Sex God

by J. a Melville

  “Shay…what is it? Please…please…what’s wrong?” The questions fell from my lips, tears already brimming in my eyes. He was going to share something. I instinctively knew it. Something that was clearly very traumatic for him. Something that by memory alone, was enough to have him standing beside me, shaking so violently, I wanted to drag him away. Get him out of this damn house of horrors before he was sucked into it again. Before anything that had brought him happiness lately, could be obliterated by the evilness this house represented.

  Ignoring me, he reached towards the ornate wood panelling to the right side of the mirror and pressed firmly against part of it, that at first glance looked like nothing more than a knot in the timber.

  I heard a soft click and the mirror popped forward on one side and I gasped when I realised it was hinged like a door. Curling his fingers around the side of the mirror where it now hung out from the wall, he pulled it and silently it swung open, revealing a darkened corridor.

  “Shay?” His name was a whispered question on my lips, but again he didn’t respond to me. Instead, he stepped through the hidden doorway and took a few short strides which led to another closed door.

  Following him, I waited and watched, heart pounding and nausea bubbling unpleasantly in my stomach as he opened the second door and froze, a horrible sound coming from him. Something that was a cross between a whimper and an animal in pain. The sound made me reach for him, just as he stepped forward and into what I could see was a bedroom.

  I frowned, clinging to Shay who was not only shaking violently but his breathing was so harsh and tortured sounding, it was as if he was struggling to get air into his lungs.

  I looked around at the large bed, stripped bare of any linen. At the few chairs arranged around it and I frowned. From each corner of the four-poster bed, I could see what looked like shackles and I stared at them, at the chairs and the bed, my mind racing.

  “What-“ I started to ask, but then I saw Shay’s face and I could have kicked myself for my stupidity. This room, his reaction, his face, god his face, and suddenly all the pieces clicked into place. This was no ordinary room. Of course it wasn’t. No one hid a bedroom behind a wall and mirror unless they were trying to hide what was going on inside it. This had to be the room where all of Shay’s abuse had taken place. Looking around at it, I felt bile rise up the back of my throat and for a moment I thought I was going to be sick.

  Nearly staggering under the onslaught of emotions slamming through me, I reached for Shay, curling my arms around him, clinging to him. Frantically trying to press every inch of my body to his, needing him to feel me. To feel that he wasn’t alone. To know that I was with him, to help absorb his pain.

  “Oh my god, Shay…Shay…Shay.” His name fell from my lips repeatedly, my voice raw from the tears that I fought so hard to hold back. “This is where you were abused, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” He spat the word out, as if trying to expel it, but under it all, I could hear a world of pain tainting his voice.

  “Did that man, that asshole have this built for that reason?” I forced the question out, trying to rein in my emotions.

  Shay turned to me, shaking his head. He looked pale under his naturally olive complexion and I could see the sheen of sweat dampening his brow. “No, the house already had the room. It’s got a couple of rooms like this. It’s an old house. Some call them panic rooms but I think their intended purpose was to be used during war time. A place to hide from the enemy or something like that. They are built stronger and are sound proof. No one can hear anything from outside.” His voice dropped away to a whisper.

  I felt myself blanch when the reality behind his words struck me. He had been trapped in here as a child. Cut off. At the mercy of his father and the men in this room with him, and all those times, even if he cried out, no one could hear him. Not even his mother.

  “Your mother didn’t know about this room? Or the other rooms for that matter?” I asked.

  “She didn’t know about anything that was going on in this house. He made sure she didn’t.” I could hear the quiver in his voice and I knew I had to get him out of here. His body was still shaking as if he was cold.

  “Oh Shay.” I reached up to brush my palms lightly over his cheeks. “I need to get you out of here. This place is no good for you. I hate to see you hurting so much. Come. Please. Let’s go.”

  “Yes, we should go.” He sounded vague, dazed. His tone disembodied, and I worried that the longer he was here, the more I would lose him to the memories.

