by Loki Renard
Zora had not moved her gaze from his erect cock, now resting against her clitoris in a way that was making her pussy pulse.
“How do you manage to lecture me and maintain an erection? Does telling me off turn you on?”
Her smart-ass comment was rewarded with another punitive drubbing against her mound. If it was meant to teach her a lesson, it didn't work. She ended up squirming underneath him, begging for more.
“It's just as well it does,” Savage said, leaning down to kiss her deeply. “You're trouble, Matthews, and I love you.”
He pressed inside her, filling her in one, long, slow, stroke that drew a cry of pure ecstasy from Zora. There was no more room for words between them as they surged against one another, grinding, writhing, becoming so wrapped up in their lovemaking that time seemed to stop. Caught in Savage's arms, Zora was ridden to a climax that left her panting, thoroughly satiated and drifting off to a dreamless sleep.
***
It was a surprisingly perfect ending to a trying day, but the next morning there was trouble. Zora woke up alone. She did not know where Savage had gone, but assumed he was off in a meeting or some such thing. When he returned home around mid-day, she learned that he had indeed been in a meeting. And not a good one, if the grim look on his face was anything to go by.
The first thing he did upon getting home was to take her in his arms and hold her tight. “You're not going to like this,” he said, his voice rough. “But I have to deploy today.”
“Today?” She heard the plaintive whine in her voice. “You're leaving today? Take me with you.”
“I can't. It's dangerous and you're not qualified to handle it.” He pulled away, but kept his hands on her arms. “I'll be back before you know it, Zora. Just be good, keep on the right side of Mr Holt. He's trying to help you, you know.”
“He is not,” Zora scowled. “Nor are you. I don't want to stay here! I don't want to!”
“But you will,” Savage said. “Because this is where I'm going to come back to. This is where we will find one another again. You understand?”
“I understand I hate this,” Zora swore. “How long will you be gone?”
Savage's face grew solemn. She felt the answer before she heard it.
“I don't know. It could be a couple of weeks, or it could take longer than that.”
“Then let me come with you. I can do field analysis.”
“It's not necessary for this mission,” Savage said. “I'm sorry, Zora.”
“Oh yeah, I bet you are. You're really sorry you got me back here into a little box so you'll know just where I am and I'll have no idea at all where on earth you are. Goddammit, Savage. You're really good at making one-sided deals, you know that?”
He drew in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “Zora, I don't have time for a temper tantrum.”
“Oh FUCK you,” Zora swore. “This isn't a temper tantrum. This is me being angry because you've screwed me over again. And you fucking know it too.”
They glared at one another, each one angry, each one unable to understand why the other couldn't just see things their way.
“I have to go, Zora.”
“Of course you do,” she said bitterly. “That's the one thing you're good at. Leaving.”
She was angry and she was hurt, but what made it worse was the fact that she could see the same pain in his eyes. She knew he didn't really want to leave her. But he was going to anyway because of his overdeveloped sense of duty and an identity that was inextricably linked with all things military.
When he drew her in for another hug, she hugged him back, holding him tight as she breathed in his scent. She was afraid. Afraid that he wouldn't come back. Afraid he might be hurt. Afraid that she was going to be all alone with no one to love her.
“Be good, Matthews,” he said with one last pat to her bottom. “I'll be in touch.”
She couldn't reply. The words stuck in her throat in a big lump. She sniffed against the nape of his neck, and then fell back limp as he took his leave. In that moment it felt to Zora as if her whole life were comprised of just one moment played out over and over again – the moment when she watched him turn and walk away.
***
Three days later, Martin Holt had the door to her house unlocked by a locksmith. Zora had not left the house in that time. She had not showered, she had barely eaten and she had certainly not answered the telephone. In Savage's absence she had caved in upon herself, unable to find a point to living and barely motivated enough to sustain the life that only seemed to exist to torture her.
