I'm stood frozen in place at John's side, unable to move. I stare off into the crowd, as if I have the power to will Barnes back through thought alone. John took me by surprise tonight, but I should've known better. I should have seen this coming. He's been too quiet lately, and I'd stupidly believed he was coming to terms with our marriage ending. But I've proven myself the fool once again.
"Come on." John's hold on me doesn't slacken as he tugs me with him towards the dancefloor. The crowd slowly parts, making a path for us.
The crowd lingers on the dancefloors edge, watching as John pulls me against him. I'm numb—every part of me. I feel nothing as he takes me in his arms and waits for the music to begin. When it does, a wave of nausea washes over me as recognition hits. It's the song we danced to on our wedding day. It propels me back to the day when I willingly and happily signed my life over to this man. I'm lost somewhere between anger and devastation. Walking the line between wanting to scream and wanting to breakdown.
We move across the dancefloor together, but it's stilted and awkward. I'm not at home in his arms. Nothing about this feels natural. I bite back a wince every time he missteps and my toes pay the price. The sharp sting of pain is welcome though; it finally makes me feel something and shakes me out of my frozen, silent state.
"What the fuck was that?" I hiss at him, not even trying to hide my anger. I don't care who sees it.
"Keep your voice down, Alex." John warns me, his voice low, calm and deadly. "You didn't think I'd let our ten-year anniversary go by and not celebrate it, did you?"
"More like your PR team couldn't miss an opportunity to get your face plastered all over tomorrow's front pages?"
"Well," John shoots me a sleazy smile before continuing. "Can you blame them?"
"Fuck you, John!"
"Really, Alex, do you have to swear so much? You know I hate it. It's so unattractive." John admonishes me.
Does he think I care what he does or doesn't find attractive? This is an argument we've had before. He hates my mouth, always has. I've never cared. It didn't bother him when it was Tommy, and we're cut from the same cloth. When you spend your childhood having every imaginable insult thrown at you by your own father, nothing sounds offensive anymore. I mean, when someone calls you a 'stupid fucking cunt' more times than you can count, everything else pales in comparison.
"Fuck you!"
"Is that an offer?"
I jerk back, but he merely laughs before tugging me back to him. The crowd is watching us as we move together. They're giving us space—too much space. I want them closer, want them to hear this exchange. But John's smart, and he wouldn't be talking like this if he felt like anyone could overhear it.
"Don't look so shocked, Alex. I've been more than patient with you these last few years while you've thrown your temper tantrums. But I'm tired of it. You are my wife. That won't change. The sooner you come to terms with it, the better."
"I don't need to come to ter—"
"I think you'll find you do. What do you think is going to happen, huh? You think you're just going to leave? Have we not been over this time and time again? With what money?" He has the nerve to laugh before moving a hand up to cup my face. It looks like a loving gesture to those watching, but it doesn't feel that way. "We both know the tiny amounts you've squirreled away when you thought I didn't notice aren't enough to support yourself for more than a week."
I try not to react to his words; I really do. But I can't help it. He hears my sharp intake of breath and laughs.
"You didn't really think you were getting away with it, did you?"
I want to cry because I did; I did think I was getting away with it. John has control of the finances, but I've been attempting to scrape together enough money to get out. It would be easier if I had family to turn to, but I don't anymore. I've got no friends either—John made sure of that. Isolated and alone, money was my only chance of getting away. And now I'm not sure I even have that. The amount I'd hidden away wasn't much, but it was a start.
"It's cute that you thought I hadn't noticed." He chuckles softly to himself, amused by my pathetic attempt to find a way out of this marriage. I keep my chin up, refusing to show him what his words have done to me. But I feel every single one of them. It feels like he's taken a wrecking ball to me—to my plans. That hope I felt is gone—smashed to pieces. I'm not sure if it was ever there to begin with.
"How many times are we going to do this? Are you not bored, Alex?" He waits for a response, but I stay silent. I can feel his body tensing under my hands, his annoyance with me growing with each passing second. I'm poking the bear and not caring one bit about the consequences.
