You've been tired lately, your assistant had explained to me earlier in the evening. That still didn't make up for the fact that dinner should have started three hours ago, but you told me that you had to make a quick phone call. You had to make a lot of not-so-quick phone calls, it turned out. Veiled by the darkness of New York at night climbing through the window of your temporary office, your head was in your hands and I could hear your Southern drawl twenty feet away as you rambled. Did you even stop to breathe in between your words?

My black dress sparkled as the light reflected in the mirror just as I turned the corner to leave the vanity. My time was put to use as I followed your voice and fixed my appearance based on instinct. "John?" I slithered through the doorway, first unsure of whether or not you were actually in the room, but once I was certain that the voice was close I found you underneath the navy blue in the room. Could you even see me? I felt like the Invisible Woman, or maybe that's just code for 'ignored'.

You continued with your conversation, not even batting an eyelash in my direction. On and on you went, your voice raising at times but eventually leveling off. Just by looking at you I could tell that you were tense. Gently I sighed as I slipped behind you, rubbing your shoulders and kissing you lightly on your ear. You swatted me with your hand, and I lifted my head, focusing solely on massaging the tension out of your shoulders. I find it amazing that I can grin just by the thought of pleasing you when I've spent such a long time focusing only on my pleasure.

"Dammit, will you go and make yourself useful? You know what I drink." As you could possibly imagine, my face fell the minute you shot me down. You muttered a curse into your hand as the man on the other line went on with what he had been saying. I was frozen until you raised your hand to either shove me or shoo me away from you, but all I wanted to do was ask you what was wrong. I couldn't. I just did as you told me and made myself usefully. I fetched your brandy and cautiously returned to your office to hand it to you. It wasn't fun but I got used to it as the night went on. You were in there two hours and eight glasses later.

My eyes were watching the seconds' hand on the clock just as you walked in. "Go fix your make-up and put on that perfume I like." It was midnight. The clock's slow tick didn't make it feel real but there was no use arguing with the clamor of the bell outside of the hotel. You sauntered to the closet and pulled one of your hats from the top shelf. When you turned to look back at me your dark, cloudy eyes feigned innocence. "What's wrong now? I thought you wanted me to take you out. You need fresh air."

Did I feel more like a caged animal or a servant? I wasn't able to make up my mind. I was like a zombie. I knew that I was moving but it didn't feel as though I was rolling out of bed and straightening my dress. I felt repelled by the idea of going to you when you hurt me, but I did so anyway, even when I could feel myself gagging as the sharp odor of numerous glasses of liquor dominated the cologne you put on. You grabbed me by the arm, not meaning to do so harshly, and pulled me to your chest. The smell was burning through my nostrils. I had to get away from it. We were going two different ways at that moment. You were bending down to kiss me, but just as your fingers swept my jaw I turned away. I couldn't do it.

By the time I muttered my explanation, "You're drunk", I was already trapped in the eye of the storm. Just like a natural disaster, I could sense the calm that preceded. Time stopped for a moment, the air was still, and our brains shut down for a minute. Then out of nowhere the winds picked up and the debris started flying. The cart of alcohol was flipped, shot glasses and bottles both shattered, littering the carpet with shards of glass and even more pungent liquid. My shrimp cocktail flew to the other side of the room, half-eaten and staining the wall that it hit. And that damn hat was the second to last victim.

Why are women crazy about cowboys? I wondered that a few times, but if I could have thought then, that moment would have been ideal. I wasn't sure what to expect to start flying next. The table? The lamp? My memory is so blurry that I'm not sure if I ever thought to put myself on the list. Sure enough, you grabbed me by the arm and flung me onto the bed. It was so quick, I don't even think I took a breath. All I know is that one moment I was looking at you as you clutched my bicep, and the next moment I was staring up at you as your weight pinned me down to the mattress.

We struggled on top of the sheets. My nails dug into wherever they could as I kicked and jabbed you with my stiletto heels. I couldn't stop you but I hoped that you would come to your senses and snap out of wherever you were inside your head. I was hoping that you would stop or at least loosen your grip, but I could feel my skin bruising underneath your strong hands. Up and down the length of my body you grabbed and pinched, all the while crushing your lips against mine as I thrashed about. You certainly do have a way of getting around. I noticed that as you groped me, towering over me and holding me down by the throat. I was always a fighter, always, but as your hand snaked between my thighs my spirit died.

