by Carian Cole
I’m lost in our kiss, the delicious taste of her lips, her soft curves fitting perfectly against my body, shaking…
Shaking.
My eyes snap open to find hers staring back at me, wide with shock and panic, which only makes my cock throb harder in tune to my pounding heart. My fingers tighten in her hair, the locks laced through my fingers like silk ribbons. I can’t let go. I lean down, craving more of her, needing her lips on mine again, wanting to feel her racing heartbeat against my chest ’til it nearly explodes and then calms to a soft, lulling beat. I want to feel it all.
Her hand releases its grip on my arm and falls to the ground beside her with a faint thud, and her head turns to the side again, but not before I see the emotionless, disconnected canvas of her stare.
Reality shatters the moment, which wasn’t the moment I thought it was at all, and I slowly pull away from her. My ring catches on her hair, and I quickly untangle it while she lies there, completely detached.
“Sorry…” My voice growls with repressed desire. “I thought…” What did I think?
She rises slowly, pulling her knees up against her chest, and pulls the blanket up over her. Sensing her mood, Poppy crawls to her side and nudges his head under her hand.
In a matter of seconds, I fucked everything all up. I scared her. Tore her safety net from beneath her. Repulsed her.
I’m not equipped to be what she needs, because my own needs are too much, too fast, too soon, too hard, too raw. The thirst to taste fear, lust, love, trust, and ecstasy is a beautifully mixed cocktail for me and sure poison for her.
I stand and offer my hand to help her up. “I’ll take you home.”
What could have been a perfect day took a u-turn into a day ending with an absolutely dead-silent drive back to her apartment. Sweet smiles and handholding have gone out the window. When I pull my truck in front of her building, she stares down at the blanket in her lap, fingering the soft fabric.
“Thank you for the blanket,” she murmurs softly. “I love it.”
I try to speak, but all that comes out is a faint choking sound. Frustrated, I wave my hand at her, and she opens the door, now a master of its handle, and slams it behind her—probably not on purpose, but because it’s the only way it’ll close.
The slam still fits the moment, though.
Rejection and disappointment has caused my voice to retreat back to its cave, which is fine because I think the only person I ever want to talk to is walking out of my life right now, as I sit in my truck and watch her unlock her door. I should go after her and fix this, but I don’t know what I can say or do. Instead, I suck smoke out of a cigarette while I wait for her to turn and wave to me as she always does, but that doesn’t happen. She just disappears behind the door.
19
Holly
I turn into a crying mess the minute I close the door behind me and lean back against it, fearful my knees are going to buckle beneath me. Feather jumps up off the couch and runs over to me. “What happened? Are you okay?” She puts her hands on my shoulders and forces me to look at her. “Did someone hurt you?”
“He k-kissed me,” I sputter.
“What? Who?”
“Ty.”
She takes a deep breath and smooths my hair back away from my face. “Did that nutjob force himself on you? I’ll bash the other side of his fucking face in with a bat if he hurt you.”
“No…” I gulp back tears and start to count in my head. One, two, three, four…
Feather pulls me up to my feet and over to our faded couch, where she thrusts a box of tissues into my lap and sits sideways facing me.
“Now,” she says. “Let’s calm down and find our Zen.” I stare at her and wipe my eyes. “Like we learned in therapy,” she continues. “Take a deep breath and count.”
“I am counting.”
“Good. Now tell me what happened.” She grabs the blanket I’m still holding. “Where did you get this? Is this rabbit fur?”
I tug it out of her hand. “No, it’s not rabbit. He gave it to me.”
Her brow furrows with confusion. “The dude gave you a blanket?”
“Yes… It’s a magic blanket.”
Her shoulders fall, and her head tilts at me. “Holly, please. No more Santa stories or Christmas trees or princes and magic blankets. You have to let go of this fairy-tale stuff. It doesn’t exist.”
“It does, Feather,” I insist between sobs. “It really does. You just don’t believe in it.”
“I don’t because I live in this cool place called reality.”
Anger eases into my tears. “If you’re going to be mean, I’m not going to talk to you.”
“All right, all right. We’ll let that go for now. Just tell me what happened and why you’re so upset.”
Taking a deep, shaky breath, I try to put my scrambled thoughts in order. Everything feels like an overamplified jumble in my head. What did happen? I look out the window, hoping to see Ty’s truck still in the parking lot, waiting for me. “I’m so confused. I’m not even sure why I’m upset or what happened. I just don’t know how to be with people at all.”
“That’s not true. You can be with people just fine. You’re just a little overwhelmed.”
He didn’t say goodbye. He just waved me away like an annoying bug. “He bought me this amazing blanket because he had one at his house that I loved. He actually went to a store and bought it for me, and I can’t believe he did that, just for me.”
Her eyebrows rise. “And that’s amazing why?”
His hand shook when he handed me the bag with the blankets. It was a big step for him…and for us.
“Because he doesn’t go out in public. Because of his scars. So for him, it’s a big deal. We went for a walk in the woods, to sit by the river and listen to music and talk. And somehow we got to talking about his father, about how they had a fight the night he died, and he thinks it’s his fault.”
“Is it?”