  Shaking his head as if to clear it, his eyes did one more sweep of the room. Pain filled silvery irises met mine briefly, before he took my hand and with jerky, unco-ordinated movements, he led me from the room.

  I followed him, back along the hidden corridor and into the hallway where the wood panelling was that concealed the secret room. Just before he swung the mirror closed again, I could have sworn I heard the faint sounds of a child crying. It had to be my imagination at play, but for a moment it seemed so clear, as if the room was haunted by the pain and suffering Shay had endured there.

  Shay

  When we got back to my apartment, I’d gone straight for a shower. Lyla didn’t offer to come in with me. She didn’t question me. She just smiled and wrapped her arms around me, holding me in a surprisingly strong embrace until I started to feel the warmth from her body, seeping into mine.

  “I love you.” Those three words were whispered to me as I pulled away from her and left her to go and shower.

  “I love you.” Those three words were the first thing to greet me when I entered the living room again, hair wet and slicked back, dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt after my cleansing shower.

  I walked straight to Lyla, pulling her into my arms and lowering my lips to her neck, kissing her lightly while breathing in the sweet, floral scent of her perfume. Finally, reluctantly I lifted my head, seeing her concern for me in her bright blue eyes.

  “I’m ok baby. Don’t worry about me. It was hard being in there again, but I needed you to see it.”

  It was true too. I wasn’t lying to her. Every fucking moment I’d spent in that room flashed through my head when we were there. Every painful thrust my body had endured. Every sickening grunt. Every satisfied smirk of my father’s. Every – fucking - humiliating – second.

  It was as if my body was conditioned to relive everything that had taken place in that room. It was like a nightmare stuck on repeat, and if Lyla hadn’t been there, I’m not sure I could have coped. She grounded me. She protected me. She loved me. She really, truly loved me. I don’t know that I’d ever allowed myself to believe it, or accept the depths of her love until I saw her face and felt her trying to use her body to protect me and shield me when we’d been there. She loved me. She – loved – me and for the first time, I felt faint hope. That tiny spark inside me, that made it possible for me to believe, that maybe, just maybe I was worthy of her love.

  God, I wished it could be over. That the death of my father would just obliterate all the painful memories of my past. That his death would be like a broom through my brain, sweeping away everything so I faced a trouble-free future.

  His death should have helped. It should have lifted the weight of those memories from my shoulders, but typically even in death, my father had found a way to fuck with me.

  The disc. That damn disc and what was on it. He’d had to have the last say. He’d wanted the satisfaction of finding ways to toy with me and this was it. The disc. That damn disc.

  The bastard would have known. If I ignored his demand to watch it, I’d have always wondered. If I gave into his demands to watch it, then I’d have to live with the memory of whatever fucked up shit was on it. He’d managed to put me in the classic position of being ‘damned if I did’ and ‘damned if I didn’t.

  I turned from Lyla and began to pace restlessly. Up and down the length of the room, my eyes darting to the disc where it sat on the coffee table, taunting me. Up and down�
�up and down, not caring that I was probably wearing a track in the new carpet.

  Again, my eyes shifted to the disc before shooting across to where Lyla now sat and I could see the concern, and worry on her face as she watched my restless pacing.

  “Are you going to watch it or not?” She finally asked after her eyes had followed my progress from one end of the room to the other for several minutes.

  “Yeah.” I answered her, faltering slightly. My swift response surprising me. I always knew I was going to watch it. I guess I’d expected, the voice in my head, to try and talk me out of it first.

  “Would you like me to put it on for you?” She suggested, her eyes still following me up and down the room, until she suddenly screwed up her face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t make assumptions. Maybe you would prefer to watch alone?”

  Her words and the uncertainty in her voice were enough to halt my agitated pacing and I rushed to where she sat on the lounge watching me. Dropping down on the carpet I gently wrapped my arms around her legs, my head settling on her lap, holding her like she was my lifeline, which she was really.