“Fuck off, Martin Holt,” she swore, slurring her words as he stepped over the threshold. Someone followed him. Someone square and frowny.
“Fuck off, Ms Wright,” Zora added as Martin Holt came to a very judgmental stop in front of her.
“So this is what you do every time Captain Savage leaves,” Martin Holt said. “You fall apart. Are you trying to punish him, or yourself?”
“Super fuck off, Martin Holt,” Zora slurred from her armchair. She wasn't in the mood to be told yet again how terrible she was, how dismally unable to function in decent society. She knew all of it and she didn't care. Her heart hurt, her head hurt and every day was a reminder that she was not and had never been free.
“Here's what's going to happen,” Martin Holt said. “You are going to have a shower. Then you're going to eat something that didn't come out of a plastic wrapper. Then you're coming to my office for a session with me.”
“No,” Zora said. “I'm not doing any of that.”
“Ms Wright will assist you if necessary,” he said implacably, ignoring her as if she had not spoken at all.
“Fuck OFF!” Zora threw the bottle at Martin Holt. It came nowhere close to hitting him but slammed a hole through the dry wall. “Just leave me alone,” she mumbled through tears that were seeping into her eyes completely unwanted.
“We are not leaving you alone,” Martin Holt said firmly, drawing closer. “Now stop the tantrum please, I know you're upset, but this is not helping.”
“You don't know what I am,” Zora said, casting about in the hopes that there was another bottle near to hand. One with something worth drinking in it.
“Ms Wright,” Martin Holt said. “Please assist Ms Matthews into a shower.”
“No!” Zora found an empty vodka bottle and brandished it fiercely. “I shower for no woman or man!”
“Come along, Ms Matthews,” Ms Wright said, moving forward to take Zora by the arm, ignoring the brandishing of the bottle.
“You're lucky I don't hit ladies,” Zora growled as she was hoisted out of the armchair she'd spent most of the last three days in. The one that smelled like Savage. And booze.
“And you're unlucky that I do,” Ms Wright said, a touch of humor in her steely gaze. “Now come along. You're making far too much of a fuss. Do you really want to be helped into the shower?”
“No,” Zora scowled. “I'm not showering. I'm on a shower-strike. It's like a hunger strike, but less pleasant for other people.”
“You are showering, one way or another,” Ms Wright told her sternly. “This is not a negotiation.”
“If you try to make me, all that will happen is you'll get wet.”
“Have you ever felt a rubber paddle on a wet, bare bottom?” Ms Wright asked the question in an intimidating fashion.
Zora was equal to the task of response. “Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?” She slurred the question into Ms Wright's face.
Ms Wright did not seem to have an answer for that, so Zora felt a certain sense of triumph even as she was propelled into the bathroom with a firm finger and thumb attached to her earlobe.
“Okay, okay, leave me alone,” she said. “I'll shower.”
“You have fifteen minutes,” Ms Wright said. “Then I am coming in to check.”
“Make it half an hour,” Zora said. “My hair is not going to clean easy.”
“Fifteen minutes,” Ms W
right re-iterated.
Zora waited until the door closed behind the woman then made for the bathroom window, cursing as she did. Three days of drinking had left her more than a little discombobulated. The clutter on the bathroom counter got in her way as she tried to make her way over it, making a hell of a noise as various bits and pieces toppled over into the sink.
The only way out of the bathroom was the window behind the counter, which was a very odd placement in Zora's opinion. Even when you weren't trying to escape out of it, all having the window behind the counter did was make sure things were likely to fall out of it whenever you opened it.
After several minutes of trying, Zora eventually tumbled out the window amidst a shower of Q-Tips and half used shampoo bottles.
“Ms Matthews.”
She was not surprised to find that Martin Holt had been waiting outside the window. He helped her up, which was nice of him because Zora's legs weren't working as well as they should have been.
“I thought I would take some air,” she explained. “Before my shower.”
