Chapter 2
“Batman.”
“What?”
“Your secret,” I said to him one night. “That’s what it is, isn’t it? You’re Batman.”
It was midnight and as usual, we were together. I can’t remember the city we were in because I’ve never traveled this much in my life and I can’t say what the hotel room looked like. But I do remember that this one had a balcony.
Not a huge one but big enough that I wanted to go out on it.
Because it was snowing.
And because I was only wearing my favorite Minnie Mouse boyfriend t-shirt, he insisted that I wear a coat. When I denied and said that he should come with me to keep me warm, he agreed and came out in only his drawstring pants. Hello? Where was his t-shirt or a coat?
Looking to his side and back, he flexed his grip on my thighs that were wound around his hips. “No.”
In response, I flexed my arms around his chest and shoulders. “Spiderman?”
He chuckled lowly. “No.” Then, flexing his grip again and looking back, “You could be a spider monkey though.” A pause followed by an explanation, “Although they’re both two very different things that only share the term spider.”
I dropped a kiss on his bare shoulder and licked a snowflake from his skin. “Oh, Stellan. My poor, clueless baby. You scare me sometimes.” Another kiss. “Only you would poke fun at me and then worry about explaining it right. Besides,” another kiss and a lick “the correct term is piggyback. See how I’m wrapped around your back and shoulder? It’s called piggyback. So I guess I’m a piggyback monkey if anything.”
I finished it with another kiss but this one on his cold hard cheek.
And I was.
Wrapped around his back and shoulder I mean.
Because I wanted to.
Because he looked so warm and strong and I wanted to see the snow, the stars perched on his back. Plus of course I wanted my front pressed against those dense muscles.
Before we could get back to the topic at hand though – figuring out his secret – in a very powerful display of athleticism and grace, he both got me off his back and wrapped around his front in not only less than ten seconds, but also without me having to put my feet down on the balcony.
Then, with one arm around my waist and using the other to take the cigarette out of his rose mouth, he said, “Now you’re just my pretty Dora.”
I brought my face close to his and parted my lips, drinking his smoke in.
Which thankfully he made no objection to.
It took me days to convince him, but he at least agreed to let me drink in his smoke from his mouth aka shotgunning. Which worked out because I didn’t care about the smoking. I only cared about him.
“I love it when you call me your pretty Dora,” I whispered after inhaling those toxic fumes. It always felt like I was inhaling him.
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh.” I nod. “I can’t decide between baby, sweetheart, Cherry Lips, Lolita. They’re all my favorite. But ‘my pretty Dora’ is most favoritest.”
He hummed. “Not a word, baby.”
“Mostest favoritest,” I said, teasing him.
“Well, that was the wrongest thing I’ve ever heard,” he exhaled a puff of smoke again, “but I’ll let it slide.”
I inhaled again. Then, “I love when you get crazy with me. Oh,” I widen my eyes, “maybe that’s your secret. Being as crazy as me.”
He ran his eyes over my face. “Hmm. Again not a secret, baby. Plus I’m crazier than you.”
“Okay.” I tapped a finger on my chin. “How about manhandling me like this?”
His lips twitched. “It’s called working out every single day and bench pressing thrice your weight.”
My lips parted. “You do not bench press thrice my weight.”
He ignored it as if my comment was beneath him. “And my secret is knowing things.”
“What things?”
“Things like you’re very, very,” he dragged me up and down his abs with just one arm; so maybe he did bench press thrice my weight, “wet right now.”
I rubbed our noses together, while rubbing my bare pussy on his abs once again, spreading my juices on his skin. “I’m always wet when I’m around you. In. Sane. Chemistry, remember?”
Even though we’d just had sex and done our whole bath and cleaning up ritual.
He smirked. “And that three things are going to happen in the next ten minutes.”
“What three things?”
