Masked Definitions (18 page)

“I want to go to the cinema,” Max announces, startling me as I help Mildred prepare lunch. “Avengers is out.”

“Sure.” I want to see it too. “Tomorrow?”

“Now.”

I check my watch and shrug. “Fine, but you’ve got to promise me you’ll go and see your therapist tomorrow.”

“No.”

“Max…”

“I don’t need to. I’m feeling fine. I’ve got you. I don’t need him,” he states almost petulantly.

“Max…” My tone is a warning.

“Fuck off, Liv. I don’t want to see him. I don’t need to.”

I slam the wooden spoon down onto the counter. “Don’t
ever
talk to me like that again. Are we clear?”

He blinks, shocked at my outburst. “Well then don’t
piss
me off.”

“Well then go to the fucking therapist.”

“I said
no
!”

I stare at him, my anger soaring with each passing second. “Go and see Avengers by yourself then.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope.”

“Stop being a bitch.” He rounds the counter to face me. “What… are you due on or something?”

My mouth falls open. “Did you ever think that maybe you’re the one who is
actually
pissing me off?”

“I always talk to you like this.”

My hands fly in the air. “EXACTLY!”

“You’ve never moaned before… is this about what Elijah said to me?” His eyes narrow.

“Oh my god… you’re a child. It’s in one ear and out the other with you.” I hiss, pointing the wooden spoon at him. “Why is it always somebody else’s fault?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Take responsibility and maybe think about what you say before you say it.”

“I’m not arguing about this anymore,” he spits, his fists clenching by his sides.

I drop the spoon back onto the counter and quickly tighten my ponytail. “The way you speak to me is disgusting.”

“Since when?”

“Since always.”

“Since Elijah said…”

I take a step towards him, my finger extended and inches from his nose. “Stop bringing Elijah into this. It has nothing to do with him. Maybe I actually care about the way you talk to me.”

“And how exactly do I talk to you?” He hisses, pushing my hand out of his face.

“Always calling me names, always swearing. You don’t deserve me, the shit I put up with.” I stand my ground despite the anger in his eyes, anger I’ve seen before. “I’m so sick and tired of looking after your lazy arse. You’re a child. You act like a child; you speak like a child and I don’t want to be with a fucking child.”

“Leave me then,” he whispers, gripping my shoulders tightly with both hands. “See what happens.”

And then he shoves me away from him so hard I have to catch myself on the counter. I watch as he storms from the kitchen, knocking a plate full of sandwiches from the side. I wince when the plate smashes on the ground and the sandwiches scatter everywhere.

“Oh my,” Mildred whispers, her fingers touching her lips as she gazes at the doorway with wide eyes.

I forgot we had an audience. “I’m sorry, Mildred.”

“Don’t be… honey… he holds so much anger.”

“I know.” I whisper, pulling free of her gentle, comforting hand.

“Does he frighten you?”

My eyes burn. “He frightens everybody.” I leave the kitchen, ignoring the mess. I should clean it but I don’t want to cry in front of her.

Racing to my room, checking for Max first, I grab my shoes, slip them on and leave the house before anyone can stop me.

Then I run.

I run until it burns. I run until my chest constricts painfully. I run and run until physically I can’t anymore and I almost vomit. Then I go to work five hours early, because I need to put on my mask. I need to be Enna. I need to be brave and strong and forget about weak, pathetic Liv.

My phone rings over and over again; it’s Max and the landline of the Lord’s house. No more than twenty minutes later, when I finally arrive at work, Elijah calls and leaves a voicemail. I don’t listen to it as I’m too busy getting ready to be Enna.

Then he texts me.

Elijah
:
I don’t know what the fuck happened in my kitchen, but if I ever come home to Mildred in such a state again, you can both leave.

Max
:
Well done, now you’ve gone and pissed off Elijah.

I scream with anger and throw my phone against the wall. The plastic brick only bounces off onto the ground and skids a foot under the desk.

How is this suddenly my fault?

“You’re on in five,” comes Rick’s voice far too quickly.

I’m hardly even ready. I stow away my emotions for a later date and swiftly prepare Enna’s body for her first client of the evening. Fortunately he’s an easy one. He never lasts longer than a few minutes and I pray that today won’t be much different.

Leaving my phone under the desk, I head to my first client of the evening and, as expected, he doesn’t last very long at all. There is no second client for me for another hour and a half so I sit in my room in silence. Part of me wants to wander down to the club area to get a taste of what it’s like. I’ve never been down there before. I’ve never felt the urge to go down there. Rick has never tried to put me on the stage for multiple clients.

It’s mostly because when I first sought him out I told him that it wasn’t going to happen. Now though… now I want that thrill… the thrill of dancing in front of all of those men, in the dark, under a spotlight so hot that my body would glisten with sweat. The thought makes me tingle deep inside.

I’m becoming a monster.

I can’t deny the fact that I like it.

I seek out Rick. Shade doesn’t know where he is, so I head to his office where he rarely resides. I’m not even certain why he has an office.

