by Carian Cole
The house I’m hawking is a small cape-style, and is very cookie-cutter with its blue shutters and matching front door. The grass needs to be cut and mail is spilling out of the mailbox, and I’m sure it’s because she hasn’t bothered with it, not because she’s on a vacation in the Hamptons. A small silver SUV is parked in the driveway. I wish I could see the backyard, but I can’t risk someone seeing me if I go creeping around back there. My veins thrum as I examine the house and everything around it. Everything that is her.
No, this isn’t stalking. Not really. I’d call this interested observation. Bright colored flowers line the brick walkway to the front door, and wind chimes dangle from a low-hanging oak tree branch, creating a soft melody floating in the breeze. A small gnome and three bunny statues surround a stone birdbath with no water in it. She likes whimsical. I bet she likes angels and fairies, and she smiles at butterflies and marvels at hummingbirds.
The only way to make someone happy is to know what makes him or her happy. Alternatively, the way to instill fear in someone is to know what scares him or her. Knowing how to use those feelings to spin a web of seduction and trust takes patience and control.
I’ve got both.
***
On my way home, I grab a monstrous steak and cheese sandwich and a six-pack of beer. I eat it in the living room and give small pieces to Sterling, who likes to supervise all things food-related. When I’m done, I wander into Katie’s room and sit on the edge of her small bed. The kitten has followed me in and walks around slowly, sniffing everything, his little ears twisting around. Sometimes my mind goes screwy and I think I can somehow undo this and bring Katie back, as if it were all a big mistake or a bad dream. I want it to be over, but it never fucking will be.
After staring at Katie’s things for a while, I take a few sleeping pills and check Tabitha’s page before I prepare to pass out on the couch. She hasn’t posted anything in quite a while, but I still check every night, just to see if she has shared any new thoughts, and today she has.
‘Whoever said life is too short obviously never endured heartache or loss, because life is too long. It’s one long, miserable day that just drags out forever. Insomnia has taken over my life. I haven’t slept in days, and when I do finally sleep for an hour or two, I have horrible nightmares. I hate this life.’
How fucking true. Life is really for the happy people.
I miss Katie more than I can put into words, but she is my daughter, my flesh and blood. I think of how I heard Tabitha crying in despair at Nick’s grave. If I had died in that crash, no one would be crying over my grave or still missing me months later. I feel oddly jealous over Tabitha’s intense love for her husband.
There’s another picture I found in one of her many online photo albums where she’s sitting on an old staircase, looking up into the camera, her huge eyes half hidden under her bangs, her small cleavage pushing out of the black dress she’s wearing. I’ve saved it to my computer so I can look at it quickly whenever I want to and fantasize about her on her knees, gazing up at me in that same way with those big enchanting eyes.
She’s stirred me.
Vandal
I throw some clothes into my saddlebags and hop on my bike, looking forward to going to the lake for a few weeks. The past three months have been torturous for me, living in my house without Katie. I need to get away from all that. On my way, I stop at the cemetery to visit Katie once more before I go, and also to check one of my foot pegs that I could hear rattling. I pull out my small tool bag and tighten it in the parking lot.
Off to my right, I hear a sound coming from the direction of my tree. I put my tools away and push my hair out of my face, looking toward the direction of the noise. Wiping my dirty hands on my jeans, I take a tiny teddy bear from my bag and head for Katie’s grave.
I can hear her crying, but can barely see her this time because she’s sitting on the ground on the other side of the headstone. Seeing her again is unexpected, but I can’t resist going to her because I’ve thought about this too fucking much to just walk away. It’s like she was handed to me.
She startles at first when she sees me, staring up at all six-foot-four of me with a small amount of fear in her teary eyes. Those eyes. Holding my breath, I wait for some glimmer of recognition, but there is none. I slowly exhale.
“You’ve got black stuff on your face,” she says, sniffling. Her voice is softer than I expected it to be.
