Dirty Angel (The List #2)

by N. K. Love

  Tonight though, I had no interest in lowering myself to spitting insults down the phone. It wouldn’t make me feel any better about the situation and to be honest, I’m over it—I’m over him. It feels great to think it and mean it with conviction. Maybe that’s why he is playing the waiting game, knowing me, knowing that I’ll cool down. I still deserve an explanation, not to mention an apology.

  Feeling relieved when he answered the call he sounded weary; scared of what I had to say. I must’ve thrown him off guard when I calmly asked him to explain himself. Eventually, once he realised I was serious, he told me that there weren’t any other women. He’d started seeing Claire a year ago when he met her on a works night out. He said that he felt like we’d been drifting apart but found it too difficult to end it because I’d done nothing wrong and he didn’t want to hurt me. Our amicable separation was the perfect solution for him, until he got caught out that is!

  Mike profusely apologised and then went on to shock me with the news that not only has he put the house up for sale but he is going to join his parents in Australia to help his father run their property development business. Needless to say Claire is out of the picture now and apparently his parents were furious when he told them what had happened with me.

  I said that he didn’t have to tell them the truth but Mike insisted that last weekend was the wake-up call he needed to re-evaluate his life. Well, I didn’t envisage the call taking this turn but in a way I’m pleased, it’s a relief. I know he realises what a major fuck up this all was. We are far from friends, but I prefer this type of closure than the previous punching-him-in-the-face scenario. He said his bruising is only just fading. Good.

  Feeling a lot lighter and more confident, I called my mom. We’d spoken a couple of times since last Friday but I failed to mention the whole cheating saga. At the time, I pretended to myself that I needed to process it first before I could talk about it. But now I admit that it was more likely because his infidelity exposes the reasons for our separation from being labelled as ‘amicable’ to ‘abysmal’. Our marriage that just didn’t work out suddenly shifted into a marriage that just didn’t work out because it was full of lies, deceit, dirty laundry and pathetic masks.

  I didn’t want to feel like a failure but as all those negative thoughts knocked on the door over the last week, Jax sexpertly bricked it up and made a new door for me. This door opened into a wonderful world full of possibilities, ambition, motivation… Not to mention a shitload of toe-curling orgasms. Yes, I practically sprinted through it and haven’t looked back since.

  Mom was understandably shocked but was supportive once she’d found comfort in my words. She could tell that I had gotten past it after we talked about the fact that my future hasn’t suddenly changed because of it. We’d already separated, it was just hard to hear and hurtful when I cast my mind back to the lonely nights at home whilst he ‘worked late’. Mom couldn’t believe that I’d punched him and cursed me for being too drunk to ice and tend to it immediately—once a nurse always a nurse.

  She delivered a cracking quote that boosted my confidence even more so; ‘If the seas were always still and calm, we would never build a better boat.’ My mom is wonderful and supportive.

  This took the conversation fluently onto Jax. As soon as I opened my mouth and Jaxson’s name fell out, it washed away any residue of doubt my mom had that I wasn’t over Mike. She even asked me if Jax and I were ‘courting’ but I just told her I’d been following her advice and living in the moment. Not trying to label it—okay well there’s been a couple of labels along the way but she doesn’t need to hear those.

  Ever the romantic, she suggested, “Maybe he’s your better boat, Bethany.” But before I had chance to sink that idea she was winding up the conversation. Her farewell words making me laugh out loud afterwards. She said, “Okay darlin’, love you sweetheart, practice safe sex, goodbye”. God I love that woman!

  At about 8:30pm Jax shouted upstairs that he’d be back before midnight. I had a weird urge to run down and throw my legs around him to kiss him goodbye but I heard the beep of the house alarm setting and then the front door slammed shut before I even had chance to get off the bed.

  Feeling very satisfied with my phone calls I ran a hot bubble bath and took my time washing away the day, finding myself scrubbing extra hard to wash away the pang of sadness creeping up on me because I’m leaving here tomorrow.

  Once I’d thoroughly moisturised, I pulled on another beautiful night slip but this time in a warm champagne colour. I know Jax likes my pink one and I’d been saving this one for a special night so I married it with a matching silk thong and my black silk robe.

  I decided to get my packing out the way so that I can enjoy the rest of the time. It didn’t take long but I let my mind reflect on how this has been the craziest week of my life. My mind wanders from punching Mike to being jubilated by Jax, from sex in cars to fucking up trees, from smoking spliffs to multiple orgasms and of course two particularly special gym sessions that I won’t be forgetting in a hurry. Which reminded me to update my list.

  It’s a shame ‘fall in love’ doesn’t feature on my lovely list. I crossed off number 14, get stoned. But with Wills no double counting rule, I had to ponder on whether to choose 4, sex in a workplace or 6, sex in the shower. I decided to go for number 4. Let’s face it, I don’t think we’ll get an opportunity like that again at 24/7 and Jax sure as hell isn’t coming into Next Chapter after hours to slam me against our immaculate bookcases or bend me over our pristine desk… Hmm, that doesn’t stop my imagination though… I digress.

