SANCTUARY: Beards & Bondage

by Rebekah Weatherspoon

  When I get out of the shower, Ebie has already fixed up the T.V. room to look like I’ve used it more than once since last football season. The coffee table is cleaned off and there are lit candles in the center. She found my JETS beanbag chair and a few large pillows from upstairs and set them on either side of the table. She even found some of Mom’s candles. I have no clue where she found that box of matches, but the candlelight does set a certain mood. I look up at her. She’s in a small pair of plaid shorts and a tattered Miami Flames shirt that’s hanging off one shoulder. I like the way her hair looks, wavy and hanging right at her chin.

  “You always look like a model,” I tell her.

  “Is that your way of saying that you think I’m pretty?”

  “I think you’re beautiful. I told you that when I first met you.”

  “You did, but you know…” she gestures around us and I know she means that I can’t forget how and why we were together that first night.

  “Yeah. For someone who isn’t a huge fan of dogs, they sure like you.” I gesture around the

  room in the same way.

  She looks around. Honeycrisp is curled up in my mom’s armchair. Morty and Gala are back on the dog beds by the fireplace, which I know they haven’t touched in months. Hank is on the floor next to Ebie’s feet and Joe Namath has half his body in the hallway and his other half in the room. He doesn’t lift his head when I look over at him, but he starts wagging his tail.

  “They’re just bored. They think I’m going to put on a show for them.”

  “They should be used to that kind of disappoint by now. I’m the shittiest dog owner. I don’t

  even have time to play fetch with them. You want to me to order?”

  “Oh.” She leans over the couch and grabs her laptop off the leather cushions. “Apparently you

  can order online. I pulled it up already. Just add what you want and other important information, like your address.”

  I take the laptop from her and check out what she ordered. Then I hand her back her laptop and go back to my bedroom to get my phone. I have Andeloni’s number saved in my favorites. My buddy Mark answers as I walk back into the TV room. I give him our order.

  “If I placed an online order for this address, they’d think squatters had killed me. I always call in,” I tell her after I set my phone on the coffee table.

  “Ah. Makes sense. Well I think our evening has officially started. Should we sit?”

  “Yes. After you.” I wait for her to sit on the stack of pillows before I make myself comfort in the beanbag chair. “I haven’t sat in this thing in ages.”

  “Yeah, the rooms upstairs look pretty untouched.”

  I shrug and reach for the box of matches. “It’s just me and the dogs. Didn’t see much point in redecorating.”

  “So,” she says folding her hands in her lap. I think this is the first time she’s actually smiled for me. “What would you like to talk about on our first date?”

  “You,” I say.

  “Me?”

  “I've been talking all day. I want hear you talk.”

  “Where should I start?”

  “Wherever you want? All I know is that you’re a lawyer.”

  “Right, so I’ve been an associate at Murrell, Dunne, Walmax and Wright for about three years. I specialize in Lanham act and false advertising suits, but currently I’m working on a labor dispute thing ’cause one of our partners is a fucking dick who always loves putting his favor files in my lap.”

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  “Sometimes I do. I’m good at it and I enjoy being good at things.”

  “Okay. What else?”

  “Oh, enough about the law. Let’s see. I have a little sister. Her name is Brooklyn. You want to see a picture?”

  “Yeah.”

  She reaches for her laptop and when she turns it back around, I see she’s pulled up a picture on her Facebook page. “That’s us.”

  “She’s cute.” I can see where they look alike in their faces, but in the picture, Brooklyn is clearly shorter and a little heavier. She wears her hair long too.

  “And fucking crazy, but I love her.”

  “It’s just the two of you?”

  “Yeah my parents died when I was nineteen. I had to get us both into adulthood.”

  “What does she do?”

  “She’s a baby district attorney in the Bronx. That’s where we grew up. She’s great at it.”

  “I want to know what happened in your apartment,” I say, turning the box of matches around in my hand. “Why would someone want to hurt you?”

