Clean Conscience
by Nelson
He knew.
He knew! But how? I certainly hadn't told him. Definitely not. No, I thought back over the day and was sure of it. I hadn't given myself away at all. Then I remembered: Nelson had called earlier and Vic had been nondescript in the reason for the call. It had to be Zach. He tells me to take it to my grave then crumbles? It was *just* like Zach. I swore to myself I was going to seriously hurt him one day and that –
"And I'm not going to say it again."
My heart skipped a beat and I crossed my arms protectively. "What?" I managed to squeak.
"The paper boy. I'm not telling him again not to toss the paper in my flower beds."
I blew out enough air to flatten my lungs. "Oh. Yeah."
Vic was looking at me suspiciously, wearing that expression that sent cold fingers of ice tapping out a tune down my spine. He studied me over his morning paper, the corner tipped so he could see me just so. I swallowed hard, but controlled it to keep from gulping.
"Ben? You okay?"
"What do you mean?" I asked. I quickly unfolded my arms and sipped my coffee, trying to look as casual as possible.
"I mean you're awfully tense or something. Do you have something on your mind?"
There went the eyebrow. The one over his right eye. It crept up his forehead accusingly, condemning me for the error of my ways.
What to do, what to do?! If I caved right then, I knew what would happen. If I waited, I could at least put it off a little longer depending on how long Vic could keep putting up with the charade.
Was a charade the same as a lie? God, my stomach curled up in a ball and squeezed. Lying was bad news. Bad!
"No, nothing's on my mind," I said, lying again. I tried to ignore all the guilt and baggage that came with it, shoving it all into a tiny compartment and slamming the lid closed.
Vic frowned at me over the paper. He was getting fed up. It was all over his face and his posture.
"You're sure?" he asked me.
Damn. He would use that against me later. I was sure of it. I could just hear him reminding me that he gave me more than one opportunity to confess. My hands turned clammy while the blood rushed to my internal organs to sooth my nerves.
"Positive," I said, as unsure as I could be.
He nodded without losing eye contact then went back to his paper. I felt a sense of relief at not having to talk or anything. I was struggling to act natural and talking seemed to make it harder. Vic folded the newspaper up and laid it on the table.
"Well, we'd better get moving before we sit here all day," he said, putting his cup in the sink.
I followed suit and said, "I'm going to shower."
He patted my butt as I turned from the sink and I almost found myself plastered to the ceiling with my fingertips buried in the sheetrock like a frightened cat in a Looney Tunes cartoon.
It was a warning pat, I just knew it. A reminder of things to come. "Don't put it off," it said. "Get it over with," it said. "You know what you should do," it said. "Don't disappoint me," it said.
“No need to throw yourself under the bus prematurely,” another little voice said to me. A voice embodied by red skin and horns.
The angel beside my right ear countered, “You should confess. You know he knows. You can see it in his eyes.”
I told the angel to shut the fuck up, satisfying the devil on my shoulder, and scurried to the quiet and privacy of the master bathroom. I was anxious for the solitude of my shower where I hoped the sound of running water would shut both the devil and the angel up. I was trapped in the middle! Trapped period. I was on my own despite feeling pulled by differing advice.
I pulled the curtain closed and turned on the tap, leaving the water to warm up while I stripped. I sought counsel in the bathroom mirror, my image accusing me as much as Vic’s eyes had.
"What should I do?" I asked myself quietly.
Green eyes glared back at me, offering the unspoken sage advice that I should clear the air, tell my partner what he already knew. Vic was clearly waiting for me to confess, apparently thinking that it was important in this case. Well, he could just wait.
"I'm not telling on myself," I told the man in the mirror. "I don't care what you think."
Giving the finger to my idiot double as a wave goodbye, I turned from the vanity and stepped into the shower. As the heated spray pelted my face, I closed my eyes and stepped into it so the water could run over my hair.
He was taunting me. No doubt about it. Damn it, that was just wrong! There should be a rule about that! Would I be allowed to taunt him?? I snorted at my own question. “Hell no” was the answer to that, hands down, hell no. He would call it pushing, and I'm not allowed to push. Ha!
How was it that *he* could push, *taunt* even?! How could he expect more of me than he did himself? I decided right then and there that I would bring that up first thing. It was cruel! Not to mention it would buy me some time. Talk about being in a catch 22. The proverbial rock and a hard place.
Admitting guilt meant sure doom. Well, he could taunt me all night and I wasn't telling him squat! I was going to beat him at his little game! The end result was the same no matter how the rest played out so what difference did it make? I was saving my butt – literally – for as long as I possibly could.
"Benji?"
