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Chapter 15 ~ Storms
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Miki asks, again, as she stands by the door in her warmest clothes, thickest jacket and mittens. New Years Eve in Times Square might be packed but it’s bitterly cold outside, and no where I want to be tonight, especially since she started seeing that lawyer from the third floor. Third wheel? No thanks.
“Popcorn, chick flick, chocolate fudge sauce and rocky road ice cream in the freezer, I’m good thanks,” I smile at her as she stares back at me, motherly concern in her eyes. “Honestly Mik, you go, I can totally entertain myself here. I promise you won’t come home to find me hanging from the shower curtain,” I add with a grin that makes her roll her eyes at me.
“Not funny Tip,” she sighs, shaking her head at me before grabbing a toque and a scarf from the table near the door.
“And I promise, I’ll put my iPod in before I go to sleep, just in case,” I add with a wink which makes her eyes go wide as she pushes her date towards the door. Laughing to myself I hit play on the dvd and settle back under a fleece blanket. Just me, Season Four of Gray’s Anatomy, my thermal pajamas and….
The buzzer on the door sounds as soon as the dialogue starts and I grumble a number of curse words under my breath as I hit the pause button. Putting my bowl of popcorn aside, I fold the blanket back and head for the door, still cursing.
“What did you forget? Your keys?” I snap, pushing the door open and immediately looking up, not down where Miki should be. Mostly because it’s not Miki, it’s Marc. “What are you..,” my voice trails off when I see the fury in his blue eyes but I barely have time to acknowledge that much before he has me by both shoulders and his lips are hovering just over mine.
I have to admit, even though I know I’ll have bruises later where his fingers are currently digging into the flesh of my upper arms, I’m a bit turned on by the whole silent aggression thing. Can I help it if I’m a little kinky that way?
“You can’t keep seeing him,” he growls at last, his blue eyes blazing like gas flames as they search my face. “He’s my brother. I…I forbid you.”
“You…forbid me?” I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing. It just sounds so…paternal and ridiculous.
“Damn’t Tippi, this isn’t a joke,” he snarls, turning so that he can press me up against the back of the door, effectively using me to close it. “I love…no I loved you,” he adds, correcting himself mid sentence. Just hearing him say that makes the already heavy lead weight that’s been sitting in the pit of my stomach grow in size.
“No, I’m sorry, you’re right” I manage to wheeze while he presses against me and I can tell he’s fighting the urge not to shake me like a dog will its’ prey. Not that I can blame him. I’m sure he’d love to snap my neck and have done with me and I’m sure there isn’t a court in the land that would convict him if he did. Reaching up, I touch his cheek with my fingers and he closes his eyes. First as if he’s cherishing the moment and then his elegant Grecian nose wrinkles and he shakes his head.
“Don’t…don’t try and make it better,” he says quietly, but through clenched teeth and the anger In his tone is unmistakable. “I hate you right now. You can’t even…you don’t know….”
“But I am sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you Markie,” I whisper, feeling tears welling in my eyes, hating the reflection I see of myself in his eyes when he looks at me.
“Don’t. Call. Me. That.” Looking into my eyes and then letting his grey blue eyes search my face as if he’s looking for some sign of the person he used to love, he finally shakes his head and makes a face, like he smells something bad. “Is this what you like?” he asks, leaning in so that he’s whispering in my ear, so that his breath warms my cheek. “Do you like it rough? Is that it?” Letting go of my shoulder, he reaches up and gives a tug on my hair so that I have to face him. “Is this better? Is this what you want?” Biting my lip, I nod and then let out a whimper when his other hand reaches up and grabs a hold of my chin, his long fingers digging into the soft flesh of my cheeks as he stares at me like I make him want to puke. Tears pour down my cheeks but he doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he doesn’t care. Instead he kisses me, hard and long, forcing his tongue between my lips, the rasp of his unshaven upper lip burning my mouth.
Firstly, just seeing her makes my chest go tight, my head swim and my stomach do things that make me worry about all the beer I’ve had at the bar with the guys, trying to work up my courage to face her.
Then, when the red mist falls and I have her pressed up against the door, all I can think of is Jordan touching her, kissing her, having her and I suddenly I want to do things to her that...that I shouldn’t. But when she whimpers, when her nipples poke at me through her pajama top and her eyes flutter closed I realize that she wants me to do those things to. She does actually like this. She does want me to take her, here, now up against this wall.
It’s all just like Jordan said. It’s all true I realize as I feel her leg slide up and around mine, pulling me closer, urging me on.
