Matthew

Author’s Note: Why yes, you’re seeing it correctly, I’m posting 2 long chapters in one week!  … since I totally slacked off last month. Also, thanks so much for the corrections/help! At this point I think I've read my own writing so much that my brain just auto-corrects my mistakes before my hands can. Ack. :[

P.S. I love embarrassing Muffin. Seriously. It’s unhealthy. Beware.

 

 

 

For a brief moment, I thought I was imagining things.

Then he swooped down in the empty seat next to me and brought hell with him. My temperature fluctuated. My body grew rigid. I didn’t want to move an inch in fear of making any unnecessary body contact with the unwanted guest beside me. No one else seemed to pick up on my discomfort. Everyone at the table thanked him for the beer and reached into the circular tray to snatch up a mug. He nodded in response, dazzling them with a smile that wasn’t real.

“I’ll take Matt’s,” Vincent offered, picking up the last cup in the tray.

“Actually, I think he wants to drink tonight,” Ashley informed him. She had no idea that the reason I wanted to suddenly get shit-faced was sitting right next to me.

“Really? But I don’t think they have Bourbon here.”

Pickett abruptly choked on his first sip of cheap beer. Harsh, loud coughs burst through his lips soon after, muffled only by the fist he politely raised to cover his mouth. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself, but it didn’t do me any good. I already knew the night was going to ultimately suck. “I’m fine with beer,” I mumbled, ignoring the soft chuckle I heard chime from my left as I reached out to snatch one of Vincent’s mugs. He shrugged, not much caring about the loss.

“Bourbon?” Pickett echoed after he’d gotten his breath back in order. “That’s an interesting taste.”

“It’s the only time that we got Matt to actually drink with us,” Vincent chuckled lightheartedly.

“And he got so drunk. He kept rambling on about this blue house and a guy with the funniest name,” Ashley volunteered unnecessary information once again. I peeked up at her, hoping to shut her up with a look, but to no avail. “What was his name, Matty?”

I tensed up, grinding my teeth together as my grip tightened around the mug in my possession. “Mr. Sanders,” I told her, wanting to spare myself at least some embarrassment.

“No, no, that wasn’t it. It started with a P. Mr. Potato? Mr. Pennickle?”

Desperation dawned on me, draining the color from my face. The more she opened her mouth, the smaller I shrank. I didn’t even have it in me to snap at her. It wasn’t like she was purposely trying to humiliate me, she had just developed an undeniable talent for it recently, and fuck, I really wanted her to stop fucking talking.

“Ashley, stop,” Rick suddenly spoke. I glanced up to see him frowning at me, a knowing expression on his face. He had seen Pickett in my apartment. He’d seen my expression when Pickett left. And it didn’t take him much to connect the dots once Ashley brought up my drunken night.

“Wait, wait, it’s at the tip of my tongue,” she insisted.

“Knock it off, Ash,” he growled.

I drained the better half of my beer, hoping that if I got a healthy buzz going that the upcoming blow to my ego wouldn’t hurt as much. The bitterness in my mouth was disgusting, nothing my taste buds were even remotely accustomed to, but I resumed drinking. In all her innocence, Ashley continued to be dimwitted, ignoring the tension crackling in the air around us as she pondered the slurred name I had uttered so many months ago.

"Anyway," Rick interjected, ready to change the subject. "Like I was telling Vincent before. If we change the setup in the kitchen—"

“Mr. Pickles!” she suddenly blurted, jumping half way out of her seat. “That was it! Mr. Pickles! Is that not the cutest thing ever?”

To my right, Vincent unexpectedly sat up straight. He looked from me to our new boss, and I found the will to force down the rest of my disgusting drink. “Oh,” he whispered.

“What?” came Ashley’s voice, a sound I was progressively growing to detest. “What is it? Why is everyone looking at Mr. Pick...”

Just as she caught up with the rest of the group, I stood. Everyone abruptly settled into an uncomfortable silence, their eyes focused on my side of the table. I was too afraid to follow their gaze. I didn’t want to see the expression on Pickett’s face, nor did I want to acknowledge how my own friends had sold me out. There was no pride left. No dignity. I could have crawled under a rock to die then and been satisfied.

“I’m going to need something stronger than beer,” I admitted.

But instead of going to the bar to buy the driest alcohol they had, I swerved past a couple making out in a corner to barge into the restroom. Skidding to an abrupt stop behind a sink, I reached out to turn the cold water on and cupped both palms beneath the flow of water. I doubled over to splash my face a few times, hoping to lower my temperature, but it didn’t do me much good. It occurred to me then to just make my exit, to gracefully depart into the night without another word. My day had started out bad and it wasn’t getting any better.

Which became apparent when I stood back up, only to catch a glimpse of Pickett entering the bathroom. He didn’t even pretend to be there for any other reason than to torture me.

“So you’ve been thinking about me?”

I smashed my jaws together, reaching out to splash another wave of cold water against my face. As much as I wished it could wash away my anxiety and shame, it did no such thing. With a soft sigh, I turned the water off and moved to the automated dispenser of paper towels. The motion detector ignored my first wave, as well as my second, but when Asher reached out to mimic my action, it gladly spit out the paper towel I needed.

“Why are you here?” I hissed, not bothering to hide my anger as I snatched up the flimsy material needed to dry my skin.

“Your friends invited me.”

I dragged the rough paper towel over my face, inevitably rubbing my skin raw. I didn’t care. I pushed harder, not sure what else to do to vent my frustrations. “And you just accepted because you thought it’d be fun?”

“Yes.”

Jackass.

“You’re playing dirty,” I snapped at him.

