After the Storm

They'd spoken only twice in a few weeks. She was terrible with phones and he knew it -- she avoided using them as much as possible. That was fine: Julian wasn't a fan of verbal-only communication. But still, this was getting excessive.

Upon inquiring casually to Tom, Julian found out she was not only avoiding him, but also her brother, their parents, and her close friends.

"I think she's just down," Tom explained. "Or stressed, or whatever. Sometimes she just disappears for a bit but she always comes back before too long."

"So you don't even know what she's doing, where she's going?" He paused, then, "Who she's seeing?"

Tom laughed. "No, but really, I'm pretty confident she's not seeing anyone, friend ore otherwise. Sometimes she just wants to be alone. I really don't recommend pushing it, she'll just pull away even more."

Julian was feeling panicked. Was this about him? What if she changed her mind? Was she speaking to Will?

"I mean, I'm just." Julian stopped. What was he? Where could he go with that? "I'm a little worried. We had plans to...well, just to talk I guess," he admitted, and as he said it he felt stupid. "We were going to try to figure something out."

"I know." Tom was quiet for a moment. "Look, I love you both. You have my blessing and she knows it. But the last time I talked to her about it -- and this was a while ago, right after the storm -- she was worried about Will and his feelings. And, I'm sure, how it might look to their friends if she were to just jump into something with you."

"Anybody that's her friend knows she's not just jumping into this. This has been ye --" he caught himself "-- months coming."

"I know. But that doesn't mean she's not worried. Just give her a bit more time, she'll come around. She's nuts for you."

"You think so?"

"I mean, she said, literally, "I'm nuts for him.'"

His conversation with Tom quelled Julian's fears a little bit, but he was still getting antsy. She could take her time, sure, but he couldn't wait any longer to find out if something was going to happen. She could say yes, I am going to be with you, but now and for a few weeks I'd like to be alone. No, of course that was not ideal, but he wouldn't argue. And if she was torn, or didn't know how to move forward, well, that was the whole problem. Not knowing. But he was operating under the assumption that she did know -- at least what she wanted, not necessarily how to go about it. If she didn't know what steps to take, how to move forward, and she just told him as much, he could at least have some peace of mind. Not a whole lot, but it would be better than nothing.

In a moment of pure desperation, Julian sent out a text to several of his friends -- excluding Tom. "Text me if you see Kate Cooper."

Two days later someone responded. "If you're still looking I just saw her at Olivia's on 5th St. Sitting at the end of the bar."

Julian replied, "Alone?"

"Yes."

He grabbed his coat and keys and headed out the door. Three blocks, just three short blocks he told himself, hoping to catch her before she left.

It was still fairly early and the bar was not quite packed. Once inside, he spotted her immediately -- sitting near the back, a book open in front of her, oblivious to her surroundings. Every few seconds she took a sip of her beer.

Julian made his through the bar and inserted himself between her stool and the stool to her right. She didn't even notice.

"We need to talk," he said, and Kate jumped, nearly dropping her book.

"You scared me!"

"Get your stuff. Come on."

"We can't talk here?"

"We need privacy. You have a tab open?"

She nodded.

Julian beckoned at the bartender. "We'd like to close her tab, Katherine Cooper. Can I pay with cash?"

"Yep."

Kate grabbed Julian's arm. "I've got it."

He ignored her, resisting the urge to call her a child, to chastise her, and tossed a pair of twenties on the bar.

"But I only got--"

"You have your purse? Let's go."

Once inside his apartment, Julian and Kate stood facing each other, several feet apart.

"Well?"

She looked at him incredulously. "What well? You brought me here."

"You've been avoiding me."

"I've been avoiding everyone."

"Why?"

She shrugged, was quiet. Finally, "I don't know."

"Katie--"

"It's Kate. God. It's fucking Kate."

"I'm sorry. Kate. It's just..." He shook his head, trying to form the words. "I thought I knew where we left off. Last time I saw you I thought things were good, I thought we had finally picked a direction to head in. But the longer I went without talking to you, without hearing from you, the more I started to doubt that. Because, I'll be frank with you, if you don't know how you feel about me I don't want to do this."

"So I'm not allowed to be confused."

"I didn't say that."

"You just did."