And I can’t do it. Just like Jordan said I wouldn’t be able to.
This isn’t what I want. I’m not this…I can’t do this…whatever this is.
“Please,” she whimpers, her hand sliding down between us, trying to stroke me to life through my jeans, but instead I let her go and turn away from her, shaking my head to clear the dark images of her squirming and crying from my mind. Because not me, that’s not what I want and it isn’t me I see her with. It’s Jordan. “Marc?” I feel her hands on my shoulders but I don’t want her touching me now. She’s…spoiled goods and worse than that. She doesn’t feel like she’s mine. She’s not my Tippi. Not anymore.
“This was a mistake, I’m sorry,” I whisper, taking a few steps away from her and then holding my hand up to hold her off when she moves to hold me. “Don’t Tipp…just…stay away from me.” When I look up at her she’s looking back at me wide eyed, her hands over her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Don’t…don’t you dare look at me like that,” she hisses, pointing at me and shaking her head in disbelief. “I am not some kind of…some kind of whore,” she adds, her eyes narrowing as I stare back at her, unable to keep the thoughts of her, together with my brother, out of my face. “I didn’t want it to happen. It just did and you…you’re not allowed to stand there and…and judge me.”
“Is that all?” I ask, unable to change my expression, to clear the thoughts from my mind. “You’re upset because you think I’m judging you? Because what you did wasn’t fucking wrong I suppose?” Her pretty face goes ashen, and her eyes go very round and then she turns away from me, covering her mouth with her hands but it does nothing to stifle the sound of her sobbing.
“I said I was sorry,” she says, her voice almost a moan as she crumples into chair, her pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them and pressing her forehead to her forearm. So flexible, I used to brag about that to the guys. Now I’ll probably never hear the end of it on the ice, how my little brother is fucking her.
“And you think sorry means anything? Do you honestly think it fucking changes anything Tipp? Do you?” She looks up at me, her pretty dark eyes red rimmed, but this time her soft lips are pressed into a thin hard line as she shakes her head.
“What do you want me to do?” she asks, resentment flashing behind her almost black eyes as she stares across the room at me. “If I could, I’d change it. But it’s not my fault that you’re…that you’re…,” her voice trails away as some of the determination leaks out of her expression. Like she can’t or won’t say the words we’re both thinking.
“That I’m boring?” I ask, Jordan’s words reverberating in my brain as I look at her now. ‘She likes it rough’ he said to me as he tried to explain why she’d come to him, why they couldn’t stay away from one another. ‘She likes it when I take control. Some girls are like that’. Her plump pink lips move but no words come out, but her eyes give her thoughts away. She can’t even argue the point. Or won’t. Either way it’s another brutal hit to my pride, if I even have any left.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” she repeats, her voice barely above a whisper. “I love you.”
“But you’re not in love with me,” I correct her, noting the bitterness in my own voice when I look at her, wishing with all of what’s left of my broken heart that I could change this moment, but I know I can’t. Biting her bottom lip, she shakes her head and bursts into tears.
Part of me wants to comfort her. It feels like the right thing to do. But on the other hand, she broke my heart and part of me wants her to suffer for it. I just wish it actually made me feel better, but all I feel right now is empty and sort of…well evil. This isn’t even close to the same as giving Jordan a black eye. That felt good. That felt right. This…this just feels wrong.
So even though I know it’s going to make it hurt later, when I’m not a little bit drunk and when I wake up with a sore head, I get up and walk over and put my arms around her. She clutches onto me like a child would and it’s so hard to keep hating her. No…not hate. That’s too strong a word. I don’t hate her. I just wish I did.
“Stay?” I ask when I’m finally exhausted from crying. Looking up into his ice blue eyes I see that he looks as exhausted as I feel. Shaking his head, he unwinds his lean athletic body from around mine and stretches, his long fingers brushing the ceiling. Watching him, I can’t help but wish that I did ache for him. I wish I understood it. He’s not so unlike his brother and yet, until he had me pressed against the door earlier, my body just never came alive for him. Not like it does for Jordan.
Jordan who is supposed to be taking me out on our first official date in a few days and will have to face his brother out on the ice. He’s asked me to be there, at the game. Seeing the hurt in Marc’s eyes now, I don’t know that I can.
“I don’t want a pity fuck, if that’s what you mean,” Marc states simply, looking down at me with a mixture of nearly exhausted patience and a deep sadness that makes me feel like I’m going to start crying all over again.
