Debt Read online

  “Hey,” I say, trying to act like everything is all hunky dory.

  “Hey,” Tiff says, somewhat caught off-guard, as if she didn’t expect me to answer.

  “What’s up?”

  “Oh not much, just wanted to check in. I haven’t spoken to you since I think I freaked you out about that whole experience I had.”

  I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “Oh, no...I’ve just been busy with work.”

  “Did I come on too strong? I know I have a tendency to do that when I’m passionate about stuff.”

  “You do, but no. I love that you stand behind things that you love and you become like a street-corner preacher about it. I mean, if I am being honest, it was a shock. But I think you know by now that nothing, short of mass-murder or something, is too shocking for me. So just don’t go on a killing spree and we’re good.”

  I hear Tiff let out a sigh of relief. “I meant what I said, about how I think you should do it...” My fingers choke the steering wheel. “But, I know you’re not comfortable with it. So, let’s just forget I mentioned it. Unless you do want to do it, then you can talk to me about it, if you want, of course. Lord knows I’ll be doing it again when I can spare the money, and I sure as hell will be giving you the play by play.”

  “Thanks,” I say, wondering if I am currently lying by omission. “I appreciate you thinking of me, even if it is in regards to really freaky sexcapades.”

  She laughs. “Just sayin’, you are missing on the really good D.” Oh no, my friend, I got the good D. I got the BEST D. I got the D that’s ruined me for other guys. My brain, working on overdrive, to think of the most natural response, leaves a few seconds of silence between us. “So, what else is new?” she asks.

  “Well...big news actually. Dewey sold Alea and I am taking over as President.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes! I think I’ve been too shocked to be excited. And I am sad that Dewey is leaving.”

  “Oh you’ll get over it, boss lady. This calls for a celebration!”

  Normally, I would be down, but I don’t want to see Tiff quite yet. This phone conversation has me tense enough. I need to get back to a somewhat normal state of mind before she and I get together again.

  “Can I take a rain check? I am so effin’ tired.”

  “Fine, you stick in the mud.”

  “Okay, I promise, we’ll celebrate soon. Love ya.”

  “Love ya too.”

  During the rest of the drive home, the feeling of disgust that has visited intermittently since Friday makes a reappearance. My dubious conversation with Tiff only helped it resurface. Here I am, with everything I have ever wanted, and yet, I had to find a way to fuck things up just a little bit. I try to focus on the positive: we all make bad judgment calls. In a few weeks, this will be a distant memory, a secret I will carry with me. But hopefully the shame will dull, and the feeling of filth will subside. Like Tiff said, it’s a lot like a rough one-night stand. That’s all it was, a really intense, multiple-orgasmic, mind-fucking one night stand.

  I pull into my driveway, turn off my car, and grab my purse and jacket before slipping out. Just when I slam the car door shut, I see the bushes in front of my patio rustle, followed by a shuffling sound.

  Before my eyes can focus on the commotion, there is a shadowy figure thrusting upon me. My keys and bag fall to the floor as I slam onto my car.

  I gasp loudly.

  “Shut up,” he says.

  My flood lights glare on the driveway so I can see him clearly.

  He is wearing a grey suit and he’s tall, with a chiseled jawline. He’s very handsome and well-groomed. This guy doesn’t look like a mugger. Do I know him? Could it be him? Did he come back for more?

  Impossible. I only paid for one encounter and I got more than my money’s worth.

  Panic sets in. Just because it happened once before does not make this instance any less terrifying.

  “Get in the car,” he says, squeezing my arm and opening the back seat. “Now.”

  This doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense. This already happened. Why—how—is this happening again?

  I hesitate, trying to make sense of my double attack. Is this some sort of extra level of mindfuck? I’m so confused. Is this guy really attacking me? Is he even part of Happy Kitty?

  I look into his cold eyes and immediately realize they are blue. The house was dark the first time, but I am certain the other guy’s eyes were brown.

