by Alexis Angel
Sanders is a dangerous man, that much is for sure. And I sure as hell don’t want to find out exactly how dangerous - so I run.
I run very, very fast.
45
Sanders
I have been shot seven times during the war, and I have the scars to prove it. Each time I didn’t feel a thing until the adrenaline finally washed away; afterward, it felt as if someone had injected the fires of hell straight into my muscles. But you know what? None of these bullets hurt as much as it hurts to see her run away from me.
This feels worse than anything I’ve ever lived through.
I’d rather be shot again.
I remain frozen in place for a few seconds, almost ready to just let her go. What good can it do to go after her? It’s over, I ruined it. But, before I even know what I’m doing, my legs start propelling me down the street.
It’s stronger than me.
Stacy and her friend are running as fast as they can, shoving people out of the way almost in desperation. It’s almost as if they’re running away from a serial killer. Which I guess is what Stacy thinks I am. And, really, can I blame her?
“Stacy, wait!” I say as I close in on them. She looks back at me over her shoulder, pure terror widening her eyes, and starts running even faster than before.
Fuck.
“Get away from me!” She screams, and a lot of heads start turning in our direction.
“Stay away from her, you pervert!” Her friend shouts, throwing me a menacing look.
“Let me explain, please,” I continue, once more catching up to them. Even though they’re running for their lives, I can keep up with them with a simple jog. They’re definitely lucky I’m not some crazed serial killer.
Realizing that her escape is becoming more futile by the second, Stacy decides to do something drastic. Without even bothering to look, she makes a sharp turn to her right, pulling her friend after her, and cuts across 51st Street. She throws herself at the mercy of the morning traffic, and I feel my heart shrivel up to the size of a quarter. What the hell is she thinking? She’s going to get killed!
“STACY!” I call after her, but there are so many cars honking right now that I doubt she can even hear me. Not that it’d make any difference, anyway - she’d just run faster.
And that’s when I see it. Speeding down a free lane comes a yellow taxi, a cell phone pressed against the ear of the driver. He’s waving the one hand that should be on the steering wheel, gesticulating as he speaks; in the process, he’s completely oblivious to the two girls crossing the street in a panic.
“STACY! WATCH OUT!” I scream, but she has already seen the car coming toward her. Except, inside of getting out of the way, she freezes up like a deer in headlights. I see it all happening inside my mind’s eye in a fraction of a second: shining chrome hitting her delicate body, her scream as she crashes against the windshield and --
Fuck, that’s not going to happen. Not on my watch.
There’s no time to think this through.
I jump over the hood of a parked car and sprint toward the middle of the street, the whole world slowing down around me with each step I take. My heart is pumping hard adrenaline into my bloodstream, my muscles tensing up as if I’m jumping straight into a gunfight.
I see the yellow cab closing in on Stacy, her friend and I, the roar coming from its engine like the murderous growl of some wild beast.
“RUN!” I scream at the top of my lungs, pushing the balls of my feet deep into the concrete and using it to launch myself forward. I stretch my arms as far as I can and, the moment I feel my fingertips brushing against the fabric of their dresses, I push on them as hard as I can, shoving them out of the way.
The rest is a blur.
I feel something heavy crashing against my legs, throwing me off balance, and then the whole world seems to spin around me. There’s the sound of glass breaking as I collapse against the windshield, and then I’m thrown into the air like a ragged doll. I see it all unfold at two speeds simultaneously - too slow, and too fast - and I realize that this might be the end of the line for me.
My body hits the concrete with a dull thud, and I open my mouth to scream.
“Run!” I repeat, my mind still working on auto-pilot. My whole body is still tense and, somehow, I’m still conscious. One more thing to thank the sweet adrenaline running in my veins, I guess.
“Run,” I say once more, this time the sound of it coming out of my mouth like a whisper. I feel my face touch the cold pavement, a crowd gathering around me, and then I see her in the distance - now safely on the other side of the street. She lingers there for a few seconds, just looking at me, and then she keeps on running.
