by K. L. Savage
“Thanks for the tacos, Slingshot. I appreciate it.”
“No problemo, amigo.” He balls up the foil and the sun reflects off of the silver wrapping before he places the garbage in the bag, only to fish out yet another damn taco. “So, after tacos you want to see Daphne and then get an excavator to dig this swamp instead of shoveling?”
“You want to build it with me?”
“Hells yeah. I’m not going to let my buddy do this alone. Come on, eat up and let’s turn this grave into a swamp sanctuary.”
“I plan on getting Happy friends, too.”
“He’ll like that. Everyone needs a friend, including people.”
I didn’t understand friendship before Daphne. She’s opened my mind to new possibilities, and she’s made me see the world differently. Don’t get me wrong, the world is jaded and cold with more bad than good. I didn’t always pay attention to the good because I didn’t believe in it, but I’m seeing more of it now. I’m not sure if I believe in it because the concept of belief is foreign to me, but if anyone can make me see the light in anything it’s her. And right now, I think… I mean… I might be starting to feel something.
Joy.
I have a friend to add to the list.
A list I didn’t have before Daphne. For some reason, Slingshot decided to take a chance and be the one to come out here. No one else has. Before, I chalked it up to them being afraid of me. Now, I know it’s because no one understands me. This loneliness I feel isn’t only my fault, but theirs.
The sun is still high in the blue sky, shining without a cloud in sight. The mountains surround us, and the sound of a bike grumbling grows from the distance. I get up from the dirt mound and stand, wiping my ass off with my hand. “Yeah, that sounds good.” I take another taco out of the bag as we walk to the clubhouse. “Happy, stay. I’ll be right back.”
“Good tacos, right? I swear, they are the best in the country, and I should know, remember? I took a bike trip around the Unites States and tried tacos everywhere. This little taco stand has my heart, man.”
“They are good.”
“See, stick with me and I’ll feed ya good.”
I rub my chest when that funny feeling returns. Friendship is a hard concept for me to swallow, but I won’t choke on it like I used to.
Not anymore.
Everything I am and everything I’m able to recognize now is because of my Comet, my rarity.
Only something so damn special and more powerful than the stars and moon aligned, could change a devil like me—the devil in me.
Holy Moly.
I am so glad to be out of that basement. It’s so dark and cold. If anything, it makes me feel worse. It’s so sterile, lifeless, and don’t get me started on what happens behind the door they called ‘the playroom.’ The basement is full of nightmares, pain, sickness, and tears. How anyone can heal when they are surrounded by depression like that is beyond me. I’m one to believe that if someone surrounds themselves with what they love and what makes them happy, they will get better.
“Well, rise and shine, Daphne.” Reaper is huddled near the sink, pouring himself a cup of black coffee in his ‘President of the Unites States of Ruthless America’ mug. He uses it every day. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.” The first thing I notice is Tongue’s not here. My sadness must show all over my face and Knives reaches across the table and takes my hand.
His scarred thumb rubs across my knuckles. “He’s been checking on you. He’s outside working on the swamp for Happy. He had a tough time seeing you because—”
“He blamed himself. I know,” I say. “I figured as much. Is he okay?”
“Yeah, him and Slingshot are out there digging a giant hole in the ground,” Bullseye’s voice comes from down the hall. He’s holding gauze over his finger as he enters the kitchen. Pulling out one of the old wooden chairs, he takes a seat beside me and Doc comes in next. Bullseye shoots him a mean sneer and Doc rolls his eyes.
“You need to get over it, Bullseye. It’s a prick to the finger. It isn’t the end of the world. How do you think people feel when you throw darts at them? Not only does it penetrate their skin, but the metal spikes under the muscle to latch on. You can’t handle one tiny needle?” Doc asks, placing a small glass bottle of insulin on the table with a new syringe. “You need your shot. You still aren’t regulating your sugar well enough.”
“I’m fine.”
It isn’t often I see Doc get angry. He is always calm and composed. A man of rational thinking, but not right now. He slings his arm across the table and the insulin flies against the wall, shattering. The liquid wets the paint and drips onto the floor, good medicine gone to waste.
If there is one thing I know about insulin, it’s how expensive it is.
“You’re a goddamn idiot!” Doc yells, getting right in Bullseye’s pale face.
Knives, Reaper, and I share an uncomfortable glance. No one likes to witness an argument when they aren’t a part of it.
“I’m so fucking sick of you denying, denying, denying, Bullseye. You want to fucking pass out? You want to go into a diabetic shock or worse, a coma? Go ahead. Don’t let me stop you. When you need my help, when you realize the incompetence and stupidity of your choices—” Doc hits Bullseye’s forehead with the palm of his hand and Bullseye’s head snaps back. “Don’t fucking come to me. Go to the damn hospital or urgent care, because I am done with your stubborn ass to last me a lifetime.”
Doc pushes Bullseye in the chest so hard, Bullseye rocks back and the chair balances itself on its rear legs. He stays up right and then tips over, hitting the floor so hard the rods that support the lumbar of the chair snap in half. Bullseye slams his head on the ground, but Doc doesn’t do what he usually does, which is drop on the floor and check on his friend.
