Filthy Little Games

Ch. 1: The Heavy Heart

QUINTON

I've spent my life surrounded by cheaters and liars, whether in business or in love. I've seen the destruction those evils could bring. It's been years since I vowed to never let a tale of muddled truth slip through my lips, and yet here I sit. Across from the biggest lie I've ever told. Or have yet to tell. The omission of truth is just as sinister. And only God knows that I am a sinner.

Emery's head rests on the curved ivory walls of the jet, her eyelids fluttering from emotional exhaustion. My grip on the whiskey glass tightens as I watch her sleep. As I watch her breath. As I watch that heart pump oxygen to her brain, blood through her veins. Christ, they look nothing alike. Different hair, different eyes. They act nothing alike. They speak nothing alike. And yet her heart is one that I have loved with every fiber of my being. Her heart broke mine. Her heart was stolen once before. By the same man. And it won't happen again. She can never know. He will never know. Alison died that night. He killed her. But her heart? Her heart is still here. Inside Emery. Beating. Alive. Ready for a second chance. A chance to make the right decision.

But if he finds out...

If she finds out...

No.

I shake my head, banishing the ill-fated thoughts from my overstimulated brain. Christ, how is this even happening? How cruel is the world that allows for such trauma? Was one time not enough? Was one heartbreak not enough? Why bring her back to me? Why now? It's been three years and I've only just forgotten the pain. Only just let it go. And now it's back. More powerful than ever before. My desire for her. The deep-seated need to make her mine.

All over again.

Refilling the glass with yet another pour of liquid therapy, I sit back down and stare out the window, endless darkness in the distance. From the moment I saw Emery, I knew there was something special about her. Familiar. But it was a warped kind of familiarity. Nowhere near the simple kind of pull that I felt with Alison. No. It was far more complex. Complicated. It doesn't make sense. It was Alison's light nature that drew me in. Emery is not light. She is heavy and full and thick with substance.

I could barely handle a feather. How am I to handle a stone?

A quiet murmur sounds from Emery's lips and I snap my head toward her, eyes wide as we begin the first round of a game we've once lost. I shan't lose again.

"How was your sleep, darling?" I ask, cocking my head, mesmerized by her soft, weary features. "Did you have pleasant dreams?"

"Pleasant enough." She yawns, and stirs in her seat, a weak, fragile smile barely reaching me. She glances out the window, nose scrunched up. "Where are we right now?"

"Almost in Geneva."

I don't let her guarded countenance deter me from changing seats. I brace myself for her to inch away from me as I sit beside her, our bodies melting together in the leather seats. Emery's gaze slowly flits to the lack of space between us, and before I have a chance to move over, she releases a tiny sigh and gives in to the comfort I offer. I'm taken aback as her head falls on my shoulder, and I can suddenly feel the weight of her tortured soul.

"Is he still calling?" she asks in a soft tone, fiddling with the hem of the throw blanket.

"No. I told him you'd call after the New Year and then I blocked his number." I reach out and cup her busy fingers. She needs to relax. She needs to let go. "He won't bother us anymore."

"I'm sorry you have to deal with this," she sighs. "Maybe I should've talked to him in person instead of just disappearing. I feel like a coward right now."