by Dani René
My arms tighten around my legs as I shake my head, tears forming in my hazel eyes.
Doctor Landon leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs that I doubt are scarred like mine. He softly assures me, “You’re safe here. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
I choke down tears, fear, and uncertainty plaguing me because I trust Doctor Landon, but he’s wrong. The figures standing behind him are promising me agony. And I somehow know that no one can stop them.
Doctor Landon tries another tactic. “Vera, do you think you liked dolls when you were a little girl?” Even though my brows bunch, he continues. “I have a daughter. When she was much younger, she could sit on the floor for hours, combing her dolls’ hair and dressing them in a variety of outfits. She would even pack them bags when we were traveling—” He stops when he sees me struggling to pull air into my lungs. “Does the word ‘traveling’ bother you?”
“I don’t know.” I rub the back of my neck as a searing pain takes over my mouth. My tongue searches the left side of my gums for the phantom ache, only to find the empty space that once held a molar.
Doctor Landon nods after studying my jaw move. “Yes, Vera. Ask questions about yourself.” I don’t. So, he does. “Why do you think only one molar is missing?” I stay quiet, still clueless. “Orthodontists usually remove more than one, especially when the other three are also in need.” I stay silent. “Vera, that was a recent abstraction. Your mouth had yet to heal when I found you.”
“Maybe… I did it? Maybe I ate something that hurt me?”
He huffs. “Do you know how hard it is to remove a tooth like that? Especially on yourself?” The shadows behind him start to stir, causing me to gasp, and my heart pounds wildly. “No,” gently reminds my psychiatrist. “Don’t let them stop you. Try to see only me, Vera.”
Swallowing hard due to intense nerves and the sensation of not being able to breathe properly, I pull my eyes away from the threat. “They-They—”
He leans forward. “They what? Say it. You can do this.”
I huddle into my legs again, then whisper, “They scare me.”
I don’t see it but can hear his slight smile. It always changes the sound of his mature voice. “It’s okay to be scared.” His antique chair creaks as he leans back. “Do you know why they scare you?” My rapid exhales blow across my sweatpants and beat against my clammy cheeks. “Do you think they had anything to do with the old scars on the left side of your body?” When I refuse to answer, he almost whispers, “I’m so proud of you.”
This is the first time I haven’t run from his office and back upstairs to my room. The shadows usually win. His pride in me is the only thing keeping me rooted to this chair. He cares. I need him to. It gives me comfort I don’t want to lose.
My strained voice cracks. “You never give up on me.” We’ve had so many “talks” that seem futile, without any progression, in my opinion, but Doctor Landon is always pleased at the end of each session.
“How could I?” Without looking, I hear his smile is full now. “You are one of the most special people I have ever met. You have come so far because you are so brave.”
I don’t understand why he says these things, but those words and his honesty give me the courage to come out of hiding. Only one other person makes me feel like I may be safe someday. He is much younger than Doctor Landon but just as important. Continuing to gaze at my doctor, my forehead refusing to leave my knees, I try to understand why the shadows scare me.
As if reading me and seeing my silent decision to dare and poke into my past, Doctor Landon doesn’t move or speak. Slowly, I close my eyes, searching for an inkling of my lost life, and try to picture a little girl playing with dolls…
In pitch black, I’m on my side, folded into a ball that is so tightly confined I can barely breathe. My cheeks are wet as I cry, wanting to be set free. “Pwease? Pwease, let me out.”
“Oh, God. I’m a little girl.” My eyes don’t open due to being lost in this memory that promises to be horrid, but my heart demands I tell my doctor what I’m witnessing. It is uncanny to see this from my older self’s point of view, yet be living it at the same time.
A tiny bit of relief from the growing fear takes place when Doctor Landon can barely contain his eagerness. “How old, Vera? Try to remember.”
A hand touches the material holding me captive. “Packed tight,” announces a male voice.
Overwhelmed with being in two worlds at once, I cry, “He sounds a little older than me.” I can’t help but rub my forearm, wanting to erase my scar.
