Tortured Whispers

by Danielle James

  “I love you too, Kiddo.” I stroked her hair and touched her chin.

  We ate dinner together that evening and I got to experience Brook’s cooking skills. She made us barbeque chicken, wild rice, and broccoli. I smiled as she hummed along to She’s Gone and moved around the kitchen like she owned it.

  I devoured her food in ten minutes flat and I watched her blush from across the table at me. I cleared the table and Brook filled the sink with hot soapy water to wash the dishes in since the dishwasher hadn’t been completely hooked up yet. I stood back, observing her slender frame only covered by a Back to the Future shirt. Her long legs were bare and I could tell that she wasn’t wearing a bra under her nightshirt. She hummed and swayed a bit while her dark hair swished across her back and her olive skin glowed under the lights.

  My feet carried me to her. I stood behind her and she bumped into me when she went to put the tea bags in the trash. I held on to her waist and dipped my head down to breathe in her delicate scent.

  She froze when she felt my dick stabbing into her from behind. My desire for her was spinning wildly out of control. “Cease, I thought you said we wouldn’t,” she whispered.

  “I’m not fucking you, Brook. I just needed to touch you. I needed to smell you and hold you,” I confessed.

  “What if I want you to…” She swallowed and turned to look at me. I shook my head before nipping at her full lips. She slid back, sitting on the countertop. When her long legs wrapped around me I suppressed a groan deep in my throat.

  The heat between her thighs drowned my train of thought. All I could feel and smell was her. She was so wet.

  She was sinfully wet.

  I shut my eyes and ghosted my lips along her pronounced collarbones. They were the roadmaps to the quickening pulse beating beneath her silky skin. I slid my tongue along her throat and she whined, grinding her hips against me.

  “Please, Cease,” she begged. My dick throbbed and I rubbed it through my cotton pajama pants.

  “We can’t, Kiddo. I shouldn’t be doing this.” My voice was pained as I rubbed my nose against hers. If I opened my eyes and looked at her, reality would suffocate me and I wanted to stay in the world where I was wrapped up in a woman I couldn’t live without. Not my niece.

  “Please. I need this,” Brook pled. Her nails scraped my scalp as she pushed them through my hair over and over. I growled and pulled her against me, my dick stabbing her hot pussy. “I can give you a hand job,” she offered.

  My eyes popped open and I pierced her with my intense stare. She bit her bottom lip like she was turned on instead of scared. It only made me want her more.

  “Brook,” I warned with my tone. Before I could fully object, she plunged her smooth, warm hand below my elastic waistband and gripped my hot dick. A hiss escaped me and I tipped my head backward.

  “Kiss me, Cease. Please?” She asked so sweetly. I reached over and slammed my hand down on the light switch, sinking us into the darkness. Under the shroud of blackness, I wasn’t so morally corrupt.

  Brook’s hand slid up and down my shaft like she was committing every vein to memory. It made me fucking dizzy with the need to shoot cum all over her pretty hand. “Like this?” She asked, her voice quiet and sweet.

  With a growl, I pinned her with my lips, sucking on her tongue and probing her with mine. “Just. Like. That.”

  “You’re so fucking big,” she muttered. Her unique accent was too much right then. I nibbled on her neck and pressed my thumb against her wet little panties. I knew for a fact that if I put my finger on her slippery skin, I would lose it and fuck her.

  “Oh my god!” She yelped as I rolled my thumb over her plump clit. Her hips went wild with motion as she got herself off on my touch, the same way I did with her.

  I bucked in her grasp.

  In and out.

  In and out.

  I rubbed her clit in lazy circles while I sucked on her perfect pouty lips until it felt like we were spinning round and round.

  “Cease!” She moaned, stiffening beneath me. I opened my eyes to watch her shadowy silhouette as she came all over her panties and my hand. Seeing her overcome with desire made me lose it. I shot thick ropes of cum all over her hand and thighs.

  It was pure sin looking at my cum splashed on Brooklyn’s flawless olive skin. “Fuck,” I groaned thrusting a few more times in her hand. Everything tingled. Everything buzzed.

