I Know What Love Is

by Bianca, Whitney

  I knew that living was the best revenge, like that old cop had said so long ago. I knew that being in Seattle and being happy was the best possible thing for me.

  Mentally, I knew that.

  Emotionally, I still wanted Elliot to suffer. If he wasn't opening the blue envelopes, I would have to figure out another way to reach him.

  I couldn't let him go.

  A muted ringing drew my attention back to my bag, and I knew it was the burner phone again. I grabbed my bag and found the phone. It was the same number as before. Something warm uncoiled in me and I answered it without thinking.

  “Hello?” I said. It was silent on the other line, but I could hear someone breathing. “Hello?” I repeated, my eyes still trained on the windshield. Drop. Drop. Drop.

  “Joanie.” The voice was light, but unmistakeable. My mouth fell open and so many emotions flooded me—anger, sadness, rage, triumph, and something darker that I couldn't put a name on. For a moment, I wondered if I was dreaming. Was this actually happening? I drew the phone back from ear and stared down at it. Was I imagining that Elliot was on the other line, and did that mean I had officially gone of the deep end? I put the phone back to my ear, and I could still hear him breathing. “Why are you torturing me, Joanie?” he asked, low and dangerous. “Answer me.”

  “Because you deserve it,” I whisper.

  “I know I do,” he said, his voice so close to my ear a shiver tingled down my spine. “But I can't take it. You're killing me.”

  “Good.” A wet drop travelled down my cheek and I couldn't tell if it was a tear or the rain.

  “Where are you?” he growled and without thinking I abruptly hung up. I took the battery out of the phone and flung both pieces into the backseat. Then I hightailed it out of the parking lot, just wanting to be home. At home, I could bury myself under the covers and hide. His voice still echoed in my brain. Out of nowhere, I was shaking and manic, my brain going a mile a minute. I had invited Elliot back into my life, but I was unprepared for the actual reality of it.

  Mostly, I wanted to be in control of the situation.

  He surprised me and I didn't like it.

  I pulled into my garage and the door rumbled closed behind me. I let out a deep breath, letting the anxiety flow out of me. At home, I knew I was safe. I left the pieces of the phone in the car and carried my bags inside. I dropped the groceries in the kitchen and ran upstairs, shedding my jacket as I went. I kicked off my boots at the foot of the bed and crawled under the warm down duvet. I shoved my hand under my pillow, my fingers finding the cool metal of the gun I kept there.

  For a long time, I just laid there, getting my wits about me.

  When it was dark outside, I finally emerged from the bedroom, calm and with a new plan. I went back out to the car. I sat in the backseat, searching for the pieces of the phone. When he called again, I would be ready.

  I didn't have to wait long. At two in the morning, the phone rang again. I didn't hesitate.

  I answered.

  *****

  “So what was in them blue letters anyways?” Lassiter asked me one day at lunch, his eyes on his food. We sat across from each other in the cafeteria but I barely heard him. I barely paid attention to much, those days. My mind was on one thing, and one thing only. “You got a girl on the outside?” He spoke again and I glanced up from my disgusting meal of mystery meat and watery mashed potatoes.

  “What the fuck do you care?”

  “Just making conversation, brother,” Lassiter said, meeting my gaze. There was a strange glint in his eye, and I wondered what bee had crawled in his bonnet. We were close enough, and I knew I owed him for smuggling Joanie's letters to me, but that didn't mean I was going to have a heart-to-heart with him. “Is she pretty? I bet she smells good.” I leaned back in my chair, focusing on chewing slowly so I didn't jump across the table and strangle him to death. I didn't want him thinking about my girl, although he had no idea who she was or what she looked like. Even fantasizing was too much. I didn't like anyone thinking about her but me. “Them letters smelled of perfume, that's how I know it's a female who sent 'em,” he said, shoveling mashed potatoes in his mouth.

  “Yeah,” I said, my temper settling to a mild roar.

  “What's her name?” He picked at his food, eyes roaming around the room nonchalantly, like he wasn't itching to know the answer.

