The Dilemma: The Philistine Heart (Book 2) Page 3

  “It’s really not as bad as it sounds,” Bridget replied, defensively. “He didn’t want to hurt me; he’d never do that. Choking isn’t about pain. It’s about power. It’s the feeling of his strong hands around my delicate neck — he’s completely in control, and I’m entirely at his mercy. It turns him on knowing that I have to give into him absolutely. I’m literally placing my life in his hands. That’s how he explains it anyway,” Bridget concluded lightly.

  “That sounds like something a deranged lunatic would say before he murders you in cold blood,” Susan joked. “But seriously, I hope you two are being careful.”

  “We are. Besides, it was just a onetime thing — something to spice things up. I would expect you of all people to appreciate our effort to keep things interesting,” Bridget replied dismissively.

  “Hey, I’m not judging. It’s just a little more risqué than what I’d expect from you. But if it’s helping where it needs to, then by all means, don’t be deterred by my misgivings. Besides, your neck looks like it got away undamaged. What happened there?”

  “Oh this,” Bridget said rubbing her wrist. “He tied them behind my back with twine, which I can’t recommend. I have rope burns on my ankles too.”

  “You’re ankles, that doesn’t sound right.”

  “I would think you’d have more imagination than that. My ankles weren’t tied together silly,” Bridget giggled.

  “Ah,” Susan nodded, finally understanding. “Now I’m jealous. It’s starting to sound like you have a hotter sex life than me. And I’m the one who’s single. I’m actually surprised that you agreed to bondage. He must have worked overtime to convince you.”

  “Not really, he didn’t want to tell me at first. I had to drag it out of him. I think he was afraid it’d scare me off. But I didn’t want things to be that way between us. I mean, you know … I want to feel close to him, like we can trust each other. That’s what was always missing — trust.”

  “I get it Bridge. Honestly, no need to explain. If you guys are going to work, you can’t play it safe or dwell on the past. And for the record, I completely support your thinking on this. It’s a healthy way to move forward.”

  “Why, thank you. I can’t imagine what I’d do without the official Susan stamp of approval. And for the record, that really makes my day.”

  Susan threw a snap pea crisp at Bridget.

  “Hey!” Bridget said, picking it off her lap and popping it into her mouth.

  “Before I forget, I have a present for you,” Susan said, pulling a book out of the Louis Vuitton bag beside her, and holding it tightly against her chest, obscuring the cover. “This was a spur of the moment idea, so I didn’t wrap it. I’ve had this book for a long time, and it’s helped me through a lot of hard times. With it, I’ve learned so much, and it’s really transformed me into the person I am today. I thought I’d give it to you as a way to pass the torch, in hopes it brings as much light into your life as it has to mine,” Susan said solemnly before turning the book over to Bridget.

  “Oh gosh,” Bridget said, bursting out in laughter. “300 Positions to a Better Sex Life; I guess I should have seen this coming," Bridget said, casually flipping through pages. “And it even comes with detailed illustrations, how thoughtful,” she said facetiously.

  “Don’t knock it ’til you try it. I’ll have you know that I’ve tried every single position in that book and they’ve changed my life. It’s truly mind blowing. Think of it as a house warming gift,” Susan said with a mischievous grin.

  “So you’re saying you’ve tried all of these, even this one?” Bridget held up a page prominently displaying a nude couple: the woman faced away from the man, whose arms were encircled around the front of her waist. Her arms were positioned behind her, clasped around his forearms. She was lifted, so her genitals aligned with his, her legs tenuously wrapped around the man’s thighs, with her feet settling under his buttocks for balance.

  “Oh yeah, the Mermaid, one of my favorites. Not as difficult as the Waterfall. Now that requires some serious flexibility — you know, with the backbend and all,” Susan said.

  “And this is supposed to be pleasurable? It seems like a lot of work to accomplish such a relatively simple task.”

