With every movement, I cringe in pain with the memory of our last days. Finding my clit, I bring myself to an orgasm, standing up against the shower wall as I am staring in the mirror. Breathless, I whisper, “Yes, Master Salvatore… Please, fuck me—hard.”
Within a half hour, the nights before are so far away as I tuck safely into Mierne’s black Nissan Rogue and head straight into the unknown.
IRIS
Approaching the posh little resort sitting in a heavily wooded landscape, I wonder why Cas asked for me. We are close—don’t mistake me—but since New Year’s the distance is remarkable.
“It’s beautiful here,” I say to Mierne.
“Yes, it is,” she acknowledges as we drive past farmsteads and rolling fields. “I moved her out here from the private hospital in Austin.”
Sipping my hot tea, I ask, “This… isn’t a hospital?”
“This is a fully self-sustaining rehabilitation center with a working farm coupled with intense individual and group therapy. Patients are assigned a job on the farm,” she speaks fluid and knowledgeable, clearly her therapy forte. “They earn wages and rewards throughout their stay for good behavior. The physicians and staff at Arietta Farms believe giving a sense of day-to-day purpose is integral to sustained recovery. I felt Cas would be stifled in the mundane walls of a more traditional mental hospital.”
Watching Mierne discussing the place, I have a brief moment where I want to harm her for hurting me so. Sal always runs to her. I don’t get it. I don’t understand her egregious power over him. Holding onto my tea tightly, I avoid splashing it into her eyes and choking her to death. I can leave her body on the side of the road and no one will be any the wiser for at least twenty-four hours. I can make my way back to Chicago and smile for another day.
“Oh look, they even have horses,” I mutter, hiding my hatred.
“Yes, it is an entire farm and a splendid place for Cas to recover.”
I hate you. You fucking cunt.
We wait behind another car as we make our way up to the gate. A bright, active, and intelligent young woman, Cassidy “Cas” Dawn Hope holds an impressive academic record almost as good as my own.
With her reputation at Juliet, she is selected for Crew Captain from her freshman through junior year and accepted into the prestigious Dom Program for her senior year. She and I were the dynamic duo of female students—highly regarded as the ones to watch. I cannot imagine her fall from the ranking as she was always one of the brightest lights at the party matched only by Salvatore.
Despite their friendship before, they took to me quick, making us a trio of friends and eventually lovers. But those same indiscretions supposedly led to Cas’ downfall, drunk and cut up in a motel room.
No one saw it coming.
Not the girl crew. Nor her best friend, Sal. Or even me.
The only one aware of her cutting problem is Mierne, and of course, she upholds the strictest patient confidentiality for which she is sworn.
Bitch.
On campus, the reaction is one of disbelief and concern. The shock waves of her absence reverberate throughout the school like an earthquake of mass magnitude. No one left unaffected, causing every student and professor to question—who will meltdown next? If one of the most promising of girl students hid her dire condition, what other issues lay sleeping beneath the surface?
According to Sal, the outpouring of emotion sends the florist from the hospital to the rehab a multitude of times. Her sponsors, Joe and Karen Kaiser, constantly check in on Cas and members of the girl crew—Zoe, Jessica, and Nina—call routinely as well.
In the days since her in checking into the emergency room, the community exists in a state of mourning as our holy trinity crashes to the ground with my signing of the contract. We abandon Sal, alone to fend for himself. And I expect Cas to ask for him, not me.
“I will be waiting in the garden. Take your time, Iris. I have calls to make,” Mierne says with a smile.
Whore.
Following a young male staff member into the vegetable garden, I am nervous. Not anxious in the same way as I prepare for a scene, but apprehensive about how Cas will be. We have been close since I arrived in Sugargrove almost a year ago. At times, we are even inseparable. Walking past other patients dressed in identical gray sweatshirts, I feel the sublime quiet overcome me as they work the land and work through their issues.
“Cas?” I see her silhouette—her sharp nose, offset by deep-widened dark chestnut eyes with flecks of gold. Unusual to see her without makeup or facial piercings, she looks refreshed and at ease as she turns towards me.
