My Own Worst Enemy

"I try to. Like you said, it's why I truncate my Fridays."

"How?" My voice was subdued. "How do you manage to face them all, week in, week out?"

"Whatever problems I have with that pale in comparison to what those kids and their families are going through."

"I ... I was just kind of thinking the same thing. It makes my problems seem small." He made to engage the gear shift but I caught his hand first. "Mark? Why do you do it?"

Mark licked his lips. "I owe it to someone." His eyes flicked to my hand. "Want to let me drive? I think we need a pick-me-up after that."

I released his hand. I wondered to whom Mark felt he had a debt ... or why he had so willingly admitted it to me, when he'd been so closed-off before.

He described a little of the ward's set-up while he drove. He and the other volunteers each visited one or two mornings every week to spend a little time with the children in order to give their parents a few hours' downtime. He cited caregiver burnout, including stories of parents who ran themselves ragged, neglected their other kids, or broke their marriages under the stress. He spoke about the high attrition, rampant depression, and even suicide rates for the medical staff. It was a sobering topic and gave me a lot to think about.

He told me that Camilla had leukemia. She needed a bone marrow transplant and he'd heard she had one lined up but everything was so uncertain, with finances, schedules, and outcomes. Thinking of medical privacy laws, I asked how he knew all that. Mark said he'd talked to some of the parents, many of whom were anxious to unburden themselves, to talk to someone—anyone.

As Mark spoke, I started to see him in a new light. I'd been super-pissed about the office and Senior Manager slot and then so focused on our quarterly profit challenge, I didn't know him at all. No one in the office did, partly because of the distance he maintained. In the office's efforts to draw him out, I imagined we'd simply been asking the wrong questions the whole time.

A thought occurred. "You said if you took my bonus, it was going to a charitable outfit. Was this it?"

"If I took it, yes."

"Do you spend yours here?"

"Yes."

"Every quarter?"

He was silent for a moment before nodding. "A similar place in LA before I moved, and now this one."

Wow. That's probably one-hundred-K a year in charity. I mean, the guy isn't poor or anything but ... damn. I really don't know him.

Our conversation petered off. For several long moments, I stared out the window, lost in my own thoughts.

"Sophie?"

"What?"

"Do you like jazz?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I probably couldn't tell you the first thing about it."

"I know a pretty good jazz bar near my apartment building. Want to go hang out there for a little while? Just sit and enjoy the atmosphere, have a drink, let the music pick up our spirits?"

I glanced down at my outfit. "I'm probably not dressed for it."

"It's a pretty casual place. I don't get there too often on weekdays but it's never been that crowded in the middle of the day when I have."

I admit, a little music sounded like it might take my mind off what we'd just seen. "That sounds good."

#

Memphis Corner was typical of a lot of bars in Manhattan. It was a small, single-room establishment, with a number of circular tables and a raised stage at the far end. A mahogany-topped bar ran the length of the shadowy room. The place was only half-full at that hour, with a mix of business types in suits and more casually-dressed folks in attendance. On the small stage, a man and woman strummed their guitars. The woman's sultry voice filled the air with soft lyrics.

A short, skinny brunette with curly hair and dressed in a sleeveless black vest and tight leather pants worked the bar. She sported two nose rings in each nostril and a full sleeve tattoo on her right arm. Her eyes lit up with delight when she saw Mark. "Hey, stranger. How's the jet-setting corporate life?"

"Lovely, thanks. Darlene, this is Sophie. Her drink's on me. Run my tab on my normal card."

Darlene checked me out. "She's hot."

"She's not your type."

"Too bad. Whatcha have, honey?"

"Uhm," I said, "how about a mudslide with a dash of Amaretto?"

"Coming right up." She winked at me and glanced at Mark. "Your usual?"

"Yes, please." He took my elbow and guided me to a table in the dark corner of the room, at least one table away from everyone else there. He pulled out my chair so I could sit, then took his own seat.

I crossed one leg over the other. "What's your usual?"

"Screwdriver. Simple and easy. Amaretto in a mudslide, though? You're going to give yourself a sugar high."

"I treat myself once in a while. So, Darlene ... another old girlfriend?"

Mark's smile was faint in the dim light. "No, she's a lot of fun but she plays for the other team. She seemed to like you. Give you any ideas?"

