Revue

by K. M. Golland

  Placing mine in his, I let him pull me flush to his chest. “Neither.”

  “You have somewhere else in mind?” His eyes sparkled, and if he owned a devil’s tail, no doubt it would’ve swished.

  “I’m not going to sleep with you. I told you, I don’t fuck around.”

  His eye twitched.

  “I’m sorry. I won’t do it. I value myself enough to want the real thing.”

  “I’ll make it real. They’ll be no faking. I promise.”

  Searching his eyes, I was starting to sense that when he didn’t get the answer he wanted, he diverted the conversation toward a joke. Maybe this was a defence mechanism of his, or maybe he really was just a big child. Either way, I closed my eyes just briefly and reopened them, straightening my posture.

  “No sex. Just bike ride. Photos. Dinner. Let’s do this.” I let go of his hands and picked up my bike, ready for round two of Dodge the Pedestrian.

  ***

  We rode a five kilometre circuit of the lake, from Kings Avenue Bridge to Commonwealth Avenue Bridge, stopping to take pictures of Questacon, the High Court building and the National Carillon. It was a beautiful ride, and as Josh had said at the hotel—and after a few initial hiccups—it was ‘just like riding a bike’. I enjoyed it so much that I was now considering buying one when I returned home so that I could go for a ride along The Esplanade.

  Bikes are good, not bad.

  “So, do you want to ride up Black Mountain to the tower?” Josh asked, as we pulled up at the hotel.

  “No! As much as I enjoyed myself, that’s the most exercise I’ve had in … well … years. I’d like to be able to walk tomorrow.”

  “You really should exercise more—it’s good for you.”

  “I don’t sit on my arse all day. I’m active, that’s enough.” I pushed my bike into its bay.

  Josh followed suit. “No, it’s not.”

  “I eat healthy. It is enough.” We walked into the lobby of the hotel, still arguing over healthy living.

  “You still need to build strength. Riding up Black Mountain will help with that. Strength is important.”

  Stopping at the elevators, I pushed the button and turned to Josh, laughing mildly at his ploy to increase my riding experience. “There’s no way in Hell I’m riding up a hill.”

  “But riding down the hill afterwards is fun.” His pearly whites and waggly eyebrows teased me.

  “No!” I said, stepping into the elevator cart when the doors opened. “That sounds worse.”

  Josh laughed and pressed level two. “You’re strange.”

  I pressed level three. “So are you.”

  His brows bunched and he fired me an annoyed look. “Why is your floor higher than mine?”

  “Oh … I don’t know, maybe because level three is one floor above level two.” I bit my bottom lip to refrain from laughing at my sarcastic response just as the elevator pinged and the doors opened.

  Josh stepped out and turned to face me, sincerity bold in the brightness of his eyes. “I like you,” he said, his stare holding mine until the doors closed.

  I stepped backward, my butt rested upon the railing of the cart. “I like you, too.”

  ***

  Shortly after I returned to my room, I received a text from Josh.

  Josh: Baz will take us to the tower.

  Meet me in the foyer at 5:00 p.m.

  Sunset is at 5:40 p.m. We don’t want to miss it.

  Wear a dress.

  Wear a dress? What if I don’t want to wear a dress? I responded right away.

  Cori: Thank you, but what if I don’t want to wear a dress?

  He didn’t answer, so I showered and checked my phone, and when I got out, there was a reply waiting.

  Josh: Dress code for the tower says dresses only.

  Liar!

  Cori: What colour dress are you wearing then?

  Josh: Men are exempt.

  Cori: I think I’ll wear pants.

  Josh: I swear to God they won’t let you in.

  Think of the sunset photos you’ll miss.

  I couldn’t help but laugh at his lame attempt to sway me.

  Cori: I’ll take my chances.

  Josh: Bok, bok, bok.

  Shaking my head, I put my phone down, opened my suitcase and put on my baby-blue dress. Why? Because he wanted me to, and because I wanted him to be happy. When the people around me were happy, so was I.

  Yeah, I sucked. Josh made me suck. It wasn’t good.