  “Uh—it’s more law stuff, really.”

  “I hate my brother. I don’t hate lawyers. I went to law school too.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. I went to Berkeley. Both of our parents are lawyers by trade. They met in law school.”

  “But, wha—what are you doing here?”

  “Running my family business. Back to you.”

  “Uh, okay. Anyway. Do you know Belle’s Bee Cosmetics?”

  “Yeah, we sell it in the mercantile.”

  “Well David Dorrit Jr. wanted to throw something together for his faux hippie daughter so they started this company, Au Natural. They had some makeup and hair stuff that they were pushing using similar ad lines, saying that their products were made from real honey from these natural farms and shit. Well Belle’s sued because that’s their market and their stuff actually passes all of these federal regulations, so on and so forth. I did what I could, but we lost. I think it actually would have been fine, but his daughter Mackenzie got online with her two million Twitter followers and told people that Belle’s was full of shit. It was a mess.”

  “So they blamed you, enough to want to kill you?”

  “Apparently. My associate on the case left our firm shortly after. She could be dead too for all I know. Can we talk about something else?” she says. Her gaze drops to the table.

  “Sure. Tell me about what you like to do in your free time.”

  “I just run around the city with my sister and my friends. I’m not, like, a hobby gal. I work so much I just like to catch up with them when I’m free,” she says with her own shrug. “What should we watch tonight?”

  “I haven’t really updated the DVD collection in a while.”

  She gets up and grabs the remote to the cable box. I almost tell her it doesn’t work. I don’t pay the bill. I’m going to reup when the regular football season starts. She turns on the TV and to both our surprises, the cable is working. She starts going through the guide and turns to HBO. It works. I decide not to say anything.

  “Oh perfect. Suicide Squad starts in ten minutes. I haven’t seen it yet. What do you think?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  She sets down the remote and pulls one of the big pillows over beside the beanbag. It’s not exactly comfortable, but I don’t move when she puts her head in my lap. The delivery kid from Andeloni’s shows up a few minutes after the movie starts. Ebie manages to pause it while up, another feature I don’t tell her I was unaware of. We eat in silence. After we’re done, she tells me her ass is getting sore so we move to the couch. She pulls my arm over her shoulder and we’re cuddling on the couch. It’s not a first for me, but I don’t tell her how long it’s been since I’ve held anyone. She seems really into the movie so I don’t tell her how terrible I think it is. I fall asleep before it’s over.

  I wake up and Ebie’s still in my arms. It’s her laughter that shakes me awake. I open my eyes and she’s watching that movie Clueless. I stay quiet for awhile and just enjoy the fact that she seems to be at ease.

  She sits up suddenly and turns to look at me. “Hey,” I say. She doesn’t respond, but she licks her lips. “I want you again,” I tell her.

  She swallows, then the tip of her tongue juts out again. I want to kiss those lips. “My rules still apply.”

  “That’s fine.”

  She stands and I watch her as she steps
out of her shorts and then her underwear. “Slide down the couch, lay back.” I do as she says. “Now, put your hands at your sides. Keep them there. I mean it. No touching yet.”

  “Why don’t you want me to touch you?” I ask.

  “A decade of developing personal preferences.”

  “I want to touch you.”

  “And I want to feel like I’m in control of a man for once.”

  “You think you don’t have complete control over me already?”

  “Then show me. Keep your hands right where they are.”

  “Fine.”

  I let out a deep breath, then wait for her next order. This is some weird shit she’s into. It all seems so pointless, but if it’s what she likes I’ll do it. She lifts up her loose t-shirt and exposes her pussy to me. Now she looks like a porno model in the best possible way. She kept that stupid dress on all night the night before. How could she not understand how badly I just wanted to see her body? And when I was knuckle deep inside of her she wouldn’t let me look. She held me close as she rode my hand. She let me suck on her tits. It still wasn’t enough, but this is going to be much better. It already is.

