by L. B. Dunbar
“Why?” I sounded like an idiot as I repeated the question.
“He…wouldn’t understand why you were here.”
“Well, I’m not really here. I was just passing through the woods looking for…” I stopped as the face of the girl came clearly into the light. She had made her way to the edge of the tent from the inside, and the sunshine was reflecting back on her. She was pale, almost sickly, with a large bruise on her cheek, but her eyes. Those gray eyes. I would recognize them anywhere. They were burned into my memory permanently.
“I…I know you,” I started.
“No. No you can’t know me,” she said in that frenzied voice again.
“I do. We’ve meet before. A long time ago on the shore near…well, that’s the trouble; I don’t remember where that house was. But it was you. You were there.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You yelled at me for picking on your uncle when I wasn’t picking on him. I was trying to help him.”
“That….that’s impossible. No one ever came to the house until…” She stopped and looked over my shoulder, which was blocking her view outside the small space.
“You need to go, please. Please leave before he finds you,” she said and she reached for me, gently trying to push me backward. I instinctively grabbed her delicate wrists to hold her off from pressing me further. The spark that ignited under my touch caused me to immediately retreat from her. She looked down at her wrists and then made a strange face. Determination shuttered over her initial expression and her tone was more forceful.
“You must leave immediately. I beg of you. If he finds you here, he will not like it.” Her tone had faltered, and I sensed that this Jordan would not hurt me, but her.
“Did he do that to you?”
“Do what to me?” She hesitated and her hand moved upward then stopped.
“Did he do this?” With shaky fingers I reached to her cheek and hovered over the damaged skin. She immediately flinched and turned away.
“What happened?”
“It’s nothing,” she said.
“Did he hit you?”
“You need to leave, please,” she whispered.
“Can I take you away from here? Can I help you?”
“I…I’m meant to be here, he says. I can’t leave. He’ll find me. He always does when I try to leave.” Her tone had changed again. She almost sounded robotic and her gray eyes glazed over.
I sensed that the bruise was a result of her attempts to leave: to escape.
“But if you’re with me. I can protect you.”
She took in the size of me, looking me up and down as best she could in our kneeling positions.
“I…I don’t need your protection. This isn’t your battle.”
“I don’t believe you, but I’m going to get help for you.” My thought was she was afraid. If one man were holding her here, she would be afraid of another. I was a stranger to her, after all, if she didn’t remember scolding me years ago. Maybe my sister could talk her out of the tent. Maybe she would feel comfortable with a girl. It occurred to me that it was a bit strange that she seemed my age and was out in the woods.
“Why aren’t you in school?”
“I’m learning here from Jordan. He says I have a purpose and he is teaching me.”
“I’m coming back for you,” I said with more determination. I didn’t like how this sounded and I didn’t like her trapped in this tent. I didn’t understand what was going on, but I knew I needed help to coerce her.
“Here.” I reached inside my t-shirt and pulled out the garnet ring I wore on a chain. It was the only thing I had of my father’s, and I couldn’t lose it. I couldn’t lose her. I would be back. I would pay better attention to where I was and how I got there.
I placed the chain over her head and she watched my motions.
“This is very generous of you, but I can’t keep it. I can’t explain to him how I got it.”
“Hide it then. Keep it some place safe. Out of sight.”
As she continued to stare at the ring that dangled from her neck, I decided I needed to leave her and start my journey to retrace my steps. I stood to my full height, and she climbed out of the tent to stand in front of me. I hadn’t stepped back and we stood almost pressed against one another.
“I must give you something, as well,” she said softly, “but I don’t have anything.” She began to look around as if she would find something on the ground to give me. She looked down at her hand and I noticed a small gold band. She wore it on her ring finger as if she was married.
“Jordan makes me wear it if we go near town. He says people will not stare at us if they think we are married.”
“Are you married?” I choked.
“Not legally, but Jordan says in the eyes of God I am his.”