  Huffing, I wrenched the thin material over my head but stopped when I caught my reflection in the mirror.

  “Cori, do you want to wear the dress?” I asked myself.

  “Yes, Mirror Cori, I do.”

  “Then wear it. Wear it for you, not for him.”

  Nodding, I slipped the dress back on and smiled, self-assurance sliding over me along with the material. “Thank you, Mirror Cori.”

  One final nod of approval and I was now ready to do my hair and perhaps chill out on my balcony until 5:00 p.m. arrived.

  ***

  My eyelids fluttered. I yawned, stretched even. Then it hit me like a bolt of lightning. “Fuck! What’s the time?”

  Shooting up from the lounge chair on the balcony, I checked my watch. 5:20 p.m. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I raced past the bed, collecting my cardigan, and headed out the door.

  By the time I reached the foyer, cheeks flushed, loose tendrils of hair draped over my eyes, Josh was nowhere to be seen. “Shit!”

  Frustrated, I swiped my unresponsive phone screen as I walked, giving the stupid thing a light tap to activate it. It was still fucked from when I’d dropped it at home, therefore a nudge, smack, or loud cursing was sometimes all that was needed.

  When the screen came to life, it showed two missed messages from Josh.

  5:05 p.m. Josh: Fine, you can wear pants. Just hurry up.

  5:10 p.m. Josh: The sun won’t wait for us, sweetheart.

  Damn it! I quickly checked outside the front of the building, just in case Baz and Josh were waiting there. Nothing. Shit! Shit! Shit!

  Typing a message, I headed back inside.

  Cori: I’m sorry. I’m coming. I fell asleep.

  Just as I hit send, I stopped in my tracks when I spotted Josh at the hotel bar, his hand on the small of a woman’s back, his mouth at her ear. She blushed and bit her lip, and I all but choked on the bile rising to my throat.

  Of course! Of course he’s moving on to his next conquest. How could I think otherwise? My heart pounded painfully in my chest and welling tears stung my eyes as I continued to watch him. I quickly wiped them away—they weren’t fucking necessary. I guess I should think myself lucky he even waited ten minutes. I mean, that’s probably a long time for him.

  Pulling away from her, he placed his hand in his pocket and retrieved his phone, his face stretching with surprise when he read the screen—I’m assuming my message.

  His head whipped up and our eyes met. “Corinne!”

  I took off, hearing him shout wait, but I ignored him, my finger launching for the elevator button repeatedly. “Come on, come on, come on.”

  I couldn’t face him. Truth be told, I was devastated and angry. Stupid, stupid girl. He wasn’t going to see that though. I wasn’t going to let him see that. I refused to let him see that. He didn’t deserve my emotions. The problem was, if the fucking cart didn’t hurry up, there was no doubt I’d be able to hide them. In fact, I would more than likely throw them in his face like a cream pie full of fuck-you-arsehole.

  Glancing at the door to my left that read stairwell, I pushed it open and started ascending the steps, two, three at a time. I’d made it to the first landing when the door below burst open.

  “Corinne, stop!”

  I flung the proverbial pie. “Fuck you, arsehole!” and continued to climb, my legs burning from overuse. Had I not gone for a bike ride, my escape would be far more successful. Then again, had I not gone for a bike ride, none of this would be happening. Fucking
bike ride.

  As I rounded the second landing, his hand caught my arm. I swung at him, catching his shoulder. Jesus fuck! I shook it as if to shake away the sting. It bloody hurt.

  “Corinne, just stop! Let me explain.”

  “No. There’s nothing to explain,” I yelled. “You’re a pig with empty words. Empty lips. Empty everything. You’re just a fucking empty pig!”

  He grabbed me again and I fought him off, launching for the next flight of stairs and tripping, my hands landing roughly five steps up. It didn’t stop me, though, so I kept scaling each step with my hands and feet, halting when Josh grabbed my leg.

  “Let me go!” I kicked him, catching his nose.

  “Ah, fuck!” he growled, covering his face, his eyes blazing red through the cracks of his fingers.

