by L. L. Soares
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Colleen,” she said.
“I’m Jeremy,” he said. “Jeremy Rust.”
He said his full name like it was something important. Like she should recognize it. And surprisingly enough, she did.
“The Jeremy Rust?” she asked, her eyes lighting up. “I used to read about you all the time....” She stopped. He assumed she remembered an account of the accident.
“I guess I was pretty notorious at one time,” he said. “But that was a long time ago.”
She brought the refilled glass to her lips. Jeremy had never seen someone so young and pretty gulp down alcohol so freely. It was like she was drinking milk.
But it did seem to calm her, and that was the desired effect.
While there was a certain thrill to being remembered, The Jeremy Rust and all that, there was also a certain sadness. What had he been known for, after all? Being young and rich and dating models and actresses. A celebrity by association. Sure, there had been some acting, awful acting at that. Mostly walk-on roles on bad TV shows. Roles given to him because of who he was more than what he was able to do. And that brief stint in the music biz, that hadn’t amounted to much. But he had never been famous in his own right, not really.
He still had all the tabloids with his pictures in them. Back before he had become a parody of himself. They were all in chronological order in one of the closets. He would take them out sometimes to reminisce about what had been. There was a time when he appeared in their pages just about every week. The media always on the look out for who he was dating next.
Now he was a hermit, hiding out in a beach house. Afraid to show his face.
He watched Colleen as she drank the cognac. She was drinking too much, wasn’t she? She would be drunk in no time if she continued at that rate.
But it really didn’t matter. She was safe here. And it would be nice to have someone to take care of, even for just a little while. To keep his mind off what had happened to him. And she didn’t seem too disturbed by how he looked now.
She was sitting on the leather couch, the glass in her hands, looking up at him. He realized he had been lost in thought.
“I can’t believe it,” she said. “Here I am, with Jeremy Rust.”
“It’s not that big a deal,” he said. “My fifteen minutes ended a long time ago.”
“What happened to you?” she asked. “Where did you disappear to?”
He smiled. With that practically lipless mouth of his. He could feel his bulging eyes watering again, and wiped them with his handkerchief.
Could she really not have heard? he wondered. I thought it was everywhere. My most famous moment.
“I got tired of all the public scrutiny,” he lied. “I took myself out of the picture.”
“So who did you end up with? Cindy? Naomi?”
“Unfortunately, my jet-setter days are over. My life’s been very quiet these past few years.”
God, he thought. I would be shocked if any of them called ever again. It’s like I’ve dropped right off the face of the fucking world.
“Do you have a cigarette?” Colleen asked.
He tried to guess her age. Twenty? Twenty-two? He wondered if she went to the nearby college. But something made him think she was from much farther away.
“Sure,” he said, searching for his Silk Cuts, the ones he got imported from England.
He walked over and put a cig in her mouth. She was very receptive. He lit it for her with his silver lighter in the shape of a mermaid.
The corners of her mouth formed a smile and she sucked in the smoke.
He refilled her glass with cognac. It was a pleasant feeling to be a host again.
“Would you like some ice?” he asked.
“No thanks,” she said. “But I could use an ashtray. I don’t want to get any ashes on this nice couch.”
He handed her an ashtray, then noticed it was the green glass one with his semen inside. It was dried now, mixed with ashes. An odd-textured crust lining the bottom. He didn’t care enough to wash it out. He handed it to her, and she was too buzzed to notice anyway, as she flicked her ashes inside.
“This is so nice,” she said, and surrendered to a fit of the giggles. A sure sign that she was reaching her limit. Her eyes were half-closed.
Jeremy smiled and went out onto the deck, to look out on the water. When he returned, Colleen was asleep on the couch. Looking even younger and more innocent than she had awake. Luckily, the cigarette was in the ashtray. It was mostly ash and had burnt out.
He swept her up in his still-strong arms, (he certainly had enough time to work out regularly these days) and carried her to his bedroom, where he laid her on his king-size bed, surrounding her in pillows. Then he left the room, closing the door behind him.
He hoped she wouldn’t vomit on his sheets.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Viv looked into the man’s eyes, and it was clear to her that he wanted to die.
The motel room was unkempt. The sheets seemed clean, but little else. The cleaning woman was clearly dissatisfied with her work.
He sat on the bed, looking up at her, trying to smile.
Viv unbuttoned her blouse. She contemplated doing a kind of striptease, but he waved her over. He wasn’t interested in preliminaries. He wanted to get right to the action. And his eagerness was catchy. Actually, it was more like desperation.
By the time she was down to her panties, he was naked, and stretched out on the bed. He had an erection and motioned for her to come over. To get on top of him.
She slipped off her panties and complied.
While they were fucking, she looked into his eyes and saw behind the desperation of his actions. Despite his current zest, something there told her that any fight he had in him had vanished. That he had lost the will to live.
She was on top. She was fucking him. She was in control.
They had not kissed. He had not even touched her breasts. All he wanted was to fuck. Cock to cunt, the only real contact left to him.
