Page 57 of Something So Strong

Sorry, Cleo, but I don’t feel like baring my soul to you.

“How much do you know about him?”

“Not a lot. But more than most.”

I look at her; well go on.

She grins almost proudly, and leans in. “I was the first one he hooked up with when he arrived. He made the rounds but kept coming back until we both just… only slept with each other… Not out of the need—or want—of a relationship, but more for the mutual respect of it all. I never had to talk to him about wanting zero commitment, because we were always on the same page.” She pauses like she’s seeking approval to keep going.

Lowering my chin, I look at her through my eyelashes as if to say, babe, you ain’t gonna get any judgment from me.

Grinning, she continues. “He’s an awesome lay. And, even though letting a man be that in control in the bedroom isn’t typically my thing, I learned to appreciate it. But—having said that—we only ever fucked in my room. And he never slept over… Come to think of it, we only ever hooked up during the day. Late afternoon was a push.”

“Um…” I start before realizing it might not be my place to mention what happened last night.

“Well, you have to tell me what you’re thinking now.” Cleo scoots her chair closer.

“Last night, he—ah… Was screaming. For someone to stop doing… Something?”

“Ha.” Cleo leans back in her chair. “I didn’t think he was having those anymore.”

“Having what?”

“Night terrors.” The revelation rolls off her tongue without a second thought. “They were pretty bad when he first arrived.” Cleo’s jaw goes slack, her eyes roll up in a cute quirk, and she smacks herself on the forehead. “That’s probably why he’d never stay over.”

Yeah, no shit.

“That’s probably it.” I nod, trying my hardest to not let her know she’s dead from the neck up for only figuring that out now. “Do you know how often he has them?”

Cleo shakes her head. “Your guess is as good as mine. They’re pretty bad, though. He’d have bruises all over.”

My stomach sinks like the single bite of brownie is mocking me. “I was trying to get into his room last night, but Alma wouldn’t let me.”

“She’s kinda protective of him.” Cleo breaks off a piece of muffin and, after licking the crumbs off her fingers, she looks at me, almost surprised by the desperation on my face. But then her features soften and I know she understands what I need her to know without being able to say it. “You like him, don’t you?”

I don’t answer. I just continue to stare.

“I thought I picked up on that at the bar the other night, but I wasn’t sure.” Putting the muffin down, Cleo drags her seat closer until its legs clink with mine. “It’s new to you, isn’t it?”

I nod.

“That’s so hot,” she smirks. “Can I watch?”

“Cleo!”

“Just consider it, alright?” Her face drops its playful grin and I know she’s serious. “Look, Alma knows him better than anyone. And I’m pretty sure she’s the closest he’s ever gotten to being properly exclusive. But word around says he called it off. So you might be in with a chance. But…” The apprehension in her voice is deafening. “He’s damaged goods. How? I don’t know, but when you’re intimate with a person as many times as we were, you just pick up on those kinds of things. Having said that, I still stand by what I said the other day—he’s fucking magical. But he’s carrying something around that I never cared enough to ask about.” There’s shame in her voice, but I couldn’t blame her. Dealing with your own demons is more than enough for some people.

“Do you know anything about him from before he arrived?”

“Just basic stuff. Went to Uni in Toronto. He’s from bum-fuck Manitoba. The kind of small town kids escape from the moment they graduate high school…” Cleo lets out a long breath. “Guy or girl, it’s gonna take a special kind of person for him to settle down for. And not just because he fucks like a wild animal.” Her grin is back with a vengeance. “In the words of Shrek, the guy’s an onion. He’s got a lot of layers, and it’s gonna take a lot of tears to peel them back.”

I’ve never deserved a day alone so much in my life.

Torture is the only way I can describe the past week. An emotional fucking roller coaster of hate and uncontrollable lust. It must be how stalkers feel being so close to the one they want but never able to actually have them. Except, from my point of view, I’m not getting anything out of the relationship. Sure, the person being stalked doesn’t tend to know it’s happening, but the stalker gets off on manipulation, reactions, and stolen trinkets. What do I get? The person I want right in front of my face. I could reach out and touch him if I wanted, but my well of fulfillment is drier than a nun’s vagina.

But then, there’s the way he looks at me when he thinks I won’t notice. Or the way he’ll pick a fight with anyone who dares talk to me with even the slightest suggestion of intent…

I hate how he lets everyone else know I’m off limits, but fuck, I’d miss it if he stopped.

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