by Shayne Ford
I touch his arm.
He yanks it out of my grip, his gaze instantly turning cloudy and murky, slightly unfocused.
My gaze dips to his hand. A half-empty bottle dangles from his bony fingers.
“What is it, Stephan?” I ask, distraught.
“Why did you lie to me?”
His gravelly voice bleeds anger.
Suspicion flows through me.
“What??”
I search his eyes.
Sebastien didn’t tell him, did he? Why would he do that anyway?
“What are you talking about?” I ask again.
Slowly shaking his head, he tips his gaze down and winces in pain.
A bitter smile curls his full lips.
“You never wanted me for real...” he says.
My mouth falls open.
“Stephan, darling...” I start with a honey-like voice, brushing his arm again, hoping to ease up his pain.
“Shut the fuck up, Jacqueline!”
His voice explodes with anger as he swings his arm and flings the bottle across the room. It shatters against the wall, spilling liquid all over the floor.
I quickly regain my composure and try a different tactic.
“You’re upset, and you’re drunk. There’s no way we can have a conversation,” I say all prickly as I square my shoulders and spin toward the door. “We’ll talk when you get better.”
I start to move away from him but barely take a step when he snakes his arm around my waist, yanks me off my feet and pushes me into the wall.
My back hits the concrete hard. He slides one hand into my hair, curling it up into a fist. The other cuffs my neck, cutting my air supply.
My hands reflexively go to his neck.
“What is wrong with you??” I shout, gasping for air.
“You’re a fucking liar,” he snarls through gritted teeth.
His face darkens, his eyes turning into pools of thick molasses.
“You said you’d have nothing to do with him, Jacqueline. You said you wouldn’t let him fuck you. You said all that shit to me... Why did you have to lie to me? Tell me. Why the fuck did you have to lie to me?”
He jerks my body against the wall, my spine absorbing most of the impact, pain dripping through my bones.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, baffled.
Thunderstruck.
“You said so many lies to me. I didn’t need to know all that crap if you knew you’d get back with him.”
“I didn’t get––”
“Shut up!” he thunders, his voice breaking, his eyes unable to focus. “You used me. The same way you used every man you’ve been with.”
“How do you––”
“Don’t even try it,” he growls, cutting me off again. “I know about the banker and his wife.”
The blood draws from my body.
“You fucked him to get even with Sebastien, but it didn’t work, did it? You had no clue that things would turn around and crush you... You couldn’t possibly comprehend that you’ve done it with your own hand...”
“What are you talking about?”
“You put that woman in his bed, Jacqueline,” he barks, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“I did not.”
“Yes, you did. And then you got even angrier than before. And you wanted to get back at him again. You used me to make him jealous. You let me fuck you hoping that one day, you’ll make him come back to you. And then you caught him with her and blackmailed him, but you’ve never given up on him.”
“That’s not true, Stephan... Listen to me, baby. I swear that’s not true. Please, Stephan... You have to listen to me.”
His eyes flicker with more darkness, staring blankly at me now.
“What we had was real, baby. Trust me. What we had was real.”
He tips a loaded gaze to me.
“We only fuck, Jacqueline. You wanted me to fill his shoes. And I did. You wanted me to make you feel desired, and I did. You wanted me to break up with Carmen, and I did.”
“No, I––”
“Yes, you did. You couldn’t stand her once you broke up with that man. You couldn’t stand to share me, and now... You expect me to share you?”
Heavy with disbelief, his voice breaks again.
“What...? How could you share me with him? Sebastien and I haven’t even...” I mumble.
His thumb presses against my lips, forcing me to pull my mouth shut.
“I saw it, Jacquline... I saw you and him. It’s useless to deny it. Do you understand? It’s fucking useless.”
He starts shaking me again, the light completely plucked out of his eyes, his awareness swallowed by his misery.
He keeps babbling as I fight his grip... I don’t think he realizes... His hand locks my neck even tighter, and my jaw gets tense, my lungs pumping in vain, almost no air coming in.
Frantically, I look around.
And then I see it...
The image playing on a tablet on the table, ironically not far from us. Sebastien and me, last night at the party. In his office. His arms locked around me, his lips in my hair as he was murmuring those words to me. He looks so tender and full of love for me.
It seems so real.
I gasp for air.
“I didn’t...”
“Don’t say anything, please... Don’t make it harder than it is. I saw everything. It’s right there,” he quietly says without even looking at the tablet.
His gaze drags down... His chest rocking with a sob as his hand steels around my neck in desperation.
I call his name, but I no longer have a voice. My eyes stay rooted to that sleek metallic frame... As my mind absorbs more images.
And now I see the rest of it.
The naked back of a man, his muscular backside, his athletic legs. The low lights. The room barely lit. Kneeled in front of that man, I teasingly smile–– I always do, tipping my chin up, parting my lips daringly, and so inviting. My lips always painted red... Only you can see it in this clip, because the image is black and white.
I’ve used this trick so many times.
