The Stars Landing Deviant

by Jessica Gadziala

  I needed to tell him. I knew it was a bad idea. I knew it was going to screw things up. But keeping it to myself was feeling wrong. If you felt it, you were supposed to say it, right? That was how these things worked. There is nothing sweet about unrequited love. It wasn't the beautiful, romantic image writers have been penning for as long as books have been around. It was just tortured. Raw and painful and heartbreaking. And cowardly.

  And I was getting really sick of being a coward. Everything I had ever done in my life had been carefully weighed and considered. I had pro and con lists for changing my god damn grocery store back home. I always took the safe, worn road.

  That was until I met Dane Broderick. Getting involved with him had been impulsive and brave. And everything that followed was good. A blessing. Life changing.

  So it sort of followed that when I stopped being such a chicken shit about everything, good things happened. Which was why I needed to tell him. "Why are you so tense?" he asked, squeezing me once then moving me away to look down at me. "With an orgasm like that, you should be practically boneless right about now."

  I took a deep breath, swallowing past the lump in my throat. This was it.

  "I love you, Dane."

  Thirteen

  Cordelia

  There. I said it. It was out there. It couldn't be taken back. I did it. That being said, I didn't feel brave. I felt like I wanted the earth to open up and take me into the core, burn me up, erase any trace of my existence. I wanted to run away. I wanted to tell him I was screwing around, that I was just trying to get a rise out of him. I wanted to suck it right back in.

  I guess I wasn't as brave as I thought I could be after all.

  "Get inside," he said, dropping his arms from around me.

  I didn't need an excuse to get away. I flew in through the window, grabbing my clothes and slipping into my pants. I had just pulled my arms into my shirt when I heard him come in and slam the window. I took a deep breath and turned as I fumbled to get my buttons into place.

  "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he yelled, making me jump and take a step backward.

  "What?"

  He reached up, running a hand through his hair. "I asked you what the fuck is wrong with you?"

  "Nothing is wrong with me," I objected, giving up on my buttons half way down.

  "Bullshit. If you think you love me in any way shape or form, you're so fucked up."

  "I must be fucked up because I love you?" I asked, squinting at him, feeling my own anger rise up to match his which, to me, seemed completely unreasonable.

  "Yeah princess."

  "You're a good..."

  "I'm not a good guy," he yelled over me. "What good guy demands you get naked and stand out in a public place? Huh?"

  I couldn't quite figure out if he was mad just because he didn't want me to have feelings for him, to screw things up... or was actually mad because I thought he was good. Wasn't being good... well... good?

  "I had you over to my room and then invited another woman over, knowing you would be completely uncomfortable with it and not giving a fuck because I wanted you both on your knees fighting over sucking my cock. What good guy does shit like that?"

  "So you're bad because you... help me step out of my comfort zone?" I shot back, my voice rising to match his, which had my heart slamming in my chest. Because I didn't raise my voice. That wasn't something I did. Ever. Except for my blow up at Emily. I was always even

  tempered. I always thought about what I said before I said it. I always watched my tone. And there I was screaming at Dane.

  "I didn't... help you out of anything," he said, pacing slightly. "I fucking forced you. You see that, right? You see that I was a manipulative bastard, right? Because if you don't see that, then you really are screwed up."

  "You never..."

  "Oh, please," he said, laughing humorlessly. "I demanded instead of asking. I told you that if you didn't like what was going on, to leave..."

  "It was a choice..."

  "It wasn't a choice and I knew it. I knew you wanted me. I knew that I had you by the short hairs the first time I gave you an orgasm. I could make you do whatever the hell I wanted."

  "So that's what this was to you? A big friggen experiment? A game?" I raged, feeling the cracks already start to spread in my heart. "What was it... 'let me see what I can get the stuck up prude to do?'"

  "You're not a stuck up prude," he said, rolling his eyes.

  "What then? Just easy? You liked having me eat out of the palm of your hand?"

