by Stasia Black
I have no clue where the bathrooms are, but I head in the direction I think they might be. I’m getting out of the ballroom anyway. Sometimes a girl just needs a goddamned minute.
A waiter passes by with another tray of champagne flutes.
“Bathroom?” The desperation must be clear in my face. He expertly balances the tray on one hand and then points to the back corner of the room. “There’s one just there, Miss.”
I grab a glass of champagne and then hurry off. It’s not until I’m through the door of the restroom—well, two doors, it’s one of those fancy ones that has a sitting room before you get to the actual room with toilet stalls—that I’m finally able to take in several deep breaths.
I pour the champagne down the sink and then fill the flute up with water. Then I down the glass of cool water in one long swig. Oh my God, has pure, sweet water ever tasted so good?
I refill it and then drink down another glassful before I finally leave the glass on the counter and head into one of the stalls.
It’s only then I notice one door is already closed. Eeek, I hope I wasn’t huffing like an overworked cow when I stomped in here like I think I was. I always find it awkward sharing bathrooms with strangers, no matter the partitioning stalls that supposedly give privacy.
I sit on the toilet with the lid down, just using it as a chair, and hope the other woman leaves soon. Then I lean my head back and look at the ceiling. I’m being ridiculous. If she leaves, three more people will probably take her place. The ball is packed out there. I should be glad I’m getting as much privacy as I am.
It’s quiet in here. I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Oh my God, what a shitshow that just was out there. I grab some toilet paper and dab at the wet spot on the front of my dress. It’s not too visible against the dark red of the dress. It’s not as much as I initially thought, either. I put the toilet paper in the little garbage on the wall and take another couple minutes to gather myself.
All right, I’m going to go back out there and focus, give Jackson my best pitch. I will salvage the night. I will be calm, cool, and collected.
I use the restroom, then step out of the stall to wash my hands, examining my face to see what needs fixing.
I’m astonished that my makeup looks pretty much just like it did when I left the apartment. I thought I’d be a sweaty mess. Then I remember that Breanna did spritz some kind of makeup fixative all over my face when she was done. I was coughing from the fumes at the time, but it has kept everything perfectly in place.
I smile and am gratified to see there’s not even any lipstick on my teeth. Breanna would be so proud.
The door opens as I take a towelette to dry my hands.
“Whoring yourself out to another older man, really? You just don’t have any imagination, do you?”
I look up in surprise and see her reflection in the mirror. It’s the Shrew. All five foot nine, polished head-to-toe inch of her.
“Jackson Vale.” She clucks her tongue and her pointy-toed shoes click, click, click on the marble floor as she walks toward me. “You sure are moving up in the world.” She glances at me out of the side of her eye as she opens up a small clutch bag and pulls out some lipstick. “At least until he realizes what a crazy bitch whore you are.”
I step back from her. “Excuse me?”
She starts to casually reapply her lipstick. She smacks her lips together with a pop before turning to look at me. Or I should say, look down her nose at me.
“Look at you.” She smirks. “Cheap bottle blonde.” She reaches over and tugs at my hair, pulling a chunk out of the pins.
I can only stare at her, shocked. What the hell? Did this bitch actually just do that?
“Flashing those double D’s in men’s faces so they don’t see the crazy in your eyes.” She smacks at my cleavage with her rectangular silver clutch purse. Hard enough to sting. She rears back to swing again.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” I shove her. If she thinks she can assault me like that and I’ll just take it, she’s got another thing coming.
“What’s wrong with you?” she shrieks, her voice suddenly different. She topples backwards to the floor even though I didn’t push her that hard. “I just wanted to talk to you, woman to woman, about David getting to see his son more,” her voice sounds pleading now, as if she’s afraid of me.
What the hell’s going on? I shuffle forward and she holds her hands up defensively. “Please stop! I won’t approach you again, just don’t hurt me!”
I throw up my hands. “What the hell are you talking about?”
But before my eyes, she seems to undergo another complete personality change. She’s grinning as she gets up off the floor. “Did you get all that, Manny?”
The stall that had been closed when I came in pushes open and a medium-build guy in what looks like a chauffer’s uniform steps out holding up a camera phone. “Got it, Mrs. K.”
I look back at David’s wife, a horrible sort of realization dawning. She’s happy enough to fill in any remaining gaps. She’s not grinning now. There’s only a lethal sort of determination on her face. “You have kept David away from his son long enough. He belongs with his father. With us. I knew I could catch your true colors on video.”
I want to launch at her and claw her eyes out, but I see that Manny has the camera up and recording again. “This footage is all manipulated,” I say into the camera before turning back to the Shrew. “You’re the one who assaulted me first.”
She shrugs. “That’s not what it’s going to look like in the edited version.”
“He’s my son,” I grit my teeth, hands fisting at my side.
“He’s David’s son.”
“David sure didn’t think so when he told me to abort him,” I struggle and fail to hold my temper. “I’m the one,” I stab my thumb into my chest, “who’s loved Charlie and been there for him for his first words and steps. I’m the one who sacrificed. Who gave up school and postponed the other things I wanted because he’s my number one priority. He’s everything to me. You’ll never take him away.” It takes everything in me to keep my rage from boiling over. “I have a lawyer who knows what he’s doing this time.”
