(Translations in trivia)
When Austin pulled up to his house, Marielle was a little startled. For some reason, she had imagined Austin living in some stuffy penthouse or high-rise apartment with a giant fireplace and gaping windows where everything was stark white and the floors were peppered with large, silver, drop-shaped sculptures reminiscent of the opening of a James Bond film.
Instead, it was a small, one-story house that looked like the designer hadn’t been able to decide between making it Tudor style, or a cottage. It had a sloped driveway, the top of which was covered with an arbor where a motorcycle was parked, because of course he had a motorcycle. She tried to hide a smile when she saw it.
Hanging his sunglasses on his collar, Austin ran around to her side and opened the door for her. The small lawn also sloped, and he walked with her up some concrete steps to the porch, which was partially wrapped in railing. Despite the small size of the porch, there was room for a rocking chair and a table.
Austin opened the front door and stood at it like a cabbie, making her walk past him to go inside. The interior decorations revealed a lot to her… Then everything made sense. This wasn’t a home he’d lived in for ages, just a few weeks. Barbara had called him into the area from somewhere else.
The entire house was sparsely decorated and furnished. The entryway opened into a small living room with a rug covering the hardwood floor, a light-blue couch, and a low wooden coffee table. Behind the couch on the wall was the black-and-white poster he’d mentioned. It depicted a man and woman standing beneath a giant UFO, clutching their chests in shock. Across from the couch was an older model flat-screen TV. It had certainly accessed HBO, the Spice Network, and pay-per-view. Marielle tried not to think about that.
The wall behind the couch adjoined a small hallway that led to a closet, bathroom, and bedroom. She shuddered internally. How many prostitutes and lovers had seen that specific spot? How hard would he try to get her into that private space while she was there, and how much of a fight would she put up?
To the right of the entry was a little nook that held two bookshelves, a relaxing chair, and a doorway to the kitchen. The dining room just beyond was dimly lit by the dying sunlight, revealing a table with two chairs and a built-in bench under the large, rectangular window in the back.
Feeling lost, she stood in the middle of the living room taking everything in. Austin pressed his back against the closed door, watching her like his mouth was watering.
“You gonna tell me about myself?” he asked as he slipped his keys from his left hand to his right and hung them up on a hook behind the door.
Her mind stirred as she pictured him coming toward her, eyes blazing with intent. Instead, he removed his gray suit jacket, went to his hall closet to put it away, and then leaned against the wall that divided the hall from the living room, hands in his pockets and temple against the wall as some of his dark hair fell into his eyes.
She tried not to let this particular look affect her too much. He was handsome, and the way he was watching her combined with his nonchalant stance definitely created tension between them. Sure, he’d promised he wouldn’t try anything, and she assumed he would keep that promise, but she also knew he was internally willing her to cross boundaries by trying to make himself look as attractive and desirable as possible… and it was working. For the moment, though, her resolve was strong.
She smiled knowingly at him over her left shoulder and continued to study the space. “This poster is odd. It’s not you. Let’s face it, you like film and you try to hide the fact that you’re secretly a nerd”—she flashed a look at him, and his eyes momentarily widened in confirmation—”but weird old sci-fi films are not your fix.”
He smirked. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She knelt on the couch seat and leaned toward the poster a little, trying to determine what it could tell her about him. It was framed and laminated. “You don’t have many close ties to people, Austin… What does this poster mean to you?”
“You tell me,” he pressed, looking… delicious when he said this.
Marielle flicked her gaze to him, then back to the poster. She leaned in even more, examining the finer details of the image. Then she shook her head. It was too disassociated from him to understand. She stood back up and glanced around the living room once more.
“What are you looking for?” he asked with a smile. He didn’t move, just followed her with those vibrant eyes.
“I don’t know yet.”
She peeked into his hallway, and this time he turned to watch her, although he remained leaning against the wall. A single photo of a beautiful woman and a little boy had been hung next to the bedroom door, and her heart broke when she saw it. This was obviously Austin and his mother—that was, his birth mother. She had long black hair, not unlike Marielle, and she had the same radiant blue eyes as Austin and an adorable button nose.
