Dark Desires (Dark Romance Boxed Set)

by Cerys du Lys

  He came again, but not before grinding his cock and his body so hard against me that an orgasm forced its way through my body, too. This was not an empty and meaningless climax like I was used to, but a powerful, intense, and amazing one. I felt everything, all of us, Noah and I together.

  I felt alive.

  After that third and final time, Noah collapsed atop me. He begged me to stay.

  “Please?” he said. “We’ll hide. I’ll leave my parents. We’re both old enough. We’re both adults. We can live in the woods in that cave I told you about. We can go somewhere else. I’ll find a job and save money so that we can move away somewhere where no one knows who we are. Please?”

  I did not know what to tell him, so I told him yes. He seemed so happy.

  I lied, though. He fell asleep soon after, but I forced myself to remain awake. I nuzzled against his body one final time, feeling comfort and warmth beneath his blankets. We ate so much and made love so many times that my eyes nearly refused to stay open, but somehow I managed to keep myself alert.

  I slipped away from him in the dead of night and returned to the basement in the church. I do not think anyone ever knew what I did; only Noah, who came for me and brought me with him when everyone else abandoned me and hurt me. It gave me strength and made me feel powerful.

  Noah did not accept that. He did not say otherwise, and he still came to see me every day. He did not come to sneak me away with him again, though. He did not come to sneak me away with him again in the same way, at least.

  He did come one night. There were others, too. All of them. We were to remain awake and vigilant until the sunrise, because of some important meaning derived from it on this specific night. I do not remember why or what we were doing. I was not invited so much as forced to come because I would be the entertainment in order to remove the boredom caused by remaining awake in a quiet church for the entire night.

  They took me. They raped me. They hurt me and abused me, but I expected this.

  And then they died. Noah killed all of them. While the men in the basement took their pleasure from my body, he killed those outside and upstairs. He stabbed them with artful precision. After the night we spent together, after I left him, Noah spent his evenings learning how to kill a man perfectly and with alarming alacrity. They died quickly, slumping to the floor, bleeding, lifeless.

  One by one, as the men using me left the basement and walked upstairs, Noah killed them. Finally I was alone, but I did not know it yet. I smelled something strange, but I did not want to leave the basement with so many people nearby. They would hurt me more. I was hurt, but I did not know if I could stand being hurt even more.

  I knew happiness because of Noah, and it was becoming difficult not to feel anything anymore. I would remember him and I would smile, even if only for a fraction of a second. The emotion was fleeting, but it was there, and it was very real to me. A fraction of a second in the middle of eternity can sometimes seem like a lot. He gave me so much happiness even if it does not seem like it was a lot compared to what a normal person feels.

  Noah walked down the stairs into the basement. I saw his bloody shirt and the knife in his hands. I did not fear him, though. Why should I fear Noah? That did not make any sense to me. I could not comprehend ever being afraid of him. I ran to him to see if he was hurt. He was not.

  “I killed them,” he said. “I killed them and I set the church on fire. We can leave now. No one will know. They won’t hurt you ever again.”

  I did not know what to say to him. Did he really do that? If he did... he was right. They would not hurt me. If they did not hurt me, did that mean that I had repented for my sins? Was I free now? Would I die, or...?

  We went upstairs. Noah held my hand and guided me up the steps. My body shivered because I was naked. He showed me a dress he brought with him, and he gave it to me. It was for my escape, he said. I put it on while he went to the pulpit of the church and cleaned himself as best he could in a bowl of water used during Sunday sermons.

  I saw them. They lay scattered throughout the pews, bleeding. The fire started small, but by now it was becoming bigger. I went towards one of them and knelt beside their body. Blood flowed freely out of the man’s neck. I placed my hands in it, feeling his life and his warmth forming a pool atop the cool, smooth stone tiles.

  I pressed my hands covered in his blood against my dress without thinking. Beautiful white became a vibrant red. I pressed my hands back into the blood and then brought them to my face. I remembered the feeling of cool water bringing shivers to my body whenever they drowned me. This was not cool, but warm. I shivered, but for a different reason; I did not know why.

