They Call Me Teddy: (Enemies to Lovers Horror Romance)

by Ella Burns

  “Branson!” Mia cries out and I feel her tense around me. Knowing this, my motions pick up until I explode. I feel her twitch again along with me and it feels never ending, her orgasm carrying me further than ever before. It seems like a long time before I come down, both of us panting for breath.

  I look down at her perfect ass still in the air and notice how red it looks and head to the bathroom. When she sees me exit with a cloth in hand, a small smile plays on her lips and she drops her head onto her arm that’s still tied to the bed.

  With infinite care, I wipe her clean with the warm fabric, giving a gentle smack before untying her.

  Chapter Nine

  Teddy

  As I lay here and he gently rubs my sore bum, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so cherished.

  I’m coming to realize that I truly do trust Branson in so many ways. As I think about it, it occurs to me that he is the only person who has never let me down, never hurt me. No more than I could stand, anyway. I think a part of him really does want to hurt me and doesn’t want to admit it. I can’t wait to push him that extra bit further, past that guilt I’m sure he feels.

  He’s fucking incredible, and it’s me—and only me—who can pull those last shreds of that broken boy away to reveal the magnificent and bloody man beneath.

  Once I’m untied, I quickly crawl up into his arms, feeling satiated.

  After a few minutes, I turn to click on the TV, turning on something low and handing him the remote. He smiles lightly and holds his arms out for me again.

  “I’m going to go grab us some drinks,” I tell him, leaning up to kiss him lightly before standing and throwing one of my loose dresses over my head.

  “Where?” he asks, his brow knit together, and I can’t help but smirk at his concern.

  “Just around the corner. I’ll only be a few minutes,” I assure him, grabbing my purse and the room key and heading out the door.

  It’s late, but there are still a few random people in the shadows of the distance, drug addicts or perhaps a whore and her john. Places like this are strangely comforting to me, though I know the rest of the world would be scared to spend the night in such a place. I chuckle to myself as I think about how boring people are. I may resent Jane for a lot of things, but I’ll always be grateful for her teaching me what it is to be myself.

  My steps slow as I consider this. Without Jane, without killing, who even am I? Branson’s little doll? Despite myself, I feel a flush of warmth at even the thought of the term of endearment, but still, I’m scared it won’t be enough.

  It’s only been a day, I remind myself as I turn the corner of the motel. My ass is pleasantly sore and we’re out of Jane’s grasp. We’ve got this. I let myself breathe out a smile.

  The light above flickers ominously but I pay it no mind, stepping up to the sad looking vending machine as I hum to myself.

  “Underdressed, aren’t you?” a male voice says behind me. I pause slightly in my motion of placing money in the machine, but don’t turn around immediately.

  “Depends on what you think I’m doing,” I reply, pressing the button and leaning over to grab the can before turning. The man is probably not much older than me, but his skin and eyes speak of addiction and hardship that make him appear much older. In his hand, pointed at me, is a small pocket blade, and I actually let out a laugh. The man frowns but takes a step forward, pressing me back to the machine with the shitty blade at my chest.

  “Don’t scream and I won’t hurt you,” he warns. A rush of excitement flows through me and I let the smile grow on my face, pressing forward into the blade. It’s dull but I can feel it press against my skin. The man looks down in horror. He takes a step back from me, clearly unnerved, and I throw my head back with a laugh.

  “Don’t scream,” I tell him, taking a step forward. “I wouldn’t want to have to make this too fast.”

  Chapter Ten

  Branson

  My eyes are on the TV, but I’m not really watching, every so often darting a glance at the door. I don’t pace or move, but it’s more instinct to sit still than anything else. It’s been almost ten minutes.

  “Fuck this.”

  I throw on my pants and the shirt but don’t bother to button it or put on shoes before stepping outside. It’s dark and I hear a fake feminine laugh from the parking lot but can tell right away it isn’t Mia.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I mutter to myself as I head the other direction around the side of the building. As I walk, I begin to hear a different female voice, this one quieter and much more familiar. Not Mia, Teddy.