“You’re not playing at all. I thought I’d give you some incentive.”

“This isn’t incentive, it’s blackmail,” I fired back, turning my head up to glare at him. “I told you to stay away from my friends.”

“It would have been rude to turn down the invitation.”

“I bet it was a real struggle for you to just say no, right? You waltz into my life with your polite little smile and your stupid suits and everyone just welcomes you.”

He paused a moment, as if mulling over my words. Then he decided to remind me of his selective listening. “Are you suggesting there is something lacking in my wardrobe?”

“Yeah,” I grunted, deliberately throwing a glance over his attire. “Variety.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when the restroom door swung open again. Two men walked in, one leaning on the other for support as they mumbled drunkenly in French. I immediately discarded my paper towel, tossing it into a trashcan on my way to the exit.

“Where are you going?” His voice followed me.

“Home!”

A hand grabbed at my shoulder, jerking me back before I could successfully make the transition from restroom to bar. The door gave a quiet creak before I was forced to take two steps back, stumbling into the radius of his reach. “I’ll accompany you.”

“I think I’ll pass.” Was he serious? Did he think I was going to accept a ride from him after he had so crudely embarrassed me all day?

His eyebrows furrowed the slightest bit, adding an unnecessary wrinkle to his forehead. “At least let one of my men escort you back.”

“I don’t need a fucking chaperone!”

“You and I both know that you do.”

I stopped seething a moment to study his expression, the serious, dead stare of his eyes and the delicate downward tilt of his lips. This wasn’t about him and me. I understood that the moment his fingers gave a small squeeze to my shoulder. My memories only had to flash me a glimpse of Carter’s creepy smile for me to comprehend why the devil wanted me guarded. “Fine,” I sighed, giving a quick shrug to remove his touch from my shoulder. “I’ll wait outside.”

He didn’t follow me out of the bathroom.

I only made a quick stop at the table to grab my jacket and say goodbye to my friends before heading out. Ashley apologized several times in the few seconds it took me to put my jacket on, but I was in no mood to be nice about my response so I said nothing at all.

Outside, a woman wearing a particularly bright red coat flashed me a smile the moment I reached the sidewalk. I could have sworn I’d seen her earlier when I was making my trip from the pub to the bar, which made sense if she was signed up as my bodyguard for the night. With a soft scoff to myself, I shoved my hands into my pockets and began the walk to my bus stop. She followed me the whole way home, keeping a respectful distance but never letting me out of her sight.

The only reason I slept that night was because of the drowsiness alcohol brought with it.

 

 

 

The next day I was shocked to find Asher waiting for me outside my apartment with two bikes parked neatly behind him. One of them was mine. The crisp image of him patiently standing there, framed by the morning mist, instantly made me forget that I was supposed to still be angry at the world.

He must have taken what I said about his attire to heart, because he wasn’t wearing his usual get-up of overpriced, brand name suits. Instead, a navy blue shirt comfortably hugged his upper body, fitting into the dips and grooves the muscles along his abdomen left behind. He sported a casual white jacket on top of it, layered by a dark grey coat that protected him from the sting of the cold weather. Black pants hugged his hips, a drastic change from the loose slacks that often hid the outline of his legs. The customary sweep of his hair backward remained, but it was obvious that he’d made an effort.

“Good morning,” he said, and I took a moment to pick my jaw off the floor before curtly nodding at him.

“My bike?” I murmured, gesturing toward the pathetic looking thing. It didn’t seem like it belonged in the same universe as the one beside it, much less the same proximity. The paint on my once-red bike had chipped to a dull pink, with the rubber on the handles barely present and the reflectors dented. Asher’s, predictably, looked brand new.

“You left it at the restaurant,” he stated, in case I forgot.

“And you thought dropping it off so early in the morning would win you brownie points?”

“I could take it back.”

“That’s fine,” I paused, turning away from him to lock my front door. “But I thought I was supposed to be the one that earned brownie points with you?”

“You don’t seem to be making much progress,” he deadpanned.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t make such ridiculous requests,” I scowled in response, lingering beside my door with my hands stuffed defensively into my sweater’s pockets. The memory of my obsession brushed against my fingertips, giving me some comfort when I gingerly squeezed the plastic. It was such a habit to carry the keychain around with me everywhere that I never thought of what would happen if it were ever discovered.

“I’ll try to restrain myself in the future,” he promised.

A few steps into the dirt road in front of my home, I hesitated to close the gap between us, like I was somehow subconsciously afraid my body would snap against him faster than an attracted magnet. He wasn’t the one that had to restrain himself, that much was certain. So I kept my distance, fighting the rise of my hormones. His makeover was already too dangerous. The moment I stopped looking at him like the snake in the Garden of Eden, it would be the moment of my downfall. I wanted his stupid striped suit to come back into the picture; it helped me continuously think of him as an emotionless robot.

Just a few houses down, I noticed a black town car rolling along at five miles per hour, inching along the road. My eyes bounced from Asher to the car as I tried desperately not to recall a similar situation I’d experienced years ago. “One of yours?” I asked, reaching up to point towards the car.

He didn’t bother taking his eyes off of me to follow the trajectory of my finger. “Yes.”

I frowned at the information, knowing full well that if he had his bodyguards trailing him it meant he was more paranoid about Carter’s misdoings than he let on. Was he protecting me or putting me in further danger by following me around?

“I don’t get it,” I sighed.

“Pardon?” His eyebrows rose, bringing back that tinge of innocence that didn’t belong on a monster’s face. My frown deepened, pushing my lower lip forward.

“In all honesty, I’m not sure why I’m still alive,” I admitted.

