Page 38 of Heartless Boss
Two—we share a common background. We’ve both suffered at the hands of an abuser.
Gunner opening up about his dad brought up a crap ton of memories of living with my ex. Memories I thought I locked away, but they resurfaced and poured into my brain like it happened yesterday.
My ex stomping me in my stomach because I forgot to pick up bread from the store. Or the time he forced himself inside me when I didn’t do what he said.
When scientists create a pill to forget your past I’ll be the first in line to take it. That way I won’t have to live with the emotional scarring of my heart. Every time I think about him or my past, blood seeps through the cracks of my stitched-together heart.
No one wants you.
You’re a whore like your mom.
I have to fuck other women because you don’t know how to fuck. You can’t even suck dick right.
What are you good for?
You can’t be seen with me, you’re too ugly.
He isolated me from his friends; when he used to throw parties I wasn’t allowed to go with him. I hung out with Izzy on those days.
I used to cry a lot about my life. I was so desperate for someone to love me I put up with whatever love I could get. My heart was so lonely. I used to think that true loneliness was not knowing who I am as a person because I didn’t know who my parents were, but true loneliness is being with someone who makes you feel like the scum of the earth.I’m better, I tell myself. I’m in a better spot. No need to waste tears on a person I’ll never see again.
When I feel a hand on my shoulder, I scream at the top of my lungs, pick up my scrapbook, and smack it across Gunner’s head. He throws his hands over his face to cover himself.
“Are you trying to kill me?” I shriek. “Don’t ever sneak up on me like that!” I remove the headphones from my ears.
“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He slurs his words. He flops on the couch next to me and pulls me to him by the waist until our thighs touch. “Why don’t you like me?” he asks. He smells like he showered in a bottle of tequila.
I wave my hand in front of my face. “You smell like a bar.”
“I just came from one.” He pauses. “You didn’t answer my question. Why don’t you like me?”
“I do like you. At least I’m starting to.”
“I went from hate to like? I should win a gold medal for this shit.”
I roll my eyes at his smart comment. “Wait a sec. How’d you get into my room?”
“The door was slightly open.” He slouches, resting his head on the cushion, staring at the ceiling fan.
My hotel room can’t get any fancier with silk green drapes, a chandelier looking like it’s made out of diamonds dangling from the ceiling, and a television mounted on the gray wall. They have room service offering gourmet meals and fancy wine that cost more than my weekly salary. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this lifestyle.
“My dick is so hard. I haven’t fucked a woman in a month.” That was out of the blue.
“Why haven’t you?” I place the scrapbook on the black table, cross one leg over the other, and tug my nightgown over my knee.
“Because my dick wants to be owned by you.”
I feel my cheeks redden, my nipples harden, and my sex is as wet as the deep ocean.
Gunner makes me feel like a woman. Desired and beautiful. He stares at me with those same predatory eyes, waiting to size me up and swallow me whole.
It’s sad, really, that my heart wreaks havoc for a man who is a hurricane. He drinks like a sailor and shuts everyone out. He’s beautiful and cold on the inside—kind of like a sculpture.
“What kind of panties are you wearing?”
He tugs on the end of my nightgown, and I break out in goosebumps. “Cheekini. Purple with white polka dots.”
Did I just flirt with Gunner? What the heck. He probably isn’t going to remember anything.
