Tarnished Love by Bianca Borell
FILIP
I will ruin this. The thought is running in circles through my head as I park the car and let myself inside my home. It still smells like her, a mix of honey, and just her—sweet with a hint of lingering warmth.
“Filip, stop calling me in the middle of the night,” Sophia mumbles, and I pace around, my feet digging in the rug, squeezing my eyes shut.
“I am afraid I will screw this up.” The thought alone has my insides twisting.
“You won’t.”
“How are you so sure?” I ask, and then pour myself a glass of whiskey, and drop onto the couch.
“You like her.”
“I liked the others too.”
“How long did you like them?”
“A while. How long does it take to fuck someone five times, tops?”
“Five times? That was the longest?” she gasps, and I clench my jaw.
“Yes, with . . .”
“We don’t talk about her.”
“Come on, Soph, I wanted to fuck her.”
“And she wanted your money.”
“Thank you for that.”
“I hope you will never ask me to do something like that ever again.”
“I use only my own condoms.”
Except for once with Chloe.
“How much do you like her?” At her question, words burst out of me, as if I trapped the confession for too long inside.
“I can’t stop thinking about her, and even when I see her, it’s never enough. I sound like a creep. Is it stalking what I did?”
“Perhaps.”
“Why did you help me then? It’s not like you are a fan of us getting together.”
“I can’t protect you from suffering any more than you can me. And I’ve never seen you actually liking someone until her. Someone else thinks it’s a great idea too.”
“That bastard just wants you more for himself.”
“Filip.”
“So?”
“I love him so much, so, so much, and the longer I love him like this, as if it is one-sided, it also kills me slowly.”
“Leave his sorry ass.”
“I can’t lose him.”
“Soph, I never encouraged this madness. I definitely didn’t want it to last this long, but whatever holds him back has nothing to do with how he feels about you.”
“Do what makes you feel good, Filip, nothing else ever matters.”
She hangs up, and I type a message.
Me: Man up, asshole, she deserves it.
***
Do I text her or do I wait until she texts me? Fuck. I’m not sure, but after the wise advice of Nico and Micah—
“If you text her, she’ll know she has you by the balls.”
“Wait a few days.”
—I can’t do worse if I listen to myself instead. How these two get laid eludes me.
Me: Morning, thinking of you.
When no dots appear, I slide my phone into my pocket and drive to work.
One of the marketing team brings me the new campaign ideas, and as I scan them, I realize nothing about the campaign works.
We’re a family business, and it hits me. We have to create a story that shows children growing up safe, knowing their environment, trusting their parents to offer them the best there is.
“John, gather my team.”
Two hours later, the “Products You Can Trust” campaign is born. Even though I started with just one section of organic products vetted personally, we have to have more fair-trade options.
My phone chimes, and the message is a photo of Chloe in one of our stores, a selfie of her and my cereal. My damn heart leaps in my chest.
Chloe: You were right, this tastes the best.
Me: Happy you like it.
Chloe: I have a photo shoot.
Me: When?
Chloe: I leave for Rio tomorrow. It’s for a swimsuit company.
Me: Spend the night at my place.
My heart stills until I read her answer.
Chloe: Pick me up when you finish.
By six, I am at her door, and hop out in a rush to help when I notice she trails luggage behind her.
“Such a gentleman, but I can carry it on my own.”
“Okay,” I answer and step back. Her mouth drops open in surprise and she says, “You’re really not going to help me?”
“Not unless you ask me to. You told me you could do it yourself,” I say, a smirk twitching my lips in anticipation of her reply.
“So literal,” she raises her hands in frustration. “No one takes that shit seriously. Now take my bag and load it up.”
I shake my head at her, and she curls her hand around my elbow, grinning. She could decide to throw me in front of a speeding car right now, and I wouldn’t notice nor care. I smile, remembering male cats mostly die when they’re in heat, hit by cars as they follow the mating call of female cats. There is no difference, slave to primal needs. No wonder they even live longer, pussy-driven men equate to a shorter life span and an inclination to cast away any self-preservation.
***
“Just leave it on the floor.”
“Any other wishes, ma’am?” I ask, bowing in a mock respect, and she swats me playfully on the head.
Her eyes travel around, and in the living room they rest on the four pictures on the wall. I lean against the door frame as she approaches them, perusing each one. The first is of me, Bria, and our parents two days before her eighteenth birthday.
“She looks happy.”
“She was.”
Chloe sends me a sympathetic smile, but I wave her off. She can’t empathize, no one can, except for the ones who have experienced something similar. I haven’t met anyone who can relate yet. The next is the four of us when Damien turned eighteen. He’s all smiles, hugging Bria, while Sophia fakes throwing up and I’m rolling my eyes. I don’t like looking at these pictures, but I always take them with me wherever I go.
Another is with me and Soph on my eighteen birthday. Bria wasn’t even there. And the last one is with me and the guys on the boat in Portofino.
“You fake it.”
“What?” I ask in surprise.
“In the first two, your smile is genuine, your eyes sparkle. In the others you’re forcing it. Your smile looks the same if you don’t look closely, but your eyes, you can’t fake that.”
My breath hitches and sweat coats my body. I excuse myself and scamper upstairs and dunk my head in cold water. I yank my head up to the mirror. No one ever saw past my façade, not even my closest friends. No one except Sophia and apparently Chloe.
I catch Chloe behind me, fidgeting with the ends of her shirt, rocking from one leg to the other. My first instinct is to tell her to leave. She had no right to see the real me. But my second thought is relief. So much fucking relief, I could drop on my knees and ask her to never leave me.
“I am sorry,” she mutters. “I overstepped.”
“Why apologize for the truth, Chloe?”
“It’s private.”
“Fucking is private too, and you don’t apologize for that.”
“Now, I get it, you do it on purpose, gaining back control. It’s all a mask.”
Something snaps inside me when she rubs salt in the open wound. She’s not the only one who has a deep insight when it comes to the other.
“So, Chloe, be honest. Who made you feel worthless?”
Heat creeps into her cheeks, and her eyes turn to liquid fire.
“Don’t be a dick because I saw your vulnerability.”
“Then answer the question.”
“Fine, I have both daddy and mommy issues. I am pretty screwed in my head, but you don’t see me cowering, do you?”
She’s in my face, provoking me. Those pouty lips, her deep mind. I slam her against the bathroom wall and peel her clothes off her while her hands rip my shirt off me as we turn into savages. When she releases me, I thrust myself inside her wet opening, and she drops her head back. I bite her neck, she scrapes mine. I fuck her harder, she meets every one of my thrusts. Her heavy-lidded eyes sparkle with need. I circle her clit, and my name falls from her lips as she comes. I spill inside of her, marking her, wanting to ruin her for anyone else but me. I drop my head on her shoulder, spent.
This, with her, is my release, because I can fucking breathe. Something I could never do on my own.
