K
nowing Chloe is safe and out of Michael’s reach at least for now, gives me peace of
mind and helps me calm a bit. I throw myself on the bed. Tiredness is crushing down
every bone of my body. The digital clock on the nightstand reads four thirty, reminding
me that I haven’t slept for nearly twenty three hours.
With Chloe occupying my thoughts, I arrange the pillow under my head and pull the
covers over my body. She took after Mom in so many ways. Not only with her eyes and
lips. The heartbreaking way she has given up hope and simply surrenders herself to
Michael’s abuses. As if she actually deserves every bit of torture he’s doing to her.
The dull look on her face. The lack of self-confidence and motivation to pursue her
goals if she has any at all. Her total disinterest in life.
I’m afraid one day her end will be the same as Mom’s. That’ll be a tragedy I can’t
possibly survive. Mom’s death didn’t ruin me only because of Chloe’s help. Unlike
Zane, Chloe never treated me as an adopted brother. She loved me and showered me with
the affection and love that I craved so much. She never withheld her encouraging smile,
her motivating words, when it came to supporting my endeavors.
I, on the other hand, gave her nothing in return. I watched how Michael abused her
without having the courage to do anything to stop him. More than a couple of times,
she interfered while Michael was on me with full force, only to end up getting herself
bruised and broken, but she did it. She tried to do something. Anything. Unlike Zane
and me. She’s stronger than both of us when it comes to protecting her brothers, but
completely indifferent to her own wellbeing. As if she doesn’t care what can happen
to her. I wish I’ll never have to see her broken and in tears again.
If I’m lucky, I’ll find a way to get Lindsay away from Michael too. That, though,
will be more challenging, because, before anything else, I’ll have to convince her
of his evilness.
My eyes fall closed with the images of Lindsay’s face. As the minutes pass, though,
her smooth skin turns dark with bruises and swells. My heart constricts with pain.
I can’t allow her to go through the same cruelty. I can’t let Michael ruin another
person.
My minds start drifting off slowly as darkness falls everywhere. The temperature drops.
Shivers go through me as fear strikes my heart. I feel something bad is coming. Something
terrible enough to make me want to die so I won’t have to endure the same pain again.
I hear muffled mumbles from far away. Then, all too suddenly, large hands capture
my body, holding me still in place. “Calm down, now,” the owner of the large hands
whispers to my ear over and over again.
Air is pulled out of my lungs, and I work hard to be able inhale again. My hands reach
for my throat to free whatever is covering my airway. I push. I struggle. I fight.
Nothing works. I’m suffocating to the point of no return. I force my body against
whoever is holding me with all my strength, and my eyes open abruptly. I inhale and
exhale, shocked, staring around for the source of my distress. There’s nothing, no
one else in my bed. What the hell did I just dream about? I try to remember the details
but all my mind can focus on is the sensation of asphyxiation.
The clock reads six thirty-five. My body is still trembling with the shock of it.
I don’t want to go back to sleep and have the same dream again. I get out of the bed,
shower, and go out grocery shopping to fill my empty and neglected fridge. Very soon,
the details of the stress while dreaming faints into nothingness, and I start going
through the aisles in Whole Foods feeling excited that Lindsay will be with me in
a couple of hours.
Having no idea what she likes to eat, I buy everything from cereal, eggs, pastries,
bacon, to soup. I don’t even know if she’s a coffee, tea, or hot-chocolate person.
So I add a sizable number of boxes of them too. In the end, the cart is filled to
the brim, and I hurry to load everything in the back of my car.
Back in my loft, I get the coffee going while pacing up and down in my living room.
I haven’t had a woman in my place for two years, since my last girlfriend. Though
it feels strange having another woman inspect my private space, judging my style,
furniture, or the lack of both since I like living minimalistic, I’m glad it’s Lindsay,
though, because at least she won’t hide her true opinion behind some bullshit diplomatic
remarks.
At nine o’clock sharp, my cell rings and I glance, smiling, at Lindsay’s number flashing
on the screen. I give her the code for the elevator and stride to the door to welcome
her. My heart smashes against my chest as soon as the elevator doors open, and Lindsay
emerges from behind. She’s wearing her hair in a ponytail. Her body is covered beneath
a dark-green leather jacket, in a red silk shirt, and tight blue jeans. It’s official;
her body has the same effect on me whether it’s naked or covered.
