"Ok", Dante agrees, closing in on her hungrily.
"And this one", Sash is careful to add, as she draws her knees up to her chest. "This one you get for free."
Chapter 7
The knock on the front door rouses her slowly from a deep and restful sleep, the sound belonging for a confusing moment to the cloudiness of her dream. When she realizes it's not going to go away, she forces herself awake. There is a moment of dawning realization, before the memory of last night comes back to her and she knows something is wrong. Turning quickly, she sees the bed is empty next to her. Dante has gone.
"No. no, no, no,no, not this time."
She looks under the bed, around it, in the shower, but he's not there.
"Fuck."
Where the fuck is he? She can't believe she's let him in again so easily, only to have him turn around and run out.
"Fuck."
She bangs her fists on the bed. She can't believe it. She can't believe he's gone. She can't believe she's been this stupid.
The knocking continues. Rhythmic taps on the panels of the door that show no sign of going away. Sash gets out of bed and pulls on her clothes. There is nothing else she can do but go on.
Martin presses his nose up to the viewing hole, hoping to catch sight of Sash through the spiraling darkness. When she opens the door quickly, he almost topples forwards into the room.
"Martin."
She half hoped it would be Dante.
Martin rushes to compose himself, running fat fingers through thinning hair. He's out of breath too, which is remarkable, considering the short distance he has to travel to get to her flat from his.
"Sorry to disturb you. I thought you might be sleeping."
In her haste to get to the door, Sash has forgotten about the mess they made of the living room last night. Realizing it now, she tries as best as she can to block it from view.
"I was."
"Did you have a party last night?"
Martin tries to peer round her, as though doing so is part of his remit as a landlord. "I heard noises. Banging. The walls were shaking."
"There was a cockroach", Sash lies. "I had to turn the living room upside down to find it."
"A cockroach?"
"A cockroach. A big ugly cockroach. It got away as well, but when I find him, I'm going to kill him."
"That's unusual."
Martin is clearly not entirely convinced by her story.
"Look, anyway, Martin, how can I help?"
"It's the end of the week. I need the rent money, Sash, otherwise I'm going to have to call the police."
"You don't need to call the police. I've got it here."
"I don't want to do it, but I've got no choice, I'm sure you'll understand. This is-."
"Just wait there."
Sash closes the door on him before he's even finished his sentence.
Frantically she searches for her coat, finding it eventually by the side of the couch. Expecting to find the money in the hip pocket, she's confused to find it empty. She checks the other one, but it's not there either. It's not in her bag, on the floor to the side, or the million and one other places she rushes around her apartment to search in.
She calls Dante's mobile but it goes straight to his answer phone, and when she phones his office it just rings out.
"Fuck", she screams.
When she opens the door again, Martin doesn't look like he's moved.
"-Serious now", he says, finishing the same sentence Sash cut off, as though the movement of the door might have acted as a pause button.
"I don't have it."
Sash begins to cry. "I had it, but I don't have it now. I'll get it. I promise I'll get it, just give me another day or so."
Suddenly she realizes she's not hiding the crime scene behind her anymore, and Martin is looking at her, and it, with concern.
"I'm sorry Sash. I've been more than reasonable."
"Martin, please. Just until the end of the day."
Martin shakes his head. "No. Time's up Sash. I want you out of here by six. Either you go alone or the police escort you."
"Martin, please", Sash cries, but Martin has already begun to shift his immense bulk into a turn. Getting him to come back and change his mind would be like trying to change the course of an oil tanker. She's fucked.
Back in the apartment, she screams at the top of her voice, kicks one of the fallen paper back books against the far wall and then crumples into the sofa.
"Dante", she screams out loud, shaking her head in disbelief. "Where the fuck are you?"
She can't believe it. Not only has he tricked her into fucking him for the very first time, claiming something she would never give him the first time around, he's taken the money she needed to pay her rent.
Fucking ass-hole.
Sash folds herself over so she's lying down on the couch. With her hand on her belly, she remembers the incredible fuck he gave her last night, that almost brought the whole house down. She remembers the kisses he left on her clavicle, and the delicate way he held her and fucked her to sleep. What she can't understand is why he'd do that only to then fuck her over again.
Did he just want what she couldn't give him the first time around? Was that it?
Most of all, she remembers the way he came inside her, and the fact that it didn't even occur to him to ask her whether she was on the pill.
Typical fucking Dante.
She wonders whether he would have continued anyway, if he knew for a fact that she wasn't. It doesn't matter now. It could be growing inside her already, and there would be nothing either of them could do to stop it.
Despite the fact he's fucked her and fucked off, and Sash feels cheated again, she's certain that if it's already begun, there is no way he'll be able to refuse her. The words feel heavy and unfamiliar on her lips.
"Baby", she says, just to hear them spoken aloud.
She shakes them away and feels stupid for saying it. The idea won't leave her though. She imagines herself confessing them to him, having him hear the words and then holding the thing out to him and getting him take it.
