Page 3

A week passes, and I hear nothing. The media frenzy has reinvigorated since the panel. Theories abound, the few questions I answered coming under all varieties of scrutiny. My presence was supposed to be beneficial. I can’t see how. The grainy picture of me outside the station has shown that I’m back. Anyone can probably guess whose case I’m on. It’s too juicy for them not to harass me every chance they get. Every time I leave, the press are there, waiting for me to say something foolish or admit to some rumour. The issue is most of them are true.

So I wait, antsy every time the phone rings. Why hasn’t Tawill called me back to the precinct? Is she doing away with what Needler can tell us about Cassandra after all? Perhaps he's talking to them now, and they don’t need me. Maybe people are requesting that I don't come back, my presence somehow disturbing to them.

Nothing entertains me for long. I'm strongly considering just showing up at Tawill’s office and demanding that she either give me my damned job back or cut me loose entirely. The only thing stopping me is the high chance of her choosing the latter.

I busy myself at home with getting rid of everything that was Olivia's—now Cassandra's—purging her from the apartment we shared for longer than I care to think about. The problem is that most of the furniture is hers, and without being able to go out and replace it, I have to hold back. Even with the smaller things; pictures, knick-knacks and decorations, I seem to dispose of a bucket of them, and the next time I open a cupboard or clean a shelf, there's more. I can't get her out of my life. As my housemate or as Cocooner.

It’s another morning, another long day of nothing. I know if I touch alcohol and fight through that initial wave of disquiet, I'll be done for good. I need to hang onto the disgust, even if it means thinking of that night. There is a bottle sitting there, above the fridge. The smarter thing would probably be to pour it down the toilet, but somehow having it close keeps that sick back-of-throat feeling alive.

I know all too well how easy it would be to slide into that oblivion and stay there.

I've opened the door before I've even registered who I just saw through the peephole. The smile on my lips is tremulous, fading fast as Dirk lifts his head and stares back at me.

His black hair brushes his collar, looking unkempt, like he hasn't run a brush through it in a few days, or at the very least before coming here. His eyes are guarded. I step back from the door, and he enters without a word.

“How… how are you?” I ask softly, searching his expression and the very way he moves for that thing to reassure myself with. I’ve tried calling him, but he’s either not seen the calls or has been ignoring me. I’m not optimistic enough to believe it might be the former. "You weren't at the station last week…"

"I only came here to tell you." He cuts me off, and I can tell this isn't a social visit. As if it could be between us now. After Cocooner nearly murdered him, after what I accused him of. I notice now the rough, unshaven layer of stubble on his jaw. It seems to deepen the shadows under his eyes.

My heart sinks as I stand by my open door. "Tell me what?"

"I'm transferring. Up town."

"But…" I drop my gaze, knowing the hope I'd had. That somehow things could go back to normal. That I could come back to work and he’d be my partner again, and the past would be a thing that never happened. "Why?" is all I can think to ask.

For the first time since appearing outside my door, Dirk looks directly at me, some hint of the wryness that is uniquely his in his voice. "Seriously?"

Okay, that was a dumb question. I shake my head. "I just…" I'll never see him, just in passing, just someone I used to know, someone I almost died with, who almost died for me. "I know I screwed up, Dirk."

He doesn't want to hear it; I knew that much before I opened my mouth. There’s a temporariness about him, like he'll step out and transfer uptown any moment, transfer out of my life. As he moves to do exactly that, stepping back towards the door, I put myself in his way, pulling the door with me. He comes up short an inch before running into me and tries again. This time, I push the door closed behind my back, barring him in. I'm not brave enough to touch him, and my words spill out, "Please just wait before you…"

"El, I don't want to hear it. I just came as a courtesy to a coworker…"

I ignore him, barreling on, "I crossed so many lines, I know. Sleeping with Needler, and…"

Finally, the flat tone of his voice gives way to anger as Dirk takes a step back and snaps, “I don’t give a shit who stuck it to you!"