The thing that had the most impact on Marielle was that like Austin, there was something intensely sexual about the woman. Her full mouth seemed to smirk like Austin did when he was being seductive, and she was gripping Austin’s shoulder in a way that made Marielle’s skin crawl. Her eyes went to the smiling boy, who was already intensely handsome at nine… ten? It was hard to place an age. Anyone who’d seen him had probably made the standard “Well, there’s a future heartbreaker” comment, and they would have been correct. What struck her about his face was how haunted it was. He was so skinny that Marielle had a hard time believing it was natural, and despite the big grin on his face, his eyes were hollow and devoid of connection to anything, least of all the woman behind him. The photo was entirely an act.
Marielle glanced back at Austin. He was looking at the floor instead of her. Oh, no… There’s something really dark here… she thought.
She knew she was right, she just couldn’t quite figure out what from examining this picture. What kind of abuse was she detecting here? Emotional? Psychological? Physical? She scanned his face in the photo for marks of some kind.
Marielle glanced at his mother again. Sexual? She shuddered. Considering Austin’s addiction, that made sense. It was a thought she found too painful to explore. It lay pregnant in her mind, but she wouldn’t allow herself to give birth to it.
The placement of the picture was significant, too. It wasn’t in the living room where everyone could see it, nor in his bedroom where he could say good night to his mother. It faced the front door, as if the people in the photo were being asked to leave. Austin didn’t want anyone to see this photo; he wanted it to be invisible, and yet he had chosen to display it anyway.
“You didn’t have a good childhood,” was all she said.
“Gee, is it that obvious?” he retorted, then chuckled ruefully.
She swallowed. “You don’t have any brothers or sisters…”
“Ah, no, I don’t,” he replied quietly. When she glanced back at him, she noticed that he’d gone from crossing his arms and staring at the floor to hugging himself tightly and staring into nothing, as though the floor had become a giant black hole that was about to swallow him up.
The photo suddenly seemed alive, like it had somehow transformed him into a small boy stumbling up the basement stairs to outrun the monster on his tail. Was he sweating? He didn’t sweat—he had powers to help stop that.
Marielle stepped back, moving away from this simple object that had somehow turned into ghosts and demons in a matter of moments. She turned to him and approached, looking up at his face. He continued to avoid her gaze, his icy eyes haunted and distant. Where had he gone?
“I won’t look at it anymore,” she whispered.
“Thank you,” he replied quickly.
Then his eyes fluttered shut and he swallowed before opening them to meet her gaze again. There he was. She didn’t know where he’d gone, but he was back. The pride was there, his sexy nature was there, the kindness and empathy—it was all there.
“Okay, so the sci-fi poster has nothing to do with family.”
“Correct.”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. “And you have no real friends from when you were younger.”
“Also correct.”
She closed her eyes again and imagined herself back in his office, then repeated what he had said earlier that day. “‘There’s a piano, and a photograph of my family, and a poster from a space film I saw once just out of college. I hardly remember the movie; someone I was with that night tore it off the wall.’”
Austin stared at her mouth, wishing she would repeat everything he’d ever said to her. Still concentrating on her analysis, she watched the words roll by her eyes against a black background, and several of them lit up. “That night… just out of college… someone I was with… tore it off the wall…”
She opened her eyes. “You kept this poster because that was the night you met your wife.” His eyes glittered with adoration. “Yes?”
“Bingo,” he replied with a soft grin, then changed the topic. “Hungry?”
“Starved,” she replied, taking the hint.
“All right,” he said, making his way into the kitchen and popping his head into the refrigerator. He pulled out butter and tomatoes from inside, took a bottle of olive oil from the top, and a loaf of partially eaten French bread from the counter. Marielle snickered. He hadn’t been lying about the olive oil, butter, bread, and pasta tricks.
“Can I help?” she asked, rolling up her sleeves. She noticed that he hadn’t rolled up his, nor had he made any effort to.
He twirled a tomato in one hand, tossed it under his arm and caught it, then threw it to her. “You can chop that.”
She gathered her hair up and twisted it a few times to keep it back from her face. “Fine, diced, or…?”
He watched her movements longingly. When she glanced at him, he replied, “Fine.” Then he turned back to the bread and started cutting.
They made simple spaghetti and grilled bread with bruschetta. He also had a white wine which he poured for them both. Marielle was willing to drink it since she intended to have only a few ounces and knew that the most it might do was make her heady.
