Bittersweet Chocolate (7 page)

Joel went ballistic.

Her suggestion that she could be pregnant already, provoked him to the point of grabbing her arms, face hardening as he yanked her close. The coiled tension of unavoidable altercation gripped her insides, and she readied herself for self-defense, believing he intended to hit her.

“Let go, you’re hurting me.” She kept her voice low. “What is your problem?

“I’ll do more than hurt you, if you’re pregnant,” he gritted out.

“Hey. You’re a participant too, and
you
have the means to control the process, yet you’ve been remiss a time or two.” She didn’t understand his anger, and his illogical attitude provoked her temper. “Listen to me, Joel. If you don’t let go of me, now, you should plan on killing me.” The depth of her anger must have registered on some level because he released her with a shove.

“That makes two.” His blank stare prompted her to remind him. “Our first night together, then tonight... Your car is not robotic. It doesn’t bring you to this address against your will. If you’re not happy here, stop coming back.” Their gazes locked.

“Joel. Recognize what I’m telling you. Do not put your hands on me in anger, or threaten me again,
unless
you’re prepared to kill me.”

He seemed to pull himself together, and once again, with chameleon-like changeability, he smiled and tried to hug her. She stepped back. His smile vanished. A spark of anger darkened his eyes, but quickly dissipated. If her gaze hadn’t been riveted on his, she would have missed that glint of annoyance. The dazzling smile was back.

“Marissa, honey, I’m sorry,” he said, eyes hooded, concealing any emotion in their depths. “I hate leaving you alone so much, I get upset.”

“Bull. Shit. But let me ease your anxiety, by eliminating the need for you to apologize again.”

She stalked out of the room, headed for the bedroom, intending to pack and leave. It was his place. She’d go back to her family. He wasn’t worth doing jail time, but as sure as she breathed air, if he tried to hurt her, she’d protect herself, by whatever means necessary. Good thing she didn’t keep her switchblade on her when she was at home.

She’d started pulling clothes out of the closet when he spoke from the doorway.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Tossing clothes across a chair, she dragged her suitcase from under the bed. “I don’t need this crap, and you’re not taking me down this road whenever the mood strikes you.” Ignoring him, she started packing. She never heard his approach.

He grabbed her arm, spun her around, and slapped her hard enough to knock her down on the bed. Shocked, not deterred, she bounded up and lashed out, a jab to his mouth. He staggered back. Clearly not expecting retaliation, he didn’t have time to block the blow. Raising her fists, stance defensive, she braced herself, prepared to duke it out, toe to toe.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare say you didn’t mean that.”

Cheek throbbing, she managed to keep the tears in check, and had the satisfaction of seeing blood on his fingers when he pulled them away from his mouth. His eyes widened, gaping at the blood, his look of surprise turned to rage, and he started toward her.

She closed the distance first, grabbed his shirtfront, and yanked him forward. Being as much a gangbanger as he might think he was she had the edge. She wasn’t a man governed by any sense of fair play.

“I’m not afraid of you, Joel,” she scoffed. “You
might
be able to kick my ass, but you won’t walk away without some hurt. More to the point, hit me again, and don’t kill me...hell, you figure it out.”

He’d grabbed her wrists when she gripped his shirt. Their gazes collided and she saw it in his eyes, weighing his options, debating whether he could take her, then his look changed. Anger gone, smile firmly in place, he released his hold.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I get angry, and I can’t help myself. I go a little crazy and get so carried away I don’t realize what I’m doing.”

“Really.” She gave him a slow appraising look before shoving him away, disgusted. In an attempt to provoke him into making another move on her, she turned her back to him. “I suggest you get a better grip on your emotions. Your anger is no more righteous than mine, and you’ve pissed me off countless times, but I didn’t hit you.” She whirled around to face him. “Believe me, it wasn’t fear, or any ladylike sense of decorum holding me back. I hit in self-defense or retaliation.”

He started to speak, but she raised her hand and shook her head. “Uh-uh, I don’t want to hear it. I suggest you break yourself of your mindless habits. Around me, those inane quirks can be lethal, for one of us.”

