by Amber Lin
I hated that he knew that. I had sacrificed almost everything for the shields I wore. Only a handful of people could see through them. Luke was one of them, Henri another. They were opposite sides of the coin…weren’t they?
“I don’t believe anything you say,” I whispered, though it sounded like a weak defense even to my ears. I was so starved for anything about Luke, for something true and deep. His shields were as fortified as my own, but one thing could always pierce them. Our pasts, our history. The turning point at which we first realized we needed a shield at all, when the world had attacked.
“He was like you. A prostitute. Only worse, I think. You have to spread your legs. It is the way of a woman, for all of time, yes? A man can bear much more physical pain than a woman, but far less humiliation. To suck another man’s dick for twenty dollars in an alley. To bend over. He ceases to be a man.”
No, it couldn’t be. He would have told me. He might have kept it from me, but I would have been able to tell. It explained so much. I could always feel that shame leaking from their heavily powdered pores, wafting on each nervous breath.
Though an unwelcomed power, I could always detect when another had undergone the same denial, the same internal negotiations: it doesn’t mean anything, they can’t touch you on the inside, they can’t even see you. It was a repellant. I had enough sick deals in my own head without shouldering someone else’s. But Luke… No.
He was too straitlaced. He fought prostitution because it went against his lofty morals, and that was the way I damn well liked it. We were opposites that way, light and dark, the sky and the earth, touching along the horizon but never to mix. Attached for eternity but always separate. If we were the same after all… No no no.
“I don’t believe you,” I said with conviction now. I wouldn’t, couldn’t.
“I hope you didn’t suck his dick,” he said. “No telling where it’s been.”
I whirled, catching him on the cheek with my nails. The odds were stacked so high against us, too high, but I wouldn’t make it easy. Let him try to touch Luke again with me nearby. I swung, slamming my fist in the side of his neck. He wouldn’t even have been the one to kill us. One of his men, as he delegated everything except for this.
He pinned me, and I panted against the wall.
“Bitch,” he spat into my face. “I should kill you for that.”
“So do it,” I panted. “Why don’t you fucking do it already?”
I realized my question had been sincere. Why was I still alive? Why was Luke? I couldn’t have much gratitude for it, considering the pain he must be in, considering the way this would have to end, a tragedy after all.
An icy fire raged in Henri’s eyes, matched by the frosted blue of his vest. It wasn’t any desire to whore me out that kept him from putting a bullet in my brain. He must know by now I wouldn’t cooperate, and even without that, I had disrespected him enough that retribution would be death. The only reason I should still be alive was if he wanted to hurt me…except he had hurt me so very little. Yes, the emotional hurt of Luke lanced me worse than a whip, but that seemed too nuanced even for a consummate asshole like Henri.
Still leaning against the wall, I murmured, “What is it? What hold do I have over you that I don’t even know I have?”
“Don’t try my patience. There isn’t much left.”
“Then kill me. Why waste time?”
He turned back. “You’re not the one in control here.”
“Then who?” I whispered.
After a pause he said, “I am,” but neither of us believed that anymore. “You’ll find what you’re looking for soon enough, but I don’t think you’ll enjoy it very much.” He stalked from the room. His men followed, locking us in behind them.
I considered briefly falling at Luke’s feet, just falling apart. That approach had its appeal, but I had an advantage here. For once, I wasn’t the remains of what my father had done to me. Not even the punishment I had inflicted on myself with my choice of profession for the years after. I’d had a friend who’d helped me, and so I knew what kindness looked like. In the clumsy way of a child copying his elders, I tugged at the knots at his wrists until they gave. I pulled him down to the floor, where I cradled his head in the nook of my arm, not shying away from his body, not using any hollow quip to buffer the bond between us. He radiated heat and pain, and so I took it into myself, not a sacrifice this time but a comfort. A tear fell from my cheek onto his. I touched it, washing the dirt and blood away from his skin.
Was it true, what Henri had said? It was an idle question, something to ponder. Do you think it will rain tomorrow? Doesn’t matter; worry about it then.