She did not even know his name. Not that it really mattered.
There came a time, there always did, when something changed. When it wasn’t just about sex anymore. Usually when her lover felt the first signs of impending orgasm. They were the most vulnerable then, and they would look into her eyes, and something would change.
And the whole world would flip upside down.
Viv could not really explain it. It was a feeling, like she was mentally searching for a lock, a lock she had a key to, deep inside the person she was fucking. Deep in their very soul. And she would insert the key, and turn it. Just like she did now.
The man’s face, on the verge of pleasure, contorted. This wasn’t the way an orgasm felt. This was something different. Something more. A new level of pleasure. With the turn of the key in the lock of his soul, new sensations flooded his senses. The orgasm was at the center, but these new sensations emanated from that, outward like waves. Building, emphasizing, then glowing red hot.
There was a point when she got inside their heads, where she could feel what they felt, and see glimpses of thoughts, but emotions were much stronger.
The man’s face looked almost in pain. She had seen it so many times before. But it wasn’t pain. It was just the look of too much pleasure. More than was humanly
possible to assimilate.
“It’s okay,” she said softly, still on top, still pumping. “It’s almost over, now.”
He did not try to speak. He just closed his eyes and got lost in the feelings. The orgasm became a snowball, rolling and getting bigger and bigger. So big that he didn’t believe he could contain it, but she could.
It was at that point, that he knew it was an unstoppable force. That there was no coming back from it. This was what it felt like at the very edge of death.
“Thank you,” he said, so softly she wouldn’t have heard him if she didn’t know to listen closely. If she hadn’t leaned in and pre
ssed her ear to his lips.
The lock inside him opened completely then, and the floodgates poured forth, and he felt pleasure like he never had before. Overwhelming ecstasy.
And then he was dead.
At that moment, her own orgasms began, one after another, and she held him tight as the sensations rippled through her. As she absorbed his soul. She clenched her teeth tightly, but sounds still escaped as she rode them out.
When it was over, she closed his glassy eyes and slid off him. The amount of semen he’d ejaculated at his last moment was phenomenal. His pubic hair was thick with it. She needed a long hot shower, right away.
In the shower, she closed her eyes and remembered when they had met, in the bar. He’d told her that his wife had just left him, and she’d taken the kids with her, and he didn’t want to go back to an empty house. He had been trying to make it work, but it just wasn’t happening. He used to have a horrible temper, but he didn’t anymore. It was amazing how forthcoming he had been, but they’d had a lot to drink before they came here. It was funny how, even talking about such intimate things, they hadn’t exchanged names.
After her shower, Viv got dressed and then went through his things. There were some credit cards in his wallet, but she didn’t touch those. There was some cash. Two fifties and five twenties. She took the twenties, and left the fifties behind. Most importantly, she found out his name. Richard Croix.
She felt no guilt over what had happened, as she cleaned up after herself, removing all the traces she could that she had been there. She did not like to be in the same room with corpses for very long. She pulled the sheet up over him.
Viv pulled her cowboy hat down over her eyes and left the motel room. She walked down a stretch of road until she reached a gas station. She took her time. There was a phone booth there. An old-fashioned one, with a real closing glass door. She called the number of a local taxi that was in big yellow letters on a sticker attached to the phone.
Ten minutes later a cab came to take her away.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“I got so angry,” Brenda Carlisle said. “And my first instinct would have been to strike out, to hit her, but I didn’t. I maintained control. I grabbed her, and hugged her instead.”
Sam sat across from her, watching her as she spoke with her eyes closed. It was so emotional for her to relate these events. She couldn’t distance herself in the telling. It was like she was reliving them all over again.
“Wonderful,” Sam said. “Amazing progress.”
“I know,” she said. “And I have you to thank for reaching this point.”
“We have reached that point together,” he said. “I was merely the guide. You did all the hard work. It is your achievement, Brenda. Completely yours.”
She was crying. “I am so happy. It’s so hard to control myself.”
“You’ve come a long way, Brenda,” he said. “It’s bound to be overwhelming.”
She lost the ability to speak. Her words replaced with sobs.
He sat there, uncomfortable, watching her. It was satisfying to see he could help these people, but it was so awkward sitting across from them when they broke down. He just didn’t know what to do with himself.
He watched her breasts quiver as she sobbed. He imagined taking her here, right in his office. Tearing her clothes off and fucking her until she screamed. It was an image that passed quickly.
She wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. It was just such an incredible moment.”
“I totally understand. You should feel good about it. It was a definite leap forward.”
“I don’t know how my temper got so out of control. But I can’t thank you enough for helping me find my way back.”
He almost blushed. He wasn’t sure if it was because of her words, or because of his rape fantasy.
“You’ve made incredible progress,” he said, knowing damn well it was all because of his abilities, and growing very tired of this session. It was good that his talents really worked. But did he really have to sit here and listen to his patients slobber?
He looked at his watch. “Time’s almost over,” he said. Then, “I’m sorry. Take some time to compose yourself.”