  “No, fuck no. I need you here. I need you with me.” I lifted my head to meet her eyes. “I’m scared baby. I’m scared I’ll hear his voice and see his face and he’ll fuck with me. He’ll take me right back there again and I don’t want him fucking with me anymore. He’s been doing it for years. You’re my lifeline. My link to sanity. You’re my breath of fresh air. My bright spot in all that darkness. I need you to slap me baby. If you can see he’s fucking with me. I need you to slap some sense back into me. I can’t go back to what I was. I can’t be that man again.” I hoped she understood me. Stupidly I’d thought I had it all being the Sex God but it was merely an existence. This was living. Lyla had brought me to life and I wanted to live. I wanted to live with her and not go back to that half-life, to that existence.

  “I will always be your lifeline Shay. I will always be here for you. If it gets too much, you let me know. If you need to escape. You let me know.” She leaned down and I felt the brush of her lips against my cheek. “If you need me to help you clear your head and regain control, you let me know.”

  “I love you baby.” I lowered my eyes from hers for a moment. “So, if I need to…you know…cope in my usual way…you won’t mind?”

  I felt the brush of her fingers through my hair and I raised my eyes to hers again, where she shot me a shaky smile. “I’ll be waiting.” The words were spoken so softly, but the look in her eyes spoke volumes. “Wherever you want me. Whenever you need me.”

  “Wherever will only ever be, for my eyes and whenever will be, forever baby. You’re mine.” I told her.

  Lyla smiled. That kind of smile that seemed to make her eyes shine even brighter. “It works both ways.” Again, her hand smoothed over my hair, and I closed my eyes for the briefest moment before opening to her, when I felt her fingers trail over my cheek. “You’re mine and only mine and I don’t share.” She told me.

  Rising to my knees, I brought my hands up to cup her cheeks, bringing her face closer to mine. “You’ll never have to either. There is no one else for me. You’re my girl.” I whispered, just before my lips claimed hers in the briefest of kisses.

  When I pulled back, I could see tears in her eyes but she was smiling. “I like the sound of that.” Her voice was laced with emotion. “Your girl huh? You haven’t forgotten I’m older than you?”

  “I don’t think a three year difference stops me from being able to call you my girl.” I grinned before dropping my hands to Lyla’s knees so I could push myself to my feet. “I’d better see what it was that my fa-“ I stopped abruptly. “Fuck I hate calling him that. That asshole who raised me. I need to see what sick and twisted shit he’s left on the DVD because guaranteed it won’t be anything good.”

  I walked over to the large entertainment unit which housed the TV, DVD player and sound system. I stared down at the DVD player and felt my stomach roll over at the thought of seeing my father again, even if it was just his image on a disc. Reaching out to feed the DVD into the player, I noticed my hand was shaking badly. It was so bad, it took all my concentration just to get the disc into the slot. Watching it disappear inside, I turned on the TV and with my heart pounding loud enough that I could hear it in my head, I walked to Lyla and lowered myself onto the lounge by her side.

  Her hand sought out mine and I clung to her, watching with growing trepidation as the snow on the TV screen cleared, and the man who had been my tormenter, appeared.

  I couldn’t see his eyes, but it didn’t matter, I felt sick and angry, my grip tightening on Lyla until I heard her small gasp of pain. Shooting her an apologetic look, I eased the pressure on her fingers while my focus shifted back to the TV and I felt my stomach roll over as I watched my father’s image.

  I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to watch this. I knew. Instinctively I knew he would have nothing good to say. There was a greater chance of hell freezing over than for him to confess he’d been a fucking asshole and beg for my forgiveness.

  When his image appeared on the screen I couldn’t see his face. It was just him obviously setting up the camera before he abruptly turned and walked to a chair to sit down. It was only after he’d shifted around to get comfortable that he finally lifted his head. Seeing him made me feel like the TV screen was no longer between us. Like he was here and not in fact dead, when those eyes, those cold, cruel eyes seemed to meet mine across the room.

  He sat silently for a moment and my stomach twisted, tension mounting in me as I waited. He was doing it deliberately. Even doing this. His beyond the grave bullshit, he was still doing his whole mind fuck thing with me.

