Authors: Elizabeth Finn
In my dreams, he reassured me with soft words I know I’ll never recall. He touched and caressed my body slowly in exactly the way I always crave from him. My hair was stroked gently and slowly, and I was surrounded by feelings of his safety and security.
Chapter 11
When I wake the next morning, I’m unclothed and comfortable in my bed. Liz is sitting in the chaise lounge waiting for me to wake. It’s late, nearly lunch time, and as she sees my eyes open, she smiles warmly and moves to my side. The concern in her eyes is palpable. When she rests a gentle hand on my arm and asks me how I am, my eyes tear. I’m safe again, but the fear and panic of the night before are so easily felt and remembered. I think of Derek. He was in hell last night, nearly as much as me, and I can’t help but worry about him. But my mind is hazy, and as I look around, I realize that I have no idea how I got here.
But Liz does. She fills in the details and then some. Derek called her when we arrived back at Trimbles. She met him as he carried me from the elevator, and helped him get me settled in bed.
My heart aches for her and her compassion as I realize she must have spent the night on the chaise waiting for me to wake, but as I thank her for staying with me, she stills me quickly. “Ash, I wanted to stay, but Derek refused. When I left, he was the one still here with you … and by the look of your bed, he didn’t leave…” I look to the other side of the bed, noticing for the first time that it is unmade, and the soft, down pillow has very obviously been slept on. But he’s not here now, and as I look to her in confusion, she speaks again. “He looked … shell shocked. Desperate… I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but I’ve never seen him as … human as he was with you last night.” She gives me a crooked smile with curiosity showing clearly in her eyes.
I look away quickly, not sure what to say, not sure, in fact, what to think. But a question lingers in my mind. It is the question that has been lodged in my brain since the first moment I watched Mr. Grayson and Derek together in my interview. It has gnawed at me slowly with every passing day, and after last night, it is in the forefront of my mind. “Why do they hate each other so much?”
I’m referring to Derek and Mr. Grayson, of course, and Liz understands my reference with no further explanation. “God, Ash. You tell me. They’ve hated one another as long as I’ve been here, which is going on five years. Truthfully, I think Mr. Grayson’s found a pawn in you that he didn’t have before.” This last statement is spoken with an exasperated and defeated shake of the head. She feels bad for Derek, and in some odd way, it warms my heart for her all the more.
I shower while Liz waits to walk me to the common room for lunch. My dreams come slowly back to me as the warm water rains down on me, but they weren’t dreams at all, were they? He was my reality last night, and I can’t remember a damn thing about it! I
was
touched, caressed, my hair
was
stroked, and he spoke to me. God, why can’t I remember what he said? Damn drugs. I wanted them so much the night before, but I’d give anything to get my memory back now. He was here with me. He didn’t leave. He touched me, but I’m certain he didn’t fuck me; he caressed me, and he spoke quiet words to me. What I thought were my dreams were filled with feelings of being cherished, cared for. But that isn’t Derek. That isn’t how he works. God, why can’t I remember? I want those memories back. I need those memories.
I eventually give up on my brain and quickly pull my hair back to join Liz for lunch. As we enter the common room, my housemates are gathered around the table watching me warily as always. But after the night before, even the distant and cold treatment of my housemates seems warm, and I want nothing but to join them. I take my place next to Liz, and, as I expected, they regard me coolly. It is the treatment I’ve gotten used to since the incident with Shelby. Since that time, it has become difficult to convince any of them that Derek doesn’t regard me in some way different from them, and doesn’t he? Mr. Grayson said as much himself, and wasn’t it the reason for his torture? It hasn’t escaped anyone’s attention that Derek has continued to spend his time with only me, and I’ve been thankful for that more than I care to admit. The idea of him touching one of the other girls is painful and sends stabs of jealousy through my body. However hazy my mind is today, I remember the feeling of his touch, the strokes, and the comfort, so completely new to me but so incredibly needed. And I’m jealously protective of this.
