The lamp beside me turned on at 7:05 p.m. Like clockwork. She had the light on a timer, along with lights in the bedroom and kitchen. The house lit up and I woke up out of my morbid thoughts. As much as I couldn't stop the bad thoughts, I couldn't stop myself from selfishly wanting her either. I had ruined her life many times over but I couldn't let her go. I wouldn't. I would give up everything else, anything. It was so shitty of me, and I know that now. When I think back to those days in Seattle, I know that it was foolish of me to keep trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. The funny thing is, she would've been just fine without me. She's beautiful, she's smart, she's rich. She never needed me. She never needed the trouble I brought when I darkened her doorstep.
And I couldn't stop making trouble, even if I tried.
When 7:30 rolled around, I cracked my knuckles, one by one. I could feel my whole body tensing up. I didn't like it when she stayed out late. Normally, by that time, I would've started making some food for her, but there wasn't anything in the house. We'd cleaned it out during our marathon session that weekend. It was amazing how hungry and thirsty sex could make somebody. We'd gone through a whole roasted chicken and two steaks, as well as the fancy little potatoes and the corn and the string beans she'd gotten from the farmer's market. I have no money and I don't want to take money from the secret metal box in the bottom of her closet where she kept a small roll of twenties, so I didn't bother ordering anything. Besides, it was too risky.
For the hundredth time since I'd been in Seattle, I wonder how much longer I can live like this. A man can't stay in a cage for too long. At least not a man like me. I stayed in one already, because they locked me in. I know Joanie didn't want to lock me in, but she couldt help it. She was scared for me. She was angry that I'd left the house and put myself in danger. But she didn't understand. She thought she did, but she didn't. I didn't either, then.
When I finally heard her key in the door, I felt a sense of relief, an almost euphoric sense of happiness. It hadn't missed my attention that it wasn't too far off from a dog's reaction when their master returned from a day away. It was pathetic and I hate to admit it, but it made me more resentful. It made me want to grab her hair and make her wince and slam her against the wall and fuck her until she reminded me how much it was worth it. Instead, I forced myself to stay seated in the chair as she bustled into the kitchen, her heels clicking on the tile floor. She tossed her keys on the counter and set a bag down with a thump. I didn't last five seconds. I stood and walked to the doorway to the kitchen and leaned against it, my eyes drinking her in.
I sensed it the second she looked at me.
“Hi,” she said and there was something at the back of her eyes that immediately hit me between the ribs. But she slipped on a smile like she could mask it from me. She'd put on a fresh coat of lipstick, I noticed. Her lips were smooth and pink. Her hair was loose down her back and her trench-coat was belted at her waist, accentuating her perfect hour-glass figure. She looked so fucking good I forgot all about food. I was becoming a Pavlovian dog. I would start salivating at the sound of her keys in the door, at the sound of her car pulling into the garage. I didn't like it, but I couldn't stop it. I was her pet, pacing and impatient until she decided to return and grace me with her presence. And after hours of waiting, suddenly she was back. But it wasn't right. After all of my loyalty, she was smiling and hiding something from me. “I stopped by the market and picked up some things,” she said. “You're probably hungry.”
“I'll make it,” I said, stepping into the kitchen. Her smile faltered a bit as I advanced on her and then she took a step back away from me and fumbled with her coat.
“Let me change my clothes and then I'll do it,” she said. “I want to cook for you.”
“I haven't done shit all day,” I said, studying her face. “I can cook.” She dropped her eyes to the floor to avoid mine, then she looked at me again, like she was forcing herself. “Are you gonna fight me over a skillet and an open flame?” I asked her, cocking my head.
“No,” she murmured. I flung out an arm and caught her around the waist. I pulled her close and buried my face in her neck and took a deep breath. She gasped lightly and then looped her arms around my ribs. She squeezed me tight and I closed my eyes, the love I felt for her almost too much to bear. “I don't know if I'll ever get used to coming home and having you here,” she said. I knew what she meant but it was still strange to hear. A little part of me told me to enjoy it while it lasted. She pulled away first, dropping her arms and pushing at me lightly. “I have to get out of these clothes or I'm going to scream.”
