by Amy Cross
I run my hands slowly down her waist on either side until I'm holding her hips, and a moment later she swings a leg over and climbs fully on top of me. She's still kissing my neck, but only very delicately, very sensitively, as if she doesn't dare open her lips and really go for it. I can tell she's holding back.
She lets out a faint moan as she continues to kiss my neck, although now she's sniffing loudly, almost as if she's smelling my scent.
I want to tell her that she doesn't have to do this, that I didn't invite her to stay in the room just because I wanted sex. At the same time, my right hand has moved down to her waist and my fingers are brushing against some kind of torn, damaged section of skin beneath the fabric of her shirt. I try to take a look, but all I can make out is a faint, dark line, as if she's got some kind of large wound.
“Wait,” I whisper again.
“Isn't this what you want?” she asks.
She's breathing heavily now, with her lips right against my ear, and her whole body is moving with a slow, rhythmic grace. My fingers are still feeling the wound on her flank, and after a moment I realize my fingertips are wet with blood. Suddenly, she sits up and tilts her hips slightly, and she starts unbuttoning her shirt. A silver necklace dangles in her cleavage, glinting in the room's low light. As she pulls the shirt aside, I see that she has bruises and cuts all over her bare chest, from the top of her panties all the way up to her neck, but for a moment all I can manage is to stare as moonlight shines through the thin lace curtains and casts rippled patterns across her firm breasts.
Her dark hair has fallen partially over her face, but her dark eyes remain fixed on me. They're so dark, in fact, that right now I can't even see the whites.
“Wait,” I gasp again, “Madeleine...”
“Isn't this what you want?”
“I just -”
“It is, isn't it?” A faint frown crosses her features. “You invited me in, and in return this is what you expect.”
She twists her hips a little harder, as if to tease me about what's coming next. I try again to tell her to stop, but I can't bring myself to get the words out. Her hips are grinding and rocking back and forth against me, and I can see sweat running down her chest. I still feel I should stop her, but I feel as if she's in complete control.
Suddenly I see that as I moved my fingertips across her breasts, I left a faint trail of blood.
“You're hurt,” I whisper.
She leans back even further, too far for me to still reach her breasts with my hands, so I run my fingers down her waist until I'm holding her hips again. She lets out another series of low moans, and I feel her legs gripping me tighter than ever, as if she's holding me in position so that there's no chance I might escape. I move my hands down onto the edge of her panties.
“Wait,” I tell her. “Please...”
“This is what you wanted, isn't it?” she asks, leaning closer until her breasts brush against my chest. “Isn't it?”
“I just -”
“It's a very good job I was invited,” she adds, before opening her mouth wider to reveal to large, fat fangs. “But tell me... This is what you want. You want me to keep going. Or am I wrong?”
“No, I -”
Gasping, I sit up suddenly and find myself alone in the bed. Morning light is streaming through the hotel room's window, and sweat is running down my face and chest. My penis is so hard, it almost hurts, but when I look over at the other side of the room I see that Madeleine is still standing by the window, still looking out at the alley. After a moment she glances at me, and something seems a little different about her expression, as if she's no longer quite so confused.
“Hey,” I stammer breathlessly, figuring that I must have had some kind of crazy dream. “Did you sleep okay?”
***
Half an hour later, once I've washed, I'm fully dressed and sitting on the edge of my bed. I can hear Madeleine in the bathroom, and when I glance over I see that the door is still slightly ajar. I know I shouldn't look, but when she steps into view with her naked body turned away, I can't help staring for a moment at her bare ass and back.
She has so many cuts and bruises, just like in my dream, and what looks like a large tear in her flesh. Whatever happened to her, she clearly -
Suddenly she turns and sees me looking at her. I immediately turn away, and then I hear the sound of the door gently bumping shut.
“Sorry,” I stammer, figuring that she probably thinks I'm a complete pervert. After all, she has no idea that I had a dream about sleeping with her.
When she comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later, she's fully dressed in the same clothes she wore yesterday. She doesn't say anything, and instead she simply starts making her bed.
“You don't have to do that,” I tell her. “They'll do it once I've checked out.”
Still, she finishes the job, before going over to the table and taking a look in her bag for a moment. I have no idea what she has in there, but I can't help feeling as if she's all alone right now, with nowhere to go.
“I'm taking a train at 11am,” I explain, checking my watch and seeing that it's a little after nine. “I'm going to Cherbourg, to get a ferry over to Ireland and then I'm heading on to Dublin. Like I said before, I'm kinda taking the long way home for... reasons.”
I wait for her to reply, but she simply looks into her bag for a moment longer before zipping it shut. Once again she seems lost in thought, almost as if she hasn't even noticed that I'm talking. Still, that dream last night was the first time in months that I've felt remotely like my old self, and the craziest idea is starting to come together in my thoughts.
“Do you want to come with me?” I ask finally, before I even have time to wonder whether it's a good idea.
She turns to me, with a hint of surprise in her expression.
