Till death do us part
(c) 2023 by ihatemilk
_September 2014
She never looked back.
The moment her red heels touched the wet, grey sidewalk, she closed the cab door behind her quietly; oh, she wanted to slam it in his face, but he didn't even look her way. Besides, he didn't need to know she was in any way moved by what just transpired. She would gladly even go on pretending she wasn't until she believed it herself, but acting without an audience lost its charm and purpose.
Walking under the wrought iron arch marking the gate of her favorite hotel, she stopped in the middle of the large courtyard, inhaling the humid air of the late afternoon. This was what New York was always like to her; there were no seasons, there was just this — a rainy, wet-smelling September, with its grey sky and glossy sidewalks. She looked up, letting the swarm of tiny drops coat her face; the closest to tears she'd been in a long time.
In a minute she would walk into the lobby and head upstairs to the cocktail bar with a hope of taking her mind off the man who was now on his way to the penthouse they usually ended their meetings at, and who was now going back there without her, and not affected by it in the slightest. In a minute. Right now, she would stay here for another numb while, letting it all settle in, so she could let it go; like she learned in therapy. She didn't want to bring him inside now that he didn't deserve it.
She turned around and stood there for another while, staring at the Lotte New York Palace scripted in golden lettering above the entrance. Her mother's old place in Brooklyn with its shabby coziness might have offered more comfort right now. But then again, it didn't come with a cocktail bar. And she needed a drink.
Melting into the comfort of the familiar burgundy velvet armchair in her usual spot in the almost empty bar, she took a first sip of what could finally be martini and didn't have to be a glass of scotch; well, it didn't have to be scotch back at the Delegate Lounge either, but she liked to have what he had. Besides, scotch always made her think of the first time she saw him there; the night they met.
"Julia Anderson..." she heard him before she saw him; a rich, husky voice saying her name in a way that made her close her eyes. But then she opened them, and saw him, and pressed her knees together, involuntarily, so strong that it was bound to leave bruises. He was huge, smelled like leather and the finest Emirati oud, and eyed her with sultry mischief, in a way that rendered her speechless.
She never lost her cool with men. What was going on at the moment was unthinkable. She followed the movement of his lips, hearing nothing, taking a sip of her martini and excusing herself to go to the restroom. Closing the cabin door behind her, closing her eyes, rolling up her skirt to the image of the lips that spoke to her just seconds ago, she struggled for breath for the next several delirious minutes.
The mysterious stranger was casually leaning against the bar with a glass of copper liquid in his hand, looking like a scene from a movie, looking at her like he knew exactly what she just did. It was her who cast spells on men, not the other way round; but the dark man in front of her, devouring her with his eyes without an ounce of subtlety to it, seemed completely oblivious to the fact. So, this was it. Her equal. A man she wasn't going to sleep with; not tonight, not for another several encounters. A man that was going to be dying to have her.
She very well remembered that keeping her cool that night was one of the most challenging performances of her entire life. Carrying a coherent conversation was another. But hiding her disappointment when he didn't offer her a ride and a drink at his place — the biggest one of all.
But she liked to come back to that night; it held a sentimental value, and put a nice frame to their relationship in those moments when she felt that what they had was more than just business and sex. For her own good, she tried to keep those moments to the minimum, but right now she needed it; the warm comfort of the feeling that she meant something to him. The feeling that was shattered to pieces just minutes ago, the moment she walked onto the terrace and saw him with the tall brunette. The fact that she caught him with another woman while they were out together was embarrassing enough, but it was the way he was lost in the act that needled her, piercing through some part of her that she didn't know existed. He never kissed her like that, never held her like that, in a way that made her face burn, that made her wish she could unsee it. She knew he had a past, everyone did, but he never talked about it, and she never asked. When he got impossibly hard every time he closed his eyes, she pretended it was for her. She didn't want to know, and it didn't matter. She assumed they weren't exclusive — she had other lovers — and she liked it that way, as long as they both kept it to themselves.
But seeing it with her own eyes struck different. Seeing him with not just any woman, but with a woman whose beauty and fierceness rivaled her own; seeing how disoriented he was, how cloudy his eyes were when they got interrupted, the hurt and fury in his eyes when the woman left — it was more than she wanted to know.