“Fuck dinner,” I said, running my hand down her hip and then squeezing her ass. “Get naked and I'll lick your pussy.”
“I'm hungry. Aren't you hungry?” She shifted her eyes and then fumbled with her coat like she couldn't wait to get away from me. “We should eat first.” She walked around me into the living room and I let her go. I stood alone in the kitchen, but I was tempted to follow her. I was tempted to grab her and demand to know what the hell was going on, but I didn't. I wanted to see how long it would take before she would tell me on her own. I didn't know how patient I could be, but I would try. It could be a game for awhile. But I was competitive.
I always played to win.
*****
Lunch ended just as strangely as it began.
I walked with Detective Wilson out into the parking lot, but I told him there was no need to drive me back. He smiled and nodded.
“That won't stop me from watching to make sure you get back okay,” he said.
“I'm sure I'll be fine,” I said. “I've been crossing streets since I was five years old. I think I can manage.”
“Just don't forget to look both ways,” he said, still flirting. “Otherwise I'd have to arrest you for jaywalking.”
“Jaywalking?” I laughed. “You're starting to look a little desperate, Detective.”
“Maybe I am,” he said, then ducked his head like he was a shy little boy. I felt a twinge of sympathy for him. He had no idea what tree he was barking up. He had no idea the things I was capable of, the things I could and would do to protect my secrets. But for a brief moment, I had a flashback to another life, a life before Elliot. A life where I flirted and dated nice boys and didn't have a care in the world, except for what I was doing on Friday night. I had to let it go though. Like everything else, I let it go. Because Elliot meant more. Elliot was everything.
“Thanks for keeping me company,” I said.
“I didn't mind, Joan,” he said and my name sounded strange coming from his lips. It felt too close, too intimate. Maybe it was just the way he said it. “You can call me Aaron, by the way. That's my name.”
“Good to know, Detective,” I said, emphasizing the word. Then I raised my hand and gave him a light wave, as easy as if I hadn't thought about it beforehand. The problem was, his face changed. His brow furrowed and his eyes got sharp. I knew immediately. My sleeve had slipped down. The wicked red and purple bruises around my wrist were out in the open, revealing themselves at the worst possible time. I'd almost gotten away from the cop with no slip-ups. I was so close. I dropped my arm to my side and smiled brightly, even though I knew it wouldn't make him forget what he'd seen. “I'm late,” I said and then I turned and strode across the parking lot toward the street. He didn't follow me and I didn't dare look back. I just kept walking until I got back to the relative safety of the office.
A little mistake, but it was still a fuck up.
Elliot was staring at me, like he could read my mind. All through dinner, he'd been staring at me. I'd forced myself to eat a bit of the salmon he'd cooked for me, even though my stomach was in knots. I knew I should tell him about Wilson, but I didn't think it was worth it. I didn't think that it was worth the trouble and the worry. He was already on edge. He didn't need to know that the Detective was still interested in me.
“I'm not feeling well,” I said, standing and picking up my half-full plate. I
turned and went into the kitchen and scraped my plate. I told myself to get a grip; I was a better liar than this. I've lied so many times and never had anyone suspect a thing. But the stakes are so high, for me and for Elliot. It's making me nervous. I turn on the water and rinse the plate, staring at the bits of food as they wash away. I jerked in surprise when I felt his hand against my forehead.
“You don't have a fever,” he said.
“It's my stomach,” I quickly tossed out. “I think I had too much coffee today.” He narrowed his eyes lightly and I remembered the coffee he'd made me this morning. “Not your coffee,” I said, poking his stomach lightly. “The shitty company coffee. I had to drink whole milk today in it. Whole,” I said, making an exaggerated face.
“You're so spoiled, you know that?” he said, but his face softened. I could see his guard falling and I felt myself relax. This would pass, I told myself. It could go away.