"Well, I am—bored, that is. I've been more than patient with you. More patient than you've deserved, but that ends now. You are my wife and it's high time you act like it. I'm done entertaining whatever this little rebellion is."
"It's not so—"
"I'm not looking for your input on this. I'm simply telling you how it's going to be from now on. By the end of this month, you will be back in my bed where you belong. Do I make myself clear, Alexis?"
"If you thi—"
"I don't think anything, I know. This isn't a negotiation. Take all those plans you have and forget them. You're not going anywhere. You've been mine since you were a fucking kid, Alex. And what, now you think I'm just going to let you go? I don't fucking think so."
We're nearing the end of the song and I'm grateful for that. I can't bear to listen to much more of this. The fact I'm holding myself together right now is a miracle. There's a storm of emotions swirling inside of me, and I need a moment to myself to process them.
He wants to drag me back to his bed, but just the thought of it makes me want to spill the contents of my stomach down the front of his fancy suit. My absence hadn't bothered him for the last few years because of the endless stream of women he was fucking, but he doesn't have that anymore. Not since they gave him that shield. He can't afford to fuck up the image they've built for him.
John pulls away so that he can look at me, but I refuse to return his stare. Bringing his hand up, he gently strokes my cheek before taking hold of my chin and forcing me to look at him. He looks triumphant; the look in his eyes is that of a man who already knows he's won. He leans a little closer, his eyes never wavering from mine.
"The only way you're leaving this marriage is in a casket. Let's prayer that day is a long time from now, shall we." The chillingly calm way he says it does nothing to hide the threat behind the words. Then he pulls me forward by my chin and kisses me. Although calling it a kiss is generous. He smashes his mouth over mine with aggressive force. My lips press painfully into my teeth while I remain unmoving. I don't miss the humorous glint in his eyes when he finally pulls away. He's enjoying this. He's fucking enjoying this.
When the song draws to a close, the band encourages everyone to join us on the dancefloor for the next dance. But I've had all I can take. As couples move around us, I shake out of John's hold. He takes my continued silence as a victory, smiling before happily letting me go. He knows he's broken me. I don't look back at him as I slowly make my way out of the ballroom. My vision is tunnelling and even in a room with a 70ft ceiling, it still feels like the room is closing in around me. I have to get out of here.
In my desperation to get away, I push on the first fire exit door I come across and pray it doesn't trigger an alarm. It seems the universe takes pity on me this once because the door swings open and I don't hear the shrill sound of an alarm. I've found myself in a dark alley and the icy winds whip at me. Autumn is nearing its end and the bite of winter is in the air already.
Doubling over, I rest my hands on my knees as I try to control my breathing. Panic and hopelessness hit me hard and the large breaths I'm sucking in aren't helping. I've never felt more alone than I do right now. I have no one, absolutely no one. As dizziness hits me, I finally remember my breathing exercises. Working my way through them, I slowly get a handle on myself.
If Tommy were still here, I'd have been free years ago. He'd never have allowed me to stay with John once I'd told him the truth about us. And I'd been so close to telling him—so fucking close. But they were being deployed together, and I just couldn't do it to Tommy. Not then. I couldn't send him off knowing the truth about John's continued infidelity or how and when our relationship started. They'd need to trust and rely on each other. I wouldn't put Tommy's life at risk by taking that away from him. I'd promised myself I'd tell him everything when he returned home, except he never did.
Tears prick at my eyes and I try my hardest to blink them away. I'm close to breaking down, but I do my best to ignore the painful lump in my throat. I feel one tear slip out and I wipe at it angrily, mad at myself for allowing John to do this to me. Refusing to waste my tears on that man, I stay doubled over and wait for the pain to lessen.
I don't know how long I stay like that, but I'm so lost in my head that I don't even notice someone else has come out behind me until they speak.
"Here."