“No!” I shout. “How could you ask such a thing?”
“Well he thinks it, why can’t I?”
“He had a heart attack. I think it was just a horrible coincidence. Can a fight actually kill someone?”
“Only if one of the people actually does something to kill the other, Holly. Like stab them, shoot them, slam their head on something. Strangle them.”
That last comment was unnecessary, and I’m starting to question why I’m even talking to her, because she’s not making me feel any better. Maybe I should have just put in a call to my therapist instead of having this conversation with my roommate.
“I tried to tell him that he’s a good guy. He saved me and Poppy, right? And then he said something like maybe he’s not good and he just likes to collect messed up stuff.”
Feather slams her hand down on the couch. “Oh hell no. Who the hell does he think he is? He’s the messed-up fucked-up one, riding around with masks on and shit!”
“Can you please stop?” I yell back, an ache growing in my stomach. “You don’t know him. He’s… special. He’s thoughtful and caring. He’s just had a rough time.”
“So have you! And so have I! I’m trying to believe he’s a nice guy, but I don’t like him hurting your feelings.”
“He didn’t do it on purpose. Anyway, suddenly he just kissed me. Like a movie kiss, with his whole mouth and his hand on the back of my neck, and he licked my lips, and I couldn’t stop shivering. I felt like he was going to swallow me, and I had no idea what to do with my own mouth or my hands and I just…froze.” I chew my lip nervously. “It was horrible.”
My friend stares at me, unblinking, with a smile on her face that seems very misplaced at the moment.
“Feather? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Steve kisses me that way,” she says dreamily.”Those are the best kisses. Trust me. That’s some passion right there.”
It wasn’t horrible at all. I was horrible. I look down at my hands, embarrassed at what I have to tell her. “I�
��ve never been kissed before,” I admit.
She sucks in a breath. “Oh, Holly…I had no idea. The guy who kidnapped you never…”
I shake my head. “No! Not ever. Why would he? And I would never want him to. That’s disgusting.”
“You’re right,” she agrees quickly. “Ty probably didn’t know either, though. He might have just assumed…”
Acid rises to the back of my throat. Why would anyone assume that monster would kiss me? Kissing is for dating and loving. “I don’t want to think or talk about that.”
“We don’t have to. But I think Tyler didn’t realize it was your first kiss. And seriously a kiss like he laid on you would be scary for anyone’s first kiss. Most first kisses are by thirteen-year-old boys who just peck at your lips and try to grope your tits.”
If things had been different, I should have had my first kiss six years ago. And if I had, I wouldn’t have been terrified when the man I’m falling in love with finally kissed me.
I’ve missed everything I should have experienced growing up—every one of my firsts, every awkward and exciting moment that should have happened, shouldn’t be happening now. The bad man didn’t just take me—he took all the little parts of my life that were supposed to help me grow into the me I’m supposed to be today.
Feather’s eyes are on me expectantly, waiting for me to react.
“That doesn’t sound good,” I say.
“It’s not. Tell me what happened after he kissed you?”
I escaped to my safe place, back to the pages of my storybooks, away from everything scary. I chew on my tattered fingernail. “I just…froze. I think I did the play dead thing. Like I used to.”
She reaches across the couch and touches my arm. “Holly, it’s all right. It was new and scary. You weren’t ready. Remember in therapy we talked about how we should make our partners aware? Steve and I talked about what happened to me for hours and hours before anything happened between us. We took things really slow. Maybe you guys should have talked about this beforehand. I didn’t realize you were more than friends.”
“Neither did I. Not until today.” Is that true? Lately, I’ve been wishing to be more than friends, and I’ve daydreamed about him holding my hand, hugging me with his beautiful arms, and—yes—even kissing me, but I had no idea kissing would feel so…intense and consuming. How was I to know it would leave me breathless and powerless—feelings I had only ever associated with pain and fear? I didn’t know those feelings could also be so deliciously good. Feather’s right, I wasn’t ready, and he didn’t know, and I ruined our first kiss.
Possibly our last kiss.
“I think I need to go call him,” I say. “We didn’t exactly end the day on a good note.”
“Are you sure you want to talk to him? Maybe you need to step away for a while, give yourself more time before you get involved with him.”
“I already am involved.” I stand and grab my backpack and my blanket. “Thank you for talking with me. I feel better now.”
“I’m here if you need to talk more.”
Once in my room, I close the door softly behind me, change into sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt, and call Ty’s cell phone from mine. It rings four times and goes to his voice mail.
That’s odd. He always answers when I call him, unless he’s on the bike. I send him a text message:
Holly: Hi…I tried to call you
Tyler: I didn’t answer. I’m having trouble talking.
Holly: Why?
Tyler: Just stress shit. Don’t worry about it.
No little smiley faces accompany his words, a clear sign that he’s angry.
Holly: Can we talk on here for a few minutes?
Tyler: Ok
Holly: I’m sorry. About earlier.
Tyler: Don’t be. It’s forgotten.
My chest constricts.
Holly: Don’t say that
Tyler: You’re not the first girl to reject me. Won’t be the last, either.
I stare at the small screen with tears in my eyes. This is not my prince talking.
