El Diablo (The Devil 1)

He let me fall asleep in his arms.

But I woke up alone in the morning.

I laid there wide awake for hours, listening to the soothing lull of the rain coming down outside. Drawing circles on the silk sheet, concentrating on how the satin fabric felt on my skin. My mind couldn’t think anymore, there was nothing else I could contemplate, rationalize, understand, or even try to explain.

I was numb.

Exactly how he wanted me to be.

I threw on my silk robe, walking down the hallway as if I was walking toward my execution. And in a way, I was. I took a deep, reassuring breath, before opening the door to his office. Martinez wasn’t in his usual place, sitting in his leather chair behind his desk. Busying himself with paperwork. He was standing by the bay window, looking out at the rain just like I had been doing for hours. He stood with his back to me, his hands in the pockets of his slacks.

Waiting.

Without turning around, he declared war, “I don’t love you.”

I scoffed, shaking my head, “Say that to my face. Look me in the eyes, and tell me you don’t love me.”

He casually turned around, eyeing me up and down. His face was void of any emotion.

“I know you love me!” I shouted, fighting for him. For us.

“No, cariño. I don't.”

“Liar! You fucking liar! Stop lying to me! Please! Stop hurting me with nothing but lies! Be a fucking man, not a coward,” I bellowed, gripping onto the door handle. Hoping like hell it would hold me up when all I wanted was to crumble. My body shook uncontrollably. Bowing my head, not having any more fight left in me. I was exhausted from years of fighting a losing battle. A means to an end.

He stepped toward me, coming right in front of my face. My tears fell onto the floor between us. I shuddered when I felt his knuckles caress the side of my cheek, his skin burning against mine. I jerked my head away, I could take his hate, but his kindness was almost too much to bear. He wanted to remember me just like that. Falling apart in front of him. Punishing himself for taking away another life that didn’t belong to him.

Mine.

He was right about one thing. All the women who loved him, died loving him. Emotionally killing me, driving a dagger straight into my heart.

He spoke with conviction, “I'm a lot of things, Lexi, but a liar I'm not. Last night was my goodbye to you. Nothing more, nothing less.” He pulled his hand away, and I immediately missed his touch.

“Why are you shutting me out? I know you love me. Your eyes hold your truths. Every time I look in them I see the man you are, not the man you claim to be,” I whispered, trying to be strong when I was nothing but weak.

He ignored me, reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket, pulling something out. Handing me a manila envelope with “Lexi” written on the front, in his handwriting.

“I own a condo on 4th Street. You can stay there as long as you need. It’s fully furnished. The keys are in there.” He nodded toward the envelope. “There’s money in there, too. If you need anymore, call Leo. He will get you whatever you want or need, no matter what.”

“Wow…” I breathed out, still not looking up at him. “I really am like one of your whores now, huh?”

“One day, this will all make sense to you. I promise.” He leaned forward and kissed the top of my head before walking out the door.

Never looking back.

The second I heard the front door slam shut, I tore the envelope in half. Throwing it on his floor, I didn’t need his fucking charity. My back slid down the wooden door, I sat there rocking back and forth, hugging my knees tight, sobbing uncontrollably. I couldn’t believe he was doing this to me again. I peered around the room through glazed eyes, seeing all the memories we’d shared through the years.

“What the fuck is going on?” I asked myself, knowing I would never get an answer.

I moved out that day, I was gone before he came back that evening. I couldn’t spend one more goddamn minute in that penthouse. He was everywhere, gripping me, his scent that used to comfort me, made me nauseous now. The sight of his bed where he made love to me the night before made me sick. All I took were my clothes. Nothing else belonged to me. I left behind everything he ever bought me, the jewelry, the clothes, the ballet shit, all the fucking cookbooks. As much as it killed me to do it, I took off his mother’s cross necklace for the first time since I woke up with it hanging around my neck in my hospital room. I left it on his pillow. I considered it my parting gift. I grabbed my shit and left.

