Edging Obsession

7

T he day after the shooting, Miles leaves for several hours, and upon his return, I spot some blood on his clothes as he enters the bathroom and hops into the shower. In true Miles fashion, he deflects my questions about it, taking me to bed with a consuming deprivation. All my time goes to Miles during the last days of my interviews. In his arms, filled by him, the pain he inflicts, is all beginning to root itself into my heart and soul. I don’t want to let him go. Between the electric current zapping my insides, and the possessiveness he demonstrates, I’ve never wanted anything more. When we’re together, my mind is at ease because it’s in the now. Sex is our main source of communication, and he speaks to me in ways I wasn’t privy to. He’s my oxygen.

On the bus, I approach each member of the band, giving my farewells. At first, I’m about to hug each one, and then I see the depth of disapproval on Miles’ face. They wish me the best, and Lee tells me he’ll be in touch with Fred.

Outside of the bus, I stand in front of Miles, eyes glued to the ground while I bite my lower lip.

“You keep that up, Jules, and I’ll take you right here.” Using his index finger, he raises my chin, and says, "What’s wrong?”

My foot makes arcs in the dirt while I gaze elsewhere. “Nothing.”

His lips hover above mine. “Then enough pouting and give me a kiss before you go. Make it a good send off.”

The right side of his mouth quirks upward, and my eyes latch onto his beautiful browns. Like creamy chocolate mousse, they lure me into his sensual snare, which isn’t much of a trap, seeing as I enjoy being there. Our lips connect, my tongue outlining the thickness of his, and slips inside. It’s a comfort kiss, hoping he’ll adjust to my unease of leaving, and relieve me of my impending madness. A madness conjured by my insecurities of losing touch. I’m used to relationships disappearing in a puff of smoke, but I don’t want that with Miles. He’s become a guide, maneuvering, and shifting my emotions. My hands snake up his chest, wrap around his neck, pulling him closer to my heart, and I’m already aching from the thought of his absence.

We break apart, and Miles runs his thumb along my lip. “Be a good girl.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means, be good until we see each other again.”

With that, he pecks my cheek and disappears onto the bus. It seems so simple for him, as if he knew our short shelf life was inevitable. Our goodbye never mentions a future. Miles and I went from constant sex to parting. I don’t know where we stand. Was this it? Was our two weeks of sex all he has to offer?

W ith the East Coast tour completed, the band is flying to the West Coast. While gone, I send a few text messages to Miles and receive one-word responses. Maybe it is his way of ending it. Breaking things off. He might have his sights set on another woman or women, and this thought shreds my heart. Every day that slips by without him sucks the air from my lungs. A compression in my chest tightens when each day passes and not a word from him.

I cry too often, unable to concentrate on the article my boss Fred keeps hounding me about. In the early hours, I finally finish the article to appease him. I’ve been showing up late for work or calling in sick to avoid my responsibilities. Once I hand this in, I’m hoping it will satisfy Fred, and I can get back to a working schedule. It’s time I forget Miles. He isn’t coming back. I gave him everything, but obviously it wasn’t enough.

Unfortunately, my mind drowns in recollections and thoughts about us. Miles is gorgeous. The most popular rock star in the nation. Women and men will do anything to meet him. To have sex with him. I’m one of those people. His stimulating and sultry personality clouds my mind. I haven’t thought straight. As soon as we met, my heart lurched and paused for seconds, and mentally, I shut down. Miles allowed me to be free in mind and body. Now, I’m miserable from having to think. My jumbled mind is like someone tossed a jigsaw puzzle in the air, thoughts scattering about and not fitting into place. He's a constant ache. I must move on, reminding myself our time together wasn’t permanent.

Too bad he’s tattooed onto my heart.

I stand to the side to avoid my colleagues as I pick at the curled cardboard cup of coffee, my smudged lipstick decorating along the top. They’ll only dampen my spirits more by giving me rude looks.

Fred comes up beside me and asks, “Who are you hiding from?”

A last nibble on the cup, I toss the rest of the coffee in the garbage. “No one.”

He’s so close, eyes examining parts of me he’ll never see unclothed, and his fingers touch my hip. “I hope you’re handing in the article today.”

My chin tips down and I rub my shoulder against it. “It’s in my bag.”

He snaps his fingers. “Good. Give it to me. I’m anxious to read it.” Fred snatches it from my hand. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”

I watch him practically sprint to the elevators. My heavy sigh refuses to oust bad feelings swarming in my chest and stomach. There’s no other excuse for me not to go up. The high heels I wear today click on the dull gray tiles in the office, causing the women to glare and the men to check out my legs in a mid-thigh flowing dress. It has swirls of blues, and a pinned fake carnation on the left shoulder.

My cubicle isn’t big enough for mementos. Not that I would bother bringing personal items here. They’d probably get stolen because of all the anger people have toward me. I throw my favorite bohemian bag under my desk, but before I can sit, Fred calls me into his office. All eyes watch as I make my way there, noticing his closed office blinds. He leans over and tells Patrice not to disturb us since this is a delicate meeting.