“I wasn’t…I just don’t want you to go like this. I don’t want you to hate me Marc.” I look up at him, hoping he can see the truth of my words reflected in my eyes. I feel the back of his hand brush my cheek and can’t help but lean into the warmth of it, wanting to feel more than I do, knowing that I don’t and never will.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?” he says wistfully, a Mona Lisa smile playing across his lips as he cups my cheek. “I mean, we don’t want all of this to get any more complicated do we?”
“I’m not tied down to anyone or anything,” I say slowly, reaching up to close my fingers around his wrist, feeling his pulse jump at the touch of my skin to his. “And I do love you Marc,” I add, turning so that I can press my lips to the palm of his hand. Turning my gaze back up to meet his, I watch the fever spots begin to burn in his cheeks, the tips of his ears turning crimson as his breathing quickens.
“Don’t…don’t play me Tippie. This isn’t a game,” he hisses, but notice he doesn’t so much as flinch as I move my lips further up his arm, feeling his pulse quicken with each caress.
“I’m not in love with your brother either, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make love,” I suggest quietly without looking up at him, pushing the arm of his shirt up to the inside of his elbow and pressing my lips against the thin skin. “Even if it’s only once more, Marc, please?”
Why? Why am I doing this? Why am I torturing both him and myself?
Because I have to know. I have to know if I’m really right, if there really is nothing here to salvage. If my attraction to him is only that, attraction and nothing more, and that I can’t make it be what we both want it to be.
And I know it is what we both want, even if we really both know that this is ill fated, that this is already over and beyond repair. Because I really do love him and so I will give him the opportunity to use my body to get his revenge.
It’s the least I can do.
My hands shake as I cup her face in my hands and kiss her. I kiss her like it’s the last kiss I’ll ever give or receive. I kiss her like my life depends on it. Like her lips are oxygen and I’m a dying man. I kiss her and keep kissing her even though I know it’s stupid and that it won’t get me anywhere. I kiss her even though the visions of her fucking my brother are still playing somewhere in the back of my mind, mocking me.
I kiss her until we’re stumbling into her bedroom, leaving a trail of shed clothing on the floor behind us like some kind of crime scene. I imagine someone drawing chalk outlines around them later. But I don’t have time to sulk and feel guilty, not with Tippie pushing me onto her bed, her body falling atop of mine. All I can think about is her, her soft skin, her sweet mouth, her greedy hands moving up my back until I can feel her nails digging into my shoulders as I shove my way inside of her.
It goes against every inclination in my brain, to use her body like this but the red mist has descended again and only part of me has any control over what I’m doing as I bend her nearly in two. I know that my fingers are leaving marks on her thighs as I push them wide apart, barely giving even the most cursory of thoughts for her well being. She can stretch. I’ve seen her do it. Nor do I take even the slightest heed when I feel her shudder beneath me when I slam into her hard enough that I have tug her back towards me.
All I care about is getting even. All that matters to me is that I’ll make Jordan eat his words. It will be his turn to know that I’ve used her, that I’ve had her, and all I want in return is to have her scream my name the way Jordan says she screams his.
Even if it means doing the things I told myself I would never do, things that feel strange and alien. Things like pinning her arms to the bed, like biting her neck and shoulders hard enough to leave vivid red welts that I know will turn into bruises before morning.
I do it because I hate to lose and because I’ve grown up fighting tooth and nail with all of my brothers. I do it because two of my brothers have held up the Cup, have brought it home and even if they didn’t mean to, make me feel like I’m not good enough. I do it for my ruined Christmas day. I do it for the sake of my pride.
And as I do it, as I thrust my way inside of her, over and over again, I realize that I’m not in love with her anymore. That those feelings are gone, wiped away by the knowledge that she’s been with my brother and that she can’t look at me now. Her eyes shut tight as my body presses down over top of hers’, her face turned away from mine as my teeth dig into the curve of her neck. I care, but I don’t love her anymore. There are still some tender feelings left but they aren‘t love.
So even though her back arches and she cries out my name, I realize that it’s a hollow victory. I may have wanted revenge but what I really wanted, what I had really come for was her and that’s gone from me, forever.
“You see,” she whispers as her body wraps around mine, her voice breathless in my ear, “you can do it. You can do it for me.” I hold her for a moment, waiting to catch my breath and then I pull away, enough to look down into her glowing face and let her see just what she’s done to me. I watch her expression change slowly from satisfied to concern to sadness and then she truly does turn her face from mine. “Go…just…go.”
Without a word, I pick up my things, dressing quickly and leaving without another word.
After all, what more is there to say? It’s over. Really, truly over.