I left his money and the key to his condo on his office floor. I didn’t need it. I had plenty to live off. I made a good living in England, and with Sabrina refusing to accept money from me, I was able to invest in some rewarding stocks. Martinez never allowed me to pay for anything, he was adamant about that. I refused to stay in the condo he offered, opting to stay in a hotel downtown for a few days until I found a place to live. I ended up renting a small apartment on the other side of town, wanting to be as far away from him as possible. It wasn’t anything special, but it was only me. I didn’t need much. I bought a couch, a bed, and the essentials to make it livable. Nothing too fancy, just something I could sit and sleep on.

I knew now more than ever that maybe I wasn’t meant to have a happy ending, a happily ever after. Maybe there were just some people in the world that were born alone and died alone. It was called shitty luck. I was exhausted. I’d never been more worn out in all my life. I think I slept for the first few weeks, barely leaving my bed for more than takeout food I had delivered and to use the restroom. Going right back to sleep. I was in an emotional coma. I couldn’t pull myself out of the despair, nothing could help me feel better, not even dance provided me any kind of relief. I cancelled all my private ballet classes till further notice, I handed over the reigns to the other instructors indefinitely. I couldn’t step foot in that studio.

All it did was remind me of him.

Ruining me.

I found my escape in sleep. It was the only time I stopped thinking, stopped caring, stopped living. I wanted to hate him, but I couldn’t. In a sick, twisted way, he saved me. I no longer had my past, just my future, haunting me, and I owed that to him. On both accounts.

I finally dragged myself out of bed one morning, knowing I couldn’t go on like this. I needed to return back to the land of the living. It’d been a month since I stepped foot out of my apartment, five weeks since I’d left him. I’d been counting down the days as if it would bring him back to me. I decided to shower and actually do something with myself. It was life changing, feeling almost human again. My hair styled, make-up on, and normal clothes that didn’t consist of sweatpants and a tank.

I took a cab downtown, wanting to get lost, wandering around Manhattan for the day. Breathing in some much needed fresh air. I even stopped by my studio to pick up the mail that was piling up. Mostly junk mail and letters from students, wanting to know if I was alright and when I'd be back. I also had a postcard from the Royale Ballet theatre. I immediately turned it over thinking Sabrina had written me. But it was blank. I stared at it, feeling his presence all around me.

Martinez.

Even after everything I went through with him, I still felt him. A strong sense he was watching me. More now than ever. I shook off the emotion, going on with my day. The cab dropped me off in front of a newsstand by Central Park. Getting out, I paid him, but green tantalizing eyes caught my immediate attention from the corners of my eyes. I couldn't get away from him even if I tried. Martinez was on the front page of every paper, tabloid, and magazine. It wasn’t just him. A gorgeous woman was on his arm in all the different pictures.

“What the fuck?” I asked myself, stunned and not able to move away from all the articles in front of me. He’d always been so private about his life. Everyone knew who he was, but he never publicized it. He refused. I grabbed all of them, opening them up one by one.

“Most eligible bachelor Alejandro Martinez off the market.”

>   “Crime Boss Martinez taking the plunge with secret woman.”

“Martinez spotted with mystery woman leaving club Saturday night.”

“Are things getting hot and heavy for this new couple? Could she be the one?”

The last one I flipped to brought tears to my eyes.

“Martinez donates three million dollars to the performing arts in honor of ballet with mystery woman on his arm.”

I bought a copy of all the papers, hailing a cab back to my apartment.

Is this why he left me? Did he fall in love with this woman? When did this happen?

I flew up the stairs, not wanting to waste time waiting for the elevator, taking two of them at a time. Rage overpowering all my senses, blinding me. I could barely fucking see, let alone think straight. Trying to rationalize what was going on. Hyperventilating as I hauled ass into my apartment, slamming the door shut behind me. Throwing all the papers on the living room floor, dropping to my knees, looking for answers, explanations, anything in the fine fucking print. Fuming with every sentence I read. Nothing but media gossip and speculations.