She wiped her eyes. He almost smiled. He really didn’t need to see her anymore. He’d cured her. Rather, she’d gotten to the point where she no longer interested him. But he had to make a living, so he’d use this progress to keep her coming. He knew it would be tough, each time he saw her, keeping himself from throwing her down onto the carpet and ripping her clothes off. Stabbing her repeatedly with his cock. It was the only thing left she could possibly offer him.
But, he was, after all, a professional.
She maintained some kind of composure and stood up. “Thank you, Doctor,” she said. He did not correct her. He’d never gotten his Ph.D. But then again, he didn’t need it. He could do more than psychiatrists could, with their degrees and their pills. Sam had the talent. Had the ability to really heal. What did medication do? Just mask the symptoms. He fucking healed his patients from within. If anyone deserved the title doctor, didn’t he?
“You’re welcome,” he said. “You’re very welcome.” He took her hand and squeezed it, ever so reassuringly, and led her to the door. He opened it for her, and led her out to the lobby.
He brought her over to Carla’s desk. “Please confirm Mrs. Carlisle’s appointment for Thursday.” He smiled at both women and went back to his office, ignoring the other patients waiting.
* * *
When Colleen woke up, she was alone. She was in a ball in one corner of a large, king-size bed, rolled in the sheets like a burrito. She was still wearing the bathrobe, too.
Faint light came in from a partially-open window. A mild sea breeze wafted in. She could smell the salt. There was a lamp near her, beside the bed, and she reached out and turned it on.
The room was a mess. There were clothes strewn on the floor, hanging on a straight-backed wooden chair in front of a closet door. There were magazines and newspapers in piles against the wall. Large, oversized, leather-bound scrapbooks that looked like the family albums her mother had kept stashed away for nostalgic sojourns. And books. Stacks of books.
As she sat up, she remembered how she’d gotten here. She remembered Jeremy Rust. She remembered her excitement at meeting him, after reading about him for so long in the tabloids, in the celebrity magazines.
As her feet reached the floor, and she stood up, a sharp cramp and a hint of moisture made her realize that her period had arrived. There was a bathroom at one end of the room. She tied her bathrobe closed and headed there, closing the door. After she switched on the light, she hurriedly sat on the toilet and looked around the room. She was amazed at how big it was. The fixtures were shiny brass. The shower stall had ornate angels carved above the entrance.
Where’s my purse? she wondered as she wiped herself. Did I even remember to stick some tampons in there? I must have seen this coming.
She rolled up a wad of toilet paper and put it between her legs. She’d stained the robe. These kinds of things didn’t happen to her as often as they did when she was a teenager, but they always unnerved her. Being caught unawares always made her feel small and stupid. Vulnerable.
She scrubbed the spot on the robe, only succeeding in making it a bit fainter.
She didn’t even have a change of clothes. When Turney was murdered, she’d just run away as far as she could. Without a second thought. Without really stopping to think and plan what she was doing. It was like she had suffered a tiny nervous breakdown, and lost all sense of reason for twenty-four hours.
I don’t belong here, she thought. I’m an intruder.
And, at that instant, she suddenly became very afraid that she’d left a stain on
Jeremy’s bed.
She threw open the bathroom door and ran to the bed, lifting the sheets to examine for stains. There were a few drops, and she went to the bathroom and got a wet paper towel and wiped furiously at the spots. It was
n’t that bad. He probably wouldn’t even notice them.
I wasn’t even wearing any underwear, she thought. And where are my clothes?
She searched through his bureau and found a pair of briefs to slip into.
She went to the door that led out of the room and hesitated before she opened it. She had a strange premonition that Jeremy would be standing there on the other side, waiting for her. But he wasn’t.
The house was dark.
She went down the hallway and then she turned and could see through the sliding glass doors that led out onto the beach. She could see the rolling waves.
“You’re up,” Jeremy said, surprising her. He seemed to appear out of nowhere. “I was worried about you. You’ve been asleep awhile.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize.”
“No problem,” he said. “I think it did you good.”
“I didn’t mean to stay so long,” she said. “I didn’t mean to take advantage of your kindness.”
“Not at all,” Jeremy said. His eyes were watering. He dabbed at them with a tissue. “I appreciate the company.”
“I’ve got to go,” she said, not knowing where she could go. She didn’t want to go back to that neighborhood, where she’d seen Turney die. But she’d have to go back and
get her stuff eventually; she couldn’t put it off forever. Another option was to go to her mother’s house for a while, but that filled her with just as much dread. There were too many bad memories of that place. What she really wanted to do was stay here for as long as she could. Far away from all the things she feared. She felt safe here.
“You don’t have to,” Jeremy said.
She just stood there, not knowing what to do next.
“You seemed so upset before,” Jeremy said. “So out of sorts. You really don’t have to hurry out, do you? You can stay here awhile. Take a break before you go back.”
His kindness touched her on a level that almost made her cry.
“I really shouldn’t,” she said. But then remembered how long she had traveled, how far away this place was from where she lived. And night was falling.