“Who, Vera? Do you know him?”
“Is the zipper locked?”
Almost moaning due to the terror, I tell him, “So does he.”
Doctor Landon sounds concerned. “There is more than one?”
Metal quietly clanks, then there’s a tug on my entrapment. “Yeah. It’s locked.”
It’s getting even harder to breathe, but I force out, “And his.”
“Th-Three?” asks my stunned doctor.
A disturbing excitement laces the next voice. “Let’s drag her to the top of the stairs.”
Dread. I’m instantly consumed with dread. “Four.” Even though I am trapped in a memory, I’m not clueless about its possible connection to the four shadows that haunt the older me.
Doctor Landon is speaking to me, but I can no longer comprehend what he’s saying. I’m too horrified that the shadows have a much deeper meaning and are connected with what’s about to happen to me—or what already happened to me.
The bag I’m in makes a swish sound as it’s dragged across hard flooring. It’s drowning out the crying… The bag is so thin, I can feel the coldness from the floor. I want the little girl to scream for help, but I sense she—I—know it will do us no good.
“You ready?” This one sounds as if he’s about to step onto a roller-coaster ride he has waited for all his young years.
Four sets of hands are placed on me. My heart cracks, feeling how I’m almost too small to give them all space to touch me. My heart cracks because not one of these boys is mentioning how cruel this is or how they shouldn’t do it. No. The four of them are in a pack—an agreement. I don’t know who they are or why I am with them, and I have no time to figure it out.
The four sets of hands, after a celebrated count to three, push, sending me on a spiral that’s only the beginning of my downfall.
Chapter 2
Loving Tate
After falling, I find it hard to stand
So, I carefully turn to a helping hand.
After remembering, I find it impossible to be blind.
With his love, I hope to never be left behind.
Lying in the dark, what I’m seeing is making my red—exhausted from crying—eyes heal. The moonlight glows on Tate as he opens the window to my bedroom at Serenity. His smile is the softness I need in this unkind world.
“Hi,” he whispers so that no patients, doctors, or orderlies hear him.
Seventeen. What an age to be. Tate is not quite a man, yet he yearns to be one. A cub striving to be a lion so he can lead, guard, and nurture. Not all wisdom is his yet, but he gazes at me as if I’m the only star in his night.
The first time he came to me here at Serenity, I was somewhat alarmed, watching him run across the grass from the woods. No one saw him but me. I was in the garden of flowers with Doctor Landon. The sun had been bright and warming to a lost soul. I was in a state of unusual ease when Doctor Landon was pulled away by an orderly who had a question.
As soon as Tate ran up to the electric fence, being careful not to touch it, any apprehension I had dissipated. Something in his blue eyes, which reminded me of a deep river, felt like the closest to a home that I may have ever had. From under his shaggy, dark blond hair, he was out of breath but smiling. He whispered, “I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you are.”
Seeing his raw innocence was a breath of fresh air. “Who are you?” I whispered to not gain my doctor or orde
rly’s attention.
Precious dimples deepened. “Willing to find out?” The sun’s rays on his soft skin dared me to deny the delivered gift.
That day, Tate brought on my first desire to smile since arriving at Serenity. Until Tate, I’m not sure if I ever smiled before. His visits have been my only happiness.
Now, here he is again, the sight of him bringing me an amazing solace.
I wipe a remaining tear before it hits my pillow and quietly say, “Hi.”
Crawling through the open window, he keeps smiling with a bravery that would calm the spirit of any lost young woman. “Nah, pretty girl. Nah.” He stands tall after shutting the window. “No cryin’ tonight.” He brushes long, wavy, dark blond bangs from his adorable face while he walks toward me. “Only sugar.”
A relieved chuckle escapes me because I know what he means. And I want it.
His face lights up with joy that shouldn’t belong to such youth. From what I understand, teenage boys are rough and always causing mischief. Not Tate. He only creates joy. “Oh. I see you like my kisses.”
