Filthy Cam Girl: A Captive Virgin Romance

by JB Duvane

  “From yourself.”

  She stopped scratching the counter but didn’t look up. “You know about that?” I could see her face turning pink even though she made an effort to hide it from me.

  “Of course I do. I’m the reason you got out of that hospital and received a full scholarship to Westshire. I didn’t know if you had any other relatives who would take care of you and I couldn’t bear the thought of you rotting away in that place.”

  She finally looked up and I could see the glaze of tears in her eyes. “Really? You did that for me?”

  “Yes,” I said, putting my hand on Ashley’s. “I did that for you. The idea of you trapped in that horrible institution for the rest of your life, it just …” The irony of what I was saying wasn’t lost on me, since my wife was still in a place very much like that, but she was an entirely different story. Samantha seemed to want to stay exactly where she was. “I wanted you to have a life again. But once you got out and started college and you were isolating yourself so much, I was afraid that you—“

  “That I would try to kill myself again.”

  “Have you?” I was pretty sure I knew the answer to that, I just wanted to hear it from her mouth.

  “No.”

  “Have you wanted to?”

  She didn’t answer right away and that immediately made me anxious. “Not really. I mean, I guess I’ve thought about it, but I don’t know if I could go through with it again. Although, they do say the people who are the highest risk are the one’s who’ve already attempted suicide.”

  “I know.” I wasn’t sure if I wanted to continue on, but the words came out before I could stop them. I hadn’t talked about my brother with anyone since Samantha went into the hospital and I was pretty sure that I’d been needing to for a long time. “My brother was one of those high risk people. He attempted suicide when he was in his twenties. Then years later, after everyone had basically forgotten—or couldn’t imagine that he was even the same person anymore—he shot himself, and he was … successful.”

  “Oh God, Drake. I’m so sorry. Were you close?”

  “Yes, we were, but not as close as I thought, I guess.”

  “Why? Because he didn’t tell you—didn’t try to get you to stop him?”

  “Well, yes, that … but also because … I just wasn’t listening to him anymore. In some ways he seemed so much better than the person he was in his twenties, but he still had these crazy ideas in his head. Paranoid ideas. After hearing him talk about them for years, I stopped paying attention. I even told him not to talk about it anymore. I told him that I couldn’t be his therapist and that I didn’t want to hear any more of his paranoid ideas and fantasies. I’d just had enough. So, the fact that he wasn’t telling me about the people who were after him anymore … I guess I chose to view that as him getting better, when in reality he just didn’t have anyone to tell. I was one of his only friends.”

  “But it’s not your fault. It wasn’t your job to take care of him. It sounds like he really needed a therapist. You can’t blame yourself, Drake. You couldn’t have known.”

  “Yeah, but I did. I knew how much pain he was in. I just didn’t want to hear it anymore. He refused to go to therapy, saying that going to see one would tip them off—these guys who were after him.”

  “What guys?”

  “There was no one! I don’t even know what he was talking about. I never did. He would move from one place to the next—he would just abandon all of his possessions and basically go into hiding. Then, within days of getting settled in his new place he’d tell me about some shop owner who looked at him funny or some restaurant he was in where he heard people say his name then look over at him. He was convinced that there was an underground circuit of people who were out to get him.”

  Ashley didn’t say anything. She just looked horrified. I wasn’t sure if I should continue, but she squeezed my hand and I kept going.

  “For the most part he seemed normal. He would make jokes with me and laugh and date women. The relationships never lasted longer than a few months, though, and I’m pretty sure it was because he’d start talking about the men. It would just pop up out of nowhere, too. He would corner me when the family was together and he’d tell me what he heard at a laundromat or a bar. Or he’d show me things online that he was convinced were about him.

  “The first time he tried to kill himself, he told me he was alone in his house and when he finally got the nerve up to squeeze the trigger something didn’t work. The gun didn’t fire. He took that as some sort of sign and didn’t try it again, but when our mother told me she hadn’t heard from him in three weeks, I knew. It had been years since that first time, but I knew. It was almost as if someone whispered it in my ear—James shot himself.”

  “No one had heard from him? He didn’t have any friends or anything?”

  “No.” I stared at the food that was getting cold on the plate in front of me. “Three weeks. That’s how long he was dead before anyone even thought to check on him. I didn’t want to believe it. After our mom told me that she hadn’t talked to him in so long, I kept calling him and texting him and I even emailed a couple times. I told him that Mom was really worried and that he needed to call her, but the whole time I was typing the emails I knew I would never get a reply. I knew he was dead.

  “When I spoke to our mother and she still hadn’t done anything, I told her to go over to his house and break in—break a window or anything—or get the cops and bust the door down, but she was afraid to because she was scared he’d be mad at her. She had no idea that he’d tried to kill himself once already and I honestly don’t think it crossed her mind.”

  “Couldn’t you go there yourself?”