I kneel down in front of her and rub my thumb across her cheek, smudging the stain of tears and make-up under her eye. She flinches a tiny bit and sucks in a breath.
“So do you,” I say.
I love the way my heart is thundering in my chest just from touching her warm, soft flesh. It’s the same feeling I get when I cut myself—only this is far better. This is its own heartbeat, its own breath, its own blood and fear.
I fucking want it.
She wipes at her face with the back of her hand and rips her gaze away from mine. They land on the bear I’m holding.
She nods her quivering chin towards it. “You’re holding a teddy bear.”
I turn the soft toy in my dirty hands. “I am.”
“Why?”
I glance over at my daughter’s grave. The sun is shining through the leaves of my tree and casting a ray of light onto her stone, making it glow. I take this as a sign.
I look back at Tabitha and hold the bear out to her. “I was going to give it to someone, but I think maybe you need it more.”
Her hand shakes as she takes it from me and she cradles it against her. “Thank you.” Her voice is slightly above a whisper. She swallows hard and squeezes her eyes shut. Katie would want her to have it. The bears were always meant to cheer someone up. Why not a grieving widow?
I can’t take my eyes off of her. She absolutely takes my breath away. She is so beautifully damaged. She’s wrecked. I can see it in her lifeless eyes. And now I want to fix her in the only way I know how.
I stand up and offer her my hand. “Wanna go for a ride?”
Her eyes widen and her fingers tighten around the bear before she slowly puts her small hand in mine. I pull her up to her feet and her head barely reaches the middle of my chest. She looks down at the grave and takes a deep shuddering breath.
“Yes,” she finally says, nodding a little. “Take me away from here.”
That’s all I need to hear.
She follows me to the bike and surprises me when she just gets on the back without reaction or question. I can see the defiance in her as she plants herself on the seat and stuffs the bear into her purse. She doesn’t look at me at all—she just stares off into the distance, completely expressionless. I start the bike and the engine roars loudly, but she doesn’t even jump at the sound. I tie my hair back, put my sunglasses on and turn to the side to peek at her. I don’t wear a helmet, as this is a no-helmet law state, and I don’t have an extra one on my bike for her. She doesn’t seem concerned about not having it, like most chicks are. Maybe she’s like me and is also daring fate. That’s right, we’re the ones that got away. Wanna try again?
“You gotta hold on, darlin’, or you’re gonna fly right the fuck off.”
“Not sure I’d care,” she replies, but wraps her arms tightly around my waist.
Yes, baby. Embrace the darkness with me.
I pull out of the parking lot, leaving her car and our lost loved ones behind. As the wind whips our long hair behind us, I think we both feel that this is the start of letting go.
The lake house is about an hour away, tucked deep in the mountains. I have no fucking idea what I’m doing, but her hands clasped around me as we ride along the tree-lined curvy roads ignite all sorts of dark thoughts inside me. The feel of her small thighs spread and pressed against my legs makes my cock ache.
Riding my bike has always been an escape for me—just me and the road and the wind, and nothing else. Having a chick wrapped around me, giving me a hard-on, is an invasion of the Zen I usually feel when rid
ing, but I ain’t gonna complain.
A few times she rests her cheek against my shoulder, her arms squeezing me tighter, hiding in me.
Melting into me.
The driveway is dusty and gravelly, and I take it slow when I turn in so I don’t wipe out. I park just in front of the garage and kill the engine. She takes the cue and hops off, walking around a bit to stretch her legs as I unlock the garage and push the bike in next to my hot rod. I pull my stuff out of my saddlebags and find her standing by the lake.
“Where are we?” she asks me when she hears me walk up behind her.
“My place.” I follow her blinkless stare over the water. “Wanna come inside?”
She nods absently and crosses her arms, hugging herself. I’ve never seen a person look so incredibly lost before.
I cock my head towards the house. “Come on.” I head for the house, and she follows a few feet behind me.
Sterling is sitting in the hallway when we walk in as if he’s been waiting for me. I lean down and pat his head and he meows softly.
