To Have and Hate

by Alam, Donna

  ‘I doubt you’ve been obedient a day in your life.’

  ‘I’ll never bow to you.’

  ‘You’ll do just as I tell you.’ His words are bullets, his tone barbed.

  ‘Fuck you.’ I turn but don’t get very far as he pushes me into a nearby shop doorway. The brick wall beneath by back is shockingly cold and the smell of the small place almost acrid as Beckett steps in after me. As a darkness swallow me, light from a nearby lamppost turns his eyes to coal while casting his high cheekbones in stark relief.

  ‘What did he say to you?’

  His eyes darken and my pulse begins to pound. I thought I’d seem him angry before but this, this? This is different. This is the apex predator without a cage, his anger as real as the breath that caresses my face. I shuffle back, my instinct pure self-preservation as he follows, his movements dark and threatening, the kind that sends a thrill skittering across my skin. He isn’t going to hurt me. I know that. But the shimmer of excitement is there all the same.

  ‘What he said is none of your concern.’ I find myself lifting my chin, my answer defiant but not without a tremor.

  ‘Why the fuck were you talking to him?’ His voice deepens, his anger almost palpable.

  ‘Again, that’s got nothing to do with—’

  ‘I am your husband.’ He doesn’t shout, but his words are no less frightening.

  ‘In name only,’ I whisper.

  Reaching out, he places one hand on the wall behind me, the brush of his sleeve against my shoulder a jolt of electricity. A jolt of awareness of how close he is. Leaning forward, he joins me in the shadows, his words more powerful with the absence of light.

  ‘The husband whose name you cry out in the dark.’

  His lips touch my cheek, his hand sliding up my thigh, dragging my dress with it, dragging a stuttering sigh from my lips.

  ‘You won’t see him again,’ he whispers, his teeth grazing my jaw, his fingers tantalising the soft skin of my inner thigh.

  ‘You can’t stop me.’

  ‘Don’t tempt me, darling. There are no depths I won’t sink to.’

  ‘To get your hands on what you want?’ His agreement is more purr than word as his hand ghosts between my legs, his whole body stilling as I reach out and grasp his wrist. ‘You need to tell me the truth, Beckett. Any truth.’

  Tell me you’ve you own the company ahead of time.

  Tell me Luke had a hand in that fucked up business.

  Tell me you love me.

  Tell me something.

  ‘I don’t need to tell you anything.’

  ‘Then I’m walking.’ His hand moves from between my legs as he straightens, the streetlight revealing him in all his gorgeous glory. But I don’t have time to appreciate this because I’m walking. Slipping around the side and out into the street. I head in the opposite direction of the car still, my eyes scanning the roads for a passing cab. I can’t stay here, not with him. Not like this.

  ‘Olivia,’ he calls after me. I don’t hear his footsteps. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Home.’ I throw the word over my shoulder like an accusation. ‘My home.’ His place doesn’t hold interest for me. Not tonight. Not with him.

  ‘You can’t leave.’ My heart begins to beat as his footsteps sound behind me again.

  ‘Fucking watch me,’ I mutter under my breath, hiking my purse higher on my shoulder as though he were after it and not me as he spins me around to face him again.

  ‘Get in the car.’

  ‘Get fucked. I’m out of here.’

  ‘Then you leave me no choice.’ His free hand feeds into his inside jacket pocket, pulling out his phone.

  ‘What? Are you going to call my mom?’ Despite my mocking tone, inside I’m trembling.

  The light from his screen washes his face as he swipes it with his thumb. ‘I’m calling my lawyer. ‘Braunstein, Beckett here. I find myself this evening in position of requiring a filing for divorce on the grounds of abandonment.’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’

  ‘Yes, Olivia left me this evening. Yes, she forfeits her company.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ I whisper. ‘That wasn’t our deal.’

  ‘That was exactly our deal,’ he retorts angrily, unheeding the man on the other end of the line, a man in another country. ‘If you’d sought proper advice, you’d know about this.’

  ‘I did not sign up for this shit.’

  ‘I think you’ll find it’s your signature on the paperwork.’