  After they revived me when I drowned, I felt cold and lost and lifeless even though I was alive. Feeling this man’s blood dripping down my body made me feel revived, too. I was warm and brilliant and alive, though. I was whole and good and pure.

  Blood touched my lips and I licked it. It tasted of sweet iron and raspberries. I brought a finger to my mouth and licked it clean. They did not give me adequate food or water for days, and only Noah offered me sustenance, but right here and now I had so much. I had this man’s blood at my fingertips. I was so hungry and so thirsty and I knew Noah would give me food and something to drink later, but I could not wait any longer.

  I lost myself in a different sort of way. I did not know what happened or how I arrived outside of the church. Noah pulled me away and we left together. I looked over my shoulder at the place I’d been trapped for what seemed like forever. Fire consumed it, red and hot like the blood on my hands. The building burned, shattered, and then fell. There was no one to save it.

  Noah destroyed it, he left them all for dead; he only saved me.

  *** Noah

  Today is my day of reckoning.

  I’m kissing Angeline, or I was, but it can’t keep happening. I can’t fucking do this. I can’t act like I’ve done nothing wrong, that I didn’t abandon her back then, that I didn’t become some asshole with a bullshit fucking plan.

  Yeah, maybe I helped some people, but I hurt people, too. Sorry? What the fuck do you want me to do about it? Before I even started doing this shit, I hurt Angeline. I sat there while they fucking destroyed her very soul. I watched them use her, barely able to hide the sick fucking disgust I felt every single time. I wanted to vomit all over the stone floors of that sick fucking mockery of a church.

  I wanted to punch the guy who was fucking her in the face, rip him off of her, grab her by the wrist, pull her up, and drag her out of that place. I wanted to fucking dare any of those fucking assholes to stop me. I wanted to stare at them with a look that asked how the fuck they could be like this?

  I didn’t, though. I just fucking stood there. Yeah, I had her to myself sometimes. I could stretch it to half an hour alone with her most days, or sometimes an hour if I was lucky. Every so often I could keep her to myself for two hours. I could give her a goddamn fucking break from the torturous shit that her life had become.

  Before that? You know what I fucking did? Nothing. I didn’t know shit like that happened. I just fucking lived my life, completely fucking oblivious.

  Then I saw it, saw her, saw them, and... how? How the fuck could people do shit like that?

  He was going to sell her. I heard him talking about it one day, and I saw the transfer of ownership papers sometime later. I tried to get her to leave with me, but who the fuck knows why she wouldn’t? So, I did what I needed to do. I killed every single fucking one of them and I burned that house of fucking torture and torment to the ground. We hid for a little while after that, just her and I, alone in the woods. Fuck, that was nice. We didn’t have anything, but somehow it seemed like we had everything.

  The dirty fuck who was going to broker the sale between the asshole and her new owner arrived in our village sometime after the church burned down. I set everything up so that Angeline could stay with my parents. I didn’t tell them what I was doing, but I fucking begged them to make sur
e she was safe and fine. Then I went to meet the broker and told him she’d died.

  I told him I was training, though. Fuck. I played it up real good, too. What the fuck was I going to do now? Hey, you need some help or some shit? Talked to the prick, mentioned some things I remembered from before I killed everyone in the church, and he offered to give me a shot. There wasn’t anyone else left around here and he thought I might be useful. I never told him that I was the reason no one was left.

  Look, first off, let’s get one fucking thing straight, alright? I don’t regret killing any of them. I don’t regret burning down that entire fucking building, either. If I could, I would have saved their ashes and fucking spit on them every now and then, just for the hell of it. I never lose sleep at night for the shit I did back then.

  I regret leaving her, though. Yeah, fuck, woe is me. Boo hoo, Noah. Fuck off. Just go fucking fuck yourself.

