To Burn In Brutal Rapture

by Nyla K

  “I knew you were lying about taking Ubers home,” I reply, as if that makes any sense, or answers her question at all. “I needed to make sure you got home safe. You’re being incredibly irresponsible, walking around this neighborhood in the middle of the night alone.”

  “So you drove from Bay Harbor at three-thirty to bring me two minutes up the street?” She asks, her tone skeptical. Not that I really care. I don’t owe her any explanations.

  Apparently…

  I go mute, my default way of dealing with arguments when I know I’m being ridiculous. Traci falls quiet too, staring out the window as I cruise the dark street. My eyes peek in her direction, sliding over her frame subtly and completely against my will. She has the most supple curves, but she still looks like she could stand to put on a few pounds. I’m willing to bet she doesn’t eat enough. Girls her age are usually obsessed with starving themselves.

  “Are you hungry?” The words leave my mouth without my permission. Her face snaps left, and she looks puzzled, so I arch my brow as if my question was completely normal. “Have you eaten?”

  As her head shakes a bit from side to side, those blue eyes even bigger and brighter than usual, which just makes me angry. Why does she look so young and innocent right now? She’s fucking not. She’s a goddamned stripper, for fuck’s sake.

  Trying to capture me with the damsel in distress routine, I bet. Well, you’re not fooling me, Trixie.

  I make a last-minute turn and drive toward Biscayne. When we get closer, her eyes light up to match all the illuminated fast food signs everywhere, and a warm appreciation floods my chest for my good decision. She was hungry. I knew it.

  I assume she won’t answer me if I ask what she wants, so I pull into Carl’s Jr. and go to the drive-thru. I turn to her for a moment to see if she’s going to choose something from the menu, but her giant eyes are stuck on the lit-up sign like she’s never seen food before. Rolling my eyes, I just order two of something before she can hold up the cars behind us.

  I won’t comment on it, but I’ve known this girl for many years, so I know what she likes to eat, and I know she isn’t allergic to anything. It’s odd, having this sort of knowledge about her lingering inside me, when I’ve never given it a second thought until right now.

  Driving forward, I pay then hand her the food before pulling back onto the Boulevard, looking for somewhere to stop and eat that’s more secluded than the restaurant parking lot. I catch Traci sneaking French fries out of the bag while I’m driving and it has me grinning, though I do everything in my power not to make it visible.

  I turn onto a side street that connects to Traci’s neighborhood and park beneath a street lamp so we can see. Then I turn the car off, but leave the radio on, which is playing some new song I’ve never heard. Traci takes out a burger and hands it to me before removing hers, unwrapping it and taking a giant bite. I’m extremely satisfied that she’s eating, and that I went with my gut about feeding her. I don’t know why I care, or why it feels so good to take care of her, but it does, and I try not to think about it anymore as I bite into my own burger.

  We eat in silence, no conversation needed. Just the whimsical songs on the radio, and the rustling of the paper bag containing our food. I’ve always been fond of comfortable silence. It’s a requirement in my relationships, which I admittedly haven’t had many of. But as soon as someone starts mindlessly blathering on about nonsense to fill the quiet with unnecessary chatter, I write them off. I can’t deal with that.

  Ophelia and I used to quote that line from Pulp Fiction, where Mia Wallace says to Vincent Vega, That’s when you know you’ve found somebody special. When you can just shut the fuck up and comfortably enjoy the silence. We had that in common. Ophelia loved quiet when she wanted it - and loudness when she didn’t - but there’s something to be said about being able to just sit with someone and exist. And believe me, Day got on board with the comfortable silence thing real quick, in college when he first started dating Lia. She would shoot him this withering glare that basically meant stop talking before I cut you, and he would immediately zip it.

  The memory brings a soft smile to my lips, followed by a suffocating tightness in my chest that makes me feel claustrophobic, but I breathe in deep and push past it.

  Traci turns her face a bit and watches me, crumbling the empty wrapper from her burger in her fist. She tosses it in the paper bag, taking a long sip of her soda through the straw then sighs, replete.