  She carefully climbs on the couch right over my head, her shins resting on my shoulders. I can’t see her face, but I can hear her voice just fine. I can smell her. She smells as good as she looks. Her pussy is amazing. Dark fat lips already slick with her wetness. I’m already hard, but my cock twitches in my jeans when I think about how her clit felt between my fingers. I almost reach up and wrap my hands around to spread her thighs a little more, but then I remember her rules. I leave my hands where they are.

  “Kiss it,” she says. I lift my head and start licking at her wet slit. She jerks away, then leans over a little so I can see her face. “No, I said kiss it. With your lips. Kiss my pussy the same way you’d kiss my mouth. You wouldn’t go in tongue first.”

  I try again, lift my head up and just press my lips to the top of her slit. I do it twice more before I turn my head a little. This time, when I press my lips to her wet skin, I use my tongue to part her open. She starts to move a little.

  “Better,” she says and her voice sounds a little off. I must be doing something right. I try that again, pull my tongue back, use more of my lips and then my tongue again to find her clit. She seems to like that. She’s moaning. She tells me she wants more. So I give her more. I do what she tells me to do. I hold still when she starts to ride my face. I move my head when she tells me to fuck her hole with my tongue. I try not to come in my pants when she says my name and tells me how good it feels.

  “Gimme. Gimme your hand,” she says suddenly. She’s starting to lose her breath. She lifts her thigh so I can get my right arm out from under her and then she takes my hand and shoves it up her t-shirt. She holds my hand to her tits, makes me massage her like she did the night before. She doesn’t say anything about pinching her nipple, but I do as she keeps moving her hips back and forth. She doesn’t stop me. She slides her fingers higher over mine and we pinch her nipple together. She says my name again and then she comes in my mouth.

  Eleven

  Liz

  I am a fucking mess.

  I’m not processing. I know I needed to. Before I became a special resident of McInroy’s Farm, but it seems like ever since Silas walked into my life, the valve has been shut off and nothing about my life, my real life, matters, especially in moments like this. Why would it matter? I have a fake boyfriend with a great job and big house and five dogs who seem to adore both of us combined. He keeps me fed. Doesn’t bother me when I’m working. And even though it takes a few tries, he follows directions beautifully. I wake up Sunday morning and these are the things I’m thinking about.

  It’s a problem. It’s definitely a problem because I’m lying here with Silas’s head on my stomach. He’s knocked out, snoring. There’s a dull ache in my ribs. His head is heavy and he’s inches away from my sore bones, but I’m soaking in the slight pain now. I’m concentrating on the subtle throb as I run my fingers through his hair. Honeycrisp has made her way on the bed and she’s pressed against my thigh. I have seriously never cared for dogs, but I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this happy.

  I definitely can’t remember the last time I told a guy I liked him. I’m not sure which part is worse, that I mean it or that I know just how badly this is going to end and I can’t bring myself to come up with reason enough to put a stop to it. I’ve somehow developed level one feelings for a guy, but in a completely normal way. That’s how this happens in the real world. You meet people unexpectedly, you spend time with them and then suddenly you like them. But this isn’t the real world. This is some sort of fucked hellscape that I’ve created to hide from my problems.

  I held Claudia’s hand through this type of shit for months. I know the breakdown is coming. I know I’m going to freak the fuck out. And I’m not talking about a good cry. I mean a full processing of trauma and circumstances and how, once again, a part of me is changed forever. I cracked immediately when my parents died and never recovered from it, but this feels different. I see it. I know what’s going to happen, but I cannot change the way Silas makes me feel and I can’t change that being with him makes me think I can put all this processing off.

