by Amber Dawn
“Hi, it’s Desiree, signing on for work,” I slur into the phone.
“Are you okay?” The dispatcher actually sounds concerned.
“Yeah, just tired.”
“All right, I’ll let you know if I get anything for you.”
I plop down on the couch with Elfy clutched to my chest. He doesn’t feel alive, just a lump of fluff. I feel silly holding him; I’m almost thirty. I pick up one of the envelopes on the coffee table and pull my zine out. It looks corny to me, like it’s trying so hard to be something. I stare at the photocopied barbed wire, an obvious metaphor, sloppily executed. That’s not how I wanted it to look. I open it, flip through, and land on a page with a drawing of a girl with big dark sockets and little shrunken eyes.
“You won’t even notice it when they come for you,” it reads.
“It will happen at the kitchen table, or in the bathtub, or at the grocery store, or watching TV. You will decide that you might as well be satisfied. At least you haven’t been bombed, or put in prison. Yet. (Or maybe you have.) Or maybe you got hurt some other way, trapped or sabotaged. Maybe there’s someone else who should pay for it. Maybe you should just be grateful for the government’s protection. Just join them and be glad you get to.”
I won’t let that happen to me. I won’t be neutralized as long as I am paying attention to what’s happening. I’ll just keep watching and describing, believing—because I have to—that they can’t take me from inside myself.
I do three routine phone-sex calls before Hugh calls me. When he does, I answer it in my phone sex voice, without meaning to.
“You knew it was me, didn’t you?” His voice sounds so close. I slam the phone down, my heart racing. I pick it up and try to get a dial tone, but the line is silent.
“I called the police on you,” I say to the air on the other end.
It feels like a flimsy threat.
The line is quiet. I tap the lever one-two-three times. I hold it down for seven seconds. I listen again for a dial tone.
“Hello?” I ask.
Quiet.
“I’m not alone, my boyfriend is here. He’s really strong.” I am quiet again, wondering if he can feel through my lie. I decide to elaborate. “I’m not afraid.” I don’t want him to think I feel weak. “I’m not afraid of you.” I say again, trying to sound assertive, hearing my voice rising with panic. “Stop calling me. I called the police and I’m calling them again as soon as I hang up.”
I hear a muffled sound. He’s laughing at me.
Before I can feel the crux of my fear, everything just lets go. Like it’s all fire and molten lava, a boiling soup with no barrier between myself and anything else. I hear a loud sound; it’s hurting my ears, but it’s my own scream. I am still screaming when Josiah answers the phone.
“What!” He shouts. “What’s going on?”
I stop, confused. “I didn’t call you.”
“Obviously, you did. What is going on?”
“Josiah, they just connected me to you, I swear I didn’t call you, my hand didn’t even touch the phone.” In my mind I see an image of my hand moving over the keypad, and change my mind. “Maybe I did. I don’t remember. It was him, he was on the other line, and he wouldn’t go away, and he was laughing.”
“Did you call the police? They should have him on file, and after three reported calls they’ll issue him a warning.”
“That’s not going to help!” I try to keep myself from freaking out on him. I need him. “You have to help me. I need you.”
“Actually, this isn’t a good time.”
We are both silent.
“They’re all over me,” I whisper.
Josiah sighs. “Reggie, they’re not. I promise you. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you’re going to be okay. You’re scared right now, but nobody’s going to get you.”
As he speaks, a terrible truth starts to dawn on me. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
Josiah groans and laughs. “Yeah, fine, Reggie. If that’s what you want to believe.”
“Josiah, please. Don’t you remember?” I am crumbling. “It’s me.”
“Like I said, I really don’t have time for this.” The line clicks, and I tear the cord out of the wall before waiting to see if there’s a dial tone.
I grab my aluminum baseball bat and hurtle toward the front door. I push the heavy recliner from the living room, lunging in front of the door. I pull a blanket from the closet and drape it over the windows, covering the cracks of the blinds. I turn off all the lights in the front room and clomp into my bedroom, curling up with the bat next to me, listening to all the night sounds.