  “I don’t think I ever came that hawd…” She wet her dry lips with her tongue and I tucked my dick away in my pants before I did something even more stupid than what I’d already done.

  “Me either, Brook,” I admitted with a huff. “Let’s not make a habit of that shit.”

  “But it felt so good,” she reasoned.

  “It did. It felt fucking fantastic, Kiddo.” I ran water in the sink and splashed some on my face.

  “We have to behave though,” she said like she hated the thought.

  “We do,” I agreed. She stared at the way my seed decorated her.

  “I made you…cum that hawd?”

  Fucking Christ, did she have to sound like that? She hated it but it did things to my mind. It did things to my heart.

  “Yes,” I held my head down. If I looked at her…if I looked into those eyes, I would lose whatever sanity I was holding on to. “You do all kinds of shit to me, Brook.”

  “You do stuff to me too, Cease.” I stole a glance at her and she put her hand between her thighs then held it out so I could see her glistening arousal, slick and wet all over her fingers.

  “Goddammit, this is wrong,” I growled. “We need to go to sleep before I do something I can’t take back.” My tongue wanted to lick every trace of her sweet pussy off those wet fingers but I couldn’t get the taste of her in my mouth. I’d be hungry for her forever if I did.

  Anger and frustration swelled inside of me until, in a burst of energy, I slammed my fist against the wall leaving a dent in the drywall.

  Brook’s eyes flashed hurt before she hopped off the counter and quietly moved into the bedroom. When I heard the shower start, I walked into the bedroom too. I pushed out a breath and fell over on the bed.

  I prayed I didn’t hurt her feelings. I hoped I wasn’t too harsh. I needed to get away from her though. She was pulling me into something so dark I knew I’d never be able to return from it.

  Though, to be perfectly honest, I couldn’t say that it was all her doing.

  I wanted her too.

  I wanted everything about her. Even the parts she deemed too ugly for societal consumption made my mouth water with the need to devour her.

  I wanted to protect her and keep her close to me. I wanted to tell her how beautiful she was—show her how beautiful she was. I wanted to teach her things nobody else could. Things about herself and life. I wanted to teach her how to be happy.

  **

  Brooklyn…

  In one moment I went from feeling euphorically happy to feeling tortured and confused. It wasn’t like I didn’t know that stroking Cease’s dick was wrong but in the moment it felt so right. It felt like everything we both needed, and the relief I felt when I came from his hand was unbelievable.

  It felt like I was flying.

  I hated the way he ended things though. He seemed so angry and regret tainted his tone. I did what I do best…retreat.

  I snuck a razor into the shower with me and stood, staring at it in between my fingers. I stared so long I started to shake. I told Caesar I wouldn’t cut. I promised.

  I felt like shit though. I was standing in the shower feeling like I would slip off the edge and into the ocean at any moment. Thick, dark clouds pushed me closer like a raging thunderstorm egging me on.

  I needed to cut.

  Caesar would be mad at me but he was already upset at what we did. I saw his pained face in my head and tears blurred my vision. I pushed my soaked hair away from my forehead and wiped my eyes. I couldn’t tell my tears from the shower water anymore.

  My skin
hummed with anxiety. It was thick and coating every part of me no matter how hot the shower water was. No matter how much I tried to convince myself that cutting was bad.

  Caesar didn’t feel the same way about me as I did about him. He regretted what happened between us and why wouldn’t he? Why would he want someone with thoughts as sick and tortured as mine? I was vile and he needed someone who wasn’t me.

  I winced as the tip of the razor drew blood from high on my forearm. I pressed deeper and a shaky breath flew from my mouth. Relief. Pain. Throbbing fucking pain. Dense ribbons of blood streamed down my arm coating the old scars, breathing life into them.

  Shut your eyes, Brooklyn.

  Don’t watch the blood run.

  I had to though. I had to be present for every moment of pain because it forced me to focus on something other than the cavernous hollow where my heart used to beat.

  Hot water splashed my newest cut and it stung. I didn’t hate the way it made me feel though. It was such a strange mixture of emotions that surged through me. More proof that I was fucked in the head.

