SUTTON

 

June 3rd

Carmichael Condos

Los Angeles, CA

 

 

We’re dancing the Viennese Waltz this week. It’s a slower, more elegant number than the other dances we’ve done so far. Shane will be in a full white tuxedo. I’ll wear a shimmering white gown that looks like it’s been dipped in gold. It’s ombre, starting white at the top and turning darker and darker until it’s solid gold at the very bottom.

“You look like the angel on top of my family’s Christmas tree in that dress,” he tells me now.

His arm is under my head. His hand plays in my hair splayed out over the mattress that’s missing all of my pillows. I don’t know where they went but they probably ended up on the floor along with our clothes and the blankets. It was a long, grueling day of dress rehearsal to get ready for tomorrow’s show and we couldn’t wait to get out of the studio. This is where I wanted to be; here in my bed in my home with the man who makes it feel like it’s not nearly as empty as it actually is.

I smile at him, being careful not to roll my eyes at his sweetness. I do that a lot. He’s never complained but it’s a habit I don’t mind breaking. “I do not look like an angel.”

“Not right now you don’t. Right now you look like—”

“Choose your words very carefully because there is nothing between my knee and your balls but air and the next thing you say.”

His eyes go wide. “Damn. What do you think I was going to say?”

“Whore crossed my mind.”

He frowns at me impatiently. “For real, Sutton. Who hurt you?”

He’s joking because he doesn’t know that his question has an answer.

I make sure to keep my face perfectly blank so he never has to know.

“For real, Shane,” I tell him lightly. “No one can hurt me. I’m invincible.”

“Devil.”

“Excuse me?” I laugh.

He smiles. “That’s what I was going to say. You don’t look like an angel. Right now, you look like a devil.” He puts his palm on my naked thigh. It rises slowly, caressing my ass. My hip. My side that tickles so badly I squirm under his touch, but I lean into it too. I want it more than I want anything else in the world. “You look like a gorgeous,” he kisses me softly, “insatiable,” another kiss, “naughty as hell little demon. And I am into it like you wouldn’t believe, baby.”

I kiss him hungrily as his hand rises to my breast. He cups it as much as he can but his palm is big and my breasts are not. Still, he makes it work. Lord Jesus Mary and Joseph, this man makes my body work.

I swing my leg over his hips to straddle him. We’re animals here, alone. We’re easy. There are no questions asked. There are no assumptions made. There’s no doubt. Not for either of us. Here we are safe and together and no one can screw that up for us. Not even me.

I’m not the woman I thought I was when I’m with Shane. I’m better than I ever thought I could be. I’m happier. Kinder. I feel my age when I’m with him. I’m younger than I’ve ever been before. Freer than I believed a person could be. He lets me be whatever I need to be – whether I’m a bitch, an angel, or a devil – he takes me as I am in every moment, and I want to give him every ounce of goodness I have inside me. I’ll run dry eventually. It’s unsustainable because that’s the way all good things are – fleeting. But for now, my soul is an ocean.

I shudder against him as he pulls my body down hard over his. It hurts but it’s good. So fucking good. I bite down on a scream that rises in my throat as he grunts. He shakes and grips at me with a controlled strength that should terrify me but it makes me feel whole. I feel safe in the steel cage of his arms, held tight to the rock solid span of his chest. He’s warm stone under the heat of a desert sun and I’m a cold blooded creature curled up against him, desperate for his heat.

We fall back against the bed together, tangled in a mess of limbs, hair, and hands. He loves to play with my hair. He tells me it’s like sunlight. I tell him the nickname that Kasian gave me. He laughs, saying he likes it, but he likes his nickname better. Deep down, I do too. We stay in bed for way too long like that; just talking. Laughing. I’m never this lazy but I could get used to it with Shane. We lose hours that way, but we’ll never miss them. We pass them teasing each other with our words and our bodies. We have sex again, this time in the bathroom where he pins me against the shower wall with my legs around his waist and hot water pouring over the rippling muscles along his back. I can’t stop touching him. He can’t stop tasting me. He says he could eat me for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and I smile at the insatiable need of this carnivore.

