I moan, cry, beg for more, until a galaxy of stars explodes behind my eyes and my body ignites. Just when I think I can’t take any more, he expands inside me and releases a growl so ferocious, the walls shake.
I struggle to breathe. My body is numb, and I fall against the speaker, completely spent. My eyes feel suddenly heavy and I can’t seem to form a thought or care to move.
“Sleep now, cherie. Dream of me.”
As if he’s willed my eyes to close, they do.
7
I jolt awake at the feel of something smacking across my face. I spring up, assaulted by a wave of dizziness.
I’m in my bed at the hotel.
“Rise and shine, drunkie.”
“What?” I look around. Trudy is in the bed next to me. We’re both in our pajamas. “What are we…how did we…?”
“What? How did I drag your drunk ass back here? Great question. I left you for ten minutes to go to the bathroom, and when I came back, you were as lit as a firecracker.”
I sit straighter, the dizziness causing my head to throb. “What do you mean?”
Trudy laughs, remembering a part of the night completely unknown to me. She rolls onto her stomach. “Girl, when I came back, you were out on the dancefloor breaking it down.”
My eyes bug out, remembering the indecent scene with Macareus. “Oh my god, what did you see?”
“Well...I found you grinding on the dancefloor by yourself. It was quite comical actually.”
“Wait, I was alone?” Oh god, not again.
“Yeah. A few guys tried to join you, but they would get close and quickly shoo off.”
No, no, no. I grab at my head. “Was there ever a time I disappeared?” I had to have. There’s no way…
“Not that I know of. Eventually, we left the dancefloor and took a bunch more shots. That’s when things got a little hazy. I remember leaving and stumbling back to the hotel. How we made it up to the room is beyond me.”
“Goddammit!” I yell, startling Trudy. I slam my tight fists against the mattress.
“Why are you so mad? You looked like you were having a good time, and considering I just woke your ass up ’cause you were moaning, you were having a pretty good dream too.”
But it wasn’t a dream.
My fingers skate along my skin where he left his mark. Once again, it’s sensitive to the touch, but of course, there are no marks to prove it. Because he’s not real. I fight a wave of tears, the unbalance of my mind becoming too much. I shake my head. “I think I’m losing my mind.”
Trudy sits up, throwing the covers off her legs, and jumps out of bed. “We’re about to lose our seats on the plane if we don’t get up and hurry. We’re running late. Our flight leaves in an hour.”
I put my confusion aside and we scurry around, gathering our minimal things, and check out of the hotel. The ride to the airport is quiet. Trudy is fighting off her hangover, while I fight off the memories of last night. My confusion turns into anger. I swipe away tears of frustration. Not realizing Trudy has taken notice of my unleashed emotions, she squeezes my hand for comfort.
“Things will get better, girl. James won’t always have this effect on you.”
Little does she know this has nothing to do with James and everything to do with a man who doesn’t exist.
We board the plane, this strange ease washing over me. As if the farther I get away from this city, the more cognizant I feel. My mind becomes clearer. As we land in Florida, any sort of sensation caused by the drugs or my fake lover has completely vanished.
“So glad to be home. I may be hungover for a week. Definitely not going back to New Orleans any time soon,” Trudy says, stepping off the plane.
If there is one thing I agree on, it’s never going back to that city. Or doing drugs. Drugs are bad.
8
One week later…
I’ve been home a week. My hangover is still sticking around. Remind me never to get roofied again. Thankfully, the drugs wore off and so did any lingering sense of my drug-induced lover. Every time I close my eyes, I’m met with darkness, but that’s all that greets me. Which is kind of a shame. I could use more of what he was selling: hot, wicked, wild sex.
I sigh, adjusting the couch pillow as I lay, watching TV.
I won’t lie and say I haven’t closed my eyes and commanded to be haunted by his smoldering silver eyes. Sadly, he never comes. I may not feel his presence anymore, but that doesn’t stop me from aching with the thought of his penetrating stare. No matter how hard I try, how desperate and sexually deprived I become, he doesn’t appear.
Real or not, I miss his touch. His tantalizing voice. His ruthless promise. Instead, I settle for the fading memories. And now, I’m finally admitting I’m just bat shit crazy.
I met a guy who wasn’t real and he took me on the ride of my life.
Drugs are whack.
“Honey, I made you some lunch.” My mom sticks her head out from the kitchen, waving a knife covered in peanut butter. If there’s one thing that’s kept me going, it’s those damn peanut butter and Doritos sandwiches. My mom wants me to never find a man with the weight I’m gaining putting those suckers down.
I grunt, throwing my feet off the couch, pause my shameless romance flick, and meet my mom in the kitchen.
“Thanks, Mom.” I take a seat at the table, accepting her gigantic glass of strawberry milk.
“So, honey, I have some exciting news for you. Glenda from bunko told me her company is hiring. The marketing department just lost someone because she had a baby and they’re looking to fill her position. I thought you would be perfect for it, so she gave me her contact information for you to submit your resume.”
