by Anna Rainn
“It doesn’t matter whether I agree, you don’t say someone deserves THAT, especially someone we both know.”
“I’m not saying she deserves it; I’m saying she was playing with fire since the say we me her.”
I couldn’t refute what Caleb said, so I chose to glare at him instead.
We were sitting at the indoors area in one of our favorite restaurants having a light brunch, eggs Benedict for him, and a cream cheese bagel for me, with two sides of fragrant black coffee. I had waited until we placed our orders, and till Caleb had half of his coffee before I told him who the victim of last night’s attack was.
“Fine, I’m sorry. It’s just too much to handle.” Caleb’s long shiny hair was combed back, but a thick chin-length strand had fallen on his eye. He looked at me through the wayward strand, not bothering to smooth it back. Caleb was tall and thin with gorgeous chestnut brown hair and a smile that earned him the best tips during our time at the franchise café. He was handsome in an ordinary boy next door way. Right now, his fair-skinned face was flushed, sadness and anger fought for control on his young face.
“What do you think Bianca had been doing there, Caleb? At Black and Foam. How did she know where to find me?”
He was shaking his legs nervously while pushing around his eggs. The runny yolk had seeped through the toast and onto the white porcelain plate in bright yellow streams.
“Do you have her on Facebook?” He asked, in the midst of drawing a surreal piece of art with his yolk.
“No, and you know I don’t even update Facebook.”
“But you added Black and Foam as a workplace.”
“Okay, fine, I blocked her ages ago,” I admitted, but his suggestion brought me an idea. “Do you have her on Facebook? You too list Black and Foam as a workplace.”
Caleb shook his head, finally looking at me, the silver necklaces he’s wearing jingling lightly. He added a new one, I noticed.
“No, she’s not on my friend list,” he said. I haven’t blocked her, but my work information is friends only; she couldn’t have found out about Black and Foam from my account. Assuming she stalks our accounts.”
“And other socials?” I asked, knowing the answer. Caleb never added a location to his Instagram posts, and neither did I.
“There is no way the connection came from me,” he said, his tone certain.
“Then how, Caleb?”
He shook his head, his hair slightly swinging.
I exhaled, annoyed with his lack of insights. “Do you at least have any theories as to what she might have wanted?”
He shrugged, his brown eyes scanning the street outside the restaurant. It was way past the morning rush, and it wasn’t lunch break time yet, so the streets were deserted. Inside, wrapped in a cold cloud of air-conditioned breeze, Caleb exhaled, took a bite of the cold eggs in front of him, then finally, he said something of value.
“Maybe it was a blessing you never got to see her, Marissa. She never liked you. And there is no reason to believe time has changed any of that.”
“Did she say anything to you?” I knew on an intuitive level that Bianca didn’t like me, all us girls have that sensor that sees past nice words and fake smiles, but I never had concrete proof. Up until the coffee throwing incident, which was justifiable, Bianca had done me no wrong.
“She blamed you for getting her fired.”
There was no surprise there. “You fucking bitch,” she had screamed at me as her latte swam midair on its way to me that day two years ago. She sure as hell blamed me for her termination, and I blamed myself. Every day since then, and more so when I found out she had taken her last breaths on the pavement outside my place of business.
“She was plotting revenge against you,” Caleb said, putting another forkful of eggs and toast into his mouth.
“What?” I gaped at him.
“We stayed in touch for a while after she left. Her life fell to pieces after she was fired.” Caleb’s legs were still vibrating under the table. It was driving me crazy, but there was no way I was going to interrupt him.
He continued talking, his words slow, as if he is measuring exactly what to say, “She couldn’t get a decent job because her references were just horrible, and she ended up taking all kinds of odd jobs.”
“You never told me any of that.”
“I didn’t want to make you feel guilty. You were already beating yourself up about what happened too much. You cried about it for months.”
