The space is mammoth. Exploring, I realize the entire uppermost floor of the building comprises this penthouse, more square feet than I can count. Most of it is open space, divided here and there with half walls and paper panels, or sectioned off with long couches to create informal nooks of space. A kitchen, way off in the distance, all gleaming marble and stainless steel. A balcony, the walls themselves sliding apart and the ceiling sloping back and away out of sight to bare an outdoor area cut out of the structure of the building itself.
There, a set of elaborately painted paper panels inspired by Japanese culture, sectioning off the bedroom. Cleverly layered, three sets form a barrier so that the bedroom cannot be seen from without. A wide, low bed with a white comforter, neatly made. A nightstand on either side, empty of any effects. An actual wall forms the left side of the bedroom, and in it a doorway, leading to the bathroom.
I need a shower, I suddenly realize. I’ve not had one in a long time.
But when I get into the interior of the bathroom, there is a deep claw-foot tub, and I smile to myself.
I run the water hot, fill the tub. Climb in, skin scorched by the delicious heat, splashing water onto the floor. Sink down, submerged gradually until I’m immersed to my nose.
Immediately, I am assaulted by the chaos in my mind, the furious onslaught of everything I’ve refused to think about.
I ache between my thighs, and now that the source of that ache is gone, I feel shame, embarrassment, revulsion. Hatred. I fell for the sorcery yet again. Caleb has some way of weaving a spell over me, of making me forget all my objections and all my thoughts and everything that is logical or rational.
Caleb is a god, and gods are meddlesome... or so read the ancient myths. As a god, Caleb meddles with my rationality. Manipulates my body and my mind. Drowns my senses with masculine perfection, blinds me with beauty. Now, alone, I can only see the distinct parts that compose the whole, and the effect is not the same. The eyes, the mouth, the jawline; the arms, the hands, the massive musculature... these are Caleb. The anger, the coldness, the body heat and skillful touch, the way I can be melted down to nothing. These too. But all together, it is more.
And I fall for it every time.
I let Caleb spin a web of words and touch, and I let—I allowed myself to befucked, only a few short minutes after Rachel.
I am repulsed . . .
Yet also turned on.
The hatred is for myself.
And for Caleb. For twisting me around, for making me feel like I meant something. How can all my thoughts and protestations and objections be swept away so easily?
Did Caleb even shower after Rachel and before me? I doubt it. I didn’t smell evidence of a shower. I lift up and twist, look behind me at the shower stall; it is dry, unused.
Do I have the mixed essences of Rachel and Caleb and me, all smeared together?
Disgust, and deeper than that, shame.
I fell for lies. Believed neat explanations and trite claims that I am special.
And yet, here I am, in this penthouse, in Caleb’s tub, bathing, waiting.
The hot water pulls me under, makes me sweat, makes my eyes heavy;
Self-hatred is exhausting.
A noise jerks me awake, upright. I sit, splashing cool water everywhere, the ends of my hair sticking to my back. I wait, tensed, sure I heard something.
Footsteps.
“Caleb?” I sound fearful. Naked, vulnerable, disoriented from accidentally falling asleep in hot water, dizzy from overheating, I am in no shape to fend off Caleb’s sorcery.
The footsteps are not Caleb’s, however. Shuffled, strange. I look around for a towel, see nothing. Crossing my arms over my breasts, I crouch in the now-cool water, waiting for whoever it is to show themselves.
Shiny black shoes, first. Pants leg, waist, suit coat. It is Len, edging forward while leaning backward, walking strangely.
Ah. An arm around his throat, shiny barrel of a handgun to a temple. I recognize the hand clutching the gun, and the golden forearm wedged under Len’s throat.
“X?” I hear his smooth familiar voice, first, and then he and Len are in the bathroom, Logan not quite visible behind Len.
“Logan? What—what are you doing?”
“I came to get you.” The gun nudges Len’s temple. “He didn’t want to let me, and he lost.”