  Sliding my hand over the screen of his phone, I hang up the call. ‘You can’t do this, Beckett. Abandonment isn’t leaving for one night because I can’t stand the sight of you.’

  ‘You don’t get to decide. As you so nicely reminded me, this isn’t a real marriage. We don’t play by those terms. You are the junior partner, signed to certain requirements, and one of those requirement is to remain by my side for as long as I have need of you.’

  ‘For six fucking months,’ I growl anger and frustration washing through me. I try to pull my arms from his fingers when they tighten like a vice. ‘That was the deal.’

  ‘Yes. And recess hasn’t arrived yet. Get in the car.’ He releases me and I step immediately to the kerbside, watching as cars pass. Watching and waiting, willing him to make sense. Any kind of sense. ‘Get in the car, Olivia.’

  ‘I’ll come home with you, because I have to. My eyes cut to his angrily. ‘But I’ll get a cab. I don’t want to be anywhere near you.’

  I sense rather than see or hear his deep sigh this time. ‘Please, Olivia. Just get in the car. I’ll tell you whatever you like.’

  Chapter 41

  BECKETT

  The darkness of the car wraps around us, the sweep of the tyres against the road the only sound made. Cars at night are like a private world, and we are each existing in our own separate one tonight.

  How had it come to this? Yelling in the streets, hurling threats.

  Never in my life has someone made me feel like she does. Angry and exasperated, wired and alarmed. Like I want to put her in a box and protect her from all harm.

  Including from me.

  In the dark and intimate space, the lights of oncoming traffic sweep over her face, washing her alternately in light and darkness over and over again. This journey is torturous. I fucking hate it and yet I never want it to end. Because of what it might represent. But we eventually arrive at the gates, and shortly following, the front of the house.

  ‘That will be all for tonight, Dobson.’ Olivia’s body turns towards me in surprise. As the driver door closes with a quiet click, I hear her intake of breath but beat her to speaking.

  ‘That first night, in the car. In this car.’ I turn my head to where her hands rests against the leather, though I resist reaching out to touch this time as the interior light dims. I’m thankful for the lights in the garden tonight, I find. ‘It took every ounce of my strength to leave you.’

  ‘But leave you did.’ Her tone delivers the unspoken. You managed just fine, you prick.

  ‘But I wanted you, had to have you. But you came to me from him.’ I look at her then. Those mossy green depths betraying nothing.

  ‘That’s not how it happened,’ she answers, her tone soft.

  ‘Yes, it is. You said so yourself. You’d waited so long for him to be available and you thought that night he was. And then I stumbled in.’

  ‘You hardly stumbled.’ A laugh, short and sharp. ‘I doubt you’ve stumbled your whole life.’

  ‘Yes, because my whole life is an exercise in perfection.’

  ‘No, because your whole life is an exercise in control. You want to control everything around you. Including me.’

  ‘Control is an obsession. An alternative to addiction, or perhaps an acceptable one.’

  ‘You can’t live your life like that.’

  ‘There are more harmful things to be addicted to.’ Like you. ‘But we were talking about Luke. What did he say to you earlier?’

&n
bsp; ‘That’s still none of your business.’

  ‘Whatever he said has confused you. I can see it in your face.’ Taste it, almost. ‘but perhaps it takes a manipulator to truly know a one. You see, behind that boyish charm, Luke isn’t the man you think he is. I doubt he was ever that man, even back at university. He plays people, women in particular, for no other reason than kicks. He’s quite simply a narcissist. He was playing you and I had to be sure you’ve weren’t going to let him.’

  ‘So you manipulated me into marrying you.’ A statement, not a question. ‘Did you think you were protecting me?’

  ‘Not in the least. But Luke would’ve fucked you. Played with you a little before moving on, leaving E-Volve to go under. However, with me you got payback, plus your business was saved. I was honest about my plans. I was my true authentic self, as they say over on Instagram.’

  ‘You were—are—the devil.’

  ‘I didn’t promise I would be anyone else. And I didn’t promise anything I couldn’t deliver.’ I didn’t promise you love. Because you deserve so much better than my devotion.