If I had the courage to collect my phone and face the messages that must be awaiting me, I’d be able to call him.

As expected, Rick’s office is empty, so with a heavy sigh I return to my room and wash my body under a warm spray of water. Then I don a white set of lingerie and twiddle my thumbs until my next client arrives.

My phone rings endlessly from its place under the desk. I grip it tightly in one hand after finding the courage to lift it from the ground. I’m surprised to see twenty-six missed calls from Elijah. There are no texts but multiple voicemails.

Instead of listening to them, I answer.

“If you’re calling me to have a go about what happened, don’t bother. I apologise and I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” His silence catches me off guard. I half expected him to begin yelling the second I finished. “I can keep Max in check.” I add, to reassure him. Maybe he is truly upset over Mildred being upset? I should have checked on her before I left.

“Does he hit you?” Comes his gruff voice through the speaker.

My lips part. “W… what?”

“Does Max hit you?”

I clear my throat to dislodge the lump there that is making it impossible for me to string together a sentence. “Max?”

“I checked the kitchen surveillance.”

My legs uncross and cross in the opposite direction, forcing my chair to squeak.

“An answer would be nice, Olivia, though your silence is giving me all the answer I need.”

“Answer?”

He growls with annoyance. “Does that son of a bitch put his hands on you?”

“Max is complicated.”

“Fuck…” He grits and I hear his breath hit the receiver. “He hits you.”

“It’s not like that.” He’ll never understand. “He hasn’t… not for a long time.”

“Define ‘long time’.”

“Elijah.” I roll my eyes heavenward. “I can deal with Max. You don’t have to concern yourself with our marriage.”

“Which begs the question, why the fuck are you with him if he’s hitting you?”

“I have it handled.”

“That’s why you’re so fucking weak-willed around him, isn’t it? You’re scared of him.”

Again, I’m left silent because I don’t know how to argue with him. Part of me wants to come to Max’s defence but I can’t. “We’ll talk later, Elijah. I have to go.”

“Do you need help?”

“Elijah…”

“Just say the word. I can help you.” I hear his footfalls on the wooden floor and I know he’s in his office. “You can trust me.”

“I have to go.”

“Where are you?”

I glance at the clock on the wall. “I’m at work. My next client arrives in five minutes.”

“Right.” His tone is bitter, though I can’t think why. “Cancel it. We need to talk.”

Eye roll. “I can’t just cancel.”

“I’ll call Rick and cancel for you.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

He growls again, sounding almost feral. “We need to talk.”

“Why?”

“You need help. Your life is a fucking mess right now.”

I startled laugh escapes me. “I need help?”

“I want to help you.”

“What does this have to do with me working?” I check the clock again and curse. “I have to go. I’m hanging up now.”

“Don’t you dare hang up on…” The line dies when I press the button to disconnect. I throw my phone onto the desk this time and exit my room.

I hope my client doesn’t mind being kept waiting. I’m not even sure who it is that I have. I really should have called Rick. I have a feeling that tonight will be the worst night I’ve had since starting.

“You are stunning,” comes an unfamiliar male voice when I claim the pole and begin my tease. Though my heart isn’t in it, the show is still good, I hope.

I twist my body to face the man, scanning him up and down as he sits in the throne, his body casual and relaxed. The air he emits reminds me so much of Elijah.

“Rick was right.” He stands and moves towards me, stepping into the white spotlight that spills around the pole in a circle, casting a tiny shadow up the left wall. “I’d enjoy you very much.”

I feel his fingers take a lock of my hair and tease it around the tip of his pinkie before releasing it.

My instincts tell me to just remain silent. Something tells me that speaking won’t get this guy off. He wants a toy, a play thing, something he can control without argument. A dangerous vibe seeps from him and the glittering watch that hangs loosely past the cuff of his designer suit tells me he’s entitled.

I didn’t get this vibe from Elijah, not at all.

I swallow nervously.

“Come,” he says and beckons me to the throne. We’re shrouded in darkness but not so much that he can’t see me; just enough to make it so that any flaws my body may have are now invisible to the naked eye. “Bend over,” he orders, his voice holding no room for argument as he reclaims the throne. “Now.”

I turn slowly, feeling uneasy. I’ve never felt uneasy before. I don’t like it.

“I said bend over,” he demands, his voice booming.

My body begins to bow forward until my palms rest flat on a footstool. Thick hair falls around my face like heavy curtains.

“Good.” He sits forward, his face only inches from my satin covered mound. I grow more uneasy. “Pull your knickers down.”

I hesitate when I hear his belt rattle and undo.

“Pull them down, slut.”

No, this doesn’t feel right. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

“Excuse me?”

I begin to stand.

“You refuse me?”

I turn to face him, hoping that he doesn’t cause problems for me. “I don’t feel comfortable.”

His blue eyes flash dangerously. “You’re a paid whore. I don’t care if you feel uncomfortable. I care if I feel comfortable.”

“I’m not a whore and if I don’t feel comfortable then I don’t have to do this,” I rebuke, stepping away from him.