I do. He tastes as sweet as his heart is.
Mine sighs, knowing it can rest now that this young man has come for the night.
Tate pulls back my blanket and sheet. Warmth rolls through my body and soul as his hand tenderly pushes on my shoulder to roll me to my back, then he rests his body on top of mine. “Is there anyone else who can give you sugar like me?”
My arms demand to hold him again, so I indulge. Nothing feels like Tate does. He is wholesome. He is pure. He is… hope.
Until tonight with Doctor Landon, I never understood why I treasured Tate as much as I have over the last couple of months. Now that I’m learning I may have a traumatic past, I can’t help but wonder if I recognize Tate to be a light in my life. One that I must cling to in order to survive the darkness in my lonely mind.
Staring up at this incredible person, I whisper, “I finally had a memory tonight.”
His smile fades. “Then, more will come.”
A sting jabs my heart. “You don’t seem happy for me.”
Sorrow vibrates from his expression of remorse. “I can’t. All those memories once brought you pain.”
This is the first time Tate has spoken of my past as if familiar with it. “Did you know me before I came here?”
I stare at him, hungry for answers, but he doesn’t indulge me.
Studying his hand, he lifts it to hover over me and waits. My head tilts. Not because I don’t know what he is waiting for, but because I do. Somehow, I comprehend his request and slowly lift my palm until it meets his.
Our eyes meet before his fingers gradually slide between mine. He whispers with so much affection, “Hold my heart, Pretty Girl.”
Emotions bloom in my chest. My fingers fold down to hold his hand, his heart, and offer mine. “Evermore.”
A slight smile returns to his gorgeous face. “And there is our promise.”
After a powerful moment that lingers between us as if infusing our souls, affectionate lips touch mine, soothing away the rest of the pain my memories have brought me.
Being young and enthralled with each other, many kisses have transpired, but tonight is different. It’s as if my newfound memories have changed everything. Soon, our mouths no longer meet with a bashful yet elated manner how we usually kiss. Now, I feel the kiss growing into a sincere and fulfilling passion. Licks of our tongues call out for more touches. We are no longer timid with each other as our cravings overpower any limits we believed existed.
As he kisses my neck, my heart pounds, and my belly tingles with needs that cause a pulsing between my thighs. With no reservations, I open them, inviting Tate to slip between my legs. As his body sinks, his clothed, hardened length meets my core. He groans his pleasure, and his mouth widens to possess mine, again and again. Gasping for air, I meet his desperation with my own, driven by our ravaged kissing union.
Soon, Tate’s body shakes with an innocent starvation. It’s almost as if he doesn’t understand what his body needs. He seems surprised when his hips move against me, searching for delicious friction. We both moan with relief as his erection punishes my groin. But that satisfaction is short-lived because our bodies are now in an even more heightened state.
My panties are damp. I want Tate to take us past where we’ve been.
As if hearing my call, his actions become bolded. His innocent needs grow into a man’s appetite in only minutes. He palms my breast with tender squeezes as if his hand has a mind of its own, wanting to know every curve. I groan, and my hips tilt upward when his thumb swipes past my nipple. Understanding I liked it, he touches it again, his famished kiss deepening at the same time.
Under him, I feel sheltered and protected. He owns all that he can reach of me. I can’t help but love the sensation to the point I desire for him to touch even more.
With lust, Tate stares at me as I slide my hands under his shirt to feel his warm skin. His wet lips are spread in wonder as I pull on his back, wanting him closer, even though it is not possible with clothes on. I plead, “Please, don’t say no,” for all he can give this lost girl. I crave a deeper connection with him. I crave feeling grounded and with a purpose. Since Tate is all I have, I want all of him.
His meaningful eyes never leave mine as he balances on his knees to remove his shirt. “I could never say no, but—”
When he stalls, insecurities rise, but I don’t let them win. I want this. My bare inner thighs timidly rub against his jeans, hoping to spur him to proceed. “Tate, take these off.”
