The Saint
Page 104
“You know what you’re doing, Elle?” Wyatt said. “You’re living in Wonderland. This guy is older and speaks all these languages and lives this crazy life. It’s different, it’s weird, it’s the Mad Kingdom down the rabbit hole. It’s fun for a while, but you still have to go home eventually. You can’t live there forever, Alice.”
“I’m not Alice.” She didn’t know what she was—White Rabbit, White Queen or Jabberwocky—but she knew one thing perfectly well. She was no stranger to Wonderland. She was born there.
“This is crazy, you and him.”
“What can I say? We’re all mad here.”
“Elle …” Wyatt ran his hands through his red hair. She did love his punk red dye job. Be brutal, Kingsley had said. Make it clean. She threw a lock on her heart and put a bullet through her compassion.
“Let me ask you a question, Wyatt. You ever flog a woman?” She took a step forward.
“What? Flog? No way.”
“Cane her?”
“No.”
“You know how to use a single-tail?”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“Got a St. Andrew’s Cross in your bedroom?”
“A what?”
“I am not what you think I am,” she said. “You are in love with someone who doesn’t exist.”
“You’re kind of freaking me out here,” Wyatt said, his eyes wide and scared.
“I haven’t even begun to freak you out yet.”
“Elle?” Wyatt’s voice went quiet and solemn. “What can he give you that I can’t? Seriously. I want to know the answer.”
She turned her back on him and walked toward the waiting taxi.
“Everything.”
Alone in the back of the darkened cab, she let the tears fall. No more. She’d never let herself care about anyone else other than Søren again for the rest of her life. It hurt too much. In the privacy of her mind and in the midst of her sadness, she made herself a promise she knew she would keep. No more vanilla guys ever. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t straddle the line between two worlds anymore. It hurt too much. Hurt Wyatt, hurt her. It could hurt Søren, would have hurt Søren had he known. And he would know. She’d have to tell him.
She paid the driver and trudged through the sooty snow back to her dorm. She pulled one of her roommate’s wine coolers out of their little fridge and drank it faster than she should have. She heard noises from across the hall—the unmistakable sound of a party.
Eleanor sat on her bed with another drink in her hand. Was there anything in the world more pathetic than a lovesick girl sitting in her dorm room getting drunk by herself? No was the answer to that question. She shouldn’t be drinking alone while thinking about how much she’d miss being Wyatt’s girlfriend, how much she’d miss sitting with him at lunch and dinner, talking about books and poetry and the profs they loved and hated. She shouldn’t be drinking alone and thinking about how good it felt to lie underneath him last night naked from the waist up as he kissed her br**sts and ni**les. She shouldn’t be drinking alone while thinking about how erotic it felt simply to sleep in his bed with his arm around her all night long. He made her want things, Wyatt did. Things completely different from the things Søren made her want. She wanted to strip Wyatt naked, tie him up, bite him, kiss him, suck him, make him beg her for more. Maybe she’d give him more. Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she’d get an ice cube and torture him with it. God dammit, where did these fantasies come from? She was a submissive, Søren’s property. She couldn’t imagine topping Søren. It was ludicrous to even think about it. So why did she want to do it so much? Why was that all she could think about when she and Wyatt were alone together? Didn’t matter. A fantasy. She’d forget about it by morning.
She set her wine cooler bottle on the bedside table and stared at it.
Drinking alone was definitely the worst idea ever. She decided to pour the bottle down the drain.
Before she reached the sink, what sounded like a dozen fists pounded on the door.
“Party in the corner suite!” came a cacophony of voices both male and female. They moved onto the next door, banged again and repeated the call.
Typical Friday-night invitation.
Eleanor stared at the bottle in her hand. This morning as she’d tried to leave Wyatt’s bed, he’d woken up, pulled her against him and whispered, “I’ll wait as long as you want, but you have to know I’m dying to be inside you.”
His words and the feel of his erection against her back had left her aching with need all day.
Friday night. A terrible idea to drink alone.
She took a drink and headed to the corner suite.
Why not drink with everybody else?
29
Eleanor
BLEACH. SHE SMELLED BLEACH. THAT’S WHAT THAT was. The acrid scent wrinkled Eleanor’s nose as she struggled to open her eyes. Why bleach? And … disinfectant?
“Eleanor? Are you awake?”
“No,” she answered.
“Eleanor, I’m Lisa. Can you open your eyes for me?”
“No. But I can open them for me.”
She opened her eyes. Bright lights everywhere. Bright lights, white tile, white sheets and lab coats. She closed them immediately.
