Con lunged across the seat, and absurdly, her first thought was “wow, he’s really fast” before his fingers wrapped around her throat. She wasn’t fazed, though, and she pushed right back, slapping him across the face. This only caused him to clench both hands around her neck and he yanked her forward, dragging her to him so their faces were only inches apart.
“Stupid little Dulcie,” he whispered, his breath hot against her lips. She held onto his wrists and glared at him, but didn’t try to pull away. His fingers got tighter. “So scared of the big bad wolf.”
“I’m not … scared of you,” she managed to gasp out, but then his grip grew so tight he completely cut off her oxygen.
“Of course you aren’t scared of me. I’m not the wolf. You are.”
So that’s what was hiding behind the curtain. I wish you’d told me sooner, Con. We could’ve reveled in our darkness together.
It felt like a weight was lifted off her back. She’d been pretending for so long, and she hadn’t even realized it. Had conditioned herself to do it. It was easier to believe Con was the darkness, and she was simply drawn to it. Basking in his wake. But that was a lie – she was every bit as dark as him. They were the same animal. She’d just been better at deceiving herself. And now they’d evolved into something else, into a new, higher being.
Her lungs were throbbing, screaming for oxygen. She could feel her pulse pounding behind her face. Her mouth was open, but she couldn’t make a sound. Black spots danced in front of her eyes, yet still they stared at each other. Recognizing each other, maybe for the first time ever.
Maybe for the last time.
What a way to die, looking into the face of this beautiful boy. What a gift.
He let her go and when she went to gasp in air, he leaned in and kissed her, instead.
Just like she remembered. He was a tidal wave crashing over her, destroying her, and she welcomed the destruction. She pushed her tongue against his, dragged her teeth along his lip, clawed her fingers through his hair.
Con moved towards her and she shifted around him, crawling onto his lap. He ripped her shirt open, sending buttons ricocheting all around the cab of the truck, and then his face was between her breasts while she shimmied out of her top.
“It’s not nothing,” he breathed, his tongue tracing along the lace of her bra. “You weren’t nothing.”
“You didn’t sleep with Frannie up there,” she stated, then pulled at the back of his sweater. It and his t-shirt came loose, and he let her slide them over his head. She tossed his clothing onto the floor and then stared at his chest, smoothing her hands over it. He was incredible. Carved out of marble, etched out of stone. She wanted to paint him. Wanted to immortalize him.
“No. She followed me. I was watching you,” he replied, reaching around to unhook her bra. It joined his shirts.
“You should do less watching, more talking.”
Suddenly, he swung her around and slammed her down onto the bench seat. He promptly began pulling at her pants and she scrambled to unbutton his, as well. She’d barely gotten his jeans past his hips when he was moving away, yanking her jeans down as he went. They slid down her legs and were gone with a whisper, then his body was hovering over her.
“Did you let him do this to you?” Con asked, his rough hand moving over her breasts. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she nodded.
“Yes.”
“Ah. And what about this?”
His voice was a purr in the darkness, and she felt his hand cupping her crotch, warm through her panties. She groaned low in her throat as he applied pressure.
“Yes, that too,” she sighed.
“Dulcie.”
The purr had turned into a hiss, and it set her blood on fire. Made her feel at home. She lifted her hips as he peeled her underwear away from her body. Once the material was pulled over her feet, she felt him moving over her and she opened her eyes.
It was the first time she’d ever been completely naked with a boy, but she didn’t care. What was the point in being shy? Her body belonged to him as much as it belonged to her. Moonlight was filling the cab of the truck, and she watched him as he stared at her.
“God, you are so beautiful,” she whispered.
“What about this?” he continued with his questions, shifting around so he was between her legs. “Was he ever here?”
“No,” she answered, propping herself and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. She dragged her tongue along his clavicle, wanting to taste him. He moved even closer.
“Was he ever inside you? Did you let him fuck you?”
“No.”
It hurt, but she didn’t care. She cried out, but he didn’t care. She bit down on his shoulder so hard, she tasted his blood in her mouth, but neither of them cared. She wanted his pain to mix with her pain. Wanted them to be seamless.
She was a virgin, no amount of soul connection between them could change that fact, so of course it was unpleasant. He was large, and rough. She was tiny, and inexperienced. But she loved it. Loved being full in a way that made it hard to breathe, loved that she was feeling a pain only he could give to her.
“I thought about this,” he was breathing in her ear as his hips picked up speed. “In high school. While I was away. When I was looking at your pictures.”
A tear streamed down her cheek, but before it could tip over the side of her jaw, his tongue was sweeping it up.
“All the time. I think about this all the time,” she whispered back.
He moved them again, gentler than he had earlier, and they were back in the same position as before, with her straddling his lap. If she had thought she was full before, she’d been mistaken. Her whole body shook as she slid down the full length of him.
“Look at me,” he growled, and his hand painfully gripped her jaw, forcing her head up to face him. “God, you look amazing when you cry.”
