Torture to Her Soul

by J. M. Darhower

  She tilts her head, shifting slightly and sitting up more to look back at me. Sensing her gaze, I meet her eyes. They look black in the night.

  "You light up when you talk like that," she says.

  I shrug a shoulder as I study her face, light igniting parts of it, casting the rest in shadows. "You make something beautiful enough and people forget just how much it can hurt you."

  She stares at me again.

  That stare.

  The one that makes it feel like she's clawing at my skin, ripping apart my outsides to find her way deeper in. I think I get it now, what she was saying earlier.

  Because nobody looks at me like she does.

  I stare back, holding my ground, waiting for her to turn around. Waiting for her to back down, to be the first to look away, but I don't intimidate her, not the way I intimidate everyone else. I never have.

  I don't know if she was born this goddamn fearless, if it's encoded in her DNA, gifted to her by her flawed bloodline, or if it's something life taught her, something molded into her all those years she was unknowingly on the run. I wonder if she got that from her father, or if it was me who caused her bravery.

  She inches forward ever so slightly and hesitates, contemplating, her eyes flickering to my mouth so faintly I almost don't catch it. She takes a deep breath, exhaling with resolve, before closing her eyes and coming the rest of the way.

  My brave, brave woman kisses me.

  It's soft. Tentative. Sweet. Her breath is shaky and her lips barely part, but it's a kiss, none-the-less, and I fucking savor it. It's not the first time we've kissed since everything turned ugly, not even the first time she's initiated it, but this kiss is different. This kiss feels less like hunger and more like heartache, like she's quenching a thirst by trying to remember how to drink.

  Tiny sips.

  That's all she takes.

  Little pecks against my lips before she pulls back away.

  She stares at me again.

  Five… ten… fifteen seconds.

  And then she turns around.

  She settles back into my arms, lounging on the blanket between my legs as she stares up at the sky in silence, watching the fireworks with the same fearlessness she looked at me with.

  I'm not the only one of us who knows how to play with fire, I think… and I'm not the only one who enjoys it, either.

  "You want to know what I think about when I look at you, Karissa?"

  "What?"

  "I think there's nobody else like you in the world."

  The fireworks seem to go on forever.

  Karissa says nothing else to me.

  Not at the park, not on the walk to the car, and not on the way home.

  The silence isn't strained like it usually is when she doesn't talk. She's right here beside me, completely at ease. I don't know if it's because she's too damn drunk to remember or if she just finally forgot she hates me.

  I lead Karissa to the front door of the house when we get there, my hand pressed against the small of her back. She steps up onto the small porch, waiting, as I dig for the right key. It takes a moment as I fumble with the new locks, a strange sensation creeping up my back, prickling my spine.

  The hair at the nape of my neck stands on end.

  Key halfway into the lock, I freeze as the feeling consumes me, my muscles taut as I strain my ears. There's somebody there. Carefully, I turn my head, slowly surveying the dark neighborhood around us, looking and listening, but I see nothing.

  Nothing but blackness.

  I'm not a fool, though. The darkness can't trick me. Just because I don't see it doesn't mean it's not there. I sense it, feel it crawling across my skin.

  Somebody's watching us.

  Somebody's watching me.

  Somebody's watching her.

  I scan the area again, waiting for something to happen, for someone to appear out of the shadows, and damn near jump when someone touches me. My eyes dart to the hand on my arm before I look at Karissa, seeing her eyeing me peculiarly. "Is something wrong, Naz?"

  Yes, I think.

  Something is definitely wrong.

  Somebody is here.

  I glance behind me again, giving one last look at the street, before turning back to her, offering a small smile so not to alarm her. She's too drunk to feel it right now, I think. "It's nothing."

  I turn the key, finishing the last lock, and push open the front door. I motion for her to go ahead of me inside, trying to shove down those feelings of being watched as they nag at me. Karissa doesn't listen, though, wavering on the porch, before she steps closer until she's almost flush up against me. I stare down at her, watching as she slowly licks her lips.

