by V. L. Brock
I didn’t know what to say to that. She hit the nail right on the head. I didn’t know who I could and couldn’t trust. The incidents of the night just proved that. And above anything, I obviously couldn’t trust myself, couldn’t trust my judgment. Not with the feelings that had been stirred in me. Sighing greatly as the weight of the world was halved at her recognition; I forced a smile and exhaled noisily. “Thanks, Laurie.”
“Where can I take you? We can go to mine if you want.”
“No,” I shook my head faintly. I don’t know why, but I felt like I was the paperclip and the magnet was drawing me closer. “Do you know where the Pavilion is?”
She nodded circumspectly. “Is that where you want to go?”
The corners of my lips twitched. “Please.”
The Pavilion was situated on the corner of Dolton Avenue and third. A place that even just by driving through screamed rundown and high crime rates. Did Walker really live in this neighborhood? I was sitting in the car, twisting my fingers and staring up at the structure. Walker was right, names can be deceiving. With a name like the Pavilion, I expected something a little classy, a little luxury. Instead, a dim corner structure which looked like it had seen a fire or two in its time, full of shabby bay windows and a door which was heavily vandalized stared back at me.
Out of nowhere, a clatter sounded from the basketball court opposite. Startled by the raucous din, I turned to inspect the direction, only to see a garbage can shimmer as it rolled under the glow of the streetlamp, garbage scattered on the ground.
“Kady, are you sure you don’t want to come to mine?” Laurie asked for the fourth time since getting into the car. “I don’t think hanging around here in the day is safe, let alone after dark.”
I smiled fondly at the woman next to me, and set my hand on her forearm. “Thanks, Laurie. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“How are you even going to get in? Do you have a key?”
“Nope, but,” and right on cue, the dim light from the ground floor hall inside showed a man stuffing something into his pocket, before pushing the entrance door open. “There’s my cue. Thanks, Laurie.” I leaned over and quickly kissed her cheek before unfolding myself from the car. Calling for the man to hold up, he held the door open for me with his foot while lighting his cigarette.
A bang and a lock sounded as the heavy door behind me slammed shut. I found myself standing in the tiny ground floor entrance hall alone, being flanked by a door to my left and one to my right. I just needed to find out which apartment he’s at. I gently tapped the door to my right.
With the chain in place, the door was pulled open as far as the shackle would allow, and a bald man craned his head around the gap. He gazed at me expectantly. “What?”
Okay, people obviously lost their manners in this building. “I–I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m looking for Walker.”
“Walker?” his brow creased.
“Yeah, um…quite tall, always in plaid shirts. Sometimes wears a black flat-cap, drives a pick-up.”
His eyes lit with recognition. “Ah, you mean, Irish?”
Fuck, why didn’t I think of that? It would have been much fucking easier. I smiled, and nodded eagerly.
“He’s in 4b.”
“Super, than––” The door was slammed in my face, but I continued with my thanks, hoping the man could hear my appreciation through the door. Not everyone has a problem with misplaced manners.
Standing at the bottom of the rectangle stairway, I mentally psyched myself up before I took the leap and ascended the ghastly looking flights of uninviting steps which lay ahead. Each step creaked and groaned in objection as I scaled them, and I reminded myself several times not to touch the handrail, which looked ready to fall apart with the most diminutive of pressure. With each door I passed, I was drowned by children crying, men yelling, and what I could only presume as a headboard banging, not to mention the revolting stench which had me burying my nose in the collar of Walker’s jacket. The higher I got, the shoddier the walls became with graffiti of obscene representations of cocks, tits and curse words. How this building was even inhabitable, I have no idea. And it pained me to think that Walker actually lived here. He deserved better.
Reaching the fourth floor, I turned to my left. My stomach had been replaced with a bowling ball. My heart felt like it was going to explode when I studied his green door, 4b written on it in black marker. Walker, how could you live here? You deserve more than this. Drawing a breath, I gingerly knocked and waited for him to answer.
