Taboo Unchained

by C. M. Stunich

  “Fuck no,” Audra scoffs, raking her fingers through her ruby red hair. She stands out like a sore thumb in this crowd of hemp dressed hippies, eco activists, and starving artists. As do I, I suppose. Oh well. When it's obvious Audra doesn't plan on expounding, I decide to balance out the conspicuous nature of my outfit by purchasing a pair of cat shaped beeswax candles from a nearby booth and handing them over to her.

  “For your boudoir, my dear,” I say with a false kiss to the cheek. Audra stiffens, but accepts the candles, cradling them against her ample chest like they're real kittens.

  “You're … more fucked up than I thought,” Audra replies as we continue onward, circling around the plaza and heading back in the direction of my car. I can't handle large crowds for long, not even if it might help me blend in more. There are certain things I don't tolerate. “Do you get off on doing weird shit like this?”

  “More like I have to do this to survive. Just as you should. Just as Clarice does. Like Pam. A front of normalcy is absolutely essential.” I unlock my car and climb inside, expecting Audra to follow me. Instead, she shakes her head and crosses her arms, letting the small paper bag with the candles dangle from her hand.

  “I'm going to stay here,” she tells me, and I don't argue that her car is at my house. She'll come and get it later, I'm sure. If I'm the slightest bit pleased at that, nobody would know. Not even the demon. I keep the strangeness of the moment hidden from him with a smirk.

  “Enjoy your afternoon, Miss Holiday. When you've finally decided to become my client, give me a call.”

  I slam the door and drive away.

  For three days, Audra's Mini Cooper sits in my driveway.

  Just the sight of it infuriates me. It gets to the point where I close the curtains and refuse to look at it. Where the fuck is she? I went running by her house yesterday evening, but there were no lights on. I even gave in this morning and sent her a rude text, demanding she remove the vehicle from my property.

  I got no response.

  I swirl the wine in my glass, a cabernet sauvignon from Napa Valley. It tastes like wild berries and sage, soothing the angry growl that's building in my throat. The longer I sit here and stew, the worse I get. I don't know what I expected to happen. I threw the line out to sea and now I have to wait. Audra will come to me. It's inevitable. They always do.

  I finish the wine and decide to pay a visit to Leslie Catsitch. I'm angry enough that I should be able to put on a good show for her. Besides, I haven't seen a client since Clarice and my skin is starting to get that itchy quality that tells me I'm in trouble. The darkness isn't happy; his claws are showing.

  I grab my jacket from the back of my chair and head to the door, reaching for the handle at the same moment the bell rings. A quick check of the peephole reveals a surprising face: Robbie Carrell.

  “Shit.” I grit my teeth and let the anger wash through me before I push it back, plastering a pleasant smile onto my lips for the show. And I better put on a good one. Even an honorable man who gets regular visits from an eighteen year old is bound to be cast in the light of suspicion. And I, I am far from an honorable man. “Roberta,” I say, voice mild and pleasant, “to what do I owe the pleasure?” As soon as the door swings open, she's stepping through, pressing herself into my space with an angry expression and an empty plate.

  I don't want to – no, no, I can't – touch her, so I step back, watching in surprise as she slams the door behind her. I'm not often surprised, and I don't like the feeling, especially not when it's coming from the same two women. Audra and Robbie. They couldn't be anymore different, but they garner the same reaction from me. Why? What the fuck is going on?

  “Here's your plate back, Luke,” Robbie tells me, tucking an errant strand of chocolate hair behind her ear with one hand. Her fingers are long and lithe, peeking out the end of her oversized cable knit sweater. The blue and white looks good against her pale, pink kissed skin. I swallow hard and fight against the growing erection in my slacks.

  “I appreciate the gesture, but would you mind telling me why you think it's okay to barge into someone else's home uninvited?” I take the plate from her outstretched hand, being careful to keep our fingers from brushing. I notice the exact second her blue eyes slide over and find the empty space in my living room.

  “What happened to your couch?” she asks, and I purse my lips, turning away and heading towards the kitchen. I fight the angry twitch in my muscles and manage to keep myself from smashing the plate on the counter. Instead, I set it gently down next to the sink and grab the empty pie tin. To be quite frank, the pie was delicious, like innocent sin burning my tongue. I ate every fucking bite.

