Author's Note: M rating for language and sexual content
Chapter 27 – Trouble
You shout louder than you used to
And you hold on tighter in the bedroom
As you stand there trying to save me
Use your head and baby, leave me
Janey was alone in the flat when she heard the knock at the door. Immediately, all her defences were up. She reasoned that if it were Sam, he would not have the dignity or politeness to knock. He had a key, after all, and it was his home just as much as hers. Or so she assumed. They obviously hadn't discussed any of the intricacies yet. But if it were someone else, either friend or stranger, she didn't particularly want to see them either.
It had taken a lot for her to build up the nerve and return, fearful he would have been there, waiting for her, expecting her. But she knew from what brief details Rose had allowed her to know that Sam hadn't even been staying at the flat himself either. As she had fled to the comfort of Rose and Scorpius' house, he had supposedly fled to the comfort of James and Ebony's.
There had been a haunting eeriness as she'd tentatively re-entered the Belgravia property—what she supposed was their marital home. Well, she wouldn't be able to say that for much longer, she thought bitterly.
The flat had been left in disarray. Vases and photo frames were shattered on the floor, throw cushions were discarded anywhere other than the sofas they had previously been arranged on, and Janey concluded, with deep resentment, that Sam had gone on a rampage after she'd fled. An outlet for his fury, a need to destroy their home in the way he had accused her of destroying their marriage barely forty-eight hours previously.
Their harrowing screams seemed to linger in the air. The shouted accusations, the unleashing of furious anger that had been building up since before they'd even said their pitiful 'I do's at the altar five months prior, haunting the abandoned flat like ghosts.
Five months. God, what a joke. Janey was mortified—completely embarrassed that she thought it might somehow have gone any differently. Even both of her father's failed marriages had stretched out for a good few years before the inevitable temptation of divorce had set in.
Janey had managed to hold out for almost two days before the desire to return to her own space had hit her. As much as she was deeply grateful for Rose's warm refuge in her hour of need, being stuck in a house where two people very much in love resided was more than Janey could bear. The ever-expanding bump, indicating the growing life of their love manifesting in Rose's womb also constantly set Janey on edge. The last thing she needed to be around was a happily married pregnant woman.
She had been more than relieved to find the flat abandoned upon her return and had easily restored it to its former glory. She hated using magic and resented Sam even more for having forced her to rely on it in that moment, but she'd be damned if she was going to undo his damage with her own hands. She supposed she could have hired someone, but really, Janey was only stopping by for a fleeting visit. She never wanted to set foot back in that place again once she had gathered her stuff and cleared out.
Money wasn't an issue, obviously. Janey could stay in a hotel, or rent a penthouse somewhere. She could even, she considered, return to her childhood home—her dad's main London property. He wouldn't be there; he rarely was. But something about the thought of that house, where she had shared so many tender moments with Sam in their youth, back when their love was new, and innocent, and they didn't know how drastically miserable the path they were on was destined to be, made her skin prickle with unease.
Much like the knock on the door had left her with.
Janey had barely been back in the flat for a couple of hours, and she certainly wasn't expecting anybody. With deep anticipation, she crept towards the door and peered through the peephole.
Sam stood there, looking dishevelled. Looking irritated.
Bracing herself, Janey flung the door open in fury. Was he stupid? The time that had passed since he'd shouted threats of divorce at her wasn't nearly enough for the rageful hurt inside her to have subsided in order to have a rational conversation. If he was there to talk it through with her calmly, or else perhaps apologise and patch things up, she was very much not ready to entertain it. The sheer audacity.
"What the hell—"
"I'm not here to talk to you—I'm here for my stuff," Sam cut her off, his tone steely and unforgiving.
Janey was immediately taken aback. She had naively assumed that he would be resentful of what he'd said to her that night, not double down on it.
"You don't have any stuff," she said coolly.
She could tell by the look in his eyes that he was seething but doing his best to fight against it and stay calm. She had become deeply accustomed to that look as of late.
"Janey," he said dangerously.
"You mean the stuff you destroyed?" she asked scathingly. "All the stuff I paid for."
"I just want my clothes," he said, refusing to take the bait.