  We spent the rest of the night fucking. First in the family room and then we moved things to the bedroom. We compromised. Silas let me tie him up again and after, he got what he wanted. He held me until we fell asleep. I had nightmares again. Nightmares about the piece of shit who attacked me. He’s in my apartment again. He’s not moving, he’s just standing in the kitchen staring at me. This time he has a hammer in his hand. He’s gonna kill me this time. My phone appears in my hand and I try to dial 9-1-1, but the buttons are all blurry and my fingers won’t connect with the screen. Scott appears in the corner. He’s yelling at me. He’s telling me to call the cops, call an ambulance, but I can’t get my phone to work. I panic. I wake myself up. I can’t breathe for a long time, but Silas is there next to me. He’s knocked out, and the second I touch him, he reaches for me. I have more weird dreams. My subconscious keeps them under control though. I’m willing to give Silas credit for helping me out with that.

  I wake up early. The rain’s stopped, but it’s still cloudy outside. I think about texting Claudia. After I’d checked my phone again at the cannery, I had to tell her I’ll get back to her about my epic mistake. I couldn’t explain in front of Maya or Ginny. I want to tell her everything about Silas. I want to tell her about all the crap that’s going on with me, but I can’t bring myself to get out of bed to look for my phone.

  I don’t want to move. I don’t want Silas to move. I keep running my fingers through his hair. I don’t know intimacy like this, not with men. I love my sister and she always invades my personal space. I love her for it ’cause she reminds me that I have someone left that’s all mine. But this is different in a way I can’t describe. How long does it take normal people to get to this point? How long does it usually take for another person to make you feel warm from the inside out?

  I’m going to tell Scott. We’ve been friends a few years now and if he started sleeping with Brooklyn without telling me? It wouldn’t be cute. I don’t know how he’ll react. I’m sure it won’t be good, but I just have to accept whatever his reaction is and deal with it. Still, I need Scott to know that this isn’t a case of hormones overcoming sense. And it’s not a case of opportunity in that if things had been up to Scott that I never would have met Silas. I’ll talk to them both. I’ll talk to Claudia as soon as I get up and I think, at some point, I’ll have to force myself to break. I have to.

  I stay in bed with Silas as long as I can, but eventually I have to pee. I manage to slip out of bed without waking him, and when I come out of the bathroom, he’s gone. I slip on a shirt and find him in the kitchen. He’s making coffee. He’s still naked. He turns when he hears me. He tries to smile, but can’t really pull it off. I think he’s sleep walking a bit.

  “
You want this in bed or you want it out here?” he asks. His voice definitely sounds like he’s still half asleep.

  “Bed is fine. Just wanted to see where you were.” I walk over to him and he pulls me under his arm. I slide my hands over his stomach. He’s so warm.

  “Hope you weren’t too hung up on brunch. I’m going to bribe Mason into bringing us food. I don’t want to leave the house today.”

  “That’s fine with me.”

  We stand there in silence until we have our coffee the way we want it and then we climb back in bed. I sit in the middle of the sheets with my legs folded under me and look at Silas as he stretches out in all his naked glory. I look at his thighs as I gather up the nerve I need to speak. That ache comes back to the center of my chest. It’s making its way up to my throat, but I can’t let that stop me.

  “I need a vacation,” he groans, then cracks his neck.

  “I want to talk about it,” I tell him.

  He squeezes his eyes shut and then opens them before he focuses on my face. “Talk about what?”

  “I want to talk about what happened to me last week. I know I said I didn’t want to talk about it last night, but I’ve had too much experience with this kind of shit and I know I’m going to have a nervous breakdown a year from now if I try to ignore the way I’m feeling.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard repressing shit doesn’t work so well. Shoot. I’m listening.” He sits up a little further and pulls the sheet over his lap and chest before he grabs his coffee off the nightstand.

  “I’m scared to go home.”

  “That makes sense. What would make you feel better about going home?”

  “Besides Dorrit confessing and going to jail? I’m not sure.”

  “I do need—what did you call it? I need a buxom wife. You’re welcome to stay.”

  “I’ll take that under consideration.” I take a deep sip of my coffee, then reach down and move the end of Honeyscrip’s tail a fraction of an inch. “Have you ever felt like no one cares about you? Like you know it’s silly, because obviously someone cares about you, but—I don’t know, it’s like you want people to care more.”