Erased

by Elle Christensen

  “What did I say about that guy, J?” I ask through my teeth, jealousy ripping through my chest.

  “Relax, Slade.” Slade, not Derek. “For crying out loud, I’m in the bar and Jack and I are having a conversation. It’s not like I’ve snuck out after curfew with the local bad boy.” Her voice holds a little bit of ice, but her eyes are once again blank. I wanted to see some emotion towards me—even if it was anger.

  “Jack and Jill? Isn’t that just fucking cute.” My tone drips with sarcasm.

  She continues to stare vacantly at me. “Are you finished?”

  “For now, Cupcake,” I growl.

  She rolls her eyes and makes her way back to the booth, where she speaks again to frat boy and they both laugh.

  The bastard comes back the next night. And the night after. Even when she is on shift, he waits around until her breaks and they spend them together.

  Laughing.

  He comes back every evening this week.

  And each night after close, I lie in my bed and wait. Eventually, the screaming starts and I rush over to hold her until she calms down. She never once wakes up, and I grasp her tightly in my arms until the sun begins to crest over the horizon. Then I slip back into my own bed and fall into a restless sleep.

  For a week, her expression remains empty when she looks at me. And for a week, she has nothing but smiles for frat boy. This morning when I come to listen to her play the piano, she is playing “Brighter than Sunshine” by Aqualung. Singing about belonging to someone and how it makes things shine. She softly sings the words, swaying with the melody as she plays. A soft smile is on her face, and she continues to absentmindedly tinkle with the keys.

  What the fuck? Who is she singing about? The jealous beast inside me once again rears its ugly head and I stalk off to my office. I know that what I’m about to do is wrong, but I’m consumed with rage. Picking up the phone, I place a call I know will bite me in the ass eventually. At this moment, I don’t care.

  I’VE STOPPED CARING. Stopped emailing Dad begging him to let me leave. Stopped trying to get Slade to notice me.

  I think I’m depressed. Being depressed is a new concept for me. Sure, I had plenty to be depressed about growing up without a mother and living with an overbearing father. But it was my life. And even though most wouldn’t understand it, I truly did love it.

  Now that I’m in this new life, I feel like a prisoner. Slade is the warden and he rules with an iron fist. The only opportunities I’ve had to be me, Joss, are when I’m in front of that old piano downstairs. It’s the only thing that keeps me going every day.

  My mind flits to Jack. I’ve spent a lot of time with him over the past week. And even though I can’t truly be myself around him, I enjoy his company. Poor guy wants to know me so badly, and I wish I could give that to him. Instead, I’ve spun lie after lie about my past, upbringing, and plans for my future. He seems to sniff out my lies but never calls me on them. One day, after this all blows over, maybe I’ll come clean to Jack. He can be the new Kent. The old Kent thinks I’m dead, so I can never go back to him.

  And where does Slade fit in that equation?

  I bite my lip as I remember that earth-shattering orgasm he gave to me, which now seems like an eternity ago. We kissed. Touched. Grabbed. Scratched. But when he tasted me, I wasn’t at all prepared. So many times, poor Kent had tried—God love him. I’m pretty sure he’d used the whole “write the ABCs with your tongue” approach. Each time, I pretended as not to break his heart. And with Slade, I’d prepared myself once again.

  But Slade broke the rules.

  His tongue twisted and twirled to an unknown dance during an unknown song. I nearly died when he slid his finger into me and found someplace deep inside me that longed to be touched. Each flick of his tongue and stroke of his finger pushed me further into a blissful oblivion. Into a place I’d never treaded before. A place I’d never successfully journeyed to—even with my own fingers. It was always so close but seemed miles away.

  Slade changed that.

  My body responded to his and danced right with him. It knew the song and played its part perfectly. He composed the perfect piece with his tongue and my body performed with perfection. My orgasm was a symphony.

  Since that night, I’ve craved more, but it has been pointless. He doesn’t want me. Not even in the least. Nobody wants me except Jack—and I’m not even sure I want him like that. He’d be a great friend. He’d be like Kent. But for some reason, I just know deep down he’d never be able to draw out what Slade was able to do.