"The clothes I paid for," Janey reminded him. She knew she was being unnecessarily hostile, but she was still burning with the hurt he had inflicted on her the last time they'd seen each other. How could she possibly not be.
"Let me in," he ordered, unforgiving.
"How did you even know I was here?" she asked suspiciously, ignoring his command. It was just as much Sam's home as it was hers. He had never needed to knock. He had rarely even come through the front door, often opting to apparate directly inside. And it wasn't like Janey had taken any measures to bar him from entering. She had barely been there either, after all.
"I checked with the front desk."
How chivalrous, she thought bitterly, but she hated that he had been respectful enough to check she was there before he just burst in unannounced. Why, even at his most loathsome, did he still have those little flickers of charm?
"Please let me in," Sam tried again, though his tone was hardly polite. "Five minutes," he assured her, "and I swear to God I will never set foot in this fucking flat ever again."
For some reason, Janey felt a surge of triumph at the slip in his demeanour, but suitably riled up by the implications of what he was saying. He was really going to walk away? From her, from them, from the home they had attempted to build together?
There was something deeply erotic about him losing his temper with her. It made her feel powerful—to know she could elicit such deep passion from him. Even if it was the negative kind.
"I'd rather you leave," Janey replied coolly. It was true, she didn't want him there, and really, what was five minutes, if he were to believed, to her anyway. But she was enjoying being in the dominant position. She only wanted to deny him so he would beg, grovel. She wanted to push him until that passion burst free and he was screaming at her once more.
Sam held her stare, his jaw locked tightly. He looked the worst she had ever seen him, in six whole years together. In fact, she thought in disgust, he looked to be wearing the same clothes he'd been in when she'd stormed out two days ago. Had he showered? Had he slept? Because the dark rings under his eyes seemed to indicate not. And the undeniable shadow of stubble that covered his chin suggested the tell-tale signs of a normally well-groomed man who was about to give up. If he hadn't already.
Well, she supposed, he was there for his clothes, so maybe he hadn't. But then again, maybe James and Ebony had been less than tolerant of his increasing lack of duty to his personal hygiene and insisted he sort himself out if he were to stay for any extended length of time. Janey wondered if that was his plan. He certainly didn't seem that attached to staying in their Belgravia flat. But this only riled her further.
"I will leave," he insisted firmly, "once I have my stuff."
Janey didn't budge from the doorway, and neither did Sam, respecting the invisible barrier she had set in place, even though he didn't have to. Not only could he very much physically overpower her should he so wish, Janey thought, he also had the advantage of presumably having his wand on him and surely knowing Janey's, as usual, was far from her side.
She continued to hold his stare, silently goading him, but she didn't know into what. To shout? To get physical with her? He didn't take the bait, however, patiently waiting but blatantly seething beneath the surface. Just as Janey felt he might be about to snap, she stepped aside, silently permitting him entry.
A flicker of surprise seemed to flitter into Sam's eyes, followed by suspicion. He kept his gaze on her as he walked into the flat that had used to be theirs.
Janey felt an intense heat as he passed by her and was worried that she was as red outwardly as she felt inwardly.
The heavy door fell closed behind them, making them both jump slightly at the sound. That flat had heard a lot of loud sounds as of late. With her arms folded across her chest, Janey followed Sam down the entrance hall into their open-plan living area. As Sam surveyed his surroundings, suddenly looking unsure of what it was he had actually come for, Janey merely watched him with narrowed eyes.
Was it a trick?—she considered. Had he truly intended to collect his stuff as he'd claimed, or had it been a deception to gain entry to the flat. And then… what? Refuse to leave? Claim that it was his home as much as it was Janey's and he was allowed to stay there, or else she should leave instead?
But then she realised why he looked slightly unnerved. Maybe he was reliving what had happened forty-eight hours ago, the awful, unforgivable things they had both screamed at each other. Maybe he realised that she had returned the flat to its former glory after he had trashed it in a furious rage. But if either of those things were true, Janey was left guessing as to whether Sam felt remorseful or vindicated by anything he had said or done.
"Five minutes," Janey emphasised, as Sam had made no moves to gather any of his supposed possessions. Her reminder only seemed to aggravate him.
