by Sky Corgan
I can't win. I can never win with him. All I wanted was to cause him a tiny inconvenience to make myself feel better. Now I'm stuck in his driveway with blown tires and a pretty good chance that I'll be going to jail.
I quickly lock the car doors, and then I hug the steering wheel and sob against it, feeling defeated for the millionth time. There's nothing left to do but wait until the cops get here. I'll take my punishment like an adult.
There's a knock on the window, and I can hear Lucian calling my name, but I don't look up. “Amy, are you alright? Amy, open the door so I can take a look at you. I thought you'd be able to stop in time.”
Why does he sound so considerate? It pisses me off. He should be yelling at me for spray painting his house, not trying to play doctor.
“Amy, open the door.” I feel the car shake as he tries to open the door.
I just want him to go away, but I don't want to say it. I don't want to say anything to him. I don't feel like I owe him anything, including acknowledgment of his presence.
By some miracle, he eventually walks away. Maybe that's not such a miracle because I'm pretty sure it means he went to call the police. Whatever the case, I'm happy that he's gone.
I lift my head slowly, like a turtle emerging from its shell. Lucian is taking long strides toward his house. I sigh and lean back, placing my hand against my chest to help calm the beating of my heart. This is all too much for me. I should have listened to that little voice inside of my head that told me this was a bad idea. My luck is way too shitty to have a moment of justice.
Now what am I going to do?
Most criminals would make a run for it right now. Lucian isn't around, and the cops aren't here yet. I could get out of my car and take off, but where would I go? Nowhere that I wouldn't get caught. I'd call a taxi to pick me up, but I'm pretty sure that the police will be coming to give me a ride down to the station, so that would be a wasted effort. I really don't want to just sit here waiting though.
Lucian walks back out of his house with something in his hand, and I groan before hugging the steering wheel again. I refuse to look at him—refuse to speak to him. Even though it's not really revenge, it feels like the only thing I have at my disposal to piss him off further. Silence.
“Amy, open the door,” he tells me one more time when he reaches my car, but I'm not listening.
My jaw tenses as I hear a squeaking noise at my window. I glance under my arm to see him shoving a straightened clothes hanger between the weather stripping and the window of my car door. Internally, I huff. I highly doubt his stuck up, rich ass knows how to jimmy a car. I roll my eyes and then close them, trying to relax against the steering wheel, despite the annoying sound assaulting my ears.
Then I hear something pop, and my mind goes back into panic mode. I reach for the door lock a second too late. Perhaps he knew I would try to lock him out again because he didn't even bother pulling the clothes hanger out of the door before he opened it.
I fight to close the door, but he's too strong, ripping it out of my hands and wedging his body in so that I can't close it. With that option taken away from me, I go back to hugging the steering wheel and hiding my face from him, refusing to say anything.
“Are you alright?” He grabs me by the shoulders, trying to push me back against the seat so that he can look at my face. When I don't budge, he stops, letting me go and standing beside the car. “Just tell me if you're hurt.”
I don't respond.
The cool wind wafts in from outside, carrying the scent of his cologne with it. Just smelling him makes me want to cry, makes me think of what I lost—of what he did with Janice. It hurts so fucking bad. If I had known how badly this would hurt, I never would have come here. I wasn't supposed to get caught. I wasn't supposed to see him. This wasn't supposed to happen.
His tone hardens, perhaps because he's growing weary of my brattiness. “So this is it then, you come to vandalize my property, and now you're not even going to talk to me about it. How should we handle this? Do you want me to call the police? Is that what you want?”
I cower at the suggestion, silently thankful that he hasn't called them yet though I know it's only a matter of time, especially if I keep acting this way. Still, I feel like staying quiet is the smarter thing to do. If I try to talk to him, I'm just going to break down again, and I don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing that. I'd rather be carted away in the back of a cop car, even though I know that thought process is illogical. A police record would ruin my life more than it's already ruined. I really would lose everything then.
“You weren't supposed to be home,” I mumble.
“How unlucky for you.” There's not a drop of sympathy in his voice.
“Who in the hell installs road spikes in their driveway?”
“My parents.” He sighs, taking a step away from the car.
Briefly, I think about closing the door. What will that solve though?
“I'm going to call a taxi to come pick me up,” I tell him, still not moving.
“No, you're not.” He places a hand on the door and another on the roof of my car, caging me in. “We're going to talk about this.”
“No, we're not.” I shake my head weakly.
“We're going to talk about this or you're going to jail,” he says each word clearly as if talking to a child.
I groan, slumping against the steering wheel. I should be appreciative that he's giving me another option besides jail, but I'm oddly not. The reasonable part of my brain must have gotten jostled around a bit too much when I slammed on the breaks. Still, subconsciously, I know that I need to suck up my emotions and try to handle this situation like a mature adult.
“I'm mad at you,” I grumble.
“No fucking shit.” He gestures back towards his house. “What does that say in my driveway? Manwhore. You're fucking crazy. You know that, right?”