They took it to the dining room, where she spotted the piano for the first time. It was directly behind her when she sat down. For a few moments, they said nothing as they both tried their meal and agreed that it was pretty good.
“You know,” he began, twirling his fork. She watched his hand for a moment. She loved his hands. “You’ve never actually shown me what you can do.”
“Do?” she asked. “Oh. You mean my powers?” She sighed and looked away.
“Why are you embarrassed by them?” he asked, folding his hands and leaning on the top of his knuckles, his full attention on her.
“Oh,” she said, poking at her food and taking a bite to avoid his intense gaze. “I… My powers are … not like everyone else’s, you know? I don’t really consider them amazing, and I’ve never had complete control over them.”
He stared at her for a few moments. “Show me.”
Her eyes widened and she looked up at him, her insecurities reflected in her gaze. “Show you?”
Austin nodded. “Show me,” he repeated, reaching over the table and gently touching the index and middle finger of her hand. “It’s okay,” he whispered, “I’m with you.”
She glanced down at their hands, just barely touching, and as she did so, she made her hand invisible. His eyes widened a little bit, and he leaned in as if he couldn’t believe it. He could still feel her hand, even see the table and her wrist, but her hand? Gone. Then she made it come back.
“That’s incredible, Marielle,” he breathed, enraptured. “Can you do that with the rest of your body?” She swallowed hard and nodded. “Let me see it.”
“I might lose control,” she replied shakily.
“What happens if you lose control?” he asked, pulling his eyebrows together.
She felt like it was a loaded question. “I might be lost for a bit.”
He smiled at her and said again, “You’ll be okay. I’m with you.”
She closed her eyes and gradually vanished, starting at her hand and moving all the way up her arm to her neck and face, and then the rest of her, clothes and all. He stared, mouth ajar but lightly smiling.
“You can come back,” he said. She snapped back into reality, breathing a sigh of relief. “Have you had issues with that in the past?”
“Uh… Only the first few times, but I’m always nervous to do it again.” She took a sip of wine.
“Is there anything else?” he pressed.
Marielle bit her lip. “It’s a bit more dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” He leaned in a little, interest flickering across his face. “What is it?”
“I can… When everything is going well, of course—when I’m strong and well-rested, and…” She paused, debating if she should tell him or not. “I can move through a wall. But only one wall, and only once an hour or so. It takes a lot out of me.” She looked down. “I don’t need to disappear for that,” she added under her breath. “I sort of just… become one with the wall?”
He looked like he might have a heart attack. “You can move through walls? Like… any kind? Metal? Drywall? H-have you tried drywall?” She nodded. He paused, drumming his lip, and she could see the wheels turning in his mind. “Can you move through a person?” he asked, deadly serious.
“Doesn’t seem like it. I’ve never been brave enough to really give it a go, but I can feel when something is or isn’t possible for me.” She shook her head. “So far, it hasn’t been.”
He jumped up, scooting his chair back. “Try it.”
“Austin,” she said cautiously, “that could be really bad.”
“I want to try,” he said, his eyes alight like a little boy seeing his first big animal at the zoo.
She shook her head even as she stood to meet him. “This is why men die younger than women,” she sighed, but curiosity was getting the better of her as well, and she felt compelled to try.
“Just try it.” He reached out to her. “Give me a hug.”
She slowly went to him, and he enveloped her in his arms. It wasn’t a sexual embrace, just a simple hug.
“Go for it,” he whispered, holding his breath.
“I’ve never been able to do this with anyone,” she murmured, shaking.
“Yeah, well, we’re a lot of firsts, aren’t we?” He gave a small chuckle. Then he looked down at the top of her head. “Just try. I trust you.”
“You understand that if this goes wrong, you could be in a lot of pain for a while?”
“You have no idea how much pain I’ve been in for long periods of time, darling,” he replied. Disregarding the term of endearment, she swallowed, processing the gravity of his words. “Yes, physical pain, Marielle,” he added as if he could read her mind.
