Wanted For Pleasure

Chapter Sixty-eight: the proposal

"That is all I want in life: for this pain to seem purposeful"

Morgan Ann Bennett

I sat in the window sill of the lavender room, the one place in Malcolm's hellish home that felt like a home. It wasn't home at all, but the memories I made in it, made it seem so.

We were going to the grand opening of The Q. I couldn't bring myself to be excited about it. I'm sure it'll be beautiful and all the rage, but Quinn isn't here to celebrate and the place is named after her.

I know it's been a while and I should stop mourning now, but it's seemed like it's been one thing after the other, and I've had a hard time coping.

Knock. Knock.

I'm surprised he did so before coming right in.

I jumped off of the window and hurried to sit in front of the vanity where I finished applying makeup over my bruised left eye.

Actually, it wasn't Malcolm, but X.

"Malcolm says the car is ready." X, the chauffeur, let me know.

I let out a pained sigh and pushed my makeup back on the vanity, seeing my under eye was as concealed as I could it.

And no, he didn't hit me. I fell down the steps. Well, maybe I wouldn't have fell if his hand wasn't in my back. I tumbled down one flight of stairs and hit my face on some ski junk he had at the end of of the staircase. Luckily all I did get was a bruised eye. But he didn't hit me.

As I descended said staircase, I watched the woman graciously glide across the hardwood floors. She made my blood boil for reasons other than being Malcolm's mistress, I didn't care about that. How could she be so happy sleeping with a man so vile? So repulsive. I bet she's just like him - evil. Every time she looks at me it's like she hopes I die in the next minute. I don't know if she thinks I'm here because I want to be but that's far from the truth. The only shocking part about their "affair" is that she has a kid, and he's older, eight or ten. But when I wanted to move in Quinn, that was just the end of the world.
Her wide hips are a lot more convincing than I was, I guess.

I wanted to shake her by the shoulders, tell her to get a grip and get out. I didn't even know her name, just where she's from — Denver because he's always there creeping with her— and that she has a basketball playing son. I couldn't express my hatred for her enough. Why do I have to be tortured by this man while she voluntarily stays with him for whatever reasons?
Why Malcolm didn't let me go? Unclear. I don't think me being here is about his attraction to me anymore. Like he said, I'm broken. No, it's something beyond that at this point - his own ulterior motives. Spite or maybe even insurance.
I don't know, I stopped asking questions after almost losing my hand.

The woman held the door open for me. She was in one of his Versace robes and drank directly from the orange juice carton. I'm glad I don't like orange juice.

My eyes were glued on her round face as I made my exit with X on my trail, rushing me before Malcolm got impatient.

Thankfully, Malcolm was already downtown "taking care of business" so I didn't have to sit prim and proper for the entirety of the ride. I had time to think for once and it felt like the first time in a while I was able to escape into my mind and have thoughts of my own. So I relished in it. In fact, the grey, crying sky and thunderous claps reminded me of this one time with Chris. . .

~~~

"—AH! My hair." I shrieked at the first sign of rain.