I knocked and waited, before knocking and waiting a little more, but when he didn’t answer, I just rested my back against the shabby, hard wall and fell to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest.
Liam’s once stunning green and blue speckled eyes had turned hard, pale and cold. Although my eyes were closed, I was goaded by the memory of his glower from above me as he pinned me under his weight. The image echoed in my mind. I was tormented by the visual, along with his harsh, sickening words as he stressed them like a deranged man. Look what you’re making me do, why don’t you learn? Why don’t I learn? Why don’t I fucking learn?
A feral, distress growl left my throat as I gritted my teeth. My body throbbed and tingled as my heart pumped and blood gushed. I was fighting for breath; a meaningful lungful of air was all I wanted. Nevertheless, I felt the constriction once again in my throat, it was as though his powerful, determined hands had never left me in the first place, and it felt like someone was tightening a belt around my ribcage.
I wanted it to stop. I wanted the replay to stop. I wanted the sensations my body was overrun by to indeed stop, before I did something fucking stupid. Harsh thuds were made as I rocked back and forth, my back colliding against the hard, fragmented wall behind me, each and every time. The more I assessed the events of the night, the angrier I got, the more the anger simmered, the more I rocked and the harder the following collision was.
Trampling footsteps up the stairway was a faint echo in my throbbing, anxious head. I felt lost in the world of reiteration, as my back continued to thump and my nails pinched, scrapped and dug into my screaming flesh, like they were embedding themselves to remove the rage which was feasting on me like a parasite.
“Kady?” Blinking my departure from despair, I peeked up to see Walker bending down beside me. “Thank God you’re okay,” he muttered into my hair after pulling me to his chest. I wanted to be calm, I wanted to sink into his hold like I had done before, and I knew that it was possible. Yet, everything at that point was all a haze. I couldn’t concentrate; I couldn’t revel in the simplest of connections because I was a walking fucking volcano waiting to erupt, and I wanted to erupt then and there just to free the pent-up aggression from my system.
He drew himself away from my rigid body, my hair pushed back by strong, seeking hands. He framed my face and studied me intently, while his thumb caressed the arch of my cheekbone which was still feeling raw. I can’t explain it. Although it ached and hurt and my instant reaction should have been to wince, I just sat there, totally immobile, concentrating on the way his lips parted slightly and the gasp that sounded before his lips transformed into a firm, uncompromising line. It hurt…but it didn’t feel like enough.
Intense eyes grew threatening and molten, his lips a firm line as he sucked in a breath through his nose, his left nostril squeaking with the profundity of his intake. His eyes dipped to my hands, the flesh raw and fiery.
“Let’s go inside.” He helped me up from my position, slipped the key in the lock, and led me in.
I could hear his heavy treads, and the creaking of wood as I remained cold and motionless against the door, shrouded by darkness. Shadows were eliminated as he switched on the table lamp; I glanced around his living room. The flooring was bare wooden slabs, the plaster walls cracked and crumbling. His sofa and armchair were mismatched as the two-seater spanned along the right wall, the chair on the opposite side of the shabby coffee table. The corner table with the lamp
perched atop was against the left arms of the sofa, to the right, was the bay window. The sound of sirens penetrated through the night, and echoed around the small, bare apartment that was, Walker’s home.
He was standing in the center of the room. His hands nestled in his front pockets. “Excuse the humble abode. I wasn’t expecting company.”
I hung my head, and shifted on one of the wooden slabs beneath my feet. I watched as it popped up and dipped back with the pressure of my shifting body. “I–I don’t even know why I’m here,” I spoke to floor. “I just––”
“I know why you’re here, darlin’.”
Did he? By fuck he was a better man than I was because I sure as fuck didn’t know why I was automatically drawn to him while channeling such anger. Surely I should want to be alone.