  My determination flared, and the air thickened with anticipation. It made me climb even faster. I stretched for the next step, but had no so such luck reaching it, his body crashing down on top of mine and holding me still beneath him while his mouth pressed to my ear.

  “Get that dirty fucking mouth away from me,” I growled.

  “Shut up and listen,” he hissed.

  “No.” I struggled to break free, but the hard steps beneath me were painfully biting into my knees, hips and chest. “Get off of me!”

  “If you don’t listen, I’ll make you listen.”

  “You can’t make me do anything.”

  All of a sudden, I felt his hand lift my dress, the cool breeze in the stairwell touching my arse. My eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

  “Making you listen.” He put his hand between my legs and wrenched my underwear aside.

  “Josh, stop!” I panted, torn between fear and arousal.

  His finger paused, the tip just brushing my clit and sending a bolt of electricity right through me. I wanted his touch, but not like this.

  I froze.

  “You really want me to stop?” he asked, his voice less ferocious.

  “I want you to get off of me.”

  “Not until you listen.”

  “Then fucking talk so we can get this over and done with.”

  His finger brushed my sensitive spot again, and I couldn’t help but close my eyes and suck in a sharp breath.

  “I thought you stood me up.”

  My eyes flung open. “So you go find the closest pussy to fuck. Typical Josh Adams. I should’ve known.”

  “I didn’t want the closest pussy, sweetheart. I wanted yours. I want yours.”

  I let out a sob, the enormity of it all settling in. “You don’t want me. You want the satisfaction of knowing you can have me. There’s a difference.”

  “You’re wrong,” he whispered, his hot breath caressing my neck. “I want nothing more than to slide my cock inside you. Slide it out again … repeat that process. You know how it goes.”

  Of course that’s all he wants. How could I think he wanted more. A tear slipped down my cheek. “So you really do just want to fuck me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s all I know.”

  I sucked in a breath and turned my head just slightly, finding his pleading eyes. “What do you mean it’s all you know?”

  “Fucking and fucking off. It’s all I know and do. It’s who I am,” he said quietly, diverting his gaze to the step beside my face.

  I sighed and momentarily closed my eyes, settling my raging heartbeat. “It doesn’t have to be, Josh. You can choose not to do that. We don’t control much in life but the power of individual choice.”

  His hand vacated my underwear, and he lifted his weight and repositioned himself at my side, still holding me to him and lightly trailing his finger down my arm. “No, I can’t.”

  “That’s a fucking cop-out and you know it,” I snapped angrily, shuffling to roll on to my back.

  “Corinne, I don’t do commitment. I don’t do relationships.”

  “Oooh, I get it,” I drawled sarcastically, my voice bouncing off the concrete walls and echoing through the stairwell. “You like to be the all-mighty and powerful Josh who says when, where, how and for how long. You know what? You’re just an arrogant, controlling prick who will never find true happiness with a woman. I pity you.”

  He stiffened. “I don’t want your pity.”

  “Well, you’ve got it. I pity that you will be a miserable fuck for the rest of your life.”

  Hurt and anger filled his eyes, revealing a sadistic glint that twisted my stomach. “I like miserable fucking, Corinne.”

  “Yeah? That’s because you’ve never experienced fucking me, and you never will,” I spat back.

  His lips found mine with a forceful fury, his hand, my thigh, with the intent to pry my legs apart. I pushed and kicked him away, breaking the kiss and slapping his face, hard. “Don’t you touch me. You don’t get to touch me anymore.”

  Shocked wide eyes very quickly turned soft—all aggression gone—as he leaned in slowly. I slapped him again, pre-empting the kiss, but he ignored it and grabbed my face, sealing my cries for him to stop with his lips. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbled. “I’m so, so sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

  Wet warmth sprung from my eyes, dampened my cheeks and our melded mouths. “Josh,” I sobbed. “Please just stop.”

  He did … just like that, separating our lips and resting his head on mine.