I smile to myself and close my eyes, the cold embrace of unconsciousness finally taking hold of me. I have no idea if, once I close my eyes, I’ll ever open them up again… But what does it matter anyway? What use is being alive if I just lost the woman I love?
Love, yes - I love her.
I felt drawn to her the first time I saw her and, the moment our naked bodies touched, I knew I’d never be able to let go of her. That was my sin, and now I’m paying for it.
But even if I lost her - even if I die right here - it was worth it. And, fuck it, it feels good to admit it. It was all worth it just to know that, even if only for a few days, she smiled because of me.
I close my eyes and, with my mind fixated on the most beautiful smile I ever saw, I drift off.
46
Stacy
“Chuck, do you have a moment?” I ask him, stepping inside his office and closing the door behind me.
“Stacy? What’s up? How can I help you?” Chuck gets up and walks around his desk, his bald head shining under his office lights.
“Yes, uh, I think… I think I need some help,” I mutter, not really knowing where to start. Chuck just waves at the chair in front of his desk, and then walks back to his own, sinking down onto it.
“Sure, what’s up?”
“Can you track someone for me?” I ask him, balling my hands into fists and looking straight into his eyes. It has come to this.
I remember it as if it happened just minutes ago. The roar of an engine, the screeching sound of brakes, and then a thump so dry and vicious that I almost thought my heart had exploded inside my chest. I saw Sanders rolling over the car as if he was weightless, his strong frame and muscles useless against a four-wheeled opponent.
A fraction of a second before all that happened, all I remember is feeling his hands on me, and then I toppled over to the side as he assumed my position in front of the speeding taxi. I would be dead now if he hadn’t pushed me out of the way. And how did I thank him? I ran, I ran as fast as I could.
I only stopped when Erica grabbed me by the wrist, her face drenched in sweat as she struggled for air. I took deep and wild breaths, feeling the burn in my lungs and the adrenaline in my veins, and only then do I feel that thought sinking in: he saved my life. He saved my life and I abandoned him.
I tried to do the right thing, though. I ambled back to the 51st Street, looking for the place where an ambulance should be, but there was none of that to be found. The traffic seemed normal and, aside from a few pieces of broken glass in the middle of the road, you wouldn’t guess that someone had been ran over just minutes ago.
I went home that day still clutching the envelope in my hands. I didn’t - and still don’t - understand why Sanders felt the need to spy on me. But, even if he was a stalker, he didn’t deserve to be abandoned like that after saving my life.
I’m better than that.
I tried to fix my mistake by calling every hospital in the metropolitan area, but no luck there - Sanders vanished into the ether that day. And you know what’s crazy? Despite realizing that I didn’t know the kind of person he truly was, I still miss him. Despite his secrets, I still believe there was goodness in him. I just wish that, at the very least, I’d allow him to explain. Instead, I ran like a frightened little girl, and now I don�
�t even know if he’s alive anymore.
That’s why I’m in Chuck’s office right now. He’s the head of security at the Saturday Night Laughs, and if there’s someone that can help him, it’s him.
“I can try,” Chuck says, and I find myself once again in his office, the memories fading away around me. It seems that every time I remember the incident that I forget about my surroundings. This is no way to live. “Who do you want me to look for?” He continues, trying to jolt me out of my silence.
“I, uh… I met a man,” I start, and I find that the words flow out of me more easily than I expected. I guess it’s truth - it helps to put it all out there. I tell Chuck the story right from the beginning, telling him all about how I met Sanders and how our relationship progressed (and don’t worry, I omitted all the sordid details, of course). He lets me speak uninterruptedly, nodding at key points in the story, and then he leans back against his chair and lets out a heavy sigh as I tell him about the accident, the last time I ever saw Sanders.
“That’s quite a story, Stacy,” he whistles in a preoccupied tone, looking right into my eyes.
