Invidia

by Keira Michelle Telford

  Truth be told, she’d been working herself up to this since their first date. Knowing how experienced he was with women, she’d been terrified of under-satisfying him—and she had good cause. After all, he was eleven years her senior and she was a naïve virgin who knew nothing whatsoever about pleasing a boy, never mind a fully fledged man.

  Her fears were compounded when she was seventeen and they attended Omega’s annual Founders’ Day party together. For whatever reason, Gabriel had been particularly amorous that night. He’d been drinking, and was freer than usual. Late in the evening, she’d accompanied him out onto the balcony while he’d smoked a cigarette, and the interlude had ended with him pushing her up against the wall and exploring her with his fingers.

  Until that moment, she’d thought herself prepared for him, but as he forced his fingers inside her, he’d hurt her. Her tight, virgin cunt stretched and tore as he played with her, and she had to pretend not to feel the pain.

  She didn’t want to disappoint him. She didn’t want to tell him that it didn’t feel good, for fear that he’d tire of her, so she allowed him to keep groping her. He forced his fingers deeper and his exploration became more vigorous—he was trying to make her come.

  Thankfully, he was so inebriated that she’d been able to fake it without him ever realizing that she’d done so. And if it weren’t for the pain, his efforts would surely have succeeded.

  His eagerness had turned her on. Even though it hurt, she loved feeling desired in that way. She’d wanted more of it. She’d wanted Gabriel to take her in every way that a man could, and to that end, she’d begun to practice.

  She’d purchased toys, and made every effort to prepare herself for him.

  And it worked.

  As he thrusts himself inside her, over and over and over again, she accommodates his girth without discomfort. Not only that, but she’s so incredibly aroused and he’s able to enter her so easily, he can take her precisely how he wants to. He alternates between long, gentle strokes and fast, deep thrusts that bury him up to the hilt inside her.

  Then, finally, as her muscles contract around him and she screams out, her legs spread wide around him and her nails digging into his shoulders, he lets go. He bears down on her, forcing himself as deep as is physically possible, slamming his pelvis against her and emptying himself with a volcanic rush of endorphins and a burst of adrenalin.

  For a split second in time, he feels amazing.

  Her euphoria lasts longer, but his fades the instant he pulls out of her and discards the condom in the trash. He collapses on the bed next to her, welcoming her against his chest in a tender embrace, but feeling like a cheat.

  Fucking her should’ve made him feel better.

  It didn’t.

  It made him feel like an asshole.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Magician

  Even though it’s his day off, Gabriel wakes before dawn. He can’t help it. He hasn’t been able to sleep in past daybreak since his Academy days, even if he did spend half the night awake.

  As he stirs into consciousness, he glances over at the sleeping figure beside him: Veva. She’s naked and content, sleeping soundly since their last coupling several hours ago. During the course of the night, he’d stirred three times and made use of her proximity.

  Each time, he’d hoped it would feel more natural.

  Each time, he’d hoped the feeling of euphoria would last.

  Each time, he’d hoped to lose himself in her the way he had with Lora.

  On every occasion so far, he’d been disappointed.

  Finding himself swelling again upon looking at her, he suppresses his overeager anatomy and gets out of bed. Sexual attraction isn’t the problem. If he’s honest with himself, he’d wanted to bed her since the first moment he laid eyes on her. He’d restrained himself for three very good reasons: she was painfully young and the age difference made him feel like a deviant; he didn’t want to lead her on; and he was already in love with Lora.

  Lora.

  Ella’s dead mother.

  He glances over his shoulder at Veva again. Despite the circumstances, this feels like infidelity. With a maelstrom of conflicting emotions swirling within him, he pulls on his clothes and heads for the kitchen to grab breakfast. The breakfast of champions: coffee and cigarettes.

  He’s fidgety, bored and restless within minutes.

