Page 22 of Entwined

Just like I promised, I dial into the main conference room in my London office from the plane’s phone. “Good afternoon everyone. I know my sudden decision to sell my firm comes as a shock. But rest assured—you’re the best team in the world and the deal I’ll make will be to leave it whole. Let’s show everyone why Devillo Industries is the best in the world by bringing down Santos’ Corp. Make me proud. Let’s set the record for the highest sale price of a firm of our kind. Do me proud. Destroy him.” Hoots and whistles follow. Hands thump the large walnut table. I grin, wishing I was there. They start chanting,“El Diablo.”I grin like a motherfucker. It feels good. I missed out on so much when I was living in the dark. Being bad is so much fun. How come no one ever told me that?

Maybe I won’t change my stripes after all, but just camouflage them. “One more thing—every one of you is getting a fifteen percent raise. Effective immediately.” I press the button ending the call.

Trevor clears his throat, nervously fixing his tie. “Do good in Japan, mate and I’ll give you twenty.

“Yes, Sir.”

“What are you doing?” I ask as he moves to take the pile of the latest résumés for the PR position.

His face turns red. My eyebrow lifts as I snatch them from him. “I-I was going to quit. These are a joke. I was pissed at you.”

“Tsk, tsk, Trevor. You’ve worked for me for a year and still don’t have your big boy pants on? You’re lucky I’m feeling…” I break off laughing at myself.

“Sir… are you on uppers? At the risk of getting fired—I must say you’ve been acting strange. Unlike yourself.”

“I’ve never been more myself, Trevor. I haven’t lost my mind. I gained my heart then let it get ripped away.”

“Ah. Now I understand. The greatEl Diabloisn’t immune toamore, after all.”

“If you tell anyone, I’ll rip your throat out.”

He pales.

“I’m just fucking with you Trevor. I’m on uppers all right. But don’t worry, they’re legal.”

“Bloody hell. Share, please.”

“Get back to work,” I snap, my mood changing swiftly like an outgoing tide. Christ, I am bi-polar. My therapist warned me I was. Letting Jessie go was the right thing to do. I refused to trap her with a fucked-up broken man whose mind and heart are permanently fractured. My medical chart has more codes than a cancer patient. My prognosis; just as deadly. I’d slash her a thousand different ways without even meaning to. It would’ve been a slow death. Sure, the pills have helped regulate my brain chemicals. But some things aren’t curable, they’re just managed.

And what I’ve discovered is my absolute delight in the darkness. I love living in the shadows while feeling the burn of the sun.

My therapist, Kelly, makes me write in a notebook. Likes/dislikes, desires, secret fantasies… she says these exercises will help me control all the new emotions I feel.

I never told Jessie about any of it.

I couldn’t.

Not when her only hope for me was to become the best version of myself. She had more stars in her eyes when she looked at me than a thousand summer skies. I was fooling us both, pretending I was morphing into a normal man, when in truth—I was realizing how much I liked who I was. But my stupid heart wants her. And only her. I want to give her a future. Turning from my dark past is the only way. But what I can’t reconcile are my tastes. I’m not embarrassed by the carnal delights I enjoyed. Not at all fazed by the things I did or witnessed. If anything, I miss the sexual underworld where I moved freely; unjudged.

She’d be horrified if she knew the truth.

Although, I couldn’t feel during much of our relationship. I can in reverse. Through memory. I relish in the triumph of taking her that first time when she needed me, wanted it to be me to ram my cock in her when she was high on E.

My heart still races as I recall inhaling the crisp taste of her fear the first time my lips crashed on hers in Capri. Fuck I get hard, remembering how I edged her, when she was naked in chains on my yacht. She never looks more beautiful than when she’s broken. And I wonder if I left her on purpose—just to see that wrecked look in her eyes again.

I reach inside the back pocket of my trousers, taking out the newspaper picture of her from Greece. It’s there. That beautiful broken look that makes me hard as a rock.

I’m a sick bastard.

Just like I always said I was.

I left her because I couldn’t keep pretending.Going to therapy and taking medication opened Pandora’s box. It wasn’t just about her, it was about me. The classic cliché held true: It’s not you, it’s me. But Jessie would never believe that. She’d bear all my sins, take even more and give me all of her in an effort to save me.

Save us.

Being away from her has allowed me to see things more clearly. It’s only been two weeks and my mind’s already starting to change. Originally when I let her go it was for her. So, she could find herself and fly. Then fly back to me. But now, I realize I’m more fucked up than I ever truly admitted. I needed time for me. To either accept the devil I am or try to change him. And I truly don’t know which side of my nature will win.

Sitting back in my seat, I add more ice to my Scotch and begin reading the new batch of résumés from Trevor. I skim the first few lines of each then glance at their pictures. None of them grab me, nothing seems special until I flip to the next one.

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