Dear God, I jumped a mile. Taunting *and* sneaking up on me?? Where would it end?
My breath came back to me and my heart started beating again after about 5 seconds of flatlined stillness. I refused to let him know he scared the crap out of me.
"What?" I answered sweetly.
"I've got your dirty clothes. I'm starting a load of whites unless you need darks or colors."
He poked his head around the corner of the curtain and scared the crap out of me again. It was a good thing I wasn't wearing my underwear or there would have been no question which load needed doing.
"Vic?! What are you doing?" I asked and he winked at me. More taunting!
"Just checking on you." He looked me up and down appreciatively. I wasn’t buying it for a second. A distraction, that’s what that was.
"I'm fine," I said. "The whites are fine."
"Are you sure you’re ok?" he asked, looking me up and down again, but this time with an air of concern. Or was it cunning?
I usually enjoy it when he's admiring my body, but this felt investigative or something. Not sexy at all.
"I told you, I'm fine."
"Are you sure? You didn't burn down someone’s house? Rob a bank? Trash my car or anything last night?" he asked, his ebony eyes burning holes in my conscience.
Jeezo Pete. “Why would you ask that?”
“No reason. Just trying to think of what you might have done to make you so jumpy.”
“Oh, really?” I asked, water pummeling the side of my head. I stepped aside slightly so I could keep the water out of my eyes, let alone my ears. “Why are you so suspicious?” I parried. “Why do you automatically think I’ve done something?”
He chuckled. “No need to get your dander up, Benji. I’m not being suspicious, I was only teasing. But you do seem off or something today.”
“Thanks?” I asked sarcastically.
He laughed again and said, “Never mind. I’m off to get the laundry started.”
How could he laugh like that? He didn’t care that I was in trouble or that he was allowing me to dig myself deeper. Weren't Alphas supposed to try to keep their partners *out* of trouble?
I could just hear the conversation we’d be having.
“Would you like to tell me why you chose to keep this to yourself, young man?” I mimicked him silently in the shower.
“Yeah, to keep you from killing me.” I answered myself, rolling my eyes.
I was SO dead.
I finished my shower and dried off, choosing a comfortable pair of cut-offs and an old t-shirt to knock around in. Vic was putting his shoes on when I got downstairs. We were almost dressed alike, Vic in his favorite cut-offs and his –
Crap! His yard working clothes! He was going to punish me before the real punishment by making me work outside! “What are you doing?” I asked.
“I want to plant some pansies today before it gets too hot. Want to ride with me to Home Depot?”
“Vic! I just showered! I don’t want to work in the yard.”
“Ride with me, grumpy. I won’t ask you to do much more than keep me company.”
All aboard for the Guilt Trip Express. I was supposed to stand there and watch him work? Yeah, right. First of all, since when does that ever happen? Second of all, I'm not an asshole. I couldn't watch him work and not help him.
“You don't need my help?”
“Not this time. I enjoy planting and it’s a small spot. Get your shoes on so we can go. We’ll take my car.”
Not the SUV! Anything but the SUV!
“Let me drive,” I said calmly.
“Why?”
There he went again. The question mark hung in the air like barroom smoke. His eyebrows went up and I realized I had waited too long.
“Because,” I said creatively. It was all I could think of on short notice!
“Because why?”
“I just feel like driving. Is that ok?” I asked.
He frowned at me, disbelieving. “Go get your shoes.”
Was that a yes or a no? I couldn’t tell. I hurried to get my shoes on before he got behind the wheel. If I got there first, he wouldn’t push me out of the way. Would he?
I rushed down the stairs and said a breathless, “Ready.”
I purposely got in front of him and scurried to the driver’s side.
”Whoa,” he said, grabbing the tail of my t-shirt. “Where’s the fire?”
At the base of this stake I’m tied to. My feet are already getting hot.
I held out one hand for the keys, my other hand resting possessively on the driver’s side door. He looked at me suspiciously then handed me the keys, if not somewhat reluctantly.
“Fine. I’ll let you chauffer me.” He dropped the keys into my hand then whistled some tune on his walk to the other side of the SUV.
One hurdle down. We went to Home Depot and decided on a mixture of purple and yellow pansies. Vic went to load them into the SUV and I stopped for a drink at the machine. $1.25 for a soda is highway robbery, by the way, but a bargain when you’re thirsty. I almost sucked my first swig down my windpipe when I recognized the back of Vic's head through the rear glass of the SUV - *on* the driver's side! I wasn’t fast enough! I didn’t think I needed to hurry since I had driven out. It only made sense that I would drive home! It was like calling shotgun. Once called, it’s in stone for the duration of the applicable trip. Everyone knows that. Everyone except possibly Vic, unless it was a planned move. A strategy designed to make me fold.
