Masked Definitions

by A. E. Murphy

  “Elijah has me,” I assure him, trusting the man who is pulling a pair of jogging bottoms from a hanger. Elijah nods goodbye to Rick and kneels on the ground before me. I rest my good hand on his head for balance as I step into the trousers. He pulls them up slowly, his fingers sliding softly up my thighs with care.

  “That fucker,” he whispers and strokes a bruise at the joining of my thigh with the soft tip of his finger.

  “That was you.” I clear my throat and look down at him, my teeth biting into my lip.

  Regret shines in his eyes. “When?”

  “The car... “

  “I apologise… bruising you was never my intention.” His thumb skims over the mark as if trying to wipe it away.

  I shake my head and smile weakly. “Don’t be sorry. It was the best night of my life.”

  His lips part and he stands. His forehead gently touches mine and my breasts brush against his shirt as we breathe together. “Mine too.”

  This warms me deep within, reaching places in my soul I’d long since forgotten existed. I feel a tingling in my stomach that can only be described as the warm fuzzies. “Why are you here, Elijah?”

  “I couldn’t stand the thought of you dancing for another man.”

  The warm fuzzies spread. I don’t have time to process what this means as he turns and grabs the shirt he laid out for me. He gently helps me manoeuvre it onto my bad arm before my good arm and then proceeds to do the buttons.

  After another moment, I’m in my coat and he’s carrying me to the elevator. I wince with each bump and try to keep my hand as tight to my body as possible. “I can walk you know.”

  “You’re saying this a little bit late; we’re already halfway to my car.” His smile is slight and charming; I know he’s playing.

  “Aren’t I heavy?”

  “Thankfully not, or I’d be regretting this decision.”

  I giggle a little and tuck my forehead into his neck. “This night is officially shit.”

  “I bet.” He gives me a gentle squeeze and the doors to the elevator open, letting in a cool draft. His arms remain firm as he carries me through the private parking lot to his car.

  “How did you convince Rick to let you see me?”

  “I didn’t. I just walked in. Shade normally greets us with a list. If we’re on there we get through.”

  I never knew how it worked for a client. Seems too simple.

  “Only members get to use the elevator.”

  I lean my head back to look at his profile. He places me on my feet but keeps one hand to my elbow to ensure I don’t fall, which is a possibility. My body feels light and trembles beyond my control.

  The car lights flash as he unlocks it.

  “When I arrived on your floor, I saw Shade press a button on the desk. Rick came from one of the rooms and the other security hustled around just in case they were needed.” He cringes. “When I saw him trying to push the door open to your room…”

  I remember how scared I felt. “I knew something wasn’t right the second I stepped into that room.”

  He folds himself into the car and fastens his seatbelt before leaning over me to help me with mine. “I don’t want you working there anymore.”

  I nod to my arm. “I think that wanker granted that wish. I’m not going to be able to dance for a while. Not sure that a broken armed woman is a turn on.”

  “I disagree,” he mutters under his breath. I don’t think he intended for me to hear it so I only smile to myself without responding. “I’m serious, though. You aren’t going back.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can’t stand it,” he admits, crossing a line that never should have been crossed.

  “Don’t,” I plead pathetically.

  “Don’t what?” We reverse out of the parking space and move towards the exit.

  “Complicate this.”

  He bites hard on his lip and shakes his head as if to clear it. “Complicate it?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  And then he complicates it further when he says, “I’m leaving Penelope.”

  Holy fuck. My body tightens, making my arm twitch painfully. “What?”

  His eyes remain on the road ahead. “It’s time.”

  “Does this have anything to do with me?”

  A long and heavy sigh leaves him. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with this now… you’re in pain.”

  “I’m fine. It’ll take my mind off it.” My heart beats a rapid rhythm as I await his confession, whatever it may be. “But seriously… what’s going on?”

  “I’ve filed for divorce.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “Being with you…” His eyes glance at me and his hands twist on the steering wheel. “I guess I finally discovered what real chemistry and passion feel like.”

