Complicated: A Tainted Love Novella (6 page)

Rachel

I
stretch my limbs, sore in all the right places. I stare at the hickies all over my torso and breasts, the bruises along my hips where Marshall dug his fingers in, and the wetness between my thighs. I squeeze my legs together at the building need. Last night was…

“Fuck, you feel good, Rachel,” Marshall moaned.

“Oh, God, Marshall, fuck me hard!” I screamed, going out of my mind with pleasure.

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking loud,” Marshall commented, driving into me deeper and harder, making my core gush all over his hard cock.

“Then stop fucking me so good!” I half-moaned, half-demanded on a particularly expert thrust.

“Want me to gag you? I’ll fucking gag that dirty fucking mouth, Rae,” he warned, sinking his teeth into my shoulder, causing me to cry out in ecstasy.

“I fucking dare you, asshole,” I goaded him, thrusting my hands in his dark hair and pulling hard.

“I’ll shove my cock deep down your throat to shut you up,” he threatened, making my pussy tighten in delight.

“And I’d love it,” I challenged, hoping he’d take the bait.

I smile. It’s all I can do. I had Marshall again and it was explosive, as it always is between us; but more than that, we connected once again. I turn on my side and gaze at his sleeping form, trailing my finger along his bicep. His hair is a mess, there are scratches down his back, and hickies on his collarbone that continue down over his chest to his hips.

I was with him and it felt like old times, like we had not a care in the world. It was just me and him, bodies melding, hearts binding, souls entwining. For a moment, it was impossible to tell where I ended and he began. We existed in each other and in that moment we were one. Nothing else mattered. It was just us and the love we still had for each other in spite of all that happened between us.

I know I drove him to cheat on me. I’d accused him of it so much, picked so many fights with him that he hardly stayed home anymore. I saw when he stopped liking me and I still pushed because every time we broke up we found it hard to stay away from each other. I wanted him to hate me, to leave me, but he’d done me one better. He only cheated on me once; he didn’t have to tell me for me to know that. Marshall was never the cheating type, but it was my excuse to make it final. If we didn’t break up, he would have eventually found out the reason for the drastic change in my mood and I couldn’t afford for that to happen.

A flush of guilt grips me and I retract my hand as though burned. Everything comes crashing down, the reality of our situation, and the gravity of everything. Delilah is missing, fucking kidnapped, and here we are making house. How stupid are we?

I slowly get out of bed and look around for my clothes, only to remember that Marshall ripped them all up. The memory makes my core throb, the animalistic pleasure he sated inside of me still growing. Tamping down my rising arousal, I find and drag on my panties, hanging haphazardly off the bedside lamp. I grab a tee shirt from Marshall’s bag and pull it over my head, inhaling deeply.

I smell like him in every way. My heart does a flip and I pull the shirt up to my nose to get another whiff. It knocks me off-balance, feeling light-headed with the masculine scent of Marshall, and I rest against the dresser to steady myself. Shaking out of it, I slowly make my way to the door and open it, thankful that no one is around to see me do the walk of shame. With one last look at Marshall, I slip out and close the door.

I turn to make my way back to my room, and I almost expire at seeing Ben at his bedroom door watching me. My stomach drops to the floor and my legs almost give way. This cann
ot
be happening.

“Mornin’,” I greet him awkwardly, turning to try and make a mad dash to my room.

“Oh no, Miss Rachel, you have some explaining to do,” he tuts, gesturing toward his room and waiting for me to turn around.

Busted.

Turning, I harrumph and stomp into his room, allowing him to lead me to his balcony to – no doubt – give me the third degree. Inquisitive bastard.

“So, you and Marshall, huh? What’s going on?” he shoots.

I sigh, “It’s complicated.”

Ben’s face takes on a hard edge but then it softens as he watches me silently, leaning against the stone white columns, waiting for me to continue.

“When we’re together…” I sigh again before continuing, “everything seems so right. We can’t stay away from each other. When we’re apart, that seems right, too; like that’s what’s best for us. We don’t have to think about each other when we’re apart, we just exist outside of each other, but the pull is always there. God, it’s just…complicated.”

“That word,” he muses. He shakes his head ruefully. “That’s Sullivan’s favorite word to tell me when I’m prying into her life.”

“She has her reasons for not telling you, Ben,” I say, trying to reassure him.