  Fury and betrayal course through me. My fists clench as I break into a jog and rush around the corner. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust, but sure enough, she’s standing over some homeless guy who's on the ground. His head is bleeding slightly, and he has a dazed look on his face as she kneels behind him, tying his hands.

  “Mia! What the fuck?” I shout-whisper, rushing up to grab her wrist and make her stand. A single drop of blood is on her cheek, a few more on the front of her dress. The expression on his face is one I know well, and I feel my heart drop.

  “It’s okay, my love,” she tells me, a smile still playing on her face despite my obvious anger. “I saved him, just for you.”

  She presses herself into me further, ignoring the man at our feet, and looks up into my eyes. The green in hers seems to be brighter than usual.

  “What are you talking about? We talked about this, you can’t be doing this shit or—”

  “He tried to touch me,” she interrupts, and my entire body tenses, “Tried to hurt me.”

  My heart pounds in my chest. I look into her face for truth and see no lies. A sense of calm fury fills me as I kneel down beside the man, cocking my head to the side.

  “This true?” I ask. Through the rag shoved in his mouth the man tries to speak, his eyes bugging out of his head, but the guilt is clearly written on his face.

  Sighing, I stand.

  “I saved him for you,” she says again, licking her lips and holding a hand out toward me. “I was just going to make sure he couldn’t move and come get you.”

  My mind races, but really, there’s only one conclusion I can come to.

  I remember how it felt to let my knife slide into Bud’s flesh, the beauty of justified pain and vengeance. The corner of my lips turns up as I look down at Teddy, then down at the man.

  This is how we can make this work.

  “Bring the car around. We’re all going for a drive.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Teddy

  It was easy enough to take the man and drive into the bush once more. It makes me laugh to think that only forty minutes south from us are likely all the police within a hundred miles, pulling corpses and ruins of our childhood home, while we are driving around with a man in our trunk.

  Despite the chill to the air, I leave the windows down, and Branson doesn’t comment. His eyes are focused on the road ahead. He seems calm and sure, and my blood thrums pleasantly in my veins in anticipation of what's to come.

  When that man came at me, I saw the perfect opportunity, the chance to give Branson a guilt-free way to realize the truth. The beauty of death and pain. That he’ll see this as just, as right, as what he needs. The corner of my lip turns up at the thought of feeling bad for killing. It’s been so long, so many people.

  As I got older, I learned that people are shit, the world is shit. Why should I feel bad for culling the herd in such a small way?

  “Up here on the left,” Branson says, interrupting me from my thoughts.

  “Okay.”

  The road is quiet and dark in front of us and the only sound is the quiet thump from the trunk and the air whishing past as we move down the off-road path. Five minutes later, we pull into a small clearing, just big enough to turn the car around. I pull the key out but don’t move, putting my hands in my lap in front of me. I turn to Branson who is sitting completely still, a hand on his chin as he looks ou
t the window into the darkness.

  His face is serious, severe, and the hint of moonlight shining through the trees hit his face and make the faint scars covering him seem to glow in the night. My lips part as I watch him, drinking him in.

  “Did anyone see you with him?” he asks. My eyebrows pull together and I shake my head.

  “No, no one.”

  He nods but doesn’t reply. Muffled cries are tuned out as the nighttime song picks back up in the forest around us, a chorus of bugs and other critters of the dark. I don’t feel in any hurry and somehow understand why we’re sitting here. I dart another glance over to Branson and smile, reaching out my hand to grasp his. His gaze falls to our hands for a moment before he sighs, pulling them up to his lips with a kiss.

  “You know you’re mine, right?” he says, his mouth still pressed against our intertwined hands. “I won’t say I’d never hurt you, I have and will. But the thought of someone else, some fucking scumbag, trying to touch you….”

  His voice rises as he speaks and I feel excitement course through me at his jealousy, his anger. I shift my body toward him, a fraction closer.

