Caught in the Devil's Sheets (9 page)

I hardly believe that any girl just lies down and takes it like that, or that any relationship doesn’t have its problems. “Well, as much as Jaime would love for me to jump to his every whim, I don’t enjoy being pushed around.” I imply being “pushed around” figuratively, but I mean literally as well. Odin lets out and exasperated sigh.

“It’s not like that,” he says, staring intently down at me.

“What is it like?” That’s right, you want to come down here and get all up in my business? Two can play at that game!

“You really want to know?” he asks, warning me.
Do I?

“Yeah. I really want to know.” Even I’m not sure if I’m bluffing.

“Well, sit down and I will tell you,” he says, plopping down in the sand.

I lay my towel down and curl down onto my belly, resting my head on my hand. I clear my throat loudly, bidding him to go on.

He brushes the sand off his hands. “When I met Samantha at a club in LA, she was looking for someone to take her in, looking for a Dominant. I invited her to my house a few times, we played our roles, and she turned out to be a good match for me. I care deeply for her, I see that her needs are met, and in return she regards me with great respect.”

“Do you love her?” I have to ask!

“That’s complicated. Our relationship is strictly a sexual one, as we both agreed before we engaged in it,” he adds, so I won’t think he’s stringing her along just for sex.

“Do you hit her?”

“I don’t beat her!” he says clearly angry that I would accuse him. “I don’t do anything to her that she doesn’t condone. If she says no, then I respect that. When I lay my hands on her, it is for pleasure. She enjoys pleasing me because I am good to her.”

“What do you do for her exactly?”

He shifts in the sand. “Well, I keep her very comfortable in a nice beachfront apartment. I handle most of her finances, buy her nice things. Samantha is a well-maintained, carefree girl. When she pleases me, she is rewarded with both material things and affection. It is my job to take care of her needs both physically and sexually, and I take this responsibility very seriously.” A part of me wonders what it must be like to be a well-kept woman. The way he makes it sound is so tempting that desire stirs in me. But the reality of it is I am way too headstrong and way to independent to ever fit into that role. I hate being bossed around by Jaime. And when he lays a hand on me in retaliation, I literally hate him. Odin and I sit there in silence for a while, and I watch the waves crash on along the beach.

“I’d be willing to wager Samantha is happier in our arrangement then you are in your marriage,” he says, and the words stab right at my heart.

Jerk!
“There are Muslim wives who are happier in their marriage then me!” I say, using sarcasm to hide my offense. Is this why he came, to assure me I’m unhappy?

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I feel like you are under the impression that I’m some kind of a monster because I enjoy punishment and control. When really you’re living with a monster and you’re too blind to see it.”

Holy shit, did he just go there?
I can barely argue. Jaime is a monster when he’s high on cocaine and I’m not too blind to see it. In fact, I’ve even told Jaime that. Relaxing on the beach is slowly turning into a hurtful realty check.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you down. I just don’t want to be compared to men like Jaime. I prefer rough sex and I like to know I’m in control of every situation. It’s the only way I feel right about being with a girl. But I take no pleasure out of seeing a girl suffer.”

What?
Why doesn’t he feel right with girls in a normal situation? How can he whip and paddle someone and claim he gets no pleasure from suffering? Odin may be built like a god, but he’s as contradicting as a teenage girl!

“It’s fine. You’re right I’m not happy, but it’s not your fault. I just don’t want to talk about it,” I say.

“Fair enough, what do you want to talk about?”

“We’re leaving again on Friday. We’ll have plenty of time to
talk
. I came here to relax, and that’s exactly what I plan to do,” I tell him.

I pack a bowl and pass the pipe to him. He takes it and I watch as he brings the pipe to his lips. He looks down and catches me staring, but he doesn’t say anything.

He frowns, giving me a look that says he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Lighting the bowl, I swallow a lung full of smoke, holding it in for a minute before exhaling. I pass it back to Odin and lay back in the sand. I grab my t-shirt and throw it over my face to protect it from the sun, but the rest of me is starting to bake.

Odin stays on the beach with me until it starts to get windy and cold. I remove my t-shirt mask and see that Odin is lying next to me on his chest and his eyes meet mine as he sits up.

“You ready to get out of here?” he asks.

I shrug. I don’t want to go home, but I am hungry, and I need to get some things in order before we take off again Friday.

“Yeah, I need to go home,” I say reluctantly.

“Want me to come with you?” he offers sincerely.

