Hero

by Leighton Del Mia

  “That’s what your injections are. Drugs. You get high just like any other junkie.”

  “They make me better,” I snap. “Without the ‘drugs,’ I’m nothing. I’m a criminal, just like them. That ‘drug’ is what saved you today. They’re what make it possible for me to protect what needs protecting.”

  “Fine,” she says. “I don’t even know why I care.”

  She turns, but I grasp her arm and pull her back. “We’re not finished. Don’t walk away from me.”

  “There’s the Calvin I know.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know that other guy, the version of you who holds my hand and tells the truth. The one who saves the world. But this man,” she says, looking at my hand on her, “this one I know.”

  “You think because I put on a mask you don’t know me? That’s bullshit.” My grip loosens, and I take a deep breath. “Look, Cataline, the truth isn’t pretty. It’s fucked up. But that doesn’t change what we’ve been through. The other night you said,” I pause on the verge of unknown territory, “you said you loved me. Did you mean it?”

  “Yes,” she says immediately. Whatever’s coursing through my veins, I don’t recognize it. I think I smile, but I’m not even sure because it’s been so long since anything has made me happy. That’s when she says, “But I don’t anymore.”

  My muscles ache, my head pounds through a haze. The room is dark when I open my eyes, but I know where I am. I recognize it by what I can’t see. By what I smell. By the sounds. But I don’t think it would matter if I were deaf, dumb, and blind, because I recognize it mostly by the way it feels. I’m back in the mansion in my bed. The thought sinks into my brain as I doze, dragging my heart down with it.

  The next time I wake, the room is awash with sunlight. It makes me irrationally angry that nobody closed the blinds, and I’m now assaulted by the reality of my situation. I don’t bother to dress or fix my hair; I just slog downstairs to the kitchen, hoping to find food.

  I’m not surprised to be greeted by mouth-watering smells, but I am surprised to see Calvin sitting at the head of the table reading a newspaper.

  “What day is it?” I ask, surveying his grey t-shirt and charcoal, plaid pajama pants.

  He glances up. “Friday. How are you feeling?”

  I grab a strip of bacon and fall into my usual seat at the opposite end of the table. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” I ask as I chew.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to get up.”

  “Why?” I mutter. “I’ll be here when you get home.”

  “I’m taking some time off.”

  I scoop scrambled eggs onto my plate, trying to avoid his eyes, even though all of his green is fixed intently on me. “Can you, like, do that? Or will you still be out there doing . . . Hero things?”

  He folds the paper and sticks it under his arm. “Don’t worry about me. Just focus on getting better.”

  “I’m not worried. Just trying to make conversation.”

  “Duly noted. Will you answer my question?”

  “Which one?”

  “How are you feeling? You slept through most of yesterday and half this morning.”

  I shrug. “I’m a little stiff.”

  “You’ve been through a lot,” he says, clearing his throat. “We haven’t really discussed it. I’m sorry that you saw everything you did.”

  “You removed a man’s heart from his body.”

  “Does that scare you?”

  I scrape my fork against the plate. A sarcastic answer sits at the tip of my tongue. The fact that I’d rather tell him the truth, though, makes me want to stab the fork into my thigh. Why can’t I hate him like I’m supposed to? Why didn’t I shoot him when I had the chance, for everything he’s put me through? “It scared me more that they might hurt you,” I say finally. “There were a lot of men there. Are you okay?”

  We watch each other across the long table until he says, “Come here.”

  I shake my head.

  “Defiant as ever.”

  “Demanding as ever.”

  “Come here, Cataline.”

  Curiosity urges me up and that inexplicable draw to him moves me forward. He pushes his chair back. I perch on his knees so we’re eye-level, and he brushes his thumb over my split lip with unexpected gentleness. “You’re hurt.”

  My eyes close. His smell is intruding on me, an unwanted reminder of what it can be like to have him this close. His thigh muscle is so strong under me, his hands so tender.

  “Did they touch you?”

