You Own Me (Owned 1)

I can see Lenny talking to someone on her Bluetooth. She seems so in control that I nearly second-guess myself. Maybe I shouldn’t have come. Maybe I should finally cut the cord. Maybe it’s time I let her fly free without me. She’s doing well enough.

The place looks fucking fantastic. Like out of a fairytale, or if Tim Burton had a gay wedding. I know every time I show up it throws her further away from this, her dream.

It’s only been a a few months since she sent me the letter telling me to fuck off. I should’ve done that. I should’ve fucked off.

I can’t help it though.

I need her.

She’s my oxygen. She’s my water. She’s my blood. Without Lenny, I’m dust, only vapor. It’s just been a week since I saw her last. I was supposed to be gone for months, but her face haunted me. It was with me every second of every minute of every day I was gone. Leaving her aga

in wasn’t just torture—I could handle torture—leaving her again was death.

I took a hit, one that I’m going to have to pay back eventually, with my boss, and I came back. For her. For us. For everything that we could be. I’m not thinking about what leaving means for me, I’m just thinking about Lenny.

Lenny looked lost in thought, staring at the ballroom, at her masterpiece. Often I wondered if she thought about me like I thought about her. As much as I prided myself on reading her thoughts, she was as inscrutable as the night sea.

I couldn’t read her right now. Was she thinking of me? Or was she thinking of her schedule? I knew she fucked others when I was away, so had I. She’d even had semi-relationships, but they hadn’t lasted. I knew everything about her; I kept tabs on those I loved.

I wanted her to be happy, but of course I wanted her only for myself. I wanted her to be happy with me. I never wanted her to be with anyone else (unless I could watch). The idea that she was getting more than cozy with some random Joe made me want to rip out throats.

I pulled off my masquerade mask and walked toward Lenny. It was now or never. I was going to give her everything. The world, the universe, the fucking New York Knicks if she wanted them. I was going to give her my heart.

“Ms. Moore? The caterer says they’ve run out of gluten free almond cookies.”

I cursed as my assistant, also named Lennox (coincidence and inconvenience, but dammit if she wasn’t the best), gave me the bad news. I was hosting the Regal Halloween party. Just less than one year ago, I’d branched out on my own (with the help of Zoe and Lissie) and started an event planning company. A bunch of clients had followed me, Regal being the most renowned. It was a thrill.

It had been a hectic start, but to know that I was appreciated in the industry once more was the best reward. As I looked around the ballroom, I could almost cry. I had made it. This was my dream. Sure, my heart was empty, but I had fulfilled my dream.

“Well,” I said into my Bluetooth, “we paid for almond cookies the whole night. So, considering the party only just started, tell them that they better find some fast or this party is on them.” I liked sounding like a badass, even if inside I felt like a little girl throwing a tea party for stuffed animals.

“Yes, Ms. Moore.” My assistant signed off.

The ballroom was decorated lavishly. Deep and rich colors draped from the ceiling and black and gold lace filled the spaces in between. Regal had loved my masquerade idea so much the first year I pitched it to them, that they made it a tradition. I looked out into the sea of anonymous, lavishly masked faces, wishing one of them would transform in to him. Less than year since Vic and I had been a couple. I had been on dates since then. I even had a steady boyfriend for about two months, but it didn’t work out. None of them will ever work out.

Occasionally, Vic comes back. He still owns the building I live in. (I have since upgraded my apartment.) I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move out. Every time he comes back, I tell myself I won’t be romantic with him. I will be friendly, but that’s it. After all, you can’t have a relationship with a ghost and that’s what Vic essentially is: a ghost. He flits in and out of my life but isn’t really there.

When he returns, all of my pep talks go right out the window. I’m drawn to him like a moth to a fucking flame. For the day or week or month that he’s in town, it’s beautiful. We’re together and life is beautiful. Then he leaves, and my body is replaced by a black hole.

Slowly, I move on. Gradually, I get my shit together and begin to function without him. Then he comes back and the process is repeated. I’ve contemplated moving to another state, so when Vic comes back, I don’t have to go through the process yet again. I know I’ll never do it. It’s a sick, masochistic ritual that we take part in, but I need it like a Christian needs Christmas. Even if I did leave, I know he’d find me. Just like I’d always find him.

“Lennox.”

I jumped. What kind of person just sneaks up and says your name? Serial killers, that’s who. The Hannibal Lectors of the world . . .

“Vic!” I spun around, smiling so brightly I swear I could have lit the ballroom on my own. “I thought you were going to be gone for at least a month?” I asked him, not even caring what the answer was. Vic was here, in person. Vic, my Vic, had come back. My heart pounded in my chest, threatening to burst.

“Yeah, well. I couldn’t miss your party,” Vic grinned.

My knees turned into Jell-O. How do I survive his absences? How do I go so long without seeing that shit-eating grin?

I shook my head, unable to believe what I was seeing. It had to be a mirage. Vic had just been here last week. I never get to see him so soon again after he leaves. “You’re always gone for so long,” I said. I tried to hide the sadness that leaked through my voice.

“It’s hard to stay away with such an enticing woman waiting for me,” Vic purred, moving us into a dark corner.

The way I’d designed the layout meant there were lots of shadows. It was supposed to be haunting and mysterious. We weren’t hidden, but if someone were to walk by, they wouldn’t be able to see us much less tell what we were doing unless they actually stopped, walked up to us, and peered very closely.

I put my hands up to his chest. “I’m not waiting for you, Vic,” I said as firmly as I could muster. It was a total lie. I was waiting for him. I would always be waiting for him. I might as well put a candle on my windowsill and call it a day. Still, I wanted to pretend that I was a big girl. After all, I had a big girl company and wore big girl panties. Right?