Let Me Watch_A Dark Romance

by Sansa Rayne

  This is a dangerous game, I remind myself.

  If Pierce had wanted to copy the videos and upload them directly to the Internet, I would have been powerless to stop him. All I had was his word. Am I an idiot to trust him like that? What if I’d just gotten lucky, and got to the cards before he had a chance to switch them out?

  The only recourse I’d have is to sue the shit out of him, but by then it would be too late: the videos would be out there forever. And who would win in a legal fight? He’s the one who can afford the best lawyers.

  This is how people get addicted to hard drugs, isn’t it? Once you’ve had a taste, the reward is worth the risk.

  I know Pierce is probably bad for me, but it won’t be long before I’m jonesing.

  After a cold shower, I try to get my mind off him. First I try TV, but syndicated sitcoms fail to divert my thoughts. I get out my phone and look on Facebook for Adam Pell, the son of my mom’s friend Olive.

  His profile picture shows him seated on a New York subway train; he’s got on headphones in a candid shot, and he’s reading something on his phone. He’s mildly attractive — a bit doughy and bland. I’m sure he’s a nice guy, but that’s not the face of a man who’ll tie me down and fuck me on camera. Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Adam. And Mrs. Pell.

  Sighing, I dial my parents. The phone rings a bunch of times, but the answering machine picks up.

  “Hey, it’s me,” I say. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry for… things… you know. When you were here… last weekend. I got a little upset. It wasn’t your fault. Mom, I looked up Adam Pell. Don’t be mad, but he just doesn’t seem like my type. You can tell Olive I’m not really sure what I’m doing these days, and Adam doesn’t deserve to be with someone like that.”

  I sigh.

  “And I promise I’m not dating Pierce Williams, okay? I’m sure as hell not working for him. Okay, that’s all I wanted to say. I love you. Bye.”

  I’m off the phone for less than a minute when I get a text from Steph.

  Are you up yet? I want info!

  Of course she does.

  Want to meet me at the gym?

  Already went, she replies. Meet up later?

  You bet!

  —

  Making sure to wear a hat and sunglasses, I run on a treadmill until my legs feel like thin custard. I listen to Sigur Rós on my phone and try to let my mind go blank; I’ll be thinking about Pierce enough later. I’d like to conceptualize my next art exhibit. Maybe not such a public one this time, though. By the time I finish my run, I have no idea what to do — I can’t concentrate.

  After a quick shower, I catch a cab home. I dig out a menu for my favorite Thai restaurant and text Steph to see if that’s okay. It is, so I call in an order for red curry, massaman, fried rice and lots of noodles. When Steph arrives, she’s brought a Zinfandel and a Pinot Grigio.

  “Hey,” I say when she gets in. “Food’s on the way.”

  “Cool. So tell me everything.”

  I laugh. “You think you want to hear everything, but…”

  Steph drops down onto my couch and kicks off well-worn, pink sneakers. “Was it weird?”

  “I mean, what’s your threshold for weird?”

  The door buzzes as the food arrives, but the interruption doesn’t save me from having to tell her all the details, from our meetup at the Blood Moon Lounge to the second I left the abandoned warehouse. I don’t shy away from mentioning the cameras, the bindings or the (approximate) number of times I came. Steph starts to sweat during the description, but she blames the spicy curry.

  “And he didn’t mind at all that you took the memory cards?” she asks.

  “He didn’t act like it.”

  “He probably expects to make more.”

  “Yeah,” I grunt. “I know I shouldn’t, but I want to.”

  Steph nods, scooping more rice into her bowl. “Look, it sounds pretty hot. As long as you trust him, what’s the problem?”

  I set down my spoon, surprised. “I didn’t know you were so kinky.”

  She shifts in her seat and shrugs. “That’s because you’re super open about sex stuff, and I’m not. But… yeah. I’d have totally enjoyed what you and Pierce did. Minus the cameras. I think.”

  Sipping my wine, I nod. “That’s fair. The cameras are sorta my thing.”

  “Yeah. I wouldn’t want to see it all like that,” she says, looking down unhappily at her body. “But to have it done to me…” Steph shivers, biting her lip.

