A huge thank you, for the feedback. This fic was meant to be a one-shot but a lot of you wanted more and then this happened. I hope it lives up to the first one.
Thank you, Wanderingbrowneyes, for talking me off the metaphoric ledge, and reading through this.
Being associated with an international drug cartel is a lot like being in sales. It's about the product, it's about supply and demand, but most important of all, it's about the people. You're only as good as your last sale, your last customer. If they're not satisfied, you're out. Or worse. You have to be able to read people, assess their vulnerabilities, figure out what they want, all before you even introduce yourself. And then, you convince them that not only do they not want what they think they do, but that, you, the stranger who just sidled into the chair next to them, you have what they really need.
That's where your product comes in.
After I'm done with lunch, which was a sad little bowl of cornflakes, I place the dreg-filled bowl in the sink, and head over to the window. Kubra has placed his fucking minions outside my building, to watch over me, to scare me, to let me know they know where I am. I'm not scared, I'm fucking pissed. All I want to do is go out with a baseball bat and smash the windshield in. Maybe throw in a few punches. But that's what he wants; to get a rise out of me.
Being in control of your emotions is of utmost importance in sales… or the drug business. Emotion gets you in trouble, lets you down. Emotion takes away the precious time that could be going towards planning for counter strike.
My clothes have reduced down to a meager handful, the last of which I am currently folding into small squares. It's been a few months since Piper came to visit, and in the time since, we've talked on the phone a few times, and I went down to visit her a couple of times. The contact has dwindled to almost nothing since my last visit, mostly because Piper isn't an idiot, and she can tell I'm being distant. Of course, instead of asking me about it, she assumes…whatever she assumes about my life as a newly free woman, and she pulls back; afraid to get hurt.
It's hard to believe we're still playing games with each other. Like we have the rest of our lives to get our shit together. I scoff to myself, carrying the shirts to the suitcase that sits as a newly permanent fixture on my two-seater. Piper has always equaled emotion for me; love, hate, remorse, pleasure, contentment and everything else in between. Staying away from Piper means keeping my rationality alive.
And that's exactly why I've resisted the said smashing in of the fucking windshield.
And that's exactly how I've come up with a plan to get the hell out of here.
*Flashback*
When I figure out a way to side step Kubra's goons, I begin frequenting a local bar, not for the stimulating company by any means, but for the booze. Usually, a glass of chardonnay gets me through the night, but having just gotten off the phone with Piper, I needed a drink. Or two.
"I'm really fucking lonely, Pipes."
"Oh I'm sure you'll find someone to keep your bed warm."
"Fuck you. Is that what you're doing?"
Needless to say, that didn't go very well. All I need to do is get Piper out of my head. For tonight, at least.
The place is dimly lit; as usual, and crowded with mostly young women, too loud, shrill. As usual.
I pick a spot away from the din and order myself a whiskey, stiff. My mom always used to say I drink like a 60 year old man. Well I feel like I'm nearly halfway there ma, I think, tipping the glass slightly in a salute, if only you could see me now.
About a week ago, I began noticing certain women who would be seen here more frequently than others. Some of them would approach me, try to initiate a conversation, hardly ever with any fruitful results. My mind started working on a strategy before I could even ask myself, a strategy for what? I needed a ticket out of here, and somewhere in this far from fine establishment, odds were, I'd find it.
This woman leans in next to me, placing her glass on the dirty looking counter, and hops onto the stool next to me. I can feel her eyes on me as she plays with her glass, takes a sip, sets it down, plays with it again. I'm waiting for her to strike up a conversation so that I can say no, and get it over with, but she just sits and drinks and continues to stare at me. It's irritating and I scowl in her direction, hoping that that would scare her off.
She doesn't even flinch at having been caught staring.
"Can I help you?"
She doesn't reply immediately, the only response being a slight lift of her dark eyebrows. She's silent for a few more moments, allowing the sting to seep out of my words.
She takes another sip, slowly twirling the contents in her mouth before swallowing. "You can, by letting me buy you a drink." Her voice is lofty at places you wouldn't expect it, her words carrying a strange lilt.
I raise my almost full glass at her, telling her I don't need more, and I hope she gets the hint and leaves. A small part of me hopes she doesn't.
"I'll wait." She's turned her body towards me, and I can definitely feel the heat between us. "You know I don't think I've seen you here before." She leans forward, her leg brushing against mine, "what brings you here?"
I'm fully intent on telling her to leave me alone, but I make the mistake of looking her directly in the eye. Closer than before, I see they have flecks of green around the edges with a deep rich brown in the centre; a whole forest of secrets within those eyes, and I'm captivated. I see a twinkle in them, like she knows the effect she's having on me. Maybe it's the eyes, or maybe it's the fact that this is the first decent human contact I've had in months, the truth, or a part of it, comes bubbling forth.
"I'm looking to forget."
"Ah, but there are better ways of forgetting than drowning yourself in alcohol." There's a definite teasing edge in her tone, and I can't decide whether I like it or not.
