Cole
Things were going great with Lizzy and me. I knew she had been concerned about how fast everything was happening with us, and for a few brief hours on our way home, the intensity of my feelings for her and my need to have her with me whenever I could had scared me. But I had powered through it and my reward was a contentment I had never before felt in my life.
Lizzy and I had not slept apart since our first weekend together. Most nights we spent at her apartment, the reason being that I’d had to work late a lot these past two weeks and she didn’t want to be in my apartment by herself. Totally understandable. I wanted her to feel comfortable at my place, but I knew where she was coming from. Liz wasn’t the type of person who would sit and wait for me to come home. She wasn’t a social butterfly. She was content to be by herself, but my place didn’t feel all that homey. I was a guy and my place reflected that. It looked exactly like you would imagine a bachelor’s pad. A loft-like space with a big screen TV, huge comfortable leather couch in front of it, hundreds of movies on my shelves, a kitchen off the living room with dirty dishes stacked in the sink, not much more than beer in the fridge, and a bed in the far corner of the vast room with a matching dresser and wardrobe for my clothes. Yes, all of it was high end, but it didn’t feel like a home. It felt like a crash pad. Or a fuck pad. Which is exactly what it had been since I moved in. And Liz knew that. So I wasn’t surprised that she preferred to stay at her place, especially when I had to work late. Still, it might be caveman behavior, but I wanted her at my place, wanted to take care of her like a man. But I knew I had to tread carefully in that respect.
Lizzy was an independent woman who didn’t want to rely on anyone else to take care of her. Her father had left her and her mother before she was even born. Her mother wasn’t a person Liz had been able to rely on, the opposite actually. More often than not, Liz had had to escape that house to be safe from her mother’s pedophile friends. So I didn’t blame her for being the independent person she needed to be to escape her childhood.
With any other woman, I had been annoyed when they were clingy and treating me like their property, but with Lizzy it frustrated me that she
wasn’t
like that. I wanted her to consider me hers, needed her to rely on me to be able take care of her. Oh, she was possessive. When we went out and other women tried to make a play for me, or when someone she knew I had fucked got too close, she always staked her claim and it was hot as fuck.
The sex was phenomenal. Every time we touched each other was like a fire coursed through our bodies, melding us together with a need that was indescribable. I’d had more than my fair share of women in my life, but what Liz and I had was something else. When we weren’t having sex, we were comfortable around each other, teasing, nagging, fighting, just like we always had. It was easy being with her. Natural, like she had said our first night together. I was proud to have her on my arm when we went out, proud that she was mine. All those fucktards that ogled her would never touch her. She never paid them any attention. Even after I had laid it out for her how much attention she garnered from the men around her, she seemed not to notice. Or she didn’t care. And I loved it. Loved it that she didn’t need to play games, didn’t try to make me jealous, didn’t need other men’s attention to make her feel good about herself.
So things were great. We were happy and for the first time in my life, I was looking forward to my future seeing as it was filled with Lizzy. There was only one thing happening in my life right now that I could do without. Or two things actually: Courtney and my mother.
As promised, I had called my mother to tell her the news of Lizzy and I being together, informing her that she should expect her as my partner at the next dinner party. Just like I expected her to, she had lost her mind, guilt-tripping me about ruining the family’s reputation, her reputation, by being with the daughter of the town’s slut.
“Why you would lower yourself to be with trash like her I will never understand! Is it to spite me? Do you hate me that much that you’ll do anything to get back at me?” Typical for my mother, she made me being with Liz all about her.
“No, mother. I am not with Lizzy because I am using her to get back at you and ruin your oh so holy reputation. I know you have no frame of reference, will never understand what I am talking about, but I am with her because I love her, because I cannot be without her. We belong together. She is mine and I am hers, and if you can’t respect that, then neither of us will ever set foot into your house again. I will not tolerate you and your friends treating her like a second-class citizen. Accept it or lose me in the process, mother. Your choice.” Not much came after that. She huffed and puffed, but I was done. She could let me know when she was over it or I wouldn’t go back there.