"You don't have to be so overbearing," he snarled at her.
Janey didn't reply, but as Sam began pacing around the living room, she made her way towards the door that led to their bedroom so as to better watch what he may or may not take.
Her movement did not go unnoticed by Sam, whose temper seemed to be rising with every second he continued to share space with her.
"Four minutes," Janey said, unable to help herself.
Sam turned to her, scowling. In his fury, he had, quite unintentionally, sent a framed photo crashing to the hardwood floor from where it had previously been placed on an ornate end table. The impact shot through them both like a bullet.
"Leave it," Janey ordered, as Sam made to retrieve it, her heart rate having nervously increased. She knew exactly which photo it was. A black and white candid shot from their wedding. Most of the photos from the day had been meticulously posed and then filtered, but this one had captured a rare fleeting moment in which Sam and Janey hadn't even realised the camera was trained on them, sheer blissful happiness stretched across their laughing faces as they shared what was a genuine stolen moment between two people who had been naive enough to think that day marked the start of their happily wedded life together.
It seemed symbolic that it now lay shattered on the floor.
Sam obeyed her, but Janey could see from the hesitation in his eyes that he too had identified precisely which photo had been displayed in the now-broken frame.
"Actually," Janey said, feeling vindictive, "you can take it if you want. It doesn't mean anything to me."
Sam looked stung by her words but, perhaps so as not to give her the satisfaction, he made absolutely no effort to retrieve it either.
"You can have this too." Janey prised both rings off of her finger, the extortionately-priced engagement ring and the almost brand-new matching wedding band. She didn't actually want to give him something that was both so incredibly expensive, and also very much, materialistic though it may seem, hers. But she was making a point. And if need be—if for whatever reason he insisted on genuinely keeping them—she would fight him tooth and nail in court. And they both knew she could afford more expensive lawyers.
Sam might have been the one to first utter the word they had so desperately avoided throughout their unhappy marriage, but Janey was certainly going to be the one to set it into motion. He wanted divorce, she would give him divorce. She was going to be just as active in their separation as he was, make no mistake.
She took two strides into the room, knowing her aim wasn't as powerful as his, before hurling the jewellery, with as much vitriol as she could muster, straight as his head.
Sam caught them both with ease, but the fury burning in his eyes was starting to look dangerous. He just shook his head at her, as though disappointed in her childish display. Like she had been the one to suggest they end their marriage. Like she was the one who was throwing away everything they had together.
"Isn't this what you wanted?" Janey demanded, losing her cool, furious that he yet hadn't. What was he waiting for? If he wouldn't fight for her, why wouldn't he fight against her?
"You are a miserable person," he spat at her, disgusted.
"If we get this over with then I'll be the happiest I've ever been," she retaliated.
"You look pathetic," he snarled, no longer wearing the face of the kind, charming man she had fallen in love with as a teenager, but an anger-driven, resentful man who existed only to hurt her.
Janey felt the blood coursing through her body like rivers of lava. She had been driven to extreme heights of rage by Sam before, but she felt for sure she was about to hit a new limit. One of them was on the precipice of snapping, and then round two of the screaming match would begin.
"That's rich," she said back, looking him up and down with distaste. If the person at the front desk hadn't known Sam was a resident, there's absolutely no way this man would have been let into the building. "You look like absolute shit."
Sam wasted not a single second before he reacted to her riling taunt. He strode towards her, quickly closing the gap between them, but he didn't stop. With two more strides, he had backed her up against the wall, sending a shooting pain through her shoulder as it slammed against the corner of a decorative canvas. Janey went to let out a cry of surprise, completely uncomprehending that he would ever, even in those circumstances, resort to being physically violent with her, but Sam's hot mouth had closed over hers just as quickly, stifling any attempts to protest.
With rapid-fire reflexes, Janey had slapped a vicious hand across his face, only the second time in her life that she had ever felt compelled to do so. The impact shocked them both, and Sam immediately withdrew, looking panicked and dazed.
Janey stared at him, taking stock of the raging aggression burning in his eyes. It was at a contrast with the pale shock on the rest of his face, save for a red mark forming on the side of his cheek where she had struck him. He looked alarmed, not by what he had done, but by her response, and Janey understood.