"Yeah?" I pointedly down my drink in one go, immediately regretting my decision as I almost cough the burning liquid all back out. She just grins widely at me, and motions to the bar tender. He fills up my glass and she yells at him to put that on her tab.
Memories from another lifetime threaten to take over, so I force myself to look at this woman whose name I don't know yet.
"Thanks. I'm Alex."
Her smile, inexplicably, turns warm. "Valerie."
I read about this technique in a novel once, that they use in sales, called pacing. The conversational hypnosis. You start by listening, observing, paying attention to the little details. You look for tells, nervous tics. You let the other person think they're the ones leading the conversation, but really, you're just easing the steering wheel out of their hands, and, if you do it well enough, they let you. If they brush back a strand of hair, you wait 15 to 20 seconds, before brushing your hair back. If they cross their legs, you wait and mirror. It's a message to their subconscious, saying, hey, I'm on your side, nothing to be wary of. And pretty soon, you're in the driver's seat, and they'll go wherever you're taking them.
Reading people, I don't have to think about it, it's second nature to me. I look at someone, and they open up like a book to me. Sometimes the people are so boring, so dull, it's not even fun, but sometimes, if I'm lucky, I'll come across somebody with layers. Like a 5000 piece puzzle of the fucking sky, and my mind tingles with excitement.
Piper was a 5000 piece puzzle, and even though I have her figured out better than most people in her life, I have still to put together the complete picture.
Valerie, although not quite the same deal as Piper, is nonetheless a puzzle. She's here on some business and will be leaving soon. Which is perfect. No strings. We've been talking for a while now, length of three drinks and some shots of tequila, and I can't even recall how many times my gaze has slipped to her very low V neck. And every time, she blushes slightly and cuts her glance away.
After a while, as I raise my hand to order another drink, she grips it in hers and lowers it down. "There are better ways to forget, you know?" The statement is thick with suggestion, and you'd have to be a fucking idiot to not know what she means.
"Yeah? Like what?" I'm so drunk, my speech is starting to slur.
She leans in close and with her breath tickling my ear she says,
I wanna taste what you taste like.
I shake my head. No, that's not right. What she says is, "I could help you forget." I lean back to look at her, somewhat alarmed at the clarity of Piper's voice in my head, and all I can do is nod.
"My place is-"
She's shaking her head as she throws some money towards the barkeep. "I don't think I can wait that long."
Oh.
I let her lead me to the small bathroom near the back and into an even smaller stall. This is all too familiar; this isn't helping me forget at all. Flipping the questionable looking lock, she turns around and I slam her against the door, attacking her mouth with mine. She's surprised, and it takes her a moment to respond, but then her hands are in my hair, on my back, squeezing my ass, pulling me in.
It's just sex.
She tastes like peaches and it's over bearing. I break away from her but her hands are insistent.
It's just sex.
I watch through lust filled eyes as this woman in front of me falls apart, her arousal coating fingers. Her head falls back, neck exposed; I lean in for a bite. This could be Piper I'm nipping. Creating a vacuum on her pressure point and I almost convince myself it's Piper who gasps. Who grabs my hair and pulls me in for more.
"More," she breathes out.
More. I scissor my fingers inside her, her legs come up to cross behind my back, body arching into my touch.
It's just sex.
More. When she comes undone, it's beautiful. She's bruising her lip between her teeth, her face contorted in pure ecstasy, and as she's coming down from her high, as her eyes flutter open, her gaze focuses on me and I can't remember her fucking name.
It's just sex.
Before I can think too much about that, she's lowering her legs down from my waist, and snaking her hands between our nearly fused bodies. She pushes her fingers under my shirt. Instinctively, I suck in my belly as I feel her scrape down below my belt and I cry out as her fingers plunge into me.
It's been too fucking long. My body falls forward, hand splayed against the door, riding her fingers. I bury my head in the crook of her neck because I just need to feel, not to see or think.
It's just sex.
She adds her thumb to the mix, relentless, and I'm cross eyed with pleasure. She kicks at my leg, spreading me open further and I moan. I gasp.
I bite, and it could easily be Piper I'm nipping at.
It's just sex.
It's Piper. Piper's fingers are fucking me into oblivion. Piper's hand makes me buck into her, my hips crashing painfully into hers.
When I cum it's hard, and it's fast and it's gut wrenching.
Cambodia flashback.
I'm sitting on my stupid mattress-less frame of a bed, knowing how sore it's going to make me, but today's one of those days where I'd take any sort of physical pain over, well, what happened between me and Piper.
I love you Alex, I love you and I fucking hate you. Hate you. I can't stop her words from ringing in my ears. No matter how hard I focus on the book in front of me, I can't get her face out of my mind; the face that had that hatred etched so clearly on it.
Speak of the devil. She's standing at the entrance to my cubicle, like there's a fucking door between us, like we're two people not in prison, like we're two people with even a modicum of privacy between us; telling me I was right. Yeah, but about what? She tells me she's lost Larry, that it may be over between them.
So I was just a comfort blanket to her.
"Can I?" she gestures towards my bed. I give her a weird mix of a shrug and a nod and she sits next to me.
