Countdown to Killing Kurtis

by Lauren Rowe

Kurtis groans as he takes in the grandeur of my naked torso and boobs. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs, “you’re gorgeous.” His eyes are blazing hotter than a two-dollar whore on nickel night. He continues appraising me with a kind of reverence and awe for another seven seconds or so, and then that’s it—he’s on me like a cheap suit, a sudden flurry of fingers and lips and wet tongue and voracious puffs of warm air all over my bare skin.

  I throw my head back and jolt as his lips find my erect nipples and cry out when his wet tongue swirls around and around. He slams me into the wall of the closet, kissing me, attacking me, inhaling me, pressing himself into me, and before I can even think about what I’m doing, I wrap my leg around his waist and smash myself into him, feverishly rubbing my crotch against that bulge in his pants, aching for him to penetrate me and scratch my voracious itch. Kurtis responds to my fervor by moaning and grinding into me, right into the spot where I’m yearning for him the most.

  His fingers reach inside my panties, busy as a bee in a tar barrel, and I shriek at the outrageous sensation. When his fingers slip inside me, my body ignites like a matchbox lit with a blowtorch and my shrieks turn to guttural moans. And when his fingers begin massaging the exact spot that’s throbbing uncontrollably for him, I jolt and buck violently in his brawny arms. “Wes—” I scream, and quickly bite my tongue.

  Holy motherfucking shit-on-a-stick, I almost shouted Wesley’s goddamned name. Good lord, that would have been catastrophic—the death knell to my sacred destiny. “What’s...” I say, trying to camouflage the name that almost shot out of my mouth. “What’s happening to me?”

  Holy hell. That’s just the kind of higgledy-piggledy thing that happens when you let body parts besides your brains lead you out of the barn—you wind up with an ejaculation that’ll fuck up the trajectory of your entire life.

  But Kurtis hasn’t heard a word I’ve said, anyhow. His hand retreats quickly from my wetness and fumbles desperately with his fly. I open my legs wider and jerk my pelvis into him, desperate for him to finally, finally plunge his hard-on inside me and rip me in two—oh God, yes, please—I want him deep, deep, deep inside me—but then I suddenly lurch back to my senses and leap out of his arms, even as my hips are jerking and thrusting like a dog humping his owner’s leg. “No!” I shriek, my knees wobbling.

  “Aw, fuck!” Kurtis shouts, his voice ragged. “Come on! I’m losing my fucking mind over here!” His cheeks are bright red.

  I take a giant step back from him and cross my arms over my chest, panting, my crotch throbbing mercilessly, my knees barely able to support my weight. Oh good lord, I’m in physical pain between my legs.

  Kurtis looks as pained as I feel. “I’ve never waited this long for a woman, ever,” he pleads. “Please, Buttercup.”

  I’m breathless, yearning, aching. Oh God, I want him. I feel physically sick with this intense ache. “I’ve told you a million times,” I sputter, gasping for air, “we can’t eat supper before we’ve said grace.” I tighten my arms across my chest, and cross my legs, trying to quell the pounding inside my crotch. “And anyway, do you want my very first time to be like this?” I look around the small storage closet. “Is that all you think of me?” My tone is scolding, verging on angry—but it’s an act. Oh good lord, I’m giving the performance of a lifetime. Because the truth is I want him—in a storage closet, on the floor, in a bed, in a car, in a back alley, anywhere—I don’t care where we do it, as long as we just do it already.

  “No, that’s not all I think of you.” He puts his junk away and zips back up. “I think you’re a goddamned fucking angel; that’s what I think of you.” He moves to me and grabs my shoulders, his eyes burning into mine. “I think you’re gorgeous. And pure. And so goddamned good.” His voice quavers a bit. “You’re good, Buttercup, and I’m so, so bad.” Now his voice catches with a flood of emotion. “Before I met you, I didn’t even know I wanted to be good—I thought I was happy being bad.” He pulls me into a fierce embrace and talks right into my ear. “I just wanna get inside your goodness, baby, that’s all, deep inside you, so you can save me from myself.” His voice is suddenly low and intense. “I just wanna be good like you.”

  My mouth hangs open.