Finally, around midnight, we realize we need actual food. We get dressed for the first time since we left rehearsals and order Chinese takeout from my favorite place down the street. They’re fast, cheap, and have amazing soup. It’s my one indulgence that I allow myself only a few times a year, but tonight I don’t worry about my diet. I order egg rolls and I promise Shane I’ll try a bite of the orange chicken he ordered.

“You’ll love it,” he promises.

“I doubt it,” I laugh. “But I’ll try it.”

“You’re getting brave, Boss.”

“I’ve always been brave. I think you’re getting pushier.”

“Now that I know your bark is worse than your bite, you’re not nearly as scary as you used to be.”

“No,” I lament dramatically. “There goes all my power.”

Shane reaches across the kitchen island to take my hand with a smile. “Nah, you’ve still got it. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”

I don’t believe that at all, but I smile anyway because I want to believe it. I want to think I’m strong. I used to. I did when I left New York and my old life behind, but for the last couple of years I’ve started to doubt myself. I think it’s easy to confuse strength with anger. And anger is almost always rooted in fear.

Ten minutes later, right on time, there’s a knock at the door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Only it’s the wrong knock.

My hand tightens on the plates I was pulling from the cupboard. I worry for a split second that I’ll drop them. That they’ll shatter on the floor into shards of ceramic that I’ll never be able to put together again.

“I got it,” Shane tells me amiably.

“No!”

He freezes halfway off his stool. “What’s with you?” he chuckles.

His smile fades when he sees my face. I can’t cover the dread I feel. It’s written in my eyes and I let Shane read it. Every word.

“Who’s at the door?” he asks quietly. His voice is low. Deep. I’ve never heard him speak like that so I have no idea what it means, but it makes goosebumps burst out over my skin.

“Sutton, who is it?”

“It’s Eric,” I confess without feeling.

Shane’s face darkens dangerously. It’s amazing how fast the light leaves him. He’s at once jealous and territorial. “What is he doing here?”

“That’s a really good question.”

“I’m looking for an answer, Sutton.”

“Me too. Just sit. Stay right there. I’ll deal with it.”

“What are you dealing with? Why would he come here in the middle of the night like this?”

I look at him hard. “You know why.”

Shane sits down heavily on the stool. His face is a swarm of shadow, his normally brilliant eyes as dark as midnight. “Got it,” he replies numbly.

I want to reach out to him. I want to hold him and kiss him and tell him that it’s nothing. That it was never anything but ugly.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

But first I have to make the asshole go away.

“Give me a minute,” I tell Shane.

“Just tell me one thing first,” he says quietly. “Who’s intruding here tonight? Me or him?”

I feel like he’s knocked the air out of me. It hurts to hear him ask that.

“Him,” I answer firmly. “He’s always been unwelcome. Always.”

Shane nods stiffly. He’s not looking at me but he’s done asking questions.

I storm out of the kitchen to the front door with murder on my mind. I don’t open the door. I don’t want to see him, I don’t want him to see me, and I sure as shit don’t want him to see Shane. The look on Shane’s face has me on edge. I’m not sure what he’ll do if he’s face-to-face with Eric right now. The absolute worst thing I can imagine is that he’d leave.

Knock. Knock.—

“What?” I demand through the door.

Eric hesitates. “Sutton?”

“Who else would it be?”

“I don’t—”

“What do you want?”

“I want to see you.”

“No.”

He waits for me to say more, but I won’t. He wants an explanation but he can get fucked. I don’t owe him anything.

“Are you going to open the door?” he asks quietly.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you here. Go home.”

“You’re my home, Roe.”

“Fuck you,” I scoff. “I’m sure you say that to your wife too. It’s a tired line.”

“You want me to leave her?” he asks, his voice gaining strength. “Is that what’s wrong with you lately?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Baby,” he coos sadly, “we both know that’s not true.”

His words, his knowledge of me, they cut me down in an instant. The hot air of my anger is deflated from my body, leaving me limp and spineless.

I let my head fall hard against the door. My eyes close as I bang it gently against the cold surface. “Just go away, Eric.”