  I nod my agreement. Nobody has ever made me feel as alive as Elijah does. Nobody.

  “I want more of that… I know that we can’t go forth with whatever this is. I’m not naive. It’ll burn out eventually and if we choose to continue, with my status and your shady past and present husband, it would shame us both.” Ouch. That stings. “But I like how you make me feel and I want that again.”

  I don’t know what to say to any of that. I hide the fact that his words just cut me worse than anything else ever has. Even though I know he’s right, just hearing him say out loud that I’m nothing more than a catalyst for him… masked in lies and deceit… it hurts deeply.

  The pain in my arm and trembling of my body become too much, snatching away the focus on the conversation, much to my relief. I don’t want to think about why I feel this way and I don’t want to talk anymore. My feeble pride won’t be able to withstand the blow.

  When we make it to the hospital, I’m relieved when Elijah’s status gets us transferred to a private section. He speaks with the doctors as I’m guided to a bed in a spacious room and made to wait. Elijah clicks away on his phone, his forehead crinkled with a frown.

  I’m about to ask what is wrong when a porter comes in with a wheelchair. “Got to take you down to X-ray.”

  I nod and Elijah carefully helps me onto the wheelchair.

  “I’m not going to call Max,” he says quietly after releasing me. “We still need to discuss that.”

  I wince. I’d rather not discuss it ever again.

  “I can see by your face that you’re planning ways to avoid that subject… it’s not going to be ignored.” He remains in step beside me before barking at the porter, “Will you be careful? You’re shaking her around far too much. Push it in a straight line.”

  Wow. I raise my brows at Elijah, who is still staring at his phone. He looks tense and stressed, which is understandable given the circumstances.

  I’m certain I should also feel tense and stressed, yet I feel surprisingly calm. Maybe it’s the adrenaline.

  The X-ray shows that my arm is broken but fortunately it’s a straight break. They put my hand and wrist in a Velcro splint and tell me to return in two days for the cast to be set. Meanwhile Elijah remains silent as he directs me back to his car.

  “Are you hungry? Thirsty?” He asks softly and places his hand on my thigh over the console.

  “I’m fine. You’ve asked me already.”

  “I wish there was more I could do.”

  “You’ve done too much already. I’m not your concern,” I remark, startling myself at how bitter I sound.

  He seems shocked too but says nothing. I figure he probably thinks I’m in pain and grumpy from it. I still can’t feel much. There’s a dull ache in my arm but nothing dramatic. Not yet anyway.

  “I’m tired,” I quietly sigh and rest my forehead against the glass window.

  “I bet.” After clearing his throat and drawing delicate patterns on my thigh with his fingertips, he pulls into a petrol station and turns towards me. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

  “You didn’t see it in the cameras?”

  Shifting in h
is seat, he takes my good hand in his and brings it to his lips. “I’ll just get petrol, okay? Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

  “Just bed.” I swipe my thumb over the back of his and release him. “Thank you for everything, Elijah.” Even if you won’t ever see me as more than a slut hole for your cock.

  We return home and I take a call from Rick as I pad along the hall. I’ve barely gotten out the word ‘Hello’ when the phone is snatched from my hand and Elijah is snarling.

  “Has he been dealt with?” His frown is etched deep. “Good. You can take this as her resignation. Pay her whatever you owe her and cut her loose. She’s not coming back.”

  “Elijah,” I cry, wishing I could fight him for the phone. “Give me that.”

  He steps away and holds out his hand to keep me back. “Good. I’m glad. No problem. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

  My heart deflates slowly. I feel the air seep from it at his words. He’s going back, which means I’m either not his only dancer or he’s going to find a new one. Tears prick my eyes as exhaustion finally sinks in and the adrenaline of the events finally wears off.

  “I’m going to bed,” I whisper, turning so he can’t see the torment in my eyes. “Bring my phone up when you’re done.”