  Kurtis inhales and exhales deeply for a moment, his breathing ragged and shaky, apparently trying to collect himself. Finally, he pulls away from our embrace, his face set in resignation. “You’re right. Your first time can’t be in a fucking closet. You’re too good for that.” His voice is thick with emotion. He swallows hard. “You’re too good for me.”

  There’s a beat, neither of us apparently knowing what to say or do.

  Finally, I nod in agreement. That’s right. I’m good. And pure. And my first time can’t be in a fucking closet. That’s right.

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  I nod again. If I speak, I’ll surely tell him to forget everything I just said and take me now, right here on the floor—to hurry up and get inside me, deep inside me, and make this painful throbbing finally go away.

  “I’m gonna make you a big star, baby,” Kurtis says.

  I don’t respond for a long beat. “I don’t wanna be a centerfold star,” I finally manage to say. “I wanna be a movie star.”

  “I know. And you will be.”

  “But I still haven’t set foot on a movie set since coming to Hollywood.”

  Kurtis lets out a deep sigh. “I keep telling you, baby. One thing leads to another. I’m still putting all the pieces together. I’m working hard to get investors lined up for our movie—but first things first: I gotta get everyone buzzing about you. Trust me.”

  I scowl.

  “Let’s go back in there and make history, huh? Let’s take these pictures and give the world something it’s never seen before. When everyone finally sees you in all your glory like I just did, holy fuck, you’re gonna give the world a global orgasm.”

  “Can’t we just do side-boob again? The world seemed to have a pretty big orgasm over that.”

  Kurtis puts his finger under my chin and tilts my face up to him. He leans in and kisses me softly, tenderly. His kiss is so sweet, so full of reverence, in fact, it actually makes me swoon a little bit, if you want to know the truth—not just in my panties but in my heart, too. “No, the world’s got a global hard-on for you, baby,” he whispers. “What I just saw is gonna give them the fucking orgasm.”

  I can’t help but smile.

  Kurtis smiles back at me. “Baby, if you go back out there and drop your arms for the camera the way you just did for me, these photos are gonna be legendary.” He bites his lip, considering something. “I have something for you,” he finally says. He pulls a little black velvet box out of his jacket pocket. “I was gonna give this to you at dinner tonight, but it makes more sense to give it to you now so you can wear it in the photos.”

  My heart is clanging in my chest as Kurtis hands me the little box.

  I open it with shaky hands.

  There’s a necklace inside. A cross, inlaid with sparkling diamonds. And at the top of the cross, there’s a singular diamond the size of Kermit, Texas, set in the middle of the star of Bethlehem. I look up at Kurtis, speechless.

  “Because you’re my Preacher’s Daughter—and I’m going to make you the biggest star this world has ever seen.”

  My heart is exploding right now. I’ve never felt quite like this before, the way I feel with Kurtis in this moment. This is the happiest moment of my entire life.

  Kurtis laughs. “Well, aren’t you gonna say something, honey?” Tears spring into my eyes and Kurtis laughs again. “Aw, honey. Don’t cry. I got this for you to make you smile.”

  “I’m so happy,” I squeak out. “Oh, Kurtis.”

  “I got this for you so you understand how I feel about you.” His eyes sparkle at me and I blush. “Let me put it on you, baby,” Kurtis coos. I turn around, trembling with the adrenaline surging through me, and he secures the clasp under my hair. He turns me back around to face him and grips my shoulders
firmly. “I’m gonna make you a star, baby. You just have to trust me.”

  I nod.

  “Okay?”

  “Okay, Kurtis.”

  He exhales, obviously relieved. “So, are you ready to go out there and take those legendary photos now?”

  I wipe my eyes and nod. The way I’m feeling right now, I’d agree to do just about anything Kurtis asked of me, any little thing—no matter how naughty—even let him take my body all the way to home base and back again, any which way—if only he’d promise on a stack of bibles never to leave me all alone in this world. Suddenly, in this unexpectedly heart-stopping moment, I don’t care about showing my titties off to the entire world—I don’t even care about fulfilling my sacred destiny. All I care about is being with Kurtis—being safe and warm in his arms and letting him love me and take care of me and make my heart and my panties explode. Forever and ever. Maybe that’s my sacred destiny, after all. I wipe my eyes again.

  Kurtis hugs me to him and nuzzles into my hair. “You’re so good, baby. So pure and good. I just wanna be good like you.”

