We haven't even discussed whether or not we're supposed to only be seeing each other. I just assumed because most women past the second date zero in and focus all their attention on me. So fair or not, it's become an expectation even when I'm not doing the same.
She looks genuinely terrified right now, and still no guilt has arisen over that issue in my mind.
“Yes, I'm seeing other people. And you're free to see other people. We aren't in a committed relationship.” She says this like it should be completely obvious. And actually it should be.
“So you're trying to trap me into marriage?” I ask, my voice rising.
She flinches at this, and something dark inside me is pushing at the cage walls to get out. I can hear it growling inside me, claws scraping harshly against metal in the way of fingernails down a chalkboard.
“Of course not,” she says. “I didn't say it had to be you. I'm saying I'm not sleeping with any man I'm not engaged to. That's a privilege reserved for the man I love, who loves me, who is committed to me and offering me real security. Whoever that happens to be. And until that man makes that decision and I accept, I will be seeing whoever I want. And you can see or sleep with whoever you want. I'm not asking you to be celibate or putting your dick in a cage.”
I'm speechless. For several minutes I just sit there, staring at her, forcing my mind to process the words that just came out of her mouth. It's like she's speaking in a foreign language. I speak five languages, three fluently—Chinese and Japanese I'm only passable in despite doing so much business there. But whatever language she's speaking isn't on the list of the ones I know.
“So what you're saying is, you plan to date other men until you get an engagement ring?”
“Basically,” she confirms.
The little con artist.
“And you expect any man to go along with that?”
“The right man will,” she replies quietly.
I want to throw things, but everything on the jet is literally nailed down. Or maybe it's bolted down. Either way, there aren't a lot of things I can throw. And I realize that intimidating her in this small enclosed space isn't the smartest idea I've ever had.
I rise from my chair and tower over her.
“Soren...” her voice is small, panicked.
I grip the arm rests and lean down over her. “I could just take it,” I growl close to her ear as she shudders beneath me.
“You do and you'll never see me again,” she whispers.
“What makes you think I even want to see you again after you pulled this shit?” I say. Even though I know if either one of us should want to stop this forever it should be—and probably is—her.
A fire sparks in her eyes and suddenly I'm staring at twin blue flames. “Get. Off. Me,” she snarls.
I back off and plop my ass back in the chair across from her, glaring.
“Did you think I was a whore?” she asks. “You know you can pay a prostitute if that's what you want.”
“Honey, I can get it for free.”
“But not from me,” she says.
I don't know why I'm so fucking angry. Only a few hours ago I was thinking about how disappointed I was that no woman was a challenge, and here Livia Fairchild is—a challenge all wrapped up for me. And all I can do is whine like a petulant brat about it.
“Are you some kind of religious fundamentalist?” I ask, because that's the only thing that makes sense to me right now.
“No.”
There is a long beat of silence.
“Are you a virgin?”
She looks at me somehow shocked, hurt, and offended all at once. “No.” She practically spits the word.
Her voice is a bit stronger when she speaks again. “I have the right to set boundaries. I'm not obligated to fuck someone just because they want to fuck. I want the love and the commitment and the security. Sex means something to me, and if it doesn't mean the same thing to you, I'd rather just not. I'll understand if you don't want to see me anymore, and right now I'm not sure if I want to see you anymore so it might not be your decision to make.”
She looks out the window again. We're flying over a city; thousands of lights shine like stars below us.
My mind is racing with all kinds of insane thoughts. I have the money and power, I could make her disappear. I could take her and keep her as my prisoner. I could break her down until she bent sweetly to my will. Fuck vanilla suburban hell. I can lure her into the forest with me and take my time devouring her.
I take a deep breath and say, “I apologize. You caught me off guard.”
But I'm just regrouping, just resetting the game board, strategizing, planning ten moves ahead. I will have this woman in my bed if it's the last fucking thing I do. And once I do, she'll be very lucky if I ever let her out of it again. She has no idea who she's playing with.
Livia
Reboot
Ten and a half months ago. Last August.
I haven't spoken to Soren in two weeks, but I can't stop thinking about him. The reality is, the other two men I'm dating are placeholders. They're buffers to keep me from stupidly getting too attached to the wrong man. And I know without any doubt who the wrong man is now. But I haven't seen the others the past two weeks, either. I'm burnt out to be honest.
I need a break from men. I need to think about if any of it is worth it. Dating men one at a time, dating them three at a time... what does it matter? It's still the same stupid bullshit. They won't commit, but they think you owe them your pussy because reasons. I'm so disgusted with this fucked-up dating scene, this instant-gratification culture, inside of which nothing deeper can ever have the hope to grow.
I seriously just want to time travel to when men gave a shit, when they didn't feel so goddamned entitled to fuck by the third date. I realize even as I'm thinking it that I'm being ridiculous. We have this lovely thing called legal and political rights now. I'm pretty sure veterinary assistant wouldn't have been on the menu of career options a few hundred years ago. And I probably would have just been married off to whoever it was decided that I should marry, my desires be damned. Still, I stupidly hold onto this romantic notion that there's this great love out there for me, that there is a man who will love and respect me and give me the world, that I can be deliriously happy, have babies, have the fairy tale.
The Disney princess brainwashing runs deep. Those movies get inside us too young. They take root like the vines that grew and twisted around Sleeping Beauty's castle, and we just keep believing that there's a man out there who will fight that dragon and slash through that thorn wall to get to us.
While I've been giving up on men, Soren has tried to call every day. I let the calls go to voice mail, but I foolishly listen to them after the fact. It's apology after apology. He's said all the right things. He's admitted he was horny and stupid and that he would never hurt me. He swears I'm safe with him, that he cares about me and wants to continue seeing me.
I want to believe everything he says, but I know he's dangerous. He's not the good guy. He's not the romance hero who gives me my happily-ever-after. I know he's not. But he's so fucking beautiful, and my body lights up every time he's near me. He smells like cigar smoke and whiskey, and I want to take a bath in that smell. I want to rest for the remainder of my life in the circle of his strong arms, but I know if I agree to see him again he'll be good for a few weeks and then he'll pull something like what happened on the plane again.