Wanted Always (Xander Barns), Page 2

  I unseal the bag and bring it up to my nose, inhaling deeply. I lean my head back, my eyelids close automatically.

  I exhale a deep breath, and damn, it feels good to be able to breathe again, even if it is only temporarily. My neck tilts further back, allowing my eyeballs to roll back, as if his hair is a drug, except there aren’t any drugs out there as potent or as alluring as anything that have to do with Xander.

  I should know; I’ve got a book hidden underneath my bed filled with his discarded tissues. I’ve been collecting them for years, as our mothers have been friends for quite a few years. I’ve had the pleasure of accompanying Mother to numerous social gatherings where Xander rarely, but still sometimes, would make an appearance. Every single time, I hoped and I prayed that he would show up, and when he would, I wouldn’t be too far behind, subtly yet eagerly collecting any discarded mementos for later.

  He never noticed. I made sure of that, only going in for my treasures when he looked away or walked away. My treasures kept me sane until the moment all those many months ago, my dreams, my everything in life, came true, and Xander approached me with the arrangement of a lifetime. I’d think the winner of a jackpot couldn’t rival the feeling I got when he first proposed the idea of the two of us hooking up during his visits to Ottawa. I was only too happy to oblige, even if it was only every other weekend when he would come and visit his family. I believed that the situation was only temporary, that he would soon fall in love with me as deeply as I was with him.

  It was fate. It is destiny, and soon it would become reality. But he hasn’t been back to Ottawa for a while now. It’s been months since I’ve last had the pleasure of exploring and treasuring every ounce of him.

  Honestly, does he think he is going to find this kind of devotion outside of this room, my room? I don’t doubt my love for him, and I’m almost positive that no other woman can compete with my feelings for him, and if they did, then that would be dealt with later.

  I can get creative, anything for love, after all. Because I fucking love that man; I’d do everything and anything for that man, until the day that I die.

  “I love that man,” I murmur softly into the Ziploc bag. I drop my arms with the bag in hand. “I love that man,” I say a touch louder.

  It feels good being able to say the words out loud, an oath that I have no shame in screaming at the top of my lungs if it wasn’t for the weird looks I got from Mother every time I mentioned anything involving Xander or any other man. Mother is protective of her sweet little girl, even though her sweet little girl is bordering on twenty-nine.

  That makes me mad; I’m an adult! I should be able to express myself, especially if it’s about love.

  “I love that man! I love Xander!” I yell louder, not giving a damn all of a sudden. A huge smile breaks out across my face, the joy of spreading the words of my soul feels like nothing I’ve ever felt; it is liberating, freeing.

  “I love that—” I begin to yell my phrase once more, again a touch louder, before three erratic knocks rudely interrupt my mantra.

  I cannot believe this. Again?

  “Demetria, darling! Why are you yelling, is everything okay?” Mother yells, perturbed, from the other side of the door. The doorknob shakes, indicating Mother’s discomfort with the fact that I am being loud and that the door is still locked.

  The huge smile dims to a smaller smile, and even with Mother’s horrible timing, the joy I felt shouting Xander’s name hasn’t subsided.

  “I’m fine,” I yell, loud enough so that she can hear, and hopefully go away. I reseal the bag and tuck it quickly back inside my bag, hastily sliding it back into the safe zone, a place Mother would never venture to in fear of allergy-infused mothballs, or whatever else she ridiculously imagines to be hiding down there.

  Therefore, it’s the best place to hide my most precious keepsakes.

  “Darling, you scared me!” Mother rattles the doorknob once more, probably hoping I’ll unlock it and let her in to make sure, with her own eyes, that all is okay.

  I’m okay. I’m always okay. I’m not crazy.

  “It’s fine, everything is fine. You can go away now!” I order, and then get up from the bed to head over to my custom-made vanity table. I need to touch up my makeup and apply more hairspray; my curls are feeling dull. The doorknob rattles once more as I sit down on my plush, purple-velvet chair; my eyes fling towards the door with annoyance. “What is it?” I yell at the door. Can’t she see that I am busy?