  “Daisy,” I said, because I owed him something, but not that much. He nodded, running his tongue across his lips.

  “She waiting for you on the outside?”

  “I like to think so,” I said, because I did.

  “What I wouldn't give for some pussy,” he said, shaking his head. “Pussy that smells real good like that.” He laughed into his mash potatoes, an evil laugh that made me wonder just exactly what his inclinations were, not that I had much room to judge. “You a lucky man, Pritch.”

  “Not lucky,” I growled, thinking about Joanie's legs wrapped around me and her mouth pressed against mine. It felt like a fist squeezed around my heart as I thought about all those pictures she sent. At all those late night phone calls, when her voice whispered in my ear but I couldn't touch her.

  “She never comes to see you though, does she?” Lassiter said. “You never get no visitors.” He chuckled and swiped at his nose. “You can't trust cooze, Pritch,” Lassiter continued with a smile. “They'll cut your balls off and eat 'em.”

  “That so?” I murmured, flexing my hands under the table. If given the chance, I knew Joanie would have loved to keep my balls in one her fancy designer bags. At that point, I probably would have let her if it meant I could touch her again. She was so damn far away. I knew she was in Seattle, Washington. She didn't know I knew, but I did. It didn't really matter, though. I might know where she was but I couldn't get to her.

  Not yet, anyway.

  “All those letters that come through the mail room, I see 'em. I see brothers who started off getting mail every day. Then it's down to once a week, then once a month.” He tipped his head back and downed his white milk. “They get abandoned in here. Forgot. Time goes on without them. The world keeps spinning. The postman keeps coming until he don't. Cuz he's forkin' your woman.” Lassiter let out a snide laugh.

  I stared at him a long while, a slow plan forming in my head. It was a batshit, ridiculous plan, but I couldn't stop the thoughts from coming. Hope was pointless, but it was all I had.

  “I can trust you, right?” I said without thinking.

  “Swear on my dead momma's grave, you can trust me,” Lassiter said, his eyebrows jumping.

  “You really want to know what's in those blue letters?” I asked.

  “Mm-hmm,” he nodded, slowly. “I bet it's something real good.”

  “You tell me how mail moves in and out of the mail room,” I said, my voice so low he had to lean in to hear me. “And I'll show you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was so easy to fall back into our old pattern.

  Too easy.

  “Open those legs wide for me,” his voice is a hoarse rasp in my ear. I obeyed, spreading my thighs. “I want to look at you.” I kept my eyes closed, focusing on his words. “I'm going to make you come, but first, I want to look at you.” I nodded, running my palms down my stomach. “Are you open wide?”

  “Yes,” I nodded again, like he could see me. “I can feel your hands on me,” I murmured, dragging my own hands up my inner thighs. It was almost like he was in the room with me. After four months of stolen moments on untraceable phones, I was getting hungry for more. My obsession with him was only growing. It felt safe to talk to him in that way, but it was a false safety. Elliot had always been dangerous. He still was.

  I've never forgotten that.

  But I still can't let him go.

  “Fuck, I want to taste you.” He sounded pained and I understood just how he felt.

  “How do I taste?” I whispered, dipping my finger inside of me. It wasn't his hand, but it would have to do.

&
nbsp; “Like peaches and cream,” he hissed and I knew he was just as turned on as me. “Drizzled with honey.” I bowed my back as his words danced up my spine. “I can taste you on my tongue right now.” He let out a slow breath and I reminded myself to breathe. I gasped as I played with myself, although I wanted so much more. “I want to lick you until dawn. I want to tongue-fuck you until you beg me to stop.”

  “I want you to,” I reply, thrusting my finger in an out of me, wishing he was on top of me, wishing he was in between my thighs. Invading me. Consuming me, in only the way he can.

  “I want your pussy all over my face,” his voice swirled around me. “Roll them hips, girl.”

  “Ugh!” I gritted out, my teeth clenched, as I did what he commanded. My finger slid deeper and I added another.