They can’t get you if you keep watching. Stay alert. Stay present. I don’t sleep. Not that I remember.
Someone is calling my name. Regina. From the depths of my most buried self a dull innocence, a search for recognition rises.
“I’m here.” Regina. “Come find me.” Regina. “Come in.” I’m swimming through something thick, a warm syrupy liquid that encapsulates me. Where am I? Am I born? Whose body am I in?
And then there is a wall. I want to pass through it because there is something beautiful on the other side. I want to touch it, hold it, see what it is. What is this membrane, this separation? Let me have the pretty glimmering self-thing. I want it.
My eyes open in terror to find my body moving without my consent. The sensation in my skin is both hot and cold at the same time, and it’s a friction, a moving, both within and without.
“Oh, you’re such a good girl, such a sweet little girl.” Hot man-breath on my cheek; his chest pressed down on me, stealing my breath. I feel him moving inside me and my body is reaching up to him, meeting his thrusts, sucking him into me, hungry for more, trying to touch the promise dangled in front of my heart.
Safety. Protection. Comfort. Be mine.
“Oh, you feel so good,” he groans into me. I feel warm and open and cold and distant, all at once. “So nice and wet, such a sweet wet little pussy.”
Over his shoulder in the dark corner of the room I notice a tiny red light. A camera’s black form makes itself visible against the rest of the dark. It enters my reality smoothly, like the punch-line to a joke I heard years ago.
My body turns animal against me, trying to break through the layer of control. I wrap my legs up around him and pull him in harder and deeper, moaning as my back lifts up off the bed. He breathes hard on my nipple as he licks and sucks, grunting, “Oh my little girl, such a good little girl, oh you feel so good.” I reach my arms around him, his broad, muscled back, cringing at the tufts of coarse hair and waxy raised bumps under my fingers. I dive further in, pushing off from the bed and rolling over on top of him. I feel my knee crushing in on itself, but the pain is far away and meaningless. I bounce and grind on top of him, squeezing the muscles in my cunt, watching his face. Not an attractive face: bulbous, undefined features, visible nose hairs, unruly eyebrows, a high forehead with an unconvincing comb-over, splotchy grey five-o’clock shadow. But something about him is appealing, the way his material form slips away into powerless pleasure. I slide up and down on his penis. It twitches inside me as his eyebrows knit up and his mouth opens to reveal dull yellow teeth. I observe as though from a great distance, barely feeling any sensation in my body, only my determination.
CASE #10442289073628MDM84667
UPDATE: Neutralization successful.
I wake up with a vague sense that something has happened, but I can’t remember what. Thinking about it doesn’t feel good, it makes my stomach seize up and my head throb. I feel disgusting, open and bloated with need, seeping bile. Getting out of bed, my knee collapses on me and I have to push it back into joint. Fuck. That old deep body shame weighs heavy on me as I hobble to the living room for my brace.
When I step through the doorway a light flashes in my head that paralyzes me. Everything looks normal. The furniture is all in place. Blinds are drawn up, sunlight streaming in onto smooth surfaces.
I sit down on the couch next to the radiator and start buckling myself into my brace. I stare at the shiny pink typewriter in front of me. I see a flash of my hands on the keyboard, get a sense of déjà vu. I lean toward the feeling but can’t locate it.
I look out at the people and cars moving through the snow-covered street. They all seem okay. I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. I should work harder and be nicer to people. Stop blaming everyone else for my problems.
Every Dark Desire
Fiona Zedde
Belle woke up thinking about murder. Well, it really wouldn’t be murder since the vampire was already dead, wasn’t she? She stared down at Silvija in their shared bed. The beast was beautiful, there was no denying that, in the quiet darkness of the bedroom. Silvija lay with her head back against the sheets, showing off the fine curve of her neck, strong jaw line, and the feathery brush of her eyelashes against her cheeks. Julia lay against her breasts, smiling in demon sleep, a hand splayed possessively over Silvija’s muscled belly.
