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Author's Chapter Notes:

Please don't hate or give up on this story. I KNOW you're gonna want to after this chapter, but I promise it will be alright in the end. You know me. You know my stories. Even when it looks horrible, I've always before got you through. You gotta trust me... TAG

***Adding Raw Sex tag to story and then running away to hide from my reviews***




Chapter 19 - You Trust Me, Right?



Back in the day, when there was only one major brand of vacuum cleaner, every housewife had a Hoover. Those things were huge monstrosities, so loud you almost needed earplugs to work them, but boy could they suck. One pass with a Hoover and every bit of dirt in your carpet - along with any stray pets or small children left unsupervised nearby - would be suctioned up into the vacuum bag to be summarily tossed out in the trash the following day.


Hence the term ‘hoovering’ as applied to your average narcissist.


Hoovering is a manipulation tactic that someone might use to prevent you from leaving a toxic relationship or to reacquire you if you have managed to flee. See, despite having no empathy themselves, a narcissist is an expert on reading YOUR moods and emotions. They understand what makes you tick. Anytime they feel like a victim has reached a level of dissatisfaction where he or she might try to escape, they will do whatever is needed to keep the victim under their thumb. In other words, they suck you back in. Just like one of those old Hoovers.


The most insidious thing about hoovering, though, is that it’s really difficult to distinguish from a sincere attempt at reconciliation. Narcissists are consummate actors. They can make you believe anything they choose. Especially if they’re telling you something you WANT to hear. Face it, if someone is showering you with gifts, acting truly repentant, and promising undying love, you’re gonna want to believe them, right? You want to be loved. You want to forgive them and end the stress of an argument. Sometimes they even break into tears, triggering your sympathy and your natural inclination to comfort someone in pain. You, being the normally caring and empathic person you are, practically fall over yourself in your rush to give them whatever they ask. Which is exactly what they were counting on.


The narcissist will promise you the moon, if that’s what it takes to keep you under their thrall. 


Just one word of warning, though . . . Because narcissists HATE apologizing or succumbing to emotion, they’re gonna resent the hell out of you for forcing them to go to these extremes. So, once they have you safely back under their control, prepare for them to redouble the abuse. And the nicer, the more lavish, their gifts or promises are during the hoovering phase, the more horrible the repercussions are likely to be afterwards.



Even though I’d opted not to make a big stink about the interview, and was going along with Ethan’s decision to play it straight for his career, I wasn’t exactly happy about any of it. And, while I hadn’t said anything out loud, I suppose my indignation showed. I couldn’t get rid of the smoldering resentment hiding just under the surface. Even when Ethan wasn’t off at one of the events arranged by his manager, we barely spoke that week. When he was home, I felt distant from him. Hell, even our sex life had petered out to practically nothing; but I just couldn’t get enthusiastic about getting it on with someone who I knew was going to deny my very existence come morning.


Therefore, I wasn’t expecting the surprise I got when I came home on Monday, my first full night off work since the interview, and found the apartment awash with the light from at least fifty candles. I looked around in astonishment and noted that Ethan had cleaned the place up, on his own initiative no less. There was a big bouquet of roses in a vase on the table - my computer had been moved off and was sitting on the floor in the corner - and the table was nicely set for the two of us. I thought I smelled the aroma of my favorite spicy Thai coconut peanut soup emanating from one of the covered dishes waiting there. Over on the small packing crate we used as a coffee table - which had been draped with a sheet to hide the bare wood - there were more candles, a bottle of not-inexpensive red wine, our only two wine glasses, and a little silver gift box bearing the name of Ethan’s favorite chocolateer. It was all very lovely and very romantic.


My first thought was, was I in trouble for something? Did I do something wrong? Or had Ethan done something?


I knew that was a totally cynical reaction, but by that point in our relationship I’d already become conditioned to expect that overt displays of this type usually only came after a big argument. Or when Ethan was trying to butter me up to ask for something. He hadn’t done anything so completely romantic since back before he’d won me away from Brian. It was understandable that I was a bit nervous, right? 


“What's all this?” I asked hesitantly. 


“A celebration,” Ethan intoned, grabbing my hand to lead me over to the couch. 


“What are we celebrating?”