  What the fuck do you want me to do? This shit happened in a small as fuck place that I thought was literally nothing. Woods. The house where I grew up was in the middle of the goddamn woods. It took me ten minutes just to walk to the nearest fucking neighbor’s house. I spent my free time swimming in the lake, fishing, climbing trees, being a fucking wild child. I might as well have been born a grizzly bear or a werewolf.

  You think this shit doesn’t happen where you are? I didn’t think it happened where I was, either. I didn’t even fucking know it was a thing that could happen, but it did.

  So, yeah, fuck, I left her. I left her to protect her. I thought I’d find a way to kill the broker. Maybe I’d steal some money from him, too. I’d kill the fuck who wanted to buy her in the first place.

  I did those things. It’s in the past, though. But there’s more fucking people. There’s always more. You can’t just fucking go around killing everyone, either. How the fuck do you think that’s going to work? Sometimes you have to bide your time and wait for an opportunity. Sometimes you have to work with someone who can do that shit for you. You know what the fuck would happen if each of my clients mysteriously died and the girl I sold to them was rescued? I’d be fucking dead in a heartbeat. It’s not that fucking difficult to see it’s not a coincidence.

  I work differently than that. I keep track of shit. I use the money they give me to buy back other girls and send them to someone who will help them. He’s a nice guy. He’s better than me. We have an understanding, even if we don’t really. He’s the fucking white knight who jumps in to save the day while I’m the asshole in the shadows who does all the work. You know what the fuck he’d be doing if it wasn’t for me?

  Nothing. He wouldn’t be able to save a single fucking person. How the fuck would he do it?

  Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good guy. He doesn’t understand, though. I don’t think anyone would understand. Maybe Angeline would. She’s got no reason to, because she’s going to kill me.

  I stop. We’re done. I’m sitting on the bed staring at her and I’m ready to burst into fucking tears at this shit.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. I am sorry. I wouldn’t change what I’ve done, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be sorry.

  She smiles at me.

  “Sorry for leaving you,” I say. “I didn’t want to fucking hurt you. I wanted to come back. I sent money. Did you get it? I left a letter explaining shit to my parents. I was trying to--”

  I realize it doesn’t matter what I was trying to do, though. It never matters what you try to do, it only matters what you do. I know what I did. Yeah, fuck, I wanted to go back, but I didn’t. I sent money, but who the fuck cares? I can say I’m sorry for leaving all I want, but it doesn’t change the fucking fact that I left. Nothing can change that.

  Trying is not doing, and doing is the only thing that matters in this sick fucking twisted rendition of the world. I wish I didn’t know any of this shit. I wish I could be one of those people who thinks that trying and effort are important and that it’s the thought that counts. It’s not, though. Sorry to break your fucking bubble. Thoughts don’t mean shit. You can think about something all damn day, but what the fuck good is it going to do you?

  “You can kill me,” I say. I don’t know why I say that. Angeline doesn’t need my permission. “I fucking deserve it.”

  I don’t want to look at her anymore. I turn away, but I can still see her out of the corner of my eye. She tilts her head in that goddamn fucking cute adorable way she likes to do. I don’t want to die, I want to fucking squeeze her in my arms and stay in bed all day and feed each other sliced fruit. I want to smile with her and watch movies together and then fuck and make love at the same damn time until we’re too tired to move and we fall asleep in each other’s arms. I want so much, but I don’t deserve any of it. I want a normal fucking life again.

  “I do not wish to kill you,” she says.

  “Listen, love, I get it. We don’t want a lot of things. You told me how you keep thinking of fucking killing me, and I understand it now. I really do. I understand why you brought me here and did what you did. I’m a fucking loser. I’m an asshole. I don’t deserve shit, so I’m not going to beg. You can torture me if you want. Rip out the rest of my fingernails. You know what? Do whatever the fuck your little heart desires. I can’t complain. I gave up the right to complain a long time ago.”

  “No,” she says, struggling for words. I look at her now, but it’s hard. “No, I... Noah, I missed you. I need you. Please? I did not receive your money, because I left. Your parents were kind to me, but I could not stay. They sent me some money early on after I went in search of you, but that is all. I suspect the money they sent was from you. I...”