“Are you feeling unwell?”

This dance around the bush was beginning to piss me off. I was all for ignoring an uncomfortable topic, but Asher was going too far. He had put himself smack-dab in the middle of my life and his only demand had been too ridiculous to take seriously. The first time we met after four years, he’d abandoned me in front of a burning warehouse—and had given me the cold shoulder thereafter. Even with his moment of weakness in the phone booth, he seemed ready to take off my head if I didn’t agree. But ever since the prior morning, when he’d overheard me talking to Ashley, he’d dramatically mellowed out.

So was that it? Did he finally figure out I was too pathetic for him to hold any anger towards? Or maybe he realized I’d been punishing myself more than he ever could?

I heaved another strained sigh. “Aren’t you supposed to be pissed at me?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“You sure don’t act like it,” I scoffed.

“I’m a bad actor.”

My lips reacted before I could stop them, stretching back into a smile that heated my face. I bit down into my lower lip to stop the transition, but it suddenly felt like I had a stubborn hanger lodged inside my cheeks. A shake of my head was meant to unhinge the damned thing, yet it only helped in releasing the laugh that had paused at the back of my throat.

And so began the slippery slope.

“I’m going to be late for work,” I said abruptly, turning on a heel to walk away from him.

The soft tick tick tick of my shabby bicycle followed. “I’m sure your boss won’t mind.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

“It could be arranged.”

I turned to face him, though continued my stroll by taking steps backward. “Oh? Do I need to make an appointment?“

He led both bicycles with minimum difficulty, forcing them to follow his lead while he followed mine; meeting every step I took with a slow one of his own. The pedals of the opposing bikes occasionally knocked into each other, causing hiccups in the smooth roll of the wheels, but he corrected the mistake every time with a calculated jerk forward. “If my schedule permits,” he hummed, like he was sincerely contemplating it.

But I couldn’t take him seriously anymore. His new attire made him look so much more approachable, so much more relaxed, and it seemed like a shame to see him still stiffly carrying his posture like an iron rod had been strapped to his back.

I’m not sure what compelled me to do it but I stopped walking, right in the middle of the road, and reached out toward him the moment he was within reach. My fingers carelessly pushed into the respectable placement of his hair before moving back and forth in rapid succession, unsettling the gel that held the strands together. I ruffled his hair until the longer strands fell down, spiraling across his face at an angle. Beneath the slight curl of the sandy bangs, his eyes gave a slow blink, but his expression never changed, remaining serene and porcelain in nature.

“Is this what you like?” he asked.

Heat shot up into my skull, bringing with it a ringing that pierced my ears. I jerked back my fingers like I’d touched fire, instantly regretting my thoughtless action. “No,” I hissed, shoving my disobedient hand into my pocket to punish it for what it’d done. “It just didn’t fit. That outfit with that hair. If you’re trying to blend in, you’re doing a sucky job at it.”

Alright, that was lame even for me, but I didn’t know what else to say. Just as I noticed his lips begin to curl up into a grin, I reached forward to snatch my bike and jerk it free of his guiding hand. Without another word, I hopped onto the seat and pedaled as fast as I could; far, far away from temptation.

If he kept that up, I was going to have to make another trip to see Frédéric.

 

“I’m-so-sorry-Matty!” Ashley blurted in one breath as soon as I entered the pub. She ran up to greet me, throwing her arms around my torso and burying her face into my chest. I took three steps back to adapt to the force of her body colliding against mine, which led us both into the wall.

“Ah, hey,” I replied, reaching one hand down to awkwardly pat her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m such an idiot! I never know when to shut my mouth! Do you think you could ever forgive me?”

“It’s not a big deal.” It was only when I said it that I realized it was true. It really was no big deal, especially since the only consequence of her slip up seemed to be that Pickett was being nicer to me. I supposed being pitied had its advantages. “Forget about it.”

“Are you sure?”

Before I could reassure her with a nod, the door opened again, announcing the arrival of our new boss. The bike ride over had disheveled his hair further, giving it a playful wave that begged to be touched. His cheeks and the tip of his nose had taken on a red hue from exposure to the cold outside, a look unfitting on anyone else, but it only made his eyes stand out more against the pale canvas of his skin. He was perfectly delectable—and I wasn’t the only one that thought so.

“Whoa,” Ashley whispered, tightening her hug on my core as she craned her neck back to watch dear Mr. Pickett walk by us.

Yeah, I was about to say, more than ready to agree with her, but the grey eyes migrated to my corner and I thought twice about opening my mouth.

“I take my tea with two sugars,” he stated with the most serious expression possible, then continued on to his office.

Images of my humiliation from the day before popped into my head, replaying my pathetic attempts at grabbing his attention with continuous deliveries of coffee. It was only then that I remembered something crucial. “Hey,” I called, reaching down to grab Ashley’s face and force her eyes off the devil. “What else did you tell him?”

“What?” she whispered, blinking a few times before finally refocusing her eyes on me.

“You told him I don’t drink coffee, and that I pretty much ramble on about him when I’m drunk. What else?”

She winced at my words, clearly wracked with guilt. “I’m sorry, Matty…”

“It’s fine, just tell me what you told him.”

“Uh,” she paused, finally releasing me from the bear hug to reach up and run a hand through her hair. “Well, he asked why you weren’t in the kitchen, and I told him that would be counterproductive, since you didn’t know how to cook... which, I’m starting to think is a lie. Is there some awesome, secret recipe you’re holding out on?”

“Ashley, focus.”

“Right, sorry. What else… uh.. He asked if coffee was a big part of your routine since I told him earlier that you’re always here early, and I said no, you hate coffee.”