“Us!” Ethan answered as he poured out two glasses of the rich-colored Zinfandel. 


“That stuff's not cheap,” I warned as he handed me one of the glasses.


“Cost me all the tips I made busking today, but you are worth it.” Ethan tapped the rim of his glass to mine and then took a sip, smiling sexily at me all the while. 


I reluctantly followed his example, noting in passing that the wine really was excellent. “So, why, exactly, are we celebrating ‘us’?” I knew I was being a buzzkill but I couldn’t let go of the uneasy feeling I had.


“No reason. I just wanted to do something nice, you know? To remind you how much I love you. How much I cherish you. How happy it makes me - you and me, being together . . .” 


He reached over with his free hand to caress the side of my face. He was looking at me with that charming, boyish grin that was almost impossible to resist. I felt the icy dread shielding my heart begin to melt.


“I'll drink to that,” I replied and held my glass aloft in a silent toast.



“Here, try a piece of chocolate with that.” He picked up the silver foil-wrapped gift box, opened the lid and held it out for me to select from one of the four yummy-looking treats inside. “I recommend the dark chocolate one on the end. It’ll make the tannins in the wine pop.”


I followed his advice, taking a nibble at the luscious truffle, and then a sip of my wine. I moaned at how good the combination tasted. The flavors were so rich it was like my mouth was bathed in drinkable velvet. 


“Sweets for my sweet,” Ethan pronounced as he took a chocolate himself and followed suit. 


We sat and sipped our wine, finishing off the other two chocolates, in silence. But for once it was a content, comfortable silence. Either the wine or the chocolate or both had allayed my trepidation. This was the sweet, romantic, attentive Ethan who had wooed me away from Brian. The man who made me feel special. The man who said all the right things. I finally relaxed all the way and offered him a true smile.


“There’s my beautiful angel,” Ethan praised me, leaning in for a tender kiss. “I’ve missed seeing that smile lately.”


I shrugged. “I guess I have been feeling a little off lately,” I admitted as Ethan refilled my wine glass.


“I know. It was the interview, wasn’t it?”


“No,” I immediately denied it, but then felt compelled to be more truthful. “Well, maybe. A little. I mean, passing me off as your cousin and implying *I* was straight too . . .”


“Well, come on. I had to think of something on the spot,” Ethan seemed to think it was funny, which threw me a little again, but since I didn’t want to ruin the moment, I tamped down my unease. “Listen, Babe, I know you’re not completely happy about this. I’m not either. But I can’t screw this up; it’s my big break, you know? I mean, I can't play on street corners forever, right?”


“No one expects you to,” I assured him. “But Glen wants you to deny who you are; to deny us. I just . . . I just hate that you think you have to do something so unconscionable simply to get ahead. It’s not right. It’s . . . living a lie.”


Ethan heaved a huge sigh, as if tired of explaining the same thing over and over again to someone who just didn’t seem to get it. “It’s what I have to do, at least for now, Babe. It won’t be like that forever. But right now we can’t afford to take a principled stand. You can’t eat principles and there's nothing noble about being poor.”


“Yeah, but . . .” I just couldn’t seem to let it go. “Is this how it's going to be from now on? Lying. Playing games. Pretending to be someone you’re not?” I set my glass down so I could concentrate on the point I was trying to make. “Now you're even going away and, because I’m not allowed to be seen with you, I can’t come see your big debut performance. I’m afraid this is going to drive us apart, Ethan.”


“It’s only Harrisburg. And it’s only for one week,” he protested. “It's not like I’m going on a world tour.”


I smiled sadly, “that's next.”


“I wish.” Ethan chuckled, but I wasn’t feeling amused so I didn’t join in, which caused my boyfriend to get serious again too. “Look, Babe . . . Who knows what's going to happen? I could bomb, and that would be the end of it. But if this works, and I become a success, we could have this totally amazing life. I was even thinking, maybe we could buy a farmhouse, with a studio for you and a practice room for me . . .”


“You dream big.”


“Why not? It doesn’t cost anything,” Ethan smiled at me, his eyes twinkling with what I assumed was undying love. “Come on. It won’t be so bad. We'll make it an adventure. We can plan secret rendez-vous and torrid encounters.” I must have looked skeptical because Ethan rushed on. “All I’m saying, Babe, is that other people don't need to know who we are or what we mean to each other. All that matters is that WE know. That YOU know you’re the one I’m secretly playing for.”