  She doesn’t say anything. We just look at each other. I want to fucking cry and she wants to cry, but neither of us can do it. We’re on the verge of balling our goddamn eyes out as two fucked up people who do terrible shit, but there’s no rhyme or fucking reason for it. I won’t blame her if she cries, but any tears I shed aren’t going to wash away all the fucking awful shit I did.

  “I killed it,” she says. “When you left, I... I killed it. I did not know if it was ours or if it was someone else’s. I did not have any way to tell. If it was ours, I would have loved it so much, Noah. If it was not, I would have hated it. If I did not know, how would I know what to do? Even now, I do not know how to feel everything. I think about love and hate, but when I try to do one or the other, I do not know how. I never knew how without you. You make me feel.”

  “What do you mean, love?” I ask.

  “Our baby. I was pregnant, Noah. I found out once you left.”

  “You... what?” Fuck. Fucking.... fuck. “You had an abortion?” I ask.

  She nods. “Yes.”

  I guess it makes fucking sense. Enough people fucked her that it was bound to happen. Sad and unfortunate as that fucking is, what the fuck did anyone think would happen? Yeah, I had sex with Angeline, too. Just once, and I don’t think she hated it. I really fucking loved her back then. I would have run away with her in a second. I would have stolen my parents car and just drove forever or until we ran out of gas, then I would have started a life with her wherever we ended up, if only she would have asked me. I don’t care if we were in the middle of the fucking ocean on a rowboat.

  That never happened. Sorry to be the bearer of bad fucking news. This isn’t some shitty love story you see in the movies. I wish it was. I love that shit. I’m not a superhero, either. It takes all my fucking time and effort just to save a goddamn single person, and even then I hurt a lot of people in the process, too. I stop more people from being hurt, but someone’s always going to be fucking hurt. It’s a sick, vicious cycle. If I hurt one person, but save two, is that worth it? How many people do I need to help for it to become worth it? I don’t fucking know anymore.

  “Sorry,” I say.

  I can’t cry for a fucking kid that was never born that might have been mine, but I do it anyways. You know why? I don’t. I have no fucking clue. It’s sad, that’s why. It’s not sad because i
t might have been mine, it’s sad because Angeline felt like she needed to do what she did. I understand. It probably wasn’t mine. Who the fuck knows?

  If it was mine, would she be happy? Would she have stayed? I’d have done all the same shit, so my side of this doesn’t matter, but how fucking nice would that be for her? Not that nice, because she’d have to raise the kid as a single parent. I’d like to think my parents would have helped. Maybe she’d have met some nice guy and married him and they’d have another kid together. Maybe she’d be happy.

  “I am not sorry,” she says. “Noah, I need you. I do not know how to tell you this. I have followed you and watched you and I know what you do. I know you... you help them, Noah. You save them. I know this. I am trying to do it, too. I do not know how. I want to kill them. It is hard. There is something wrong with me. I do not know who to kill. You do, Noah. You are good and patient and kind.”

  “That’s a fucking laugh, love,” I say. “I’m the meanest, most impatient fucking asshole I know. I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  Then she fucking says it. She says the same shit I said to her once.

  “Do not leave. Please? Stay here with me,” she says. “You can stay here and you never have to leave.”

  It sounded so fucking good to me back then. It sounded like the answer to all our problems. I didn’t have shit for problems, but I took it upon myself to make her problems my problems, and she had more than anyone I’ve ever known. It sounded like a goddamn prayer when I first said it, but now I realize it was a huge fucking lie.

  I don’t think Angeline is lying to me right now, though. Maybe I’ll stay, but we’re going to get one fucking thing straight before I decide. I’m not going to deal with her fucking bullshit anymore. She can’t just fucking do whatever the fuck she wants. I have no fucking clue what she’s thinking, and I don’t know if I’ll ever understand her, but she’s going to have to fucking understand this. Fuck her if she doesn’t.