“You do? Mind telling me then? Because, I cannot do this.” My entire being was shaking ruthlessly. My nails ravaged the back of my hand with uncontrolled restraint. The sooner the pain and heat started to ebb, the harder and faster I would grate, the quicker my breathing became, the more forceful my choice of instrument to harm would get. “I can’t take this anymore, Walker. I can’t…I can’t.”
I wanted nothing more than to scream at the top of my lungs, to smash something, or someone because now more than any other time in my life, I actually felt like a fucking victim. And Kady Jenson may be a lot of things, but a victim isn’t one of them. I was consumed by this immense form of hate, of self-loathing, I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. All I was aware of was that form of incomprehensible duty and need, to rid myself of every negative thought in my mind, and turn it into something concrete, something to make it easier to deal with. But I had no idea how.
In the upper periphery of my vision, I noticed him approaching me slowly. Stock-still, my sight throbbed as I focused on the flooring, when heavy black boots where placed in my line of vision. “You need help,” he said simply, while rough hands gently encompassed my own, drawing an end to my persistent grating.
I felt my agitation rise and steam all but came from my ears. “Fuck you,” I snapped, pulling my hands away from his warm, gentle hold and shoving him hard in the chest. “Fuck you, you’re just like him. I am not”––I pushed at him again––“fucking crazy. I am not”––shoving wasn’t helping, he was too strong and my attempts to move him were futile, so I just lost it, and lashed out at the one person who I thought understood me, and began hitting ferociously at his chest. “I am not fucking crazy. I’m not delusional, God-fucking-dammit.” Before I could stop, I slapped him right across the face, his head whipping to the side with my attack.
My hand promptly rose to my mouth; I was standing in shock-horror as he craned his head around to face me. A chasm of understanding looked back, and that made me feel even more like shit.
“Walker, I’m s––” I gasped, tears streaming down my cheeks.
He stepped toward me, his jaw taut. “Do you want me to help you, Kady?”
“How are you going to help me, Walker? I’m not going to the––”
Eyebrows touching his hairline, he lifted his right hand, urging me to shut up. “Shush, Kady. It’s okay. Remember I told you I would never judge?”
I nodded.
“Well, I’m not going to start now. You can trust me, Kady, you know that, it just takes a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Do you want me to help you, darlin’?”
Back pressed against the door, it took all of my courage and all of my pride, to release two simple words. I needed it. I needed his help. I nodded my head, “Help me.”
I stared him in the eyes as his hand came lightly crashing down on my body. The warmth of the jacket removed from me when he fisted at the collar and unpeeled it down my arms. I was covered in goose bumps and shaking incessantly. He tossed the jacket behind him and I heard it land with a crash onto the coffee table.
“Turn around, Kady.” I knew he could sense my hesitancy, because his hands came to rest on my upper arms, he twisted me around to face the door.
My body would have usually screamed in delight at having his fingers linger and glide across my flesh. But tonight, the only reaction he was provoking, was me cringing. I just hit him, I was angry. I didn’t deserve the level of tenderness he was freely giving up to me.
And I didn’t want it. I wanted to be hated with the same degree that I was hating myself, at that point.
Gathering my drenched tresses, he swept them over my right shoulder and leaned into my left ear. “Hands on the door,” he ordered, his breath warm, his brogue dark and husky. I did as instructed, allowing my head to fall forward against the barrier, also.
I gasped suddenly as his hand trailed over the skin of my upper back, before trailing down my spine. My shoulders juddering as sob after sob escaped me. “These are not tears of sadness, Kady,” he breathed in my ear, his fingertips continuing their chosen path down my back. “They are not tears of pain. They are not tears of fear. They are tears of anger, tears of rage. A rage you don’t know how to deal with, a rage you cannot escape from.”
Concentrating on his voice, I was vaguely aware of his hands position on both my hips, and my tight, wet, satin dress rising up over my thighs, over my ass. I was exposed, but I didn’t care. Every muscle throughout my body was tensing with absolute, definitive ire, and I would have sold my soul to The Devil to make it end. I needed it to end.
