by Reed, Zelda
I’m drowning in the feel of him, the scent of him, the sound of him.
His body slaps against mine with every thrust. It’s a sticky sound, sweating flesh against sweating flesh, but it brings an even larger grin to my mouth.
With my head against my pillow I watch as Neal’s gaze flows from my eyes, to my breasts, to my pussy, trained on the way his cock flows in and out of me. He’s obsessed with the sight, hips quickening whenever he sees it. Sees us. Moving as one.
My orgasm builds slowly. It starts in my chest, blooming beneath my ribcage where my heart sits, pounding. It’s a painful clasp that explodes like a black hole, spreading the universe through every inch of me. My fingers scramble to grab hold of Neal, slipping from his hair to his shoulders, pulling him down for my teeth to sink into his skin. A whimper slips out, pops in the air disruptively, but Neal says nothing. His own orgasm has muted him.
He shudders atop me, muscles clenching as his eyes slip close. He collapses beside me, clumsily pulling out. A wet heat drips between my legs, wetting the mattress below.
Neal catches his breath and pulls me into him, my head on his chest, his arm thrown around my shoulder. The pair of us breathe in our scent, naked in the dark, sweating in the heat. He kisses the top of my head and my heart grows into my throat.
I love Neal Dietrich. It’s undeniably true and I’ll do everything I can to keep him safe.
Two
Alanis pops half a boiled egg in her mouth. She has six of them, propped in ceramic egg cups, lined up on the kitchen counter. Like me, she’s dressed in the same clothes as the night before but she looks less ridiculous in her casual green dress, than I do in my sparkly number.
“How’d you sleep?” I ask, grabbing a water from the fridge.
“Fantastic,” she says, voice flat. She pops another egg in her mouth. “I’ve been up for hours.”
The clock on the microwave says it’s six a.m.
Alanis has another egg. “Do you know she has ten thousand dollar’s worth of merchandise in the living room?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“And she only makes fifty thousand a year.”
“How do you know that?”
Alanis tilts her head to the side. “Did you think I was going to blindly trust you without doing some research on my own?” She pops in another egg. “I bet she’s in debt up to her eyeballs.”
Gina doesn’t hear Alanis as she enters the kitchen, her curled hair bouncing against her shoulders, a navy blue skirt tight around her hips. “Good morning,” she says, poking her head in the fridge. “You ate all the eggs.”
“Sorry about that,” Alanis says.
She has another one.
Gina’s smile tightens. “How long do you think you’ll be here, Alanis?”
“Caitlin and I are leaving today.”
“We are?”
Alanis nods. “If anyone finds out you’re here, or that you’ve been here, this’ll be the first place Lee checks for Neal. You have to go back to...Where are you staying?”
“My father’s condo.”
“Your condo,” Gina corrects.
“Right,” Alanis says.
Gina’s making a pot of coffee when Neal steps into the room. The second he spots me, he throws his arm around my waist and pulls me into a kiss. He tastes of mint toothpaste and smells of aftershave but I can’t get enough of him.
Gina clears her throat. She and Alanis lean against the kitchen counters, Alanis toying with her phone, Gina pouring herself a cup of coffee.
Neal kisses Gina’s cheek and her blush creeps beneath her blouse. “Good morning,” he says, reaching for a mug. Gina shuffles out his way. “What time did you get up?” he says to Alanis.
“You know me,” she says. “I never sleep.”
Neal hands me a full mug. A smile spreads across my mouth.
Alanis snatches it from him. “We’ll get breakfast on the way.”
Neal’s face falls. “Where are you going?”
“Back to the condo,” I say.
“And you can’t stay for breakfast?” Neal says.
“No, we can’t,” Alanis says. She points to me, “We have to get going, but you have to change.”
I stare down at my dress. “I don’t have anything else to wear.”
Alanis glances at Gina.
“I doubt she can fit any of my clothes,” she says.
Years ago, Gina and I wore similar sizes, though her boobs were always bigger and spilling out of her tops. Her age has brought along wider hips and a stomach she hides behind a tight layer of spanks.
“Then I guess we’re switching outfits,” Alanis says.
“We’re doing what?”
She pats Neal on the shoulder. “Be sure to watch the news.”
She steps out the kitchen, her car keys twirling on her finger. Gina follows, a soft smile and touch of the arm thrown my way.
“I’ll see you around,” I say, pressing my lips to Neal’s.
We kiss for a moment before Neal breaks away.
He presses his forehead against mine, the smell of roasted coffee wafting between us. This is the moment he says, ‘I’ll miss you’ and I counter with ‘I love you’. My eyes will grow wide in realization and Neal will pull me impossibly closer.
“Be safe,” he says, taking a step back.
I throw him a glance over my shoulder and try not to fixate on my disappointment.
______
Alanis makes me pay for three coffees and a dozen donuts at the Dunkin Donuts a few streets away from my father’s condo. She drinks her coffee like she eats her eggs, downing half within seconds.
“Before I drop you off I need to know you’re not an idiot,” she says.
“You’re not coming in with me?”
“No. I have some other things to do.” She turns a corner and throws me a glance. “Are you an idiot?”