Martin Holt did not reply, but he did assist her back into the house and subsequently back into the bathroom.
Faced with the fact she was going to have to take a shower, Zora stripped off her clothes. It was a more difficult task than she had anticipated, owing to the fact that her shirt turned into a labyrinth as she was pulling it off over her head. Here and there she glimpsed little flashes of light, but before long she had to admit defeat.
Five minutes later, Ms Wright found her sitting on the toilet and moaning into the interior of her shirt.
“Oh my dear...” Ms Wright uttered the words in a dour tone. She helped Zora find her way out of the garment, and subsequently out of the rest of her devilishly difficult clothing.
Zora ended up in the shower, sitting on the floor whilst the water ran over her naked body. Ms Wright had left her alone with her last shred of dignity, which Zora was now watching trickling down the plug hole. Was this what her life had come to? Yes. Yes it was.
Picking up the soap, Zora began to wash herself. Tears ran down her face as she soaped her body, washing in her own tears. What was the point of cleaning oneself when one would only get dirty again? What was the point of anything? She couldn't begin to imagine.
Eventually Zora managed to turn the shower off, get out of the vestibule of dampness and wrap herself in a towel. She scuffed out of the bathroom, past Ms Wright, who was tidying the house and past Martin Holt who was standing there with his hands in his pockets doing very little at all.
In the bedroom, Zora found some clean clothing. There was plenty of it seeing as Savage had done the laundry before he left and she'd not changed clothes since the same time. She fished out a pair of black jeans and a zeppelin t-shirt – the air transportation device, not the band. Tying her hair back, she looked at herself in the mirror. Savage's crack about looking like a goth teenager rang true, so she ditched the black t-shirt and replaced it with a pink one. That wasn't any better for some reason, so she added a beige cardigan she'd bought mostly as a joke. Only then did she feel that she looked somewhat mature, which suddenly mattered for reasons she couldn't quite understand.
Her mind was still fogged with drink, which wasn't the worst thing in the world. It dulled the pain. It dulled everything really. She flopped face down on the bed, which still smelled a little bit like Savage and she wished he hadn't gone.
“Come along, Ms Matthews,” Martin Holt said as he knocked on the door. “You need some food.”
Zora pushed off the bed and managed to do a fair impression of being vertical. Staggering out to the lounge, she collapsed onto the couch. It made a crinkling, plasticy sound as she rolled onto it and moaned into the crevices between the cushions.
“I have a headache,” she announced.
“Of course you do,” Ms Wright replied. “Come up to the table and drink this coffee.”
There was a steaming cup of coffee waiting for her on the kitchen table, which had been cleared in her showering absence. Ms Wright had done a pretty good job of restoring the house to a non-toxic level. It was nice of her to have cleaned, but it made Zora feel somewhat guilty. It was one thing to be living in a cesspit, quite something else to have someone else cleaning up after her.
“Okay, you two have done enough,” she said. “I'll take it from here.”
“No,” Martin Holt said. “You'll drink the coffee and then you'll come out for a burger and then we'll talk.”
“I don't want to go anywhere,” Zora said. “I'm drunk.”
“Yes, you are,” Martin Holt agreed. “But that doesn't preclude going out for a burger, in fact, it’s one of the best times to do so.”
Chapter Seven
Zora couldn't really disagree with that. She was hungry and although she really didn't want to go out and didn't want to see anyone, she knew she probably didn't have that much of a choice. Ms Wright and Martin Holt were very determined people and neither of them looked as if they were about to leave without her – though, as it turned out, only Martin Holt accompanied her out. Ms Wright stayed behind, presumably to frown the mess into submission. She really didn't want to go out, however, and she made that point repeatedly.
“I really don't want to go out,” she said as they left the house.
“I really don't want to go out,” she said as they walked down the street.
“I really don't want to go out,” she said as they entered the burger bar.
“I really don't want to go out,” she said as they ordered their meals.
