Shattered Poetry (Broken Lives #2) Page 27

  She sat up. “What’s wrong?” she asked, looking down at me.

  Not answering, my eyes went to her gold band. I grazed my thumb over it, wondering if she’d let me take it off.

  “What are you doing?” she said, pulling her hand away.

  I reached for her hand again. “Lemme take it off for a moment.”

  “No, Dante.”

  “It won’t be for long,” I said, knowing I was being an arsehole, but unable to help myself. I should’ve just stayed in the moment with her, enjoying our time together, but every time that fucking ring brushed against my body it reminded me she wasn’t mine.

  She drew her hand back again. “I can’t.”

  I scowled at her. “You say you love me, yet you can’t do this one thing for me?” I said, wondering whether she’d lied to me. Because she couldn’t love me that much if she couldn’t take her ring off for a few bloody seconds.

  “It’s not that, it’s stuck,” she said. “I was really skinny when I got married.”

  “You didn’t look that skinny in your wedding photo,” I said, her words sounding like bullshit. Plus, she looked scared, as though taking off her ring meant the end of her marriage.

  “You would’ve saw a headshot. My face hardly changes when I put on or lose weight.” She took hold of her ring and pulled on it, the thing getting stuck below her knuckle. “See.” She held her hand out. “You try it.”

  I did, surprised she was telling the truth. “It’s still coming off,” I muttered, lifting her ring finger to my mouth.

  “What are you doing?” she said, jerking it back.

  I tightened my grip and pulled it towards my mouth again. “This.” I sucked her finger in, trailing my tongue over her ring, moistening it.

  She inhaled sharply, drawing my eyes back to hers. Her pupils looked blown out, almost eclipsing the silvery grey of her irises.

  I drew my lips back up and off her finger. “I wrote a poem for you,” I said, taking hold of the ring, “but you hafta give me permission to take this off if you wanna hear it.”

  “You wrote a poem for me?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

  “Yes, and I promise I’ll give your ring back after I say it.”

  She nodded, giving me the consent I needed. Smiling, I gripped onto the ring harder and tugged, her knuckle once more stopping it from coming off. I sucked on it again, making her groan. Inwardly smiling, I withdrew my lips from her finger and took hold of the ring, successfully removing it this time. Leaning over her, I placed it next to the glasses and the bottle of Smirnoff on the bedside cabinet.

  I picked up one of the glasses. “The poem’s called Rings on a Table.” I indicated to the wet ring the glass had left on the wooden surface, then placed it back down next to her wedding ring, now nervous she’d get mad at the poem’s topic. To calm my nerves, I kissed her bare finger, not liking the pale line of skin circling it. Even with her ring off, there was still proof she was married. Forcing the thought aside, I started reciting my poem.

  Rings on a table, from the bottom of a glass

  Made from vodka and a touch of class

  Hello, Ms. Smirnoff, let’s salute to my bad health

  A wet salutation that goes in, not out of my mouth

  Causing me to slur, to stir up a woman’s desire

  A dangerous fire, a red hot pyre

  That will burn, churn, with shots of lust and false trust

  Since she thinks, or drinks, to believe I’m old enough

  To fuck

  I murmured the last word against her lips, then brushed a kiss over her cheek, moving it to her ear. I continued the poem, my breath causing goosebumps to break out across her flesh.

  So she can dare to have an affair

  A forbidden kiss with a sour twist

  That will bring her bliss

  For a short moment in time

  Before the consequences start to chime

  Ruining her marriage

  She stiffened at the last words, but I continued on...

  When her husband returns, learns

  That she’s cheated, depleted their life together

  Their marriage no longer forever

  Like the rings on the table

  I leaned over and lifted the glass, wiping the ring of condensation away.

  And on their fingers

  I flicked her wedding ring off the table, causing it to fall to the floor.

  “What the hell, Dante!” She leaned over the side of the bed and scooped up her ring. “I thought you were going to serenade me, but this...” She waved her hand at the vodka. “I don’t drink to believe you’re a different age, I damn well know how old you are. That’s why I took so long to finally give in to you, and now you remind me? Especially when you go on and on about how age doesn’t matter.”

