She slowly sits up, disheveled and a little confused. “I’m sorry, yes I...thought I saw someone.” She glances at me, her body language suddenly cautious which is working against my agenda to get her to relax.
“If anyone comes around and scares you, I’ll take care of them. You don’t have anything to worry about, as long as I’m here.”
Nodding, she glances at the hands that will do anything for her but I’m not sure she understands that.
She lowers her gaze, tugging at her clothes and she seems so much more subdued than when I first met her. Wary. I think she’s hiding something from me but doesn’t want to let me know what’s bothering her so much. Concerned, I fire a smile and she hurries to repay it but there’s something obedient about the smile.
It’s as if she thinks I’ll get angry if she doesn’t respond in the way I want her to. That’s not how I want things to be between us and I go down on my haunches before her, putting my hands on top her knees and her breathing picks up. This...this is exactly what pisses me off. The rigidity she has around me is baffling and I need to go to the bottom of it.
“There’s something I need to know and I want an honest answer,” I murmur, my eyes fixating on the little crack in the middle of her lip when Monique licks it. “My world, have men hurt you in the past?”
Her eyes flare. “No. Why would you think that?”
Frowning, I murmur, “You seem nervous around me.” I drag a hand down my face. “Hesitant, as if you’re worried I’ll do something to you.” My frown deepens. “And I don’t like seeing you that way.”
Monique inhales then holds her breath. “I’m s...sorry, I won’t be nervous around you anymore.”
She’s apologizing again and I don’t like that either but I’m not going to push her. Lifting my hand, I cup her face and her cheek immediately warms my palm. “Can I get a kiss?”
Her lower lip quivers, eyes flaring but then she nods. I rise, pressing my lips against hers and my head swims from simply being close to her. Her mouth shudders beneath mine, her body remaining tense and I don’t understand why she’s not responding with the fever I know she has. She shows it all the time on stage, she lavishes her passion on other people so why does she refuse to give me some of that?
My hands start shaking at the thought of being deprived and I groan, “You’re supposed to kiss me back.”
Twitching, she cries out, yanking me down and now her mouth’s moving, her tongue sliding between my lips and my eyes flare in shock. Fuck, it feels like I’m going to pass out and I get on top of her, pushing her down onto the bed. She starts trembling. I cup a hand under her neck, tilting her face before kissing her back until she whimpers. Grabbing her leg, I put it over my hip, cradling my body with hers and I feel her heart thumping underneath my chest as if it’s about to blast.
I’ve kissed her once before when we were alone in her dressing room and I licked the lip of my wounded girl but it was nothing like this. If I knew it would be like this, I might’ve stolen more kisses earlier. She’s been denying me her lips for days, teasing me, torturing me a little but now I have her and I don’t hold back.
I grind my hips against hers, hearing her whimper and suddenly I’m so fucking hot I can barely keep my clothes on. When I finally tear myself away from her lips, I’m dazed and I need a moment to focus. I look down at Monique and her cheeks are flushed but there’s a glassiness in her eyes as if she’s been on the verge of tears.
Love for her floods me and I lower my lip to her ear. “I know,” I murmur. “This was a lot for me too.” I trace kisses all over her face and down her throat, but I’m not sure if she wants to go further than this. I cup her breast but she pales and I frown, wondering what’s stopping her.
“It’s been a long day, Nero,” she breathes. “I’m tired and I’m hungry...”
Fair enough. Giving her one last kiss, I pull away before walking into the bathroom to wash my hands before we start preparing the food. I scowl in surprise when looking into the mirror and I notice I have scars on my face. Where the hell did they come from?
They’re long and thin, as if they’ve been caused by nails and I clean them up with some alcohol but ignore the Band-Aid because they’re not that deep. Walking out again, I ask Monique if she knows how they happened but she quietly shakes her head.
“Looks like I’ve been clawed,” I chuckle before shrugging, “maybe I’m developing some skin condition.”
Monique’s jaw slacks but then she nods, her eyes darting and then we spend the rest of the day talking, chopping wood, preparing dinner and opening up a bottle of red wine. “Cheers to us,” I say, clinking her glass with mine and she smiles back.
“To us,” she replies, her voice barely audible and I wrap an arm around her.
“You used to be so feisty with me, cussing me out left and right.” I raise my brows in amusement. “What happened?”
“Just thought I should be more respectful,” she breathes and I land another kiss on her mouth, failing to register that she’s not watching me with respect but with fear.
4.
Monique
This feels surreal.
It feels as if it happened to another girl who looks like me and talks like me but it didn’t actually happen to the real me. The real me is somewhere safe, maybe at rehearsal or shopping for new ballet shoes but she definitely can’t be here. With him.
I don’t even know where to begin...well, I guess it began when he invited himself into my dressing room. He held me, shushed me and once I stopped crying, I got angry. I told him to back off, practically threw him out and asked him to leave me alone.
Something seemed to shut down in him. His eyes turned glazed as if he blocked out what I was saying but then he did leave. After though, he began sending me gifts, flowers and cards with hearts on. At first I thought it was amusing and nothing but attention from a passionate fan, so I brushed it off. I didn’t realize how serious he was about me until he ambushed me in the alley.
He acted so out of it, kept saying I had invited him to a dinner with my friend so that he could meet her as if we were a couple. I never did that but he must’ve known about the dinner because he’s been spying on me. He thinks I belong to him but I don’t.
I fought him off, tried to get away before he pushed me into his car and I managed to scratch his face a couple of times before passing out in the backseat. He’s not even aware that I’m the one who scratched him. It’s as if his brain blocks anything that doesn’t fit his narrative where I’m his perfect girl and he’s my guy.
I’m dealing with a madman and I keep telling myself to remain in control, not make him angry or trigger him in some way. I just want to get out of here alive. Lowering my head, I pray Serge finds me on time, before it’s too late...I flinch when Nero puts his hand on my shoulder.