“I really don't want to go blouf,” she said as she took the first bite of her burger.
She stopped complaining once half the burger was gone, washed down with a chocolate milkshake. Her head began to clear as she got some decent food into her system, and her mood began to improve, though just a bit.
“Savage asked you to look in on me, didn't he,” she said, picking at her curly fries. “I assume you're not going to tell him what you found.”
“I think it would distract him,” Martin Holt said. “So I intend to fix the problem. That way I don't have to inform him that you completely regressed the moment he left.”
“That's good,” Zora said. “Because he would beat the hell out of me if he knew.”
“I gathered he would not be pleased,” Martin Holt said, “but I think we can find a gentler approach that will be equally effective.”
“What are you going to do?” She looked at the man with a challenging gaze. “Have Ms Wright paddle me again?”
“No,” Martin Holt smiled. “That's not really my style. We're just going to talk.”
“You mean you're going to mess with my head, shrink style,” Zora said, pulling two intertwined fries apart. “I know what you people do. A patient goes into a psychiatrist's office thinking they're a chicken and comes out thinking they're a chicken whose mother didn't love them enough.”
Martin Holt smiled slightly. “You know, in my experience, the people who are the most resistant to therapy are the people who can most benefit from it.”
“Because...”
“Because they're not used to talking about or paying any attention to their feelings.”
Zora snorted down her milkshake straw. “You're about the first person who has cared about my feelings since Savage knocked on my apartment door. Feelings aren't exactly the priority around this place.”
“I think you're confusing having feelings with getting your own way,” Martin Holt replied. “You seem to genuinely be offended by the idea that you can't do what you want whenever you want. But most adults acknowledge the fact that the world will impose itself on their lives, that they will spend a large part of every day doing things that they don't necessarily want to do, but have to do.”
“Wow,” Zora said, her eyes widening with disbelief at the crap he was spewing at her. “That's actually more depressing than any thought I've had in the last three days. Maybe the people you're talking about have just given
up on themselves? Maybe those people bought into an idea that doesn't serve them? Maybe most people behave like machines rather than actual people? Maybe there's nothing wrong with wanting to have your life on your own terms?”
Zora's barrage of rhetorical questions gave Martin Holt something to chew on whilst she finished her burger.
“Well, I see that you've thought about this,” Martin Holt said, unperturbed. “Let's talk about something you might not have given so much thought to. Why are you unable to function without Captain Savage?”
“I am totally able to function without him,” Zora said. “I just don't want to function in the way you want me to function.”
“Oh,” Martin Holt said. “So you like your alcoholic binging haze that leaves you barely able to walk. You feel good right now and you'd very much like to go home and not shower for another week?”
Zora frowned. He had a point, albeit a sarcastic one. And she couldn't deflect it quite so easily. Sure, she could tell him not to judge her for her choices, but they were undeniably shitty choices.
“So I had a bad few days, so what?”
“You have had a few bad days,” Martin Holt agreed. “I'm glad we can agree on that. I think you've had a lot of seriously bad days over the past year or so.” His tone became more sympathetic as he spoke.
“Yeah,” Zora agreed.
“And I think, although Captain Savage has undoubtedly protected you and been your lover for the duration of that time, you've lacked a certain level of professional support. Which is not surprising, as your rejection of the same is usually vigorous in the extreme.”
“There were a lot of long words in that sentence, Martin Holt,” Zora said. Her head was still too fuzzy to follow complicated conversations.
“It's really quite simple, Zora. I can help you, and I'd like you to let me try.”
“And if I don't?”
He smiled. “I'm not going to force this on you. We can talk if you like, or not if you don't.”
“So after this meal, what happens then?”
“Well, presumably you'll go home.”
It all seemed too easy. Too simply easy. But she was happy to take him at his word. Martin Holt seemed to genuinely want to help, and that was rare. She still didn't trust him, but she didn't trust anyone. At some point, you had to start trusting the people you didn't trust.