The hunt, p.10
The Hunt, page 10
He pulled the sheet off and held my chin, regarding my face. He said, “You’ve got a nice-size welt where I beaned you.”
“I’ll survive.” I pushed his hand away and pulled the bedcovers up to my chin and turned away from him. I was trembling under the sheets. “I’ve survived a lot worse.” I was gulping for air. “I can’t seem to catch my breath.”
“You’re having an anxiety attack.”
“And which medical school did you go to, Dr. Pimp?”
Chris exhaled. “I have some pills—”
“I don’t want any pills!” I was shivering. I softened my voice. I was tired of being angry. I just wanted him to leave. “They’re probably contraindicated with kidney problems. Give me one of my sleeping pills. I’ll be okay.”
He exhaled forcibly. “Can you look at me?”
“I can hear you. What?”
Another exhale. “Teresa, this isn’t a prison and I’m no warden. You can leave whenever you want. Just please wait until you’re well enough to go and to take your daughter with you. I’ll even set you up. I have plenty of money—”
“I’ve come to realize that.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do to ensure that you’ll be comfortable … that you won’t struggle financially. It’s not like when you were twenty and I had you under my thumb. You’re a doctor. You can support yourself. You can support your daughter—”
“Juleen.”
“I know her name.”
“You never call her by her name. It’s always your daughter. Stop depersonalizing her.”
“Teresa, quit pushing my buttons!” He bit his lip. “Please.”
I didn’t answer him.
He said, “I will help you in whatever way you want my help. You’re my son’s mother. And … and I still love you very much. But if you leave me … again … that door is shut forever. I can’t take the emotional upheaval. I don’t care if you’re on fire and I’ve got a hose, I’m not coming to your rescue anymore. We are through.”
“Mighty fine with me,” I told him.
“Peachy!” He stood up. “Nice to know that for once we’re on the same fucking page!”
HE WALKED PAST Talia, trying to keep his face as unreadable as it usually was. “I’m on a call for the next forty-five minutes. No interruptions until I say it’s over.”
She sorted through her ledger. “I must have missed that appointment,” she said. “I don’t have any calls scheduled for you, Chris.”
“It just came up. I’m clear, right?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect. Just make sure I get privacy.”
“Of course.”
He went inside his office and shut the door. He plopped into his chair and threw his head back. He was breathing rapidly, his hands were shaking, and sweat had started forming over his brow and lip. He wiped his face.
He blew out a gust of air.
He took out a key ring and unlocked and opened the bottom drawer of his desk. He retrieved his kit.
Seven years of sobriety down the toilet.
Opening the zipper, he took out a packet, a spoon, a small burner, and a set of matches. Placing the powder in the spoon, he turned on the burner and heated the substance until it was a liquid. Out came the yellow elastic band that he used as a tourniquet, wrapping it around his arm above his elbow. When the vein was thick and pulsing, he sucked up the liquid in a hypodermic.
Steadying his shaking hands.
His phone buzzed.
Out of habit, he glanced at the number.
Blocked.
Well, fuck a duck!
He put down the needle and picked up the phone. “What?”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand and we’ll produce the goods. Then we go from there.”
“One hundred. No effort on your part. It’s pure profit.”
“Can’t do it for less than two-fifty.”
Donatti hung up. He picked up the needle and looked at his arm, judging what he was about to do. His heart was still pounding, and every time he thought about her, the tempo went up a notch.
Steadying his nerves.
His phone buzzed again.
Devek this time.
“What?” Donatti said.
“Did they make contact with you?”
Donatti said, “Yes.”
“And?”
“And it’s none of your fucking business.” Donatti took in a breath and let it out. “When I have something to tell you, I’ll call you. But I’ll tell you this much. Nothing will happen, Devek, until your lawyer calls my lawyer—who is Terry’s lawyer—about the divorce.”
“I’m working on it—”
“Well, work fucking faster!” He hung up and took a deep breath. Once again, he aimed the hypodermic at his vein.
His phone buzzed again. This time, it was the blocked number.
Oh, fuck it!
He put the hypodermic down and peeled off the elastic tourniquet. By now his fingers were numb. He wiggled them for a second, then slid the icon to the other side. “What?”
“Two hundred.”
“One-fifty. Text your bank wiring information to this number. It’s after hours where I am, so it won’t go out until tomorrow. It’ll probably post the next day. When it’s in the account, you call me back and show me the goods and we’ll go from there.”
Again, he hung up. While he waited for their text, he squirted the heroin back into a plastic baggie. The water would eventually evaporate, and he’d save most of the powder. Then he capped the hypodermic and returned that and everything else to the black bag. Stowed it away. Locked it away.
The urge had passed.
Funny.
Five minutes later, his phone dinged.
All the instructions were there, spelled out in front of him.
If only life came with a fucking user’s manual.
WHEN I WOKE up, it was dark outside. The nightstand clock told me it was 12:03. My head hurt and I was parched. I was also probably hungry, but since I was on a liquid diet, hunger pangs didn’t register. I waited for my eyes to adjust, and when they did, mercifully, I saw the door was closed. I wasn’t sure if he was out there, but I was glad for the privacy. I turned on the lamp.