  "Damn fucking right I did. Any one would."

  "I wouldn't..."

  "Oh like hell you wouldn't. You think I'm stupid? I knew you were jumping for joy each time you thought you got me. Each time I reached for your hand or snuggled you or..."

  "Fuck you," I seethed, my voice low and livid.

  "Yeah, fuck me," he nodded. "That is exactly what you should be thinking when you think of me."

  I turned to leave. I was ready to go. I felt minutes away from tears or throwing up or both. But I turned back as I reached the door. "You know what? No. I don't accept this."

  "You don't accept what? The truth?"

  "Because it's not the truth!" I stormed across the room closer to him. "It's not the fucking truth. You want it to be the truth. You want everyone to think you're just an asshole."

  "Baby, I could call fifty women. Scratch that," he said, smiling devilishly. "I could call a hundred women right now who could attest to my being a dick. Hell, the things they could tell you would turn that pretty blond hair of yours white. You have no fucking idea what I am capable of. You don't know the things I have done."

  "I don't care what you've done."

  "Then you're not just gullible, you're downright stupid."

  That hurt. That hurt more than anything else he could have said. My face snapped back like he had struck me and I took a step back, turning half away from him. It was a real bloody high opinion he seemed to have of me. Gullible, easy, stupid. What a trifecta. The three things I would swear I was not even capable of being.

  I took a breath, trying to push the anxiety down. Because that was what he wanted. He wanted to get a rise out of me. He wanted me to second guess myself. He wanted me to back off. But I wasn't going to give him that. For no other reason than that he needed someone to stand up to him. And, for once in my life, I was the woman for that job.

  "Why do you want me to think badly of you?" I asked, my voice calm as I turned back to him.

  "I don't want..."

  "Yes," I corrected, "you do. Everything you are saying is to try to make you see you in some darker light..."

  "Not in a darker light, baby," he said, shaking his head. "Just not through rose-colored glasses." He paused, looking up at the ceiling for a second. "Look, I get it. You're all hyped up on endorphins and hormones from..."

  "Oh, no," I cut in, feeling my anger prick back up. "Don't you dare blame this on me being able to have orgasms now, you ass. This has nothing to do with sex."

  "This has everything to do with sex. In case it's escaped your notice, pretty much all we have been doing is fucking."

  "That's not..."

  "What? One date? One date and that makes up for the fact that you know more about my cock than you do about me as a person."

  "Well whose fault is that? I'd be perfectly willing to have more conversations with you. Want to start now? How about I ask you... what in your past made you so certain that the only thing a woman could possibly want you for is how well you fuck them?"

  "Cordelia..."

  "No don't 'Cordelia' me in that tone. I am not the one being unreasonable here."

  "Thinking you love me is as fucking unreasonable as you could get."

  "Why? Because you're not lovable?"

  "Because you don't know me well enough to love me," he countered, trying to make his tone sound reasonable.

  "And you assume that if I did, I
would change my mind?"

  "I think," he said, his words hard, "that you're confused."

  "Right," I said laughing humorlessly, "because I am all doped up on sex hormones."

  "I didn't mean for that to sound so..."

  "Heartless? Condescending?" I offered. "Why am I here, Dane?" I asked after a long silence.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean... why am I the one who is here? Amanda could be here. Or that middle aged woman. The hipster girl. The one you screwed on the balcony that night. Any one of them could..."

  "I knew you were awake," he broke in, smiling like a little kid on Christmas morning. "Were you watching? You little perv you."

  "Shut up," I said, angry at myself for getting caught.

  "You were!" he threw his head back and laughed, clapping his hands together once and rubbing them. "I knew you would be watching."

  "Well if you're looking for privacy, don't have sex outside of another woman's room."

  "Hey don't blame me because you're a dirty little voyeur."

  "Alright stop," I said, shaking my head, trying to get my thoughts back on track. "You're changing the subject."

  "What subject is that?"