  “It only matters to you.”

  “Then why remind me?”

  “It’s just a poem,” I said, knowing it wasn’t. Though, she was focusing on the wrong part of it, the end of her marriage more of my concern.

  She scowled at me. “It’s not just a poem. You’re rubbing my face in the fact I’m cheating, that I’m ruining my marriage. Is that what you want? For the ring to disappear off my finger, but for good?” she said, holding it out.

  Yes! “Yes.”

  She lowered her hand, looking surprised for some reason. I didn’t know why, since I thought it was obvious that I wanted her all to myself.

  “You should divorce your husband,” I added.

  She opened her mouth, then closed it, appearing at a loss for words.

  I indicated to our nakedness. “We just had sex. Multiple times. And for you to go home, to crawl into your husband’s bed, spouting off some excuse as to why you didn’t come home on time, it’s wrong. And there’s no fuckin’ way I want you havin’ sex with him. If you’re to be with me, only I get to fuck you.”

  “I’m not having sex with Markus. I haven’t been with him like that since the second week of February. Hell, I’ve hardly seen him. He only just returned from England after being there for a month.”

  “And he’s satisfied with not gettin’ any?” I asked, not believing he would be. “Cos if a chick did that to me, I’d be gettin’ pretty fucked off, especially if she wuz my wife. What are you tellin’ him? You’ve got a headache? You don’t feel like it? What the fuck is he sayin’ back? Cos that’s fucked up, Clara. You can’t string someone along like that.”

  She scowled at me. “You strung Phelia along.”

  “No, Phelia used me.”

  “What about that time you used her to make me jealous?”

  “That wuz for a few minutes and it didn’t even bloody work, cos Jasper walked in and grabbed her. I wuz pissed off with you, so I reacted badly, plus you were bein’ a right cunt, so don’t get all uppity with me.”

  She gasped. “The words you use.”

  “For fuck’s sake, you know I’m trash, so stop acting surprised when I prove it.”

  “You’re not trash.”

  “Then stop treating me like a one-stop-cock-shop! I know you can’t tell your husband you’re with me, but for fuck’s sake, you can still split with him.”

  “It’s a marriage, it’s supposed to be for a lifetime. What do we have? You haven’t even said you love me, yet you’re demanding that I leave my husband?”

  “Are you fishing for an I love you?”

  She didn’t reply, proving she was.

  “I love you,” I said. “There, you happy now?”

  She scowled at me. “You just said it to appease me.”

  “Wrong, cos I wouldn’t have said it at all if I didn’t mean it. I even said it in the fuckin’ car.”

  “I didn’t hear it.”

  “So, you’re calling me a liar now?”

  “No. I heard you mumble something, but the way you looked—”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  She exhaled. “I believe you. I’m just scared, okay? This is all happening s
o fast.”

  “No it’s not, I’ve been wanting you for a while now.”

  “Wanting as opposed to loving is totally different.”

  “Want is the seed love grows out of.”

  She stared at me, something in her eyes making me shiver. “For me, obsession is the seed that my love grew from.”

  “You’re obsessed with me?”

  She exhaled. “Utterly. I’ve thought about you every day since I met you.” She ran her fingers through my hair. “I’ve been obsessed with touching your gorgeous hair.” She brushed a fingertip over my mouth. “Tasting your edible lips.” She caressed my cheek. “And when Ms. Torino asked what type of man I was attracted to, your beautiful face popped into my head instead of my husband’s.”

  “Then leave him,” I croaked out, needing her to say she would.

  “I—” She frowned, not looking like she was going to follow through. I wondered whether she was manipulating me like my ex had, saying what I wanted to hear, then doing something else when I wasn’t around.

  “If you’re not goin’ to leave him, then it’s over between us.” I went to get off the bed.

  She grabbed my arm, stopping me. “You can’t mean that. I said I love you, you said it too. Why would you give that up?”