  She reaches up on her tiptoes but I stop her, palming her cheeks, cradling her face in my hands. I hold her there, her lips a few inches from mine, as I stare into her dark eyes, looking for some sign of uncertainty.

  "You're drunk," I say seriously. "You don't know what you're doing."

  "I know exactly what I'm doing," she whispers. "I'm just a little drunk. I'm not an idiot. I know who you are... what you are... I know what you've done. And I know what I'm doing, too. I know what I want."

  "And what's that?" I ask. "What do you want?"

  She reaches up and grabs my wrists, pulling my hands away from her face. She's not strong enough to force me to move them, but I don't resist. She pushes back up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to mine as her eyelids flutter closed.

  I kiss her back, but I keep my eyes open.

  That feeling won't stop, won't go away, building and building inside of me. I'm paranoid and starved, too damn exhausted to deal with it. As soon as I try to pull away from Karissa's lips, she wraps her arms around my neck and pushes me toward the open doorway, into the foyer. I step backward, finally breaking the kiss, and look out at the street again suspiciously.

  A shadow moves in my peripheral.

  Maybe it's my imagination.

  Maybe I just need some fucking sleep.

  My head turns that way, but I see nothing in the darkness, nothing but trees and grass, cars and mailboxes. Fireworks pop off in the distance, filling the air with loud cracks like far away gunshots, causing wounds that Karissa soothes when she kisses me again.

  Fuck it.

  I slam the door closed, tinkering with the locks, making sure every one of them is secure before giving her my undivided attention. Whatever's out there, be it friend or foe, the shadows or the wind, isn't going to get inside and hurt what I have right here.

  We make our way upstairs, not rushing but not hesitating, her lips glued to mine, her arms wrapped around my neck. I kiss her deeply, each second more passionate, as my hands settle on her hips, fingertips brushing the bare skin beneath the hem of her shirt.

  I break the kiss long enough to pull her top off. She raises her arms straight up in the air, surrendering to me as I strip her. Her clothes are discarded fast but I intend to take it slow, to savor every moment.

  I pull her onto the bed, climbing on top of her fully clothed, my lips moving from her mouth and down her cheek, to her chin and neck, working my way along her jawline. I kiss and nip at the skin, my tongue grazing her salty flesh, as her hands run along my back, beneath my shirt.

  Sitting up, I tug it off and toss it aside before my mouth finds her chest. I circle a nipple with my tongue before wrapping my lips around it, sucking on the sensitive flesh. She moans, arching her back, as she fists my hair.

  "Please," she pleads when I move to the other nipple, giving it the same attention as I awkwardly kick off my shoes, discarding them at the end of the bed. "Please, Naz."

  I kiss along her collarbones before finding her mouth again, smothering her begging with my lips. I shove my shorts down, fumbling to get them off without breaking the kiss, and settle between her legs. The warmth radiating from her makes me shiver. I can still smell the sun on her skin, the scent intoxicating me when I inhale sharply as I push inside of her.

  Fuck, she feels so
good wrapped around me. So good, that it's hard to believe something like this could ever be bad. That I could ever be wrong for her. And I know I am… I'm the last person she should give herself to… but moments like this, when she gasps, that first sudden exhale, like she's surprised by how perfect we fit together, like she's finally whole again after missing a part of her, gives me hope.

  Hope that maybe, even though it's wrong, somehow I can find a way to make it all right.

  "Tell me," I whisper, running my tongue along the shell of her ear. "Tell me how you want it to be. Tell me what you need from me."

  I'll give her anything.

  I'll tear my fucking chest open with my bare hands, rip out my heart and hand it to her, if that's what she needs.

  All she has to do is tell me.

  All she has to do is ask.

  She could bark out a million demands, and I would work myself to the death making them all happen, but instead she merely whispers, "I want you to love me."

  So I do.

  I love her.