I didn’t like the sound of this. I didn’t like any of this. I wanted her to come with me instantly.
I reached for her when we heard a noise and both turned in the direction of the noise.
“Quick, here,” she pulled the ring from her finger and shoved it into my hand. I fumbled with the delicate jewelry and slipped it into my jeans’ pocket so as not to lose it. I couldn’t go without knowing who she was, and I told her so.
“Hollister. My name is Hollister, but Jordan doesn’t call me that. He says I’m special and Hollister is the wrong name for me.”
“Well, Hollister. I think that’s a beautiful name for a beautiful girl, and I’ll be back soon for you.”
We heard the noise again, and the girl looked at me with panicked eyes, then she leapt at me. Her arms wrapped around my neck and she kissed me. It happened so briefly, I barely registered her lips on mine then it was over. The noise sounded closer and she pushed my chest.
“Go…please, go.”
“I’ll be back for you, Hollister.”
I retraced my steps, and I went to the site the next day to find it was surrounded by police tape. No one would tell me what happened to the girl. When I asked about her, some of the police officers began to question me. They wanted to know how I knew her. What I knew about her. I panicked. I didn’t know then that they were trying to find answers to help her. I thought that something terrible had happened to her. I thought I was too late and something extreme had been done to her. So I ran. I ran in my fear. I ran in my sorrow. I was worried she was dead.
Another night…
[Hollister]
It had been almost a week and I was going crazy. Perk wasn’t any better at technology than I was. We had only shared minimal texts when he finally asked if he could see me again. I didn’t have a night off until Thursday, and I told him he could pick me up. He suggested dinner, but I didn’t like to go out in public places. I had a feeling that the paparazzi would find him. He didn’t need the sensationalism of his band’s situation about the accident. I’d heard plenty of news reports throughout the week. He’d admitted he’d been called into the police, more than once, as a witness. For some reason, he never mentioned that I was needed to make a statement. It was as if he was protecting me.
We rode in silence to his warehouse home on the river, in the early evening. The days were growing shorter as it was mid-September. I struggled to contain the pleasure I felt to wrap my arms around him again and hold onto him, in the most mundane of ways, as I straddled behind him on his bike. When we pulled into his garage, I slipped off his motorcycle as if I couldn’t get away from him fast enough. It was only because I knew I shouldn’t hold onto him. I’d been concerned for him this week, but I wasn’t sure what do now that we were together again. I understood he had questions he wanted to ask me, but he seemed defeated again. I questioned when he last slept.
“Want to sleep with me, huh?” he teased. My defenses went up immediately.
“I can’t sleep with you.” The words burst forth before I realized how they sounded.
His dark eyes stared at me.
“Why not?”
“How
did you get your reputation?”
“My…what?” His innocent eyes shifted to something else.
“Your reputation? The Hands-Free Lover? We were discussing it the last time I was here.”
“I remember,” his tone bit and I felt the sting. This conversation wasn’t going where I planned. I was trying to tease him, but my words kept coming out defensive. I don’t even know why I cared about his reputation. It wasn’t like I was innocent. It’s just that my innocence was taken from me. I sensed he’d been with several women. I was jealous of those women without knowing one of them.
He glared down at me with his chocolate eyes, which betrayed his hurt for a moment, before they shaded into something darker. We were locked in a stand off in his living room.
“Sit down,” he demanded. His tone told me not to argue with him.
Hardly seated on his large couch, he made a second demand.
“Take off your shirt.”
I slipped the shirt off, embarrassed that it caught on my heavy breasts before I was able to pull it free. He took a deep breath and licked his lips. His gaze on me was unnerving. I was ready to cover myself as he continued to stare, until he told me to move to the edge of the couch and remove my jeans.
