Thrive (9 page)

“Cur-” another quick slap and rough, warm hands began to move higher, smothering my legs and trailing over every inch of exposed skin.

“Do you know what I’m doing now?” he asked, his breath tickling the tops of my thighs and covering them in goosebumps.

“Yes,” I answered, because I’d seen enough nature documentaries to know what was going on here.

“Go on…” he encouraged, his hands skipping the spot that was his to claim and reaching my waist instead. He gripped my hips, stroked my stomach and his hands slid round to scrape his nails down my back as it arched away from the door on instinct. My grip on the doorframe slipped when both his hands grabbed my ass and squeezed hard.

“You’re branding me. You’re marking me as yours. If we were in the wild, you’d probably piss on me.” A hesitant laugh rumbled in his chest and left as a gravelly chuckle. “No, before you ask, you cannot piss on me.”

He laughed again and stepped away to compose himself. Within a moment, he had slipped back into character and his hands were back where they left, reheating the skin that grew cold when it lost his touch.

“Do you really want the truth, Skye?”

I hesitated, knowing I could escape, somehow, if I didn’t know. Running away wasn’t an option. Not knowing wasn’t the answer. I took a deep breath and answered.

“Yes.”

Curtis’ mouth was on me, hot and hungry against my bare shoulders; each one received a bite that made me yelp. He kissed my collar bones. He kissed my neck, his teeth grazing, tongue tasting, mouth sucking. First one side, then the other. Each move was planned. Precisely executed. He buried his face in the crook of my neck and inhaled. I tried to stay still, but my back arched, my hips searched for contact; my breath was short and sharp, and my nerves were jacked – trembling and tense, awaiting his next move.

I could feel him on every inch of my body, except the place that needed him most. When his tongue traced the seam of my lips, I broke. Whatever it was that bound me to Curtis locked in place. It hurt. It hurt to know how easily I’d been claimed, but I couldn’t fight it. Maybe it
was
inevitable. Maybe I
was
weak; lonely and desperate, easy to overpower. He hadn’t told me one truth – whether he planned to or not was still a mystery, but my eyes burned behind the silk that blinded me and I felt the lump at the back of my throat that made my breath escape as strangled chokes.

Curtis stepped away and I tried to force my body to relax when all it wanted was to be next to his. I was magnetised, pulled towards Curtis and conditioned to need physical contact as reassurance.

“We steal from people. We go to their parties hand-in-hand. We drink their top shelf liquor, we eat their Michelin-starred catered food and we take their money. Then we come back here and roll in our new fortune, and I fuck her until she passes out.”

I shook my head. I
didn’t
want to hear the truth. I didn’t want to believe that Curtis wasn’t good deep down, like I believed he was.

“I lie. I lie to my family, to the people who believe I own a legitimate business and make an honest living. I lie to you. I let you believe that there’s even a sliver of goodness in me. If I didn’t want you to think it, I’d damn well make sure your last thought every night is how much you despise me.”

“Why?” My voice cracked as the realisation of who he really was crashed into me.

“Because I can,” he growled. “Everything you’ve ever thought you knew about me is a lie. Everything I’ve ever told you has been to cover up who I really am. Because I can't – I won't – live without you.”

“Curtis, you’re scaring me.”

I raised my hands to my eyes to remove the tie, but he caught my wrists and pinned them to the door.

“Good.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You think you know me, but you don’t. You know how to make me come so hard, you shock me back to life. You’re so damn good with your hands, and that mouth…”

His thumb swiped my bottom lip, but I turned my head away. I didn’t need to see him to know he was lying. I felt it. He was putting on a show to push me away. He was trying to make me feel worthless so he could protect me. I should have let him…

“You’re a fucking liar. You want me to hate you? Fine. Give it your best shot. You’re a monster. You’re an animal.” I pulled harder against his hold to no avail. “You’re a liar, a cheat, a thief. But I’m not going anywhere. You’re not the only one in hiding if you think I can't see what you’re doing. I choose to stay. Because
I love you
.”

He shot back, physical contact disappearing in an instant and ripping me open to whatever punishment I’d have to endure for saying the three words he couldn’t bear to hear.

