Three Stages of Love: Attraction

by T. Anthony

  I had asked for his help, the only way he could give it, and Michael knew that I was frail. And even more frightening was the fact that his desire to help and to console me were unexplainably nowhere to be seen or heard once we passed the entrance to his torture chamber.

  But I followed him still.

  That evening transpired no different than it had the first time. He held me captive and bestowed upon me an anguish that anesthetized me from the wounds I carried. Only this time he proceeded to gag me—with a gag ball—so that I would be silenced. I was cut off to Alexander, the world, and now I had lost my voice as well. But, at the end of each penance, I would fall into a coma of exhaustion; so at least I was getting some form of sleep.

  The next seven days passed with indifference to how I was throwing my life away. But they did pass. I went through the motions of my days at work, though getting to work was a task in itself. I mostly locked myself behind the safety of my office doors, heavy hearted and bruised beyond recognition. Lucky for me my clothes hid the marks left by Michael, which worsened as I had returned to him daily. The evidence of punishment was obvious and severe.

  Any flash of clarity that made itself known in my mind was quickly washed away by tears born from the realization of my judgments. I knew what I had chosen to do but not what it was doing to me.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I had a meeting at 9:00 a.m. sharp Monday morning, and as I got in the office, my clients had arrived, and Samantha had prepared their portfolio for me. With nothing else to say as she handed me my things, I went on my way into the conference room.

  Again, I wasn’t fazed, and I wasn’t hurt or angry with her; I just didn’t care.

  Marcus joined me in the meeting and watched me carefully as I gave my projections and proposals for our latest undertaking. The multimillion dollar account would make up for some of the losses we had suffered throughout the year. Marcus made sure to impress up on me that this account was crucial to the company’s future, but I felt for the first time in my life that my ability to hold a room had changed. I no longer exuded self-confidence and sex appeal that once drew business men and women to anticipate my every syllable. Now I relied on plain words and black-and-white numbers alone. My insecurities poured out of me as I stumbled on my words and felt shaky with the information I gave the clients. And unfortunately in this arena, you don’t just sell the numbers and the business. You sell the person who is handling the business!

  I pushed forward with whatever little I had left in me—but it wasn’t much.

  Two hours later, after tedious and mind-numbing proposals, Marcus concluded our meeting. “Thank you all for your time today. We’ll meet again next week, and we will have the list of prospective angel investors for you.”

  The clients left in single file, but Marcus remained seated and stiff. “Eva, stay a minute.” The tone of his voice and inability to look at me in the face told me that this wouldn’t be a pleasant conversation.

  I sat beside Marcus, fumbling nervously with my pen, and waited for everyone to leave. And as the last person was out, the door closed us in.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Marcus asked in sheer anger.

  “Happened to me? I don’t understand. I thought the meeting went well,” I said, growing nervous as I responded with an inclination that he wasn’t referring to the meeting.

  “Do I look stupid? What the hell has happened to you in the last two weeks? I’m not going to ask you again.” Marcus’s irritation with me shot through him, and the pencil he held snapped in half, jolting me in my seat. “You spend your days locked in your office. You come in late, leave early, and you look like you are starving yourself.”

  “Marcus, what is this about? I’m sorry I don’t know what you mean.” And as I tried to stand, Marcus grabbed my wrist and turned my arm over, and I shook from the pain.

  “What the fuck is on your arm? Who did—did Michael do this to you?” Marcus pushed up the sleeve of my blouse as I tried to pull away.

  “Marcus, stop it. This is none of your business. And Michael didn’t do anything to me that I didn’t ask for. Now let me through,” I begged, insistent on keeping my shame within me. I tried to move past him as my eyes began to sting, but I couldn’t allow myself to cry again. I couldn’t land in the misery that I had suffered to get away from.

  “You asked him to hurt you? What is happening to you? Why are you doing this? Eva, I can’t let him do this to you. You are not a helpless fucking victim. What’s gotten into—wait, are you doing this because of Alexander? Do you think that this will make you forget him, is that it? Wait, does Alexander know you are into this?” Marcus shouted, stepping closer to me, now turning his expression of anger into sheer pity.

  “No, it has nothing to do with him, and don’t you dare tell him. I just…” And bracing myself against the table, I told Marcus what had happened. I told him that the void created by my determined loss of Alexander was fulfilled by the pain inflicted on me as I sacrificed my body for having been weak and cowardly. I explained that my only self-defense in life had been to maintain control over everything. Alexander had made me lose control, and I was scared to death. I had gone from heroine to victim in a moment’s time as I lived through my own romantic tragedy.

  “I will fucking kill him if he comes near you again. Do you understand? Eva, I’m talking to you!” Marcus yelled.

  But I was once again consumed by sadness and darkness. I wanted so desperately to be back in Alexander’s hold that I couldn’t breathe.

  “Marcus, please let it go,” I begged.

  “Eva, I want you to go home. I can’t have you here like this; you are not well.”

  Marcus pitied me in the saddest of ways. I had allowed myself to be physically punished, and I had truly lost all control.

  “Marcus, please don’t. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

  But Marcus wasn’t buying into my bullshit.