I almost quit my job after what happened with Bianca. Every day I showed up to work, I was reminded of what I had done, of how she was humiliated, her employment record tarnished because I snitched. There were many tears shed in the employee bathroom in the months following Bianca’s termination, and it looks like my crying sessions weren’t as private as I had thought.
“And when did she start talking about revenge?” I asked, trying to stay focused. Maybe I’ll call Nick with something to look into.
“The day she was fired, then every time we spoke until we stopped talking.” Caleb was avoiding my eyes, probably feeling bad about not telling me all that before.
“And when was that? When did you stop talking?” Caleb and I had been in business for over a year. If he and Bianca were at all in touch during that period, this would explain so much.
“A couple of months after they let her go.”
Long before Black and Foam took its first few steps, then.
“She had started asking for money, nagging, and I had to cut her off.”
I wiped nonexistent sweat off my forehead, trying to organize my thoughts. Two years ago, Bianca’s life went to hell because of me. Bianca wanted revenge. Bianca needed money. Fast forward to yesterday, Bianca found out where I was and came to me past midnight, only to be murdered by a vampire right in front of me. Was I in more danger than just one yesterday? Did this vampire stop Bianca before she approached me with a crazy idea of her own, or say a crazy action?
Chapter 10
I was watching The Notebook again, with a bowl of air-popped popcorn in my lap. I didn’t voluntarily go and hunt for the movie; it always made me cry, and today, the last thing I needed was tears. But it was on TV, and I couldn’t switch it off or change the channel. Of all the movies in the world, of all the award-winning dramas and all the romantic comedies and all the tearjerker flicks, The Notebook was my absolute favorite movie. And it wasn’t because of Ryan Gosling’s smile or the Romeo and Juliet style against-all-odds romance; it was the dedication, the loyalty.
For a whole year, Noah kept writing Allie letters, sending them, never hearing back, then writing again. He eventually stopped writing, but he never stopped loving her. Years, bullets, a war, and he never forgot about Allie, never betrayed her, never let go. Even when she showed up, engaged, he still believed in their love. How does that compare to the takeaway Tinder dates and one night stands? To men who forget your name, who forget even your face, and remember nothing but your bra color?
I had already shed my fair share of tears, and the movie was at the lake scene.
“It’s like a dream!” Allie marveled.
Sliding across the serene blue lake, she was feeding the white ducks.
“They won’t stay here?” She asked Noah.
“No, they’ll go back where they belong,” he answered, his words carrying so many meanings.
That was the truth of life, I guess. Everybody goes back to where they belong eventually. A couple of tears made their way down my cheeks.
“Why didn’t you write me? Why? ” Allie yelled, the rain pouring, “It wasn’t over for me. I waited for you.”
I braced myself for the moment. It wasn’t over. It still isn’t over, I said the dialogue that I have watched a hundred times. Then will come the kiss.
The TV screen went black. A second later, a message appeared on the screen: No signal.
I changed the channel. Nothing was working. I then switched the TV off, then switched it back on again — still, nothi
ng.
I let my disappointment linger for a few minutes, then I decided that I was just going to watch something new on Netflix. This movie was hitting too close to home anyway. Maybe a comedy. Yes, definitely a comedy.
On my way to fetch the laptop, the doorbell rang.
“Yes!” I called, going into my bedroom and slipping a robe on top of my pajamas.
I put one eye against the spyhole and looked out. A large man in a khaki uniform was waiting patiently.
“Yes?” I said again.
“Hello, I’m here to fix the cable.”
I secured the door chain. When did handymen appear moments after something malfunctions, before you even call to report it? I paused.
“Hold on, please,” I said.
Why was there a handyman at my door at nine pm? My heart started beating faster, adrenaline flooding my blood. Something wasn’t right. This wasn’t the same face I had seen yesterday, though. Could this be some sort of mistake? But no, the chills running through me and the goosebumps on my arms can’t be lying. Something is wrong about this man, and there is nothing but a wooden door standing between him and me right now.