  “They both live in the town that I grew up in, it’s in upstate New York. I couldn’t get away from school until the weekend, otherwise I would have. But later that day, it didn’t matter anymore whether I went or not. My mother called and told me that she found him. She had to break a window to get into his house and she and a friend of hers found him in the shower. I guess he tried to make himself easier to clean up,” I laughed. But it wasn’t a lighthearted laugh at all.

  “They called the police and were told that, by the looks of things, his body had been there for three weeks. Apparently it was so bloated and decomposed he wasn’t even recognizable. Not to mention that he had blown his head off.”

  “Oh God, Drake!”

  “I’m sorry, Ashley, this is a horrible thing to talk about. I don’t even know why I started.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I’m the one that’s sorry. You’ve lost so much, Drake. I had no idea.” Ashley looked down for a moment then back up into my eyes, hers filled with tears. “Whatever you need from me, please just take it, Drake. I can’t bear to hear you apologize to me.”

  “Don’t say that, Ashley.”

  “Just go on. Finish telling me about your brother.”

  I held her hand in both of mine and continued. “I’m not sure how much more there is to tell, other than how shitty I feel about it. At first, I pictured the police picking up his body and putting it on a stretcher, almost as if he were asleep. I pictured him how he’d always looked, only finally at peace. I guess my brain wasn’t able to handle the horrible truth because I knew perfectly well what happens to a body within days of death, and it’s not pretty.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that, though. You wanted to remember him how you knew him. And you can’t blame yourself for not having talked to him or thought about him for those three weeks.”

  “That’s not true, though,” I couldn’t even look at Ashley anymore. I could feel my self loathing taking over. I hated myself for what I was about to say, but it all just came pouring out of me.”I did think about him during those three weeks. But do you know what I thought? I thought, I’m glad that I haven’t heard from James. I’m glad he hasn’t called me in a while to tell me about those people who he thinks are after him. What kind of brother thinks something like that?
I loved him but I just …”

  I couldn’t stop the tears from falling from my eyes. I’d never told anyone about that—those horrible thoughts I’d had while my brother was lying dead, rotting away with no one—not one single person—asking about him or worried because they hadn’t heard from him. “I was just so tired,” I said, my throat feeling like it was closing up. “Of hearing those same stories over and over. Of hearing his detailed descriptions of how the comments on some persons video were somehow directed at him. Only in some sort of code that didn’t make any sense at all. He would tell me these things and I’d just stare at him and wonder how the hell he could not hear how crazy he sounded.”

  “Oh, Drake. I’m so sorry.” Ashley slid off her stool and put her arms around me and I buried my face in her hair. When she spoke again, her voice was shaking. “He has to be in a better place now, though. Don’t you think?”

  “Yes, of course. I just wish … “

  “You wish you could have made his life better for him?” she said, pulling back and looking into my eyes.

  I looked at Ashley, but I couldn’t speak. That’s what it was. That’s why she was here. I wanted to make it better for her. I wanted to take her out of her life and keep her in a place where she wouldn’t have any reason to kill herself. And where she wouldn’t have any way to access anything that would allow it to happen. I was trying to save her from the same fate as my brother. I wanted to feel like I could help at least one person in my life. My brother was dead and my wife was in an institution that she didn’t seem to want to leave and I couldn’t take losing anyone else. Especially not Ashley.

  But my heart sank, because the reality of the situation was that I was not saving Ashley. I was hurting her and I was using her.

  “I think I understand what your brother was going through.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There were times when I was kind of like him. I mean, I didn’t think there were groups of people after me, but the times when I was the most depressed—right before I tried to kill myself—I actually thought everyone I passed on the streets knew. I didn’t want to go anywhere because I could feel it. I was convinced that they all knew what I had done.”

  I knew what Ashley was talking about and hearing her say it just about tore my heart out. I’d prayed that she didn’t still think that it was all her fault, but as I looked into her sad eyes I knew that she did. “You mean, the accident?”

  “Yes. I’ve thought about it so many times since then.” She stepped back a little and put her head down. I wanted to grab her and hold her, but I wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to do anymore. “I’ve played it out in my head over and over, Drake. If I just hadn’t been driving so fast … if I had slowed down just a little … then they would all still be alive.”

  Ashley was the one crying now, but what she was saying brought tears to my eyes again too. “You can’t blame yourself, Ashley. It was an accident.” I held her head between my hands and looked into her eyes. “It was an accident.”

  “But I should have been more careful! I should have been paying attention. My dad told me to slow down … that I was taking the turn too fast … but I was laughing with Jessica about something. I don’t even remember what it was now! If only I’d been paying attention—“

  She cut herself off with a sob that shook her body. I had no idea she was still in such pain about what had happened. I’d wondered many times, and I’d wanted to talk to her about it, but I just couldn’t. I pulled her to me and held her in my arms. She cried for a long time before saying anything, but when she spoke it felt like she stuck a dagger right through my heart.

  “I don’t blame you if you hate me. I don’t even understand why you’d want me here with you.”

  I pulled Ashley’s head away from my chest. “Ashley, I could never hate you.”

  “But I killed your only daughter! And my parents! It was my fault, Drake. I was the one that was driving! I ruined everything!”