  “Never anyone but you,” I tell him, my eyes meeting his straight on. The heat I see in his expression warms me. My other hand reaches up, placing my favorite knife above our hands. His eyes look down at the blade and back up at me, his expression never changing.

  “Do it for me, baby,” I tell him and see the corner of his mouth twitch, just a hint. His hand wraps around the handle and he pauses for only an instant before his lips are on mine. I feel myself melt against his kiss, the angry possessiveness enough to take my breath away. When he pulls away, I’m in such a daze it takes me a minute to realize he’s already out of the car.

  I scramble out to the trunk where Branson is waiting. I step up, lip in my teeth as I lean forward on the balls of my feet. He looks at me and raises an eyebrow before pointing a few feet back.

  I pout but oblige him, stepping back while he opens the trunk. The man's cries immediately get louder, filling the clearing. A night bird screeches at the competing sound and wings flap off into the black.

  I watch Branson's back, the shift of muscle as he grabs the man by the wrist and heaves him out of the car onto the forest floor.

  I giggle when the man hints with a thump and groans, rolling in my direction. Without moving, I lean my head forward and down at him. His eyes bug out when he looks up at me and I wink, skipping away to give Branson room. I crouch down by the back tire, my eyes darting between Branson and the soon-to-be-dead fucker on the ground. I know most people would think I’m sick because I feel wet, horny, at the sight of all this. But yeah, there it is.

  My man is pacing in the night, a fucking glorious beast of vengeance.

  I’d be a fucking psycho if I wasn’t turned on right now.

  “You’d hurt a helpless woman?” Branson asks, his voice low as he continues the slow pace in front of the man, only pausing to lean forward and pull the rag out of his mouth.

  “Heeelll—”

  The man's cry is cut off by a boot in his face and I grin, clapping happily as blood gushes from the man's nose.

  “Oooh, you shouldn’t do that!” I scold the man, “Look what you got for that! A broken nose!”

  I laugh, standing and skipping around them. Branson darts a look at me and I see his mouth twitch, but he keeps his attention on the matter at hand. Watching him all serious like this is incredible. In his element.

  “Get up,” Branson says to the man, darting a foot out to get him moving. It takes the man a moment, but he gets to his feet, blood and snot bubbling down his face. He doesn’t scream again.

  “Move.”

  I follow behind and watch as Branson brings him through the woods until he seems satisfied and has the man sit at the trunk of a tree. The man sits back as Branson steps away, pulling his shirt over his head. His scars glow brighter in the moonlight, and though its cold and his skin pebbles immediately, he only flexes and cracks his neck before turning back to the man.

  “P-please, I didn’t mean—”

  A fist comes out and stops the man’s lies. It only takes a few hits before the man stops trying to speak, his only sounds turning to gargled sobs. The man’s lies and pleading continue, but we all know I’m hardly the first he has approached. Certainly the last, though.

  Branson stands and turns to me. In the darkness his eyes look black. Blood is splattered on his bare chest and face. A single step is all it takes before he’s in front of me, his hand coming out to grasp my chin. I feel wetness at his touch and I’m sure blood is smeared everywhere, but it only turns me on. I lean my face up to his and he moves forward, chuckling, but doesn’t give me what I want.

  My breath quickens as I watch Branson lose control, pulling the knife out as he approaches the man. I don’t offer help when the man begins to scramble away—or tries to, anyway. Branson stalks him, like the glorious creature of night he is, and tugs the man back, stabbing his leg to keep him in place.

  I don’t think about it when I lean back against a tree to watch, my hand falling between my legs. My eyes stay open as I rub slow circles through the thin fabric of my panties, reveling in watching my man in his glory. A moan leaves my throat and Branson’s head whips around and catches sight of me. His eyes fall to my hand and his own lips part. Biting my lip, I lift up the dress to give him a better view, letting my hand slide inside the thin fabric. This time my eyes close and I let myself get carried away in pleasure, the pained moans echoing through the air only lifting me higher.