“Very punctual. I like it.” I tilt my head down once she’s before me to kiss her,
but she tactfully escapes from my lips and hugs me instead.
“I arrived ten minutes earlier but didn’t want to come up too early.” She passes through
the doorway, sliding out of her jacket, and looks around.
I kick the door closed with one foot and grab her jacket out of her hold. “Why? You
should have come.”
“Why?” She shrugs, turning to me, a playful grin on her face. “I don’t know. I guess
I didn’t want to witness another woman leaving your apartment.”
I roll my eyes at her and hang her jacket in the closet. “Would you have been disappointed?”
“I won’t answer that.”
“You don’t need to, because I know you would.” I close the closet door, leap the distance
between us in a flash, and slide my arms around her waist, lifting her up in my arms.
“Hey, hey, hey. What are you doing?” She smacks my arms and pushes my chest with some
serious strength. “Put me down, right now!” I do as she orders, disappointed and excited
at the same time. She might say no now, but she’ll cave in soon. And that’ll make
it all the more satisfying.
“You promised.” She lifts her forefinger up to my face with an unmistakable threat
attached to her tone.
“I’m sorry. It’s just hard to keep my hands to myself when you’re around.” I smile
down at her, keeping my body in close proximity to her tiny physique. She trembles
visibly but keeps her strict posture otherwise. “Hungry ... for breakfast?” I add,
letting my smile broaden.
She shakes her head at my little word game, narrowing her eyes at me, and turns around
to examine the living room.
“Have you recently moved?” she asks.
“No. I just don’t like a lot of stuff. A couch, chairs, table, and a bed are all I
need. I don’t stay here often, maybe once or twice a month.”
“Really? Why not?”
“My work is my life. PE has a lot of empty rooms anyway. It’s easier to sleep there
than commute from here to work every day.” I guide her toward the kitchen and head
to the coffee machine. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Tea, if you have some.”
I carry the shopping bag of the tea boxes for her to choose, and she picks up the
one with an apple cinnamon aroma.
“Smells good,” I say and set the kettle on.
She opens the fridge without asking for my permission, goes through the unopened containers
one by one, and takes out grapes and croissants. “Why do you keep these in the fridge?”
she asks, showing the large pastry box. I shrug, having no idea of where else I should
keep them. She warms up the pastry in the oven, and I decide to keep her in the dark
about the fact that she’s the first one to ever use it. In a matter of minutes, she
gets herself comfortable enough in my kitchen that she orders me to sit down and sets
about preparing a nice breakfast, worthy of a lazy Sunday morning.
Sliding over the chair beside me in front of the breakfast island, she sips from her
tea, her eyes staring up at me. “You bought all that food for just for me, didn’t
you?”
“So what if I did.”
“I don’t mean it in a sarcastic way. I like it actually, except for the fact that
you considered the possibility of me eating all that food.”
I laugh, despite the presence of the food in my mouth. “I just wanted you to have
options.”
“Very accommodating of you.”
I’d accommodate her in ways she could never even dream, if she’d let me. “Am I now?”
She nods, wiggling her eyebrows up and down. “Except in the bedroom.”
“I’m sorry, what? I think I misheard you. You can’t possibly be claiming I’m not accommodating
in the bedroom because I distinctly remember providing you with a rare opportunity
to be with two attractive men who know what to do in bed. Not to forget the series
of orgasms you reached in one go. That is, in fact, the very definition of accommodating.”
“You think you’re attractive?” She seizes me up and down with one brow arched up,
not revealing anything from her assessment. Come on. I know she likes what she sees,
yet she has to play with me like a toy.
“Is that what you got from what I said?”
“That and something about a series of orgasms.” She glances up directly into my eyes
for the briefest of a second, blushing, and drops her gaze to her plate. She’s embarrassed
and that’s so adorable, I consider spreading her up on the breakfast island to deepen
her blushing.
