Diamonds or Pearls

Claire knew that anyone driving past would think she was crazy– sitting in her Mazda, screaming at the passenger seat as if someone were there– but she was past caring. He made her so angry. Blake Anderson. She wished he was in the car so she could scream at him in person. With his blue eyes and his square jaw. If he’d been there, he would have just shook his head slowly smile that smug smile of his. Look, Claire. She’d have been screaming so loud the people across the street would hear her, and he would have just looked at her with his blue eyes and say, Look, Claire.

And maybe that would calm her down, or maybe he’d have to do something more drastic, but at least he would be there, Claire thought. Even if he grabbed her by her blonde ponytail and pulled her head up to his so he could tell her she was out of line, the seatbelt straining against her body as he held her hair painfully tight, at least he would be there. His words would calm her. No, no, the pain would calm her. Sometimes she needed that.

He might even have punished her right then and there, in traffic, fucking her face at a traffic light while the cars honked behind them. Claire remembered the time she slapped him and called him a pussy; she remembered what happened after. The way she had drunkenly stripped his sweatshirt off of her and told him she didn’t need his clothes if he was going to be a pussy around his friends. The way he had stood up, slowly, watching her the entire time. The conversations died as everyone watched him. Blake moved slowly but surely into her space, his face almost touching hers, his words calm and so quiet that it was hard to hear him over the crackling pine on the fire.

“So why am I a pussy?”

Even though she knew what was coming– didn’t know what, exactly, but knew something was coming, that he only had so much patience for her bullshit, especially when she was drunk– she couldn’t let it go. She was pretty sure that she was screaming. She may have been screaming the whole night: when she got wasted, it was hard for her to tell.

“Drew’s going on about how I’m a bitch to him, and you don’t have the balls to stand up for me ‘cause, I don’t know, you guys are bros or some shit like that. Like, fuck that noise. You shouldn’t be afraid to tell Drew that he’s being a little bitch and not me.”

As she slurred her way through her rant, Claire knew that Drew and Jordan and Sarah and the other people around the campfire were talking about her, making fun of her, but she couldn’t help it. Her eyes bore into Blake like bullets, and he looked back at her. The gasps and the laughs all around them and he didn’t care.

“Cause he is being a little bitch. He’s talking shit on me and all this, ‘I’m better than you because I’m going to college and you’re just making money’– because fuck you, Drew, I am making money while you’re off... doing...” She lost her train of thought looking for Drew around the campsite; when she couldn’t find him, she turned back, stumbling, to Blake. “Anyway, fuck Drew. I’m your fucking girlfriend! You shouldn’t be letting Drew tell me that I’m being a bitch.”

When she finished, Blake just shook his head and laughed. He didn’t look at anybody else: he didn’t care what Drew or Jordan or anyone there thought of him. He looked directly at her with his smile and his blue eyes and said, “Well, you are being a bitch.”

Almost by instinct, her hand whipped around and slapped him in the face. Throwing down a half-finished fifth of vodka, Claire whipped his sweater off her and threw it at him. “Fine, I don’t need your shit!” Blake was quick enough, he could have dodged the shirt, but he didn’t need to: the throw was wide, with half the shirt sitting on the rocks by the fire and the other half fallen into the flames. She was still screaming at him as he turned to watch the shirt he bought her on his first visit back home slowly burn away, the smell of burning perfume and cheap plastic filling the air as the logo melted into the burning logs.

The small part of her brain still sober, still functional enough to know what was coming, tried to shut her up, but Claire’s temper always won, no matter how much trouble it would get her in. Suddenly, Blake spun around, grabbing her by her ponytail and stepping in so she could taste his breathe when he spoke.

“If you’re too good for the clothes I buy you, then you’re too good for all the clothes that I buy you.” And with that, he ripped off her bra with one hand and threw it in the fire. Claire watched with horror as Blake ripped the elastic waistband on her yoga pants and peeled them off her tight legs like they were nylons. Everyone was silent as they watched. They had heard stories– from her– about her punishments, but it was something else to watch it happen. As he reached out for her panties, Claire took a half-step back– but one look at his determined eyes and her angry threats frozen in her throat, she stepped forward again.

Angry but composed, Blake stepped back as well, standing tall so his 6'4" muscular frame loomed over her. “You know what you need to do,” he said at his normal whisper. She shook her head, tears of mascara and fear rolling down her cheeks.

“I don’t want to,” she said. Her voice was soft as she stifled a sob. She couldn’t look him in the eyes, but instead stared at the shoes on their feet. Soon, she knew, those shoes would be the only clothes she’d be wearing. “I’m sorry, I–”

“Do you want me to do it for you?”