Courtney was another matter altogether. I hadn’t mentioned it to Lizzy since that day at the coast after lunch, but Courtney had not let up with her harassment. She was hard to shake. Her behavior was escalating. It had turned from incessantly text messaging and calling my cell to her trying to contact me at work. I was going to have to deal with her face-to-face. And soon. I had promised Lizzy she didn’t have to worry, I would make her go away, and I intended to keep that promise. When Courtney had called my office today, demanding to speak to me because of an emergency, my assistant had interrupted me during a very important meeting, which my boss had also attended. This could not happen again or I could lose my job. So I had agreed to meet her after work to talk. Not that I would let her talk much. I would go in there, tell that bitch to get it through her head that there would never be anything between us again, and leave. It would be quick. In and out in five minutes’ tops. I wouldn’t even order a drink. So why did I feel guilty that I hadn’t told Lizzy about it? She knew I was working late again, so she didn’t expect me at her apartment until later, and I didn’t want her to worry or get mad because there was nothing to worry or get mad about. Courtney didn’t factor into my life, so there was no reason to share the situation with Lizzy. I was just doing what I had promised her I would do, making Courtney go away.
Nothing to feel guilty about.
Right.
Shit.
I left my office and walked the two blocks to the bar I was meeting Courtney at. As soon as I walked through the door, I could see her sitting in a dark, quiet corner. Great. She was dressed and made up to the nines and was staring at me
—with
what I’m sure she intended to be seduction in her eyes
—
as I walked towards her table. My gut twisted in disgust at her blatant display. This is what I had usually gone for before I let myself have Lizzy: over-the-top women who dressed like skanks and threw themselves at me to enjoy for a night or two. I felt dirty and disgusted with myself.
Courtney rose from her seat in an attempt to kiss me, but I moved away before her lips could touch mine. Her sweet perfume was overwhelming and made me want to gag. I needed to get this done fast and get the hell out of here. She pretended she didn’t notice my rejection and smiled huge at me while sitting back down. I sat across from her and glared at her. She started laughing. Crazy bitch.
Let’s get this over with
. I leveled my glare at her and jumped right in without preamble.
“Courtney. Get me right now. There is nothing between us. All there ever was, was sex. You’re a good lay, but I’ve had better before you and definitely better since. I am with someone now and I will not be contacting you ever again. Now, tell me you get what I’m saying to you.” I could see her flinch slightly at my harsh words, but I didn’t give a shit. I had tried to be nice when I told her I was off the market. After her shenanigans during these past two weeks, I was done with nice. She had proven that she was a bitch, meaning I would treat her like one.
“Now, now, Cole. We both know that’s not true. I have had my hooks in you since high school. You’ve been coming back to me for eight years, Cole. A girl knows what that means. I understand I have to let you be you, let you sow your wild oats before you’re ready to commit to me. I’m a patient woman, baby. Fucking that trash is just another need you have to fulfill before you’ll let yourself love me, just like fucking all those other skanks over the years. But don’t worry, baby, I’ll wait for you.” God, this woman was crazier than I thought. Was she serious?
“Woman, you are one of the skanks I have been fucking. I will never commit to you, there is nothing to commit
to
. You are delusional if you believe any of the shit that just came out of your mouth. We are done.” With that I gave her one last glare and got up to leave, hoping she got the message.
“Your mother agrees with me. We talked.”
I stopped and turned around to face her. “I bet you did. I also don’t care what my mother thinks.” She smiled a dangerous smile at me. Almost predatory. As if she knew something I didn’t. It made my gut clench. “I’m not a quitter, Cole. I always get what I want.” Fucking unbelievable. There was nothing more to say. Meeting her had been a mistake.
I should have known.
Without saying anything else, I turned away from her, left the bar, and headed to Lizzy’s apartment.
