My Pretend Sex Slave 08

I spent the night sitting on the kitchen floor, not quite sleeping. I was trapped, bouncing through every moment with Lisa, reinterpreting our interactions through her trauma.

I couldn't force myself to move. I lacked the energy to do anything. I wanted to slip away, even breathing was an inconvenience.

The first rays of sunlight forced me to act. Morning was here. Lisa would wake eventually. I couldn't be here when she did.

The solution was as painful as it was obvious. Lisa wasn't safe around me, and I wasn't cut out for her sadomasochistic dance.

I needed to find Jett. I could have Uber'd the three and a half miles to her apartment, but I walked. I thought better of knocking on her door so I called her. No answer. I called again.

"Brett?" her tired voice.

"I'm outside," I said.

Jett was at the door shortly after. She was wearing a fluffy white robe tied loose around her waist and nothing else.

She leaned in and kissed me.

"I'm sorry about last night," she said.

"Can we talk?"

She led me inside. Her gait was off, moving to avoid incidental contact between her back and ass and the robe. I tried not to think about her back, what it must look like. Jett led me to her couch, but she couldn't sit. It broke my heart.

"Did it help?" I said. I meant the whipping.

"I'm still here," Jett said. She flashed a sad smile. "I know it was... hard on you."

Her apologies only made me feel more guilty. I didn't know how I could get through this. I pressed forward anyway.

"I don't think we, Lisa and I, can live together," I said.

This caught Jett by surprise. She stared at me. I saw gears turning.

"What happened?" she asked.

What had happened... I finally understood. Lisa's exhibitionism wasn't flirting, it was a coping mechanism. To paraphrase her words, the only way to survive overwhelming uncertainty and pain was to taunt the thing you dread, to prove that the fear is worse than reality.

Lisa could trust me not to assault her because every day she checked. She tested.

It worked until it didn't.

"Brett?" Jett asked.

"I figured Lisa out," I said.

I couldn't lay Lisa's trauma at Jett's feet. It wasn't fair to either one of them. I only knew I couldn't face her again.

"And?"

"Can she stay with you?" I asked.

"What happened?" Jett asked again.

I took a deep breath. Even if it was my story to share, I couldn't. Just circling around last night was difficult. I needed to hold it together.

"You'll have to ask her," I said.

"I'm asking you," she said.

The root of the trauma was bad communication. I wished Lisa hadn't chosen such a terrible method to cope, wished she had just told me the truth, or trusted me to control myself.

Bad strategy and shit communication.

"I fucked Lisa," I said.

"Last night?"

"No," I said.

"I don't understand," Jett said.

"I didn't either," I said.

I knew the words I needed to say. But I couldn't. I just stared at Jett. We were both so raw, so swept up in emotional pain that physical pain sounded like a blessing. How could I get through this?

"Brett?" Jett asked. I heard the concern in her voice.

"She was always pushing me to fuck her. I thought she wanted it, but was afraid to ask. When it finally happened, she didn't say no. But it wasn't what she wanted. I just... I didn't know."

Jett looked confused. I didn't blame her. She reached her hand out and I took it.

"She can't live with me anymore," I said. "I can't..."

I finally understood the masochism, why the both of them would torture their bodies. Feeling anything, even pain, was better than this.

"So you two fuck around and then you throw her out?"

"That's not..." I started. It wasn't fair. "I can't unsee it. Maybe she can forget, but I can't."

"What about you?" Jett asked. Her voice was quiet. "What if you wanted to stay with me instead of Lisa?"

I had come over here ready to confess, to have Jett yell and throw things, to be out of her life, anything necessary to make it right with Lisa. I didn't expect this.

"Is that what you want?" I asked.

I looked in her hazel eyes. Tears were forming.

"Help me," Jett said. "Why? When?"

"When we were fighting," I said. "I was mad."

"What fight?" I watched Jett's eyes, confusion. She didn't remember. My world had been on the edge of collapse, and she had just gone back to painting, another afternoon.

I watched her eyes narrow. She found the moment.

"Right before you loved me," she said. An accusation. The anger was finally coming through in her voice.

"Yeah," I said.

"I..." Jett hesitated. A tear went streaking down her perfect cheek. "Goddammit Brett!"

She pushed me as hard as she could. I didn't budge.

"I wasn't the man you needed me to be," I said. I fought hard to keep emotion from leaking in to my voice.

"You pull this shit now?" Jett said.

"I'm sorry," I said.