  I take my time inside of her, my lips never leaving her skin as I thrust deep, filling her with every inch of me that I can. I make love to her until her skin is flushed, coated in another layer of sweat, until she starts pleading with me again, this time to give her more.

  Harder.

  Deeper.

  More.

  More.

  More.

  Her breasts are flush against my chest, her nipples hard as she presses them into me like she's desperate for more friction. Her hands rake down my spine, not digging into the skin, not drawing blood, but I can feel the mark they leave behind, a trail of tingles I can't shake. My face is nuzzled into her neck as I breathe heavily, panting, my tongue lapping at the sweaty skin before I press my lips to the spot just below her ear and suck. She squeals, fisting my hair again.

  I can feel her body tensing beneath me as I slide in and out of her, holding her so close I graze her clit with each stroke. I increase the pace, just enough to thrust a bit deeper, to hit it a bit harder.

  She lets out a strangled noise, throwing her head back. I bite down on her shoulder as she comes, listening to her cries of pleasure as the tiny convulsions rock her body. I can feel mine getting close, building inside of me. I don't have the energy to hold it back, to delay it any longer.

  I shiver, grunting into her neck as I come inside of her just as her own orgasm starts to fade. I thrust a few times, riding through the waves of pleasure, before stilling on top of her.

  I don't move away, don't let go of her, staying deep inside of her as I hold her against me, listening to her raspy breaths, feeling her pulse as her heart frantically beats.

  Don't regret it, I think, closing my eyes. Don't tell me you regret giving yourself to me.

  She lies still, not moving an inch, like she's trying to get her thoughts in order, like she's trying to pull herself together.

  Don't fucking regret it.

  Whatever you do.

  "Naz, I—"

  Before she can get out whatever it is she wants to say, a sudden noise interrupts us, the obnoxious blaring loud even upstairs in the bedroom.

  It only takes a second for it to hit me.

  My car.

  I quickly pull away from Karissa and jump to my feet, grabbing my shorts from the floor and pulling them on.

  "Stay here," I tell her, running out before she can question me. I sprint downstairs and head toward the front door, grabbing my keys from where I discarded them when we got home.

  I head into the den and walk along the bookshelves, my fingers quickly skimming the spines of books until I come upon my copy of War & Peace, still in the right spot.

  Luckily Karissa hasn't ever tried to read it.

  I pull it off the shelf and open it up. The pages are cut out, leaving a gaping hole right in the center, a silver revolver tucked into it. I pull the gun out, tossing the book on the desk, and make sure it's still loaded as I head for the front door.

  The alarm is blaring so loudly it's practically vibrating the ground. I hit the button on my spare key, relieved when it shuts off through the wall. I strain my ears, listening to the silence, before unlocking the door and slowly opening it. My heart furiously pounds against my ribcage as my eyes scan the yard, the gun gripped tightly in my hand, prepared for anything.

  It's quiet, and still. There's nobody around, nothing except my car, the driver's side door hanging wide open, a familiar set of lost keys dangling from the lock. I eye them for a moment before stepping over to the driveway and pulling them out, giving a quick glance inside the car before slamming the driver's side door closed.

  I'm staring out into the darkness when I hear a squeak behind me. Everything inside of me seizes momentarily before kicking into high gear, fueled by adrenaline. Spinning around, I raise the gun at whatever's moving, my finger slipping right off the trigger as soon as I see her.

  Karissa.

  I'm aiming right at her face.

  She freezes in the doorway to the house, whimpering. I move the gun away at once, raising my hands to show her I mean no harm.

  "Fuck, Karissa, don't sneak up on people. You're going to get yourself hurt. I told you to stay where you were."

  Her frantic gaze darts all around me, trying to make sense of things as I flick on the safety and stick the gun in my waistband.

  "What's happening?" she asks. "I mean, what was...?"

  "It was just the car alarm."

  The answer calms her a bit, although her gaze keeps flickering to my gun. "What set it off?"

