Dirty Dark Desire: A Dark Erotic Standalone

by Lacey Alpha

  “Ethan, I wondered when you'd call,” Clarissa says calmly like she hasn't just burned my whole world to the ground.

  “How could you? No- fuck that. Why would you? Why would you fucking do it?!” I roar, losing control of myself.

  “It was time the girl knew the truth. Don't blame me for your dysfunctional behaviour. I have covered for you for months and this is how you repay me?”

  “So you decided to give her my fucking journal? In front of me, no less. Without so much as a word of warning?”

  “That girl needed to see what you are, Ethan. She can't go round throwing wild accusations-”

  “Don't you fucking dare try and paint her out to be the one in the wrong here. You're the one who's been fucking with my head for god knows how long.”

  She simpers. “Oh Ethan, listen to yourself. You're so infatuated with the girl, you'll believe anything she says.”

  “She didn't have to say anything, Clarissa. You were the one who propositioned me. Tried to fucking blackmail me.”

  She goes silent at that and a small bubble of triumph grows in my chest at finally knocking her off her high horse.

  “I...I'm sorry, Ethan.”

  I pause, halting my pacing. “What?” I blurt, thinking I must have heard her wrong.

  Her voice turns milky smooth. “Really, I am. Perhaps I have developed an attachment to you. But we've shared so much together.”

  My brow becomes taut. “You mean in your basement?” I spit, my anger rising to a dangerous level. “In your fucked up little sex den.”

  I know I've gone too far as she sucks in a sharp breath. “You have no right to talk to me that way.”

  I grind my jaw, wanting to bring this conversation to an end. I lower the level of my voice, taking a breath. “I have every right, Clarissa. You think you're so above me, so fucking righteous. But you're as twisted as I am.”

  “Yes, Ethan. That's just it, we're the same you and I. Don't you see?” There's hope in her voice, longing.

  I grimace, disgusted at the thought of being like her. Am I? Are we similar? I've lied to Annalise over and over again. I was selfish. I could have ended things before they started but I kept seeing her, kept fucking her.

  I rub my eyes, trying to fight back the anxiety growing and growing in my chest like a time bomb.

  “Deep down, you know it. And when you figure it out, give me a call.” She hangs up and I sink down onto the bed, the strength going out of me.

  I'm tortured by what she's suggested. And I see the extent of what I truly am. What I've caused.

  Maybe she's right, maybe we are one and the same.

  CLARISSA

  I almost lost control. When Annalise planted that bug in my room, I could have torn her limb from limb. That vile little slut. Who does she think she is?

  Now she'll learn the hard way not to fuck with me. I gave her a chance, she could have kept away from Ethan but she just had to worm her way back into his life. So of course I had to give her the journal. I'd had enough of all this. Of Ethan turning up to my sessions, regarding me coolly, giving me nothing but one word answers and brief glances. As if I'm the one who's caused this. He needs to take some responsibility for his own actions. He's the stalker, the obsessed little fuck up who came to me for help.

  Well my patience is at an end. And now I'm going to regain control.

  I head home, descending to the basement and taking out my anger on Nick for a while. When I'm finished, he's panting at my feet, holding my ankles. He's done. And I'm done with him. It's time to move forward. Time for Ethan and I to be freed of our obsessions. He'll thank me once she's gone. Once I've broken the binds that tie him to her.

  ANNALISE

  I head to the clinic with a fierce purpose. Today, I'm angry. Worse than angry, I'm fuming. At Ethan, at Clarissa Sinclair, the world. And there is only one thing I can think of to do with this energy.

  As I hurry up the street, a storm brews around me, the wind picking up.

  I jog inside, heading upstairs and walking straight past the sunny-faced Janet at reception.

  “Everything okay?” her dreamy tone sails after me.

  I say nothing, heading to Clarissa's office and slipping inside. I walk to the filing cabinet, pulling it open and thumbing through the files. I halt at Ethan's name, tugging out the file and flipping it open.

  I scan through his symptoms as defined by Clarissa.

