“What was that?” She didn’t drink anymore. Victor had made sure of that. But her words sounded slurred as if she were under the influence of something.
Maybe the same something as him. His brain was mush, and his muscles felt like heavy jelly.
He could barely put the bodily commands together to pull out of her and zip himself back into his pants.
Silence was his tactic.
His best weapon. Especially with her.
But after stepping away from her, he answered truthfully, “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know,” she repeated, her voice cracking.
Then she slid down the door he had just fucked her against. And collapsed into tears.
He had done it. He’d finally done it. He’d broken her and made her cry, right in front of him.
Victor waited. He waited for the satisfaction he should be feeling now that he’d brought her so low.
But it never came.
And after a few moments, he walked away…and came back with a box of tissues from one of the side tables in the living room.
He held them out to her. And she eyed the square box like he was offering her a bomb.
Victor didn’t blame her.
That dynamite that never went off in Texas…it still felt like it was burning somewhere neither of them could see.
So he waited patiently, and eventually, she took the box from him.
“Don’t mind me,” she said with a self-deprecating tone as she dabbed at her eyes. “I’m just tired and kind of a mess after this weekend with my mom. All I need is some sleep. Then I’ll be ready to start fighting you like the Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote.”
He had no idea who those two characters were. But her promise made him want to laugh.
And take a seat on the floor beside her. So he did. Not holding her as she sniffled but sitting close to her until she calmed down.
It didn’t take long.
“So that was our hateyest hate-fuck yet. Was it good for you? Worth all the kissing and not spooging all over me when you came?”
She was joking in her usual inappropriate and irreverent way. He was almost sure of it. Yet he found himself considering—really considering the question.
Was that good for him? The answer was both yes and no. He’d liked kissing her. Liked coming inside of her. But the hating himself for doing it…that still didn’t feel great.
If he was honest with himself, it hadn’t felt great for going on ten years. Fucking Dawn and hating himself afterward felt like banging his head against the wall. More painful for him than anybody else. Nora was upset about their upcoming nuptials, but for Victor, it might be the only way out of this obsessive cycle.
Four more months…
He only had four more months to endure this obsession. But he also only had four more months to indulge it
A new and perhaps terrible idea occurred to Victor. “What if we…”
He paused. His hand, trembling with the words.
“What if we what?” she asked, her voice soft and curious. She shifted to face him from her seated position.
He also shifted to face her more fully as he signed, “What if we pretended that we were the same people we were before.”
“Before?” she repeated, her expression morphing from sad to confused.
“Before in Japan,” he clarified.
She hesitated. Then hesitated some more. Then she finally lifted her hands to ask and sign, “You mean, like, pretend my father never arrested you?”
“Yes, pretend that I went to Tufts and you went to RhIDS at the same time, as I planned. We got married when we were eighteen, but we’ve had a long-distance relationship up until now. Let’s pretend that I’m now working in Rhode Island for a few months. For four months. Until May 25th. You said you had a big presentation on that day. I could make you a new promise. We don’t have to meet until 8 pm for our last anniversary. We could both get what we want.”
She shook her head at Victor. Like he was signing a version of ASL she didn’t understand. But then she asked, “What kind of work do you do? What would I tell my classmates who have a lot of questions about you after today, by the way?”
“Import/export,” he signed. Then he spelled both words when she clearly didn’t understand the signs.
She raised her eyebrows at him. “Import/export. Is that the classic Chinese mafia cover story?”
“No,” he signed back, giving her a stern look. Then he let himself grin a little to admit, “It is all mafias cover story. Not only Chinese. Don’t be racist.”
Her eyes widened, but then she burst out laughing. And he did too, shoulders shaking as they used to all the time when he was with her. Before.
But then, she sobered to ask, “And how about after our anniversary? What would happen then?”
“The same as before,” he answered. “Your time would be up, and your punishment would be done.”
“So this would be like Operation Good as New 2.0.” She bit her bottom lip, so many emotions swirling in her eyes. “But it feels like a trick. I don’t understand why you’re asking me to do this. Why you’re letting me do my thesis presentation? I mean, everything’s a command with you. If you wanted to, you could just tell me that this was how it was going to be, and I would have to play along, even if I didn’t get to present my thesis.”
“I don’t want you to play along. If we do this, I want you to want it too. It would be like… what do Westerners call it at the end of the relationship when two people who shouldn’t be together do something to be psychologically okay with never seeing each other again?”
She blinked a few times, then she guessed, “Closure? Are you talking about closure?”
His heart shivered at the word. At the thought of never seeing her again after their anniversary, when she would be free, and he would be required to marry Kuang’s daughter. But he nodded, nonetheless.
“Yes, closure. That is the word. Do you want closure, Dawn?” He used her original name sign, not D-Liar this time. “Do you want closure with me?”
They stared at each other after he asked this. The question vibrating between them as intense and bright as the past.
Part V
“It’s a surprise.”
26
DAWN
I woke up that morning with a delicious feeling below my waist. No, not a feeling, a hand. Victor’s fingers were inside my pussy.
Am I dreaming? That had happened a few super-disturbing times over the years since Victor had made me his prisoner by marriage.
It was only April. Not yet the days of the year when you could assume heat in Rhode Island. In fact, some mornings were quite chilly. Not this one. The hand rubbing into my core was warming me right on up.
No, not a dream, I decided.
There was never any foreplay in my dreams about Victor. Usually, it was only punishment. Or even worse, sweet memories of how we’d been in Tokyo before everything fell apart.
But this morning, Victor worked me expertly, in a way only he would in real life. His fingers moved in little circles, getting close to but not quite touching my special spot.
Then he moved in closer, his hard length pressing into my back as he slid his index and middle finger inside, rubbing me deeper. Opening me up to…