I sat up, pulling the hair away from my face, securing it on top of my head. My eyes darting around the room. My mind spinning with no end in sight. I got up, running into my bedroom, grabbing my laptop. Googling his name. I sat there on my bed watching article upon article blasted in my face. Dates going back as far as the day I fucking left.

More pictures.

More lies.

More truths.

Them dancing, holding her close in his arms. Whispering in her ear. Smiling. Laughing. Calm, serene eyes staring back at her. Holding her hand, kissing it.

Fact or fiction.

Them walking together into his penthouse. Him leading her out of his limo. All the restaurants he ever took me to. All the places we’d been to together. Different suit. Different day. Still the same woman. The pictures were endless.

Them walking out of the Met after a performance of Swan Lake, ABT put on. Pictures on his private jet.

“Oh my God... is that?” My hand flew to my mouth when I saw something shiny hanging off her neck.

He wouldn’t…

Zooming in, it was clear as day. Like a ticking time bomb going off in my heart. It was loud. It was disastrous. It was chaotic. His mother’s silver cross, the one he never took off until he gave it to me, the same exact one I wore for three fucking years was proudly hanging off her neck.

Fact.

Truth.

I was suffocating in it. My heart, my mind, my sanity couldn’t take it anymore. I instantly stood, roughly slamming my laptop shut. Pushing it away before I had the chance to chuck it against the wall. My hands were shaking so badly, I had to place them under my arms. Holding myself from crumbling into pieces. My whole body felt like it was giving out on me. There were too many emotions happening all at the same time. I couldn’t control any of it.

“One day, this will all make sense to you. I promise,” his voice resonated in my head.

I lunged into action, grabbing my keys. Sprinting down the stairs, out to the street, hailing another cab.

“Pull over right here,” I ordered once we arrived. He slammed on the brakes, and I threw money at him before the car even came to a complete stop, skidding to the curb. I ran into Martinez’s building, jumping into the elevator, punching in the code to the penthouse. My heart racing as the seconds ticked by, watching the red numbers count up to the letter P. It dinged open, the mania now replaced with doubt.

What the hell was I doing? What was I going to say?

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. Slowly walking over to his place. My hand in the air, about to knock on the wooden door, but something came over me and it went to the knob instead.

It was open.

It was never open.

I stepped inside and softly shut it behind me. Immediately being comforted by the life I still wanted with all my heart. His scent was all around me again. My home. It calmed my nerves, but the anxiety for what was to come still lived and breathed in my blood. It pumped in my veins, releasing a piercing vibration at my temples. I ignored the looming feeling that I felt in the depths of my core.

The penthouse was eerie and silent. The only light came from the sun, shining in from the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. I turned around to leave, suddenly feeling nauseous. Something was just not right. My hand was on the handle when I heard a noise coming from down the main hall. As if being pulled by a string, I made my way toward the sound.

One step.

Four steps.

Eight steps.

Ten.

“Just like that, baby. Take my cock,” I heard him groan from his bedroom. It echoed off the walls. I gasped, placing my hand over my mouth. Not wanting to be heard.

I should have stopped.

I should have turned around and left.

The truth blatantly, slapping me in the fucking face again. He’d moved on. With someone who wasn’t me.

I couldn’t stop my feet from moving.

Fifteen steps.

Twenty-six steps.

Forty.

To his open bedroom door.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to see, about to feel. It was like taking a bullet to the fucking heart. I just never imagined Martinez would be holding the loaded gun. He was leaned up against the headboard on my side of the bed, gripping onto long blonde hair that was positioned in his lap. Jerking her head up and down as she sucked on his cock. She was completely nude lying on her stomach. Leaning on his thigh as her other hand stroked his shaft. I held my breath as my eyes rolled up their bodies.

Locking eyes with him.

I was there, but I wasn’t.