  “You are not fine. Now go and take the rest of the week off.” And with his dismissal from my only safe haven, Marcus turned to leave. “And I promise you, if you fucking go near him again, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

  He slammed the door behind him, leaving me to fester with my regrets and fears, alone and lonely in my self-destructive bubble.

  I left the office directly from the conference room, as I feared running into Samantha or Marcus again if had I tried to return to my office.

  I walked the streets of Manhattan for hours trying to find an explanation for what I had become. But there was little I could come up with, little explanation to why the independent and intelligent woman I once was had completely lost control, lost hope, and lost herself. I felt pity for myself. I had fought against Alexander’s love so that I wouldn’t lose control, and now I had lost much more than that.

  Two weeks had passed since my first experience of Michael’s sadomasochistic practices. It was also the last time I had seen, smelled, and been near Alexander. But he was near me every minute of every day. I dreamt of him in my sleep and I dreamt of him while awake. His nearness and the sensation of his scent and skin were harbored within me even though I had cast him away. Every time Michael lashed out at me, my thoughts screamed painful “I’m sorry”s into the world, and I prayed that something would carry them to Alexander.

  Michael took pleasure in the nights we spent together. He thrived and enjoyed the infliction of pain on me. Had I not been the one being beaten, I would have taken pity on him and got him some help. But at this point, playing the role I was playing, I was the one who needed help. But who would help me? I had cast out everyone who loved me in my life as I fell deeper into this dark place of punishment and pain. My days were hollow, and the depths of my loneliness and sorrow grew deeper the more time I spent with Michael.

  It was late afternoon when I found myself near Alexander’s apartment complex across from Central Park. I hadn’t intentionally walked there, but somehow my mind and body decided to subconsciously take me to where
my heart belonged. I didn’t know how long he had been back from LA or if he was still here, but my body gravitated in his possible direction. And as I stood looking to the top of the building, I could see the edge of the penthouse wall, and that’s when I hit bottom. I felt lightheaded and so heart broken that I didn’t know what to do or where to go to stop all the gloom that surrounded me.

  I took my cell phone from my purse and sent a text.

  I need you to make me forget. Please!

  And the response came seconds later: Meet me at my apartment; I’ll make it go away. Michael.

  I stood frozen, reading the text over and over again, praying that I hadn’t made another mistake. But it had become the only escape I could find in these, my darkest of days.

  I sat in the parking lot of Michael’s apartment for a long period of time, breathing through the consequences of my choices, telling myself that if I could just get through it, if I could just forget for good, I could move on with my life.

  When I finally got the nerve, I walked up to his floor and knocked on his door.

  Michael opened the door within seconds. “What took you so long? I thought maybe you had reconsidered. Come in, I won’t bite…not unless you’re ready for that.” And again Michael had found amusement in his suggestions of inflicting pain.

  I began to tremble as I recalled Marcus’s words from earlier: If you go near him again, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.

  “I need to use the restroom,” I said to Michael. I needed to get some air. I needed to splash some cold water on my face, as I had begun to sweat from fear of someone finding out that I had willingly come back here yet again.

  The pain was my drug; the numbness was the enticement. The fear of what he would do to me and the pain from what he was going to do was better than what I had been feeling inside, and that made me forget everything.

  But now that Marcus knew, there was no telling who he would share my indiscretion with or what lengths he would go to, to ensure it didn’t happen again. I could lose my job, the only friend I had left, and the reputation that I had spent my life building.

  I felt nauseated as I looked at myself in the mirror; the girl in the reflection was not the girl I had known for thirty-two years. The black circles around her eyes yearned for rest. Her skin, pale and gray, craved some sunlight and happiness. No, this wasn’t me. This was hopelessness.

  I have to get out of here; I have to go to—

  But as I decided to leave, my thoughts were jerked silent by a thunderous crash of splintering wood.

  I ran out of the bathroom and into the main room to find Alexander and Marcus standing over the threshold, past the busted door of Michael’s apartment.

  “What the hell do you think you are doing?” Michael yelled, but his question was more or else answered as Alexander swung his arm and cracked Michael’s cheek with his fist.

  “ALEXANDER, NO!” I yelled.

  Strangely I wasn’t yelling for him to stop hurting Michael; I yelled because I feared that Alexander would kill him.

  But Alexander didn’t stop; he viciously hit Michael over and over until Michael’s still body couldn’t defend itself.

  Seeing that he had done his due diligence in beating the shit out of him, Alexander crouched over Michael’s head and snarled at him, “I suggest you move out of this city, because if I so much as hear your name in her presence, I will make sure that my hands are the reason your heart stops beating.”

  Alexander stood and, in a wave of anger, moved toward me. “I told you to get away from him. Do you have any fucking idea what he could have done to you? You continue to bludgeon me with your behavior, and yet I am the one here now coming for you.” Alexander’s face was tight with anger. His dark gelled strands of hair were disheveled in a way I had never seen before, and his eyes were blood shot. His hands shook, his knuckles were covered in blood, and his shirt was ripped at the neck, displaying throbbing veins over his tightened pecks. The anger and adrenaline covered him in sweat, and I flinched as the vision of his desirable ferociousness in its entirety sunk into my senses.