  Slowly his lips began to curve up as he smiled, and his smile was enough to transport me back to that room. I’d seen the same look on his face so many times. He was smug, arrogant and got off on fucking with me. This was going to be no different.

  Smiling broadly as he settled back in his chair, finally, he began.

  ‘So, if you’re watching this DVD then I must be dead.’ He began, his voice dripping sarcasm. ‘Isn’t that what they all say, when someone leaves a message for their loved ones to listen to, once they’ve died?’ He laughed and I closed my eyes for a moment, not wanting to see his expression.

  ‘Now, the first thing you should know is, I’m not really your father, despite the birth certificate stating differently. If you were paying attention while snooping in my safe you would have found the envelope that contains your real birth certificate.’ He mocked and I heard Lyla gasp.

  As she gasped, I felt shock register, before an overwhelming relief flooded my body. I sagged, gulping mouthfuls of air as his words played over in my head. As a result, I almost missed what he was saying, when he began to speak again.

  ‘From the moment I saw your mother, I wanted her. She was so young and beautiful, and pure. I liked that. Untouched. Perfect for me. When you get them young and innocent, they’re more tractable, easier to mould into what you want. We dated, but it was like she was holding herself back. I put so much time and money into trying to win her over and get her to prise those legs apart but most of the time, all I got was polite fucking indifference. Then she met him and suddenly I wasn’t good enough. Me…me. She broke it off with me and she went to him. Like a bitch on heat she ran to him and turned her back on me. No damn regard at all. After all the work I’d put in, he reaped the fucking reward.” He slapped his hand down on the arm of his chair.

  “That whore of a mother of yours couldn’t stop spreading her legs for him. She was supposed to be mine. I saw her first. I dated her first, but in the end, she chose that other bastard.” He laughed but there was no humour in it.

  “She didn’t understand back then. She was spreading them for the enemy. I tried to point out the error of her ways. I asked her to marry me. I wanted her for myself. Despite her betrayal, going to him, letting him take her virginity, I still wanted her. She was beautiful and rich. Those were a
couple of reasons for me to forgive her for straying from me. The problem was, the damn bitch wouldn’t say yes.”. He made a sound of disgust. “Said she wanted him. How could she go to him? Then she found out she was pregnant. I knew it wasn’t mine. I’d never made it between those silk smooth thighs. That’s where I’d gone wrong. I made a mistake of being too patient with her. Too much of a fucking gentleman.” He glared at me through the TV as if it was all somehow my fault.

  “Since she wouldn’t spread her legs for me I knew it wasn’t mine. She was going to tell him. I think she thought he’d be thrilled, they’d marry and ride happily off into the sunset. In the end, she never got to tell your father she was pregnant. Some shit about ‘family obligations’ or something. His was a powerful family. Their dealings were…let’s just say…they walked a fine line between legal and breaking the law. Personally, I think they saw her as a threat. Could you picture your mother settling into life with a family who had connections to the Mob? Family obligations, my ass. I think they wanted to split them up and it worked. With him gone your mother faced the worry of how to tell her family. An old wealthy Spanish family.’ He shook his head, making exaggerated sounds of disapproval.

  ‘They don’t look too favourably on women bearing children out of marriage. Even in these modern times where single mothers are not treated like social outcasts. Modern times didn’t matter to people like that. If they found out, they would disown her, cut her off. Second time round, my offer of marriage didn’t sound so bad. She accepted. Of course, we had to tell them she was pregnant. A fit of uncontrollable passion I called it. Everyone believed the baby was mine. Your mother avoided becoming a single mother and shaming her old, traditional family. They were keen for us to marry quickly and I wasn’t going to complain. They wanted to avoid shame to the family and the healthy cash payment we received as a wedding present was certainly as enticing as your mother. Eventually she had her bastard child: you. I kept her secret that you were not my son, but I went looking for the real daddy and I found him.” He grinned through the TV, rubbing his hands as if excited about what he had to reveal next. Even Lyla’s fingers tightened around mine as if she too sensed his next words were going to be bad.