  “I’m done,” he states and follows swiftly behind me. “What are you going to tell Max?”

  “I’ll just tell him I fell at work.”

  “He’ll believe it?”

  I laugh coldly. “He won’t care.”

  “We should talk about him…”

  “Not tonight.” I step into my room and kick off my shoes. “Can I have some privacy?”

  “Oh… I…” He scratches his head, his eyes confused. “You don’t want me in here?”

  “No.”

  His eyes round with hurt. “Very well.” Placing my phone on the bedside table, he turns to look at me. “Is there anything I can get you?”

  “A new heart?” I mumble.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing.” My tone is spiteful; I don’t hold back the venom. I don’t have the energy.

  “Don’t be like that. I didn’t hear you.”

  “I didn’t say anything worth repeating.” My back hits the bed sideways. I immediately regret the landing as it sends a pulse through my body, straight to my arm.

  “Fuck,” he curses when I cry out and immediately helps me into a sitting position. “Are you alright?”

  I shrug him off, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Stop.”

  “I’m only trying to help.”

  “Well don’t!” My voice carries loudly through the room, causing him to freeze and gape at me as though I’ve slapped him. “Just leave me alone.”

  “Fine,” he hisses and removes himself from the bed. I shift to the pillows and rest back against them. “I won’t ever try to help again.”

  “Good.”

  His long, powerful legs carry him to the door in a few steady strides. Ripping it open, he turns to look at me, his eyes confused and wild with anger. I see him open his mouth but quickly shut it again. He stands for a short moment longer as if debating whether he should speak, but he doesn’t. He exits the room and attempts to slam the door behind him. The anti-slam mechanism saves the innocent object from damage, though his effort certainly did not go unnoticed.

  I’m a fucking mess. A stupid, slutty fucking mess.

  Pulling a pillow to my chest with my good arm, I bury my face in it and cry. The stress of the events of the night weigh too heavily on my conscience. My body begins to shake and tremble as if it only happened moments ago. Memories of the smell of his breath, the scent of his musky, unclean body rubbing against mine, the feel of his fingers grabbing at my flesh…

  Then comes Elijah’s face as he admits to me I’m nothing more than a fling to pass the time until somebody better comes along.

  I know I’m a hypocrite for hating that, considering the fact I promised myself to another. I just can’t help it. I hate feeling the way I do. If there were an off switch, I would press it in an instant.

  What a mess I have created for myself. All because I wanted a more thrilling life.

  This is well-deserved karma.

  I’ve hardly slept when Max comes home. I feel tired and my arm throbs in any position. It has already started swelling. Max, as expected, hardly acknowledges me upon entering the bedroom. He’s still sour about our argument yesterday. I knew he would be.

  “I slipped at work.” I hold up my arm. He glances over at it. “It’s broken.”

  “Are you okay?” I’m surprised that he is asking. He comes over, his brow crumpled with concern.

  “I will be. It hurts.”

  His fingers gently trail over the dark blue splint. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Would you have cared?”

  Sharp eyes hit mine, accusation in their depths. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” I mumble, not in the mood for an argument. I now know what it means to be emotionally spent. The thought of even feeling a zap of anger or annoyance, or anything really, makes me want to curl up and sleep.

  “No, I’m not having it. For the past couple of weeks you’ve changed. You’ve been moody and distant and suddenly you’re acting like I’m your enemy.”

  “Max…” I try to halt him, wishing he’d just be sweet for a while, but karma has other plans.

  “I’ve had enough,” he yells and throws my phone across the room. It shatters against the wall. “I just want us to be how we were!”

  “I just broke my arm.” I try to soften my tone but it comes out forced. “Can we argue tomorrow? I’m so tired.”

  His eyes scan me up and down for a long moment. I take this as agreement and lie back in bed, wincing when my arm throbs with an ache I can’t describe. I elevate it on a pillow and pray that it’ll stop hurting so I can rest.