  Fuck It List

  1. Blowjob

  2. Handjob

  3. Cunnilingus

  4. Sex in a workplace

  5. Sex in a car

  6. Sex in the shower

  7. Multiple orgasm

  8. Get a tattoo

  9. Get a piercing

  10. Sex on the beach

  11. Phone sex

  12. Cybersex / Sexting

  13. Tantric sex

  14. Get stoned

  15. Use food / ice sexually

  16. 69

  17. Kiss a girl

  18. Tie somebody up

  19. Be tied up

  20. Watch a porno alone

  21. Watch a porno with a partner

  22. Do a lap dance

  23. Do a strip tease

  24. Sexual role-play

  25. Make a sex tape

  26. Sex outdoors

  27. Go to strip show / live sex show

  28. Be spanked

  29. Hit somebody

  30. Kinky sex

  So I’ve reached my halfway mark. Fifteen down, fifteen to go.

  Feeling inspired by a memory I put pen to… an envelope—it was the first thing I put my hands on—to write a parting poem, called ‘Another Day’. I also gratefully remembered the spontaneous poem that sprung to mind yesterday and quickly captured that on paper too, it’s a favourite now. I titled it ‘Heartbeat-en’. I re-read it with mixed emotions but try my hardest to remain positive. I stuff the envelope underneath my pillow for safekeeping, having learned my lesson about leaving my words lying about the place.

  Soon enough it’s now just past half eleven and he’ll be back anytime. I shove my unzipped case under the bed and lay out a few more ingredients to add some extra spice to my special last night; vibrating bullet, silver balls, lube and my vibrator. I collected them from Wills when I picked up my car. The bullet and balls are still packaged but I look forward to Jax helping me christen them tonight. I’m sure the remote control for the bullet is better suited in his capable hands than mine. After all, he’s a walking talking remote control for my whole body anyway. I’m leaving this house with a bang—hopefully lots of bangs.

  Miss Seductive plans to start on my seduction the second he walks through the door so I skip my way down the stairs, turn off the alarm and grab a glass of wine to take the edge off any lurking nerves whilst I wait. I flick on a table
lamp, creating dim romantic lighting. The TV isn’t very inspiring so I switch it over to Heart FM, a radio station best known for its loooooove songs. This’ll work well in the background to set the scene when he strolls in.

  Just then my phone beeps in my robe pocket.

  Go 2 my rooom noiw b xc

  A-ha! It seems we may be on the same wavelength. But he never makes typos, is he drunk? No, he wouldn’t drink and drive. He’s probably typing quickly whilst sitting at a red light, or maybe ordering food in the drive through or something. Anyway, it sounds like he’s got his own plans to give me a good send off back to Wills house.

  As always I’m sure we can find a mutually agreeable compromise so I decide to stand my ground because I’m sure he really won’t mind when he sees me spread across the sofa waiting for him. I turn the radio down a little so that I’ll hear his car pull into the garage, then I can assume some impromptu provocative position.

  Four or five minutes later I hear his car but instead of driving past and parking in the garage as usual, I hear the off-road tyres grip and skid in the gravel right outside the front of the house. Fuck. He has had too much to drink! I can’t fucking believe he’d be so irresponsible. He’s always given me the impression that he’s a sensible driver. I remember him checking to make sure I wasn’t texting whilst driving before. Or when he curses if we hear anything on the news about fatal road traffic accidents. Talk about double standards!

  Then an eerie darkness clouds my mind. The balaclava. What if he’s in trouble and was being chased? Or what if it’s not his car and it’s not even him? My heart is pounding, my hands start to shake. I’m panicking but dash to make sure the front door is securely locked.

  It is thankfully. A quick peek through the spyhole confirms it’s his 4x4. The security lights have been activated and I can see him—he’s in no hurry. So if he’s not in trouble that just leaves me with my original suspicion that he’s been drinking.

  My silken seductress, who’s been glued to the spot terrified, now dies along with the sound of his engine.

  Fuck seduction. I sulk off back upstairs to my room. I leave the door ajar so that I can listen for clues as to exactly how much he’s had to drink then I can work out if this night is completely dead in the water or not. Jeez, what a mood killer.

  Listening carefully, I hear him stumble through the front door and his trainers squeak against the wooden floorboards. My stomach jolts as he knocks something over, I hear it smash on the floor followed by Jax’s muffled voice. He must be legless. I’ve never seen him properly drunk. Not that I’m worried. My hornyass is just disappointed I guess.

  I cautiously tread to the top of the staircase and shout down, “Everything okay?” and he immediately responds.

  “Yeah… wait… there.”

  His voice sounds different but not like a drunk. It’s strained somehow, like he’s angry. I feel something pulling me downstairs to him. I linger on the top step in silence with one foot hovering out ready, deciding whether to keep on going, giving in to my sixth sense or turn back and wait like he’s asked me to, twice.

  The decision is made for me when I hear a stifled sound of obvious pain coming from further away. He sounds like he’s in the kitchen now and I assume he’s cut himself on whatever it was that smashed.