“There is nothing wrong with my cable,” I said, watching him from the spyhole. He looked straight at me, and he smiled. My heart stopped.
“There is a problem with all the sets in the building,” he said.
I put my eye back on the spyhole, put my hand on the light switch, took a deep breath, and I switched off the lights. Two glowing red rings stared at me from the dark.
A scream escaped my mouth. I pushed the bolt securing the door and backed off. A thud echoed outside, and I ran back to the spyhole. The man outside was leaning over his handyman case, his body blocking my view. What is he getting out of that bag? Was it some tool to help him break in? The fire escape called at me invitingly from behind the glass terrace door. I can be out of the house long before he breaks the door. I can be in a cab, on my way to… to where? Where do I have to go? Black and Foam was closed.
A jab fell on the door. I jumped back.
To the police station! I will go to the police station and demand that they provide me with protection. Another jab hit the door, and it shook a little. I stared at the bolt, unable to make a decision.
Being suspended midair on the fire escape with vampires on my trail, breaking into my house, chasing me, was something out of a nightmare. And Nick had told me to stay inside at night; it was one of the stupid rules he spelled out yesterday at Black and Foam. With a vampire trying to break into my apartment, these rules didn’t seem so stupid anymore. Who is to say that this vampire won’t be able to catch me once I am outside? Loud knocks started falling on the door.
No, no! His eyes were glowing. He can’t come in without permission. Fuck, I hope you are right about this, Nick. I hope you’re right.
My phone, I have to get to my phone.
The door was shaking, the voice singsonged now, “Open the door, we just need to talk.”
“Hey Siri, call Nick,” I screamed, raking the sofa in search of my phone.
“Calling Nick,” the sound was coming from between the sofa cushions. I fished the phone out.
“Nick, help! They are at my door,” I sobbed into the phone.
He didn’t waste time asking who.
“Marissa, stay inside and keep the door closed. Let nobody in no matter what!” He screamed into the phone. “Stay inside! I’m on my way!” The sounds around him were fading, a loud motor sound echoed. “And don’t you dare get off that phone. Stay with me!”
Chapter 11
The door was splintered when I opened it. Nick had been waiting outside for close to five minutes when I finally managed to drag away the sofa from behind the door to let him in.
He stormed in, his muscled body towering over me as he wordlessly pulled me into his arms, crushing me. His hands ran over me, inspecting every curve and crease, looking for damages.
“They didn’t come in,” he said, soothing himself, not me, taking my chin between his fingers and lifting my face up to look at him. “You’re fine, baby, you’re fine.” It took me a second to realize that the hard muscles surrounding me were shaking, had been shaking the whole time.
I opened my mouth to say something, to reassure him, but I was too late. Nick’s mouth fell on mine, hot and desperate. I ran my hands over his shoulder, his chest, soaking up the heat radiating off his strong frame, then I took hold of his T-shirt, and I pulled him to me.
Nick’s hands fumbled with my top, his mouth refusing to let go of mine. The thin short sleeve I was wearing offered no protection, especially with nothing underneath, and Nick’s hand soon caught on my curves. When the scorching palm brushed against one unprotected breast, the soft flesh jiggled under his hand. Nick’s breath caught, his palm closed around my body, and he grunted into my mouth, his hip grinding into mine, rubbing his erection into me, as his hands worked my breast in hungered squeezes.
Then with an obvious struggle with himself, Nick pushed me away long enough to peel my T-shirt off and slip out of his. In front of me, stood a six-foot, three man, ripped to perfection, with a proportionately sized erection pushing at his jeans, and fire in his blue eyes. He too was looking at me. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before, but his eyes twinkled all the same.
“Fuck, you’re still hotter than hell,” he groaned, closing the small distance between us with one step and carrying me.