"It isn't that weird", she says out loud now. "It wouldn't be the first time I've dreamt it."
Chapter 8
Sash is sat on the patch of grass at the front of her apartment block, surrounded by possessions stuffed hastily into bin bags and suitcases, dragged there over the course of the day. From behind what was once her curtain, Martin watches Sash's dad pull up, more than satisfied to finally see the back of his trouble-ridden tenant.
"Running away?" Henry asks from the lowered window as he pulls up alongside her.
He's a wiry man with Sash's delicate frame, a thin face difficult to age, and a handlebar mustache that makes him look like a cowboy, even though he's never ridden a horse in his life.
Sash raises her head. "Thinking about it."
She's more pleased than she thought she would be to see him.
"Hello, Sash."
"Hello, Dad."
It takes them about ten minutes to load everything into the trunk of the car. Her dad makes jokes about the weight of her suitcases, while Sash fights to stop herself from crying. When they are done, and Sash is sat in the front seat of her dad's beaten up Sedan, toying with the broken ashtray nervously, unsure what to say to him, or whether she needs to say anything at all, he takes a moment to roll a cigarette and check to see if she's ok.
"You should have called earlier."
He puts the cigarette behind his ear, the act of constructing it enough to satisfy his need.
"I didn't know I needed to."
"We haven't heard from you kids for a long time. It's kind of nice to hear once in a while, you know."
"I'm making my own way."
"I can see that."
Henry gives her a side glance.
"I lost my job, that's all. I've been looking for another one. I didn't think it would come to this."
"You seen your brother?"
"He's not my brother. And no, I haven't seen him."
"If there is anyone who can help you out, it's him. Trace reckons he's making more money than a third world country, not that we see any of it, mind. I thought you two got along. You used to."
"Yeah? Well things change."
"Evidently."
"I don't need his help."
"Of course you don't. You're independent, just like your mother. As stubborn as an ox."
He turns the key in the ignition, and with a series of coughs and splutters, the car fires up.
"I can't believe this piece of shit is still working."
Sash is happy to change the subject.
"Hey", Henry complains. "This piece of shit has feelings, I'll have you know. That's no way to treat an old war horse."
He swings the car back out onto the road, turning back the way he came in, rocking Sash about on the near spent suspension, the chassis creaking and groaning as he goes. In the wing mirror that's held onto the housing by a length of electrical tape, she watches her block of apartments get smaller and smaller, until they eventually disappear completely over the falling sky line behind her.
The end of yet another era for her. A comprehensive full fucking stop.
"It's good to see you, Dad."
Her dad looks at her suspiciously and smiles.
"Yeah?"
He grabs her knee fondly. "You too, honey."
The car putters as it fights to climb a hill, the back end sagging so much with the weight of Sash's belongings, the exhaust scrapes along the tarmac and sends sparks flying up into the sky.
"You still dancing?"
Sash doesn't answer. Instead she just stares at the city rushing away to the side of her and then down to examine her hands. Henry reaches over and takes them in his.
"There's no shame in starting again, honey. We've all got to do that from time to time. Even the most important of us have had to set the clock back to zero and just get on with it. I know I have."
Sash appreciates the sentiment, but still feels like a complete and utter failure. With the sun melting away in the distance, her dad takes the cigarette from behind his ear and sparks it up.
"Just to warn you-."
He sucks the acrid smoke down into his lungs, "-we've changed things around a little at home."
Sash turns sideways in her seat. "Changed things how?"
"You'll see when we get there."
Henry takes care to avoid her eyes. "It's easier than me explaining it."
The rest of the journey is spent largely in silence. Her dad smokes, or concentrates on the road ahead, or comments on what they are listening to on the radio just to fill in the gaps in conversation, while Sash drifts in and out of everything, happy to let her mind wander to the possible whereabouts of her missing stepbrother, remembering more frequently than is healthy, to check her phone just in case Dante's decided to leave a message.
She does it so much that Henry asks her if she's waiting to hear from someone important, not that Sash bothers to answer him.
When they get home, and the familiar facade of Sash's adolescent house comes into view, sinking her mood even further, night has fallen completely and he still hasn't called.
At first glance, Sash can't see what might have changed. Tracy comes out to greet her with Ghost, their albino Labrador by her side, gives her a warm hug and heads back inside to finish preparing dinner.
When the trunk of the car has been unpacked, her belongings stored temporarily inside the front door until she has more energy to shift them further, she heads on up to her room, Henry climbing the stairs slowly behind her.
"What the fuck?" Sash says when she sees it. "Are you serious?"
Henry shrugs his shoulders, as though relinquishing himself of any responsibility.
"I told you there were changes."
What was once her bedroom, is now an office. Her posters have gone, her bed has been removed, even the book shelves have come down. In their place, a chunky printer stands proudly, a huge flat screen monitor mocks her from the desk on which she used to do her schoolwork, the remnants of her stickers still clinging desperately to the surface the only indication it has lived another life. An office chair that looks like it doubles as a lazy boy spins easily as she turns it, while the door ripped off her walk-in wardrobe to house folders and files of someone else's information, feels like a sword in her side.