“Please, I just need to know if he’s okay,” I manage to say after taking two deep breaths to calm myself. Relieving everything has me on the verge of tears, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to start crying.
“I guess we can see about that, yeah,” Chuck replies, rubbing his chin and looking down at his desk, deep in thought.
“I… I just wish I could go back in time and stay. I shouldn’t have run. I shouldn’t have left him there,” I continue to speak, the words now coming out of my mouth before I can even stop them.
“I know, Stacy.” He gets up from his desk, and he’s about to say something when I cut him short.
“Just promise me one thing, Chuck… If you find him, I don’t want him to get into trouble. I don’t know why he was stalking me, but… I don’t want to hurt him, Chuck, okay? I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
“Okay, Stacy, that’s a promise,” Chuck nods, and then he offers me his hand and a smile. I look at him, slightly confused, but then accept his hand and he pulls me up to my feet.
“Come with me, there’s something I have to show you.” My reply is a simple nod, and then I follow him through the studio all the way to the lobby.
“Where are we going?” I ask him, curiosity starting to get the best of me.
“Why don’t you see for yourself?” He says, stopping right in front of the door to my dressing room. I look at him, completely confused, but he just smiles and waves at the closed door. Hesitant, I reach for the handle and push the door open.
“It’s been a while,” Sanders says, and I almost pass out as I see him standing there.
47
Sanders
“Sanders? You’re… You’re alive!” Stacy cries out, and I see her eyes brimming with tears.
“A bit bruised and battered, but alive, yeah,” I smile, happy to be close to her again. It might not seem like it, but two days are too long to be without her.
“Chuck, how did you--?” She starts to ask him, but the man just shrugs noncommittally.
“I guess that’s for him to explain,” he merely says, and then slips out back out to the studio, leaving me and Stacy all by ourselves.
“So?” She turns to face me, and then closes the door to her dressing room behind her. “I think you owe me an explanation,” she whispers, a harsh and demanding tone replacing the happy one with which she greeted me.
“I do, but do you think it’s wise to lock yourself in your dressing room with your biggest stalker?” I offer a smile - I’m getting better at it - as I speak, so as to not frighten her; still, I see a bit of concern flickering on her eyes.
“Is that what you are? A stalker?”
“No, I’m not a stalker, Stacy,” I reply, finally free to tell her all the truth. I spent the last two days dreaming of this moment.
“What are you then, Sanders? A reporter? A fan?” She insists, dying to hear an answer coming out from my mouth, and already expecting it to be a bad one.
“I’m a soldier, Stacy.”
“I know, you’ve told me you were an ex-SEAL and --”
“I lied. I’ve fought in the Afghanistan and Iraq, that much is true, but I never left the service. A few years ago I was invited to join a taskforce that specialized on counter-terrorism in the States, an effort spearheaded by both the CIA and the NSA.”
She blinks once, and then twice, and I can see the gears inside her head turning as she tries to process the meaning behind my words.
“Then… What…? What does that have to do with me?!” She finally cries out, pulling one of chairs pushed against a corner and sitting down.
“Well, it seems that three weeks ago you had a performance that caught the eye of the sleaziest bastards on the face of the Earth, ISIS operatives, and apparently they found it too sexual and offensive. Which they promptly told your network by mailing them a videotape filled with threats and promises of revenge. Your network did the right thing and called the authorities, and I was dispatched for undercover bodyguard duty.”
“Is that… the truth…?” She mumbles, looking completely dumbfounded. I guess I’d be as confused as she seems if someone told me out of the blue that some terrorists scumbags wanted to off me.
“That’s the truth. My task force does a lot of stuff, and some of it involves protecting high profile non-government civilians such as you. We had to keep it a secret, though, even from you… We didn’t know what these fuckers would try, so we needed to have someone close by that no one even knew was there to protect you.”
