Kayla

 

I wake at around four in the afternoon to sunlight shining on my face, and for a moment it’s like the past few days were all a dream. The window is slightly open and a bird sings, a sweet song I wish I could capture, bottle up, but then it moves on and the song goes with it. I close my eyes and stare at the red imprint on my eyelids, trying to convince myself that the madness was just a dream, that I never left Xander’s apartment. But in the end, it doesn’t matter. In the end I am here and that is the most important thing; I already feel safer than I have in days.

 

I lean up in bed and listen to the next room. It sounds like a man talking to a baby, the baby laughing. It sounds almost like a father and his child. Arsen, I reflect, with a twisting of my belly; how would Arsen feel about this? But the cruel part is that I can’t dampen the happiness of this moment with Arsen’s memory. Or maybe that isn’t cruel. Maybe that’s just what happens when you meet a man you really care about; the previous men cease to seem so important.

 

“What do you think?” Xander says, and then he laughs. “You don’t think I’m very funny, do you, kid? Well, I get it. I don’t think I’m very funny, either. Hey! You’ve gotta be careful where you’re throwing those fists. Maybe I’ll take it personally.”

 

I stand up and creep across the room, kneeling down near the door and pressing my ear against it.

 

“Let me tell you somethin’, kid. Your old man was a really good guy, a much better guy that I ever was. He always did the right thing. He was always nice to folks. He never liked to make people upset. I remember one time when we were at a club Arsen saw this lady crying and he went over there and went home with her, and the next day all the fellas were giving him props about it, you know—well, you’ll learn how men get about that sort of stuff. He just smiled and didn’t say anything, only later he told me that he didn’t touch that woman once. He just sat there and listened as she went on about her boyfriend and her dead dad. He bought her some takeout. That was it. That’s what I mean, kid, when I say he was a better man than me.”

 

“Why?” I ask, walking into the living room, heart melting at the sight of Xander sitting with Cormac on his knee. And Cormac’s cough seems to have stopped, too. “Would you have taken her, you dirty dog?”

 

“Taken her.” He grins. “Dirty dog. These are some pretty retro insults, Kayla.”

 

I sit on the edge of the ruined armchair. Xander makes to give me Cormac but I wave my hand. “Hold him for a while longer,” I say. “I like to watch it.”

 

“You trust me with him?” he asks, voice low. I can tell that the withdrawal is hurting him, even if he is putting on a brave face. Sweat drips almost continuously down his forehead and he grits his teeth as he speaks. “You know, after …”

 

“I think you’ve learned your lesson,” I tell him.

 

“I hope so.” He tickles Cormac under the chin. Cormac laughs, waving his arms. “I think this little guy likes me.”

 

“I think he does, too.”

 

“You can go take a shower if you want, or a bath. I haven’t used the tub in—I don’t think I’ve ever used it, actually. Maybe you can christen it. I’ve already fed and washed Cormac.”

 

“You’re amazing.” I move to the couch, place my hand on his leg, rest my head against his shoulder. “Seriously, I’m sorry I left.”

 

“Sorry you left?” He shakes his head. “You didn’t leave. I pushed you away. But that doesn’t matter now. We’re together. We’re safe.”

 

“I want to tell you something …” I lower my voice instinctively, since I’m voicing matters left silent for years. “Maybe it makes sense for you not to go to the police about Connor, since, you know, you’re an outlaw and everything. But did you ever stop to think about why I didn’t?”

 

“No,” he says. “Honestly, the thought never crossed my mind. In my world the police are somethin’ to be avoided at all costs.”

 

“I committed a crime, Xander, that’s why I can’t go to the police about Connor, ever. It was when we first got together and he’d somehow tricked me into liking him, really liking him. I know it’s hard to believe but once I thought he was my Prince Charming. It seems so silly looking back on it now but somehow I tricked myself—or he tricked me—or both—into believing that he was this really nice guy. He wooed me, I guess that’s the term for it. And then he told me he needed me to do him a favor, and like an idiot I said yes. He wanted me to carry a suitcase full of cocaine into a hotel, up to the presidential suite, and then leave it at the door. I didn’t want to do it, but I sensed that he’d stop being so nice if I didn’t, so I did.”