  “Ashley, you didn’t. Please, you can’t keep blaming yourself.”

  “They’re all gone. I’ll never have my parents back and you’ll never have your daughter back. I’m so sorry, Drake.”

  Ashley put her head to my chest again and wrapped her arms around my neck. My heart ached for her. I never blamed her for the accident that killed my daughter and her parents. I knew it was an accident. But I also knew that was a lot for a young girl like her to take on. And now that I knew how tortured she still was, I didn’t think there was any way I would be able to let her go.

  Filthy Little Slut (Ashley)

  I could barely look at him. I hadn’t expected everything to come out like this. I didn’t even know I was still feeling so horrible about the accident, but I shouldn’t have been surprised. All the doctors ever did in that hospital was feed me drugs, and the therapy just amounted to the biggest drama queens monopolizing the group sessions. If I could have just sat in a corner for the rest of my life, I would have been fine in there.

  Since I’d been out, I thought I felt better about everything, but maybe I wasn’t over the accident as much as I’d told myself I was. I had been seeing a doctor in the beginning, but had slowly stopped, and had stopped taking the remaining drugs she had me on. There were times when I got depressed, but after a while I actually started to appreciate that feeling over the total numbness the drugs caused. But the sadness I had over killing my parents and my best friend was still overwhelming at times.

  I was so embarrassed that Drake knew, though. I was so afraid that he was just going to see me as a broken little girl now. Not a woman. I hid my face in his chest as he carried me upstairs and put me in his own bed. We stayed there like that all day, until we both decided that we were finally hungry. Then, he went downstairs and made some food for the two of us and brought it up on a tray.

  We ate spaghetti carbonara in bed while we watched an old movie. I kept wanted to explain things to him. I felt like I wanted to make him understand how sorry I was, but when he turned and looked at me, there wasn’t a shred of anything but kindness there.

  We slept together again that night and in the morning I woke up to Drake kissing me.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Good, but exhausted.” I sat up in bed and stared at him for a long time as I thought about our conversation the day before. “I had no idea I still had so much bottled up inside me.”

  “I know what you mean,” he said, standing up in front of me. “I feel a lot better today too. I’m glad we talked.” He grabbed both of my hands in his and pulled me up. “I made breakfast. It’s downstairs.”

  I followed him down to a sitting area where two plates of food and coffee and juice sat on a table between some comfortable chairs. We sat down and started to eat, continuing the conversation.

  “I’m so glad we talked too, Drake. I … I’m just so happy that you … want me to be here with you.“

  Drake grabbed my hand across the table and brought it to his lips. “I don’t know if I could stand for you to be anywhere else, Ashley. I love that you’re here.”

  My heart practically leapt out of my chest when I heard those words. He really did want me to stay. We ate in silence for the most part, and just as he poured us both some more coffee, he asked me another question.

  “Do you mind if I ask you something?” Drake looked at me while I took a sip of coffee and shook my head, indicating that I didn’t mind answering anything he asked.

  “Why did you start camming?”

  I was a little taken aback. I wondered if he had that strange, puritanical belief about girls who got involved in the sex industry early on—that they must have been abused in some way as a child. Or that they had experienced some sort of trauma. I wondered if that’s what he was thinking. That I got into camming because of the accident and my suicide attempt. I wondered if he did still see me as broken.

  “Don’t you think that girls can be sexual beings on their own? Does there have to be a r
eason?”

  “Of course they can be. I was just curious about your own motives. Have you always been … sexual?”

  He didn’t seem embarrassed to be asking about my sexuality, which was nice.

  “You’re not someone who thinks that girls are pure and if they showed interest in sex at an early age that some man had to have given them that idea, are you?”

  “No, I’m not. But I do find it interesting that you masturbate for men online but have not had sexual intercourse yet. I find it very curious, Ashley.”

  “Well, I remember masturbating at a very young age, in front of my parents without their knowledge. I was probably about eight or nine years old and I had this really big t-shirt that I slept in that I would wear while we watched TV before bed. Sometimes I would sit with my legs crossed and I would pull the t-shirt over my legs and then pull my arms inside too, so that everything was covered up. My parents thought it was cute and said I looked like a little clam. But what they didn’t know is that a lot of the time I would be silently playing with myself while their eyes were on the TV.”

  Drake’s eyebrows moved up high on his forehead as I continued.

  “I would touch my clit and rub it back and forth, and the very first orgasm I ever had was in front of both of my parents, just like that. I had no idea what had happened, I just knew that it made my whole body feel good. But because touching yourself wasn’t something we talked about much, I didn’t ever tell anyone.

  “But no one touched me or got me to do it. I don’t remember any man making me feel weird in any way. I figured it out all on my own. And when I got older I … well I saw pictures of things that I thought were interesting.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell him about what I’d seen, the pictures of him fucking his wife in the ass. But I was curious about him, too.

  “If you don’t want to talk about it that’s okay,” Drake said, after a long silence.

  “No, it’s not that. I don’t mind talking about it at all. I was just thinking …”