There was no threat, but she could hear the edge in his voice. The playful Blake that she liked was gone; she was facing the serious Blake, the man she feared and trusted and lusted after. He would not ask again.

“No, I can do it. I can do it.” She repeated herself as she stepped awkwardly out of her panties, tripping on the band. She was normally so graceful, but the and the tension had her off balance.

She offered the panties to Blake, but he shook his head, nodding at the fire. The forest was silent: everyone was waiting for her response. She could have said no. She knew that, just like she knew there was a part of her, still drunk, that wanted to punch Blake in his face. The same part of her that wanted to get back at Drew and Sarah for acting so superior: to shatter beer bottles on their windshield and stab their tires and throw the broken glass in their faces. The self-destructive part of her. The part Blake helped control.

Claire nodded, then dropped the panties in the fire. She remembered how much they cost when she bought them at Victoria Secret. She remembered walking by the store every day for two months because she had to work up the nerve to go inside. That had been three years ago, but she only wore them for special occasions, which meant when she wanted to tease Blake. Claire looked in the fire, but they were gone.

“Bend over and grab your ankles,” Blake said, standing behind her.

“Wha–?”

“Do you want me to do it for you?”

Claire looked around the campfire at the friends she had gone to high school with. Some, like Blake, went away to school and she only saw them a couple of times a year, at parties or trips like this. Others still lived in the area. Ian did the bodywork on her car when she grinded on a guard-railing just a few months ago. She’d just gone bar-hopping with Ashleigh for her twenty-first last week. Everyone had their eyes on her as Blake stood tall in the shadows.

Looking down at the ground, she bent over and grabbed her ankles, spreading her legs slightly for balance. As Blake wrapped his arm around her waist to help her stand, he leaned in and whispered. “I want you to look at them when you count. Do you understand?”

Claire nodded but didn’t look up. She whispered, “Yes, sir.”

“They can’t hear you,” Blake said, before his free hand came crashing down on her ass with a resounding smack.

The shock sent her head up just in time to see Ashleigh jump back from where she was sitting. The venomous part of Claire thought to herself: Bitch, it’s not like you’re the one getting smacked, but that voice was slowly getting quieter as she listened to the pain.

“I didn’t hear you,”

“Sorry, Si–”

Smack!

“Holy shit,” Ian said, watching intently. While some of the girls were horrified, all of the guys were leaning forward, trying to get a better view. Jordan wrapped his arm around Sarah’s waist, almost unconsciously, as he stared transfixed at the sight. Sarah’s hands covered her mouth in shock, but she couldn’t look away if she wanted to, either.

“Two, Sir,” Claire said, slightly louder than a whisper. She could feel her chest getting heavy as she focused on the pain, on the attention she was getting.

“Louder,” he said, only seconds before his hand struck her tight ass again.

“Three, Sir.” This time, everyone heard her. Ashleigh had gotten over her shock to pull herself back up to the campfire, while Sarah was whispering something in Jordan’s ear. Claire tried to watch her lips move as she talked, but with only the campfire, it was hard to tell.

“Yeah,” Jordan answered, “that’s what she said. Sir.”

Before she could digest this thought, she felt the next swat hard against her left cheek. It was going to be brushed tomorrow, she knew, because Blake was aiming for the same spots over and over again, and he wasn’t be gentle.

“Four, Sir,” she said, loudly now. Her head felt clearer. The constant, petty rage she felt while bored on the drive up or drunk around the campfire was gone. She didn’t care that Drew had gone away to school. She cared that Blake was gone, that he wasn’t there for her every time that she needed him or wanted him.

Smack!

“Five, Sir.”

She didn’t care that these parties were like a requiem to a friendship that ended when they all graduated. She was angry that they had moved on to something better, and she hadn’t. Every little thing that had been bothering her came sharply into focus.

Smack!

“Six, Sir.”

She didn’t trust Blake while he was away because she had made out with two guys during Ashleigh’s birthday bar crawl. She didn’t trust him because she knew he couldn’t trust her. She was worried Ashleigh was going to let the secret out.

Smack!

“Seven, Sir.”

She hated these camping trips because she hated her life, and she had to listen to all of her friends talk about how amazing their school is because of the rugby team or the skiing, or the parties, or the experiences they were having. She hated pretending she was happy about life when she was bored and tired of nothing happening.

Smack!

“Eight, Sir.”

The bruising had already started, she could feel it, but she also felt her cunt starting to drip as everyone watched her, naked, getting spanked in front of them. It was the first honest thing she had shared the whole trip. This is who she was, who she wanted to be. This is who she became when Blake was near. Not bitter. Not angry. Not ignored.

Smack!

“Nine, Sir.”

