Ten Night Stand

by Mickey Miller

  I should have known better.

  Even as I leave, something in my gut doesn’t feel right. I hesitate, my hand on the doorknob, thinking about locking it in spite of Rose’s request.

  But that vision of her sweetly studying comes to my mind, and I don’t want to disturb her. I want her to have everything she wants for her perfect evening of all-night studying.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m back with a bag of groceries. As I come up to the third floor, I see the inside back door is closed, and I squint toward it. That’s odd.

  I drop my groceries to the ground, pulling out my key because the door is locked.

  Even more odd that Rose would lock the door like this.

  I unlock it and turn the doorknob, but it only opens a couple of inches before the door chain kicks in.

  What. The. Fuck.

  “Rose?” I call. I keep trying the door while I pull out my cellphone to call her.

  No answer.

  My heart pounds like crazy, and my skin warms with adrenaline.

  I hear something inside, but I can’t make out just what the sound is.

  Frantically, I bang on the door, then open and close the door a few times, but the damn door chain won’t let me on.

  I clench my fists, and with a primal yell and a kick, I break the damn thing down.

  “Rose! Where are you?”

  I glance into the front room, where she was studying. Her pen is there, dropped to the ground as though she got distracted.

  I run to the living room, and no one’s there. But the door in the front is cracked open. I run down the front stairs to the first floor and out the door.

  I hear her voice. It’s faint. But it’s there.

  Where’s it coming from?

  In only the glow of the street lights, I walk the sidewalk, my movements frantic. My ears are superhumanly atuned to every possible sound.

  Maybe this is nothing. Or maybe it’s something.

  That’s when I hear the faintest knocking on a car, but I can’t see where it is. I turn around, and a man in a hoodie is right behind me, but I can’t make out his face in the shadows.

  “Where is she?” I growl.

  “Who’s that?” the man says, and then laughs maniacally.

  Consumed with rage, I pounce on him. He tries to fight back but I feel superhuman strength in this moment. I drive him into the dirt, my hands wrapped around his throat.

  “Where is she? Where is she?”

  “She’s gone,” he laughs, somehow still able to breathe.

  “I’ll fucking kill you,” I yell. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

  “I’ll fucking kill you!”

  “Damien. Damien! For God’s sake!”

  I open my eyes, and come to in a cold sweat.

  My hands are wrapped around a dark haired girl’s wrist.

  “Are you okay? You’re having a nightmare,” the girl whispers, her voice soothing.

  “Krista,” I mutter, taking a deep breath. “What are you doing here? Where am I?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  I loosen my grip on her arm.

  “No,” I say, glancing around the room. “The last thing I remember was kicking Nick’s ass. And then everything went dark.”

  Her pupils are dilated, and her face is shiny. A tear trails down her cheek. She leans in and gives me a big hug. I love how warm her body is against me.

  “So glad to have you back,” she sniffles.

  “Glad to have you back,” I add.

  “What were you dreaming about, just now?” she asks. “I’ve never seen anyone sleep like that.”

  I shrug. “Night terror. I used to get them all the time, after…”

  I stop myself. Once I start talking about this, I could go down the rabbit hole.

  “After what?” Krista asks gently. She takes my hand and interlocks our fingers tightly.

  “After my sister got—” I say, breathing out deeply.

  “Oh,” she swallows, rubbing my arm. “I’m so sorry. So sorry Damien.”

  “I’ve been suppressing it for a while. I guess yesterday made me flash back. I’m just happy you’re okay. You are okay, right?”

  “Yes,” she whispers. “Just a few scratches but I’m fine.”

  “Thank God.”

  I reach out, touching the tip of her chin, and guide it toward me for a deep, lingering kiss.

  When she pulls back, she runs her hand through my hair.

  “You’re amazing you know,” she says.

  “Not amazing enough,” I huff. “I can’t believe I let him come that close to...whatever he was going to do. I don’t even want to fucking think about it. We need to get a restraining order, Sweetheart.”