My lips move alluringly, muttering words that will remain a secret. The only piece of cloth I wear is my favorite black lace mask.
The man in the video grips my chin and forces my head back. Even more.
I laugh... In that clip.
I feel like crying now.
With one last effort, I try to push Stephan away. I fail, my body slackening. Crumpling.
My eyes have nowhere to go, so I keep them on that clip as the sobs of the man who’s crushing me with his bare hands rolls in my ears.
The man in the recording collars my neck as well, his fingers probing my mouth.
My memory does a few somersaults, trying to pin the exact moment or find an answer.
It looks like Sebastien... It just looks like him.
We used to do that a lot... A long time ago. He taught me how to submit to him... How to trust him... How to let him drive me crazy until I begged for his touch. And I begged a lot. I liked him a lot too. He made me dirty like him. He made me want him the same way I want the air now.
He made me love him like a mad woman and made me want to do everything in my power to keep him.
And I did.
The memory withers away as the image on the tablet darkens, but even so, I can still see the rest.
The man turns slightly, giving that perfect angle to the camera. My lips part in that clip, quivering in anticipation, craving his touch... His taste.
I look so happy in that frame... So happy.
My thought breaks as I run out of air.
My eyelids lower, heavy over my eyes, but not before I see the man grabbing his erection, angling it and slowly sliding it into my mouth.
The sounds begin to fade away, and I can no longer hear. Not Stephan’s sobs, and not the rain that raps against the window sills. Not even the gusts of wind blowing outside.
Silence comes to me as the reality pulls
away.
The man in the clip thrusts himself into my mouth and my heart breaks.
With my last breath, I put out my last words... No longer fighting the hand that refuses to let me live.
“It wasn’t him, Stephan... It was us,” I murmur, and then everything turns black.
9
TESS
I snatch the last piece of clothing off the rack and toss it into a box before I sweep my gaze over the empty shelves and the nightstand.
I should probably move the rest of my things sometime next week. My books are already stacked in the moving boxes.
For a few moments, I look around, lost. Grappling with disbelief. My chest feels hollow while my eyes still sting because of crying. My lips are stripped of words.
I never thought it would end like this.
I pick up my phone from the kitchen counter when a loud, piercing noise rips through the evening air. My skin covers with goosebumps, and my hair bristles. Police cars fill the street, their sirens blaring, their lights strobing beneath the branches of the trees.
I dash to the window, my heart jumping up and down. I have to grip the window frame as my knees begin to shake.
The clamor and the beams of flashlights roll onto the street, a cloud of noise lifting off the sidewalks.
Cops push people away. People who look like photographers.
My eyes slant to the sports car parked at the front just as the cops enter the house.
A few TV crews surface. Men with video cameras propped on their shoulders and anchors holding microphones, people I recognize from the local TV News stations.
They all line up along the sidewalks.
My phone begins to ring, startling me. My heart starts skipping beats, my pulse spiking.
“Did you see this?” Anne asks in a breath.
“What? See what?”
“Where are you?”
“Home?”
“You see it then. It’s on the news,” she says with a trembling voice.
“What happened?” I ask, a bad feeling sweeping through me.
“Turned on the TV,” she barks.
I spin around and turn it on, just as the voices resonate so much louder outside.
“Wait,” I say, darting back to the window.
A spotlight falls on him.
Suit-clad, missing his tie, Sebastien Rockford stops in front of the cameras. I look at him paralyzed as he moves his lips and says a few words. His words echo in the background. In my room... On my TV.
Words that I have a hard time to comprehend.
Moments later, the cops surround him and push the crowd away as he slices his way through a few groups of people and heads to a black car waiting for him on the side.
He vanishes inside the SUV, his ride smoothly pulling away as a few unmarked cop cars roll ahead. Lights on, sirens blaring.
A few moments later, the noise dies out, the convoy vanishing around the corner, the lights fading out as well.
I turn around and finally, hear it.
“Jacqueline Monroe, the heiress of Monroe Enterprises and the late wife of tycoon Sebastien Rockford, was found dead in one of her properties at 10:45 this evening. A man who claimed to be her friend placed the 911 one call. The man is currently in custody, and he is also a person of interest. Sebastien Rockford, who made news earlier this year almost doubling the couple’s entire fortune through a few bold mergers and acquisitions, is now a person of interest as well. According to inside sources, the two spouses recently reconciled after being estranged for a couple of years. More information including a short statement from Sebastien Rockford will come shortly after the break.”
I mute the TV, and slump into the chair, my eyes staring vacantly at the screen.
“Tess? Are you still there?”
“Yes...” I answer with a faint, shaky voice. “They just picked him up...” I murmur, mainly to myself.
“Have you seen him?”
“Yes,” I say mechanically, thoughts swimming in my head like sharks. “What happened?” I mutter, unable to collect myself.
“Seemingly, the main suspect is none other than Stephan Leon.”
“I know.”
“You knew?”
Her voice brims with surprise.
I swallow hard.