My dresses were back hanging in the closet; my foldable clothes were gone, probably back in the drawers. His leather valise was also gone, as were the dress and underwear that I had thrown across the room. A box of sanitary napkins was waiting on my nightstand along with a bottle of water.
The clean-up gremlins had come and gone and I hadn’t heard a thing. I made my way to the bathroom with my napkins with wings and a fresh pair of panties. I had stopped bleeding but was still crampy. I hunted around the medicine cabinet and came out with a bottle of Advil and gulped down two tablets. Then I drained the water.
I could hide for only so long. And he had a point. He had called me numerous times during my absence. He had also written me emails and texts.
Just talk to me.
I had put up a wall of silence, ghosting, as they call it today. I was scared, to be sure, and was sitting on years of anger, but I also was ashamed. Acting the bad boy was his domain. I was the good girl. I was very uncomfortable in the role reversal. He was a brutal, cruel man. But he’d been the only one who bothered to help me when I really, really needed help. It was time to put on big-girl pants. I had a daughter to think about, and she needed to be protected.
Opening the door as quietly as I could, I took a step out into the abyss and just observed. He was wearing a long-sleeved black T-shirt and black sweats, sitting in his captain’s chair, wearing headphones that pushed back his blond-and-white shoulder-length hair. He stared at his multitude of screens. While he checked out the images, he picked up a dumbbell and curled what seemed to be an enormous amount of weight—first in the left hand, then in the right—eyes always focused on the monitors. Every so often, he spoke into a mike attached to his shirt. I watched him for some time, until he got up to stretch and finally noticed me.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.” He took off his headphones. “How do you feel?”
“Better, thanks.”
“Good to hear.” Silence. “Do you need anything?”
“No … no, thanks. I was just getting some water from the fridge.”
“I’ll get it for you.”
“No, I’ll get it. It’s good for me to walk.”
“Suit yourself.” He put the headphones back on, then took them off. “If you need anything, let me know.”
On went the headphones, and he went back to work. I walked to the fridge, took two bottles of water and one bottle of strawberry protein shake. I was so sick of drinking the thick, sickly sweet stuff, but what could I do? I was always weight appropriate, but these past weeks, I had lost enough pounds to be considered thin. But I didn’t look healthy. It was a scrawny thin in the wrong places.
I walked back into the bedroom, leaving the door open, and finished off another bottle of water along with the strawberry shake. Fortified, I went to do what I should have done when he first took me here, into his domain, into his bed. I came to him, and he took off his headphones. The monitors showed multiple rooms with multiple people engaged in multiple acts. He saw me looking, pushed a button, and the screens suddenly went black. His deep blues stared into my eyes—not hostile, but they were flat. He was literally looking down at me.
“What do you need?”
“Nothing.” I cleared my throat. “I just want to sincerely thank you for rescuing me, Chris. I probably would have died if it hadn’t been for you. Lord only knows what would have happened to Juleen. I am extremely grateful to have this place to recover and rest and to have you looking after us.” My eyes welled up. “Thank you so much.”
He nodded. “You’re very welcome.”
“Also …” Another pause. “I also want to apologize to you for the affair … for ducking out on you. I was scared, but …” I felt my eyes fill up. “It was a terrible thing to do … to leave you hanging.” Wet rills on my cheeks. “I’m really sorry—”
“Stop apologizing, baby,” he told me. “I was a shitty boyfriend and an equally shitty husband.” He patted his legs. “C’mere.”
He gently lifted me onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around my back. I laid my head on his chest and just let the tears fall. He kissed the top of my head. “I’m okay if you’re okay. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.” I picked my head up and smiled. “I’m fine.” I wiped tears away and just let him hold me.
He said, “God put me here on earth to take care of you.” He laced his fingers through my hair. “I talk a good case, but it’s all bravado. No matter what you do, no matter how many times you leave me, I’ll always be here for you. I’ll always take you back. Twenty-four seven.” He ran his fingers down my back. “Your own personal convenience store. I’m always open. Take anything you want.”
“Thank you, Christopher. I appreciate you saying that.”
“It’s the truth.” He stroked my back. “You have no idea how intense my feelings are for you.” He shifted positions. “No idea.”
I had a vague idea. He was hard underneath me. “Chris, I—”
“It’s fine.” He smiled. “Even a monster can occasionally control himself.”
“I’m sorry I called you a monster.”
“I am a monster,” he said. “Just not all the time.”
He continued to walk his fingers up and down my back. His breathing became labored. I looked up at his face, and beads of sweats had formed across his forehead and above his lips. He squirmed underneath my body.
“Are you okay?” I asked him.
“Fine.” He pulled up the hem of his shirt and wiped his face. “It’s a little hot in here.”
No, it wasn’t. It was freezing. Sweat continued to drip from his face. He moved underneath me. He couldn’t seem to get comfortable. I tried to get off his lap, but he clutched my back. His body started to shake.
