Matchmaker 05: May

I stood under the water, allowing the heat to leech away my aches. It wasn't fair I was taking my self-loathing out on him. I'd started the cycle of rough fucking when I couldn't keep She locked in her box, and he'd simply gone with it, perhaps thinking that was who I was. I looked down, allowing the water to pour over my head as I pursed my lips to hold back the tears. Maybe I was that person.

I finished my shower and stepped out, the room pleasantly warm. As I dried, I realized I owed him, if not an explanation, at least an apology. I dressed and slowly made my way down the steps, looking for him.

"Garret?"

There was no answer. The Tahoe was still sitting outside, so he had to be close. I crossed the room to the other side of the cabin. He was behind the stable, and as I watched, he swung the maul, cleaving the log. He bent, picked up one of the two pieces and dropped it on the splitting stump. The maul whistled through the air and the two pieces of wood fell to the ground.

I turned from the window and walk out through the only door. Summer was on its way, but Old Man Winter was a tenacious bastard and wouldn't relinquish his grip easily. Garret paused as I stepped around the corner of the stable. I could tell from the hardness of his face he was still upset. He held my eyes a moment and then turned away to retrieve another log from the pile. We had plenty of wood for several days, so he wasn't splitting wood because he had too.

"I'm sorry."

He nodded in acknowledgement as he placed the log. The maul flashed down and the two halves fell away. He picked up half, returned it to the stump, and split it again. The tears threatened again, but I choked them back. I wouldn't let him see me cry.

"Can't you say anything?" I asked softly.

He swung the maul, splitting the other half, and then stuck the point into the stump so the handle was in easy reach. He looked like he'd been splitting wood his entire life.

"Apparently there's nothing to say." He started to turn away for another log.

"What do you want from me?" I demanded. "I said I was sorry."

"Fine. You're forgiven." He picked up the log and placed it on the stump. His words didn't match his actions.

"It's nothing you did," I tried again.

"Oh, one of those 'it's not you, it's me' things?"

"Yes."

"That's just fucking great. You know when a woman tells a man, 'It's not you, it's me,' that means it's definitely him." He glared at me, his eyes and mouth hard. "If your problem is so super-secret we can't talk about it, then what am I supposed to do? I'm not tiptoeing around you, afraid I'm going to say or do something wrong."

"I don't expect you to."

He nodded. "Good. Then I guess we don't have a problem. If it's your problem, you can deal with it."

I swallowed hard. He had a point. If I wouldn't tell him what was bothering me, what was he supposed to do? Guess? Read my mind? "Sorry," I mumbled again and turned away.

We thawed over the rest of the day. After lunch we'd gone riding, and he'd only needed a little bit of help to saddle Shamrock. We rode for almost two hours, talking little, exploring the surrounding forest. According to a map I'd looked at before I flew out, the cabin was situated near where the Lolo National Forest, Nez-Perce National Forest, and Bitterroot National Forests merged. We could explore for dozens of miles in any direction and only see a few dozen cabins that sprouted from the edges of the twisting, winding roads that snaked through the valleys.

After caring for Penny and Shamrock, I started dinner. I put a couple of large potatoes, dusted with sea salt and wrapped in foil, in the oven, then using a couple of pieces of wood he'd split, I built a fire in the grill pit.

I thought I was going to have to prepare the entire meal myself. I couldn't complain, since that was what I'd agreed to, but when I started the steaks grilling, he'd offered to help. Leaving him to watch the meat, I checked the potatoes.

"Good," he said, hoisting a piece of meat on his fork.

I forced a smile. "You did it."

He popped the meat into his mouth and chewed slowly. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh as he swallowed. "Look, I'm sorry for being an ass today. I don't—"

"You don't have to apologize," I said, cutting him off. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Then what's bothering—"

"It's not you, it's me," I said, a ghost of a smile flickering over my lips as he rolled his eyes and looked away. "No, really. It's my problem. I'll deal with it."

"You know, it's just possible I could help," he offered, not looking at me as he cut his meat.

I shook my head. "Thank you, but you can't. Nobody can."

He looked up and held my eyes for a moment. "Okay, whatever."