  Guy Fowler’s sinister grin is clear in my mind. “No.”

  His fingers grasp my chin, and I open my eyes to meet his intense gaze. I almost don’t recognize his inhumanly deep voice when he says, “I killed them for you.”

  I shake my head. “Not for me.”

  He blinks slowly. “For you. I held Riviera’s heart in my hands. You want truth? Here’s the truth: I enjoyed every minute of it. Because that’s the monster I am. Now are you scared?”

  To have anything other than fear and hate for him makes no sense. Maybe I could have loved him, maybe I did, but how can I now? My brain tries to reconcile the gap between the man I thought he was, the man he is, and the man I want him to be.

  I’m so confused that I press my lips against his. We sit that way, inhaling and exhaling each other until I part my mouth. He opens with me, returning my kiss with a hungry tongue.

  Without disconnecting, I shift to straddle his lap. “Wait,” he says, pulling away and rubbing his eyes with tense fingers.

  I ignore him with a softer kiss. I move my hips, seeking out his hardness. His hands race over my back and under my nightgown, scrunching the fabric up to my shoulder blades.

  His skin on mine makes me needy. He rips away again, his breathing labored. “Does it hurt?” he asks, staring at my lip.

  “I like the way it hurts,” I say, bringing him back to my mouth by his t-shirt.

  “I don’t think this is a good—”

  “Stop,” I say, shoving against him as I get to my feet. “You want to hurt me, but you’re bothered by a split lip?”

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, anger just below the surface of his words. “I never did. I want you bad, Cataline, but I think we should slow down. Start over.”

  “Oh my God,” I say with a hollow laugh. I gesture between us. “We can never start over.”

  “What I mean is that sex won’t help anything right now.”

  “Jesus,” I say, covering my face. “Just stop. You’re making everything worse.”

  “Talk to me. Tell me what’s worse.”

  I look up from my hands and before I can stop myself, I’m climbing back onto his lap, pushing the elastic of his pants over his erection.

  “You’ve been through a lot,” he says. “You need to talk.”

  “I need you,” I say, kissing his cheek. I tug aside my panties and glide myself along his shaft. “Come on, Calvin,” I taunt against his skin as my hands find their way into his hair. “I know you want to.”

  He swallows loudly, and I remain there, my breath on his cheek, my fingers fisting his hair, my thighs trembling as I hover over him. His chest deepens with each inhale, but neither of us moves.

  “Look at me,” he says.

  I want to, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing all the ways I’m hurting. In this moment, ripped open by desire, I know my face is raw with confusion, pain, and unfiltered need.

  “I’m a monster,” he whispers, sending a direct line of shivers down my spine. “You’re in control here. I don’t want to take from you anymore.”

  “Yes, you do,” I respond. “That’s all you know. Take it, Calvin.”

  He shakes his head.

  I muster all the grit I can from my throat and lean in so he’ll feel the heat of my breath on his ear. “Fuck me like the little slut I am. Do it hard. I know that’s what you want, to teach me a lesson. Show me that you own me, a
ll the ways I belong to you—”

  He vaults the chair out from under us so we both fall to the floor. I’m on my side when he seizes my hips and drags me backward. My hands scramble to catch up and just as I’m getting to my knees, his fingers are opening me up, spreading me for him. He works his crown inside, opening me wider and wider, teasing me so my fingernails dig into the wood.

  “This what you want?” he asks, mocking me with short thrusts. “To be fucked like a dog?”

  “Yes,” I moan.

  “What else do you want?”

  “Make me real again,” I say. “Make me feel it.”

  He gives my ass cheek a light slap.

  “Harder,” I grate through my teeth.

  His one hand curls into the crease of my hip, and he hauls me backward, filling me all the way. “In my dreams, I’ve spit in your pussy, fucked you with my fist, turned your lips red and swollen from sucking my cock.” He rolls into me leisurely like he’s testing me for the first time. “Would you let me do all those things to you?”

