He's An Arrangement

Just The Beginning

I start by rolling off of his large arm that scooped under my back. Then I went for the legs. Mine laid atop his right, the other under his left. I grumbled, felt like I was performing some goddamn acrobatics trying to move away from him. My right escaped first. He rolled onto his back, dragging my leg along with it.

"Damn it, Killian," I grunted, not caring if I was waking him at this point. I placed both hands on my leg, tugging it away.

He stirred awake with a groan, "What the hell, Swan?" Killian grabbed a pillow from my abandoned spot, covering his face with it.

"Got brunch with Neal. I forgot."
Neal's my long time boyfriend. We've been together for the past five years, since I was seventeen. He proposed once. No, twice. I rejected, both times. Marriage is a commitment. I don't want commitments. No thank you.

Killian is my... well, if we're being honest, my sex buddy. It's an "arrangement" as he calls it. I call it cheating. He begs to differ.

He's got a partner, too. Milah. His wife. She's hardly around, though. She's back in Ireland. At their home. Where he should be. But no, he's with me. Here in Tallahassee, Florida. We're tangled in my bed. Both in the nude. Both with our bodies still tingling from some great fucking sex.

Killian doesn't ever stay in Ireland. He's here more than there. It's the weirdest marriage. Milah flies to Florida with him sometimes as well. She has a friend who lives here.

"Where are you guys going?" He asked, his voice muffled from the pillow. I grabbed it off him, staring back at his eyes for a second.

I turned away. Those blue eyes remind me he's a human. He's got a life. He's more than just an arrangement, "Don't know. Probably somewhere pricey."

Neal's got money. He spent all our savings in a business partnership, and it paid off. Now we own a mansion. Two expensive dogs. Fancy cars. Everything I want. Everything I should want.

"Still don't understand your love of money," he mumbled in annoyance.

Milah believes all these little trips are him coming to visit his sister. She thinks I'm his sister. We've even met. Once. Neal had a business meeting in Ireland, a half hour from Killian's home. I hopped on the chance to go with him, and then I got to see Killian. I know, I totally use Neal. But I love him. Well, love is a strong word.

love

ləv/

noun

an intense feeling of deep affection.

Okay, maybe love is the wrong word. I don't have an "intense feeling of deep affection" for Neal. But I like him. Yes, I like him. He's my support blanket. A comfort item. I've got a little school girl crush on him. Maybe it's just that I want what he has.

But no, we're not in love. Far from it. I just don't have the guts to break up with him.

"I don't have a love for money," I grumbled.

Killian doesn't live the luxurious life I do. I pay, no, Neal's bank account, for all these visits to see one another. It wasn't this hard till he moved back to Ireland. Till I moved away from Boston, to Tallahassee. But we're adults. Adult-ish. We can make it work.

We've been making it work.

Barely.

Neals almost caught us on multiple occasions. Good thing Killian's a fast dresser, or we would've been screwed.

"Sure, you keep thinking that," his hands gripped each of my hips, "If you weren't so obsessed, you would've broken up with Neal."

"You know why I don't break up with him," I leaned back, falling onto his chest. His heartbeat patted against my back, rhythmically. Music to my ears.

"You know I would call the cops if you'd just let me," he traced down the side of my hip, along the edges of my stitches.

I got the cut about two weeks ago. I didn't see the knife, and just walked right into it. When I fell, it skidded down my side. That's what I told the doctors. What really happened was that Neal was cooking dinner, I was putting some dishes in the sink, he got angry at me because I broke a glass and pushed the knife into my cream skin. He dragged it down. "Trying to remove it", he had said.

Killian made me get stitches. He was over for dinner that night, and took me to the hospital. Neal stayed home. He didn't care. Of course he didn't. Neal wasn't supposed to be their that night. I was supposed to be able to escape for a night. To lose myself in a pile of emotions. Crumbling while Killian and I ride to pleasure together. But no. Instead I ended up in a hospital bed, thanks to Neal.

But I like him. That's what I tell myself. That's what I'll continue telling myself. I'll be the trophy wife. We'll have the perfect family.

I owe him, anyways.

Neal wouldn't hurt me if I hadn't miscarried our child. He was still born. Henry. When I was eighteen. It's my fault. I didn't do everything I should've while I was pregnant. I could've done more. I chose not to.

"The police don't need to be notified about Neal," I grumbled, already not wanting to talk about it. Killian's light kisses fell onto my neck, "We're not supposed to talk about our partners. I'm not talking about Milah, am I?"

He disconnected from my skin, "Aye. I'm sorry, Emma. I'm just concerned for your safety, and you know that I should be."

I shook my head, moving away from Killian, "You don't need to be worried. You don't need to feel sorry for me. That's not part of our deal."

My walls come back up, and yet he still tries to bring them down. Piece by piece. Chip by chip. Then I just rebuild it. Two steps ahead, one back.

"Fine. I should be going, anyways," he moved away, and I stood off the bed. He followed my movements.

I nodded, "That's probably for the best. Where are you going?" I walked to my closet, tugging at pieces of clothing, showing off the fabric.

Leather jackets hid behind the dresses and expensive blouses. They were tucked away, not to be used again. The pieces of clothing were of my past self. The side of me I'd rather forget.

"I've got some gig." Killian's a singer. Plays guitar, too. Yes, hella hot. Definitely not the best career choice, but he does what he loves. He goes where his heart takes him.

"Good luck with it," I mumbled, not thinking much of it. He had gigs all the time. He was good. A good singer. A good person.

I chose a blue dress that covered everything down to my knees. The sleeves hid my arms, hiding the bruises. Most everything I wear is there to hide. It's easy in the winter, a challenge in the warmer months. 

So, this story will replace "Swanie" because I completely hated writing that one. I'm excited to take on a brand new story! If you have any thoughts, please comment! I loved writing this first part, so I'm guessing I'll love this and hope you do too!!

-Your's truly, Rose