My inner teenager revels in the fact that he cares enough to put himself in the middle of my drama. “Nah, I wouldn’t do that to my worst enemy,” I joke. Odin smiles a bright, ‘I-tried’ smile. I pick my stuff up and load it back into my beach bag. Odin walks me up the beach and back to my car.

“Thanks for coming down here.”

“My pleasure. I like spending time with you, Lila.”

I blush. It’s not that I don’t get a lot of compliments, it just that they’re usually from total creeps, not men as charming as my new friend Odin.

“Wait up,” he says before I shut my door. He walks over to his truck and pulls out a brown paper lunch bag, carrying it over to me nonchalantly. “Your take of the Chicago run.” He hands it to me.

“Thanks!” I say smiling. Gotta love payday. I’m excited to know just how much is in the bag.

Odin shuts my door for me and watches as I turn the engine over. I step on the gas and proudly rev the engine of my Mustang GT.

“Nice!” I see him mouth the word. I check my mirrors and pull out of my spot, then wave bye as I exit the lot, leaving him standing there.

Chapter 8
Kings Come Calling

I don’t go straight home, I stop for a bite at Nature’s Grill first. As I’m eating my wrap my phone buzzes.

{Where are you}-Jaime.

{Having Dinner}-Lila.

{With who?}-Jaime.

{Myself}-Lila.

{When are you gonna come back and clean up this mess?}-Jaime.

{Later}-Lila.

Then a surprise message. {If you need a place to crash my guest room is open}-Odin.

Oh the timing. If only. I need to go home and deal with this. Preferably so I can go on the road and not be fighting with Jaime the whole time I’m gone.

{Thanks}-Lila. I text Odin back and immediately delete the messages. Jamie doesn’t text me back. I finish up my dinner and bite the bullet as I head home.

Erica’s SUV is here and so is Jamie’s truck. I walk in the front door and see that the mess has been cleaned. Jamie and Erica are sitting on the couch watching TV.

“Hey!” Erica greets me from her seat.

“Hey,” I say and I head to the bathroom for a shower.

The water is warm and I use the shower hose to rinse the sand off my arms and my chest. Then I make my way south, rinsing down my torso, on my way down there. Water splashes between my legs and it’s warm and feels good. I rest one hand on my thigh, and I can feel the scars of my past under my fingers. Multiple straight line cuts about three to four inches long from when I used to cut myself. It’s been a long time since my inner teenager reigned over my life, but her day was a sad one.

I keep the hose in place, letting the water flow stimulate me. Closing my eyes and relaxing against the shower wall, I let my mind drift. The muscles in my torso clench as the water massages me. I take sharp breaths of the steaming air and in my head I think of Odin on the beach. I know it’s wrong, but it turns me on.

I turn the water pressure on the hose up a little more and moan as the warm water gushes against me. I picture Odin’s chest in the water, his broad shoulders, and him calling out my name. I imagine his hands on my body, which I know I will never feel, but the fantasy has caught hold of me. I clench my teeth and my knees buckle as an orgasm takes me over.
Ooooh
. It feels so good. I hold onto it, picturing Odin fucking me while I’m tied to a bed.
Oh God!
I gasp for a breath as I cum. And then it’s over, and I realize I just played with myself while thinking about Odin. I do the same thing to hot movie stars and it doesn’t mean anything. Part of me still feels guilty, but the other part is happily more relaxed and ready for bed.

I wrap my robe around myself and step into my bedroom. Jaime is sitting at the foot of our bed.
Shit
. I hate confrontation, but it’s inevitable. I plop down on my side and brush my hair waiting for it to start.

“I don’t know what to do here Lila,” he admits.

Stop being an asshole and pretend to care about me is a good place to start, I think to myself. “Were you high this morning?” I ask.

“I had a little blow but I wasn’t high.”

I can’t help but laugh.

“Don’t laugh at me!” he says offensively.

I roll my eyes.

“I don’t want to fight with you.” He is so full of shit, and this is such a cop out.

“Really, you don’t want to fight with me? You just wanna throw a fit about vacuuming, break my vase, and then expect me to be like ‘that’s okay baby, we don’t have to fight about it.’ Wouldn’t that be convenient?” I use sarcasm as my domestic weapon of choice.

“You’re making a way bigger deal about this than it needs to be. I cleaned it all up, didn’t I?”

“Do you want a cookie?” I ask sardonically. Does he really expect a reward for cleaning up his own mess?

“See? You’re being a huge bitch right now,” he states.

“Are you sleeping with someone else?” I ask, cutting right to the chase.

“What? NO!” he says appalled, but I’m not sure I believe him.