“You’ll feel better in a moment, Kady. I promise.”
My back was left cold as he stepped aside. He fondled my naked behind, his rough, calloused hands scraping and grazing over my flesh before retracting. Before registering it, his palm connected hard and fast against my buttock, the snapping sound of the blow booming around the empty apartment. I tossed my head back with a whimper, eyes flared with shock.
What the fuck?
The bite of his hand remained, the heat of his impact absorbing into my flesh, making my nerves sing as he united with my flesh again and again and again. Tears pricked my eyes, as my backside prickled with each consistent strike he issued, the sound of the mighty blow intensifying the release I felt, along with the action itself.
With each sharp sting that his assault left behind, I allowed myself to sink into, to become one with. The help at his hand was issuing precisely everything in which I needed, which I wanted. It turned all the raging emotions, the anger and the hate, the fear, into pain, into something tangible, something which I could channel, something which I could focus intently on, and overcome.
Repeating his blows twice more, Walker had managed to transport me to the dark place in my psyche, the place where I could block out everything, the resentment, the frustration and chaos that I had been consumed by, and deal with only the pain and shock which my being distributed over me physically.
His thrashes were my anchor, pulling my down, leveling out my conscious and reminding me that I am human, something I hadn’t felt for a while. Once he planted his final spank, he leaned down to my ear, his breathing ragged. “That is what you came for, Kady,” he whispered, his hand massaging the sore area. “You came here for a release, a release that only I can understand, and only I can give.”
And with his words, I realized in that moment, that the negativity which I felt a moment ago had dissipated. His assault left me feeling grounded. It left me feeling numb. It left me feeling free.
I was serene.
Feeling wary, I twisted my body around and gingerly scoured my eyes up the length of his body. He was standing feet shoulder-width apart, hands behind his back, while he stared at me with hard, bottomless voids. Head held high, his jaw tight, he sucked in a breath and I watched from my own personal bubble of serenity, how his chest expanded with his intake. The Walker I had come to know, the fun-loving, carefree, joyful Walker had vanished. In his place was a man defiant, imperious, a man who was made from stone, who remained firm, calm and collected while my wits were scattered, after attempting to rationalize exactly what the fuck had just happened.
“How do you fee
l now, Kady?”
How did I feel? I felt like a contra-fucking-diction that’s what I felt like. Blinking my eyes closed, I allowed my mental state to fall back into some lush, plush cushions and relax. The fogged up form of emotions had gone; the negativity had vanished, like it was beaten out of me with each despotic swipe he delivered. Now, I was tranquil, like each collision was my own personal sedation, my own personal heroin.
Nevertheless, my mind now had room to process new feelings, and at that point, confusion was taking the stand.
“You feel better now, don’t you?” he pressed again while I opened my lids and gawked at him with glazed eyes.
“I–”
“We’re more alike than you think, Kady.” Hands remaining locked behind his back; he stalked towards me, his eyes inexhaustible. His gaining proximity had me lifting my head to maintain eye contact. Head dipped, he whispered in a husky intonation, “We’re cut from the same cloth, Kady.”
What? What the fuck does that mean? No. No, we are not cut from the same anything. I would never do what he just did to me, to anyone. I shook my head, the corners of my mouth tipping and twitching with tiny, disbelieving grins. “No, Walker. I am nothing like you. I wouldn’t do what you just did to me, to anybody.”
I watched as his brow arched haughtily, “No?” Arms unlocked, he pressed his hand firmly against the door next to my head, while the other dipped between my thighs.
“Walker, stop it,” I made a futile attempt to batter his wandering hand away, while sensitivity spurted from the connection of his gentle fingertips over the blemishes of my ‘tales of an unremembered story’. “Stop, please.”
“Regardless of whether you like it or not, you must accept it, Kady.”
“No! I am not like you.”
