Dead Pretty

by Samantha Towle

  And all he knows about me is that I have a brother.

  We know so very little about each other.

  How can we have a real relationship when we don’t know anything about each other?

  And is a real relationship what I want with Jack?

  I’m happy with the way things are right now.

  “Sorry,” I say, laying my head back on the sofa, looking at him in the eyes.

  “What for?”

  “Because …” I let the word drift off because, really, what do I say? Sorry that I’m shut up like a locked box? That I’m a bitch? That I’m a crap girlfriend? Take your pick.

  He reaches a hand over and brushes my hair behind my ear. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Audrey.” He smiles at me.

  I know he’s letting me off, and I love him for it.

  And I do.

  Love him.

  Completely and madly.

  I don’t need to know this man’s past to love him. Only the him in the now.

  And maybe he doesn’t need to know mine to care for me.

  This here is who we are. Together. And that is all that matters.

  “Well, except for …”

  I tense at his words.

  “The fact that you’re sitting all the way over there.”

  I immediately relax. “I’m sitting right next to you.”

  “Like I said … too far.” He pats his lap with his hand.

  Fighting a smile, I get up and straddle his lap, my legs going on either side of his. “Happy?” I ask him.

  He tips his head back, staring up at me. “Hang on.”

  His hands grab hold of both my ass cheeks, and he shifts me forward, putting me right against his hardening dick. My hands land on his chest as that zip of energy that I always feel with him makes its way through my body.

  “Now, I am.” His eyes grin up at me.

  “Are you ever not horny?” I can hear how breathless I already sound.

  How can I go from worried to horny in a few moments?

  Him.

  Jack is the reason.

  “Around you?” He smirks. “Nope.”

  I slide my hands up his chest, putting my arms around the back of his neck, bringing our faces close together.

  I stare into his eyes, wanting to tell him everything that I feel for him.

  The one thing I hadn’t felt until he walked into my life.

  Happy.

  Such a singular word. A small word. But it means so much to me.

  He means so much to me.

  “You make me happy,” I tell him, hoping that I make the importance of these words known.

  He likes that. I see the way his face changes into a smile.

  “You make me happy too. And … you’ll make me even happier right now if you slip out of those sleep shorts”—he tugs on the fabric of them—“and then climb back up here on my lap and sit yourself down on my dick.”

  He winks, and I laugh.

  I’m not laughing a moment later when he puts his mouth on mine and kisses me.

  The feel of his lips on mine … it is electric. Every molecule of my being pays attention when Jack touches me.

  When he’s with me like this, I feel like there is no more me. Just us. I drown in him, and I like it more than I can say.

  I slide my hands up into his hair. Fingers sifting through the silky, wavy strands.

  Something feels different about this moment. I don’t have the words to explain it.

  Just … his kiss is softer, gentler. Searching.

  I’m not wholly sure what it is he’s seeking from within me, but I am here for it.

  I’m here for him. With him.

  There is nowhere else I would ever want to be.

  He exhales, and it tickles my lips.

  Then, the kiss turns deep. Endless.

  Each sweep of his mouth over mine runs together, creating a never-ending kiss.

  I squirm restlessly in his lap, needing more contact.

  He makes no move to give it to me.

  His hands slide up my back, into my hair, fingers tangling into the strands, while his tongue continues stroking mine.

  Then, his fingers move to my neck, tracing a line down to my shoulders.

  I want his hands on my breasts. But they just stay there, teasing circles on the skin of my shoulders.

  I don’t know where Jack is going to take this moment. But I’m more than ready and willing to go wherever he wants.

  A finger slides under the strap of my tank and moves lower.

  Yes.

  But instead of dragging the cup down to free my breast, like he normally would, his finger just trails a path over the swell of my breast.

  It’s the sweetest form of torture.

  His mouth leaves mine and kisses a path across my jaw to my ear. Teeth grazing the lobe, his breath hot and flirting with my skin, he whispers, “I’m crazy about you, Audrey.”

  His words … his touch … make me shiver.

  His mouth moves down my neck. I tip my head back, giving him access.

  The hint of tongue on my skin, and I’m ready to combust.

  But still, he hasn’t put a hand on my breast or down my pants.

  My important bits are screaming for attention.

  “Jack,” I moan. I shift myself forward, closer to his hard cock, needing to press myself against it.

  When I make contact, my eyes close, and I see stars behind my lids.

  Jack’s mouth finds mine again. He moans as his tongue sweeps inside my mouth.

  His hand palms my lower back, and I start to slowly ride him through the thin material of our sleep clothes.

  “Audrey,” he whispers my name, and it sounds like a prayer.

  One I’m more than happy to answer.

  “I want to see you.”

  Does he mean … he wants to see all of me? Or see me how he usually sees me?

  Part of me is afraid to ask.

  But a part of me is also tired of hiding who I am.

  I want Jack. I want him to know me.

  But if I take my shirt off … if I show him the scars … will it change the way he looks at me? The way he wants me?

  If Jack had scars like I do, would it change the way I wanted him?

