Obsession

"Taste the whip in love not given lightly, taste the whip and bleeeed for me," the voice coming from the sound system seemed to be laughing at me. I tried not to take it personally.

Julian glanced over, smiling at my raised brow.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist."

"Very funny. Is it some sort of requisite now- after we fuck you have to take a crack at me?"

"Yeah, I guess so," he lowered the windows, managing to grin while lighting a cigarette, then offering the pack to me.

"I don't smoke anymore," I shook my head.

"What, since last night?" His eyes were still on the road.

"That was a freak accident. Lightning doesn't strike twice."

"Sometimes it does. What about right now?"

The city began to roll back into view, I began to recognize more street names and buildings; everything looked unbearably familiar.

I took a drag.

It was still early afternoon when he dropped me off in the parking lot without so much as a kiss goodbye.

"Back so soon?"

Jacques had come out for a cigarette break, I sat on the flimsy metal patio furniture with him.

"Hi,"

"Since when do you smoke? What is this, Cadence?"

I shrugged, guilty, "I used to."

"Ethan came by earlier," he watched my reaction carefully.

"Oh yeah? What did you tell him?" I felt anxiety unfurl in the pit of my stomach.

"You took off with a friend for lunch, someone I didn't recognize, some blonde."

I sighed in relief, "Thanks."

"He said you had plans? He seemed hurt."

We sat in a silence that I wasn't used to, as his personality as I knew it wasn't tolerant of gaps in conversation.

"I'm not going to lie for you again," he continued, "I really like Ethan and I don't like getting in the middle of things."

I nodded, guilty, "Thanks. God, this is just so weird, It's happening so fast." I gave him minor details, lying, telling him it was something I had under control.

"Hmm okay, but for a fling he sure doesn't lose time what with the distinctive taste in jewelry."

My hand rose to my neck immediately, rouge creeping to tint my face, "Yeah, he's a scream."

"I'll bet," he flicked the butt of his cigarette, shooting me a look.

"Oh, God, don't make me blush."

"Take it off," he smiled, though something was off about him, "it doesn't really go with the uniform."

I laughed, relieved.

"God, Jacques, what do I do? I already feel like I'm too deep into this."

He shot me an incredulous look, "After one night? No flowers, either, I bet."

I rolled my eyes, "Don't tell me you can't relate, wooing all of these yankee girls."

"I didn't say I couldn't relate."

Our conversation felt more comfortable, as usual. I suppose I expected something like disapproval to mark every word that fell out of his mouth. I couldn't detect any, though, just his own dishonesty- he was plagued with information. I hated that in the short amount of time, Julian was already disinterested in any sort of discreetness. Two days I had known him and already he was poisoning the well water.

I drove home and decided on a shower; I had already made plans to spend the night at Ethan's and I didn't want to have Julian on me. I littered the floor of my bedroom with my clothes, entering the small, closet-like bathroom. I stared at my reflection, my fair skin blemished with his bites, where he had marked me, claimed me as though he were marking his territory. I leaned in, combing my hair back, looking at my face, taking off my small, pink bra. I studied myself in the mirror. I wasn't the typical seductress. My straight auburn hair hung in smooth tresses, I wasn't conventionally beautiful, and I was oddly proud of my collar bones. I wasn't the voluptuous, ditzy blonde stereotype to break up relationships. I had to admit that he wasn't leaving anyone for me. He made that clear. Was it so wrong? Of course it was. I thought of Ethan: sweet, funny, smart, Ethan. He was the romantic, the good guy with the slutty girlfriend that couldn't control herself. He had been there for me when I needed him unconditionally- always logical, always optimistic. Supporting my air-drowning fish of a career, buying me sunflowers . . . what more did I need? What was wrong with me?

I stepped under the cascade of hot water, groaning. The steam loosened me up as I lathered shampoo into my hair. But Julian. . . Julian was a different matter all together. I sighed, watching the soap spiral down the drain. It wasn't just rough sex. It wasn't just being taken instead of given to. Everything he did was pure passion, his touch set me aflame. He understood women; he understood sex, specifically dominance. I knew he wasn't going to exploit me with the dangerous chemistry we had between us. Julian was honest with what we were, brutally honest, and I didn't even really know him. He was more honest with me about what I wanted than I was with myself. I ignored all of my better judgment, abused the safe, reliable love I already had for a passion I wasn't even wholly sure of. What was love to me if I would abuse it for something so temporary? I had to see Ethan. I had to see if what I thought I felt for him was still there. What if something had atrophied in me in the time it had taken Julian to put a collar around my neck, tying a string to my heart? I didn't know if I could exist as one or the other and I had to find out.

That night I felt anxious for the first time at Ethan's flat. I wasn't a practicing slut, and I felt it was written all over me.

"Hey sweetie," I gave him a timid hug and was greeted with a quick kiss.

"Hey, Jacques told me you went out with Annie today?"

I nodded, careful, "I'm sorry I forgot you were coming!" I gave him my best look of despair.

He tapped my jaw with his fist in mock abuse, tsking in disapproval, "It's fine, I just thought we could go catch a matinee or something. Anyway, I'm used to it, you flighty thing."

I smiled, grateful for his indifference. I expected his suspicion, though, which was ridiculous: this, the thought-process of the guilt-ridden. I was Lady Macbeth sitting on his couch, under his arm, ignoring his nibbling kisses. The bluish light cast over us in the dark of the room, some old, sad French film about orphans during World War II was on, the only source of light in the room. I couldn't focus on the plot as my mind was wandering constantly. Every act was a caricature of normalcy. I forgot how I acted and who I was around him. Out damn spot.

"Hey, you owe me at least one good kiss," he protested and I realized how cold and unresponsive I must have seemed.

"You're right, poor baby," I kissed him sympathetically, "Au revoir, les enfants," I called as I turned off the TV. Darkness swallowed the room, save for the ever-present glow of city from the window and I straddled him as he leaned back. My mind flashed with thoughts of Julian, filling me with a sick excitement.

"Ooh," he growled into my neck, kissing me.

I felt him growing hard against me, his hands working at my shirt, trying to unbutton it and I panicked, remembering Julian's handiwork.

"No, no, no," I broke our sweet, hungry kiss, "wait,"

He raised an eyebrow and grinned, nearly eliciting a sigh of relief on my part. I rose up on my knees, sliding down my skirt.

He groaned, aroused, at my lack of panties.

I blushed, "Do you . . . like it?"

"Yes!"

There wasn't much of a sensation as he touched me although it was gentle, although I could feel it, although it was what I used to love most in these heated moments. His strong hands swept over the bites and bruises Julian left, making me wince and kiss him harder. It brought on a flash of Julian- his face when he was coming, his hands on my tits, his teeth dragging over my flesh.

"Fuck me," I growled in his ear.

"Hmm this is what you've wanted all day, wasn't it?"

I nodded, closing my eyes. Fuck it. Why not?

"I'll take care of that, honey."

But he couldn't. Not anymore.