Page 38 of Madame X

“I... you’re what I know. What I have.AllI have. Yet I don’tknowyou. And I don’t get much of you. Of your time, ofyou. And when I do, it’s...” I shrug, unable to articulate any further.

“In your own words, X... it’s for a reason. It’s a warning.” A step out the door. The conversation is over.

But I hear five words sling out of my mouth like reckless bullets: “I saw you. Withher.”

“X.” This is growled. Snarled.

“That girl. She was upset. She was angry with you. I saw youfuckher, right there in the limo. The door open, for all the world to see.Isaw. And I—I know you saw me. You looked right at me, and you—you fuckingsmiled.” Why on earth do I sound so angry, so jealous, so crazed?

“Goddammit, X.”

“I know I mean nothing to you, Caleb, but must you flaunt it in my face?” I am reckless. This is insanity.

The door slams closed.BANG!“You need to think very carefully about your next words, X.” This is spoken in a voice that resembles the edge of a scalpel.

My chin, on its own, lifts. Dares rebelliously upward. “So do you.”

Three lunging steps, a brief sensation of weightlessness, and then I’m pinned against the wall as if I weigh nothing, hard hips crushing mine to the wall, a hand on my throat, cutting off my oxygen in a way that somehow does not hurt.

“Let’s get one thing straight.Youbelong tome. Not the other way around. Donotpresume to speak to me as if I owe youshitfor explanations regardinganythingI do or with whom I do it.”

I blink. See stars. Darkness encroaches my vision.

“Do you understand me, X?” This is whispered so low as to be nearly inaudible.

I dip my chin ever so slightly, lift it. I am released. I drop to the floor, gasping, oxygen rushing into my brain in a sweet, cool flood.

I barely notice as my favorite window is darkened, the frame filled. Shoulders hunched, head hanging. “Fuck. X, I’m sorry. I overreacted.” Pivot, a glance at me. “Are you okay?”

I am sprawled, very unladylike, against the wall, knees indecently apart, dress hem hiked up around my thighs. I gasp. Merely breathe. I do not answer. I do not have the strength.

Or the courage. That has been choked out of me.

I very intensely dislike being strangled, I am discovering.

Soft footfalls, huge, hard, heavy body crouching beside me. A hand extended to touch. Hesitant, gentle.

I flinch away.

The hand withdraws. “Fuck.FUCK!” The last word is shouted, sudden and frightening.

I jerk away, unable to bridle my instinctively fearful reaction.

“I’m sorry, X.” The hand, on my shoulder.

I go very, very still. Tense. Frozen. Eyes shut, jaw clenched, fingers fisted on my thighs. I do not even breathe until the hand and its accompanying presence is withdrawn. And even then, I take a slow, careful breath. Watch out of the corner of my eye. Harsh, angry steps. The door, jerked open. Slammed closed with such violent force that the door splinters and the frame cracks.

I hear the elevator door, and then silence.

I sit where I am for I don’t know how long. Eventually I hear the elevator again, male voices.

Len.

“Ma’am?” Beside me. Lifting me to my feet. “Come on. I got a guy that’s gonna fix your door for you. Why don’t you go lay down, huh? You want some tea or something?”

I shake my head, wrench free of Len’s grip, as gentle as solicitous and careful as it is. “Nothing.” I whisper it, my voice hoarse. “Thank you.”

I move into my bedroom, lie down in my bed, still wearing my dress. Len tints my window black, turns on my noise machine.