With those two words, it suddenly felt like the progress we'd made today had evaporated. As I cleaned up, Garret added wood to the fire. I wanted to go to him, to join him on the couch, but I was afraid. She was picking at the lock, testing its strength. If I were to join him, I could be handing her the key, and that was something I didn't want to do.

I settled into one of the two matching chairs, and I saw the disappointment in his eyes. We talked little, staring into fire, alone with our thoughts.

"You coming to bed?" he asked as he rose.

"No. Not tonight."

"Suit yourself," he rumbled as he turned and walked up the steps without a backward glance.

I remained in my chair for a long time, staring into the flames, looking for answers but finding none.

Michelle and I plodded along on horseback at the edge of a one of the dozens of roads, if you could call the track we were on a road, that snaked through the forest. It'd been a week today since I'd taken Michelle to bed, and a week today since she'd lost her fucking mind.

I frowned to myself at my silent rebuke. While things had improved between us, there was clearly something bothering her. During the day she seemed fine, but at night she withdrew into a shell, putting up a barrier between us. I'd picked around the edges, trying to find out what was bothering her, but she refused to give any details, insisting it was 'her problem' and she'd 'deal with it.' Except she wasn't dealing with it, she was avoiding it.

Other than our one night together, she was sleeping on the couch. I'd been trying to coax her back into my bed, but she'd refused my every attempt. She'd let me kiss her if I kept it chaste, especially during the day, but if the kiss started going somewhere, or if I tried to touch her and take it to the next level, she'd push me away. Often, at night, as she was shutting me down, she had a look of sad disappointment on her face, almost as if she wanted to go to bed with me but felt she couldn't, despite my assurances I'd be gentle with her this time.

I nudged Shamrock with my heels, encouraging her to pick up her pace. I still didn't move in the saddle with the easy grace Michelle did, but I'd become much more comfortable on the horse and could saddle Shamrock myself now. I was starting to think of Shamrock as a big pet, and Michelle and I were in a silent competition to see who could spoil our horse the most. When Shamrock saw me now, her ears would perk up and she'd start looking for her apple or carrot, the greedy girl.

"We need to talk," I said as I slowed beside Michelle.

"About what?"

"You know what."

All the life seemed to go out of her as she slumped in the saddle. I'd given her a week to get her shit together and had encouraged her to talk to me, but I was tired of waiting for her to get her head straightened out.

"I can't."

"No. You won't. There's a difference."

She shook her head. "You don't understand."

"You're right, I don't, because you won't talk to me."

She pulled Penny to a stop, Shamrock stopping as well. "I can't."

It was the answer I expected, the same answer I'd been getting all week. "Fine, but you're going to have a long and lonely life if you don't start getting your shit together," I growled as I nudged Shamrock back into motion.

She rode up beside me. "Now you're just being an asshole."

I hitched a shoulder. "Maybe. You blaming me for shit you claim I didn't do brings that out in me. You treat every guy you sleep with like this?"

"No!"

"So it's me?"

"No. Well, yes, but not for the reason you think."

"I see. So let me get this straight. You first said it's not me, it's you, but now you're telling me it is me after all? Huh. What do you know? Another woman telling a guy, 'It's not you, it's me' when in fact it's him."

I was so done with this shit. If she wanted to keep her secrets, she could. I didn't mind her not telling me about what was bothering her, but I did mind her continually pushing me away because of it. I'd been patient with her, but I was done with that. Tomorrow I was packing my shit, going home, and she could spend the next three weeks in the cabin by herself.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

"So you keep saying."

"What do you want from me?" she snapped.

"I want you to pull your head out of your ass. You said it's your problem? Fine. Deal with it or don't, but stop kicking me in the nuts because of it."

"I'm not!"

"No? Then why is it every time I try to get close to you, you push me away?"

She held my gaze for a long moment, her face sad. "It's complicated."

"Yeah. You keep saying that too."

She stopped her horse. "I'm scared, okay?" she cried as Shamrock and I rode past her.

I pulled Shamrock to a stop and turned her around. That wasn't what I expected to hear. I thought maybe I'd gotten too rough with her, or she was feeling guilty for fucking me after only one day or something like that, but not that she was afraid. I nudged Shamrock and we walked back to her.

"Scared? Of what? Me? I'd never—"

"Of me," she confessed, her voice so low I almost didn't hear her. "I'm afraid of me."