  “Yes,” I tell him. “You can have it all. This is what we are. You’re the enemy, the master. I’m your slave.” My words have the desired effect, and his hips start smashing into mine faster, his cock more slippery and unbridled with each thrust. “This is how it should be,” I groan. “I deserve this.”

  His palm burns my ass with another satisfying slap. I gasp into the resounding sting of each subsequent smack as it lives through me. I push back against him, stretching my arms out in front of me to take him deeper as I beg for more with my body. He answers by wrapping my hair around his hand and pulling me into his thrusts. “Tell me you’ll always be mine.”

  “Always,” I lie, crying it loudly.

  His body closes over my back and forces me down. He props himself up on my shoulders, mashing me into the ground with each drive of his hips.

  “Lick the floor,” he says. My tongue flickers over the wood, and his fingers dig into my skin. “Want to fill you up so bad, Sparrow. Come for me so I can finish.”

  My ass bucks upward with his feverish demand, and he has me just right so I’m shuddering, descending into nothing but vibrations and buzzing electric currents. He groans from above, his heat spurting and trickling throughout me, claiming me from the inside as it seeps into my bones.

  One hand leaves my shoulder and then the next so he’s propped above my body. He thrusts slowly, softening in the puddle of his cum and mine. “Cataline . . .”

  I shake my head as best I can against the floor. My eyes close, and my fingers curl into my palms. “It’s what I wanted.”

  I flip onto my back when he pulls out of me. The waistband of his pajama pants is still gripping his thighs. I begin to feel the effects of him losing his control. My lip and cheek throb, my shoulders are stiff, my breasts tender.

  I know his eyes are on me as I get to my feet, but I can’t bring myself to return his stare. Pulling on the hem of my nightgown, I say, “I think I just . . . need to be alone.” Before he can respond, I climb back up the stairs to my cushy prison cell.

  It’s the click of Cataline’s closing door that jars me from staring at the floor where she just was. Anger riots through me for allowing her to drive me to the edge. I wanted to be better. But I’m still her own personal brand of fear, the creator of the demons inside her, the shadow blocking any light. I lost control, and she got the confirmation she was looking for: I can’t be anything other than this. Do I love her? I don’t know what else to call this way she’s consumed me.

  Before I know it, my fist is through the wall, my face burning as I overturn the table. Food, pitchers, dishes clatter to the ground. Fuck all of this. Fuck my parents for putting this life on me. Fuck Cataline for not being able to protect herself from me. Fuck me for not being good enough.

  ———

  Nerves are unfamiliar to me. After staring hard at Cataline’s door for some minutes, I inhale deeply and rap twice. She makes me wait.

  “Come in,” she says eventually.

  The room is orange from the flood of late afternoon sunlight. Under the comforter, she’s in bed, curled onto her side. Her heavy lids and dull, red-rimmed eyes tell me she’s been sleeping. She looks at me expectantly, so I clear my throat and close the door behind me.

  “You’ve been up here a while,” I say, sitting tentatively on the edge of the bed. “Thought I’d check on you.”

  She shrugs. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “This whole time?”

  “I also took a catnap.”

  “Catnap?” I repeat.

  She raises her eyebrows and smiles. “You’ve never heard of a catnap?”

  I shake my head.

  “It’s just a nap but quicker, I guess.”

  “I see. A nap for pussycat.”

  “No,” she says, smiling wider. “It’s just catnap. No pussy.”

  “Is there such a thing as a pussynap?”

  She giggles and hides her face under the covers.

  “I, for one, think it’s a great idea,” I say.

  She peers over the blanket, and I can see by her eyes that she’s still smiling. “I’m sure you do.”

  I take the comforter from her hands and slide it over her bare shoulder. “Just out of curiosity, are these catnaps done naked?” I run my fingers over her skin, watching the trail of bumps they leave behind.

  “Sometimes,” she says.

  “And this time? Do I have your permission to find out?”

  “Do you need it?”

  “No. I’d like it, though.”