“I'm crazy?!” My head snaps around to glare at him. “You don't think my actions are even the least bit merited? You fucked around with my best friend, and I'm the crazy one?” I point to myself.
His lips form a hard line, and he bobs his head, looking around his property before turning back to me. “Yeah, I would say that.”
I put my head back down and scream into my arms, the stress of the situation finally boiling over. This isn't going to be a discussion, it's going to be a fight. And more than likely, I'm still going to end up going to jail because of it, so I might as well make it count.
I exhale deeply, squeezing my eyes together before opening them again and twisting my body to get out of the car. Lucian gives me room, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks as imposing and serious as ever.
“Why aren't you at work?” I ask almost accusingly.
“Probably for the same reason that you're not.”
His answer catches me off guard, and I quirk my head back in confusion. “Surgeons don't take mental health days to get revenge on their ex.”
“Their ex?” He raises an eyebrow, adding insult to injury. Of course, he never saw me that way. I was always just something to be owned to him. An object, not a person.
I draw my hand up to my face as if not seeing him will help to temper my anger. “Look. I get it. I never meant anything to you. That is crystal clear to me now. But don't you think that makes my actions all the more justified?”
“Oh, don't start with that bullshit.” He lets out an exasperated sigh.
“What bullshit?” I drop my hand, staring at him in disbelief.
“The bullshit where you say you mean nothing to me. That's not true and we both know it.” He shifts his weight.
“If it's not true, then why in the fuck did you mess around with my best friend?”
“She was a client, Amy. I don't turn down clients.”
My mouth falls agape for a moment. “She was my best friend, Lucian. That makes her more than just a client.”
“We didn't do anything beyond the scope of what you and I discussed.”
“But you saw her naked,” I practically yell.
He's silent for several seconds, blinking slowly as if he's trying to control his own anger. “Amy, I'm a surgeon. If you have issues with me seeing people naked, then you probably should have thought about that before you decided to pursue me.”
“Pursue you?” I huff. “If I recall, you were the one who wouldn't leave me alone in the beginning. I didn't want anything to do with you. I wanted to keep things strictly business.”
“Would you listen to yourself?” He narrows his eyes. “Do you even believe half of the bullshit you're spewing out right now? I don't think I've ever met anyone who lies to themselves more in my entire life.”
I show him my palms in surrender. “You know what, we're obviously not going to be able to have a civil conversation, so I'm just going to leave. You said you wanted to talk. We talked. I'm done, Lucian. I'm so done right now.”
I turn to leave, but he grabs me by the wrist. His touch pushes my rage button, and I reflexively slap him as hard as I can. My hand throbs from the force of it, but Lucian doesn't give me time to recover. In an instant, he's caught my other wrist and pushed me back against my car. I struggle for half a second before stilling, the look in his eyes draining all of my sense away.
He doesn't look hurt or angry or frustrated or anything in between. His eyes are hooded, and all I see behind them is affection. It sickens me, but I know that he's much stronger than I am. There's no escaping him.
“You think this is all about you.” He gives my body a gentle shake to make sure he has a good grip on me. “You always think everything is all about you, but it's not.
“I hate the way you make me feel. I hate the way you're capable of hurting me. Do you want to know why I really took Janice as a client?”
I don't. I really don't. The way he's looking at me, it makes me feel things. That what he's saying is genuine. That what he's about to say is going to hurt. I don't want to feel any more pain from him. I say nothing, but he keeps speaking anyway.
“I wanted this to be over between us. You were right. We're not good for each other. Oil and water.
“Since I met you, we have hurt each other time and time again. Not only have you hurt me emotionally but also physically. I've never allowed a woman to physically assault me like you have since my early days in the lifestyle. You're far braver than you should be. Far more passionate than you give yourself credit for. You love fully and don't even think about the consequences until they're right on top of you. And you don't hesitate to strike hard and deep when you feel backed into a corner.
“I took Janice on because I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to hurt you because you hurt me. It's not fair and it's not right. And I didn't enjoy a fucking second of it. And do you know why? Because I love you. I love you and it fucking kills me.
“I never wanted to see your face again. I thought you would just lay down and take it like a good little girl. But you're not a good girl, no matter how much you want to pretend you are. You're every bit as nasty and spiteful as I am. And even though you did this. Even though you came here and wrecked my shit and slapped me and are being a complete and total cunt, I still love you.”
He lets me go and turns from me, taking several steps away before stopping and gazing up at the sky. My brain is telling me to get in the car and peel away on my rims, but I'm frozen in place. All I can do is stare at him with tears silently cascading down my face. Everything inside of me hurts, and I can feel the pain radiating from him as well.
He loves me? He took Janice on as revenge for the stuff I said at the restaurant. Holy shit, we are the same. I'm no better than he is.
I gaze down at the spray paint on Lucian's driveway. What happens now? I don't even know anymore. I'm so confused and overwhelmed and just sad.
“People who love each other shouldn't treat each other this way,” I mumble.
“No. They shouldn't.” He shakes his head.
“I guess we've both screwed up a lot.”
“More than a lot.” He rubs his face with both hands, then his neck.