I’ve always told her that he needed to know the truth, but Delilah is so fucking stubborn. He deserves to know about her past, about what really causes her to have panic attacks. At the same time, however, I understand her apprehension. It’s the same apprehension I had seven years ago when I found out I was pregnant with Marshall’s baby. The same apprehension I have to this day when faced with telling him what I did about it.

I rub my tummy, the grief of my loss threatening to overwhelm me. Ben saves my breakdown by speaking.

“Why does she need to hide anything from me, Rachel?” he questions, anger lacing his words. I don’t blame him, but I do understand Delilah’s position.

“Because of things like this,” I answer. “She didn’t want her past catching up with her like this.”

“So she shot some piece of shit boyfriend years ago and is now running from the cops,” he says dismissively. “I would’ve protected her.”

I shake my head. He doesn’t know what the fuck kinda crazy Rick is. “He would’ve found her eventually.”

“I would’ve
protected
her
,” he insists, pinning me with an intense stare.

I shake my head again, trying to ward off the building tears. He doesn’t understand. It was a sacrifice on Delilah’s part. She might make stupid, fucked up decisions sometimes, but…sometimes she makes huge sacrifices that have you stunned. I should know.

My next words ring true when I tell him, “She was protecting you.”

Ben stares at me, too stunned to speak. What else is there to say? He won’t understand the fullness of her actions until she’s found; and we have to find her. I can’t live without my best friend.

“Why?” His voice comes out hoarse and shaken with unexpressed emotion.

“She felt she – her past – would embarrass you, endanger you, and she wanted to protect you from having to deal with it all: her mistakes, her decisions…especially her past,” I explain without giving away any further information, and swatting an escaped tear from my cheek.

I can see the confusion in his face when he asks, “Don’t all her mistakes and decisions make up her past?”

“Not in the way you think,” I reply, shaking my head.

This is tougher than I thought. I’ve never had to hide her past from any of Delilah’s boyfriends before because they never wanted to know anything about her other than she was a good lay. Jared was patient and Delilah ended up telling him everything, but Ben is such a hound dog, always thirsty for information on Delilah. Once again, I can’t blame the guy.

“There’s a reason she separates her mistakes and her decisions from her past. Those were of her own doing, but her past…she had no control over.”

“Tell me,” he urges me, grabbing my arms and casting me a pleading look.

I can’t even look at him now. Keeping things from him is killing him. What if he gives up on her? God, I need him to stick around, not just because I want Delilah found, but also because Ben is perfect for my girl. He knows how to handle her, how to love her. She needs that.

“It’s not for me to say. It’s not for Marshall to say. Sullivan has to be the one to tell you. I know it’s tearing you apart not knowing much about her, and I know every instinct is probably telling you to give up on her, but please,” I beg, “don’t.”

I see the resignation in his actions when he smiles and nods at me. He won’t give up on her, thank God. I give him a light squeeze as I hug him. In spite of everything he’s put Delilah through by being an asshole, he’s the one for Delilah. He returns my hug and a peaceful feeling comes over me.

“I can see why she likes you so much,” I mumble into his chest. “Being in your arms now, I feel cherished…protected. Like nothing or no one can touch me.”

He chuckles softly and squeezes me tighter into his warm body.

“What?” I ask, gazing up at him.

She always told me about Ben’s eyes, how she got lost in them many times. The depth of emotion I see in his eyes reminds me of the look I saw in Marshall’s eyes last night; the same look I have always seen in his eyes over the years. I wish I could deny it, but Marshall is still my one, still the love of my life and I can’t hide from my feelings now.

“Would you believe that that’s how I feel every time I’m in her arms?” Ben says with a smile pulling me out of my thoughts.

“And would you believe that
that’s
how I feel when I’m in her arms too?” I express.

He looks down on me and kisses the top of my head like a brother would do to his little sister or a father would do to his daughter to reassure her. Immediately, my thoughts go to Delilah and my baby and my eyes gloss with tears.

“We’ll find her,” Ben promises.

“Promise?” I sniff, as the tears fall now.

“Promise,” he whispers.

And I believe him.

Marshall

W
aking up to an empty bed was expected. Feeling the pang of disappointment that I felt when I reached over and felt the cold sheets was expected. The overwhelming sadness I felt as a result, not so much.

