by Jade West
Lonely.
I haven’t been out socially since Mariana passed away, not between taking care of Cam and getting the business back up from its knees. I’ve not once taken Serena up on her offer of staying up late in case Cameron wakes up while I’m off out somewhere.
I haven’t wanted to meet anyone. Not like that.
I still don’t want to meet anyone like that.
I just want…
Fuck.
I slouch back in my chair, the profile still on my screen.
I just want…
I just want to feel alive again.
I’ve never been one to hide from the truth, and the truth is that a woman like Mariana was never going to be my forever. I’d have given anything to make it so, but even if she hadn’t run off that night it would’ve been some other night down the road.
A woman like Mariana was never meant to settle down in this sleepy town with a man like me. She was never meant to play happy families in sweet suburbia.
The fact that she tried it was a beautiful miracle. Beautiful madness.
That woman, Mariana, with her wildness and the flames in her eyes, and her reckless impulses and the soul she wore on her sleeve – that woman ruined me for all others.
I gave her my heart and she gave me my boy. I gave her everything I could give, but still she wanted to run. Harder. Further. Faster. I could only chase her so far.
Turns out that wasn’t far enough.
The profile on screen isn’t like the others. Raven hair obscures most of the girl’s features. She’s staring at the camera with one beautiful wide eye, her high cheekbone stark against the shadows, her expression so… lost.
Beautiful.
Wild.
I don’t know what it is that feels so familiar about this one random woman’s picture. She looks little like Mariana. Mariana was tanned and strong-featured, with dirty eyes and a dirty laugh to match. The woman in the picture reminds me of a black swan, elegant and etheric. Deep. I can’t stop staring at her.
That’s what’s familiar about her maybe. The fact that I can’t stop staring at her.
The darkness in her eyes. The way it feels like her soul is calling through the screen.
Maybe I’m finally breaking down. Maybe this is the moment the clockwork reality I’ve created to get Cam and I through this horrible nightmare crumbles into chaos.
I can’t crumble into chaos.
I read her words again, just to be sure I’m understanding them.
They seem to fucking good to be true.
I’m seeking my monster in the darkness.
I’ll run but you’ll run faster.
We’ll play cat and mouse until you catch me.
I won’t know you, and I’ll pretend I don’t want to.
You’ll pretend you don’t care.
I’ll tell you I don’t want it.
You’ll tell me you’ll take it anyway, and then you will.
And it’ll be rough.
One wild night where anything goes, and then we’ll never see each other again.
The girl may not look like Mariana, but Mariana could have written that profile. Mariana was the one who begged me to bring her fantasy to life.
She was the one who got me hooked on the chase. Addicted to the darkness. The thrill of the hunt.
I shouldn’t entertain the idea of one wild night where anything goes. There’s me and Cam and a business that needs me on top form to navigate the financial pressure of a pending insurance claim.
Maybe this profile isn’t even serious. Maybe she’s just a girl who gets off on flirting with danger – because that’s what this profile is, just one big beacon of recklessness for the dregs and the crazies and the desperate out there.
The thought concerns me more than it should do. She’s at least twenty-five – plenty old enough to make her own dumb decisions. The string of potential assholes I can only assume are flooding her inbox are none of my business. Not my problem.
I’d force myself to click on next and forget about her if it wasn’t for the extra lines of her profile that appear when the screen refreshes.
Please… I might sound crazy, but I need this. I’ve always needed this.
Please help me feel alive again.
I’m not seeking a psycho, just someone who can help me feel alive again.
The words hit me in the gut. Hard.
Mariana’s ghost laughs in my ear.
I’ve always needed this. That’s what she said to me in the shadows the very first night I caught her.
I stare again at the screen. Please help me feel alive again.
Alive again.
Melancholy grips me by the throat. Alive.
It’s been too long.
I wonder what happened to the black swan that took the life from her. I wonder why she needs this.
I wonder how many assholes will be beating down her door for a cheap shot at getting their rocks off.
Many, I’m sure.
My question is simple. Impulsive.
What happened to you?
I’m almost certain she won’t reply. I’m positive I’ll just be one of the masses of messages she sends to the trash bin when she realises this site is full of douchebags.
I’m a heartbeat away from signing out from adult hookup and talking some sense into myself when the message pings.
And I’m one breath away from crazy myself when I bring up her reply.
Four
There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.
Edith Wharton
Phoenix
The green online now circle is illuminated next to black swan’s profile photo. Her username is simple and stark, and yet it says so much.
Bait.
Her tagline is new. Her profile unfolding in real time.
Just a girl wanting to feel.
Bait.
She’s bait alright. The predator in me stirs, adrenaline pumping as old memories come flooding back.
Her message comes through in segments, one line at a time.