"Then what…"

And it all comes out, a flood that was being held back only by refusing to speak. But I broke that dam, so I have to bear the torrent. "It's your lies!” Dirk spits out. “The fucked-up web you spun. And for what?" Spreading his arms, he raises his voice, "I mean, it’s not like we spent every fucking day together. It’s not like I didn’t come every time you called. I could have helped you. You know," he says, shaking his head, his chest deflating like a spent balloon, "I would have done anything for you, if you'd asked me."

The words sink into the hole left in my chest. Anything for me. Dying too. But I'd never seen it, had never wanted to, ignoring all the signs, the looks, the way he cared enough to be angry when I self-destructed with alcohol or midnight quests to dangerous parts of town. I'd been too afraid to accept the possibility and the grief it could lead to again. I knew I couldn't survive more of that.

"But you didn't," Dirk concludes. "You lied instead. You even accused me of…" Now he grimaces, face twisting. "What? Putting on a mask and fucking you? Is that really what you think of me?"

"No!" I protest. "I—"

"Like I would lie to your face the way you lied to mine."

"You did lie to me!" I raise my voice to match his. "About your mob deals! Warning them about upcoming raids for information on our cases."

Dirk laughs, more of a choke. He's not surprised that I know, doesn't seem to care. "Don't pretend that’s anything similar. I'd have told you about that if you'd asked me. I practically did show you—I took you with me!"

And we're back to this. If I'd asked, he'd have done anything. But it’s all past tense now.

Dirk takes a breath, brow dark, no longer willing to meet my eyes now that the anger is spent, the words run out. "So there. That’s why I'm leaving. Since you asked…"

He reaches past me, about to pull the door open, whether I'm in front of it or not. Standing my ground, I hold the door handle at my hip with one hand. Dirk’s fist closes around mine, and at the contact, firm and intentional over my fingers, the impulse takes hold of me.

I turn my body, free hand coming up to grip the front of his shirt, and I pull Dirk’s mouth down onto mine. The contact is brief; I'm surprised by it even though it has been my doing. His taste is foreign and a little smoky, sending a bolt of fission through my chest, down into my belly. I feel his lips tense in response, solid body swaying towards me, over me.

A second later, Dirk overcomes the shock of what I've done and jerks his head back. My chest rises and falls fast as we stare at each other. His expression is unreadable, maybe surprised, maybe disgusted.

I open my mouth, letting go of the door handle as I step forward, about to what? Apologise?

Without a word, Dirk reaches for the door again, and this time, he leaves.

I want to scream. What an idiot I am, as though he would want me now. As though he ever wanted me.

Hands clamping over my face, I move away from the door, putting distance between me and what I just did. I reach the short strip of wall between the living room and the kitchen and lean my forehead against it, my fingers pressing hard against my eyes. I snivel and turn to go hide under my bedcovers until the shame passes, until the shattered hope can cut less deep. But in moving blind, I stub my toe on Cassandra's damned antique end table. I yell and drop my hands from my face.

I want to cry. I want to burn everything that was hers. I want to rip my hair out. I want to chase Dirk out of the building and somehow fix things, somehow convince him to come back. And then what? I don’t know, and that makes everything worse. Snatching up a figurine of an elephant off the table, I toss it angrily aside.

That's when I realise the door is open again.

And Dirk is there, again, staring at me.

My heart jumps straight back up from the pit of my stomach to somewhere in my throat. Before I can speak, or attempt to explain myself, he demands, "Why did you do that?" His face is far from blank or surprised now. He's mad. And that makes me angry right back.

All that’s gone on, all the calls of mine he’s ignored since the panel, all those plaintive messages I left asking just know that he’s okay, and the first real emotion he can finally show is anger ?

Has he just come back in here to make me feel even worse? " Why ?" I ask, incredulously.

"Yeah, why?" he crosses the living room.

"Because I wanted to! Even though you're an asshole.”