  Obsessive

  Delusional

  Psychotic

  I frown. Obsessive, maybe. But delusional? Psychotic? I may not know everything about Ethan, but I've spent enough time with him to be fairly sure he's not dangerous. I'm basing this entirely on my instincts – and three years at university.

  My gut says I should speak to him. And as I think of my dad, I know I have to go with my gut. It's what he'd tell me to do. Even if it defies all logic.

  ⊱✿ ✿⊰

  “I read your file,” I reveal, gazing at Ethan. I give nothing away, keeping my tone cool. But he still makes my heart flutter like a bird in a cage.

  We're sat across from one another in an American-themed diner near to the park. Perhaps it wasn't the most appropriate place to meet, but I figured it's halfway between the two of our homes so we're on neutral ground.

  “Oh?” He lifts a brow, his grey-blue eyes soft and vulnerable.

  “I figured I had the right to stalk you, seeing as you've been doing the same to me for the past six months.”

  He grunts in confirmation, dropping his eyes, ashamed. I guess he knew I'd figure it out eventually. Especially now Clarissa's under scrutiny. All of her clients are undergoing revaluation. And that's why I'm here – well, mainly.

  “I'd like for someone to reassess you, if you're willing. Clarissa was manipulating you. She fabricated aspects of your condition.”

  “Why did she do it?” he asks, glancing up, his eyes full of longing to understand.

  It melts me into a puddle and I find my hand sliding towards his. I manage to halt myself just before I reach the tips of his fingers. This man stalked me. And I can't take that lightly. But the problem is, all I see before me is someone who's in pain. Someone who's been abused by the woman who was supposed to help him.

  “She made you dependant on her, to keep you coming back. Perhaps it was power play, I don't know. An investigation is underway into her other clients, to see if she's done this before.”

  He nods slowly, his brow drawing down. He looks so lost, like a child who's been left on the street, not knowing where to go.

  “Can you keep me informed? Just....by email or whatever. You don't have to see me again,” he confirms, making my heart race harder. “And I promise I'll stay away from you.”

  The thought of never seeing him again pains me to my very core. I don't have the words so I nod quickly. It's for the best, I should walk away. But it's going to break my heart.

  “Look, I know there's nothing I could say that you'd want to hear but...” Ethan knots his hands together, his brow heavily furrowed. “The first day I saw you, something broke in me. I came unhinged. I couldn't control it, Lise. I'm sorry. My whole world suddenly revolved around you. And you have to know, I would never have hurt you.” He shakes his head, sighing.

  My heart twists and yanks. I don't know what to say so I just gaze at him, wanting to be angry but finding only pity remaining. And something else, something I don't want to admit.

  He stands, throwing down a ten pound note to cover our drinks. I go to refuse but he strides away, not looking back as I gaze after him.

  As he reaches for the door, a fire flares up in the kitchen, a sizzling sound filling the air. Ethan flinches away, pressing himself to the door, jamming his fingers into his eyes.

  And it all clicks together. From all that I've learnt about him and everything I've studied on the subject, I finally know what he's struggling with. The doctors who tested him when he returned from Iraq may have been right, he didn't have PTSD. Not initially anyway. But Ethan's
developed it since, something triggered it in him. And I have a horrible suspicion, that maybe, it was me.

  ⊱✿ ✿⊰

  I head home, my pulse accelerating.

  Leaving him is excruciating, like my heart's been ripped right out of my chest, left on the table in the diner, bloody and still beating.

  He looked lost. And I don't know how to fix it. I don't know if I should want to.

  He needs help. But I can't be the one to give it to him, even if I do still have feelings for him.

  A wild vision springs to mind of us working through his problems together, me as his therapist, treating him how he should have been treated all along.

  God - what the hell am I thinking?

  How can I justify counselling my own stalker? It's too messed up.

  I round the corner onto my street, the clouds darkening above me. A chill creeps up my spine that I don't think has anything to do with the feel of a storm in the air.

