by LW Barefoot
His fingers yank on the sash keeping my dress together as I pull away from him.
“Did you wear this for easy access, for anyone that was available?”
I did think of that when I was getting dressed, but I was considering him, no one else. I was going to give us one more shot. One more chance at redemption. I don’t care that he doesn’t love me, I don’t love myself. He makes me come alive and I’ve been dead for far too long.
I wanted him to unwrap me like a package. This is the first time he’s sounded like his father. I try to shake the thought off.
“For you, I wore this for you,” I stammer.
I hardly get the words out. He pulls his shirt over his head and looms over me.
“If it’s for me then prove it. Take it off.”
What the fuck?
“It’s not that hard, Harper. Take the fucking dress off and prove what you just said.”
This is that line, this is what I felt was coming. He’s scared and he’s pushing me away. I felt it that afternoon I placed that damn earbud in his ear when he pulled away from me during the hottest sex we’ve shared together. The night at Lorraine’s and his cruel words spelling out the fact that he’s incapable of loving me. But especially today, when he left me and put words in my mouth that weren’t mine. I see beyond his reluctance now.
In truth, it’s happened every time we’re intimate. We have to pay a price for our feelings. The only difference between us is that Evan figured it out long before I did.
I misunderstood him entirely. I’m no stranger to fear, I carry it around with me day by day. Working it out of my system, continuing my training with Brad, and I feel like it’s doing the trick. I’ll never be fearless, but I’m not as close to fear as I used to be. Evan has probably never been afraid of anything in his life. As fucked up as his family is, his harsh truths are so much cleaner than mine. He’s always been lucky to choose how he deals with it. Such a cushioned existence, that gap in our circumstances just widened to terrible distances with my revelation.
Evan is keying up for a fight and he expects me to walk away. I know it and I want to prove him wrong. I want him to laugh with me. Most of all, I want to prove we’re worth fighting for. I want all of our worries to dissipate. If I was serious about giving us another chance, I’m going to prove it.
As I stand here and tremble, he’s pushing his luck. He will have to follow through with his empty threats. Despite what Grayson said, I love Evan. Despite me packing my bags, as soon as we’re done, I’m going to unpack them. I made that promise to myself that I would fight for him and so easily he’s prepared to push me away. He might succeed, but not tonight. He once told me he didn’t see me as a victim and I’ll be damned if I let him change his mind about that.
I slowly undo the wrap dress. Seductively sliding the offensive material off. A black see-thru romper is all I have on, the deep V scoops down to my navel. I chose this slip of fabric because it’s so transparent and light it feels like I’m already naked with it on. I knew he would want to rip it off me and it would melt easily away from my body. Paired with black thigh-highs and stilettos, I planned everything to tempt him. Evan’s shocked, in his cruel demands, I still obeyed him and he wasn’t expecting it.
I take it a step further and get on my knees with my head bent. Breaking eye contact with him and focusing on keeping my cool.
He leaves me kneeling for what feels like forever.
I chance a peek through my lowered lashes, he’s still in the same standing position. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, running his hands through his hair in frustration. Good, I’m frustrated too and he’s to blame. He’s pushing me away while I’m letting him in. I lower my eyes when his head comes back up, resolve shining through his gaze.
“Crawl to me, Harper.”
His husky voice is full of so much emotion, so much regret. My resolve is so much easier than it would seem. The soft command fell off his tongue and it whispers through me.
I like us best like this, there are no games, no second guessing. I hand over my obedience to him on a shining platter and pray that he will be able to put me back together after we’re done when daylight appears and whatever we do is solidified. He’s always taken care of it, I have no doubt he will now.
I hope he’s fully aware I’m bridging this gap between us, that I’m raw and exposed and not just physically. I think this as I move to where he stands, slowly on my hands and knees, I crawl to him. My full breasts sway in the loose fabric, giving him an uninterrupted view.
I stop at his feet and keep my head down. Another long exhale of breath before his fingers work their way into my heavy hair, sinking in the wavy mass. His fingers caress my scalp before he pulls my head up. His gaze is smoldering, he’s angry, I knew he would be. I’m trying to fix that, can he still not see this?
He yanks me up from the floor, tracing the curves of my breasts with his hands. I watch as he reverently adores them, lifting, pulling my hardened nipples with his fingertips. He crushes my lips with his. I want his lips, his possession of my body, anything to make him see that I want to be his and only his. That I don’t want to leave. I will bury my fear and overcome it. I have before and I can do it again.
His breath is a warm comfort as his tongue licks in tune and in chaos with mine. My lips burn from his savage kiss and I want the feeling to stay.
His hands tear the cloth from my tits, ripping the fabric. He’s rough as he grabs my breasts and squeezes them. His grip is firm but too soft. My head falls back from the aggression of his attentions. He latches on my neck and sinks his teeth down. I scream because it hurts because he’s holding himself back from me. But he’s replacing Joe’s fingers and I need him to wipe them away.
I need to touch him, but I’m reluctant. I decide to grab his head in my hands and lift up even closer to his mouth. My neck pushed up in his teeth, completely giving in to him. His hands leave me to pull mine off him. He releases the belt around his waist. Using the leather to tie my hands in front of me. He tests the restraint and moves us to the foot of the massive bed.