That one word has me almost jumping out of my skin. I look up, fully prepared to tell the newcomer to fuck off until I meet those depthless blue eyes. Barnes. I stare at him, not knowing what to say or do. I didn't think I'd be seeing him again tonight. But here he stands, looking less put together than he did earlier. The collar on his shirt is no longer buttoned, and his bow tie now hangs loosely around his neck. I shouldn't be admiring how good he looks, but I can't seem to help myself. If only his face looked as relaxed as his appearance. It doesn't though; it looks tense and angry.
When I do nothing but stare at him, he rolls his eyes before moving towards me. It's only then that I notice he's holding his jacket out to me. The sight of it makes me realise just how cold I am. I'm shivering and goose bumps cover my arms and legs. He doesn't wait for me to move, instead he takes my hand in his and pushes it through the arm of his jacket and then guides my other arm through the opposite side. He then wraps it tightly around me, rubbing his hands up and down my arms for a few seconds before stepping back.
"Thank you." My chattering teeth make it hard to get the words out, but I manage it.
He doesn't respond, just leans back against the building, not seeming to care if it makes a mess of his white shirt. I hate the look he's giving me, as if I've wronged him. My world is crumbling around me and it seems he's come here to make it worse.
"What?" I finally snap at him because I can't do this silent stare down for much longer. He clearly came here to say something, and I'd rather he just spit it out. There isn't much he could say to hurt me when I'm already broken beyond repair.
"Do you think about me when he's fucking you?"
I can do nothing but stare at him, dumbfounded and insulted at the same time. Is that what he thinks of me? That I've been sleeping with him and then going to bed with John every night? Does he truly believe me capable of fucking the both of them at the same time? It's nice to know just how little he thinks of me.
"I never think about you, Barnes." Oh, what a liar I am. But his ridiculous question doesn't deserve a real response.
"Bullshit." He hisses out before pushing off the wall and stalking towards me.
I want to push him back, but he's so quick that I don't get a chance. He pulls me against him and fuses his lips to mine before I can even utter a protest. I shouldn't kiss him back, but my body always reacts to him before my brain does. My mouth seems to move of its own accord.
But this doesn't feel like a kiss—it feels like a battle. It's not gentle or loving. It isn't hungry or lust-filled. This kiss is pure fight—one which neither of us seems willing to lose.
Everything he gives me, I give back just as hard. We're nipping, biting, sucking. Our tongues moving against each other like they have a point to prove. And I'm clinging to him like there's nowhere else I'd rather be than in his arms. And I'm terrified because that's exactly how I feel.
One of his hands is inside his jacket, pressed flat against my exposed back, holding me to him. The heat of his palm sets my skin on fire. He burns every part of me. I feel like pure gasoline runs through my veins and he's just lit the match to light me up from the inside out.
It's only when I'm moaning into his mouth, desperate for more, that Barnes finally seems to surrender and admit defeat. He pulls back, gasping for air as he looks down at me. There's no mistaking the victorious look in his eyes. He seems to believe he's won whatever this was.
"You never think about me, huh?" He smirks down at me. "Seems like it, Lex."
I shake out of his grip and take a step back, needing to put space between us because I can't think when he's this close to me. Every rational thought leaves my head when his body is on mine, when his scent is invading my senses and I can taste him on my tongue.
"What do you even see in him? Help me understand because I'm fucking lost. You don't look happy to me, Lex. Help me understand what the fuck you're doing with him?"
I want to open up to him; I do. At least I think I do. But I don't know how. I've never been good at it—sharing how I feel. It feels like pure madness to expose your innermost thoughts and feelings to someone else. In my experience, all it does is give people the ammunition they need to hurt you. And I've experienced enough hurt to last me a lifetime. I stay silent and I can tell that pisses him off.
"I never thought I'd find someone more closed off than me. But you've got more walls than a fucking prison and they're impenetrable. What are you so afraid of, princess?"
