Title: Wasted Time
Featuring: Roxy Phoenix
Date: December 2010
Location: King of Kings

The odometer climbed to 120 miles per hour, and the black Porsche Boxster zoomed effortlessly through the black sky. There was no one on the road that night â€" they were sleeping. Rightfully so, it was close to four in the morning, and Roxy Phoenix had been on the road for two consecutive hours. It was another odd similarity that she had found between wealthy and powerful men â€" they certainly loved their isolation. Of all places, why the hell would she return here?

It seemed like a recurring question she had to pose to herself these days, ‘Roxy, what the hell are you doing/why the hell are you doing this?’

She was the happiest she’d been in a long time, perhaps ever… and she ran away.

Oh God, she could remember the scene so vividly…

"Mmm, ready to go again?" She nibbled at the tight flesh of his peck. He chuckled.

Her seductive gaze met his, and she slid on top of him. It had only been about twenty or thirty minutes, and her body had finished reeling from the intense aftershocks. She pushed herself up straight to straddle his torso. Her moist orifice from previous coitus nagged at his groin. Her hips cocked forward, slowly grinding back and forth to incite the same intensity that they had felt only moments before.

"You know I don’t need much convincing."

He knew that, and neither did he.

A playful groan escaped her throat, and she met his chest with a flurry of kisses.

"Come on, I know Alfred’s seen some pretty kinky shit coming from the two of us, so I doubt he cares how loud we get."

His calloused hand caressed her face, moving the stray tendrils of auburn hair from her cheeks. He enveloped his arms around her and pressed her close in his embrace.

"Hey," he spoke, breaking his silence. His voice tickled her soft sun-kissed skin as he nuzzled the nape of her neck. "I love you."

There it was: those three words. There was no way he meant it… did he? No, he couldn’t have.

"Ty," she giggled, stealing a quick peck on his lips. "You don’t have to beg. I am quite happy to do that."

With a coquettish wink, she slithered underneath the covers. Her kisses began a trail down to his pelvis.

"Hey, come here," he laughed.

He lifted the sheets to look at her chin, resting on his inner thigh. God how he hated to call her away from that nagging situation.

She rolled her eyes with a lighthearted smirk. Soon she was back in his arms, looking into his eyes. His expression was serious.

A smile formed on his lips, "Roxy, I love you."

"Shut up, Tyler." She bopped him on the head in an attempt to knock some sense into him. "You’re a terrible liar."

Before he had a response, the mischievous little minx returned to her previous plans prior to the mood getting to serious for her to handle.

She did love him. God, did she ever love him. It was too intense for her to handle that all-encompassing feeling. She had never felt such an emotion before. He was probably the only thing she ever loved.

Emotions? Feelings? Was she now in some fucking romance novel? That was never her life. Things had always been complicated, but after much practice, she had managed to get control over them. This was alien to her… and she hated it.

Where was she going with this? What the hell did that even mean? Had she ever said it before? No. Had she ever meant it? How could she?
Another pack down. She’d try to get to the destination without making a stop. She was smoking like a chimney. Oh God, what the fuck had she done?

Anxious, she looked at her phone, no missed calls. He probably hadn’t even awoken to realize that she was gone. He could sleep through World War III. Shit, what the hell was she doing?

There was no note left. No, ‘please forgive me’ sorrowful advice for getting on with his life. She hadn’t even taken anything with her. It was such a spontaneous flight, and she didn’t feel any of her excuses were good enough to leave with Ty. He knew her boundaries, and he knew she was probably scared shitless. And she was. He would probably forgive her for it. Ask her to meet him for dinner as a peace offering to symbolize that there was no pressure with him. But did she ever feel like there was.

He would, however, never forgive her for returning to him. That was salt in the wound. And he had every right to feel that way. Hell, she was at war with herself for coming here.

She pulled up to the gate, and she entered the security code. No doubt he hadn’t changed it since she had last left. Either too lazy or too hopeful that she would cave in and return. The gate creaked as it gracefully parted to grant her access.

For fucks sake, was it too late to turn around and go back?

The car slowed as it rounded the circular driveway, and she came to a complete stop. All of the lights were on â€" inside and out, as though he were waiting for her.

She shifted the car into park, and she stared at her phone.

‘Please Ty, just call me. Tell me to come home. I’ll say yes. I don’t want things to end this way.’

Each minute ticked on the phone’s clock, reminding her that she was wasting her time. He wouldn’t call. He shouldn’t have to.