  “Fuck my mouth, baby. Fuck me good.” My whole body tightened, electricity humming around me. It sounds crazy, but I could feel it. I didn't even need him to touch me. Just his voice was enough to get me off. His gruff words were all it took. “I don't want to fucking breathe. Smother me, baby.” I moaned, my imagination running wild. I imagined my thighs clamped around his face, forcing him to pleasure me. Forcing him to make me come.

  “Touch yourself,” I whisper. “Jerk off while you lick me.” I heard him hiss in a breath, and I knew he was doing what I asked. “Lightly. Not too hard.”

  “Fuck you, baby,” he scoffed, his voice low and barbed. I could hear the violence lurking just below the surface of his words and I knew he wanted to hurt me, to fuck me hard until I screamed. I wanted that too, but there were thousands of miles between us. That wasn't going to change, no matter how many late night phone calls we shared. Pushing that thought out of my mind, I squeezed my eyes tighter shut.

  “You will,” I said.

  “Damn right I will,” he rasped and I smiled.

  “I can feel you,” I whispered, my words coming fast as my body pulled tight and my nipples hardened painfully.

  “Goddamn, I know you can.” With my fingers deep inside of me and his cocky voice in my ear, I bucked my hips and moaned, coming hard against my own hand. I muffled my cry into the pillow, wondering why a man that was fucking me over the phone could make me come harder than any other man fucking me in person.

  I spent a long time trying to find another man that measured up to Elliot, and I hate to say it, but I never did.

  I never will.

  With a shaky sigh, I let my body relax into the soft mattress and rolled onto my side. I opened my eyes, and the room was still as dark and empty as it had been before. Then he said five words that changed my life forever.

  “I'm getting out of here,” he said, so low I did a mental double-take to make sure I'd heard him correctly.

  “Don't say that,” I whispered. “Don't say it out loud.”

  “You scared?” he said.

  “Can anyone hear us?”

  “No,” he said. “We're good.”

  “You can't bust out of a Texas penitentiary,” I said, sitting up. “They'll shoot you down.”

  “I have a plan, baby,” he said with a low chuckle.

  “You have a plan?” It was my turn to scoff. I ran my hand through my hair, yanking hard on the ends to wake myself up. “It's insane. Where are you going to go? What are you going to do?”

  “I'm going to hitch a ride to Seattle, that's what I'm going to fucking do,” he hissed and I gasped. “I'm going to climb in your window and tie you to your big, warm bed.” I was silent for a long time, as I wavered between hanging up on him and laughing.

  “How did you find me?” I finally asked.

  “Post office code on the envelopes,” he said smugly and I knew he was smiling an evil smile.

  “Shit,” I grumbled, because I should have thought of that.

  Mistake number three.

  I hoped it would be my last.

  “Don't do it,” I said. I wasn't going to plead him to save his own life. That seemed... strange somehow. All I could do was ask him to reconsider. If he had a suicide wish, there was nothing I could do about it.

  “I'm doing it,” he said stubbornly, and I knew his mind was made up. “Now, you going to help me or what, Daisy?” Warmth rippled through me at the use of our code word. He knew it would get to me. I dropped the burner phone to my lap and stared down at it. He was totally insane. He would never make it. But a part of me thought he might actually pull it off. With the right plan, maybe he could.

  A shiver of adrenaline shot down my spine. I knew he wasn't lying. If he escaped, he would come straight for me. I would have to run, too.

  Maybe I had never stopped.

  I lifted the phone back to my ear.

  “You there?” he said, his voice hard. I knew he was thinking just what I was—whether or not I was going to run.

  “I'm here.”

  “Don't lie to me and tell me you don't want me. I heard the way you just came for me, baby. I heard it.” His voice was low and dangerous again and I knew he was pissed. I knew what I had to do. I knew that there would be no coming back, but I didn't have a choice, not really.

  I was done running.

  “What's your plan?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

  “You in?” he said.

  “No,” I said. “Just trying to decide if I should be worried or not.” He snorted out a mirthless laugh.

  “You should be,” he replied.

  *****

  He didn't call me for over a week after that.