She kissed him, pouring everything she had into it, and she wrapped an arm around his neck before moving her body up and down. The pain was still there, sharp and insistent, but something else was beginning to blanket it. Con’s hands moved to her ass, urging her faster, and she complied.
As if she had a choice in the matter.
She gripped onto the back of the seat, used it for leverage to push harder. To grind down against him. She shouted as a tremor ripped through her body, surprising both of them. His mouth went to her breasts, his lips locking around a nipple and sucking hard enough that she knew there’d be a bruise. She returned the favor by pinching his ear lobe between her teeth and biting down. She didn’t stop till he yanked her away by her hair.
“Oh my god, Constantine,” she whispered. More like prayed. All the coldness was gone from her body, finally, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before he ripped her apart. Just like she’d always wanted.
His hand was still tight in her hair, forcing her head back and her spine to arch. The position caused her to thrust her chest out and one of his hands moved to her breast, pinching at the bruised nipple. It was like lighting a fuse – one that led directly to where he was thrusting back against her. Her movements became erratic and she dug her nails into his shoulders. Dragged them down his chest.
“Such a good girl, Dulcie. You would do anything for me, wouldn’t you?” he sighed, leaning close to kiss along the side of her neck. She was whimpering and moaning, and when another tremor shook her, she heard him groan, as well.
“Yes.”
“Any time I asked, too.”
“Yes.”
“I like that. Right now, though,” his voice was getting breathless. The hand in her hair pulled tighter and his hips thrust harder. The pain was dull now, but the pleasure, good god. That was sure to kill her.
“Anything,” she cried out. “Anything you want.”
“I think it’s time for you to come.”
Jared had tried, and failed, multiple times to give her an orgasm. She wasn’t shy about playing with herself, but they were almost as elusive for
her as they had been for Jared. She hadn’t expected to orgasm her first time having sex. Hardly anybody ever did, from what she’d been told.
But stupid girl. When Constantine Masters said something, well, so shall it fucking be.
She screamed, beating her hand against the window behind his head. Her orgasm was electric, boiling her blood and frying her brain. While she sobbed and whimpered and writhed against him, he just gripped stronger, dug in deeper, and pounded harder. He was fucking the last pieces of the old Dulcie right out of her, and by the time he came, that girl was long gone.
What took her so long to leave? I feel like I’ve been waiting for this night forever.
10
“I can’t believe we just did that.”
“What, killed a man?”
“No. I can’t believe we just fucked in your truck.”
Con laughed.
“Eloquent. Keep digging.”
After he came with a shout loud enough that she was sure they’d heard it back at the party, Con had collapsed onto the seat. He took her with him and she spread out on his chest, listening to his racing heartbeat.
It was freezing outside, but all their activity had warmed up the car, and they laid naked for a while. Catching their breath. Coming back to reality. When the cold air finally started to creep inside, Dulcie slowly sat up. Everything from her hips down was sore, and when she pulled herself clear of him, there was a sharper stab of pain making her wince. Con had certainly left his mark, alright. She’d wondered if she’d be able to walk right.
She wiggled back into her pants and he gave her his sweater. He was a lot bigger than her and it almost fell to her knees, making them chuckle. After they were both decent, they hopped out of the truck. He locked the doors and they didn’t say anything, just both started walking back to the railroad crossing. When they got to the tracks, they immediately began to walk up them. After a couple steps he grabbed her hand, twining their fingers together. She smiled and balanced on one of the rails as they walked. Just a couple of teenagers, holding hands while taking a romantic stroll.
Of course they couldn’t just leave the body there. Dulcie didn’t particularly feel like going to prison. While Con dragged the corpse back to the haphazard cardboard shack, Dulcie searched the area, using her phone as a flashlight. She made sure there was nothing left behind, not an earring or a button or a piece of trash that could be linked back to either of them. Then using a bottle of water she’d brought with them, she washed away the blood from the rails as best she could, tossing bits of skull into a plastic bag as she cleaned.
Am I really supposed to go back to school on Monday?
When it was as good as it was gonna get, she went to help Con. He’d moved the cardboard and was working on scooping out a shallow grave. Dulcie dropped to her knees and gave him a hand with the digging. When the space was big enough, they dragged the body into it. She tossed the plastic bag into the hole, as well as the rusty sign post she’d used to finish the hobo, then they covered it all back up. When the ground was flat and even again, Con moved the cardboard back into place. There. Like nothing had ever happened.
“What time is it?” she asked. They were standing in the middle of the tracks, both looking over their handiwork. He glanced at his watch.
“A little after one,” he answered. She groaned.
“Shit, I’m supposed to be at work at eight.”
He grabbed her arm and turned her towards him. She almost laughed. They were absolutely filthy, both their hands almost black from all the dirt, their clothing covered in soil.
“We really did this. This actually happened,” he informed her. She stopped smiling.
“I know, Con. I know it did.”