  “Cos I’ve been cheated on!” I yelled, making her jolt. “My first girlfriend fucked her stepbrother behind my back. Next thing, she breaks it off with me and disappears with that prick to Australia. I still don’t trust chicks cos of what she did, and I definitely don’t trust you since you’re lying to your husband.”

  I yanked my arm free and got off the bed, not understanding how she could say she loved me, yet not be willing to break it off with her husband. Because, again, that sure as fuck didn’t sound like love to me.

  She swung her legs from the bed and stood up. “Then why are you even with me if you think I’m nothing but a lying, cheating bitch?!”

  “Cos I can’t help myself!” I yelled back, beyond frustrated. “Even though I should, cos you are a liar and a cheat.” I bent down and snatched up my undies.

  She stormed around the bed, grabbing them out of my hands. She threw them behind her. “You knew all along I was married, yet chased me, and when you finally have me, you don’t want me anymore?”

  “You know that’s not true. What I want is for you to split with your husband.”

  “I understand you got hurt with your ex, but you can’t just expect me to instantly agree. You’ve got my head spinning. Only moments ago you were laughing and smiling, making love to me, now you’re walking out on me?”

  “Wuz it really love? Or just lust? Like in my poem. Am I just a shot of adrenalin for you, sumpthin’ forbidden you’re gettin’ off on?”

  “No.”

  “Then why don’t you talk to me instead of always jumping my bones. It makes me feel like you don’t wanna know anything ’bout me, other than your sick fantasies ’bout me fucking or bein’ raped.”

  She jerked her head back. “Why would you say that?” she gasped.

  “Cos if you’re not fucking me, you’re asking me sex questions or shit ’bout my stepfather. If you wanna know my dark side, expect this fuckin’ reaction, but if you want me to act nice, speak to me like I’m a human being, a boyfriend, not a victim or a fuck-toy, cos I refuse to act like one.” I bent over and grabbed my pants, stepping into them.

  She moved in closer to me, causing me to drop my pants. “I don’t mean to,” she said, placing a hand on my cheek. “You make my brain turn to mush at times, make me stumble over my thoughts. You also make me say the wrong things, think the wrong things too. You drive me so crazy I don’t know what I’m saying half the time. I just react, then after I react, I don’t know why I even said or did what got you mad. I have been thinking about leaving my husband. I was just taken aback by the way you asked, or more accurately, demanded.”

  “Cos I don’t want you with him.”

  “I know and I would feel the same way if I were in your shoes.”

  She grabbed my head and pulled it down, kissing me hard, causing my heart to stutter. I kissed her back, losing all thought for a moment. Then out of the blue, an image of my first girlfriend popped into my head, Lavinia saying she loved me. Something that couldn’t have been true.

  I pulled back, forcing Clara’s hands away from me. “Until you break it off with your husband, proving rather than saying you love me, that’s the last kiss you’ll get from me.” I yanked my pants back up, getting a scowl in return.

  “I will,” she replied.

  “Which means you won’t hafta wait long for a kiss.” I moved her aside and snatched up the bottle of Smirnoff off the bedside table, taking a drink straight from the bottle.

  She walked around me and snatched it out of my hand, spilling vodka down my chest. “You’ve had enough.”

  “I never get enough, not of booze, not of you. I just don’t trust that you feel the same way ’bout me.” I walked over to my shirt. “Get dressed,” I said, pulling it on. “I’ll wait for you in the lounge. You can drop me off where I’m staying.”

  She shot in front of me as I went to exit the room. “No, you said you wanted to spend the night with me.”

  My eyebrows winged up. “I don’t remember sayin’ that.”

  “While we made love.”

  “I don’t remember half of what I said, I wuz too busy fucking you.”

  “Well, I remember.”

  “What would you say to your husband the next day?”

  “That I want a divorce.”

  “You better not be lying ’bout that.”

  She scowled at me. “I’m not, and if you dare leave me after I do it, I will hunt you down.”