  “The challenge is half the fun Bridge. It makes the reward all the more thrilling. Besides, on what planet are multiple orgasms a simple task?”

  “I suppose I can’t argue with that logic. I’m sure Blake and I will get a lot of use out of this, thank you.”

  “I aim to please. At least now I know that a part of me is going with you to Texas. Every time you and Blake try a new position from that book, you can think of me.”

  “If I do any of these positions with Blake, I can promise that you’ll be the last thing on my mind. But In all seriousness, I don’t need a book or anything else to remind me of you. We’ll be friends, no matter how we’re scattered across the country. That will never change.”

  “Now you're really going to make me cry. You’re right, no matter where life leads us, nothing will ever change that. We’ll be friends forever,” Susan said, leaning across the couch to hug Bridget, with the bag of snap pea crisps still in her hands.

  Bridget, who normally shied away from random displays of affection, couldn’t help but return Susan’s hug with a warm one of her own. Susan was the first real friend she’d had since high school. The older she got, the more she realized that a true, long lasting friendship was far more difficult to come by than in her younger years. Now that she had one again, she didn’t want to take it for granted. When she committed to a friendship, she meant it with all her heart. She was certain that whatever hardships would divide them, her and Susan would weather the storm and remain friends forever. “Yes, friends forever,” she repeated, with a jubilant smile.

  Three

  Home Sweet Home

  Jason flung open the door to his Seattle apartment. With a flick of the wrist, he tossed his keys onto the entryway console and stepped inside — allowing the weight of the door to ease it closed behind him. He kept the lease in his name all these months. He wasn’t typically the sentimental type — sticking around when it was time to move on wasn’t his style. But he knew that when he moved to New York, he wasn’t done with Seattle.

  Over the past twelve years, he’d lived all over the west coast: going from apartment to apartment. He’d even owned a condo back in L.A. He was hardly there a year before selling it and moving to the Bay Area. The fact was, ownership had never suited his lifestyle. He was a nomad, wandering from one place to the next. When one city went stale, he’d move on to where ever a new opportunity presented itself. His credo was to keep moving forward — to look to the future, never behind. When life dictated it was time for him to advance — to the next job in another city, to new people, new places, new women ... he did it without hesitation. And never once in his endless quest for a fresh perspective on life did he have a second thought about handing over the keys when the time came.

  That all changed six months ago — an opportunity presented itself, and once again, it was time to move on. He had every intention of walking away from Seattle, just as he had all the other places he’d briefly called home — and never look back. He would have junked his designer furniture in his luxury penthouse apartment, as readily as if it were trash — if only to ease the hardship of moving. Furniture, like women, was disposable and easily replaced. It was there to serve a purpose, once it ceased to have utility and became a burden, it was no longer of any use.

  He treated all the things he’d procured in a similar manner: his BMW, the thousand dollar designer suits he owned, his sizable collection of Cartier watches — all willingly thrown out and left behind. It was never the material things he was after. They were a byproduct of the expectations placed on him by his parents — a way for him to mimic their success, so the people he cared about most would know he did well in life, on his own, and be proud. He’d done so much to disappoint them. He wanted them to be prou
d.

  No, it was never the material things, or the money, that he was after. For so long it was his pursuit of pleasure that drove him: the need for a distraction, a way for him to forget the stains that marred his past. All the lies he told, the people he hurt, and the shame that loomed over him daily. These were the inconvenient truths that echoed in his head, threatening to unhinge him. To make him relive memories he’d sooner forget, and erase all he'd put into becoming a different person … a better person. Someone who didn’t fail the people he loved. For him, failure wasn’t an option. And as long as everything in his life was a reflection of that person, from his clothes, to his furniture, to his car, he would never fail again … ever.

