The Dark of You

by Shade, S. M.

  I’m still in the middle of arguing with myself over whether to do as he says or make a run for it when he pulls off his shirt and starts unbuckling his jeans. My tongue slips out to wet my lips at the display of lean muscle and smooth skin. He shoves his jeans down and if there’s ever a chance to run, it’s now, when I have a few seconds of leeway.

  That’s it. I should run. I’m going to. Any second now, after I’m done gawking at the cock that’s pointed straight at me. For anyone who may have thought a perfect cock is a myth, I can dispel that notion.

  At the sound of his deep chuckle, I pull my attention to his face in time to see a wicked smile approaching fast. Three long strides and his hands are on me, pulling my shirt over my head.

  “I said strip.”

  Both naked now, I can feel the heat radiating off of his body, or maybe just reflecting from mine because I’m burning up. His mouth lands on mine for the first time and any thought of resisting is long gone. His lips are soft, but the kiss is powerful and possessive. He takes a few steps backward and sits down in the corner chair, pulling me with him.

  His voice is in my ear, low and commanding. “What did I tell you to do, Darcy?”

  My face ignites with my reply. “Sit on your cock.”

  Large hands slide under my ass when I straddle him, guiding me to where he wants me. To where I want him. Because at this moment the only thing I want or could ever want is him inside me. I couldn’t be more wet and ready, but it’s still been a while, and he isn’t small. He grins at my sharp intake of breath, when I hesitate about halfway.

  “Take all of it.” He grasps my hips and pulls me down, tugging a cry from my throat as every inch is buried deep. Oh god. Oh, it burns and hurts and feels fucking amazing. A rough hand runs up my neck. His thumb rubs over my parted lips. Captured by him in those eyes and in every other way that matters, I still manage to find my voice.

  “I don’t even know your name. Tell me.”

  With a hard blink, he smirks. “Are you giving orders?” He pinches my nipple, rolling it roughly in his fingers, and I bite back a groan.

  “I want to know your name. Unless you’d rather me scream ‘stalker’ when you’re fucking me.”

  Low and sinister, his laugh sends shivers through me. “Oh Darcy, I’ve waited so long for this.”

  It’s the only warning I get before he thrusts up into me. Grabbing my hips, he does it again and again at a punishing pace. I’m not sure why he wanted me on top because I’m just along for the ride. After a few painful moments, the pleasure blooms and multiplies. I fuck him as hard as he’s fucking me, the burning in my legs a distant buzz as we slam into each other frantically.

  His lips find my shoulder, my neck, my jaw, licking and sucking. Hands tighten on my ass when I get close.

  “Don’t come.”

  “What?” I breathe, the sensation inside me growing stronger.

  “Don’t come until I tell you to. You’ll be sorry, Darcy.”

  My god, the threat just makes it that much harder to fight the wave trying to pull me under. “I can’t…I can’t stop it!”

  The fear over what he may do when I come isn’t killing the build up at all, just the opposite, and I grit my teeth, trying not to let it overtake me.

  “Now.” His order is growled in my ear and half a breath later, I cry out as his fingertip rubbing my clit seems to extend the pleasure way past anything I’ve ever managed. He grows larger inside me, his head thrown back and cords standing out in his neck.

  Silence is only broken by our heavy breathing for the next minute until he speaks.

  “Reeve.”

  Still dick drunk and confused, I blink down at him. “What?”

  “My name’s Reeve.”

  Reality starts to leak in, and he doesn’t resist when I pull myself off of him with a wince, then retreat across the room. Guilt and shame drown me. What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with him? There’s so much I don’t understand.

  He watches while I pull on my panties, and then he starts to dress as well. Once we’re both clothed again, I face him. “Why are you here? Why me?” I hate the way the words come out. Weak and pleading.

  Suddenly, his large hand is gripping my jaw, squeezing slightly. My head tilts up to look into his eyes, and I’m caught, snared by a trap set in blazing green.

  “You need me.”