The brunette, on the other hand — which Julia found comforting — didn't seem to realize she wasn't the only one. Julia knew that look too well; the look of a woman hurt by the man she trusted. Judging by the amount of contempt in the sharp blue eyes, it didn't seem like she would be calling him anytime soon, if ever.
"Oh, you can have him. A good lay, but quite disappointing otherwise."
On the one hand, Julia loved the attitude, on the other — a hand-me-down given in such a classless manner triggered her in all the wrong places.
In the light of all the above, she was actually quite proud of herself for how she handled the situation with the utmost poise. Especially in the cab on the way here, when he sat in the sulky silence, like it was her, Julia, who ruined his evening, not the other way around. Did she have a knack of attracting men who made a fool of her and then tried to turn it on her? Or was it just a standard feature that came with a dick?
"A good lay, but quite disappointing otherwise." Ironically, she wouldn't have worded it better.
She knew he was seeing other women. But she didn't consider the option that he might be emotionally involved with anyone. He didn't seem like the type.
"You're in love with her…"
"I said, drop it!"
He didn't say no. It was the final straw. It should have been. Or should it? What did it change between them? She had promised herself not to care, not to get into his past. But sleeping with a man who fucked her while imagining his ex didn't exactly make it easy. Not to mention — it was very much below her; it should be. If she had any self-respect, she would block his number and busy herself with her regular booty-calls that she recently put on hold.
There was only one obstacle.
She couldn't sleep with others anymore. She didn't fucking want anyone else.
She needed to find out who the blue-eyed brunette was.
#
April 2015
"Good to see you back, Annie," said a mousy-haired, hazel-eyed, clumsily tall, skinny-looking fellow with a face that — just one look at that face healed wounds and made the world a better place.
He said one thing, but his eyes said "This is what Gabrielle would have wanted..."; but that he kept to himself, considerate as he was.
Good old Josh.
He loved Gabrielle. She gazed at the heart-warming face for a while, but looked away the second she saw his eyes well up. She couldn't. She didn't want to break down in the middle of the work canteen, with all the people around them, amidst the sounds of shelling. In the place she didn't think she would go back to. But Josh was right, this was what Gabrielle would have wanted — for her to come back and continue their mission.
That's why she made the decision, enrolled, got deployed and here she was. It had been a year almost, but she regretted it as soon as she stepped her foot on Yemeni ground when she got off the plane. Not in Sana'a; a different city this time — Aden, far down south, at the coast — but it made little difference, really; Gabrielle's face was everywhere.
Safety-wise, the situation was rather calm. Their office was bigger. Many new faces. She wondered why Josh was here. Was everyone transferred to Aden?
"No, seriously, Annie — it's good to have you back," he patted her on the shoulder.
"Good to be back," she lied automatically.
But at least there was Josh.
There was work to do, lives to save.
But as much as she tried to fight it, being back in Yemen didn't bring back just the memories of Gabrielle.
She wondered when he'd show up. He'd been ghosting her since their awkward encounter in New York last winter, and for a long time, she was glad he did. She didn't feel like seeing him long after she left the damn terrace, grabbing her puzzled brother on the way out. She was in for a long interrogation afterwards, of course; Sean had to know, he was worse than Gabrielle that way.
"What is it?"
"Nothing, let's go."
"What's wrong?"
"Go!"
"Fine, alright! But you can at least tell me what happened."
"Taxi! Get in, I'm not in the mood."
But this was Sean; he didn't take no for an answer. "What did he say to you?"
"Nothing." And this was almost not a lie; he said he missed her, and then said nothing when the redhead walked in on them kissing, called him "baby" and grabbed his arm; to that he said nothing.
"I knew he was a jerk the second I saw him."
"Yeah, tell me about it."
"He's your ex, isn't he..."
"Something like that. Look, I'm done, let it go—"
"You're in love with him..."
"I AM NOT!"
"Well, if that's what you think..."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"He really got under your skin for someone you don't care about."
"Sean, don't you have your own problems to—"
"I actually do — some asshole just pissed off my sister and I get the beating."
