by Tara Hart
Bianca forces a smile. “But what do you do when you are working?”
“He’s a journalist,” Eric says before I have a chance to answer.
Amy doesn’t hold back her excitement. “You must have a way with words then?” she runs her hand over my leg and I pull away to the edge of the booth.
“Kind of.” I shrug.
Eric glares daggers into my forehead.
Amy doesn’t take the hint. Her hand makes its way to my inner thigh. She strokes my leg through my jeans, getting dangerously close to my cock.
“Okay, that’s it.” I stand from my seat and hold my hands in the air in surrender. “I’m going home.”
Amy’s mouth forms a giant O as her eyes go wide and her cheeks turn red. Eric pushes Bianca from the booth and rushes to my side.
“Are you serious? You’re the worst wingman ever,” he seethes into my ear.
I shrug my shoulders and offer him a smirk. “Do what you want, but the blonde isn’t coming home with me.”
Eric throws his hands in the air dramatically as he watches me walk out of the bar. I know I’m being a shitty friend, but going out and picking up chicks seems like the wrong thing to be doing now.
The taxi stand is full of extremely loud and drunken partygoers. I debate whether to join the line or take my chances and try to hail a cab from the road.
“Wait up, man,” I hear the call from behind me.
Eric walks toward me, the girls from the bar in tow. Amy’s arms are crossed over her chest and the pout on her lips tells me she’s received the message—I’m not interested.
“We’ll get a cab together,” Eric says, his hand now latched onto Bianca’s. I take it their night isn’t over yet. He lowers his voice. “We’ll put Amy in a taxi first.”
For the first time all evening we’re on the same page and after an awkward few moments a taxi arrives and we bid Amy farewell.
When the next cab pulls up Eric and Bianca pile in the back, while I take the front seat. After a whole two seconds of foreplay, Bianca is practically dry humping Eric in the backseat.
“Settle down back there,” the driver lets out in a huff.
They calm down for a few moments, before I hear the sucking of each other’s faces continue. The driver shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything else. I guess he’s used to it.
When we pull up at the apartment Eric and Bianca head straight upstairs leaving me to settle the bill.
He assesses my tip and nods his head graciously. “Have a good night.”
“I doubt that,” I mutter sarcastically. He grunts knowing exactly what I’m referring to before driving off into the night.
I climb the flimsy staircase and find the apartment door wide open. The lights are off, but I can hear Bianca giggling from the bedroom.
I let out a low groan. Settling on the sofa, I cover my ear with my pillow trying to block out the sounds coming from the room next to me. I squeeze my eyes closed and think of Leila. Serenity overtakes my body and soon enough I’m asleep.
That night I dream of cool blue waters, soft white sand, and for just one night, I feel as though I’m in paradise.
Chapter 18
Leila
It’s dark in here. The darkness surrounds me—overwhelms me. I feel as though it may swallow me up.
And then someone flicks a switch.
Light.
A light so bright that it takes me a moment to adjust. The beaming glow almost blinds me. I blink several times and then take the opportunity to assess my body.
I look down at my arms, they are blurred in my dizzy haze, but I see track marks lining the insides of my arms. They’ve drugged me. Someone has drugged me.
I feel the unrelenting need to vomit surface within. My legs are shaking, making it impossible to stand upright. I take hold of the silver pole that sits center stage and try to steady myself.
I close my eyes and I can breathe. Finally, I can breathe.
The stage keeps spinning, around and around, causing the nausea to resurface. I clasp my hand to my mouth and breathe through my nose.
“Just breathe,” I tell myself.
One breath…two…three.
Another light turns on, it glares into my eyes and once again, it blinds me.
I hold my arm over my eyes, trying to shield my face. “Get that light out of my eyes,” I shout in Portuguese, not English.
“Leila,” I hear someone say.
“Vai embora,” I tell them. Go away.
“Leila,” the voice sounds again, this time louder and much clearer. I look up and this time I see a face.
I can’t make out exactly who it is.
The room turns dark again. Pitch black, and it’s eerily silent. And then he clears his throat. He reaches forward and grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my skin like a vice.
I cry out, but no one hears my pleas, no one comes to save me.
I let out a tormented scream, but all there is is darkness.
I startle awake and sit upright in bed. I feel the rapid beat of my heart threatening to jump out of my chest.
I had that dream again, the same memories, yet a different sequence of events. I don’t know what it means. I don’t know why he chose me.
Lying back down, I pull the covers to my chin and hope for sleep to take me in, but this time, I don’t want to dream.
Chapter 19
Leila
I don’t know what I expected the last time to be like. The last time he pulled the clothes from my body and touched my skin causing goose bumps to rise on the surface. That one final time he uttered the name he gave me and told me was my own. What it would feel like when he kissed my lips once his invasion of my body was over. I had no idea how I would feel when he raped me that one last time.
