Chapter Twenty-Two Enzo
Chapter Twenty-Two
Enzo
My eyes burned, which was weird, because I wasn’t even crying.
He’d hit me.
Not only that, but he’d fucked me without lube, without a condom, and without a care in the fucking world.
And the worst part? I didn’t stop it.
I could’ve. Could’ve said the words that sat on the tip of my tongue. Could’ve punched the daylights out of him. The ability was there. Still, I’d let it happen.
I’d let it happen and now I hated both of us.
Him, for doing it.
Me, for secretly loving it.
That was the worst part, I think. It was the best fuck of my life, but none of it should’ve happened, and it made me sick that it did.
It was violent, toxic, and skating every technical red line of consent.
So why was I still here, on his floor, staring at the ceiling, trying not to cry?
The post-orgasm numbness had incapacitated me to his floor, forcing me to process it all with him still in the room.
I was pretty sure this was the part where I was supposed to beat the shit out of him, but most of the anger frothing in my chest was directed at myself, not him.
Was it because I gave out so much violence in my daily life, I felt I deserved it, too? Or because I insisted on staying, even when he’d pleaded with me to fuck off? Because I orgasmed harder than ever from what we shared?
No.
It was because when I had looked into those eyes, which bored into mine in a twisted daze, I didn’t see Tom behind them. I saw someone else. An angry, panicked stranger who had hijacked his body.
The stranger was familiar.
He was familiar, because I saw myself in him, too.
I threw my arm over my face, letting out a groan. I’d never felt as vulnerable as I did when he was inside me, and I hated that this was my first time.
Emotional pain wasn’t the only thing I had to deal with right now.
My poor rectum was never going to recuperate from the occasion. It felt raw, stuffed, and engorged. Oh, boy. My next trip to the bathroom was going to be an interesting one.
Sliding my hands from my face, I chanced a glance to my left. Tom was staring at the ceiling in a trance, jaw locked hard, his glasses nowhere in sight.
“Jesus fucking Christ. What have I done?” A shudder rippled through his body.
You lost control and took me like an animal.
He’d begged me to get out numerous times. Said he was experiencing some kind of an episode. I’d had an out. I’d chosen not to take it.
You should take it now. The man made it clear he will ruin your life.
Tom didn’t have an STI. I knew that as well as I knew he didn’t have horns and a tail. He would never fuck me otherwise. I had gotten myself checked a few days ago, when I realized where this was headed, but he didn’t know that.
None of it mattered. Not really. What mattered was that he yet again detonated all the invisible red lines between us, and even though I’d enjoyed every minute of it, it destroyed that naive part of me that trusted Tom to walk me through this uncharted territory.
I trusted him and he abused this trust. I felt stupid and young. All at once, my nickname, ‘kid,’ was almost too much to bear.
I scrambled up and collected my clothes, sniffling as I haphazardly put them on. I was self-conscious about his cum dripping down the back of my thighs, but not enough to use his stupid bathroom and prolong this event.
I was halfway to the door when I heard him croak behind me. “Enzo.”
My name on his lips sounded like a plea.
I stopped but didn’t turn around. My cheeks were hot, and as the adrenaline from the orgasms subsided, I began to hate myself more and more for not stopping what happened.
I wanted to claw at my skin until there was nothing left of me. To rip it out clean, once and for all.
“What do you want?” I strangled out.
“Just…stay for a minute.”
“Hard pass.”
“Fuck, I’m sorry. I’ve been drinking…a lot. Not that it’s an excuse. I was completely out of line. I…I shouldn’t have opened that door. I knew what was lurking behind it was too dark and fucked-up for anyone to see.”
I pressed my lips together and closed my eyes.
“Please look at me.”
I turned around. He was slumped with his back against the wall, elbows on his knees. He looked depleted, lost, and sad. So fucking sad I was actually stupid enough to feel bad for him.
“You hurt me,” I breathed out.
“I know.” He clutched his head, his elbows on his knees. “That won’t ever happen again. I can promise you that. Next time, I’m hurling myself out the goddamn window.”
“I don’t get it.” I shook my head. “All because I was an hour and a half late?”
“No.” He frowned. “It was because… Well, fuck, can you just sit down so we can talk about it? What do you want to drink? Water? Coke? Coffee?”