  And this time was no different. Of all he’d left behind, there was only one thing valuable enough to anchor him to a city for which he held so much apathy. It was what brought him back to Seattle, and what he was determined not to leave without — Bridget. One day of not being able to see or touch her was one day too long — six months was an eternity. Her love was like a beacon calling out to him. It cast a radiant glow that shone thousands of miles off, where only his eyes could see, guiding him back to her.

  Everything about her made him restless, wishing she were close: the soft, hypnotic cadence of her voice, the guileless innocence of her smile when she looked at him, the way her body felt beneath his when they made love. From the moment he first saw her, he loved her; and even knowing for so long how he needed her in his life, he couldn’t have anticipated the void her absence would create. The longer he went without her, the larger it grew. Every day there was the risk that it would overtake him, and swallow him into a vast expanse of nothingness. He needed her to be with him, and he knew she needed him in precisely the same way. The distrust she held for her own mind was the greatest obstacle: like a malevolent voice whispering in her ear, telling lies. He’d rescue her from those lies; the same way he would have wanted someone to save him from his.

  The biggest lie he ever told himself was that he could move on from Amber and Daniel — that he could leave his son. He could barely comprehend who that person was. He couldn’t change the past; he couldn’t right twelve years of wrongs towards them. Those were pieces that were shattered and dispersed, too numerous to gather and impossible to repair in entirety. That was a weight he would carry with him always.

  But he could fix what was broken between him and Bridget. He had all the parts at his fingertips; he had only to piece them together. He needed her to trust him again — the way she used to. So that when he looked into her eyes, all the fear and doubt that caused her to retreat deep within the dark cellars of her sub conscience, where no one could hurt her, would instantly melt away. She’d re-emerge, knowing the danger had passed. That’s when he’d know she was his again. His sweet Bridget.

  But gaining her confidence would be a challenge. Bridget wasn’t trusting by nature. The kind of trust she used to have for him was unyielding and absolute. It was a kind of submission, absent any fear of abuse. It was a feat that took considerable maneuvering on his part the first time around. But for all his effort, it only took one bad day to lose, in an instant, what required months to gain. He wouldn’t fail Bridget this time. He had a plan. In fact, he’d already set it in motion. And it was guaranteed to deliver to him everything he’d lost, with interest. All he had to do was sit back and watch all the pieces fall into place.

  Suddenly, Jason’s phone began to vibrate rapidly. With an eager hand, he snatched it from his pocket. He'd been waiting for this call.

  “Hello,” he said tersely into the phone.

  “Mr. Chastain, I wanted to ensure that you received the package delivered this morning. I sent it to your PO box, just as you asked,” came a digital voice on the other end.

  “Yeah, I have it,” Jason replied, clutching the open manilla envelope in his hand. He’d made a point to retrieve it on his way home from the airport.

  “I trust that you are satisfied with its contents.”

  “Everything looks good. Did you get the other thing I asked for?” Jason asked, dismissively.

  “That’s going to take a bit more time. You see, such an operation has a lot of moving parts. I’ll need to…”

  “I’m not interested in the details,” Jason interrupted, forcefully. “How soon can you get it done?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether all the information I have is correct.”

  “You have everything you need.”

  “Then you’ll have what you want very soon.”

  “How soon?” Jason asked, impatiently.

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Chastain. You’ve seen my work before. You know that I always deliver.”

  “Let me know when it’s done,” Jason replied curtly before hanging up.

  He shook his head — there was always a lingering sense of unease after their conversations. The person on the other end was known as Exspiravit — Latin for ghost, aptly named for his uncanny ability to be everywhere and nowhere at once. Jason used him twice before. Of course, there was no way for him to be certain Exspiravit was a man; the digitally enhanced voice made his identity difficult to discern. He could only surmise from the unapologetic display of confidence and the risky nature of the jobs Exspiravit took on, that he was speaking to a man. The truth was, for all he knew, Exspiravit could be some teenage kid living in his parent’s basement — though it was doubtful.