I’ve been waiting a long time for someone to ask me that question.
I loved hard. I lost harder.
And then I lost everything along with him.
My job. My home. So many people I cared about.
Then I lost the baby too.
I bled my soul out with the life inside me. Bled so hard I nearly disappeared too.
My world spat me out and kept on turning without me.
It was too painful to stay, so I ran.
And here I am, just trying to make a new life.
It’s hard.
It’s really, really hard.
The simple honesty in her words makes my stomach lurch. My own sadness is thick in my throat as I type a reply.
The world has a habit of spitting us out and leaving us behind. I’d like to say you can catch it up again if you run fast enough, but I’m not so sure. I live in hope.
I’m staring at the online icon when the tick appears to say she’s read my message.
I see her typing.
What happened to you?
I smile to myself. Smile at this simplistically honest communication with a random stranger.
And then I type.
I loved hard. I lost harder.
I pause. And then I type again.
Your fantasy is dangerous. Be very careful you don’t find more than you bargained for. You don’t want to put your trust in the wrong person.
I’m torn between the strange urge to unload my pain onto a stranger and the urge to chase her blindly through the wilderness.
Her message is almost instantaneous, feeding through one line at a time…
The one person in this world I trusted implicitly sold me down the river to save his safe little portion of suburbia.
I cried and screamed and begged for him before they took me down to surgery to save my life, but he never came.
He never even called.
>
So yeah, I know I won’t be able to trust anyone, especially not some random stranger online.
But that’s okay.
I know how dangerous this fantasy is, it’s been haunting me my whole life.
But I need it.
Believe me, I need it so bad.
I should talk her down and back away, but my fingers have a life of their own…
So did the woman I lost.
She replies in a heartbeat. She did? She needed this too? Like I do?
I shouldn’t say it. But I do.
Yes, she did.
Another heartbeat. And what about you?
I stare at the skyline through the window. The orange glow from the town nestled down below. I hold back from answering, afraid my own darkness will swallow me whole.
Another message pings…
You’ve done this before, yes? Could you do it again? Is that why you messaged me?
My scars itch. My heart pounds as I realise how hard I am.
Another ping…
I’m sorry, I just. I’ve been having these dreams since forever. They’re the only thing that feels right to me anymore. I know how fucked up that sounds, that something so dark could be the only thing I’m sure of.
And it does sound fucked up. It sounded fucked up from Mariana too.
I was as hard then as I am now, as tempted by the darkness as much then as I am tonight.
I fight the urge to palm my dick through my pants.
The girl is skirting disaster. My black swan has no idea how close she is to danger. A little bird flapping on the ground as the predators circle.
If I’m the one who answers her call, she’ll come out the other side to tell the tale at least.
Maybe this time will be different. Maybe this time I can…
I bury the thoughts as they arise.
She’s not my problem. I’ll do my bit, take what I need, give her what she’s craving, then walk away without even a backward glance.
My words glare from the screen at me before I press send.
Crazy. This is crazy.
Two weeks.
Prove to me you’re serious about this over two weeks.
Prove to me this isn’t just a moment of recklessness, or some crazy self-destruct mission.
Prove to me you really do need this. That you really do know what you’re getting into.
If you do that and mean it.
Really mean it.
Then maybe I’ll be your monster.
Abigail
I feel so raw. So exposed.
But I feel.
I take a breath, and for the first time in months my words don’t feel trapped in my throat. It’s strange how such a simple confession, one tiny moment of truth amongst the pretence, can mean so much.
Phoenix Burning could be anyone, but right now he’s the closest thing I have to hope.
I read his latest message back through, over and over as I form a response.
Then maybe I’ll be your monster.
Questions swirl. When? Where? How do I prove it?
I don’t know how I’ll show him I’m serious via nothing but an anonymous hook-up site, but I already know I’ll do whatever it takes.
Two weeks, I type. I’ll prove I’m serious, just tell me how.
My heel taps against the bed at the prospect this could really happen. Really, really happen.
I type another response before I’ve received anything back.
What happens then?
I watch the typing status at the bottom of the screen.
My stomach flips when his message comes through.
You won’t know me, and you’ll pretend you don’t want to. You’ll tell me you don’t want it, and I’ll pretend I don’t care. It’ll be rough. Really rough. You’ll never know my name and you’ll never see me again. One wild night where anything goes.
I can hardly breathe, staring dumbly at the screen as another message sounds.
And then you’ll delete this profile and promise me you’ll never do this with a stranger again. You’ll stop running, you’ll pick your life up and make it mean something again.
Tears sting, threaten to spill.
And you? I type. What will you do?
He replies so quickly.
Maybe a little darkness will turn us both back toward the light.