“Oh, my god!” she shouts, running towards me as her long blonde and pink wisps frame her puffy, round face. Immediately, tears well up in her eyes as she says, “I didn’t think you were coming!”
Locking my arm underneath, her, I walk us through the vegetable garden. “Like I could stay away. I am sorry I was late, I had a long session for a couple of weeks…” I inform, wanting to take back the words as soon as they fly out of my mouth. I have no clue how she will react.
“That,” Cas winks with a laugh, “…is never a problem.”
It is good to hear her laugh and see her smile. Together, we are more at ease than ever before. I am reassured that everything really is normal between us despite the bandages still encasing her wrists. We walk through the patches of lettuce and peas to one of the small covered picnic tables by the small pond. Sitting across from one another, we appear like any other two twenty-somethings that could have been at a coffee shop, the mall, or movies.
Reaching across the table, Cas holds out her hands as her sleeves rise at the wrists, revealing the gravity of her pain. I gaze at her hands, taking them in my own and feeling the need to ask so many questions for which I know won’t be fair to ask. We are friends, but how far to push especially at this precarious stage is a question even I do not wish to answer.
“Iris, I want you to know something,” she whispers as her eyes intently stare, waiting for me to look up. When I finally do, I am stunned by her reflections. “I didn’t do this because of the night with you,” she conveys as I glance away, unable to handle the harrowing thought. “Or Sal. Or even what happened after.” Her eyes hold on, not letting go or drifting away. “And Iris, I am sorry about everything, but I really need you.”
A cool winter wind blows through the sky, and I lift my black hoodie over my red hair. Though I cannot comprehend why, I know I have forgiven not only Sal but Cas for what they did. I love them both for different reasons. Sal is everything I ever dreamed, fantasized, and longed to have in a soulmate. He will stand by, vigilantly guarding me even now on a six-month contract. His presence is always there. And Cas is the glue holding my hand when no one else will, fighting for me when I don’t even know there was a battle waging inside. I owe them both everything. I don’t just love them—I am in love with them. The kind of deep, intense love one is lucky to have pass by once, much less twice. But I only have access to one. The one in my hands, sitting before me now with apologies and a broken heart.
“I was with him last night,” I say, struggling to find the words to tell Cas.
“You were?” Cas backs up, almost blown away by the news.
Hesitantly, I continue, “Yeah. We had a long three-week session. Look, that doesn’t really matter. I don’t know if I am going to see him again…”
“Iris, stop. I got you, girl,” Cas interrupts. “He’s coming by this afternoon. Anything you need, tell me. I will get it to him.”
“He’s coming here?” I ask, surprised. “I thought he was headed to Houston for work.
“He is,” she excuses with a perky smile. “But he is coming to see me first.”
Something about the way Cas says it pours salt into my already bloody wounds. Like she is gloating that she will get to spend time with him, and I won’t. Afraid to let her see the truth, I merely smile.
Once a whore, always a whore.
And yes, it does take
one to know one.
Holding back tears and fear, I hope I have read too much into it. I play stupid, saying, “You know me.”
“I always have you. And I can guarantee you won’t be without him for six months even if you both have to use me to communicate,” she says blatant, honest, and forthcoming. Without a doubt, way too happy to be used as a mediator between our contract with Jack, I feel like throwing up. Or stabbing her to death.
“I really need to get going,” I say, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I love you.”
Grinning mischievously, Cas grabs my hand and says, “The real question is, Ms. Kettles, do you realize how much I love you?”
Suddenly, the girl who picked me for him reappears back from the dead. The authentic, original, one and only Hope—beams a wide smile, full of eccentric and infectious energy, emerging into the pink-haired girl I call my friend. Cas is the spitting image of Kaci.
And I realize then how much trouble I am in.
And how bad this is going to fucking hurt.
SAL
Driving to Arietta Farms, I pass by Mierne’s car in the outskirts of the city. A fair amount of traffic keeps the motorcycle hidden, but I can see Iris. She is crying and upset. I want to text Mierne and ask what’s up, but I have to get to Houston and I promised Cas I would come by.
