Burn (Songs of Submission #5)(13)

“Fuck you, it’s my career.”

“The masochism’s not supposed to leave the bedroom.”

“Go to hell.” I went for the door handle. He reached across me and grabbed my wrist.

“You’re not hearing me. You don’t belong near him. It burns a hole in me.”

I was entitled to see whomever I wanted for whatever reason I wanted. Jonathan and I were broken up. But I felt guilty for leaving him, and my guilt spoke. “Who was she? In DC? You going to tell me you don’t have someone to f**k in every port of call? Tell me about her, and we’ll call it even.”

He leaned back, letting my wrist go. “Are you serious?”

I shouldn’t have asked, because his look wasn’t one of denial, but “How dare you ask?” The way he said it, I was sure he’d done some f**king in the past two weeks and it immobilized my heart. When I was a kid, a hole the size of a fist opened up in the middle of our street. Three inches of asphalt dropped into a deep nothingness. It got bigger and bigger, falling into itself until Teddy Ramirez’s Toyota got stuck.

My chest had that sinkhole in it. It just fell in on itself, creating a bigger opening into nothingness and sucking the breath out of me. No. That was not good. That was the very definition of awful. I shifted and went for the door. He reached across me again and blocked the handle. “You can’t run away every time something gets difficult.”

“Jonathan, please, I can’t bear the thought of you with someone else.” His body was so close to mine, so real. That son of a bitch. Built so right for me and how many others?

“Wait. You think there was someone else?” he asked.

I bit my lip. I didn’t know what I thought any more.

“Monica. There’s. No. One. Else.” He let the handle go and stared at me for a second. “There’s only you. You think I’m stupid? You think I can create what we have with another woman? I know the world. I know the people in it. Us? What we have isn’t something we made. It’s something that existed before we even met.”

The sinkhole in my chest reversed itself, like film run backward, from broken to whole.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have asked. It wasn’t my business.”

“Why did you walk away from me if you still care?” he asked.

“I’m human. It’s a terminal condition.” I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted his lips, his hands, his tongue, but I couldn’t, not when there were so many sensible reasons not to. “I took a meeting with Eddie Milpas. He wants to make me a star, which I’d laugh at coming from anyone else. But it’s not funny because he has the power to do it. He wants to put Carnival’s muscle behind me. If he does, I’ll have everything I ever wanted.”

“Monica, that’s—”

“He wants the song,” I said. Jonathan leaned back, against the door, a rueful smile at his lips. “He’s not getting it. I keep my promises, and to be honest, I wish I never wrote that thing. But that’s not the rub. He has plenty of songs with kinky lyrics that’ll sound great from a girl all dolled up in leather and chains. BDSM is hot right now, apparently, and I’m ‘in the know,’ so I can pull it off.”

I paused, because the image exploded in my mind. “Fuck! I spend a few weeks with you and I’m Bondage Girl. What the f**k am I supposed to do now? Do you know how hard I’ve worked? Do you know what I’ve put into this, and to sit across from this guy, and he tells me…wait for it….he tells me that I’m perfect because I’ll know what I’m talking about? Who am I? What the f**k?” I slammed the dashboard. “And Kevin, do you know why he forced himself on me? Because he thought I liked it that way. God damn it. Jonathan, what if those cameras were in my house because someone wanted to blackmail you? And I’m getting caught in that net now. This is not what I want.

“I want to sing. I want to make music. I alienated my mother, I sacrificed a hundred other careers, I lost my best friend over it, I practice and work all the time. It’s all I think about. It’s all I want. But I’m trapped in this kinky thing with you right when all the work could be paying off. This sucks. My career could break any minute. These should be the best days of my life, and I wish I was dead.”

I had to stop or I was going to cry, which I didn’t want. Crying would derail my whole point. I didn’t look at Jonathan because I didn’t care what he felt or thought. I didn’t want to see his beautiful face because he’d turn me into mush. I looked at my hands in my lap, then out the window at the party.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I don’t blame you. You didn’t intend to ruin my life. But I’d really like for it to not get any worse, if that’s okay.”

We sat in silence. I considered saying goodbye and opening the door, but I couldn’t. I considered running before he could catch me, but I couldn’t do that either. Instead, I faced him. He rubbed his chin absently and stared into the middle distance.

And then my mouth opened and words came out. “The worst part is, I miss you.”

He didn’t react, but I did. I turned into stone. Jesus, what was I saying? He was last thing I needed. He was trouble. Six feet two inches of life-damaging trouble in a sweet, tempting motherf*cking devil of a package.