  With a sigh, I roll out of bed. I need to play like I need air. The melancholy thoughts about my life—or lack thereof—are starting to consume me. But when I push down on those ivory keys, I forget. I get lost in my music and everything else falls by the wayside.

  For those brief moments, I’m actually happy.

  I’m still in my nightgown and have no desires to change. Slade won’t be there. Ever since the big O night, he’s avoided me as much as humanly possible. Our conversations have been simple and only when necessary.

  Quietly, I slip out of my room and brush my teeth before I’m all but bouncing down the stairs. With quick steps, I stride over to my saving grace. My fingers twitch, already eager to play “The Itsy Bitsy Spider.” But as I near the dusty, dark corner of the bar, my heart sinks.

  No.

  My heart ceases to beat as I frantically search the bar. Tables. Chairs. Walls. Floors.

  Nothing.

  Tears blur my vision as reality sets in. It’s gone. The piano is fucking gone.

  I fall hard to my knees on the wood floors and cry out in pain. Then an unearthly wail rips from my chest as I curse him with every ounce of my being.

  He took it away from me.

  My shoulders shudder violently as I sob. The pain in my heart is too much to bear.

  When I was torn from my life and fucking erased, I held my chin high and dealt with it. When I had to answer to another name every single day, I did what was needed for my father. But when I saw that the piano was gone, I lost it.

  I’m distracted from my loss when his scent greets me before he does. Placing my palms on the chilly floor, I continue crying, ignoring his presence by smashing my eyes shut.

  “J . . .” His voice is tight. Guilty.

  Ragged gasps of air burst in and out of me as I cry. My lip is quivering wildly out of control as the tears soak every surface of my cheeks. At this point, I’m hyperventilating. The room spins when I peek my eyes open, and I become dizzy.

  “J . . .” He says it again, but I can’t. I can’t fucking look at him. He won. I am nothing now.

  I continue my breakdown when I feel him stroke my hair. It’s too much and I fucking flip out.

  “Don’t touch me!” I hiss between sobs. “I hate you!”

  He curses under his breath when I swipe at him with my nails bared and dead set on drawing blood. He’s too quick though, grabbing my wrist before I can exact any damage.

  “Calm down, little kitten,” he grumbles.

  “Let go of me and leave me the hell alone!”

  I’m losing it, because when he wraps his arms around me, I let him hold my quivering body even though I hate him with every part of my being. My body sags, the fight gone.

  “You’re freezing,” he whispers into my hair.

  As if I am just now realizing, I shiver in his arms. But I make no attempts to get up. My body is completely immobilized. I don’t give a shit about anything anymore. Not one shit.

  When the tears dry, I find myself staring at the pattern of the wood grain on one of the planks. Slade is saying something, but I can’t be bothered to listen. The wood is just so pretty. I bet that wood doesn’t have a worry in the world. It’s only job is to be sturdy. I’m envious of the wood.

  Goodbye wood.

  I’m floating.

  Across the bar.

  Up the stairs.

  This is the closest I’ve ever felt to flying. I bet the wood
is jealous of my wings. Jealous it has to stay put and be stepped on all day.

  Briefly, I see my haggard reflection in a mirror. I grin at it. That woman in the mirror is spooky.

  The sound of rain penetrates my thoughts.

  Wait.

  What the fuck?

  Icy water showers down over me and yanks me from a weird place in my mind. I jerk my head to meet the terrified stare of Slade. Why is he scared? I’m the one fucking freezing in the water.

  “S-s-so c-c-cold,” I chatter out my words.

  He climbs into the shower, completely naked, and turns the knob behind me. The heat instantly replaces the cold and I burst into tears. What is wrong with me?

  When his fingers find the bottom of my soaked nightgown, he struggles but finally manages to peel it away from my body. I watch his dark head squat down as he removes my drenched panties. Then both are discarded from the shower. Strong arms pull me to him in a comforting embrace. And as he gently strokes my back under the hot spray of the water, I bury my face into his chest.