“Oh no!” She’s on the floor instantly, scooping him up in her arms. “What happened to him?”
I throw my keys on the credenza by the door. “Yeah, a friend gave him to me. His name is Sterling. He was tortured by some sick fucking kids and lost his eyes. He’s okay, though; not in pain or anything. It’s amazing how he gets around, actually.”
Her mouth drops open in horror and she starts to stroke his head, and of course he’s loving it. “Poor little guy,” she coos. She looks up at me. “It’s so nice you’re taking care of him. He’s just precious.”
So, Sterling is a chick magnet. I’ll have to thank Evie for that little bonus. I shrug. “It’s no big deal. I just feed him and let him hang out.”
“I want to kill those fuckers that hurt him.” Her voice is laced with hatred, and I like it. She’s a spunky little thing beneath all that sadness. There’s still hope for her, but I wonder what she would do to me if she knew who I was.
I head for the kitchen and take out two bottles of water that Evie has left in the refrigerator, along with a shit-ton of other food for me. Tabitha follows me, still holding the cat.
I grin and offer the water to her. “He can walk, ya know,” I tell her. Her face reddens, and she gently puts the cat back down on the floor and watches him prance across the room. Straightening, she wipes at her eyes and looks around.
“Can I use your bathroom and wash my face? I’m kind of a mess.”
I step closer to her and she doesn’t back away from me. “I like messes,” I say, my gaze traveling from her pouty lips up to her eyes. I push a strand of hair out of her face and tuck it behind her ear, my finger lightly touching her flushed cheek. She sucks in a breath but doesn’t break eye contact. “The bathroom’s down the hall.” I say.
I step back and she practically runs down the hall, away from me.
I should take her home. I know what I’m doing is wrong, but this part of me always seems to win because there’s just more bad in me than there is good. Besides, being bad is way more fun.
She comes out after a few minutes, her hair brushed and the dark stains of mascara cleaned off her face. “Sorry I looked so bad …” Her voice trails off.
“Grief isn’t pretty.”
She shakes her head. “No … it’s not.”
I put my water bottle down and move closer to her, leaning my hip against the kitchen counter. “Why did you come here with me?”
She tilts her head a little and bites her lip. “To forget.”
“Forget what?”
“Just …” She looks off out the window at the lake. “Everything.” Tears start to fall down her cheeks. “Him … me … the pain. All of it.” She chokes and wipes at her eyes. “I feel like it’s killing me. I feel like I want to die, and I don’t know how to make it stop. I’ve never been this way, ever.”
I think back to her social media statuses, how happy and whimsical she was before the accident, and what a shame it is that her light has been snuffed.
“I’m scared of the thoughts I have. I have so much hatred for the person who caused the accident. It’s not fair that he lived and my husband didn’t. I feel alone, like no one is really understanding me. They just want me back how I was …” She coughs and takes a sip of water. “I’m not that person anymore and I’m tired of trying to be. I’m just … exhausted. I don’t want to think, or do, or anything anymore. I want it all to stop. I want a reset button.”
I did this. This beautiful, pixie-like girl doesn’t smile anymore because of my bad mistakes. I can’t change the accident, or bring back Katie, Renee, or Nick, but I can fix Tabitha. I can flip her all-the-fuck back around again. I know this without a doubt because I know myself, and I know pain, and I know pleasure, and I know how to unfuck and refuck and fix fuck, and it starts with breaking her down, gaining her trust, and renewing her.
I don’t know shit about love and romance, but I know that true submission goes far deeper than love. It gives more; it takes more. Love is fragile and can be destroyed. Submission is strong and only strengthens with time. Love leaves people weak and devastated, as she is now. Submission heals and awakens. Submission is love on fucking steroids. Men like me have a radar for women that need to submit, and she’s silently screaming for it just as much as I’ve been silently begging to give it. I hope I’m not wrong, but my gut tells me I’m right.