I would have argued, but he raised an eyebrow as if to dare me to not follow his directions. Despite my growing concern that things might spiral out of control faster than I anticipated, the throbbing pulse between my legs felt like the spiral might not come fast enough. Shucking my jeans, again ungraciously, I kicked them from my ankle and leaned back on my hands. This pushed my breasts upward toward him as he still stood looking down at me. He swallowed hard and my eyes travelled to the front of his jeans. I felt the gaze of his dark eyes all over my body. My skin prickled with his desire for me. It was obvious again, in his tightly packed pants, how he felt about my current position.
He knelt down on both knees, spreading them slightly to balance and calmly placed his hands on his own thighs. His eyes flicked from my stomach to my face, but I shook my head, warning him not to ask about the discoloration again.
Telling me then to put my hand on my stomach, he gave me further instructions.
“Move your hand upward and tug down the cups of your bra.”
My hand was sticky as I skimmed my own skin. I sensed my own heart rate racing underneath my chest. When I finally reached my bra, I did as he suggested, and in doing so, my breasts were trussed up higher, pressing into one another and forming a deeper crease between them. I felt wanton and desired at the same time. He sighed audibly and slid his palms up and down his own thighs once before returning them to rest near his knees
“Caress your own nipples. I want to see how hard you can get.”
No longer recognizing his voice, I did as I was told, too excited to not follow his commands. I had done this on occasion and found that I was ultra-sensitive to this type of touch. It was a direct line to the space between my legs; without control I moaned as my own eyes closed lazily.
“Keep those beautiful eyes on me,” he added softer in that seductive voice.
My lids flew open to meet the deep darkness of his. His mouth was open slightly, breathing shallow, yet he still made no move to touch me. He was getting off on watching me at the moment, and I was ready to explode from the need to be touched by him.
“Slide your hands into your underwear.”
My eyes opened wider and I gasped as I felt both a shock and a thrill at his commanding voice. I drew it out as I tickled my own glowing skin across my belly and dipped into the waist of my panties. They weren’t particularly sexy. Neither was my bra. I had a bigger chest and needed the support, but my hand in my own pants made no difference to the type of underwear I wore. I felt erotic as I whimpered with the touch of my own fingers across my wetness.
“What do you feel?”
“Wet,” I choked.
“What else?”
“Soft.”
“What else?”
“Sensitive.”
He breathed deep and leaned forward, but caught himself to rest back on his ankles.
“What do you feel beyond the physical?”
“Ready to explode.”
He groaned then used the most seductive voice I’d ever heard.
“Explode for me, Hollister. I want to see what it’s like to turn you on.”
I couldn’t continue to watch his eyes, piercing into mine, so I let them drift closed. I imagined him touching me, playing out the fantasy that he would do more than fondle me. That he would push inside me, work my wetness and eventually bring me the release I craved.
“Do what it takes to make it happen, Hollister. Rub harder. Rock into it. Let it explode.”
I was trying, but I wanted it to be him. Sensing my hesitation, he added to the fantasy.
“Do you want it to be me?”
“Yes,” I moaned.
“I’m touching you, Hollister. I’m slipping inside you. You are so wet for me. I slide in and out, and you drip on me. Three. Hard. Thrusts. And your….”
I groaned against my own fingers as I released a sensation I hadn’t felt before. Pitching forward, the relief was overwhelming. I continued to stroke myself for a few minutes until my heart rate settled. When I felt calm enough, I opened my eyes to meet the mischief in his.
“Feel better?” he almost laughed, with one side of his lip curling upward.
I blinked, taking in the meaning of his words.
“You’re an ass.”
“I can be,” he said, as he stood to remove his jeans. When he unbuttoned the first button, I looked away as I replaced myself in my bra and reached for my white t-shirt. He reached for it faster, and we were held in a soft tug-of-war over the material, when he asked what I hoped he wouldn’t.
“How’d you get that bruise on your stomach, Hollister?”
Letting go of the t-shirt, he leaned over me, pressing me back into the couch in order to avoid contact with him. He slipped a protective hand over my mid-section.