As much as I’m enjoying holing up on my parent’s couch eating my favorite childhood sandwiches and plowing through every cheesy romance movie, it does sound refreshing to get back to reality—a job, showering regularly.
“Sounds great. I’ll give her a call.” I take a bite of my sandwich and moan. Damn, it’s just as tasty every time. The phone rings, and my mom excuses herself to answer it while I take down the rest of my lunch. My mom really should consider selling this idea. Probably make a bazillion—
“Honey, it’s for you.”
I twist my head. “For me?” Who the hell would be calling me on their house phone? I shovel another bite into my mouth and stand, taking the nineties receiver still mounted to the wall. “Hello?”
“Good afternoon. Is this Katie Swanson?”
“One and only. Can I help you?”
“Yes, this is Maribel Richards from First West Bank. I’m calling in regard to the three credit cards you have open with us.”
Oh, great. Here we go. “Yeah, so I actually closed those and spoke to someone at your bank about a payment plan. I’m kind of in a money crunch and unemployed at the moment.”
“Well, actually, we’re calling about that. It seems, Ms. Swanson, there was a glitch in our system. Our records show the credit card numbers were fraudulently used. We’re very sorry. This should have been caught by one of our staff sooner.”
“Uh, say again?”
“It’s very unheard of that this happens, but it seems these credit card accounts were being used by accident. We have a system in place that creates test accounts and uses them for test purchases as a way to make sure the bonus points structure is a success. Strangely enough, the system, when creating a fake account, matched up to your credit cards. Like I said, this has never happened before and we’re extremely sorry. Our team is currently working diligently to rectify the situation.”
I wipe the peanut butter off my lip. “Okay, you lost me. What exactly does that mean?”
“It means we are erasing the debt owed from all three cards, along with reversing the payments you’ve made the last three years. They will be transferred back into your bank account.”
I choke on my bite before I’m able to get it down. “Excuse me? Payments?”
“Yes. Please allow the bank tw
enty-four to forty-eight hours to transfer the money back into your account.”
I want to tell her I have no idea what payments she’s talking about considering I never knew about these cards until a month ago and James was certainly not paying on them. “And how much would you be transferring?” I ask.
“$42,651.52.”
My half chewed up bite goes flying out of my mouth, smacking my mom in the face. “Holy fuck!”
“Again, do please accept our apologies and thank you for banking with First West.”
“Yeah…uh…sure…” I hang up, standing there in shock.
Then I proceed to smack myself.
“Oh, dear, why did you do that? You’re going to hurt yourself.”
I look my mom dead in the eyes. “I need you to smack me.”
“I’m not going to smack you, honey. Who was that?”
“That was the bank. Unless I’m dreaming.” I smack myself again.
“Oh, goodness, knock that off!” My mom yells.
“So, you actually see me, right?” I’m not trapped in some alternate universe where I see people and things happen and—"
“Darryl!” my mom yells for my dad.
“What is it?” he asks, entering the kitchen.
“Something’s wrong with Katie. I think she’s finally lost it.”
He eyes me. “You all there, baby girl?”
I have no idea. I stand there as my parents cautiously await my next move. My skin starts to sting from where I slapped myself so I’m going to go with this is really happening. A grin slowly spreads across my face, making my cheeks hurt for a whole other reason. “Actually…I’m great!” I give my mom a huge kiss and then my dad. “I’m actually going to go shower. You know, make something of the day. Love you both.” I practically skip out of the kitchen before turning around. “Oh, and, Mom, really think about patenting that sandwich recipe. Real winner.” I skip out of the kitchen.
One week later…
I walk into the local coffee shop, unbuttoning my suitcoat. The potent smell of coffee brewing seeps into my nostrils, and I inhale the fresh scent of vanilla bean. My easy-going smile has been a permanent fixture on my face. Ever since the call from the bank last week, my life has taken a drastic turn. I greet the barista, gaze up at the wall menu, and recite my order.
“That will be right up. Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“That’s it! Have a splendid day,” I chime in with a smile and move out of the way and wait for my order. I reach into my bag and pull out my freshly signed contract with First Avenue Marketing. I can’t believe I got the job. The position turned out to be perfect for me. Two phone interviews and one in-person landed me an opportunity of a lifetime. And I couldn’t be more stoked about it.
The bank made me come in and sign some papers, claiming I wouldn’t sue them for negligence, which I kindly told them was no problem. Mistakes happen. I held in my laughter as I walked out of there five figures richer.
“Katie?” the barista calls my name. “Large latte, double shot of expresso, soy milk, and a shot of vanilla.”
“That would be me.” I smile widely, accepting my tasty drink. It’s crazy to say, but it’s like everything in my life is starting to fall in place. The worry I would never be free of the hurt and damage James did to me suddenly started to evaporate. Even he’s left me alone, which I’m thankful for.
I walk toward the exit when my phone rings. Trudy’s name crosses my screen.
“Hey! I was just about to call you. Guess who is now currently employed as Senior manager of content marketing?”
“Katie…have you seen the news?”
“No, why?” Who watches the news these days?