My eyebrows furrow. “No.”
She throws her phone in my lap. “Prove it.”
Her phone is unlocked, the web app open and showcasing an article and video on ABC7, Chicago’s local news. The title: BREAK IN AT THE DIETRICH HOME.
The newswoman stands on the opposite side of the street from Neal’s house, his home protected by bright yellow police tape and officers strolling up and down the street. Neighbors watch from their stoops as officers enter and exit the front door, making sure no one can get a good look inside.
The woman says nothing we don’t already know. Neal’s house was burgled by what seems to have been a group of assailants. There are no leads but Neal, who was seen late last night leaving Excalibur, is nowhere to be found.
“This is the good part,” Alanis says.
The newswoman says, “Friends and family have been attempting to contact Mr. Dietrich all morning –”
“Bullshit,” Alanis says.
“—and while it’s too early to jump to conclusions, police might rule this a kidnapping.”
The video stops and Alanis reclaims her phone, shoving it between her thighs. “Now explain to me why there are a dozen donuts and an extra coffee in the backseat.”
“Eleven,” I say.
“What?”
“There are eleven donuts in the backseat. You had one at the counter.”
Alanis smiles.
I give myself a minute to think before, “I never did that well on tests in high school.”
“Fair enough. I won’t judge you this time. We have donuts because the cops are going to be at your apartment. You were the last person Neal was seen with. If they think he’s been kidnapped you’ll be the first person they suspect. But you have an alibi. You came home late, woke up early and went out to get breakfast for you and,” she snaps her fingers, “that girl you’re staying with…”
“Ashleigh.”
“Right. Hence, why you’re wearing my clothes and I look like a prostitute.”
Alanis and I are around the sam
e dress size but the front of my dress sags on her, creating a deep V-neck that exposes her chest and the front of her bra. She wears it proudly, shoulders back in the driver’s seat, sunglasses perched on her nose.
“Can I ask you something about Neal?” I say.
“Depends.”
“How long were the two of you together?”
“How do you know we were together?”
Because I found your photo in his bathroom. I shrug. “I had a hunch.”
She turns her head towards me, the car rolling down my father’s street. “We were together for three years. Engaged for one.”
A pesky lump builds in my throat and I swallow it like a rock. I refuse to be one of those women who get choked up at the knowledge that the man they love had a life before them.
“Engaged?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “What happened?”
She stops the car a few blocks away from my father’s condo. Fingers flexing around the wheel she says, “He wasn’t adventurous enough for me. I like a little danger in a relationship and Neal’s quite boring.”
I have to laugh. “You think this is boring?”
Alanis grins. “You have no idea how exciting life can get.”
______
There are two cops waiting for me when I enter my father’s condo. Ashleigh’s sitting on the edge of a chair across from them, in a pair of pink sweatpants and a t-shirt. Her hair’s pulled into a messy bun and there isn’t a hint of make-up on her. The police must’ve woken her up.
I shut the door behind me and she jumps to her feet. “You’re back,” she says, rushing over. She throws her arms around my neck and pulls me into a tight hug.
“I just went out for breakfast,” I say, shaking her cup of coffee.
She pulls away, eyebrows knitting in the middle.
“I bought you some coffee,” I say, shoving the cup in her hand.
I kick off my shoes in the foyer and stroll into the living room, a bright smile plastered on my face. Act normal.
“And I’ve got donuts for – Oh, we have company.”
It’s such a cliché, the way the officer’s mouths water at the sight of the white, pink and orange box.
“I’ll take one,” the youngest officer says.
I leave the box and my purse on the coffee table and grab a pile of napkins from the kitchen. Ashleigh reclaims her seat. I’m left standing near window, glancing out the morning sun that shines blindly into the living room.
My mind can’t help but drift to Neal, locked up in Gina’s crowded house without an inch of light. She doesn’t even have an attic where he can lay on the floor, out of sight, and get a little sun.
“Would you like something to drink?” Ashleigh says, her hands folded nervously in her lap.
“Water,” the youngest officer says.
“No thank you,” grunts the older one. He’s taken two bites of a crueler, the rest untouched on his plate. Ashleigh moves to the kitchen and he wipes his hands. “You’re probably wondering why we’re here.”
I nod. “Is it about my father?”
“No,” the older one says. “Although from everyone at the Chicago PD, we are truly sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” I say.
The youngest one wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re Neal Dietrich’s girlfriend, right?”
“I am. And you are?”
A light blush dots the younger officer’s cheeks. “Officer Hagrity,” he says. “But you can call me Chad.”
“Don’t call him Chad,” the older officer says. “Officer Manson.” Immediately I think of Charles Manson rotting somewhere in a cell. He motions towards Ashleigh’s seat. “You might want to have a seat for this.”
Ashleigh’s seat is warm, lived in. How long have the police been here, waiting?
She says nothing when she hands Officer Hagrity a glass of water, taking a seat next to me on the floor.
“I’ll get up,” the older officer says, moving to stand.
“It’s alright,” Ashleigh says, flashing him a smile. “I really don’t mind.”