  I laughed. “I believe it.”

  A smile pulled at her lips, then disappeared. “This is more than sex for me, Dante. If you insist I leave my husband, I insist you make a commitment to me.”

  “I can’t marry you.”

  “Don’t be silly, I meant for you to be faithful to me, for it to only be me.”

  “I’m not the cheat.”

  “Dante!”

  “I’m just sayin’ I don’t cheat. And I don’t want anyone else but you.”

  “Likewise, so that means we’re a couple.”

  “I guess it does.” Smiling, I hooked her hair behind her ear. “And I’m lookin’ forward to gettin’ to know you.”

  She smiled back. “Me too.”

  “Then meet me out back on the veranda. We can talk there.” I took the bottle off her and headed for the door. “I also wanna know why some students are callin’ you Miss Piggy.”

  I exited the room, smiling as she yelled out, “Who told you that name?!”

  25

  Phelia

  The door closed behind us, locking us in, what Jonah had said terrifying me to my core.

  Reaper was going to kill Dante.

  My mum came to me. “What did they do to you?” she asked, ignoring Annabelle.

  “Reaper’s gonna kill Dante,” I sobbed.

  “No if I have any say aboot it,” Annabelle growled, her Scottish accent thick.

  I glanced back at her. She was staring at the ceiling like it was painted by Michelangelo.

  “What the hell can you do?” I asked, not interested in stupid empty promises. “We’re trapped in here.”

  “Not for long.” She pointed at the ceiling. “I’m going to crawl oot through that.”

  My eyes flicked to where she was indicating, only just noticing there was a square cover on the ceiling, maybe for a vent system.

  She ran over to the vanity cabinet. “Help me move this underneath.”

  My mum shot to the other side. “Phelia, help,” she said, waving at me to come over.

  I went to Annabelle’s side, the girl too small to lift anything.

  “On three, lift,” my mum said, keeping her voice low.

  We moved it, Annabelle carrying much more than I’d expected. We set the cabinet underneath
the ceiling vent, hole, whatever it was. Before I could blink, Annabelle was climbing onto the cabinet. Standing on her tiptoes, she pushed the cover aside, the ceiling relatively low. This part of the warehouse was made up of what looked like kit set rooms, put together inside the warehouse.

  Annabelle grabbed the edge of the hole and hoisted herself up like some sort of acrobat, disappearing through it.

  “You next,” my mum said.

  I climbed onto the cabinet and grabbed the edge of the vent hole, trying to pull myself up, but getting no lift whatsoever. I didn’t understand how Annabelle had done it with such ease.

  My mum climbed onto the cabinet next to me, making it creak badly.

  “Mum, be careful,” I said.

  “It’s fine,” she replied. “Turn on your side and spread your legs, I’ll piggy-back you.”

  I did, my mum’s head going between my legs. She sat up, lifting me up onto her shoulders. I placed my hand on the vanity mirror, steadying myself, then grabbed the edge of the hole again. I tried to pull myself through it again, but still couldn’t get much higher than what my mum was lifting me. She pushed up more, also using the vanity mirror to steady herself, pushing my head through the hole. I glanced both ways, spotting Annabelle descending through another hole.

  Below me, the cabinet creaked louder. Worried it was going to collapse under our combined weight, I pulled myself through the hole. Like I’d thought, the room’s ceiling was much lower than the warehouse’s ceiling, what we’d climbed through definitely a kit set, not to mention a badly constructed one, the ceiling also creaking under my weight. Worried I was going to crash through it, I lowered myself to my hands and knees. I was also wary that someone could see me, since the room’s ceiling/roof looked out over the bar’s lounge. Though, I couldn’t see anyone below, the place deserted.

  I peered back through the hole. My mum was trying to hoist herself up, but having even less luck than what I’d originally had. I reached an arm through to her, but before she could get a grip, the cabinet gave out, sending her crashing to the floor. She cried out, looking hurt.

  “Mum!” I yelled.

  The room’s door open.

  “Go, Phelia!” she screamed.