  “Demetria, darling, I forgot to tell you that Madeline Barns called just now. It seems her son is back in town, and she’s hosting a small, garden tea party tomorrow. You remember Xander don’t you?”

  A warm sensation exhilarates every inch of my being. I feel my eyeballs slowly rolling back. Xander is back. He came back to me. To be with me, and this time, it’s going to be forever.

  Chapter One

  *Marisa*

  While the sun is far from setting, Daniels drives through the picturesque, suburban, upper-middle class neighborhood. It is nice, and for the first time since waking up, I feel calm and at ease. As I take in the scenery outside my window, my body begins to shake.

  I’m still hung over from drinking like a shameless dumbass last night.

  I guess I spoke too soon when I said I was at ease. I’m clearly not. All of a sudden, I have to blink a few times, things are getting fuzzy.

  I know what is happening, and honestly, I am surprised it took my body this long to react to the crazy wild ride I have been on since yesterday.

  So here goes.

  Have you ever made a mistake?

  Have you ever acted stupidly because it was just easier?

  If you’re saying no right now – you’re a liar.

  Nobody’s perfect.

  I’m not, that’s a hundred percent for sure. I think, no—I know— the moment when it became obvious that I wasn't the brightest bulb in the bush…

  You guessed it…

  Opening that goddamn door to find Xander waiting to surprise me, or it also could have been when I made out with him on the train?

  Did I really do that? Yes…yes, I think I did. This is great; now I feel worse, and maybe even a little ashamed. The 'Common Sense' part of my brain just waved in that clusterfuck of information, and I feel even sicker.

  Girl, what the fuck were you thinking?!

  As Daniels drives into another neighborhood, my eye begins to twitch.

  Just great.

  A giant deep breath...there...that's it. It'll all be okay. At least, I'm alive and well.

  For now.

  The beautiful dress and the makeover have blurred my vision, when in fact, I should have stayed mad at him for what he'd pulled the night before.

  But I fell for his ways again.

  Now, the chest pains have started, and I can think of two reasons they could have begun throbbing. One: I’m still hung over. Or two: I’m realizing how lucky I still am to be alive, or without disease (crossing the fingers still on that one), or tied up in a small space someplace secluded where he could have his way with me anytime he’d want.

  I’m so fucking lucky, well, besides the almost-getting-cut-into-pieces issue, and Xander turning from suave ice-cream customer to panty-loving douchebag.

  At least now, I realize something substantial to my wellbeing...Xander Barns is not, and never was, a hero.

  He isn’t a replica of the dark knight, white knight, or any other knight out there. There isn’t a handsome steed galloping, as wind flows through its mane, whilst carrying him to save innocents in despair, just a cellphone with unlimited capabilities and a bottomless bank account.

  He is, by definition, the apple from the Garden of Eden, beautiful to look at, smooth by touch, but once you bit into it, that’s when the truth would come out. It wasn’t a sweet piece of fruit; it was the key that opened chaos and horror.

  What else…what else…

  Xander Barns is the court gesture.

  He’s a f
unny man.

  He’s the fucking Riddler.

  He is the human version of Pandora’s Box. It’s as if he is made to make trouble, hiding behind his beautiful Prada-model face and godly body. I’m to blame. I was too farsighted, too oblivious with my ‘problems’ to see him, it…thing, for who he really is.

  A giant pain in my ass.

  My ability to judge needs an intervention, a tutor, a coach, something or someone to teach it you never ever let a man you don’t know into your room.

  He could have gagged me, shot me, cut me, raped me, then killed me.

  And no one would have known, all due to me not speaking to anyone from back home except for Darcy via email.

  I am lucky, sort of.

  Well, not really when you think about it. I did wake up hung over, wearing bitch blonde’s skanky, cream-colored lace thong.

  I think that was Xander’s version of a thank you.

  No matter how much I push it to the back of my head, I still feel the creepy, crawly tingles on my downstairs area, even though I did wash it a thousand times. I know that skank’s juice wouldn’t go without a fight; there are sure to be one or two specks of her DNA still left on my skin, waiting for the perfect moment to regenerate.

  Just like bacteria.

