The Dark of You

by Shade, S. M.

  “It’s just bats,” he reassures me.

  “Oh,” I breathe, “Look at this.” There was no need to point out what appears on the walls around us but I’m in such awe. Starting at the bend in the tunnel, the walls explode with color. This isn’t typical graffiti and tagging. Rising up the wall on our left is a detailed mural of outer space. Planets, stars, moons and comets against a black background. It fades near the top curve and bright blue paint takes over on the opposite side, beginning the mural on the other wall. In stark contrast, this one displays an idyllic town surrounded by countryside on a sunny day. I’m stunned by the painstaking care that’s been taken. The tiny buildings and people. The rolling fields to one side and the forest to the other.

  I’ve forgotten to be afraid, or even where I am as I move through the tunnel, marveling that something so beautiful and full of incredible talent is hidden away where few will ever see it. It goes on and on. “This must’ve taken years.” I stop to admire a tiny playground full of happy children, then turn to examine a fiery comet and the way the artist seemed to make it glow. “I could spend years looking at it,” I whisper.

  There’s still beauty. Maybe more than I give the world credit for, hidden away, shrouded in the damp and dark. A knot rises in my throat, and I swallow it back before Reeve can notice how the art is affecting me.

  His hand slides into mine when we walk past the mural’s end. “They only painted the center part of the tunnel. No one who only dares to enter on either end will get to see the murals,” he says. “Only the brave or stupid.”

  “Which are we?” I giggle, blinking as we step back out into the sunlight.

  “A little from each column.”

  He smirks down at me, and I shake my head. The hills around us quickly turn back to fields, and I’m about to suggest we turn around when we come to a railroad bridge.

  “I’m not crossing that,” I announce, and sit down to take a break on the edge of it. After that cool tunnel, the heat of the day feels oppressive and sweat drips down my sides.

  Reeve sits beside me, and we watch the slowly moving water of the river under the metal bridge. Along one shore are discarded lawn chairs surrounding a pit full of ashes. A trail leading up the side of the hill just beside us makes it obvious what draws people to this spot. A swimming hole.

  After a few minutes, Reeve stands up and pulls his shirt off.

  “What are you doing?” I ask when he starts unfastening his jeans.

  “It’s hot. We’re going to jump.”

  Getting up, I step well back from the edge with a laugh. “The hell we are.”

  Within seconds, he’s naked, his clothes tossed at the edge of the bridge. While I’m caught up in staring at the display of muscle and tanned skin, he stalks over to me. His hands grab the bottom of my t-shirt, pulling it up. “Strip, Darcy. We’re going to swim, and then I’m going to fuck you.”

  That’s a difficult order to argue with. Especially since his cock is already growing hard. “What if someone sees?” I ask, looking around.

  “You know we’re alone.”

  Swallowing, I look over the edge of the bridge. It’s not that high. I’m sure the teenagers who party here do exactly this. Jump and climb back up through that worn trail. The water must be deep enough. I can do this.

  My clothes join his, and I’ve never felt this exposed. His hand in mine, we step up to the edge. I can’t help but giggle. Part of it’s from nerves, but it’s also the realization of where I am in the moment. Standing naked on a railroad bridge, holding the hand of my stalker, and about to leap into a river. What’s happened to my life?

  “Count of three,” I breathe, and he grins at me. “One, two…three!”

  Thrilling. It’s the only word for the fall. It’s only a second, but it feels longer. Air rushes up around me, making my stomach drop. Every muscle in my body contracts when the cold water swallows us, and I lose hold of his hand.

  It doesn’t take long to kick my way back up to the surface. Reeve pops up not far away and flips his wet hair out of his face. How can he smile when we’re about to die of hypothermia?

  “It’s freezing!” I yell at him, and start swimming for shore, my teeth chattering the whole way. He’s right behind me when I wade out of the water. A large boulder with a smooth, flat surface juts out of the ground, and I sit on it, reveling in the warmth under my ass, the sun on my skin.

  “Want to go again?” he teases, and I flip him off.