  “Thank you,” her voice is gentle. “I didn’t notice how hungry I was.”

  Tilting my face, I squint her. “That’s because you weren’t paying attention.”

  “What does that mean?” Her nose scrunches in offense, and I won’t acknowledge how cute it is.

  “You seem pretty out of touch with reality sometimes, Trix,” I tell her. “You act like your life is a game, and none of it really matters. You need to take care of yourself. You need to care, about anything.”

  She’s quiet for a moment, eyes aimed at her lap. “I care about things.”

  “Like what?” I scoff, and her head snaps in my direction, something slightly embarrassed wearing on her face.

  Swallowing down my insecurities, I bite the inside of my cheek and shake my head.

  Please… Say something else. Anything else.

  “Like yoga,” she chirps, and I breathe out to release some pressure. “I’d like to have my own studio. I enjoy teaching people.”

  I turn my body to hers, and she mirrors me. “You were serious about that? You really have a job as a yoga instructor?”

  She nods. “Yes. The studio is called Aton, and it’s great. I want to open a place just like that someday.”

  My lips curve. I like that she’s doing something positive and following a dream at her age, just like Damien and I were back then. He’d be proud.

  But at that thought, I frown. “Then why the fuck are you stripping? It makes no sense. You don’t need -”

  “The money. I know,” she interrupts me. “I told you, it makes me feel powerful. And I’m not taking anymore of Dad’s money. I’m just not, okay? So you can stop scolding me about my night job. You won’t change my mind about it, and you’re not my father. Clearly.”

  She gives me a look that pumps my chest and makes my dick twitch, igniting memories of watching her come, kissing those gorgeous tits all over while she ground her hips into mine.

  I shift in my seat, trying to keep it subtle, but I think she definitely knows what I’m thinking about. She bites her lip and the air inside the vehicle shifts. There’s so much tension between us, it’s uncomfortable.

  I’m not supposed to want this, and I’m definitely not supposed to be with her right now.

  Pressing the start button quickly, my vehicle purrs to life. I roll the window down to get some air in here, because it’s too hot and I can’t breathe. Without saying another word, I shift into drive and maneuver my Maserati through the streets to her apartment.

  When we arrive at her building, I pull up in front and park, leaving the engine running, the universal symbol that I’m not coming inside. I feel it’s necessary to convey this, since I can already tell she’s about to ask -

  “Want to come up?” Her soft, angelic voice slips into my ear, and I tap my thumb on the steering wheel. Called it.

  “Can’t.” I refuse to look at her. Just get out of the car, Traci. Please.

  “That’s not what I asked you,” she sighs and unbuckles her seat belt. “I know you can’t. But do you want to?”

  I aim a hopefully scathing glare at her, and to no one’s surprise, she’s completely unaffected by it.

  “Okay, fine. Be that way,” she grins, opening her door and stepping out of the vehicle.

  Before she closes it, I grumble, “Take an Uber next time, Trix.”

  “No, thanks. I’m good.” She tosses me a nonchalant wave. “Thanks for the ride, Scary Spice.”

  As I’m about to ask why she keeps calling me that, she shuts the
door and scampers off to her building, letting herself inside without looking back at me once.

  My jaw clenches hard the entire drive home, as I stew over how goddamn stubborn she is. How infuriating. That smart fucking mouth, and those careless actions…

  She’s such a fucking nuisance, and I want nothing more than to just forget about everything we’ve done together. Which doesn’t explain why the second I set foot inside my house, I’m stomping upstairs, taking my dick out and jerking off, imagining her pretty, young face, looking up at me from her knees.

  Begging and pleading for my cock… Needing me to mark her like the bad fucking girl she is.

  I come in three minutes and when I do, it’s her name that falls from my lips, against every single ounce of will I have.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Lazarus

  I’ve fallen off the deep-end, and I know it’s not good.

