No one wants my life, and people don’t concern themselves with what happens in Treme. “You can come here and kiss me whenever—”
“I’m not a school boy, Ivory. This isn’t an innocent make-out session behind the bleachers.” In a blur of movement, he’s on me, chest against mine and strong fingers wrapped around my neck. “The things I want to do to you would give you nightmares.”
He’s trying to scare me, but he’s not cutting my air. He administers his own punishments, but the sickness inside me craves more of his spankings. He doesn’t give me nightmares. He makes me float through the air in a dream.
He releases my neck and perches on the edge of the bench, putting two feet of turmoil between us. My hands shake to reach for him, my entire body aching to climb back in his lap and return to the safety of his arms. For the first time in my life, I want a man to touch me, and he’s…casting me away?
“I don’t want this to end,” I whisper, the backs of my eyes burning.
“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
His rejection lands in my stomach like a hot coal, stealing my breath and filling my tear ducts with moisture.
“Shit.” He glares at my wet eyes, his expression paling beneath a sheen of sweat. “You cannot fall in love with me.”
“Cannot…what?” I jerk back, inhaling sharply and swiping at a runaway tear. “Oh my God, of all the cocky, arrogant things to say! I would never.”
“I’m offended.” He laughs, but it’s strained. “High school girls have a way of falling fast and ignorantly in love.”
“Well, I’m offended you think I’m that ignorant.” I tug at the hem of my shorts. “No worries, Mr. Marceaux. Thoughts of love haven’t even crossed my mind.”
He stares at the pond. “I know you’re not ignorant, Ivory. It’s just…”
With a hand resting against his mouth, he bends against his knees and watches the ducks preen and splash in the water. But he’s not really watching, not with his gaze turned inward and his expression morphing with whatever he’s thinking about.
Why would he even mention love? If his mind went there, does that mean he’s feeling something? It was a good kiss. For the love of God, it was a kiss I’ll remember for the rest of my life, one I’ll compare all future kisses against. But love? What does he even know about that?
I glance over at him, and something clicks painfully in my mind. “You loved her, didn’t you? That teacher in Shreveport? Joanne?”
Please say no.
He drops his hands, holding them between his knees, forearms braced on his thighs, as he stares at the ground.
“I still love her.” He meets my eyes. “As much as I hate her.”
Jealousy fires ignorantly through my insides, surging like bile in my throat. I would love to be loved, even if it comes with hatred. It’s better than nothing at all. “Will you tell me what happened?”
He reclines and rests an arm along the back of the bench. “I value the honesty between us.” His hand sifts through the ends of my hair. “I don’t want that to end.”
My heart squeezes at the thought of anything ending between us, but I’ll never lie to him. At least, not about the stuff that won’t get me expelled.
“We were together four years.” His fingers move through my hair, softly, hypnotically. “With Shreveport’s non-fraternization policy, our relationship was a secret. We owned separate houses, but lived together in one. Drove separately to school. Kept our interactions professional at work. Until…”
He doesn’t have to finish that sentence. I’m consumed with images of her mouth gagged with his tie, wrists bound by his belt, and her body bent as he fucked her on a desk. Is she a better musician than me? Smarter? Prettier? Did he tell her she’s so fucking beautiful, too? I ball my hands into fists. The sexual positions don’t affect me nearly as much as the idea of him doing those things with someone else.
With one hand in my hair, he scoots closer and places the other over my fists, prying them open. “We were just playing out a fantasy. Having a little fun after hours.”
“Then what happened? How did you lose—? Shit, did she set you up?”
His fingers twitch against mine. “No. But getting caught like that put her in a precarious position. She could admit she violated the non-fraternization policy, that she was willingly tied up, and lose her job in a shroud of shame that would follow her everywhere. Or she could call it what it looked like. Bound and gagged and raped. Either way, I was getting fired.”
Rape. I turn that word over in my head, examining it from all angles. I think I experience it sometimes, but I never know what to do about it. A girl can say she was forced. A man can claim she wanted it. The police decide who’s telling the truth, and if they side with the man? He will retaliate against the girl.
But it doesn’t sound like Mr. Marceaux struck back.