Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire

by Aleatha Romig

  Beyond the prison of my dream, I feel real sweat trickling down my neck. Obscurely, I’m aware of my tossing and turning, but I can’t put together why I feel so uneasy.

  He does and I’m surprised when his arms wrap around me. The moment of danger seems to pass very quickly, but for some reason I don’t want to let go. I feel safe in these arms, and I’ve never really felt safe before. And he smells good, he smells the way I imagine a man should smell, like crisp, clean soap, and warm skin, and a light sweat. I think I’m taking too long to let go, so I release him as though he’s burned me. Then I stare up and acknowledge the angel in front of me. My knees almost buckle.

  Outside the dream, I can hear myself whimper. Part of me knows why I don’t want to keep looking at him, but I can’t stop it from happening. I dream in third person. I am a spectator.

  He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen: that includes puppies, babies, rainbows, sunsets, and sunrises. I can’t even call him a man—men don’t look this good. His skin is beautifully tanned, as if the sun itself took the time to kiss his skin to perfection. His muscled forearms are dusted with the same golden hair of his head. And his eyes mimic the blue-green of the Caribbean Sea I’ve only seen on movie posters.

  He smiles, and I can’t help but smile, too. I’m a puppet. He pulls my strings. His smile reveals his beautiful white teeth, but also his sharp canine on the left side. His teeth aren’t perfect, and the small imperfection seems to make him more beautiful.

  He’s saying something to me, something about another girl, but I refuse to listen.

  Off in the distance, I hear a familiar voice, my voice. Inside the dream? Outside the dream? I’m unsure. All I know is that I’m begging for the dream to stop. I didn’t find what I was looking for—the thing I missed. I should stop. I should stop before I get to the unbearable part, the part that has nothing to do with memory, but fantasy, desire.

  I lean in and tilt my head up. I want him to put those full lips to good use, I won’t take no for an answer. When his tongue slides across the seam of my lips I feel things between my legs I have never felt before. I feel an aching sort of fullness and abruptly I can feel my heart beating, not only in my chest, but within those secret folds. I moan behind the kiss, and shortly after I hear him moan, too.

  I want to touch him everywhere. I don’t care if he takes me right here on the sidewalk, that’s how badly I want him. I don’t care what my mother will say. For him I’ll be a whore. I’m glad I’ve waited. I’m glad it’s him who gets to have me.

  His hand has found its way into my hair, and for some reason I sense danger, but I make the feeling go away.

  The kiss has turned hungry, ravenous—my lips hurt a little. His hand has become a fist in my hair. The sensation is familiar but distant. I want to keep kissing.

  Do I taste beer? It’s suddenly all too familiar.

  A kiss. A touch.

  “Is this what you do when I go to bed, Livvie? You put on your puta clothes and try to seduce your father?”

  “He’s not my dad!” He’s the one to blame. Not me.

  “Act like a whore and you’ll get treated like one.”

  I hate you.

  Without warning I am hit with an overwhelming sense of grief. Something is horribly wrong. I pull back from the kiss and my eyes go wide with horror.

  The same youthful face I’d found beautiful beyond all explanation looks back at me with a menacing expression. His eyes still remind me of the sea, but instead of sunny Caribbean beaches, I now see hideous creatures of the deep lurking in the depths of his gaze. No longer an angel, he is the devil I have always feared.

  My eyes flew open and I stared into the nothingness surrounding me. My heart pounded, my tears welled, but despite it all—I was shamefully wet between my legs. Old dread threatened to pull me into fresh hell, and I fought hard to keep it from happening.

  Caleb slept peacefully beside me, his arm wrapped around me like a vise. I should’ve been struggling to get up. But truth be told, the press of his muscular body against my back gave me a feeling of comfort I’d been longing for, for weeks. For years. And besides, it was actually cool in his room. It lacked all the hot stickiness that seemed to permeate throughout my room. My room—that’s funny.