  My heart rattles against my chest at the words, but they also trigger the part of me who knows this isn’t right. I jerk my head back, escaping his grasp. “I don’t need anyone!”

  Before I can take another step away from him, he grabs me, spins me around, and my back slams against his chest. One arm wraps around under my breasts, and his other hand slides up the side of my neck to fist my hair. My breath stutters when he tugs my head aside, making my scalp sting as he presses his lips against my ear.

  “You need me. I’m here. Wherever you are, I am.”

  Chapter Six

  PAST

  Today’s the day. I’m not letting them intimidate me anymore. The knife feels heavy in my hand. The blade pops out, gleaming in the early morning sunlight when I press the button. This is all I’ve thought about all night while I tried to sleep in the frigid bedroom I share with three other kids. Heat costs money, and the woman who keeps us isn’t going to fork out any of the cash she’s given for our “care.” It doesn’t matter. I’m used to it.

  The world doesn’t care about me, and I don’t care about it. What I do care about is setting some boys straight today, one in particular. I’m liable to end up in juvenile detention, but how bad can it be? At least there’ll be heat and food. Besides, I’m not going to kill anyone. I don’t even plan to hurt them unless I have no choice.

  The knife accompanies me to Dash Middle School tucked into my jacket pocket. It’s not an inner city school. The parents would have a heart attack if metal detectors were installed so there’s no problem getting from the bus into the building and to my locker.

  Like clockwork, here they come.

  Kevin, the ringleader, saunters up with his two lackeys, Chris and Jason, behind him. “Knew I smelled something rank. Chris said it was dogshit, but even dogshit doesn’t smell this bad.” They’re real original. If it were only the insults and playground taunts, I could probably let it go, but as usual, it doesn’t stop there.

  Protected from sight by a hallway stuffed with students going in every direction, Chris grabs my ass. What little I have of one. Though I’m nearly thirteen, puberty is just getting started for me. “Does this stink too? Do you wash anything?”

  While I’m smacking his hand away, Kevin laughs and reaches for my crotch. “How about this? Bet it smells like rotten tuna.”

  He doesn’t manage to reach his target. A knife suddenly poking at your neck can make a boy rethink an action, I guess. His eyes widen, and he tries not to show his friends the fear I see in them. “What the hell?”

  “You still want to touch me?” My voice holds a threat.

  “N-no. We were just screwing with you.”

  His friends take a few steps backward, and Jason adds, “You’re not going to do anything. You’ll go to jail.”

  My grin makes his fade. “Let me ask you something. Do you know what lye is?”

  Kevin swallows, inching back away from the blade just a hair. “Lye? No.”

  “It’s a powder. Like baby powder, but it eats you like acid. You can put it on dead bodies to make them disappear.” I seem to have their attention. “Or living bodies.” They all stare as I ask, “How long do you think it would take to die by dissolving? You’d probably live until it really gets down to your bones and they start to slide out of your skin like a ripe avocado.” I press the knife just a little, enough for him to feel it but not enough to cut him. “Do you think it bubbles? Sizzles like bacon?”

  The sharp smell of piss hits me a second before I realize the front of Kevin’s pants are wet and growing more so by the second.

  Laughing, I step back, and remove t
he knife. Bullies are always such babies.

  Horror emanates from all three faces. “You’re crazy,” Jason says, barely above a whisper.

  Taking a moment to look at each one of them, I nod. “Probably best to leave me alone, then.”

  The bell rings, making them all jump. Without another word, they scatter, and I take my time getting the book I need for first period English. It doesn’t matter if I’m late. I won’t be in there long. Making Kevin piss himself in front of his friends was well worth wherever I end up.

  This has been a long time coming, and I know from plenty of prior experience that no one will be on my side. Everyone knows who I am. That’s what happens when you get placed into foster care in the same small town where your family was famously massacred. I’m the girl who found her dead parents. I’m the one he didn’t kill, and I’ve been asked the same question by kids and stupid adults alike. Why? Why did he spare you?

