18. Contamination #3
“No Kitten. I gave you opportunity,” he says. “You took full advantage of the view. And when it became obvious you could not deliver, you were useless. So I lit the match, tossed the dynamite, and left.”
“There was no taking advantage of the view.”
“Sure there was, Kitten. The cushy little job of yours at the hospital? I fucked the administrator raw for a week to get that for you. And how about your board position at the Animal Shelter? Yeah, that one was fun. She was a freak and had a friend.”
“What are you saying?”
“Did you honestly think you were good enough just to get those gigs? No Kitten. My dick and I worked overtime to get you what you wanted.”
“No. You’re lying and I was not useless to you.”
“Sure, you were great eye candy and could speak and make people listen. But, I fucked you constantly over and over, day after day, kept you full of my seed and even after a year you couldn’t manage to give me an heir. You were nothing but a good fuck with a useless uterus.”
His words hit dead center, peel me open and gut me in front of him. He sees the mortal wound and the son of a bitch smiles like the grim reaper himself. I manage to keep my knees from buckling and start remembering how to breathe again, willing myself to stay upright.
“No. All you are is a lying fraud.”
“Careful.”
“No.”
His eyes narrow and he raises his voice.
“You had better think carefully about your next words, I’m just about done with you.
I left you broken in my wake before and I won’t hesitate to do it again.
You forget Kitten. I will move on from this little town and be just fine, cannery or no cannery.
It is you who will have no place left to run. ”
My throat tightens. He sees that, too.
“You will not use me again,” but my voice sounds too small.
“I already have.”
I lower my head. My skin feels too tight. My wrist still feels the shape of his fingers digging into me. His words about Portland and Eli and Doc are ringing in my ears, vile and deliberate and acidic.
Every word is chosen. Every word is filth.
“We are not done.” He smiles again. “Do you understand me?”
I look at him.
I do not give him the satisfaction of watching me scramble for the right answer.
The right answer is already forming.
Not the one he wants.
The one I should have reached for the second he walked back into my life.
Portland was his story because I let silence do too much work. I let shame stand in for guilt. I let the fact that I had been close to him become the part that mattered most, because fighting that seemed impossible when I was already exhausted from surviving him.
I am done letting this piece of shit control anything about my life.
Tonight, Doc gets the truth. All of it.
Portland. Ian. The parking lot. My house. This room. And then I am going to ask Doc for help.
Not rescue or protection.
Help.
Ian’s leverage is Portland. So I need to make sure the story comes out from me. On my terms. If it comes out from me, he has no teeth, and I can destroy him.
Ian watches me stay quiet and mistakes it for surrender.
Good.
“I understand you,” I say finally.
His face settles into satisfaction. “Then you’ll finally play by my rules.”
I pretend to sulk. “I do.”
His eyes sharpen. “I want you to stop pretending you do not know how influence works.”
“I know.” I let my shoulders drop. Not too much. Enough for him to believe the hit landed where he aimed it.
“I want support.”
His expression does not change, but I see the interest wake behind his eyes.
“And?”
“I’ll say the town should review all aspects of the proposal before making a decision.”
“That is not support.”
“It is from me.”
“You can do better.”
“I can,” I say. “But not without making people wonder why I changed my mind so fast.”
That gets him. Enough for him to pause.
I keep my voice quiet. “You want believable, Ian. Not desperate.”
He likes that. He likes thinking I am finally using my brain in service of him.
“I always did prefer you practical.”
Bile climbs into my throat.
“I will make one public statement,” I say. “Careful. Limited. After I have seen the revised materials.”
“The materials are available.”
“Then send them.”
“I could ask why you suddenly need paperwork.”
“You could,” I say. “Or you could remember that people here expect me to read before I speak.”
He steps closer.
I do not step back.
His eyes narrow.
For one second, I think he sees too much.
Then his satisfaction returns because he thinks the damage has already done its job.
Let him.
“The town hall next week, I expect you will be on the stage, by my side,” he says. “If I hear one word against me before then, I will make sure everyone knows exactly who you were in Portland.”
My fingers curl once against my palm.
“I heard you.”
“And if you try to get clever with me, Kitten, I will make sure the doctor hears it first.” He smiles.
He thinks he won.
“Leave,” I say.
He adjusts his cuff, “You were always better once you stopped fighting me.”
At the front door, he looks back. “Think carefully, Kitten.”
That pleases him and he leaves.
I stand behind the reception desk until the door closes and then I run to lock it.