“You don’t deserve a baby,” she steps up to me, anger flashing in her eyes. “You’re a coked- up whore. We have pictures. What do you think the judge will say when he sees that? You think they’ll find you a fit mother when they see you snorting the rent money up your nose?”
My insides drop to my feet. How could—? It was just that one time and David brought it. He told me it would be so hot if we both did it and then had sex. I hated the way it made me feel so out of control. And David took pictures? I don’t remember that. But then, that night became extremely hazy after the drugs.
I look up and glare at the Shrew, then at the guy who has the camera trained back on me. Or is this bitch just lying to try to get me to say something on camera she can twist around?
“If you want a baby so bad, why don’t you just have one of your own?” Then I see it, the flash of pain on her face.
“You can’t, can you? That’s what all this is about.” I take a step back in realization. So my guess was right. She can’t have kids. For a second, I feel sorry for her. I can’t imagine what it would feel like not to be able to have my Charlie.
Her face hardens. “Don’t you dare pity me, you little whore. You think you can sleep with my husband, get knocked up with his bastard, and then pity me?”
I glare at her. Yep, any pity I had is gone now. I could give zero fucks for this lady. “He told me you were divorced.” Most of the time we met at his house—a necessity since I was still living in the dorms. Why wouldn’t I have believed him about the divorce? “I’m sorry you can’t have a baby, but that doesn’t mean you can steal mine.”
“It’s not stealing. It’s David’s child,” she gestures at Manny and turns for the door, but not before pausing for a parting shot over her shoulder. “And our team of lawyers have more t
han enough ammunition now to gain full custody against whatever paltry little family lawyer you can scrape up enough cash for.
“We have quite a story to tell, after all,” she leans closer as the vicious words continue spouting. “Poor little college girl with a habit of seducing older men. It started early, with the executives at her father’s bank, whoring herself out to get favors for Daddy dearest. Or maybe because you just like the control it gave you, having him twisted around your little finger.”
Her words hit me with as much force as a bat to the stomach.
David told her.
I trusted him with my darkest, most painful secrets. He told her. And he’s going to use it against me? I— I just— I mean, I know now that he never loved me, but I thought at least—
My knees feel weak.
No, don’t let her see she’s affecting you, Cals. Don’t let her see. You have to be a fortress. You have to be—
But I must fail because her face brightens in triumph. “Didn’t think anyone would ever find out about that, huh, Callie? Or should I call you Lolita? You’ve always sought out men of power, haven’t you? Does it validate your existence, is that what you get out of it? First your daddy’s boss, then your professor, now Jackson Vale? You pretend to be the wide-eyed victim all the while leaning over in those skimpy trash outfits, rubbing your oversized chest in their faces. Seducing them away from their wives and their morals so they’ll fuck you. But that’s all you’ll ever be to them. A toy to fuck and then toss away. Like the trash you are.”
My hands tighten into fists but I give her the opposite reaction to what she’s trying to goad out of me.
Oh sure, I want to stab her eyes out with my hair pins. But I lock it all down, deep, deep inside. I’ve had practice with this. Don’t let anyone see. No one can ever know.
Look what happened when I did open up and tell someone. David betrayed me in every way possible.
No—I swallow hard at the new stab of pain—shove it down deep like a lake that freezes over. From the surface, no one can see any movement at all. This bitch wants hot anger and reaction so she can catch it on video. So I give her ice. Indifference.
I yawn. “You done?” I stretch languidly. “I’ve got a date to get back to.”
Her eyes narrow. Oh, she’s good and pissed now. I don’t let my gratification show on my face. The only vibe I give off is boredom.
The door opens behind the Shrew and three women come in, all chatting together. They pause in surprise when they see Manny.
Just before I can offer the helpful idea that we call security about a man in the women’s restroom, the Shrew jerks her head and Manny follows her quickly out the door.
I just stand stock still for a long moment, watching them as they go. After the intensity of that showdown, my thoughts feel sluggish.
Bad. That was all very bad. The things David and the Shrew are going to bring up about me in court… Mr. McIntyre, that bastard my father worked for, saying I seduced him, as if I wanted it… a shudder starts deep in my bone and works its way outward.
David was so outraged on my behalf when I eventually told him about it. We were in bed one night and he’d just promised that we’d be together forever. I’d never known happiness like that and I didn’t want any secrets between us. I was scared but I told him anyway because I trusted him.
David jumped off the bed, he was so pissed. He said he’d kill him. I had to beg him not to go on the rampage. He made love to me so tenderly afterwards, telling me that he’d protect me from anything bad ever happening to me again.
He made me believe heroes were real.
But it was all a lie. A horrible, devastating lie…
My lip starts to tremble.
I open the door. My knees are even shakier now. I force myself to walk anyway.
But I can’t block out the Shrew’s words. My stomach roils. If their lies sway the judge, I’ll have nothing left. I will be nothing. I survived Mr. McIntyre, in part because of David. I survived David’s betrayal because of Charlie. But if Charlie’s taken away from me?
