Taunt Me (Rough Love 2)

“Why does he do that?”

“I don’t know. It’s like, he’ll open up to me to a certain point, and I’ll think, wow, I’m really seeing him now, and then he’ll retreat and get all mean again. It’s frustrating. He doesn’t talk about his feelings, and he doesn’t allow me to talk about mine.”

“That’s fucking weird.”

“But he gives me poetry. He spouts poetry all the time.”

He held my hand between his, stroking his thumb over my fingers. “You know what? I think he loves you. I think he’s falling for you so hard that he’s fighting it. Give him a little more time to open up. He always had his thing about privacy, right?”

“I guess.”

“And it’s been three years, but it hasn’t really been three years, you know? It’s been a few weeks since you got back together. You two will figure things out.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I said, leaning into Andrew’s hug. “Maybe everything will eventually become clear.”

“Probably not. Love is never clear. But if you feel it, you know it.”

“I don’t trust my love meter at all. I thought I was in love with Simon.”

“Simon was a freaky case. How do you feel when you’re with Price?”

I didn’t even know how to answer that question. Maybe that was answer enough.

Price

Chere and I arrived at Andrew’s party about an hour after it began. The gallery was packed with students, teachers, and the best of the art world glitterati. It took us a while to hunt down Andrew and his partner Craig. When we finally found them, Andrew threw himself into Chere’s arms.

“You came! You’re here! I’m so happy to see you. And Mr. Eriksen!”

“Price,” I said, shaking his hand. I’d told him five times already to call me Price, but he never listened, maybe because he was half my age. “Congrats on the art degree.”

“Thanks.”

I turned to greet Craig, who seemed like a stand-up guy. I liked that he was older than Andrew. It made me feel less creepy about being older than Chere.

“Great party,” I said. “Very impressive crowd.”

Craig gestured toward Andrew, who was whispering in Chere’s ear. “Trying to get Andy off to a good start. It’s hell out there for a painter.”

“Any artist, really. That’s why I went back to school for an engineering degree.”

Craig laughed. “It was business for me.”

“I did that too.”

He clapped me on the back. “It’s an honor to have you here, and I’m glad you brought Chere. Not sure the two of them would have made it through the last year of art school without each other.” He pointed to a swarm of people across the room. “There’s tons of food, champagne, you name it. Make yourself at home.”

The flat, white gallery walls didn’t absorb sound, so the voices in the room rose and fell in sharp tones. There was color everywhere, painted faces looking at painted canvases. We sipped champagne and picked at some appetizers, then walked around the walls looking at Andrew’s art. Some of it had already sold, which delighted her. His work contained a bright realism that meshed with his personality, sort of how Chere’s work was intricate and elegant, just like her.

After a while, Andrew pulled her away to meet some of his friends. I hung back, content to watch her work the room, smile and offer her card. Good girl. This was where she belonged, not selling what she had between her legs, but selling the creative wonderland between her ears.

The party rolled on, a classy, boisterous affair. Even Henry showed up, staying long enough to congratulate Chere and Andrew on their graduation. He shook my hand and, facetiously, congratulated me too. Nice of her pimp to come out, but I had mixed feelings every time I saw him. He’d brought her to me, but he’d used her too, made money off her.

Protected me, Chere told me, the one time we talked about it. He was good to me.

Was I good to her? She was getting restless in our sex-only relationship. I enjoyed our sordid assignations and I wanted them to continue, but there was a growing tension between us, some idea that we should be taking a next step. For me the next step was harder sex and deeper pain, and more frequent sessions. It was a collar, and my dungeon. For her, the next step was love and caring, and interconnectedness… She needed to realize I wasn’t some fairy tale prince.

While she continued her chat with Henry, I headed to the bar to get something a little stronger than champagne. While I waited for the bartender to pour, I couldn’t help hearing a loud conversation behind me.

“I can’t believe he’s here,” said a woman’s voice. “And fresh out of fucking rehab. I was counting on his untimely death to drive up the price of his work.”