Despite herself, she felt her eyes flicker to his mouth. They had made contact for barely a second, but Janey's heart was racing. She stared back into his eyes, knowing he was waiting for further instruction. She knew if she screamed at Sam to leave in that moment then he would, unquestioningly.
But she didn't.
Instead, she pulled him towards her, though she needn't have, because as soon as the green light had flickered in her eyes, he had moved too.
Both of them groaned as their mouths met, like they were satiating a deep hunger both had been longing for, unleashing the hatred they held for each other with furious passion of a completely different kind.
The corner of the canvas continued to dig into Janey's shoulder, but she found she didn't care. In fact, the pain only seemed to enhance the overall experience. She and Sam had lost control of themselves plenty of times, but this was on another level. Perhaps because a level of respect or care had been shed, Sam seemed to hold no qualms about how he handled her, and Janey didn't feel the need to admit how very much she enjoyed that side of him.
She had always found it most erotic whenever he took the more dominant role in their sex life, using his size to make her feel completely at his mercy.
His hands gripped at every part of her he could reach whilst she was already deftly removing his jacket, their mouths working in sync in attempt to surely devour the other. Janey felt the roughness of his two-day-old stubble grazing her chin, an entirely new sensation from the man who had strived to be clean-shaven throughout their entire love affair. It was messy, it was angry, it was deeply, deeply stimulating. Janey felt a surge of elated desire as strong as electricity take hold of her body.
Part of her wanted to strip him down further right there and then and have him fuck her against the wall. They hadn't shied away from new adventurous explorations in their sex life, and Janey had always found this exhilarating, if not a little impractical given their drastic height difference. And even though the thought was tempting, so was the appeal of a cushioned mattress beneath her still-throbbing shoulder.
Still desperately working her mouth against his, Janey grabbed at Sam's shirt, pulling him towards their bedroom.
Blindly moving backwards, she accidentally backed into the doorframe, another shock of pain running through her shoulder. She let out an angry groan, furious at the door, furious at Sam, furious that there were still several layers of clothing separating their bodies from being truly pressed together.
As though reading her mind, Sam got to work on her dress, apparently not caring about the buttons he ungracefully ripped free from it.
"This is designer," Janey said in absolute horror, pulling away from him.
Sam pressed his hungry mouth back to hers, and she wondered why she'd even bothered to stop.
"I really couldn't give less of a fuck," he growled, his mouth still against hers.
Janey grabbed at his crotch. Partly to hurt him, partly to arouse him. But it was in vain, as there really wasn't much more she could have done in that area. Still, it was his turn to emit a groan, delighted surprise at her forceful touch.
They probably should have stopped. They probably should have considered that a night of hate-fuelled animalistic intimacy wasn't going to help save their marriage amidst the screamed threats of divorce they had yet to further discuss in a more rational setting, nor advocate further for its appeal. It was only going to succeed in confused aggravation once they eventually came to their senses and realised what they'd done.
But in that moment, Janey didn't care. And neither did Sam.
Stripped down to their underwear, Janey dug her nails into Sam's back as they continued to kiss and writhe in each other's arms. He had always liked it when she did, but Janey was doing it for her, wanting to see how much she could hurt him without it verging on sadistic.
With confident ease, taking Janey with thrilled surprise, Sam had hoisted her into his arms, but his intentions became apparent when, only a few seconds later, he had thrown her down onto the mattress behind her. Sure she was being punished, though by karmic forces rather than her husband, the back of Janey's head smacked against the headboard. It was the impact more than the pain that shocked her.
Sam froze, eyes wide, having been in the process of clambering onto the bed, and Janey's body, himself. She knew he had absolutely not meant to cause her any pain and was mortified that he might have actually done some damage to her.
Janey suddenly feared he might apologise to her, or else check she was okay, and she knew if he showed even a fraction of vulnerable concern to her then she wouldn't enjoy the experience nearly as much. She wanted to hate him, and she wanted him to hate her. She wanted it to be about their bodies, not their hearts.