  I stilled—silent and affronted as Alexander picked up the faint remains of the woman I used to be and carried me out of the apartment.

  When we reached the parking lot, I felt a rush of embarrassment and a need to defend being at Michael’s apartment. And so I wiggled myself out of Alexander’s arms and began my fight.

  “What do you think you are doing? You have no right to be here!” I screamed at both of them, realizing Marcus must have told Alexander everything. “And you,” I said, pointing at Marcus, walking toward him wildly, “you promised you wouldn’t tell him. How could you?”

  But two hands grabbed my elbows and pulled me back from him.

  I turned, only to find Samantha—and not Alexander as I had expected.

  “Eva, I called Alexander. I’ve experienced first hand what Michael practices and when I told Marcus—we feared for your safety, we didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry, but—”

  I ripped myself away from her hold feeling utter betrayal and shame. Betrayed by my best and only friend and shameful that they all knew what I had subjected myself to.

  I gasped as I brought Alexander into focus. He was here—in person, in the flesh—and he had just held me in his arms as I had so longed to be held.

  My knees weakened and began to buckle, when my breath ceased to escape my lips as the overwhelming emotions sent me crashing to the blacktop.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Alexander’s sultry hands massaged my thighs as I slept.

  His fingers traveled up to my abdomen, motioning softly in circles around my belly button, tickling my skin. The warmth of his skin triggered a profound moan from deep within my chest. I had once longed for his sensual touch and pined for his physical nearness, but this was more than that; my attraction was illogical and irrational, but it was all encompassing. I would give up my soul to the Devil if knew that I would remain in his hold forever.

  My eyes fluttered open as his phantom fingers had reached my hardened nipples. The curtains were still pulled in my room, concealing the sunlight. My head pounded and eyes burned as I hunted for Alexander in every square inch of my room.

  But he was nowhere to be found; he had gone.

  I sat myself up and curled my knees to my chest. My physical pain was nothing compared to the pain I was feeling emotionally. I was infatuated. And the emptiness of that infatuation was torturous.

  I had to medicate. I wouldn’t make it through a single moment of the day if I didn’t take control of the angst that possessed me. At least that I could control. My heart, on the other hand—there were no medications to cure my ailing heart.

  I sluggishly turned, letting my legs hang off of the side of the bed, when I noticed a folded letter sitting on my nightstand.

  The front flap had writing on it.

  Taking it with a shaky hand, I brought it close to me so I could only view the flap that read: EVANGELINE.

  The adrenaline began rushing through me, and my body was in “flight or fight” mode. I was ready and willing to do either or both: take flight to conquest my love, wherever he may have gone, and/or fight to the death to make sure that when I did find him I would never let him go for a second.

  I braced myself as I opened the note, prepared to expect the worst. But what I found was the complete opposite; the letter simply read, Come downstairs!

  They were three very simple words, but they defeated my strength and plowed through my courage; he was still here, and I had to face him!

  I ran clumsily into the bathroom and readied myself; I couldn’t let him see the hot mess that was me at the moment. I tried to quickly make myself up. I tied my long black hair into a messy bun and put on some light foundation and blush so that I didn’t look so sunken and drained. And after applying a little lip gloss, I slipped on a hip-hugging long-sleeved dress, making sure to cover any or as many of my bruises as I could. I sauntered down the stairs
wondering where he would be waiting.

  I heard a clatter in the kitchen, but it was the sweet aroma of baking batter that took me back to his apartment and his Belgian waffles. The saliva built up in my mouth, but the hunger wasn’t for food; it was for the chef himself.

  I entered the kitchen and, as expected, he was in fact making breakfast. There was a spread on the table fit for royalty, but the king was also the cook!

  I stood quietly, taking in the vision of Alexander wearing only his gray slacks. He was facing the stove, and I felt hypnotized as his muscles tightened on his arms and shoulders and his bare back flexed with every movement he made. He was divine! There wasn’t the slightest imperfection in his anatomy.

  I swallowed my craving and softly alerted him of my presence. “Good morning.”

  But he didn’t turn and only responded after an awkward silence. “I was wondering how long you would stand there before saying good morning.”

  “How did you…?” I was confused as to why he would let me stand there without acknowledging me.

  “You need to get accustomed to the fact that I can sense you from miles. And let’s not forget that you have a scent to you that can’t be confused with anyone else. Now, take a seat,” he commanded me, and I did as I was told.

  But as I walked toward the table, I kept him in my sight. I wanted him to look at me; I wanted to meet his stare and to feel him peering through me. But he didn’t.

  I sat alone at my kitchen table for a while, watching Alexander as he continued to prepare us breakfast. And though I had no desire to eat, I wouldn’t dare alert him to that after he had gone through all the trouble of cooking everything in my fridge.

  He placed the last plate of food on the table and poured me a cup of coffee. “Take this,” he said, handing me some ibuprofen. “Drink the coffee black. It will help.” And then he sat down on the other side of me.