‘Only to you, baby,’ I purred. ‘Only to you.’
The veiled meaning was that there was some other guy who I treated better. I could practically see Brian imagining me fucking another guy, or a string of other guys. Jealousy twisted Brian’s face into something ugly and unfamiliar. I should have been scared, but that primal female part of me that loved the fighting and wanted more thought it was hot as hell. He looked like a brute – and I wanted him to unleash that brutishness all over me. I ached for it in a way I couldn’t explain even to myself.
‘What are you saying?’ His voice was quiet. Almost sinister.
I took a step forward, the threat of tears long gone, and smiled sweetly. ‘It means I know how to treat a real man.’
Lightning fast, he was on me, one hand grabbing my arm to push me up against the wall, the other hand coming up in an arc. I thought he was going to slap me. I really did. Even though I wanted it, was ready for it, I flinched just a little.
He blinked, as if touching me had shocked him and let me go so abruptly, I nearly fell. Damn. It was my own fault. This time, the tears came and I couldn’t stop them.
‘Go on, do it,’ I taunted him, though my voice sounded wobbly with emotion and had lost its previous heat. ‘You were going to hit me, you know you were. Go ahead and do it!’
I was screaming the words, like a child throwing a tantrum because she hadn’t gotten what she wanted. It sounded like a plea rather than a taunt. Brian just stared at me as if seeing me for the first time.
‘You thought I was going to hit you,’ he said, something different in his voice. ‘I was going to hit you. Swear to God, I was.’
It finally dawned on me why he sounded different. He sounded sad. I took a step towards him, tried to touch him. ‘Just do it,’ I begged. ‘Do it. You want to.’
He shook his head. ‘I’d never hit a woman. I’d never, ever hit you, Jules.’
I said what had been hanging in the air between us, the truth that I couldn’t hide from any longer, the reality that maybe was starting to dawn on him. ‘But I wanted you to.’
He rocked back on his heels as if I’d punched him in the stomach. ‘What the hell is wrong with you? Seriously, Jules, who says that? Who wants that?’
My first reaction was shame and embarrassment. I was messed up, something was wrong with me. He’d just said it. My shame was followed by white-hot anger. I said the other truth that was between us, the truth I’d always suspected and was now willing to put into words. ‘You want to. I know you do. It’s why we’re still together. It’s why you fight with me and push me and let me push you. You want to take it farther, you want to, but you can’t.’
His hand came up to my face, but too slow to actually be a blow. Instead, he tucked a lock of my dark-brown hair behind my ear and gave me another sad puppy-dog smile. ‘Maybe. But I can’t do that. I’m done, Jules.’
I thought he meant done fighting, but he fished his keys out of his pocket and took my apartment key off his ring. Then he laid it on the table by the front door and walked out. The door closed with a finality that echoed inside me. I didn’t start crying for another thirty minutes, but once I started, I couldn’t stop. Some time later, it started to rain.
* * *
Some time after 2 a.m., after tossing and turning for hours, I finally got up, threw a raincoat over my short nightgown and headed out into the night. I had only intended to go for a drive, but I found myself driving to Brian’s town house and parking on the street. I sat there, windshield wipers dashing away the heavy rain, staring up at his darkened windows and wondering if this was wise. I’d already gone this far, I decided, I might as well see it to its bitter conclusion.
He’d given me his key back, but he hadn’t asked for mine. I let myself in the front door, shushed his friendly Labrador Charlie, and made for the stairs to go to his bedroom. Brian’s voice caught me up short.
‘I’m in here,’ he said, calling to me from the living room just off the front entrance. ‘I figured you might show up.’
The room was dark, so it took my eyes a moment to adjust and see that he was lying on the couch, one arm tucked behind his head. He didn’t seem like he’d just woken up, nor was he surprised to see me. I took a hesitant step toward him, not at all sure how to read his relaxed body language or his quiet, neutral tone.
‘Brian, I –’ I stopped, not even sure what to say. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I finally said, though I wasn’t sure what I was apologising for. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’
‘You want me to hit you.’
It wasn’t a question, but I didn’t know what to say back to him. Did I? Maybe. Yes. In the right context. When I wanted it, but only then. But I didn’t want to have to ask for it, I wanted him to just do it. Shit. How could I explain it to him when I didn’t understand it myself?
‘Not hit,’ I whispered, my throat raw from screaming and sobbing. ‘Not like that.’
‘Like how, then?’ He sat up and clicked the switch on the lamp beside the couch. A warm glow illuminated his face. He looked exhausted, a five o’clock shadow on his high cheekbones, his black hair tousled like he’d been running his fingers through it in frustration. I knew this face, this man. I knew him and I trusted him. I owed him as honest an explanation as I could give him, even if it didn’t make any sense to either of us.
I raised my shoulders in a shrug. ‘I don’t know. A slap, I guess.’
‘Like a spanking?’
‘Yeah, sorta.’ It felt surreal to be talking about this. ‘But more. More than a spanking, more than my ass.’
‘Your face?’
I nodded. ‘Yeah.’
‘You want me to slap your face when we’re fighting – or when we’re fucking?’
‘Both,’ I whispered.
‘Do you push me to fight so I’ll do that, be that rough with you?’
I nodded. ‘Yeah, I think so. I think I do. It’s messed up.’
He moved to the edge of the couch and rested his arms on his splayed thighs. ‘Come here.’
I went to him without hesitation. I wasn’t sure of his mood or what was happening between us, but I knew I trusted him. Despite the fights, the angry words, the years of feeling like we were never connecting, I still believed in him. In us. And I knew he would never do anything I didn’t want him to do.
When I was standing in front of him, he looked up at me. ‘You’re not messed up,’ he said softly, pulling me down in front of him until I was kneeling on the carpet between his legs. ‘I think I wanted the same stuff – well, wanted to do it to you. But that’s even more fucked up.’
I couldn’t help myself, I laughed. He was sitting on the couch, I was on my knees in front of him like I was going to go down on him, but instead we were talking about our mutual desire to do the one thing we couldn’t do. ‘Oh, baby, what the hell have we been doing all this time?’
He shook his head. ‘Hell if I know. The fighting – it’s been off the chain, right? I mean, I have never, ever fought with anyone