I was tossed with a thud on the sofa, and then my white cotton underwear was pulled off. Nick’s eyes darkened as he looked down at my naked body, shamelessly sprawled on the living room sofa. I opened my legs for him and watched him take me in again after all this time, all big round breasts and pink wetness, waiting for him.
There was something in his face that I had seen the last time we were together, something beyond horniness. It was like looking at a hungry beast. He visibly reined it in, tamed it, then he crawled on top of me and started stroking my slippery lips. I moaned, arching my back and pushing on his hand. One large thumb lingered thoughtfully at the small nub poking out, while a long finger decided to delve into the dark wet opening below. I hadn’t forgotten how electric his touch was, how primal. I had thought about it in lonely nights with one hand trying to recreate the fire he was spinning in me now. I had thought about it and dreamt of his hand on me again, his lips drinking me in, his cock claiming me and pounding me into submission.
“Talk to me,” he demanded, fingering me, his voice a notch above a whisper. He needed the words. This, I knew.
“More, Nick. Please,” I moaned, lifting my hip to meet his fingers.
“No,” he said. He wanted something else. I wanted it too.
“Fuck me. I need your cock.”
The fingers were out of me, leaving me exposed and empty. I screamed to be refilled. Nick pulled his jeans down with one motion, releasing his thick hungry rod, then he climbed on top of me, and looking straight into my eyes, he pushed.
With Nick inside me, everything seemed to melt away, all the danger and fear, all the anger and blame. There was only his body, hard as a rock, and mine, soft and yielding, hot with need.
Whatever it is Nick had reigned in before he climbed on top of me was breaking free. His thrusts were coming faster, harder, pounding into me with splitting urgency.
“Nick,” I started. He looked at me, then his eyes started dancing on my body again, my lips, my breasts, my nipples. He licked his lips, bit them, and dirtily pinched one erect nipple. I moaned.
“I want you,” he said.
“You’re in me.”
“I want you like the animal you are.”
Then without withdrawing from my depths, he flipped me over on four, wrapped my long locks of hair around his thick arm and pulled, thrusting forward and pounding into me. I screamed, planting my hands firmly in the soft sofa cushions, trying to keep my footing as this beast of muscle and hunger slammed his thickness into me, again and again, pumping me full of steaming hot cock. I was sh
ivering.
“Yea, good girl,” he whispered.
It was just like last time, I thought, my moans filling my ears, under him, I was reduced to my most basic instincts. All I wanted was that thick manhood stretching me. I wanted to be taken, claimed, fingered, and fucked. And right now, my traitor body was shaking with delicious waves of ecstasy.
And in the heights of my orgasm, Nick’s hand fell on my ass with a pounding slap as he let my spasms squeeze his manhood, and he spent himself into me.
This time, there will be no second round.
I laid on the sofa, staring at the ceiling and thinking about what the fuck came over me. Finally, unable to resist, I kicked him.
“What the?” he was laughing damn him.
“Sorry, accident,” I said, not looking at him.
Two seconds later, I kicked him again.
He grabbed my wrists and rolled on top of me. I pushed him. “Let me go!” I even tried to kick his balls. He just laughed harder, pinning me down, then kissing me lightly on the lips.
“Why are you angry with me?”
Because you left me, I wanted to say.
“Because you,” I stammered.
“Fucked you?” he asked innocently. That word again. I’d kick him a third time, this time much harder, if I wasn’t pinned under him, helpless.
“Because you did that, and because you’re dirty and you have a dirty mouth.”
He licked my lips. “Is that dirty?” he asked. “Do you like that dirty mouth?” he kissed me.
I kissed him back on instinct, then I pushed him, and a laugh broke out of my mouth.
“Stop, okay? And get off me.”
“Not before you admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“That you like it dirty.” His blue eyes were dancing with mischief now, and they were concentrating their potent powers of seduction on me. I had to end this and get him off me before what happened here turns into chapter one of a three-chapter book, the way it did before.
