The Lonely (21 page)

"Right.
Of course."

I
look up at him, "I'm fine. Really."

His
eyes look tense.

"Are
you waiting for me to fall apart?"

He
watches my face and nods.

"It
won't happen. It's different for me than you. I was already pulled apart. The
memories suck, but inside I already knew they were there. Your eyes and her
face have haunted me for the entire fourteen years."

He
doesn’t look convinced. I can't help but stare at his lips. His look of
confusion makes one side of his upper lip lift. I want to kiss it and suck it.

I'm
breathing out of my mouth and thinking things I have only seen on Netflix in
the foreign-movie section. I snap out of it as the elevator dings to his floor.
He holds a hand out. I smile and take it. I step off and notice how open and
incredible it is. The lights of the city are unbelievable from his windows. His
hand squeezes mine.

We
walk in silence to the far side of the room, where one entire wall is made of
windows. The place feels cold and lonely. Lights in the kitchen dimly light it.

"I
didn’t grow up like you. I didn’t have a mom and a dad and Dr. Bradley to help
me. I had to get tough on my own."

He
leans against the window and watches me, "It just feels like you're not
dealing with it. It took me months to get to where you are. Years even. I'm
scared you're walling up again."

I
unzip my coat and pull it off. He looks down on me like he's battling with
something. I sit on the long leather couch and cross my legs. I look down on
the glass coffee table and huge fluffy white rug and laugh, "Your life was
filled with shit like this." I tap my Ugg against the glass, "Fancy
things. Like therapy."

I
turn and look at him, "I had people. They didn’t feel sorry for me. I was
just another orphan. The people in my town felt sad for me and treated me with
tons of kindness and pity because they all assumed I was abused and brutalized.
What kind of kid is wandering the streets at six-years old? A kid who doesn’t
have loving parents. It was no mystery that I was tortured or beaten or
molested. But the nuns and priests taught me that nothing was easy or free and
hard work was what everyone did to get by. No matter their lot. They taught me
that bad shit happens to everyone and no one in the world is exempt from horror
and pain."

He
avoids my eyes still, "But they didn’t know what you went through."

I
shake my head. I feel sick thinking about it. I push it down and smile,
"No. But there was a girl who was taken from her parents. Her mom was her
sister. She lived in that house till she was ten. Her name was Beth. She's the
same age as me. She's becoming one of the sisters. She shakes if you raise your
voice around her and pee's the bed at night, still. God knows what happened to
her."

I
stand up and grab my coat, "I get that what happened to you was bad. It
was and there is no denying it or taking that from you. But there are always
people who have it worse. You were right. Your advice was right. I can't rot in
that old dirty house. I will never be okay with what happened. I can't say the
words or think about the things that happened, without wishing it was me that
didn’t make it out. But I did. And maybe my hard life in an orphanage, where I
was taught not to feel sorry for myself, was the easier environment to heal.
You need to listen the next time Dr. Bradley tells you to be grateful. I'm
slowly getting there. I'm grateful to you for everything you have done for
me."

I
walk to the elevator and hate myself for wishing the Eli with the paddle was
the one there.

He
jogs to where I am and grabs my hand, "Wait." He spins me to face
him. He moves his mouth like he wants to say something. Instead, he brushes his
hand along my face, tracing my jaw line.

His
eyes burn, "You're so much stronger than I am."

My
skin shivers. "I had to be."

He
lowers his face and brushes his lips against mine. The kiss is like a teaser
but he won't give me more. I let him tease me for a minute and then I reach up
and pull his face down on mine. I grip to him for dear life.

Like
I've hit the on switch, he shoves me back into the door of the elevator. His
hands are on either side of me, pinning me into the wall.

He
stops and bites his lip. His breath is in my face. He licks his lips and shakes
his head, "You're right. I'm not like you. I can't be grateful like you
are. I can't get past the fact I never saved her." He pushes the elevator
button next to my arm.

"You
saved me." My inhalation is heavy, but not for the usual reasons.

He
lowers again, kissing me with meaning and desperation.

He
runs his hand up my dress, tracing a line up my bare thigh. His fingers brush
up and onto the back of my leg. His fingers slip into my panties, gripping my
ass cheek. He squeezes, making a gasp leave my lips. He kisses harder. I'm
moaning into his mouth.

He
stops kissing, but his lips stay touching mine, lightly like a feather would.
"I'm bad for you, Sarah. I won't ever be the gentleman you need."

"Maybe
I don’t want gentle."

He
pulls something from his dress pants and presses it into my hand. "And
that is my fault."

The
elevator opens. He lifts me into his arms, shoving his tongue into my mouth,
sucking mine. He moans with me. I feel him taking steps. He places me down
gently inside of the elevator and steps back.

His
blue eyes are almost black in the dim light. A slight grin crosses his lips,
"Forgive me." He wipes his mouth and steps back. The doors close on
him.

The
image of him standing in the elevator doors, in his silver dress shirt and
dark-grey dress pants wiping me off his lips, is the sexiest and most
devastating thing I've ever seen.

I
feel like I'm having a heart attack. My hand is shaking. I lift it to my face
to see what the crumpled piece of paper is.

I
drop my coat and smooth the paper. The elevator stops and the doors open, but I
stand and look at the names on it.

Sebastian
Hollinger and an address.

I
look up to see the front desk guy leaning across the desk, looking at me.

Eli
kissed me like that and then handed me a piece of paper with the name of
another man on it? A man I didn’t need help finding.

My
lips curl into a sneer as I push the ten again.

My
eyes narrow.

Heat
is pouring off my hands.

When
the elevator door dings, I walk out into the apartment. He's standing in the
dark, leaned against the window and looking down on where my car is parked.