She was growing uncomfortable. Even though he was just holding her, the intimacy was obvious. How long could she stand in his arms before something else was birthed? How long before he started to stroke her hair? Wait, he already was—he was gently combing through the tips of the strands. It was almost unnoticeable, but he was doing it and… she wanted him to. She closed her eyes, listening to the steady thrum of his heart.
Sink or swim, Marielle.
“I trust you,” he whispered again. Then he breathed out, “I’m open to you.”
She took a deep breath and pressed into him. He could still feel her in his arms, and for a moment, he smiled at the irony of this situation. How many times had he imagined her in his arms when she hadn’t been there? Now he couldn’t see her, but he could feel her as he continued to run the tips of his fingers over her soft hair. She got closer, pressing against him. He remained still, not pushing any boundaries.
Then he felt it… She pressed into him more… then more… and even more… It was intimate—too intimate. His heartbeat quickened. She felt her skin start to stick like paste and give, then all at once penetrate his and move forward farther still.
Another small step, and she was inside of him, slowly moving through his body as they molded together like clay. He gasped and closed his eyes, his mouth open in shock as their hearts moved past one another, pounding against each other.
She pushed through his back and out the other side. Austin released a long, ragged breath, then turned slowly. She stood there looking at her raised, open palms for a moment before turning to him. Her eyes were wide, disoriented. His appeared the same, like he understood nothing that he’d understood before. The world? Green, blue, red, and yellow. Science, religion, politics, God… None of it made sense anymore.
Marielle shook her head, incredulous. “I’ve never been able to do that with anyone,” she said, staring into nothing. A smile popped out, and she pressed four fingers to it, as if trying to stifle it.
“That was …” He barely breathed, and when he raised a hand to comb his hair back, he was shaking. “I’ve never…” Austin shook his head as he lost his train of thought. “Wow.” He clasped his hands over his heart, which was pounding with a strange mix of excitement and fear.
Then the realization flickered in his eyes. He’d never been that close to anyone in his entire life… and without her, he never would be again. And unlike the late nights and strangers’ faces, it had been satisfying. In fact, it had been the most satisfying thing he’d ever felt in his entire life, far more satisfying than sexual release.
Austin stopped this train of thought and smiled at her, gesturing to the table. He’d think about it more later, when he was alone and had time to process it.
They ate for a moment in silence as Marielle sat staring at the table, her eyes full of questions about what had just occurred. She felt like he’d gotten far more out of it than he was saying, and even though she didn’t want to admit it, she had too.
“So… your turn,” he said, twirling his fork in the spaghetti and taking a bite.
“My turn?”
“Yeah,” he replied, sucking up a noodle. “Twenty-five questions, twenty truths, five lies.”
Marielle shook her head at him, leaning back and swirling her Riesling. She could feel the warmth in her cheeks. “Austin, I’m not letting you ask me questions.”
“Don’t think you can handle it?”
She gave a low chuckle. “No, I know you well enough to know how that conversation is going to go.”
He wiped a napkin over his mouth, then put it back in his lap as he chewed. “Don’t you trust me?” he pressed with a big, boyish grin.
“Not in the slightest,” she replied with a small laugh.
He took a deep breath. “Marielle,” he said seriously, his eyes dancing fire, “s’il te plaît, fais moi confiance. J’ai besoin que tu me fasses confiance. Je veux que tu me fasses confiance…”
She looked down, not wanting to meet his gaze. “Don’t do that.”
“What?” he asked, suppressing a chuckle.
“Don’t speak to me in French,” she whispered, feeling exposed.
He swallowed and took a drink of his wine. “Pourquoi pas?” She felt her heart speed up. “Qu’est-ce que je pourrais bien te faire, à part te désarmer?”
She knew she was blushing. “Stop it,” she said, no longer trying to hide her response to him.
“J’ai dit que je ne tenterais rien. Je n’ai pas dit que je ne dirais rien.” He flicked an eyebrow at her suggestively.
He had her there. She smiled and looked away. She knew what saying yes meant, but she couldn’t admit to herself why she wanted it. “Okay,” she dared. “Twenty truths, five lies.”
An excited grin crossed his face, and he bit into his pasta. “First crush?”
Okay, an innocent start. She thought for a moment. “Uh, that I can remember… Ricky Stetson. I was five.” She sipped some wine. “We had kindergarten together. He used to run around and stick his fist out into the air, pretending he could fly.” She chuckled.
