth. It looks all sparkly and pretty.
“Sarah Ellis, will you marry me?” Luca asks.
I nod up and down.
“Is that a yes?” he asks.
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. I swallow the lump in my throat. “Yes,” I say. “Yes. Definitely. Yes.”
Luca’s tension melts into joy as he grins from ear to ear. He takes my hand and slides the ring onto my finger.
The metal feels cold on my skin, but that’s just because I’m not used to wearing jewelry.
I’m sure as the ring heats up to my body temperature, I’ll get used to it. I’ll have to because I’ll probably wear some kind of a ring for the rest of my life.
After this engagement ring, I’m going to be wearing a wedding band.
I’m going to get married.
To Luca.
My gaze flicks between the ring and my new fiancé.
He grins at me as he gets up. I shriek when he wraps his muscular arms around my thighs and lifts me up. “I’ve gotten you speechless.”
I giggle. “Yeah.”
“That’s okay. You can take a break. You have the rest of your life to talk my ears off.”
“Hey,” I protest as I put my arms around his neck.
“I’m kidding. I love listening to you talk. I love your voice. Love everything about you.” Luca lets me slide down his chest until our foreheads touch.
“Are you sure this is not too soon?” I ask.
“Why would it be toon soon?” Luca asks. “I’ve known you forever, and I know with complete certainty that you’re the one. Why should we delay our happiness?”
“Just wanted you to be sure,” I say, grinning.
“Oh, I’m sure. I’m sure I don’t want to ever lose you again.” His smile touches mine as we stay still, knowing we’re going to remember this moment and talk about it for the rest of our shared lives.
Epilogue
Sarah—One Year Later
Luca and I have a quick wedding in Vegas, in one of those chapels in a mega-casino.
I wear a flowy white sundress. Luca wears a white shirt, dress pants, and a bow tie. And the wedding officiant wears a studded white onesie and a black Elvis wig.
Fifteen minutes after we enter the chapel, Luca and I are husband and wife.
We take a picture with Elvis in front of the cute little chapel. We’ll put it somewhere in our home—previously known as Luca’s bachelor pad—to keep the memory fresh.
The picture was quick and painless, but I can’t say the same about the other ways Luca brands me as his.
I’m not talking about the wedding band, of course. The plain ring curled around my finger has yet to inflict any pain on me.
I’m talking about the piercing that Luca gave me a few months ago in his tattoo parlor. Other than the sharp pain when the needle went through my pussy lips, it also hurt during the healing process. It was torture in a whole other sense, too, because I wasn’t supposed to have sex for a month, which only made Luca more eager to tease me.
I’m also talking about the way his tattoo gun is tearing into my skin right now, marking me with indelible ink. The mechanical noise pierces my ears, making the pain feel more intense—not that I mind.
As I lie on the bed, I look up and squint my eyes. The sunlight streaming into our bedroom through the windows hits the white-gold wedding band around my finger, and the metal handcuffs around my wrists.
I grunt as the pain on the outer side of my right thigh grows more intense.
“Regretting this already, doll?” Luca asks without taking his eyes off my skin. The concentration in those knitted eyebrows and intense gaze makes my heart flutter.
“No.” I bite my lower lip to distract myself from the pain.
My core clenches, and I feel myself growing wet. Without a thread of clothing on my body, it’s not going to take long now until my arousal drips down onto the bed.
“Good. Because I’m far from done.” Luca puts his tattoo machine aside for a moment and leans down to kiss my inner thigh before he continues his work.
“Hey, remember when you catfished me online and got me to meet up with you?” I ask, trying to distract myself from the sharp pain.
“Yeah,” Luca says without looking up, keeping his focus on his work.
“How did you get me past the hotel lobby wearing a blindfold?”
“I told them I was giving you a birthday surprise,” he says concisely as his steady hands guide the needle marking my skin with ink.
Okay. It doesn’t seem like he can talk right now. Luca’s great at a lot of things, but multi-tasking isn’t one of them.
We were going to do this at Luca’s tattoo parlor. But since this is basically foreplay for us … we decided to do it at home, where I can be naked and tied up on the bed while Luca tattoos me.
I mean, at the parlor, it’d be completely inappropriate for me to have a spreader bar between my legs … It would’ve been more convenient, though, because I’m always at the parlor anyway, now that the clinic has moved into the space above it.
Since the move, it’s been a lot easier for me to avoid my mom. Now that I’m not her tenant anymore, she can’t make me talk to her if I don’t feel like it.
I have to give my mom some credit, though. After Luca’s anonymous tip and the subsequent police visit, she’s stopped blackmailing us for drugs.
Judging by the way she looks, she’s still using. I have no idea where she buys from, and I don’t care. But if she tries to bother us again, we’re not above making another phone call to the police.
The cops let her off with a warning the first time, but they’re likely to give her something harsher if they get her a second time.
All in all, I’m glad Luca and I have chosen to stay here in Ashbourne. The clinic’s patients have been happy to follow us to our new location, and I feel like I’m providing a necessary service because there’s literally no other vet in town.
Pretty much all pet owners in town come to the clinic. My days are never boring because I know all my clients, and I can never guess who’s going to drop by on any given day.
I’ve watched Martin’s puppy grow into a handsome adult Maltese with a fluffy coat. I’ve put down a couple of sick, old dogs with terminal conditions. I’ve helped farm animals give birth.
My work forces me to watch intimate moments between pets and their owners. I can choose to get depressed about all the sickness and death, or I can celebrate the new lives I’ve helped to bring into the world and the old ones I’ve helped to prolong.
Sometimes, though, truly unexpected things happen. The kind of things that belong in the “Weird News” section of the paper.
The other day, I saw this cute tabby for a routine check-up. She belonged to Ava, a teacher at the local high school who’d been coming to the clinic forever.
Nothing was wrong wi
th the cat, but something was definitely wrong with Ava’s ex, who was suing her for every dollar he’d ever spent on her—including the twenty bucks it had cost him to build her cat a fort out of cardboard boxes.
That’s not even the worst, though.
I’ve treated a Beagle that had been poisoned—deliberately. The dog belonged to a new girl in town. Her name was Jessica and someone obviously didn’t like her. That was infuriating. I still can’t believe someone could do that to an innocent dog.
Unfortunately, unlike animals, people can be petty and vengeful.
Sometimes, I feel like jumping in to help my fellow townspeople in need. Maybe there’s something I can do for people like Ava and Jessica.
I should get more involved in the community or something. That’s what’s so good about living in a small town, right? The sense of community? And I’m missing out on it.
I’m thinking about hosting some of the regular meetings in the neighborhood. Jessica told me they were great for meeting people.
On the other hand, I’ve been extremely busy. So many things have happened over the past year.
For example, the lawsuit.
After consulting with an attorney, Luca and I decided to sue the hospital that treated Peter.
Neither one of us wanted anyone else to go through what he did, so we aimed to raise awareness of the unfair treatment that former drug addicts get in the medical system.
We’ve managed to get the story into multiple national newspapers. The hospital is offering us a sizeable settlement now, and we’re still deciding on our next step.
Maybe we should take the money and hold an exhibition for Peter’s artwork. Or, maybe we should donate it to struggling rehab centers. Or, we can also keep the lawsuit going and generate more awareness. With a lot of luck, maybe we can make some changes in the system.
The tattoo machine stops buzzing, and I let my thoughts dissipate into thin air. The sharp pain has forced me to go somewhere else in my mind, but now there’s only the dull sting of a fresh tattoo.
I remember this feeling from when Luca gave me the cat tattoo on my wrist—it was both a symbol of independence and something from home I could always carry with me.