"Nah, that was never for me. Not every woman has an experimental phase in college."

He snickered.

I listened to the stage duo. The cadence was slow and soothing, the notes blending with the singer's husky voice. Even though I didn't know much about the style, listening did indeed ease my tension and think about something other than the kids.

A few minutes later, Darlene ambled over with our drinks. She winked at me again before leaving.

Mark hefted his drink and held it toward me. "Cheers."

I hesitated but raised mine and clinked it against his. We both took a sip. I watched him but Mark shifted his gaze to the musicians. I did the same. When the song finished, I joined the round of light applause before they started the next song.

A line of pictures adorned the wall over the table. Mark said they were all acts that had been through Memphis Corner and talked a little about the jazz scene. I didn't know much about it—my music knowledge in general was pretty sparse—but it was interesting. We finished our drinks and I ordered another. Mark shifted to water, citing the need to drive. A small voice in the back of my head told me to lay off after the first one but I had finally relaxed and decided to give in.

There was something to the music, too. I don't know whether it was specifically jazz or just listening to the live music that got to me. Most of the time, I relegated music to the background—simple white noise, like any other stage prop of my existence.

I seem to do that with a lot of things, it seems.

But as I closed my eyes and listened, I caught the subtlety of the notes and the sad, wistful tone that touched my being in a way I hadn't felt in a while—and like any other entity that tastes something real after an eternity of bland, my soul was instantly hungry for more.

We continued to chat about minor things and listen to the music. I have to admit, I actually started to enjoy myself and Mark's presence. He had a quick wit and was able to speak intelligently about a wide swath of subjects. When we hit something he didn't know anything about—such as volleyball, which I had played through high school and college—he didn't try to bluster his way through it like a lot of guys would when they were trying to impress me. He let me talk, asked questions, and seemed engaged, all of which I found appealing.

That thought struck me. Not only was I enjoying myself, I was enjoying myself with Mark. Despite our mutual animosity—okay, mostly my animosity—I decided he was actually a pretty good guy.

A girl could do a lot worse.

We'd been there about forty-five minutes when I noticed a man at the bar watching me. He was tall, with a square jaw, wide shoulders, and muscular build. He wore a well-tailored suit. The guy caught me watching and smiled. I returned it. We eyed each other off and on for a while. I realized the looks I was giving him would probably be interpreted as a come-on and the longer I looked at him the more okay I was with that.

I deliberately skipped past the idea I might be trying to make Mark jealous. Still, I tried not to make it too obvious to my table mate that I was checking the dude out.

When Mark got up to use the restroom, the other guy left his chair at the bar and strolled over. I felt a quiver of anticipation. He moved with the confident stroll of a lion stalking a gazelle and paused by the table. He offered his hand. "Hi. Name's Kevin."

I shook it. "Sophie."

He gestured in the direction of the restrooms. "You think your friend would mind if I join you?"

I hesitated. Kevin was good-looking and I wasn't with Mark. Despite the conditions of the weekend, we were more friends or acquaintances than anything. Still, if Kevin sitting with us felt like an intrusion.

Kevin took my silence as acquiescence. He sat where Mark had been sitting and set his drink on the table. Something told me I should have asked him to leave but I didn't. We made small talk for a few moments before I saw Mark weaving his way back through the tables. He spotted Kevin and stopped. His pleasant expression fell away, leaving shock and maybe just a hint of pain. His assumption about what I was doing could not have been any more obvious. For a split second, I wanted to laugh.

Yeah, but by not shooing Kevin away, you kind of are doing just that, aren't you?

Embarrassment drove away my amusement. Before I could process that, Mark's countenance went neutral. He resumed his stride. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Kevin stood and offered his hand, which Mark shook. Side-by-side, I could see he was a good six inches taller than Mark. "Kevin. Sorry to intrude but Sophie said you were just friends."

I flushed. I hadn't said that but I hadn't denied it either.

Mark's eyes flicked to me once, then back to Kevin. "Yep, that's all. Go ahead and sit, Kevin. Get you another drink?"

Even in the bar's low light, the mirth in Kevin's eyes was unmistakable. Despite what I'd said, about Mark being just a friend, it was pretty clear he thought he'd dismissed a potential competitor and put the lesser man in his place. Kevin faced me and didn't so much as turn his head. "Yeah, thanks. Rum and Coke, please."

