Thrive

by Rebecca Sherwin

  ~Curtis~

  The car sped along the M4 and I gripped Curtis’ hand as it sat in his lap. The windows were open and sent the wind surging violently through my hair. The sun shone down and warmed my skin, raising my body temperature to burn like the hunger for revenge I felt swirling within. Curtis said nothing. I said nothing. He was driving, controlling our direction, but I was driving our plan. Another laugh was bubbling inside, trying to get out, but I held it in. The best thing about working as a duo? One could be the distraction, while the other made the hit. One of you took the attention away and the other? The other attacked before the victim even knew they were under siege. I was done being the victim. I was done allowing Curtis to take the pain. I was done with us being three steps behind Phillip Jones, or whatever his name really was. I was going to make him suffer; I was going to make him feel every ounce of pain I’d felt for more than a decade.

  “Are you sure about this?” Curtis asked as we flew along the road that led to the factory.

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  I’d made Curtis tell me everything he knew about the factory while he dug his feet into the mattress and fucked me until I couldn’t breathe. He told me about Rochelle, how she’d manipulated him into screwing her to get information - information that proved useless but got her exactly what she wanted from my animal. She had to pay as much as Phillip did. She’d hurt Curtis; she’d used him, abused him, exploited his need for physical release to get what she wanted. I had to protect him and make sure she’d never hurt him again. I had to make sure she never pictured him naked and thrusting into her again. I would make sure she remembered Skye the Skillet until she took her last breath.

  Curtis pulled up just before we got to the factory and I climbed out of the car. We nodded at each other and I watched the car drive off and take the turning for the carpark.

  As I walked the street slowly, allowing Curtis to get the plan moving, I switched off like I’d seen him do countless times before. I knew I had to keep the emotions and images that would tear through me away. I knew the success of this plan laid with me and my strength. I didn’t feel strong; I felt crazy. I wanted to lock myself away, but I had to do something to fix this. I turned into the carpark and headed towards the entrance. If I were allowing myself to feel anything in that moment, it would have been pain. Pain for my dead brother. Pain for the fact that Oliver had no idea of the mess he was a part of. Pain from the memory of waving him away in the morning, not knowing he was going to work for the company our father owned. Was that Phillip’s plan all along? To ruin Oliver because he knew he’d found out about his dirty little secret? I was sure as hell going to find out; to expose every filthy lie my father told and then use them to bury him.

  Curtis’ car was parked in a spot by the door, ready if we needed to make a quick exit, but he was no longer sitting in the driver’s seat. He was inside, with Rochelle.

  I pulled the door for the entrance open and scanned the lobby, like I knew Curtis would have done. It was empty. A potted plant sat in one corner of the small grey waiting area. A row of chairs lined one wall, a TV opposite played the UK Top 40 chart and Rochelle’s desk was sectioned off in the corner, piled high with folders and papers. Her computer flashed with her screensaver – evidence that she had been successfully distracted. Spotting the CCTV camera in the far corner of the room, I shoved my hands in the pockets of Curtis’ hoodie I was wearing and crossed the room to sit at her desk. I quickly scanned through the papers, noticing nothing but inventory, order sheets and a distribution contract with a company in China. I swiped the mouse across the mat; the screen lit up and I pulled the piece of paper Curtis gave me out of my pocket. At this point, I didn’t care about the files of the other managers – only one folder stood out and called for me to hack it. P. I opened it and was greeted with a password request box. I sat back, cracked my knuckles, scanned the room once more and typed in every number combination I could think of; anniversaries, old telephone numbers, old burglar alarm codes, birthdays - Dad’s…Phillip’s. Mum’s, Beth’s, Oliver’s and mine. It worked. 26071992. Shit. What now? The folder loaded and opened to reveal three documents and seven JPEGs. My shaky hand moved the mouse over each item, unsure of what I was looking for. Curtis was convinced we couldn’t get anything. He thought he’d be upstairs screwing with Rochelle for nothing, but he let me take the reins anyway. And now? I’d proven him wrong and had no idea what to do. Pictures. Did I want to see pictures of whatever Phillip had hidden? Did I want to read whatever the documents held? No. So instead of choosing an item, opening it and risk falling apart, I highlighted everything, right-clicked, and selected print. The printer whirred to life and began connecting with the computer; I grabbed an empty coloured wallet and stuffed the pages in it as they streamed into the tray. Next was communication. I opened up Rochelle’s email, finding her still logged into her account. I laughed. Stupid girl. She’d been so desperate for Curtis, she’d left herself exposed. Her emails were from P Morris. Phillip Morris. Morris?! Who was this man I called my father? Each email was work-related, asking for copies of schedules or orders. Nothing exciting, except I had the common sense and drive to dig deeper. I pulled the IP address, certain it would give me nothing - but refusing to overlook anything, I wrote it down. I wrote the email address down and the following five emails from different people. I minimised the windows and pulled up Rochelle’s call log, thanking Nina for teaching me how to read and navigate around the admin platform. I wasn’t useless. I wasn’t powerless. I was stripping the first layers of this company away and I was going to watch it fall apart.