“One,” he slowly slid me down on the floor and turned me around, “you’re about to get your pussy licked on a thirteenth-floor balcony, overlooking this city.” He dropped down to his haunches as I grabbed the wonderfully cold railing. “Two, people down below are about to get a free live sex show because the moment I start eating your sweetheart pussy, you’re going to start whining like my desperate little whore.” He flipped my Minnie Mouse t-shirt up, exposing my ass to his eyes. “And three, when I lick your kitty down here, that Minnie sitting up on your tits is going to get very jealous. So Daddy’s going to make up for it by making you come from just sucking on your gorgeous cherry tits.”
I wanted to say something to him.
I wanted to say that it was impossible for me to come just by getting my tits licked. But then he swiped his tongue on my core and I forgot everything. Well, except the fact that he did know things. Because all three things he predicted did come to pass.
So there.
That could’ve been his secret, being omniscient.
But it’s not.
I know now.
I know what his secret is and the fact that I’m thinking about him doing filthy things to me because of it, because of him, when my head’s on my biji’s lap and we’re sitting in my bed up in my childhood bedroom is making me even madder.
Because I’m mad.
I’m so fucking mad.
“Calm down,” my biji says, patting my shoulder.
“I am calm.”
“No, you’re not,” she says, sifting her fingers through my hair. “You’re breathing like a dragon.”
I look up at her. “How would you know how a dragon breathes?”
“It breathes like you,” she quips.
I glare at her before turning away to stare at the TV. Which I have been doing for the past hour without really seeing anything. I know what’s happening though; I’ve seen this movie multiple times. It’s one of my favorites; that’s why Biji put it on.
“He did the right thing,” my biji says probably for the tenth time since last night.
I curl my fingers in a fist but otherwise stay silent.
“In fact, this is the first time I feel like he hasn’t behaved like a khhote da puttar,” she continues. “Sach kahun toh mera toh vishvas hi utth raha tha usse. Are koi itni bhi der lagata hai samjhane mein ki main iss kudi se pyaar karta hoon?! Chalo finally, ye toh pata lag gaya ki haan, maine pyaar kiya.” And then she chuckles. “See, what I did there? I actually used the title of the movie.”
The title of the movie that we’re watching is: Maine Pyaar Kiya.
Which exactly translates to I’ve loved. And loosely means, I’m in love.
I breathe out sharply. “Biji, you… You know what, forget it. I don’t want you to translate anything you just said. I don’t care. I’m not going to like it anyway.”
But of course, she’s my biji.
She’s like me.
Or I’m like her, whatever.
She is going to do the exact opposite of what I want her to do.
“I said I was starting to lose hope,” she begins. “Because he was taking too long to realize the truth. He was taking too long to realize that he loves you.” Then, lowering her voice and softly stroking my hair, “And you know that he does, don’t you? That’s why he did what he did. For you. To show you. To protect you.”
My eyes well up with tears.
Again.
And I was doing so well. I hadn’t shed a single tear in the last twenty-five minutes. I held on to my anger. I held on to my promise that I wouldn’t cry for him anymore.
I wouldn’t give him my single tear.
Because he’s already taken too many of them.
He’s already taken too much from me.
He’s already broken my heart too many times for me to cry over him. And that’s the thing, isn’t it, he breaks my heart but he does it in a way that hurts more than a broken heart should. He does it in a way that all the pieces of my heart come apart and scatter in the wind. Except one small piece.
That remains.
And that little piece, bloody and still clinging to life, beats and beats.
With hope.
With longing. With pining.
It beats because yes, I know he did what he did because he loves me.
He beat up his own twin brother because he was trying to show me. He was trying to protect me.
From him.
From his secret.
That he thinks I can’t handle.
That he thinks makes him dangerous.
That’s why he kept calling himself bad, didn’t he? He kept calling himself a shitty brother. It was all there. All the puzzle pieces: the way he kept away from everyone, the way he kept himself in the shadows, his crazy jealousy, his possessiveness, his irrational need for control and rules and that stupid one cigarette per day.
It’s because he’s got issues.
Issues with anger.
Like his brother Ledger.