I stand where he leaves me and watch as he moves to a chest of drawers. He pulls out a whip with a short braided handle, flowing down to thin strips of leather. He pushes my shoulders forcing me to lean over the bed face down.
I make up my mind to not make a sound. It’s not like we play by the rules. Our turbulent passion always leaves us abandoned and pushes us past reckless.
Several lashes are delivered to my thighs and over my ass. I bite down on my tongue and ignore the sensations. I will stand here and stubbornly prove that I can handle anything he throws at me, literally and figuratively.
The word ‘stop’ won’t leave my lips tonight.
Evan’s strikes get harder in rapid succession. Slap after slap, harder, faster, his breathing is sharp as he takes out his frustrations on me.
This instrument is so much like those damn candles he used to burn me. If he had been level-headed at the time, it would have been erotic and sensual, so similar to this stupid whip. I’ve completely shut everything out, if he thinks I’ll concede, he’s wrong.
“Say stop,” Evan demands.
He throws the whip on the bed inches away from my shoulder, cursing under his breath in frustration.
Out of the corner of my eye, he opens another drawer and pulls out a long thin strip of wood.
The first strike whistles through the air, landing on the tops of my thighs. It burns like hell fire.
Evan thinks this is the first time I’ve been exposed to this. I wish it were the truth but it’s not. It’s as if he’s single-handedly resurrecting the ghost of my past.
“What the fuck are you trying to prove, Harper?”
Whip, strike, slash, burning flesh. I should be screaming, but I refuse to give in. I’ve traveled this road before and I know the results are always the same.
“Say something damn it,” Evan shouts.
I bite my lip and shake my head. My throat
closes up. The only thing I’m not able to control is the fact that I’m crying and the Sculptor’s training tumbles out of those long buried memories. Whining, whistling strikes, and that fucking haunting voice… ‘You sinful, sightly reddened piece of meat. You’ve wanted him to see, but you’ve missed that we are one and the same, sweet slut you never fucking learn.’
I feel a single tear drop down on my back when Evan finally drops the cane and walks away.
Evan
With every downward motion of my arm, I strike the only person that’s ever truly cared for me. Fear of losing her unbalances my desperate need to push her away.
I saw her packed bags and should have thanked heavens she finally saw how dangerous staying is, but then she obeyed me. She fucking obeyed me and I can’t stand it. How can the only thing I want in this world be the only person I can’t have?
A blistering haze has taken over my mind, my actions, and my lust. Harper’s twisted my very existence since the moment I laid eyes on her. I should have stayed away from her, I know that now.
This perfect, made-for-me angel takes everything I give her in stride. I’m turned on by our scorching kiss and disgusted with the fact that I bit her skin that’s already been abused. In that instant, I know what I have to do. I have to make this stop.
I long for one single sound of her distress, that’s all it will take for me to stop this torturous scene of ours. She doesn’t even have to use the word stop, only a whimper or a flinch will do the trick. Every connection the cane makes with her alabaster skin angers it to ruby red. I feel like I’m ruling each and every strike across my heart.
I drop the disgusting tool I once derived so much pleasure inflicting, but no longer. The revolting thing is hurting her and I’m the one wielding its infliction. I’m pushing her further and further away from me, the real reason I continued the assault.
I drop the damn thing and step away from her.
I can’t stand to look at what I’ve done.
It wasn’t enough to punch the guard on my staff over and over for betraying me, betraying Harper, and granting my father access to the plantation. I should have let Grayson take care of it, but he already has enough blood on his hands. Seth didn’t intervene as I continued to expel my anger. The life leaving the traitor’s eyes didn’t grant me the peace I was searching for. It didn’t calm the raging storm within me. It ramped up the darkest need I possess.
I move my disgusting aggression to her studio, desperately needing to release it. Glorious paintings line every wall. So much progress, such heart-wrenching perfection portrayed on every single canvas. Those trees, my damn trees, displayed through every season and change.
It’s too much, because to me, the only constant is the trees, no matter the setting they are in. The unwavering connection she’s had to them and their depiction in every brush stroke make my heart race. She’s the fucking trees and it’s as if she were trying to tell me all along. I was too blind, too resentful of my feelings to even consider hers.
The desolation of what I just did to her engulfs me as I take a pallet knife and destroy the painting closest to me.
If I was going to start this destruction, I sure as hell would finish it.
There’s no going back now. The sound of finished perfection being destroyed further breaks my heart. The canvas doesn’t give in right away, but when it rips, it’s as if it cries out. Screeching destruction is the only sound I hear as I obliterate the canvas. At least, I’m the one inflicting the pain. I’m the one that’s in control.
That one horrifying sound I never wanted to hear again in my life echoes across the room. I turn in my madness to take her in. Her slender arms cross over her bare chest. My belt secures her wrists as she holds them up against herself. In her destroyed lingerie, tears roll down her face and her entire body trembles. The only thing missing is her shoes and her adoration of me.
