And here is another chapter of "Torrid."
This chapter is a great deal shorter than the others. But I tell ya, NEXT chapter's going to be a killer . . .
Love,
Lolly and Aina.
- 8 -
Pulling away from her after fifteen minutes of forever, I withdrew a deep, unfiltered breath. The car was stiflingly hot. I could barely breathe from the thick heat. Running shaky fingers through me hair, I grinned awkwardly.
That sure was . . . different.
Still coming down from the mind-numbing high I'd been on, I did my pants back up, wanting more than anything to do that all again.
It'd never been as intense as that before. I mean, sure, Suze got a little resistant every now and then, but I'd never had to push her as much as I did then. Every second moment, she'd been against it, pleading with me to stop. She told me that this all had to stop. It was getting out of control now, and it was going to come crashing down on the both of us if we kept kidding ourselves . . .
She was lying through her teeth. I didn't understand why she did that. Made excuses for the pleasure, I mean. What did she have against it? It was a life force that we ought to have been sucking in as much of it as we could get, NOT trying to deny its existence.
It didn't change the fact that, when I'd broken our connection, she was in a real state.
Not the hysterical kind, either. Nah, this one was even more unbearable to witness.
Silence.
Dead silence.
When he got up from me, it was like a cool wind had rushed in and covered my whole body. I had never felt more relieved.
And I had never felt more violated.
It was...indescribable. The emotions I was going through. Not that what just happened wasn't great, no. In fact, it was so good almost to the point where it was painful.
But this time it WAS painful. Because unlike the previous...encounters, I did not want this to happen. Not here. Not now. Not ever.
He was looking at me, expecting me to say something. But I couldn't move. I just lay there, feeling cold and numb.
After a few moments, I slowly rearranged my outfit and sat up. My mouth felt dry, like I've just eaten sandpaper. I couldn't think or say anything to erase the ringing silence.
And I didn't want to.
I mean, I knew silent treatment, where Suze Simon was concerned. But this . . . this was silence in an esoteric, new and deadly form. She couldn't stop staring at the steering wheel in the front seat. It didn't even seem like she was seeing it. Her eyes were glassy, and her lips were parted gently. There was what appeared to be mild fear on her face.
But, looking closer, I saw how deeply embedded the shock was . . .
Seeing that dead expression on her face made something weird happen to me. Suddenly, I guess the slightest sliver of what Suze had been going through the past few days, had transferred to me:
Guilt.
Her eyes . . . they were shocked. Like she couldn't believe what had just happened. How I'd . . . acted
And suddenly, even I knew that I'd crossed the line between anything consensual.
I wished he would stop STARING at me.
'Suze,' my voice sounded rusty after what we'd just done. I remembered how I'd been growling at her, TELLING her what she should have been feeling whenever she tried to refute it.
What did I want to say? An apology? Would my pride have ALLOWED that?
. . . No way.
It didn't matter, though. She ignored me.
What ELSE did he want from me? Did he want me to say, 'Oh Paul, that was great! Let's go for round two!'
Did he want me to THANK him for what he just did?
I sat and stared at the floor.
My name...the way he said it, hung in the air. It made my skin crawl.
I couldn't believe he did what he just did. Forcing me to...God, I felt so DIRTY. Like he had taken something away from me. He was always a little aggressive, but he has never forced me into having sex with him. I was always a little consensual, I admit it.
But today I wasn't. And yet he kept on at it...
That wasn't Paul. I don't know who is the person sitting next to me now. The person capable of such things.
Anxious, I reached over and touched her arm. She flinched, and looked at me quickly before shifting her gaze hastily.
I rubbed the place on my arm where he had just touched me. It felt…stained. God. I'm stained.
'Uh,' I said, now really struggling for words. How could I know exactly what to say all the time, except for where it really counted. 'I'll . . . take you home.'
Again, she didn't reply. She just sat there, behind the passenger seat, staring anywhere but in my direction.
With another deep breath, I struggled to fight off this new guilt that was pouring in from all directions, as if someone was flooding the car with toxic gas.
I exited the backseat, and stood outside the car for a second.
. . . What had I done?
Had I really lost control like that?
Leave. Just leave.
God, what was I talking about? I was in his car. I should be the one who's leaving.
But I couldn't make myself to open the door and get out. My limbs felt heavy, and I was just...beat. I felt like I was outside myself, looking down upon the Ugly, Bad Suze who had repeatedly cheated on her husband with the man he hated most.
I didn't think I could feel any more guilty than I already had, but this time, I've reached a whole new level of Guiltland.