I put it all together and I did it before the cops came and took him away. And when they did, I wanted to stop them. I wanted to tell them that it was me. He did it for me. That he wasn’t a criminal or a threat. He was just trying, in his twisted way, to protect me. He didn’t need to be handcuffed and hauled to a police station in a cop car.
But of course I couldn’t go.
There were all these people. All this commotion.
There was Jupiter who was so scared and crying over Shep’s barely conscious body. I don’t even know what she was doing there; probably to see Shepard. So I went to the hospital with them. I stayed there for as long as I could until my father came to get me.
My father.
I don’t know what was more surprising: that Dad showed up when I’d least expected him to or that he knew. Everything. He knew everything about my mother. About all the things she had done over the years.
And he was… horrified.
He was apologetic.
He said he hadn’t known. He had no clue—which was how I wanted it to be but still—because if he had, he would’ve intervened. He wouldn’t have kept his distance. In fact, the reason he kept his distance from me was to protect me from my mother. Because he knew how jealous she was of me, of her own daughter.
And then he said he was there to take me back to New York where I belonged. I belonged at our house, with our family where he’d protect me moving forward. And that family includes Biji. Whom he also sprung out of the old age home because he knew how much she meant to me.
It was both heartbreaking and heart-healing that I may have my dad back.
No, actually I was more surprised about the fact that even though the man I’m in love with was at the police station and he was in a similar state as Shep – bloody and beaten and barely conscious – he still found a way to protect me. He still thought ahead and found a way to keep me safe from my mother who was fucking furious when she saw me at their doorstep with Dad last night. Because Coach Thorne was the one who told my dad everything, at his request.
So then I spent all night crying and crying that he could do all these things, he could do all these crazy protective things, he could go to these lengths for me but he wouldn’t say that he loved me.
He’ll try to marry me off to his brother under this insane assumption that I absolutely have to have everything that I ever dreamed of, instead of just giving us a chance.
Just a little chance.
Of being together.
For real. Without secrets, without sneaking around.
And now I don’t know what’s going to happen.
I don’t know where we go from here.
Shep texted me a little while ago that he’s out but he didn’t tell me anything else. And I didn’t ask because I’m done asking. I’m done chasing him and running after him. I’m done fighting for this love when I’m the only one with the sword.
I’m done.
With him.
With that thought I try to focus on the movie when loud sounds and banging make me jump. And I spring up on the bed.
“What on earth,” my biji says, looking toward my bedroom door.
I don’t even do that.
I don’t even look. I jump out of the bed and run to the door. I throw it open, dash down the hallway and reach the landing and…
I have to catch the banister or I would’ve fallen down the stairs.
Because he is here.
He’s at my house.
All tall and broad and battered and bruised.
And he’s got my mother pinned against a wall, with his fingers wrapped around her throat. My mother.
Oh my God.
And then I’m running again. Or rather flying down the stairs. Just as I reach the bottom, I realize there are all these people around him. He’s got a couple of guys, bodyguards, trying to pull him away from my mother but to no avail. I notice my dad standing to the side, looking horrified by the blatant display of aggression.
And then there’s my mother who just squeaked, her eyes wide and fear-ridden, her hands swatting at Stellan’s chest, his wrists.
As he growls, “I dare you to say another thing against your daughter. Because all I need is one excuse, just one, to snuff the life out of your sorry little ass. So just –”
“Stellan,” I call out.
And then run toward him.
He’s only a few feet away but it might as well be miles. And in those miles, I get waylaid by bodyguards, my father, people I don’t even look at because my focus is entirely on the man who’s trying to kill my mother.
For me.
Finally when I do reach him, I don’t hesitate.
I fist his shirt and try to pull him away from her. “Stellan, no. Don’t!”
He doesn’t listen.
He keeps the pressure around my mother’s throat and her eyes are getting wider and wider. And my attempts become urgent. I tug and pull and demand, “Stellan, please. Please let her go. You’re killing her, okay? Just let her go. Please.” I’m on his arm now, my fists twisting and twisting in his shirt. “Please. She’s not worth it. She’s not.”