Officer Manson reclaims his seat. A bushy red mustache covers his thin upper lip, his age showing in the weight at his neck and the lines around his eyes, deep set and sharp as needles. He has a careful way of speaking, slow and articulate, his tongue curling around his words.
He asks when was the last time I saw Neal and I spit out a lie.
“Last night. He drove me home.”
“He drove you home? In his car?”
“No. His driver took us.”
Officer Manson nods.
Hagrity pulls a notepad from his pocket. He flips it open, clicks his pen. “Does this driver have a name?”
“I’m sure he does,” I say. “But I don’t know it.”
Officer Hagrity laughs but Manson’s face falls.
This is not how women are supposed to react to the police. I know this from watching my mother crack jokes from her car, pulled to the side of the road, a policeman carefully watching her over the top of his sunglasses. We were meant to be nervy, quiet creatures. Sitting on our hands as a sliver of vomit crawled up our throats, feet tapping against the floor as we sweat beneath our arms. You know officer, my husband was supposed to take care of that.
I try to be more like Ashleigh, her hands wringing in her lap as she sits cross-legged by my feet.
“Miss Wheeler,” Officer Manson says, shifting in his seat. “We think your boyfriend may have been kidnapped.” There’s an emphasis on boyfriend, like a slap to the face. A vocal wake-up call that what’s happening is more serious than I’m taking it.
I force my mouth to drop open. “What do you mean?”
Officer Hagrity sits up. “Last night his home was burglarized.”
“Burgled,” corrects the Manson.
“Burgled,” says Hagrity.
I glance down at Ashleigh. She’s staring at me with those signature wide eyes, wet with tears.
“Is he…” I look back at the officers. I play stupid. “What does that have to do with a kidnapping?” Before they can answer I stuff my words in my throat, croaking them out. “Is Neal alright?”
“We don’t know,” says Officer Hagrity.
“His house is in pretty bad shape,” says Officer Manson. “And no one can seem to find him.”
I’ve seen enough Law and Order episodes to know what comes next. I trap my breath in my chest until I’m red in the cheeks, hands gripping the arms of my chair, fingers curling into the cushion. “Are you even looking?” I spit out.
“Ma’am,” Officer Manson says, raising his hand to me. “We understand your frustration --”
“I’m not sure you do.” I snatch my purse from the coffee table and pull out my phone. I walk to the windows and call Neal. It goes straight to voicemail. “His phone’s off,” I say.
“We know,” says Officer Manson.
“Then why did you let me call him?” My bottom lip’s trembling but I don’t think I can force out tears. I was never good at fake crying, no matter how much Suzanne tried to teach me.
“Ma’am,” says Officer Hagrity, his voice softer than this partner’s. “Can you please have a seat?”
I sit back down.
“We’re going to do everything we can to find him,” says Officer Hagrity, leaning forward.
Officer Manson clears his throat. “We’re doing everything we can.”
I nod and wipe my eyes, picking up non-existent tears. The motion is enough to straighten the shoulders of the officers.
Officer Manson stands first, Hagrity following his lead, sticking the notepad in his pocket as Manson digs out his card.
“If you hear anything,” he says, handing it to me.
“And what if you hear anything?” I ask.
“You’ll be the first to know.”
The officers shuffle out of the condo with one last glance around. Officer Hagrity wears a faint
look of awe. He’s never been in a place this nice. People like me don’t get house calls from the police, our riches are meant to keep us safe.
I close the door behind them, my forehead against the wood as I listen for their feet down the hall. The elevator pings open, then closes.
Behind me Ashleigh’s arms wrap around my waist. I stiffen.
“I’m not letting go,” she says, her mouth against my back. “I’m so, so sorry.”
I remove her hands from my stomach and turn around. She deflates.
“I’m trying to help,” she says, shoulders slumping forward. “I know what it’s like to…” She shakes her head and turns away from me.
I grab her shoulder. “It’s not that,” I say. “It’s just…”
Can I trust Ashleigh? As far as I know she doesn’t have many (if any) friends in the city and she was fiercely loyal to my father, but loyalty isn’t inherited. She’s also the closest thing I have to a friend in Chicago.
“Neal wasn’t kidnapped,” I say.
Ashleigh’s eyes grow wide. “What?” She glances towards the door. “We should tell the cops.”
“No,” I say, hand tightening around her shoulder. “We can’t...”
Her face falls. “What’s going on?”
Ashleigh reclaims her spot on the living room floor and I sit in Officer Manson’s seat, the cushion burning from his heat. I tell her about Lee Geon and his men.
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” she says. “Chris told me Lee was going to retaliate soon.”
“He did? When?”
She ducks her head. “Last night.”
I relax into the couch, one leg thrown over my knee. “Did you sleep with him?”
“No,” she says. “We just…He brought me back here and we talked all night.”
Her faint smile drops as she looks over her shoulder, my father’s urn resting above the shelf full of records.
“Hey,” I say, catching her attention. “You don’t have to feel guilty, even if something did happen.”
“Yeah,” she says, forcing a smile. “I know.” Ashleigh pushes herself to her feet, tugging on her t-shirt, smoothing out her sweatpants. “Were you with Neal? Wherever he is?”