This was where she danced for him, where they first kissed. Seeing it like this, makes her feel like the memory is being pulled away from her again, obliterated into nothingness. As though it didn't happen at all.
This day couldn't get any worse. First that ass-hole Dante leaves, then she gets kicked out of her apartment, and now this, a home office where her bedroom should be.
"Dad?"
Sash is stunned by what they've done. "These are not changes. These are-. This was my room."
"It's been a while, Sash. We didn't think you were coming back."
"Where am I meant to go?"
"We've put you in your brother's room. You can have that for as long as you need it. Or until he needs it back. Or whatever. You'll work it out."
He turns and heads back down the stairs.
"Dante's room? You turn my bedroom into an office, and you leave his alone?"
"You get yourself comfortable."
Henry is keen not to continue the conversation. "Come down when you're ready."
Dante's room is almost completely untouched. It is exactly as she remembers it. Clean, ordered, precise.
She dumps her rucksack on the floor, and collapses into the bed. The sheets even smell of him. She twists over and screams into the pillow, suddenly overwhelmed by the result of what's just happened. Her fucking stepbrother. This is why she wanted to stay away from him in the first place. She knew this would happen, even if she didn't believe it. This was low even for him, however. To trick her into fucking him finally, getting exactly what she denied him all those years ago, only to run at the very first chance of freedom. She wasn't going to let him get away with that.
"Coward. Fucking coward."
Dinner is depressingly bland.
She manages to eat half and then has to give up. She's neither hungry nor in the mood to be with other people. Despite having grown up in this house, Sash doesn't feel like she belongs to it. Looking around now, she has trouble finding anything that might indicate that she was once a resident. There are no pictures of her or her brothers, none of her artwork from school or any of her awards from the various different dance competitions she dominated in her youth. All she can see is a picture of Dante and a collection of crap that must be her stepmothers.
Ghost curls up at her feet.
Henry chews his meat.
Tracy stares at her over the top of her wine glass.
"It's good to have you back home."
Tracy's words sound so empty that Sash can do nothing else but excuse herself quickly, rush upstairs two steps at a time, curl up on Dante's bed in a fetal ball, on sheets that have the temerity to still smell of him and breakdown into an explosion of deep, guttural tears.
She cannot escape him, wherever she goes.
She is destined to be forever reminded of the man she can't help but love, and hope desperately that one day he might show her that he feels the same way too.
Chapter 9
In 2006, when Sash was eleven, her father and mother sat her down, and told her they were getting a divorce. Sash remembers the day as though it were yesterday. It's one of several defining moments in her life, which she can picture with crystal clear, almost high-definition clarity. If she closes her eyes, she's there again, sandwiched between her two brothers on the worn leather sofa, her favourite blue dress on, and a glass of water held tightly to her chest as though the thing might run away if she let it.
Sash knew things had been difficult between them, but didn't stop to think for a single moment they'd ever fall out of love. She had school friends whose parents had div
orced. She had her older brother telling her exactly what was going to happen, the pair of them sat up night after night listening to the arguments below. Every single sign was pointing to it, but still she didn't want to believe it.
Her mother moved to a new house, and then a new city, and then eventually she moved out of state. Her older brother blamed her father, hated him for what he imagined he'd done, and went wherever she did, until he was old enough to find his own way. Her younger brother was too young to be too far away from his mother, and because of that, his mind was made up for him. Sash was torn between the two. She was closer to her father, but she didn't want to have to choose. She didn't blame either of them for what had happened, and neither of them tried to make her take sides.
Her mother took a temporary apartment up the road, while her dad stayed at home and the house went on the market. Sash decided to stay with him, simply because her brothers didn't. Half a year later the house was sold, her mother and brothers had gone, and Sash and her dad moved to where she would would eventually spend the rest of her childhood. Almost ten years later, she's still only seen them a handful of times since. Her younger brother is at University in Chicago, her older brother an engineer and her mother remarried and spending her time traveling the world. Somewhere, on another side of someone else's life, she apparently has more stepbrothers. The thought sends a chill down her spine.
Sash's dad took the divorce badly. He was always a bigger than average drinker, but in the years that came after Sash's mother left, he took it to a completely new level. For a long time, Sash was too young to realize what was going on. She just didn't have anything else to compare it to. When she was old enough to know that not everyone had a bottle stashed away in the car, to drink every day at work, she knew she had to do something. She tried to get them back together, but her mom had already moved on. Even though she told her about the extent of her dad's drinking, her mother decided it was nothing new and certainly nothing to worry about. She tried to talk to him about it, but he just pushed her away. She phoned helplines anonymously, cutting the calls as soon as they asked for more information, worried they'd send her dad away, and she'd have to go and live with her mother. She even threw away the bottle one time, but he just bought another and hid it in a different place. She waited, and it didn't go away.
Heated: A Stepbrother Romance (Full Length Novel) Page 5