 “I don’t want to lose you, Roe.”

“You never had me.”

“That’s not true either.”

“It’s over. I told you I never wanted it in the first place.”

“Sutton, open the door.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You don’t know what you want.” He goes silent for a second and I think maybe he’s leaving. Maybe he’s giving up. But then he says, “You’re thinking about Garret again, aren’t you?”, and I think I’ll throw up on the door.

I feel tears sting my eyes. They’re like needles filled with poison. I think I’ll go blind from the rage of them. “Don’t talk about him. Please.”

“He’s important, baby. He made you the way you are. He broke you, but you know I can put you back together. Just open the door.”

“No.”

“Yes,” he insists. “You’re confused. Let me see you. Let me talk to you about this. I just want to talk.”

He’s lying. Men always lie. Or they tell the truth and it’s so ugly, you wonder why they didn’t do you the courtesy of lying to you.

I’m shaking scared. I’m sick to my stomach, hiccupping on fear and hate. My stomach clenches painfully as I gag on a sob of so much ugly I can’t bear it. I can’t stand me and my body that he’s touched. Kissed. Licked. Fucked. Used. That’s what I am. I’m used up. I’m twenty-one and I’m nothing but a cold condom forgotten on the floor.

A warm hand touches my shoulder gently. Shane turns me away from the door. He looks down at me with that darkness in his eyes and his hand on the knob, and I think this is it. He’s done with me. He’s leaving.

He holds my eyes for one inscrutable moment before yanking the door open hard. I’m hidden safely behind it. I can’t see Eric’s expression but I recognize the shock in his voice when he comes face-to-face with Shane.

“You,” he says simply.

“Yeah,” Shane growls. “Me.”

“I didn’t know—”

“She’s made it clear, man. She doesn’t want you here. Go home.”

“I came to talk about the show. We have—”

“You’re not here about the show. You’re here to fuck her.”

Eric pauses, adjusting his tactic to Shane’s attitude. “I guess I missed my time slot. It’s a busy apartment.”

“Watch yourself.”

“Or what? You’ll hit me?”

“You come around here harassing her again and I’ll do a lot more than hit you.”

Eric takes his time responding. I hold my breath in the silence, watching the white-knuckled grip Shane has on the door.

“Well, I wouldn’t want that, would I?” Eric asks quietly, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Shane doesn’t answer. He stands stone still waiting for Eric to decide how this night ends. I can see it in the hard set of his jaw that Shane is up for anything. It can end well or it can go very badly. It’s all the same to him. He’s game.

Eric is not. Shane’s eyes track him as he moves away. He waits for a good ten seconds, probably until Eric is in the elevator, before he closes the door. He throws every lock on it before his shoulders relax.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe.

Shane looks at me with a surprised frown. “Why are you sorry?”

“I didn’t tell you.”

“Have you been with him since we—”

“No.”

“Then it was none of my business.”

“It started last year but it’d been building for a couple of years before that.”

“Sutton, you don’t have to explain it to me.”

I ignore his protests because I’m not doing it for him. I’m saying it for me. I want to purge this pill that I swallowed because it’s been killing me slowly. I’ll feel better to have it out. I’ll be humiliated. I’ll be ashamed. I’ll hate every second of talking about it, but when it’s over, when it’s all out, I’ll be stronger. I have to be. I need to be because I can’t keep going the way I am. I’ll never survive myself.

 “I didn’t get emancipated from my parents because of the money,” I admit anxiously. I’m having trouble meeting his eyes. My heart is in my throat, beating slow. “I did it because when I was sixteen my mom convinced me to have sex with a thirty-seven year old director.”

Shane stares at me blankly. “The hell,” he mutters.

“He was planning a production of Les Mis,” I continue without thinking. It’s the only way to get through it. Thinking means remembering and remembering is feeling and feeling is agony. “It was my dream. My entire life I’d wanted to be in Les Misérables. I was desperate to do it. I auditioned three times and Garret said it was down to me and another girl but he couldn’t decide. He said he was torn. He needed help making a decision.”