Holly: That’s not it at all. I was just scared. I couldn’t breathe.
Tyler: It’s all good. Let’s just forget it.
How can I possibly forget it? And how can he?
Tyler: Snuggle in your magic blanket and go to sleep. Tomorrow will be better. Going to bed now. Talk to you in a few days.
I tossed and turned all night, finally falling asleep sometime after 2:00 a.m., only to wake up with a jolt after dreaming I was wandering through the woods, alone and naked. I screamed for help, but no one came. I walked in circles, seeing the same trees and rocks over and over and over again, never finding my way out. All the while, a black bird followed me overhead, his large wings whooshing above me ominously.
I wake with tears on my cheeks and a pounding headache, and it takes me several minutes to drag my mind out of the dream and convince myself I am safe.
The scent of Ty’s cologne lingers on the blanket, and I snuggle further under it, burrowing my face in it. I let the memory of his kiss surface. I let myself relive how it made me feel. I sift through the negative feelings, push them to the side, and focus on the good that’s left, like I was taught.
The feel of his lips on mine was exhilarating.
His hand in my hair, cradling my head, made me feel wanted.
The fiery passion I saw in his eyes made me feel beautiful.
His hard body leaning into mine, his leg over mine, made me feel protected.
The way he wiped my tears away made me feel cared for.
All of it together made me jittery, lightheaded, and nervous, but I wanted more.
But, oh, God. How had I made him feel while he was giving me all these wonderful new feelings? Unwanted and rejected.
How do I undo that?
I sit up, rubbing my throbbing forehead and wondering if Feather will drive me to see my grandmother today, since Grandma has a knack for cheering me up. I kick off my blankets and check my cell phone, hoping for a text from Ty, but there aren’t any. I hold the phone, debating whether I should send him a text, but I have no idea what to even say. I put the phone back down on my nighttable, and that’s when I notice it.
My heartbeat speeds up, and I rush over to my window, where a beautiful dreamcatcher is taped to the outside of the glass with a small envelope taped next to it. When does he do this stuff?
I don’t care!
I yank the window open and gently untape them from the glass, then carry them over to the bed. The dreamcatcher is beautiful, made with white and silver webbing, white feathers, and pastel-colored beads. I rip open the envelope and pull out a note card:
I made this for you, I hope it helps with your bad dreams. Hang it over your bed.
PS – Poppy says he wants to see you tomorrow. He’s sending me to pick you up at noon.
I pull a tack off the little corkboard above my desk and hang the dreamcatcher over my bed, and I put the note in my nightstand with the one he left for me on Christmas. I hope the gift and the note means he’s not upset or mad anymore.
20
Tyler
The first thing I do when I get inside the hotel room is turn all the lights off, and I turn the TV on so the only light is the glow of the screen. I wait in the dark, trying to ignore the swirl of guilt and nerves that are eating at me.
Guilt is misplaced here. No matter how much I want Holly, no matter how much I live just to see her smile…she’s not mine, and she’s never going to be, even though I want nothing more than for her to be mine and to play out all my fantasies and dreams with her. Unfortunately, that’s just not a safe place for her to be.
I’m not the prince. I’m the thing that goes bump in the night and sends shivers up her spine.
The electric lock clicks, and I don’t look over as the door swings open and she does the high-heel strut directly to the thick envelope waiting for her on the table near the door. Her thumb feathers over the hundred-dollar bills, a
nd I can sense her smile as she shoves the envelope into her bag. Her instructions were clear in the confirmation email: payment first. My instructions were just as clear: don’t expect me to talk. No lights. No kissing. No screaming.
She falls onto the couch next to me, and her perfume permeates the space. It’s flowery and feminine, but it’s not the lavender vanilla scent that somehow calms me and drives me wild at the same time.
My breath is hot against my face behind the mask. This one is a favorite, with its bloody, oozing gashes and grotesque twisted lips.
Her hand rests on my leg, and for a second I’m pissed that she’s distracting me from thinking about Holly and her perfume. That’s the only place my mind and my heart really want to be. And so does my cock, which is exactly why I’m sitting here next to a two-thousand-dollar escort. For distraction.
I grab her wrist, seconds away from twisting it behind her neck and pinning her down on the couch.
“I like the dark, moody types,” she coos in my ear.
Jesus Christ. I know that voice. My hair stands on end. I release my grip on her and jump off the couch like it’s on fire. No pun intended.
I rip the mask off my face. “Tesla?” I can’t believe this. I want to turn on the light to see if it’s really her but, holy shit, I can’t. I refuse to see her sitting there.
“Tyler?” she asks, the shock in her voice rivaling mine. “Oh my God.”
“Get the fuck out of here.” I seethe, running my hand through my hair. This can’t be fucking happening.
She stands and tries to grab my arm in the dark. “Tyler, please—”
I point to the door. “Get the fuck away from me, Tessie. Now.”
Instead, she flicks on the light, and we stand there staring at each other, both of us speechless, shocked, and humiliated. Her eyes shift to the mask on the floor then slowly back to my face.
“Get out,” I growl again. “Keep the fucking money if you need it bad enough to do this.”
