The Darkness Within

by Taylor K. Scott

  “You ok?” Bowie asks me through tight lips and with a stern stare, but all I can do is nod, then shake my head before I bolt for the door.

  I let the tears fall more rigorously, together with a few audible sobs, as I push through the sweaty bodies lining the staircase, through the thumping beat of the music, and out into the night air where I gasp repeatedly, trying to take everything in. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Mercy making out with a guy dressed as a cop and realize this is my fault. I should never have come here; this just isn’t me.

  Just as I catch my breath and come to a decision to get out of here, a heavy hand clasps down onto my shoulder, scaring me into spinning around to face whatever new hell has now befallen me. I’m met with a stony expression with angry eyes and a tight-lipped mouth, all judging me for allowing myself to get into that position in the first place.

  “What the hell did you expect, Fridge?!” Bowie growls at me in such a way, others are now turning to watch. “You come over, dressed like that, you’re asking for guys to try and jump you!”

  I take a few moments to think, to give myself the time to sort through my overwhelmed emotions, because right now my feelings of shock and shame are suddenly being sideswiped by anger. Heat hits my cheeks, and I must look like I’m blushing through embarrassment, but what they don’t know, what he doesn’t know, is I’m now raging inside.

  “What.The.Fuck?” I ask with eerie quietness. At first, Bowie looks shocked by my confrontational reaction but soon returns to his domineering and arrogant composure.

  “You can’t come to a party looking like that, knowing that the guy is crazy about you and not expect him to try something?!”

  Our outside audience appears to be taking sides in our public altercation, with some of them nodding with Bowie and casting judgmental eyes over my appearance, while others are looking outraged at him for trying to imply that I deserve to be disrespected. And there’s no rhyme or reason as to who is taking which side; boys, girls, introverts, extroverts, drunk, sober, you couldn’t call it either way just by looking at who they are. To be honest, it’s just the reassurance I need to let him have it.

  “Hey!” I shout, “Unless I’m wearing a sign which says, ‘Permission to Touch’, you fucking well know you shouldn’t. I can wear what I damn well like and if I choose to wear anything other than a nun’s habit, then that’s my prerogative. No one asks to be assaulted by what they wear and if a man decides to take advantage, then that’s his failure, not mine. Now fuck off, GI Joe!”

  I turn to stomp across the back yard and listen to some of those who were clearly on my side cheer me on.

  That felt good!

  Chapter 15

  Amelia

  I climb through the broken fence panel and into the comfort of my own back yard, away from the sweaty bodies, the judgment, the booze, and the atmosphere that makes your best friend believe it’s ok to take advantage of you. The soft lighting from my living room beckons me with welcoming arms, promising safety, relief, and my comfy pajamas.

  I don’t hang about as I stride across the grass, gasping for my safety retreat, and a tub of Ben and Jerrys, where I will no doubt cry over everything that’s come to pass. Of course, my mother’s ridiculous shoes get stuck in the mud and after trying to lift them out with a few expletives, but getting nowhere fast, I step out barefoot and leave them behind.

  My hand reaches over the handle to the living room door but before I’m able to pull down, a much larger one covers it with a warmth I’m unfamiliar with. After everything that’s taken place tonight, my initial reaction is to gasp and jump in shock, but when I look up into the eyes of the person said hand belongs to, I’m surprised to find Bowie. Not only that, but he’s looking at me with such intensity, my heart begins pounding rapidly against my chest.

  I furrow my brow at his pensive expression, just before his tongue darts out and his eyes move to my parted lips. Still confused, I hold my breath as he moves his only free hand up to cup my cheek, gently, softly, then looks back into my eyes again, as if asking for some sort of silent permission. Without any thought process behind it, I nod with a subtle move of my head before he leans in and presses his lips against mine.

  Ho-lee shit!

  This is what tingles should feel like when you kiss someone; these are definitely good tingles. His lips are soft, caressing, and I feel like I’m everything I should be with him. Having only fake kissed Gabe and uncomfortably given into kissing Matt, I’m not ashamed to admit that I have little to no experience in this, but I’m enjoying it. So much so, I instinctively reach my hands up around his neck. His hand moves from mine, to the small of my back, where he pulls me in closer towards him.

  This time, I move willingly, and I don’t wince when I feel his hardness move up against me. He runs his tongue along my bottom lip and when I let him in, we kiss each other with everything we have; all the hatred, all the tension, all the time we’ve spent getting at one another.

  As he lifts me from the ground, I wrap my legs around his waist, inviting him to carry me inside, where he kicks the door closed with his heavy army boot. Things are moving quickly, and I’m soon placed on top of the breakfast bar where he begins kissing, sucking, and nibbling along my jaw and down my neck, as though I’m the first meal he’s had in days. I whimper when he grinds himself into me while simultaneously throwing my head back, so he has easier access to my neck, my collar bone, any piece of exposed skin.

  “Do you want me to stay, Fridge?” he breathes heavily, then continues his oral massage. “Cos one thing I don’t do, is force myself on anyone.”

  “I do… but…” I say in between kissing him.

