I Know What Love Is (23 page)

The high I got from putting a blue envelope into the mailbox slowly reduced to a mere buzz over time and then dropped down to a slight hum. It was still fun to think about his reaction to the different pictures I sent. I wondered which picture was his favorite. Maybe the one where I was bent over with my ass in the air, my hair covering my face? That was one of my favorites. But then again, I didn't know if he even looked at them. Maybe after the first one, or maybe the first few, he started tossing them in the trash. Maybe he didn't give a shit who I fucked or how I often.

As I lay awake night after night, I thought about it.

I wanted to know. I needed to know.

So I came up with yet another a crazy plan.

Everyday after work, I had to walk past a sketchy cellphone store on my way to the parking garage. It was a no-name place run by two Russians, and it oozed skeeviness, from the neon sign to the questionable merchandise that was behind the glass in the front. One day as I passed, the idea came to me out of nowhere, like a bolt of lightning on a bright sunny day. I stepped inside the small store, knowing exactly what I was looking for. The little store delivered, and my plan was ready to be implemented.

I walked out with a burner phone that worked on refillable calling cards. It had an untraceable number. As I drove home, I couldn't stop from smiling, the high making me giddy. I liked the feel of the secret phone in my hands. I liked the fact that it made me feel like I was outside of society and up to no good. I was treading in dangerous waters, and I liked it.

I printed out a new picture and scribbled the burner phone number on the back. Before I could talk myself out of it, I stuck the photo in a blue envelope and walked down to the mailbox on the corner. I knew that what I was doing was stupid. I knew that it was probably a mistake, but I couldn't stop myself. I dropped it in the mailbox and then I waited.

It took over a month.

Just when I was sure that nothing was going to come my latest plot, I was at the local organic grocery store wandering aimlessly through the aisles when I heard an unfamiliar ring tone. At first, I thought it was someone else's phone but then I realized the sound was coming from my bag. My heart froze in my chest and I stopped dead in the middle of the frozen food section. I dug around at the bottom of my bag and found the phone. The area code on the caller ID was unfamiliar to me. It wasn't a Texas number.

I felt my shoulders droop at the realization that it wasn't Elliot. It was most likely a wrong number, I thought. I stared down at the phone as it rang and rang, debating on whether or not to answer it. Finally, it stopped. My heart was racing as I threw the phone back in my bag. I was pissed. I didn't know what I wanted, quite honestly. The thought of hearing his voice again was suddenly something I desired. After two years of working on making a new life, I was slowly reverting back to my old habits. If I wasn't careful, I would slip up and make another mistake. A mistake at that stage in the game could have cost me my new life, and I knew that. But I didn't care.

A light rain was falling as I left the store and I jogged across the parking lot to my car. By the time I slid in the front seat, my hair was plastered to my face and my mascara was blurry under my eyes. I swept it up into a loose bun, mentally yelling at myself for forgetting my umbrella again. In Seattle, there's no excuse for not having an umbrella. I wondered when I would stop being a Texas girl. How many years would it take before the old Joan Vasquez was completely gone? I placed my hands on the steering wheel and stared out at the drops of rain hitting the windshield, wondering what I was going to do next.

I knew that living was the best revenge, like that old cop had said so long ago. I knew that being in Seattle and being happy was the best possible thing for me.

Mentally, I knew that.

Emotionally, I still wanted Elliot to suffer. If he wasn't opening the blue envelopes, I would have to figure out another way to reach him.

I couldn't let him go.

A muted ringing drew my attention back to my bag, and I knew it was the burner phone again. I grabbed my bag and found the phone. It was the same number as before. Something warm uncoiled in me and I answered it without thinking.

“
Hello?” I said. It was silent on the other line, but I could hear someone breathing. “Hello?” I repeated, my eyes still trained on the windshield. Drop. Drop. Drop.

“
Joanie.” The voice was light, but unmistakeable. My mouth fell open and so many emotions flooded me—anger, sadness, rage, triumph, and something darker that I couldn't put a name on. For a moment, I wondered if I was dreaming. Was this actually happening? I drew the phone back from ear and stared down at it. Was I imagining that Elliot was on the other line, and did that mean I had officially gone of the deep end? I put the phone back to my ear, and I could still hear him breathing. “Why are you torturing me, Joanie?” he asked, low and dangerous. “Answer me.”

“
Because you deserve it,” I whisper.

“
I know I do,” he said, his voice so close to my ear a shiver tingled down my spine. “But I can't take it. You're killing me.”

“
Good.” A wet drop travelled down my cheek and I couldn't tell if it was a tear or the rain.

“
Where are you?” he growled and without thinking I abruptly hung up. I took the battery out of the phone and flung both pieces into the backseat. Then I hightailed it out of the parking lot, just wanting to be home. At home, I could bury myself under the covers and hide. His voice still echoed in my brain. Out of nowhere, I was shaking and manic, my brain going a mile a minute. I had invited Elliot back into my life, but I was unprepared for the actual reality of it.

Mostly, I wanted to be in control of the situation.

He surprised me and I didn't like it.

I pulled into my garage and the door rumbled closed behind me. I let out a deep breath, letting the anxiety flow out of me. At home, I knew I was safe. I left the pieces of the phone in the car and carried my bags inside. I dropped the groceries in the kitchen and ran upstairs, shedding my jacket as I went. I kicked off my boots at the foot of the bed and crawled under the warm down duvet. I shoved my hand under my pillow, my fingers finding the cool metal of the gun I kept there.

For a long time, I just laid there, getting my wits about me.

When it was dark outside, I finally emerged from the bedroom, calm and with a new plan. I went back out to the car. I sat in the backseat, searching for the pieces of the phone. When he called again, I would be ready.