She brushed her eye with her finger, when she felt her cheek getting wet. She turned the key to shut the car off, and soon, she was at the front door.

‘No tears. You did this to yourself.’

She was unsure if she would be welcomed with a gun in her face or open arms. She hoped it would be the latter, she’d forgotten any weapons at Rayne Manor â€" that was quite a mistake.

Roxy let out a pent up exasperated sigh and rang the doorbell twice. She beat on the door roughly. If she was going to humiliate herself, she may as well get it over with rather than pussyfooting around and standing in the cold, dark night.

She never ever wanted to return to him â€" God, how she hated it so. She lost count of the times that she came back â€" things were easier, she knew what to expect. Things with Tyler were so unpredictable… it scared her.

A long series of noises occurred behind the door â€" knocking things over, curses, unlocking latches… More than likely he had the gun to shoot some random weirdo ringing doorbells at four in the morning. The door opened suddenly. And yes, a gun was pointed at her head. Boy, did it take her back to when she was a teenager in the trailer park sneaking out at all hours.

It didn’t look like he could do much damage in his current state. Not only was he three sheets to the wind, but his hand was also bloodied and wrapped with a tie. She had assumed that he must have broken some glass thing before he opened the door.

Jason was pissed. His gaze shifted, and his eyes squinted to adjust his perception and actually see who was at the door before he shot them.
That’s where they differed. Roxy shot first and asked questions later. There was no hesitation.

His eyes grew large, his mouth fell agape in shock, and the shotgun fell to his side, and he dropped it abruptly. He had seen a ghost.

"Holy shit."

That was the greeting. Before she could explain, Jason's furious expression had been swiftly changed with the sweet release of joyful tears â€" he had been drinking again â€" Jason could never handle his liquor. He seized her in his arms, and he sobbed painfully into her chest.

------------------------------------------------------------

The swish of her loose striped socks along the lacquered hardwood floor was the only sound audible as she approached the door. She delicately traced the stiles of the paneling in the eight-foot dark mahogany door outside.

She couldn’t sleep. Her mind kept wondering, questioning… if things were different and if decisions had or hadn’t been made. No doubt it made her think… and she hated it. She never liked questioning her decisions. She did everything for a reason â€" and she never made mistakes… or, at least she never admitted to making mistakes. And she never would.

Henry Rollins once accurately stated, ‘Don’t like to think too much. It makes me think too much. It keeps my mind on my mind.’ Wow, that couldn’t have described her situation anymore. Fucking thoughts. It gave her headache, worrying about all of that nonsense.

There was another lyric that came to mind, from a Sneaker Pimps song, ‘You ask me how to cure your headache, use a gun.’

Of course, things hadn’t gotten that drastic yet. She felt she’d just bug Tyler. That was more fun.

Knock knock. She gently rapped at the door, expecting him to wake up and amuse her. It was always fun to nag Tyler. If she couldn’t sleep, why shouldn’t she deny him the same pleasure? Oh, how she was going to enjoy the torture.

"Tyler," she sang harmoniously with a rhythmic beat against the door of her fist. "Wake up."

Surprisingly through the obnoxiously thick door came sounds of pleasantly undisturbed snoring. Fine then, she was polite in knocking, but if he was going to be stubborn, she would just have to let herself in to hop in the bed and wake him up.

Her hand met the doorknob, and she turned it. Nothing. That motherfucker locked the door. It couldn’t have been to lock her out… knowing Ty, he’d know she’d try and disturb his "restful slumber," and he came prepared.

Maybe she’d ask Alfred for a skeleton key to beat Tyler Rayne at his own "cute little stunts."

She cleared her throat, pounding her knuckles on the door… just a little harder this time. Nothing still. Possibly some stirs within the bed. Most likely shifting to get a better position in the massive California King bed.

"Ty, open the fucking door," Her soft voice bounced off the door. "I can’t sleep."

No answer.

"I’m not going to fuck you â€" just let me in." Boy, did she hate admitting that. That alone would give him pleasure enough. She certainly was horny though.

Nothing. If he heard her, no doubt he was enjoying a victorious laugh. But he was dead to the world. Two things she learned quickly about Tyler Rayne was that the man could fuck and the man could sleep. And boy, could he nap like the dead.

"Waste of my time," she released an exasperated sigh. She could have spent another twenty minutes banging at the door and accomplishing a whole sum of nothing.

It was a mute point.

Since she would have to amuse herself, she at least get some food to occupy the quickening of the pangs of hunger she’d felt having napped most of the day. She soon found herself in the kitchen, digging in the fridge for some semblance of a snack. When she set to do something, she never wasted time.