While I’m sitting at the dining room table having coffee with the others, the conversation turns, as it often does, to Mr. Pennington. The leading questions that always seem to move quickly to how often I see him are a daily barrage that I have to put up with if I have any hope of getting my daily caffeine intake. On this day, however, the questions take a most decadently negative turn when Veronica announces she’s spending the evening with Mr. Pennington. My breath hitches audibly and loudly, and I have to fight for my next one. All eyes suddenly snap to mine, and mine are overly wide in shock and devastation. I give a slightly awkward and completely contrived smile as I stand to leave, with Liz following close behind me.
I’m shaking as I reach my room, and she puts a gentle hand on my back as I enter my room in just enough time to collapse in hitching sobs on my bed.
She sits with me for a long time, stroking my hair and shushing me like a baby. Her concern is real, and as my crying subsides, she speaks. “It’s not a good idea to care in this place, Ash. It usually ends badly.” I nod numbly at the truth of her words before she continues. “Are you in love him?”
I shake my head in confusion, and as my face scrunches in pain, I open up to her. “No. I don’t know.”
She asks me more questions, and I talk to her. I’m not afraid in the least that anything I tell her will be used to hurt or betray me, and so when she asks about the specifics of our time together, I tell her. I tell her every last detail of the day before and every last detail of Derek’s and my time together. Her eyebrows raise on more than one occasion as I discuss the ways in which we have sex, his rule breaking, his behavior after he watched me touching myself and crying out for him, even his comforting touch at Mr. Grayson’s mansion, and the cloudy, but very real memories of his touch the night before. Every last detail is shared in the graphic way that is only appropriate in a place such as this.
I can tell by the expression on her face she’s shocked by most of what I tell her, and as I finish talking, I add one final admission. “I’m just an idiot. I don’t know what I was thinking, letting myself think he cares. He’s not allowed to care.”
My sobs are coming easily through my words, and my head is shaking in painful exasperation. I must be a truly pathetic sight, and I hate myself for my weakness.
But Liz is quick to comfort, and she talks long and forcefully while holding my hands tightly, and imploring me desperately to listen. I do listen, crying quietly. “I’ve never seen him this way with anyone, Ashton. I mean, my God, the way he is with you… That isn’t the Mr. Pennington we know, and that doesn’t make you an idiot. You’re human. You feel the way you do because of the way he is with you. He’s only doing this to protect you. You said yourself that Mr. Grayson was pissed because Mr. Pennington’s not spending time with the rest of us. That’s why he’s doing this. You know that. You don’t deserve to feel this way. You haven’t done anything wrong.” She’s speed talking, trying to get every last thought in her mind out before I fall apart.
But it’s no use. My tears are streaming down my cheeks at her so-generous words and the genuine heart behind them. Her words are validating, but they don’t make the pain disappear, and long after she’s left my room and I’ve cried my tear bank empty, I make the boldest decision of my life. My pain and sadness have morphed to rage, as they always do, and I have no intention of not confronting him. I throw on my oldest and most tattered jean shorts and T-shirt, looking every bit the disgraceful, normal woman I shouldn’t, and I march the eight feet across the hall to his apartment. I knock and wait, and a few seconds later, the door opens.
“What is it?” He’s cold, his eyes dead.
His expression takes me back to the weeks he tormented us both with his frigid attitude, and I blurt out my first thoughts before my restraints kick in. “Were you going to tell me?”
My eyes tear instantly, and he grabs me by the wrist, pulling me harshly inside his apartment. He pushes me up against the wall by the door with his hands at my waist. His face is contorted and pained. He doesn’t know what he wants to say, and he’s fighting himself incredibly while I watch.
When he speaks, it’s through gritted teeth. “I don’t owe you any explanation about who I choose to fuck. I thought I made that clear to you.”
And, oh God, how those words pierce straight through my heart. My tears boil over, and my body is wracked with a new wave of furious sobs. My face is scrunched as I fight the emotion, and I can’t escape his grasp as he glares into my face.
I want nothing else than to turn this pain to rage, but my wounded heart overwhelms me, and if my pain isn’t enough, he decides to add one further clarification for me to chew on. “You and I … we’re nothing to one another.”
And there’s my fury. My mouth scrunched up in a mad grimace, I reach up, hitting him hard across the face with my open hand. The slapping sound is loud, and instant shock registers on his face. He pauses for only a second before he grabs my wrists roughly, and swiftly plants them above my head, pinning my body to the wall with his own. He’s seething with fury as he glares down at me.