He grinned, liking this answer. “What is your favorite place on the entire planet?”
She took a deep breath as she considered that. “There’s a hotel at Disneyland where my parents used to take me when I was a child. There’s a foyer in this hotel that has tall, giant ceilings, spiderweb wooden beams, and an enormous stone fireplace. It’s all browns and forest-green, and there’s a bar in the corner. In the winter, they have a hot chocolate stand that also sells cider and those big frosted sugar cookies shaped like snowflakes”—she made a shape with her hands—”and a man comes out in a tuxedo and plays a grand piano. It’s filled with laughter and families.” Austin watched her as she spoke, his intense gaze going back and forth between her mouth and her eyes. He glanced at the tabletop, then back to her. “They put a giant Christmas tree in the middle of the room, and at night the room glitters with Christmas lights and firelight flickering on the walls, and if you look up, you feel like you’re falling into the dancing flames.”
His expression mixed wonder with jealousy. “Damn you for being so romantic,” he growled. She chuckled. “‘Falling into dancing flames,’” he repeated almost mockingly. He breathed out. “Have you ever had a mental breakdown?”
“I would say that I have, yeah.”
“When?”
She tried not to think too hard about the incident. “When we had the accident at Valorant with Morgan Callas and John Erickson. Sabine was worse, but… I shut down. That’s how I deal with trauma, I think. I just shut down.” She sighed. “Have to have someone there to feed me, make sure I’m drinking and sleeping. I don’t know.”
He twirled his pasta and ate again. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Really?” He leaned in a little. “Why?”
“Because I think that first impression of the other person might not be accurate,” she explained. “You can’t love someone if you don’t really know them. You can be infatuated with them, and think they’re handsome or sexy or whatever… but you can’t love them, you know?”
He thought this over, then flicked his brows, and that was the only response he gave. “Do you like stuffed animals?
Her cheeks turned three shades of bashful red. “Yes. Cute ones… like egregiously cute.”
He laughed. “Okay. What’s your favorite word?”
Knowing that one of the ways to lie successfully was timing, she chose to lie here. “Fuselage.” Incognito.
“Really? Why?”
“It sounds pretty in my mouth,” she replied quickly.
He gave her a knowing smile. Lie. Trying to draw attention to a place she knows I’m distracted by right now. “What do you like on pizza?”
“I’m like”—she paused—”not picky about pizza. I’ll eat pretty much any of it.” This was also a lie. In reality, she only enjoyed Hawaiian or plain cheese.
Austin stroked his bottom lip. He wanted a kiss so badly. “Favorite flower?”
“Daffodils,” she replied with a partial shrug.
He took a sip of wine, then went to the kitchen, grabbed the bottle, and came back with it. She had to be careful how much she drank. He placed it on the table and leaned toward it, breathing onto the glass with rounded lips until the bottle chilled.
“Have you ever stalked someone on social media?”
“Yeah,” she replied a little abashedly. She’d stalked him.
“What’s the worst gift you’ve ever gotten?” he asked, pouring himself another glass of wine. He needed it.
“Someone… I don’t even remember who… gave me a baseball bat once when I was like fifteen?” She paused, thinking. “I’ve never even played baseball.”
He laughed. “Have you ever played spin the bottle?”
She laughed out loud. “Oh my gosh, yes… Once, I was at a party that was mostly girls, and the only guy there was gay.” Austin leaned on his knuckles, enjoying listening to her. “Now, at the time, I had never kissed anyone, but they all insisted that I play, and I thought that maybe if I did, I’d just have to kiss a girl, and since I’m not a lesbian, it would be more funny than anything, right?”
She chuckled; he was grinning in excitement. “And I really didn’t want to do it, so the gay guy looks at all of the other girls and goes, ‘Come on, Marielle, what are the chances that it’ll land on me?’ And so I agree… and I spin…” She held her hands in the air, a pregnant pause. “And it literally lands on him first.”
Both of them burst out laughing.
“What did you do?” Austin pressed.
She nodded, taking a sip. “I kissed him. I kind of liked it,” she admitted.
His eyes lit up with a salacious grin at that confession. “What’s the worst lie you’ve ever told?”