“Please, Marissa, don’t leave. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Make it up...hell, don’t you get it?” An edge of impatience had crept into her voice and she inhaled a slow, even breath in an attempt to calm down before she continued. “Joel, listen to what I’m telling you. I don’t want you to make it up to me. Based on our history together, I won’t leave this time, but I won’t tolerate any more violence.”

“Honey, please. Come to bed, let me make love to you. I’ll make everything right.”

Her gaze, probably a doe in the headlights simulation, fixed on him while she did her best guppy in a fish tank look―mouth opening, closing―
oh, no he didn’t.

“Make love. You can
not
be serious,” she scoffed. “A word of advice. While you’re gone, take time to reassess our relationship, consider if it’s right for you, any future in it. I’ll do the same.”

He calmly accepted her remarks without a comeback, and there it was again, the unnerving mood swing. Nonetheless, given the time invested in the relationship, she’d hang in and consider the chances of working out their differences, sans any more violence.

Hell. During the two years they had dated, she’d encountered his mother and father maybe three or four times, and that was three or four times too many. She didn’t like his father and his father didn’t like her. The mother seemed whipped, afraid to speak, unless the father allowed it.

For all Marissa knew about Joel’s home life, as a husband role model, the father might have included beating the wife when she didn’t conform. If Joel believed relationships worked that way, and his form of alpha dog mentality included hitting, he needed to recognize, and get over himself, or move on. Conforming, if unreasonable, was not her forte, but boxing was, and in a one on one, she probably could take him.

The following morning, she woke to find Joel gone. On her nightstand, there was a slip of paper with two words scrawled across it—
sorry Marissa.

While she prepared for work, she kept thinking about the events of the previous night. Try as she might, she couldn’t fathom what had triggered his violent outburst. She hadn’t said anything they hadn’t discussed dozens of times before.

Leaning close to the mirror, she examined her bruised cheek, added a touch of makeup to hide traces of the mark left by his hand, then grinned.
Wonder what he looks like this morning, and how he’ll explain a fat lip to his coworkers.

Joel was gone for a month.

The first week after his departure, she had a few more creepy occurrences. She’d hear the night noises, climb out of bed, and check the entire apartment. Returning to bed, she’d lay awake for a while, listening, then laugh it off as the result of her penchant for watching too many Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi movies. Or residual effects from recent viewings of several horror classics on the All-Night Movies Frightfest. Her favorite William Castle flick
Homicidal
had been one of the features.
Love the
fright break
at the end.

During the rest of Joel’s absence, setting aside her nocturnal escapades, and unconcerned with Joel’s erratic behavior, she moved forward with plans for her party. Each night after work, she’d spend time on the invitations, sending them out the week before he was due home.

He returned on the day of the party with an attitude, big time. She presumed he’d remained pissed about their last encounter, because he didn’t write, and only called once while gone. He used to contact her once a week during cross-country trips.

“I have to get back on the road later this evening for another long haul.” His gaze raked her body from head to toe.

“Did you forget about my party plans with our neighbors?”

“Don’t let me stop you. Enjoy yourself.”

“If you’ll remember, the reason for the party is for you to meet the neighbors,” she said, her patience waning. “But hey, do what you have to do. I’m not cancelling because you’re in one of your snits.” Nor would she plead with him to stay, or let him ruin her mood. Ignoring him, she continued with her preparations.

“Who’s coming?”

“Why the hell...” She stopped. If she finished the question, it would cause the quarrel she wanted to avoid. Releasing her breath in a huff, she said, “The guys from next door with their girlfriends, also Darien, Brittany and her boyfriend, and the neighbors from the first-floor duplex next door, a pleasant young couple. The neighbors below us, an older couple, declined. They planned to be out of town.”

“What about Frank?”

Eyeing him suspiciously, she couldn’t imagine why he wanted to know about her cousin, who they rarely talked about because Joel seemed afraid of Frank, and with good reason. Frank didn’t like Joel. “Frank’s out of town, but he supplied the booze before he left. You do remember I’m not old enough to purchase liquor in this state.”

