Page 42 of Ace of Hearts
Why did she have to ruin everything, just when I thought I’d finally found a reason to live, and to leave my guilt behind?
“You make me sick!” she shrieks. She reverts to Italian, spewing what I assume is a flood of insults.
“I warned you at the start, my love. I’m not a nice boy. You wanted to play the game, and you lost. Now get out of here.”
She blows a falling lock of hair out of her eyes angrily. She’s still incredibly sexy despite the fury of her expression. I watch her walk quickly into our room, presumably to go pack up her things.
As soon as she’s gone, I let my mask fall and draw in a deep breath. My hands are trembling. I run my fingers feverishly through my hair. I can’t believe what’s happening ...
When she doesn’t come back, I go to look for her.
I find her standing in the middle of the bedroom, holding a huge pair of scissors, surrounded by my clothes. She’s cutting them into pieces, garment by garment, and throwing them on the floor.
I leap toward her and snatch the scissors out of her hands, hardly able to believe my eyes. “Oh my God, you’re actually crazy!”
“Yes, I’m fucking crazy! You should have done your homework before choosing me to be your fiancée, amore mio .”
She starts grabbing random objects and throwing them at my head. I manage to dodge some, but not all of them. Finally, she takes hold of my computer, which was on the bedside table, slams it to the floor, and stamps on it. I push her away, but it’s too late.
Jesus Christ. She’s smashed my computer. I watch her march out of the room, obviously pleased by what she’s done, then follow her. Her hips sway enchantingly, I notice to my shame. How can I be thinking about that, when at this moment I hate her with every shred of my being?
“You can tell your father it’s not a good look, sending his daughter off to prostitute herself!” I shout after her as I follow her into the hallway.
She doesn’t turn around as she retorts, “You can say hello to yours from me, in hell!”
Something explodes in my chest. I see red. I take her by the shoulders, utterly beside myself, and back her up against the wall.
“What did you just say?” I hiss menacingly.
“So the truth hurts, does it?” Her rigid smile is full of cruelty. Devious, nasty, irresistibly beautiful.
My eyes stray to her lips. I’d like to wipe off her triumphant smile that makes me want to throw up.
“I hate you,” I breathe, my lips against her mouth, my hand on her shoulder. “I really hate you, Rose ... I can’t tell you how much.”
Her gaze is defiant, somber, and devastating. It strays down to my lips, and she whispers, “Say it again, and maybe I’ll believe you.”
She doesn’t give me time to repeat it, and I couldn’t even if she did, because she presses her mouth hard against mine. My brain tells me to push her away, but my burning desire and my wounded heart seem to think I haven’t suffered enough yet.
My hands take possession of her hips and lift her up. I devour her mouth, my excitement pressing so painfully against my jeans that our tongues start to fight where our words left off.
I’ve never experienced anything like this. I feel as though my heart could explode. Adrenaline prevents me from stopping to think about what I’m doing. I’m gasping for air. I’m suffocating. I want her, but I also want her to suffer.
“You drive me crazy,” she whispers, breathless, as she runs her teeth down my neck and bites into my skin.
“Welcome to the club. You drive me fucking insane. ”
I can’t hold back. I need to be inside her right now. She seems to feel the same, because she’s wrestling with my belt buckle as I’m tearing her dress away and pulling off her underwear.
I haven’t got a condom. I don’t stop to think, consumed by the need to possess her. As soon as my belt’s undone, I don’t even bother to pull off my trousers. I enter her without pause, the act causing us both to groan with pleasure.
Her hands wrap themselves around my neck, then pull my hair as I hold her thighs tightly against me. There’s nothing gentle or romantic about what we’re doing. It’s all urgent violence, revenge, and wounded egos. I take her brutally and fast, my pulse accelerating with the speed of my movements.
We hold one another’s gaze defiantly. I breathe harder, and she sinks her nails into my shoulder blades and moans loudly as I grab her buttocks, pulling her toward me with every thrust.
We don’t speak. I’m afraid of what I’d say if I did. She comes first, and I’m not far behind. My orgasm is like a fireball, and I can barely hold up Rose’s trembling legs.
Once she’s got her breath back, I let her go. As soon as her feet touch the ground, she pulls up the straps of her dress and scowls at me. The silence is heavy with meaning. I feel excited, exhausted, sad, angry, and ashamed. My head is an insane mess.
All I want is to keep her near me.
But I break the silence, saying calmly, “Go away.”
I know I seem like a total bastard who’s just taken advantage of her, but the truth is it’s the other way around. I just don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing it. Not when she’s already taken so much from me.
She looks at me without a word, clearly wounded. I watch her take off the ring and throw it at my chest. I don’t catch it, so it falls to the floor with a dull thud. The symbolism of the gesture hurts me more than it should.
“Keep it or sell it,” I say, zipping up my trousers with as much dignity as I can. “It means nothing to me.”
I don’t wait to see what she’ll do. I turn my back on her and go into my room, my hands in my pockets. I should feel relieved. After all, the whole point was to say all those horrible things to her.
And yet I’ve never in my life felt more like a piece of shit.