Old roast beef. Cheese. Wow… what a selection. No doubt he was overdue for a grocery visit. She combed through the leftovers. Ah, sushi. That’ll do.

"Can I help you find something?" Alfred was at the door. He must’ve heard her digging.

Roxy turned to him, holding the plastic containers of leftover sushi.

"Oh my," he pressed his palm to his chest. The hand quickly shielded his eyes to conceal his sight of her revealing outfit.

Black and white striped cotton socks warmed her feet, red undies with little black skulls fell dangerously below her midriff, and a black tanktop clung to her upper torso. For Roxy’s standards, she was fairly modestly dressed.

"I wasn’t aware that you were awake."

"Can’t sleep," she mumbled. She tossed a sealed cup of soy sauce onto the granite countertop.

"My dear, can I fix you something to eat?"

Roxy paused for a second. Boy, did she miss that part about the luxurious life… certainly, she deserved it after getting booted out on the streets again. But now that she was forced to enjoy her own company since Tyler wasn’t waking up, she didn’t really want any assistance. It wasn’t like they had any food to prepare anyway.

"I’m set." She bit her lip â€" wow, did it kill her to neglect his offer.

"A drink?"

With a forced grin, she held up the half empty jug of orange juice. What a combination… sushi and orange juice. This would hurt coming back up. She would have made a Mudslide or a Buttery Nipple, but the milk in the refrigerator was sour.

"Shall I top you off?" He gestured towards the bar.

"I’m hoping to have him cleaned out by the end of the week," She replied with pride at her accomplishment as she pulled a hidden flask out of a drawer. The flask was turned over, and shortly the contents found itself into the last bits of orange juice in the jug. She cocked her head back to guzzle the Screwdriver.

She continued, "I’ve stashed some bottles in my room."

He smiled, and he put a finger to his lips. She didn’t care if he told Tyler, and Tyler probably didn’t care if she had them. He could replace them as quickly and easily as she could put them away.

"How are you finding your stay here?"

"Eh, not bad." She shrugged, "The company’s shit."

"I’ll trust you’re referring to Mr. Rayne?"

"He needs a woman’s touch around here." She gestured to all the obvious evidences of a bachelor pad. The leather couches, flat screen televisions, obnoxious DVD collections, video games, well stocked bar â€" well, she’d be damned if the bar left.

"Well, Miss Troy’s quite a regular guest here, but I believe Mr. Rayne is quite content with the current arrangements." Alfred tried to dissuade an argument.

"I wasn’t suggesting painting the walls pink, hang Twilight posters, and throw tampons all around the place. I was just saying that he may get a little more tail, if he made his place a bit more approachable to ladies."

Alfred replied with a restrained smirk, "I don’t believe he has any problems with that, my dear."

It was true, she had heard about Tyler and his new girlfriend, Leslie or Lauren… whatever her name was. And, sure it was partially one of the reasons why she had inserted herself back into his life. If it was serious, great, but she knew it wouldn’t last. She knew Tyler Rayne better than anyone, and he would get bored… especially now that Roxy was back in his life. Who could blame him?

"Yeah, about that…"

She would never probe Tyler for questions. It would only feed into his already inflated ego, making him think that she was jealous, but Alfred would certainly disclose information.

"Ah, ah, ah." He held his hands up, refusing to spill any details. "You will have to ask Mr. Rayne."

"Fuck that." She inhaled another roll. That prick didn’t need to have her asking questions like she was interested in his love life.

"Believe me, you have nothing to worry about." She was curious what he meant by that. Before she could question his statement, he continued, "I don’t believe he has any intentions of making you leave the manor."

His words left her a little crestfallen. She was almost expecting some nicely calculated British jab at the girlfriend, but Alfred was a gentleman. He would never say disparaging comments about another person.

Not only that, but she almost expected him to have her side… everything that she and Tyler shared, certainly it meant more than this "fling" he’d gotten himself involved in. Didn’t it? Maybe she was kidding herself. It wasn’t like dashed back into Tyler Rayne’s life to save the day and admit she loved him and all would be right in the world. Those emotions were long gone and laid to rest.

Alfred could sense her desire to be left alone finally, and he found an excuse to shuffle off to bed. "Since it seems you are quite taken care of, I best be off to bed."

"Night," She nodded, snacking on the leftover sushi.

He placed his hand on her shoulder. "There is no doubt in my mind he still cares for you, my dear."

She hoped he was right.
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