“I can pay for your ticket,” I continue. “I know it's weird, but it beats traveling alone and...” I pause, fully aware that this is probably a very dumb move, but somehow I'm unable to stop myself. It's as if my fear of being alone trumps any other concerns. “Well, if you've got nowhere else to go and you want to come, I guess...”
My voice trails off.
She stares at me for a moment. Actually, more than a moment. At least a minute passes, maybe closer to two, and she almost seems to be studying me.
“Well,” she says finally, “I can't exactly turn down an invitation, can I?”
Eight
“Just checking out,” I tell the woman at the hotel's front desk as I set the key down. “Room eighteen.”
She seems very distracted, barely even paying attention, and instead she seems more interested in looking over at a guy in the back room who's talking to a police officer. I was worried I might be asked to pay extra if someone realized I had a guest in my room last night, but this woman seems not to notice at all as Madeleine slips past me and heads over to the door.
“You were staying here last night, Sir?” the man from the back room asks suddenly, coming out to the desk.
“Sure,” I reply, “but -”
“And you didn't hear anything unusual?”
I hesitate, before glancing toward the door and seeing that Madeleine is peering out at the street. Turning back to the man, I'm a little shocked to note that the police officer has also come out and is watching me with a hint of concern.
“Is there a problem?” I ask, starting to worry that there might be some super-strict French law about having extra guests in a hotel room.
The manager – I'm pretty sure he's the manager, anyway – eyes me with a hint of suspicion, before shrugging.
“No, Sir, of course not. We just had... The night duty desk clerk apparently vanished at some point during his shift, and now no-one knows where he is. Unfortunately, he has a history of drinking too much, so I must assume he simply abandoned his post. Please, I hope you enjoyed your stay, and have a safe journey.”
With that, he turns and starts talking again to the police officer in F
rench. I can't tell what they're saying, but the officer appears a little unimpressed. After a moment, I spot the large red painting on the opposite wall, and I can't help thinking back to my conversation with the guy last night.
“The train leaves in an hour,” I tell Madeleine as I head over to the door and step out onto the bright, busy street. Turning, I find that she's still in the doorway, looking cautiously along the sidewalk as if she's worried about something. “That should give us enough time to get you a ticket.”
I wait for her to reply, but she seems genuinely nervous about something, although finally she steps out and joins me. Still, she's constantly looking both ways.
“What's up?” I ask with a faint smile. “Is someone chasing you?”
She immediately turns and looks at me with fear in her eyes.
“No,” she says after a moment. “Of course not. Let's just get to the station, okay? Let's make sure we catch that train.”
***
“This is the one,” I mutter a short while later, as I lead Madeleine along the platform. We've managed to get seats together, although that means heading all the way to the front carriage.
She glances over her shoulder, and I can't shake the feeling that she seems very nervous, almost as if she's worried that someone might be following us. Still, at least she's no longer in such a daze, and I starting to think I was right when I had her pegged as a drug user. Maybe she was high yesterday, and now she's sobering up.
I turn and look back, but all I see are other passengers making their way along with bags and suitcases.
“Are you okay?” I ask. “You almost seem like...”
I wait for her to respond, but she simply glances at me and then mutters something under her breath. After a couple of seconds she picks up her pace.
“Which carriage is it again?” she asks.
“The one at the front.”
She speeds up even more, as if she's starting to panic.
“You're not being followed, are you?” I ask, hurrying to keep pace. I look over my shoulder again, but I still don't see anything untoward. “Hey, slow down. If there's something -”
“I just want to get to our seats,” she replies, her voice sounding clipped and tense. “It's leaving on time, isn't it?”
“You can tell me, you know,” I continue. “If something's wrong, just let me know. I noticed those bruises on your shoulder.”
“And?”
“And cuts, too.”
“So?”
“Do they...” I pause, thinking back to the dream I had last night. Her whole body was bruised and cut, although I quickly remind myself that it really was just a dream. “Are you running from someone?” I ask finally. “A boyfriend? Something like that?”
“No,” she replies, although she glances back again, and I can see the fear in her eyes.
“Watch out!” I shout, grabbing her arm and pulling her closer just as she's about to walk straight into a suitcase-laden trolley. She instantly pulls away and steps back, staring at me as if she's terrified. “You need to watch where you're going!” I tell her. “Listen, if something's wrong and -”
“I remember,” she says breathlessly.
“You remember what?”
She looks back along the platform again, before glancing up at the window of the nearest carriage.
“Is this ours?” she asks.
I hesitate for a moment, wondering whether I should leave her behind, but finally I nod.
“Sure,” I mutter. “We're in seats -”
“Fifteen and sixteen,” she replies, turning and climbing up the steps into the carriage. “You said earlier.”
Left alone on the platform for a moment, I can't help watching the crowd and looking for some hint of anyone who might be following us. There's no-one, of course, but I'm starting to think that I've ended up caught in something I don't quite understand. Either Madeleine is nuts, or she's being pursued by someone. Or both.
Or I'm the one who's crazy.
I should leave her behind when we get to Cherbourg. It's insane that I've let this girl tag along, and that I'm paying for the privilege, but...
