Poles Apart

“‘End of’? Are you shitting me?” I gasped, watching as he opened the door and climbed from the car, slamming it so hard the whole car shook. I laughed incredulously as he walked around to my side of the car and opened the door for me, silently motioning for me to get out. I held my ground, shaking my head in rejection. “I’m not done. No ‘end of’,” I stated firmly.

He sighed deeply, watching as a couple of cars pulled into the car park, screeching to a halt before the same reporters from his house sprang out and started running toward us. “I don’t really want them to witness this domestic and have it spread all over the front page tomorrow. If you could just put on your happy face and smile, that’d be great.” He smiled at me, but it was forced and didn’t reach his eyes, which instead held a silent warning.

Knowing I had to play along, I forced a smile as well and took the hand he was holding out to me, letting him help me from the car. By the time I was on my feet, we were surrounded and the clicking of cameras filled my ears. Carson’s shoulders seemed to loosen now that I was playing along. As he closed the car door, he bent forward and, before I could even guess what was about to happen, his soft lips covered mine. The kiss lasted no more than a second, and I didn’t even have time to react and kiss him back before it was over. The excited buzz around me clearly signalled the one-second kiss was enough for the reporters, though. They would have the picture they wanted.

I gulped as Carson’s hand tightened on mine, pulling me against his side as he turned to the reporters. “We’re now going to pick up our daughter. If you print a picture of her, or Emma’s brother, then I’m going to sue your arses for every penny you have. Just a friendly warning,” he said sternly. The authority in his tone made the hair on the nape of my neck stand up. Without waiting for a response, he turned and stalked into the building, tugging me along behind him.

Once we were alone, I pulled my hand from his, ignoring how his face fell and his eyebrows knitted together. I didn’t mind putting on an act for the cameras if we needed to, but there was no way I was belittling myself like that in private.

I stopped walking. “I’m not done talking about this. I need to work.”

“Not there you don’t,” he answered forcefully.

I groaned in frustration, throwing my hands up in the air. “Well, what the hell am I supposed to do for money? I don’t exactly have a line of people queuing up to offer me a job!” I snapped.

His hands fisted into his hair. “You don’t need to worry about that anyway. I have more than enough. Over the next week, I’ll sort out a bank account card and stuff for you. There’s no need for you to work.”

The air suddenly became thicker, feeling like it was choking me. Trapped. Now I was totally and utterly trapped because I’d never have the money for a way out if I didn’t work. “So, I’m just supposed to be a good little housewife, relying on her husband like someone out of the forties? Times have changed, Carson. Women don’t have to do that now; they can work if they want to!”

“You’re in full-time education, Emma. You’re a student. That and looking after Sasha is enough for a job, surely,” he countered, eyeing me cautiously. “I’m not saying you can’t ever have a job. Just finish your university course and then you can work wherever you want. You don’t need to be working in that place anymore.”

“Maybe I like working there. Did you ever think of that?” I countered, folding my arms over my chest and raising one eyebrow in question.

He scoffed and shook his head. “Do you?” he snapped. “You really like dancing for guys and having them leer at you while you parade around in hardly any clothes? You really like going into the backroom for sex?”

“Yes, actually!” I answered before I could even think it through. He recoiled, clearly shocked by my answer. It was then that I realised my answer only related to half his question. A frown lined my forehead as I backtracked. “No, I don’t like dancing for guys, of course not. It’s… There are parts of my job I hate, but others I actually lived for.” I chewed on my lip. “The best part of my job was you.” I hated to admit it, but it was the truth.

Silence filled the hallway as my face flamed with heat.

“Well, then you have no reason to go there anymore, do you? You have me full-time now,” he answered. The hair on my arms prickled at his words. My heart swelled in my chest because that was the first kind-of-nice thing he’d said to me for the last two days. But then he had to carry on speaking and my hopes, which were only just starting to take flight, came crashing down to my feet again. “Besides, I’d much rather watch you dance in the bedroom anyway.” A cocky little smirk crept onto his face as his eyes sparkled playfully. Maybe he was joking, I didn’t know, but his words cut me deeply, reminding me that I would never escape this stigma. I would never forget what I was, because he saw that every time he looked at me.

“Screw you,” I whispered. My chin wobbled as my stomach twisted in a knot. Needing to be away from him, I turned and marched up the stairs.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I can’t say anything right, can I?” he muttered dejectedly.

Lucie’s flat was on the sixth floor, and her apartment block was slightly nicer than mine. The walls of the stairwell were painted an ugly grey, but at least they weren’t covered in graffiti tags and crudely-scrawled notes about who had slept with whom and who needed to die, like mine were. I didn’t speak to him again as I stomped up the stairs and stopped outside my best friend’s door.