  I know it, with every nerve of my body and mind. I’m smart enough to see that I’m slipping further and further, but I just can’t seem to make myself stop. And it’s as fascinating as it is alarming.

  I’ve spent the last week driving Traci less than a mile, from that stupid strip club she works at to her apartment. Every night.

  I tried to stay away, telling myself she was on her own, and if she wanted to act recklessly, that’s someone else’s problem, not mine. But then I quickly realized that I’ve already made it my problem, by lying to my best friend about where his daughter is. Because if something were to happen to her now, it would be my fault, and I would have to deal with Damien’s devastation, which is something I have no desire to revisit.

  So I showed up at the club at three and waited for her to come out, just like the night before, looking all small and chipper, if not slightly tired. And I drove her two minutes up the street.

  To make sure she was safe. That’s it.

  She said nothing, just hopped out with that little wave and went inside. No offer to come up. I wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but it was on my mind for hours afterward; a mixture of confusion, relief, and dismayed disappointment.

  After the third night in a row of the same thing, driving her two minutes in silence, I made a plan to stay away. I was done torturing myself over something so foolish and unnecessary.

  That next evening, I called a previous hook-up to come over and distract me at three in the morning, so I wouldn’t be tempted to leave and give Traci a ride. Needless to say, it didn’t go over well.

  The woman - saved in my phone as Big Tit Bartender - came by, trying to ease my mind with her hands and her mouth and her tongue, but I was so consumed with wondering what Traci was doing, and who she was doing it with, or on, that I couldn’t focus. BTB became frustrated by my lack of interest and stormed off just minutes before three.

  I left right behind her and drove straight to The Boom Boom Room.

  Another silent two-minute car ride, with Traci sitting comfortably unaware of the hurricane brewing inside her driver.

  It was excruciating, and yet I knew before she even hopped out of the vehicle, sans invitation upstairs again, that I would be doing the exact same thing the following night.

  And here I am. The only difference is that this time when she exits the club, it’s alongside a slightly taller girl with purple hair, who I recognize as her best friend, Merci. They climb into a Jeep together and drive away.

  So I follow them. Naturally.

  They drive the familiar route to Traci’s apartment, parking in the driveway and heading inside. I pull in front of their building and park myself, sitting with the engine running for minutes on end, wondering what in the holy fuck I’m doing.

  She didn’t need a ride. I was supposed to turn around and go home.

  And yet, to my confused irritation, my body won’t react to what my mind is telling it to do. I’m frozen, just sitting with my heartbeat rocking, staring at her apartment building like a moron.

  The annoying little voice in the back of my mind tells me exactly why I can’t leave, though I try to ignore it. I fight against it, shoving it as far away from my conscious thoughts as possible, but it just keeps coming back. Pushing me and pushing me and pushing.

  You want to see her. You miss her. You miss just sitting next to her in silence for two minutes.

  It’s that stupid, nagging, incessant little voice that prompts me to turn off the engine and jump out my car, locking it fast and stammering up to her building.

  The front door is either unlocked or broken, so I’m able to get right inside. Climbing the three flights of stairs, I pass the same big, scary psychos from the other night, all of them giving me looks that might be considered threatening if I gave a fuck what they thought. I step up to Traci’s door, out of breath and not from all the steps, steadying myself before knocking.

  Merci opens the door, her face lighting up with a knowingly wicked smirk.

  Before I can speak, she calls over her shoulder, “Traci,” eyes never once leaving mine. “You have a visitor.”

  I gulp, fully aware of how this looks. Bad. Very bad on my part.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Traci mumbles as she approaches the doorway, her face dropping in pure shock and confusion when she sees me. “Lazarus… What are you doing here?”

  Merci turns and walks away, still wearing that damn evil grin, and I blink myself out of it, eyes sliding over my best friend’s daughter, in her short shorts and loose camisole; black hair soft and shiny, tied up in a messy knot on top of her head.

  “I wanted to… make sure you got home okay,” I mutter, knowing full-well it’s bullshit.