  I thought about what had happened before, barely able to wrap my mind around the events that transpired. I think if I’d been watching it in a movie or reading it in a book, I’d have thought it was sexy. But to be living it, to be right there in the flesh…I think it was just scary. Mostly. Just thinking about it, my heart pounded even harder and faster in my chest, but it was different than before. Also, I had this heavy, sinking, sort of tingle in my belly. It reminded me of the feeling I used to get as a kid playing hide and go seek in the dark. I didn’t want to get caught, but just sitting there, not know whether or not I would be was both exciting and frightening. I had known then it was the rush I enjoyed, not the hiding or the seeking.

  Being around Caleb was feeling that all the time. I kept seeing his face, eyes closed, head tilted into my hands, soft masculine flesh beneath my fingers. The whole thing replayed in my mind as a series of flashes, flashes that kept me awake in the dark. I had dreamed of kissing him too, of doing more than kissing him. He was hard against my ass and against all logic I wanted to touch him there. I wanted to see what had been inside me.

  When he’d asked me to stop last night, I had been mildly disappointed. Perhaps even hurt, thinking maybe I’d done something wrong. His voice had been harsh, distant at first, but then he’d softened and told me I’d been good, too good. For some crazy reason, in addition to being totally embarrassed, I felt, well, I don’t know if relieved is the right word, or even proud, but something like it.

  Caleb was a strange person, cruel and inhuman; a monster, yet, at other times, he seemed so capable of something like caring. He made me cry and scream and shake with fear, and nearly a split second later he could make me almost believe he wasn’t responsible for any of it. He could hold me and make me feel safe. How was that possible? I guess I’m more gullible than I’d ever thought.

  Slowly, as I stared at the curtains, I witnessed a sight I’d been missing for a long time. Daylight made its big debut, turning the curtains a slightly lighter shade. My heart quickened and anxiety coursed through me. It felt like Christmas morning.

  I went slowly for Caleb’s hand, gently urging it away from my breast. He grunted, and for a moment I was perfectly still, terrified. He sighed gruffly, and then, to my overwhelming relief, he rolled over. I was free of him. More surprisingly, I was free of the gold cord he’d secured around my wrist. Refusing to give it much thought and perhaps too quickly, I slid out of bed and crawled toward the light.

  I pulled back the curtains, just a crack, but when the sunlight hit my eyes it made my head hurt. I shut my eyes tightly. It had been so damn long! I opened my eyes slowly. This time I saw what my soul had been aching to see for so long. I saw light; beautiful, warm, safe, light. I could barely keep from tearing up. For a moment I felt as though everything that had happened thus far had been a dream, and now that the sun was up, I could wake from it. I would never fall asleep again. The monsters would never come back. I opened the curtain a bit more, and I could make out a big deck. There was a table with a big umbrella, pots and plants and sun chairs; it was unreal. I pressed the palm of my hand against the glass, feeling the warmth of the sun and the chill of the morning against my skin, but it was all unreal.

  I looked back at Caleb’s sleeping form, his breathing was heavy. He wouldn’t be waking any time soon. My heart thundered in my chest. This was it, my chance to escape. My mind screamed, if you do this, and he catches you, you’re dead! Are you stupid! But it also said: If you don’t do this now, you may never get another chance. I made up my mind. I was going to make a break for it.

  I closed the curtain behind me and quietly looked around for a way to open the door. I surveyed my surroundings and didn’t see much, no buildings, or roads, or
people. I didn’t let that dissuade me. My fingers touched along the glass, looking for some way to open the window, but I didn’t see or feel anything. I did the same along the wall and found nothing. Nervous and agitated, I glanced back into the room. Caleb still slept peacefully. I pushed on the glass, but that didn’t much help, DAMN IT! I could see that the glass was on tracks, so I knew it had to slide open. Think! Just think! I couldn’t see where the door opened, but it had to open somehow, so maybe…the lock was somewhere I couldn’t see. I stared at the top of the door, crushed by the realization I definitely couldn’t reach it.

  My only chance of opening the door sat in one of the corners, a big leather chair. It looked heavy. I almost screamed. I looked back at Caleb. How the hell am I going to move that without him waking up!

