Love Is Strange (I Know... #2) (7 page)

A little mistake, but it was still a fuck up.

Elliot was staring at me, like he could read my mind. All through dinner, he'd been staring at me. I'd forced myself to eat a bit of the salmon he'd cooked for me, even though my stomach was in knots. I knew I should tell him about Wilson, but I didn't think it was worth it. I didn't think that it was worth the trouble and the worry. He was already on edge. He didn't need to know that the Detective was still interested in me.

“I'm not feeling well,” I said, standing and picking up my half-full plate. I turned and went into the kitchen and scraped my plate. I told myself to get a grip; I was a better liar than this. I've lied so many times and never had anyone suspect a thing. But the stakes are so high, for me and for Elliot. It's making me nervous. I turn on the water and rinse the plate, staring at the bits of food as they wash away. I jerked in surprise when I felt his hand against my forehead.

“You don't have a fever,” he said.

“It's my stomach,” I quickly tossed out. “I think I had too much coffee today.” He narrowed his eyes lightly and I remembered the coffee he'd made me this morning. “Not your coffee,” I said, poking his stomach lightly. “The shitty company coffee. I had to drink whole milk today in it.
Whole,
” I said, making an exaggerated face.

“You're so spoiled, you know that?” he said, but his face softened. I could see his guard falling and I felt myself relax. This would pass, I told myself. It could go away.

“I'm not spoiled. I just like what I like.” I wiped my wet hands on the yellow dish towel. Then I did what I really wanted for the first time that night – I touched him. I put my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. “The salmon was really good,” I murmured, wrapping my arms around his ribs.

“You didn't eat it,” he said.

“I did eat some,” I protested. “I ate almost half.”

“Bullshit,” he shot back but he didn't move away from my touch. To the contrary. He picked me up and carried me upstairs like I weighed nothing. I leaned into him, not wanting to fight it. He kicked the door closed behind us and tossed me lightly in the middle of the bed.

“The kitchen is a mess,” I said. “I should do dishes since you cooked.”

“You're sick. I'll do it,” he said, sliding his hands up my thighs and hooking his fingers in my waistband. He undressed me piece by piece, until I was down to my bra and panties. I threw my arms over my head as he ran his hands all over my body. He stroked up my thighs and over my belly and up my ribs. He avoided my tits and he didn't move to take off my panties, either. My nipples were hard and my pussy was wet and I had goosebumps, but he didn't stop softly caressing me. He didn't take off his clothes either or lay on top of me, like I wanted him to. I was bursting at the seams. Then, finally, he leaned in and kissed me on the forehead. “Rest,” he said, then stood. “I'll clean up downstairs and then I'll be back up.” He went to the door and then gave me a knowing look. I opened and shut my mouth, as the realization dawned on me, so close to telling him to stay but not wanting to expose my lie. He stood there for a minute, like he was daring me to say something. When I didn't,  he turned off the light and closed the door behind him. I listened as he walked down the stairs and then I rolled over, feeling like I wanted to scream. He'd done that on purpose.

He knew I was lying.

Now, he was going to make me suffer.

*****

He didn't touch me for two days after that.

On the night of the third day, I couldn't take it anymore. He wasn't letting it go. I told myself that it wasn't that big of a deal. Wilson hadn't tried to contact me again and he probably wouldn't. There was no harm in telling Elliot about the lunch and the FBI. The longer we played these games, the more harmful it would be, I reasoned. Of course, I should've told him the first night. I know that now, but at the time I didn't realize that the lie would be almost as bad as the truth.

He was in the middle of the bed, staring up at the ceiling. I stood in the doorway to the bathroom, drying off from my shower. I didn't bother putting on a robe or covering up. I dried off slowly, waiting to see if he was going to look at me. Waiting to see if he was going to get up and force me to stop teasing him. He was calm, though. He was pretending to ignore me. I decided that enough was enough. I tossed my towel aside and crawled onto the bed. I straddled him before he could stop me.

“I know what you're doing,” I said, arching my back and sticking out my tits, hoping it would entice him to play with them.

“Do you?” he asked, his whole body going stiff because of the temptation. He didn't make a move to touch me though. The manic flames flickered behind his eyes and I knew I was close to breaking him. I knew what I had to do.