  I melt into him. My heart is exploding in my chest like fireworks on the Fourth of July. I like being good for Kurtis. I’ve never wanted to be bad—it’s just that I’ve had no choice in the past. Maybe, now, with Kurtis, this is my chance to start fresh and become the good and sweet girl he thinks I am. The good and sweet girl I’ve always wanted to be.

  “I’m gonna give you the world, baby,” Kurtis coos.

  “Oh, Kurtis,” I say, tears pricking my eyes. I squeeze him tight, bursting to tell him I’m ready to give him the world, too—a sky full of stars—that I don’t care about anything except making him happy for the rest of my life. I touch the cross around my neck and shudder with excitement. It’s my most prized possession—the best thing I’ve ever owned. I’ll wear it forever and ever, every day of my life, and remember this moment as I do.

  Kurtis kisses me and the sensation zings me right between the legs like he just shocked me there with a cattle brand. Oh good lord, I’m ready—he can take me now. He can have all of me, every square inch, inside and out. I don’t care about the kingdom. I don’t care about audiences seeing me in cineplexes around the world. I just want Kurtis to love me and never, ever leave. I disengage from our kiss and look at his handsome face. “Kurtis, I have something important to tell you.” My cheeks are blazing with heat—with the love I feel for this beautiful man. “I want—”

  “Yes, I know what you want,” he says, his eyes twinkling. “And, honey, I’m gonna give it to you, I promise.”

  I hold my breath in anticipation of whatever he’s gonna say next.

  “You’re gonna go out there and pose for these legendary photos for me, and then I’m gonna give you the world—something I’ve never given anyone else before.” His eyes light up at what he’s about to say next. “Baby, I’m gonna make you next month’s cover girl, centerfold, and ‘Casanova cutie’—all at the same time.”

  Chapter 14

  16 Years Old

  1,575 Days Before Killing Kurtis

  I’m lying on my side on my cot at the group home. It’s time for chores, but Mrs. Clements is letting me off the hook, just this once. “Just stay in bed and rest for a while, dear,” Mrs. Clements tells me when we get back from the courtroom.

  As expected, the jury convicted Mother of Jeb’s murder after only two days of deliberations, but, based on all the abuse Mother apparently suffered at Jeb’s hands, they went with second-degree murder instead of first—even though, if you ask me, baking a rat-poison cake for your boyfriend is pretty dang good evidence of “premeditation” and “malice aforethought.” But it’s okay. All second degree murder means is that Mother’s going to spend the rest of her life in prison instead of sizzling in the electric chair—which, I must admit, I was actually relieved to hear.

  I’m confused right now. Even though everything’s gone exactly according to my well-thought-out plans, other than the fact that I’m stuck here in this group home, of course, and even though I should feel downright celebratory today—seeing as how I’ve done the right thing in light of the totality of the circumstances—I actually feel as low as a toad in a dry well right now, just as sad as the ocean blue—and I can’t understand why.

  I turn on my other side. That jury bought everything I was selling to them, and then some. I was a star up on that witness stand. Mother never stood a chance. I exhale a long breath. And neither did poor Jeb. When I handed Jeb that fateful cake, the look of gratitude mixed with elation on his face was downright heartbreaking, if you want to know the truth. He just looked so touched, so gosh-dang touched, that I’d taken the time and effort, it made me want to reach out and swat that poisonous cake out of his hands. But I didn’t.

  “No one’s ever baked a cake for me before,” Jeb gushed, his face aglow. “I’m always the one baking cakes for everyone else.”

  “Well, not anymore you aren’t, Jeb,” I somehow managed to reply, even though my stomach was twisting and turning.

  And that’s when Jeb hugged me with such unfiltered joy and gratitude, I almost broke down and cried. But I didn’t. I kept myself together and hugged him back, squeezing him as tight as my arms could muster. But then I heard Daddy’s voice whispering in my ear, and I pulled back from our embrace. “You’ve gotta eat a huge slice, Jeb,” I said, hopping back, my voice quavering. “Seeing as how this is the first cake anyone’s ever made for you and all.”

  “And it’s the first cake you’ve ever made all by yourself,” Jeb added, “so I’m gonna eat an extra-large slice.”