  God, what the holy hell am I doing with Bowie Phillips of all people?!

  “But what, Fridge?” he asks, moving back from me and looking softly but no less seriously, into my eyes. “You gotta say, sweetheart.”

  “I don’t want you to be horrible to me, to hold this over my head for however long,” I admit with the only clear answer I have in me. The rest of my thoughts are a muddle, a lust-filled blur. Call me insane, but I’ve been crushing on this hate-filled boy ever since I turned fifteen, and God only knows why because he’s admitted to not liking me on countless occasions.

  “I never kiss and tell,” he whispers, now holding my chin between his finger and thumb. I have to give him his due here, Bowie rarely talks about specific girls he’s been with, so it’s enough for my weak will to fall away completely. “So, do you want me to stay?”

  I nod slowly and the butterflies in my stomach bypass dancing around. Instead, the bastards are practically raving down there. Especially when he lifts me down from the bar, complete in my shoeless state and I suddenly feel tiny and fragile compared to him.

  “Then lead the way, Amelia!”

  With trembling fingers, I take his hand and lead him up to my room, still decorated in Harry Potter posters I haven’t even bothered to take down, plus the odd teddy sitting in quiet corners, reminding me of childhood. Thankfully, he can’t see any of this because the moon is shining so brightly, I don’t even bother to turn the light on; the luminosity from its fullness sheds plenty of light over my bed. Besides, I certainly don’t want to see any more than I already can. I’m nervous enough as it is.

  Bowie drops my hand before leaning down to pull off those monstrous army boots, then tugs his vest over his head, leaving me to drink in the sight of him in just his khaki pants and mock dog tags. His football body muscles flex and strain under his tanned skin as he pulls me in closer to kiss. As if sensing my anxiety, he is gentler, more tender, like he’s realizing what I’m about to give and is exercising a level of patience I’m not used to from him. His hand cups around my neck as I unbutton my shirt and push the fabric away to reveal my skin, now goose-pimply with nerves. My fingers stop working on their own, so he kneels before me, kissing over my abs as he unclasps my bra with little to no effort and exposing my nudity.

  He massages my flesh and takes my pert buds be
tween his teeth, sucking and biting, with a strange kind of pain that feels nice. I moan involuntarily, making me blush as I run my fingers through his hair, just so I feel like I’m a part of this and not a stiff doll who is too terrified to move. He then moves south and pulls my skirt and panties off, all in one go, until I am eventually completely naked before him. Having had no level of experience in this at all, and based on Mercy’s many recounts of her experiences, I thought he’d jump on me after that. Instead, he leans back to look me up and down. His gaze is intense and leaves me feeling exposed.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I whisper.

  “Like what?” he asks and steps forward to run the side of his hand through my thighs, so they are parted before him.

  “Like you’ve never seen a naked woman before. You must have seen plenty of naked girls.” I smile uncomfortably at the thought.

  “I haven’t seen your naked body before,” he replies, and without a hint of animosity behind it.

  I frown over his answer, for it’s not what I was expecting, especially from Bowie of all people. I always thought he would be impersonal about sex, seeing it as something physical and nothing more, but the way he’s looking at me, the way he’s taking his time is blowing my preconceived ideas to shit.

  His hands stroke over my hips and thighs, forcing me back into the moment with his careful touch and tender movements, just as he looks intensely between them. My breathing is erratic as I fight the urge to close off my vulnerability before him, but before I can, his face sinks in between them, where he begins to kiss me, there, in my most sensitive area. I gasp audibly as I grip hold of his shoulders, feeling them flex as he continues to do unspeakable things to me in a place I never expected him to ever go. My shocked reaction has him chuckling in a low growl, sounding both lusty and amused at the same time.

  “Did Gabe never kiss you here, sweetheart?” Oh God, he thinks I’m…experienced! I shake my head rapidly as he looks back up at me for a moment with a huge grin all over his face, clearly enjoying the fact he’s delivering a first for me. “He’s a fucking idiot then, Amelia. You taste sweet!”

  I cringe over his words, but he can’t see it. He’s already back between my thighs, continuing his heavenly touch on me, using his tongue and fingers to push me to the brink, before what feels like an explosion going off inside of me.

  “Oh my God!” I gasp as I shudder, with my breathing sounding beyond pitched.

  Bowie stands, before pulling the rest of his clothes off so I can see all of him in the moonlight. His erection is pointing straight towards me and it looks huge, so much so, I must look pretty fucking nervous. He takes hold of me gently inside of his arms with confusion written all over his face.

  “Babe, have you never orgasmed before?” I bite my lip as I shake my head and he smiles. “What the hell was that guy doing?” He kisses me softly before pushing me down onto my bed where he climbs between my legs. We kiss while he moves his hardness against my core, making that building sensation grow inside of me again, lulling me into believing this won’t be so bad. “I’ll make it good for you,” he whispers as he leans over to put a condom on. Watching him with trepidation, I realize this is about to get real.

  “Bowie,” I whisper when panic begins to settle inside of me. Not because I want this to stop, but because I’m not exactly giving him the true extent of my inexperience here. He pauses with the tip of his manhood resting against my entrance and with a look of sincere concern written all over his face. “Please don’t be rough with me!”