  “I...who are you?” I ask.

  “Shut up and get in the car,” he whispers furiously. He drags me by my arm closer to the rear door. And while he’s being rough, there is still a level of self-restraint, like he isn’t really intending to punish me. It feels like he’s acting.

  In a flash, I remember the clue that will reveal for certain if this is the guy who attacked me in my house: the neck tat.

  I look over to his right side, and there is no sign of the snakes peeking up from his collar. The other guy’s tat ran up the entire length of his neck, threatening to slither up his jawline.

  It’s not him. It’s not him.

  It’s not him?

  Then who his this? And who the FUCK was the other guy?

  “RAINBOW!” I call out. “RAINBOW!”

  The guys eyes softly squint and he releases his grip on my arm.

  “It’s okay,” he says. “I’m stopping. It’s okay.”

  It’s like I flicked an off switch on his persona.

  “Are you with...the website?” I ask in a shaky voice.

  “We are terminating the encounter. Just go into your house. You are safe. This is over. You won’t see me again.”

  “But...but...someone already came...”

  The handsome face looks back at me in disbelief, like I am completely unhinged.

  “That’s not possible.”

  My voice is trembling. “No...yes, yes it is possible. Someone came last Friday. He had on a suit. He...”

  And that’s when I realize that something is terribly wrong.

  I never verified the mystery man by asking him the optional secret question, he was wearing a mask, he didn’t approach me on my driveway as specified, he was in my house.

  He had a knife. Holy shit, he had a KNIFE.

  “I have to go. You are safe, the encounter is terminated,” he says as if rehearsing some line he’s been fed. And then he jogs back into the dark where he came from, leaving me speechless and confused on my driveway.

  If the dark stranger wasn’t someone I hired to attack me, then where did he come from? Who is he?

  Did I have sex with someone who genuinely broke into my house?

  Did I actually have sex with my rapist?

  I watch the whole thing go down. I’ve been following her since Friday, knowing she would be approached by some asshole within the next couple of weeks. And the thought she might let him do what I did to her enraged me.

  I was prepared to fuck up the cocksucker if he got anywhere past the confrontation stage, and then I would drag her into the house and fuck her again. I would make her remember me.

  But she stopped him. Within seconds, the guy just ran back into the bushes. I can’t help but laugh here in my car. Her mind must be spinning. She must be so fucking confused. She’s probably wondering who I am and where I came from.

  She’s just standing there in shock, her purse and keys still splayed on the driveway at her feet. Part of me wants to get out of the car just to see her again, to monopolize on her confusion and then drag her into the house and make her scream as I shove my cock into her creamy pussy.

  When I pressed up against her that night I broke into her house, I smelled her shampoo, felt her soft skin, and my cock rebelled, morphing my intentions from rage to lust. And since that night the lust hasn’t waned.

  But I have to keep my distance, because she won’t be around for long.

  I must admit though, there is something immensely satisfying about the fact she
rejected that fucker.

  Because I know it’s me she wants.

  I pace my living room frantically, in tears.

  I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what happened. It’s like I am being punished for being a dirty slut. I wanted a stranger to sneak up on me and fuck me? Well, I got it.

  I can’t call the police. How could I even begin to explain myself? I never even said no to the guy. I begged him. I pleaded with him over and over to fuck me.

  Fuuuuuuuuck.

  I grab my cell phone and stare at it for a while. I could call Tiff, but now I am even less prepared to tell her about that night. This whole fucking thing has turned into a nightmare. I know Tiff would help me, but even in front of her, I would feel so stupid. Because I am an idiot. I got carried away. I felt him, I smelled him, I saw him, and I lost all sense. In my eyes, he was physical perfection, he checked off all the boxes I selected in my little “perfect man survey” for Happy Kitty. In his arms, all the so called foolproof fail-safes were worthless. Foolproof my ass. They weren’t prepared for a fool as big as me.