Before the cold of the night began to wind its way beneath my clothes, I quickly got in the driver's seat, slamming the door loudly. I saw Suze flinch in the rear vision mirror above me.
I guess he's going to drive me back to the hotel. Good. At the state I'm in at the moment, I don't think I could handle anymore questions or fake conversations.
I clasped my hands on my lap, and felt my wedding ring. It sent a piercing, stabbing pain to my heart. It reminded me of everything that I had ever wanted...Jesse, a good marriage, a nice life.
But I had to go and screw it all.
For some reason my mind went back to our wedding day. It was, without a doubt the happiest day of my life. Everything I ever wanted came true that day.
When we had exchanged our vows, I felt like nothing could come between us. "To have and to hold, till death do us part." We'd beaten death, hadn't we? We had won.
The thought of Paul being bigger than death itself, making his way into my marriage with Jesse...it sickened me.
The urge to ask if she was okay, was growing overwhelmingly inside me. I guess I was too worried about what her answer would have been.
"No. I'm not. You went too far this time . . . "
If she said it, that would mean it was really true.
I wanted to go home so badly. Not the hotel. Home. In Carmel.
New York suddenly seemed so ugly...so treacherous. Darkness and shadows lurked around the city, around the people gathered here.
Maybe I DID belong here.
Without saying a word, I drove to her stupid hotel. The drive was as frosty as it was painful. When the car stopped, it seemed like I'd jerked her out of some bad dream she'd been having, whilst staring at the back of the passenger seat. She looked small, and scared. Like I'd actually . . . hurt her, when we did what we did. I hadn't meant to. Not like this. Not that badly.
We had arrived in front of the hotel. I felt like I had to physically shake myself out of my trance and move myself. For a brief moment, my hand paused at the car door. There was a fleeting moment where I felt like saying something, or waiting for him to say something.
But I realised that all we had to say to each other, we already knew.
She got out of the car quickly, without a word. I hadn't expected one. Any hopes I'd had for any sentence from her lips that would ease the unprecedented GUILT that was taking me over, were shot when the door slammed closed. She ran up to the hotel's entrance, without a look back.
There was NO WAY I could even contemplate was just happened, because if I tried to, I think I would either start screaming, or crying, or both. I hated feeling this way, so ... helpless. And I didn't even know if Paul realised how far he had gone this time.
I ran through the lobby, ignoring the looks I received from the people at the reception. I knew I looked like terrible, my clothes rumpled, my hair all messed up, my face flushed. It was strange how the coldness of the hotel affected my body, making it feel like I just walked in on a fridge, but my face was still hot. Like it was burning.
Somehow I managed to reach my room, fumbled for my keys and entered the room. I stood there for a moment, unable to decide what to do. Dazed, confused. Lost.
And then all of a sudden, like a switch was turned on, I felt panicked. Panicked that if I stayed in NY any longer, I would be subjected to do things that I never thought I would do. And the person making the influences would be Paul. Of course.
Walking to my room, I paced around, my mind full of so many thoughts that I couldn't focus for a moment to think of what I was supposed to do. And then I saw my suitcase, and it all became clear.
I picked up the phone and dialed the travel agent at the airport. I needed to get out of NY. NOW.
I was put on hold. Okay. Breathe.
Breathe.
What was taking them SO long? God.
And then I felt the tears in my eyes, and wiped them away furiously. I didn't want to be crying. I needed to focus, to think of what to do next. Not crying like some loser. Loser who cheats on her husband.
A guy finally came on the phone. I told him where I wanted to go, but he didn't understand me through my sobs and stupid nasally voice. So I had to keep repeating what I said. How embarrassing.
Finally, though, I booked my flight to Carmel. The earliest one would not be tonight though. It would be at 8.30pm, the next day.
So as much as I hated it, I had to wait. The whole day tomorrow.
This was one of the times when I wished that I was rich, and could actually afford a private jet of my own. Yeah. THAT could come true any days now. Not.
I just hoped I wouldn't see HIM again before I left. Thinking of him made me feel sick with guilt again . . .
And the next moment I was in the bathroom, literally being sick in the toilet bowl.
After a few minutes of disgusting puke, I flushed it away and went to the sink to wash my face. My face looked pale and ghostly in the mirror. I might have been looking at someone else.
But I was feeling much better, as if flushing away the vomit was equivalent to flushing away all the dirt that came when I had been with Paul. It could also have been due to the fact that I knew I wouldn't be staying here much longer. I would go home.
My work might not have been done, but I couldn't care about it at that moment. Staying here only meant I was giving in to Paul, and I think I'd given him enough to last a lifetime. Given enough that I feel as if a part of me erodes every time we did it. I've had enough of that.