A numbness starts to steal over my entire body even while somehow I manage to stay upright and continue walking.
No. There’s no way I’m letting them take my baby. They can’t. We’ll go on the run. I’ll change my name, change my hair, hide in Mexico, anything, oh God, anything—
“Calliope.” A hand closes on my arm as I dazedly stumble out of the bathroom. I look up and Jackson’s large form fills my entire field of vision. His face is tight with some emotion I can’t name.
All I can manage is to stare vacantly at him. I’m supposed to be salvaging the night. It’s very important. There’s a voice in the back of my mind yelling at me to pull my shit together.
But… Charlie. That horrible woman is trying to steal my place as mother to my Charlie. She doesn’t know how I sing to him before bedtime. How we snuggle together in the mornings. That smile he has just for me—
“Enough. Tell me what’s wrong, right this moment.” Jackson drags me off to an alcove created in the corner by a column.
“I,” I start, but then pause because there are genuinely no other words in my mind. I’m just blank. Other than: Charlie. My baby. Charlie. “Home,” I finally manage to pull out through my mental fog. “Need to go home.”
Thank God, I must have gotten out some words that made sense, because Jackson takes my arm and starts to lead me out of the ballroom in long strides I have to hurry to keep up with. Relief hits through the numbing haze. Home. I’ll check in on Charlie and then curl up and sleep.
Sleep. Yes, that’ll help. Tomorrow I’ll figure all this out. Of course I’ll figure it all out. I always do. Don’t I? I have to.
Except of course for the first court hearing where David won partial custody. And sure, I have a better lawyer now, but is he really going to measure against the team the Shrew’s family is paying for? And all the horrible things they’re going to accuse me of? Habit of seducing older men.
Oh God, I could lose Charlie. I really could. I always said nothing on this earth could separate me from my little boy.
But it’s not true.
David, the Shrew, and their team of lawyers might—
My breaths start coming in short, gasping pants. I try to gulp in air, but I barely manage a short wheeze.
My little boy.
He’s my life.
They can’t take him away—
I barely realize that we’ve stepped into the cool night air before the limo slides in front of us. Jackson all but pushes me into the back of it.
“Breathe, Calliope. Take a deep breath, you’re hyperventilating.”
I try. I really try. But every time I open my mouth to gulp in air, the image hits—policeman holding me back while that horrible woman drags a screaming Charlie away from me. Then the air that I desperately need is gone again.
Spots dance in my vision. Oh God, oh God, oh God—
Then, wait, what’s going on—?
Everything goes head over ass and not just because I’m lightheaded. Jackson’s spun me over so that I’m face down against the seat. And wait… Is he…?
He is. He’s bent me over his lap.
Ass up.
And now he’s hoisting my gown up.
Before I can even fully comprehend what’s happening, his hand comes down on my ass. It doesn’t hurt, per se, it’s more of a slight sting, but the resounding smack of it and just the shock of—did he just spank me in the back of a moving limo and wait, can we get back to the part where the guy I barely know just spanked me?
And then he does it again. The other ass cheek this time.
Jackson’s voice is calm as he slaps each cheek twice more with slightly increased force, “Your safe word is red.”
Twelve
“I assume you know what a safe word is?” he continues, “They’ve become something of a pop-culture reference.”
I just lay there, shocked. I mean, certainly enough in my life has sho
cked me over the past two months, but I think this just might take the cake.
“Answer me, Calliope.” His voice is a commanding growl. “Say the safe word.”
I take a deep breath in, ready to tell him to go to hell when I realize what I’m doing. I’m breathing again. Not hyperventilating. But right when I realize it, the crippling terror comes rushing back. Charlie. David and his wife threatening to take him away. The very real possibility that I’ll lose my baby. Just like that, my lungs constrict again and my whole body begins to shake.
“The safe word,” Jackson demands. “Acknowledge it.”
“Red,” I squeak.
And then it’s like opening the floodgates. Both literally and figuratively. Jackson’s hand starts coming down on my ass, a sharp percussion that stings at first and then becomes progressively harsher until I’m squirming in his hold.
It hurts but in the part of my mind still capable of thought, I can tell he knows what he’s doing. He’s holding back and giving only what I can take, not putting his full strength into it to actually hurt me.
My mind seems to detach completely from everything else. My concentration narrows to each slap as it lands. He works up and down my cheeks, down to the curve where my butt meets my thigh and then back up again.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until the blows slow and then stop. It’s not from the pain. I don’t even try to make sense of it. I can’t. I don’t want to. And in this moment, it feels like I don’t have to. I don’t have to think at all.
Jackson’s hands are gentle now as he caresses the stinging flesh he was smacking moments before. It only makes me cry harder. Me, who never cries.
“That’s right,” he murmurs, “let it out.”
And I do. My ass is warm—no, red hot—under his hands. He continues his gentle stroking and when his massage moves lower to between my thighs, I press back against his touch. Needy. Because God, I was too mixed up to realize it even seconds before, but the spanking didn’t only make my ass hot.