“Now you’re stuck with the memories.” I shake my head playfully. If anyone is stuck
with those memories, that’d be me. Even the trauma of my sister isn’t strong enough
to shake away the tornado of the afternoon I had with Lindsay, in Lindsay, and on
Lindsay. I lick my lips, wishing I had the taste of her orgasm on my tongue again.
That’d sweeten my bitter coffee.
Her hand slides down to her thigh, and I notice she’s squeezing her legs together.
How unjust is it that women can be subtle about their arousal, but we men have to
deal with some big and obvious evidence? Just like the one I’m sporting right now.
If I don’t do anything about it soon, she’ll spot it any second. Not that I’m ashamed
of her sexual power over me or anything. But, if she finds out and decides not to
do anything about it, that’ll be a big blow to my ego.
I pull my shirt down casually while sipping from my coffee, which tastes too bitter,
but I drink it anyway. Lindsay has been nibbling on the same edge of the croissant
for more than ten minutes now. Either she’s a picky eater or just nervous. I’ll go
with the second excuse for the reason for her lack of hunger.
I remember Michael’s words about the Russian envoy and Lindsay. I should warn her
to stay away from the party, but on the other hand, I don’t want to ruin this calm
silence I’m sharing with her. She crosses and uncrosses her legs, and at one point
brushes the side of her thigh against mine. I hear her inhaling sharply, although
she tries to hide it by sipping more tea.
“How are we going to do this?” I ask. I can’t date her, but I can fuck her, although
I don’t know exactly under which circumstances or how often. Michael didn’t mention
anything about the limits of the payment he took over for Lindsay’s visits to PE.
Not that I’ll charge her anything for the fun I’ll have with her, but I’m sure she
won’t want to cross the lines of that fucking contract. She’s so goddamn adamant about
staying true to some arbitrary rules Michael can, and without doubt will, violate.
“I won’t sleep with you today if that’s what you’re asking. It seems that I can only
use PE services once a week.”
“What if, as the owner of PE, I offer you unlimited complimentary service, at your
will?”
She sighs and rests her head on her hand, playing with the teaspoon. “That’s exactly
what Michael is against. He doesn’t want me to date or have anything else with a guy.
I’m already going against that rule as is. According to him, I must sleep with a different
guy every time I’m at PE.”
“Did he seriously demand that from you?”
“Not directly, but through his assistant.”
“What’s his reasoning? His main point for hiring you as his girlfriend is to cover
up his homosexuality. I’m obligated by law to keep the information about my clients
off the record, anyway. What’s his deal if you want to fuck the same guy over and
over as long as it remains a secret?”
She has no answer to that. Shrugging, she finally gives up on the croissant, leaves
the empty cup on the counter, and slides down from the chair. Did I upset her? Is
she leaving already?
“Please, don’t go. I won’t insist anymore. It’s your decision.” I reach up and hold
her shoulder tentatively. She doesn’t push me away or attempt to leave, just stays
beside me without moving, her eyes glued to mine. She’s trying to decide, I can see
it in the deep frowning of her brows. If she stays, she’ll risk betraying Michael’s
trust. But if she goes, she’ll lose a possibly one-time chance to connect with me.
Only, she doesn’t know I have no intention to leave this as one time and am ready
to give her a dozen more chances to connect or do anything else she wants to do with
me.
“Let me show you the terrace.” My loft might be missing furniture, but it makes up
for it with a large terrace and a breathtaking view of L.A. She nods, and I take her
hand, guiding her to the open air.
She gazes at the terrace with a wide-open mouth. “Oh, my god. My entire apartment
is smaller than this.”
I pull a chair for her and sit on another next to hers. “This is my favorite part
of the loft.”
“How did you find this place? You must be paying a lot for the rent.”
“No, I inherited it from my mother and moved in when I turned eighteen. Michael didn’t
want to support me financially anymore, so I rented out the rooms to college students
to make a living. At one point, we were ten, using all three bedrooms and the living
room, but I didn’t care. It was cheap for the renters, and I earned my money. That’s
all that mattered.”
“What did you major in?”
“I enrolled in the medicine department at USC but failed miserably. I don’t know why
I’d thought I could be a doctor in the first place. Even after I switched departments
to business, I couldn’t make it. Reading isn’t really my thing.”