  “Do you enjoy his site?” I ask, ignoring my burning tongue. “What they do in those videos? Does that appeal to you?”

  She blushes and turns away, which is as good as a real answer. “Steph!”

  “What? You’re the one sleeping with him,” she counters.

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  Steph downs the rest of her glass. “I mean, if you decided you definitely weren’t dating him… maybe.”

  “What?”

  She looks at me, realizing now what she said. “Hey, I would never-”

  “I know.” Getting up, I take my dishes to the sink and rinse them off. “But you’ve thought about it, haven’t you?”

  Steph joins me at the sink. “Yeah, kinda. Between working with you, and being on my own, I think about a lot of stuff. It’s all fantasy, though.”

  “If you want to find somebody, you should. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

  “Thanks,” she says as I take her plate.

  I stop, noticing she’s blinking back tears. “Steph? Is everything okay?”

  She shakes her head. “Sorry, it’s nothing. Just… remember Reese and Tanner, the guys in my building?”

  I nod. “The soccer fans?”

  “I gave in and went to their place for a match. Spent the whole night with them. Neither made a move. They paid more attention to the game than me.”

  Men.

  “Were they nervous, or something?” I ask.

  “I don’t think so — we were all having a great time. Then the game ended, and they showed me out.”

  Without being there in person, I can’t say what happened. Were they interested in Steph, but unable to decide who should have a shot? Are they an item looking to add a woman into the mix? Or are they just friendly neighbors? It’s hard to say, and Steph’s confusion makes sense.

  She wipes off her eyes and pours herself another glass of wine. “It doesn’t matter. I’m gonna be kinda busy until I pass the bar, so I’m not looking for something real right now. Maybe a man who just wants to have a bit of fun, though. Might be nice.”

  “Like Pierce.”

  I don’t know why I feel jealous when I say it; I’m the one making sure to limit our connection to just sex.

  “Yeah,” Steph sighs. “Like Pierce. I guess.”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to get involved with a sleazy pornographer,” I say, scrubbing hard at Steph’s plate. “I keep waiting for my phone to blow up because he’s uploaded a video of me after all.”

  “Is that true?” she asks, her face falling.

  “He fucking makes porn. What do you think?”

  I’m not sure why I’m getting so angry, or presenting Pierce so negatively.

  “He wouldn’t do that,” Steph squeaks. “Or you wouldn’t have gone home with him.”

  She’s right — that’s not the problem. Yet, this only makes me angrier — I shouldn’t need her to be right because Pierce isn’t my boyfriend! He could be fucking someone else right now, filming it and streaming live, and I shouldn’t care. If Steph wants him to tie her up and fuck her brains out, she should have my blessing. That’s not how I feel, though, and it’s a problem.

  “You want his number?” I snap, reaching for my phone.

  “No,” she mutters. “Never mind, okay? It was just a stupid thought.”

  Fuck, what am I doing?

  “Steph, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a bitch. I’m just trying to figure this all out.”

  “It’s fine,” she say
s, picking up her purse. “I should go study. Thanks for dinner.”

  “Thanks for the wine,” I say. “When you pass the bar, I’m going to get you laid,” I add, though I feel dumb as soon as the words are out.

  “Cool,” she mumbles. “See you.”

  “Yeah.”

  I shut the door behind her and watch through the peephole until she’s out of sight, then I kick over the end table next to me, scattering my mail and the contents of my purse.

  What the hell is wrong with me? I want to blame Pierce for fucking with my head, but this is obviously not his fault.

  Steph, sorry I was an idiot. I was just a bit thrown when you said-

  No, that’s not right.

  Steph, I’m sorry. I don’t want to make excuses. I’m trying to figure out what this thing is between me and Pierce-

  No, no, no! “Me and Pierce” is not a thing!

  Steph, I’m sorry. I’ll be in touch when I get a fucking grip.

  If I want to figure this all out, the person I really should talk to is Pierce, but I can’t text him back so soon. I can’t let him know I’ve been thinking about him all day.