  There is no recourse. I may have to come to terms with the fact that I will never have answers about what happened to me that night. Some guy broke in my house with the purpose of...I don’t know...raping or robbing me, and I fucked his brains out! He might attack some other innocent woman because I didn’t stop him or report him.

  Oh god, I need to see a doctor right away. Sure he wore an expensive suit and was impeccably groomed, but that doesn’t mean shit.

  This isn’t right. How can someone who prides herself on being smart, hardworking and intelligent do something so impetuous? I always had these desires, these fantasies of a man having his way with me, but that was all they were meant to be: fantasies. And now I have pulled that world into the life I have so carefully crafted for myself and it’s already more than I bargained for.

  Then fear strikes. He was in my house. He gained entry into my house without breaking the door. Maybe he has a key, maybe he opened a window. I don’t know. But I know I have to get out. I don’t think I am safe in my own home.

  I run into my bedroom and grab an overnight bag, yanking clothes from my closet and dresser and haphazardly throwing them in. Within minutes, I am out the door and back in my car, driving to the nearest motel and looking at my rear view mirror like some paranoid freak.

  Never have I felt so alone. Never have I missed my dad like I do right now. I couldn’t have told him about the bind I am in, but just talking to him would have made me feel safe. He always made me feel safe.

  It’s been two and half weeks. Two and a half weeks since that man came into my house and shattered everything I knew about myself. I still think about him all the time. I still battle with mixed feelings of disgust and lust.

  I am terrified because I have no answers. If I knew who he was, what he was doing in my house, I would have something to hide from. But he might as well be a ghost. He could be anywhere.

  Above all, there is one thing that frightens me more than anything: I think I might never feel the way I felt that night with anyone ever again. And I hate myself for thinking that.

  I went to see my gynecologist last week. Since I had my annual recently, I had to request a new full STD screening. She’s a professional, and never batted an eyelash as to why I would want such a thing, but I couldn’t help and project my feelings of shame onto her. I felt like she could smell the stench of my sluttiness in her presence. I am so glad that despite my self-imposed slower than normal sex-life, I stayed on my birth control pills instead of taking a break like I had considered. Because THAT would have been epically disastrous. The STD tests came back negative, but I’d have to come back in six long months for another HIV screening. Because I am an imbecile who has unprotected sex with a stranger.

  Today should be the happiest day of my life. I am officially the President of Alea Intimate Toys for Women. I have a job that makes me so happy, I have jumped up to a new income bracket, I have a nice house, I am healthy. But this week has been filled with inner turmoil so strong that it shakes me to my core every day.

  I still can’t sleep or eat. I hope this will pass, but the stress of acclimating to the new role has only compounded the distress I already feel about my personal life.

  To top it off, I am on my way to my first meeting with the new owners of Alea. It’s my first face to face with them, and Dewey will be there too, to symbolically pass the torch, I assume. One thing has been confirmed for me already: when they say they are silent, they mean SILENT. The meeting has been scheduled for 5am, three hours before our earliest employee is scheduled to appear in the office. It appears they have no interest in mingling with their new minions. They want to make sure I am steering the ship correctly, that their investment is being well taken care of, and that’s the extent of their involvement in Alea.

  I hope that’s a sign that they are keeping their promise to Dewey, that they will keep out of the day to day management of the company and not that they will be some faceless entity, giving me orders that I must singlehandedly pass down to my co-workers. Because the latter could really alienate me from the people I have worked with for so many years.

  I pull into the garage at the office building and my stomach tightens as I recall the last time I was alone in this empty lot. It was the night I learned that I had screwed up majorly and allowed a home invader to have me.

  I had a gut feeling something was wrong that night before the actual-fake attacker approached me in my driveway. My instincts were right, something was about to go terribly wrong, but then why did my instincts fail me so miserably the first time?

  As I exit the car, I smooth out my pencil skirt and blouse. Usually, we dress casually in the office. We are an eclectic bunch and almost anything goes. But today I am trying to look more civilized for my new role and out of respect to our guests. I quickly touch up my lipstick on the side view mirror and smooth my hair back.