Shane runs his hand over his mouth, shaking his head. “I don’t think you should tell me the—”

“My mom told me what he wanted. She knew. She’d been through it. She grew up in the theater. She said I was lucky he was attractive. A lot of the men she’d slept with were older and uglier. She said I should be grateful I had it so easy. I didn’t feel lucky. I wanted the part so bad I could taste it, but I wasn’t sure I could do what I had to do to get it. I wasn’t a virgin but I wasn’t very experienced either. The idea of sleeping with a strange man scared the shit out of me.

“Mom told me that if I didn’t do it, the other girl would and I’d be out of luck. She said landing that part would launch my adult career. I could stop doing kid’s shows and start the next part of my life. She said I needed something and he needed something, and if we could help each other out, we’d both be happy in the end.” I shrug but it turns in to a shake I feel down to my core, chilling me like I’ve been dropped in an ice bath. “It was only one time. It was in a nice hotel room. My mom bought me a beautiful yellow dress and took me to the salon beforehand. I felt… I felt grown up. I told myself I was taking care of my business, the way all women do.”

“Did she make you work with him afterward?” Shane asks tightly.

“No. I never made it to the production, but I went to the hotel. We had sex.”

“Fuuuck,” Shane groans, rocking back on his heels. He takes a step away from me, his hands on his hips. His head down.

“When I left, he said I got it. We were going to start working a month later, but I couldn’t sleep that night. I felt sick. No matter what my mom was telling me, I knew what had just happened.” I lick my lips, tasting salt tears I didn’t know I was crying. “I knew I was raped.”

“And that son of a bitch,” he points angrily at the door, “he knows about this?”

“I told Eric about it two years after I got to L.A. When I got on the show, we hit it off right away. He treated me like an adult. He asked my opinion on things and he respected it. It felt good to be seen as an equal, for once. We started flirting. It was innocent at first but it got serious fast. It was like something had to happen or we’d both go insane, and then it did and I felt sick with myself. I felt like I was making the same mistake all over again. He’s older, he’s my boss, he’s married. It always felt so good when it was happening, like scratching an itch, but I felt like shit afterward. I cried every time. I hated myself. I hated him. I told him I never wanted to do it again but Eric said it would always happen because we’re meant for each other. He’s told me a thousand times that he loves me.”

“Do you believe him?”

“No,” I laugh shakily. “I’m a masochist but I’m not an idiot.”

Shane stands still, his eyes on the floor. He’s thinking. It’s a lot to process and I’m relieved I got through it all without him running out the door away from me. He still might. I wouldn’t blame him. But he’s made it this far and that’s more than I would expect from anyone.

“I don’t know what to do with any of this,” he admits, his voice rich with emotion. He looks at me with an open expression that shows me the frustration, rage, and sorrow that’s brewing inside him. I hate that I put it there. That I fed him the poison I’m so desperate to purge. “All I want to do is hug the absolute shit out of you but I’m worried that’s the exact opposite of what I’m supposed to do.”

I smile faintly. “I don’t know what you’re supposed to do either, but I would never say no to your arms.”

“Get over here,” he demands gently.

I step into his embrace with a sigh of relief that I feel down into my toes. His warmth caresses me inside and out. It dries my eyes. It evaporates the tears from my cheeks. It washes away the dirt and grime that hides in my heart until I feel fresh. Not clean. I’ll probably never feel clean again, but I don’t feel half as sullied when he holds me.

“Don’t ever tell me Garret’s full name,” Shane pleads quietly, his mouth pressed against the top of my head. “I’ll fucking murder him if I know and I’ll end up in jail and you’ll have to come visit me every Friday to tell me how my Kodiaks are doing.”

“Oh, Shane,” I sigh sadly. “There’s no way I’m watching football. Not even for you.”

He chuckles, leaning back to look down into my eyes. “You are the most stone cold bitch I’ve ever met in my life, Sutton, and I want you to take that as a compliment because that’s how I mean it. You are a badass bitch.”

“I thought I was a devil.”

He kisses my forehead before pulling me against him again. “You’re everything, baby.”