“I have something to tell you,” I said, squeezing my thighs around his waist. I leaned forward and rubbed my tits across his chest and let my wet hair slide over my shoulder so that he could see it. I admit I was trying to soften the blow, maybe make things a little easier on myself. I thought it would be better that way. “A cop came to see me the other day. One of the cops who came to the door. You remember?” I asked, running my teeth across my bottom lip. He didn't move. His expression didn't change. “He took me to lunch and I picked his brain. They have nothing. Not even the FBI. Nobody knows where you are.” I bit down harder on my lip as I watched his face. Still nothing. His eyes were flat. His breathing was growing shallow and I could feel his heart, beating faster between his ribs. “He just came to see me at work. Because he was worried about me. That's all.” I shrugged lightly, like it was no big deal. It wasn't a big deal.

I'd lied about it for two days, but it wasn't a big deal.

I don't know how I ended up on my back. It all happened so quickly. My wet hair snaked around my neck. I arched my back, gasping as he loomed over me, shoving my legs open roughly. He pulled his shirt over his head and threw my arms over my head. He wrapped the shirt around my wrists, tightly, until I couldn't move them. His chest was heaving against mine and his nostrils flared as he went still on top of me.

“What's the motherfucker's name?” he asked, his voice barely above a growl.

“It doesn't matter,” I said, a thrill of fear running down my spine. I hadn't seen him that angry in a long time.

“Tell me his motherfucking name,” he hissed, beating his fist into the mattress, once.

“Wilson,” I said, swallowing hard. “He's a detective.”

“Did you fuck him?”

“What? No!” I screamed, annoyed that that was the first thing he thought of. He didn't worry about getting caught or the fact that the FBI was looking for him. The only thing he thought about was his own petty jealousy. I should've known, I supposed. He'd done terrible things in the name of jealousy before. “We had lunch.”

“Why the hell would he tell you anything?” he said, bucking his hips against mine. “Why would he tell you things like that without a reason?”

“He hardly told me anything,” I said, trying to pull apart my bound wrists. But the fabric wouldn't budge.

“If he didn't tell you anything, why would you lie to me?”

“I didn't want to worry you,” I said, staring right into his eyes. I wanted him to know that I wasn't lying. I was telling the truth, finally.

“You're full of shit,” he said, then he reached between us and pulled his cock out. I could feel him angling himself against me and I whined, stuck between wanting it and wanting him to understand. But he didn't wait for me to get ready. He thrust into me, hard and so fast that it took my breath away. I bit down on my lip again to stop myself from screaming. “Did you fuck him with this pussy?” he asked, as he thrust again.

“No,” I gasped. “I didn't fuck him.”

“Why should I believe you? Maybe you sucked his cock with this mouth,” he said, grabbing my chin. “It's been busy, hasn't it?” He dragged his thumb roughly across my bottom lip and I tasted the iron tinge of blood. I'd bitten my lip too hard. I could taste my blood on his thumb. He dipped his thumb between my teeth, forcing my mouth open. “Did you swallow his come?” he asked, bringing his face close to mine. He dipped his tongue between my open lips, running it along mine. I closed my eyes and moaned as he fucked me hard and rough. It hurt but it hurt in the best ways.

When he put his hand to my neck, I didn't protest. I didn't try to pull away when he squeezed it, hard. I wanted it. I wanted him to squeeze until I went lightheaded and I felt like I was going to go insane. I liked it when he did it. But that night was different. I didn't realize how different it was until I woke up alone in a hospital, unable to speak, and strapped down. As he started to choke me, I didn't try to stop him. Not even when the room went black and I felt like I couldn't keep awake if I tried. I jerked against him, my body fighting him before everything went black, but he was too strong.

That was the beginning of the end for us. It was an accident, a miscalculation, a misunderstanding, but in the end, it didn't matter.

The darkness still took us over.

Chapter Five

I
thought I killed her.

When I looked down and saw her purple face and her closed eyes and her gaping mouth, I thought she was dead.

I've never felt so much fear in my life.

I took my hands from around her neck and after a split second that seemed to last forever, she gasped, her whole body arching off the bed as her body took in the air she needed. But there was something wrong. There was an odd sound, a hollow, raspy sound in her throat.