I opened the driver’s side door and said, “I’m driving, remember?”
“I’m already in. Keys,” he said.
Ominously. That’s how he said it. He was going to make me tell him one way or the other.
“But, Vic – “
“Keys, Benji. Let’s go.”
Damn. I dug in my pocket and retrieved the keys, passing them to my sneaky partner. He didn’t say anything at first but once he got going down the road with some speed behind him, he frowned at the wheel.
“Did you notice the alignment?” he asked.
“Notice what?” I prevaricated.
“My car is out of alignment. Big time. You didn’t notice that at all?”
“I don’t drive your car that often. Figured it was normal.”
God. That might be construed as a lie! I couldn’t take it back. The fire was licking at my feet and the smoke was making it hard to breathe. I was so close to cracking. I held on, wishing to turn the clock back 24 hours and change my decision from the night before so I wouldn't be in this position.
“You drove it last night. Was it normal then?” he asked.
That was the last straw. I was stuck like a bear in a trap. It was time for this to be over, good or bad. Good – ha! I knew it would be bad but Vic had practically laid out the red carpet for me. There was no way I could play dumb any longer, especially knowing that he knew. One of us had to quit acting like we were none the wiser, and if I didn’t go first, it would be much worse later.
“How much longer are you going to pretend not to know?” I asked, jumping into the deep end of the pool. I wasn’t even holding my nose.
“Pretend not to know what? About the alignment?”
“Come on, Vic. You know what,” I said in a huff. “I’m sick of you toying with me about it.”
“About what?” he said levelly, cutting his eyes toward me across the SUV.
That was the second time he had asked me what I was talking about. Vic never lied to me. Never. If he asked me twice what I was talking about…
My suspicious mind did a fast back-pedal as the clarity of the situation began to take form. Could it be?
“About last night?” I offered carefully.
“What about last night?”
Aw, crap. I was really beginning to fear that Vic didn’t know anything. But he had to know! I could tell by the way he was acting all day! Nelson –
“I know Nelson called you this morning,” I countered.
“Yes, he did. He called me but not about anything that happened last night. *What* do I need to know?” he asked, spitting out the first word of that question like a gunshot. He was losing patience.
If I couldn’t tell that by his tone, his expression said it all. His eyebrows were pulled down so low they were practically touching his nose. A dark storm cloud had settled over his face and he was about to blow.
“He -- he really didn’t say anything?”
“Not about last night, he didn't. Now spill it, Benjamin.”
Fuck, fuck and triple fuck with a cherry on top. He didn’t know! My stupid guilty conscience had been in overdrive and the angel on my shoulder went an extra step from urging me to tell: he tricked me into it! I mentally thumped it in the head and hoped it got an Excedrine-sized headache.
“I had a little –“ I stammered. “Well, it's just that -- It was nothing major, only – “
I didn’t know how to say it! It was one thing to think he already knew all the details. Quite another to have to confess all to my unsuspecting partner. God! My tongue was in about three knots and was having trouble functioning. “I won’t give you away!” it said to me protectively.
“It was what, Benjamin? Does this have anything to do with why my SUV is pulling to the right?”
“It might,” I said.
“Might or does?”
“Maybe it does?” I answered.
“What did you do?”
“I… I um…” I stopped stumbling over my words, trying to sort my thoughts. Vic was eerily quiet, not pushing me to tell, not offering any words of encouragement, not any help whatsoever.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. In the face of Vic’s ire, my chicken-shit tongue quit protecting me and started to work again. “I took a shortcut last night that might have done it.”
“Elaborate,” he growled.
Elaborate. I didn’t want to elaborate! That meant telling more detail and I didn’t want to do that.
“Um…” My voice died in the car, swallowed by road noise and the engine's hum. Vic wasn’t noisy, though. Not in the least. He was silent as a tomb.
I could see the inscription: Here lies Benjamin Monroe. Boy was I dead.
“I guess I might have run over a median,” I said.
"Might have or did?"
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Did?"
"You did."
"Yes?"
“By accident?” he queried.
Hell, if he hadn’t asked that one, he might have assumed I turned short or something! But since he asked…
"Uh..." I stammered then cleared my throat to buy some time.
"By. Accident," he repeated shortly.
“Not uh…not exactly.”
“How, exactly?” he pressed.
"It was so much farther the other way, I uh –" I faltered. "And it was closer to… to uh…to take a… a shortcut."
"You -- you drove over a *median* for a shortcut?!" he bellowed.
His voice hit a Vic-like pitch and I waited to see if any of the windows cracked. “What were you thinking!” he demanded to know.