“Is that it?”

She nodded.

“Let’s keep it that way, okay?” I whispered, and she nodded once more in compliance. I could practically see the questions welling up in her throat, ready to bombard me with all the innocent curiosity in the world. I knew she was going to ask about Pickett and there was no safe answer I could give her; so I cut her off before the floodgates opened. “Not today, Ashley.”

Her lips parted, then shut, and she frowned before exhaling a disapproving huff. If she hadn’t already been carrying guilt for embarrassing me the night before, she might not have let the subject go so easily, but as it were, she shrugged her questions away. “Fine.”

I thanked her with a pat to the shoulder, then turned to head towards the locker room. Before I could get too far, Ashley’s hand came out again, tugging on my hoodie to stop me. “What?” I groaned, afraid that she’d changed her mind about restraining herself.

“If you want,” she paused, rocking on her heels a bit to glance towards Pickett’s office. “I can take him the tea.”

For the second time that day, I started smiling like an idiot. A chuckle rumbled up my throat and right past my lips, lightening some of the weight that had been permanently planted on my chest for years. “You do that,” I told her.



Her smile came back to existence in full swing. With the skip back in her step, Ashley turned to disappear behind the protection of my bar. I was watching her harmless excitement from beside the door when it swung open again. Two steps to the left let me dodge the handle before it stabbed into my side, but I managed to clumsily knock into a nearby chair instead.

“G’morning to you too,” Rick greeted me with a chuckle.

“Why is everyone coming in so early recently?” I grumbled, correcting my posture before shoving the unwanted chair further beneath the table it accompanied.

“I had to give someone a ride because he forgot—“

“Fait chier!” Vincent cursed, rushing in right behind him. He stopped short of the entrance, reaching out to give a shake to his coat before taking it off. My eyes wandered to the Frenchman’s hair, to the waves of brown that seemed somehow darker than usual. It took one swipe of his fingers through the short strands for me to realize it was wet.

“… to bring an umbrella,” Rick finished his earlier statement, softly tsking at our friend with a shake of his head. “That’s why we check the weather channel.”

“I did!” he shot back, looking remarkably disgruntled. “But the sky was clear this morning, and that stupid weatherman on channel four is never reliable!”

I rocked on my heels to glance out the window behind me, noting the light drops of water that progressively picked up in speed and consistency as the seconds ticked by. It’d been pure luck that I hadn’t been caught in it on my bike ride over.

“I’ll go fetch the umbrella rack,” Rick chuckled. We kept extra umbrellas in the locker room, considering the unpredictability of the weather in our area, so we could lend them out to our regulars as a gesture of good will. It was also a great tactic to get them to come back.

“Merde,” Vincent cursed again, drawing my attention back to him.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I forgot to pick up green onions from the market. And we’re almost out.”

I swayed my weight again, this time glancing at Ashley happily brewing tea behind the counter. “I’ll go,” I said, turning to smile at my friend.

His eyes lit up when he glanced up at me, clearly thankful for my offer. “You sure?”

“Yeah, you should get started on things in the kitchen. Ashley’s got the bar covered and it usually doesn’t get busy until the afternoon. I won’t be missed.”

The smile he flashed brought a similar one to my face. I had no idea why I felt none of the tension, fear and paranoia of the day before—it was a new day and I was ready to take it by the horns.

So when Rick returned, I snatched one of the umbrellas and quietly made my exit. A quick bus ride took me to the correct market, where I bought enough onions to keep the kitchen satisfied for the remainder of the week. It was officially pouring rain on my way back, coming down in sheets that would have made me want to crawl under a table and hide a couple years ago. Now, I appreciated its beauty, and looked forward to the smell it left behind when it finished coating everything with fresh moisture.

It took me a few hours to return to the pub, and by then it was almost noon. The lunch crowd was trickling in, filling up the tables closest to the heaters along the walls. I spared a few greetings to some of my regulars and took a moment to put away my umbrella before heading into the kitchen to drop off my groceries. “I grabbed some tomatoes too,” I told Vincent when I caught his eye. “They were on sale.”

“Thanks,” he laughed, reaching out to take the plastic bags from me.

“How’s Ashley holding up behind the bar?”

“Not sure.” He shook his head. “She’s been spending more time in the office than the bar, if you know what I mean,” he said, bringing a smile to my lips. Yeah, I knew what he meant.

“I’ll go start the damage control, then,” I chuckled.

That’s when I heard it.

A loud boom, an echo of a million drums rumbling in the distance. But it was the scream I registered first, the harsh, scratched voice of a woman crying out in alarm. My feet obediently carried me out from the confines of the pub to the street outside in an automated haze. People swayed in waves around me, turning into blurs and blobs of color in a matter of seconds, taking no real shape. Even the loud pitter-patter of rain didn’t hinder the waves of worried voices that swelled into the air. I didn’t want to blink. I feared that the moment the pictures around me grew clear, I’d see a body. I’d see blood. I’d see one of my friends, one of the people that’d become like family to me, dead.

“Holy shit! What happened?” Rick’s voice quivered above the rest of the murmuring.

“Is that smoke?” Ashley’s voice came next, moving up along my left. “Oh, god, it’s a fire. It’s burning!”

A swelling of French washed over me, hindered only by Vincent’s curt translation. “It’s probably just a bad prank,” he said, not sounding very impressed. “Looks like it’s at the phone booth in front of Mrs. Benoit’s store.”

I finally blinked clarity back into my vision, canting my head to the side to find my friends safely huddled on the sidewalk. Ashley stood beside me, cupping a hand over her mouth. Vincent and Rick were two steps away, both looking past the crowd that had gathered to watch the commotion on the other side of the street. To my utter relief, no one looked hurt.