He roared, he grumbled, he cried out in pain, and lashed out on the furniture. I stayed still, waiting for him to return to me. He had to. We were bound to each other.

“I fight,” he said and I jumped when his hands shot to my stomach to hold me still. “I fight with my bare hands. I fight because I want to hurt people. I want to watch the blood pour and the life drain out. I fight because I want to kill.”

I froze as the world fell from beneath me. Curtis released a deep breath of relief and let go of me. My numb hands reached for the tie and pulled it down to hang loosely around my neck. Curtis stared at me with tears in his eyes. I stared back and knew there was no emotion in mine.

A loud thump hit my back, making me jump, and I shrieked.

“Get the locks changed,” I said, stepping away from the door and walking past Curtis. “I’m done.”

I crossed the room to his bedroom and closed the door behind me before I allowed the tears to fall.

Why did everything in my life have to hurt? All I wanted to do was protect her. If I kept her here, I’d make her miserable, she’d drive me to the edge; we’d send each other spiralling into crazy town. And if I sent her away? I’d go out of my mind wondering where she was, who she was with, what she was doing…and I knew she had more faith in me than I deserved. She loved me as much as I would let her and sending her away would hurt her. I promised I’d never do that and it was a promise I could never keep. Her sanity was doomed no matter what decision I forced her to make.

She disappeared into my room and I heard her sobs. So did the locksmith, but I brushed it off as hormones. “Time of the month” I called it. I put the blame on Skye when I’d done that to her. The locksmith did his thing, the locks were changed and Charlie was shut out of the apartment her business had allowed me to buy. Still the keening from behind the closed door of my room continued. I wanted to go to her, but what comfort could I offer? A stroke on the back and a sad excuse for an apology. I’d done that to her. I’d made her cry…I’d already broken my promise.

I did the only thing I could think of.

I grabbed the cognac, I toasted to Ernest Hemingway as I held my breath and downed the drink. Then I waited for Skye to emerge from the room and tell me she was leaving.

~Curtis~

Soft bed sheets were warm against my exposed body. They smelled like Curtis; he’d always had a scent that relaxed me, comforted me – made me feel safe. But tonight, as I opened my eyes and saw nothing but darkness, all I felt was loneliness. I’d never been more afraid. Curtis did the one thing he’d promised never to do – he fought. Fighting for survival, I understood; I did it myself every day. Fighting for sport, I could begin to understand, because Thomas had shown me how magical a sport based on discipline and control could be. But fighting to hurt? Wanting to kill? Doing it the way that had torn my brother’s life from him? The thing that led to the death of the man I shared my life with? That, I couldn’t and wouldn’t understand. He told me to push me away, to protect me from him, but I didn’t believe it was what he wanted. Curtis Mason had no idea what he wanted. He had no idea who he was.

I climbed out of bed, wrapped the sheet around my shoulders and left the bedroom. The living area was lit by a small lamp by the entrance to the kitchen and Curtis was sitting on the sofa with his back to me, his head laid back and eyes closed. I approached him slowly, ignoring the hint of disgust I felt when looking at the body of the man who hurt people – for pleasure – and I forced myself to remember that the man I once knew was there somewhere. He had to be.

“What do you want, Skye?” he asked with his eyes still closed as I rounded the sofa he was on and sat on the one opposite him.

He was topless, and I saw the remains of his shirt on the floor, torn to shreds. He was cradling a tumbler of honey-coloured liquid and when his eyes opened to meet mine, they were red and full of torment. The alcohol restricted the mask of indifference I knew he was desperate to put in place.

“I want you to stop fighting,” I said, meeting his steely gaze with an impenetrable gaze of my own.

“I can't do that.”

“Why? You can tell me what I can and can't do, but I have a different set of rules?”

“Are you angry, Skye? A severe, surging anger that bubbles inside you every minute of every day?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Then you’ll never understand.”

“Help me understand.”

“No…but I’ll tell you how things look from my vantage point.” He tossed back the rest of his drink. “You and I are together. The fact that you’re still here tells me what I said didn’t have the effect it should have had. If I stop fighting now, the anger I feel for Charlie, for your father, my uncle, Geoff, Jesse, work and you will mean I’ll hurt
you
, Skye. I’d kill a hundred men before I hurt you. So no, I won't stop fighting.”