Then Ethan did something that blew me away and totally dispelled even the merest wisp of lingering doubt I might have been holding onto. He dug under the pillow sitting behind him on the couch and retrieved another gift box. This one was adorned with red foil and was even smaller than the one that had held the chocolates. There was a small parchment scroll tied to the top with a big red bow. He took my hand, peeled open my fingers, and laid the pretty package on my palm. 


With trembling fingers I tugged at one end of the ribbon and freed the scroll. It was, of course, another poem. I was too agitated to do more than scan through the syrupy words of love he’d written, but the sentiment was clear; I was his muse and every performance would be done with me in mind. I set the scrap of paper aside with a smile and turned to the much more interesting gift box.


Ethan, who apparently couldn’t bear my slow progress, pulled open the top of the box for me. “Ta da!” he exclaimed, revealing two matching, white-gold rings, nestled in a satin-lined container. “I’ve been planning to give you this for a while now - I got it about a week after you moved in - but I was waiting for the perfect occasion.” 


He took out one of the rings and held it up to the light. I could see it was etched with a delicate pattern of intertwined circles. It was very handsome. I held up my hand and he slid the small silver circlet on the ring finger of my left hand, precisely where a wedding ring would have gone.


Then he took the other ring out of the box and put it on his own finger. “I bought two of them so we’d match. They weren't very expensive, but the guy at the store swore to me that they were one of a kind. I thought it would be a way for us to be together, even when we're apart. A symbol of our commitment. What do you think?”


“Oh, Ethan! They’re beautiful.” I fell on him, squeezing him joyfully.


He held his hand up and admired the candlelight glinting off the small piece of metal. “Now I’ll always have you with me no matter how far apart we are . . . Still, I hate that you're not going to be there with me.”


“Not as much as me,” I assured him. “But your agent would flip out if I was there.”


“How am I ever going to perform without my muse?” He held up the poem he’d given me, waving it in the air with an impish smile.


“You'll do fine. I know you will. You’re always amazing.”


“Well, that’s true,” he laughed and stood up. “Are you hungry? I ordered dinner from your favorite Thai place.” He gestured towards the table and just the mention of food had my stomach gurgling. “Of course you’re hungry. Come on, Mr. Bottomless Pit.”


So we sat, and we ate the delicious food, and we laughed and talked and flirted. It was the perfect evening. Ethan was so attentive. He pulled out all the stops. Everything was flawless. It was the kind of romantic dinner I’d always dreamed of having; just like you’d see in some Hollywood movie.


After dinner he insisted on drawing a bath for us to share. He poured in some fragrant bath oil and, while I was in the other room making sure all the candles were out, he sprinkled a handful of rose petals on the water. I kidded him about being a romantic fool, but secretly I loved it. He tenderly undressed me and then helped me into the tub, joining me as soon as he was naked too. We spent the next fifteen minutes fooling around, pretending to wash each other, while mostly just enjoying the physical contact. By the time the water was cold enough to drive us out, we were both fully aroused and ready to move the proceedings to our bed. 


Once there he kissed me and then carefully pushed me down till I was spread out atop the quilt, on full display for him. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He leaned down to nibble at my lips, eliciting a low moan of pleasure. “You’re like the perfect instrument; I can play you almost as well as I play Misha. Pulling the most beautiful sounds out of you upon demand.” I giggled right on cue. “Shit, you have no idea how much I love to make love to you, Babe.”


“Well, then, what are you waiting for?” I asked, reaching over to the nightstand for a condom and holding it up in order to encourage my boyfriend to hurry


With a mischievous grin Ethan snatched the condom out of my hand and ostentatiously tossed it over his shoulder before crawling up the bed to straddle me.


“What . . .” I questioned, holding up one hand to stop my lover’s progress.


“We don’t need those anymore,” Ethan insisted, waving his ring-adorned hand in my face. “It’s just you and me, Babe. Forever.”


Still, I resisted. My mind flashed back to a conversation I’d had not so very long ago with another man I had assumed I’d be with forever. My suggestion that we go without condoms had enraged Brian. It was one of the few times when he’d gotten a tiny bit physical with me. But the incident had certainly made an impact. And his words were blasting through my mind right then, accompanied by metaphorical warning sirens.