  What if he’s been thinking about me too?

  I’m not sure if that would make this better or worse.

  I pull up his contact listing, wanting to text, or maybe even call.

  Hey, Sibel. What’s up? he would say.

  After writing and rewriting a message a half dozen times, I’d reply, I need to know what we’re doing.

  He’d probably be direct, and confused: Art and sex, right? Isn’t that what you said? Has that changed?

  I’d have to admit, I don’t know.

  Do I want it to?

  No. This has to stay simple. Art and sex. We have fun, we experiment. That’s all. We each get out of this something we want, but not each other.

  Maybe I need to reinforce this. What if I put a bit of the emphasis back on the art, to see how he reacts? I need a project, something that involves us both. But what?

  I don’t know yet, but I’m going to figure it out.

  There isn’t any particular reason why Sibel should remind me of Dani, other than the fact I kinda was into her. They look and act nothing alike, aside from enjoying being bound during sex. Dani disappeared after the night Chase beat his father nearly to death. She left a note explaining, so it’s not as though I was left to wonder why: she saw what happened and decided to get out immediately.

  I didn’t blame her for leaving. Wherever she is, I hope she’s happy.

  In truth, I’m really only thinking about her now as a distraction from Sibel. I tell myself to be patient after not hearing from her for a few days, worried I’m getting as bad as Chase. After our night together, I figured she would have called by now; I’m hoping she’s just holding out, trying to deny her need. I feel creepy, thinking in such a way — arrogant too — but I still hope to be right.

  With no new doses of Sibel to be had, Chase and I both need a distraction. I can’t hide my need for her forever, and having to talk about her is only going to increase the odds that I say something I shouldn’t.

  So I call Yasmin.

  “Pierce!” she practically screams into the phone, smacking her gum. “What’s up?”

  “Hey, Yasmin. You up for making a video today?”

  “Today?” She’s surprised; normally I book her in advance, and she’s smart enough to notice the divergence from habit. “No, I can’t. I’ve got an appointment with a regular later.”

  “Reschedule. I’ll throw in a bonus,” I say. Though calling another girl is an option, Yasmin’s trustworthy, and open to experimenting. I want it to be her.

  “Why does it have to be tonight? Got something special in mind?”

  “Just in the mood to work with you again,” I say, emphasizing the word work and hoping she doesn’t push the issue. My hand closes into a fist as my heart sinks. I’m using her, and we both know it. She may not care — she may be happy to let herself be used if it’s a favor to me — but I still feel like an asshole.

  “Chase is going to be there, isn’t he?” she asks, a slight disappointment in her voice.

  “He is the talent,” I mumble back.

  She snorts. “I’m sure you’re plenty talented.”

  “You’re going to like the locale,” I continue, changing the subject. “The warehouse. You’ve been there before, but I’ve made some changes.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I’ve felt a little inspired lately.”

  Yasmin’s laugh ends with a sigh. “Then I have to see it. Text me the address.”

  —

  I find Chase in our makeshift training room sitting on the workout bench, sweating through a set of bicep curls. “Black Betty” roars from the sound system as he huffs with each lift.

  “Hey,” I say, turning off the stereo. “Hit the shower. We’ve got a shoot tonight.”

  He turns to me, letting the barbell drop to his side. “With who?”

  “Yasmin.”

  He snorts and shakes his head. “What’s the occasion?”

  I fake a gin. “Sex for fun and profit. What do you think?”

  “Whatever,” says Chase with a shrug. He leaves to get ready, running his hand over his crotch in anticipation.

  I’m not going to pretend that this video is meant to wow our subscribers, or even necessarily be shown to them. Like seemingly everything I’ve done for the last half of my life, this is really for Chase. Letting him into the space I shared with Sibel isn’t exactly what he wants, but it’s the best I can offer him.

  It doesn’t take a psychologist to point out that I’m attempting to buy off my guilty conscience by arranging this shoot. I probably could have convinced Yasmin without the offer of a bonus, but then I wouldn’t feel better.

  Did you think that would work? I ask myself. It still might — we’re only about to begin — but somehow I think I know nothing’s going to change.