Doc stomps by Reaper, who is casually sipping on his coffee. He backtracks, opens the cabinet, grabs a coffee mug, jerks the pot out from the coffee maker, and pours himself a cup of morning java. I’ve never seen someone make an angry cup of coffee, but I guess there is a first for everything. Reaper smirks over the rim of his coffee and Knives puckers his lips as he shines his ninja star, acting like nothing is happening.
Typical.
“I’m going to go help Tongue and Slingshot,” Doc gripes, then hauls ass down the hallway before kicking the door open. I press a hand over my heart when the loud shudder of the door slamming startles me. Jeez, everything does these days.
“I’m going to go see Ruby,” Bullseye says as he pushes himself off the ground and dusts himself off.
“Has she even let ye inside the store?” Skirt asks, scratching his stomach as he yawns and opens the fridge. “Oh my god, look at all the pie. Oh, Sarah must really love me.”
“She’s been craving apple pie,” Reaper says. “Sorry, Skirt. I’m afraid she made them for selfish reasons.”
“Does that mean I can’t eat ‘em because they are for baby cravings?” Skirt’s face is pure agony as he holds a pie to his face and inhales. “Not even a wee little nibble?”
Bullseye tugs on his cut and fishes out his bike keys. “I’ll have you know I got as far as opening the door before Ruby pushed me out and locked it. I call that progress.”
“Sounds romantic, Bullseye. Yer making ye way into her heart.”
“Eat your pie, Skirt.” Bullseye grabs his leather jacket off the chair and makes his way to the front the door. Tyrant and Yeti run by him as they run to their food bowls. Poodle is next, but he is carrying Lady, since she doesn’t have the strength to walk.
She’s getting worse every day that passes, and I think he’s realizing that keeping her alive at this point is cruel. Melissa told me he made an appointment with the vet next week to put her to sleep and Poodle hasn’t put her down for more than a few minutes since. I think it’s his way of saying goodbye. It’s sad.
Everyone falls quiet when Poodle takes a seat. No one knows what to say when Poodle is in a constant state of depression
, which is odd, because he is a lot like Slingshot in the sense that he is the person everyone can count on to make them feel better.
Boots scuff down the hallway, and the closer they get, I know who it is.
I sit up straighter as my heart starts to pound. I’d know those footsteps from anywhere.
“Anyone got an update on Daphne?” Tongue shouts from the middle of the hallway.
I feel coy, suddenly. Tongue specifically asking for me is making me feel like a schoolgirl.
“Come ask her yourself,” Reaper shouts. “Damn, I’m not everyone’s messenger.”
“You said a bad word. You owe me five bucks.”
“Maizey, get out from under the table.” Reaper tells her, without even looking under the table to see if she is there.
The boots rushing down the hallway match the anticipation beating in my heart. When Tongue comes to view he slides to a stop, nearly running into Skirt who is clutching his pie like he does his daughter Joey.
“Christ, Tongue. Ye nearly made me drop me pie.”
“Comet.” The gravel in his voice has me closing my eyes as it smooths over me like a healing balm.
His hair is wet from sweat and a few pieces of the dark stands are plastered to his forehead. Several splotches of dirt cover his blue jeans, especially near the pockets where he cleans his hands off. He doesn’t have a shirt on, and his abs are glistening in the light of the kitchen. He has a smear of dirt on his cheek and all I want to do is clean it off.
We don’t speak. We just stare and the room charges with our sexual tension that tends to make others uncomfortable.
“There is a child in the room,” Reaper advises us under his breath while also clearing his throat after, so Maizey hopefully can’t hear the warning.
“Damn, yer making me want more than apple pie.”
“Skirt,” Reaper scolds, but doesn’t have a serious look on his face.
“I need to… uh… go check on Dawn.”
“I’m going to go see Melissa.”
“Yeah, Sarah might need her belly rubbed or something…” Reaper throws it in the pot along with everyone else since they are getting affected by Tongue and I. Well, not us as people, but what we are creating in the air.
Sexual need.
Desire.
Lust.
It’s been too long since I’ve felt him inside me, and I need that to change. I know some people’s love language revolves around hand holding or small gestures, but not mine.
I find reconnection in Tongue with sex because we give each other what we need. Often times, what we need is so much darker than anyone else could ever give. It’s because he’s my soulmate. I never believed in soulmates before him. I believed everyone could love as many people as they wanted. The heart heals when love is taken away and eventually the person learns to love again.
That’s the story I told myself. Since I had never been in love before Tongue, I just thought love was an easy notion. I told myself love was a choice, because there was no such thing as two souls being destined to be together. Even reading all the books I do about love and loss and one true loves, I was skeptical, but it never stopped my curiosity. There was always a part of me that wondered if it was real.
And then the experience with Tongue let me know that love isn’t a choice. We don’t choose love.
It’s decided for us.
Tongue is my fate. The one destiny wrote my life for. When I met him, my life made sense and found purpose.
My soul is linked to his. I know in my heart; I was born to die being loved by him.
If something happened to him, if fate took him away from me, I have no doubt that’s when my journey in this world would come to an end. I was created for his hands, for his heart, and for the wicked side of love people don’t like to experience.