“So… I’m in danger?” I smile again, realizing that she’s more interested in the fact that I’m a SEAL than in the death threats she’s a target of.
“Not really. The NSA has already picked up on the tape’s origins, and half of my team has already been dispatched to the site so that, uh, they terminate the threats. And they’ll do it, I guarantee it. My boys don’t play.”
“So you’re not a stalker?” She asks me, almost as if she still doesn’t believe that I’m not some psycho.
“Not a stalker.”
“And you’re not a serial killer?”
“Not a serial killer either.”
Slowly, she gets up from her chair and takes one hesitant step toward me. She smiles as she closes the distance between us, but then something clouds that smile. “I’m sorry, Sanders,” she whispers, now so close to me that I have to struggle against the urge to simply grab her and crush my mouth on hers.
“Sorry? For what?”
“I shouldn’t have left you… I came back for you, but you weren’t there and --”
“Don’t be a fool,” I simply whisper, bridging the gap between our bodies and pressing my lips on hers, shutting her up for good. “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” I continue, my forehead pressed against hers, and one arm around her waist.
“Thank --”
“And nothing to thank me for,” I continue, the smile in my face widening.
“I’ll try,” she smiles back at me, her voice light and honeyed, making my heart race faster and my cock pulse against my boxer briefs. I’ve been two days without her naked body, and it has been complete torture. “You’re my bodyguard, then?”
“No,” I shake my head, both my hands on her hips. “When I got up from the accident, the first thing I did was transfer my commission.”
“Transfer…?” She looks taken aback, almost as if the word transfer means that I’ll be going away for good. “Why would you…?”
“Because I wasn’t doing a good job. Because… Because I fell in love with you, Stacy. I knew that the moment I saw you running away from me. It nearly broke my heart to think I might lose you for good.”
“You have a heart, then?” She teases me, flattening the palm of her hand over my chest. “I thought you were some kind of emotionless machine.
“I was,” I say, responding in kind, “but then I met you.
”
“I love you, Sanders,” she breaks into a genuine smile, her eyelids drooping as she goes on tip-toes and moves in for the kiss.
“I love you too,” I whisper back at her right before our lips touch, and then I surrender to the most perfect kiss I’ve ever experienced in my entire life.
“Let’s go home,” she says suddenly, breaking our kiss and looking into my eyes with an expression of pure lust and desire. “Right now.”
I make a straight line toward the door, her hand in mine, and then grin.
“Right now.”
48
Stacy
"Sanders," I exhale his name, not realizing I was holding my breath as we walk into my Midtown apartment. I can't help it, I'm anticipating him inside me again and...that's everything right now. I have a need for him unlike anything I've ever known.
"Yes, Stacy?” Sanders says, tucking his fingers under my chin and tilting my face up to look into his eyes. "What is it, doll?" His voice is gruff, I hear him holding back lust like a wooden wall might hold back a raging sea.
We're both swept up in our need for each other with a torrential passion matched only in each other. The way that Sanders makes me feel leaves me breathless.
"Take off all your clothes," I say, pressing my hand to his chest. The feel of his firm pectorals under my palm sends shivers through my body. I look into his eyes, feeling them hood with lust, feeling my own eyelashes sweep over my cheeks. "I want to ride you. I need to feel you inside me." My lips part.
I watch his face. His eyes blaze with need. Sanders grits his teeth with the absolute need overtaking him. Tangling his other fingers into my hair, he crushes my mouth to his. Deleting the space between us, his tongue sweeps over mine and erases any other thoughts that I might have had. I need his kiss the way he needs mine. Our tongues dance like reunited lovers. We trade breath and heartbeats. My hand is trapped between us, crushed between my soft breasts and his firm chest. I feel our heartbeats thundering together against my hand. I imagine a trail of electric love pulsing from one heart to another, forever entangling us. We are inseparable. Our hearts beat in the same frenetic rhythm, keeping time with our kiss and rushing our blood through our bodies for what moves us.