“ I’m the asshole?” he growls, stepping that bit closer, crossing some invisible boundary of personal space.

My heartbeat trips over itself. I don’t back away as he towers over me. In fact, I press forward, nearly brushing him. “Yes! You are the ass…”

I don't get the last word spat out before I'm shoved back against the hall table.

Then he's kissing me. And it’s not him that's surprised this time.

I hold on to him with all the desire I had to not see him go. The hall table knocks back against the wall as our mouths lock, the sensation taking me to an instant high as his tongue pushes into my mouth, as we crush to each other and his hand hitches under my thigh to lift me up onto the edge, heedless of whatever goes tumbling. My back hits the wall, fingers tugging at the collar of his t-shirt, sliding under and against his skin. His hands are hungry on my waist, riding up the material of my shirt, and there's no secret as he presses between my thighs.

I’m keenly aware of how his touch, his mouth, and his arousal should feel wrong and awkward, and I even search for that. Here is the man I’ve known for so many years and never allowed myself to think of this way, who should scare me with this kind of intensity. But all that answers my search is keen excitement and an intense thrill like a need finally being realised. There's not only the passion of long-held back desire between us, but the anger too of all that's happened now, and it’s explosive, hot and too intense to think through. I know where this is going, and the aim is only to get there faster. His arm gripped around my lower back, Dirk tugs me forward, off the wall, to shove his hand inside the back waistband of my pants.

My breath catches, teetering on the edge of the hall table, when I reach back and grip his wrist. "I’m on my period," I remember that with a gasp.

"Don’t care,"’ he rasps, barely breaking the contact between our lips.

Dirk tugs me hard against him, so that my legs wrap around his hips, and the end table falls, knocked by one or both of us as we move away. We make it around the corner before he jams me against that wall, claiming my mouth again. I strip his shirt off, and suddenly his hand is against my bare skin, snaking under the band of my jeans and around my thigh, finding me. I arch against him, his fingers cool and rough where I'm soft and sensitive.

"Fuck," I muffle against this mouth. He jams harder, and I feel him even more through his jeans, a rock. A picture frame falls down beside me. Olivia's.

"Which bedroom is yours?" Dirk asks, voice low and dangerous. He’s been here before, but only so far as the front door.

"That one." I point back off to my right.

"Alright." And he pulls me off the wall again, taking my weight. But he doesn't turn for the window side of the apartment. Rather, I find Olivia's door opened at my back.

"This is…"

"I know," he growls.

Then we're tumbling back onto the bed, the room dark, shuttered and unknown, off-limits to me until she turned out to be a psychopath, and since then, somewhere to avoid. Right now, however, I don’t care whose this bed is, or where I am. Dirk’s fingers hook in the belt loops of my pants and tug them off my legs, underwear included. My oversized shirt bunches up around my waist. I've already undone his belt as he shifts onto his knees between my legs.

I need to feel his skin, to feel those finely muscled abs and chest responding under my touch. Lifting my shirt up, I pull from the bottom as I lie back on the bed, Dirk between my thighs. But I only get the shirt halfway over my head, my arms crossed, when his hand weighs down on my forearms, trapping me like that, barred and tangled in my shirt, blinded as the material covers my eyes still. My mouth comes open, the delicious thrill tingling down between my thighs as he leans down and the coarse material of his jeans brushes my sensitive skin. Even though I expect it and long for it in this moment, his mouth is still a shock, rough against mine, stubble scraping my cheek.

I'd have him in my hand now if he didn't have me trapped. Pressing so that the shirt slides off my head, he lets me see again, but keeps my arms pinned. Black hair hanging down, Dirk's brow is low over eyes dark with lust. I've never seen him like this, and he's suddenly someone different and unknown, almost intimidating. With his free hand, he's reaching back, edging his jeans down. I watch eagerly, biting my lower lip, craning to see his cock in the shadow he casts over both of us from the open door. There's a tinge of iron in the air. Olivia's precious bed will be ruined. But that’s the point, isn't it?