“Joanie,” I said, putting my hands on either side of her face. Her eyes were slitted, but I could see they were bloodshot. The color of her cheeks and lips were slowly returning to normal, but there were nasty red marks around her throat where my hand had been. “Joanie, look at me.” Finally, her eyes rolled around and they focused on me. She blinked and I could see she was coming around. I took a deep breath, relief rushing through me. I don't think I'd ever been so relieved in my life.

It was short lived.

I unbound her hands and rubbed her soft skin between my hands. Her wrists were red and I kissed the marks. I loved my marks on her, usually. I loved leaving evidence of my affection on her body. But not that night. That night it was the worst possible thing. I'd lost control of myself. I'd fucked up and hurt the one person I cared about in life. She tried to take another deep breath and I could hear the rattling in her throat. She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but nothing came out but a croaking noise. Her eyes widened and I could see the fear there. I knew I had to do something. I had no choice.

I wrapped her up in the bed sheet and carried her out of the house. I put her in the car and I didn't give a fuck who saw us. She was scared and there was something horribly wrong with her and I didn't have a choice.

I took her to the hospital.

I watched them wheel her away as the E.R. doctors and nurses bustled around her. I stayed until they took her away from me. Then I went back home because it was the only thing I could do. It wasn't safe anywhere else. It wasn't smart to stay with her, no matter how much I wanted to. So I left, like a piece of shit coward that I was.

I paced the living room floor for the rest of the night, back and forth, back and forth but nothing was getting better. There was no way around it. I'd fucked up royally. I'd ruined everything. And worst of all, I'd hurt her. The one thing I'd sworn I wouldn't do again. I did it. I lost myself in the anger and I'd done something I couldn't take back. I scrubbed my hands down my face, trying to wake myself up. I had to figure out what to do. I had to figure out where to go. I couldn't stay in her house anymore. She was angry. She probably didn't even want to look at me. If I could somehow apologize to her, to get down on my motherfucking knees and tell her I didn't mean it, that I was an asshole and I didn't deserve to have her.

How many times was I going to do that in my life? How many times until I actually stopped being a fuck-up?

I flung open her closet door and draped my arms on the shelf and leaned into her clothes. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. It felt like everything was crumbling and I was the one who was tearing it down with my own two hands. Her scent swirled around my brain and invaded my nostrils and my skin. It made me forget for a moment that everything was chaos. But it also made me think of her. She was all alone in that hospital. She was all alone and scared. And pissed. And in pain. Worst of all, I couldn't be with her. I couldn't leave the fucking house without being afraid someone would recognize my face. I might as well be as dead as Lannister was, rotting in an unmarked grave. I couldn't do shit. My hands were tied.

I couldn't stop the frustrated growl from escaping my lips, muffling the sound in her soft and colorful and expensive clothes. I dropped my hands and bunched them in the fabric, wishing her skin was what was under my fingertips, not that sad, thin substitute. I don't know how to stop the bad thoughts coursing through my brain. I think about hurting myself. About hurting someone else. About destroying everything, beating something until my knuckles were broken and bleeding and disappearing into the void where there were no responsibilities or allegiances or societal expectations.

I forced myself to pull away from her clothes because the scent was too much. I slammed the door shut and tried my best not to look at the chaos in the bedroom. The lamp was still on its side on the floor and the sheets and blankets are pushed off the mattress, which is askew on the frame. Without thinking, I started putting the room to rights. I made the bed and fixed it so that it looked like nothing had happened in there at all. I adjusted the lampshade after replacing the lamp back on the bedside table and I noticed the drawer was cracked open. I could see the edge of the familiar corroded brass frame. I told myself not to look at it. I hated that she had that picture of me, but she hadn't asked me anything about it thankfully. I didn't want to talk about it at all.

I opened the drawer and shoved aside the pack of tissues and the condoms that covered the black velvet back of the frame. I pulled it out and flipped over the frame, the shock of seeing my five-year-old self still there. When I left Texas, I never thought I'd see shit like this again. Old family photos and Grandmother's furniture and Grandpa's odds and ends in the garage. Those ancient  memories were the only things I was glad to leave behind. But here it was, still following me around like a ghost. But Joanie thought it was cute. She liked having a picture of me as a kid underneath the condoms in her bedside table. And for that reason and only that reason, I put it back.

I was craving a drink.

I was craving freedom.