  It doesn’t matter that I don’t remember anything or that this happened when I was barely five years old. The other kids have made it very clear that I’m not like them. They’re right. Every day sees me more different and none of it is good.

  Ms. Richards glances up as I enter well after the bell. “Do you have a late pass, Darcy?” Kids snicker while I shake my head and take my seat on the end of the first row. “See me after class.”

  Not going to happen. Sorry, Ms. Richards. Doubt I’ll be here by then. It sucks this has to happen in the only class I enjoy, with the only teacher who doesn’t dislike me. Reading has been a big escape, and the writing assignments everyone else seems to struggle with come easily for me. My stories often get me in trouble or sent to another shrink so I’ve learned to tone them down. If I can tell fiction from reality, I’m not sure why the administration can’t, but apparently writing about serial killers or monsters is a one-way ticket to the counselor.

  We’re halfway through a reading assignment about thirty minutes later when the speaker clicks to life, and I’m called to the office. With a frown, Ms. Richards writes me a pass and looks at me before handing it over. “Are you okay?”

  The question catches me off guard. What I expected was “What have you done?” or something similar. No one ever cares how I am. What game is she playing with me? “Fine,” I mumble, taking the pass.

  The click of the door closing behind me echoes down the empty hall. At least if I get expelled I won’t have to see any of these people again. Same goes for juvenile detention. School has never been anything other than another struggle and torture to bear. Downstairs in the main office, the secretary waves me toward the principal’s door. “Go on in.”

  Kevin’s there with a man and woman that I assume are his parents. “Darcy, come in,” Mr. Hendrick says gruffly. “Close the door behind you.” The three of them are taking up the seats so I hover just inside the doorway. “I’m trying to get in touch with your…guardian.”

  “Good luck with that,” I scoff while the parents shoot daggers at me. To be expected, I guess, from people who would raise a boy like Kevin.

  “Do you know why I called you in here?”

  I’m screwed anyway. I’m not going to let them intimidate me. With a grin, I look at Kevin. “Someone have an accident and need a new pair of pants?”

  “You little psycho,” his mother spits, getting to her feet. Wow, her face goes red fast.

  “Mrs. Green, I understand your anger but please speak to me, not to the student,” Principal Hendrick instructs.

  She takes her seat, but glares at me. “I insist this student be expelled immediately or I will involve the police.”

  “Darcy, do you have a knife?” he asks.

  Rather than get dragged downtown and strip searched, I pull it out and toss it onto his desk. He seems surprised. “Kevin says that you put that knife to his throat and threatened to kill him, then dissolve his body with acid.”

  “Who even thinks of such a thing!” his mother cries out hysterically. “You know her past. The whole town does. I’m sorry it screwed her up but that doesn’t mean you can put our kids at risk!”

  Principal Hendrick’s focus remains on me. “Did you do that, Darcy?”

  All eyes are on me, and as usual, I’m on my own. “Yes.”

  “She even admits it!” his mother shouts, struggling to stay in her seat.

  There’s a knock at the door, and I’m surprised to see Ms. Richards enter. The principal doesn’t seem to understand why she’s there either. Before he can ask, she says, “It appears Darcy’s guardian won’t be able to join you. I’d like to speak to you on her behalf.”

  What?

  “With all due respect, Helena…”

  Ms. Richards cuts him off. “Some of the other students have informed me of what happened before first period. There are quite a few witnesses.”

  “She admits to pulling a knife on him,” Principal Hendrick says, motioning to the knife on the desk.

  Ms. Richards turns to me. Her voice is soft when she speaks to me, but anger burns in her eyes. “Why did you hold a knife on him?”

  “What difference does it make?” his father snaps, and Principal Hendrick holds up his hand.

  “Answer her, Darcy. Why?”