  She swallows and nods, so I slip my hand just under the covers and take her soft breast in my hand. It fits perfectly into my palm, and when I squeeze, she moans softly.

  “Just one touch, and I’m hard. Nobody else does what you do to me.”

  “Calvin,” she whispers. I pinch her nipple, and she bites her lip. “You can move it lower.”

  I want to. But this morning is fresh in my mind, so I release her reluctantly. “I didn’t come in here to feel you up. I actually came to invite you somewhere tonight.”

  She pulls the cover back over her shoulder. “Oh. Where?”

  “I’m on the Board of Directors for an organization that focuses on fighting poverty in the city. We implement programs in the East Side to develop services for families in need.”

  “The East Side is in such bad shape.”

  “I know. Trust me, I know. That’s why they need us.”

  She sits up against the headboard, clutching the comforter to her.

  “It’s formal attire,” I tell her, “but you should have plenty to choose from.”

  She looks down at a spot between us and tucks hair behind her ear. “Are you ordering me to go?”

  “What?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “No. I meant what I said. You’re not my prisoner anymore.”

  “Why would I go?”

  “Because I want you there.”

  The hair falls back into her eyes when she nods. “Okay.”

  I reach out and run my finger under her jaw. “We leave in two hours. I’ll send Rosa in to help you get ready.”

  I’m thankful that she’s willingly agreed to accompany me. Cataline will be the first guest I’ve ever brought to a function, although she won’t be the first I leave with. I’ve found that the graver the charity these functions benefit, the easier it is to find women. Somehow, that seems inconsequential now, as though it were a lifetime ago.

  That evening, I wait for her downstairs, pulling at the bowtie that strangles me. When she reaches the top of the staircase, I’m certain I’ve never felt anything like this. For so long I’ve watched her, but I have yet to see her this way. She’s dressed to perfection with no trace of the little girl I met sixteen years ago. She’s an adult, striking and confident. Her dark crimson dress is the color of ripe blood and that she chose it isn’t lost on me. It reminds me of holding Riviera’s still-beating heart in my fist, his life dripping over my
knuckles in red rivulets. For her, I pulled that heart out, and just to know she’s safe, I’d do it again.

  Her bare shoulders and chest beg for my hands, but I shove them in my pockets. Her breasts are pushed up and plump. I want to slide my dick between them and come all over her long, slender neck. I blow out a breath as she descends the stairs and try to find a spot where I don’t see the slit traveling up her thigh or the slight bouncing of her tits. She’s incredibly stunning. I think about how nothing will stop me from getting my hands on her later until I reach her steely eyes.

  “Calvin?”

  I blink slowly. “Yeah?”

  She’s standing a foot from me now, her head inclined toward her shoulder. “Are you just going to stare at me, or should we go?”

  “You look . . .”

  Her cheeks tint pink as I grasp for the right word. “Beautiful” doesn’t begin to describe the creature in front of me with a pound of dark hair piled on her head and eyes rimmed in charcoal.

  “You look nice too,” she says. She leans in, and I’m sure my cock will break right through my pants if she touches me, but she reaches behind me to take something from the foyer’s table. “You forgot your glasses.”

  I’m rigidly still as she takes two tiny steps into my body, infiltrating my space with a fresh scent that seems to scrub away everything bad inside me. She lifts both hands and slides the glasses on my face. After adjusting them, she steps back again, leaving me in her dissipating cloud. “There. Now you’re ready.”

  Ready. What she means is that I’m back in one of my disguises, a person she can catalogue in her mind as good or bad. I still haven’t figured out which version she thinks I am now, though. I’m not sure I know myself.

  When we walk through the doors of the event, Cataline can’t hear the low whistle of one man or see the way he nudges his friend and nods in her direction. But I can. What he doesn’t know is that her date can snap his neck without batting an eye. “Stay close to me tonight,” I say.

  “You’d tell me if there were danger, right?” she asks. “Please, Calvin, don’t keep me in the dark anymore.”

  “There’s no danger,” I reassure her. “But I want you close anyway.”