“Yes. I knew they were close.”
“Apparently, they were more than that. Rumor has it they’d been lovers for some time. His ex-girlfriend made a statement too. Carmen Velasquez. I didn’t know she was a model... Anyway. They broke up a few weeks ago. She seemed very distraught by the news and spoke in his defense. The man was drunk and frantic when the cops arrived. They took him into custody. He had to undergo a psychiatric evaluation and was placed on a suicide watch. His ex-girlfriend stands by his side. She repeatedly stated that he wouldn’t be able to hurt a fly.”
My mouth pulls shut.
I stay like that for a few moments, listening to her in silence as she relays more details of the story.
“Are you okay?” she asks after a while.
“Yes...”
“What were you doing?”
“Packing.”
“Where are you going?”
“Moving out.”
“Moving out?? You just moved in.”
“Things, um... changed,” I mutter.
“What things?” she asks, puzzled.
“We had a fight.”
She stays quiet.
“He got back with her.”
“Back with her?? Why did he get back with her? The woman had a lover,” she says even more baffled. “And he wasn’t the only one if you take into account Allan. How could they get back together?”
I feel a dull, annoying pain in my chest.
“I have no idea...” I say, feeling the sting of tears. “But they did. They reconciled. They even had a birthday party last night. He was kissing her. I saw them. I saw everything...” I say, barely holding my voice steady, a curtain of tears blurring my eyes.
“Are you serious? This makes absolutely no sense. Did he say anything to you?”
“Nope. He kept me guessing for a few long days, not answering my calls and messages, and then he had a surprise birthday party for his wife and surely made a point out of kissing her in his office. Lights on. The only thing missing was a billboard, a camera and perhaps an orchestra in the background. It might’ve been perfectly staged but it looked real to me. So real in fact that I couldn’t control my anger and in a fit of fury I crossed the street and crash their party.”
“Oh, my God...’’ she says, the surprise in her voice shedding light on the magnitude of my stupidity.
“Yes...” I mutter, staring at the windows of his house, now dimly lit. “He let me make a fool of myself with all those people in the audience, his wife included. And, oh boy, did I do it? I crumbled in front of his eyes, wracked with anger and frustration. Reeking of desperation. He did nothing to stop me. He let me ramble on and on, witnessing my meltdown. And then... When I was done, he showed me out. And that was that. I don’t know who that man was. He was so much different than the man I thought I fell in love with.”
I tip my chin down, warm tears trickling down my cheeks.
It’s five o’clock in the morning when a live stream shows Sebastien back in front of the cameras. His eyes look dark and guarded as he reads a statement for the paparazzi.
Words roll off his lips in a monotone cadence, most of them flying by, only the last ones registering with me.
“In this time of grief, I ask for your compassion and respect for the woman who had been my partner for so many years. As you all know, as of right now, more questions than answers surround her untimely death. I trust that soon we’ll know the truth. In the meantime, I ask you all to respect my family and friends’ privacy and help the police investigation by using due diligence when disseminating the news. Thank you.”
He slips the piece of paper he was reading from into his pocket and steps away from the microphone.
A bunch of questions explodes in the air.
“Is it true that you and your wife have been estranged?”
“Is it true that Stephan Leon was her longtime lover?”
“Did you know that she was cheating on you?”
The police push the paparazzi back as he turns his back to the camera and for the second time this evening slides into that black SUV.
I stay paralyzed in my chair, my hand clutching the remote as the anchor keeps talking.
“In an unexpected twist of events, Sebastien Rockford becomes the wealthiest man under thirty on the entire East Coast. This early morning, we had the chance to interview some of his closest friends who happen to know him since he was a little boy.”
The segment starts rolling, a collage of images flashing in front of my eyes.
Sebastien in a rare picture with his mother. He was six, the snapshot taken a few weeks before her death. She was twenty-six. A beautiful, young woman with long dark hair and eyes blue like the sea. Taken on a luxury boat, the few snapshots speak of joy and happiness. His smile, a copy carbon of his mother’s makes my insides soft.
I’ve never seen him so happy. I wonder if he’s ever been like that since then.
A man makes a few appearances. He looks much older than her. A couple decades from what I can tell. Handsome, his hair sprayed with the dust of silver, his body toned and bronzed.
A few pictures show them together, a few details catching my eye.
For one, the little space between them as they get photographed as if they’re trying to distance themselves from one another. Her smile a little strained, different than the grin she has for her son. In one of the last shots, the man curls an arm around her waist while she holds Sebastien’s hand.
I notice the tension in her husband’s grip, her face no longer beaming with a smile, but rather crushing an expression of resentment.
The story moves on, briefly mentioning his mother’s accident.
The couple came home from an event when the car driven by Sebastien’s father tailspins in the middle of the road and rams into a tree.
She dies on the spot.
His father never remarried, his name linked to models and socialites later on. Just like his son’s name a few years later.
Sebastien started dating Jeraldine Monroe when he was twenty-four.