As he descends the stairs, I sit upright on my bed, tucking my knees against my chest while my gaze holds his. For once I can actually look him in the eye.
“Emmy,” he draws out.
He makes his way to the foot of the bed and taps the comforter with the palm of his hand. “Come here,” he says as if I’m a fervent feline. “Come close to me.”
I slowly make my way to the edge of the bed on my hands and knees. The sight causes him to suck in a deep breath and his lip turns into a wicked smirk. When the stench of whiskey reaches my nose I know I am close enough.
“Good girl.” His hand cups the side of my face. It’s a gentle gesture, but I don’t lean into his touch. I don’t trust it, and I definitely don’t welcome it.
“Let me look at you.” His hand trails down my neck and to my bust, fingertips meet skin, causing my heart to thump deep inside my chest. His fingers tangle with the tie of my robe. Within seconds the knot is loose and the robe is falling from my body.
His sharp intake of breath tells me that he’s happy with my outfit.
“I love you in red,” he says.
I’ve heard this countless times over the years. He requested I wear the red negligee tonight, even though it isn’t my usual Tuesday outfit. I want to tell him that it’s the last time he’ll ever see me in red, but I bite my tongue and wait for his exploration of my body to be over.
“Tonight I need you,” he starts. “I need you to create memories for me. Vivid memories. Memories that will last me a few days while I am away. Can you do that for me, Emmy?” he asks softly. “Can you create beautiful memories for me?”
My eyebrows reach up my forehead questioning exactly what he wants from me.
He takes a step back, unbuttoning his slacks and letting them fall to the floor. My eyes go wide. I understand. I know what he wants from me and I suppress the urge to cry.
He’s already hard. He takes his cock in the palm of his hand and pumps it a few times. He takes a step forward, his crotch now in my face, his hands moving to the back of my head forcefully.
“Suck me,” he demands.
I grind my teeth together. No matter how hard I try I can’t pry my jaws apart. He tugs on my hair at the
base of my skull. “Open,” he says the word with such severity that I know I need to comply.
I open my mouth and take the length of him against my tongue. “Yes, Emmy,” he breathes quietly.
His hands guide me, controlling the pace of the blowjob, slowing down when I take him deep. The only thing that stops me from biting down on his cock is knowing that this is the last time. The one final time I will ever have to take this man’s dick in my mouth.
His fingers twist through my hair as he leans back and closes his eyes. I watch his face distort as his cock pulsates against my tongue telling me he’s close.
He quickens the pace, thrusting deep into my mouth causing me to gag. He hears the sound of me fighting back the urge to vomit, but it only spurs him on more. His breathing intensifies and a deep groan escapes from the back of his throat.
“Fuck,” he shouts.
When he’s about to come he grabs a fist full of my hair and yanks hard, pulling my mouth away from his cock. I cry out in pain, causing him to smirk.
“You’re such a good little slut,” he says as he reaches for my feet.
He pulls my leg to the side of the bed and fastens a rope around my ankle. Walking to the opposite side of the bed he does the same to my other foot. The ropes force my legs open, wider than I deem comfortable, leaving my crotch fully exposed.
“I like it when you can’t move,” he tells me. “When you’re tied up and look so…helpless.”
And that’s how I feel in that moment, helpless.
But this isn’t new to me. I have suffered some serious cases of rope burn during my time here and it seems tonight will be no exception.
He runs a hand along the inside of my thigh, pausing when he reaches my sex, his eyes lingering on my pink lips.
He groans to himself before hovering over my body and then pivoting his hips to meet mine.
He pushes inside forcefully. I flinch from the pain of him stretching me, but try not to show any signs of discomfort on my face. Instead I clench my fists, my fingernails digging into the palms of my hands. The nails feel like tiny needles pricking at my skin, the pain releases the tension from my body, giving me something else to concentrate on.
He thrusts in again, his fingers digging into my hips as he does so.
“Fuck!” he lets out as he drives in deep. “Fuck, Emmy.” He breathes against the exposed skin of my neck.
I feel my pulse throbbing as my fingernails dig deeper, releasing the tension that I can’t get rid of any other way.
He bucks his hips as he thrusts into me one final time. I feel him release inside of me, his juice filling me as he emits a moan that lets me know it’s over. The sound I’ve heard so many times and never want to hear again.
“Good job, Emmy.” His whiskey breath hits the side of my face before he finally rolls off of me.
He stands from the bed and loosens the rope from my ankles.
I rush to sit up, rubbing the flesh where the rope has burned into my skin.
“That will heal soon enough,” he tells me unapologetically while he pulls up his pants.
He walks back toward the bed, my body instantly tensing as he approaches. He leans forward and places a kiss on my cheek.
“See you on the weekend, honey.”
No you won’t.
I watch him leave the room, praying it’s the last time I’ll ever set eyes on him.