  How could I war with myself over cutting yet need it so badly to breathe?

  I gritted my teeth so hard my gums pulsed then I shoved my arm into the hot spray of water to wash my cut. I stifled the howl begging to erupt from me. The pain was hot and it sank so far down into my bones.

  Finally, the bleeding slowed and I turned the water off so I could get out. I wrapped one towel around my body and a washcloth around my arm where I’d cut. The razor was clutched close to my heart as I held my hand over the knot in my towel.

  When I stepped into the bedroom, Caesar sat on the bed, his shoulders pulled low and his gaze fixed on the carpet. It made my core thrum when I looked at him but my heart felt heavy and twisted in my chest.

  “I’m sleeping in the other woom tonight,” I told him as I headed out of the door. His thick brows gathered in and he scrubbed his jaw with his large hand.

  “Brook, what we did…”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I snapped, cutting him off. The sting from rejection was far worse than any cut I could have ever dealt myself. Still, being in Caesar’s space kept the water at bay.

  The moment I went into a room and was alone with myself and my thoughts, the water swallowed me. It took me like a dark thief and I went willingly because I knew I could pull myself out with my razor.

  I crumpled onto the bed and let my arm hang off the edge, lifeless. Cease thought he took all the razors and tweezers and even kitchen knives but I always kept one. It was shameful and wrong but I needed it.

  Being alone inside of my head was scary. My mind was wrought with contradictions and self-loathing. It was littered with whispers of suicide and pain.

  Tears rolled down the sides of my face and collected in my ears. Even though I toyed with the idea of giving myself a permanent way out of life, I never cut to kill myself. Cutting horizontally was for harming but cutting vertically was for death.

  Each scar pressed into my flesh by sharp pain was only horizontal.

  I sniffled and sat up, my heart pounding. My eyes fell to the angry red cut on my arm. I liked how soothed I felt when I sliced myself.

  I fumbled with my razor for a few beats before opening another cut on my other arm. That one was shorter and much more precise. I found myself wishing it would bleed more.

  Sick me liked watching the blood drip and run out of my body. I liked how perfectly red it was because even if I was too broken to be perfect at least something inside of me was. I had perfect red blood that rolled over and coated the pain.

  I flexed my fingers, pumping blood into my veins but still, no blood rolled. I only managed to get a smear of crimson at the cut. In the shower, the blood rolled so beautifully thick and fast that it tinted the water at the bottom of the tub. Now, nothing.

  I let out a frustrated growl and cut my arm in a different spot, that time I pressed harder. “Fuck,” I cursed at the deep pain burning through my arm. It bled that time though.

  It was perfectly red.

  Once the cut was made, my heart started to beat again. It thumped at double the speed to make up for lost time, it seemed. I pushed and pulled air from my lungs so fast it all seemed like one breath. Sweat rolled down my neck as I watched the blood soak into my towel.

  The pain was weird though. It was different and it made my fingertips tingle. Not with pain but with numbness. It felt like my hand had fallen asleep.

  I wet my lips with my tongue and hopped off the bed, looking for something to stop the bleeding. The tingling continued in my fingers and I when I tried to ball up my fist, it wouldn’t work. My hand wouldn’t move.

  What the fuck?

  I tried dozens of times to make a fist and the most I was able to do was curl my fingers in slow motion. My pulse raced and warm scarlet trickled a little faster with each thump as I grabbed a cotton bandana from a nearby duffle bag with Cease’s things inside.

  I tried not to collapse on the floor as I moved back to the bed on wobbling legs. Blood droplets scattered on the floor and on my thighs as I fumbled to tie the bandana against my fresh cut.

  A dull thrum knocked through my chest as I watched to see if the blood would stop rolling. After ten minutes, it slowed to nothing even after I removed the bandana. I blinked over and over, my lashes moving like butterfly wings.

  What had I done to myself?

  Stupid.

  So fucking stupid, Brooklyn.