A customer beside me outstretched a hand, pointing across the street to the burning remains of a damaged metal box. I followed the gesture, spending precious, slowed moments of stupefied calm to register what had happened before the panic finally set in. Flames. Smoke. It was a fire. Which meant someone would be arriving soon to put that fire out.

Someone with a big shiny red vehicle and very loud sirens.

I immediately took a step away from the street, shrugging past the crowd to retreat into the pub. My first thought was to hide out in the bathroom until the danger of the dreaded sound was over, but that option was very quickly crossed off my list when I found the stupid door locked. I turned toward the back room instead, ready to hide out amongst the lockers when I noticed Ashley standing a few steps away from me. She had the most frantic look on her face, already worried about what she knew would come.

“I have to go,” I told her.

The sirens weren’t just going to whizz by this time; they were going to come directly to us, they were going to park outside the front doors and eat up my oxygen. That damned sound was going to be repeated for the police, the ambulance, and the fire truck. It was going to resonate against the walls of the pub and melt into my skin.

I stood awkwardly in one corner, trying to regain my breath as my heart sank into the pit of my stomach. My hands moved to entwine into my hair, pulling at the roots, creating sharp pangs of pain that insisted my situation was not a dream. I was perfectly awake. I felt my throat swell with fear, and with a subdued groan, I moved away from the locker room.

“I have to go,” I groaned again.

“Matty,” was all she said.

The distant jeer of the hateful sound peeked, growing louder and louder by the second. I took two hesitant steps back and smashed my shoulder blades against the wall. My eyelids sank down, blocking out the horror I saw in my friend’s face. What did I look like, I wondered? What did she see? Did I look as feeble as I felt? Could she see how hard I was shaking? Could she pinpoint where my breathing stopped and how tightly my lungs locked up? The louder that sound became, the harder it was for me to keep my composure intact. My knees buckled beneath my weight and I sank down to the floor. Bile bubbled against the back of my throat.

Blinking didn’t help. I couldn’t stop the images from overwhelming me; I was back at the lake, with my family trapped in a car beneath the surface of the water. I was in the alley, standing over a body while the sirens drew near. I was at the docks, shivering beside a metal container as several police officers pinned Alrick against the ground. You? The accusing, cold voice swelled against my brain, stabbing into my temples. You did this? Sirens continued to jeer in the background, threading painful moments of my past together.

And then the sound grew dull, choked, muffled by hands that weren’t mine.

I opened my eyes to find a softer pair staring back at me, the same grey gaze that always glared in so many of my nightmares. His smooth lips moved with words I didn’t hear, and I gawked at him with the stupidity of a confused animal. How did this make sense? The same man that was the source of so many of my insecurities, my fears, was crouched in front of me, blocking out the shrill sound of sirens that triggered my panic attacks with both his palms pressed against my ears. It was like the boogieman had crawled out from under the bed to tell me there was nothing to be afraid of in the dark.

I was unsteady. Broken. Weak. And like so many times in the past, he was right there to pick up the pieces.

“Don’t,” I murmured, pulling away from the warmth of his hands. The tremble in my fingers branched out to the rest of my body, causing jumps and jolts in my muscles that made me feel extremely unstable. My breath came and went in strips, morphing into dangerous territory. My friend’s presence was a painful reminder that I needed to keep it together, to stiffen my upper lip and toughen up before everyone realized what a pathetic mess I’d become. So that’s exactly what I tried to do, forcing my hands down flat against the floor and rocking back into the corner, trying to steady myself by using the firm wall as a source of balance.

“It’s the sound,” Ashley said, like she was answering a question. “He gets like that every time.” The sirens hiccupped in the background and Pickett shifted in front of me, one hand halfway outstretched. I flinched at the touch that didn’t come, instigating a gasp from my friend’s lips. “Jesus, Matty,” she breathed.

The concern in her voice was enough for me to want to bolt. And sure enough, I shot up to my feet, shoving past the two to charge the front door. I dodged the crowd that’d gathered along the sidewalk and ran up the road, away from the hated sirens that approached. Every step forward drove me harder into the angled drops of rain, adding to their velocity by picking up on my own. I ran blindly, following the route back to my apartment without ever meaning to; I just wanted to be somewhere safe, somewhere warm, somewhere quiet and peaceful.

Halfway through, I realized that the rain wasn’t touching me anymore.

I’d slowed down to a walk when the sirens became once again just part of a bad memory. A glance upward showed me that the sky had turned black—except that it wasn’t sky. It was some sort of shiny material. My tired eyes shifted to the right, where I pinpointed a stalk of metal sticking out of the supposed shiny black sky. I followed it down to a tight fist, which evidently connected to an arm. My steps slowed further, until I wasn’t moving at all.

Asher stopped as well, only one step behind me. He held out an umbrella large enough to cover both of us, and yet I was the only one under it. I had no idea when he had caught up to me, but the heavy pants that pumped his chest assured me that he’d worked overtime to close the distance between us. I blinked once to take a mental snapshot of his face, of the drops of rain that dripped down his brow and trickled in beautiful trails along his cheeks. He too thought I was still scared of water. Still scared of cars.

Still scared of everything.

I quietly began moving again, back up the road and towards my sanctuary. I didn’t say anything to him. I didn’t know what to say. My heartbeat was still unsteady and I feared that my voice would be too.