I remained silent, giving her a chance to continue, but she refused to meet my eyes and said nothing else. "I don't understand."

"I know."

"So explain it to me."

"I can't." She looked like a little girl who had been caught stealing candy.

"Can't, or won't?"

"Can't."

"Why?"

"Because I don't understand it myself."

All the frustration and annoyance began to fade. I first thought she was playing some stupid, coy game, then I decided she was making a big deal out of nothing, but now I wasn't so sure. Whatever was hurting her ran deep.

"Tell me about it." She shook her head. I nudged Shamrock close and took her hand. "Look, this involves me too."

"No, it doesn't, not really."

"Yes, it does. You said yourself it was me."

She looked up, her eyes sad, before she dropped her gaze again and pulled her hand back. "No. It's not you."

"Then why do you keep pushing me away?"

"Because I don't trust Her."

"Her? Her who?" I asked.

"The other me."

I blinked a few times. Michelle was starting to weird me out. "The other you? Like a split personality?"

She looked up again. "No, nothing like that. It's..."

"It's what?" I encouraged. "You can trust me." I took a long, obvious, look around. "It isn't going to get much more private than this. I promise you, whatever you say will stay between the four of us," I said, leaning forward and patting Shamrock on the neck.

She swallowed hard. "I have this... this... evil side, a darkness inside me. She scares me."

"She? This other woman inside of you?"

Michelle nodded. "Yes. She's me, and that's what scares me. I don't like the things I fantasize about at night." Her gaze fell to the ground again. "The things I've done."

"Like what?" She shook her head. "Michelle." I waited but she refused to look up. "Michelle, look at me," I repeated and waited until she met my gaze. "Nothing you can say will shock me, okay? You wouldn't believe some of the things I've done."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

Fuck! Now I have to man up and admit to some things I'm not proud of. I shrugged and picked one of my lesser mistakes. "Fucking a woman so she could cuckold her husband in revenge after he had an affair."

She spluttered. "That's it? That's your big secret? That's nothing."

"There's more."

"Oh yeah? Come on, give it your best shot."

"This isn't about me."

"No? You think I can't shock you? Let's compare our dark secrets."

I paused and thought it over, and then hardened my resolve. "Okay, fine. I got arrested for fucking a chick in public."

Her eyes narrowed. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. I'm not proud of it, and we were both charged, but there it is."

"What happened?"

"When did this become about me?"

"Just tell me."

I ground my teeth in annoyance. She better not be yanking my chain. "I was with this chick. We got into a fight outside a nightclub, one thing led to another, and I bent her over the hood of my car. Someone must have called the cops. There. Satisfied?"

"Did you hit her?"

"Hit her? You mean with my fist?" She nodded. "No! Jesus, Michelle, what kind of guy do you think I am? It was completely consensual. We were charged with indecent exposure and committing a lewd act."

She nodded slowly. "So you didn't try to kill her?"

"What? No!" Her attitude was starting to piss me off.

"I did," she murmured.

My rising anger died in an instant. "You did what?"

"Tried to kill a girl."

A chill passed over me. I waited, but she didn't continue. "On purpose?"

"Yes. No. Sort of."

I waited silently as she sighed and continued her story.

"I was home for the summer, after my freshman year at University of Washington. I was having a pool party at my house, me and a few high school friends." She paused and looked at me, her eyes haunted with the memory. "I was kind of a slut in high school. I'd been fucking my boyfriend since the eleventh grade. Not just him, but any guy who caught my fancy. Anyway, I was home and Rick was there. Rick was my boyfriend, though we'd kind of lost touch after I went away to school. So, we were having this party, nothing big, and Rachael started hitting on him."

"And Rachael is?" I asked, trying to keep up.

"Another high school friend. Even though I was fucking other guys at U.W., and I knew he was fucking other girls, I didn't like it. She was supposed to be my friend, you know, and friends don't poach each other's boyfriends. I got in her face and told her to leave him alone, and she told me to mind my own business because they'd been fucking for months." She shook her head and her fists clenched tighter on the reigns as her knuckles turned white.

"That pissed me off so much. I started calling her names, she called me some names, and I pushed her." She paused and looked away, her shame clear on her face, before her gaze came back to mine. "The guys started egging us on, and I liked it. I pushed her a couple of more times, and she finally pushed me back. Then it was on."