She took a deep breath and thought for a moment. “I honestly can’t think of anything. I’m generally pretty truthful.” This was true.
He briefly pursed his lips before glancing at the table again. “What’s your favorite book?”
“Pierce the Hippopotamus by Edward Long,” she replied.
“What?” he exclaimed.
“It’s this young adult book,” she lied. “It’s about a gay hippopotamus who goes shopping for a prom dress.” She was laughing so hard she couldn’t continue.
He pointed at her as he drank again. “Okay, that’s a lot of bullshit.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” she giggled. Stop giggling, Marielle.
“What time of day is your favorite?”
“Night. I love the moon, the stars, the city lights, lights in general.” This was also true. She ate another bite of her bread and bruschetta.
He took a moment. “What’s romantic to you?”
“This…” She pinched her eyes shut, knowing both that she’d just betrayed herself and that he’d have figured it out if she’d lied.
He tucked his lips in for a moment and let out a slow breath as if processing her truthfulness. “What’s your idea of a perfect evening alone at home?”
“Wine, sweats, a hot bath, candles… maybe yoga, but probably just hot chocolate and a movie or a book,” she said with a shrug. All true.
“What’s your favorite smell?”
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to decide how she was going to get out of this one. In truth, since she’d met him, it’d been him. He consistently smelled like frost or freshly packed snow, and when she breathed it in, it almost tickled and chilled her nose the same way the outdoors air did on a white Christmas. He sometimes enhanced this by wearing a scent that smelled like balsam trees. She tried to knit her brows together, as if she was thinking. “Cinnamon.”
He knew she was lying, but at least he didn’t know the truth. He drank again. “What do you hate most about yourself? Not looks.”
“I wish I was more assertive.” Very true.
Austin rubbed his lip again. “Who’s your favorite actor?”
“Lance Barring,” she said quickly. Lie. In truth, it was Arnold Strufield.
There was a pregnant pause. “How many lovers have you had?”
She felt so cheated by this question. If anything, she should be the one asking about his number, not the other way around. Marielle sighed and sipped her wine. “Four.” She knew he was trying to weigh how good he would have to be against that number.
He glanced at the table again, then her, his attention still on her mouth. “Who would you say is your best friend?”
“You,” she replied, her eyes closing just slightly. He swallowed, as if trying to process this. “Five more,” she mouthed, mimicking him from when they’d done this before.
He smirked, swirling his glass. “If you could erase anything you’ve done in your past… would you, and what would it be?”
She cocked her head in thought. “I killed someone’s pet once,” she admitted. He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head, looking at her expectantly. “It was a mouse… It bit me, and I dropped it. I have never felt okay about it.”
He closed his eyes for a moment in empathy. “What was the hardest no you’ve ever had to say?”
She shook her head, nothing coming to mind. “I pushed a creep away one time and the guy just kept on. I don’t know. I can’t think of anything else.” True.
“Favorite color?”
“Emerald-green,” she replied. That was obvious enough, she thought.
He paused. She felt what was coming. “Avez-vous pensé à nous?” She felt her heart slam into her throat. He became serious. “Ne me mens pas.”
Marielle tried to control her breathing, but she knew she was failing miserably. “In what way, Austin?” she asked, trying to play for time.
“You know what way,” he replied with a smirk that died quickly. He’d been waiting the entire game to get here, and she knew it.
She took a sip of wine and leaned back, glaring at him, hating him. She tapped her bottom lip for a moment. Then she leaned on the knuckles of her left hand. Neither of them broke their gaze. Screw it. “Yes.”
She could tell what this was doing to him. His breathing had deepened, his eyes darted between her mouth, the table, and her eyes more frequently than ever.
“What am I thinking right now?” His last question.
Uncomfortable, she continued to drum her lip and tried not to squirm. Was he really making her do this? She could just leave. “You keep looking at me, then the table, then me again.” She paused. Was she really going here? His eyes were begging her to. “We’ve had dinner… now you’re contemplating dessert,” she whispered in a shaky voice as the knowing smile she’d tried to hold died into deadly seriousness. Me, for dessert, Austin… you’re contemplating me for dessert.