"There's a difference between confusion and not knowing how you feel." Julian was trying not to get frustrated. "Confusion is...confusion is when you have feelings for two people, or when you have feelings for someone but the circumstances are bad. Confusion is not a refusal to make a decision. Not knowing how you feel -- jesus, Kate, we've been friends for twenty years. If you don't know how you feel about me now then you never will. Last time I saw you it seemed like you were pretty sure, but..." He wiped his palms on his jeans. "We were drunk, and maybe you felt like you didn't have a choice."

She shook her head. "You may have forced it out of me but what I said was the truth."

"Well that...that is a load off my mind."

She was watching her feet, unable to look up. "I'm sorry I've been ignoring you. It's just...well it's tough, for starters, since I've known you so long. But also..."

"Will."

"He's been having a hard time."

"So you've been talking to him? All this time you've been talking to him but ignoring me."

"Not -- not the whole time."

"Unbelievable."

"He's still my friend."

"Yeah, he's still your friend. He's still your friend because after the first time you broke up he was able to weasel his way back in. He's your fucking friend because he knows you're weak, and he knows you're loyal, and he knows that if he plays hurt, this" he pointed from himself to Kate, "will never happen. He's manipulating you."

"You don't even know him."

"I do know him."

"Not well."

"I don't have to. He has a penis, that's all I need to know."

"You know, you're an asshole." She glared at Julian, grabbing at her purse as if she'd actually have the nerve to leave. "He's a fucking friend of mine, and if I were to just...disregard his feelings and suddenly start parading around on your fucking arm, Julian, it would a huge fucking 'fuck you' to him and to our fucking friendship."

"No, you know what's a huge 'fuck you?'" Julian was yelling now. "This. You say one thing, you do another. And to fucking cover your own ass you do it on the pretense that you're being a good friend. You're not fooling me, Katie. This all comes down to the promise you broke to him, a promise involving me, whatever the fuck it was, and you don't want to prove him right. You don't want to come out of this a whore. But I've got news for you -- there's no right time for this shit. There's no right time to start a new relationship when you're still involved, on whatever level, with an ex. You wait and you wait and you wait and the right time never comes, and then it's too late. And for all your fucking waiting, what do you end up with? Will. Back to where you started. So just, just fucking save us the energy and get back together with him now."

She was shaking now, furious. "Fuck you, Julian. You want to know how I feel about you?" She took a breath, daring herself to continue, and suddenly fifteen years of infatuation turned to resentment. "I'm done. I am fucking done. You're what, thirty now? You're fucking divorced, your ex-wife can't stand you. Doesn't want to see you, left you fucking everything. That's odd, don't you think?"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"You're getting desperate and it's obvious. You don't love me--"

"Shut the fuck up, Katie."

"No. You're not in love with me. I was just in love with you long fucking enough for you to depend on it, for you to expect it. I watched you date girl after girl--"

"You were fifteen fucking years old."

"I was eighteen fucking years old. I was nineteen, I was twenty. It's been years. Fuck you. I've been waiting for you for so long it doesn't even hurt anymore. And you can't wait a few fucking weeks for me to sort my own shit out?"

"I just want to know."

"Well you can fuck yourself." She was in tears now, lying to him. "There you fucking have it, Julian. I don't love you anymore. I don't. You fucking piece of shit..." She paused, expecting him to interrupt her with something, anything, but he was stunned.

"Are you serious right now?" He asked after a moment. He was working very hard at keeping his voice even. She was wrong about Camilla -- that was fine; the truth, her cheating, was worse. But to think he didn't love her...for Kate to think he didn't love her made him ache. He'd loved her for so long, and yes, only in the last few years had that loved turned romantic, sexual, but she was still so important to him, no matter the circumstances, and had been for as long as he could remember. He would kill for her and die for her in an instant.

"I'm fucking serious."

"Say it." He caught himself before letting out a sob. "Say it." Julian paused to take a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm. Everything was falling apart. "If you don't love me anymore I want to hear you say it, one more time. Say it to me."

She closed her eyes, picturing Will. "I don't love you anymore."

It was quiet in Julian's apartment. His floor, the ninth, was free of the sounds from the street. With everything new, stainless steel, environmentally friendly, silence surrounded them.