  I don’t like this, something’s making my skin crawl. I’ve got to see him and ask him what’s going on.

  I commit to the decision and fly down the stairs, gracefully making the U turn around to the right, briskly padding barefoot down the hall whilst my eyes are drawn to the shattered ceramic lamp on the floor. It has cast the room and hallway into darkness with just some dim light seeping in from the spotlights in the kitchen.

  As I turn my head back to face the way I’m walking, I notice muddy footprints on the wooden floor. Where has he been, in a bloody field? This just gets better, now all I need is for him to be bent over the sink throwing up and that’ll put the final nail in my seductress’s coffin! As if by premonition, the next sound I hear before I reach the kitchen is retching.

  “What the fuck’s going on—”

  My mouth locks open at the eerie sight before me. All that my tunnelled vision can focus on is the blood.

  Blood stained partial handprints on the kitchen work surfaces. They lead to the wall cupboard that houses his first aid bag, which is now zipped open with the contents spilling out.

  Fuck, it wasn’t mud. I follow the crimson prints from my feet as they lead to Jax’s body doubled over the kitchen sink. He’s clutching his arms around his waist but I can’t see where the hell the blood is coming from. My feet feel anchored to the floor like lead weights as I take the scene in. It’s only a couple of seconds, but in that time I absorb and assess the chaos before me.

  Jax grunts in pain, triggering something inside me and in a blink of an eye, I clear the distance from the entrance to the sink, grabbing a towel off the side as I go.

  I smooth my hands over his back and shoulders, checking for injury. “Jax, I’m here, speak to me, what’s happened? Where’s the blood coming from?.... Where?”

  After he’s retched again, I adjust my position so I can see his face without him having to move. I nearly turn to throw up in the sink myself but my head and heart pull me together to work in unison for a change.

  His face is covered in a mixture of purplish half-dried blood and bright red fresh blood. He is swelling up around both eyes. Jax continues looking down into the sink and not at me, he’s fighting the obvious pain. He is barely recognisable and my heart drops to the pit of my stomach then gallantly rebounds straight back into my persona.

  Fucking get your shit together Bethany.

  As I study his face I turn the taps on, rinsing away remnants of what little he ate at dinner. I channel my mom’s calm controlled professional demeanour and force it to take over. Whilst scanning the damage on his face, I blindly pick up the towel, fold it and let it soak up the lukewarm water from the running tap. He doesn’t try to talk whilst I manoeuvre his face around by his chin and he still avoids eye contact. The left corner of his mouth is cut but the culprit for most of the blood loss is the fairly deep gash running along the top of his left eyebrow.

  For this, I am thankful. Seeing plenty of boxing matches as a young teenager with my dad, I know that there’s probably more bark there than there is bite. It explains the blood all over his face. The cut is quiet deep but provided we stem the bleeding, it’ll be fine. I don’t think it’ll even need proper stitches.

  My heart rate is still hitting the roof but I do breathe a small sigh of relief.

  Blood has a deceiving habit of spreading and looking worse than it is but something still doesn’t feel right. Jax is a beast. He can handle a cut eye so what the hell is going on? What’s happened to him? His car was fine, I saw it in the spotlights, so he hasn’t had a crash. For him to be doubled over like this, he must’ve taken a pretty hard beating, my stomach turns for a second time.

  Is all of this blood even his? The balaclava.

  Other than grunting and cursing under his breath, he still hasn’t spoken to me since telling me to wait upstairs. We’re still yet to make eye contact. I carefully but quickly wipe away some of the blood from his face so I can be sure that’s all I’m dealing with here. I can tell he is concentrating on his breathing but I need him to talk to me.

  Jax goes to move but he winches and squeezes his eyes tightly shut.

  “B, leave… that, I… need you to… help me with this…”

  Each word is pushed out of his mouth loaded with agony. He grunts loudly through gritted teeth as he gestures to where his hands are clenched. My eyes look down.

  Holy fuck!

  Now I see, too focussed on the facial injuries… His right hand—saturated in blood—is pressed hard over his ribcage on the left side of his body. I blink rapidly to try and focus properly but it doesn’t change what I knew I’d seen. There is the handle of a stainless steel butterfly knife protruding between his thum
b and forefinger. It’s surrounded by a patch of blood, turning his khaki green t-shirt black.

  “OhmyGod. You’ve been stabbed, you’ve been fucking stabbed Jax.” My panic comes back with a vengeance and I’ve lost my fakeass calm state. How deep is it? How much blood has he lost? “How many times?” This answer is crucial. “Jax, how many times was it? Answer me for fucks sake, Jesus!” I run my hands across his chest, torso, back and thighs as I talk, hoping not to find my answer before he tells me. Thankfully there’s nothing.

  “Just once…”

  “Good, good, okay. Everything’s gonna be fine Jax. I can’t see fresh blood around it.”

  Thankfully the knife has played the critical role of allowing the blood to clot. I silently thank my mom again for her profession. But the haunting thought recites over and over in my head; what internal damage is there? I need to call an ambulance as soon as possible. Get him the medical attention he needs and get the police involved to find out who the fuck did this to him.