She untied the sash holding her robe together. It fell open, revealing her pale body. Jett started slipping out of the robe. She wanted to show me what she was feeling, to let me know that no matter what damage I saw on her body, the emotional pain from her dad was worse.

I grabbed her robe and held it closed.

"Please," I told Jett.

Jett was crying. "Why now?" she asked.

"I didn't understand until last night, until Lisa explained what you were trying to do," I said.

"Maybe she doesn't care," Jett said, angry and hopeful at the same time.

She leaned in close to me. I let go of her robe. Jett wrapped her arms around my body, a hug. She pressed her face against my chest. I didn't hug her back, too afraid of causing more pain.

"I do," I responded.

Jett pulled away.

"You're the asshole here--"

"I know--"

"You don't get to be the good guy," Jett finished. I saw her jaw flex.

"Will you call her?" I asked. "I can't--"

"Yeah, whatever," Jett said. Her face was twisted in a sneer.

Her eyes were fire when she spoke next.

"I'll call her, but think about this Brett," Jett said. She took a breath, then another. A part of my brain thought about weather, about tornado formation. Warm air is the necessary fuel for violent storms. Not so different than people, and Jett was a tightening vortex of anger.

"Once Lisa moves in, what will I need you for?"

In that moment, Jett boiled down months and months of our relationship, love and support, down to just sex. Just a physical relationship, easily replaced by a random girl with a need for pain.

I loved Jett, but it didn't matter any more. I was empty, a dead tree that only looked alive, rotten and hollow when you get close.

"So do you still want me to call her?" Jett asked.

Her voice was a soft mixture of anger and hope. Maybe I would let this go. We could pretend this discussion never happened. After all, we had both fucked Lisa. Why should we fight based on something silly like when?

"Yes," I said.

--

I lost them both that morning. Fucking Lisa. I always knew she was dangerous. I didn't know I was dangerous too.

I still loved Jett but it wasn't enough. It only made things worse.

Jett would reach out, find a way to take care of Lisa. I didn't want any part of it, and it wouldn't happen instantly. I wasn't fit to be in public, but I had nowhere to go.

--

I ended up in the library hours later, not really remembering how, not reading or drinking coffee. I found a table and just sort of sat. I needed to survive. An hour could lead to a day to another day.

I felt a cackle of madness, understanding Lisa's masochistic urges. Too late.

--

"Brett?"

It wasn't Lisa. Not Jett. I closed my eyes.

"Brett!"

The voice approached, so close I couldn't ignore it. Mia.

She was always smiling. I didn't mind. I envied her. Could the world be bleak if you weren't able to see it?

"Hey," I said.

She pulled out a chair, lacquered wood on soft carpet. Mia sat across from me.

"You alright?"

Was I alright? I was a black hole, and this nice girl was ignorantly flirting around an event horizon, unaware of the danger.

"No," I said.

She peeled off a glove, ran the back of her soft hand against my cheek, then pressed her palm to my forehead.

"You don't have a fever," she said.

"I'll be fine," I said. It wasn't a statement of hope. It was pure despair. I was too miserable to die.

Her hands reached across the table, curled around mine. I looked up at her, seeing her for the first time. Behind thick glasses, her eyes were a clear gray. Light eyes and dark hair. Unusual. I saw concern.

"I'm taking you home," she said.

That was the only wrong answer. I pulled my hand away.

Mia was watching me, waiting for something.

"I..." I started. I shut my eyes. I couldn't get one fucking word out without breaking down. "I can't."

Mia was worried. She was processing something, the same concentration on her face when cross referencing values in a binomial distribution.

I saw her land on an answer.

"Something is wrong," she said.

I didn't bother to deny it. I spent my willpower to remain stoic, to not be sobbing in the library.

"Brett?"

I just looked away. I didn't have the energy to be cruel to Mia, but I couldn't do this.

"Whatever it is, it will be okay."

She took my hands in hers again.

"You don't have to tell me what's wrong," she said finally, "we can talk about something else. Anything. The weather."

She smiled. "Right?"

I nodded. The weather.

--

Mia took me to IHOP.

"When was the last time you ate?" Mia asked.

I didn't remember. My sense of time was non-existent. Not today. Not lunch or breakfast. Yesterday?

The dinner. Steak. Abandoning Jett. Then what happened after. Lisa.

I winced, clenching my eyes shut. I wasn't going to throw up. I just had to keep moving forward.

When I opened my eyes, Mia was staring at me. She didn't move. She was scared. For me.