Lizzy
Thank God this day was over. Don’t get me wrong. I absolutely loved my job, but today was one of those days where I’d rather be somewhere else. Anywhere else. Being a social worker at a youth shelter in a big city like Boston came with its daily frustrations. But today had been like a kick in the gut. I was still trying to find a suitable home for Jesse and Chloe. Finding a family that was willing to take on siblings was always tricky. But separating them was not an option. I wouldn’t even bring that up for discussion. Jesse would pack up his sister and bolt. Guaranteed. I couldn’t risk that. Over the last few weeks, they had come to be important to me. Yes, I knew all about keeping my distance, how not to involve my emotions, blah, blah, blah. But honestly, whoever advised you to keep your emotions locked up when you worked with children had never worked with children. It was impossible to not feel anything when a sixteen-year-old boy tells you the reason he and his sister are living on the street is because their father is sexually abusing both of them. How could anyone stay detached? If you didn’t feel anything for these kids, then you couldn’t be the kind of social worker they needed. At least that’s what I think. So I was sick and tired of some higher-ups with their fancy-ass degrees telling me I was too involved, that I cared too much. That if I distanced myself, it wouldn’t hit me so hard every time I hit a brick wall or there was nothing at all that could be done for the kids. Are you shitting me? What I wanted to do right now was snatch up all my kids and kidnap them, take them to live with me in the jungles of Costa Rica, far away from this city and its budget meetings where it was decided how many hours of counseling an abused child needed, if tutoring really did them any good since they chose to live on the streets, and how many fucking pudding cups we were allowed to hand out every day. Okay, maybe I was being a bit harsh since it was only one person that acted like a stick-up-her-ass-penny-crunching bitch, but she had pushed me too far today, suggesting I concentrate on the cases that had the promise of success instead of trying to save every child I meet. Seriously! She was a social worker in a different district of the city, and I had called her for information on any new foster parents in her area, seeing as all of our trusted ones were full. I thought it was my job to do everything in my power to help, to work together in making the kids’ lives easier, to try and make them realize that there is a future for them out there.
Every
child that needs my help. Not just the ones that I know I can save or are ‘easier’ or looked ‘more promising’. And why did that bitch try to enlighten me about how best to do my job? Because I had dared to question the system of sending kids to the first available foster home without making sure it was actually a right fit. Apparently I was taking too long, I was too picky, I asked too many questions. I was so mad after that phone call that Taryn had asked me to see her when my ranting got so loud that everyone in the common room could hear me. She had tried to calm me down. I knew she felt the same frustrations, but her hands were tied. We had to follow procedure. Taryn encouraged me to hand in a proposal for a better procedure of networking and had suggested I get Rainey on board. “The two of you seem to agree on pretty much everything anyway and regularly give me a hard time about the limitations you have to work with. Might as well partner up in your bullheadedness,” she had said, almost making me smile. Or if I wanted to file a complaint, she was even going to support me in that. I was treading on thin ice though, I knew. If people started talking about me being difficult to work with, it would make it harder not only for me but the kids I handled. But I couldn’t help it. I was passionate about my job and sometimes that passion got the better of me.
On my way home, I decided to stop at the bookstore, get a hot chocolate, and hang out for a bit. Cole told me this morning he would be working late again, so I had lots of time to kill. Funny how things worked out that way. At first, I was afraid we would be spending too much time together, would smother each other, but spending every free minute with him had instead balanced me somehow. Instead of thinking and overthinking and going to bed frustrated or pissed off after a bad day at work, I now had someone to vent to, to bounce things off of, to get a different perspective from, to call me out on stuff, and do the same in return. It was nice. Yes, before we became a couple, Cole and I would talk on the phone almost daily and do the exact same thing, but having him with me every day made it more personal somehow. Sometimes all you needed was a hug or a smile from the person you love to make things better. It had always been like that with us. Tonight, I would probably earn a reproachful look after I told him how mad I got in front of everyone.