BONES

by Yolanda Olson

  But Priscilla doesn’t deserve that much attention from me, and I won’t give it to her.

  “I should have put on gloves,” I say more to myself than her, with a chuckle. On the spool of twine, there’s a thick sewing needle attached. I’ve used it before and can appreciate the sturdiness of it.

  Reaching down for what I’m assuming to be her lower, thin lip, I use two fingers to push it inside out before holding against the macabre spectate in front of me.

  This is definitely going to give me nightmares and I don’t ever suggest trying it. Of course, that’s merely a suggestion. I would never dream of telling another how to work their craft.

  She whimpers and grunts. I don’t know how those two sounds came out in unison, but that’s the only way I can describe it.

  “Hold still, now. You’re doing so well,” I say softly as I begin to sew her lip against her face. I move quickly because the sight of her teeth, now bloody and mocking, are starting to stir the maelstrom in me.

  Move faster.

  My hands take on a life of their own as I grab her upper lip, turn it inside out, and quickly continue sewing. I step back and look, satisfied that I can’t see her teeth anymore, yet disappointed in the immediate swelling.

  “Here,” I say, stepping toward her again. I pull out the last line of twine, hoping that I have enough, and begin to sew her lips together.

  She’s whimpering and grunting again, and I grit my teeth. If she doesn’t stop making that fucking noise, I’ll use the sheers to slit her throat, and that just won’t do.

  “Be quiet,” I warn.

  Two simple words cause such a change in her. She grips the edge of the table and closes her eyes tightly. She accepts the pain and seemingly understands that she has no place in a world such as mine.

  A world of true pain.

  A temple filled with sexual deviance, malice, symphonic undertones of death, and melodic hues of euphoria. This is where she failed to worship, and this is now her punishment.

  “That should help with the swelling. Don’t remove the stitching for about two weeks and you should be okay. Also, I suggest you don’t go back to La Douleur Folle until you’ve healed. We wouldn’t want you to say anything that you’ve promised you wouldn’t,” I say in an even tone.

  She nods and lowers herself off of the table. I smile at her, take her by the hand, and lead her toward the door. Luckily, it hadn’t locked, so I take it as a sign that Priscilla will honor her end of the bargain.

  If she doesn’t, I’ll know where to find her. I’ll show her that what she’s experienced today for daring to come to my home with demands is nothing compared to the evil within that I fight every day.

  The evil that waits for the one that truly deserves it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I have such a peculiar feeling about how the rest of my day will go. I can’t quite place the emotion, so peculiar will have to do.

  Priscilla’s gone now and I’m alone. Nothing inside of me is poking or prodding at me, and I feel something strangely unusual.

  I feel calm.

  It could very well be the proverbial calm before the storm, but I have nothing left to give really. Not until I find the one that keeps eluding me.

  I think I’ll spend the rest of my day retracing my steps. Where the hell was the last time that I saw her? The grocery store. What was she wearing? ... I can’t remember.

  I won’t bother trying to recall her face, her eyes, or the color of her hair because it’s useless. It’s almost as if each time I see her, she’s wearing a new face, her hair is different, and my brain refuses to retain what she looked like the time before.

  Why is this happening?

  It’s quite frustrating.

  Perhaps I’ll go back into the living room and turn the television back on. Perhaps I’ll clean my home. Perhaps I’ll go back to bed and forget that the world exists, but I know that none of these will be enough to keep my mind preoccupied.

  I won’t hurt anyone else today; my quota has been met. Verona and her family were way above what I usually do for a day. To be honest, I can keep myself from hurting more people until I find her.

  And then I’ll stop.

  That’s when it will all end, and when I’ll finally be at peace with everything I’ve accomplished so far in my life. Which gives me an idea of how to occupy myself for the day.

  First, I have to shower. I don’t want the folly of what I’ve done to be so prominent on my hands. Also, I want to get the feeling of Priscilla off of me.

  From every part of my body.

  I clear my throat as I make my way to my bedroom to retrieve some fresh clothes, then head into my bathroom. I place everything neatly on the edge of the sink before I turn and pull the glass door open. A moment later, I’ve tested the heat of the water and begin to undress.

  I like to use an exfoliating soap scrub. It assures me that all of the dirt I may have accumulated throughout the day has been removed and leaves me feeling quite refreshed. For my hair, I use a rejuvenating shampoo and conditioner for no other reason than to keep my hair shining and healthy.

  I’m not vain.

  I take pride in my appearance.

  After I lather and rinse the shampoo, I use the conditioner next. It’s organic, of course, and smells of eucalyptus. While that sets, I reach for my soap scrub and unscrew the top. It, too, smells like eucalyptus, and while I understand that may seem a bit quirky, I find it’s much better than reeking of two different scents.

  I find it subtle and slightly intoxicating, as do others around me. It’s more for those in the pleasure of my company than for myself. I like to make others comfortable when I can.

  I smile as I scrub myself. I can feel the soap working quickly, leaving small trails of grain against my skin. I have to take care not to scrub too deeply because I can draw blood on myself with something as simple as this.

  I’ve done it before.