  Left in peace by him, Veva manages to grab a couple more hours of sleep before she’s awoken, not by her alarm, but by an almost rhythmic echoing beat emanating from somewhere else in the apartment.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Metal hitting wood.

  Her eyes dart open and she listens.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Metal hitting flesh.

  Gabriel’s voice: “Goddamnit!”

  Thunk.

  Metal hitting the floor.

  Peeling back the covers, she slides out of bed and slips into one of Gabriel’s old Academy t-shirts. Tiptoeing down the hallway to investigate the noise, she finds him in one of the guest bedrooms, tearing the place apart.

  A dismantled double bed is leaning up against the wall. In the space where the bed used to be, Gabriel is kneeling amidst a pile of nails and pieces of wood. A hammer lies on the floor where it fell moments before, following a misdirected hit that thwacked the tip of his thumb instead of the nail he was aiming for.

  On the other side of the room, a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf is leaning perilously forward, having been wrenched off its brackets. Scattered about are pieces of a flat-pack dresser that Gabriel’s been trying to assemble for the better part of an hour.

  Standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the doorframe, Veva looks around at the chaos he’s created.

  “What in the world are you doing in here?”

  If he’s surprised at all by her sudden presence, you’d never know it; he barely looks up.

  “I got sick of looking at this room,” he grumbles.

  “All of a sudden?”

  “It’s a waste of space. I never come in here.”

  Looking more closely at the disarray, Veva spots two more self-assembly furniture boxes jutting out from behind the upended mattress.

  A writing desk.

  A crib.

  Her heart leaps.

  He’s making a nursery—he must be!

  That means he’s planning for their future.

  Sidestepping screws and nails and carelessly scattered tools, she treads barefoot into the room, crouches beside him, and plants a kiss on his lips.

  “Thank you.”

  “What for?”

  “Last night. Finally.” Another kiss. “I was beginning to think you didn’t like me.”

  “I didn’t want to rush you.”

  “I kept telling myself that’s all it was, but I could never be certain.”

  “You were so young when we—”

  More kisses. “I know.”

  She pries the hammer out of his hand and pushes him back against the floor, and he doesn’t even try to stop her. Straddling him, she leans forward and instigates another kiss.

  “Again?” he half mumbles. “Didn’t I wear you out yet?”

  “What’s the matter, old man? Can’t keep up with me?” Wink.

  At that, he flips her over and lies between her legs, pressing his erection against her.

  “I’m ready whenever you are.”

  Grinning, she checks her watch over his shoulder. “I’d be happy to give you a run for your money, but I have to start getting ready.”

  He begins kissing her neck, ignoring her first attempt to apply the brakes. “For what?”

  “Some of us have to go to work today.” She lightly pushes him away from her. “I’ll happily challenge you to a rematch later, though.”

  Gabriel feigns disappointment and lifts himself off her. Secretly, though, he’s relieved. For as much as he would never turn down a sexual proposition from
her—he would compel his body to perform, no matter what, if it meant preserving his reputation for virility—he’s just not really in the mood.

  He wants to be left alone to clear his thoughts. He wants to win the war against this confounded dresser, and he wants to build himself up to another attempt at social contact with J.C.. He won’t be beaten. Not by the dresser, not by anyone.

  Veva picks herself up and makes her way back through the minefield of potentially heel jabbing, toe stubbing, sole poking bits and pieces. When she gets to the doorway, Gabriel catches her off guard.

  “Spaghetti.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Dinner.” He looks up from behind the dresser. “Unless you have an objection to it, I’m going to cook spaghetti.”

  Veva smiles warmly at him. “No objection.”

  “Good.” He ducks back down behind the drawers. “I picked out a recipe already, and I think you’ll like it.”

  Before she leaves, Veva flicks her eyes back to the crib box. It’s really there—she didn’t imagine it. The road here might’ve been long, but her patience is finally being rewarded. Her head swimming with thoughts of marriage and pregnancy, her entire body fluttering with anticipation for the future, she dresses hastily and makes her way home for a change of clothes before the start of her work day as a general school teacher.