  A car pulls up beside me and I glance around, taking in the red Ferrari with curiosity. Someone hops out and the crimson locks of Clarissa swing around her.

  I frown, halting, turning to her. “Miss Sinclair?”

  Her eyes are dark as she approaches. She takes something from her pocket, opening the passenger door and gesturing for me to enter. I start conjuring images of what she could give me this time. But there's nothing more she could convince me of. I know what Ethan is, and although he has a lot of troubles, he is not a bloody head case.

  “Get in the car, Annalise. Or you'll regret it.”

  I spot what's in her hand, the flash of a blade catching my eye.

  What the fuck?

  A wave of anxiety flares through me.

  She takes my wrist, pulling me toward the car, pressing the tip of the knife to my side. “In.”

  I try to snatch my hand away, my heart racing. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”

  “I have no reservations about stabbing you, Annalise. Get in the fucking car.”

  My breathing falters. This can't be happening.

  Clarissa's grip on me tightens. She's strong. Stronger than me, I'm sure. Panic rises in my chest. I glance up and down the street, looking for help.

  “Don't scream. Or I'll cut you so deep, you'll bleed out before anyone even notices you're hurt.”

  I gasp as she jabs the blade into my side, nearly puncturing the skin. My hands tremble as I comply, dropping into the car..

  Whilst Clarissa moves around the car, I scramble for my phone in my bag.

  As she gets in, she snatches it from my hand, her fingernails ripping into me.

  “Ah,” I gasp, lurching away from her, gazing at her in horror.

  “You're going to do exactly as I say.”

  ETHAN

  I wander home from the diner in a daze.

  Rain begins to fall and I don't even bother to quicken my pace. Who gives a fuck if it's raining?

  I spy people around me, hurrying for cover, whipping up umbrellas.

  What I'd give to be like them. To have reason to my life, self-preservation. Somewhere to go that it actually matters if I show up wet or not.

  I climb the stairs to my flat, heading inside. My phone rings but I ignore it, walking to the kitchen and taking a bottle of vodka off the shelf.

  I eye it blankly, thinking of my father. I'm exactly what he said I was: a failure.

  My phone rings again and again, irking me.

  I sigh, leaving the vodka on the side and answering it, finding Clarissa calling.

  “Hello?” I say, my tone flat.

  “Ethan, I need you to come over. To my place.”

  I spit air through my teeth. “And why would I do that?”

  “Because if you don't, you're going to miss the show.”

  I frown, running a hand through my sopping hair. “What?”

  A scream sounds in the background that sends knives through my heart.

  “Annalise?!” I bark.

  Clarissa hangs up, leaving me desperate.

  Fuck -what is she doing to her?!

  An image of Annalise bound on that metal frame in the basement bursts into mind, terrifying me.

  I head straight out the door, sprinting downstairs and running flat-out to the tube station.

  I'm jittery all the way, my chest tightening and tightening.

  Has she hurt her?

  Why would Clarissa do this?

  It's an agonising journey, and I run at every opportunity I can. When I arrive on her street, I sprint up the steps to her house, my fist shaking as I bang it against the door.

  “Clarissa! Open the fucking door!”

  The door wrenches open and Clarissa's standing there, her hair out of place, looking slightly flustered.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I demand and she takes my wrist, drawing me into the house.

  I snatch my arm away, glaring down at her. “Answer me.”

  She pushes the door closed, twisting the lock and turning to me, brushing a red lock behind her ear. “Annalise is downstairs.”

  I storm away from her, heading to the basement, thundering down the stairs.

  My gut trickles with nerves, fearing what I'm going to find at the bottom of these steps.

  A rectangle of light illuminates the way but it vanishes as Clarissa enters, shutting the door behind me.

  It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the single dim bulb hanging from the ceiling. The heavy smell of petrol fills the air, catching in my throat.

  I halt at the bottom of the stairs, finding two people on their knees before me: Annalise and a man I don't recognise. They're both stripped to their underwear, gags in their mouths, their arms bound behind their backs. Their hair is sopping, their bodies glistening with moisture.