My hand fumbled in my pocket for my keys once my front door came into view, and I was suddenly thankful that I’d never changed into my uniform that morning. Numbness crawled beneath my skin, making it hard for me to correctly hold the key capable of opening my door. Thankfully, Asher reached out to take over the job for me. He tried the key for my mailbox, the one for the pub, and then finally the one meant for my apartment. The door gave a quiet creak when it popped open, granting access to the warmth within.

“Wait,” Asher whispered when I tried to step inside. He reached out to grab my hand, leading it up to the umbrella’s handle before his fingers guided mine, wrapping them firmly in place to appropriately balance the object. Before I could consider questioning him, he turned to disappear into my apartment. With his shoes on.

Fuck, what was this? What was he doing? Why was I going along with it? I just wanted a large dosage of my pills before I crawled under my sheets and blacked out for the day. I needed heavy medication to calm me, not a fucking umbrella. Not a blast from the past.

He appeared about a minute later, looking more relaxed than before. “It’s safe, come in.”

Safe. That was such a silly, meaningless word.

A tremble ran down my spine, moving me forward before I made the conscious decision to move. I brushed past him, dropping the umbrella, kicking my shoes off and immediately stepping into my bathroom where my medication awaited. Just as I reached a hand out towards my medicine cabinet, I caught sight of his reflection bobbing in after me. My fingers hesitated, hovering over the smooth surface of the mirror with an uncertainty only Asher could instill in me. What would he think once he knew I dirtied my body with outside influences? What would he do when he realized I sometimes pumped myself full of sedatives just to get through the night?

My hand lowered before it could reach my desired prize, falling back to the rim of the sink. “Get out,” I hissed, ripping my eyes away from the mirror.

I didn’t hear him move. Not that I expected him to; I already knew he wouldn’t listen. But I wished to a god I didn’t believe in that he would for once, that he would turn his back, if only for a second, so I could safely scarf down my medication without fear of judgment. I wished he would leave. No, I needed him to leave.

The wetness of my sweater was already beginning to itch, soaked thoroughly enough to stick to my skin and add unnecessary humidity to the air around me. It felt heavy, hard, and my jumpy nerves protested against the added weight. My hands suddenly flew down, grabbing the bottom of the material and tugging up until it was safely over my head. A flick of my arm chucked the damp piece of fabric across the room, to the body I knew still stood frozen in the doorway.

“GET OUT!” I screamed, successfully raising my volume to an intimidating level.

This time I heard him move, but it wasn’t away from me. Tensing up, I stole a glance up at the man that I was sure was approaching—but he wasn’t doing that either. Confusion darkened my expression, furrowing my eyebrows as I watched him bend down to pick something off the floor. It wasn’t until he stood that I saw it; the aged, weatherworn keychain that I always carried in my pocket. It must have fallen out when I’d stupidly thrown my sweater.

How careless of me.

He turned it once in his hand, studying the front, then the back, and I felt the last inches of self-respect drain out of me. My heartbeat had already jumped to my ears, drowning out the ambience of the room with the sound of my blood pumping. Numbness spread like wildfire up from the tips of my cold fingers to my temples, making me lightheaded enough to stumble backward. I was so screwed. He was going to know now, he was going to see how obsessed and stuck I was on him over the years. He was going to realize how utterly pathetic I’d become. The willful, obdurate brat he once found amusing was nothing more than a spineless coward with one foot permanently lodged in the past.

I dropped my eyes when he stepped toward me, setting my jaws into a locked position that wouldn’t give away on what I was really feeling. I could claim that I’d kept it because it reminded me of Anna, which was half true. I could tell him that it was a duplicate, that it wasn't even real. I could tell so many lies. I used to be so good at those.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

I jerked my head away, stubbornly focusing the blur of my vision onto the floor. I didn’t know what I would see in his eyes and I didn’t want to risk it. Pity? Disgust? Hatred? Fuck, if only he hadn’t followed me home.

“Muffin.”

My gaze shot up without my permission, locking onto the face in front of me. The old nickname started a fire in the pit of my stomach that slowly inched its way up, burning open cocoons of butterflies that trembled awake in my chest. He stared at me with a confusion that was practically palpable, like he couldn’t fathom why I had kept the measly keychain for so long. And yet at the same time it seemed to be exactly what he needed. Confirmation. The signature on the dotted line that gave permission and erased all hints of doubt.

Anxiety instigated a nasty taste in my mouth, curling it against my tongue until I felt the urge to extend the pink organ. It was a thoughtless reaction, a nervous habit; I stupidly licked at my lips and that was it.

Game over.

He slammed into me like a freight train, pushing me back several steps until the edge of the sink stabbed into my spine. One of his hands darted up to tangle into the wet mess of my hair, tugging the strands into a tight fist. His mouth smothered me, needy and indecisive in its desired course of action. The lips felt so soft against mine, so unreal, that I felt obligated to gingerly bite down on each to test their authenticity. Asher must have taken that as consent, because he emitted a guttural moan before extending his tongue to invade my mouth.

Stop, don't, I can't, I should have said, but his lips didn’t let me. He tasted like sweat and rain, a sour combination that became sweet once mixed with his saliva. I barely got a chance to adapt to the flavor before he pulled back to grin down at me. “You’re still a horrible kisser,” he affirmed, though for some reason made the ghastly statement sound like a compliment.

Shock tightened my face, my fragile brain in no state to safely digest his words without consequence. “What the fuck?” I panted, only to have him chuckle in response. “Why are you saying that like it’s a good thing?”

“You haven’t gotten much practice,” he pointed out, sounding childishly triumphant.