"Leave."
His voice is edgy and dangerous. He sounds the way he did on the phone, when I
just knew him as a benefactor and not a person.

I
crumple the piece of paper and throw it at him, "I have his cell number. I
don’t need this. You know I do. You answered him when he sent me
messages."

It
bounces off the windows and lands on the dark hardwood floors. I walk towards
him when he ignores me. I shove his back. He flexes and braces for the impact.
He spins and points at me, "He's the right guy for you, Sarah. You don’t
want to start this fight." He's angry.

"You
want me to be pissed at myself like you are? You want me to take years to talk
about my feelings and slowly crawl out of that fucking hole?" I point at
him, "When you pulled that trigger at eleven, you were twice the man you
are now."

He
vibrates, "Get out." He growls through his teeth.

I
arch an eyebrow at him, "You mad?"

He
licks his lips, "Yup." He gives me my usual answer.

I
laugh and take a step back, "Good."

He
walks to me scooping me up in his arms. I wrap my legs around him. His mouth
slams into my lips. His tongue is searching for mine. My hands rake through his
hair. He slams me into the elevator door and pushes the button. His teeth
scrape against my lip.

I
cry out and grab a fist full of his hair and pull his head back. He laughs.
It's dark and menacing. He crushes me harder into the door. I squeeze tighter
with my legs. My dress is pulled up to my chest. His erection is popping out
the top of his pants, pressing between my legs and onto my bare stomach. He
thrusts, rubbing himself against me. His hands cup my ass, kneading and
squeezing to the point I'm certain my cheeks are bright red.

The
door dings.

He
steps in with me. He presses the button inside and rams my back into the steel
wall inside of the elevator.

I
groan.

It's
exhilarating to have him pressing me so hard into the wall. I squeeze tighter
with my legs, he cries out in my mouth.

His
hands are searching the back of my underwear. He's tugging them hard. They cut into
my leg on the other side of where he pulls. I wince. He grabs them with his
other hand and rips them. My eyes widen.

The
door dings. I glance at the foyer. We are on the wrong side for the elevator
for the front desk douche to see us. Eli's left hand slips back and cups my
ass, holding me up. I feel his right hand fumbling in the front of his pants. I
hear the zipper of his pants as he sucks and kisses my neck. I moan and press
the ten again. The doors close. He's licking up and down my throat.

He
growls in my ear. His heavy breathing is making me hot and sweaty. I'm sitting
on the handle on the wall, loosening my grip on him so he can get his fumbling
fingers between my legs. I'm wet, soaked. His fingers slip inside of me with
ease. My wind is lost in the pressure of his fingers inside of me. I can only
get out tiny spurts of air as he thrusts rapidly, but only for a moment. Just
long enough to make me delirious. His hand is between my legs again, not inside
of me. He rubs the head of his erection in my opening and pushes in with one
rough thrust.

I
cry out, partially in pain and partially in ecstasy. Somehow they have become
the same thing to me. The pain makes the pleasure more.

The
zipper from his pants rubs against the bottom of my thigh as he pumps into me
wildly. His face is lost in my hair and neck. He's kissing and moaning. The
back of my head being thumped into the steel wall of the elevator repeatedly.
The pain of it makes me come alive suddenly, like it's freeing me.

My
legs are losing their grip, but his thrusts are pinning me to the wall. I lose
a boot and cry out simultaneously. I'm putty. I'm feeble and losing all the
control I've held for so long. Memories of him blindfolding me and paddling my
feet flash in my mind. I cry out harder. The images of the paddle make me
wetter. My hands are clawing at his shirt. I'm gripping his neck as I grip his
erection and convulse. The paddle and the pain are making me come. They make me
free of the things I've used to confine myself. It feels as if I've grown
wings.

My
body spasms.

He
grunts and moans, "God damned, Sarah." His words are almost blended
in one long gasp.

He
pumps with uneven jerks. I feel his grip loosen. I open my eyes and watch his
face. His mouth opens as he cries out. I bite his lower lip and pull. He moans
loudly.

I
want to bite harder but I don’t.

I
want more of him. I want to hurt him the way he hurts me.

I
don’t feel better.

I'm
still a bit pissed.

He
steps back and pulls himself out of me. I slide down his body. He blushes and
tucks himself back in his pants.

The
door dings. I glance out and realize we are at the foyer again. A lady is
standing there looking at us. She's holding a small shivering dog and they both
look horrified. I follow her gaze to my shredded panties lying on the floor of
the elevator.

The
doors close again as I pull my dress down and pick up my boot. I press the ten
again.

I
fight the grin that wants so badly to take over my face. I'm still out of
breath and horribly shocked. I pick up my coat and pull it on. The doors open.
He doesn’t walk inside. I look at his apartment and then the floor again. He
stands with his back to me, he's heaving still too.

He
seems so large standing in front of the doors as they close. The elevator moves
again. He bends and picks my underwear up and puts them in the pocket of his
pants. I scowl and feel weird about him taking them. He doesn’t talk.

The
door dings. The lady is still standing there but now she looks disgustedly at
me as I step off the elevator. I'm half way across the foyer with flaming red
cheeks, both sets, when he grabs me. He drags me outside of the building. He
pulls me alongside to an alley. We are standing in the snow. My thighs are
slippery and feel cold.

He
trembles but I don’t think it's from the cold.

He
looks like he wants to say things. The air is frozen and making steam out of
his breath. His blue eyes are sweet again. His dark hair is getting coated in
flakes. I look down and wait for it, the rejection I know is coming. He doesn’t
say anything. I'm cold and I don’t want to talk about it.