I don’t say anything I just continue getting dressed.

“I don’t want to get a divorce,” he says as I’m pulling my pajama pants on.

“I don’t want you to go to jail. I want you to quit doing coke and blowing up on me. I want you to get back to running with me and quit putting me on Odin!” I say, although really, Odin has been a pleasure to work with.

“You think I want to go to jail?” he yells at me.

“No! But you got mad and went on a rampage on Tommy fucking Harrison. Then instead of lying low, you get caught driving with coke. And you still won’t even admit you have a problem. As for me, I’m just caught up in it all, and I feel like you don’t give a shit how this all affects me,” I say. It feels good to really get the real problem out.

“It was a fucking accident!” he says defensively.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well I seem to manage to cover a lot of ground without any accidents!” I hiss at him. It’s true, and it proves that being high on blow affects his judgment.

Again it’s silent for a long, awkward moment. I pull the sheets down and get into bed, though I doubt I’ll get to sleep that easily.

“I don’t know why I bother trying to reason with you,” he says.

“I
don’t
bother reasoning with you when you’re on coke. Because a few good snorts up that nose and there’s no talking to you. You’re like a monster on a rampage,” I say, and I mean it.

“What the fuck ever, Lila. Act like I’m some kind of addict!”

“You are! And you seem to be the only one who doesn’t wanna see it!”

“Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says taking a deep breath. “I’ll quit okay? I’ll prove to you that I’m not an addict.”

It’s good to hear even though I know it’s not that easy. “Sure,” I say unconvinced. Sometimes when Jaime and I talk seriously, I stare at the small star tattoo just under his eye as opposed to staring him in the eye directly.

“I need you to believe in me, Lila,” he says.

I look at him, catching a glimpse of the Jaime I first fell in love with. Sincere, carefree, fun Jaime. I want to believe him so bad. But I think the only chance he has of getting sober is if he goes to jail, or is forced into some intense drug therapy.

“I want to believe in you, Jaime, I’m just tired of being let down,” I say and I begin to lose the battle against tears.

He moves across the bed over to me and holds me for a moment. I sob into his shoulder and I still feel lonely even with him holding me. He rocks me back and forth and I just want so badly to believe that things will get better. He caresses my hair with his hand. This is the closest we have been in a while. I cling to it, pulling him closer so our bodies are pressed together. He kisses my head and I look up at him. Then he kisses the tears off my cheeks. I gaze into his eyes, and I’m not sure what I see. Before I get a chance to search he’s kissing my lips. I kiss him back without rhyme or reason. I just want to feel loved. Suddenly all the thoughts I’ve had about Odin seem trivial. This is my husband. This is where I belong. If we stand together, we are strong enough to fix this.

“Promise me you’ll quit,” I whisper.

“I promise I will try,” he says laying me back onto the bed.

He’s lying at my side, hovering over me, kissing my lips. He slips a hand into my pajama pants. My sensitivity spikes, still fresh from the shower as he lays his hand on me there. His palm presses on it as he slips a finger inside me gently swirling it. I moan. He continues this for a few minutes, readying me for his conquest. Then, when I am wet he removes his finger and pulls my pants down. He pulls his own pants off and removes his shirt, tossing it onto the bed beside me. Then he lays on top of me, spreading my knees apart to make room for him. Jaime makes love to me, and I relish in it, feeling like the wife I want to be. I fall asleep in his arms.

I wake up and immediately check my phone for the time. It’s 9:30am. Jaime is not in bed but I can hear Erica and the kids wrestling around in the living room already. I get up and head into our bathroom. When I walk in, I notice a small mirror sitting on the counter. There’s a small amount of white residue left on it and I know it wasn’t there last night.

Son of a bitch! He used this morning! The moment we shared last night is short-lived. I pick up the mirror and I throw it at the ground, but it’s light and it breaks only into two pieces. I can’t believe he just left it right out for me to see, and didn’t even bother to hide it. Flustered, I put my clothes on and go in searching for Jaime, intending to confront him. But he’s not here.

“Did Jaime leave already?” I ask Erica, who’s pouring Chase a bowl of cereal.

“About an hour ago,” she tells me.

“You guys make up last night?” Erica asks me.

“Sort of,” I say not wanting to get into the details with her.

There was a time when I would have been more open about it with her, but now that she’s living with us, I don’t want to drag her into our problems. I go into my room and call Jaime. There is no answer, though I’m not surprised. I plan to stay here and confront him when he comes home.