Apparently, his hormones are no match for his conscience or my lack of self-control. I giggle when Tate hops out of the bed and frantically strips as if scared I may change my mind. I hold back a gasp when his erection pops free. Maybe the surprise is because I might not have ever seen one before. Maybe I’ve seen a hundred, but I know at this very second, Tate’s will be the only one I will remember. That makes my soul soar with a freedom amnesia can’t touch.
Grinning like a guilty cake thief, Tate crawls back between my legs. “You find my torture funny?” He sits on his feet, his thick thighs no longer reminding me of a young man. Tate has been hiding a full-grown body under baggier clothes.
“Torture?” I playfully snicker.
He licks at lips that appear famished. “Yeah. I want you so bad it hurts.”
Since my ego is inflated properly, I respond with, “Then why am I still in this?” I lay my arms over my head and pillow to hint at the removal of my clothes.
Tate lifts a brow, accepting my challenge, but after he starts lifting the hem of my sweatshirt, his naked chest pants and his eyes are no longer focused on mine. There is no bra to hide my breasts. I am exposed… “Umm, Tate?”
“Oh shit. Sorry.”
Halfway through undressing me, Tate gets distracted, leaving my oversized sweatshirt covering my face and my arms trapped above my head.
Tate yanks it off me, trying to muffle a laugh. “Damn, I got so distracted with the best set of boobs in the whole world.”
“Whole world?” I dip my chin. “You are forgiven.” I’ve lost him again. “Tate?”
He wipes at his mouth as if expecting to feel drool. “You’re only wearing these.”
Tate gestures to my white cotton panties. I almost purr, “I don’t want to be.”
As if trying to have some self-control, his hands tremble while he reaches forward and pulls down my underwear. I don’t cover myself with a hand or blanket. I let him gander at all I want to give him. The cool evening air finds my heat, exciting me further.
Breathlessly, Tate tells me, “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
I tease, “Not even my face?”
With worry, his eyes snap to mine until he sees I’m only kidding. Dimples appear, complimenting his smirk. “What’s between your legs is no comparison to that face. Your hazel eyes are my undoing. I swear it. And your long golden hair? Don’t get me started.”
Somethin
g pokes at my mind. But my hair is short—
“Jesus, Pretty Girl. You, naked, is killing me. Look at this,” he heavily whispers while pointing to his erection that is possibly possessing all the blood in his body.
“Can I?” I expose my palm, gesturing to his manhood.
Tate swallows and nods as if I have offered him the world. “Y-Yeah. Sure. I—I’m totally okay with dat—I mean th-at.” With a nervous and excited hand, I reach forward and grip his erection. Still on his knees, his eyes drift shut and his head falls back. “Your hand feels so much better than mine.”
Muffling a giggle, I stroke his shaft. “Just what every girl dreams of hearing.”
As my hand pulls on his sensitive skin, Tate moans, “Oh, God,” before melting forward. Balancing on his knees, he catches himself with one hand and hovers over me. I don’t release him. He seems lost in me stroking him. His free hand has a vice grip on my hip. There are raised veins in his neck and forehead. “Please, don’t stop what you’re doing, but I’m desperate to know what you feel like.”
My chest starts panting again, elated about feeling him touching me down there. My voice sounds weak and shaky. “Okay.”
I’m so focused on his movements; it’s challenging to keep my hand stroking him. Tate’s hand slides from my hip, across my lower belly, and down over my pubic bone. As his fingers softly sink down and between my folds, Tate hisses, “So wet… Why is you being so wet making my mouth water?” He doesn’t wait for a response. With his one hand, he pushes off the mattress to sit back on his feet to get a full view of me. He doesn’t even mention the fact that he’s pulled his erection free of my hand. He seems too entranced to notice. “I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on this my whole life.” His fingers rub up and down my core.
My hands grip the fitted sheet underneath me as I groan. “Tate.” His warm fingertips are compounding the sensation of cold air and bringing me such pleasure I think I’m seeing stars.