“Do you know where you are?” the woman, Lisa, asked.
“Hell?”
“You’re in the hospital, Eleanor. Your friend thought you had alcohol poisoning.”
“I’m not Alice.” She didn’t know what she was—White Rabbit, White Queen or Jabberwocky—but she knew one thing perfectly well. She was no stranger to Wonderland. She was born there.
“This is crazy, you and him.”
“What can I say? We’re all mad here.”
“Elle …” Wyatt ran his hands through his red hair. She did love his punk red dye job. Be brutal, Kingsley had said. Make it clean. She threw a lock on her heart and put a bullet through her compassion.
“Let me ask you a question, Wyatt. You ever flog a woman?” She took a step forward.
“What? Flog? No way.”
“Cane her?”
“No.”
“You know how to use a single-tail?”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“Got a St. Andrew’s Cross in your bedroom?”
“A what?”
“I am not what you think I am,” she said. “You are in love with someone who doesn’t exist.”
“You’re kind of freaking me out here,” Wyatt said, his eyes wide and scared.
“I haven’t even begun to freak you out yet.”
“Elle?” Wyatt’s voice went quiet and solemn. “What can he give you that I can’t? Seriously. I want to know the answer.”
She turned her back on him and walked toward the waiting taxi.
“Everything.”
Alone in the back of the darkened cab, she let the tears fall. No more. She’d never let herself care about anyone else other than Søren again for the rest of her life. It hurt too much. In the privacy of her mind and in the midst of her sadness, she made herself a promise she knew she would keep. No more vanilla guys ever. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t straddle the line between two worlds anymore. It hurt too much. Hurt Wyatt, hurt her. It could hurt Søren, would have hurt Søren had he known. And he would know. She’d have to tell him.
She paid the driver and trudged through the sooty snow back to her dorm. She pulled one of her roommate’s wine coolers out of their little fridge and drank it faster than she should have. She heard noises from across the hall—the unmistakable sound of a party.
Eleanor sat on her bed with another drink in her hand. Was there anything in the world more pathetic than a lovesick girl sitting in her dorm room getting drunk by herself? No was the answer to that question. She shouldn’t be drinking alone while thinking about how much she’d miss being Wyatt’s girlfriend, how much she’d miss sitting with him at lunch and dinner, talking about books and poetry and the profs they loved and hated. She shouldn’t be drinking alone and thinking about how good it felt to lie underneath him last night naked from the waist up as he kissed her br**sts and ni**les. She shouldn’t be drinking alone while thinking about how erotic it felt simply to sleep in his bed with his arm around her all night long. He made her want things, Wyatt did. Things completely different from the things Søren made her want. She wanted to strip Wyatt naked, tie him up, bite him, kiss him, suck him, make him beg her for more. Maybe she’d give him more. Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she’d get an ice cube and torture him with it. God dammit, where did these fantasies come from? She was a submissive, Søren’s property. She couldn’t imagine topping Søren. It was ludicrous to even think about it. So why did she want to do it so much? Why was that all she could think about when she and Wyatt were alone together? Didn’t matter. A fantasy. She’d forget about it by morning.
She set her wine cooler bottle on the bedside table and stared at it.
Drinking alone was definitely the worst idea ever. She decided to pour the bottle down the drain.
Before she reached the sink, what sounded like a dozen fists pounded on the door.
“Party in the corner suite!” came a cacophony of voices both male and female. They moved onto the next door, banged again and repeated the call.
Typical Friday-night invitation.
Eleanor stared at the bottle in her hand. This morning as she’d tried to leave Wyatt’s bed, he’d woken up, pulled her against him and whispered, “I’ll wait as long as you want, but you have to know I’m dying to be inside you.”
His words and the feel of his erection against her back had left her aching with need all day.
Friday night. A terrible idea to drink alone.
She took a drink and headed to the corner suite.
Why not drink with everybody else?
29
Eleanor
BLEACH. SHE SMELLED BLEACH. THAT’S WHAT THAT was. The acrid scent wrinkled Eleanor’s nose as she struggled to open her eyes. Why bleach? And … disinfectant?
“Eleanor? Are you awake?”
“No,” she answered.
“Eleanor, I’m Lisa. Can you open your eyes for me?”
“No. But I can open them for me.”
She opened her eyes. Bright lights everywhere. Bright lights, white tile, white sheets and lab coats. She closed them immediately.
“Do you know where you are?” the woman, Lisa, asked.
“Hell?”
“You’re in the hospital, Eleanor. Your friend thought you had alcohol poisoning.”