Although I seemed to be compliant, you didn't seem too certain that was true. Around my throat, tightening briefly, was that hand of yours, and as you trailed out from where you had been I wasn't sure what your other hand was doing. Not until I heard the metal of your belt buckle and the slow draw of your zipper. Why did you take your time? When you're on your back and staring at the ceiling, time doesn't exactly fly, but I could tell that you intended to not rush. At first, it wasn't too horrible, of course it was never pleasant, but it worsened with time, so much so that I had to squeeze my eyes shut.

With my eyes closed I could rewind back to the beginning of the night. I remembered giving my boyfriend a kiss, looking up into his eyes and running my hand through his hair. I told him that I had business to take care of. You really put a spell on me, I started to use your own word for our rendezvous. Do you remember when handed me the gift box that my dress was in, as soon as I walked through the door? It's ruined now, that dress. The strap on my right shoulder was torn.

My memories were put on hold as I forced my eyes open. The hand on my throat had made its way to my shoulder while your other hand made sure that my legs were just as you wanted them. Although I'm sure open was good enough for you. You grunted a few times and then it was over. I blinked back tears as you pulled away from me and fixed your pants. I, on the other hand, remained like a batter rag doll. I didn't even think to cover my exposed breast or seek coverage for underneath my dress.

I was in a state of wide-eyed lethargy, not caring that my skirt was still bunched around my waist. You looked down at me, I could feel the daggers, but I don't think you were feeling any guilt. You weren't my cowboy. You were a Neanderthal that took over the body of my sporadic companion. There was no thin line between the love and the hate that I felt for you. The bathroom door slammed shut and I knew what it was that I felt. It was pure hate, as hot as a white flame, and I knew that it was mutual. My cowboy treats me like his princess. He showers me with luxurious gifts and makes sure that I get everything that I want and more. You treated me like a worthless and inferior woman. That's exactly what you thought of me.

The door squeaked as it reopened and you appeared, disgusted and standing in the doorway with your jacket and tie removed. "You don't have a shred of dignity. You don't have any grace," you slurred. Were you trying to get a reaction out of me? I was already dead. Out of the corner of my eye I could see you coming toward me again, your fingers sloppily undoing your buttons. You were done with me, but that fear still lingered as I felt the stench of liquor crawling on my skin. "You're not going to answer me?" You pushed my legs together and pulled me up by the arm again. It stung from the bruise you had given me before. Everything stung.

"Get the hell out of here. I don't want you here anyway, you've already served your purpose tonight. Your clothes are in the bathroom." My arms crossed in front of my chest and my legs were pressed as close together as possible. I shuffled into the bathroom and sobbed as soon as the click of the door assured me that you couldn't see. I know you could hear me, but I didn't care. I was grateful that my clothes were still around, and that while I didn't have time to bathe, I was able to change into clean clothes. Looking up at my reflection, I wiped my make-up off on the back of my hand and reentered the bedroom with the dress over my arm. I draped it over the back of a chair in the corner of the room and left without looking back at you. You had already arranged for me to leave. While there usually was a limousine or a luxury car waiting to drop me back off at my hotel, I left in a regular taxi cab. Just like a prostitute would.

Back at my hotel I dunked my head underneath the soothing bath water that Johnny had run for me upon seeing my distressed appearance. He was by my side pouring water over the top of my head like a mother does to a small child. I sobbed right in front of him and he never asked me why. I had a feeling that he knew that it was because of a man. Cowboy, you were supposed to be the one to pull me out of the bath and kiss me all over, trying to remedy whatever ache I had. You were supposed to be the one that wrapped my towel around me and tucked me in bed, your arms wrapped around me just in case I needed you. Of course, that would be in the event that someone else had hurt me and not you.

I wonder if you'll write back to me and explain why you never called to apologize. I wonder if you remember why I won't look at your picture and why I cringe when I hear your name or your voice coming from a nearby television. I took three weeks off and followed Johnny from hotel to hotel, not wanting to be alone, ever. But you know that. You looked at me backstage in Louisville and I ran to the bathroom to vomit.

That's what I think of you.

Never Again Yours,

Melina Perez

Author's Note: Feedback please ) I didn't get a lot of feedback on the first story, and it's probably my favorite. I'd really love to get some reviews to know if I should go ahead and write the final sequel. I like what I wrote and I'd love to know if it's just me or if other people like it to. Hopefully I'll get a few or more reviews. It would really really help.