She could see Sarah pull Jordan’s hand between her legs as they both stared vacantly at her. She couldn’t tell in the dark of Sarah was wearing panties or not. Anyone could tell, though: she wouldn’t be wearing them in an hour.

Smack!

“Ten, Sir.”

“Do you still think I’m a pussy, cunt?” Blake leaned in to whisper.

“No, Sir.”

That was what Blake did: he held her responsible. He didn’t ignore her or let her get away with being a spoiled princess. He made sure she knew that she mattered to him, that he expected something from her. If he had been in the car with her when she chucked her phone at the dashboard in anger, he would not have let it go.

When she had finished screaming and crying at nobody, Claire turned off the car and picked her phone up off the floor. Surprisingly, it wasn’t cracked. She breathed a sign of relief. Her rage had broken more than one phone, and they cost too much to replace every time she had a fit. On the screen was the same picture that pissed her off in the first place: Blake, sitting on Ian’s couch drinking a beer with Ashleigh and Sarah sitting on both sides of him.

Posted on Instagram fifteen minutes ago.

He was back in town without any warning, and instead of calling her, he was hanging out with one of the biggest sluts in their circle, Ashleigh. The same Ashleigh who could have told Blake all of the things Claire had done wrong while he was away. She didn’t know what Sarah’s deal was, but she ended it with Jordan after that camping trip, so there was nothing stopping her from honing in on Blake. After the campfire scene over a year ago, parties were charged with sexual tension whenever she or Blake walked into a room. She had to change body shops because Ian didn’t want to take money for repairs anymore, and she wasn’t paying what he wanted. Blake just rolled his eyes when she said something about Ian– called him a stupid motherfucker– but now Blake was sitting on his couch.

Claire was looking for more updates on Instagram when Rihanna cut in.

Bitch better have my money!

Bitch better have my money!

She didn’t even have to check to see who was calling. Every Friday afternoon, Kirsten would call because she doesn’t want to work Friday night. She and Claire were the shift managers at Empire Jewelers, and they already alternated Fridays and Saturdays so that they still had part of a weekend to themselves– but Kirsten was always looking for more time off, especially on weekends. Claire almost didn’t answer it, but the thought of waiting to find out who her boyfriend was fucking via Instagram updates made her sick.

“Bitch.”

“Look, already, hear me out.” Kirsten always started strong. She never stopped talking until she was finished with the entire story; it was impossible to interrupt her. “So there’s this guy, alright? And he’s got money. Loads of it. So we hit it off, and he wanted to go out. Friday night. So I’m like, I’ve got to work on Friday night, how about Saturday.”

The phone has started to beep, but Kirsten doesn’t hear it. “And he says, that’s not going to work, he’s going out of town, but he really wants us to spend some time together before he goes on his business trip. So Saturday, you don’t even have to ask, Saturday, that’s your day. I don’t have any plans, and even if I did, I’d cancel them, because that’s what friends do for each other, they take care of each other. And I’m sure–” the beeping finally stopped– “that there’s something in this for you too. He’s connected. He’s got friends. Your boy’s somewhere halfway across the country or wherever, and this guy’s got money here, so I mean, you know.” The beeping started again; it took everything within Claire not to scream. “There are advantages, you know, to this deal. I can definitely make it up to you. What do you say?”

Before Claire could say anything, the phone beeped again in her ear.

“Fuck. Look, I’m going to have to call you back. There’s someone on the other line.”

“But–” Claire hung up before Kirsten could protest, hoping the phone would stop ringing. She checked the messages:

TWO MISSED CALLS

IAN

“Right. You can go fuck yourself, you fucking asshat, assho–” The screen blinked mid-sentence.

ONE NEW MESSAGE

“Hey Claire, its me.” Blake! She wasn’t sure whether to be excited or angry. Did he want to talk to her or was he just covering his tracks because his party pictures blowing up her feed? His voice was, like always in public, casual, non-committal. “I’m at Ian’s. My car broke down, so he had it towed and he’s looking at it right now. You should come over. I want you.” Claire could hear Ashleigh’s voice in the background before Blake hung up.

The anger she felt balling up within her changed shape, but didn’t shrink. So he probably wasn’t fucking around with Sarah and Ashleigh. It was still a typical Blake message: no warning, no explanation, no ‘I love you.’ It was infuriating the way that he simply expected her to drop everything– or worse, to have no life or plans of her own– just so she could spend time with him. She normally– almost always– had Fridays off, but there were days when she had to switch with Kirsten, or days when she went out clubbing with friends. He still took her for granted, Claire thought, didn’t bother to consider her own needs because he thought his needs were more important.

Bitch better have my money!

Bitch better have my money!

Claire looked at her phone.