  His scent is always so addicting. Shamelessly, I inhale him. I may hate him, but I’ll use him right now for this. I need this.

  “I’m so sorry, J.”

  His apology is heartfelt, but it just causes more tears to spring forth. I break down again and cry like a baby.

  We stand for a long time, neither of us moving. My arms stay hanging at my sides while he holds on to me. Finally, when the water grows cold, he shuts it off. I shiver, but he quickly wraps me in a thick towel. Once he’s tied one around his waist, he scoops me into his arms again.

  My mind is becoming clear once again but all I can do is stare numbly at him. He regards me with determined yet regretful eyes but it does nothing for my broken heart. I can’t look at them any longer so I rest my cheek on his shoulder and close my eyes. When he lays me down in my bed, my eyes reopen to find that I’m not in my bed—I’m in his.

  It’s so warm.

  He steals away my towel and drops his. Then I slide my palm across his sheets, which are so unusually soft for such a rugged man to own, and try not to wrap myself around him like a spider monkey when he slides into the bed beside me.

  Dark, steely eyes find mine and we watch one another, neither of us moving except to blink. Finally, though, his warm hand finds my waist and he hauls me closer to him. Because of the sudden move, my arms are pinned against his chest and I can feel his cock smashed between us.

  “I’m so sorry, baby.”

  Baby? I’m not his baby.

  My eyes leave his to roam his face before settling on his lips. I remember the way his facial hair scratched the insides of my thighs a week ago. It was sensationally wonderful and I put it on my bucket list of things I’d love to try again.

  When he leans forward and grazes his nose with mine, our lips nearly touch.

  “J . . .”

  He wants me to come back to him. To leave the dark place in my mind that I’m desperately considering running back to.

  “Slade,” I whisper finally.

  Emotion floods his features. Relief. Anger. Remorse.

  “I’m so sorry,” he tries again.

  What does he want me to say? That it’s okay that he ripped away the last shred of my sanity?

  I don’t reward him with an answer but free one of my hands instead. The need to touch him is strong so my fingers skitter along his neck up to his jaw and I stare at his parted lips as I gently rub my thumb across his scruffy jawline.

  “Can you forgive me?” he questions. I watch his lips as they slowly form the words.

  No, I can’t.

  I inhale him again. A deep rumble in his chest makes my eyes rise back to his—to attempt to read his thoughts.

  He furrows his brows, letting me know that he’s waiting on my answer. My lips press into a thin line as I shake my head no. A tear rolls down my cheek and I look back down at his lips. When an anguished noise escapes him, I try to ignore the way it pulls on my heart.

  Slade doesn’t feel. Slade in no way cares.

  I watch his lips part even more as he brings them toward me. As soon as I feel his breath on my lips, I close my eyes. His kiss is soft. With each tug of my lips with his, he urges me to forgive him.

  No.

  His tongue slides into my mouth and I let him taste me. I won’t kiss him back though. A whimper builds in my throat when he kisses me deeper, begging me to reciprocate. And I gasp when his hands trail along the side of my body, leaving a singe of pleasure in its wake.

  He eases me onto my back as he continues his attempt to kiss life back into me. But I’m not Snow White. I won’t suddenly wake up and sing happily now that Prince Charming has come to save me.

  I can’t be saved.

  “My God,” he breathes between kisses. “What have I done to you?”

  His self-loathing tone wiggles its way right into my heart. I don’t want to feel sorry for him, but I do. With a stroke of my thumb, I rub along his jaw again as he kisses me. After a moment, he finally wrenches away from my lips and my touch as if it took every ounce of self-control to do so. Then his eyes search mine.

  “Tell me.”

  I smile at him, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “You took away the last piece of me.”

  His eyes clench shut and an angry roar splits the silent room in two. “I’m so sorry, little kitten. Fuck. Please come back to me.”

  Something about his pleas—his desire to fix me—seems so genuine and real. If he cares, why would he hurt me?

  The way he stares at me now, angry yet needy, lights a match. I feel a slow burn begin to form in my core. My skin reacts—notices every part of him that touches me. This time, my whimper does escape.