  Telling the truth never gets me anywhere. They won’t believe me, but the chance to tell his mother is too good to pass up. “I did it because he grabbed my vagina and asked me if it smelled like rotten tuna. He grabs me every day.” I look at his mother whose mouth is a perfect O. “Go ahead and call the cops because I’m pretty sure that’s illegal too. We can both file charges. Save some time.”

  “You…lying little whore!”

  Ms. Richardson immediately steps between us, grabs my hand, and pulls me out of the room. “Listen to me, Darcy. I want you to go to my classroom. It’s empty this period. Wait there, you understand?”

  I don’t understand anything about what just happened, but I nod. When she steps back into the room, I hear her say, “Isn’t there a camera on that corner of the main hall? This should be easy enough to sort out.”

  Is there a camera? I never noticed one but it’s not like I’ve looked. The halls are empty as I make my way back to Ms. Richardson’s classroom. She said my guardian wasn’t coming. Not a surprise. I’ll probably be moved to another home now.

  It doesn’t matter. As happy as it made me to see that little jerk piss himself, I’ll be gone, and he’ll be roaming the halls punishment free. Life is just a vending machine of awful where we keep putting in quarters hoping for something good. What happens when you run out of quarters? When trying just doesn’t make sense anymore?

  My stomach growls, and my head aches. I lay my cheek on the cool desk and doze off while I wait on a bunch of strangers to decide where I go next. Jail, another home, I’m too tired to care.

  The last thought I have when I’m dozing off is the same that gets asked of me so often. “Why did he leave me alive? Why couldn’t he have killed me too?”

  The sound of the classroom door opening rouses me, and Ms. Richardson smiles down at me. “Are you okay?”

  “Am I going to jail?”

  “No, no one is involving the police.”

  Looks like my threat worked. Not that cops ever would’ve believed a foster kid over a kid from a reputable family. “A new foster home, then?”

  “Maybe. It’s going to take some time to straighten things out. I thought you might like to wait in the library instead of the office.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” She escorts me out of the classroom and down the hall. “Is there really a camera in that corner?”

  “Lord, no. We can barely get the board to pay to fix the copier.” She grins at me, her curly gray hair bouncing with every step. “But Kevin didn’t know that. He admitted what he did. He’s expelled.”

  Her words stop me in place. “Really? He won’t be back?”

  “No, sexual assault is a serious thing. You aren’t the only girl to complain about him. That boy is a predator in the making. Good riddance.”
>
  We walk into the library, and she stops to chat with Mrs. Fry, the librarian. “Darcy has permission to remain in the library for the next two periods,” she informs her, before turning back to me. “Stay here. I’ll come and let you know what’s going on at lunchtime.”

  “Sure, okay.” The library’s my favorite place in the school. Spending two hours here instead of being stared at while I wait in the office sounds much better. After she’s gone, it’s hard to concentrate enough to read. As much as I try not to care, I have to wonder what my next home will be like.

  Will it be cold? Will there be a lot of kids? Will I get enough to eat? It could be another group home as well. Suddenly, even after my nap, I feel so tired. It’s not the kind that sleep helps. I’m tired of getting passed around like a bottle of cheap whiskey in an alley. Tired of worrying what’s next and having adults move me around like a chess piece.

  Running away has occurred to me before, but it doesn’t seem like the smart choice. There’s nowhere for me to go. Five years until I’m eighteen and age out of the system. Five more years of this.

  Ms. Richardson returns at lunchtime as she promised, and leads me outside. I expect I’m being handed over to a child protection caseworker, but instead, she shows me to her car. “Let’s go grab some lunch and chat about a few things. My treat.”

  “If you have bad news, you can just tell me,” I exclaim, once we’re parked outside of a fast food restaurant. “I know the foster mom doesn’t want me back. That’s no big loss, honestly.”

  “I don’t have bad news. Let’s order our food and we’ll talk.” It feels weird to be out to lunch with a teacher, but Ms. Richardson is one of the nice ones. Most of the teachers her age—early sixties if I had to guess—can barely control their classrooms. She earns that obedience through respect instead of screaming or punishing. Kids like her so they listen.