  "That all those nights you had sex with women... it was a different one each time. You didn't repeat. So why me, Dane? Why do I get your for several nights in a row?" At his silence, I nodded. "Exactly. There's a reason I am different."

  He was quiet for a minute before shaking his head. "Yeah, the difference is you never had an orgasm before. I wanted to see all the ways I could make you come."

  "Right. Because this was just some kind of game for your ego."

  "Why is that so hard to fucking believe? I have done nothing noble and honorable to make you think any different."

  "So I could only possibly have feelings for you if you were honorable or noble?"

  "Look, I get it. You're enjoying slumming it," he said, his tone resigned. "You want to have some fun with the downtown bartender with the tattoos and a mouth like a sailor. You're enjoying this little phase. But one day, and it is going to be pretty fucking soon I guarantee it, you are going to go back to your big city and find yourself a stiff in a suit who lets you be cold in bed because he fulfills all your requirements on paper. Because at the end of the day, that will matter more to you. You can try to convince yourself that I will be enough, that you can love someone who you consider so far beneath..."

  "You're not beneath me."

  "Beneath you," he went on, ignoring me. "But the fact of matter is that this will get old. You'll get your rocks off until you can't walk straight and then you will leave. And I will be that story you tell your girlfriends: that little nobody from the little nowhere town who made you see the face of god when he fucked you. But that is all I will be. A story." He paused, taking a break, making his tone more even. "So do yourself a favor now and snap yourself out of it."

  "It doesn't work that way."

  "Because you're being fucking stubborn."

  "I'm not the stubborn one. You're being impossible. Why is it so hard for you to accept that I love you? Because no one else has? Because you don't think you let anyone close enough, let anyone past that wall of yours? Well let me tell you something, Dane. I am the queen of walls. I have ones around me fifty feet high and ten feet thick and there's a moat and barbed wire and rabid dogs just in case anyone tries to sneak in. So your supposed walls mean nothing to me. I can see right over them. I can see you, okay?" I said, getting in his face. "I see you."

  "You don't see the whole..."

  "I. See. You. I see the flaws. The whoring around and the murky past and the inability to let yourself have any kind of soft emotion. I see all the bad Dane, but I still love you."

  "You've known me a few weeks," he insisted, knowing he was losing ground.

  "It only takes a minute."

  "What does?"

  "Falling for someone. It doesn't have to grow and bloom over time. It doesn't always happen like that. Someones it just sneaks up on you."

  "And when did it sneak up on you?"

  "It doesn't..."

  "When?"

  "At the tattoo parlor right after the guy came out and asked if I was ready."

  "So... you realized you loved me when I was giving you what you wanted."

  "I didn't want a tattoo..."

  "I was giving you wine and roses and fucking romance, Cordy. Think you'd still love me if I never did that? Do you?" he demanded when I didn't answer.

  "Yes."

  "Really? You love me when I'm not trying to be someone I'm not?"

  "I still loved you when you demanded I get naked and get out on the..."

  "When sex isn't involved, Cordy. Think you'd still love me when I am being how I really am?"

  "Yes," I said, with certainty. I still loved him through this ridiculous, useless fight.

  "Fine," he said, shrugging. But I didn't trust the look on his face. "You're a decent lay," he said, turning away from me. "Nothing spectacular. Your tits are nice, but I've seen better. And when you..."

  "Stop it," I said, watching him, watching him move away from me.

  "Get out," he said, stopping walking, staring at the blank walls.

  "Dane... don't do..."

  "You want me to be me, right?" he said, turning back to me, the anger in his eyes unnerving. Especially because I couldn't understand what he was so mad about.

  "Yeah," I agreed.

  "Well this is me being me. I fuck you. Sometimes I critique you. But I always brush you under the rug. I always throw you the fuck away. That's what I do. New girl every night. So tonight I think I am going to go downstairs and find me a new blond to put in my rotation. And I am going to fuck her seven ways to Sunday. And I am going to fucking forget you ever existed."