  And that’s where we stayed for God knows how long, until my arse lost feeling and I asked for him to let me go. As for Josh, I don’t know how long he remained there, sat with his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. What I do know is that I never got to see Telstra Tower. Never experienced the immaculate view over the city of Canberra at sunset, and never got to eat dinner in my blue dress with Josh.

  Instead, I watched a man so set in his ways break before me and go from one emotion to the next in the blink of an eye, emotions that I bore the brunt of so forcefully and then with a tender sadness as I endured the moments he begged for forgiveness. Instead, I watched the real Josh Adams emerge, and wondered just how long he’d stay.

  ***

  The following day, we left for Sydney. It was only a short three-hour trip, yet Baz still stopped at Goulburn just so I could take a picture of the Big Merino.

  For some odd reason, I liked big things. I liked their disproportionate beauty. But the Big Merino? Well… it was fucking hideous. A giant woolly ram with a massive head and the biggest pair of gonads you’ll ever come across. It did not look remotely endearing.

  Josh never left the bus, nor did he make any effort to talk to me. It stung. Bad. But I got it. I’d exposed a part of him he kept hidden for protection, a part of him that he was hiding from himself. That was the saddest thing; pretending to be someone you’re not in order to protect yourself only results in the true you being hurt. You can’t hide from yourself when you’re your own enemy. I wondered if he realised that now.

  Josh wore a shell, one I wanted to crack so that I could show him there was more to life than what he thought he knew. I wanted to show him that love existed, that each form of it was unique to the people who shared in it, that not one love was the same as another, and therefore couldn’t be compared. I wanted to show him that there were many forms of love and, contrary to popular belief, that it wasn’t something that came along once in a lifetime. It came many times and in many different forms. But I wasn’t sure how I could show him this without handing him my heart on a silver platter with a pretty little bow wrapped around it. I wasn’t sure I could trust him enough to do that.

  Love is the most terrifying form of trust.

  Not to mention I’d be stupid to think I could so easily change him and his self-hated and indulgent ways. For that to happen, I’d have to be his ‘exception’ and, deep down, I knew that was probably an impossible task. One thing was for sure; after seeing him break, I was more determined than ever to fix him.

  I’d spent most of Monday and Tuesday in my hotel room, leaving for
the odd shopping trip and walk to Circular Quay. From a visual standpoint, Sydney Harbour really was spectacular, and the many different angles and perspectives I could capture of such places as the Harbour Bridge and Opera House, just magnificent.

  And speaking of the Harbour Bridge, there’d been talk of a few of us doing the bridge climb, something I was definitely keen to do if it weren’t for my minor fear of heights. I had until later in the day to make up my mind so figured I’d wander around the hotel in the hope I’d bump into Josh. We needed to talk; that was obvious. What had transpired on the stairwell in Canberra had created a wall between us for four days; it couldn’t go unmentioned any longer. Too much had been said, done and revealed, and our mutual silent treatment would have to come to an end if we were to continue working together.

  It was time to break the ice.

  Stepping out of the elevator at level two, I rounded the corner to find Josh in the gym, practising some moves in front of a full-length mirror. He was wearing a pair of grey tracksuit pants, which rode low on his hips, the black waistband of Calvin Klein underwear peaking out at the top. He was shirtless with a baseball hat facing backwards on his head, the whole scruffy ensemble screaming sexy. Damn! Why can’t it scream shit, or ugly, or dirty slob? No, instead, it has to scream ‘Come here and take my pants off you naughty naughty girl’.

  And damn, did I want to be naughty. I already felt roguish just standing there, inconspicuously watching him dance to his own reflection. Josh just somehow had the ability to make me crave what I shouldn’t want, say what I shouldn’t think, and do what I shouldn’t desire. He was no good for me. I couldn’t evade him … I didn’t want to.

  Remaining hidden so that I could watch a little while longer, I took note of his serious yet forlorn expression as he repeatedly performed a dance move. He seemed annoyed, frustrated … unhappy. It hurt my heart. I didn’t like seeing people unhappy, people I cared about. And despite the crazy dynamic Josh and I seemed to have, I cared about him … a lot.