And I’m right.
She’s my mother and I love her.
But she’s not worth Stellan losing his shit over. She’s so not worth Stellan doing something drastic over. That I know he’ll regret later.
I know.
And I’ll be damned if my mother—of all people—becomes another burden for him.
I pull on his arm again. “Please, baby.”
I snatch my hands away then.
I didn’t mean to say that.
I didn’t mean to use an endearment. And I know it’s super crazy to think about this slipup when so many other dire things are happening. My mother’s still squeaking and appears to be dying. Men are still trying to get Stellan off her. My dad still looks horrified.
But the moment I call him that, he finally switches his focus on me.
And God, God in addition to snatching my hands away from him, I also have to take a few steps back. Because his eyes, gosh his eyes, are lava. They are blazing lava. So intense, so molten, so fucking… bright.
Like there’s really a wildfire raging inside of him.
Uncontrolled. Unfettered.
Free.
And it’s going to eat him alive.
Pair that with his messy hair, his wrinkled clothes from last night, his bruises – good Lord, his bruises, vicious and angry – he looks like an avenging angel. Sent down to earth to destroy everything and everyone who means me harm.
Actually a devil with revenge on his mind.
He roves those burning eyes of his all over my face before finally, finally letting my mom go. Not all the way though; he still has his hold on her. But enough that she’s not in mortal danger anymore. A relieved breath whooshes out of me at that—which I hate mostly because it’s more for his sanity than for my mother’s safety.
He notices it, my chest moving up and down with a jerky breath. Then, turning back to my mom who’s trying to catch her breath, “Say thank you.”
Mom’s eyes jerk up to his, a little of her defiance coming back to life. “W-what?”
He leans closer to her and my heart starts to pound again. “Say thank you to your daughter. Because she just saved your life.”
“I will not –”
In response, he cuts her off by squeezing her throat. Causing my mother to squeak again.
Then, in a growly, threatening voice, “Say fucking thank you.”
“Stellan, she doesn’t –”
“T-Thank you,” she gasps out.
My eyes go wider as I take in my mom’s horrified face without being able to utter a word.
Stellan doesn’t have such problem as he goes, “This,” my mother’s eyes go back to his, “here, is your lesson number one in how to talk to your daughter and the answer is nicely. Should you forget that, I will be back to remind you. And if that happens,” he flexes his grip around her throat again, “you should know that I forget things too. Like letting your fucking throat go in time before you choke to death.”
With that he lets my mother go and turns to me.
I don’t know what happens around us then. I can’t tell who goes where; who says what; what happens to my mother. Does my father still look horrified?
All I know is that he comes for me.
He advances on me, his chest dragging up and down, his bruised mouth parted. And I can’t do anything except stand in my spot.
Frozen.
Trapped.
He comes to a halt a few inches away and stares down at me without a word.
For a few seconds I don’t understand what he’s doing. Why isn’t he saying anything? Why is he looking at me like that?
Then I notice something.
His hand.
Between us.
Palm up.
As if he’s offering it to me.
And then it occurs to me that he is.
He is offering me his hand.
Just like his twin brother did all those months ago. At the party that started everything. At least in any real sense. Before that it was a petty girl running after a cold man. But the night of the charity event, I was just a girl and he was just a man and we had a fire between us that we’ve tried so hard to ignore.
“Come with me,” he commands roughly.
And I look up at him.
I want to.
I so want to.
But I’m also so afraid.
I’m also so angry.
And heartbroken.
Is he going to burn me with his fire? Is he going to end me?
I always wanted to die at the end of this story, didn’t I? So is this what the end looks like?
“Please,” he adds.
Which is what seals my fate.
Please.
I’ve said that to him a million times, but he’s never said it to me.
He’s never made himself that vulnerable to say it to me.
So then if this is the end, let it be. If he’s going to burn me, then let him. I put my trembling hand in his large, scrape-y palm and he engulfs it in his hot, hot grip.
And takes me.