  His was a number that was passed around the elite circles of Princeton alumni. He was known for the ability to gather intel, clean up messes and remove obstacles. It was rumored he dealt in some pretty illicit stuff: everything from fallen companies to unexplained deaths were attributed to him. The one certainty Jason had about him was that he was bad news.

  But he told the truth when he said he always delivered. For the right price, he could be persuaded to use his talents for far more domestic pursuits. It was said that he had a soft spot when it came to lover’s quarrels. Jason figured, the less he knew, the better. He wasn’t interested in corporate espionage or insider trading. His interests were not nearly so convoluted, but the process to obtain his goal involved intricate work. What he needed required discretion, precision and cunning; and Exspiravit was the best in the business. That was good enough for him.

  Jason tossed the manila envelope on the coffee table. He’d been holding onto it since he left the cab. Its time would come later. The only thing he wanted to think about at that moment was one block away, in a high rise, overlooking South Lake Union. That was Bridget’s apartment. He peered out his window in the direction of her building and wondered if she was there.

  He chose that apartment for her. It would have been his preference that she live with him, but Bridget had a stubborn streak — he recognized it right away. She wouldn't have agreed to an arrangement that threatened her autonomy. It went back to her untrusting nature. It was that very nature that caused her to rebuff all attempts at his taking care of her the way he wanted … the way she needed him to. So he did the next best thing — he got her an apartment in the building nearest him.

  He knew she’d struggle to afford the place on her salary, even with her promotion, so he paid half of her rent for a year in advance, in addition to paying for half of every piece of designer furniture in her apartment. She didn’t know. He told her he had connections and was able to procure a steep discount. Bridget assumed that because he was a closer, he’d be a natural at making deals. In reality, Jason was never the haggling type. With a net worth of millions, he never had to be — but he didn’t talk about that part of his life. He'd made that mistake with Amber.

  Besides, it gave him pleasure, finding ways to take care of her. Bridget hated to be seen as a charity case. If he’d offered her money outright, she would have refused it. She’d interpret it as a sign that Jason didn’t believe in her, that he thought she was too inadequate, or incompetent, to support herself. He’d spent months acquainting himself with the inner workin
gs of her mind. He knew her well, in some ways, better than she knew herself.

  He remembered when she told him to leave. He knew it was a mistake to walk away when she needed him most. The last night they were together, he felt her heart break as she lay against his chest. The pain that coursed through her mirrored his own. He knew then that he couldn’t do what she’d asked — he couldn’t stay away. Whatever she said, he was certain she didn’t want him to. He knew what was best for her. And this time, he wouldn’t let her down. He wouldn’t fail her. He wouldn’t fail.

  With his phone in hand, he pulled up Bridget’s contact. A picture of her popped up, holding a smoothie with a smile that looked like she was saying Mmm. There was nothing special about that day. That’s one of the reasons he liked it so much; it reminded him of how happy she could make him on any random day of the week.

  It was early spring and Bridget, who had a penchant for anything labeled organic, dragged him to every farmer’s market within a 20-mile radius. One of the markets had a juice bar, and she decided to try a mango and kale smoothie. She’d read all about its health benefits and had a comically technical explanation of how the bitterness of kale could be overcome when liquefied and combined with the natural sweetness of mango. He’d never forget the look on her face when she tried it; one taste and it was clear that she wanted to spit it out. He looked on with amusement as she was determined to finish it — after going on about its chemistry for the entire car ride, it was all she could do to save face. She only made it through a few sips before finally admitting that the drink was awful and throwing it in the trash.

  He swiped the call button, never lifting his gaze from Bridget’s building. Perhaps some part of him hoped that she could sense his desire to see her, and know he was there waiting.

  “Hello,” she answered cautiously, after several rings.

  He could tell she knew it was him. There was no question in her voice. It meant she still had his number on her phone — that was a good sign. She usually purged her phone of numbers she didn’t expect to use again. Jason closed his eyes to relish in every note that sounded from her voice before finally responding.