  In the interest of not wanting bacteria expanding in numbers, I spread my thighs further apart without making it obvious to Daniels while he drives.

  I think a little air would do it some good.

  As my downstairs subtly cools, I gaze out the window, examining the picture-perfect houses. My heart feels a hard tug as we pass each house.

  They all, in their own way, look like the house I grew up in. Life is definitely passing by fast, and whether or not I wanted to, I am growing up.

  It is time to put my big-girl panties on before it is too late, and/or before Xander decides he wants those, too.

  Serious shit could have happened. I have to understand this, absorb it, and permanently keep it on my mind for all the other “next times” that come my way. Because I’m sure, knowing who I am, there is bound to be many more “next times” when my intelligence will be put to the test.

  Yet again.

  Xander Barns is not a hero. Learn it. Remember it. Live it.

  I glance out the window as Daniels drives through a very familiar neighborhood at a reasonable twenty-five miles an hour.

  Thinking about things again, I question a few more things that I’m not too sure of yet. Accepting gifts from people you barely know. Is it okay to shut off your mind and hold your hand out? A smart person would have said no.

  But I think we’ve clarified early on that I’m clearly not a smart person, my mind turns off on my command. I have accepted these gifts as a gesture of compassion and kindness. After all, if he wasn’t so persistent that I wear my party clothes last night, they wouldn’t have been puked on, and Xander would have put my train outfit into the trash instead.

  So you see, it’s all Xander’s fault. He owed me, and it made logical sense to accept his presents.

  Yeah…I’ll go with that one! Convincing myself it was a sound enough reason not to warrant temporary insanity because there is no other way around it. I had to either accept it or face dad’s party in my train clothes.

  My mind moves back to Xander and his afternoon activities. Thinking about him, he is a creepy, kinky, feminine-underwear-loving enthusiast. Before finding out his little secret, it was like a scene from a dirty sex novel. Which was very uncharacteristic of me to even entertain anything of that sort; I’m not that girl, and that’s not because I don’t have urges like any other hot-blooded female, but because I can’t not think about STD’s when it comes to strangers having sex with one another.

  Or maybe I am changing, because that’s what almost happened yesterday. Damn it! What is wrong with Xander? How can he give it up so easily?!

  If he kept it in his pants, and acted like a gentleman yesterday, this whole thing wouldn’t have happened.

  I’ll be shocked, extremely shocked, if he is disease free. He likes wearing women’s underwear; if that isn’t an invitation for a pimple infestation with white sprouts on each tip, I don’t know what is.

  Which reminds me…

  Get high quality douche products tomorrow. I don’t feel itchy down there, and I did wash it like a million times. Perhaps it wasn’t enough, though I needed the extra-strength stuff, even if I really didn’t need it, my mind needed it!

  I’m totally hitting a 24-hour Shoppers Drug Mart tomorrow. Can I really get a disease by sharing blonde bitch’s underwear?

  I shake it off, and decide to worry about it tomorrow.

  Enough depressing thoughts! It is time to move onto more important things to occupy my time with, like focusing on every single detail of this dress.

  I never could have afforded a dress like this, not on my current hourly wage. I hold up the sapphire-blue clutch, and I can feel my eyes twinkle as they take in the glorious magical color.

  This clutch is to die for!

  Curiously, I open it to see what Maria has packed for me. Surprisingly and a bit worryingly, my wallet isn’t inside. My worries quickly fade when I notice my credit card, driver’s license, and debit card tucked into the card pockets inside the bag, along with all the cash I had in my wallet, fifty dollars.

  Dad’s gift! I worried for a second before I found the Canadian Tire gift card hiding behind my credit card. A $125 gift card to Canadian Tire was a gift I am sure dad is going to enjoy; he loves that store. I remember he’d go there and spend hours wondering about, and coming home with things that made Mom cringe.

  So there was no other option but to get him a gift from there.

  Along with the bare essentials of my wallet secured safely inside the clutch, Maria has safely tucked in my phone; the screen blinks a new message notification. Before taking it out to check the message, I see a transparent makeup bag filled with an MAC mini makeup kit.

  For emergencies?