  “Yea, um, Merci worked the same shift tonight, so she drove me,” she explains, her tone still a bit baffled. “Oh, I’m sorry. Come in.”

  She moves to the side, expecting me to step in, because why else would I be here?

  But I stay planted outside her door and shake my head. “No. I can’t do that.”

  Her forehead lines. “Then what do you want?”

  “Like I said, to make sure you were home. And okay,” I shrug, as if everything I’m saying and doing is perfectly normal.

  “Okay…” she blinks. “Yea, I’m home. Obviously.” She waves her hand in the air. “And I’m fine. Just another long night.”

  I cringe, blocking out all the images of her shaking her barely-clothed body around on a stage while a bunch of sick perverted fucks throw money at her.

  But you’re nothing like them, right? Because showing up at her house in the middle of the night isn’t weird or creepy at all…

  I tell my brain to shut the fuck up and begin backing away slowly. “Alright, well… That’s good. Have a good night, Trix.”

  Turning, scolding myself internally for being such a fucking idiot lunatic, I prepare to leave this goddamn building and never come back, when she calls my name.

  “Lazarus, wait.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut in serious discomfort, before spinning to face her. “Yea?”

  “I told my dad earlier that I’ll have dinner with him tomorrow,” she says, and I immediately know what she’s talking about.

  Damien’s been going on all week about how it’s Traci’s eighteenth birthday on Sunday night, and he’s dying to see her. Apparently, she finally called him to say hello the other day, and let him know she’s fine. But also that she’s not coming home, so not to even ask. Despite the obvious unease, Damien was ecstatic to have heard from her, and agreed to give her space, as long as they could keep talking regularly.

  According to Damien, Traci refuses to go to the house for her birthday, suspecting rather accurately that he’ll try to capture her and keep her there. So he offered to take her to dinner instead and has been waiting for her to accept. Naturally, I’ve been invited to this dinner as well, which I have mixed feelings about attending, for obvious reasons.

  So I guess she accepted his offer.

  I nod at her, already knowing where she’s going with this.

  “Are you going to c
ome?” She asks, sounding so hopeful it fills me with equal parts joy and pain.

  I stare at her for a moment, pleading for the strength to say I can’t make it. It would be wise for me to stay away from her, especially after making myself look like a desperate fool tonight. And after all the lying to Damien, I can’t imagine a dinner with the three of us going over well.

  But despite all of that, I still want to go. Because it’s her eighteenth birthday. It’s a big day.

  So my head begins to nod slowly, her face lighting up with excitement. “Sure. I’ll be there.”

  “Great!” She squeals, and fuck if the sight and sound don’t make me want smile like a mental patient. It’s active work forcing myself not to. “We’re going to La Roca at eight. See you then!”

  “Okay…” My stomach twists as I turn and leave without another word.

  It’s Sunday.

  Also known as Tracien’s eighteenth birthday, and the night of the insufferable dinner I’m putting myself through for reasons I still don’t fully understand.

  I’m already on edge and I’m not even at the restaurant yet. Probably in part because I almost blew my cover with Damien earlier.

  He called to remind me about dinner, and I said, Yes. La Roca at eight. I’ll be there.

  And then he was like, Did I tell you where we were going?

  And I fumbled so hard I almost choked on the air I was struggling to breathe, saying, Yea, you told me, in the most convincing tone I could manage.

  Because Day’s been the picture of distractedness lately, he brushed it off as him being scatter-brained, and not that I’ve been lying to him for weeks while secretly seeing his daughter, giving her rides and following her around like an obsessive stalker.

  I feel like the pure garbage I am as I drive to La Roca, my stomach in knots while I sweat more than usual. I’m going to need a drink, or five, the moment I sit down.

  I make sure to arrive fifteen-minutes late, to ensure I’m not the first one there. Or the second one, either. Dread swims through me like a deadly fish as I wander inside the restaurant, one of the hostesses immediately recognizing me, showing me to their table before I even say anything. I wring my hands out as we move to the upstairs dining room, which is where the VIP’s usually sit.