  In the hours that follow, Gabriel doesn’t stop for anything. Not to eat or drink, or even to take a cigarette break. Utterly single-minded, he has no idea how much time has passed. He completes the dresser, desk and crib. He finishes dismantling the old bookshelf and replaces it with a new one. He vacuums, tidies and cleans, then steps on a discarded screw and vacuums again. Just in time, he switches off the vacuum and hears his cell phone ringing.

  Snatching it off the dresser, he checks the caller ID: Jonathan Cross.

  Rushing to catch the call before it rings off, he hits ‘talk’.

  “Hello?” He holds his breath.

  J.C. stifles a yawn while he speaks, his voice sounding hushed and strained. “I’m sorry I was a dick to you.”

  Gabriel’s heart drops slightly. Is that all this is? An apology call.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “You were right.”

  Gabriel stays silent, letting J.C. explain, not daring to hope for what might come next.

  “I was being stubborn and selfish.”

  “We all have our moments.”

  “I have to do what’s best for Ella.”

  “She’s all that matters,” Gabriel concurs.

  “Could you come and—”

  Ella’s wails stop him mid-sentence.

  It doesn’t matter.

  Gabriel doesn’t need him to finish.

  “Yes, of course. I’ll be right there.”

  *************************

  For the second time in as many days, Gabriel knocks on the door to J.C.’s apartment. This time, J.C. answers at the first knock and invites him inside.

  Still trying to exhibit nothing more than a passing concern for his friend, Gabriel exploits his peripheral vision to look around the apartment, searching for Ella. He doesn’t spot her, but he sees plenty else.

  There’s a dirty diaper on the kitchen table. A saucepan of milk is growing stale and filmy on the stovetop, and a fly begins to explore the lip of it. A week’s worth of microwaveable dinner cartons are stacked on top of an overflowing trash can, and there’s an empty bottle of liquor on the counter.

  “You need to clean this place up.” Gabriel glares disapprovingly at the mess.

  “I’m doing the best I can.”

  “You’re struggling.”

  “I’m adjusting.”

  Gabriel picks a rotten apple core up off the floor and tosses it into the garburator. “This isn’t healthy.”

  “I’m going to hire a cleaner.”

  “Good.”

  Gabriel glances down at the coffee table. Beside a book of nursery rhymes is a bottle of absinthe, and next to that is a gun. He picks up the gun and checks the clip: it’s full. The safety switch isn’t even on.

  “Are you serious?” He doesn’t give J.C. time to answer. “Where’s the child?”

  J.C.’s gaze flickers toward the master bedroom, and Gabriel doesn’t wait for more. He strides into the room and finds baby Ella gurgling happily in her crib. Blowing another spit bubble, she looks up at him, her pale bluish-gray eyes gleaming and bright.

  Around the room, memories of Lora pervade even the most mundane objects. His gaze wanders over the bed where they’d made love countless times, and the nursing chair he’d bought for her baby shower. Her dirty clothes are still in the laundry basket, and her jewellery is still sitting on top of the dresser.

  And there’s more.

  Her slippers.

  Her hairbrush.

  Her underwear.

  The room still smells like her perfume.

  This place is like her tomb.

  Gabriel focuses his attention on Ella and lifts her out of the crib.

  “It doesn’t matter if she’s yours or not.” J.C. appears in the room behind him, watching him with Ella. “I’m her legal father. My name’s on the birth certificate.”

  “I know.”

  “If you try to take her, I—”

  “I won’t.”

  “If you do, I’ll fight your claim for custody.” J.C. steps closer. “You can count on that.”

  Gabriel keeps his eyes pinned on Ella, cradling her in his arms. “Is that why you called me here? To tell me things I already knew?”