He stirred, groaning. It was an animal sound, an agony sound.
“Shh,” I soothed, but the tears came faster, and the sounds did not stop. “I’ll sing to you,” I offered, “but you’ll probably wish I hadn’t.”
I sang him songs that I’d sung to my goddaughter in a different lifetime. You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Morbid for a children’s song, I had always thought. And of course I’d been perversely attracted to it. Now it seemed appropriate in the almost-underground area we found ourselves in, with no light and little air.
Please don’t take my sunshine away.
When he settled, I left him and explored the room, feeling around the hinges of the door, just in case, and along the walls. On the far wall, I ran my hip into a table. Some sort of workstation, judging by its height and breadth. I caught a few splinters in my palm and a few loose rocks at the bottom of the crumbling concrete wall, the occasional screw.
“Aha.” My fingers clasped on cool metal, and I released a puff of satisfied breath. Some sort of tool, maybe a wrench. Hardly a fair fight against too many men armed with guns I hadn’t learned how to shoot yet. Still better than waiting to die.
“Shelly?” Luke’s voice was hoarse, a little disoriented.
“Here.” I swallowed my guilt and worry and returned to his side. “I’m here.”
“Why?” A pained pause. “How?”
“I came to save you,” I said with a small laugh. “It hasn’t gone so great so far, but don’t worry. I like to save some of my tricks for the big finish.”
He groaned, whether in pain or annoyance at my joke, I wasn’t sure—probably both.
“Have to…have to get out.” His eyes were merely green slits, but slowly they came into focus. Awareness would only bring pain now.
I stroked the hair at his temple. “Don’t worry about that. Just rest. I’ve got it covered. I took a self-defense class…kind of. Of course I don’t have a gun, so it’s not very useful, but the point is, I’m not going to let them hurt you again.”
He struggled to sit up. No matter how I soothed and reprimanded him, he insisted on propping himself up against the wall, away from me. He touched his nose gingerly, then sucked in a breath.
“Broken,” he muttered through swollen lips. “Hope you’re not too attached to the face. Probably won’t heal right by the time we get outta here.”
“I appreciate the optimism, but since you’re planning on living through this, maybe you shouldn’t be sitting up or talking right now.”
He ignored that, using his interrogation voice. “When did he leave? How long until he comes back?”
“Don’t know and don’t know. Must have left my glow-in-the-dark watch in my other dress.”
“I’m assuming you don’t have a phone either.”
“Surprisingly, they didn’t give me one. Guess they figured I would call someone.”
The low sound he made was more frustrated than amused. “Where’s Major?”
I sobered. “Lost him along the way.“
“So no one knows you’re here?”
“I’m sure your precious cops are on their way to help. It’s a good thing they don’t have red tape or bureaucracy or anything that would slow them down when they come rescue us.”
His stern look was overshadowed by the mosaic of blue-green bruises across his sk
in. “Laying it on a little thick with the sarcasm today?”
“Well, I’ve been on the run for my life for weeks now. Abandoned by you. Kidnapped. Forced to become a hooker. Again. It’s either irreverent sarcasm or a nervous breakdown.”
“Keep on with it, then,” he said gruffly.
So I did. “You’ll be pleased to know I found a wrench, so if we need any furniture assembled, we’re covered. Speaking of which, there are a few tables over in that corner. That’s all. A table, a chair. It’s all very minimalist, very contemporary. The dirt is a nice touch, kind of like tree-hugger modish.”
He stood with a low moan that raised the hairs on my arms. Before he’d had time to recover or become steady on his feet, he followed the walls, feeling for himself. After a minute and some rustling I heard, “Take off your stockings.”
“Just like that? No dinner date first? No down payment?”
“I’m going to fill them with rocks.”
“Oh, I see. We’re making homegrown weaponry, like prison inmates. It was only a matter of time, being locked up like this. It’s like some kind of social experiment. Pretty soon we’ll turn on each other.”
He filled them with the loose nails and crumbled concrete. “I didn’t abandon you, by the way. Not exactly. I thought you were dead.”