  ‘So you just decided I was better off being manipulated by you.’ I’d expected anger, not coldness. Horror, not resignation. ‘Does playing God get you off?’

  ‘I haven’t heard you complain about the compensation yet. Any of it.’

  ‘I’m sure that makes sense in that screwy head of yours,’ she says, reaching for the door handle, ‘but you’ll have to forgive me because it makes no sense in mine.’

  ‘Stop.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere, just inside the house. I’d like to drink a cup of hot tea then get into bed. Alone. I’m sure the contract didn’t explicitly mention us sharing a bed.’

  ‘I’m not finished yet.’ With a sigh, her hand slips away, her spine connecting with the leather again.

  ‘You promised me six months.’

  ‘It’s all in the contract.’ She sighs wearily.

  ‘JBW became mine this week.’

  ‘What?’ She sits straighter, in the dim light, her gaze whips to mine. ‘How?’

  ‘I think Luke’s stepfather is preparing to leave his wife. It’s what I assume has compelled him to sell quickly.’ And at a good price.

  ‘And you didn’t tell me because you’re keeping his secret?’

  ‘How can you be so oblivious?’ The truth will set you free? I don’t think so, but it’s flying fast. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d leave me. And I’m not ready for that, Olivia. You can’t leave me.’

  I have never felt as vulnerable as I do right now. More vulnerable than being arrested and subsequently spending a night in the custody suite of Paddington police station, more vulnerable even than entering rehab. And it is sickening. I feel shame and yet a strange sense of relief. Because she hasn’t run screaming. And she doesn’t look like she’s about to as I watch conflicting impulses come into existence and fade as they play across her beautiful face. And then she’s leaning forward, cupping my cheeks in her hands, her lips a soft slide against mine.

  ‘I get it. And it’s okay to feel vulnerable. It’s okay to be—’

  I cut her words off, my mouth covering hers as I pull her across my lap with a sound somewhere between a moan and demand. Her legs slide over mine, the flare of her dress settling over us like the bloom of a flower, the smell of her perfume surrounding us.

  ‘We’re picking up where we left off.’

  Her smoky words echo under my lips, her head thrown back as I work my way down her neck, skimming my tongue across her collarbone. But I don’t reply. I can’t open up anymore because I already feel torn apart. Flayed.

  Her hands scramble against my belt as I reach to expediate things, tilting her in my lap as she pulls my cock free from the confines of my clothing.

  ‘You have such a beautiful cock.’

  My laughter is a thing of joy, a sound that rings free in the confines of the car. She beams back at me wickedly as I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, pulling her in for another kiss. Frantic and fast. Teeth and tongues. Sighs and compliments about the satin and steel she holds in her hand. My mind goes hazy around the edges as her mouth finds my ear and she whispers, ‘I need to feel you inside me.’

  Need.

  To.

  Feel.

  I growl a feral sound as I find the zipper of her dress, pulling on it before wrestling the sleeves across her shoulders, almost restraining her until she pulls one arm free. My heart thumps and my dick pounds as she pushes it to her waist. The sight before me is like a fantasy, this languid eyed creature, all lush curves and her fuck me mouth. She pushes up on her knees, feeding her arms around my neck, her fingers teasing the soft hairs at my nape and as she presses her breasts against my face. Like I need the hint. She moans as I bite over the gossamer fabric, sucking her nipples into hard points, my fingers sliding across her hot centre in a bare caress. Her sigh plays along my face like a caress as I push the scrap of lace to the side. I grasp the base of my cock and she sinks down, taking me to the hilt.

  I can’t touch enough. Suck enough. Fuck enough, as I buck up into her body, bowed and open to me. This is wild and unstrained, despite the confines of space, this thing that’s built between us too painful to express. The pleasure too great to prolong as my thumb finds her clit, the clasp of her hot walls too great, pleasure dragging us both under until there’s nothing left.

  Her arms still around my neck, her hearts seem to beat in unison. At the hitch in her breath, I cut her words off a second time tonight.