I didn't have to wait long. At two in the morning, the phone rang again. I didn't hesitate.

I answered.

*****

“
So what was in them blue letters anyways?” Lassiter asked me one day at lunch, his eyes on his food. We sat across from each other in the cafeteria but I barely heard him. I barely paid attention to much, those days. My mind was on one thing, and one thing only. “You got a girl on the outside?” He spoke again and I glanced up from my disgusting meal of mystery meat and watery mashed potatoes.

“
What the fuck do you care?”

“
Just making conversation, brother,” Lassiter said, meeting my gaze. There was a strange glint in his eye, and I wondered what bee had crawled in his bonnet. We were close enough, and I knew I owed him for smuggling Joanie's letters to me, but that didn't mean I was going to have a heart-to-heart with him. “Is she pretty? I bet she smells good.” I leaned back in my chair, focusing on chewing slowly so I didn't jump across the table and strangle him to death. I didn't want him thinking about my girl, although he had no idea who she was or what she looked like. Even fantasizing was too much. I didn't like anyone thinking about her but me. “Them letters smelled of perfume, that's how I know it's a female who sent 'em,” he said, shoveling mashed potatoes in his mouth.

“
Yeah,” I said, my temper settling to a mild roar.

“
What's her name?” He picked at his food, eyes roaming around the room nonchalantly, like he wasn't itching to know the answer.

“
Daisy,” I said, because I owed him something, but not that much. He nodded, running his tongue across his lips.

“
She waiting for you on the outside?”

“
I like to think so,” I said, because I did.

“
What I wouldn't give for some pussy,” he said, shaking his head. “Pussy that smells real good like that.” He laughed into his mash potatoes, an evil laugh that made me wonder just exactly what his inclinations were, not that I had much room to judge. “You a lucky man, Pritch.”

“
Not lucky,” I growled, thinking about Joanie's legs wrapped around me and her mouth pressed against mine. It felt like a fist squeezed around my heart as I thought about all those pictures she sent. At all those late night phone calls, when her voice whispered in my ear but I couldn't touch her.

“
She never comes to see you though, does she?” Lassiter said. “You never get no visitors.” He chuckled and swiped at his nose. “You can't trust cooze, Pritch,” Lassiter continued with a smile. “They'll cut your balls off and eat 'em.”

“
That so?” I murmured, flexing my hands under the table. If given the chance, I knew Joanie would have loved to keep my balls in one her fancy designer bags. At that point, I probably would have let her if it meant I could touch her again. She was so damn far away. I knew she was in Seattle, Washington. She didn't know I knew, but I did. It didn't really matter, though. I might know where she was but I couldn't get to her.

Not yet, anyway.

“All those letters that come through the mail room, I see 'em. I see brothers who started off getting mail every day. Then it's down to once a week, then once a month.” He tipped his head back and downed his white milk. “They get abandoned in here. Forgot. Time goes on without them. The world keeps spinning. The postman keeps coming until he don't. Cuz he's forkin' your woman.” Lassiter let out a snide laugh.

I stared at him a long while, a slow plan forming in my head. It was a batshit, ridiculous plan, but I couldn't stop the thoughts from coming. Hope was pointless, but it was all I had.

“I can trust you, right?” I said without thinking.

“
Swear on my dead momma's grave, you can trust me,” Lassiter said, his eyebrows jumping.

“
You really want to know what's in those blue letters?” I asked.

“
Mm-hmm,” he nodded, slowly. “I bet it's something real good.”

“
You tell me how mail moves in and out of the mail room,” I said, my voice so low he had to lean in to hear me. “And I'll show you.”

Chapter Eighteen

I
t was so easy to fall back into our old pattern.

Too easy.

“Open those legs wide for me,” his voice is a hoarse rasp in my ear. I obeyed, spreading my thighs. “I want to look at you.” I kept my eyes closed, focusing on his words. “I'm going to make you come, but first, I want to look at you.” I nodded, running my palms down my stomach. “Are you open wide?”

“
Yes,” I nodded again, like he could see me. “I can feel your hands on me,” I murmured, dragging my own hands up my inner thighs. It was almost like he was in the room with me. After four months of stolen moments on untraceable phones, I was getting hungry for more. My obsession with him was only growing. It felt safe to talk to him in that way, but it was a false safety. Elliot had always been dangerous. He still was.

I've never forgotten that.

But I still can't let him go.

“
Fuck, I want to taste you.” He sounded pained and I understood just how he felt.

“
How do I taste?” I whispered, dipping my finger inside of me. It wasn't his hand, but it would have to do.

“
Like peaches and cream,” he hissed and I knew he was just as turned on as me. “Drizzled with honey.” I bowed my back as his words danced up my spine. “I can taste you on my tongue right now.” He let out a slow breath and I reminded myself to breathe. I gasped as I played with myself, although I wanted so much more. “I want to lick you until dawn. I want to tongue-fuck you until you beg me to stop.”

“
I want you to,” I reply, thrusting my finger in an out of me, wishing he was on top of me, wishing he was in between my thighs. Invading me. Consuming me, in only the way he can.

“
I want your pussy all over my face,” his voice swirled around me. “Roll them hips, girl.”

“
Ugh!” I gritted out, my teeth clenched, as I did what he commanded. My finger slid deeper and I added another.

“
Fuck my mouth, baby. Fuck me good.” My whole body tightened, electricity humming around me. It sounds crazy, but I could feel it. I didn't even need him to touch me. Just his voice was enough to get me off. His gruff words were all it took. “I don't want to fucking breathe. Smother me, baby.” I moaned, my imagination running wild. I imagined my thighs clamped around his face, forcing him to pleasure me. Forcing him to make me come.