Inside his office, Fred takes a seat behind his desk and tosses the article toward me. “Have a seat, Jules.”

In slow motion, I lower into the chair. This isn’t good. I can feel the negativity. He doesn’t like my article. Fred has protected me, made so many accommodations to keep me on, and I’ve failed him. He’s going to fire me. I’ll be out of a job and homeless in a month. What will I tell my parents? A deep seeded darkness begins to snake its way inside, snatching a firm hold, depression embedding in my gut. What am I going to do? I swipe at my eyes.

Fred lets out a long breath. “I think you know what this meeting is about.” I don’t trust myself to speak so I nod. “This article is crap, Jules. There’s nothing gritty in it.” He leans forward on his desk. “I thought we had an understanding. Good article, you keep your job. Bad piece, you lose it. This isn’t anyone’s day-in-the life story. It’s boring. Readers want something they can sink their teeth into. Something they envy and admire all at the same time.” He taps the piece of paper. “Not even a monk would care to live their days like this.”

By now, the floodgates have opened. Tears drift down my cheeks, hiccupping to catch my breath. Fred circles his desk and sits in the chair next to mine. He places his hand on my knee and rubs while shaking his head.

“You know I don’t want to fire you. That’s why I gave you the assignment.” Still shaking his head, he says, “There is one thing you can do to have me think about it some more.”

I straighten in my seat. “What, Fred?”

He looks down at his pants and back up to me. “I’ve done a lot for you, Jules. Shielded you from the vultures who want you gone. Let you write whatever you want…” He sighs, turns his chair to face me, and runs his fingers through my hair. “I think it’s time you do something for me.”

My eyes pop open. Despair has been eating at me. I feel the loss of Miles. Now I’ll feel the loss of a job. I can’t get fired. I won’t. Fred hands me a box of tissues, waiting for me to control the tears and clean my face. When I’m ready, I drop to my knees.

Fred brushes the hair off my shoulders. “That’s a good girl. Now unbutton and unzip my pants.”

Shaking, I use the tips of my fingers to undo his pants. He runs his hands over my face and lips. I’m disgusted by my situation. A hopelessness pokes its way in. I falter, trying to clear the fog smothering my concentration. Why am I doing this? It can’t be right. It isn’t right. An inner shadow fights for control. My body feels weighted, and I’m devoured by a dark loneliness.

I release Fred’s erection. Dampness sticks to his skin, making me gag. His balls smell like old Roquefort cheese. He whispers words of encouragement. The haunting shadow has me in its clutches. I close my eyes, my tongue dabs Fred’s small dick. He hisses. I imagine it’s a sucker, hollowing out my cheeks, and suck in and out. Move up and down. My mind acts like a sloth wading through peanut butter. The cruel intention of my shadow blocks out the noise. Soon, I feel spurts of liquid in my throat. Hands hold my head down and I don’t bother to struggle for air. I let the warmth of the fluid trickle down. Once I’m free I begin to cough and gag. Swallowing doesn’t help. Without warning, I vomit the contents of my stomach on his lap. A string of saliva and vomit hangs from my mouth.

“What the fuck?” Fred’s sitting in front of me, revulsion twists on his face. His lap covered in vomit.

My hand swipes across my mouth. “I’m sorry. I…”

His eyes narrow, and through gritted teeth, in a low menacing voice, he says, “Get out! You’re fired.”

I’m out of his office, slinging my bag over my shoulder. A black tornado swirls inside of me. I can’t breathe. My feet trip over each other. Hands run along the walls to stay upright. I use the stairs, stumbling until the doors crash open into fresh air. Home. I must get home.

In my apartment, I tear off my clothes to rid myself of Fred. The dirty day. My disgusting behavior. Bile teases at the back of my throat when I think about what I did. I yank on my hair, feet drifting into the bedroom, and my head whacks against the door. Fred’s words echo in my head. The image of his dick and his cum in my mouth are burned onto the backs of my eyelids. I fall onto the bed; a tornado of emotions abates as the shadow bleeds into every pore and crevice of my being. The heaviness of the morning, the loss of Miles and work, snap my eyes closed. Thinking hurts, so I reach and snag sleep.

One. Two. My eyes open to a dark apartment, but I remain curled in bed. I drag my phone next to me. For the first time since this morning, I check my phone messages, pass on responding to them and watch videos. My social media is flooded with pictures of me and Miles and hateful, stabbing words. What does he see in her? He can do so much better. Slut. Cunt. She should just kill herself and make the world happier. She probably takes it up the ass. Cum goblin.

I don’t cry or get angry. I let my shadow take care of things. In the bathroom, I snap my disposable shaver and remove the blade. Bare feet hit the inside of the bathtub as I lay down in it. I’m naked. It will be cleaner for my parents. My eyes set on the wall in front of me and I slice. There’s no pain. No words. Just images of my mom. Dad. Miles. My phantom shadow whispers, “It will be better soon.” I shut my eyes, shut down, and turn off the world.