The brief flicker of concern had gone though, as soon as Janey pulled his body towards hers, showing him with vigour that she was neither hurt nor wanting him to take any accountability if she was.
Sam moved his mouth to her neck, something Janey liked a lot but that she rarely let herself indulge in given she absolutely couldn't be seen with bruising around her neck whilst she was on stage. She wondered if Sam had chosen to do this, knowing this was why she always discouraged it, to spite her. But if that were true, and he was trying to be vindictive, she'd be damned if she let him know he very much did not have the upper hand in that sense. God, she felt like a teenager again, completely losing all sense of her inhibitions.
Janey grasped at Sam's shoulders as he continued working away at her neck, biting, sucking, encouraging and perhaps urged on by the light moaning she had no qualms about emitting. His skin was damp beneath her fingertips. No matter how much they engaged, and he had vastly improved his performance over their years together, Sam had always easily worked up a sweat whenever they did anything remotely sexual. It was one of those things Janey would never admit, especially to him, quite how much it turned her on.
As Sam began grasping handfuls of flesh with unreserved desire, Janey hadn't even realised she was fully nude. Had she taken her remaining underwear off or had he? Either way, she was grateful to be free of the constraints, gasping in pleasure with every inch of her body Sam was able to grip.
He would never have been so rough with her had he still loved her, she reasoned. No matter how wild they had gotten with each other, and no matter how much she insisted she could handle, he had always operated with a noticeable level of careful restraint, pushing close to the line but never beyond. But now he acted like he didn't care in the slightest whether he hurt her or not.
Janey would almost have fully believed it had she not already seen the instinctive look of panic that had shone in his eyes as her head had collided with the headboard.
Trapped beneath his broad body, Janey used everything in her arsenal to show she could still exert just as much control in the situation as he could, thrusting her hips upwards with rhythmic gyrations that, far from the physical response of his body to let her know he was very much at her mercy, caused him to exhale raspy breaths of delight.
They had never normally been this loud, Janey thought, a little self-conscious in spite of the fact that she knew the walls were completely soundproofed. Maybe it's because normally there was more communication between them—breathy, whispered assurances, urges of encouragement, or else straight-up just dirty murmurs and requests. But Janey knew how much he liked it when she whispered filthy things in his ear, and she wasn't going to grant him that privilege.
Sam did not ask before he pushed inside of her, and where Janey had once felt painful discomfort, she felt only a familiar and giddy thrill in the bottom of her stomach, emitting a soft whimper that she immediately regretted. Every euphoric surge that ripped through her body, translated via an outwardly vocal reassurance, seemed to indicate that she was losing whatever this weird battle between them was.
Once more, Sam demonstrated incredibly little care or restraint, working her body so animalistically that Janey was worried they might somehow cause the bed to splinter into two. She realised they were very much not using protection, and for one awful fleeting second, she considered that this might have been Sam's plan all along.
She clawed her fingers down his back, feeling the response of his body shuddering beneath her touch, desperately trying to pull his body towards her as though they could possibly be any closer than they were right then. Physically, of course.
Emotionally…
Janey did not want to think about emotions. She wanted only to think about sensations. Because despite the pleasure she felt, there was still a furious hatred raging through every vein in her body.
Oh, what does it matter, she decided. Sam would not maliciously attempt to impregnate her as an act of petty revenge, because he knew, completely, it would not result in the outcome he so desired. It would only hurt him more than it hurt her. Maybe he had already done the spell, though she couldn't possibly fathom when he would have, unless he really had pre-calculated everything before he'd even set foot in the door.
No, Janey knew just as well as he did, that this entire act was as spontaneous and reckless as almost every aspect of their six-year relationship had been, and maybe she should have been the responsible one, but she very, very much did not want to stop what they were doing. And by her maths, she should have been safe.
Famous last words, she thought bitterly, but dismissed it quickly, because she really, truly did not wish to think of anything at all. Not a single damn thing. She just wanted to feel lost, to feel free.
They were not kissing anymore, and Janey was glad, because she thought she might feel sick if he pressed his lips to hers again. Instead, she listened to his ragged panting in her ear, his hot breath tickling the lobe. With every thrust, the giddiness in the bottom of her stomach seemed to grow deeper and deeper, the sensation of pure euphoric pleasure spreading through her body. Similarly, a warmth seemed to seep through her like a wave creeping up the shore, and she knew, just as much as he knew, that she was not going to be able to hold out much longer.