  “I’m the only family that kid has.” J.C. watches Ella grab hold of Gabriel’s pinky finger and hold on tight. “If anything ever happened to me, she’d end up like that wimpy little foster across the hall.” He sinks down into the nursing chair, exhausted from lack of sleep. “And I can’t let that happen.”

  “So who’re you going to register as next of kin?”

  “You.”

  Gabriel has no idea how to respond to that, but it doesn’t matter—J.C. isn’t done.

  “I don’t have anyone else,” he continues. “Lora’s parents aren’t in a position to care for a baby. Her dad’s sick and her mother is his fulltime carer. And my old man couldn’t take care of a potted plant, never mind another human being, so he’s out of the question. Plus, it’s almost poetic ‘cause that’s the only way you’ll ever get her: over my cold, dead body.”

  He lets that sink in for a moment.

  “And I’ve been thinking about what you said.” He scratches at his bearded face. “About reaching out for help.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Gabriel fakes indifference.

  “It’s not that she’s too much for me,” J.C. feels it necessary to defend himself. “I just—”

  “I understand.” Gabriel holds Ella against his chest. “It’s overwhelming.”

  “I’ve never been around a baby before.” J.C. smothers a yawn. “I have no idea what I’m doing. If she cries, I feed her. If she smells weird, I change her. Beyond that … as far as I can tell, it’s all just guesswork.”

  “I think that’s how parenthood works.”

  “Yeah, well, Lora’s friend, that lady across the hall, she gave me a number for a nanny.”

  “A nanny?”

  J.C. nods. “Someone to care for Ella a few hours a day so that I can sleep. Someone to watch her after I return to work.”

  “A stranger?”

  “She’s qualified.”

  “Wouldn’t you feel better if she were in the care of someone you knew?”

  “Who?”

  Gabriel can feel J.C.’s icy glare on him, silently daring him to put himself forward, so he decides to chance it and be forthright.

  “Why don’t you let me take her for a couple of days? Give yourself a break. You can’t possibly grieve properly for Lora while you’re so busy taking care of a newborn’s endless needs.”

  J.C. doesn’t answer immediately.

  Then, “You really have the b
alls to ask me that?”

  “You need help, and I’m offering it. Take it or leave it.” He fawns over baby Ella, not once looking up. “In any case, it’ll take you a while to organize a nanny. You’ll have to hold interviews and such—it’s a process. I can be the nanny, at least in the interim.”

  J.C. frowns at him. “What do you even know about babies?”

  “No less than you.”

  Point taken.

  J.C. considers it some more. “Just a few days?”

  Gabriel nods. “Catch up on some sleep. Be selfish. Drink. Feel sad. Do whatever you need to.” He strokes Ella’s cheek with his thumb, commenting absently: “Buy a gun case.”

  J.C. puts up no further argument. By the time Gabriel’s gathered up all of Ella’s things, he’s already asleep on the couch.

  Gabriel slips quietly out of the apartment without stirring him, and receives a scowl from Alexander’s foster mother when they meet in the elevator.

  “He caved, then.” She tuts.

  “He did the right thing.”

  “A nanny would’ve sufficed.”

  “I won’t have her raised by strangers.”

  “As it stands, that’s not your decision to make,” she reminds him.

  “As it stands, I’m the best person to care for her right now. That man’s a wreck, and he’s endangering her life.”

  The woman snorts. “Oh, please. J.C. would never do anything to harm that child, and you know it. Besides, I’d say he’s handling his grief a helluva lot better than you are.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Half the city saw you at dinner last night with the daughter of the Governor’s chief aide.”

  “So? Is that a crime?”

  “Unfortunately not. There’s no law to prevent you from disrespecting Lora’s memory by bouncing seamlessly back into old form.”

  “It’s not like that. I—”

  “Don’t,” she cuts him off as the elevator doors open. “Don’t even bother defending yourself to me, ‘cause I don’t wanna hear it. I told Lora she was a fool to get tangled up with you. You’re nothing but a player and a louse.”