  I hear a strangled sound followed by the unmistakable sound of a blade sinking into flesh. My eyes open and I watch as Branson finishes it, throwing down the knife and striding straight up to me.

  My leg wraps around him as his lips find mine, his hardness pressing into the spot my fingers only just left. I groan and rub against him, savoring the feel of him around me.

  He pulls back long enough to reach down and tear my panties in two, the flimsy fabric easily giving way to him. I didn’t even see him pull his dick out, but he impales me effortlessly.

  “Oooh!” I cry out as he plunges in and I wrap myself around him, my back against the rough bark of the tree. Blood and sweat cover us both, and it’s all I can do to hold on as he fucks me without mercy. I can feel my back and ass being scratched raw, pushing me to that perfect point of pain and pleasure with each stroke.

  Reaching up, I grab a low branch, trying to hold tight while he grabs my hips and lights explode behind my eyes. We scream out together into the night, wrapped in each other, wrapped in darkness.

  Chapter Twelve

  Branson

  Three Weeks Later

  My skin feels like it’s crawling as I step into the clinic. The sound of a baby crying from another room makes my heart beat faster, and I think I might be having some type of panic attack. My headache pounds behind my eyes, worse by the day. The doctor who gave me the pills practically forced me to do the tests, but now that I’m back here, I wish I hadn’t. Small lump or not, this place is worse than the fucking workroom.

  You can do this, I tell myself.

  Trimethylaminuria. Trimox. Trinucleotide.

  The familiar mantra soothes me and I take a breath before stepping up to the old blonde lady sitting at the counter.

  “Hi, I called earlier….”

  “Name?”

  “Tim Green,” I tell her, using the name on the fake ID Mia got me. One benefit to staying in such a shitty motel.

  “Take a seat, we’ll call you shortly.”

  ✽✽✽

  “Mia?”

  “In the bathroom,” her voice says through the walls and I feel my shoulders drop in relief. I still half expect to find her missing any time we’re apart, but it never happens. Once we killed that scumbag from the motel things changed between us. She still wants to be taken in the bedroom, but our dynamic elsewhere is different. The divide between us is less with every day, and though part of me is sick
ened to think that it’s killing that keeps us together, I don’t really care. Not anymore.

  My life has mostly been fucking miserable, and I never expected to spend many years on this earth. If I can spend a few more with her, reveling in the power of a righteous kill, then I will. It doesn’t matter to her, or not as much, but the thought of slowly ridding the world of pieces of shit like Jane and Bud makes me as close to happy as anything does other than Mia.

  Teddy. Mia.

  My little fucking doll.

  When she steps out into the room, I feel the buzzing, crawling feeling of my skin dissipate. She’s across the room in a second and in my arms, her lips on mine. She tastes minty with that sweetness that is only her underneath.

  “Everything okay?” she asks. I resist the urge to swallow hard and instead nod, grabbing the small bag and pulling out the prescription for birth control I managed to get filled.

  “Just take one at the same time every day, she said. There’s a little pamphlet.”

  Her smile grows as she takes the bag, leaning forward to kiss me again before hopping onto the couch and starting to read the brochure. The knot in my throat grows as I look at her, and the ominous pounding of my head only serves to make it worse. She didn’t notice that there was still more in the small bag and I quickly push it to the side.

  I watch as she pushes back a strand of hair, now dark brown. I told her when she dyed it that I loved it and it’s true. The darkness against her fair skin is fucking stunning and I feel myself getting hard just watching her. Funny how even the sight of her can pull thoughts of death and melancholy from my mind.

  “I got you something else too,” I tell her, grabbing the last bag from my adventures. She looks up at me, her eyes smiling with the hint of mischief that always seems to hover just below the surface.

  Holding out her hands she says, “Gimme, gimme!”

  “Excuse me, little brat, that’s hardly how you ask for things,” I say, crawling onto the couch. Her eyes widen and she starts to scramble away, but I grab her ankle, eliciting a shriek as I pull her toward me until she's underneath. My mouth finds her neck quickly, nipping lightly.