"I'm sorry," I said.

Mia gave me a fatigued smile.

I wasn't hungry, but she ordered for me anyway. Water and orange juice and coffee and pancakes and scrambled eggs. Bacon AND sausage. When I tried to protest she told the waitress that it was all for her, to just ignore me.

"Thank you," I said. I was despondent but she was here, trying to help. It meant something.

Then the food arrived. The first bite of bacon woke me up. It was undercooked, not nearly crispy enough, but it was salty and hot and the smell was wonderful.

She watched me eat. I felt her eyes on me, but it didn't matter.

"You ever see a tornado?" she asked.

"No," I said. We were both weather nerds. Meteorology was difficult, just as much math as engineering, but with a more uncertain future. You only did it if you loved it.

"I thought about going in the spring," I said, "to Oklahoma or Kansas."

"Do some storm chasing?" Mia asked. Her eyes lit up at the thought. It made me... comfortable, seeing someone happy.

I nodded.

"How about you?" I asked.

"I grew up in Oklahoma," she said.

"Why go to school here?" I asked. The University of Oklahoma had a good meteorology program. I had applied but decided to stay closer to home.

"Because I grew up in Oklahoma..." she said. "My dad is a professor there. I needed some space."

I thought of Jett's dad.

"I understand," I said. She caught something in my face or tone of voice.

"It's not like that," she said. "My dad is... great. Sometimes you don't see it until you are a thousand miles away."

Mia picked at a piece of bacon, deciding whether to eat it or not. She finally did.

"The storms up here aren't the same," she said. "Down there, when the weather is bad, the whole world kind of stops. It has to. It can kill you."

I found myself actually listening to her. I studied math and weather, followed the meso-net, but I had never been afraid it would kill me.

Mia's face lit up. "You're back," she said.

"Keep going."

"So yeah," she said. "Everyone stops and checks their phone or TV. Last spring, we had a thunderstorm here, and I was watching it, and then I look up, and my family wasn't there. I expected them to be there, not a thousand miles away. I had a moment. I realized I missed my dad, missed home."

She continued.

"When I was a kid, the weather was scary in an abstract kind of way, crashing thunder and hail, news footage of a house that was destroyed, but it was never my house. When the storms come, the people you love gather together, focused on one thing, the weather, and even if it's scary, you're all in it together, so that even years later, you don't remember the anxiety. You just know that lightning and thunder are what happens when you're with your family, and you can't separate bad weather from love."

Her voice was a hug. I needed it.

--

I was riding with Mia. It wasn't even six o'clock, but I was so tired I bordered on delirious.

"Where are we going?" It occurred to me that Mia had no idea where I lived.

"My place," she said.

I felt a nervous twinge of something. Fear. I liked Mia, found her attractive, felt a connection, but I couldn't touch her or kiss her. She knew I was damaged, but only surface level stuff. I couldn't let her in. I couldn't let myself back in.

"That's not a good idea," I said.

She looked at me. Mia looked tired too. When had that happened? She chuckled.

"Don't get your hopes up there," she said. "You're sleeping on the couch."

I couldn't go home, and Mia knew it. She didn't know why and wasn't going to pry.

"Thank you," I said. The minuscule amount of gratitude I let slip through in my voice was like a crack in a dam, threatening to break, to let everything out. I had to keep my shit together.

I wiped my eyes and stared out the window. Mia trusted me, thought I was safe--

Don't think. I needed to be somewhere else, anywhere but my own head.

--

Mia's apartment was just as crappy as mine, which made it feel like home. She made up a bed on a beat up old couch. Sheets and pillows. It felt wonderful.

"I have a roommate," she said. "Ken. I'm going to let him know you're staying. I don't want you to be shocked."

"Thanks," I said.

"You're gonna be okay," she said.

"It means something that you believe it," I said. I faked a smile. Progress.

Mia didn't smile back. She just considered me for a moment.

"You'll believe it too," she said. "Just see how tomorrow treats you."

--

I woke up to the smell of coffee and the clinking of mugs. I saw what looked to be a viking walking out of the kitchen, his frame crowded out most of the doorway, a thick red beard down to his chest.

"Brett right?" he said. I sat up on the couch, and he handed me a mug. "Ken."

"Is Mia--"

"Still asleep," he said.

I nodded. I didn't know the etiquette here.

"She's a sweetheart," Ken said.

"Yeah," I said. It was certainly true.

I looked up. The giant was eying me with suspicion.