After a few moments he was able to speak. "Get the fuck out of my house." His breathing was ragged, desperate. "Get the fuck out, I don't want to see you. Get your shit and get out. I thought I could..." He paused, struggling to stay calm. "I thought, if this didn't work out, that we could both be adult enough to...to be civil. But I can't--" Again, he stopped. "Just get out. I'll stay out of your way, you stay out of mine."

She didn't move.

"Get. The fuck. Out."

"No."

"Get out!"

"No!" She was sobbing openly now. "No. I was lying."

He threw his hands into the air, crazed. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I don't know! I'm in love with you. I am in love with you."

"You fucking lunatic."

"Stop it. "

"Are you actually a fucking child, or--?"

"What do you want me to say, Wi--" she caught herself before saying Will's name. "I'm sorry."

Julian stiffened, incensed. "What were you about to call me?"

"I'm sorry."

"Say it."

"I said I'm sorry. Please."

She was up against the wall now, and Julian had her face between his thumb and forefinger, his face in hers, and her wrist, twisted, in his other hand. "Say it," he hissed.

She shook her head, tears forming again.

He squeezed her wrist more tightly. "Say it."

"Will."

Julian released her face but he was still gripping her arm with his right hand. She could see his mind working to make a decision, and suddenly, as it clicked, he dragged her, stony-faced, across the living room, down the hall, and into his bedroom. He pushed her down, face up, onto the bed, and held her in place with one hand while he undid his pants.

"Fuck yourself," she taunted, trying to wriggle free.

He squeezed her wrist harder, baring his teeth, until a yelp escaped from her lips. Then, tugging at his sweater, he slid one arm out, pulled it over his head, grabbed her with his left hand and freed his other arm.

"Now," he said, leaning over her, his clothes at his feet. "Am I right to assume you're not going to undress voluntarily?"

She was quiet. Julian smiled as he got to work unbuttoning her shirtdress, ignoring her attempts to break free. "Of course not. Nothing gets you wetter than a struggle."

Mortified, she kicked at him blindly, landing a blow to his shin. Immediately she regretted it, not only for the inevitable consequences, but also because she was still tipsy from before, and the kick had been a lot harder than she intended.

His palm met with the side of her face with a loud crack. "How fucking dare you," he grunted, pulling her face close to his. "How. Fucking. Dare you." He continued working on her buttons with a new determination, now squeezing her wrists together, pressing them against the bed above her head.

"I'll make a deal with you," he hissed, his mouth against her ear. "If you're wet I fuck you. If you're not I don't."

"I'm not wet," she gasped.

"Surely you're not stupid enough to lie to me. Again."

Her dress was completely off now, her tights and shoes in a pile on the floor. Pinning her against the bed in just her bra and panties, he yanked her hair with his free hand. She let out a startled cry.

"You really think you deserve to be trusted?"

"I'm not wet," she insisted.

He couldn't read the situation. Was she lying and hoping he would check her panties, discovering the truth and therefore having reason to fuck her? Was she lying and hoping he wouldn't check her panties? Was she telling the truth, and should he take her word?

"Swear to me."

"I swear."

He yanked at her panties and instinctively she tried to grab at them, but he still had her wrists in one hand. "You're a fucking liar," he growled, feeling the considerable damp spot as he removed them. "But I should have known that already."

He flipped her onto her belly and before she could even turn her face to the side he was inside her, in one swift motion, and then grunting into her ear as he pounded into her. "You fucking liar." He was livid. "Shut up," he snapped as she cried out.

"Please!"

"Shut the fuck up."

"Please!"

He pulled out, jerked her onto her back, and slapped her across the face once, twice. "Shut the fuck up, Kate. Do you understand me?" He pulled at her hair. "Do you understand?"

Her lower lip trembled but she said nothing.

Another slap to the face. "Do you fucking understand me?"

She nodded, not meeting his gaze.

"You're going to shut the fuck up? For once?"

She nodded again.

"Back onto your stomach."

She obeyed. He climbed on top of her, was once again inside her, climbing higher still as she clawed at the bed, trying half-heartedly to get away. He pulled at her hair, put his hand around her neck and squeezed, as a reminder that he was in control, and fucked her harder still as he neared climax.

"Oh!" It was less a word than it was an exprsesion of pain, and so he let it slide. As he got closer he pulled her hair harder, squeezed her neck harder, and he came, finally, still pumping throughout, and he felt her spasm around him though he was almost positive it was a reaction to the intrusion rather than an orgasm.