"So, all my cards are on the table. Everything. I'm an emotionally manipulative narcissist who bailed on you when your mother died."
Okay. Honesty. Let me have a go at it. "And I'm a ruthless pragmatist who sold you out and then lied about it. We suck."
She's looking at me, with that look. No.
"Kind of a relief, though, isn't it?"
Jesus. "My god, Piper. You're giving me whiplash here!"
She turns towards me, looking me straight in the eye. "I'm not fucking with you. I have ruined my life, twice, over you. So, what's the endgame here? When we get outta prison, what's the plan?"
Plan? I'm starting to sweat a little, so I blow her off with a joke.
"I'm being serious. Are you gonna get a job? Like a regular person? I mean I don't even know what that would look like."
No, she's not fucking with me. What she is doing is, trying to extract a promise from me. A lease. An insurance policy for when we get out, so she doesn't have to be alone.
In hindsight, here's what I should have done. I should have paced her, I should have turned towards her; I should have fucking opened up. I should have said, listen Pipes, I don't know how exactly, yet, but I'm at least fucking willing to make it work. I was a halfway decent human being, I should have reassured her, that even though I'm scared, we can try. That I can try.
But hey, I'm the asshole pragmatist. I convince myself that she's just using me, which may have been true on some level. I ignore the look in her eyes; I brush off her voice that's telling me to take her seriously. I snort at her; I tell her that I don't make plans. What a liar.
I basically tell her to take her dreams for the future and fuck off.
"If you wanna have babies, and remodel your bathroom, please go. Do. Nest. But if you want to do X on a beach in Cambodia with three strangers in drag…" right there, I see her shake her head; an infinitesimal movement, but I catch it. I can feel a splinter run along my heart at the look she's giving me. I want to stop. I want to say, hey wait, scratch that, let me start the fuck over. But I don't. I keep talking. I offer her a small smile. "I'm not saying it's gonna happen. But it might."
Because that's what people want, for the rest of their lives.
In hindsight, this right here, this is why she picked him. This is when she made her decision. I had made a career out of reading people and the resignation is etched on her face, mixed with disappointment, mixed with resolve, against me.
"I love Cambodia," she says, her eyes sad. What she's trying to say is that she loves me, but it's not enough, and I almost give in, I almost make her the stupid promise.
Right here is when she decides to marry him. Later, in the library, when she says she doesn't have the balls to free fall through life with me, I think she's wrong. I'm the one who's the coward here, not her.
She came in here, a future in her hands and asked me to take it. Instead I throw it back in her face. Fucking Larry would have never done that.
"Me too," I say. The only small comfort I can give her, I reach out and push my fingers through hers. I'm an ass I know but for whatever it's worth Pipes, I love you too. And it'll never be enough.
The phone rings just as the man returns with his meatball sub purchased from the deli down at the corner, and climbs into the black Nissan, parked across the street from my building. By my estimation, I have about twenty minutes when this detail leaves, and then another half hour before the night shift assholes take its place. They are annoying, but predictable.
I reach for the phone, my eye still on car, and swipe the screen to "answer".
"Hell-?" I'm cut off by a cool, mechanical voice over the line.
"An inmate from Litchfield federal prison is attempting to contact you. To accept this call, please press 1."
My finger hovers over the keypad for a moment. Shaking my head, I tap number 1.
"Hey Pipes."
"Alex. How are you?" she sounds a million miles away, and I don't mean physically. The walls are up, but then again, so are mine.
"I'm fine," I lie smoothly, or so I think. "A little bored but I'll live. You?"
"I'm okay. Same old, same old." I guess I'm not the only one lying today. Does she see straight through my bullshit as easily as I see through hers? Probably. So instead of calling her on it, I say,
"I hope you're not picking fights Pipes. Especially now that I'm not there to sneak you corn bread."
It's supposed to be a joke but the line crackles a little with tension. I can just about imagine the look on her face, the look of self righteous betrayal because I'm out and she's not. Because I put her in there in the first place. I lean my head against the wall, one eye peeking out at the street.
"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. So how are you really?"
"I'm fine, really. You haven't visited in a while." The way she says it isn't out of longing; she hurls it at me like an accusation. Because I've stopped showing up to visitation. My back is up immediately.
"Yeah, me too. But it's not like I'm having a blast here Piper, Kubra's men have me under constant surveillance." The silence that follows this is heavy, laden with further accusations and maybe the weight of my own conscience, since I have been leaving my building and coming back, unnoticed, for almost a week now. That's what you get when you observe and plan. Piper knows this. She's seen me working many times.
"Right. I didn't mean it like that. I … I just miss you."
"I miss you, too." Before I can stop myself, I say, "Maybe I'll come this Saturday, yeah?"
"Mmhmm."
"Look, just focus on finishing up in there, and when you come out, everything will be fine." I try to make my voice soothing, and reassuring. There was a time when Piper would have believed that, a brief period when she trusted me.
Not anymore, apparently.
"Yeah, okay. Uh, I have to go now, there's a line forming. Alex?"
"Hm?"
"Stay safe."
"You, too Pipes." And she hangs up. The closest we'll ever come to saying I love you again.