Enter the Clown

Derek gapes at me. 

"You-- what?" he breathes, blinking, completely taken aback by my request.

I feel a surge of irritation growing. Despite all of his giant proclamations and lapdog behavior, he'd kept her number. So maybe he wasn't serious. Maybe all this new devotion-crap was just an act. The thought makes a hot spear of fury pierce my abdomen. 

"You heard me," I tell him, my voice steely, blood rushing in my ears. 

*If he refuses, I'll have my answer. I'll break up with him and that'll be that.* Even as I think it, I feel the fear clawing at my chest. Here I was, thinking I was in control, when all along I was still terrified of losing what we had.

I pet his head patronizingly, trying to keep up the image of the cool mistress, the goddess I wish I could be.

"So?" I prompt.

"If that's what you want, absolutely." Derek nods as I stroke his hair. "You're all that matters to me. Your wish is my command."

The words flash through me like lightning. *Your wish is my command* For a split second, I panic, feeling called out, as if what Derek is saying to me is actually *I know what you did, Skye. I know all about your stupid little spell casting game.*

But when I look at him, Derek's eyes hold nothing but contrition and devotion. His face is tipped towards me, his lips are slightly parted and he is awaiting further instruction.

"Call her," I say.

"I will, but what do you want me to say to her?" He pulls his phone out of his pocket and I realize how ridiculous I would look if anyone other than him could see me now. With my skirt pushed up, my panties bunched on the floor and my bare butt pretty much on the couch. Not much of a powerful goddess-vibe, but Derek is still kneeling in front of me. Maybe that's enough.

It takes me a beat to realize that he's waiting for me to reply to his question and then another few seconds tick by while I try to come up with something. Truth be told, there are a lot of things I would like to say to the woman who tried to steal my fiancé. Some part of me, and not a small part either, wants to completely devastate her. The desire to lash out in anger, to have Derek tell her the ugliest things I can think of, rises within my chest. I find myself imagining how the call might play out, how Derek's words, which are in truth my words, will reduce her to a sobbing mess. It would feel good, wouldn't it, to crush her? And she deserves it, right? You don't mess with someone else's partner.

There's another part of me, though, a smaller, more delicate one, that tells me I'd be wrong to put all the blame on her. She's not some burglar who cased my neighborhood and then broke into my house. She's just a woman living in the world, going about her day, who might have simply caught feelings for the kind, helpful guy at work. I call myself a feminist, I have to consider a reality where Derek and Emily carry at least equal responsibility for their actions.

I take a deep breath, trying to sift through all my conflicting emotions. Derek's phone is in his hand, ready and waiting. His expression is calm and pliant, as though he'd gladly parrot any vile thing I ask him to say. His eyes tell me that it's all up to me, as poisoned as those words are to me, my wish truly is his command.

The fantasy of devastation I just entertained may be sparkly like a diamond, seductively dramatic in the way of a scene from a daily soap. At the same time the thought of using Derek to humiliate Emily, a woman whom, let's be honest, I really don't know, makes my stomach knot with shame. What would that even accomplish? If I stoop to that level, doesn't that make me the villain? A vindictive hag?

The one who hurt me was Derek.

"I don't want you to be needlessly cruel," I tell him despite the niggling voice in my mind reminding me that this might be my only chance to get back at Emily the Clown, to make her pay. I don't give in to my baser instincts. I draw a breath and add: "Just be clear."

Derek's brow furrows slightly, the request doesn't seem to compute. "Clear?"

"Yes." I nod, firming my resolve. "Tell her what you told me, that it was a huge mistake you regret. That whatever happened between you and her is over for good because you love me and want to be with me. I think it's best to rip off the bandage, Derek. She doesn't need to be humiliated or anything."

*Doesn't she?* the little devil on my shoulder quips.

Derek hesitates for a beat, then nods, eyes shining with gratitude and admiration. "Thank you, Skye. You're amazing, you know that? You really have a heart of gold."

A heart of gold? The words are a blade in my guts, twisting as my conscience rears its ugly head. Derek can't read my mind; he has no idea where my thoughts went. I'm not forgiving; I'm controlling, manipulating. I played a dumb little game doing spells like a heartbroken teenager and only a few seconds ago I imagined destroying a woman just for kissing my fiancé. I want to keep Derek, he's mine. *Mine, mine, mine!* My mind screams when I think about another woman making a move on him, possessive fury churning in my stomach.

