She’d nailed me. I mean, right to the matte black wall. She’d caught my ego midair and held it still so I could see it twitching in her palm.
“I’ll beat you at Galaga.” I changed the subject like a real pro.
“Girl, you got nothing on me.”
“Right here. Right now.”
“One game, then I have to go home to the boy.”
Galaga was something I was perfectly comfortable losing at. I would play my heart out and take my lumps and not even care. I reached into my bag for two quarters and saw my phone in the pocket, lit up like a Christmas tree.
Jonathan.
The sight of his name was like a little empty place in my chest. I still felt rejected. I still felt like a fraud in every aspect of my life. And I was still mad, because there were so many things I couldn’t bear to lose at, and he was one of them.
“You playing or what?” Yvonne asked after she’d put her money in and hit the two-player button.
“Phone’s almost out of juice.” I slipped it back into my bag. “Tell me about this Ian person.”
“I don’t want to distract you.”
“Distract me. I’m going to lose anyway.”
The game started with a wheep whoop erp erp, and my feelings of unworthiness and rage got stuffed away for later.
seven.
MONICA
When I got home, it was dark outside. I walked through the empty house, and found him on the back deck, reading with his feet braced on the table in front of him and his sleeves rolled up to reveal his magnificent forearms.
“Hi,” I said.
He put down his book.
“I’m sorry,” I continued. “I was being a baby. I trust you. You know how to keep me safe, even from what I want.”
“I’m a little torn about apologizing myself. I didn’t feel comfortable, but I have a responsibility to give you what you need.”
“You wouldn’t make me do something I wasn’t comfortable with.”
“Yes, I would.”
“Yeah,” I said ruefully.
“If you told me what you were bawling about, that might help.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
He laughed. Motherfucker. It wasn’t even a chuckle but a real laugh, as if I’d told a whopper of a joke.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“I tie you up and beat your ass raw until you beg me to fuck you. I can’t even imagine what this big embarrassing thing is.”
I took a deep breath and sat across from him, my knees pressed together, elbows on them as if I was trying to defend my heart by curling into a ball. “It’s not embarrassing because it’s embarrassing. It’s embarrassing because of my reaction to it.”
“Tell me how you’re reacting, then tell me the thing.”
I nodded, unscrambling the words in my head, tapping my fingertips together. “I’m acting like a fucking egomaniac. Like I’m perfect. Like I have this fragile shell around myself and someone comes and, like, taps on it—doesn’t even break it—just threatens it the slightest bit, and I fall apart. Not just that—I asked them to come tap on it. But I didn’t really want them to. I just wanted them to admire my shell and say how wonderful it was.”
“I’m assuming this has to do with music?”
“Yes.” I sniffed, feeling broken all over again. “Mrs. Yuan. I don’t even know her first name. But she pointed out that I suck real bad. I don’t think I’m perfect. But I do. I must if I run away the first time someone tells me what I already know. Like they looked at me and recognized what everyone else couldn’t see. That I’m terrible. That I’m a liar. That I fooled everyone into thinking I have talent. And I started to believe my own lies, and I’m, like, goddamnit, why did I believe me? I feel—” Here was where I really started choking on my own spit. I couldn’t slow the crying down long enough to finish the sentence.
Jonathan reached for me, but I pushed him away.
“I feel worthless.” The last word squeaked out.
Jonathan pulled one of those monogrammed hankies out of his pocket and snapped it open. I smiled then sobbed again.
He put the hankie up to my nose. “Blow.”
I laughed and cried at the same time.
“Just blow it out, Monica.”
I blew. He squeezed my nose and rocked it back and forth.
“Hey!” I said, sounding as if I had a cold.
He pulled me to him by my nose. “I love you. And if I tell you you’re not worthless, you won’t believe me.”
He took the hankie away and balled it up on the table. His lashes glowed amber in the patio light, and the mating calls of the crickets suddenly sounded sexy as hell.
“If you never sang another note, I’d still love you,” he said.
“I know and—”
“Shh.” He held up his hand then held mine. “That being said, your voice is what I fell in love with before I fell in love with the woman behind it.”
“So you say.”
“And your body. I liked that.”
“Yeah, well—”
“And your moxie.”
“My moxie? How old are you, grampa?”
His eyes glittered green with amusement, and his hands found their way between my knees. He yanked my knees open with a swiftness that made me gasp.
“Tonight, I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to make you beg for mercy. I’m going to break you down so hard so you don’t have to be broken down over this bullshit. I’m the only one who gets to make you cry.”
“God, yes.”
“What’s your safe word?”
“Tangerine.”
He leaned back and crossed his ankle over his knee. After looking me over for a second, he picked up his book and opened it. “Go into the bedroom. When I get there, you’d better be ready.”
eight.
MONICA
He made me wait.
He always made me wait when he was serious, and the longer I waited, the more serious he was. I thought, as I waited on the bed with my cheek on the bedspread and my ass in the air, that he was making me wait longer than ever. The anticipation made the backs of my legs tingle. I wanted to touch myself. At first I thought I’d just see how wet I was, but he’d know and he’d punish me by not letting me come.
He said nothing when he finally entered the room. He stood by me. I couldn’t see him. I could only feel his presence, hear his breath, sense his intentions.
He laid his hand on my lower back and pressed down. It was the standard correction. My ass was never high enough.
“Thank you,” I said.
He stood and undid his belt. “Thank me later. Get on your back and open your legs. Knees up. I want to see that cunt.”
I did it. He positioned himself at the foot of the bed, where I could see him between my legs. Half-open shirt and cock-strained trousers. Belt looped in his right hand. Watch and wedding ring on his left.
I almost came just looking at him. When he reached over and pulled my legs apart wider, I lost myself in a rush of sensation.
“Did you just come?” he asked.
“I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “You’re going to hurt for that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Open your mouth.” I did, and he put the belt in it.
“You know I don’t do toys,” he said, running his hands over the length of my inner thigh, engaging just enough nail to wake up my skin. “Toys are for children. But sometimes I have to make allowances for safety.” He sat on the bed next to me and held up an oddly-shaped glass bulb about two inches long. “Do you know what this is?”
“Yes. It’s a butt plug,” I said around the belt, and it sounded like a series of grunts.