“I...” I hesitate, feeling like I shouldn't say what I'm thinking, but somehow knowing that it's important. “I loved you too, you know.”
“Loved me?” He turns to look at me finally.
Even though it doesn't feel like a good moment to be embarrassed, I still am, my cheeks warming up a bit. I think I hate him, but inside my heart I know that's not true. I've already said too much. He doesn't need to know anything else. As he told me, it's over between us. There's no point in prolonging things.
“Can I call the taxi now?” I wrap my arms around myself protectively, not because I'm worried that Lucian will advance on me again, but because I don't want to feel this pain anymore. There's so much of it hanging around like a thick fog.
“If I let you go, then when you get in that taxi, I'll never see you again.”
I can't tell if it's a question or a statement, so I simply say, “No. Well, not until I can get my dad to come back with me and put new tires on the car. But I won't bother you.”
“I don't want that.” He looks sincere, which only hurts more.
“Lucian.” I drop my arms to my sides, trying to be strong enough to say what I need to say. “You and I both know this isn't going to work. You want me as your submissive. I'll never be a submissive.”
“I thought I would be fine without you. And maybe I eventually would have been had you not come here today.” He avoids my gaze, staring off into the distance. “But I've felt sick and broken ever since I did what I did. I thought it would make me feel good, but it didn't. I wasn't lying when I said I didn't enjoy a second of it. It just made me feel vile and wrong. I wanted to hurt you, but I was hurting myself in the process, knowing that I was doing damage that couldn't be undone.
“I canceled the interior design project because I knew I wouldn't be able to face you afterward. I was hoping that you'd see it as a definite sign that things were over between us. I was hoping it would give me some closure.
“But all day yesterday I just felt miserable, walking around in a deeper depression than I've experienced in a long time, my heart...shattered. I realized I didn't want to live without you, but I also knew it was too late.” When he looks up at me, his eyes are brimming with tears. “I don't want it to be too late. I'll give up Flesh.”
Crap. He's crying. Must be strong.
“That's not enough for me anymore,” my voice cracks, and I silently curse myself. More than anything, I want to give in to him, but I know that it's wrong. As he said, we've hurt each other way too much. Two wrongs don't make a right, and we have way more than two under our collective belt.
“Then move in with me.”
“What?” My eyes dart up to his face, my mouth falling open again.
“Move in with me. I'll still give up Flesh. We can try things your way. If you're living with me, you'll trust me more. We can have a real go at this, doing things the right way. No more avoidance. No more purposefully hurting each other?” He seems uncertain about that last part, but I know it's directed at me and my cruel, flapping mouth that likes to take stabs at him when I'm angry.
“Oh Lucian, I don't know.” I bite my lip, my mind going a million miles a minute. Internally, I know that I want this. But he has just said so many raw things to me. I'm not sure if he actually means it or if he's just acting out of fear of losing me forever.
“I'm willing to give this one last try if you are. I'm willing to put it all on the line for you.”
I suck in a breath, trying to grasp on to reason. My brain plays a montage of everything we've been through together. I want to focus on the bad—need to focus on the bad, so many horrible things. But I can't help but see the good as well. Playing with liquid latex at Flesh. Him teasing me with my camera when I first came to his house to take pictures and then caring for me when I hurt my ankle. I see him breaking down and telling me about his wife. The moment when he said he was afraid of what h
e was starting to feel for me. All of it is just too much. How I haven't started pathetically mewling yet is beyond me.
Lucian walks over to me and reaches out to take my hands. I stare down at his thick fingers gently caressing mine. His touch sends a shiver of desire through me, more emotional than sexual. I feel a connection to him. I don't want to feel it, but it's still there.
“Please, Amy. Give us this last chance. The thought of never seeing you again kills me. I don't want that. I want the opposite. I want you in my life all the time.
“I want to wake up beside you. Make you breakfast in bed on the weekends. Sit next to you in the mornings and watch the news, which I know you hate, by the way.” He bends slightly to catch my gaze, and I can't help but laugh.
“How do you know I hate it?” I shy away.
“Because you never really pay attention to what's on. Just like I know you hate the History Channel.”
“You're such a dick.” I wipe my face with the back of one of my arms. “Making me watch it when you know I don't like it.”
“I won't do it anymore.” He wrinkles his nose playfully. “We'll find something we both like to watch. I can watch the History Channel whenever you're not around. It will be like my secret porn,” he leans in to whisper.
I giggle again. “History Channel porn. Nice. I'm not going to come home to you jacking off to Helen Keller, am I?”
He shrugs, tilting his head up. “Who knows? She was kind of sexy.”
I slap at his chest, hating that he's melted my heart already. For a few seconds, it feels like everything is alright between us. But I know it's not. There's still so much that's messed up.
The corners of my lips dip into a frown as I think about it all, as reality sets in. “I wish I could pretend that this makes everything better, but you've screwed up so much in my life. My boss is mad that you canceled the interior design contract. I moved out of my apartment because I can't stand to look at Janice anymore.” I pull my hand away from his, hugging myself to place a barrier between us.