"Look, I'm sorry... I'm tired, let's drop this for now—"
"I don't like seeing you hurt."
"I'm not hurt, I'm just—"
"Or sad, or whatever — and you never let people get to you like that, so I just—"
"I'm fine, it's alright — and if you wanna be alright as well, I suggest you drop the subject."
A loud, sulky exhale of surrender — that was his answer, and the one she was happy with.
Of course, he must have been seeing other women, that shouldn't surprise her. But the redhead — why did it hit so hard? Maybe because she wasn't just a random bimbo; she was in fact quite the opposite. And it didn't look like a one-night stand — he took her out in public; let her grab him like she owned him, and call him baby... gods, the very memory made her sick to her stomach even all those weeks later.
It was pathetic she still revisited it. Besides, in all fairness, she didn't want him, she never did; physically, yes, but not on the level he wanted. Maybe that was it. Maybe he wanted it so badly that he just found it elsewhere.
She always thought if she gave in and slept with him, he would always want more, would be on her tail, wanting things she couldn't give him, anything but ghost her ever since.
Well, good riddance. Maybe it was high time to get her shit together and stop acting like he was the only man in the world.
Or — maybe she really should just call him, finally, and fuck him out of her system.
Funny, how just hours after the thought crossed her mind, on her way out of the office, she bumped right into him.
Judging by how it took him a good two seconds to lose the brainless expression, he didn't expect to see her either.
"I would ask what you're doing here if I didn't know it's fucking up everything I work on," she tried her best to sound indifferent, angered by her suddenly racing heartbeat.
And he stood there, blabbering some arrogant nonsense that she stopped following as soon as she focused on his lips, imagining how she would now put them to much better use.
She moved to pass him by and found herself trapped in his arms the very next second. She didn't even block him; no, she let his hands slide around her waist and seize her so possessively she felt her body grow limp. He must have heard her heartbeat in his own ears by now. A part of her still wanted to knee him in the groin and leave, but his breath in her ear switched all of the reason that might have still been there.
"I'll tell you what's gonna happen," the menace in his voice made her shiver. "I'll take you… to lunch… and you will listen to what I have to say," he went on, making her lower abdomen cramp almost painfully.
"Let's go, I don't wanna be seen with you," she broke out of his embrace.
"You are such an asshole," he grinned.
"Go…!" she grabbed his elbow, motioning him to the end of the hall where no one would see them dematerialize.
"Ready? Hold on tight," he pulled her into his embrace, securing her back with his hand; and at the moment, she wanted nothing more than do as she was told.
Seconds later they materialized by an elevator in what seemed to be a hotel hall, where he then stripped her of her bulletproof vest and eyed her in a way that made her wish he didn't stop there.
"Where are we?"
"Raffles Dubai," he said, his eyes suddenly distant. "Nothing too fancy, but there's a restaurant I like."
"Why, do they serve ambrosia?" she asked hurriedly, trying to ignore the warmth flooding her chest when he took her hand in his. It wasn't the first time he did that. But apparently, holding hands when walking constituted a whole different level of intimacy, because it felt awkward, and stupid; and she missed it the instant he let go.
Nothing about this afternoon was normal; the God of War showing her which positions on the restaurant menu were his favorite mortal food; them joking and laughing like old friends catching up after long-time-no-see. He was actually fun to be around; she must have missed it somehow, throughout all the years when he made her life hell.
They even smoked the same cigarettes. Funny, how men trying to light her cigarette would always give her a cringe, but when he did it, it felt so natural. Well, it felt more than that, but she didn't want to get into it — it was hard to think straight in his presence as it was.
And then, when she asked what he wanted to talk about, he got all distant; walked away to the terrace railing and stared into nothingness, silent. At that point she knew she wasn't going to like what he had to say. But what was worse, she couldn't handle this moody behavior, didn't know what to make of it; she just knew it shouldn't upset her the way it did.
What was it about him, that was so different, so... human… it almost felt like he was mortal.
She couldn't help it; she joined him at the railing. There was something about how uneasy he suddenly seemed that drew her to him against her will. "What are you thinking?"
"How fucking depressing New York is," he said, keeping his eyes in the distance.