I bristle at that. Not because he's wrong, but because he's right. And I don't like how transparent he makes me feel. He says I have walls up, but he makes me feel like they're made of glass—like I'm made of glass. One wrong move from him and I feel I'd shatter to pieces. And I want to deny that fear spurs me to open my mouth and say what I do next, but I can't. He's right, I am afraid. I'm a fucking coward.
"Nothing. I'm not afraid of anything, Barnes." I snap angrily, my voice rising. "And why do you care, anyway? What is this? We're nothing to each other—just two people using each other. You don't have to keep attempting to have these deep conversations with me, okay. We both know what this is."
"We do, do we?" He's not trying to hide his anger, although I can hear disappointment in his voice and it makes me ashamed of my outburst. "Nothing to each other? Is that really how you feel, Alexis?" Again, I choose to stay silent. "You can't fucking kiss me the way you just did and then tell me we're nothing!"
He's right. And I should swallow my damn pride and admit it. I should just let it all out here and now. I should be honest with myself and him. 'You're right,' I should say, 'this isn't nothing. And that terrifies me. You terrify me because you make me feel things I can't even put a name to. But I have no idea what this is—what we are—because I haven't had the courage to ask. And, frankly, I'm scared of the answer.'
But I can't bring myself to do it. I'm not good at being vulnerable, at opening myself up to anyone. It leads to getting hurt. It's like handing over a map showing exactly where to strike to hurt you most. And having him not feel anything close to what I'm feeling would wound me deeper than any physical blow. It would be like cutting myself open right in front of him, showing him every part of me and having him tell me I'm dripping blood on the floor before walking away. I'm not strong enough to handle that.
"Nothing, really?" He's angry and hurt and no longer expecting or waiting for a response. He just continues on. "This is nothing?" He gestures between the two of us. "So you won't mind if I fuck other people, right? I mean, this is nothing after all. You go home to your husband... Every. Single. Fucking. Night. Why should I be the only one going home alone?"
His words are a punch to the gut. I want to double over with the pain that lances through me at the images they invoke in me. Another woman with her legs wrapped around him as he thrusts inside of her. It makes me want to be sick. I want to take my words back, want to reach for them and shove them back down my throat. But I'm too stubborn for my own good and I can't bear to give him the satisfaction of knowing those verbal blows landed just the way he intended. I'm a wreck on the inside, but on the surface, I look calm—controlled.
"Do whatever you want, Barnes." I say dismissively, the words hard to get out around the lump in my throat. "I'm his wife, remember, not yours."
That's one thing tonight has made very clear. I need to rid myself of the childish notion that Barnes will somehow save me from John. He's not some hero in the sad story of my life. No one is going to rescue me. Hell, I can't even rescue myself. What hope would he have? And why would he want to?
"You think I could ever fucking forget that?" He bursts out angrily as he makes a quick move towards me. I'm not expecting it and it's on instinct alone that I flinch back from him. The look in his eyes guts me.
"Really?" His tone is equal parts disbelief and hurt. I don't know how to explain that it isn't him, it's just a learned behaviour I can't suddenly shut off.
"I'm sorry." I try to reach for him, but he shakes me off, so I try to explain. "You seemed angry and I-"
"I am angry. I'm allowed to be angry, Alexis. It's a human fucking emotion people have. That doesn't mean I would hurt you." He rubs his hand over his face, making no attempt to hide how frustrated he is. Looking at me as if he doesn't know me at all, as if he's had me pegged wrong this whole time. "But I guess I'm always just going to be the scary, violent assassin to you, right?"
"No, that's no-"
"Don't worry about it, Alexis. Happy anniversary, I hope you and your husband have a wonderful night. Hell, I hope you have a wonderful rest of your life together." And with that, he's leaving me out here in the dark as he stalks back through the fire exit as if he can't get away from me quick enough. I want to call him back, to make this right, but I don't know how.
This time, when the tears come, I don't hold them back. I place my head in my hands and let it all out, sobbing loudly. It's cathartic. But it doesn't help me. I've fucked up so completely and I've got no idea how to go about fixing it. Is there even something there to fix?