  It’s taken as an invitation. A moment later, I’m on my back with him hovering over me. A drop of water drips from his hair onto my shoulder while he stares down at me. Those eyes, my god. Green like a shallow sea, and turbulent, as if a storm always lives inside him.

  My body aches for him, craves him like no one else. It doesn’t make sense to me, but I’m done trying to rationalize any of this as we dive into each other. It doesn’t matter. His kiss that lights a fire between my legs, his hands on my breasts, stroking and squeezing, the weight of his body on mine, even the scrape of my back against the rock, I want it. All of it.

  He makes me feel alive.

  A loud crack jerks us away from what we’re doing to look at the sky. Black clouds roll and shift overhead. A cool wind rushes over us, drying my skin, but making me shiver. I’ll admit a part of me wants to continue. Fuck him out in the storm. Never mind the fact of how fast this river could rise or that we could get struck by lightning. He must see the indecision in my expression because he laughs and pulls me to my feet.

  “Come on. Let’s get back to the tunnel.”

  I’ve never gotten dressed so fast. The storm bears down on us, and we run down the tracks. The wind threatens to knock me off my feet, washing the first sheet of hard rain across us when we approach the tunnel. My shriek is followed by a peal of laughter, and Reeve grins at me. I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun.

  “I’m glad we undressed before jumping into the river so we didn’t get our clothes wet,” I exclaim, stepping into the tunnel and wringing water from the bottom of my shirt.

  “I like you wet,” Reeve says, and I reach to shove his dripping hair back. He grabs my hand, and that wicked grin is back on his face. The wind howls, blowing some leaves and debris into the tunnel. “Let’s go.”

  He doesn’t let go of my hand until we’re about halfway through, surrounded by the murals again. My back suddenly strikes the stone wall, and Reeve’s mouth is on mine. My phone falls to the ground near my feet, the light pointing at the ceiling.

  Lust for him comes surging back, and I grab his ass, pulling him against me where I can feel his cock straining against his wet jeans. “We can’t do this here,” I breathe, breaking away from the kiss when he unfastens his pants.

  He spins me around, then yanks my shorts and underwear down at the same time. His body cages me in against the painted wall. His lips brush my ear, and his finger strokes over my clit, feather light. “You’ll take my cock wherever I want to give it to you.” He scoots my foot over with his foot, spreading my legs. “Won’t you, Darcy?”

  There’s no chance to respond before he’s pushing inside me. Oh fuck. I’m wet and ready, but he’s big, and it’s so much tighter in this position. I step back, bending and arching my back a little where I can take him more easily.

  He slams into me. “Answer me.”

  “Yes!” It’s true. I can’t imagine a scenario where I wouldn’t want this.

  “Keep your hands on the wall,” he orders, and grabs my waist. It’s everything I can do to stay on my feet while he delivers long, devastating strokes. Even during an impromptu fuck against a wall, the man makes sex into an art every bit as impressive as what surrounds us.

  We can hear the storm still raging, but it’s distant, just an occasional clap of thunder and howl of wind. It seems to grow stronger until I realize thunder isn’t what I’m hearing.

  “A train,” I gasp, letting go of the wall, and trying to turn around. Panic is a live animal in my stomach. “R
eeve! It’s a train!”

  The light on the engine is already visible. It’s in the tunnel and coming fast. There’s no way we can outrun it or beat it to the end. Strong arms wrap around my middle and shove me against the wall. My palms land flat, keeping my face from hitting it. Reeve’s body blankets mine, pinning me against the cold, damp stone.

  “Reeve! We have to get out of here!”

  “Too late now.” His deep chuckle shows how unconcerned he is.

  This can’t be happening. Adrenaline outlines every sensation I’m feeling. The cold, gritty surface against my skin. Reeve’s hot body on mine. The sound of the train grows, and I squeeze my eyes shut when it catches up to us, peppering us with a shower of mist and dust. A burst of wind feels like it could lift me off of my feet. I can feel the vibration in my teeth it’s so close, but I don’t dare open my eyes or turn around. Plastered against the wall, all we can do is wait for it to pass.