“That I wanted to get out of the parking lot faster! You know how the parking lot is at Starbucks!” I snapped back.
"That does not give you the right to make your own roadway to cut drive time," he said tightly.
"Well, maybe not, but this *thing* you call an SUV should have been able to handle it. If you’re going to be mad at anyone, make it Ford, because this is a sorry excuse for an SUV if it can’t handle a little bump. A *tiny* bump!”
“Don’t even begin to blame this on Ford. This has nothing to do with them,” he said tersely.
“Oh, sure, take their side,” I offered, as much a victim as I could be. “It’s bad enough I got chewed out by that stupid cop--”
“The *cops* saw you?” he asked incredulously. “How much was the ticket?”
Aw, crap. Did I say cop?!
“I didn’t get a ticket," I said quickly. "It was just a rent-a-cop, but he pulled me over and ranted at me.”
“So. When were you planning to tell me about your little escapade?”
I knew this would be the bigger issue to Vic; that I had not only driven his car recklessly, but that I decided that the fact I did it was on a need to know basis.
And Vic didn’t need to know.
“You weren’t going to tell me, were you?” he asked.
Aw, hell.
“Why would I?” I said in a panicked rush. “To get myself in trouble? I knew you’d have a kitten if you knew, and it isn’t any big deal. I have an appointment to get it fixed tomorrow.”
“Why wouldn’t I have a kitten, Benjamin? Because my partner runs over medians impulsively because he’s got so little patience he can’t drive around one then decides to hide it from me?”
I hate when he gets sassy like that.
“I didn’t think it would knock the car out of alignment,” I mumbled quietly.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said in clipped tones. “You had no business doing it or keeping it from me.”
And that was that. I couldn’t say a thing. I knew it was impulsive. It happened before I thought. Keeping it from Vic, well, that was premeditated for obvious reasons.
I thought back to the events that lead me to this unfortunate point in my life while we drove the rest of the way home. I wished for about the 50th time that things had gone differently. I also wished to get my hands on whatever idiot designed the parking lot at the strip mall for developing such an idiotic layout.
Zach and I came to the end of the row we were traveling and could see the exit lane a mere two car lengths from us, but cut off by a median. It was like a freaking maze in there, and I was always ending up somewhere that led nowhere.
“I hate this parking lot,” I had grumbled, slamming the transmission into reverse. “This happens all the time.”
Zach, claiming later he was joking, said, “Too bad you can’t drive straight through,” while he pointed toward the impeding median.
In a moment of bravado, daring, or more likely stupidity, I answered, “Why can’t I?”
He said, grinning, “No way.”
Then I did it. I dropped it into low gear and I did it. I was proud of myself until I got pulled over by Kojerk. Then far less proud when I felt the SUV pulling to the right when I got back out on the road.
Now I was feeling like a snail. More like something a snail crawled through. Vic had trusted me with his SUV and I didn’t take care of it. Then I kept it a secret from him to try to save my butt.
I didn’t feel but so bad for that last part. Self-preservation is something we're all born with, so why should I feel bad for letting nature take its course? Yet, I did, no matter how much I tried not to.
We pulled into the garage and he shut off the engine. I had barely put my hand to the door handle when he spoke. “Go upstairs and wait for me.”
God, how I hated those words! My butt and stomach clenched one after the other with the realization that I was about to get it. But good.
I got out of the car as fast as I could and away from Vic’s accusing eyes, closing myself in our room to await my doom. I used the quiet to focus on my strategy, and I spent the entire time planning.
Apologize. I hadn’t said I was sorry! Or had I? I couldn't remember but it wouldn't hurt to say it again. I would apologize profusely and beg forgiveness first thing. Remind him I planned to have the alignment fixed and pay for it myself.
But what about when he asked why I didn’t tell him again? I knew he would; that was, after all, the bigger issue. So why? Because it didn’t seem like that big of a deal? No. Because I didn’t want to worry him with it? No. Because it slipped my mind? Nah. Steer clear of any of those excuses, I told myself. None would go over well.
Because I knew he’d be mad? Maybe.
I started piecing together what I would say. I wouldn’t say too much, I decided; just the facts, ma’am, just the facts. The more said, the more rope to hang me with. “It happened quickly, I would get it fixed.” That’s it. No, stick to “sorry, it happened, I’ll get it fixed”. Really sorry. “Sorry it happened, I’ll get it fixed,” I repeated over and over in my head while I waited.
By the time he came upstairs, I had it down pat. By the time Vic stood in front of me demanding an explanation, I was a blithering idiot and couldn’t get my thoughts straightened out. Instead of a well-designed response, every excuse that had come to mind came flowing out of my mouth like a freaking fountain.
