Page 9 of Toxic
I settle myself behind the desk, and he watches me for a moment more before going about his morning chores. My breath eases, and I use the mind-numbing task of filling out patient forms to keep my hands busy, but I can’t stop thinking about what he said. My awareness of him was already at a fever pitch. Now, I feel every movement he makes with mywholebody.
Once patients begin to arrive, I lose track of him as I tend to their wounds and ailments, but I know he’s never far from me. After lunch, I return to the infirmary with a new sense of eagerness. I’m practically skipping past Annie and Patricia in medical, hoping I might catch him before he leaves for the day. He isn’t there, but there is another drawing onmydesk.
I rub my fingers on my scrubs so I don’t smudge the ink, and they’re anything but steady as I pick up the piece of paper. This time, he’s drawn me looking down at my hands like I’d been doing during our conversation, and wisps of hair fan down, blocking my expression. I’m vulnerable and sad like the last picture he drew, but there’s strength to the firm line of my lips and my squaredshoulders.
I’ve never considered myself to be a strong person. If I were, I wouldn’t have fallen victim to Vic’s machinations in the first place. I would have seen them for the empty promises they were. As I study the drawing of myself, I start to think maybe I can be the woman he sees in me, like how a broken bone grows stronger once itheals.
I carefully fold the drawing and place it in my pocket. As I do, something much more powerful takes root inside me, and as I continue my work, that something pulses just underneath the surface, a bubbling darkness much like the man whoinspiredit.
The connection,the temptation, I feel whenever King is around only continues to grow the longer we work together. My collection of sketches grows from two to three and is inching toward ten. He draws seemingly mundane scenes, moments I don’t even realize have passed and turns them into magic. Turns me intomagic.
They have secretly become the single most anticipated moment of my day. I’m slowly becoming addicted to them, andtohim.
If I thought I was in a bad situation before, it’s nothing compared to the tumult of emotions Inavigatenow.
I pour myself a cup of coffee, careful not to reach too far or move too fast so I don’t irritate my ribs. Vic hasn’t been up to sex in a few weeks, which at first was fine, but now his temper is shorter and his fists swing harder. I’ve barely healed from the last time. When he enters the kitchen behind me, I set my coffee cup carefully on the counter. I’d gotten up before him because I can’t stop imagining what I’d do to him if I had the balls. The fantasies have grown so vivid they’ve begun penetrating my dreams. I woke from one with my skin crawling, and I’d shot from the bed like it was fullofbugs.
His arms come around my waist, and I swallow hard, trying not to flinch away. “Good morning,” he says, his mouth on the skin at the back ofmyneck.
“Good morning,” I mimic, devoid of any inflection oremotion.
“Missed you when I woke up.” I take a strategic sip of coffee instead of a response, and his hands clamp down on the kitchen counter on either side of me. “Come to bed with me,” he says, and this time I can’t stop the cringe. I close my eyes and will my heart to calm as I wait for the blow to my ribs or his fist in my hair, yankingmeback.
When he steps away, expecting me to follow, I can’t make myself do the same. I think of the woman in the drawings I have stored inside a box of tampons under the bathroom sink. That woman can’t continue this way. If this relationship doesn’t cost me my life, it’ll at least be the death of what’s left of myspirit.
Instead of following him, I turn around with a brittle, forced smile. “I would, but if we go to bed, we both know we’ll be there for a while, and I wouldn’t want you to be lateforwork.”
He moves into me. Unlike King, when Vic gets close, all I want is to get as far away from him as possible. He pulls me into an embrace and drops his mouth to the soft curve ofmyneck.
“Come on, we can be quick,” he says. There isn’t any fooling me with his cajoling tone. I know if I continue to refuse it could get ugly, but I can’t make myselfsubmit.
I swallow the sour taste of my disgust, so my response is seductive. “You don’t want to rush it after all this time. When we get back home from work, we can make it last. Whatever you want,” I add, my toes curling in my shoes at thethought.
There’s a lengthy pause while he considers my request before easing back. My hip resting against the counter is the only thing keeping me from completely sagging in relief. As he watches, I get my cup of coffee and take a sip to cover mynerves.
“I thought wecouldhave—”
His fist catches me in the stomach, and my coffee cup falls from my hand and shatters right before I fall to the floor, cutting my knees on the shards. My chest burns from the lack of oxygen, and I hold a hand in front of my face, which he slaps away. I hear the metallic clatter of his buckle coming undone, and shame and anger and hate war for dominanceinsideme.
“Vic, please.” My voice wobbles around my wheezing. I taste salt on my lips. I never even realized I wascrying.
Then his dick is out, its musk filling my nose and causing me to gag. “Shut the fuck up andsuckme.”
It isn’t a request, and he doesn’t allow even the barest second for me to object. The next breath I take has the head of his dick pushing past my lips and bathing my tongue with his salty pre-cum. There’s no chance to fight back, not when my focus is on breathing and trying not to panic. I make terrified sounds around his heavy, thrusting weight, but it only seems to excite him more. More tears leak from the corner of my eyes as he pressesimpossiblydeep.
“Take it,” he says as his headdropsback.
My hands dig into his thighs as the force of his thrusts threatens to knock me back into the cabinets. I try to push him away when my vision darkens, but he only knots his fingers in my hair to hold me still and thrusts harder, the head of his dick bumping into the back of my throat and triggering my gag reflex. I choke around him, which only causes him to hiss, “Yesss,” above me, excited by my struggling. I give a brief thought to biting him, but I’m scared it will only enragehimmore.
He doesn’t even care when I gag and bile and saliva leak out of the available corners of my mouth. My nose burns, and my throat and lungs are screaming for relief, but there is none to be found. In the end, all I can do is hold on and hope for him to finish as quickly as possible. He doesn’t last long, and when I feel his thrusts shorten and hear his groans increase, I take advantage of his loosening grip and pull away before he can come in mymouth.
Semen spurts onto the floor with sickly wet plops. It displeases him. No doubt the less-than-stellar ending sucked whatever pleasure he took from forcing me to bend to his will. As he struggles between disappointment and frustration, I get to my feet and turn away, trying so hard to catch my breath. It’s all I can do to keep from throwing up into the sink. My entire body is shaking so badly I nearly do despite my efforts to holditback.
Behind me, I can hear Vic getting dressed, and each whisper of movement sends a pang of fear, anxiety, and anger throughout my system. I don’t know whether I want to fall to the floor and sob, run and hide, or claw his eyes out with my bare hands. I compromise and do nothing, even as my mind races with variations of all three. When he’s dressed, he palms my hip, pointedly ignores my flinch, and kisses my still damp cheek. He admires the devastation on my expression for a moment before he smiles and leaves, humming tohimself.
When I look up again, I realize I’m late for work. Very late. I squawk, and in my hurry, I slip on the remains of the fallen coffee cup. Cursing, I get down on all fours and gather the pieces with a kitchen rag. Tears drip from my cheeks and mix with the spilled coffee. I toss the shards from the cup in the trash, rag and all, and set about getting readyforwork.
For the firsttime since King and I had the frank conversation about his father’s abuse, I don’t want to work with him. I can’t stand the thought of him seeing the remnants of my ravaged emotions from Vic’s early morning “attention” on my face. I don’t want to hear him say I toldyouso.