  A week was long enough for me to really think it through. I thought about every possible outcome. The chance of him actually succeeding was almost non-existent. That's what I told myself as I went about my life. I went to work. I went out for drinks with friends. I did dishes and ran the vacuum cleaner. I was going through the motions like a robot, just like I did in Dallas. My brain was preoccupied with all the possibilities.

  When I passed a used car lot on the way home one night, something clicked in my mind. The only way he might have a chance of escaping was if he had someone on the outside, someone to pick him up and get him out of Texas as fast as possible. If he was on foot, he'd be picked up or shot before he got very far. The thought of him dead, shot down in the dirt like a dog, did something to me.

  Something visceral.

  If he was going to die, I wanted to be the one to do it.

  Not that I wanted him dead.

  If he was dead, it would be over.

  It could have been over long ago. When he almost bled to death, it could have been over. When he went to prison, it could have been over. When I moved to Seattle, it could have been over.

  But I couldn't let him go.

  I didn't want it to be over.

  If—no, when—he called again, I told myself I would try and talk him out of it. I would make him see how stupid the whole thing was. But as I waited, night after night, for his call, a niggling thought took hold. If Elliot was free, we wouldn't have to rely on stolen moments and whispered phone calls. I would be able to touch him. He would be able to touch me, for the first time in years. He would be able to fuck me. Whatever sick fantasy he could come up with, I would be at his mercy.

  What a delicious thought.

  It was totally insane, but I wanted him. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted all of his sickness and darkness. I wanted all of his perversion. I wanted his violence. I had spent five years running from him. And for what? He would never stop chasing me. Our cat and mouse game would only end if I surrendered.

  So I did.

  Chapter Nineteen

  That was then, this is now. My story is not a happy one, and I don't expect a happy ending. I don't expect that my prince and I will ride off into the sunset. I don't expect a happily ever after. I don't expect anything so clean and easy. My life is about to take a messy turn, and I know the end will be bittersweet, at best.

  All the years of pain and depression and being crazy and obsessing has led to this point.

  This moment.<
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  I'm on a lonely road two miles from Huntsville, Texas. In the distance I can see the bright lights of the prison, a glaring reminder of what I'm doing.

  Like Lou Reed, I'm just waiting for my man.

  I sit in my new used car, sweat dripping down my nose. I gnaw at my lip as I keep my eyes on the edge of the road. It's pitch black outside, and I can barely see my hand in front of my face. I don't know how I'll see a man running from the tree-line across the street. I don't even know if he's coming, truth be told. I know the plan, but I have no idea if it worked or if he got caught or anything.

  The not knowing is driving me up the wall.

  The fact that I'm about to break the law is also not something I'm taking softly. I'm currently a law-abiding citizen. Any moment now, I'll step over the line and become an outlaw. I know there's nothing I can do about it now. Well, I could drive away, put the pedal to the metal and forget all about Elliot. I know the best thing for me is to leave him and never look back. I've always known that, ever since the cop told me to keep living my life in the hospital, all those years ago.

  I can't do that to him, though.

  After everything, I just can't. We're in it together now.

  When I can't take it anymore, I open the car door and step outside. The night air is cooler than the stuffy air in the car, and I feel like I can finally breathe. I glance from side to side, my hearing amplified by my lack of eyesight. I can hear a coyote howl in the distance. When a twig cracks somewhere in the woods, I jump. It sounds so close that my heart starts beating like mad.

  “Elliot?” I whisper. I listen hard, waiting to see if he answers, waiting for some sign that I'm not making a huge mistake by waiting for him in the middle of Texas at two in the morning. Another stick cracks off in the distance, followed by the brushing of leaves. I turn in a slow circle, squinting my eyes, trying to see anything in the crushing darkness.

  Footsteps. I hear footsteps pounding toward me, and heavy breathing, like someone is running. I'm frozen for a long time, I don't know how long, but finally a spark in my brain makes me move. I hop back into the car, remembering just in time to close the door lightly. I poise my hand over the keys in the ignition, knowing that it was time. Time to go, or time to stay. I let out a slow breath, and then time is up.