“What?”
“First it just seemed like you were passed out, some kind of sedative.”
“And then you left.”
“I thought you’d died. I was back in fifteen minutes to get you, but you were gone. No trace, and Jeff told me…” He paused, his grief saturating the air around us. “I thought you were dead,” he repeated, and I heard the uncertainty, as if he still worried it might be true. As if I were just some beating-inspired hallucination.
“I’m here.”
“I know.” A hollow laugh came from his chest. “I heard what Henri told you. I knew you must be real then. I couldn’t have made that up even in my nightmares.”
Was that a denial or confession? “Henri’s a bastard,” I said quietly. “I don’t care what he said.”
“Don’t you? I sure as hell do. The whole time we’ve been talking, that’s all I can think of. Why haven’t you asked?”
Tears sprang to my eyes, warm and plump. “If you wanted me to know something, you’d tell me.” No matter how I tried to placate him, it only seemed to make him more agitated. More accusatory.
“Ah, so you do believe him.”
“Tell me what you want me to say,” I whispered. “Just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”
“Right,” he said with a cruel twist, “because you’re whoever I want you to be, you’ll do whatever I say. God forbid you ask me a goddamn question. God forbid you care.”
“Why?” I asked thickly. “Would it matter if I did? Would you actually want to be with me then, or would you keep pushing me away?”
“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you. You keep everyone at a distance. Do you know how hard I had to work to get close to you? It’s a struggle to get any information from you, even the goddamn time of day.”
“What is there to know? You want me to spell it out for you? Home life wasn’t so great. Daddy didn’t like me too much, except when he did, if you know what I mean. But I showed him. I got out of there, and here’s some good news. The only skill I had was worth a hell of a lot of money per hour. All I had to sell was my fucking soul, so I guess everything is just peachy. But you already knew that, didn’t you? I’m a walking cliché. So tell me what secrets I’ve been keeping.”
“Shelly.” His voice cracked, and I hoped it was over. I prayed that he’d gotten whatever anger he had out of his system, that he realized I wouldn’t judge him. I would, a little, but only as much as I judged myself, as anyone. How could you do that, just let them touch and use and hurt you like that? I had to; he had to. A million other jobs in the world, and somehow it had seemed like the only one.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” I whispered. I put my hand on his, and he jerked away.
“Don’t touch me.” It was a snarl, an animal sound carved into words.
I pulled back, frightened. Not of Luke but of the hurt inside him.
“I don’t…I don’t think of you any differently.” It was a lie, and we both knew it.
Dirt scuffed into the air as he pushed off the wall. “Of course. I’m still the noble one, the guy with the best intentions. That’s why you let me close, isn’t it?” His voice lowered. “That’s why you fell in love with me, isn’t that right? Because I was just the opposite of you, so much better than you.”
His words rang with truth. I shook my head. “It was you. Only you.”
“Stop telling me what you think I want to hear. Just for once, say something that’s you. Not a trick, just the honest-to-God truth.”
I whirled on him. “Fine. You want to know the truth? I hate it. I hate that I had to hear it from him instead of you. I hate that you had to go through that. I hate that the worst part of me, the worst things I ever felt or thought or had happen to me…they happened to you. I hate that because I love you. Don’t you get that, you big idiot? It kills me that you went through that. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, but you? It’s heartbreaking. You’re breaking my heart.”
He stilled. “What did you say?”
“I said you’re a big idiot.”
He grabbed my arms and backed me up against the wall. My toes pointed to the ground, barely touching. I felt like a doll. Like a child, though it didn’t feel as bad as it should—just bad enough.
“Don’t push me right now,” he muttered. “I can’t… It’s not… I’m not myself.”
No, this was finally him, unfettered and cracked open. Ironic that it had taken a brutal beating and imprisonment to release him. He was dark and angry, this man. Tortured and terrified that he wouldn’t be able to control that darkness, that anger. But he didn’t have to, not with me. That was the gift I could give him. That was how I’d be worthy.