  An involuntary cry left my throat and I muffled the sound with my hand. I would have to put a bandage on that cut. It was deep. Too deep. I fucked up something important in my arm because I still couldn’t make a fist.

  I went to sleep terrified of what I’d done to myself but not terrified enough to let Cease know.

  **

  Even after days had passed, I still found it tough to naturally move my fingers. I really had to force them to work or else they wouldn’t. My thumb was back to normal but my other fingers felt useless.

  I was still terrified to speak to Caesar about it because he’d take me to the doctor or the hospital and then everyone would see that I was a cutter. Everyone would get the same look of pity and disgust. They would judge me. Every time I thought about it, my heart pounded and sweat slicked my forehead.

  I just stayed out of his way and every time he tried to talk to me, I avoided him by rushing into the room I’d made my own. He knocked but I wouldn’t answer.

  I guess Caesar got tired of that shit because when he came home after day three of me avoiding him, he cornered me in the kitchen. I pretended to be startled but I wasn’t. Nothing about Cease scared me. If anything, I felt comfort the moment I felt his warmth.

  I looked up into his soft brown eyes and felt every drop of water in my head evaporate. Why did I have to feel so whole in front of him? “You can’t avoid me forever, Brook. It’s Sunday and we need to talk.” His eyes were sporting deep circles and his hair was messy like it normally is when he sleeps like shit.

  What made him toss and turn all night?

  “About what? How stupid I am? How fwustwated I make you?”

  “No!” He roared and I flinched a bit at the intensity of his voice. “You’re not stupid and even though you frustrate me I don’t want to ever be away from you.” His eyes softened with sadness and it gripped my stomach like an iron fist.

  I reached out a timid hand and touched his cheek. I couldn’t help myself. I knew it was wrong and I shouldn’t have touched him at all but I couldn’t resist the pull he had on me. It was magnetic, and just like magnets, I couldn’t help who I was attracted to.

  I couldn’t help who I loved.

  Love…

  “Can we please talk, Brooklyn?” Caesar asked, his head hung low like the weight of the world was on his neck.

  My mind ping-ponged between answering him and trying to feel out the realization that I loved him. I was stuck staring at him as a result. Once again, I looked stupid.

  Cease gr
ipped my hand in his and electricity tingled through my fingers. We sat on the couch in the living room and I looked at him, still stunned that I loved him. Of course my first experience with love would have to be sorely unrequited.

  The thought of it made my gaze fall to the floor. I stared at my bare toes and wiggled them on the plush carpet. Cease tipped my chin up and made me look at him.

  “I don’t hate you. You know that right? I love you so much, Brook.”

  “No, you don’t. Not like I love you,” I told him, my voice a whisper.

  “Brook, I can’t love you the way I want to and trust me, I want to. It hurts in the deepest parts of me that I can’t,” he confessed.

  “Why can’t you?” I asked, my words trembling as much as my bottom lip.

  “Because it’s dangerous,” he told me. “It’s like tempting a lion. Once I get you…that’s it. You belong to me. I don’t share and I don’t hide. I can’t love you like that without serious consequences. I’m not willing to let anyone take you away from me. If I can’t have you the way I want to…at least we can still be Brook and Cease, right?” He asked.

  The raw emotion in his voice shattered me in a million tiny pieces. He wanted to love me the same way I loved him. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he was just as warped and fucked in the head as me.

  “Listen, I didn’t want to talk about that. Not right now,” he said with a heavy sigh. My head was already reeling from everything so switching subjects sounded perfect. I needed quiet time to digest the new feelings coursing through me. “I found a school for you to go to,” Cease said hesitantly. “It’s not an alternative school, it’s a public school but they have an alternative program. They keep the students on their own hallway.” My mind switched from love to school and I felt a headache moving into my brain and spreading down through my spine.

  “All the other students will fuck with me,” I muttered.

  “You can request to eat lunch in your class with your classmates. It’s fine. It’ll be fine, Brook.” I wanted to believe him because he was my life preserver. He was the one who pulled me out of the water in my head and breathed life into me but I hated the idea of going to a regular public school. Kids were assholes. Ninth grade taught me that more than anything else did.