Staying was a bad idea, but bad ideas seemed to be my specialty where this man was concerned.
“Coke’s fine,” I heard myself say.
I knew I was in a state of delirium when I stopped counting carbs.
He jumped to his feet, uncharacteristically eager, and dashed to his modern black-and-gray kitchen. I took a seat on his couch, avoiding the spunk stains I’d put there. He came back with two cans of Coke and sat beside me. He stared at his palms. They were rough and pink.
“I apologize, Enzo. From the bottom of my heart. If you want to go down to the police station and have me arrested, I won’t blame you.”
An awkward bark of laughter escaped me. “You couldn’t assault me with two firearms and a battalion. I chose not to fight you off.” My chuckle was defensive, and bitter as nightshade.
“Lie to them, then,” he offered. “I’ll back you up.”
“I’d kill you before going to the cops.”
“Wouldn’t blame you for that, either.”
“I ought to punch the daylights out of you.”
He turned to me seriously, angling his face toward me. “Then do it. I won’t fight back this time.”
I stared at him, somehow even more furious than I was five minutes ago.
“Well, fuck.”
His brokenness took the sting out of my anger, and that also infuriated me, because he deserved all the shit I planned on hurling his way.
“What happened?” I asked finally.
“I saw you with Katya.” His throat worked around a swallow. “I didn’t like it.”
Warm satisfaction spread all over me. He was jealous. But that only made an already impossible situation even more catastrophic.
“I have to marry her.” I swallowed.
“I know.”
“But she knows the score. She understands it’s an arrangement, and we agreed to an open marriage.”
“This is good,” he said, running a hand over his stubble distractedly. “You need to be able to be yourself, even if in a small capacity.”
“You and I can be exclusive,” I blurted out.
We probably should be, considering he was allergic to condoms. Then again, what was I doing, handing him prizes after what he’d done to me?
He shook his head. “That’s not a good idea. In fact, we’re not a good idea. Never were. Still, if you do want to continue this, it’s best if I get used to what you and I will be. No point in playing pretend.” He sniffed. “Hurts too much.”
“Does it look like you’re handling sharing very well?” I asked incredulously.
“No, but that’s for me to worry about.”
I ran my palm over my face. “Fuck, Tom, what was that?”
“PTSD.” He met my gaze, allowing me to see everything inside those blue eyes, even though I knew it made him uncomfortable.
“I was diagnosed after I returned from Afghanistan and worked relentlessly through my issues. I thought I was out of the danger zone. I haven’t had an episode in eight years.
Not since…” Not since he told Matt to go fuck himself and still blamed himself for what happened.
“Until tonight. Something in me just snapped. I swear I wasn’t in control of my body.
It was… Fuck.” He covered his face again, shaking his head.
“I won’t let it happen again, because next time, I’m not waiting for you to leave.
I’ll walk out that door myself, whatever it takes. ”
Rubbing my forehead, I asked, “What does it feel like?”
“What do you mean?”
“A PTSD episode.”
“It feels…like you’re on the edge of a cliff, and you have to do whatever it takes not to fall. In that moment, nothing matters other than the voices in your head, and ninety-nine percent of the time they tell you to do something you know is destructive.”
I rubbed my lips with my fingers and stared at the wall. Something clicked in my brain.
I felt like this. All the time.
I had PTSD episodes.
I had PTSD.
From my homophobic, abusive father who’d taught me how to kill, how to maim, how to torture, and how to hate myself.
From a family that demanded the complete destruction of my soul if I wanted to fit in.
From anxiety so acute, I now dealt with flare-ups pretty much year-round.
I too ran to a place inside my head that told me destructive things. And those things were to scratch my skin until it bled.
“Enzo?” Tom peered into my face. “I really am sorry. I promise you I’m clean. I haven’t been with anyone since my last health bill. I’ve ruined your first time. I—”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were moving to Chicago?” I blurted out.
I was tired of talking about what happened. Especially because I secretly loved it. Being manhandled, grappled, bossed around, spanked. It didn’t excuse his behavior, but digging into it felt too raw right now.
“What?” He scowled. “Who told you that?”