I have been seeing her since we found her at the motel. While I appreciate her efforts in recovery, I also think she has become too dependent on me. Unfortunately, I cannot stop either. I am bound by a promise I made to my dying wife. I vowed to care for her sister, but I don’t think that means I am supposed to have these feelings.
But fuck if I don’t.
I enjoy the ride out to the rehab despite how I cannot keep my emotions in check. In some ways, she is the spitting image of Kaci. If she had ever been well enough, she would have been wild and reckless like Cas. I know this much for sure because she had moments of utter, beautiful, crazy abandon.
Stopping the bike, I pull my helmet off and stride up to the door. I have been here so many times the nurses all know me by name and smirk as I walk by. I head through the main hallway, past the locked down tight chemical dependency wing to the area for psychological issues—eating disorders, depression, and those with self-harm problems post-critical care. Another ward exists for those on suicide watch. Cas started there. She made real progress though and graduated to the slightly more lenient, friendly group that sometimes looks more like a misfit library club than a psych ward.
It’s weird for me—middle class kid from North Boston that I am—I understand these misfits. I say middle class because we were. Dad has millions stashed, but we were never flashy. We did family potluck three times a week, kept quiet in the middle of the road, and got Nike shoes for good grades. My sisters hated me because I stayed in Nike’s from kindergarten until I graduated. They thought it was because I was the only boy—and the baby to boot. Really, I was just the only one who loved reading.
“Hello beautiful, Hazel,” I acknowledge, sauntering through the double doors to the triage. Most people never get past the main desk, but well…I am Sal. A good grin, polite charm, and sex appeal can get almost anything accomplished if worked right.
Typically, I am not always truthful in my sentiments. In this case, Hazel is fucking hot. I wouldn’t mind seeing her after hours. Her chestnut hair and bright blue eyes shine and welcome me, but really her best feature is wrapped tight up in that blouse. Her revealing cleavage dips suggestively in the front as I discreetly adjust the monster, waking up in my jeans.
“She’s getting ready for your date,” Hazel says as I nod and fake smile through the awkward moment. I had no idea this was a date. I move away from the desk and wait patiently standing by the wall.
With a snobbish smile, Cas appears from her room looking dressed to fucking kill. Maybe I am seeing things. My version of dressed to kill is not thigh highs and skimpy dress. I am a nerd wrapped with a pretty mug, so my version of dressed to kill involves the cute baggy jeans with paisley cuffs and embellishments, enormous boyfriend sweater—in fact, I think that’s mine from back in the day—and light makeup that accentuates the angles and shape of her face. She is carrying her blue jean jacket clearly ready to get out of here.
I embrace her tight, closing my eyes and smelling her hair. When I open my eyes, I notice Hazel, looking on and smiling. “You two crazy kids have fun. Curfew for you, Ms. Hope, is 9 PM.”
“Thanks, Hazel,” says Cas, gazing up to me like I am leading us.
“Thank you, ma’am!” I praise with a wave of my hand, dropping it between us as Cas loops her fingers into mine.
After I pop the helmet onto her head, we drive for about an hour, going nowhere in particular. This is what we do. She is lost without her sister. I am lost without my wife.
Together, we find peace on the open road. I stop us at a local burger joint. We’ve been here before. It’ll be packed, loud, and the food memorable. We will share a piece of pie—coconut cream. I know—sex pie—the kind of thing eaten after an all-night romp.
We eat in silence because there isn’t much to say. We share this thing, both misfits in the fucked up crazy world of Kaci Hope. She left us together. It would be foolish to think we wouldn’t have found more. We did, but generally, ignore it. Over the years, we’ve had some heavy petting sessions—blow jobs, finger fucking, and the like.
What I am about to say will make me sound like a bastard. And I hate to say it, but it’s true. She sucks dick like Kace. She kisses like Kace. Hell, her cunt even feels like Kace. So, we typically go get drunk or high and mess around. I had no idea she was still a virgin that night in the barn with Iris. I had no idea I would end up popping her cherry on the fourth anniversary of my wife’s death. I felt like a real fucker for that error in judgment. I fired up my lighter a couple times and doled out some necessary punishment that night.