And because he very much did know, could still sense the indicating tremor in her body or the increased hitch in her breath as easily as reading a book, he did something he had never done before, and which took Janey by total surprise.
Without breaking his rhythm at all, Sam grabbed hold of both of her wrists, pinning them above her head on the soft pillow. He held them there with controlled strength even as her still-trapped body convulsed beneath him as something akin to electricity ripped through her body.
"I fucking hate you," Janey gasped into his ear, because in spite of the pleasure coursing through her body, even long after the initial wave, it was the only rational thought her mind could grasp onto.
Sam did not respond, and she knew why. It's because he too, infuriatingly, was seconds away from his own climax. His body shuddered atop her, relinquishing slightly the grip he still had on her surrendered wrists.
When he still without fail, even in those new circumstances, exhaled her name in an involuntary gasp that sounded like he was pleading, Janey was not sure how she was supposed to feel. Part of her felt smug that this weird inability to not vocalise her name at the height of his pleasure, no matter how he might be feeling towards her, still persisted. But she also didn't want to unpack what that might mean for them going forward. If it even meant anything at all.
Fighting to regain his breath, Sam collapsed onto her in a sweaty mess.
Now that the pleasure had subsided, Janey felt only one raging feeling coursing through her blood. She felt no sense of satisfaction whatsoever. She felt nothing but pure, disgusted loathing. For herself, for Sam, for the whole situation they were now in.
He had rested for only two seconds, but Janey used all her force to push him off of her, her revulsion ripping through her with furious vigour.
Sam, apparently startled by this abrupt movement, met her gaze with questioning confusion.
"GET OUT," Janey screamed into his face, another shove pushing him further away from her still-naked body.
"Janey?" he said in clear alarm, expecting perhaps that them having just slept together might lead to some kind of conversation. That their hate-fuelled display of intimacy might have silently reversed the conclusion they'd come to forty-eight hours prior.
"GET OUT," Janey roared again, gathering the duvet up around her body as she lunged from the bed towards him, forcing him to retreat from the bedroom in horror.
Sam managed to grasp just one item of clothing in his hasty banishment and pulled his underwear on as Janey continued to advance on him in fury.
"Janey," he said again, pleading, his eyes shining with desperation.
"GET. OUT," Janey bellowed for a third time, her face contorted into nothing but pure rage.
Sam, who looked genuinely frightened by the display of total hostility aimed at him, did not argue with her but continued backing up to the front door, holding his hands up in a gesture of placation.
Unforgiving to the fact that he was dressed in nothing but his underwear, the clothes he'd worn that evening strewn on the bedroom floor where they'd been deposited in passionate haste, nor to the fact that he hadn't collected a single possession of his—the reason he'd dared to set foot in the flat that evening in the first place—Janey threw his wand at him, similarly to how she'd previously flung her rings at him. She briefly wondered where they were right now, but decided she'd deal with it, like that entire mess, later. All she wanted was Sam, the perpetrator of such pleasure and such pain in her life, gone from her sight as soon as possible.
He flashed her one last look of desperation, but the scowl that soon followed let her know he clearly thought she was being completely unreasonable.
"Janey," he growled at her one last time, now stood in the corridor outside the flat clad in only his underwear and a few remaining beads of sweat from their energetic entanglement.
But Janey had slammed the heavy door into its frame so forcefully that she felt the floor beneath her feet tremor with the impact. She waited for thirty seconds, wanting to make sure he definitely wasn't going to try and come back inside, and once she was satisfied he was truly gone, she unleashed a strangled scream of desperate rage so guttural she was surprised this too didn't rattle the foundations.
Still clutching the duvet around her body, she sank down to the hardwood floor, emotionally and physically spent, and let the tears flow freely, despite her resolve from earlier that day that she would never again shed a single tear over Samuel Tyler, her soon-to-be ex-husband.
Author's Note: Title and epigraph inspired by Leona Lewis' 'Trouble'