  “Holy shit, J. Let me make it all better,” he begs.

  His eyes tell me that he wants to fix it without words. I can’t handle words right now, so I nod.

  One of his trademark growls fills the room as he leans over me and fishes for something from the nightstand. With one-handed, perfected-over-the-years efficiency, he manages to slide a condom on his thick cock that has throbbed to life.

  Do I want this?

  Right now, it’s the only thing left. I need it to feel alive.

  “Make love to me.” My words are but a whisper, yet he hears.

  I expect him to laugh at me. Tell me that hardened assholes like him don’t make love—they fuck. But he doesn’t. He grants me my one last wish.

  With now eager eyes, I watch the determined look on his face as he spreads my knees apart and settles his body over me. In this moment, we both know it isn’t about foreplay or getting off. We both know I need to feel connected to someone—anything—if I have any hope for surviving this life.

  My core screams with resistance as he slowly enters me. I’m not wet. I’m not ready. And I don’t care. I need him now, just like this.

  He stretches me more than I’ve ever been stretched before. With every push deeper and deeper inside me, he fills me. His eyes find mine a hair before his lips do, and his mouth worships mine as he takes me completely.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispers against my lips. It’s become his mantra.

  His hips begin a slow thrust that builds the internal fire he lit moments before. My own hips rock to meet his, and my heels find their way to his hard ass.

  “Okay.” That’s all I give him on the subject, but it does something to him.

  His endearing growl crawls down my throat as he consumes me. I tear my lips from his and stare out the window for a moment. I’ve never had so many emotions rolling around during sex before. With Slade, it’s anger, passion, want, hate, love, desire, need. All of it at once. It’s overwhelming.

  “Look at me, Cupcake,” he groans.

  Then my eyes snap back to his and something flares in my chest. The wicked grin on his face tells me that he got the reaction he wanted. After I slide my fingers from his back all the way up into his thick hair, I clutch him there. Shoving him to me, I steal his mouth with mi
ne and kiss him hard. As my tongue fights with his, I tell him that I hate what he did. His tongue meets mine and he begs for forgiveness.

  My pelvis flutters and my heart stops as I realize that this man is about to give me my second orgasm of my life as he pumps into me. Like a needy whore, I buck my hips, begging for what he has to give me.

  Understanding my need, he plows deeper, harder than before, and takes my body. His kisses become urgent, and he no longer begs for forgiveness—he demands it.

  With each kiss and thrust, I argue my case but to no avail. My body forgives him long before my mind or heart ever will, and I shudder wildly as that beloved orgasm bursts through me. Every nerve ending inside and out flares to life and quivers uncontrollably as I lose myself to the pure ecstasy only he can provide.

  “Derek . . .” A whispered name laced with so much meaning. Meaning only he understands.

  His groans are possessive and proud. He won this battle, but he won’t gloat about it. Instead, as he releases his own orgasm inside me, he rains thankful kisses all over me. His kisses are a promise. He promises to make it better.

  Joss wants to believe him.

  Jill, however, is skeptical.

  NOT WANTING TO crush her with my weight, I slowly pull out and roll to my side, bringing her with me and wrapping her up in my arms. Her body is fluid and she melts into me. Burying my face in her hair, I inhale deeply and her sweet vanilla scent intoxicates me. I want to stay here forever, block out the real world and fuse our bodies together, living as one, making up for the jagged pieces we are on our own.

  The guilt washes over me again, and I’m shredded when I remember hearing the sound of anguish ripping from her throat. I didn’t want to be there when she saw what I’d done. I was hiding in my office like a fucking coward. But the sound reached me and I knew immediately that I’d crossed the line. I ran to the front room and witnessed firsthand what I’d done.

  I’d broken her.

  I was terrified. Terrified that I couldn’t fix what I’d done, that I’d pushed her so far away that I’d never get her back. When I scooped her into my arms and took her to the shower, she was almost catatonic. I couldn’t get her to respond to me. My heart was frozen, and I knew I needed—needed—to fix this and bring her back to me.