  Max sets about getting ready for bed. His eyes drift to me numerous times, though he remains silent, which is unusual. Uneasiness sets in. Max is usually everything but silent.

  I watch him under heavy eyelids that sting with exhaustion. I listen with ears muffled by soft pillow as he brushes his teeth and washes his face. I turn as he pads to bed, turning the light off on the way. My eyes close when the bed dips behind me. His sigh is heavy and mournful. The covers are tugged back and he slides under them. I wince whenever the bed is jostled as he gets comfortable. Another heavy sigh lets me know that he wants to say something but he’s holding back. His body turns towards mine and I feel his groin against my arse.

  It’s when I feel his solid length pressing through his boxers and against my arse that I realise exactly why he hasn’t said anything.

  He’s horny. It isn’t because he suddenly has a conscience or because he suddenly cares about my welfare. It’s because he’s horny.

  “Really, Max?” I hiss quietly when he grinds against me and grips my breast with his hand.

  “So I’m not allowed sex now either?” He scoffs, pulling me onto my back.

  “I just broke my arm. I’m not in the mood.”

  “You’re never in the mood anymore.”

  My mouth falls open, his selfishness astounding even me. I should yell at him and leave the bed but he’d only get worse, so instead I file it away for another time and tell him, “I’m going to sleep.”

  His fingers slide from my breast to my hip. Once upon a time his touch ignited something in me other than loathing. “You won’t even have to…”

  “Goodnight, Max.” I snap and pull my body away from him.

  “Do you even love me anymore?” He asks, his tone full of disbelief.

  “Would it even matter?” I murmur and shift further away from him.

  “You’re just being a bitch. You’ll love me again in the morning.” He shifts back into my space and pulls me into his body. “Night, Liv.”

  “Night.”

  Sleep still does not come.

  However, the morning does
, all too quickly.

  “I’m not sure what’s more annoying, the fact that I have to show up unannounced in order to meet this sibling of yours, or the fact that I’m hearing about the divorce from Mother.” Comes a high pitched, feminine voice from the entrance area. I take it she’s a sister, seeing as she said Mother instead of my mother. It would imply they have the same mother.

  I stand in the kitchen, pain pills in my hand and a glass of water ready to gulp down, thanks to Mildred.

  “I only filed for divorce the day before yesterday,” Elijah growls and even though I can’t see him, I know he’s tense. “How on earth did Mother hear about it?”

  “Smith, who else?”

  Who is Smith? I wonder as I swallow the tablets, mindful of my arm. It hurts badly. I’m just fortunate that it isn’t my right arm.

  “And your new sibling? What’s your excuse for avoiding me at every turn?”

  “I wanted to become acquainted myself before you started sticking your nose in.” I hear their footsteps near before they step past the kitchen, oblivious to my presence.

  Or so I thought. The woman with Elijah who, surprisingly, considering his dark features, has blonde hair and skin as pale as snow, double takes as she passes before grinning at me. “Ah, the wife!”

  “Hi.” I raise my good hand in a small wave but she steps into the area and soon takes up residence in my bubble of comfort.

  “Olivia, I presume?” Her accent is so… posh. There is no other way to describe it. She speaks the Queen’s English; that is for sure. “I’m Georgia, the gorgeous sister of the Duke. Lady Georgia by birth, but my friends call me Georgie.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.” I glance at Elijah over her shoulder. He has his arms folded across his chest and is scowling at me. “I didn’t realise Elijah had a sister.”

  “He doesn’t talk about me often on account of the fact that his wife fucked my husband and I like to tell people, purely to remind him what an idiot he is for staying with the cretin.”

  My lips part. “I… umm…”

  “Georgia,” Elijah barks, coming towards us. He takes his sister’s elbow in his hand as if to lead her away but she ignores him and looks me up and down. “Well, aren’t you a pretty one? Max must be every ounce as handsome as Elijah if he managed to hook you on a ball and chain.”