Cold, dark, soulless eyes stared back at me with a sinister look I couldn’t begin to explain. Sucking all the air from my lungs, taking my heart, the heart that he owned, shattering it into a million fucking pieces. Pain like that should never be experienced. It was raw, excruciating torture. As much as I urged myself not to watch, to look away, to run, it willed me to stay in place. My feet glued to the goddamn floor beneath me, about to endure, and witness the truth beneath the goddamn fiction.

I was led there for a reason. I needed to see this, as much as it pained me. Nearly killing me…

I needed to remain strong. Act unfazed. Show no weakness.

His eyes never wavered from mine as he took what she was giving him. Guiding her up and down with one hand, rubbing her arms, her back, her breasts with the other. Just like he always did with me. Attentive, caring, it wasn’t just a meaningless act. A quickie. They were familiar with each other, their movements and their bodies. His hips started moving against her hand and mouth, thrusting his cock deeper down her throat. She wanted him to manhandle her, to feel his dominance as she had his cock in her mouth. She sucked him harder, stroked him faster.

His mouth parted, groaning out loud.

She moaned, pleased with herself. His movements became more aggressive the closer he got to coming. Grabbing her by the hair, pulling her head back slightly. Shoving her back down to deep throat him with each suck of her lips.

He grinned. “Is this making you wet? I know you want to join us, Lexi.” Devious eyes, deliberately peering down, he locked eyes with her. Caressing the side of her face. She never let up on sucking his cock. He rasped to her, “You’d like that? Wouldn’t you, cariño?”

The string that led me to him, snapped. “You piece of fucking shit!” I charged him.

She shrieked, jumping off the bed. Taking the sheets with her, trying to cover her naked body. Martinez didn’t even move or bat an eye. He didn’t even bother to cover himself.

He grabbed my wrists, lifting me over his body, throwing me on my back onto the bed in one swift move. Placing my body where he wanted, straddling my waist, hovering above me. I had to turn my head away from him. His scent I once loved was replaced with her perfume and sex.

“Let me go!” I yelled,

trying to fight him off. Failing miserably at doing so.

“Get the fuck out of here! Now!” he ordered in a strong, dominant tone.

I looked back up at him, realizing he wasn’t talking to me. He was ordering her, the blonde I recognized from the magazines. His mystery woman.

“You don’t get to treat me like this! The Mad —”

“NOW, Clarissa!”

I jolted, his voice vibrating my entire body. She scampered around the room, gathering her things. Slamming the door when she left.

“Let. Go. Of. Me,” I gritted out.

He peered back down at me. “I thought I already did. This is my penthouse. You’re the one that came in like a thief in the fucking night, rudely interrupting my happy fucking ending. My dick isn’t going to suck itself. So, why the fuck are you here, Lexi?”

“You fucking son of a bitch! Did you not think I’d see the papers?” Ignoring his statement. Struggling against his hold on me.

“No, you haven’t left your shitty fucking apartment for a month.”

“Who’s fucking fault is that?” I seethed. Not fazed by the fact he had been watching me.

He cocked his head to the side, coming close to my mouth. He breathed out, “Yours. Now stop fucking fighting me, or I will make you finish what she started.”

I screamed out in frustration. Frantically thrashing around, but it was no use. I wasn’t going anywhere unless he wanted me to. My chest heaved, panting for air. His face still inches away from mine.

Glaring into his eyes, I replied, “Mine? What the fuck did I ever do to you to deserve this?”

“You were born.”

“What? That makes no fucking sense! So is she the reason? The reason you left me? You love her?” I couldn’t get my questions out fast enough.

“Would you shut up for five fucking minutes,” he spewed. “You just barged in on her making love to me with her mouth. You tell me, Lexi… Do I ever let women in my home? In my bed? You have your answers. I don’t need to say it for you to know. You’re a smart woman, I think you can figure it out, if you just opened your goddamn eyes. You would see the truth, the one I have been so desperately trying to hide.”