  Call it a morbid curiosity that I wanted satisfied.

  I wince as the conditioner starts to drip down into my left eye, but I continue scrubbing, leaving my cock for last. I turn and step under the shower stream and shake my hands vigorously before I wash the conditioner out. Once I’m done, I grab blindly for the towel I have draped over the top of the door and dab at my eyes before turning and grabbing the soap scrub again.

  Now would be the time that I would wash away Priscilla’s shameless and lewd acts against me. While I had allowed it, I still found it to be completely vile to have a woman such as her deem herself worthy of my cock.

  I hated myself for letting her do it, and I could tell because I was scrubbing too quickly, too deeply, too violently.

  I’m not clean enough. I can feel it.

  I jab my fingers into the jar again and bring out a generous amount of soap and continue scrubbing, but I can’t seem to get the horrid sensation of her off of me. It’s burned in my fucking brain, and if I don’t stop soon ... Is that blood?

  Oh, God. It is, but I have to keep scrubbing. I have to get her off of me. I move my hand faster and reach with my other hand for more soap. Why isn’t this working? How is it possible that I’m not clean enough yet? Why is my breathing starting to become heavy? Am I ... am I enjoying this? This attempt to wash her away, her memory, her touch, is making my body feel torrid, and I’m becoming hard. I can feel it.

  But if I scrub harder, it’ll go away ... won’t it? The memory of Priscilla, the hard cock, the feeling that I’m about to—

  “Fuck!”

  My breathing is heavier now and I feel so betrayed by myself as I look down at my hand. There’s small amounts of blood from my attempting to clean myself, but there’s also a generous amount of cum on them as well.

  This really wasn’t meant when I said I wanted to get everything off. I didn’t mean to.

  Can you forgive me?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Unfortunate that I should find myself in the waiting room of the urgent care center near my home. I’m
sure it’s nothing major, but when I rubbed myself raw, it became an annoyance to put on even my boxers. I’m hoping an easily attainable prescription will do the trick and allow me to continue on with my day.

  I chose Kalispell Evermore Clinic for a very particular reason. A friend of hers works here; reception, if I can recall correctly, and sometimes I like to come in with minimal afflictions and chat with her.

  It’s as close as I can get to my main goal without actually being able to get to her, so I make the most of these visits.

  Today is different, though, and in a rather shockingly pleasant way.

  “Burress?” a friendly voice calls out.

  I glance up toward the source of the sound and find myself smiling. It’s her friend, and instead of being behind the desk, she’s wearing dark blue scrubs and has a small file in her hand.

  “I know you,” she greets me with a smile as I walk passed her and wait patiently while she closes the door behind us.

  She leads me down a narrow hallway to a room with a number four on the door. I walk toward the sturdy reclining bed and sit down.

  I already know the routine.

  “Did I say your last name correctly?” she asks kindly as she sits on the small stool across from me.

  “Indeed.”

  She smiles as she crosses one leg over the other and opens the file with my name on it. My fingers drum along my knees as I wait for the usual barrage of answers.

  “What brings you in today, Mr. Burress?” she asks, clicking the top of her pen.

  “Guy is fine,” I say, running a hand back through my hair. “This is actually a bit embarrassing, so please bear with me.

  “Well, just remember, I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to help you, as long as you tell me the one hundred percent truth,” she replies warmly.

  “Oh, you misunderstand,” I reply with a chuckle. “The act is not embarrassing, it’s that I allowed it to happen that makes it so.”

  “Okay. So, what happened?” she presses, her smile beginning to falter.

  “I went to an establishment that I frequent, and there was a girl there that allowed me to try something I’ve wanted to try for years,” I began, warning myself not to give too much detail. “Anyway, as it turns out, it worked. Only when I was home earlier, showering and trying to get the essence of another woman off of me, I may not have realized that I wasn’t exactly healed.”

  She’s staring at me now. Curiosity shows in her eyes, but I know her mind. It’s judging me for what I’ve just said and I can’t blame her.

  Vanilla people are very quick to judge what they don’t understand.

  “Guy, where are you hurt?” she asks curiously.

  I sigh and get to my feet, placing my hands on my hips. Should I show her or ask for another in her place? After all, she’s almost as good as the one I’m hunting for, but I won’t harm her for the simple fact that she helps others. Something I know I could never do, or have the want to attempt.

  With another loud sigh, I unzip my jeans and let them fall down to my knees. She’s putting on a purple pair of latex gloves while I contemplate pulling my boxers off. Maybe if I just pull it out the opening it won’t be so bad, but I know these health physicians want everything as accessible as possible.

  I use my thumbs to slide down my underwear as far as mid-thigh then stop. If that’s not enough for her to work with then I would just pull everything back up and leave.

  “Doesn’t that hurt?” she asks in an awed voice as she uses her thumb and forefinger to examine me.

  “No. It’s more of an annoying feeling that I’d like to subdue if possible,” I reply, turning my face away.

  “Did you burn yourself?” she asks curiously as she gently raises my cock to view the underneath.

  “That was the trick, so to speak,” I reply dryly.