  I take a deep breath, trying to relieve the tension that seems to have made a permanent home in my muscles these days. Then I make my way to the door leading to the building. My heels clamor loudly in the empty lot, reminding me how alone I am, how alone I feel.

  Relax, get your game face on. You are a professional. Keep your personal shit out of the office.

  The door to Alea is unlocked, and I figured it would be, as I assume Dewey made his way into the office before me. All the lights are off, except the one inside of the conference room. I glance at my phone. 4:55am. I’m not late, so that’s good. I assume all parties are inside, but I can’t tell since the blinds are drawn over the glass enclosure.

  I head to the conference room door, forcing a huge smile on my face as I pass the threshold.

  On the far end stands a towering man in an expensive-looking navy blue suit. He’s facing away from the door, studying our product line proudly displayed along some open glass shelves. My eyes dart around the room for Dewey, but he’s nowhere in sight.

  I clear my throat to make my presence known to the looming figure across the room.

  He turns smoothly, as if he is unsurprised by my presence. Before he even faces me, my nose picks up on something familiar...it’s the faintest hint of cologne, I believe. But before I can place its origin, my eyes land on a visual target, like two heat seeking missiles.

  And I don’t even think. My reaction is pure instinct: my throat goes dry, my heart pumps rapidly, my thoughts shrivel into a collage.

  Because what my eyes narrow in on is a vibrantly colored neck tattoo, a pit of snakes, that curl and crawl up his neck.

  Joy.

  Not many things in life bring me joy. But the look on that bitch’s face when she recognizes me makes me downright gleeful.

  She has no idea what hit her.

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Mia Tibbett,” I say. I keep a disinterested tone, but I am enjoying the fuck out of this moment.

  “I uh...I...”

  It’s hard not to laugh. Her complete confusion,
her discomfort: I live for this shit.

  “Is the feeling not mutual?” I ask.

  “No! Of course,” she says, clearly lying. She might be afraid for her safety. Doesn’t the bitch realize if I fucking wanted to kill her she’d have been dead weeks ago?

  Mia goes pale. She might pass out. I study her as her thoughts race, she is pathetically transparent. I can tell she’s trying to figure out if I know that she knows.

  Bitch, I’m not hiding.

  “But this isn’t our first time meeting, is it?” I ask with a smug grin.

  Her face almost melts off. I’m done playing games. Well, not really, but I am done playing whodunnit with her.

  She starts to breathe heavy, almost hyperventilating. I love it. “Who...are you?” She slowly backs away as if she thinks she has the option of leaving.

  “I’m the owner of Draconi Corp. I purchased Alea. I was told you are essential to this company’s success, that you know everything there is to know.”

  “Where’s Dewey?”

  “Oh, I told him we didn’t need him this morning. No crutches for you Mia. You run Alea now, under my ownership, of course. He no longer has any affiliation to Alea and was solely coming to be a good sport. I prefer this meeting between us to be private.”

  I watch her throat rise and fall as she swallows. I almost feel pity for her. Almost. She doesn’t know who she is up against, but soon she will. Once she knows what this is all about and accepts it, there won’t be room for pity.

  Fuck does she look amazing. She usually wears tight jeans and t-shirts that press against her tits, but today she dressed up for me: a navy blue pencil skirt that smoothes over her tight ass, and a fitted white button down silk shirt that falls gently on the slope of her breasts. I wish she would’ve unbuttoned one more button up top so that I could get a better view as her cleavage rises and falls with each nervous breath. But I guess I’ll have to use my imagination...or not.

  Her full lips are coated in a reddish lipstick that I envision encircling my cock. Her dark brown hair is tucked back into a conservative bun, but the streak of purple lets me know she has a wild side hiding under that buttoned up shirt. Though I don’t need a purple stripe to let me know that under that reserved exterior is a dirty slut.