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I was already feeling better, slipping the key into the door, walking quietly inside Parker’s apartment. It was dark, and I avoided the light, knowing if I saw my face in a mirror I’d probably scream.
I made my way inside, placing my purse on the counter, peeking down the hall. Parker’s door was shut, probably asleep. A small victory, one less thing to worry about—him seeing me like a wet doll with stringy hair.
I opened the fridge, grabbing the nearest bottle of red wine. I didn’t even get to enjoy that tonight, my merlot at the play was ruined the moment Alejandro stepped inside. To think he even took it from my hands, the audacity and command he had. I bit down on the loose cork, popping it out with my teeth, spitting it out into the sink. If he were here right now, I’d like to see him try again. I’d probably scream or maybe slap him in the face. That was probably what he deserved, especially after the scene he caused at The Met. I shuddered, making my way to the bathroom with the bottle tucked between my arms.
I pulled on the large silver handle of the egg-shaped tub, allowing instant hot water to pour out. I couldn’t shake the sense of how crazy the night had been, but the running sound of the faucet was an assuring comfort. I turned around, removed my dress from my shoulders and allowed it to fall to the floor. It was a relief, each piece undone like wet saran wrap, my heels and all. It fell into a pile, as I stood completely nude, dripping a tiny drop of liquid bubbles into the stream of water.
I caught my reflection, my body bare and toned, reflecting the sight of my loose wild hair. I picked up the bottle of wine, my bath buddy, sipping it as I slipped into the warm water.
Instantly, it soothed the soreness of my feet, the relentless scurrying that ended the night was less than forgiving. I took another sip, almost groaning. I was not this person; I was not the girl Alejandro believed me to be. He was so convinced we were alike, but if that were true, then he would have never ruined that photo.
Running the water along my neck, I traced an invisible line down to my wrist. I still felt Alejandro’s grip from when he pinned me against the wall, and maybe that was why I still thought of him. He was crazy both in the worst and best ways, a feeling that unnerved me inside. And who was he really? Alex Rivers the actor, or Alejandro the lover? If what he did was an act, then I was fooled. He seemed persistent to capture me, and as tempting as it was, his wildness was far from anything I ever had, especially compared to Parker.
But what did Alejandro see that Parker couldn’t? Was Camilla really that much better? How could we be so close, so perfectly matched, yet so opposite in feelings? I popped a few bubbles, mindlessly poking, staring down at my smooth legs and perked breasts. I worked on my body, my style, and looks, not that it mattered, it was our bond that was beautiful, romantic even. Him and I weresimple, which in his words was aluxury, and after tonight, simple was all I needed. Still, I found myself asking,am I not enough?
If it wasn’t my looks, if not our bond, then what was it? I sipped my wine, almost slurping, allowing the bottle to bob along my side as I let it go. I contemplated for a moment, biting my nail, considering Parker’s reasoning to possibly be something more devastating.
Was Parker worried I’d end up like Claire? Depressed? Sick with a disorder that plagued her body and mind? He was there for me during those days, when her illness latched onto me, making life as a child excruciatingly difficult. Did he know too much, and despite all I tried to hide from him, should I have hid more? Then, I thought of Alejandro. That look he gave, the pain he saw in me also lived in him. Could he care for the thing I tried to suppress? Trauma?
This all could have been true, but maybe it was simpler. I wasn't Camilla. I could never be her, seemingly perfect, flawless in more ways than one. She seemed to come from a normal family and had a job and success. I had none of that, I was the little sister, the one who needed a place to crash. Whoever she was, whatever she had, he liked it.
The bubbles caressed my neck as my foot reached to shut the lever. The water stopped and finally all was silent. I sunk in slowly, allowing my lips to touch the fizz, to tickle my nose. I wish I could give Parker that same thing, I wish I could give him everything he wanted.