“I'm not spoiled. I just like what I like.” I wiped my wet hands on the yellow dish towel. Then I did what I really wanted for the first time that night – I touched him. I put my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. “The salmon was really good,” I murmured, wrapping my arms around his ribs.
“You didn't eat it,” he said.
“I did eat some,” I protested. “I ate almost half.”
“Bullshit,” he shot back but he didn't move away from my touch. To the contrary. He picked me up and carried me upstairs like I weighed nothing. I leaned into him, not wanting to fight it. He kicked the door closed behind us and tossed me lightly in the middle of the bed.
“The kitchen is a mess,” I said. “I should do dishes since you cooked.”
“You're sick. I'll do it,” he said, sliding his hands up my thighs and hooking his fingers in my waistband. He undressed me piece by piece, until I was down to my bra and panties. I threw my arms over my head as he ran his hands all over my body. He stroked up my thighs and over my belly and up my ribs. He avoided my tits and he didn't move to take off my panties, either. My nipples were hard and my pussy was wet and I had goosebumps, but he didn't stop softly caressing me. He didn't take off his clothes either or lay on top of me, like I wanted him to. I was bursting at the seams. Then, finally, he leaned in and kissed me on the forehead. “Rest,” he said, then stood. “I'll clean up downstairs and then I'll be back up.” He went to the door and then gave me a knowing look. I opened and shut my mouth, as the realization dawned on me, so close to telling him to stay but not wanting to expose my lie. He stood there for a minute, like he was daring me to say something. When I didn't, he turned off the light and closed the door behind him. I listened as he walked down the stairs and then I rolled over, feeling like I wanted to scream. He'd done that on purpose.
He knew I was lying.
Now, he was going to make me suffer.
*****
He didn't touch me for two days after that.
On the night of the third day, I couldn't take it anymore. He wasn't letting it go. I told myself that it wasn't that big of a deal. Wilson hadn't tried to contact me again and he probably wouldn't. There was no harm in telling Elliot about the lunch and the FBI. The longer we played these games, the more harmful it would be, I reasoned. Of course, I should've told him the first night. I know that now, but at the time I didn't realize that the lie would be almost as bad as the truth.
He was in the middle of the bed, staring up at the ceiling. I stood in the doorway to the bathroom, drying off from my shower. I didn't bother putting on a robe or covering up. I dried off slowly, waiting to see if he was going to look at me. Waiting to see if he was going to get up and force me to stop teasing him. He was calm, though. He was pretending to ignore me. I decided that enough was enough. I tossed my towel aside and crawled onto the bed. I straddled him before he could stop me.
“I know what you're doing,” I said, arching my back and sticking out my tits, hoping it would entice him to play with them.
“Do you?” he asked, his whole body going stiff because of the temptation. He didn't make a move to touch me though. The manic flames flickered behind his eyes and I knew I was close to breaking him. I knew what I had to do.
“I have something to tell you,” I said, squeezing my thighs around his waist. I leaned forward and rubbed my tits across his chest and let my wet hair slide over my shoulder so that he could see it. I admit I was trying to soften the blow, maybe make things a little easier on myself. I thought it would be better that way. “A cop came to see me the other day. One of the cops who came to the door. You remember?” I asked, running my teeth across my bottom lip. He didn't move. His expression didn't change. “He took me to lunch and I picked his brain. They have nothing. Not even the FBI. Nobody knows where you are.” I bit down harder on my lip as I watched his face. Still nothing. His eyes were flat. His breathing was growing shallow and I could feel his heart, beating faster between his ribs. “He just came to see me at work. Because he was worried about me. That's all.” I shrugged lightly, like it was no big deal. It wasn't a big deal.
I'd lied about it for two days, but it wasn't a big deal.
I don't know how I ended up on my back. It all happened so quickly. My wet hair snaked around my neck. I arched my back, gasping as he loomed over me, shoving my legs open roughly. He pulled his shirt over his head and threw my arms over my head. He wrapped the shirt around my wrists, tightly, until I couldn't move them. His chest was heaving against mine and his nostrils flared as he went still on top of me.
