At a party. First night back out after the disaster that was her previous "love match." Fuck. How do you do these things? Shouldn't she be home with a gallon of ice cream and tissues? Still, she didn't feel like crying or wallowing, enough was enough. Time to be herself again and get out there, make friends again. Time to figure out who she was again and stop making excuses for her 'other half.' Now she could be whole. Less a wrench and more of a relief, she was feeling stronger by the minute. Just the social awkwardness of admitting she was wrong about her chosen mate.
Again.
Damn.
Well, no time like the present. She looked good, and if she still had a little roiling unease going on under the surface, so be it.
Checking her reflection for the umpteenth time in a picture frame, she sighed and cleared the furrows from her brow, turning to a group of friends and edging her way into the warm circle of laughter.
"The prodigal daughter returns!"
She's pulled into the embrace of her friend Rachel and is hugged, forgiven for all her flaws and foibles. "Child, it is good to see you, we missed you. Especially without that awful man whose name shall not be spoken. There, I said it. Now, everyone else, be nice to our girl Cynthia here. There. Done." Rachel smiled and released Cynthia's arm with one more squeeze, then turned back to the story she was telling and began doing more gesticulating to underline her point.
Cynthia's ears were roaring a little and felt like she'd been called out on the carpet, but there was no helping it, it had to be done. Rachel had ripped the Band-Aid off and it's out. She gritted her teeth and tried to think lovely thoughts like in "Peter Pan." Maybe someone would sprinkle her with fairy dust and she could fly away from this.
But no.
No dust, well, not the childish kind. Some drugs here and about, but she didn't do that kind of dust either. Dammit. No escape.
And it gets worse. A knowing smile is walking her way, one she's particularly not enjoying confronting.
She heaves a deep sigh and says "I know, please don't start."
His smile is pure sugar and his voice is the opposite. "God damn, girl, you have atrocious taste in men."
Her head hangs and she looks mock ashamed. "Carl, please. My first night back. Is there any chance that you..." she raises her head and looks at him. No. No chance.
His eyes meet hers and he hands her a drink. Offhand she notices it's her favorite. How the hell did he know...never mind. Here it comes.
"Cyn, I swear, I have to strike while the iron is hot before you find another loser to prop up."
Cynthia sighs. He always managed to say her name in a way to make it sound like "Sin" on purpose. She couldn't stand it and he knew it. Nobody else calls her this. She takes a sip of her drink and braces herself against the sharp fumes and the sharp atmosphere.
"Fine. This is my 'flog the heretic' night. Please, don't spare me."
"Cyn, if you're looking to be flogged, I volunteer."
She starts to laugh this off and then meets his eyes again. He's not joking. Her hands curl around the cool glass and beads of condensation slip between her fingers. "I'm a little raw this evening, if you could tone down the cat o' nine tails to maybe a cat o' five tails, I'd appreciate it." She delivers this is a quiet voice and tries to take another sip, eyes downcast.
His hand closes over her glass and his smile is again silken and his voice harsh. "No. We're leaving. Unless you want a public flogging and not a private one."
The glass is extricated from her nerveless hand and his arm pulls hers into the crook of his own with a steely hand holding her in place. Much warmer than hers. Much more determined and all the fight's just gone out of her. Raw and willing to escape in any way, and unwilling to become a public bullseye, she knows him well enough that he'll do exactly what he says without mercy unless she goes with him. But this is Carl. He wouldn't hurt her. She knows this and is relieved to be going, to have it done and out of her hands, to be rescued from tonight. And she doesn't trust herself anymore. And she's so tired.
He makes the rounds with her saying good night in what appears to be a friendly promenade, but is underscored with his hand on her forearm, solid and unyielding. She says goodnight in a confused and anticipatory blur. Anticipating getting her ass kicked, but that's better than the bleak loss she's been feeling.
Thankfully they didn't have far to go, Carl and Rachel lived in the same building, and his apartment was only an elevator ride away. Familiar territory, but this time, not a rowdy and fun ride. He was staring at the numbers, watching them tick by as if he could will them to travel faster.
Silence as his key grated in the lock and he ushered her inside, gesturing her to go before him. As if he didn't trust her, and she'd cut and run if he wasn't bringing up the rear. With his present mood, she might. He knew it.
Since he wasn't taking any chances he even locked the door behind him and leaned against it once inside. She grinned and tried to make light of it.
"Carl, I'm not going to try to escape. I can take it. I think. Can I take it?"
Silence and a glare from Carl. "No. You can't take it. But you're going to."
Her head rolls back in exasperation and she closes her eyes and says "Please, just say what you're going to say. I can't stand the suspense."
Pushing off from the door and stepping behind her, he moves her hair out of the way and tips her head forward to knead her shoulders. "It's been bad, hasn't it?" he asks simply.
"Awful."
"On a scale of 1 to 10, how stupid do you feel?" His voice is warm and teasing.
"Three."
"Three? No way, you should be lower than that. One."
"Two."
"One point five, and that's my final offer."
She starts to laugh and groans softly at his hands massaging her shoulders. "I should pay you for this. Can I make an appointment for this in the future, this is nice."
His voice is closer to her ear than she expects and he says "I insist on future appointments. I see your calendar becoming crowded."
She nods slightly and says "I should get back into the game."
He shakes his head and kisses the nape of her neck. "Not THE game. My game."
Her head jerks up suddenly and her voice is no longer relaxed. "Carl, you're acting very strange this evening. This is a little more "Confuse Cynthia" than I'm used to."
He laughs and slides his hands down her arms and pulls her back against his chest. "Good. I like you confused. It's when you try to think that you're scary."
Taking this as more friendly chiding, she tips her head back against his shoulder and looks at him imploringly. "Please, tell me, when does the flogging end?"
