I Married a Master(27)
Author: Melanie Marchande

I wanted to believe it. I did. For a long time, I’d viewed this kind of stuff with a sort of "anchovies on my pizza" philosophy. I didn’t want them, personally, but far be it from me to deny anyone else. This, though…it was just too strange to me. It wasn’t like wearing a wedding ring, or living in the prescribed ritual of husband and wife. You could do that, and still be equals.

The idea of acting out this kind of fucked-up power dynamic with someone like Ben, who already loomed so large compared to me – what a joke. If anything, he should be submitting to me.

Right. I managed a tiny laugh. Like I could ever order him around.

I didn’t want to. The thing was, as maddening as he could be, I would never change him. I didn’t feel like it was my right.

And it didn’t matter, not really. But I wished that he felt the same way about me.

***

I left early the next morning, before Ben had come out of his bedroom. Slipping quietly down the stairs, I found my clothes in the dryer and changed quickly, dropping his into the washing machine and finger-combing my hair as I walked towards the door.

Out on the sidewalk, I felt like I could finally breathe again. It was a cool gray morning, not quiet exactly, because this city never was. But it was a quiet murmur, building towards a dull roar.

Just breathing. I needed to clear my head, to get away from his influence for just a little while. I’d actually joked about him being a cult leader, but I wondered if this was how acolytes started. An inexplicable magnetism. Drawn, against their better judgment.

Calm down, Hadley. You’re sleep deprived. Nothing’s going to make any sense for a while. You need to get home and rest.

But I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I knew that already. How could I possibly forget about this, about everything, and just…switch off my brain?

My mind swirled with all the words and images I’d been devouring since last night, with just a few breaks here and there for fitful sleep. The more I saw, the less I understood, but I had to understand. I had to know. How could someone want this?

In some corner of my mind a notion was growing, and suddenly I was assaulted with the image of Ben rolling up his sleeves. But not to relax. Not for fun. No.

For punishment.

I imagined words spilling from his lips, those full, sinful lips with the little traces of stubble just above and below. Not enough to scratch, just to rasp pleasantly against my skin. Except there would be no kissing, no, not now.

You’ve been a bad girl.

I walked faster, running through an intersection just as the signal was changing. A cacophony of honks accompanied my crossing.

How long did you think you could get away with this? It’s time to accept your punishment.

There was a sudden awareness between my thighs, and I stole furtive glances around me, like passing pedestrians would somehow know.

I imagined unspeakable things, and my hazy state somehow gave everything sharper edges, brighter colors. I paused in a little park to…something. I didn’t know. Catch my breath? I was breathing awfully fast, and my pulse felt impossibly quick, like my heart could explode at any moment.

"So that’s a ‘no’ to breakfast?"

The sound of his voice made my heart leap into my throat. At first I thought I must have imagined it, but no, I wasn’t that tired. He was walking towards me, in last night’s clothes, and those damn sleeves were still rolled up.

Did he even go to bed? I’d only assumed. I never actually heard him come up the stairs again. He must have been in the library the whole time, and my furtive escape must have woken him up.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"I’m sorry," I blurted out, hugging myself tightly, fighting the sudden urge to shiver, though the harsh early morning sun was burning through the last of the night chill. "I just kind of…"

"Are you okay?" He stopped a few feet away, giving me my space, but barely. He clearly hadn’t slept well either, though that might have something to do with the fact that he’d probably just slumped over on his desk. "Last night, it kind of seemed like…"

I didn’t answer, couldn’t bring myself to lie.

He actually looked worried, like it mattered what I thought. Maybe he was concerned that I’d back out of our agreement. I honestly didn’t know if that was on the table, or not. I didn’t know a lot of things, anymore.

"…it kind of seemed like something upset you," he said, finally. His eyes briefly darted around us, like he suspected spies hiding in the trees. "I wish you’d come back so we can talk about it."

I tried to shake my head. I really did. But the muscles wouldn’t move. And really, he deserved better than this. No matter what kind of man he was, I should give him more than wide-eyed silence.

"Tonight?" he suggested, and there was a tight burst of relief in my chest. That would give me the time I needed. Time to clear my head.

Finally, I managed to nod. "Yes," I said, ungluing my tongue from the roof of my mouth. It was difficult. "Tonight, I’ll come back. I just need…" I sighed. "I just, I didn’t sleep well."

He nodded. "Me neither. Then again, I usually don’t."

We stood there for a moment, not really looking at each other, not speaking. The air was thick with everything we didn’t say. How had this tatted-up, arrogant rich boy managed to twist me around into so many knots, just by existing? Just by asking a favor of me?

Not even a favor. He wanted to pay me to be his wife. It was the world’s strangest job proposal, from a man I didn’t understand at all. I was beginning to think I never could.

He was the one who ended it, turning on his heel and walking back towards his place. "Sleep well, Jenna," he called, over his shoulder.

I stood there for a moment, still thinking. Just thinking. It was always clearer when he wasn’t around.

And then, I began the long walk home.

Chapter Eleven

Jenna

I woke up in the afternoon. My limbs felt corpse-heavy, and I dragged myself out of bed with such a massive effort that my head was swimming at the end of it.

And I was supposed to go and see him. Again. Tonight.

I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I had to call him and cancel, but – I realized as I groped for my phone on the stack of boxes that served as my bedside table – I didn’t have his number.

I agreed to marry the guy, and we didn’t even exchange contact information. Fantastic.

After last night, my shower felt like standing under a dripping faucet. But it was better than nothing. I woke up by degrees, the cobwebs slowly dissipating from my mind. I could just stand him up.

Bad girl, bad girl, bad girl…

I almost slammed my hand against the shower wall in frustration, before I remembered that my neighbors were about six inches away. No more wall-slamming, I was in the big city now.