“What's the motherfucker's name?” he asked, his voice barely above a growl.
“It doesn't matter,” I said, a thrill of fear running down my spine. I hadn't seen him that angry in a long time.
“Tell me his motherfucking name,” he hissed, beating his fist into the mattress, once.
“Wilson,” I said, swallowing hard. “He's a detective.”
“Did you fuck him?”
“What? No!” I screamed, annoyed that that was the first thing he thought of. He didn't worry about getting caught or the fact that the FBI was looking for him. The only thing he thought about was his own petty jealousy. I should've known, I supposed. He'd done terrible things in the name of jealousy before. “We had lunch.”
“Why the hell would he tell you anything?” he said, bucking his hips against mine. “Why would he tell you things like that without a reason?”
“He hardly told me anything,” I said, trying to pull apart my bound wrists. But the fabric wouldn't budge.
“If he didn't tell you anything, why would you lie to me?”
“I didn't want to worry you,” I said, staring right into his eyes. I wanted him to know that I wasn't lying. I was telling the truth, finally.
“You're full of shit,” he said, then he reached between us and pulled his cock out. I could feel him angling himself against me and I whined, stuck between wanting it and wanting him to understand. But he didn't wait for me to get ready. He thrust into me, hard and so fast that it took my breath away. I bit down on my lip again to stop myself from screaming. “Did you fuck him with this pussy?” he asked, as he thrust again.
“No,” I gasped. “I didn't fuck him.”
“Why should I believe you? Maybe you sucked his cock with this mouth,” he said, grabbing my chin. “It's been busy, hasn't it?” He dragged his thumb roughly across my bottom lip and I tasted the iron tinge of blood. I'd bitten my lip too hard. I could taste my blood on his thumb. He dipped his thumb between my teeth, forcing my mouth open. “Did you swallow his come?” he asked, bringing his face close to mine. He dipped his tongue between my open lips, running it along mine. I closed my eyes and moaned as he fucked me hard and rough. It hurt but it hurt in the best ways.
When he put his hand to my neck, I didn't protest. I didn't try to pull away when he squeezed it, hard. I wanted it. I wanted him to squeeze until I went lightheaded and I felt like I was going to go insane. I liked it when he did it. But that night was different. I didn't realize how different it was until I woke
up alone in a hospital, unable to speak, and strapped down. As he started to choke me, I didn't try to stop him. Not even when the room went black and I felt like I couldn't keep awake if I tried. I jerked against him, my body fighting him before everything went black, but he was too strong.
That was the beginning of the end for us. It was an accident, a miscalculation, a misunderstanding, but in the end, it didn't matter.
The darkness still took us over.
Chapter Five
I thought I killed her.
When I looked down and saw her purple face and her closed eyes and her gaping mouth, I thought she was dead.
I've never felt so much fear in my life.
I took my hands from around her neck and after a split second that seemed to last forever, she gasped, her whole body arching off the bed as her body took in the air she needed. But there was something wrong. There was an odd sound, a hollow, raspy sound in her throat.
“Joanie,” I said, putting my hands on either side of her face. Her eyes were slitted, but I could see they were bloodshot. The color of her cheeks and lips were slowly returning to normal, but there were nasty red marks around her throat where my hand had been. “Joanie, look at me.” Finally, her eyes rolled around and they focused on me. She blinked and I could see she was coming around. I took a deep breath, relief rushing through me. I don't think I'd ever been so relieved in my life.
It was short lived.
I unbound her hands and rubbed her soft skin between my hands. Her wrists were red and I kissed the marks. I loved my marks on her, usually. I loved leaving evidence of my affection on her body. But not that night. That night it was the worst possible thing. I'd lost control of myself. I'd fucked up and hurt the one person I cared about in life. She tried to take another deep breath and I could hear the rattling in her throat. She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but nothing came out but a croaking noise. Her eyes widened and I could see the fear there. I knew I had to do something. I had no choice.
Love Is Strange (I Know... #2) Page 7