  “Okay,” she says, gently letting me go and turning toward her file. I wait patiently while she scribbles something down. “You can get dressed now.”

  I pull my clothing quickly back into place. So quickly that I almost end up snaring myself with my zipper, but I manage to avoid another mishap in that area.

  “I’m going to give you something for the burns. I’m assuming you’ve masturbated since it’s happened, because your skin looks like it’s been rubbed raw.”

  “Unintentionally, but yes, that’s correct,” I reply, leaning against the bed.

  She glances up at me and raises an eyebrow before almost imperceptibility shaking her head and pulling out a prescription pad.

  “I’m not really supposed to do this because the doctor is out today, but sometimes we get to play with these,” she says happily as she scribbles something down. “I would advise getting this as soon as possible. The faster you start using it, the faster you can get back to whatever it was that brought you here.”

  “Thank you,” I say quietly.

  I take the prescription from her and fold it once, then twice, sliding it into my pocket. I’ll pick it up on the way home.

  For now, I have to make my way to the hardware store and get some supplies.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I really should learn to use my car more often, but I enjoy walking. No amount of strength I’ve amassed will aide me in bringing all of the items I’ve just pushed up to the register. I’ll ask for a home delivery; it’ll make things much simpler.

  Do I have my wallet?

  A quick brush of the back of my jeans tells me it’s in the left pocket, and I breathe a little easier. There’s only one person in front of me and I don’t mind waiting. After all, he only has two items and is already swiping his method of payment, so it’s just a matter of how quickly the computer will charge him and he can be out of my way.

  “I’m sorry sir, but you card is declined.”

  I sigh loudly and reach for my wallet. I lean over my flatbed dolly and swipe my credit card. My card won’t be declined; it never is.

  “Thank you, young man,” he says.

  I nod, force a smile, and move my dolly up as soon as he moves out of the way. Young man. I hadn’t been called that in years, but I’d let him labor under the thought that a “young man” had done a kindness for him, when all I really wanted was for him to get the fuck out of the way with his pride still in tact.

  The woman behind the counter grabs her wireless scanner and comes around the register. She begins to scan my items; beep, beep, beep, until she’s finally confident that she’s processed them all.

  “I need these delivered to my home,” I tell her, handing her the pre-filled delivery form.

  “That’ll be an extra seventy-five dollars,” she says, reaching for the form.

  “I’m aware.”

  She nods and scans the form, then proceeds to slowly type the information into her system. I can feel myself becoming angry at the slow pace she’s working, and that won’t do. Instead of letting the anger consume me, I cross my arms over my chest and glance around the store.

  And I see her.

  I actually fucking see her.

  She’s walking toward the exit of the store, right passed me as if I don’t exist; as if I don’t mean anything to her. I convince myself that she just didn’t see me and turn my attention back toward the cashier.

  “Are we done? Is there anything else you need from me?” I ask urgently.

  “Just need you to sign the receipt once it prints,” she replies to a long roll of paper being slowly ejected from the machine.

  I know I shouldn’t have, but with the amount of frantic impatience that’s now swelling inside of me, I lean passed her, rip the paper out of the machine and sign my name at the bottom.

  I shove my credit card back into my wallet and move passed the dolly, quickly weaving my way around the sudden wave of customers who seem to have been miraculously all checked out at once.

  “Get out of my fucking way,” I bark at a mother and her two rowdy children. She gasps, then huffs as if no one has ever said that to her and her small duo of
rancid offspring before.

  I can see the exit doors; they’re a mere few feet away, and I’m so close to speaking with her again. I’ll ask her what her name is this time, and I’ll tell her mine. I’ll retain her fucking face, eyes, hair, lips, everything, and refuse to forget it.

  However, as soon as I step out into the blaring daylight, I realize I’m too late. After a quick sweep of the entire parking lot I see her getting into her car and closing the door firmly behind her.

  I should run up to her; tap on the window and ask her if she remembers me, but that would give the illusion that I’m nothing more than a desperate madman, and I’m not crazy.

  For today she wins. I’ll stand here outside of the store and watch her drive away. I’ll let her leave me and not know what the blur of the woman that walked passed me looks like. I’ll forget that she was here and that I was so close to what I’ve been needing for so long, and I’ll be okay with it.

  Why? Because I’m coming closer to my grand conclusion. I’m so close that now I know that she drives a blue Chevy Impala and the license plate number is 574-ECA.

  I have more information about her than I would care to admit, and I’ll find her soon enough. I’ll speak to her, charm her, invite into my home, and she’ll accept.

  No woman has been able to resist me before, and I know exactly how to play the game according to what I need.

  I’m a bit of a chameleon, and I always adapt to what I feel they want.

  She wants me. All of me. And I intend to show her exactly who I really am.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I’m cradling the phone between my neck and shoulder, waiting patiently for the hold music to be interrupted by the sound of a hello.

  I know that I have to prepare myself to take her, and after sleeping for almost five days straight, I’ve decided to practice. Why? Practice makes perfect, according to the old adage. I don’t want to disappoint her, and I don’t want to give her anything less than she deserves.