And then, idiot that I was, I figured it out. As if as an ER doc, I hadn’t seen it before in hundreds of addicts. Being with me had sparked the pleasure centers in his brain. Until he had his fix, they’d keep firing until his circuits exploded. He was hooked, and sex had always been his drug of choice.
“It’s okay, Chris,” I said. “Go ahead.”
He looked at me. “You sure?”
But he was already hiking up my dress. “Yes, I’m sure. Go ahead.”
He pushed himself inside, moving slow and rhythmic. It took a couple of minutes. Afterward, he was still sweating, holding me tightly. He smelled somewhere between a musk ox and a gym locker. He wiped his face again with his shirt. He was still breathing hard. He stood up, still holding me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist.
He took me to the bedroom, laid me on his bed, and lowered his head between my legs.
“Chris, no—”
“Please—”
“I’m so tired—”
“Please—”
“I can’t.”
“Let me try.”
“You’ll just get frustrated.”
“No, I won’t.” He probably wouldn’t. It was the one thing we did where he always exhibited an unusual amount of patience. “Please. I’ve missed you so much. I’m begging you. Please.”
I hated when he begged me. And I hated the fact that I’d left him. He had leverage now that he could use against me.
“C’mon, baby. It’s been so long. Please.”
I sighed. I didn’t say anything, and he took it as a yes.
Leverage.
It was a weird feeling, not wanting sex but responding to it anyway. It had been such a long time, but that wasn’t the reason. Well, maybe part of the reason. But in the main, Chris just knew how to play the instrument. I touched his head with my fingertips and he looked up. “Tell me when.”
I fell back on the pillow and just waited for the outcome. When it happened, I pulled him toward me to let him finish us both. He said, “Tell me when you’re done.”
“Keep going.”
About a minute passed. “Soon?”
“Keep going.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“Go ahead then.”
He climaxed with three quick shoves. When he was done, he rolled off my body. “God … I forgot how long your orgasms are.”
“I need to sleep,” I told him. “Come to bed.”
He checked his watch. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Whatever.” I turned over and pulled the covers over my head.
The next time I was awakened, he was crawling into bed. He crept up behind me and pulled my back into his chest. We had always slept like this, him cradling me. It was so weird. I hadn’t been with him in over a decade. The truth was I hadn’t been with a man in over two years. He reeked of masculinity, and despite myself, I felt sparks shoot through my body.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Four-fifteen.”
“I can’t move. I’m depleted.”
“So am I.” He was still holding me. “Go back to sleep.”
I closed my eyes. I was in that fuzzy stage between awake and asleep, when he rolled me on my back. “I’m sorry, babe, but I really need you.”
Code words for sex. He didn’t wait for consent, but I didn’t stop him because it felt comforting. It didn’t take more than a few minutes. When he had finished, I was a bit nauseated but awake. I said, “I need to shower. Help me.”
“Of course.”
I looked at him in the light of the moon outside the picture window. His lids were droopy and his face looked worn. The stubble across his cheeks gave his complexion a tinge of swarthiness. He helped me up, and with the handheld showerhead, I washed off a day’s worth of sweat and sex. Water was truly miraculous. We went back to bed, resuming the same sleeping position, except instead of being merely awake, I was now wide-awake.
I said, “You liked it, didn’t you?”
He hugged me tighter. “What do you think?”
“No, not this time,” I told him. “Before … when you hurt me. You liked it.”
A beat. “No, I didn’t like it. I felt terrible.”
“Then why didn’t you stop?”
“Why didn’t I stop …” He exhaled. “Honestly, I was so in my own head, your voice barely registered.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Okay.” He sighed. “Let me see if I can explain this to you.” When I didn’t respond, he said, “Are you there?”
“I’m listening.”
“I could have held out for much longer,” he said. “Like in high school … I didn’t touch you until you came to me.”
“That’s irrelevant. Why didn’t you stop?”
He exhaled. “Addicts have on-off switches. Once we started, the switch turned on.” A pause. “I got really aroused. Then I got mad at myself for being so aroused, that you had that kind of power over me still, because I was furious at you. I’ve been nursing this anger for a very long time. You understand that, right?”
“I know who you are.”
“Right. The madder I got, the more aroused I got, because, in a lot of male brains, arousal and anger feed on each other.” He kissed my neck. “Like sexual psychopaths … which I am not.”
I was silent.
“I do have control. Even at my angriest this morning, I didn’t do what I really wanted. Because if I did, I knew it would be the point of no return.”
I sat up. “What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean?”
My heart was pounding. “I don’t know.”
“Take a guess.”
“That you wanted to kill me.”
“I just got you back.” He laughed. “I love you. Why would I want to kill you?”
The relief was overwhelming, but I was still confused. “Well, then what do you mean?”
“If you can’t figure it out, I’m not going to tell you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He laughed again. “Forget it. Let’s go to bed.”
I lay down on the pillow and closed my eyes. Then they sprang open. I sat up. “No!”
He started kissing my neck again. “No, not tonight, or no, not ever?”