  I return to the living room, watching Robbie's curiosity burn in her beautiful blue eyes. She's never been in here before, not once. I had intended to keep it that way. Maybe this is for the better though? Maybe if she sees me as a normal, boring adult man with nothing to offer, she'll leave? The enigma will be shattered, the mystery unwound.

  “The pie was wonderful; Audra and I enjoyed it very much,” I lie, handing the pie tin to Robbie. I can see her distress rising as she nibbles the corner of her pearly pink lip with her teeth. I decide to drive the nail even further into the coffin. “Actually,” I purr, leaning against the bookcase near the front door. “It was so good, Audra herself was thinking of asking you to make another for our wedding reception. We'd pay you for the service, of course. Do you think you'd be into that, Miss Carrell?”

  “It's Robbie, Luke,” she says, turning back to me again, slicing deep into me with those piercing eyes. My entire body goes rigid and I feel as if I can't move, that I'm standing in Aliyah's basement all those years ago, watching her walk towards me, feeling her perfect fingers trail down my chest. “It's always been Robbie.” When she goes to kiss me again, I jerk back like I've been shocked and she stumbles, catching herself on the bookcase.

  “Did you hear what I just said?” I snarl, letting some of my control slip. What is wrong with this girl? “I'm engaged.” Robbie sighs and runs a hand over her hair, pausing to pick at the messy bun in the back. Her cheeks are flushed with embarrassment and tinged with an enticing splinter of heat that causes me to lick my lips and take another step back.

  “You see,” Robbie says, lifting her hand and gesturing absently at me. Her eyes dart every which way before coming to rest on my face, her expression softening unbearably. I want to take her in my arms and brush her hair back, but dear God, I'll be damned if I do. The monsters inside of me laugh in chorus, teasing me, promising that if they want Robbie, they will damn well have her. I straighten my back and press my mouth into a thin line. “You give me all these physical cues that you … that you … ”

  “Want to fuck you?” I say, not at all enjoying the way she cringes at my words. I might be a dark man, maybe even a sadist, but I don't particularly like plucking the wings off butterflies. There are plenty of wasps who deserve a flightless fall from glory. But it has to be done. I have to drive Robbie away, for her own good. She's too much like Aliyah, and the world can't afford to lose another bright soul. Robbie Carrell is the polar opposite of me. If I drive out the sun, she brings out the stars. “You can't even say the words, can you?” I take a sudden step forward, but Robbie doesn't retreat as I'd expected. Instead, she puts a hand on my chest and looks me straight in the face.

  “Do you hate me, Luke?” she asks instead, and the question throws me for a loop. I open my mouth, but for the first time in a long time, I have no idea what to say. “Honestly, if I've read you wrong, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come across this way. I never intended to … kiss you on the porch the other night.” Robbie backs away from me, leaving me frozen in place, my heart pounding a staccato rhythm that I don't understand. I've long since lost the capability. “And that's not really why I came over here either. I like being friends with you, Luke.” Robbie presses her royal blue fingernails against either side of her face. “I … can't believe I tried to kiss you again. It's just … I w
alked in here and I felt – I don't know – something from you.” She takes a big breath and narrows her eyes on me. “Plus, you got a raging hard-on as soon as you saw me. I figured … ”

  “What do you want?” I gasp out, my chest tight, the wine I drank earlier drowning out the chattering background of my thoughts. What's happening to me? “Just spit it out for fuck's sake.” I don't sound angry anymore, simply … frightened.

  Scared.

  I sound scared.

  My eyes widen and my heart beats faster. That's it. That's the emotion. It's fear. I'm afraid. I am fucking afraid. My head snaps up as I blink away the stars that are appearing in my vision, swimming around Robbie's pretty face like spotlights. What it is, exactly, that I'm afraid of, I'm not sure.

  Robbie bites at her lip again and looks around for a place to sit, settling on the brown leather wingback chair that faces the shuttered curtains on the front window. When she speaks next, she doesn't look at me.

