Ruined
Culley’s apartment was beautiful. And spacious. So spacious, in fact, I hardly saw him for the next week.
Instead of chasing me around and demanding his “bond-mate rights” as I’d feared, he stayed gone most of the time, coming and going at all hours of the day and night with hardly a word to me. Like me, he had a few modeling jobs. But even at night when he wasn’t working, he was “out” and less than forthcoming about where “out” was. Every night since I’d moved in I went to bed alone in the apartment, unable to wait up for whenever it was he managed to make it home.
It was for the best, really. So much better than having him there all the time making provocative remarks, or worse, making me feel sorry for him. It was lonely though.
I did have lunch with Brenna once, and later in the week invited her and Lena and Estelle over for drinks at my new “home.”
“Wow, this place is incredible,” Lena said, wandering from window to window, taking in the view of Central Park. It was nearly Thanksgiving, and the trees below were gorgeous, a colorful scarf spread out right in the middle of the gray city.
“Where eese heese bedroom?” Estelle asked, her lilting Parisian accent making even that nosy question sound elegant. She had been in New York only a couple of weeks, and her English wasn’t perfect. Of course it was a hell of a lot better than my French.
“Estelle—it’s their bedroom,” Brenna chided. “He’s off the market. You know that.” She looked over at me with an apologetic glance, as if her roommate’s predatory behavior was somehow her fault.
“Sorry,” Estelle said, not sounding the least bit sorry. “Ee doesn’t act bonded. I see eem out at zee dance clubs every night, smiling at all the girls, boys too, dancing, drinking...” She slid a glance over at me. “... having conversations in dark corners.”
Though it was none of my business what Culley did every night—in plain view or in dark corners—my face heated until I felt like I’d drunk way more of my mojito than I actually had. I stepped into the kitchen and picked up the tray of appetizers I’d prepared for us all.
“Come have a seat in here,” I called, carrying the tray to a wide low table in front of the sectional sofa. This room as well had a gorgeous view.
Unfortunately, it also had a giant TV, which Brenna zeroed in on with glee. “Oh, you are so lucky. Look at this baby.” She picked up the remote and turned it on, skipping through channels until it landed on a local New York news program. Of course.
“Also breaking tonight, city hospitals are reporting another round of overdoses in what’s now being called the “S Scourge.”
The stylish newscaster had a graphic over one shoulder that looked like a pill emblazoned with the letter S. “Authorities say it’s the fastest-moving and most addictive drug epidemic they’ve ever encountered,” she said. “New York officials are moving quickly to assemble an S task force to locate the source of the drug and working together with officials up and down the East Coast to target and shut down distribution. Donald Trump has already called a press conference on the matter, blaming foreign immigrants for the influx of the powerful and incredibly popular club drug.”
“Where can I get some?” Estelle asked with a wicked grin.
“Estelle!” Lena chided. “You know Audun’s strictly forbidden us to use it.”
Estelle giggled. “You Americans are so provincial. And Audun is about as fun as your police. What about free will? If I want to do something, I should be able to. Why should the humans get all the fun? And if they want to use it, let them use it. Let them all O.D.—who cares?”
I said nothing but stared at the TV screen as if thoroughly interested. But in my mind, the girls’ conversation replayed. Audun had forbidden his subjects to use S.
So he was aware of it. Why had he not included me in this sanction? Maybe he knew I spent my time either working or home alone. Maybe he assumed I knew better than to take drugs. Maybe I was out of sight out of mind as far as he was concerned. That would have suited me very well, thank you—except that I needed to get information from him. Which meant I needed to see him. Maybe I should request a meeting, make up some concern about my mother as an excuse.
The phone rang loudly through the apartment. I hated the ringer on that thing. Not only did I have to hear it frequently—and the answering machine that went with it—but it was loud enough to be clearly audible even over the TV and our conversation in the other room.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” Lena asked after several rings.
I shook my head. “No. It’s not for me. It rings all day and night. It’s always for Culley. The machine will get it.”
The girls all went quiet as Culley’s recorded voice echoed down the hall. “Hey. It’s me. But I guess you knew that. Leave a message, and I’ll try to ring you back later.”
“God I love that accent,” said Brenna.
“Shhh,” said Estelle and Lena together, both leaning toward the hallway, listening.
The beep sounded, followed by a very typical message. “Hi Culley. This is Lilly. From Marquee Nightclub? I haven’t heard from you in a while, and I just wanted to say hi. I’m available tonight if you want to stop by my place or something. Or I could meet you out somewhere. Okay then, hope to hear from you soon. Bye.”
The other girls looked at me.
“That happens all day and night?” Brenna said. “You should start answering that phone and tell those skanks to stay away from your man.”
“Absolument!” Estelle agreed. “I would not stand for theese.”
Flushing furiously, I stood and gathered the used plates and silverware. “It’s his business. It’s no big deal.”
What I couldn’t tell them was it really wasn’t my concern. I would be leaving Culley soon. It was good that he had so many other girls interested in him. Really, it was.
But late that night after the girls had left and he still wasn’t home, I had to admit to myself it did bother me. It was annoying. Especially when the phone rang at nearly midnight. This time I did march toward it, intending to pick it up and tell whichever little club girl was calling to at least have some manners about the late hour. Before I could reach it, the call went to the answering machine. It was not a sexy feminine plea but a man’s voice.
“It’s Anders. I didn’t uh... see you tonight. I don’t know if you came by already or what.” The sounds of music and voices hummed in the background. The man was nearly shouting over the din, and he sounded decidedly un-sober. “I’m at Cielo. Some friends of mine are here, too, and we’re ready to ride the S train, so look for me if you stop by.”