  No. Of course it wouldn’t.

  So, why do I think it will change the way he looks at me?

  Because I’m afraid.

  Fear.

  It controls every aspect of my life.

  I don’t want to be afraid anymore.

  Especially not with Jack.

  Breaking our kiss, I slide off Jack’s lap and stand in front of him.

  I don’t know where this sudden bout of confidence has come from, but I don’t want to lose it.

  I hook my fingers into the waistband of my shorts and pull them down.

  Jack’s eyes are fixed on me. I love the way he looks at me. Like I’m the only thing in the world he sees.

  But will he still look at me the same when he sees my scars?

  Stop. Don’t think that way.

  Jack is silent. Watching me.

  I’m scared. My insides are quaking.

  I’m about to reveal the worst thing about me.

  I might not be vocalizing it. Telling him my past. What happened to me. Where these scars came from.

  But I will be telling him that something happened to me.

  I’ll be making myself vulnerable to him.

  And it’s absolutely fucking terrifying.

  My hands are shaking as they reach for the hem of my tank top.

  I see the change in Jack’s expression when he realizes what I’m about to do.

  But his expression isn’t one of curiosity. It’s admiration. Because he knows exactly how hard this is for me.

  And that gives me the last boost of confidence I need to lift my top up and over my head, exposing my ugly, physical flaw to him.

  My eyes are closed. I’m afraid to open them. Afraid of what I’ll see when
I look at Jack.

  “Audrey.” His deep, soft voice reverberates over my skin.

  Taking a strengthening breath, I open my eyes.

  Jack is standing now.

  His eyes on mine.

  I’m naked … completely defenseless in front of him.

  My heart is beating fast. My body vibrating with nerves.

  I feel raw. Like someone took a grater to my insides.

  Jack’s hand lifts to my face, cupping my cheek.

  I stare up into his eyes. Those eyes I just can’t seem to ever look away from.

  “You are beautiful, Audrey.” His voice is raspy. “You are always beautiful.”

  In this moment, it feels as if a dark cloud lifts off me. A barrier gone between us.

  And nothing matters but Jack and me.

  Not my past. The scars on my skin.

  Nothing.

  Just him and me.

  I reach up on my toes and press my lips to his.

  The kiss turns molten in seconds.

  Jack picks me up, and my arms and legs go around his hard body.

  He carries me back to bed.

  Laying me down, he stays with me. On top of me. Still kissing me.

  My hands push down his pajama pants, getting them down his legs. Jack helps get them off, kicking them aside.

  Then, there is nothing between us.

  No more fabric barriers.

  Jack breaks the kiss. Pressing his forehead to mine, he stares into my eyes.

  There are no words spoken between us. There doesn’t need to be. We’re saying everything there is to say with our eyes.

  Yes, I want you. I want this.

  The first push of Jack inside me feels so different to all the other times yet so incredibly familiar.

  When he is fully inside of me, his lips seek mine.

  He kisses me gently, sweetly. He’s deep inside of me. Unmoving. And I have never felt closer to him than I do right now.

  “Beautiful,” he whispers, his mouth moving down my neck. “So fucking beautiful, Audrey. I can’t get enough of you. Nothing will ever be enough.”

  His lips find my nipple, and he sucks it into his mouth.

  Desire shoots through my core.

  “Fuck me, Jack. Please.”

  His eyes lift to mine.

  He slowly pulls out of me and then pushes back inside, equally as leisurely.

  It is exquisite torture.

  And it feels an awful lot like making love.

  Jack’s pace stays that way, unhurried. His hands hold mine above my head, his mouth on mine, as he screws me with his cock.

  I’m a writhing, needy mess beneath him.

  My orgasm comes quickly and without warning, taking me by surprise.

  My hands grip his, my cry of pleasure swallowed by his mouth.

  Then, Jack’s moaning my name against my lips, and I feel him start to come too.

  When we’re both finished coming down from our highs, Jack kisses me again. A loving kiss.

  Still inside me, he lays his head down on the pillow, burying his face in my neck.

  And we fall asleep just like that—with Jack buried deep inside of me in all the ways that matter.

  I blink.

  There was a knock at the door.

  God, I totally zoned out then. This is what I get for watching pointless television while Jack is in the shower and I’m waiting for our dinner to be delivered.

  I give Eleven’s fur a ruffle before I get up from the sofa and go to answer the door.

  I pause before opening it. It might not be my apartment, but there is always that wariness inside of me.

  Especially with Mike’s and Sarah’s recent murders and the murders of those other women and no suspect in sight, according to the press.

  Does my mind go to Tobias when I think about these recent killings?

  Yes.

  Am I still worrying about a copycat?

  Yes-ish.

  Tobias never killed a man when he went on his rampage.

  But then maybe that’s because he was never interrupted by one, like Sarah’s killer was.

  Or maybe Tobias has killed a man before, and people just don’t know it.

  Scrapping those thoughts before I get lost in them, I lift onto my tiptoes and peer through the peephole.