I turn on the TV to distract myself and I find myself fully indulged in
Criminal Minds
for a few hours. After lunch, I try calling him again, but there’s still no answer. I go into our room with my guitar and practice for a while. Singing some favorite oldies about heartbreak puts me in a slightly better yet still melancholy mood.

Then the doorbell rings. I put my guitar down and head for the living room. I can see through the mirrored glass that it’s Sergio.
Great!
What does he want? Sergio is a member of a rival gang known as the Kings, a predominantly Mexican group who ride also in Santa Monica. I don’t trust Sergio at all. I know he and Jaime have some sort of strange arrangement worked out, but I’m not privy to it. I have the feeling whatever it is, no one else is supposed to know. Every time Sergio is here I feel very uncomfortable. Luckily, he never stays long.

I grab the small revolver from the end table drawer by the door, tucking in into the back of my pants. Then I unlock and open the front door to him.

“Sergio.” My greeting is less then welcoming.

“Is Jaime here?” he asks, stepping in the door uninvited.

I take a few steps back so that I’m standing in the dining room. “No.”

“Any idea where he is?” Sergio is lingering strangely in the entryway.

“No, I don’t.”

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” He’s getting irritated.

Does he think I’m lying? “No, I don’t, did you try calling him?” I ask, fed up with his attitude.

“He didn’t answer,” says Sergio, like it’s my fault.

“Yeah, well join the club.”

He stares at me for a minute with a blank stare that says he’s up to no good. “Do you want me to try calling him?” I offer. I just want him gone.

“Yes, why don’t you do that?” he says in his Mexican accent.

I feel like he’s trying to intimidate me. I pull the phone from my pocket and call Jaime for the 3
rd
time today. I put it on speaker phone so Sergio can hear it ring. It goes to voicemail.

“Hello, dear, it’s your wife. Sergio is here looking for you, and he seems quite intent on finding you. So when you have time, why don’t you give one of us a call back? Bye.” I hang up and glare at Sergio.
Satisfied?

“How’ve you been Delilah?” he asks, and I know that he’s trying to get under my skin. Sergio and Jaime are hardly friends, and Sergio and I are definitely not friends.

“Don’t pretend to give a shit. What do you want?” I’m rather short with him. I’m really in no mood for his bullshit this morning.

“I need to get a hold of Jaime. Tell him to call me. I would hate to think he’s avoiding me.” Sergio has a murderous look in his eye. “I would hate to have to do something drastic to get his attention,” he says, reaching out and touching one of my curls.

I immediately slap his hand away. “Get the fuck out of my house!” I demand, pointing my arm toward the door. I am infinitely glad there’s a gun behind me.

Sergio smiles dauntingly at me. “You make sure he calls me,” he warns as he lets himself out.

I watch through the window as he joins another man outside on his motorcycle and they take turns riding off down the street. I relock the door, and lean against it.

Holy shit!
What has Jaime got himself into? I contemplate calling Rick, but decide against it.

My hands are shaking as I finally let my guard down, still rattled from Sergio’s visit. Sitting here any longer isn’t going to make me feel better about anything. I take off to Kelli’s where I have a few drinks and tell her about my night. I can’t stop wondering where Jaime is. Every time I check my phone and he hasn’t called me back I have another drink. Eventually I wind up passing out at Kelli’s house with a serious buzz.

In the morning, Kelli has fresh coffee made and is on her way to work. We are the kind of friends that are comfortable in each other’s home, even if the other isn’t there. In fact, I have a key to Kelli’s house and she has a key to mine. I have a slight hangover and decide after a glass of water and two Advil to go pass out on her bed for a while. There are still no messages or calls from Jaime, and I don’t know whether to be worried or just pissed the hell off!

I wake again around noon, and after lying around for a while, I roll over to check my phone. There’s a voicemail from Rick. “Hey Lila, give me a call when you get this message.”

Rick’s sounds frantic when he answers the phone. “Lila, Jaime is in the hospital. I’m here with him. I tried to send someone by the house, but no one was home,” he says.

I’m not nearly as surprised as I should be, though I’m seriously worried and my heart surges into my stomach. “Which hospital?”

“Saint Mary’s on Main Street”

“I’ll be right there,” I say, and I toss my phone back into my purse.

I search around Kelli’s for my shoes and for the life of me, I can’t find one. Irritated, I rush up to her room and grab a pair of flip flops out of her closet. While I’m in there, I notice she still has my Hurley sweater. Only best friends have a wardrobe full of each other’s things. I hurry back downstairs and lock her front door behind me. My car is parked across the street and I notice that there is a note on it.