Normally, in these types of situations, Kevin being dismissive of Mark wouldn't have bothered me. I would have seen a more confident male asserting his claim on the prize—if I allowed myself to be claimed at all, that is. It had happened several times when I was out looking for a bit of fun; several guys might hit on me at once and I most often chose the dominant guy.

This time, though, I thought it made Kevin come off arrogant and possessive, and I didn't like it.

Mark looked back at me. Despite the pleasantness of his tone, his eyes were cold. "Sophie?"

I averted my eyes. "No, nothing thanks."

Mark moved off.

Kevin put his hand on mine. "Now, where were we?"

As I stared at him, a ridiculous thought ran through my mind: Do you think this guy would ever sit with sick kids for any reason? Except ... it wasn't ridiculous.

I withdrew my hand. Kevin looked confused but sat in silence with me while we listened to the current set.

A welter of thoughts swirled through my head. Without mincing words, Kevin was hot. Tall, well-built, handsome, confident ... he was everything I usually looked for in a temporary partner. No doubt he had experience with women and I expected he'd be pretty good in bed. And yet, Mark's reappearance had thrown cold water over the feeling. I didn't understand why.

Darlene reappeared with Kevin's drink. I glanced around but couldn't see Mark anywhere. I tugged the bartender's sleeve. "Where's Mark?"

"He paid his tab and left."

"What?" I almost came up out of the chair. Several heads swiveled in my direction. Fighting for control, I lowered my voice. "Did he say anything?"

"Yeah, he asked me to call you a cab." She flicked her eyes at Kevin. "If you need one."

I fell back against the back of my chair. He ... he just left me here. What the hell?

Kevin scooted his chair closer. "You want to get out of here?"

I blinked and looked at him. "What?"

"Your friend took the hint and got lost. So ... you wanna head to my place?"

I stared at him a moment, then shook my head. "No, I think I need to get going."

Kevin's jaw fell open. "But—"

"Mark was not in a good place and I wasn't being a very good friend by ignoring him." I stood and grabbed my purse. Kevin stood when I did. "I need to go."

"Okay." He produced a card and held it out. "Text me or hit me up on Instagram sometime."

I ignored the card. "No, sorry."

He scowled. "Fine, not like I can't get another one just like you."

I laughed. "Go get one, then." I hustled out without looking back, hailed a cab, and gave the driver directions to Mark's apartment. The whole drive, a nagging annoyance filled my head, which rapidly grew to anger.

Who the fuck does he think he is, just leaving me there? And he didn't say shit but just scuttled off like a scared little boy. I must have started muttering out loud because I caught the driver eyeing me in the rear view mirror, so I pressed my lips together before he decided to kick the crazy woman out of his car.

Mark had only had a five-minute head start on me so I had no idea if I would beat him back to his apartment. I guess hailing the cab and waiting for my card payment to go through, then convincing the doorman to let me back up, bought Mark enough time, since when I pounded on his front door, he opened it. He did not look happy to see me. "Well, hello again."

"You jackass!" I pushed past him and stomped into the apartment. "What the hell was that all about, leaving me there?"

"You looked like you were enjoying yourself with Keith."

"Kevin—and we were just talking."

He shrugged. "That's fine. You didn't have to leave."

"I didn't even want him to sit there," I said. "He walked over and joined me without asking. If you had hung around, you would have seen that I wasn't interested."

"Bullshit, Sophie. I've seen you in action with something you want far too often. If you'd wanted the guy gone, you would have gotten rid of him."

"I got caught off guard. If you have given me a few minutes, I would have done just that. Besides, I'm obligated to you for the weekend and I wasn't going to forget that."

"I told you, you are free to consider it canceled at any time."

"Jesus Christ!" I waved my arms out of sheer frustration. "I already told you why I can't do that. I told you I need to do this for me."

"Uh-huh." Mark's voice was cold. "You needed to do this so bad you decided to start talking to some other guy you clearly wanted to fuck."

I froze. "What?"

"It could not have been any clearer, Sophie. You were eye-humping the guy for a good thirty minutes." I blushed because I didn't think Mark had noticed me checking Kevin. He went on. "Then when I go to the can, you let him sit in my chair, which among guys, is a clear signal that you're more interested in his attention than mine—and that's fine. You owe me nothing. But I am not going sit there like a trained ape and entertain you and buy all your drinks while you seduce some other dude. I have better things to do."