I see his shape in his own hand, and I long to wrap my fingers around it, to feel the smoothness sliding over steel. Wriggling, needing, I try to pull my arms free, but Dirk only leans heavier on my wrists, and I still, panting as he lingers, his head tilted to watch as he uses his grip on himself to rub his head along my slick wetness.

There's no going back from this. Possibly, it will destroy us for good. "Wait…" I start, reluctantly. But I needn't have bothered trying to control myself, as our breath mingles so heavily that my words are lost. I don’t want any of this to stop; I can’t convince myself any longer that this is wrong. Every effort to not see him this way over the years is suddenly wasted, and I couldn’t care about anything less right now.

He's pressing now, finding the point of resistance at my entrance and lingering there, a pressure low in me that makes me writhe with anticipation, squeezing him, trying to pull my arms free as he poises over me. My desire is to run my hands down his body, to dig my nails in and arch against him, but my all-consuming need is for him to fill me.

Frowning in concentration, his eyes come back up to my face. I see no uncertainty there, no going back. Only intense need, almost wonder. Maybe he never expected to be here, and he certainly didn’t expect it today. "I'm not going to ask you if you're sure,” he says.

The butterflies in my stomach do a flip. "Don't," I agree.

His breath comes out in a grunt as I purposely tighten around the head of his cock again, to be rewarded by him sinking against me, into me, filling me in a full, drawn-out thrust. My voice catches in my throat, my body curling against him and around him except where his weight holds me open.

When he twitches himself that bit deeper, finally I cry aloud, utterly vulnerable to him in this moment. It’s like I’ve always needed him, like I’ve been waiting for him all along.

When he starts thrusting, my hips meeting him of their own accord, I can't think, can't even control my voice as I moan with his every movement inside me, as he grates hard and hungry against my sex. "Dirk," I gasp. "Please." I can't articulate it, but I need to touch him. It’s impossible to get even thoughts aligned, much less words out.

He relents, tugging my shirt the rest of the way off my arms, and immediately my palms find his skin slicked with sweat, the curve of his shoulder, my nails biting him as we wrap around each other completely. Dirk bites me in return, sucking on the side of my neck and sending a new sensation to merge with the rest, threatening to overwhelm my body, almost shocking me into near-orgasmic levels of ecstasy. Everything feels so good that I don't want it to end, and yet to stay on this high feels like it could be fatal.

"Fuck, Dirk, I can't…" I mean to say take it , but he knows already, and his hand slides under my hip, around the curve of my ass, lifting me hard against him and sliding us further up the bed, then holding me like that, flush against him, unable to escape his friction along the front of my body, or the building pressure of him inside me.

"I can't," I gasp again, gripping the curve of his arm, leg hitched over his hip. "I'm going to…"

His other hand tangles in my hair, tilting my chin back as his tongue slides along my bottom lip. "Then fucking do it," he growls.

And that’s it for me, I'm broken, destroyed, clenching and unclenching around him even just in the anticipation, with the climax itself rising to such heights to be a frightening thing. Then it comes, his pace constant, making the build-up lengthen and grow until I finally cry out, clutching him and tightening one final time to hold and lose myself in the pleasure so intense it is a most exquisite pain.

Dirk's breath is harsh against my ear, a weight and a heat over me, making me feel every excruciatingly pleasurable moment until the aftershocks twitch my body and the awareness of anything else returns.

I feel him about to pull back out, and I stop him with a grip on his hip and desperate words. "No," I breathe, "I want to feel you when you…"

"I don't have any condoms."

"It's okay," I say quickly, breathlessly. And indeed, blood smears the sheets.

That's all the convincing he needs, and he's back inside me again, thrusting harder, longer, jolting me with the strength of his need. "Yes, yes," I moan, and this time it's his curse muttered as I feel him throb inside me, thrusts losing rhythm as he groans, bitten-off sounds as his body jolts. Then his pleasure washes through me too, a storm that I must wrap around him to bear.

***