"Get dressed." He was still angry. That was rare; usually a good fuck quelled his anger. He took deep breaths, calming himself.

Once they were both dressed, they stood facing each other by the bed. "It's getting late," he said finally, his arms extended towards her, palms facing upward. A truce. "You should spend the night."

Fury briefly swept across her face. She opened her mouth and then closed it.

"You can speak now," he said with a smile.

Lips curled, livid, she did speak. "You want me to stay the night?" She was incredulous. "Like I'm your fucking girlfriend now?"

"If that's what you want to call it."

"You're a fucking asshole."

"Don't be stupid, Katie." A guttural warning. "I was already angry once tonight, you don't want that again."

"I'm--" she paused, grabbing her purse. "I'm leaving."

"No you're not."

"Yes I am."

"No you're not."

"Yes. I am." She started toward his front door, but Julian blocked it.

"Get out of my way."

He did step aside, slightly. "I think you'll find," he said slowly, enunciating each word, "that you're missing your keys."

She was digging through her purse now, shaking, seeing red.

"And your phone."

"Give them back."

"No."

"Julian!"

"No!" He exploded, raising a finger to point in her face before he caught himself. "No." Calmly now, "We can figure something out, you and me, but in order to that we need to talk. We just need some time. Please give it to me."

"Fuck you," she hissed. "You're a fucking piece of shit. Fuck yourself."

"Don't start. What did I fucking tell you? Watch the way you speak to me."

She pushed past him, back to the bedroom. "Where'd you put my keys?"

"You'll get them back tomorrow."

"Give them to me."

"Tomorrow."

She lost it. She grabbed his alarm clock, the nearest thing she could find, yanked it from the wall and hurled it in his direction. Before it even made contact with the wall behind him he was advancing on her. Gripping her arm in his right hand and a fistful of her hair in his left, he shoved her, once more, face down on the bed.

"You know, Katie," he growled into her ear, "I can't tell if you're dumb or if you enjoy this."

"Get off!"

"I plan on it." He was hard again, had been since she tried to get past him at the front door, and had her bent, face down, over the bed. He yanked her panties and tights down to her knees and pushed her dress up around her waist.

"If I hear a fucking sound out of you," he warned, "you will fucking regret it." He pushed a finger inside her and was pleased, this time, to find she was dry. He positioned himself at her entrance and waited, listening to her whimper, and as he forced himself inside of her she jumped, trying desperately to pull away.

And while he fucked her he spoke, and she had no choice but to listen. "I don't have the patience for childish behavior," he told her. "I wanted to talk to you, and look what it turned into. You act like a little girl sometimes, and, you know," he grunted, "eventually I will start to treat you like one. Why should I reward you with another fuck? Or have you forgotten," he gritted his teeth as he increased the force with which he fucked her, "that I'm getting old? The next time...uhn..." he trailed off, enjoying himself, forgetting his point.

She was quiet now, not moving, still listening. He wasn't going to come as quickly as the first time, she knew that. But as she lay there, listening to him lecture her, she wasn't unhappy. This was, in the end, what she wanted. Ever since she was old enough to have sexual desires, this (maybe not this specific situation, but this -- his forcing her, his hurting her, his using her) was what she wanted. She had lied to him, to his face, twice -- the first time just to make him jealous, or mad, she wasn't sure; but the second lie had ignited the anger and the reaction she craved. And now she was exhausted and angry and hurting and spent -- but that was the appeal of Julian: he always got what he wanted from her whether she wanted to give it up or not.

"The next time," he started up again, still reaming her, but focused once more as he felt the faintest hint of climax building inside him. "The next time you act like a fucking child," he hissed, his hot breath against her ear, "I am going to treat you like one. Over the knee, belt to the ass, and depending on your fucking attitude...unh...you may or may not be wearing any underwear."

Feeling him getting close, she started struggling once more, hoping it would speed him along. It did, and as he pounded more brutally into her he continued his rant. "I will fucking beat your ass with my belt. And you're getting wetter now, Katie, thinking about it, but...unh..." He was very close now. "It is not something you want, that is a promise. You do not want to push me to that point. I think...hm..." he was almost there, "I think you even fucking regret pushing me to this point. You fucking whore." And he slammed into her two, three, four more times as he came, and she let out a sharp cry, half out of relief that it was over.