“Where are you?”
“I’m just leaving The Vanilla Bean. Why, what’s up? Why are you acting all weird?” I stop, waiting for her to give me bad news. Things have been going so well, part of me has been waiting for the shoe to drop.
“Girl, grab one of the newspapers by the exit. Turn to page three.”
Confused, I grab one off the stand and open it, searching for whatever has her up in arms. “What, did another ex of yours get engaged?”
Then I see it.
Local Man Goes Missing After Trip to Everglades.
A gray and white photo of James is plastered next to the article.
James Winston, thirty-two, a Florida resident, disappeared two weeks ago, after renting a speed boat with an unnamed female. The two were scheduled to return later that day. When the rental company reported the boat missing, local officials responded in a search and rescue mission. The boat was located off the uncharted parts of the Everglades. The unnamed female was still on the boat, but James was not. In a statement, we learned the female woke up alone, with no recollection of how James exited the boat. Local officials confirm it is impossible anyone would survive the terrain of the alligator infested waters. Their search has been called off.
My coffee slips from my grip, splattering at my feet. I barely feel the burn from the hot liquid as I re-read the article.
“Holy fucking shit.” Holy fucking shit!
“Right? I can’t even believe it. Like holy karma, right?”
“No, I mean holy fucking shit!” My raised voice causes a table full of customers to glance my way. My mind races back to New Orleans. Back to my confession with Macareus. “I wished this…I wished this would happen.”
“Didn’t we all?” Trudy sighs.
“No! Like, I did this!”
I wish my ex would go swimming with the alligators in the Everglades and never return.
“Oh, Katie, I wish I had bigger boobs and a plumper ass, but it doesn’t mean it happens. James was a total jackass. He was probably trying to show off and his big head caused him to tumble off the side of the boat. I know this sucks, and I know you loved him, but let’s be honest, he got what he deserved.”
“Trudy! Morbid much?”
“I’m just saying. Listen, it’s probably a terrible way to go, not to mention really messed up, but I just wanted you to know. Hey, listen, I’m running back into work. Call me if you want to talk about anything. I’m here for you, girl. Love you.”
I mumble a goodbye, end our call, and slide my phone back into my pocket. My eyes have yet to tear away from James’s photo. This has to be a coincidence. There’s no way…
I’m about to close the paper when another bold title grabs my attention.
NATIONAL NEWS: NEW ORLEANS
Candlelight ceremony scheduled for the anniversary of the disastrous Yellow Fever Epidemic of 1853.
New Orleans remembers tragedy and the ancestors lost during the questionable epidemic. History claims widespread disease caused by the vicious outbreak, a mosquito-borne viral disease, tearing through the town like wildfire, infecting anyone in its path. By the time scientists were able to diagnose the cause, thousands had perished. But legend has it, not all deaths were caused by the devastating infection.
There’s no denying New Orleans has earned its nickname, City of the Dead. The spirited town, whether you believe or not, is known heavily for being the home of voodoo and black magic, loss and destruction. Legend has written the town turned to voodoo for a cure. Marie Laveau, a well-known voodoo priestess during the era, was called in, requesting her assistance in healing the sick.
Many during that time owe their life and devotion to the queen of voodoo, but some say it was not without a price.
Lore has it, Marie Laveau was in search of securing an army. When she passed, they would follow her into immortality. The lives saved were of men sacrificing their own for their loved ones. Sick wives and children. Mothers and grandmothers. She would cure the sick, and in return, ask for their eternal dedication—an assembled army that would take control of the New Orleans underground.
Rumors are said some went willingly. To live forever was a flourishing gift they couldn’t refuse. Some at the hands of their dying loved ones. Many lives were saved by hands of the voodoo queen
, and in their place, the disappearance of many husbands and sons.
Thousands were reported dead from yellow fever, but merely a third of those bodies were accounted for. Amongst the missing were prominent names. From the governor, to the city’s waterworks committee, to lawyers and high ranked generals.
The words on the page begin to blur. The article means nothing to me. It’s the photo next to it: an old black and white snapshot of five men standing tall, wearing armor. A tremor shoots through me, and my hands start to shake. The room begins to spin. I’m barely able to keep my footing as I stare at the man on the end.
Macareus Thurlow
Confederate Lieutenant General of third ward, Army Reserves.
Supposed Death: October 27, 1853.
Everything blurs. My hands tremble so bad, the newspaper falls from my grip. As it drops to the ground, a card extracts from the paper, landing next to it, face up. I remember it. I feel it inside my soul as I stare down at a woman riding a horse, her head dangerously lying in the mouth of the lion.
About JD Hollyfield
J.D. Hollyfield is a creative designer by day and superhero by night. When she’s not cooking, event planning, or spending time with her family, she’s relaxing with her nose stuck in a book. With her love for romance, and her head full of book boyfriends, she was inspired to test her creative abilities and bring her own stories to life. Living in the Midwest, she’s currently at work on blowing the minds of readers, with the additions of her new books and series, along with her charm, humor and HEA’s.
Wicked Love Page 29