  She lowers her eyes. “You’re totally right. I didn’t see this coming. I guess sometimes when you’re the one close to the sun, you can’t sense things burning. I’ve known him to be a little over the top, but nothing like this.”

  I shift my body, and just then notice how hard my head is throbbing.

  “Fuck, that still hurts a little,” I say, lightly touching my hand to the back of my head.

  Krista runs her hand over my shoulder, lightly touching me. Her touch is everything to me right now. It’s like she knows exactly what I need.

  “Well you did get hit with a metal bat. I’d say you’re doing okay, all things considered.”

  For a few moments we both say nothing as she grips my shoulder. We just breathe and enjoy our faces inches from each other. I run my eyes over her ruddy red cheeks, her dark brown eyes, her little nose and the way just the tiniest imperfection sticks out toward the right on the bridge of it.. Her imperfection is gorgeous.

  She trembles, and starts to cry. “When I watched you get hit through the van window—I felt so powerless. And like this was all my fault. I’m the one who roped you into this. I’m the one who didn’t have the backbone to tell my ex off. I thought you were going to die, Damien.”

  Emotion wells up inside me, too—though I don’t tear up.

  She leans forward just a little bit and hugs me again, sniffling.

  “It’s okay, Krista. It’s okay.” I hold her shoulders when she lets go of her hug. “Say it with me. It’s not your fault.”

  Her eyes dart back and forth between mine as tears still roll down her cheeks. “It’s not…”

  She trails off, ending the phrase as more of a question then a comment.

  “I’m serious. You can’t blame yourself for any of this. It’s not your fault. Say it.”

  She closes her eyes and swallows hard. “It’s not my fault.”

  “Exactly, Sweetheart. And after this, I’m going to make damn sure this won’t happen again.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I wink.

  She smiles just a smidge, and rolls her eyes ever so slightly. “How can you be an asshole at a time like this?”

  “Not being an asshole. Let’s get out of here and I’ll tell you. Can I leave yet? Oh. There’s this thingy in me.” I raise my left arm, which has an IV attached to it, still.

  “Can you get this out of me, nurse?” I ask Krista.

  “Hmm. I think it’s just fluids, but we should wait for your assigned nurse to be sure.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Well then I guess we might as well just start up date number three.”

  She cocks her head a little. “Date number three?”

  “Yes. The tenth night is coming soon, Sweetheart.”

  She laughs, and we order some hospital food, talking about more frivolous things for a while. It feels good to be distracted for a little bit. In spite of the ever-increasing feeling in my gut telling me it’s imminent that something bad will happen.

  Fuck if I’m going to allow that again, though.

  17

  Krista

  The same detective who interviewed me comes by the room, and Damien’s story is exactly the same as mine. For now, he says, Damien’s not being charged wi
th anything. I’m not sure what they’re trying to get out of us, since this seems a clear-cut case of attempted kidnapping to go along with self-defense.

  The only thing I can think of is that Damien beat him after he was knocked out—clearly defenseless. Damien has no memory of that, though.

  The doctors want Damien to stick around for another few days, but he wants out of that place. And I don’t blame him.

  “Thanks for staying with me all day,” he says as we walk down the hall. “You didn’t even get a chance to change out of your scrubs.”

  I shrug. “I wasn’t going to leave you alone in the hospital after what happened. You did this for me. I won’t forget it.”

  He puts a hand on my lower back as we walk through the automatic doors.

  “Although I have to admit I’m a little sad I didn’t get to live out my nurse fantasy with you on our third date,” he growls into my ear.

  “I didn’t know you had a nurse fantasy.”

  He grins. “I have all the fantasies with you, Sweetheart.”

  We pause once outside, letting the wind and the cold hit our faces.

  “Another grey day in Chicago,” I say.

  “Your car is still here, right?” he asks.

  “Yes. I left it to go to the station and then Amelia gave me a ride here.”

