Faithless (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (81 page)

“How could you have enjoyed it?” Fate asks
. It’s the curiosity that has me answering. If I’d heard judgment instead, I’d have tossed her from the window.

“Fate,” I sigh, “I know you are very, very inexperienced. And, Stanton, I know you don’t get this concept, either. But sometimes
, sex is sex… and it can feel damn fine. I’ve had sex with Ez countless times, in every way imaginable. What were a few more times in the grand scheme of things? It wasn’t worth the consequences- I mean death, not impending pregnancy. There was a thrill about it because the only times we’ve done it the traditional way was when it was forced by the game.”

“Traditional way?” Stanton says in confusion, as if there is only one way to have sex.

“Um… Ezra likes dudes, remember? You guys know he isn’t all there, right? He has DID, Dissociative Identity Disorder. When we were with Cortez, as a threesome,” I stress, “he was Ez, a melding of his two halves. He could tolerate girls, but preferred guys… um… don’t make me say how we always did it.”

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Stanton says in awe, looking me over like I’m a harlot. Fate actually looks impressed- my sister is harboring an inner-slut that needs unleashed.

“Yeah, if you didn’t know what you’re doing, but… um… Ez has had a lot of practice with um… receiving that particular act. He knew what he was doing… so yeah, it was nice,” I stammer, turning bright-fucking-red. “I wouldn’t turn it down.”

“I… um… don’t know how to reply to that,” Stanton stammers and turns red, too. Nice to know I’m not the only one who is un-fucking-comfortable.

“Are you okay with… if you… get pregnant?” Fate asks the most uncomfortable question of my life.

“Yes… no… the hell if I know. No, I’m not ready.” I think for a moment, because this question should be seriously considered. “It doesn’t matter what I think or if I am ready. If I am, I’ll deal with it.
I held my nephew for the first time tonight. No matter how a life is brought into being, it should be a blessing. So, yes, I hope I am, and, no, I hope I’m not. And I can’t explain it better than that.”

Fate looks confused, but Stanton ominously says, “I understand that statement better than you do.”

We sit in silence, none of us knowing what to say next- I need to talk to Stanton in private, but not with Fate here. But how do you ask your sister to leave?

“Am I still staying here? I promised Bianca I’d make her pancakes for breakfast,” Fate says after a prolonged silence.

“We’d love for you to stay. You can sleep with Bianca or take Faith’s bed. I know this sounds weird, but I’m not letting Faith out of my sight for a few days. It has nothing to do with the game or anything… I’m…. ah, fucking hell,” Stanton sighs, “… traumatized over what just happened, and I need to be near you right now,” Stanton mumbles to me, halfway to tears. I would have agreed to anything to take that lost look from his eyes. Being his constant companion for a few days isn’t a hardship. I’m in need of real affection and comfort myself.

~Chapter
Seventy~

The past week has been the strangest of my life. First
, there is Stanton. I thought he was suffocating before. Now, I don’t even get peace at bedtime. I’ve spent the last six nights with Bianca hugging my middle and Stanton caging us both. He is frightened the boogeyman will come and take us in the night. The sleeping arrangements aren’t the strangest part of my night; it’s listening to Stanton weep until he falls asleep. Yesterday, I gave up and made him an appointment to see a therapist.

Hey, if Ez really goes through with his future career aspirations, he can be the therapist to the broken and bent game players.
They could tell him all their secrets, and have them used against them. He could hear their crimes without batting an eyelash.

While Stanton
attaches himself to me during bedtime, he gives me absolute freedom during the day. A month ago, even with a full-time profession, he still had Julio stalking me to the station and back. Now, it’s just me, myself, and I. Stan even bought me a car, saying I needed it.

I know he is compensating by buying me a car, and gifts, and giving me freedom. He is compensating for his nighttime breakdowns. Stanton feels he didn’t protect me. I tell him ten times a day that I don’t blame him
, and there was nothing he could do. A few nights ago, he was whimpering about rape. I told him I didn’t see it as rape. I had a choice. I could have said no and taken the consequences. Having a choice, albeit an impossible one, made it better somehow.