When I felt calmer, I decided to give Jesse a call, to tell him that I'll be coming home tomorrow.
Thinking of him made me realise how much I'd missed him. I really did miss him. His laugh...his eyes...his scar on his eyebrow... his concern for me...
God, I hoped he NEVER found out what happened here. EVER.
I went back to the phone and dialed my house number. It rang a few times, before the answering machine picked it up.
I guessed he was still at the hospital.
'Hello, this is Jesse and Susannah de Silva . . . what now, querida?'
' - Just keep talking!'
'Oh. It's . . .still recording?'
'Yes!'
'Uh . . . I don't know what to say - '
'Hey. Suze here. You know what to do. We'll get back to you. See ya!'
'Yes, and - and have a nice d – '
BEEP.
I froze, hearing his voice resonating in my ears. His voice...so deep, so warm...so unlike my chirpy one. And yet how strange the way our voices complement each other just fine.
I had to swallow and took a deep breath, composing myself, before I managed to speak. Even then, my voice sounded strained.
'Hi, Jesse. It's Suze here. Um...I just wanted to tell you that I'm coming home tomorrow...I'm, um, done with my work here early. So I'll be taking the 8.30pm flight to Carmel...just in case you want to pick me up. If you're not busy, that is...if you are, I can make my own way – '
What else should I say? I felt like I was holding back the tears at the very edge right now.
'So...that's all. Don't work too hard.'
Then, I added desperately, 'I love you.'
And then I hung up.
As I saw the door slam behind her, I could do nothing but stare. My face was deadpan. I couldn't feel my fingers on the steering wheel, even.
And I felt sickened with myself.
After a moment, a loud honk from a car behind me brought me back to the realm of the living, and I tore off into the night back to my apartment.
I was going way over the speeding limit. I knew that. However, my care for this fact was in the negative integers. Night's darkness blanketed the road's of New York, and I was barely seeing anything in front of my car. At this rate, I was going to have a freakin' accident.
But that was the effect she had on me. I could drive recklessly, risking my own life, and it suddenly wouldn't matter, because SHE didn't care . . . why should I?
She clouded my mind with her essence, and choked the life out of me. It seemed she WAS my life, now. My existence was merely to seduce and torture her, and give her what she craved so badly.
All other capabilities of mine seemed like secondary functions, when she was there. And when she wasn't, I still felt like her willing slave . . .
What I'd done, though, in the backseat . . . that HAD been too much. She had not reciprocated the same passion. She'd been too scared, this time.
My game had ended badly.
And yet still, I was drunk on her. I wanted to breathe her in, drink her, taste her, consume her, fulfill her, obey her, control her, touch her, love her, bury myself inside her . . .
Other times though, I hated every bone in her breakable little body.
How could a WOMAN do this to me? These emotions - these FEELINGS were new and horrible, and they killed me.
I wasn't used to this guilt. I had long ago silenced my conscience. A lawyer couldn't hear the little voice in his head going, "You KNOW he's guilty . . . just let him go to jail . . . "
No. I had to be completely neutral, and not allow stupid, futile things like emotions to rule my capable mind.
But SUZE, she - GOD. What she DID to me, she'd never fully realise. She'd never even have a CLUE of the pain, and the hunger that she stirred within the darkest, neglected corners of my soul.
Suddenly, I shoved the breaks on, seeing I was home. Exiting the car as if on autopilot, I hovered up to my room in a complete state of guilt.
GUILT.
Once at my door, I had to remember what I was supposed to do next.
. . . Oh yeah. Unlock the door. I - I could do that . . .
Ten minutes later, I was drowning myself in the hapless savior that was Jack Daniels. However, once AGAIN screwing up because all I could think about was her, I started swearing my head off.
THE CASE TOMORROW.
Shit!
I had to get George Palmer off for the murder of his stupid daughter . . . he didn't do it, but I didn't know how to get him off without showing I believed in the supernatural. I was stuck.
Under any other circumstance of law, I'd be MORE than able to lie, cheat, and trick my way into winning.
But this . . . now . . . when I couldn't think straight . . . I was gone.
And the fucking liquor wasn't helping, either.
Loathing her and wanting to smash every inch of her until she could no longer make me FEEL like this, I drunkenly started with my court preparations.
It was useless, but if I lost the case tomorrow to that PRICK, Alex Ormond . . . I'd be a freakin' laughing stock. George Palmer was a HIGH PAYING client. I got this case because I was notorious for finding outrageous loopholes to getting my clients off.
. . . Not now, though. Not while she blinded me.
Dead beat, my head slumped forward on my desk in the mess of papers, and I was gone.