  “Luke, my dad … when he was on the roof the other day, he wasn't just fixing the roof.” Robbie turns slowly, the leather squeaking beneath her bare legs. If she's wearing something else under that baggy sweater, I can't see it. All I can see are perfectly sculpted calves, muscular but not barbaric. Robbie Carrell plays soccer, I know. And tennis, recreationally. She loves the river but hates the lake, is a dog person, was once a chess champion. I suppose our little conversations over the years have added up to something of a friendship, at least in her mind. So what do I do? How do I handle this?

  “And?” I ask, trying not to grit my teeth. When Robbie meets my eyes, she tries to smile, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

  “Well … he was installing security cameras.”

  Robbie sees this statement as a bad thing, a shocker, something to bring me to my knees. But Lucas Carter was born of tougher stuff, and actually, this is a good thing. Yes. A very good thing. My fear fades away in the revelation, and I feel the muscles in my face relaxing. I can deal with this. I can deal with it while simultaneously getting rid of Robbie. Two birds, one stone.

  “And?” I ask again, as if I couldn't care less. I feel awkward standing next to the bookcase and Lucas Carter doesn't do awkward. I move into the kitchen and fetch two glasses of wine, waiting patiently for Robbie to follow after. Fortunately she does, pausing in the doorway to the kitchen with a gleam in her eyes that tells me whatever was on the security cameras isn't terribly important.

  “This is your kitchen?” Her hands press against her mouth, messy bundles of sweater bunching around her wrists. There's a word for the way she looks and it's … it could be adorable. I scowl and thrust the wine glass at her, managing not to spill a single drop. I realize she's underage, but really? Is that my worst worry at the moment? “It's absolutely perfect,” she tells me, and I hate how pleased I feel by the compliment. This is my private place, mine. And now I've had two women barging in here like they own the place. I feed my anger with the thought, letting Robbie take the glass without brushing my fingers. If she does, I might snap. I haven't seen a client in days, so the outcome would be bad. Very, very bad. “Thank you,” she says, lifting the glass to her face and smelling the liquid like a seasoned taster. “Like … oak and vanilla.” I raise my eyebrows as Robbie takes her first sip.

  “Is that so?” I ask, sipping my own wine and leaning back against my fridge. “Do you drink cabernet sauvignon often?”

  “My aunt owns a vineyard.” Robbie shrugs off the subject with a sloppy roll of her right shoulder. The fingers of both hands curl around the stem of the wineglass as she stares into its crimson depths like the whole universe could be found there. After a few moments, I start to believe it. “Luke, I saw you come into my backyard.” I expected as much, so I keep quiet, waiting to hear her thoughts on the matter. I take another sip of wine. Robbie's right: I taste the vanilla. “You threw the rock at my window.” Her head snaps up suddenly, eyes boring into me. “Why?”

  “To make sure you weren't still snooping around,” I drawl, making sure my voice is bored, apathetic, disinterested. “Is that a crime?” Robbie takes a massive breath.

  “No, but murder is.”

  I laugh. It's actually a laugh of frustration, anger at Audra Holiday for dragging me into this whole mess, but I think it comes across as amused. Robbie seems to think so and smiles at me.

  “Why did you have a dead body in your house, Luke?” I feel a muscle twitch in my cheek and set the glass down on the beautiful white and gray stone of my countertop. The sound seems to echo loudly in the quiet space. Or perhaps I'm just projecting? The beast cackles manically inside my chest.

  “Dead body? Why on earth would you think I had a dead body in my house?”

  “Luke, don't bullshit me. I might be eighteen, but I'm not stupid.” Robbie takes another drink of her wine and sets it aside as well, cutting across the space between us until we're uncomfortably close. “You and that woman … Audra? … you were carrying a body out of the house.”

  “Is that what your father told you?” I ask, trying to sound amused. I even let my lips quirk into a small smile. Robbie keeps staring at me, and I start to feel that pounding in my chest again, that fear. It's not at being found out, not at all, yet I can't seem to actually figure out the source.