  I walked silently toward my inanimate nemesis and gave it a hard shove. The chair made a soft scraping noise against the carpet, and I instantly looked at the bed. He continued to sleep. But there was no fucking way I was going to be able to move the chair without waking him.

  I glanced around the room and tried not to pass out from the rush of blood draining from my face. Hanging on the door of an armoire was Caleb’s suit jacket and peeking out from beneath it, a shoulder holster. Could it be? Oh God, could it please fucking be? I reached for the soft fabric and lifted it. It was the biggest damn gun I had ever seen, the only one actually—but still. I felt like vomiting. Part of me wanted to forget the whole damn thing and get back in bed. What was the saying: Cowardice is the better part of valor? Fuck it! I reached for the gun. The damn thing weighed a ton.

  The armoire opened and for a moment I was actually surprised by the amount of pain inflicting instruments hidden inside. Riding crops, whips, chains, and other things I didn’t recognize from watching Real Sex on HBO while at Nicole’s house. Was that a spiky dildo? I almost swooned. Had he planned to use this stuff on me? Sick fuck. And yet….

  I spotted a pair of handcuffs, several actually, without fur on them. That meant they were real right? Cause it could be embarrassing otherwise. I was willing to take a chance. I put Caleb’s jacket on, instantly overwhelmed by the size of it. I set the gun on the seat of the chair and began rolling up the sleeves.

  “What the hell are you doing,” Caleb’s angry voice momentarily had me frozen in place. Our eyes met, mine wide and terrified, his cold and venomous. I reached for the gun as he burst out of bed. I was faster. For once.

  “Don’t fucking move! Not one step,” my voice was shrill, almost panicked. I might have shot him out of fear alone, and I think he understood because he instantly halted his approach. My heart was beating too fast, my vision was hazy. Keep it together, Livvie. Keep it fucking together.

  “Put the gun down, Kitten,” he whispered, as if I were more frightened than him. Shit, maybe I was. This probably wasn’t the first time he’d had a gun in his face, but it was definitely the first time I’d threatened someone’s life. I wanted to cry. I didn’t want to have to do this. I didn’t want to hurt him. No choice now, Livvie. It’s you or him. I hated this. I felt like one of those dumb girls in the movies, the one holding the gun on her would-be killer. Her hands are shaking and the killer just keeps stepping closer. She can’t fucking kill him. Then she’s dead. Then I’m dead.

  I took a deep breath and held the gun steady, ignoring how heavy it was, ignoring the twitch in my forearms as I tried to keep it level. I especially ignored the sweat in my palms, making the handle slippery. “Please, Caleb,” I almost begged, “don’t move. Let me go and don’t make me kill you, cause I will. I swear to God, I will.”

  He was calm, too calm. “No one is going to kill anyone, Kitten. But I can’t let you go. Just put it down and I promise I won’t do anything to hurt you.” I couldn’t help but laugh. I was holding the gun, but he was the one holding me hostage. Still, my laugh was hysterical.

  My mind went to that special place of mine. And perhaps, inspired by the big damn gun in my hands, conjured Dirty Harry. “‘I know what you’re thinking,’” I half choked out. “‘Did he fire six shots or only five? Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you’ve got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?’” Caleb’s expression was priceless, somewhere between deep concern (for my sanity) and anger (at my idiocy).

  “Kitten,” he began. I cocked the gun, with two hands because I couldn’t manage it with one. In the process my finger pressed against the trigger slightly and for the first time I saw real fear skid across my captor’s features. He swallowed. I eased my finger off the trigger, relieved I hadn’t just done something stupid, or in my case, stupid-er. I reached for the handcuffs and threw them in his direction. He caught them without breaking eye contact. “The gun isn’t loaded, Kitten.”

  My heart fluttered. “Bullshit, Caleb. Don’t make me find out which one of us is bluffing.” He smiled, just a little. If you didn’t know him as well as I did, you’d have missed it for what it was. I don’t know why, but I looked down at his shorts. The bastard was hard. “Cuff yourself to the bed and don’t make me ask again.”

  This time his smile was broad, even smug. “Kitten, if that’s what you wanted, you need only have asked?” Really? Would he have let me cuff him to the bed? Livvie! Focus.