A slow, salacious, closed-mouth smile that beamed with pride crossed his wonderful mouth. Oh, he absolutely was. “I have some lemon sorbet in the freezer if you’re interested,” he deflected. “It’d go great with the Riesling.”
She felt hot, stuffy… Her mind was unclear. Sweat beaded her brow, and she felt naked under his gaze, suddenly aware of how much skin her tank top was showing. His eyes were locked on her, enjoying the squirming that she was trying so hard not to give into. She knew it all must be delicious to him.
“Want some?” he asked, raising a hand and pushing a little cool air toward her.
“No,” she replied, quickly recoiling.
“False,” he quipped, tipping his chin back a little. But he put his hand down.
Marielle whipped away from the table and walked toward the door. The heat pricked her skin, causing her to feel faint. She stopped, unsure of where to go or what to say. He followed her, then halted a few steps away. There was silence for a moment as he stared at her.
“I didn’t sleep with Rachel,” he whispered.
“I didn’t ask, Austin,” she replied dismissively, still trying to fan herself in a way that didn’t make it too obvious how uncomfortable she was.
“No, but you wanted to know.” he replied quietly, using both of his hands to smooth his hair back behind his ears.
She couldn’t deny this. “Yeah, but I’m sure you did other things,” she said contemptuously. “Webcams were probably involved.”
She had him there. “I think you should ask yourself why you care,” he said flatly.
“I think you should stop trying to make me jealous,” she retorted.
He stretched his upper body for a moment and sighed. “I’m not.” It was true: this was just him. He was an addict. But he was also using this to his advantage. It was a tangled mess.
She swallowed shakily and turned back to him, tears threatening to make themselves known. “I should leave.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, desperate for her to stay. True. “I was trying to prove a point.”
“Yeah? What was that?”
He paused for a moment, his eyes locked on her. “You never had to answer. You could have left or called a ceasefire.” Another brief pause to give her processing time. “You like that we can be in each other’s heads… Admit it.”
She glanced around the room, afraid of the demons lurking there. Afraid they knew too much and were coming to take her away in chains… to his bedroom. “Okay, yes.”
They stood there for a few moments. He put his hands in his pockets, the motion telling her, “I’m still keeping my promise, Marielle. I won’t try anything, just force you to admit your weakness, and that weakness is me. Just say it.”
“I’m going to go,” she repeated. Then she started for the door.
When she reached it, he was there, shoving the door closed before it was open more than an inch. It slammed, and Marielle froze against it, her palms and forehead pressed against the wood. Shutting her eyes, she took in several hot breaths, her chest pounding. She knew he was watching her, waiting for her to look at him, willing her to look at him. She refused.
Please don’t hurt me, Austin. I know you won’t. I trust you. But… please.
He bent a little, staring at her shaken face. “I’ll take you home,” he whispered after a moment that seemed like an eternity, then he opened the door and did as he had said.
When he came back alone, he wandered to the piano in the corner and gently stroked the keys. He closed his eyes, let his head fall back a little, and gently pressed them down. At first, he played “Crash into Me” by The Dave Matthews Band, but his attempt to lose himself in the music didn’t satisfying him.
Nothing would satisfy him. Nothing would satisfy him ever again.
He stood up from the piano and went to his bedroom, where he shut the door and paced for a moment before nearly dropping to his knees in weakness. Something would temporarily satisfy; this he knew for sure. He knew indulging that demon would only make him feel complete for a few minutes, but it was worth it for the high… the fantasy.
He went to his living room again, grabbed his keys, and headed to where he knew prostitutes would be.
***
Voices murmured in the dark.
“I want you, baby,” she said in a sultry tone.
“Don’t say ‘baby.’ She’d never call me that,” he said with a sad sigh.
“I want you, Joe,” she whispered, trying to please him.
“Don’t call me Joe. I don’t want to be called Joe.”
She sighed and cleared her throat, her tone becoming annoyed. “Well, what do you want me to call you?”
“I’ve always kind of wanted to be called Austin.”
There was a pause.
“I want you so badly, Austin.”
There was another pause, as if he was considering. “More innocent… like you’re afraid to say it.”
“I want you so badly, Austin. It hurts… It hurts so badly. Please help me.”
He let out a ragged sigh, finally satisfied. “Okay, Marielle. I can fix it for you. I’ll make it go away.”