Chapter 6 – DARIO #3
I’d undo the damage if I knew how. I don’t need her to pretend. I like her raw feelings—all of them. They turn me on. That’s what makes her different from every other person in the world.
Besides, I don’t need her pretending she’s a tough cookie when she clearly isn’t. She doesn’t need to be strong. I am strong. I can destroy anything that threatens her—if she just fucking tells me where to come get her.
I inhale and slowly exhale. My left eye’s twitching. How much longer does this part of the game last?
When I don’t reply, she feels compelled to argue the point. “It’s only the truth. If you don’t like it, that’s on you.”
“Okay. If you say so.”
“I’m not feeling bad because we broke up, if that’s what you think. I’m pissed because you can’t tell when something is obviously photoshopped, and now my life has to be over.”
“Fine. Where are you? I’ll bring you home. Smooth things over. I’ll set you up in your own place, and you can take your car.”
I’m lying through my teeth, and she’s not even listening. She’s stuck on our relationship. It’s like when I need the numbers from Miles, and he wants to talk about his draft picks.
“I know that Carolyn bought me all the stuff. You don’t know me at all, do you, Dario?”
I know her perfectly. Better than she knows herself. She’s a tangled ball of self-doubt, foolish pride, dumb hope, brilliance, masochism, and blind affection. And I’m obsessed.
I need her back.
I drop my voice, lace it with menace. “I know what’s going to happen if you don’t come home. You’ll be found. There will be no conversation. You won’t even feel the bullet in your brain. You’ll be dead before the synapse can fire, and your life will, in fact, be over.”
“Don’t threaten me.” Her voice rises. I knock my forehead on the glass door of the booth. There’s no reasoning with her.
I change tack. “Do you need me to apologize again?”
“Don’t bother. It didn’t make me feel any better.”
“I do regret the mistake.” My rush to judgement has grossly inconvenienced me, and it’s put a piece in jeopardy that I did not intend to permanently lose.
“Your apologies are completely unsatisfying.”
“I don’t know how to do it any better.”
“I believe that.” She looks bitter. And tired. There are light bruises under her eyes. Is she not sleeping either?
My fingers twitch. I want her closer. If she were in my arms, I wouldn’t feel this—empty-handedness.
“Are you even capable of actually feeling sorry for hurting someone?” She cocks her head, as if considering a new idea. I can see her doing the math, searching for a memory to prove herself wrong and coming up short.
She’s getting it now.
“No.” A thrill skates down my spine. It feels good to admit it.
She blinks at me, finally, really understanding.
“But you can feel angry?”
“Yes.”
“You were angry because you thought I let someone touch what belongs to you.”
“Yes.” It’s almost sensual, the way the naked truth feels on my lips. Like skinny dipping in broad daylight, the way the sun feels on your bare skin.
“Not because you loved me.”
“I don’t love anyone.” I never have. I understand the concept and I can recognize the emotion in others, but I just don’t have the capability. I imagine it’s like colorblindness. You eventually learn what green is, but you never actually see it yourself. And it has no real impact on your life.
“But you can hate,” she asks.
I shake my head. I enjoy revenge and aggression, but more as sport than as emotion.
“So all I’ve got to work with is rage?”
Her soft lips quirk up in a sad smile, but there’s a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. It goes straight to my dick.
“What makes you mad, Dario? Does it make you mad when I don’t accept your private meeting requests?”
I don’t dignify that with a response, but no, it doesn’t. Toying with me is how she’s playing this game. Her tactics interest me; they don’t anger me.
“Does it piss you off that I can make you go away by pushing one tiny button? I bet you just can’t stand it that this slut , this whore, can turn you off with one little tap on the screen.” Her hurt mingles with her delight in what she’s about to do.
“Posy—” I warn as if I can stop her.
She wiggles her fingers. “Bye, Dario.”
The screen goes dark. She’s gone.
I hit refresh. Nothing.
She’s gone again. And I still don’t know where she is.
Again, without warning, a storm crashes through my chest, a vision of my phone flying from my hands through the glass door erupting in my mind.
My grip tightens until my knuckles blanch. I don’t lose control. I don’t lose, period.
Except to Posy. And it’s good when she wins. It makes her want to play with me more.
The red tinting my vision slowly seeps away, and my lungs loosen enough so I can draw in a deep breath.
This isn’t a bad development.
After all, Posy loves winning. I never let her, so when she does, it’s real, and she knows it. She crows about it. Losses roll off her shoulders, but when she beats me, she gleefully rubs it in.
Is that what she’s doing now? Strutting around that shitty apartment, giddy that she’s bested me?
A smile plays at my lips.
I bet she is. I bet she’s skipping around, glowing with the satisfaction. My cock presses hard against my zipper.
She can enjoy her win for the moment.
Ray says it’s only a matter of time. It’s going to be so sweet, collecting my prize.
She better enjoy this small victory. It’ll be her last for a long, long time.