The sound of a quiet thud caught my attention, initially causing me to recoil further into the tub. I was startled, irrationally covering my body with the security of bubbles as if that were protection alone. It was the smallest of noises, possibly a neighbor, the creak of a spring, or the knock of a cabinet. I glanced back down, but not before I heard it again. I had the sense to call out, to sayhelloto whatever was there, but instead, I stayed quiet.
Thud, thud, thud.
My attention was diverted, focused by the muted moans that came from Parker’s bedroom. It appeared once more, the almost sultry gasp, fostered only by the initial slow thrust of a man in a woman. I covered my mouth, shocked by the noise, realizing with envy it was Camilla whimpering Parker’s name.
They must not have heard me come in, nor the slam of the fridge or the draw of my bath. I was a secret; a dirty little ghost, listening to their moans. Her voice suddenly grew louder, hitched with one brief scream. The strong thud of the bed was softened, blocked by the wall that felt so close. Between me and them was only a small barrier, leaving me practically there by their side. I’d never heard this side of Parker but imagined it time and time again. His broad hard chest, chiseled in shape, equipped with the tools to last, to ruin the subject beneath his body. Camilla confirmed this, her audible gasps indicative of each drive of his hips.
I slid into the tub, my ears muffled by the bubbles, unsure of what to do. Initially, I was jealous, instantly burdened with the sting to make it stop. But then I felt something else. Something odd. I poked my head back out, somewhat curious, almost indulging in the sound. If I were to admit it, I felt naughty, my legs slicked with soap, excited by the lure of rough sex next door.
But I could only pretend for so long that I wasn’t interested in including myself somehow, each advance more teasing than the rest, the fantasy built in my mind. The distinct slap of flesh that carried between the rooms caused me to twist in the tub, a sound which I imagined only to be Parker’s full weight against Camilla’s round ass. Yes, I knew it from the sound alone, that Parker was taking her from behind, evident from the belt-like snap I just heard from the other side of the wall. Camilla’s moan trailed into a screech. Parker just spanked her—hard—in what possibly was the most cheek reddening pop of a slap I’d ever heard. It was this noise in particular, alone too vibrant, too thick with temptation that I couldn’t help but desire more, wanting specifically what Camilla was getting. I reached down only once, spreading my legs, wanting to touch myself but knowing it felt wrong. I could barely admit how their sounds turned me on, their noises more animal than not. They weren’t just having sex, they were…
“Fucking.” The deep voice rang in my head, finishing the thought to the word I was ashamed to say. “You like to hear themfuck, and that makes my good girl wet.” Alejandro appeared so clearly from the corner of the room, flashing a devious but imaginary grin.
“It’s not true,” I lied, fighting the thought. “It’s wrong to listen. I should leave.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” He warned, raising his finger to his lips, shushing me to be quiet. “What did I tell you? Good girls are meant to be broken,” he groaned, edging closer, his hair still dripping from the rain, “and I’m here to do just that.”
“Get out of my head.” I shut my eyes, forcing a thought of Parker to appear, but it was useless against the rasp of Alejandro’s interrupting voice.
“Make me, you’re the one thinking of me.”
“Only because of tonight, of what you put me through. Let me be clear… I’m sick of you.”
“You’re not sick of me,” he burned. “You’re sickwithme. I’m in your blood, baby. I’m between your legs.” He sat at the edge of the tub, tracing the loose bubbles by my knees with his thick and threatening finger. I clenched myself together.
“I told you. It’s wrong.”
“I heard, but don’t tell me that again,” he hissed. “Instead, tell me what you hear.”
I listened for a moment, and my face burned at the arousing sounds next door. Camilla’s erotic moan alone set me off, a moan so forced it could only come from gritted teeth. No. She was more than muted, possibly biting into a pillow. Alejandro wanted me to say it out loud, he wanted to lure me into his crass sense of sexual deviancy. I’d try as he wanted.
“Breathing.” I whispered.
“What kind of breathing?”