‘We could do it raw if we wanted to. We’re both negative‘, I had suggested.


‘You want me to fuck you without a condom, huh? Is that what you want? You want me to shove my dick up your tight little ass and come inside you?’


‘Yes. Do it!’ I pressed him.


‘You stupid little twat!’ Brian had growled at me, taking my face in his hand and holding my jaw with a pincher-like grip so I was forced to look him in the eye. ‘You NEVER let anyone fuck you without a condom, Justin! I don’t care what pretty little promises they offer you. You don’t trust your life to anyone like that. You hear me?’


I had pulled away from him, turning my head so I didn’t have to look at those intense hazel eyes. But he was unrelenting.


‘Promise me, Justin! Promise me you will never do something as stupid as letting anyone fuck you without a condom.’


And I had given him my promise.


“What’s wrong?” Ethan interrupted my trip down memory lane. “We both got tested only a month ago. It’s completely safe.” But I still didn’t move the hand that was stopping him from moving forward. “Justin, Babe, you trust me, right?”


I looked at the restraining hand that I still had pressed against his chest and saw the silver ring gleaming there. It was a symbol of commitment. Ethan had gone out of his way to do this special thing for me. To reassure me and relieve the insecurities related to his going out of town without me. That was a big fucking deal. He loved me; he’d proved it with this ring. It would be churlish not to trust him, right?


So I took my hand off Ethan’s chest and smiled uncertainly up at the man I’d just made this huge commitment to and tried not to listen to the pesky doubts that never completely went away even after my partner began to make sweet, passionate love to my body.



Ethan was beyond attentive to me for the next couple of days. He brought me breakfast in bed in the mornings, he bought me little presents, he gave me extra money and told me to buy myself something nice, and he even took pains to pick up after himself around the apartment. I, of course, happily accepted all these tokens of his affection. 


But even so I couldn’t completely get rid of this uneasy feeling in my gut. I kept picturing the face of that fawning fan who had been flirting with Ethan during the Heifetz Competition. It made me even more uncomfortable with the fact that Ethan would be in Harrisburg without me for almost a whole week. But I had nobody I could voice any of my worries to so I just internalized it all. 


Was it any wonder that my insomnia was worse than ever? 


Not sleeping wasn’t helping me at school much either. The summer seminar I was taking had turned out to be a lot more work than I had anticipated; the professor seemed to think, because it was summer, his students had all the time in the world to work on his almost daily assignments. Because my gimp hand was acting up worse than ever, it took me almost double the time it took the rest of the students to complete the work we were assigned, and I still had to work as well. I repeatedly found myself staying up till the middle of the night, slaving away on one project or another, so even if I had been able to sleep, I wouldn't have been getting much of it. 


Finally, two days after Ethan’s big, romantic dinner, I broke down and admitted - to myself at least - that I couldn’t do the most recent assignment purely by hand. After work that night I cleared away the remains of the bouquet of roses that was still sitting in the vase in the center of our tiny table, and I lugged my computer back over. Only, when I got it all hooked up and plugged in, the fucking thing wouldn’t boot up. I tried two or three times without any luck. When I took a step back and looked at the casing to try and figure out if there was something that wasn’t properly connected, I noticed that there was a big dent in the back rear corner of the tower. A dent that looked suspiciously like someone had dropped the computer from a rather great height. When I lifted the box up and carefully shook it, I was disheartened to hear something inside rattling loosely. 


“Fuck!” I grumbled, sitting the useless thing down on the table again.


“What’s wrong, Babe?” Ethan asked as he was coming in from the bathroom.


“My computer isn’t working and I need it for this assignment,” I explained. “You didn’t drop it when you moved it the other day, did you?”


“No,” Ethan answered succinctly.


“Then how did it get this huge dent in the back?” I pointed to the spot.


“No idea. You sure it wasn’t always like that?” 


“Yes, I’m sure,” I maintained with a frown, but knew it was useless to accuse him of something without proof. I took out the project I was supposed to have finished by ten AM the next morning and groaned. “Now what am I going to do? My fucking hand will never hold up long enough to finish this and Lashley already warned the class that he wasn’t going to give any extensions.”