I barely managed a grunt in response before he leaned down to lock our lips again. My heart fluttered dangerously in my chest, sending shocks of tingles down my spine. I squirmed against the sink, consciously closing my eyes so I couldn’t see his self-satisfied grin. Suddenly, I wanted to tell him about my multiple partners. I wanted to assure him I’d fucked many a men before, just to get that cocky look off his face. It irked me that he knew. It bothered me beyond reason that he had the upper hand again.

My brain immediately sought out a way to regain some control in the situation. I already felt pathetic enough. I didn’t want to just melt into the palm of his hand.

So I extended one of my arms, curling my fingers against the back of his sweater before I trickled my touch down, past the waistband of his pants and straight to his ass. It only took some thinking back to my escapades with Simon and Frédéric to remember what to do and how to do it. Maybe if I had been more patient and steady with my actions, he would have allowed the transition: but my frantic, panicked touches easily caused his lips to frown against mine. My fingers successfully cupped his ass without any problems, but when I tried to push a finger between the curves of his buttocks Asher pulled away.

The hand that had been wrapped around my torso reached back, grabbing onto my wrist to quickly jerk the offensive limb out of his pants. He spared me a disapproving look before a jerk on my arm rocked my body, turning me in place, forcing me to face the sink. His lips moved down to brush against my ear, bathing my skin with the warmth of his breath. “I’m not one of your whores, Muffin,” he murmured.

My skin trembled with goose bumps, unsettling the calm demeanor I was still trying to hold onto. I craned my neck up to glare at his reflection, meeting his gaze with the buffer zone of the mirror in place to protect me. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I growled.

“You’d be surprised how easy it is to get information when you have the right resources,” he whispered. A harsh tug from his hands moved my pants off my hips, but the wet material clung persistently to my skin, refusing to go any further. So he reached around to the front of my jeans, popping open the button with his index finger before his thumb glided down to part my zipper. “And credit cards leave easy paper trails.”

I thought back to my last visit at À Fond de Train, to the cat-clock’s ticking tail and Frédéric’s sultry pout. Then, all too soon, I realized that although Asher was aware I rented prostitutes, he couldn’t have possibly known I topped them. “You—“ I began, ready to throw every defensive, angry, illogical strand of argument back at him, but another jerk on my pants silenced me. The wet fabric sloshed loudly to the floor, taking my underwear with it and leaving me perpetually naked.

When I next glanced up at the mirror, I knew I wouldn’t be leaving the confines of my apartment until he’d exhausted both of us to the bone.

He looked like an animal that had been starved for far too long, teetering on the edge of desperation. My fingers braced themselves against the sink, digging down into the rim in an attempt to keep my body steady. As his second hand moved up, brushing against the damp surface of my skin, I instantly tensed up. It wasn’t the added friction that bothered me; it was the way the fingers moved, outlining my ribcage as if they knew exactly where to go, where to touch, how to touch. Like he had memorized my body and was ready to play me like a flute.

His hips jutted forward against me, bullying my weight, pressing my crotch against the cold wood of the cabinets beneath the sink. I picked up one hand to slam it palm-first into the mirror, covering my own flushed reflection and helping readjust my balance. I could feel the heat of his growing erection past the protection of his pants long before he actually reached down to free himself.

The sharp hiss of his zipper drew a jolt out of my body, finally snapping me out of my own stupid daze. I blinked, ripping my eyes away from the mirror as my head swayed downward. A twist of my hips freed me from my uncomfortable position against the sink, unavoidably making me step out of my own wet clothing as I took two stiff steps away. My mouth was already settling into a stubborn frown, helping me rebuild that wall of pride and denial that protected my feeble existence.

But it didn’t work.

I knew I wasn’t safe anymore when I saw his lips part in question. Pale eyebrows pressed together with a sickeningly perfect crease in the middle, adding an extra tint of shadow to his eyes. He was letting me see him again. He was showing emotion. I was no longer receiving the stoic mask the rest of the population got, and the smooth transition from nameless peasant to something more jarred me. I could see the fear in his eyes, the hesitation; like he was waiting for me to say no, like he was anticipating rejection, and it terrified him.

I wasn’t naïve enough to think I didn’t understand what I saw. Not anymore. I wasn’t strong enough to pretend I didn’t care. I never was. I knew I was going to fall down a deep well again, but this time he seemed willing to fall with me.

My right hand extended, pushing against the damp surface of his jacket. His fingers arched out, hooking against my hips with a light, tentative touch as I cautiously grabbed the zipper and pulled down in the most excruciatingly slow manner possible. His hands twitched with anticipation against my flesh, his thumbs stabbing into my hipbones in warning of his slipping self-control. Every second I wasted was one more lost inch of his restraint. And once the soft click of the zipper came, fully removing the slider from the metal teeth, time picked up again.

He reached up to wrap his arms around my torso, plowing into me to lead us backward out of the bathroom, around the corner, into the bedroom. He somehow managed the will to undress on the way, but we never actually reached the bed. My legs gave out halfway to the mattress and he followed, careless in his descent. It only took a crane of his neck to silence any protests I might have given, flattening his mouth against mine in a vicious kiss. He sucked hungrily on my lower lip before letting his tongue poke up, past mine, invading my mouth to steal my taste.

I thought I was supposed to be the one that seduced you, I almost said to him.

But it didn’t even matter anymore, because his hands were on my skin again, pushing down in insistent strokes that covered me in bursts of heat. Oh god, and that voice, that voice was making my brain sink again, into nothingness, where there was no thought or sense or reason, only the guttural echo of his voice as he moaned my name. My eyes kept sinking half shut, only to jerk back open whenever the compelling voice used its sinful magic on me. I couldn’t stop listening to him. I listened so hard that my lungs synced with his, and when he stopped breathing, so did I.