  “Just shut up and do what I said.” I was caustic. He furrowed his brow and, for a moment, I had forgotten who had the upper hand. Heavy metal sliding in my sweaty palm reminded me. “Now!” He walked to the post nearest me, still a few feet away and cuffed his wrists together. “Tighter,” I was impatient, nervous. He complied and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  I lowered the gun, taking a moment to let the anxiety settle, to allow my vision to clear and the adrenaline to dissipate. “Feel better, Pet?” he whispered, still playful. Possessed, I took two steps closer to him and slapped him so hard my hand stung. Instantly he leapt forward, his hands clutching for my hip and his feet sweeping my ankles. I fell flat on my back, the gun flung behind me. He could no longer reach me with his bound hands, but he was trying to grasp me between his legs. I scrambled backward with all my strength, refusing to be caught. I got free and collided with the chair behind me. “You’re going to pay for that,” he panted. The right side of his face sported an angry red handprint.

  I shook out my hand, “I already have. That was my change.”

  A few minutes later, I finally had the chair close enough to the window. I stepped up and felt around the edge. Please let me be right about this. My heart made a roaring sound in my ears, and I shut my eyes against doubt. Finally, I felt a little switch and my heart stopped all together. I glanced back to see Caleb. The angry expression had left his face though my handprint remained. I said a silent prayer, stepped down, and slid the door open. Caleb’s voice came from behind, “Kitten,” he sounded worried or sad, “Don’t let me find you.” Was that a threat? I wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

  I didn’t look back. I ran with all the force my legs could muster. My lungs burned as my bare feet thudded heavily against the dust of the ground. It was still early, the ground not warm yet. I wanted to scream for help, but wasn’t sure if I was far enough away to keep Caleb from hearing me, so I just ran. Up ahead I saw a man in an apron, pushing a dolly of crates into a building.

  “Help me!” The man looked in my direction, his expression one of confusion and distress. As I reached him, I all but flew into his arms trying to push the both of us inside.

  “Que pasa? Que te paso?” he asked in Spanish.

  I shoved him harder until we both nearly fell over the dolly on our way inside the building. My breath came in gasps while I tried to slow down and explain in Spanish that I was an American citizen who had been kidnapped and held against my will. I told him I escaped but that my captor was not far and I needed the police right away.

  “Who is this man?” he asked “Who is the
man who took you?” he seemed just as frantic as I was and he opened the door to look in the direction I had come from.

  “Get away from the door!” I yelled. “Caleb! His name is Caleb. Please, just call the police. Where the fuck am I?” Finally, the man quickly shut the door and bolted the lock.

  “Mexico.”

  “Mexico!”

  “Sí, Mexico,” the man was exasperated. Fucking Mexico. I knew it!

  “Shit yeah, you are,” came a man’s gravelly voice from the corner. The man, who I assumed was the bartender, and I looked in his direction. He appeared dirty; not the kind of dirty that came from poverty or sloth, but the kind of dirty that came from an obnoxious lifestyle. It was early in the morning, and here he was already in a bar, an American biker. He stared at me intently, took a drink of his beer and licked the foam from his mustache. Suddenly, I became aware of my clothing. I was nearly naked under Caleb’s coat. I crossed my arms and took a step behind the edge of the bar.

  “Can you help me, please? I need to get to the police.” He took another drink as he shook his head.

  “You don’t want to go to the police darlin’, trust me on that. Those dirty Mexicans are crooked as hell. They’d just sell you back to whoever you’re running from. Best thing you can do is try to get back over the border and let our guys help you out.” I looked at the bartender.

  “Es la verdad,” he said. It’s the truth.

  Exasperated, I yelled, “Well can you help me get to the fucking border then!” The bartender jumped and anxiously hustled to the back room. The biker stood, grabbed his beer and drank it down before slamming the glass on the table and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Well, damn, honey, you ain’t got to be nasty about it.” He walked over to me, tracing his hand along the bar, purposely eyeing me inappropriately. “I’m sure we can work something out.”