  I rush toward Annalise but a hand curls around my arm. “Don't move a muscle.”

  I glance back at Clarissa, my body trembling as I take in the silver zippo lighter in her hand.

  “You're insane!” I roar, fear rolling through me.

  “Both Annalise and Nick are covered in two litres of petrol.”

  I glance down, finding the edge of the pool of petrol just inches from my shoes. I'm out of control, not knowing what to do. I have to keep Clarissa talking, I can't let her throw that lighter. This place will go up in seconds. I'll never get to Annalise in time.

  “Who's Nick?” I growl, glancing at the man on the floor. He's stock still, not seeming affected by the petrol surrounding him.

  Annalise is staring at me, her eyes filled with desperation.

  “Nick is my Annalise. I coveted him, as you do her. They have a hold on us, Ethan, that we need to break free from. Together.”

  Her hand tightens on my wrist and I rip it away from her, taking an anxious step toward Annalise.

  “Ah, ah,” Clarissa warns and I halt, my heart wrenching hard.

  How the fuck am I going to get her out of this?

  Clarissa's eyes are full of a wildness that terrifies me. She's ready to do this, to bring the whole house down just to have her revenge.

  “What did he do to you?” I demand, glancing at the lighter in her hand. Could I snatch it quick enough? Is it worth the risk?

  “Nick was my sister's fiancée.” She smiles at the memory like it's something to be proud of. “But he kept coming to me, because I gave him what he needed. He liked me dominating him, he liked what I could give him. What she never could.”

  My upper lip curls back.

  She tuts. “Don't look at me like that Ethan. Like you have any right to judge me.”

  “I may be twisted, Clarissa, but I'm pretty sure I don't hold a candle to you.”

  She continues as if I haven't spoken,“ Nick tried to end things as the wedding approached. But I wasn't going to let that happen. So I told my sister the truth.” She glances at Nick and her eyes darken. “Then he tried to cut me off, tried to deny what we were to each other. So I brought him here...”

  Annalise wriggles wildly and suddenly sp
its the rag from her mouth. “Bitch! You can't do this!”

  “I wouldn't be so cocky in your situation, Annalise. I'm the one holding your fate in my hand.” Clarissa lifts the lighter higher and I flinch, moving to put myself between her and Annalise.

  “You're so protective of her still. But don't you see? We can be free of their hold on us.” Clarissa's eyes glow at me.

  With a gut-wrenching flick of her wrist, she throws the lighter into the air.

  I lunge for it, trying to catch it before it hits the ground, gasping in horror.

  I land with a thud onto my knees, scrambling for the lighter in the puddle of petrol. It catches immediately and the roaring heat surrounds me.

  I throw up my arms, terror flaring through me. I hear Annalise scream and I'm there again, watching her die, watching the fire consume her.

  “NO!”I roar, finding Annalise's eyes, the flames rushing toward her.

  I'm frozen, like I was then, fear gripping my heart.

  But I can't lose her. I'd do anything. I'd rather die than see that happen.

  I dive into the flames, hearing Clarissa crying, “Ethan!” as I do so.

  I topple onto Annalise, dragging her backwards as the fire reaches her ankles. I kick backwards, pulling her into my arms, the smell of smoke and petrol consuming my senses, choking me.

  I stand, lifting her above the flames, doing everything I can to keep them from her petrol-soaked skin.

  I eye Nick on the ground, the flames beginning to circle him. I can't help, not without putting Annalise down. And that's not an option.

  “Help him!” Annalise sobs, writhing in my arms.

  I tug Annalise's wrists free of their binds and she reaches for the edge of the frame above our heads.

  She lifts herself from my arms, scrambling for purchase on a strut half way up the frame.

  I'm shaking, torn between staying with her and doing as she asks. I let out a harsh breath, diving at Nick, grabbing his arms and ripping him backwards. His legs are badly burnt. I rip my jacket off, patting down the flames and he groans in agony. He's heavy, pure muscle but I manage to carry him out of harms way.