Ethan came to look over my shoulder at the sketch I’d been working on. “What is it supposed to be?”


“It’s supposed to be a drawing of water cascading out of a fountain,” I explained as I too examined the picture. “The assignment was to focus on perfecting the water features but that’s not easy with my hand acting up. Water is tricky, you know? The amount of shading and the detail work is a bitch. And I didn’t even start on the foliage and greenery that Lashley suggested to balance out the composition.” I flopped down on the couch in defeat. “It’s gonna take me hours to finish this without my computer.”


“You know, Babe, you’ve done nothing but bitch about this damn class all summer,” Ethan interceded. “And judging by that,” he pointed to the unfinished drawing, “you’re not learning much.” 


Ethan chuckled, trying to make a joke out of his comment, but it really rankled anyway. I knew the sketch wasn’t very good, but it was still unfinished. If I’d had more time to work on it - or if my computer was still functional - I could make it much better. Or at least recognizable. But it felt like Ethan was judging my artistic talent, as a whole, on this one partially finished school assignment. Right then, however, I was too discouraged and too tired to explain that to him, so I just sat there on the couch and wallowed in my growing depression.


Ethan, who probably sensed that I wasn’t happy with his comment, sat down next to me and put one consoling arm around my shoulders. “I hate seeing you this upset, Babe,” he commiserated. “If this class is giving you so much trouble, you should just drop it. You don’t need the added aggravation.”


“I can’t just drop it,” I argued. “I’m already a little behind since I took less than a full load of classes last fall. If I drop this class, there’s no way I’ll graduate on time. Besides, it’s too late to get my money back if I withdraw.” Of course that brought to mind the whole money issue in general, and the frustration about how I was going to pay for my tuition come fall, which only heightened my depression. “Damn it!”


I threw the sketchpad across the room.


“Babe, stop,” Ethan ordered and grabbed both my hands in his. “Maybe this just isn’t your best medium. I told you to take the animation class instead of this seminar.”


“But the animation class isn’t part of the core curriculum and wouldn’t have applied towards the credits I need to graduate,” I reminded him. “Besides, I need this class. I need more experience working on composition. And the topics we’ve discussed have been really interesting. If it weren’t for the professor being a total bitch, I’d probably be enjoying the class. I just need more time to work on the assignments is all.”


“Couldn’t you take it another time then? With a different professor.”


“I suppose,” I conceded but with ill grace.


“Then drop it. You don’t need the headaches this Lashley guy is causing,” Ethan pushed. “Take the rest of the summer off. You can work more and save up for the fall and take the classes you want then.” He gave me a familiar squeeze and then got up off the couch to pick up the fallen sketch pad. “Plus, if you’re not wasting your time in that useless class, I’ll get to have more time with my favorite blond boy.” 


That did make sense. I really wasn’t going to do well in this class with my hand the way it was anyway, so why bother? And if I didn't have to take time out to go to class or study, I could work even more. That would solve the problem of how I was going to save up enough to cover tuition for the fall. Maybe I’d even find some spare money to get my computer fixed before classes started. Hopefully by fall Ethan would also be bringing in some real income from his recording contract and concerts, which would allow me to cut back on work and really concentrate on school for a change. 


“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I finally answered. “I can’t turn in crap like this anyway; I might as well drop the fucking class.” 


So, the next morning, instead of going to class, I went straight to the registrar's office and effectively dropped out of school. 


 

Chapter End Notes:

2/22/20 - I KNOW you probably all hate me now. This was too much, right? I get that nobody will like this chapter. But you have to understand that this kind of emotional abuse is pretty evil. Isolating Justin, denigrating his artwork, even the sexual manipulation and humiliation are all pretty much par for the course. You have to trust me, though. I WILL get our Justin through this. And, if it helps, I promise you Justin won’t get sick because of the raw thing - I wouldn’t do that to you. But it does do a couple things: it’s a way for Ethan to further subjugate his victim, plus it makes it almost impossible for Justin to go to Brian for help because he’ll be too embarrassed. It means that Justin’s now completely on his own. He’s gonna have to save himself this time. But he’ll be a better, stronger person on the other side because of that. You trust me, right? (She said, echoing her own villain’s words...) TAG

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