  ‘Let me take you to bed.’

  Chapter 42

  OLIVIA

  I wake to an empty bed, the same as usual. I roll over and check my phone and notice it’s gone nine. But it is Saturday. Saturday following a big night.

  I stretch out, testing the aches. The overworked muscles of my stomach and thighs and the way my wrists seem to still bear the pattern of his fingerprints.

  Last night was . . . like a revelation. I felt his need for me. Saw the raw truth of his vulnerability. We might barely have spoken but we seemed to say all we needed to without words. That doesn’t mean we’re fixed, but maybe that we have a change beyond our fucked-up beginnings.

  It’s such a paradox, I reflect as I stare at the ceiling. As individuals we’re so reluctant to reveal our weaknesses, yet when we do, the results yield such intimacy. Like last night, because the experience wasn’t just sex. It was about closeness and understanding. Acceptance. Reassurance. Love.

  Love we couldn’t speak of. Or at least I couldn’t.

  I know that makes me a fraud because Beckett isn’t the only one hiding. In my defence, last night was not the time to call out in the throes of passion. Telling him that I love him, that I think we can have more than six months is something that needs to be said in a sane space. Sane, not mad with need. It should be discussed and understood as a truth, not misconstrued as the result of some mind-blowing fucking.

  I am . . . reluctant to get out of bed. Another human weakness, and not a physical one. It’s not that I particularly want to spend my weekend in here, but because I’m avoiding the difficult things I have to say.

  I love you.

  I think you love me.

  We need to talk about what we’re going to do.

  With a deep breath, I slide my legs out of the bed and opt for a quick shower, wincing a little as I take in the state of my appearance in the mirror. My hair looks like an angry autumn bush, my cheeks pink from his stubble, and my collarbones decorated by the web of his sucking marks.

  Need. Desire. Signs of a night well spent.

  I take myself off to the shower with a smile on my face.

  Slightly restored and wearing the work out leggings I don’t work out in, I take myself downstairs, coming up short at the sight of a monogrammed suitcase in the hall. A leather weekend bag plus Beckett’s laptop bag are placed next to it. My stomach flips but I try not to examine what this might mean.

  ‘Bec
kett?’ The rooms I pass bear no sign of him and his running shoes haven’t been abandoned at the top of the basement staircase. I find him in the kitchen, the broad outline of him dark against the bank of windows. Weekend Beckett in well-worn jeans and a pale blue shirt. ‘Hey, what’s going on?’

  I don’t make my way across the space to be near him. Don’t slide my hands around his waist as I rest my head against his strong back. I don’t say good morning or how are you or did you make coffee yet because my God-given sixth sense tells me something has changed. Something is very, very wrong with this picture. This moment.

  As he turns, his expression confirms every bit of this. He’s so frighteningly handsome, but he also looks like he hasn’t slept of a week.

  ‘I didn’t want to wake you. Though I thought I might have to.’ This is kind of a running joke between us; like the hours he doesn’t sleep have been passed on to me for use. ‘If sleeping was an Olympic sport . . . ’ His eyes slide away, his ghost of a smile slipping, a smile closer to a wraith.

  ‘I’m awake now. Are you going to tell me what this is?’

  ‘There’s no easy way to say this but I’m leaving.’

  ‘For how long?’ I wrapping my arms across my chest, fingers clasping my forearms, like I somehow sense my heart needs the extra layer of protection.

  ‘I haven’t decided yet.’ His jaw sets firm. ‘But my lawyers will be in touch soon to confirm the details of the settlement.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I answer dumbly, because I think I do. Or part of me does, at least. The logical part of me understands he’s leaving for good, even though that makes no rational sense.

  ‘But I thought last night—you said you weren’t ready for this to be over.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. If I stay, the next few weeks will be unhealthy. For us both. You have to believe that.’

  ‘But it doesn’t have to stop at six months. We could—’

  ‘Stop.’ The intensity of the word cuts across the room. ‘This is the way it has to be.’

  ‘That’s bullshit, Beckett. You can’t just leave me without any fucking explanation.’