  "Dane..."

  "Leave Cordelia."

  He was looking right at me as he said it, right in my eyes. There was a no changing his mind. He meant it. He wanted me gone. And he wanted to forget I existed. I felt the tears rising up and I would be damned if he got to see that. I lifted my chin, pushed my shoulders back, and

  walked out of his life.

  I walked slowly down the stairs, holding onto the railing because I swear my legs were going to give out underneath me. The tears came then, hot and furious and uncontrollable.

  But even as I walked away, a hand pressed against my mouth to keep the sounds inside,

  I knew he was wrong.

  Because I still loved him.

  Fourteen

  Cordelia

  I couldn't go into the inn. I couldn't walk past the faces of people who were supposed to respect me as a professional as I sobbed my eyes out like a teenager getting their first taste of disappointed love.

  I walked around the back of the building, finding an old weeping willow, finding the irony too perfect, and sat down at the base. My knees went up to my chest and I wrapped my arms around them, sobbing out the poison. That was what the fight with Dane had felt like: like a toxin had seeped into my bloodstream, like a sickness that needed to be purged.

  "Cordelia?" a voice asked, sounding unsure and concerned.

  Great. That was just wonderful. The perfect end to a completely awful day was getting caught crying over a guy that everyone would have told me to stay the hell away from in the first place.

  I was that girl.

  I hated that girl.

  "Cordelia, what's going on?"

  I recognized the voice then. It was familiar. I knew it. I had forgotten it fit into this town. It was a voice I connected to other places, other times. Back when I wasn't this pathetic mess.

  "I'm fine James," I said, my voice weak and shaky no matter how I tried to control it. "Leave me alone."

  "Alas," he said and I almost wanted to laugh. Who the hell said alas anymore? "A gentleman is bound by the code of... gentlemanliness... to never leave a sobbing maiden alone. Is there a scoundrel I need to
challenge to a duel, milady?"

  I laughed. Damn him and his ridiculous charm. I laughed.

  It was all the encouragement he needed and he walked over toward me, sitting back against the tree and bumping my shoulder with his. "I've seen you a lot over the years," he said, sounding thoughtful. "I've seen business Cordelia: calm and confident and sure of herself. I've seen the real Cordelia: shy and vulnerable and bookish. I've seen drunk Cordelia: a little slutty, kinda silly and in definite need of a chaperon. I've seen you tired and hungry and frustrated and disappointed. But I've never, in all these years, seen you look like you're just... shattered. What's going on?"

  I took a breath, sniffling pitifully. "I'm in love with Dane," I said simply. It couldn't stay hidden forever.

  "Dane is a great guy," he said, his voice full of an affection that can only mean the two had a pretty good bromance going on.

  "Dane is an asshole," I countered.

  "Yeah," he agreed, laughing a little, "but he's a good person underneath it all."

  "Got any evidence of that? Because he just made a compelling argument to the contrary."

  "Like... an actual argument?" James asked, sounding confused.

  "Yes. With the nasty remarks and the yelling. The whole shebang."

  "Dane never gets into arguments."

  "What are you talking about? He' got this explosive..."

  "Yeah, he has a temper. But he always makes his point in that laid back 'you're an idiot' way. He never gets riled up."

  "Yes well apparently you don't know him as well as you thought."

  "Or something has changed," he said, his voice full of meaning and a part of me didn't even want to ask. But the other part, the part that was still a stupid fool for the jerk, needed to know.

  "What changed?"

  "You," he said simply, shrugging.

  I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. There was a lot of things I have learned I was capable of that I never would have thought before: the ability to have an orgasm, to do something reckless like tattoo a memory into my skin, to open up and stop being such a swirling ball of anxiety and insecurity, to fall in love with the worst possible choice I had ever come across. One thing I wasn't was a hopeless romantic. I didn't believe in love at first sight. And I fundamentally didn't believe that love changes you.