  I quickly printed out the log and shoved it in the wallet with other printouts. Looking up at the clock, I realised I was pushing my luck. In the half hour I’d sat at Rochelle’s desk, not one person had come in, and I found that unsettling. I covered my tracks, leaving Rochelle’s computer as I found it, and my eyes skimmed over her desk, falling on exactly what I was looking for. Login information. I tore the sheet from the memo pad, added it to everything else I’d found and stood up from the desk.

  Round one to the Skillet.

  Begin round two.

  Ding, ding, ding.

  I pulled Curtis’ hoodie off and stuffed it into the bag I’d brought with me. I smoothed down the dress that clung to my curves far more than it did the woman who owned it. My hair was next, pulled away from the band that kept it off my face, allowing it to hang freely down my back in waves. It framed my face, and after some tousling, it looked full and, hopefully, distracting. The final step of the transformation was lipstick stolen from the bedside cabinet of the woman who shared my animal’s bed. I drew two red lines on my lips, feeling entirely alien dressed up as I was, but I slipped into character and pulled on the red shoes I’d found in the bottom of Curtis’ wardrobe. I tossed the bag to the floor by the door, cradled the wallet in my arms and followed Curtis’ direction. “Second floor, HR office…third door along the hall,” he’d told me, with one hand curled around my throat and the other dug into my hip, pulling me onto him, “I’ll be waiting”.

  Was this safe? No, absolutely not. We were now trapped in a building with no idea what really went on here, or who we would encounter. I knew they employed people on probation. Oliver worked on a station with someone who had just left prison after being convicted of manslaughter. He’d killed a man with a screwdriver, and he told Oliver the story while wielding a screwdriver, twirling it in his hands like it was far too tempting to upgrade from manslaughter to…

  I shuddered, shook the thoughts from my head, and pushed through the double doors.

  Almost instantly, the whirring, pounding and scraping I’d heard when I first entered stopped, and fifteen navy blue boiler suits, white masks and goggles turned in my direction. Holy shit. It was like an episode of Serial Killers: When Factory Workers Strike. I laughed – that was the madness – and stood up straight. Charlie’s heels clicked on the concrete floor and echoed around the workshop as I walked straight down the middl
e and towards the double doors at the back. Knowing I was almost safe from attack, I turned and pushed the door open with my back.

  “You should take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

  I winked slowly, provocatively – uncharacteristically – and turned, rushing through the corridor in case they decided to come after me. I had to get to Curtis. I walked the corridors as quickly as Charlie’s shoes would allow, climbed the stairs two at a time and searched frantically for the HR office. When I knew I was on the right floor, in the right hallway, I slowed down and took a minute to calm my breathing.

  I tiptoed on the thin, worn carpet and stopped outside what looked like a stock room. I forced myself into my role, fighting against the frightened little girl who was trying to break out. I folded my arms with the wallet held tight between two fingers and leaned against the doorframe as I knocked on the door. A few seconds later, Curtis opened the door, tucking in his shirt as he greeted me with a conflicted smile. It broke my heart because it was so full of shame for what he had done to Rochelle…to us. I smiled in return. It was okay – it had to be done.

  He held the door open for me and stepped inside, catching sight of the naked, sweaty woman on the floor, giggling erratically and trying to fix her hair. She raised her head and her eyes locked with mine.

  She gasped.

  I gasped.

  Curtis looked at me in terror when he realised Rochelle and I weren’t strangers.

  “Skye!” she shrieked.

  As she recoiled to one corner and tried to cover herself up, I threw the wallet and its contents to the floor and lunged at her.

  Thirteen

  She made me tell her everything. Verbal expression had never been easier than when I had Skye’s legs clamped around me, her mouth claiming me as hers, and the heat with which she enveloped me drew every bit of honesty she asked for. The dirty details of sordid meetings. The facts that led me on a wild goose chase for the man who was under my nose the entire fucking time. She was like a tigress - a dirty little tigress put on this planet for me and me alone. To tame me. To set me free. To soak my cock when I told her how I fucked other women and thought only of her.

  And my dirty little tigress was as much of an animal as me. That had never been more apparent than we she bared her teeth, clenched her jaw and pounced on the woman who threatened us.

  She was my queen. My crazy, sexy, twisted queen.

  ~Curtis~

  I think I hit her; I wasn’t sure. I saw red – red, red rage. I gripped a handful of her hair and dragged her out of the corner, into the middle of the room.

  “Skye.”

  Curtis’ voice, deep and authoritative, stopped me momentarily, but the fury had taken root and refused to submit.

  “Control, Skye.” His hands grabbed my hips and the power that bound us locked in place. I stopped fighting. I froze and waited for his command. “Stop, Skillet.”

  I dropped my arms and allowed Curtis to stand me up and take me in his arms.

  “If you move,” he said to Rochelle, the venom in his voice keeping her pinned to the spot. “I’ll let her loose. Cover yourself up.”

  The disgust in his voice made me shudder; I would have felt sorry for her were it not for…

  Curtis sat me down on another chair, crouched in front me and held my face in his hands. His eyes - warm, mine, and filled with the same insanity I felt coursing through me - met my gaze.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “What did you find?”