Our love is blackened and burned by the trials of this world. No one can tell me different, but underneath the soot is a diamond. The gem is black, but it shines just as bright as one that isn’t tarnished.
When we die, cover me in our blood so I can become one with the love that’s made its home in the marrow of my bones after I decompose into nothing. But even then, I’ll be something, because I’ll have him embedded in my dust.
People might think they are above us because of how Tongue and I show love is beneath them, but they’re wrong. It’s in the black, in the void, in the places no one wants to go where the deepest, craziest, most intense love exists.
And if you can’t touch that place, have you ever really loved?
Tongue stares at me, watches me, cocking his head as he evaluates. When he looks at me like this, it sends a trickle a fear down my spine. His eyes are dark, promising the darkness we make love in. He takes three steps until he is beside the table and holds his weight by pressing his hands against the table. His knuckles turn white and his fingers turn pink.
I slide my eyes around the room to find us alone.
“How do you feel?” he murmurs, reaching across the table until his fingers slide through my hair. He probes the small cut along my scalp that’s being held together by two stitches. I can’t feel the pain; Tongue’s presence numbs me with arousal.
“Better.”
“Good. You’ve been asleep for three days. I’ve been getting worried about you.”
“Three?” I yelp, shocked. I don’t remember it being three days. It was yesterday that I hit the wall… I thought.
His finger slides from the side of my head, dragging his calloused fingers down my cheek. His wide palm wraps around my throat. “You sure you’re better?” his voice deepens, taking on a supernatural tremble that makes him sound demonic.
“Yes.”
He doesn’t say another word. He pulls me across the table by my neck. The chair slides back and hits the stove, and his mouth crashes down on mine, bruising my mouth in painful kiss. I taste blood and Tongue must too, because he shoves his tongue in my mouth and licks the metallic taste clean. His growls fill my belly, making me whimper into his mouth.
Half my body is across the table while my feet dangle off the other side, the tips of my toes scratching across the floor.
Breaking the kiss, he keeps me locked in his hold, and he flicks his tongue out to gather the smear of blood across his lip. “I’m going to fuck you whether you feel better or not, because I need to feel you.”
“I want that. I need that too.”
A normal person would let me get off the coffee table by way of placing my feet on the floor, and then I’d walk around the table.
But Tongue isn’t normal.
And I don’t want my feet on the ground.
He drags me the rest of the way across the tabletop with a burst of strength I wasn’t ready for, but welcome. It doesn’t stop there. Tongue doesn’t let me stand; he continues to pull me to our room. My knees slide across the hardwood floor and when he opens the door and that is when he picks me up. The bedroom is as clean as it will ever be with all the books littered across the floor.
He slams it shut behind us and clicks the lock. He carries me to the bed and lays me down, his chest heaving as he takes deep breaths. His cock is tenting his jeans and he closes his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m trying not to be rough with you. I know you need time.”
I sit up quickly and grab his cock, squeezing hard until I know it hurts.
Just how he likes it.
His biceps shake as he growls, still holding himself back from doing what he really wants.
“You better be as rough as we like, Tongue, or I’ll have to tie you down and fuck you how I want,” I threaten, knowing he hates the idea of losing control in the bedroom unless he willingly gives it up.
The words are enough to break him out of the ridiculous notion that he needs to be easy on me. He shoves me back and curls his fingers in the waistband of my pajama shorts and yanks them down along with my panties. He doesn’t take my shirt off, he doesn’t lean down and kiss me.
He unbuttons and unzips his jeans, fishing
out his fat cock. He pulls his jeans down the curve of his sculpted hips and gives the beast three strokes before he spreads my legs and comes. Tongue isn’t a quick trigger, so when I feel the warm splashes of his seed coating my pussy, I moan, shocked and turned on by feeling it drip down my sensitive seam. He grunts, watching himself come all over my fold.
My legs tremble from being held open.
“I won’t apologize for needing you.”
Needing me. Not wanting me.
Because he always wants me and that is never in question.
“You look so fucking good covered in my come,” he says, pressing his thumb against my clit and using his come as hot lubricant.
A bead of his white cream gathers at the tip of his cock. It’s about to drip onto the bed, and the only thing I can think about is how it’s about to go to waste. I try to sit up to wrap my mouth around him, but he doesn’t allow me to move. His hand is pressed against the middle of my chest and his other hand slices through the air before landing on my aching fire.
My clit breaks, shattering in a fireworks kaleidoscope reminding how fragile my glass heart really is. My legs jerk on instinct. I want to get away, but I want him to do it again.
“I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you,” he says, slapping his palm on my clit again. “And there’s only one way for me to feel better.” He lashes me again, and I toss my head back as the fires spread below.
Tongue is making me burn, and the only way I’ll find peace is if he extinguishes the desire blazing in my veins.
I’m trying to calm down. I’m trying to rein in my desire, because I know she’s healing and she’s been through a lot, but the desire ripples over my skin. My entire body is stretched tight. I feel like an animal is about to shred me apart from the inside out if I don’t get inside her, claim her all over again, and show her how much I need her.