“Why are you angry with Geoff? Who’s Jesse?”

“One thing at a time, Skillet.” He almost smiled. Instead, he rose from the sofa and refilled his glass.

“How much have you had?” I asked when he sat back down.

“Not enough.”

“Fine.” I shrugged, ignoring the nausea that crept in when I remembered my mother saying the same thing. “So what do we deal with first?”

He sighed and shook his head with a weak smile.

“It’s three in the morning and you want to come up with a plan now?”

“I’m not sleeping and neither are you. Why not?”

“Skillet.” He leaned forward and set his glass on the coffee table between us. “Come here.”

“No more drink?”

“Not tonight.”

“That’s a start.”

I stood as he patted his lap and crossed the distance between us. Curtis reached out, grabbed my waist and tugged me onto him. He wrapped his arms around me and sat back, cradling me against his chest, warm and safe – for now.

“We have to deal with Phil first, don’t we?”

“Shh.” He stroked my hair and I yawned.

“Or Charlie? Or your anger? Where do we begin to fix this, Curtis?”

“Shh,” he soothed again, his hands continuing their pattern. He kissed the top of my head and began to hum quietly to me.

“We have to fix this. We have to…”

***

When I emerged from Curtis’ bedroom, the sun had risen over the city and music filled the apartment. It was bright, upbeat; the smell of food made my mouth water and my stomach growl.

“What’s for breakfast?” I asked, joining a freshly-showered Curtis, who was singing along to the track and chopping something on the counter.

“For
brunch-
” he turned around and pointed to his watch, alerting me to the amount of time I’d slept for, “-we have omelettes. Bacon and cheese, okay?”

“Perfect.” I reached for the jug of coffee, poured myself a cup and refilled his. “No one told you not to pick at what you’re cooking?” I asked as he thanked me with a kiss and I tasted the saltiness of bacon on his lips.

“Nope.” He grinned. “My mother and Lois always let me taste whatever they were cooking.”

My chest tightened as I imagined a little five-year-old Curtis cooking with Maggie and his aunt.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Yes.” He pulled me into him, wrapping his arms around me and rewarded me with another kiss. “You can forgive me for last night.”

“That depends.” I tapped his nose and kept the mood light between us. “On how good your culinary skills are.”

“I’ll be the best you’ve ever had.”

He winked and turned around to continue cooking. I took a moment to think about Thomas, when we cooked breakfast together on a Sunday morning. We were playful, in love; free from the fear of the future hanging over us. I slid onto the counter and watched Curtis cooking our brunch, wondering if we’d ever feel the same.

“Can we have one day?” Curtis asked while we tidied the kitchen. He washed the dishes then I dried and put them away exactly as he directed. “Just one day of you and me, without the world getting in the way?”

“Can we do that? Are the past and future going to give us a day off in the present?”

“We’ll make them.” His soapy hands reached for me and I giggled when he caged me in his arms. “I can't keep my hands off you,” he murmured, lowering his head to kiss me below my ear.

“I’ve noticed.”

“So let’s get out of the apartment. We can't stay locked inside and go crazy.”

“We’re already crazy.”

“For each other.”

He stepped back and smiled softly at me. I thought of Thomas and remembered him saying the same thing. A lump rose to the back of my throat and tears began to well up. Curtis gently took my chin between his thumb and finger, and tipped my head to look at him.

“It’s okay.”

“Can I go and have a shower?” I stepped away.

I wanted to give Curtis the acceptance he yearned for, but I had already given myself to Thomas. I needed time to figure this out.

“Of course.” He let me go and I instantly felt the cold wash over me from the loss of his touch. “I put towels on the heater and I ordered you a sweater. It’s cold and you don’t have a coat.”

“Thank you.”

I leaned up and kissed his cheek, hoping it would give him the reassurance that he wasn’t the problem. It was me. Always me. I crossed the apartment to the bathroom.