  It’s not all Reeve plans to do.

  Keeping me securely against the wall, he scoots my legs apart a bit again and positions himself. “Reeve!” I cry out when his cock presses back inside me.

  “Wherever I want, Darcy.”

  This is crazy. His hand reaches to slap between my legs, leaving a gratifying sting. “Open your eyes. See where you are, what I’m doing to you,” he commands, and starts pounding into me.

  Surreal. It’s the only description I have. I’m being fucked ragged, barely out of the range of a train that could splatter both of us into nothing. My heart tries to beat its way out of my ribcage while I do as he says and open my eyes. It can’t be more than a few minutes, but time stretches and bends, drawing out every second of terrifying pleasure. My senses are attacked by so much at once. The sound of the train, the vibration of it on my skin, the blanket of stars illuminated by my phone that’s lying nearby. All of it fights for space while I try to cope with the growing pressure deep inside of me. He’s taken me so high, and teetering on the precipice, I know the fall is going to be devastating.

  My scream as the tension finally snaps echoes through the tunnel just as the train ends. Wind pulls at us, trying to suck us along the track, and Reeve holds me when my legs turn to water. He growls into my ear with his last thrust.

  We stay that way for a long second, the sudden silence buzzing in my ears while I catch my breath. Finally, he steps back, and I reach with shaky arms to pull my clothes back up. I scoop up my phone, grateful to see it isn’t busted. When I turn around, he has his jeans fastened, and he’s watching me. Without a word, he takes my hand, and we start back down the tracks.

  Like nothing happened.

  Like I wasn’t just fucked within an inch of my life in more ways than one.

  A bruised and rumbly sky greets us when we emerge. As we step out into the softly falling rain at the back end of the storm, there’s a smile on my face. Some people would probably be traumatized. What we did was reckless and stupid. And the biggest thrill of my life.

  Reeve glances over at me when I start to laugh. I can’t help it. This has been the craziest day. “You’re never boring,” I tell him. “You can be scary. You’re frustrating because you won’t tell me about yourself. But you’re absolutely never boring.”

  “You’re happy.”

  Am I? It’s been so long I’m not sure I’d recognize happiness if it were mine. I’m smiling. I feel good. He’s right. “It’s been an amazing day.”

  “You almost missed it.” The words come out in a tone that’s slightly accusatory.

  It makes me think back over the last few hours. If I’d gone through with my plan last night, I wouldn’t have braved my way through the tunnel. I wouldn’t have seen the gorgeous artwork hidden away, felt the sensation of falling into an ice cold river, or the horrifying thrill of being fucked with death close behind me.

  When I don’t answer him, he adds, “There’s always more ahead of you. You just have to find it. As for what’s behind, you leave it there to rot.”

  He remembered what I told him last night when he asked me why and set out today to show me I’m wrong. His expression is severe when he looks down at me. “I need to know you won’t try that again.”

  “I won’t.” The words may sound empty, but I mean them. Who knows what’s coming next with this man? What tomorrow or the next day will bring? He can’t take away the gloom I know will set back in once this feeling wears off, and there’s so much he isn’t willing to give.

  He won’t give me his full name. He won’t give me his address or where he comes from or why he’s here. Yet, what he has given me is what I needed most. Something to look forward to. A reason to continue through the days.

  My need for him to believe me grows the closer we get to my house. He doesn’t hesitate to follow me to the shed when I ask him to, and he watches as I pick up the can of gas. It’s a good thing my car is nearly on empty.

  He doesn’t speak while I pour the gas into my car’s tank, then return the can to the shed. If a storm knocks out our power, I’ll have to go to town for fuel, but at least I know there won’t be a repeat of last night. The strong arms that wrap around me say that he knows it too.

  A flash of white and black catches my eye as we’re headed to the house. “Look!” I point toward the bird that’s landed on a bush on the far side of the shed. “It’s a shrike!” Careful not to scare it away, I creep closer until I see something even more fascinating. “It’s nesting here!” I whisper, barely containing my excitement.