  It’s a young, dark-haired guy with a pizza box in hand.

  I open the door, smiling at him.

  “Hey, that’ll be fifteen dollars.”

  He hands me the pizza. Smells yummy. Jack and I went for one of those half-and-half pizzas. He likes olives on his. Gross.

  “Just let me get my purse,” I tell the delivery guy.

  I leave the door ajar. Putting the pizza on the coffee table, I grab my bag from the side of the sofa. I get my wallet out and open it up.

  Huh. There’s no money in it.

  I’m sure there was a twenty in here this morning. Like, ninety percent sure.

  That is so weird.

  Well, no time to think about it now. I put my purse back in my bag and call out Jack’s name.

  I hear the water turn off, and then his deep voice says, “Yeah?”

  “Pizza’s here, and I have no cash.”

  “My wallet is on the kitchen counter. Should be some money in there.”

  Thank God. Otherwise, one of us would have been making a quick dash to the nearest ATM.

  I find Jack’s wallet where he said it would be. Flip it open and see a couple of tens in there.

  Perfect.

  I pull the cash out. Something drops out from in between them.

  It flutters to the floor.

  I peer down at it.

  It’s a small piece of blank paper. About half the size of the bills in my hand.

  I bend down and pick it up. I turn it over to see what, if anything, is on the other side.

  It’s a section from a news article. Like the type people can print out from the computers at the library.

  It takes me a moment before it registers in my brain who and what this article is about. And then it does, and my whole body freezes cold.

  It’s about Tobias Ripley. Before the murders. When he was a senior in high school. Some award he won.

  And there’s a picture accompanying the article.

  I recognize Tobias’s mother standing beside him. I know her from his trial.

  But it’s who is standing on the other side of Tobias with his arm around his shoulders that causes pain to slice across my stomach, where my scars are.

  I feel like I’m back there that night.

  But instead of it being Tobias who cut me, this time, it’s Jack.

  And this feels so much worse than any pain Tobias ever inflicted on me.

  Because that person smiling in the picture with his arm around Tobias’s shoulders is Jack.

  My Jack.

  I’m running on autopilot when I pay the pizza guy and close the door.

  And I just stand here. Staring at nothing.

  Jack knows Tobias.

  I let this man inside my body. I cared for him … loved him.

  And all that time … he knew … Tobias.

  I stare down at the news clipping, still held in my hand.

  Bile floods my mouth.

  Jack … he …

  I … have to understand this. How Jack knows him. And why he’s here. With me.

  It’s obviously no coincidence. Meaning that he came here for me.

  Why?

  To kill me?

  My heart beats staccato against my ribs.

  No. Jack could have done that a hundred times over already. That is not the reason he’s here. He’s here for another reason.

  But what?

  I hear Jack moving around. His footsteps enter the living room.

  “Pizza smells good,” he says from behind me. “Audrey? Why are you standing there, staring at the door?”

  Slowly, I turn around.

  The carefree, slightly confused look on his face morphs int
o something else. Concern. Worry.

  “Audrey, what’s wrong?” It’s evident in his voice too.

  I part my lips, but I can’t seem to get any words out. I feel like my tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth.

  I look back down at the picture. It’s like I’m willing my brain to tell me that I have this wrong.

  But I don’t.

  He knows the man who tormented and tortured me.

  “What’s that?” he asks.

  I lift my eyes to his. He gestures to the paper in my hand.

  There is nothing in his expression that gives anything away.

  I swallow thickly. “It fell out of your wallet.”

  He frowns. “It did?”

  “How do you know Tobias Ripley, Jack?”

  My words seem to slam into the room, taking all the color from Jack’s face with them.

  “What are you talking about?” I hear the waver in his voice.

  I try to control the sudden onslaught of rage that I feel inside of me.

  My hand holding the photo trembles. “Tobias Ripley. How do you know him, Jack?”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Don’t fucking lie!” I yell. My quick anger breaks into the room, like Jack broke into my life.

  I take a step forward and toss the paper with the picture of him and Tobias toward him.

  Jack picks it up from the floor.

  I step back, closer to the door. Needing a quick exit if this goes south.

  Not that I think Jack would ever hurt me.

  But then I never suspected that he knew Tobias.

  So, there is that.

  I watch him studying the picture. He takes a deep breath.

  Every movement and sound seems incredibly pronounced in this moment.

  His eyes lift back to mine. Still, there is nothing in them to tell me anything. Not a hint of emotion.

  Just blank. Empty.

  Kind of like both of our souls.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “Your wallet.”

  “That’s not possible. I never put this—”

  “I don’t care!” I yell. “What I care about is how you know Tobias Ripley! Why you’re in a photograph with him and his mother!”

  The silence that ensues is heavy. Like a weighted blanket covering my body. But there is no comfort with this. Just the feeling of entrapment and suffocation.

  Jack drags a hand through his hair.

  He can’t seem to look at me. It’s telling because Jack usually can’t keep his eyes off me.

  “I am going to ask one last time. How. Do. You. Know. Tobias. Ripley?”