"A catfight?"

"Yeah. Mandy, the other girl there, tried to break us up, but the guys held her back."

I frowned when she stopped. "That's it? So what? You got into a shoving match. Big deal."

"It was more than that." She swallowed. "Having the guys cheering us on, it... turned me on. We really tore into each other, slapping, scratching, pulling hair. It hurt, but I liked it."

I tried to get my mind around what she was telling me. She said it turned her on, but I wasn't sure she meant what it sounded like she meant. I decided to err on the side of caution and make her spell it out. "Okay, I still don't understand the problem. I mean, yeah, fighting doesn't solve anything, but shit happens sometimes."

She shook her head again. "I shoved her into the pool and went in after her. We fought a little more, but then she was done." She became silent, and I saw tears welling in her eyes. "I tried to drown her, Garret. I held her under water and would have killed her had a couple of the guys not realized I wasn't going to let her up. They jumped in and pulled me off her." She whimpered as a tear trickled down her cheek. "Worse, I was excited by it. I think I fucking orgasmed as she was hitting me, trying to get me to let her go so she could come up for air. What kind of sick bitch do I have to be to get off on something like that?"

I didn't have any words for that. I was pretty good at reading people and she didn't strike me as the cold-blooded killer type. A little over a year ago someone keyed my Porsche and I was pretty sure if I'd caught the asshole while he was doing it I would have beaten the shit out of him. In hindsight, I could say I was glad I hadn't caught him because it wasn't worth going to jail for battery, but I could still remember how seething mad I was, so mad I wasn't thinking and might have done something I would have never consider doing otherwise. Kicking some jerkwad's ass for keying my car wasn't the same as actually trying to drown someone, but had she really tried to kill her friend, or was her guilt and shame coloring her memories?

"I don't know what to say."

She nodded. "There's nothing to say. They wanted to charge me with attempted murder, but I was able to plead it down to battery. I had to perform two hundred hours of community service and take an anger management class." She paused. "The thing is, I wasn't angry when I was fighting with Rachel. I was excited by it, turned on by fighting with her as the guys watched."

"A lot of women have lesbian fantasies," I tried. "So I hear," I amended when she looked at me, her disgust with my comment clear.

"That's not it," she said, her irritation clear. "Something's wrong with me," she murmured. "I have these dark fantasies, fantasies that scare me because I know I could act on them."

"But they're just fantasies, Michelle. Everyone has them."

"But not everyone tries to drown their friend." She sniffed. "That's why I don't go home very often. My parents don't look at me the same way anymore, my brother pretends I don't exist, and all my friends avoid me." Her lips pulled down into a tight frown as she tried not to cry. "Not that I blame them."

"Okay, so, you made a mistake. I've made a few, as you now know."

"You don't get it!" she snarled, her face twisting in anger and shame. "She, the dark side of me, wants to hurt people and be hurt by them, while fucking. I try to keep her inside, but sometimes I just can't. When I can't keep her in her box anymore, I let her out and the darkness comes. I fantasize about me and my guy fucking and fighting with a rival couple, or I'm fucking some random dude as people watch, cheering and betting on who will outfuck who. It's all weird shit like that, and the whole time, I'm fucking myself stupid with this big dildo I have because it's the only way I can get her back in her box."

"And what happened with us? That was her, this other person inside you?" I asked softly, feeling way along. I was struggling to get my mind around what she was telling me because I couldn't see her as a killer, and having her get rough with me in bed didn't make her one.

Michelle nodded, her eyes sad. "Yes. That was her. She's never escaped her box before, and you saw what happened." She looked away. "You... bring out the worst in me."

"Or the best," I said softly. She snorted. "I understand what you're saying, but are you sure you actually would have downed Rachael?"

She shrugged. "I guess we'll never know, but yeah, I think I would have."

"Have you done anything like that since?"

"No!" she cried, clearly upset that I'd even suggested it.

"Then it's behind you. You need to stop blaming yourself for something you can't change."

"But that's just it, it's not behind me. Every few weeks, She gets out."

"Like a week ago?"

"Yes, except that time I didn't let her out, and look what she did."