But for the first time in six months, I'm not spending every waking moment thinking about Sonja. Maybe that alone is reason enough to help her out a little more. I'm going to get her a separate cabin on the ferry, though. It's definitely about time to nip that whole thing in the bud. She's just a vulnerable girl I'm trying to help, and I really don't need any more crazy, sexually-charged dreams.
Nine
“So you have a passport, right?”
As we stand in a queue at the ferry terminal, I glance at Madeleine and wait for a reply.
“You have a passport with you,” I continue. “Right?”
“It'll be fine,” she replies, turning and looking back across the hall. She still seems worried that someone might catch up to her.
“We're taking a ferry to Ireland,” I remind her. “Ireland's not in Schengen, so you need a passport.”
“It'll be fine,” she says again, as we shuffle forward and get closer to the three officials up ahead who are checking everyone's ID before embarkation.
“You need a -” I pause, before lowering my voice in case we're overheard. “You need a passport,” I whisper. “They won't let you through otherwise. Or at least some kind of proper ID.”
“Let me worry about that,” she replies, glancing at me before turning to look straight ahead. “Worry about yourself.”
“But -”
“And stop talking,” she adds, stepping behind me. “You go first.”
Starting to panic, I realize that she must be completely insane. She thinks she's going to somehow slip through in my shadow, but now we're almost at the officials and there's no way Madeleine's going to manage this. By the time I'm waved forward and I hand my passport to the guy, my heart is pounding. I watch as he scans my passport, and he stares at the screen for a moment before handing it back to me and gesturing for me to take my bag over to the security guy.
Not daring to look back at Madeleine, I head to the conveyor belt and set my bag down. The guy asks me a few bland questions about who packed the bag and what's in there, and then he shoves it onto a conveyor belt and checks a screen to make sure the X-Ray machine doesn't pick up anything untoward.
Glancing over my shoulder, I fully expect to see Madeleine being led away. Instead, I watch as an elderly man has his passport checked, and then I look the other way and see to my surprise that Madeleine is not only through passport control, but that she's also made it past security already.
“Sir?”
Turning to the security guy, I realize he just said something I didn't hear at all.
“Sir, are you okay?” he asks.
“Fine,” I stammer. “Why?”
“Your bag's fine,” he replies, although he seems a little taken aback by my sense of surprise. “Please board the bus, it'll take you to the ferry.”
Grabbing my bag, I head over to join Madeleine, and I can't help noticing that she has a faint smile as we make our way toward the sliding doors that lead outside.
“So you were joking,” I mutter after a moment. “You had your passport after all.”
“I told you I'd be fine,” she replies.
“But -”
“And I was.”
“I didn't even see them checking your bag,” I tell her.
She leads me out into the bright sunlight and up the steps onto the bus. Taking a seat, she waits for me to sit next to her, but my head is spinning and I'm not quite sure what to ask next. Besides, I doubt she'd give me a straight answer. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the ferry a couple of hundred meters away.
***
“Shouldn't it have left by now?” she asks a short while later, as we head into the bar area after dropping our bags in our rooms. “Why aren't we moving?”
She grabs my arm and pulls the sleeve up, to get a look at my watch.
“We should have left two minute
s ago,” she continues, clearly concerned. “What's the hold-up?”
“What's the hurry?” I ask, slipping my arm from her grasp and sliding the sleeve back down. “These things are always a little late.” Heading to the bar, I can't help feeling slightly irritated. After everything I've done for Madeleine, she still seems kind of ungrateful, and she spends most of her time looking over her shoulder as if she thinks she's being followed. I'm starting to think that I've accidentally teamed up with someone who's on the run.
Turning to look for the barman, I feel the ferry shudder slightly, and when I look at the window I realize that we're finally underway.
“See?” I mutter, turning to Madeleine. “We're -”
She's gone.
I look around, but I don't see her anywhere. After a moment, however, I spot her through one of the windows, hurrying along the deck outside.
“Don't mind me,” I say with a sigh, before turning back to the barman and ordering a beer.
A few minutes later, with my beer in a plastic cup, I head out onto the deck. There's a strong wind and seagulls are wheeling and arcing high above as we pull out of the harbor, but I don't see Madeleine anywhere. Making my way toward the rear of the ferry, where several people have gathered to watch the French coast slowly receding into the distance, I finally spot Madeleine over at the far side.
When I reach her, she doesn't even acknowledge my presence. Instead, she seems to be watching the quay below.
Following her glance, I'm surprised to see two figures standing down there, watching the boat. While there are plenty of dock-workers all over the place, these two figures are wearing dark clothing, maybe suits, and they seem completely separate from everything around them. I know I'm probably being jumpy, but I can't shake the feeling that not only are they watching our ferry as it departs, but they actually seem to be staring straight toward Madeleine herself.
“Friends of yours?” I ask cautiously.
She glances at me, and I swear there's genuine fear in her eyes.
“Just a joke,” I continue, forcing a faint smile even though I'm getting a little sick of her lack of answers. “Are you hungry?”