I pushed at him, but he didn’t release me. I didn’t expect him too; we were too far in. He was too far gone. This was going to happen rough and hard and with pain so sweet we’d neither of us forget it, with a pleasure so cruel it would teach us both a lesson; it would leave marks so deep that I wouldn’t regret it when it was over.
“Just let it out,” I whispered.
“No,” he said. “It’s too much. I know how that feels. I know what it means and everything about it. You’ve been hurt so much. Abused and afraid and angry—so much. How could I hurt you more? How could I cause you any more pain?”
“Don’t you see? I want it all. Your pleasure, your pain. Anything you can give me, I crave it.”
The last words shattered in my mouth, pressed there by the force of his body and his rage. He unleashed it on me. His anger, carefully boxed and hidden, sprang open. The fear, so neatly caged, splintered all around us. He lashed at me with hands that forced my wrists against the wall, his mouth that pried mine open and stole my breath, the painful ridge against my stomach as he pushed and threatened and warned me away, but with nowhere to go and no desire to leave him, I yielded. It hadn’t been a lie; the pain he delivered was sweeter than the gentlest caress of a hundred-dollar bill. It was honest, and it was him.
I hadn’t lied about that either: I loved him. I had dressed it up with excuses, with reasons that made it okay to break the cardinal rule. He was unattainable, like Allie had said. He was unlike me in every way, but when those drapes were pulled away, they revealed a blinding white-hot wound. There wasn’t any reason to compel it, any logic to explain it, and that’s how I knew it was love.
Copper touched my tongue—my blood, his. An anguished sound disturbed the air around us—my pain, his pleasure. But no one would play the martyr tonight. Neither of us would pretend we didn’t want this, not anymore.
He shoved me to the floor, and I tumbled there, a flurry of dust and limbs, of bruises on my knees and a self-satisfied grunt in my throa
t. With fingers digging into my arm, he turned me over. I sank gratefully onto the concrete, my legs spread, body eager.
Harsh hands pushed the cloth of my panties aside. Two fingers shoved inside, dry until he added his spit to ease their way.
“Oh God,” I cried. He was more than I’d thought he could be—worse and so much better.
“Take it,” he muttered. “Just once, just now. Just like this.”
Did he think I would refuse him? It was bliss, this pain. Did he think it was too much? It would never be. I wanted him to beat me, to transfer each blow from his body to mine so that my scars matched his, inside and out.
“Let me see it,” I begged. The real him, the real me. “Let me feel it.”
He knew exactly what I meant, and he was far enough gone to give it to me. His palm landed on my cheek, a slap too light to be cruel, the force of it turning my face to the floor. I groaned at the sting, at the relief. “More,” I whispered.
“No. That’s enough.” But the words weren’t meant to protect me or to soothe me. They were a denial. He wanted me to beg.
“Luke, Luke.” I was helpless for anything more coherent.
“Shelly,” he answered me, mournful. “I never wanted this for you.”
“Me neither,” I whispered, not knowing whether we were talking about me or him, but it didn’t matter anyway. We couldn’t change the past, only live in the present. We couldn’t heal the hurts; only fill the hollows of memory with the jolt of my hips as he yanked me closer, with the softening of my body as I let him. His force and my acceptance, they were a bargain between us, a language we both understood.
The rasp of his zipper met my ears, and then he was pushing, pulsing, already inside me before I realized we didn’t have a condom. I clenched around a warm length, rippled against velvety skin, no barriers between us, but that didn’t matter now, couldn’t matter here in the aftermath of torture, at the fringes of death. I wanted to be taken over, to be ripped and torn to shreds by him, and I was. I couldn’t help it, couldn’t do anything but writhe and moan and coat his cock with the fluid I had denied him before.
Tilting my hips, I let him in deeper. It hurt that way. It pressed and pushed and stabbed that way, but it was the perfect counterpoint to the pleasure I felt spreading like a fever over my body. I was going to come; it had already started, like the first gentle curve on the horizon. It grew closer to the shore, gathering strength until it was a wave crashing over me and I gasped for breath at the surface. He never stopped, never slowed his thrusts.