I told Stanton
that I figured out what had happened in his past and what had happened during his punishment. After an hour of him lecturing me while bawling, I handed him the business card of his new therapist with the appointment time written on the back. Needless to say, he shut up and stopped groveling for about an hour because he was speechless.

Now that the e
lders know where I am, and can get me at any time, hiding isn’t really an issue. There is no protecting me from what is already done, and there isn’t anything else they can do to me for a while, since Stanton made them give their word that they wouldn’t play me until this play is concluded.

Now, I have more freedom than ever
, and don’t know what the hell to do with it. It’s not like I want to go to the mall, or have girlfriends to go to the movies with, or a boyfriend to take me on a date. I work, and work, and work, and take care of Bianca, and coddle Stanton.

I also
pretend that two hours of my life never occurred- those two hours where Wil showed his real colors. I enjoy, with a gleeful delight, the confusion and anger Wil feels when I show him indifference. I act as I always did around him. When at the station, I hang around him. When on a call, I trust his judgment with patients. The added bonus that feeds the part of me that likes to see Wil hurt as much as I hurt, is that Wil is completely and totally unnerved by my behavior. He was calm and quiet before, now he babbles and seems frazzled. Today especially, and I freakin’ love it.

“Are you feeling alright?” Wil asks for the billionth time today. It took him all week to muster up the courage to ask about that night. I just keep shrugging, just like he did to me last week. Yeah, it’s juvenile, but it feels powerful to have the right to ignore someone. I’ll take control of my life anywhere I can get it.

“Are you going to freeze me out forever? We have to work side-by-side every day?” Wil leans back on the sofa, his designated spot at the station.

Around us is a happy chaos.
The fifteen guys and a handful of girls that share our shift are scattered throughout the fire station, doing various tasks. Wil and I are in the combination kitchenette and living area. There is also a training room, a classroom, storage areas, meeting rooms and offices, and the bays of apparatus and equipment. After proficiently completing our daily tasks, Wil and I wait to be called upon. After which, he and I must go through all those daily tasks again, after every call. Not really daily tasks if you have to do them five, sometimes ten times per day, and sometimes you are called out again mid-task… the life of being a member of the FDNY.

Going into this profession, I hadn’t realized th
at Paramedics were part of the fire department. I guess you could say I did this in haste and ignorance. But I wouldn’t change it for anything- it’s a true passion. I thought Paramedics and EMTs were attached to the hospital. You always saw them riding in ambulances to and from the hospital, so one would assume- they are in the medical field, after all. But, nope, we work in conjunction with the fire department. We go where they go, but they don’t necessarily go where we go. Fires, car accidents, mishaps of various types, some interesting and some very mundane, a few of us slide into the trucks and ride along in case someone needs medical attention. However, the fire personnel do not go to medical calls with us. In the fire department, we all have our specific jobs, but we are a solid unit.

“I’m not freezing you out,” I pleasantly say
, hating that our colleagues know us so well that they leave us alone. Knowing Wil and I share a creepy connection, it’s like they can sense when we are being intense, and steer clear. “I just don’t feel like sharing intimate information. As you said, I don’t really know you. It made me realize how unfair I’ve been by telling you too much.”

Total bullshit. It’s been very cathartic, and vindictive, but I’ve turned the tables around on Wil all week. I use my tells to make him think I am feeling different emotions than I am. I don’t trust him, so why would I give him a part of me that only those I trust receive. He said he’d earn
my trust again, and he had… because I was a fucking fool.

“I want you to share with me,” Wil
softly murmurs, looking a bit sad. But like me, he can also project one emotion while feeling another- I ought to know, he’s done it to me every time I let him in.