I lift her chin and force her to look up at me. “You probably won’t believe me, but I understand more than you know. I know exactly how you feel.” I take a deep breath and search her eyes. “I can help you, if you want me to. I could help you forget. I can help you out of this bad head space you’re in. But you’d have to trust me.” I sound like a crazy douche, but I can’t pick the right words for what I’m trying to say. I silently curse myself for being verbally challenged.
“I don’t even know you.” Her voice shakes but there’s no hint of fear. She’s still too numb for that.
“Sometimes, we can’t trust what we do know, and we have to trust what we don’t.”
“You really think you could possibly help me? I’ve already talked to a therapist and she’s useless as shit. I feel like she’s … like she’s analyzing me. Judging me. I stopped going.”
“I’m not a fucking therapist. But I know how to make it stop.”
She licks her lips, the glimpse of her pink tongue making my cock twitch. “I’m all yours then,” she says breathlessly. “Make me forget. Make me want to live again. I’ve tried everything else.”
I waste no time accepting that challenge and bring both my hands up to the sides of her face to hold her still as I take her lips with mine. I kiss her, feather soft, barely touching her lips, tasting her breath, lingering close to her and lightly running my tongue along her bottom lip, and she quivers and shivers beneath my touch. She gasps but opens her mouth for my tongue to explore hers. Her small hands clutch tightly at the sides of my shirt, hanging on to me.
After a few moments I pull away, and she sways on her feet. I put my hands on her waist to steady her. I’m enjoying the effect I have on her immensely. It’s exactly what I wanted.
“You okay?” I ask, studying her face.
“Yeah …” She brings her hand up slowly and touches my hair, as if she’s petting a wild zoo animal. “Your hair is so shiny and pretty.” She says it so softly, mostly to herself, then tugs my hair, trying to bring my head back down to her for another kiss. Oh, this little girl has some spark in her. I grab her hand and flash her an evil grin.
“Tell me what you want, darlin’.”
She shakes her head and tries to pull her hand out of mine but I hold onto her. “Say it.” It’s a gentle command for me to gauge her willingness to give.
“More of that,” she whispers, and another tear slowly slides down her cheek. She brushes it away with her finger, her cheeks reddening. “I’m sorry … I cry a lot lately …”
I lean my head down and rest my forehead a
gainst hers. “Don’t apologize. Even the sky cries.”
I close my eyes and inhale the vanilla scent of her shampoo for a few moments and then lift her up, wrapping her legs around my waist and kissing her long and deep; my hands on her ass, holding her body tight against mine. She circles her arms around my neck as I carry her down the hallway to my bedroom, kicking the door shut behind me. Sterling hasn’t been around any sex activities yet, and I don’t want to find out if he’s going to try to get in on the action or start a purr-fest.
I drop her on the bed and fall on top of her, trying not to crush her. She’s the smallest chick I’ve ever fucked and my mind is racing with ideas of what I can do with someone this short and light. That can wait, though. Today will be for her because she needs to get it out of her system.
I expect her to lie there, frozen, but she’s in a frenzy, pulling at my shirt, trying to get it off me. I sit on top of her and let her tug it up over my head. Her hands still and her eyes widen as she takes me in, her focus wandering over the colorful tattoos that span my huge arms and chest. I know that my looks are most likely a shock to her, and she’s probably not used to a huge muscular man with long blue-black hair covered in tattoos crawling all over her. By the time I’m done with her, she’ll have little memory of any men before me. She’ll be Vandal-ized for life.
I capture her hands in mine and pin them over her head on the mattress, slowly sliding my body down hers until my lips meet hers again. I kiss her hungrily, demanding her breath. I move my mouth down her neck, sucking and biting her delicate flesh, marking each inch I touch with lust. I want to see the evidence of fucking her when we’re done. I grab the fabric of her thin blouse and rip it down the middle with a quick, well-practiced tear, exposing a purple bra stretched over her breasts. I glide my tongue between her soft mounds, my hands squeezing her through the satin material. I flick my tongue over her nipple, wetting the thin fabric that covers her.