  I guess I’ll be touching up whether I have to or not. Sammy will probably die of shock if I don’t apply an extra coat of everything at least once throughout tonight’s events. I take out my phone and close my clutch, placing it at my side on the seat.

  Xander has sent me a text.

  What the hell does he want?

  Xander: By the way, you’re welcome. Didn’t I tell you it was all an easy fix? I dare you to doubt me again. I request the pleasure of your company, after your father’s party is over, of course.

  Kiss Kiss.

  I type a quick response.

  Marisa: By the way, thank you…even though YOU threw my clothes OUT!!!!!! But nevertheless, thank you, and yes, I will never doubt you again. But then again, I probably won’t go out with your rich ass ever again. You’re too much trouble. As for your request…what the hell do you want my company for? I’m boring; I thought we clarified this in one of our earlier session’s, doctor.

  Punch Punch.

  As quickly as I had typed and sent it, I receive a message from him in what seems like lightning speed.

  Damn!

  Xander: Marisa, you’ve got the stop selling yourself short. You’re not boring, far from it, actually. As for your comment about me being trouble…if you continue to speak to me like that in your next text, I’m going to have to change my pants, as it’s hard to hide marks whilst wearing red slacks. As for you meeting me after your father’s party, it’s a requirement since you’ve got something I want. I’ve been dreaming all day, baby. So be a nice kitty, and don’t make me wait too long, okay?

  Kiss Hug Kiss Hug…

  My eyes bulge out as my chin jerks forward in astonishment. How could anyone be so suggestive in a message? Honestly, right now, I feel a bit flushed.

  As for what he wants, I know what that fucker wants.

  My underwear!

  And I don’t care how small his ass is; there’s no way this thong is going to glide smoothly up his man ass; it just won’t be right.

&nb
sp; Whatever!

  Nobody does anything for free, and even though he did throw my party clothes out, the amount of money that the services he obtained for me today outweigh my reasons to scold, tenfold. I don’t like being in anyone’s debt, so after the party, I will go to Xander’s and throw the damn thong into his face, and then happily walk out bare if that means we’re even.

  I text back:

  Marisa: Fine! How do I get to your place?

  He texts back quickly:

  Xander: Daniels will be waiting for you in the parking lot of the facility. Just tell him when you’re ready. Can’t wait to see you…all of you.

  My brown eyes bulge at the last remark; I decide to send him another message about what I really think:

  Marisa: The only thing you’ll be seeing is the ceiling of an ambulance…do you get me now, asshole?!

  Later, douche!

  I press send. A quick moment later, I receive a text from him:

  Xander: Rock-hard status.

  I shake my head, and a smile forces its way across my face. I guess I’m not as offended as I think I am. This is just who Xander is: a kinky, asshole, douchebag bastard.

  On this thought, Daniels pulls the car on to the highway.

  “Would you like to listen to some music?” he asks while making the turn.

  “That would be great right about now. Rock n Roll if available, please,” I answer him.

  “That’s not a problem.” Daniels turns the radio dial and settles on the local rock station. A familiar hard-rock tune overtakes the entire vehicle; my blood sizzles in inspiration as the lyrics and the beat of the music hit every inch of my body.

  Yeah, that’s better.

  ****

  I should have known.

  When we enter the parking lot of the Pacific Banquet Hall, the entire lot is packed.

  Jesus, how many people did mom invite? I ponder, hypnotized by the number of bumpers Daniels is driving past on our way to the facility’s front entrance. Mom must have planned an all-out soiree with all the bells and whistles. I thought it was just a regular little party, judging by the pathetic e-invite I received just a week ago. I stare down at my— thank God—fabulous dress. To think I was going to show up to this party in the clothes I originally planned to wear. Even though the shirt had cost me half of my last paycheck, it would have been the same old Marisa. The echo of disapproving hums all over again as soon as I’d enter, after five months of not seeing anyone. They wouldn’t be shocked that I hadn’t really changed. I’d dare show up to my dad’s fiftieth birthday party extravaganza wearing jeans, yes, nice party jeans, but nevertheless jeans, so in a nutshell, inappropriate as hell.