  My stomach dropped into my toes, but I kept talking anyway. “Yeah, I’m not sure I did it right, but you’ll eat it all up, right? Even it’s awful?” I’d put in twice as much sugar as the recipe called for to mask any telltale poison flavor, if any—I have no idea what rat poison tastes like—but I figured it couldn’t hurt to prime Jeb to ignore any weird aftertastes, anyway.

  “You bet I will,” Jeb replied, looking around. “Where’s your momma? Is she in the back room?”

  “Nope, she’s still at work,” I said, even though, yes, she was passed out like a hobo in the back room. “But, Jeb, I just can’t wait for you to try my cake. Let’s have a big piece now, even before you put your stuff away, and then we’ll have another one when Momma gets home.”

  “Gosh, lemme think about it,” Jeb responded, but his expression made it clear he was pleased as punch. And then, without further ado, he dug right into that cake, a huge smile on his face.

  I flip onto my back on my cot and cross a forearm over my face. I feel like I’m gonna throw up—just like poor Jeb did after eating that big slice of cake.

  There’s a noisy bustle of activity downstairs in the main room where the other kids are doing their chores before supper.

  The way Jeb’s eyes bugged out and his body started convulsing, it’s no wonder I was screaming and crying when I called 911—no acting required.

  There’s a clatter of silverware downstairs. I reckon they’re setting the table for supper. I roll onto my side, my back facing the door. I sigh. That day in court, when Mother figured out it was me who baked Jeb’s deadly cake, I didn’t like the way she looked at me right then, like I’d just served her up a big piece of rat-cake, too. It was like the life siphoned out of her in that very instant, exactly the same way the life had drained so horribly out of Jeb. And I especially didn’t like the way Mother looked at me like I’m evil. I’m not a bad person. I’m really not. In that one particular instance, I might have done a bad thing. But I was just doing what had to be done, that’s all.

  I hear footsteps behind my cot. A hand gently touches my shoulder. “Charlene.”

  I don’t turn around. There’s no need. I already know who it is. Wesley. It’s always Wesley, staring at me and following me around like a lost puppy. The very first day I arrived at this hellhole and walked through the front door, Wesley’s dopey face lit up like a Christmas tree at the mere sight of me, al
most like he’d been dreaming of me his whole life, or maybe even praying to God for me, and here I finally was. “Charlene,” I heard him say softly after Mrs. Clements introduced me to all the kids. “Thank you, Sweet Jesus.”

  I feel a tap on my shoulder. “Hey, Charlene?” Wesley’s voice says. “Mrs. Clements told me to come get you for supper.”

  I roll over and face him. Wesley’s a year younger than me. His face is riddled with pimples and his ears are too big. He’s so damned skinny, he’s got to stand up twice to cast a shadow. If he stuck out his tongue, he’d look like a zipper. I’m about to speak, about to tell him I’m not hungry, but then, much to my surprise, I begin to cry. These aren’t planned tears. What are these tears? These are tears of ... I have no idea. But once they come, they won’t stop.

  “Oh, hey,” Wesley says softly. He sits down on the edge of my cot and brushes the hair out of my eyes. “Hey, now, sshhh,” Wesley says tenderly. He caresses my cheek. “Don’t you worry, Charlene. Everything’s gonna be all right.” He brings both his hands to my face and wipes my tears with his thumbs. He looks into my eyes. “I’m gonna take care of you, Charlene. I promise. Okay? I’ll always take care of you, ’til the end of time.”

  I don’t know why I do it, but I suddenly sit up and kiss Wesley right on his mouth. When my lips touch his, he lets out a sort of a yelp, and I feel his body jerk with delighted surprise as he leans into my face and kisses me right back.

  It’s my first-ever kiss, and I’m surprised at the softness and warmth of it, and especially at how much I like it.

  When we pull away from each other, Wesley’s eyes are on fire.

  “Don’t call me Charlene,” I say flatly, heat rising in my cheeks.

  He licks his lips. “I’ll call you whatever you want.”

  I bite my lip, assessing him. I can still taste him on my mouth.

  “What do you want me to call you, Charlene? I’ll call you whatever you want,” he repeats, his voice shaky and spiking with urgency. When I don’t reply, he leans forward and lowers his eyelids, clearly hoping I’ll kiss him again.