I didn’t know how I would feel when he raped me for the last time. The relief I hoped for evaded me. I unclenched my fists and assessed my wounds. Deep gouges marred each palm where my fingernails had pierced the skin. Fresh blood escaped the cuts and dripped onto the linen, but I didn’t care.
I looked up to the basement door. It was closed and he was gone, but I didn’t feel safe. I didn’t feel free.
Tears began to trickle down my cheeks as I sobbed into the night. It was the last time he would ever touch me, and it became clear to me, I needed that to be true.
Chapter 20
Callum
“What are you doing, boy?”
He’s seen you. You’re screwed.
I turn at the waist. As I suspected he has that look on his face, the look of anger and relentless rage. The look I have seen a thousand times before. His face is flushed red, his jaw clenched, his eyes wild. “Answer me.”
He takes another step forward. I square my face with his. We’re the same height now and I’m an inch or so wider.
“I was—I was changing out of my uniform,” I fumble with my words.
His glassy gaze gives my face the once over. “Why?”
“I’m heading to the stands to watch the game with Eric.”
His face turns sour when I mention Eric’s name. He hates Eric. Why would I mention Eric’s name? Was I deliberately trying to bait him?
His eyes rake over my body, his jaw working overtime as he assesses what I’m wearing.
“Get your uniform on and get back out there,” he seethes through clenched teeth.
“But Dad…”
“But what?” he interrupts with his usual challenging tone.
I pull up the cuffs of my jeans, showing him my swollen and heavily bandaged ankle. “The doctor said I couldn’t play. He told me to rest this week.”
He shoves a finger into my chest causing me to stumble back against the metal lockers of our school’s changing room. The room is empty and his voice echoes as it roars from his lungs.
“I don’t give a damn what that quack says. You’re playing.”
The team is already warming up. I twisted my ankle during training earlier in the week and upon assessment the doctor told me to get the ankle strapped and sit the game out. That’s exactly what I planned to do.
“I’ve already spoken to your coach, he’s expecting you out there. Don’t let your team down.”
“Dad...”
He turns his back, his black dress shoes squeaking against the floor as he strides away.
His last words come out as an order. “You will be out on that field, Callum. Make sure of it.”
I startle awake. Sweat drips from my temple and I wipe it with the back of my hand. I look at my phone. It’s just after two in the morning.
I shake the foggy feeling from my brain. I haven’t thought about that day in years. I ended up with a fractured ankle and spent the next few months hobbling around on crutches.
Why am I dreaming about this now? It was a day from my past that I tried so hard to forget. I roll onto my side and let out a yawn.
It felt so real. His words, the disdain clear in his voice. I can still feel his finger poking into my chest. It’s as if my father is here watching me, taunting me, begging me to challenge him. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.
Chapter 21
Leila
“How are you?” His eyes light up as he smiles.
We come face to face for the first time in days and I’d almost forgotten how attractive Callum is. His light brown hair is arranged messily on top of his head and his chin sports a few days worth of stubble. And that smile, I love when he smiles so wide that his eyes sparkle. Even in the dimly lit room I can see his icy blue eyes as they take me in.
“I’m great.” I smile.
I manage to tear my eyes away from his face and for the first time I notice he’s cradling a brown paper bag in his arms.
“What have you got there?” I ask.
He moves to the sitting room placing the bag on the coffee table and then sitting on the sofa.
“It’s a surprise for you.”
I stand with my hands crossed over my chest. “A surprise?” I question.
He nods. He reaches into the bag and pulls out two bottles of wine, one red and one white. He pulls two glasses from the bag also and places them on the table.
He notices me studying the bottles. “You’ve had wine before haven’t you?”
I have to think about it, when was the last time I had a glass of wine? I cannot remember. “It’s been awhile,” I answer honest
ly.
I make my way to the other side of the sofa and sit on the edge.
“Red or white?” he asks.
The question throws me. I don’t remember which I prefer.
Callum sees the uncertainty on my face. “I’ll pour you a white.” He uncaps the bottle and pours even portions into glasses. He hands me one and then clinks his glass against mine.
I take a sip and the liquid slides down easily enough. It’s fruity, decadent and I feel my insides warm from just one sip.
Callum still has the same boyish grin on his face. “I have something else for you.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Another surprise. What is it?”
I feel giddy with excitement, it’s been so long since I received a gift and the smile on Callum’s face tells me I’m going to like it.
“Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Just close them.”
It should make me nervous to close my eyes and trust another human being, but with Callum I feel comfortable. I close my eyes, I trust.
“Okay, hold out your hands.” I can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks.
I do as I’m told and when I hold out my hands he places two round objects against my palms. “Okay, open your eyes.”
I blink a few times until I can focus on the two perfectly ripe passion fruits he placed in my hands.
“Callum.” I stop when I feel tears welling in my eyes.
“Don’t cry.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders, a friendly gesture. Nothing more.
I bring my hand to cover my mouth. “I’m sorry,” I cry. “It’s just been so long since I received a gift.”