  As usual, we wait in my truck until Yasmin comes into view from around the corner. Headed toward us on foot, she’s dressed in a modest brown skirt that dips below her knees, as well as a baggy, white sweater just begging to be ripped from her body.

  Normally we tell our actresses to dress trampy, but Yasmin does her own thing. She’s aware of her status as a fan favorite, so she appears in her least revealing outfits. Maybe she enjoys getting to dress down a little, or pretending to be an ordinary woman instead of a professional sex worker — perhaps she just does it because she can, and no one complains. If we were on a date, I’d ask.

  As she approaches, Yasmin can’t help grinning, knowing what’s about to happen. She looks sweetly innocent, strolling through the skids without fear. Is it even an act?

  When she’s just about aligned with the warehouse’s entrance, we emerge from the truck together, rushing Yasmin with well-practiced timing. She barely has a moment to turn her head and yell out a shriek before Chase catches her, his hand pressed down on her lips.

  “Who do you think you’re fooling, Sibel?” he growls, pawing at her uninviting sweater.

  “Cut!” I yell, shutting the camera. “What the fuck, Chase?”

  “Who’s Sibel?” Yasmin asks, dislodging Chase’s clutched hands from her sweater.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I say, shaking my head. “Chase, care to keep your mind on what we’re doing?”

  Chase grunts a laugh, pulling off his mask. He asks Yasmin, “You haven’t heard of Sibel Isaacs?”

  I shoot him a look. Though I’m past the point of thinking I could fully distract Chase from Sibel, the last thing I need is for him to start a conversation about her. “How about let’s get back to work?” I mutter. “Yasmin, please reset. Chase, put your mask back on.”

  The second time around starts much better; as Chase erupts in a show of domination that will thrill our audiences. Yasmin becomes a puppet under his control, a scared animal trapped by a hungry predator. He tears her clothes apart like they’ve offended him. He twis
ts her arms behind her back, pulls her hair — he controls her every move.

  I don’t ask, even after the shoot, but I know Chase is channeling his hunger for Sibel. I try not to dwell on it, but my thoughts go back to her too. Filming in the warehouse I prepared just for her doesn’t help.

  I’ve removed the table I strapped Sibel to the last time I was here, replacing it with a pair of chains dangling from the ceiling. Chase happily locks Yasmin’s wrists into them, then swats her ass with a folded leather belt. She howls with each snap against her skin, tears rolling down her cheeks. Angry, purple bruises darken her ass, even in the low light of the warehouse, and when Chase has punished Yasmin enough, he throws aside the belt and pulls down his puke green cargo pants.

  Hearing the belt clatter against the cement floor, Yasmin opens her eyes. When she does, her jaw drops a little, taking in her appearance on the monitors. She watches herself from every angle, throwing in a few tugs against the chains, watching herself struggle uselessly.

  “You like watching yourself, you sicko?” Chase growls, pausing from lubing his cock.

  “Sorry,” Yasmin says, turning to me. “But no, I don’t. It’s too weird.”

  “Cut,” I sigh. I’d wanted to reposition myself to film from behind from a spot where the other cameras couldn’t see me anyway.

  “I’m sorry, but it is. It’s weird.”

  Chase looks around the warehouse and laughs. “What, you didn’t see the tied up mannequins earlier? This whole place is fucking weird.”

  “What the fuck is this for, Pierce?” she asks.

  I really wish Chase had gagged her.

  “If you knew who Sibel is, you’d get it,” Chase answers. “Cameras stay on.”

  “Really?” she says, her attention still on me. “Pierce?”

  This is for Chase. Yasmin doesn’t have to understand it, or like it.

  She doesn’t have to like me either.

  “If you want out of the shoot, you can go,” I offer. “Otherwise, yes. The cameras stay on. You can wear a blindfold if you want.”

  “No,” Chase cuts in. “Actually, you can’t. Sibel always watches herself.”

  “Seriously?” says Yasmin. “What is she, some kinda freak?”

  Chase snickers, nodding and mouthing, Oh yeah.