  "Don't worry about it," I say. "I handled it."

  She wants to ask more but the racket of the garage door raising interrupts her when I push the button so I can move the car out of the driveway. It gives me a moment to collect myself as I run my hands down my face, taking a deep breath.

  "Relax," I say when it's quiet again. "It could've just been a raccoon."

  "A raccoon?"

  "Yes."

  She shakes her head. "I thought you didn't lie to me?"

  "I don't."

  Her eyes are skeptical, borderline angry as she steps closer, coming outside. She doesn't believe it.

  "I said it could've been a raccoon, which is true. It could've been."

  "But it wasn't."

  "No," I admit, "it wasn't."

  "Who was it?"

  "If I had to guess, I'd say it was the same person who robbed me."

  She gapes at me. "How do you know? Did you see them?"

  "No, I didn't see anybody," I say, holding up the returned keys, jingling them in the air. "Just an educated guess."

  She stares at the keys before meeting my eyes. "Do you know who it is?"

  I nod.

  She pauses. "Do I know them?"

  Another nod. This one's hesitant.

  I stare at her, waiting for the question I dread.

  Don't ask me if it's your mother.

  Don't ask me that...

  "Is it, uh...?" She frowns, looking away from me as she gathers her thoughts. "Is it safe?"

  Reaching out, I graze my fingers along her jawline before cupping her chin. I tilt her face, making her look at me again. She looks worried, so I offer her a smile, just a small one, to try to ease her concerns. Is it safe? Absolutely not. It never is in my world, and it never will be.

  Death lurks around every corner, watching and waiting, and someday, it'll come for me again.

  "Nothing will happen to you," I tell her, running my thumb along her soft bottom lip. "I'll make sure of it."

  She returns my smile. I don't know if she believes me, but I can tell she wants to. Slowly, little by little, she's putting her trust in me again.

  "Happy Birthday."

  I'm sitting on the couch in the den, my plain white shirt lifted up, tucked beneath my chin as I survey my left side, when those two words ring out.

  Happy Birthday.

  My eyes dart to Karissa as she stands in front of me. "Excuse me?"

&nbs
p; "Happy Birthday," she says again, smiling tentatively as she holds out a small container of chocolate pudding and a spoon. "For you."

  I drop my shirt, letting it cover my chest again as I eye her warily. I hesitate so long her smile falls, worry casting shadows over her face. Slowly, I reach for the pudding cup and take it as she sits down beside me with her own. She already has hers open and is taking a bite before I can even think of what to say.

  "How do you know?" I ask, peeling the top off the pudding. I'm not even hungry, so I'm not sure why she gave me this.

  "It was listed on your passport."

  "Ah."

  "I would've made you a cake," she says. "Or, well, had you one made, but I didn't think you'd eat it, you know, in case it got doped with cyanide." She casts me a sideways look as she takes another bite. "I guess I could've bought like a honey bun or something, but we had pudding in the fridge, so..."

  "So pudding it is," I mutter, taking a small bite before I wave at her with my spoon. "I didn't expect anything."

  "I figured," she says, "considering you never even mentioned it."

  She devours her pudding, practically licking the plastic clean of chocolate, as I set mine down on the table without taking another bite. I pull my shirt back up as she watches me.

  "It looks better," she says, setting her empty container down beside mine. Reaching over, she runs her fingertips along the skin around my wound, her touch so light it sends a tingle through me. The forming scar is nasty but it's healing, barely even sore anymore.

  Sighing, I relax back against the couch, relishing the sensation of her touch. "It feels better."

  Her hand moves, shifting away from my injury, and runs along my stomach, caressing the skin. She traces the ridges of my abs, following the trail of hair up to my chest as she slowly edges toward me.

  I close my eyes when she leans my way, feeling her lips as they press against my stomach, trailing kisses up toward my chest. Her hand brushes against my lap, rubbing my cock through my pants. It stirs beneath her palm, just the simple touch enough to make it harden.