Well, he had a point there. She didn't miss New York at all. It wasn't her place on Earth. She didn't know what was, yet, but it had to be something completely different.
"Been here before?" he asked.
"Just at the airport once."
"So, it's your real first time now."
"I guess so."
"I'm glad your first time's with me."
They were standing arm to arm but at this point her head turned of its own accord. Contrary to what she expected, there was no stupid grin, no trace of amusement whatsoever. His gaze was fixed somewhere in the far distance, absent-minded, his expression calm, with a wistful vibe to it. What was on his mind that got him looking so human? It would feel so good to hold him close, rest her head on his chest.
"Ares, say what you gotta say or I'll be forced to think that you just wanted to take me out on a date."
"What if I did?" She caught his half-serious, half-amused glare with the corner of her eye.
"Don't you already have a girlfriend?"
"And what's it to you? You weren't interested, so someone else got the job."
"Good for you," she fake-smiled, the annoying knot getting stuck in her midsection. "So, what did you wanna talk about?"
"You can't be jealous, Xena."
"I'm not—"
"It doesn't make sense for you to be jealous, you know?"
"Ares, I'm not interested in your personal life."
"That's not what your eyes say..." he turned to face her, drew her close to face him. "That's not what your eyes said back in New York, either."
She kneed him in the groin before she could think. "How about this? What does this say?"
Once he caught his breath, he grabbed her so hard she felt a pleasant current up the length of her back; and again, against her first instinct, to her dismay, she just let him.
"I think it says a bit more than you wanted to share, my dear," she shivered, feeling his breath against her face; it was short and heavy as hers. "I think it says you want me so bad you can't control yourself," he tightened his grip on her waist, making them both breathless for those few seconds.
"In your dreams."
"Oh, you have no idea what you do in my dreams..."
She could feel her face burn; it felt like her legs would give up if this went on.
"I hope your girlfriend shares your enthusiasm."
"You know, you sure do worry a lot about her for someone who's not jealous."
"Was this what you wanted to talk about?"
"Leave Aden. At least for two weeks."
There it was, a bucket of cold water. All the pent-up air left her lungs with a swoosh.
"Just for two weeks. I'll take you to New York, then I'll bring you back here."
He just didn't get it, did he? So he came here, brought her here, to ask her to leave the people she was helping, to stop saving lives she was saving, the lives that were being taken with weapons he personally supplied — no, this was pointless, this was — she didn't have strength for this. She could already feel the migraine settle in.
And then, just when she was done, when she was about to ask him to take her back to Aden — then he would go and bring her Advil for her headache. Maybe it was nothing, maybe it shouldn't hit her like that; but the look on his face when he saw her in pain — he wasn't supposed to be that. But she shouldn't think that it changed who he was.
But this, along with the very persistence in keeping her out of Aden, it made it hard altogether, she couldn't help it; seeing him care reached some dangerous spot, soft and unguarded.
"Why do you care?" she finally asked.
He chewed the inside of his cheek, waging some inner war for a longer while. She knew the look; considering how much vulnerable is vulnerable too much, when you don't want to be vulnerable in the first place, but then you would just have to say nothing. She smiled inwardly; they were similar like that.
He dodged the question, and kept holding her and touching her face softly, and she let it melt what was left of her resistance; who was she kidding, she'd been dying for this moment to happen for gods know how long, for too long.
"What're you scared of?" he asked, throwing her off guard. Her heart leaped, the question echoing in her head. She wasn't scared. She was just cautious.
"You're afraid you'll love it," he pressed his lips against her ear in a soft kiss that sent a wave of fire through her.
But he was wrong. She already loved it. She daydreamed about it. The memory of him made her sweat, haunted her for months. Maybe she really needed to fuck him out of her system. But... and there was always a but. Why? Why couldn't she just let go? It wasn't like they hadn't already crossed that line.
She felt him cradle the back of her head, his lips pressing softly against her forehead, making her chest tighten in a whole other way than before; that was why. And sleeping with him was one thing, but this — this she had to stay away from, no matter how good it was, no matter how human he felt, how blissfully safe it felt to be — no, this was not happening.
If anything, this was what she needed to fuck out of her system.
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