“I got in a fight of sorts.”
“Of-sorts? Like how?”
“At the shelter. I was in the right place at the wrong time.”
“Don’t you mean the wrong place?”
“No. I got in the way, but I was where I needed to be.”
He looked at me long and hard then he moved back to replace my t-shirt over me, sensing I suddenly needed to be covered. He helped me pull it over my head and dragged it down to my waist, where he used it as a means to trap my attention.
His dark eyes focused on my gray ones as he gently asked his question again: “Who are you?”
He paused.
“I don’t remember you like this.”
I didn’t know what he meant. I didn’t remember him. He’d claimed we’d met before, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t know when.
“What do you mean, you remember me?” I asked, suddenly shy.
His expression told me he wasn’t ready to share. From comments he’d made a week ago and his need to ask questions, he suddenly seemed uncertain he should ask me anything. He seemed uncertain he wanted me to be here.
Quietly, I spoke, “You seem disappointed in me. I’m sure, I’m not what you expected.”
He continued to stare at me, searching my face for something.
“Maybe I should go?” I asked softly.
“You just got here.”
“Don’t you want me to leave?”
“Never,” he whispered and did a sort of push up to lower over me, caging me in. He brushed his nose along my neck before he pushed back off the couch. He rubbed his hand over his short hair in frustration and walked over to the large island, cutting off his kitchen from the sitting area. While his back was to me, he braced his hands on the counter. I didn’t bother to replace my jeans and I tiptoed over to him and wrapped my arms around him. I kept a slight distance between us, but let my fingers roam over his hard abs.
“I could help you out,” I said gently, knowing that he
must be sexually frustrated with me, as well. One large hand slid over mine, and he covered it for a moment, before giving it a squeeze and slipping out of my attempted embrace.
“Let me make you dinner,” he said softly and walked over to his refrigerator.
A couple weeks later…
[Perkins]
I’d made a mistake. It just couldn’t be her. She wasn’t who I thought she was. I’d returned her to the shelter later that night, weeks ago, with a disappointment so deep I couldn’t function. I felt like the blood had been drained out of me and my bones were liquefied. I was so tired that I slept for days. I ignored calls from the band, dismissed any text from her, and played the drums for hours until I was exhausted in body and mind again, and then slept some more.
I had been saving myself for her. I had learned the ways of women without touching them, so I could have her be my first…for everything. But she had not done the same for me. I made a promise that I would come back for her, and I had failed her. My punishment was to keep myself clean until I found her again.
But she had not done the same for me. I should have known better when the news reported that Hollister SanGrael had been found in the woods just miles from her home. It was a shock to the community that she was so close to the investigation and hadn’t been discovered. I, a bumbling fool, searching for someone unknown stumbled upon the very girl I was looking for, only to find she was the one missing. Then, I lost her again. There was some scandal around her disappearance and I followed the case closely, in hopes that her identity and new location would be revealed. After her name was leaked to the media, she seemed to disappear again.
This older woman was not the scared girl in the tent. She was not the fierce girl in the castle. She was someone I didn’t know. I cursed myself for building her into someone that didn’t exist. I was disappointed in her and disappointed in myself. I had lost my best friend because my sole mission had been to recover the girl, and now I discovered she wasn’t whom I thought.
My depression was further aggravated by discussions with the band about canceling our tour. We were scheduled to hit Europe after opening night in New York, followed by Los Angeles. The fundraising concert had only been a precursor to the tour, until our world was turned upside down by my obsession with Hollister. We were falling apart as a band of brothers. Lansing was preoccupied with Guinevere, who continued to ignore him. She turned into herself and I suddenly understood her pain. I felt turned inside out. Tristan was losing himself in booze and women. I cursed myself again for impure thoughts and that I had wasted time learning the ways of women without touching them. I had no lack of followers. I just held off because I thought that when I found her again, she would know it was me. She would know that I waited for her.