“You know I can’t discuss it with you.” I took a swig of my Coke. “When are you moving?”
“I’m not. Their bureau sent out a request, but I turned down the offer.”
Satisfaction fluttered behind my breastbone. My first drugging hit of this thing called hope.
“Why?”
“My grandmother. Iris. Silas. Lots of reasons.” He stopped, searching my face. “Fuck,” he muttered. “I don’t know that I can ever look at your face again and not see what I did to you flashing over your eyes.”
Rage simmered beneath my skin. Did he want me to reassure him I was okay? And why couldn’t he fucking admit that he liked me? That I was one of the reasons he wanted to stay?
“I’ll be fine,” I clipped out.
“I hurt you,” he breathed.
“It was my choice. You asked me to leave. Several times. Would you have stopped if I asked you to?”
“Of course.”
“You said you weren’t in control of your body.”
“I’d have injured myself if it meant sparing you.”
I believed him. “Are you gonna admit that you’re staying here because of me?”
He gave me a look imploring me to leave him the fuck alone.
Yeah, fuck that. We were done doing things his way. “This thing between us, Enzo, it’s toxic.”
“It’s messy,” I countered. “But it works.”
Tom stared at the floor. “I don’t think it does.”
I shot to my feet. I wasn’t in the mood to get dumped after feeling so used tonight. And I definitely didn’t care for another round of trying-to-convince-Tom-Rothwell-I-was-worthy-of-breathing-the-same-air-as-him.
He thought he didn’t do jealousy? That we were pointless? Doomed? Fine by me. I mean, shit. I couldn’t go on like this, trying to convince the entire world I was worthy of love.
“I’m not going to relieve you of your guilt, because what you did to me was shitty and wrong.
” I shoved my feet into my sneakers. “You’re right that this is the last time you do that, because next time, I will fight back and kill you.
I do promise to be mindful of your boundaries.
Next time you tell me to go away, I’ll leave.
However, if you want to keep doing this”—I gestured between us—“we’re exclusive, and you stop running from me. ”
He sat there, watching me, hollowed out. I continued before I lost my nerve. “If we do this, you always use lube, and you always fucking ask. Take it or leave it.”
I held my breath, waiting for his words.
“And then what?” he asked dejectedly. “We’d be exclusive, with you married to someone else, us sneaking around like thieves in the night, and I’d get to spend every holiday alone, watching as you grow your family with your Bratva princess?
” His eyes turned remote and cold. “No, thank you. I’ve seen this film before. I didn’t like how it ended.”
Licking my lips, it was my turn to feel shame. “You know it’s all I can offer. We have to meet in the middle, Tom.”
“This is your middle, not my middle, Enzo.” Tom’s tone was resolute, and I knew that it was truly over.
“I can’t go down that path again. Not when I know how badly it can end.
For me. For you. I’m sparing both of us, even if you don’t feel that way right now.
Someone needs to be the responsible adult here. ”
“I see. And I’m just a stupid kid, right?” I threw my nickname in his face.
He said nothing.
“Why won’t you admit that you like me, Tom?”
He forced his gaze up to meet mine. His hands trembled in his lap. “Because I’m not a liar, Enzo.”
I turned around and slammed the door behind me so hard the entire floor shook.
Fucker. Asshole. Coward. There was no stopping the train wreck that was us anymore. We were no longer at the precipice, clawing our way back up as to not to fall.
We were free-falling straight into the abyss of a destiny we could never escape.
I spent the next few days playing the night on loop, trying to put a name to what happened.
Rape? No. I was a willing participant; I never once asked or thought about stopping it. I just fucking hated how he didn’t ask. The hatred in his eyes when our bodies were connected.
Sexual assault? Also no.
But I did feel scared. I did feel out of control.
Sexual violence. That was the term.
I thrived on it, yes, but without communication or consent, it made little difference, because at the end of the day, it made me feel like shit.
There were enough things in my life to make me feel that way. So maybe it was good that we were over.
I believed Tom when he said it would never happen again. He seemed sincere and grief-struck in the moment that followed.
But what if one time was one too many?
The irony didn’t escape me.
I, the man who poisoned his father, was now drawn to the most toxic venom on planet Earth.
A man who set his sights on one thing, and one thing only—destroying me.