Last night was spectacular. I almost forgot what she felt like underneath me, how right it was between us; but as soon as I had her, so many emotions and memories ran through me. The most noticeable was elation. Over the moon didn’t begin to describe how it felt to have her, to be inside her, to have her call my name; but whatever hope I had that this could turn into something more got dashed the moment I woke up without her beautiful sleeping form right next to me. I had to wonder if it was all a dream, a subconscious experience. Staring at myself in the mirror that morning had dispelled that notion completely. The hickies and bite marks were testament to a wild and beautiful night and I wear her marks with pride.

To distract myself from the overwhelming sadness – and the ever-present tightness in my slacks – I poured myself into rescue efforts for my sister. It has been going on to two days since she’s been missing and it’s wearing on all of our nerves. Everyone is frustrated, but Ben’s mood has soured greatly, negatively affecting everyone else’s mood that much more. Thank God his mother has been here to straighten him out.

Guilt rides me, knowing that I still haven’t told Mom and Dad what’s going on. I can’t bring myself to do it, though I know I have to. It will break my parents’ heart, I know it, and that’s why I haven’t told them a single thing. I have been tempted, but as Rachel had suggested after Ben confronted us about it, find her first then break it to them. Not finding her is not an option, because if we don’t, my mother and father will see to it that they will be making funeral arrangements for both of their children.

I wonder if Rachel ever stayed in contact with her parents. She’d never had a good relationship with them, which was why she was always over our house growing up. I didn’t blame her. The Welles’ are cold, calculating, prejudicial sons-of-bitches, the polar opposite to my parents’ laid back, loving, supportive personas. Rachel had never seemed to measure up to whatever rich, idealistic standard they held over her head and, to be honest, that’s why I fell for her. If I were to look at the Welles’ though, they never did love her and I always wondered why she sought their approval. Whenever Rachel lived outside of her parents’ expectations – broke their rules of perfection – she was so beautiful…as she is now.

We are back in one of the interrogation rooms at the police station and, surprisingly – thankfully – Ben isn’t here. Matt had taken him out for a drive to cool him off since he was about one wrong look away from being arrested. I wouldn’t want to be in his position right now. These years without Rachel have been torture enough; to not know whether or not she’s alive would ruin me. I feel his pain and I am just as on edge as he is to find my sister.

I appraise Rachel as she stares out the barred window, looking absolutely lost. She is in agony, I know. She and Delilah were joined at the hip. When she found out that Delilah was going to be leaving New York, she quickly made the decision to follow her. I never thanked her for keeping my sister safe and sane all these years. She is a buoy of calm for my sister, steadying her in her chaotic world.

My heart squeezes inside my chest at her despondence. I wish I could give her what she wants most, my sister’s safe return – shit, I’d give her the world – but now all I can give her, both of us, is distraction.

“Rae,” I call to her as I get up from around the desk.

She turns to look at me and that’s when I see the slow trickle of tears down her face. It breaks me in half to see her cry, as if the world is out of whack when she doesn’t smile. She is a balance to my otherwise unbalanced life. I’ve always thought I was missing something, and she is it. Having her within my grasp these past few hours has done wonders for my equilibrium. That same peace her presence brought me all those years ago has been restored immensely.

I enfold her in my arms and she easily melts into my embrace, taking shuddering breaths.

“It’s okay,” I reassure her. “Let it out, baby.”

“How could I not see it? How could I have been so blind?” she cries, fisting my jacket in her hands.

When I first heard that Rick’s accomplice had been Rachel’s boyfriend, I was mad at her for a moment. I wanted to blame her, scream at her that she allowed this to happen, that because of her, my sister was in danger. As soon as the thoughts had arisen, rationality swatted them violently back. She couldn’t have known his plans. He played everyone perfectly as Rick ordered him to. Besides, one way or another, Rick would have gotten to Delilah. As long as he was alive and walking free, he would have always been a threat to her safety.

“It’s not your fault, Rachel,” I tell her, smoothing her soft hair. “He fooled everyone.”

“Not Delilah,” she asserts.

“That’s because Delilah doesn’t trust anybody,” I counter, and it’s true. My sister is always suspicious of people’s motives, always thinking that someone was going to screw her over or hurt her in some way. It could have very well been that she didn’t trust herself and was only projecting, but if Delilah didn’t trust someone, it always turned out that she had good reason not to.

“True,” she agrees on a soft chuckle. “True.”