"You in legal trouble?" Ken asked.

I sipped my coffee. My shoulders were sore. How long had I slept?

"Legal?" I asked.

Ken stared at me and crossed his arms. It was... imposing.

"If I find out you beat up your ex-girlfriend or something, we're going to have a problem."

I sighed. It was the opposite. Maybe not opposite, what do you call it when your ex-girlfriend whips your roommate, and vice versa?

"No," I said. "Nothing like that."

He didn't move. His scour didn't break. For just a moment, I thought about challenging him, that maybe a fistfight was just what I needed. It was stupid. And wrong. They had invited me into their home.

I needed to tell him something. I was the asshole here. Ken was just trying to protect his friend. I breathed in the steam from the coffee he had provided.

"My roommate is sleeping with my girlfriend," I said. Close enough.

"Oh," Ken said. "Sorry man. So'd you like punch him out or something?"

I chuckled through my nose.

"My roommate is a girl," I said.

Ken smiled. "Seriously?"

I nodded.

"I don't know, sounds alright," he said.

"You know what? It was, for a while," I said.

"And then?"

It still hurt, but not so bad that I couldn't look at it, turn it over in my mind and try to understand.

"They are working through some shit, something I don't understand, hurting each other on purpose, and using me to do it. I couldn't see it at first, and then I couldn't unsee it."

I took a deep breath. It wasn't exactly the truth, but it was close.

"I couldn't... I couldn't watch them be in pain," I said. I thought of Lisa. "Not if I was causing it."

Ken's eyes darted over behind me.

"Hey Mia," he said.

I stood up. Her hair was a mess, and her eyes were tired. No glasses. She wore a simple t-shirt and boxy shorts, ample breasts and nice legs. I didn't want to feel attraction. I didn't want to feel anything.

"You heard all that?" I asked.

"Heard enough," she said.

Ken poured Mia a coffee.

"What now?" Mia asked.

"I don't know," I said. I thought of Jett, hazel eyes, manic energy, beautiful and vulnerable. I loved her. Her pale back, whips and red welts and screams. Then Lisa, needing me to be a protector, but finding a predator instead. Creating a predator. How many of her sessions with Jett were processing the trauma I inflicted? My hands started shaking. I put the coffee down.

"I just can't be there," I said. "I can't see her."

--

I rode Mia's couch for a few days, staying away from my apartment, trusting Lisa and Jett to handle it. When I got back, Lisa's stuff was gone. I could go home.

Life went on.

Things weren't the same without Lisa. Jett got drunk one night and texted me a bunch of photos of Lisa in pain. I blocked her number after that.

Mia and Ken stuck in my life. Coming over together or separately, I knew they cared for me, and they were also worried about me. Good people.

--

Months passed. I let Jett go, but I was still rattled. I spent weeks questioning myself. Even if Lisa would forgive me, I didn't know if I could forgive myself.

We planned a trip during Spring Break. Oklahoma and her family and storm chasing. It was a big deal. We had transitioned from friends to more than friends, but still hadn't had sex. Mia knew I needed to go slow.

We were scheduled to leave on a Thursday. I saw Jett had another art show.

I went, not really knowing why.

--

The chemical smell of oil paints hit me first, reminding me of Jett. This was a bad idea, but I had to do it.

The gallery was bigger this time. Off campus.

Her collection had expanded. The pieces had prices now, and some of them were already sold.

I found Jett across the room, entertaining a crowd. It was obvious she was going to succeed. I realized I couldn't separate my love for her from her art. Was her painting actually "good?" It didn't really matter, because the rest of the world also had the same problem.

I wandered the show. She was so busy, the odds of getting noticed were slim. The new show continued a story. The original was a transformation from pain in to peace, barbed wire in to idyllic fields. This one was the opposite.

I found my painting. A very long time ago, Jett had promised to put me in her work, that I was somehow inspiring. The painting was huge, an answer to her previous work. This one also told a story.

On the left, a pastoral scene. Green grass. Jett and I together, even if you couldn't make out our faces, I knew. Seeing us together, even in abstract, caused a dull ache. I could take it.

The glade was framed on all sides by organic barbed wire, like a razor wire jungle and a prison in one. Outside the glade it was dark, razors in a thick tangle. Images of Lisa and Jett frolicking through the barbed wire, untouched, naked. It made sense.

"Heya Brett," Lisa said.

She must have slid up beside me while I was distracted. This moment was inevitable. This is why I came, even if I didn't know it until Lisa was beside me.