Somehow, I ended up on my knees, my fingers clawing at the edges of my mattress while he molded his body against the contour of my back. I paid excessive attention to the rhythm of his panting, to the hiss of hot air on the back of my neck, the friction of the warm tongue and the sharp teeth that bit so carelessly into my shoulder. As his kisses trailed lower, my skin began to break out with goose bumps; ridges of excitement along my neck and shoulders that showed the effect Asher had on me. I wanted more of him, more of his hands, his taste, his smell, and the undeniable way he still remembered how to touch me.

And then he was inside of me, pushing into a tightness that wasn’t comfortable for either one of us—but that wasn’t the point. Pleasure wasn’t part of the equation. We were reconnecting at a primal level, leaving behind the messy tangle of words we were both too emotionally stunted to use. There was no question of Why? or How come? and yet not a moment passed in silence. He effectively replaced all the annoying echoes in my head that usually kept me subdued and tame with guilt, substituting them with his own delicious voice.

Hips bucked. Fingers pulled. My cock thickened with arousal yet the dull sting of his dry invasion didn’t let me find my orgasm. I acknowledged the pain but didn’t linger on it. He wanted me, and it was painfully addictive to be wanted.

My body refused to let my mind be reasonable about this.

For once, I wasn’t the one that came first. I never got a chance to feel smug about it though, because the next thing I knew I was flipped onto my back across the mattress, still stark naked and drenched in sweat. The bottom corner of my duvet came with me, clutched mindlessly in one hand, but Asher easily jerked it out of the way when it dared to drape against my stomach. I wanted to laugh at his eagerness. I wanted to tell him to calm down, to slow down, that we had all the time in the world.

But I didn’t know if that was true.

His hands hooked onto my hips, dragging me halfway down the length of the bed to promptly align me with his groin. Without a word, he buried himself inside of me again. The second go at penetration was much smoother than the first, with my body fully accommodated to his girth and the aid of his sperm there as lubrication, but my breath still caught. I hadn’t even realized he was still hard.

The thrusts this time were more languid, calculated, filling me entirely and then fully retreating to leave me aching for more. I arched my back off the mattress and he rammed his hips forward, meeting my desire with his own. My toes curled against the mattress, ruining the sanctity of the sheets further with ripples of wrinkles that moved with my legs. Heat was an unwavering factor that drew piteous wails out of me. His body felt like charred coal against mine. With his initial frustration gone, he was ready to cruelly push me to the edge, torturing me with stops and starts that had me scratching at his back in protest. He palmed me several times, but whenever I felt close, he pulled back to hinder my sexual climax like the sadistic, controlling bastard I knew him to be. But I never told him to stop.

His mouth found mine past the obstruction of the darkness and it started all over again; the tugging, the grunting, the groaning. I pressed my lips back firmly against the thinner pair. They were so hot, so moist, so aggressive. They could have asked me to do anything just then and I would have done it.

Thankfully, he didn’t make me beg.

Though if we were in any state to actually speak, he might have done just that. Harsh fingers stabbed into my torso, leaving behind prickles of pain that let me know I’d be marked in the morning. I didn’t even know when morning would come. I was caught up in a foggy stupor that didn’t let me focus on anything else but him. There was only Asher Pickett, in my bed, my sheets, my room. Time was just another unimportant detail that faded into the background. Several times, I heard my phone warble from my pocket in the bathroom, but neither one of us paid any mind to it. We couldn’t. At least, I couldn’t. I was so caught up in him, in what he was doing to me and what he was making me feel, that I once again overlooked all consequences. It didn’t matter just then. I was gone.

My built-up stamina over the years might have allowed me to endure more than one orgasm without wanting to instantly pass out—but he drew out my release so expertly that by the time I actually came, my body didn’t feel like cooperating anymore. I was exhausted. I rolled onto my stomach, rearranging my limbs on the untouched edge of the mattress where the cold helped soothe my sticky skin. It only took one stroke of his overheated hand against my thigh for me to shiver.

I moaned, because that was all I could do, because that was all I had left in me, and he took even that, brushing his lips over mine in a surprisingly chaste kiss. My eyes opened to find his head hovering over me, his hair spilling against my cheek in bundles of sandy silk clogged together by sweat. For a moment, the fog was gone. For a moment, so was his robotic perfection. His lips peeled back in an easy smile, baring his teeth in childish glee as he reached up to brush two fingertips against the curve of my shoulder. But the moment was fleeting, because any sense of romance that might have been spurred by the kiss had a disastrous crash-landing when he next spoke.

“Pack your bags.”

 

 

Author’s Note: I'm apparently the 'Queen of Cliffhangers'. Muaha! Thanks! This whole chapter was fun to write. I hope it didn’t seem too rushed, but once I knew what I wanted to do, it was hard to resist fast-forwarding to the porn. Oh sweet, sweet porn. But it’s plot-related porn so THERE.

No promises on the next chapter, sadly. I'll be busy this month and the next trying to get the hell out of my bedbug-infested apartment (yay for me) so I doubt I'll have much time to sit down and write. Also! I’m going to throw my pride into the wind and say, if anyone wants to throw a few pennies my way, I’ll be more than glad to accept. Don’t feel in any way obligated to donate, as I’m not about to threaten making this story a pay-to-read deal. It’ll stay virtually free forever. Your comments and reviews are honestly payment enough, but I thought I’d give it a try. :D 

Edit: The link has been removed since it's against AFF regulations. I guess it's unauthorized advertising.. err.. I don't know. Hop on over to my twitter for more. And thanks to everyone who's donated so far!!