  The thornbush is a gruesome sight that would disgust most people. In one area, multiple small animals hang impaled on the thorns, in different stages of decay. “They’re the most fascinating birds,” I breathe.

  Reeve keeps his voice low. “Is that why you chose Shrike as a pen name?”

  His face remains impassive when I spin around in shock. He knows who I am. No one here knows who I am. “How do you know that?”

  His eyebrows climb his forehead. Right, he doesn’t answer questions. “I’ve always known you, Darcy.” His gaze returns to the bush just as the shrike flies away. “Tell me why you chose your pen name.”

  No one here is supposed to know who I am. It was a big reason for moving. Anonymity and the freedom it affords me. Imagine the story he could tell of the crazy author who had no problem fucking a stranger who stalked her. The alarm I feel fades as I look at him. I’m not sure why, but I don’t believe he’ll tell anyone. Not about me or about us.

  My attention returns to the bush. “Like I said, they’re fascinating. They’re sometimes called butcher birds. They hunt their prey—vertebrates like small rodents, lizards, even other small birds—then kill them by biting their neck and shaking them back and forth until the spine snaps. Afterward, they impale them on a thorn to store them.” He listens intently while I continue. “Did you see the tiny black strip of coloring across its eyes? It’s like a mask. You look at them and see a pretty songbird, but they behave like a raptor.” Shrugging, I step back. “My books are about killers, monsters in plain sight. It seemed fitting.”

  “Makes sense.” He runs his hand under my chin, lifting my head until our eyes meet. “It’s not completely true, though, is it? You aren’t only fascinated by the behavior. You admire it. You love the bird because it’s a predator. You don’t have to be ashamed of that, Darcy, or hide it from me. We’re all animals trying not to act like one, fighting our nature because underneath, at our core, we’re barely restrained malice held back by will and conditioning. Darkness lives underneath the layers built by society.” He leans and kisses my lips softly, then whispers against them. “And I see it in you.”

  His declaration leaves me speechless, but one thought beats through my head. He’s not wrong. All of my experiences have proven to me countless times what we really are.

  Animals with human faces.

  Chapter Eight

  PAST

  “How are you feeling?” A soft hand strokes my forehead while I’m regarded by kind eyes.

  “Better.”<
br />
  She smiles at me. “Good, I’m going to go make us some lunch. Chicken noodle soup?”

  “Sounds amazing. I’m starving. Thanks.”

  Chicken noodle soup is Helena Richardson’s cure for anything that troubles you. Sore throat, stomachache, and apparently, healing from the termination of a pregnancy. She pauses in the doorway. “Matt won’t be returning to school. His mom sent him to live with his father. You don’t have to worry about seeing him again.”

  An ache that runs the length of my body makes it hard to smile, but I manage. “Good.”

  With a nod, she leaves me to curl up and contemplate how badly I’ve screwed things up. It’s been two years since my teacher became my foster mother. They’ve been the best two years of my life. The only time I’ve been consistently fed and warm with no worries about being hit or screamed at.

  Even when I told her I was pregnant the day after my fifteenth birthday, she didn’t get rid of me like so many others have. Instead, she asked me what I wanted, how I wanted to deal with it.

  There was no way I was going to produce another child for the system to destroy. Part of me thought Matt may argue the decision. After all, he’s nearly eighteen and from a stable family. Not only was he fine with me ending the pregnancy, he ended everything between us.

  Maybe I loved him, I don’t know. I’m not sure I’d recognize love if I felt it. It seems to be something meant for others, not me. The Babysitter killed the part of me that could be loved, along with my family. It’s not often I allow myself to wallow in self-pity, but today, I’m making an exception.

  The food and the security are far from the most valuable thing Helena has provided for me. She’s given me an outlet. A way to examine and vent my emotions in writing. When there’s no one to listen, I can tell it to the paper. That’s how I spend the next couple of hours after lunch, scribbling down everything. It takes my mind away, quiets the noise. It isn’t until I hear the doorbell ring that I realize how much time has passed.