Belle pulled away from them, although her skin nearly groaned at the loss of contact. The sun was still high outside the windows, and the day warm. She knelt in the bed, watching in silence, wanting to rip the skin from the beast’s face and feed it to Julia before burning them both to hell. How possible was it? As quickly as the thought brushed through her mind, she was leaning over Silvija and slashing down with a clawed hand. The beast’s eyes flew open and she jerked out of Belle’s path. Her fingers sliced through the sheets, and before she could adjust her balance, the beast was up from under Julia and behind Belle, her hands grabbing roughly at Belle’s upper arms and immobilizing her. The other beasts in the bed didn’t stir, she was so quiet.
“What am I going to do with you, puppy?” she hissed, her lips a mere breath from Belle’s.
Obviously, the question was purely rhetorical. Silvija quietly lifted her up from the bed without even a grimace of effort and dragged Belle through the house, past the open doors of the other bedrooms, through the dark sitting room, and down even darker stairs to a room that smelled like blood and iron. She locked the door behind them.
“I’ve tried to be patient with you.” While Silvija was preoccupied with the lock, Belle twisted away and tried to run. The beast back-handed her and she slipped down the half dozen steps, landing on her back with a grunt. Then the beast was over her, lifting her up and twisting her hands behind her back before propelling her backward toward the strong iron smells.
“I’ve tried to be nice to you.” With quick, efficient movements, she shackled Belle with the dangling manacles and leg irons on the floor.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Belle looked around in alarm.
She was in a damn dungeon straight out of a horror movie with thick brick walls, a torture rack on the far side of the room and, near the far wall, two sets of manacles hanging from the ceiling. The iron abraded Belle’s wrists as she tugged at them, glaring at Silvija. The chains stretched her arms apart and up, just as the leg irons pulled her feet apart. Belle was stretched wide open and vulnerable in her thin, knee-length nightgown.
The beast could do anything to her down here.
Belle hissed, “Let me go.”
“That’s not an option at the moment.”
Silvija cranked a lever on the wall, and the chains holding Belle rattled and pulled tight, stretching her arms up and back, until she was almost on her toes. Her ass jutted up, her back curved in.
When she’d brought Belle downstairs, the beast had neglected to put on clothes. In the darkness, illuminated only by Belle’s eyesight, she glowed. Her cinnamon skin radiated strength and power, bringing attention to the impressive muscles writhing just beneath. Against her will, Belle became very aware of the high breasts and their hard, crowning nipples. Her arcing ribs and taut belly slid away beneath them. The curved hips, bushy mound, sturdy thighs and legs all proclaimed her strength. This was not a delicate woman.
Belle knew that she might have gone too far in the bed with Silvija, but she would never admit it to the beast, not even if that was the reason she had her tied up like a slave in this damn dungeon. But the beast had made her angry. She had taken her toy. She had taken her life and was forcing her to a place she didn’t want to go.
“Is this about that stupid girl?” When Belle didn’t answer, Silvija’s mouth twisted. “She’s not worth it.”
“She was worth it to me.”
“Worth what? A quick fuck. Or a ‘fuck you’ to me?” She sneered again. “Either way, trust me, it wasn’t. Your rebellion is pointless. You’re just going to hurt yourself in the process and make yourself look foolish.”
“You mean that you’re going to hurt me and make me look foolish.”
Silvija smiled coolly. “Whichever.” The beast was furious, her anger simmering just beneath the surface of her skin like human heat.
“Let me go, Silvija.”
“No. You obviously cannot handle freedom.”
Belle growled. “Listen to me, bitch.” She rattled the chains imprisoning her arms. “Let me the fuck out of these chains.”
“Or what?”
“Is that what you want?” Belle rattled the chains again. “For me to threaten you?”
“No, that’s not what I want. But that’s been what you’ve been doing since I met you. Empty threats and provocations that have only managed to completely piss me off.” She stalked back and forth in front of Belle, watching her, then looking away. With each provoking word that Belle uttered she grew closer until each motion she made in front of Belle left a slight breeze.