“I’m sorry, Vic,” I blurted. “It just didn’t seem like a big deal and I didn’t want to worry you and I was going to fix it and *pay* for it even and just didn’t think about it anymore, I mean, I knew I was fixing it so why bother you and besides, I knew you’d be mad at me and look, I was right because you *are* mad and I can’t do anything to stop it and – “
“That’s enough!” he ground out. “Whether or not you thought it was worth telling me, doesn’t excuse the fact that you didn’t. You had no business driving like that or keeping it from me and you know it without me having to tell you. Get up.”
“But I said I’m sorry, Vic! I’ll get it fixed!” I said as I rose from my seat.
“You better believe you will.”
He sat in my place on the bed and told me to drop my shorts, totally ignoring my words of heartfelt contrition as they fell on deaf ears.
He said, “There is no excuse, Benjamin. None.”
Then why did he ask for an explanation right off the bat??
I had barely shucked my shorts down my legs when he tugged me across his big thighs. “Not only is there no excuse, you knew better,” he fussed at me.
He hooked the elastic of my underwear and pulled my boxers out of his way, baring my lilywhite behind to the world. Well, to the bedroom anyway, and lilywhite only for the moment. A very brief moment because he started smacking my butt right away, slow and hard, sending bursts of pain to my toes.
“Even if you didn’t know not to make your own shortcuts,” he said while whacking my rearend, “you know you should have told me you messed up my car.”
“I’m sorry!” I squelched while I could still talk.
“Don’t you EVER,” he said with a punctuating swat, “drive over MEDIANS intentionally again.”
“I won’t! I swear!” I promised fervently.
He kept on lecturing and spanking me at the same time, and soon enough, the floor went blurry as my eyes filled. Just in case it made a difference, I kept on apologizing until I couldn’t say anything else.
I sobbed like a baby, my butt alight as Vic continued to crank up the heat. By the time he was finished with me, I felt thoroughly punished. I slipped to my knees and buried my head in his lap, while he stroked my hair waiting for me to get it all out of my system. After a few minutes, he pulled me onto his lap and I carefully leaned my weight on my hip to keep my tortured butt off the rough denim of his shorts.
My own shorts got kicked off somewhere in the process. I didn’t know where they ended up and I didn’t care. I gripped his neck for dear life and sniveled on his shoulder while he petted me and waited for me to catch my breath.
Finally, I managed to apologize again, this time more coherently and not with the main purpose to stop him from swatting my butt.
“It’s ok,” he said. “You’re still going to take the car in for realignment and you’re going to pay for it. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” I sniffed.
“And no driving for a week,” he added.
I normally would have protested but at that point in time, whatever Vic wanted, Vic would get. I wasn’t inclined to argue with him over anything. If he had said the sky was purple, I’d have said, “And what a lovely shade of purple it is.”
“You’re better off to tell me these things, Benji, than to let them fester and me find out later.”
Sure, far better off, I thought. I’m positive it would have ended differently had I told him before. Yeah, right. Me and my butt knew better, but we weren’t saying anything.
“You still would have been spanked,” Vic said, probably reading my thoughts, “but you wouldn’t have worried about it all last night and today. It would have been over with.”
Oh. Yeah. Well, that I could buy.
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
“It’s ok. It’s a thing of the past.”
“I thought you knew and you were tormenting me,” I said.
He laughed.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, hurt that he’d find my predicament amusing.
“Benji, have you ever known me not to deal with something as quickly as possible?”
“Well…” I thought about it for a second and honestly couldn’t think of a time when he had done that. “No, I guess not. But you were saying things and acting like you knew.”
“No, I wasn’t.” He tapped my temple and said with a smile, “Guilty conscience.”
Damn conscience.
“I guess.”
“Next time, listen to it. I’m sure it was telling you to tell me and get it over with.”
“Yeah, but my conscience isn’t the one with a sore butt right now. Never is.”
Vic laughed again, but I didn’t still didn’t see anything funny. “Maybe not, but I’ll bet it was hurting before.” He leaned close to my ear and added quietly, his voice deep and soothing, “I’ll bet something else: it’s clear now.”
Vic was right; my conscience was clear as crystal. While I was still plenty sore on the outside, I felt purged inside.
“Yeah, it is,” I admitted. “But my butt still hurts.”
“Good,” he chuckled heartlessly. “Then maybe you’ll think next time and save me and your conscience the trouble of pointing out where you went wrong.”
Sure. I could guarantee I wouldn’t be driving over medians any time soon.
At least, not for the next week.
End