I went downstairs but the air just as thick and stifling as it was up in the bedroom. I wanted to breathe fresh air. I moved from the kitchen to the living room and back again, tightening my fist in my T-shirt. It felt like my chest was tight. Joanie was the love of my life. She was the only one keeping me there. She was the only one keeping me in that moment. But she wasn't there. She wasn't there to keep me from losing my mind. She wasn't there to keep me from going stir-crazy.

A knock on the door froze me in my tracks. I crouched down instantly, without thinking. The drapes were drawn, but there was light poking in from the gaps between the fabric. I studied the clouded window beside the door, but I could only make out a dark figure. The doorbell rang then, echoing through the lower level of the condo. My heart started pounding in my chest and I felt an itch under my collar. I knew if I didn't move, they would most likely go away, whoever they were. I knew that, but it didn't stop me from stalking toward the door and silently standing to check the keyhole. I don't know what it was, the adrenaline or the restlessness or the anger that I still couldn't get rid of. It didn't matter.

It especially didn't matter when I saw who was on the other side.

I didn't recognize him, but I recognized his clothes. From my years spent stuck in the justice system, I recognized the Sears suit and scuffed black shoes. I recognized the way he held himself and the way he was sniffing around. He was a cop, definitely a cop. There was no doubt about it.

He was Joanie's cop.

I watched as he took a step back and glanced up at the bedroom windows above. I wondered if he was looking for signs of life, for a sign of Joanie. He stepped to the side, his eyes darting to the picture window. I knew he probably wouldn't be able to see anything. I knew that if I stayed quiet long enough he would leave. I knew it, and yet I couldn't. I knew it but that didn't stop me from dropping my hand to the doorknob. I watched him through the peephole, his body distorted in the lens. I couldn't tell quite how tall he was or how strong he looked. He wasn't paying any attention to the door any more. He hopped down off the doorstep and walked closer to the window. He wasn't giving up, I told myself. He wasn't going away. It felt like he'd been there for an hour, but it had to've been seconds. My heart slowed in my chest and sweat beaded on my forehead. I wanted to know what he knew. I wanted to know what he wanted from Joanie. But most importantly, I wanted to crack his skull open and push all the thoughts of Joanie out. She was taken; she was mine. He wanted her, but he couldn't fucking have her.

So I did it. I didn't think anymore. I just turned the doorknob and let the door open a crack. It creaked lightly and a cool gust of air pushed it open further. I waited, waited to see if he would take the bait. It was foolish of me and I know that now, but at the time I couldn't think of anything else. I craved a fight too hard. I craved bone against bone and flesh and blood. I craved violence. And I craved some kind of ending, some kind of punctuation to the not knowing. It was my time to make something happen. Anything. So I did it.

I heard him return to the door step, his footsteps cautious. I heard a click, like a metallic button popping, and I knew he'd released the strap on his holster. I knew his gun would be at his hip, most likely his right side. I planned for it. It was fucking stupid, because I could just as easily have been killed. But at the time, it felt like it would've been worth it. Maybe I should've let him do it. Or maybe I should've done it myself. But it doesn't matter now. What's done is done. I let the cop in, I invited the danger into Joanie's living room. I invited the violence in, not that it'd ever left since the moment I stepped foot in her cozy life. I asked for it and I got in spades.

But I never stopped loving her, even as I destroyed any future we had together.

I just couldn't help myself.

“Joan?” he called out, pushing the door open wider. I leaned back just in time so it didn't hit me, pressing my heels into the wood floor to catch my balance and keep from taking a step back. I sucked in a breath and held it. No answer. He tried again, taking another step inside. “Ms. Vasquez?” he said. Then he moved into my line of sight. I could see his profile and his hand curving around the door. Two more steps and he would be inside. Two more steps and I would have him. I didn't think about it anymore than that. I didn't think of it beyond what I wanted to do. It would be quick and rough but satisfying, like a fast fuck in a gas station bathroom. It was instantly regrettable, too, but I wasn't thinking of that at the time. I was single-minded, eyes on the prize like a starving lion looking on its last meal.

I was on him before he knew what had happened. He saw me out of the corner of his eye, or maybe he only sensed me, but I didn't wait for him to get his bearings. I pounced, hooking my arm around his neck and pulled him backward, making him lost his footing and stumble into me. He was bigger than I'd hoped and I had to exert more effort than I wanted to, but I was stronger. I was ready. I kicked the door shut behind him and then it was all up to me. It was time to get some answers.

Time to have a little fun.