“This is pointless,” Belle said, finally calming down. “Let me go.”
“Why? Is it because you don’t like being under someone else’s control? Or because you don’t like being under my control?”
“You don’t control me, bitch.”
“What did I tell you that first day?” She didn’t wait for Belle to answer. “This is my clan. Julia bit you. She is my clan, so you are my clan. You are all under my protection.”
“Do you just get off on this power trip? Is this the only way you can really control your women? To bring them down here and torture them, make them bleed? This is obviously the only way you can think of to control me.”
Silvija shot forward suddenly and bunched Belle’s nightgown into a shaking fist. “Why do you always take things too far?”
Belle spat in her face. Silvija’s eyes flashed. She moved back abruptly, taking pieces of Belle’s nightgown with her. Cool air washed over Belle’s skin. Silvija deliberately wiped the spit from her face with the bits of her nightgown. Her face was granite hard, and cold.
“Is that how you want to play it?” Silvija’s eyes flickered over Belle’s face and body, missing nothing, not her rebellious look, not the scornful twist of her mouth, and certainly not the contempt blazing from her eyes. Pieces of Belle’s split nightgown hung limply off her shoulders and hips. One shrug and those bits would fall to the floor, leaving her completely naked. A false breath shuddered in her throat, and she felt her breasts move, her nipples harden standing up in the cool air.
“You may not understand yourself now, but I know. You want something from me, puppy. I’m assuming that you find it hard to ask for, but that’s all right. I’ll give it to you anyway.” The cool eyes licked over her again. “But only this once. Next time, next time,” her voice was gravelly and thick, “next time, you’ll have to beg me for it.”
Silvija walked slowly around Belle, taking her time stirring up the prickles of awareness on the bound woman’s skin. The air stilled when she stopped behind her. Belle didn’t give her the satisfaction of twisting her head around to see what Silvija was doing. She would be stoic. She would wait for whatever the beast thought would move her. Belle steeled herself against the pain that was sure to come.
A whisper of sensation seared down her back. Her skin flinched from it, but the touch was surprisingly gentle. It remained steady and light, threading down the vall
ey of her spine, licking over the rise of her ass, before flaring back up to her shoulder blades. Hands moved through the air, leaving a slight breeze in their wake. The breeze brushed the sensitive skin over her ass, then the hands themselves, shaping the rounded flesh, cupped her. Fingers glided down the backs of her thighs and calves. The beginnings of arousal flared under her skin and spread quickly. She shivered.
Stretched as she was, her body anticipating the sting of pain, the gentle sensation was jarring. And much worse. She ground her teeth together and pulled at the manacles holding her arms captive. That pain grounded her, reminding her why she was here. This pleasure wasn’t real. It was poisonous. As much as the source of it was.
“Stop it.”
But Silvija didn’t stop. The fingers brushed between Belle’s thighs, avoiding her intimate place. Then disappeared. The breeze came again when Silvija stood up. She didn’t speak. Belle breathed a sigh of relief, but it came too soon. The beast’s fingers came back. This time they flickered out to stroke her belly from behind. Belle slammed her head, hoping to catch the beast in the face, but Silvija’s was lower. Deliberate breath tingled at the small of her back.
“Fuck you,” Belle ground out between her teeth.
The fingers danced over the muscles stretched tight in her stomach, over the flare of ribs, then up to the sensitive underside of her breasts. Sensation writhed in her belly. Hands cupped her breasts, stroked the heavy globes. Belle looked down and saw, to her shame, her nipples plumping up in Silvija’s hands, hard and ripe, mere millimetres from the stroking fingers. She felt the beast’s tongue on the small of her back. The tongue dipped lower, then teeth scraped the tender skin at the top of her ass as fingers brushed her nipples. A noise escaped Belle. The fingers tugged and flicked her nipples while Silvija bit her from behind.