“And I’d be an idiot to share with you,” I sharply hiss, my emotions getting the better of me. I quickly backtrack to cover my fuck-up. “After everything, I’m finding it difficult to share with anyone. I even doubt the motives of my almost nine-year-old sister.” I bite my lip, look to my clasped hands that I’m worrying in my lap, and sigh. Again, all bullshit- I trust Stanton, I trust Bianca, and I trust Fate, because I know them. I know what I can tell them because I know what
they can handle and how they will react with pinpoint precision. I edit, but I share a little bit with each of them.

“I regret what I said,” Wil breathes. “I wish I hadn’t said any of it.”

I want to say
because your cover is blown, or is it because now you have to get me to trust you enough to tell you my plans
. But I don’t say a word, I just shrug- I am a master at silence after a lifetime of being told to shut up.

There is power in silence- I’m talking less and less every day. If you speak constantly, do your words mean anything? For those who barely speak, when they do, people really listen to the words
, and take them as fact- that is a very helpful thing when most of the words that flow from your mouth are untrue. Plus, I can’t really let anyone in. I can’t and won’t talk about the game, because how do you know who you can trust, so I just keep my mouth shut.

“Have you spoken to Ez?” Wil asks, his calm voice belying his true emotions. I can’t hear it, but I can
feel
his eagerness.

I know Wil is
trying to ferret out my plans, wondering why I hadn’t made an attempt on my grandfather’s life. It was Stanton who came up with a better plan- a shocking plan. To protect the plan, Stanton contacted Ez, and told him it was a no-go. The only ones that know anything are Stanton and me. It’s safest. The saying goes
: two can keep a secret, if one of them is dead
. Stanton and I would keep our secrets to the grave. Ez… he told me not to trust him, in that statement there is real trust. But what Ez meant was he can’t trust himself, so leave him out if we can- so we did.

“I haven’t heard from Ez since he dropped me off at my building. After everything…” I trail off, looking extremely pitiful. I eject a few tears for affect. “I think we need some time apart. But the game never stops.” I sniffle. “I was summoned tonight, so I assume I will see Ez there- do you know why we are having another meeting so soon? I thought they didn’t want me there? Why did they ask for me? I can’t take another punishment?” I dab my eyes with a fingertip.

Wil reaches across the coffee table and touches my hand. The touch is no different than the soft, affectionate touches he gave me for the past ten months. But, today, it doesn’t comfort or soothe me. Today, it makes my flesh crawl, like spiders marching beneath my skin. I want to throw his hand off and scrub my skin raw where he touched. I just keep feeling his face between my thighs and seeing the hatred glow from his pale eyes. His false sympathetic touch turns my stomach. But I don’t freak out; I relax as if he is comforting me. I can actually see Wil relax, slowly lowering his guard.

“It’s just a standard weekly meeting,” Wil begins. I’d love to think he is trusting me, but I know he is feeding me the information that he
’s allowed. He isn’t telling me anything that anyone else couldn’t. A year ago, I’d have been grateful. Today, I see it as it is meant, smoke and mirrors.

“You are The Simpson h
eir. It is your right to be at the meetings. Mitchell insisted. I think your…” he struggles to come up with a word, “enthusiasm to complete your play, changed his perception of you. He’s been acting strangely all week- anticipatory.”

“No doubt,” I breathe to myself.

“What did you say?” Wil asks, confusion written in heavy lines across his face. His brows lower, covering the brilliance of his eyes- it captivates me, and makes me hate myself for still wanting him. Will he always draw me like this? Is it really the danger that is the flame to my wick? Once Wil said that, it’s all I can think of. It somehow lessens the feeling I thought I had for him. Was everything lies? Will he always turn my feelings for him into the perfect weapon? I hate that he makes me doubt everything- doubting him is one thing, doubting myself is another- and Wil has accomplished both.

“What?” Wil asks, squeezing my hand. “What did you think about that just upset you?” Somehow my façade crumbled beneath the assault of my thoughts.

Vulnerability tumbles the words out, “I was wondering what is real and what isn’t-”