  “I want to drive you home.”

  “I can drive my car separately. It’s okay.”

  “I’d rather be with you. Can you get it later?” His tone doesn’t leave much room for argument, and I feel better about being with him anyway.

  “Yes, of course,” I say, not hesitating.

  “Thanks.”

  We walk to his truck, and when I hop in, there are two items on the front seat, a little box and a brown bag. I pick up both and put them in my lap as Damien turns the engine on.

  I open up the brown bag. “The infamous chili,” I exclaim.

  “Infamous?” he repeats, arching an eyebrow.

  “Yeah,” I chuckle. “The detective didn’t believe me that you were coming to bring me chili. Isn’t that odd? He said ‘guys like that don’t bring their girlfriends chili.’”

  Damien throws his head back, laughing hard at that one. “Guys like me? Ha. I wonder what he meant by that.”

  “I mean, you have to admit. To an outsider you do look scary. You have guns and tattoos.”

  He shrugs it off as he turns the engine on and pulls out of his spot. “Well, sucks to be that detective’s wife. I bet she never gets lunch brought to her.”

  I giggle, and pick up the other box. It’s small, wooden, and has a tiny lock on it.

  “What’s in here?” I ask.

  He stiffens noticeably. “Ah. It’s...something that seems very inappropriate now. Why don’t I just hang onto that?” Reaching across to my seat, he tries to grab it from me.

  “Nah ah ah!” I pull it just out of his reach. “Now I’m really curious.”

  “Just...don’t open it. Please. Not right now.”

  “When can I open it?”

  We pull up to a busy intersection, and he turns the windshield wipers on low to get rid of the mist forming on the car. “Do you want to get away?”

  “Don’t change the subject,” I retort.

  “I’m not changing the subject. Not exactly. This will connect. I promise.”

  “Ok. Well, to answer your question, hell yeah, I want to get away. This whole thing has me so stressed and anxious. What’s that got to do with the box, though?”

  The light turns green, and we start going again.

  “I want to take you somewhere far away from here for a few days, maybe even a week. Will you let me do that?”

  I swallow. “I’m not the most well traveled. I’m basically just a lower-middle-class girl from Detroit,” I say. “I never did any of the spring break trips or cool stuff most people do.”

  He reaches a hand over and places it on my thigh. “Does that matter?” he asks.

  I turn my palms out. “I just don’t know where you’re taking me. No, I guess it doesn’t. Is this like a camping trip? I like camping.”

  “I was thinking somewhere warm. Somewhere we’d sweat. I’m sick of this dark weather. I need some Vitamin D, you know?”

  “I can get on board with that.”

  “Well let’s do it. Can you get off work?”

  “After the incident, they gave me a few days off. I could request more.”

  “Do that. And how about we bring Axel and Amelia along? It would be nice to have some company.” Damien turns off the main road onto our side street.

  “Yeah—I can definitely let them know what we’re planning. Where do you want to go, by the way?”

  “Ever heard of Boca del Toro?”

  I think back to my college Spanish classes. “Mouth of the Bull?”

  “Yeah. It’s a place in Central America.”

  “Oh. I was thinking...nevermind what I was thinking.”

  Damien shoots me a funny look. “It’s an Island. Hot Springs. Beaches. Sun. Basically the opposite of Chicago in the fall and winter. Have you ever been to an island?”

  I shake my head. Just then, a sinking feeling forms in my stomach. It’s my responsible side coming through. “Damien, I don’t think I can go,” I add softly.

  “What?! Why?”

  “I’ve made a promise to myself not to spend extra money this year. A big trip would put me out of my budget.”

  “It’s on me.”

  “Really?”

  “Just consider yourself my little sugar baby for the trip,” he winks.

  “Sure,” I bait. “Just as long as you’re fine without any sugar. We still have the whole ten-night stand thing, honey.”