"I said I didn't want him there, Mark. Listen—"

"No." He held up a hand. "This weekend is over. Your obligation is finished and we're done. Go home."

"What is your problem? I've watched you fight for things you want too, you know. You don't wait, you go right after them. But you couldn't handle another man poaching your territory? You just walk away like a coward, without even telling him to beat it?"

"How the hell are you 'my territory?' You're not my wife or girlfriend. You're not even a one-night stand. You've made it very clear you're not here because you want to be. Why should I fight for you? What would I even be fighting for? The chance to deal with more of your bad attitude? Screw that. Get out."

"Are you some kind of wuss who runs rather than stand up for what he wants?" It struck me that I wanted Mark to fight for me. I knew full well from our time in the office that he would argue for what he wanted and I was pissed he hadn't apparently wanted me enough to do so. The feeling didn't make a lot of sense until much later but at the time, I was in full rant mode, and his refusal made me madder than ever. I clenched my fists and my voice rose with every word. "I thought you wanted me. I thought you wanted to have sex with me. What happened to all that 'I find you incredibly attractive' shit? Was that a lie? Are you a fucking liar too?"

"I said get out. Go fuck Kevin if you want."

"That's it, isn't it? You were worried I was going to fuck someone else and you wouldn't even contest him. You spineless motherfucker!" I was screaming at that point but I was so enraged the words just flew out of me faster than I had a chance to think about what I was saying or doing. All my angst over the whole challenge situation, blended with my emotion of the morning in the hospital, and the confused feelings over what had happened in the bar ... the compounded stress and wear on my anxiety was all too much. I went right over the edge.

I took a step toward Mark and I think that the look on my face was so feral and so angry, that he actually took a step away. "You want to fuck me? Well, here's your chance."

I grabbed the hem of my yoga pants and in one smooth motion, yanked them and my underwear down to my knees. I whirled and bent over the back of the couch. My pullover shirt, which hung down to my mid-thigh, rode up over my hips and I am sure Mark had a glorious view of my ass, and beyond. I glared over my shoulder and his eyes were indeed fixed on the sight between my legs. My lip curled in a fierce snarl. "There you go, have at it."

Mark's voice trembled. "Pull your pants up."

"No. You wanted this, so get to it. Come on, I haven't got all day."

He swallowed. "Sophie—"

"What, are you afraid when you can't control the situation? Does it make your dick wilt if you can't dominate the woman?" I was so furious I'm surprised my words weren't scorching the air. "Or are you a bad lay? Can't fuck to save your life? Afraid you're going to disappoint me with that needle dick? Is that why your wife left you?"

His face twisted with something so dark that if I had not been enraged, I believe his expression would have terrified me. Mark's nostrils flared and he stepped toward me. I faced forward, smug that I had goaded him and that maybe he would do it and just get it over with.

His left hand grabbed me under the chin and yanked my head backward. I gasped as the pressure compelled me to rise but his right hand planted on my waist, so I was forced to arch my back. Mark's fingers dug into my jaw and throat ... and then I was frightened because he was much stronger than I ever guessed, which was a hell of a lot stronger than me, and now I had really pissed him off. Ripples of fear lapped at my mind, along with something else I couldn't pinpoint.

Mark bent over me, placing his mouth by my ear. His breath tickled my neck and while his tone was just a hiss, the words hit like a sledgehammer. "You fucking cunt! You want to throw my wife in my face? Huh? I ought to—" He cut himself off.

"Ought to what? Hit me? Beat the shit out of me?" I trembled as the power in his body pressed against me but even being scared, my rage was undiminished and far too powerful for me to back down. "Big man, have a little trouble with a woman and you go right to hitting her. Is that because you can't get it up? Can't please a woman? Fucking loser!"

I heard and felt his right hand fumbling at his belt, then lowering his pants. The throb of his erection, rock-hard and hot, seared against my flesh. In the midst of my quaking, I had the dumb realization that I was wet. Hard nipples rubbed against the inside of my shirt and my hips were already rocking in anticipation. Regardless of the fury and fear in my frontal cortex, my lizard brain sensed a powerful man's proximity and my surging adrenaline, and interpreted those signs as, "Time to fuck!" ... and my pussy made it clear which opinion it valued more.