But I’m done caring what he thinks, and I unleash my accusation on him. “You’re a liar,” I snarl at his face, condemning him with my words as he glares back at me. His jaw is clenching, and his nostrils are flaring in his rage. He won’t break my stare, and he won’t release my body, but I have one last attack, and I unleash it with every last ounce of rage I can muster. “I hate you.” My lips tremble, my mouth, my face, my entire body is vibrating in anguish and fury, and as he finally releases my body, I sink against the wall.
His eyes look defeated as he staggers back from me, overwhelmed even, and were I not so filled with loathing for this man, I would pity him. He speaks one more sentence to me on a choked and ragged breath. “Yeah? I knew the second I met you that you eventually would.” And with a defeated and pained shake of his head, he turns and walks away to his bathroom, slamming the door when he disappears within. Moments later, the loud shattering sound of something hitting the wall echoes back to me, along with a ferocious “
fuck
!”
I return to my room, sinking to my bed. I stare at the ceiling, unable to move, unable to think. I hit him. I could be fired for hitting him, and were I thinking clearly, I’d have realized that could be the most dangerous thing in the world for me. But in the moment, I didn’t care. I wanted him to feel my pain, every last painful stab of it. To be touched so gently the day before when I needed it so much, and then tossed aside in an instant a mere day later was more than I could take.
I stare endlessly at the ceiling, not moving a muscle, and I know the time is near. She’ll be arriving soon enough, and a new wave of jealousy takes me over as I try to stifle it, but it’s hopeless. Veronica is beautiful. She is the perfect hourglass shape and has chestnut hair and freckles. She’s built the way every woman here is built, except for me. Voluptuous and flirtatious. I see him touching her skin, entering her body, thrusting into her as she moans loudly. I hate the images that play so graphically in my mind, but I can’t escape them. I cry, and I curse myself for being so stupid. As the sun falls and the night lights of the city illuminate the skyline, I slip into nightmarish dreams. My dreams are as painful as being awake. They are incessant and persistent, filled with images that make my heart scream. But they don’t last.
I’m brought out of my sleep when my phone rings. I pick it up and hear Liz on the other end. She is talking quickly and quietly. “Nothing happened. She tried to touch him, and he kicked her out before anything happened. She just left my room a few minutes ago.”
While my heart breathes an incredible sigh of relief that I can’t deny, my brain snorts and sends a comment of its own.
You might as well get used to this torment, baby.
I hang up, wasted and exhausted. My heart has been in knots for hours, and my brain is right. I will feel this pain again, many times over before it is through. And that stills my heart. I ache for him. I want him desperately, but he will, without a doubt, destroy me. With these most depressing thoughts in my mind, I drift off once again.
* * * *
I wake up to a body crawling up to cover mine from behind. I’m asleep on my stomach, and I feel the length of this body along mine, pinning me to the bed. I know this scent and this touch. It’s him. He pushes my T-shirt up quickly, hastily pulling it over my head and leaving my outstretched arms trapped within. Once my backside is naked against the front of his naked body, he lifts my hips and pulls my knees wide apart so my ass is up, but not very far off the bed. Once I’m in position, he fucks me hard and mercilessly. His mouth is by my ear, and I can hear every ragged and tortured breath he takes. His groans are pained, and he is just as frustrated as he is aroused. He pounds vigorously into my body as he pins my hands to the bed, my fingers laced with his own.
The skyline through the window in front of us is impressive, and were I able to think about anything but him, I’m sure I would find this an amazing way to be taken by a man. I ache from his invasion. But I’m addicted to this, to him, and I can’t push him away, as much as I likely should. He quickly reaches his climax with a curse on his lips. “Goddamn it, Ashton.”
He comes deep inside my body, not even attempting to leave my tight sheath. His thrusting slows, but his mouth stays at my ear, where I listen to his ragged breathing slowly return to normal. He says nothing at all, but his hands still clutch and pin mine to the bed, and he doesn’t leave my body for many minutes. Eventually he pulls his ever-impressive cock from me, stands, and leaves me naked on the bed with my arms twisted in my shirt and his semen slowly dripping from my entry.