  He pulls the vehicle into a spot on the side of the street, right next to the apartment. A slow grin spreads across his face. “So just dinner and conversation, that kind of thing?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well if it’s anything like that chili-lunch I had Sunday afternoon, I am one-hundred percent down.”

  I roll my eyes playfully. “We’ll see. I think we should get back to the ten nights of waiting. And I think you should tell me what’s in this box. No more secrets, Damien.”

  “No more secrets. Agreed. Tell you what—hang onto it for now, but don’t open it.”

  “So you’re going to make me hold onto this temptation? You know I’m a curious girl.”

  He leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. His beard feels grainy after the extra day of not shaving. “Yes, I do. I like to torture you and watch you squirm. It’s fun,” he smirks.

  I let out a frustrated exhale. “Fine. So when do you want to leave?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  My jaw drops. “That’s so soon. Won’t flights be expensive?”

  “I have some points left over on my card. We’ll fly cheap.”

  “I’ll text Amelia and Axel. Do you think they’ll be able to just drop everything and come with us?”

  “Just tell Axel, ‘Boca del Toro - ASAP.’ Trust me, he won’t be able to turn it down. He loves the place more than me.”

  As we get out of the the car, the cold Chicago wind hits my face. Sunshine, beaches, and hot springs sound damn good right about now.

  I lean my head back on the seat in the middle of our red-eye flight from Chicago to Panama City—theis closest big city to La Boca del Toro. In my lap, I hold the box Damien gave me.

  Since our talk yesterday, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. As I look at the big tropical trees of Panama below, I twirl the little box in my hands. What’s inside it? Why would he tell me it’s not appropriate to use ‘right now?’

  Damien sleeps silently next to me. I envy his ability to pass out on a plane.

  What secret could he be hiding that he doesn’t want me to know? Something dark? Or could it be something so simple it’s silly?

  As his chest rises and falls, I can’t help but think of how he is indeed a mysterious man. Before about a week ago,
I’d only seen him a few times in the building. Although we’ve only known each other a week, it feels like so much longer than that.

  I put my hand on his knee, and smile thinking about what the detective said. As odd as his point was, he did kind of sum up the mystery of Damien.

  He doesn’t really seem like the kind of guy who brings his girlfriend chili.

  He does have a harsh exterior. And I wonder just what he’s got inside this secret box. Could it be that bad though? I mean, he’s already told me about his stripping past. I don’t exactly love the thought of Damien getting naked in front of droves of women. But I’ve been to a bachelorette party. I know what those things are like. Just a bunch of girls having fun. And someone’s got to provide that fun. And, preferably, a fun visual. I’ve never really been a visual lover until I met Damien. The image of him pressing me into the kitchen island after our first fight flashes through my mind.

  Fuck the chili.

  I remember Damien’s muscular, tattooed, shirtless body as I lean back on the cold marble counter. The devious look in his eyes when he drinks my body in, licking his lips on the brink of attacking, looking like he’s about to pounce on a wild animal and tame it.

  Tame it? Tame my pussy? Why am I thinking like this all of the sudden? I’ve never had thoughts this dirty, until I met him.

  What’s in this dang box?

  He grumbles a little and shifts his body in his sleep, nuzzling into the side of his seat.

  I run my hand mindlessly along his leg, and I feel something twitch.

  Dear God, is that a cucumber in his pants? Holy wow.

  I touch it lightly, over his jeans.

  Last night he fell asleep on the couch, exhausted from the whole ordeal. I put a blanket over him, kissed him goodnight, and slept in his bed because I felt safer there.

  It’s not a full flight, and we’re in one of the back rows. There are a few odd lights on with people reading, but for the most part, the flight is silent.

  Over his khaki shorts, I run my hand along the outline of his cock. It’s thick as my damn wrist. I rest my hand on it and grip it through his clothing, ever so slightly. This has the dual effect of turning me on, and making his dick grow even longer and thicker. With every heartbeat of his, I feel the blood being pumped.