7
Judge
Afew days later, I’m stepping out of the shower when my phone rings. It’s Santiago. I wrap a towel around my hips and pick it up.
“Santiago.”
Silence on the other end.
“How is Ivy?” I ask.
“Stable. But no change. Nothing. She won’t wake up.”
I hear agony in my friend’s voice. Hear the torment of guilt and powerlessness.
“Nothing,” he says more quietly.
“It’s early yet. Her body has been under a great deal of stress. I’m sure—”
“Nothing is sure, Judge. Nothing.”
It’s despair now.
“Give her time.”
“My sister. I can’t come right now. I know it’s been a long time, but I can’t.”
“I told Mercedes what happened. She’s worried about you. About Ivy.”
He snorts.
“It’s true, Santiago. And she’ll understand if you can’t visit. She’s doing well. Be reassured in that.”
“Thank you. I need…” He trails off. I’ve never heard him so distracted. Never seen him so beside himself like he was the night I saw him at the hospital beside his comatose wife.
“You go take care of your wife now. I’ll take care of Mercedes. Call me if there’s any change.”
We disconnect and I set the phone aside to dry off. Abel ran his sister down. His pregnant sister. I think about my own family. My brother. Would he do the same to me? To Mercedes? To an extent he did. He hurt her to punish me. The only difference between Theron and Abel’s actions is that Abel hates his sister as much as he hates Santiago. I don’t think Mercedes matters much to Theron.
Is one of those things worse than the other?
I step out of the bathroom and am surprised to find Mercedes sitting on my bed dressed to ride texting someone on her new phone.
“Do you knock?” I ask, remembering her very question.
She wraps up what she’s typing out, smiles at whatever the response is probably from fucking Georgie, then deigns to look up at me.
“I did. You didn’t hear.”
“That so?” I walk past her, not missing how her eyes drop to the line of hair that disappears beneath the towel at my stomach. I grin. She’s not immune to me, no matter how much she wants to believe she is. I make my way to the closet.
“You took a long shower. What were you doing in there?”
I pull on a pair of briefs, then my riding pants, take a button-down off the hanger, and put it on. I approach her as I fold the cuffs. “Jerking my dick to thoughts of you on your knees sucking me off.” I brush past her. Her nipples scrape my arm through her blouse, and I suppress a groan of need.
I’ve eaten her pussy out night after night, and I’m not complaining, but jerking myself off in the shower is getting a little old. She’s trying to prove a point and make me believe it’s only about getting off. Like a man, she’s quick to get dressed when she’s done without giving a fucking thought to me or the state I might be in.
But I see how she looks at the swell of my neglected dick in my riding pants. It’s just a matter of time.
“I will never kneel for you again, Judge,” she says too late.
I push silver links through my cuffs, then turn to button my shirt as I study her. “Never say never, Mercedes. You don’t want to tempt the gods.”
“I mean it. Never is never. It’ll just be you and your hand for the foreseeable future. Until you give me away that is.”
I grit my jaw. She knows exactly which buttons to push.
“And when I fail a virginity test—”
“You won’t fail. I’ll see to that.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you don’t have to worry about that.”
“Like you’ll pay someone off? And what do I do on my wedding night? Squeeze ketchup on the sheets?”
I stop listening at wedding night and pull on my boots. She’s trying to provoke me. I look her over and nod. She’s almost back to herself. She still jumps at sudden loud noises, and there are moments I witness her panic when we’re alone, and she deems me a threat. We’ll get there, though.
I have noted how she hasn’t worn makeup apart from a little lip gloss since the night her friends were over. I haven’t taken her makeup away, but she just hasn’t put it on.
“Ready?”
She purses her lips in irritation but nods and slips her phone into her pocket. I set my hand on her lower back and guide her out of my room and through the house. We walk side by side to the stables. The morning air is crisp. A fog has settled over the grounds, making for strange but beautiful views.
“Was that Santi you were talking to?” she asks too casually. She’s worried, though. I hear it.
I nod.
“Any change?”
“No.”
We reach the stables, and she goes to Temperance’s stall. She keeps her back to me as she greets the horse, her high ponytail swinging. “Does he blame me?”
“Of course not. You had nothing to do with what happened to Ivy.”
I go to her and saddle her horse. I know she hates that I help her, but she’s going to have to get used to it. While I secure the saddle, she bridles Temperance. When she doesn’t respond, I turn her to face me and tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my eyes.
“What happened to Ivy wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?”