Page 34 of Dark Rules

“I, uh, I don’t want another contract, Dylan,” she finally said and looked up at me. Her eyes were full of pain and hurt, but that quickly cleared, and I saw a pair of stony gray eyes. I’d never seen them that color, and I didn’t know if this was anger and rage or her pretending to be brave. “I’m done with that.”

Before I could convey my thought into words, Stephanie stood up for herself, literally.

“No, I’m not. This is nonsense, Dylan!” She flicked the folder away from her side of the table, and her voice grew louder with each word. “I won’t sign another one. I won’t.”

“Then we’re done.” I couldn’t make it any plainer than that.

“But we don’t have to be,” she wailed and turned away from me to walk into the living room. I left the contract and followed her.

“Stephanie”—I went to her, took her elbow, and turned her to me—“you knew when we started this that I wasn’t the kind of guy for relationships. I don’t do them. Ever. I do contracts. The fact that you’ve lasted this long is a privilege.”

Okay, that was a dick thing to say, but she had started to make me angry. The lift of her left eyebrow told me I should tread carefully, but instead, I went in like a bull in a china shop. “You’ve had two contract renewals. You should be on your knees sucking my dick for another offer, but instead you’re arguing?”

“Excuse me?” Her head had gone back, and her eyes went round. “Shouldn’t that be the other way around? You think insulting me is going to make me sign that fucking contract? Where is it?”

She left the living room and went into the dining area. She picked up the contract, looked at me, and then tore the papers in half. “This is what I think of your fucking contract, Dylan. I wanted more with you, yes. I wanted to spend time with you without a contract, this stupid weight over our heads. But you’re a fucking child, aren’t you? You can’t fuck without words that say it’s okay.”

“Oh, fuck off, Stephanie,” I growled the words, stung to the quick. I’d never expected her to fight back so fiercely. Tears, sure, maybe even a bout of pleading, but anger? God, she was beautiful when she was pissed off. Her cheeks were flushed, and there was a defiance in her face I’d never seen before.

This woman could have the world at her feet if she’d wanted it. How did I fix this? Wait, where was she going now?

“Stephanie?” I called out, but she didn’t answer me. She went to the hallway, toward the door. “Stephanie! Wait!”

“What? Are you going to tell me we can fix this? That you don’t need your contract? Or maybe you’re going to tell me to suck your dick, and you’ll think about making a new one for me?” She glared daggers at me, and I dropped the hand that had reached out to grab her, to stop her from going. “Which is it, Dylan? In another month you’ll want another contract, and after that, you’ll ask again. Do you know what that means Mr. I Don’t Do Relationships? Huh? It’s a fucking relationship!”

“Stephanie…,” I called, weaker this time. She was right, and I just didn’t want to admit any of it. “Please. It’s not childish. You know I don’t do relationships.”

Just tell her, my brain shouted at me, tell her the truth. Tell her why you can’t promise her more. But I couldn’t; I didn’t want to. It was too shameful. Instead, I took a deep breath and looked her dead in the eye. “If you go, we’re done. That’s it. We’re over, Stephanie.”

That made her stop for a minute. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, and I could see her mulling something over. Whether it was a thousand ways to tell me to go fuck myself, or whether it was how to save her pride while still accepting my offer, I didn’t know. I’d guessed I’d never know. She walked out of the apartment, and that was it.

Our first and only fight.

With a fit of hurt anger, I kicked the wall and knocked a hole in the drywall. Goddammit. Fuck!

I shouted the words, and then went into the dining area to fetch my glass of wine. Fine then. Fuck her. But when I sat and saw the empty plate she’d left on the table, I’d felt a sting of brand new pain. Should she drive? She’d only had two glasses of wine; I’d decided she should be fine. The refilled glass she’d left on the table mocked me. I drank the wine down and took the dishes to the kitchen.

I’d wanted to break the plates and glasses, smash everything until there was only wreckage left behind. When I was younger, before I’d learned to control my anger, I would have done just that. The entire apartment would have been destroyed. But I’d learned to swallow the anger, to control it. It was one of the reasons I didn’t put pictures up on the walls; those had always been my first targets, before I’d learned to control myself. In my previous life they’d held family photos. Photos of a dysfunctional family headed for tragedy and doom, but none of us had known it when the picture was taken.

No, I couldn’t submit a woman to that life, to my rage. Stephanie thought she’d seen me angry, that she’d seen my rage. She’d thought she’d seen me as dark as I could go, that she’d seen the heights of how I could control someone’s pleasure and pain, how well I could dominate. I’d played with her, as soft as a kitten, even when I’d pushed her. I’d planned to keep it that way.

Now, I had visions of her on the floor, on her knees, covered in spit, tears, and my come as I fed her my cock, over and over. She’d want it, she always did, even if it was too much. It was one of the reasons I wanted her. I wanted to take her to that point, but I was afraid I’d break her totally, if I did that. She thought she wanted to go that far, but I wasn’t sure she was ready for it. Not really.

And now? It didn’t matter. She’d left. I picked up the bottle of wine and drank deeply. Drunk, that’s what I needed. To be so drunk I’d forget her. My heart squeezed tight and I gasped, leaned over in the chair, and clutched my chest. Was that heartbreak? Indigestion? A heart attack? It fucking hurt.

I breathed a controlled pattern, until the pain passed, and then got up to go in the living room. At least I wouldn’t be near the oh so offensive contract. She’d called it childish. Maybe it was, but that didn’t change the fact that I’d needed it.

Now it was all over. I should have gone after her, I thought for a moment. I should have brought her back and promised her whatever she’d wanted, everything she’d wanted. I should have promised to devote myself to her, but I hadn’t. Now, I’d had too much to drink to get behind the wheel of a car. “FUCK!”

I shouted it to nobody, to an empty room, and threw the empty bottle of wine at the wall. Blearily, I saw it left a stain of wine on the wall. Fuck it. I could afford painters. I got up, went into the bedroom and slumped down into the bed. I’d reached my hands out, just a little drunk, and screamed again, only this one was just a sound of rage.

I should have been in bed with her, balls deep, making her beg for more as she screamed my name. That was what I’d had planned; I’d thought about it all damn day. But now, she was gone, probably crying in her bathtub alone. She didn’t have anybody else in her life; I knew that now.

Oh, she had Roxie, but Roxie worked such odd hours; she rarely got to talk to her anymore. And since Freddie had ended his contract with Roxie, well, she’d been a bit angry too. I couldn’t blame her. Life had taught us the same lessons—don’t build your hopes on others. You’ll lose every fucking time.

Emily

I stared up at the ceiling in the dark. Lord Huron sang about the night he met someone he loved and lost. It burned into my brain, and I couldn’t even cry. I was numb and wanted nothing more than to wallow in my pain. I’d pulled my arm up over my face to put it behind my head and felt dampness.