 

I swallow. The memory of that long walk is all too fresh in my mind, of the paranoia that infected every moment in that hotel, the looks of the doorman and the receptionist, the glances of the other guests. The smiles which might not be smiles but secret looks.

 

“So he has that over my head. So that’s great.”

 

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” he assures me, taking my hand, giving it a squeeze which gives me strength. “You don’t need to worry about Connor. I’ll protect you. He won’t get to you ever again. If he leaks anything about you to the police, I’ll pay them off. You’re safe. Cormac’s safe. I promise.”

 

“Can you promise, though?” I ask. “Really?”

 

“I can,” he says firmly. He offers me a wicked smile, the same smile that precluded sweating and nakedness and moaning and a sweet wet joining of flesh last time. “I promise that I can promise.”

 

“I might take you up on that bath offer,” I say. “If you’re okay looking after the little guy?”

 

“I’m okay. Just don’t tell the fellas that this is how I spend my evenings these days. It might make it more difficult for folks to be scared of me.”

 

“I don’t know. You can be pretty scary.” I bob up and down on the armchair, which squeaks as though in pain with each movement.

 

“How many apologies to you need?” he snaps, but his smile takes the sting out of it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry … is that enough, madam, or would you like more?”

 

“Ha, ha, ha.” I leave the two of them and go into the bedroom to get the towels, and then shoot him evil eyes as I walk back across the living room to the bathroom.

 

The bathtub fills up quickly as the room fills up with steam. I go to the mirror and stare at myself, wiping the glass with my forearm, my image blurry and out of focus. I look terrible, drawn-out; I look like a woman who has been driving nowhere for a couple of days. My eyes are pitted and dark with lack of sleep, which makes the sleep clinging to my eyes look even stranger. I step back and let the mirror steam up again. Sometimes nothing good can come from gazing at a reflection.

 

Xander doesn’t have any bubble bath but I manage to get some bubbles going with the bodywash, using a third of a bottle to create a few paltry bubbles, and then I lower myself naked into the tub. All at once my body feels cleaner and fresher, the water cleansing me, attacking the sweat and the terror and the dirt. I dunk my head, soaking my hair; when I reemerge Xander is standing over me.

 

“He’s asleep,” he says. “I’m pretty good at this babysitting stuff.”

 

“Despite what you said when we first met.”

 

He starts taking off his clothes.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“That tub looks big enough for the both of us.”

 

I wriggle around. This tub might be just big enough for another me-sized person, but Xander is built like an MMA fighter, all hard muscle.

 

“Um, I don’t think it is …”

 

But he ignores me, stripping completely naked and then climbing into the tub. The water level rises and spills over the rim onto the floor. His feet slide up the tub, pressing against my hips. He grins at me, grabbing a handful of water and splashing his face.

 

“You’re an animal,” I say.

 

“Yes.” He locks his gaze on me. “I am.”

 

He takes me then, leaping across the tub—water splashing everywhere—and pulling me up to a kneeling position and then turning me around and bending me over. I push my ass out for him, grip the edge of the tub, and gasp as he slides forcefully and deeply and beautifully inside of me. Both of us are full of pent-up passion, withheld lust. Both of us explode into the moment. Everything happens very fast. I push back on his cock quickly, causing water to cascade everywhere, and he drives into me. Then I shut my eyes and suppress a moan equal parts pleasure and disbelief. The orgasm comes more suddenly than I knew orgasms could. It strikes my pussy like a comet and then there’s a moment of stillness—one, two—and pleasure reverberates all around me, my pussy getting tight and heat filling my belly at the glorious abruptness of this. Reverberations upon reverberations of pleasure seize my body, my fingers and my toes curling in ecstasy, my head feeling heavy, and yet feeling more awake than I have in days. Finally, I collapse forward, getting a mouthful of water before rising up and spitting and gasping for breath.

 

He empties himself inside of me, and then we slide back to our previous positions.

 

“You’re a dog,” I tell him, pussy aching coolly.

 

“I am,” he agrees.

 

But apparently even the happiest of moments has a sell-by date. We wash up and get out of the tub, go into the bedroom, and find that Cormac is nowhere to be found. My baby is gone. And the window to the fire escape is wide open, a light breeze pushing the curtains inward.

 

“Connor,” Xander says, kicking the armchair.

 

“Connor,” I repeat, clenching my fists.