“You could have asked Brittany or Jason to get it for you?”

“Why would I, when Frank said he’d handle it. What difference does it make?”

He shrugged, stared at her for a moment, then pulled her against him, gave her a hard kiss, and pushed her away. Starting for the door, pausing midstride, he turned back.

“I’m going to visit my family before I get back on the road. Have a good time.” He remained in the doorway.

“What?”

“See you when I get back.” He started to leave again, stopped, and said over his shoulder, “We’ll need to have a serious talk then.”

“Really. About what?”

“Ending our relationship.” He walked out.

She stood stock-still, staring at his retreating form.

After their last confrontation, she’d been contemplating an end to the relationship. It didn’t feel right anymore, her thoughts about him anything but loving. Even so, she’d talk herself out of making the decision, stupidly clinging to the ludicrous belief they were experiencing the normal ups-and-downs of a relationship. She’d thought they could work through the iffy crap, but seeing him again, it wasn’t going to happen.

Furthermore, she’d had Graham on her mind more often than Joel. If thinking about another man easily usurped contemplation of Joel, the love couldn’t have been real. What a relief to have those conflicting emotions clarified.

Now
he
wanted to break up―more good news. Damn. If it weren’t for the party, she would have insisted they talk tonight. With resolve, she put the Joel issues aside and went back to her arrangements.

Darien arrived a half hour after Joel’s departure. “Hey, where’s Joel?” She looked around at Marissa’s efforts.

“Said he had to get back on the road, going to see his parents before he left...isn’t that sweet?”

“What’s up with you two?” Darien dropped ice cubes into two glasses, half-filled them with Sangria, and handed one to Marissa.

“Whatever’s going on is Joel’s hang-up.” She and Darien tapped glasses, took a sip of wine, and spoke simultaneously. “Let’s
par-r-r-tay!
”

Working in companionable silence, they prepared deviled eggs and set out platters of store-bought chicken, bowls of chips, pretzels, peanuts, and a tray of raw vegetables with dip. Marissa added honey, the final ingredient, to the pot of baked beans she had doctored with onions, brown sugar, and ketchup.

“What, no hamburger pie?” Darien teased.

“It’s in the oven.” She turned to a pot simmering on the stove to check on her new appetizer recipe, butterfly hotdogs.

Several glasses of wine later, satisfied with her efforts, Marissa refilled the ice bucket and left Darien to add final touches to the arrangements. She headed for her room to bathe and change.

Refreshed, she climbed out of the tub, toweled dry, and took care of necessary dental hygiene while staring at her reflection, trying to decide on a hairstyle. Coming to a decision, she brushed her hair into soft waves, applied a smidgen of makeup, and a dab of Shalimar to all erogenous zones. She stepped out of the bathroom and squeaked, “Graham!”

Reclining on her bed, he didn’t say a word, just smiled, and stared. She pulled her robe more tightly around her. “What are you doing in here―do you mind?”

“It’s Gray, and you’re really something,” he remarked. “I like your hair down like that.”

“Graham—”

“I understand your boyfriend isn’t going to be here tonight.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why do you keep ignoring me?”

“Ignoring you.”

“Not much of a relationship with him gone all the time,” he said.

She sighed. “Graham, there’s nothing wrong with you, quite the contrary. I think you’re smart, attractive―hell. Joel was the reason I’ve ignored you.”

“Was?”

“Excuse me?” Damn. He would home right in on her use of past tense.

“You said Joel
was
the reason you’ve been ignoring me. What do you mean was?”

She hadn’t meant to tell him that Joel was a done deal, not yet. Not until she’d finalized the breakup, but Graham had such an optimistic expression. “When he returns―”

“Returns? That’s what I mean. What kind of boyfriend is he, not here to help with the party?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” she mumbled, then said more firmly, “Graham, will you leave and let me finish dressing.”

“Okay.” He stood and strode to the door. “I’ll go get the party started with some music.” He stepped into the hall.

“Hey, wait.” He paused, looking back over his shoulder as she walked toward him. “Did you bring your girlfriend?”