We share that to—our love of pain and booze and anything else that can remove the little element of death from our landscape. I check my watch as the pie comes at 6:45 PM. We have two hours to waste.
“Wanna go to a movie?” she asks with a smile. “There is a theater up the road.”
Getting a box for the pie, we make it to the 7:15 showing of a movie neither of us care about. We are avoiding the issue of my three-week disappearing act. We have popcorn and soda as we sit down in the empty theater. “You’re going to Houston…”
“Archer called…Amber Risen will be there for a signing, he wants me watching her. And Kylie asked me to come since I’m on her cover. I won’t be gone more than the weekend,” I say, popping kernels into my mouth. I like them dirty—salty and buttery and disgustingly bad for me.
I don’t add the fact that I have been Amber’s Dominant for going on five years now. It just doesn’t seem pertinent to tell Cas at this moment. Dale Archer hired me to keep her trained and I have, but because of that we have in some ways become like two lost kindred spirits, driving us closer together. If Amber needs me or Dale wants me watching her—I am there. End of story.
“Is Iris…”
“Back at Jack’s,” I inform. History dictates I trust this girl emphatically. And for better or worse, I do. I know she won’t stay clean, sober, or healthy for long. Something will happen and she will slip and fall. I may tumble with her depending on work. She’s bad. I am bad. Together, we are very fucking naughty.
“I wish I was out of rehab. We would go out west to the fields and get stoned.”
I smirk at the memory. She’s a native Texas girl and loves the vast differences in the scenery. Since Kaci passed, we have been all over the state together—beaches on Padre Island, mountains in Big Bend, and wilderness in East Texas. Sometimes we take my truck and camp in the back. I hate to think about how much I love my best friend. She watches sports, fishes, and even wants to go hunting. She is my fucking bromance with boobs.
I should mention that I never planned on Iris and her becoming best friends. Cas has no idea about who or what I a
m. I am merely the son of a mafia kingpin running away from a future I want nothing to do with. I don’t even think Cas knew Kaci was a Sibyl agent.
Reaching for the popcorn, she drops some on my jeans. I don’t fucking care. But when her hand runs under the bucket and lays on top of my denim covered cock, I do. We have rehearsed this move so many times; I know it like the back of my hand. I am supposed to unzip my fly and she will give me a hand job. One night we forgot to get napkins. Bitch licked that shit up like she was snorting god damned coke. Sexiest thing I have ever fucking seen.
Not knowing how I feel about our ongoing friends who fuck policy—especially with Iris in the picture—I take her hand and move it back to her lap. I don’t hear another word from her until 8:30 PM when she nudges me and says, “We need to go. And just so you know, you cutting me off really fucking hurts.”
I close my eyes as I stand up and take a deep breath. Grabbing her hand, I lead us through the emergency exit and out into the chilled night air. We take a few steps before I push her against the wall of the building and kiss her hard. She conforms easily to my kiss, letting me control her body. It’s all lips and tongue, lust-filled yearnings of a date night missed. I know if I want to fuck her right here, she will let me.
She is shorter than her sister which is amazing considering Kace was only five-two. I break apart and smile as I wrap her under my shoulder and walk her to the bike. She tucks her fingers in the back of my jeans pocket until we get to the bike and I make her pop the helmet on her head.
Her arms latch around my waist as our bodies vibrate together. I check my watch and by 8:45 PM we are less than 2 minutes away. I pull off into an abandoned gas station parking lot and head off into the shadows. As I kill the engine, she says, “What are we doing?”
“Fucking.”
I am an asshole. And I know it. Slipping her jeans over her hiking boots, I smirk at the fact she doesn’t bother with panties when she is with me. Her hands fumble with my jeans as I realize how hungry we both are for a hit of the drug in one another. She strokes my dick solid, spitting on her hand and coating the mess on me. I waste no time plunging deep into her welcome folds.
Salt Kissed Love (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 1) Page 17