“And I don’t care. I don’t care that we killed him. Not even a little bit.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t bother you? That I’m fucking crazy?” he checked. She shook her head.
“No.”
“Why? Why has that never bothered you? You’ve always known it, right?” he kept going.
Dulcie stared up at him. This boy, this man, that she barely knew, but somehow knew all too well.
“It doesn’t bother me,” she said in a soft voice, “because I’m pretty sure I’m just as crazy. Maybe crazier. At least you knew what was going on inside your head. I didn’t … I didn’t know I could do something like this.”
He frowned at her, and it didn’t seem natural on his face. Real emotion in general looked strange on him. She wanted to see that smile, that Cheshire grin.
“I knew I was fucked up, and I knew … I knew something was going on with you. With us. And I thought I’d just fuck you up, too. I didn’t want that, so I went away. I come back, and look what happens. I don’t want to be responsible for you, Dulcie. I don’t want to be the thing that wrecks you,” he tried to explain. She finally laughed again.
“Stupid boy, I was wrecked long before you showed up.”
His hands were on either side of her face and he was kissing her. Trying to swallow her whole. She gripped onto his t-shirt and braced herself, trying her best to not get eaten.
Too late.
“You’re goddamn amazing, you know that, right?” he breathed.
“Tell me why.”
“Because you helped me kill a man.”
“That’s it?”
“And you’re the more beautiful thing I have ever witnessed in my entire life.”
“Hmmm, good, but still not amazing.”
“Because you were made for me,” he whispered, his forehead against hers. “And you didn’t even know it. I had to show it to you. That’s the most amazing part, right there.”
“Now you’re catching on.”
*
They went back to his place. She’d never been to the Masters estate before; it was the biggest house in town, and by no small amount. No other house even measured close to it. It was large and white, with big columns and dark green shutters. She’d always been a little in awe of it, and when they came up the drive, she stared out the window, still impressed.
They didn’t go in the house, though. They parked in front of a big garage and Con led her up a set of stairs on the side of the building. There was a large studio apartment at the top, and it appeared to be where he was staying while at home.
“Why not stay in your old room?” she asked.
“Because I’m not that person anymore.”
He pulled her into the bathroom and stripped her naked before hauling them both under the shower. It still didn’t occur to her to be shy, not even under bright white lights. Her hair was a mess and she was dirty from just about head to toe, but still, she didn’t care. Because he didn’t care.
He helped to scrub away all the dirt and grime and blood and bad memories, then he pushed her up against the wall. Grabbed her legs and forced them around his waist. She was still sore and he was still too big, but she loved the pain. Loved that he was the cause of it. This time when she came, she left welts on his back.
They laid down on his bed, naked and squeaky clean. His apartment was too hot for clothing – they even laid on top of the covers. They talked for a long time, about wants and needs. Fantasies and nightmares. Almost one and the same.
Con explained how he’d always felt the need to do something like what they’d done; that things just didn’t matter to him. He’d rather remove something than deal with it, and people most definitely fell under the category of “things”.
Dulcie explained how she’d never much cared for people anyway, and cared even less about how they felt or what they thought. She saw them more like cattle. While she’d never particularly wanted to kill anybody, she also didn’t care that she’d done it. That, Con told her, was one of the things he found particularly attractive about her.
They whispered a lot, and even laughed a little, as the hours rolled by. Missing work was a forgone conclusion. They laid on their backs with their heads pressed together, and when Dulcie shifted
to be closer to him, she felt something poking her. She pulled out her sketchbook and held it above them.
“You looked through the whole thing?”
“Yeah,” he answered, reaching up and grabbing it from her. “You didn’t think I would?”
“No, I didn’t,” she was honest. He rolled his eyes.
“This drawing,” he said, flipping to the one she’d done the year before. “This is the drawing that really made me fall for you.”
“That long ago? So much time,” Dulcie whispered, mourning the time they could’ve spent together.
Though really, the first time we come together, and we kill somebody. God knows what would’ve happened if we’d had a year to operate together.
“But my favorite is this one. I want to see the picture that inspired this.”
He kept turning till he found a drawing closer to the back of the book, then he handed it to her. She squinted and held it close.
“Matthew,” she whispered, and saw Con glance at her.
She’d been taking pictures at the football field. Her charming half-brother had been peddling drugs under the bleachers. He’d come up and grabbed her from behind, catching her off guard. A brief tug-o-war had ensued, full of groping hands and rude words. She’d finally set the flash off in his face, and when he’d held up his hands to block the light, she’d kicked him in the balls.
Turned out, she’d also taken his picture. It was a close up, with the flash washing out most of his face. The angle was awkward and upside down, making it impossible to tell who was in it.
She’d stared at the picture for barely a minute before she’d yanked out her sketchbook. Con had told her to draw what she really saw – so she’d done just that, covering the paper with violent pencil strokes and heavy lines. A mouth, spewing poison and venom, because that’s all Matt did. Veins, split wide open and gushing blood, because Matt was already dead.
The Bad Ones Page 7