I stare at his shadowy profile picture, trying to get a measure of the man. His features are strong. His hair looks dark and wild. His eyes too.
It’s at least partly an illusion of my own making – the photo gives very little away. I’m seeing what I want to see, and I know it.
I know it, but I like it.
A shiver dances along my spine. Maybe this man, this online stranger, really could be my monster. My saviour.
Maybe he’s really going to be the one to chase me down.
What do you want me to do? I ask.
Tell me your name, he says.
I consider giving him a fake one, but don’t.
Abigail, I type. What’s yours?
My clit flutters. I close my eyes in relief as I slip my hand down my knickers.
Another ping. You’ll never know.
The thought thrills me. His words thrill me.
He thrills me.
My fingers are circling hard when he messages again.
I’ll sign in tomorrow night, and by then you’ll have told me about your dreams.
The green circle next to his name disappears, just like that. Phoenix Burning offline.
The envelope at the top of the screen tells me I have twelve new messages, but I don’t give a shit about any of them. I close my laptop and hitch my legs up, my heart bursting with the dark thrill of a fantasy grappling for life.
It’ll be rough. Really rough, he said, and I believe him. Fuck knows why, but I believe every single word he said.
I’m riding on the wings of insanity, but I don’t care. I’m teetering on the edge of the precipice, but I don’t care about that either.
My belly is tight, but it’s wracked with something more than pain.
Excitement.
Relief.
A bit of both.
Fear.
Nerves.
Trepidation.
Need.
Fuck, how I need this.
I bite my knuckles as my fingers strum my clit, hips raised as I contemplate the unthinkable.
Two weeks and he’ll make this real.
Two weeks and he’ll be my monster. A monster of flesh and bone and breath. A monster who won’t disappear when I open my eyes.
He’ll chase me, and hurt me, and fuck me, and I’ll pretend I don’t want it. But I will.
Oh fuck, I will.
And then I’ll never see him again.
It’s been a long time since I’ve given myself an orgasm without seeing his face.
A long time since I’ve been able to give myself over to fantasy without his memory ruining everything.
But tonight it’s easy. Tonight I gasp and whimper and squirm under my own fingers. Tonight my toes curl and my breaths come out in hisses, and it feels so fucking good I hit the sky.
Tonight it’s just about the monster and me.
And tonight is the first time in an age I fall asleep without crying.
Five
When you look into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you.
Friedrich Nietzsche
Phoenix
The very first night I chased Mariana, I swore it was one moment of madness.
And this is another, right here and now.
There’s that familiar wildness behind my eyes as I press my forehead to the glass of my bedroom window. It makes my temple pulse. My nostrils flare. And I feel it. I feel it right the way through me.
The rain is lashing outside, one of those freak passing storms as summer rolls in. Water bounces against the pool cover in the yard down below. I can hear it drumming. I can feel it drumming.
It was raining the first
night I chased her. My boots squelched thick through the mud as I powered up the hillside after her. She was fast, even barefoot.
But I was faster.
She didn’t go down easy, Mariana.
Sometimes her nails drew blood. Sometimes she was feral enough that I became a beast for real, simply because I had to. Sometimes I even believed her screams.
Sometimes I didn’t fucking care.
My breath mists up the glass as I tug down the zip on my jeans. My fist curls around meat and metal, the barbells on my dick shooting sparks straight to my balls. Another of Mariana’s legacies.
But it’s not Mariana I’m thinking about tonight as I work my dick. It’s not Mariana’s eyes I imagine staring up at me wide and scared.
Excited.
I’m imagining a stranger. Creating a fantasy from nothing but one obscured online photo.
My adrenaline is pumping.
My fist is too.
It’s enough.
More than enough.
My balls ache and tighten. My jaw is gritted hard.
I wonder if she’ll be ready for it when I catch her. I wonder if she’ll be ready for the way my body slams hers and steals her breath. Steals everything from her.
I wonder if she’ll beg me to stop.
Abigail.
A broken little bird.
It would’ve been so easy for her to lie, but she didn’t. I know she didn’t.
I feel it.
Her.
The strangest connection through nothing but text. Desperate and flawed.
Fucked up.
Two strangers circling each other’s darkness as our demons said hello.
I want to break her.
It’ll feel so good to fucking break her.
To punish her like I should have punished Mariana.
I want to pin her down and take her body until her soul finally stops running.
I want to force my way inside her, deep enough to make her scream. I want to pound her until she can’t breathe, until there’s nothing but me. All me. Only me.
Me, me, fucking me.
No sadness. No ghosts. No fucking regrets. Just my body inside hers.
I won’t let it be painless. I won’t let it be easy. And I won’t let it be quick, either.
I’ll hurt her until she thinks she’s been hurting forever, until she screams so much she can’t scream anymore.