I pull her tighter against me and I feel her body relax in mine. We stand for what feels like minutes, content in each other’s arms. Every problem melts away with us like this. The world dims in comparison to this moment right here. She fits in the safety of my arms like a well-suited jacket, like the rare jewel encased in a priceless charm. It’s never been like this with anyone else. It’s never been so r–

Rachel’s stomach grumbles loudly, dragging me out of my thoughts. I try not to laugh but when she groans and buries her face deeper into my chest, I can’t help it.

“Come on, Strawberry Shortcake,” I bid her, tugging on her hair. “Let’s go get you fed.”

She peeks up at me and smiles shyly, “You haven’t called me that since I was sixteen.”

“That’s because I swapped that for ‘hot piece of ass’, ‘sexy’, ‘baby’, and the like,” I joke, but it falls flat as she stiffens in my arms and looks away.

I’m at a loss at how to salvage the situation and she begins to, very slowly, pull away from me. Her stomach grumbles again and I smile.

“Let’s go,” I beckon to her, taking her hand and guiding her toward the door.

She doesn’t fight me.

That night, instead of staying at Ben’s house, Rachel and I stay at her and Delilah’s apartment. The place feels so empty without her there, despite it being so well furnished. I see both of their personalities in this space: the serene and the effervescent, the wild and the practical all rolled into a comfy, cozy home. After I helped to move them into this apartment a few years ago, I have only been back here three times, none in the past year. I love what they’ve done with the place.

I enter Delilah’s room and a wave of melancholy engulfs me. Standing at the doorway, I peer in, her sheets still messy as how she rolled out of it, clothes strewn on top, shoes thrown haphazardly in a corner. She was always so messy and, apparently, she hasn’t changed. I take a deep breath and expel it, only to break down quietly. One foot in front of the other, I step into my sister’s bedroom and sit on her bed.

Flashes of memory flood me and it makes the dread build even more:

I hear sniffling in the laundry room. It’s after twelve at night on a Friday and I just came in from a party with friends. I’d been pre-occupied all night, a certain strawberry blonde racing through my mind. It was approaching Rachel’s sixteenth birthday and we had discussed that that would be the day we take the next step. Every time it crosses my mind, my dick gets hard.
Fuck.

I can’t wait.

Quiet whimpers sound out from behind the laundry door and my senses go on high alert. My parents are asleep, Rachel is at home, so there can only be one person crying in this room. Delilah.

It breaks my heart to hear or see her cry, but more importantly, the shit makes me murderous.

“Delilah,” I softly beckon.

I hear shuffling behind the door and further sniffling, then a muffled
ow
, before I hear her answer, “Just a minute. Just, um, putting some clothes away.”

“Lilah, I heard you crying in there, open up,” I tell her.

She sighs heavily and slowly,
slowly
, opens the door. When I finally see her, puffy eyes greet me. I clench down and grind my teeth so hard that it’s a wonder they don’t turn to dust. My fists ball tightly and I feel bones pop in my knuckles from the force of it. Whoever made her cry is gonna fucking wish they hadn’t. I may be a budding lawyer, but Marshall Keyes senior didn’t raise a pansy.

“What’s wrong, Lilah?” I ask as calmly as I can, which isn’t very calmly at all.

“Marshall, it’s fine,” she dismisses, going to close the door on me.

I shove my foot in and push it wider open. “Bullshit, Lilah, what’s wrong?” I demand.

She groans and dashes falling tears away frustratingly. “It’s a boy,” she answers.

Fucking
boys
.

“What happened?” I ask softer now. As a big brother, I’ve found that certain topics have to be approached in different ways. Boy issues have to be treaded softly, with more compassion.

She takes a large shuddering breath and everything tumbles out of her, “He told all his friends that I was a slut and they harassed me tonight, wanting me to put out. When I refused, they ridiculed me and embarrassed me in front of a bunch of plastic cheerleader bitches. Of course, I kicked him in his junk and threw beer on the rest, but it…it hurt.”

“Who?” I am pissed and poised, ready to strike like a fucking snake. No one hurts my sister.

“Wes Carrington,” she whispers, looking down.

…of the Manhattan Carringtons.

Fucking privileged son of a bitch. He and Delilah had been hot and heavy for the past two weeks. I asked her about him last night and she said she got bored and dumped him. Some guys would say that she asked for that treatment, that she can’t go around playing with guys’ feelings, but embarrassing and harassing a girl because she rejects you is a douchebag move, and I won’t let this douchebag get away with it.

And he didn’t…if his apologizing to my sister the following afternoon – with a black eye and busted lip – was any indication.