She looks so lost and innocent and I was almost too late to stop the inevitable from happening. Hell, it’s taking place right now as I look her square in the eyes and slash down the next painting. Pulling the heavenly branches and disconnecting her screams from her chest and pulling my heart out of my own.
I’ve succeeded in gutting us both.
She sinks to the floor in defeat as I continue to destroy any and all chances from ever coming close to her again. I’m doing this to protect her. I did all of this for her.
Footsteps run down the hall. As much as I want to pick her off the floor and cover her up, I won’t allow myself to touch her ever again. Brad is the first one to take in the catastrophe. He picks her up and in her sobbing she looks at me one last time, allowing me one final glimpse into her glorious eyes before burying her head against Brad’s shoulder.
The look he gives me is pure disgust. He pulls her away from the mess I’ve made and my heart sky-rockets out of my chest.
This is it.
This is over.
I continue ruining her precious work. I couldn’t have the paintings here, not any longer. Not as a constant reminder of her and I’m positive she wouldn’t want them either.
I will send her a check above and beyond what she could have possibly sold them for. Further insulting her, making her hate me even more.
I hope she will be okay now. Now that I’ve severed any and all ties to me.
The Sculptor being here is making me crazy. What’s worse is that my father had his hands around her neck under my own roof. That fucking painting he brought here as an apology is the same one Harper tried to explain the Sculptor used her as a prop for inspiration. There was no mistaking her eyes reflected off that canvas. The Sculptor signed his Roman numeral one with Harper’s blood, Casey’s blood. My father has to be the only way the Sculptor found her.
I only wish I could blame all this on them, but I’m also at fault.
I’m the monster Joe created.
If Harper ever lays eyes on me again, she’ll make the connection.
There couldn’t possibly any redemption left for me now.
Harper
Storms still shake me down to my last nerve endings. It sounds as if the sky breaks and shatters. Clouds gather and billow in the night sky. They’re terrifying. They’re gorgeous. So much feeling is in the air swirling around me. My skin prickles with the energy that’s bursting from those ominous clouds.
Brad still has me in his arms, he took Evan’s belt off my wrists. I don’t know how he knew to get me out of the walls of the plantation but it’s exactly what I need.
Loud cracks of thunder boom and I swear I could feel the vibrations rattling my broken heart around in my chest. Turbulent wind whips everything around us, even the time-tested rocking chairs are knocking back and forth with the wind’s force. The air whooshes across the back of my thighs and I tense from the stinging sensation. A bolt of lightning flashes through the night sky and it’s almost blinding.
Another rumble and growl echo through every atom. Natural fireworks and explosions of energy and pent-up frustration come tumbling out of the sky.
Night after night as the spring air warms and welcomes hotter summer temperatures, it’s also resisting, not willing to concede just yet. Holding onto its last days and I feel like the reluctant spring.
I’ve known change was coming but I’ve been unwilling to move forward and progress. So much wasted time and momentum. Trudging awkwardly through life with my head down in tragic existence.
I’m no longer willing to let other people’s decisions affect my emotional well-being. Every single person in my life has betrayed me one way or another. I should feel sorry for myself. I should roll over and give up. That’s what I do. That’s what I’ve always done. That’s what makes me a perfect target.
My insecurities year after agonizing year have mounted. Piling weight after crushing weight on my shoulders. But something has happened in the dustiest, darkest corners of my soul. Beyond superficial vanity, deep enough that it’s woken me up. I’ve never considered myself to be shallow until r
ecently. Until Evan bulldozed his way in my life, I hadn’t looked at myself, even on the surface, until I was uncomfortably forced by him to do so. Quite literally, he made me look at him as he gave in to our darkest desires. He wouldn’t give me what I wanted until I gave him something in return. And just now he wanted me to hate him. He tried to kill whatever feelings I have for him, but it didn’t work. It will never work.
I’ve bowed to everything he’s requested, but if he thinks he can control my emotions, he’s mistaken. Those are mine and as much as I should hate him, I can’t.
He might have conjured up the Sculptor’s voice again, but Evan is also the one who silenced him in the first place. What a blessed, relieved breath I was able to have even if it was fleeting. I have faith that he will not only silence it again but this time, it will be for good.
That nightmare I had in the hospital flickers across my memory. The Sculptor was coming towards me and I was running. I’m always running. I ran from him stalking me in a similar storm as the one taking place around us.
I’m tempted to howl, to dance, to scream with the wrecking winds, but it’s clear that just by confronting this feeble fear of mine, it might be enough. I also have Evan to thank for this.
The air is warm and heavy, churning with loud promises of destruction but with it will come renewal and rebirth. Why must we tear ourselves down, before we’re capable of picking ourselves up? Such a heavy weight to carry and I’ve been doing it wrong this whole time.
“Set me down, please,” I request, moving to place my feet on the porch.
“Harper,” Brad stops himself and he doesn’t say another word as I walk into the rain.
I ignore his gasp at seeing my ruined skin, but he doesn’t know how much worse it has been.
I’m pushing myself to stand out here and witness the storm, attempting to become a part of it and get swept away. The warm raindrops wash away any grief that’s left inside of me.