My heart seized. The S train. Was he talking about S—the drug on the news? Was Culley doing drugs? Maybe that’s why he stayed out late every night, why he’d changed so suddenly and grown distant. Maybe he’d gotten caught up in the epidemic that was sweeping New York and apparently the entire East Coast.
I’d rarely heard of Elves doing drugs—it didn’t affect them strongly enough to be... enjoyable, or whatever drugs were supposed to be. But the news report did say this drug seemed to be different, powerful and highly addictive. Maybe some scientist had developed a super-drug that could affect even the Elven body and mind? It made me sick to think of Culley falling under the influence of something so insidious. I would talk to him about it the next time I managed to get him alone.
The sound of the front door opening caused me to jump out of my skin.
“Culley?” I called, scurrying toward the entry hall.
It was him. His back was to me as he fastened the deadbolt. His shoulders were slumped. He looked exhausted.
“Culley... where have you been? Are you okay?”
He spun around as if just hearing me. A wide grin spread across his face and he moved toward me, staggering slightly. Oh no. He is on drugs.
But when he reached me, it was the odor of alcohol that met my nose. He slid his arms around my waist and lifted me off my feet. “There’s the little wifey—still awake. Were you waiting up for me?” he slurred. Putting me down, he staggered past me toward the kitchen. “Ha—I’ll bet you missed me so much. Probably had a party.” He must have spotted the dishes and cocktail glasses on the counter because he added, “You did have a party, cheeky monkey. And I wasn’t invited. Big surprise.”
For some reason his inebriated state irritated me. “Yes. I did have some friends over because I wanted to have someone around to talk to. You’re never here. Is this how you always live—or are you avoiding me?”
He spun around to face me again, knocking himself off balance then gripping the counter edge to steady himself. “Now why would I do that? What kind of drongo would avoid you?” He gave my pajama-clad figure a lecherous once over. “I mean, with a loving fiancée waiting at home, a man would have to be a fool to stay out all night.”
What was going on with him? He was acting so weird. And he didn’t seem to be under the influence of drugs. I’d seen my fair share of drunk people, and Culley was a classic case tonight.
I stepped forward, putting myself directly in front of him, squarely in his line of vision, so he couldn’t avoid the question. “Why do you stay out so late? What are you doing every night?”
He grinned again. “Are you worried about me, love? Come here.” He dragged me closer with a big warm hand. “I’ll show you what I’m not doing out there.”
And then his hand was at the base of my spine, pulling me in to his body. He let go of the counter, and his back fell against the refrigerator door, leaning against it for support. Through no choice of my own, I went with him.
Before I could protest, Culley’s mouth descended to mine, and he administered an alcohol-flavored but very skillful kiss.
My hands went to his chest to push myself off of him, but he clamped a hand on the back of my head and deepened the kiss. My heart rate tripled. Wow. This was... this was unexpected. And he was a great kisser. It was confusing. I’d felt abandoned, hurt by his complete lack of attention, and now here he was giving me every ounce of his attention and shocking me with the pleasure of it all.
Ripping his lips from my mouth, Culley moved to my neck, traversing the length of it with hot, wet kisses that stole my breath and all the strength from my legs. He spoke in between the strokes of his tongue on my skin. “I’m not out there doing it because all I can think about is being here doing this with you. You’ve ruined me... ruined me. And you don’t even want me.”
A desperate laugh escaped his throat as his fingers wrapped around my shoulders and set me away from him. “Every other girl in this stinking, overcrowded city wants me—and you think I’m shit. Well, you’re right.”
Pushing me to the side, he staggered out of the kitchen and down the hall toward his bedroom.
I watched him go, thinking about his statement. He was wrong. I didn’t think he was shit. I was surprised by how much I’d grown to like him. And after that kiss—well, he was surprising me in all sorts of ways.
But I couldn’t talk to him when he was in this state. And I couldn’t stay with him.
Could I?
Would he consider coming with me? Helping me? He said he thought about kissing me all the time. He said I’d “ruined” him. Maybe it was enough. I didn’t love him, which would have been a nice prerequisite to marriage and bonding, but I did like him, and we were in similar situations—both lonely—both miserable under his father’s thumb. Maybe the two of us could set out on our own... together.
I’d wait for him to sober up then present the idea in the morning. The worst he could do was laugh in my face. No—check that—the worst he could do would be to tell Audun I planned to desert the Dark Court. But I didn’t think Culley would do that. He’d already proved his unwillingness to expose me to his father’s legendary wrath.
I’d be asking him to go one step further—and choose me over his name and position.
* * *
That conversation did not happen the next morning or even the next day. I had a modeling job and left the apartment before Culley woke up. At least I assumed he was sleeping. His door was still closed. No doubt it had been a rough night—he was probably hung all the way over and feeling horrible. I’d tried to avoid clanking dishes in the kitchen and tiptoed out, shutting the apartment door gently behind me.
When I got home from work, the apartment was empty. There was a note on the counter, scribbled in Culley’s handwriting.
Sorry about last night. Bombed out drunk. Didn’t mean it. I’ll be out late—don’t wait up.
The air whooshed from my lungs, and I sat hard onto the bar stool. Well, it was a good thing I hadn’t proposed my let’s-run-off-together plan. I read the words again.
Didn’t mean it.
He could have fooled me. It certainly sounded and felt like he meant it last night. This topic wasn’t closed yet. There was more going on between us than a mutual living space and fake life-bond. And the next time I saw him, I planned to make him admit it.