  “Amelia, I would never hurt you during sex,” he says, stroking the backs of his fingers over my cheek in such a way I feel more at ease and trusting that I’ll be safe with him. “Relax, I got you.”

  We kiss for a while, with him trying to relax me and me trying to feel calmer. Then he grabs each of my hands in his and throws them over his back before gripping hold of me around mine, bringing us that much closer together. He deepens our kiss and I brace myself for what’s coming next, for when he finally thrusts himself right inside of me. And my God, when he does, it hurts like a bitch!

  I swallow back a sharp intake of breath as he moves all the way in, making my insides feel like they’re on fire. At this moment, I’m glad it’s dark because, otherwise, he would see my entire face screwed up in pain.

  “You ok?” he asks gently with a hint of confusion again. “Did you not do this much with Gabe?”

  “He…he just wasn’t as big as you are,” I lie…or not. I have no idea.

  He chuckles ever so slightly over my inadvertent compliment, which was only given to mask my inexperience, but then he kisses my cheek before rocking gently against me. Slow, gentle rocking that doesn’t make it any more or any less painful, it just is. Over what feels like a long time to me, his rocking becomes more rigorous, more urgent, and his breathing more erratic, with him apparently enjoying the motions.

  “Babe, I’m not going to last much longer with you; you feel too good,” he whispers. In my head, I tell him I’m more than fine with that because this damn well hurts.

  Instead of telling him this, however, I nod and tilt my pelvis, trying to make this feel less like someone is stabbing me, though, it doesn’t do much good. He nuzzles into my neck and begins to move with deeper, more rapid movements, and although it still hurts, I finally begin to feel myself relax a little. He keeps moving and even though he said he wouldn’t last long, he seems to be lasting pretty well and good to me. The only thing keeping me going is listening to him moaning, making me feel smug over the fact I’m obviously doing something right to warrant such a reaction from him.

  “Fuck, you’re so good…so good,” he hisses. “Millie, God, I want you so bad!” he grinds through clenched teeth.

  Finally, I whimper as he throbs inside of me. I have a feeling he must have climaxed because he growls out loud, then, after a few more thrusts, relaxes his whole body onto his elbows. He rests on them for a while, presumably trying not to release his whole weight on top of me.

  Soon after, he’s peppering me with kisses all over my face and down my neck, and although I’m smiling over his affection, I’m also a little lost over it. It’s unexpected because I’ve pretty much reasoned that this is just a fuck session for him, nothing more. For me, I don’t know what this is. I’m not certain of my rationale behind it. Maybe because I’m lonely, desperate for affection, desperate for the boy I’ve been crushing on. For him to finally see beyond the lies he was fed, beyond my brother, beyond his sister, and to see me. Who knows, probably just stupidity.

  Eventually, without looking at me or saying a single word, he gets up and goes to my bathroom, then closes the door behind him. I pull the covers up to my neck, hiding underneath it and fully expecting him to come out, get dressed and leave. He might offer a few frugal words, but probably none at all. It’s going to be more painful than him destroying my hymen, but I’m ready for it. I just want it over and done with, like ripping off a band-aid.

  Bowie’s tall, naked body exits the bathroom, and I can’t seem to take my eyes away as he walks towards his clothes, looks over to me, and continues to pace towards the bed. I’m shocked when he climbs back in next to me and pulls me close into his chest, kissing me tenderly before linking his legs between mine and holding me tight against his warm body. No words are exchanged, and I only breathe easily again when I notice his eyes are closed and his own breathing tells me he’s fallen asleep.

  As I release a long breath, I stare up at him for a while, only now acknowledging the painful throb between my legs. However, my heart and head are happy because he’s here and he’s staying. Unconsciousness claims me not long after and I have a dreamless sleep.

  Morning arrives with a myriad of thoughts, all vying for my attention, however, I’m too startled to think clearly about any one of them. All I know is that I’m currently tangled up in a tall, broad football player and I have a desperate urge to pee. Bowie’s arm is resting lazily over my shoulder, his hand wrapped
up in my long hair, and my back is molded against his chest which is still breathing deeply in and out while he sleeps soundly from behind me.

  My face feels itchy from last night’s makeup and my teeth could certainly do with a good clean. I shuffle, trying to disentangle myself from his limbs, but I still end up waking him with a start.

  “Fuck!” he gasps in a croaky voice.

  His first word causes me to jump back with confusion written all over my face over his outburst. He finally looks right back at me before swinging his legs over the side of the bed, resting his face sadly into his hands, like he’s just made the biggest fuck up in the history of fuck ups.

  “What the hell have I done?” he sighs loudly. “You’re Matt’s girl. I am such an asshole!”

  It’s the brutality I was expecting from him last night, he’s merely prolonged it; lulled me into a false sense of security before delivering the gut-wrenching blow. The desperate need to cry weighs heavily on me but I keep the tears at bay, trying hard not to lose my dignity as I shuffle out of the bed and dash towards the bathroom.