There may be a sane counter to that voice, the rational side of myself reiterating again and again that a human being only belongs to themself, but deep down in the ugly trenches of my id I'm a Gollum-like freak.

"Just make the call," I say, brushing his praise aside. "And put her on speaker."

Derek unlocks his phone and taps the screen. He's all focus now, carrying out my order like a good little soldier.

I feel a prick of doubt as he raises the phone to his lips. Do I really want to hear this? I hold my breath, my ears straining as the line beeps. There's a click and then a female voice rings out.

"Hey, Derr-Bear! I was waiting for you to call!"

I cringe. *Derr-Bear? What the actual fuck?* She sounds so young too; her voice is high and melodic, seemingly unburdened by even the tiniest care in the world. She's definitely not expecting this to be what it is going to be, which means what? That Derek made her believe they were a thing? That his behavior indicated there was a future for them?

My insides churn painfully as if this entire interaction is some bad take out rotting in my guts.

"Emily?" Derek says, the smallest tremor in his voice. A vibration as minuscule as the gust of air from a beating insect wing. I only pick up on it because my brain is fine-tuned to the Derek-channel. "Hey, it's Derek."

*God, what's wrong with him? She already called him by that insipid nickname, she knows it's him! Why is he acting so dumb?*

Her confused laughter bubbles from the phone. "Yeah, duh, Derr, what's up, bear? You okay? Why didn't you show up for work? What about--"

"Look, Em," Derek cuts her off, then his gaze flicks up to me, all guilt. My heart is pounding furiously. *Em, huh? Pretty tame compared to Derr-bear.* 

"I'm not coming in because of what happened between us. It was a mistake, I regret it and I want it to be over and done with."

A pause. I strain, trying to hear her breathe.

Then, another bubble of laughter, this time tinged with bitter incredulity.

"Fuck. Okay. Did. Not. Expect. That." She drops each word like a brick. "Wow. You're an asshole, good to know."

Derek's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. His expression remains blank, though. "I'm sorry if I hurt you. I didn't mean to lead you on."

"If? Yeah, right. You didn't mean to lead me on, huh? What are you? My 1950s secretary?" Emily speaks with a quiet fury, her words tinged with a lilting, angry sarcasm. "Can you at least tell me what the hell happened?"

"You know what happened, I'm engaged. I love my fiancé. I want her to be my future. Everything between us was just me being in denial about my true feelings. I'm sorry you had to witness me at my lowest like that."

"At your lowest?" she growls. "Jesus. Amazing, I always wanted to be someone's rock bottom." Emily huffs a breath. She's not crying and that's a relief, I tell myself, even as that niggling voice in the back of my mind pipes up with questions such as *how far did this really go?*.

"It's just so fucking funny how just three days ago--" Beep. One quick press of his thumb and she's silenced. Derek breathes raggedly as he looks into my eyes, his finger still moving across the screen of his phone.

"I'm blocking her," he tells me. "I'll switch jobs if you want me to. I will never see her again."

*All beside the point,* the little voice in my head says.

"What was three days ago?" The question burst from me like an ugly moth from a cocoon.

"Nothing. I was confused, you know that. Whatever she thought I was telling her wasn't real. It was all mixed signals and delusion." He shoves the phone back into his pocket and looks at me pleadingly. "I'll prove myself to you, Skye. I'll never let you down again."

I should feel triumphant and relieved. I won him back, didn't I? He's here with me, ready to crawl at my feet, not with Emily. But instead, there's an emptiness inside me, a big fat hole where all that joy should be, plus a nagging sense that this victory is tainted by what Emily was hinting at.

"Thank you," I say softly, my voice sounding defeated.

Derek reaches for my hand, pressing it to his chest, then lifts it to his lips to kiss my knuckles, one after the other. A strangely reverential gesture that is apparently a thing he does now. It worries me more than it flatters me.

"Take me to bed?" I ask softly and before the last word has fully left my mouth, Derek is up on his feet and has gathered me in his arms. Surprised, I manage to wrap my arms around his neck as he starts carrying me bridal style towards the bedroom.

I close my eyes and do my best to savor the feeling of being in Derek's arms, just this feeling for the rest of my life, that's all I want. Is that too much to ask?