Steam filled the room and the hot pellets of water began to relax my weary body. Just a few days ago, I’d been floating through life, earning money to pay the bills and spending my free time – and not so free time – talking to my dead boyfriend. And now? I didn’t have a clue what was happening. I thought I knew who I was; a lonely girl from a normal family that fell apart. It happens every day. I thought I was just a girl who had felt more loss than many feel their entire lives.

But I was wrong.

Would I go back to my old life of dealing with no longer having Thomas as my anchor, blissfully unaware of what actually happened to my family? I wasn’t so sure. How long was it okay to mourn someone before you were expected to move on? How long before it was acceptable? And what if you didn’t want to? I was torn between my old life – routine and predictable - and this new life with Curtis. Unpredictable, dangerous, unknown. There was no choice, really. I was with Curtis now. I had always been connected to him, in some twisted way. Even Thomas knew there was more than what I told him about Cut Throat Curtis.

My father needed routine, precision, obsession, probably so he could cover his tracks and lie to everyone. I couldn’t be like him, hiding from the truth and refusing to face the consequences for my actions. It was time to begin a new life with Curtis, unsure of what fate had planned for us. I just hoped that Thomas would forgive me and help me travel this new path.

I washed quickly with the things Curtis had ordered for me and climbed out of the shower. Was there nothing his concierge wouldn’t do? I was beginning to wonder how much money Curtis had, how much power he had, and if he had earned it or stolen it. I shook my head of the thoughts, scrubbed my wet hair with a warm, fluffy towel, and peered out of the bathroom before I scurried across the hall to the bedroom. I couldn’t see or hear Curtis, but he had laid clothes out on the bed for me; new jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt and knitted sweater; leather boots with a little heel, and a small bag from a well-known lingerie store on Bond Street. I dried quickly, pulled on my clothes and went searching for Curtis. My heart leapt as the front door opened, and relaxed again when Curtis stepped in holding a cardboard box out to me.

“Hairdryer,” he shrugged.

“You think of everything.” I smiled and took the box from him. “Thank you.”

“I said I wouldn’t hurt you,” he uttered, all signs of playfulness gone. “That includes letting you catch a cold.”

I shook my head and tapped his chest, turning back in the direction of the bedroom.

“Can I do it?” I froze mid-step and looked over at him. “Your hair. Can I dry it?”

“I’d like that.” I smiled and led us to the bedroom.

“So where are we going?” I asked as we left Curtis’ building and climbed into the back of a pre-booked taxi.

“Somewhere with perspective.” He took my hand and began drawing small circles on my palm. “It won't take long to get there.”

It didn’t. A short while later, after nudging our way through the afternoon traffic, we pulled up at the kerb and climbed out of the car.

“You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” Curtis asked, throwing his arm over my shoulders and tucked me into his side.

“Shouldn’t you have asked me that before you got us tickets for The Eye?”

“Probably.” He chuckled awkwardly. “I wanted it to be a surprise, but I don’t want you throwing up all over the pod…that qualifies as hurting you.”

“Have you ordered the cotton wool in bulk?” I cocked a stubborn brow.

Curtis stopped walking and swung me around to face him.

“What cotton wool?”

“That you’re planning to wrap me in.” I curbed my annoyance and playfully smacked his chest. I regretted it when his eyes began to glass over and a shadow settled over them. “I’m going to get sick, Curtis. You can't stop that.”

“I can.”

“Come on.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him to start walking again, refusing to lose him to something that was unavoidable, no matter how much he thought it was. “I’m not afraid of heights. Let’s go and have some fun.”

Curtis and I had a capsule of our own and we looked out at the sight as the city began to span out in front of us.

“It’s kinda beautiful, isn’t it?” I said, scanning the area as Buckingham Palace and Westminster Abbey came into view.

“Yeah, and huge.” Curtis caged me in with hands on the rail either side of me, his front to my back. “I like to be up high. It reminds me of how big the world really is.” He took a breath against my ear and continued, resting his chin on my shoulder as we looked out at the city together. “I feel trapped a lot, like life is suffocating me. I come up high and look out at the city to put things into perspective. I don’t want to be angry all the time.” He kissed my neck, a quick, impulsive, desperate kiss. “I don’t want this tension to smother me. I just…I just want to
be
.”