  “My father didn't see the footage because I erased it,” Robbie tells me, reaching up and letting her hair out of its bun. Chocolate strands fall all around her face, making my fingers twitch in desperation. I want her so fucking bad my blood feels like it's going to boil and melt the skin from my bones. Yet another woman I want to have sex with simply for the pleasure. There is absolutely zero darkness in Robbie Carrell, that much I do know. Robbie's eyes stay on my face, fortunately, and don't dip down to the growing bulge in my pants. I curl my fingers against my slacks. “Like I said, I consider you a friend, Luke. You have an energy that just … you're not like the guys I hang out with.” Robbie sighs, like she's suddenly tired. “You know, if you don't want to tell me what was going on, don't. I just thought you should know that those cameras capture your entire front yard and the space between our houses. Be careful, okay?”

  Without realizing that she's triggering my most basic instincts, Robbie leans forward on her toes and presses her lips to my cheek.

  There's a nearly audible crack as my defenses come unraveled and I'm grabbing my neighbor up in my arms, swinging her around and pushing her against my kitchen counter. Robbie's gasp of surprise is covered by my mouth, her lips captured by mine as I thrust my tongue into her warm heat and taste her. Growls escape between kisses, drowning out Robbie's frantic breaths as I push my hands up her sweater and find her breasts. They're not as big as Audra's but they feel like heaven in my hands, my fingers kneading the tender flesh with a rough pressure that's only amplified by the grind of my crotch against Robbie's. She's wearing jean shorts that unbutton easily, sliding from her hips and hitting the floor between us. My slacks come undone next and before I know what I'm even doing, my dick is sliding into tight, hot heat.

  “Robbie,” I groan, even though that's not like me at all. I don't make noises. Unless I'm with Audra or Robbie apparently.

  “L-Luke,” she whimpers when I give her enough space between kisses. My belt buckle jingles as I slam my hips into her, over and over and over again. I don't know that I've ever been with a woman so tight, her pussy folding around and taking me deep, squeezing so tight I'm finding it hard to breathe. “Luke,” Robbie whispers again, wrapping her arms around my neck. She pulls her lips away from mine as I clutch at her ass and smash her body against the marble, enjoying the lack of give in the rebellious stone. “It hurts, Luke,” she chokes against my throat, but her body is so warm and hot, her pussy soaking wet, her nipples stiff and desperate beneath the sweater.

  I grunt and pound away, my slacks hitting the floor in a pool of black as the beast denies me orgasm, making my cock so stiff it hurts. The monster inside me can't come until I feel satisfied, until the darkness has subsided enough that I
can breathe again.

  “Robbie,” I whisper, but somehow, even as I say it, I think of Aliyah again. Aliyah was my first and only love, the woman I was with before the darkness became who I was, inside and out. We met and dated all through high school, already had plans for our future etched into our hearts by graduation. If she had lived, I believe we would have made it. We might've been young, but love is love and when it's fierce, it can kill doubt.

  But then she was taken away from me. Stolen. Buried in cold dirt and left for dead.

  I groan in pain and force myself deeper into Robbie, listening to her soft breath tease my ear as she holds me tight and lets me drain my rage into her. As I come, I feel my body releasing with a sigh, like, at least for the moment, the pressure is gone. The darkness. My eyes are wide as I come to a panting stop, my gaze focused on the window behind Robbie's head. It strikes me then that I haven't slept with someone like this since Isadora, someone without true darkness in their soul. It feels … fucking delicious.

  Until I hear Robbie suck in a whimpering breath. When I pull back, I see she has tears in her eyes. What have I done? What the fuck have I done? Fear strikes me then, real true terror. I've become one of those men, one of those other monsters, the ones that I hunt. I'm just like them.

  “Robbie?” I ask, sliding gently out of her. It's only then that I see the blood. Virgin. Roberta Carrell is a virgin. Of course she is. Or … was. “Robbie?” I ask again because I'm not sure what else to say. I don't feel like Lucas Carter standing in that kitchen, a pretty girl still partially wrapped around me.

  I feel like fucking Luke.

  “It's okay,” she tells me, untangling her fingers from around my neck and pressing her palms against my chest. Robbie lets out a sniffling laugh and raises her baggy sleeve to her face to wipe away the tears. “I'm not upset. It just … hurt a little more than I thought it would.”