  “Nothing.” I pointed past him as Rochelle hurried to pull her clothes on. “Until I saw her.”

  Curtis continued to look into my eyes with an expression that kept the monster contained, and waited for me to continue.

  “She’s…that’s…” I huffed and drew in a deep breath. “You just fucked Phillip’s girlfriend.”

  The lunacy crackled between us, as powerful as the fate that bound us; it shifted from me to Curtis, from Curtis to me and back again as we contemplated what I’d just said. It enveloped us, swirled around us like a suffocating toxin, and Curtis slipped away, replaced by the animal that belonged to me, and only me.

  He squeezed my face and dragged his hands down my cheeks as he rose to his feet and turned towards Rochelle.

  “Her name is Tiffany and she isn’t Australian.”

  He approached her slowly, stalking her with deliberate steps, and I watched her cower as he closed in on her like a predator. She froze with her back to the wall, her eyes locked on his as she buttoned up her dress and waited for instruction. My scalp prickled and I watched the exchange intently.

  “So they’re your daddy issues, huh? You’re fucking someone else’s daddy?”

  “I didn’t know you and Skye knew each other.” Her Australian accent had disappeared; her voice was now tinged with the accent of a woman who had been born and raised in Kent and had never left.

  “Do you have any idea of the mess you’re in?” Curtis pointed to another chair, opposite the one I sat on and she sat. He bent over, rested his hands on the armrests and leaned closer. “Do you?”

  “I love him,” she whispered.

  It brought bile to the back of my throat and my fists clenched with the urge to shut her up.

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “No, I don’t. I don’t care.”

  “Why did you lie to me, Tiffany? Where is Phil?”

  She shrugged and dropped her gaze. Her body deflated and something familiar washed over me.

  “Curtis,” I called. He turned his head in my direction, but he didn’t look at me. “Leave her.”

  “Shut up, Skye.” He turned back to Tiffany. “Who is Phil?”

  “I have to protect him. I have to keep him safe.”

  “Curtis.” I stood up, realising what was happening, and I refused to let Curtis get dragged into the abyss. “She’s gone. You’re doing more harm than good,”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I couldn’t explain it with words. A flash of memory struck and a crippling pain settled somewhere deep inside; it latched onto my anxiety and instinct told me I was right. The only way I could make Curtis see what I saw was to make him watch it.

  “Stand back.” He did, reluctantly. I rose to my feet and stood next to him, bending to Tiffany’s eyelevel. “Who is Phil?” I asked.

  “I have to protect him. I have to keep him safe.”

  “What the fuck?” Curtis’ back stiffened next to me and I felt the confusion radiating from him.

  “Ask her again.”

  He cleared his throat before asking, “Who is Phil?”

  “I have to protect him. I have to keep him safe.”

  “See?” I said, taking his hand and began to back us away. “She’s been hypnotised. You locked it into place when you asked that question. We don’t know how to get her out. We’re in trouble, Curtis. We need to leave.”

  “We can't leave without answers.”

  He pulled out of my hold, and I shook my head. I knew it was pointless.

  “Curtis, please. She’s gone and only Phillip can bring her back.” I bent and picked up the wallet, tucking the scattered sheets back in. “Please, Curtis. Please keep me safe.”

  Like the hypnosis that compelled Tiffany, Curtis listened to me.

  “Will it work if I threaten her if she says anything?” he asked, fear of the unknown keeping him on guard.

  I knew the primitive instinct to defend had set in. I knew his heart was racing and his nerves were twitchy as he tried to gage the level of danger we were in. I knew the hairs on the back of his neck were prickling; I knew his pupils were dilated, and I knew his mind was fuzzy, unable to process what was going on.

  “No. She’s going to tell him everything. We have to go.”

  Curtis turned swiftly and headed to the door. I chose his moment of distraction to approach Tiffany, and spoke softly to her. It was a last ditch attempt to protect us.

  “You’re safe,” I said, stroking her hair in comfort. “Phil w
ill look after you. You don’t need to be afraid.”

  She nuzzled into my hand and mumbled something I couldn’t hear. I turned back to Curtis, set my hand in his and we closed the door of the office when we left.

  “Let me drive,” I said as we raced out of the building and I held my hand out for Curtis’ keys. “Trust me, my mind is in a better place than yours right now.”

  He didn’t respond. He was in shock.

  “Curtis, we don’t have time. Give me your keys.”

  He tossed them to me and we climbed in the car. I reversed out of the space and the tyres screeched as I peeled out of the carpark, turning onto the main road without a thought of blind spots or other cars.

  “What was that?” Curtis asked, his entire body visibly shaking.

  “It was a kind of psychological manipulation. Hypnosis, I guess.”

  “Which is what exactly? I thought it helped people lose weight and quit smoking.”

  “It does,” I responded, trying to stay calm to comfort him. My mind was racing but I had to keep Curtis safe. “But like anything, there are two sides to the coin. It’s used in therapy and it does help people lose weight and quit smoking. But like anything good, in the wrong hands it can be destructive. I’ve seen it before.”

  “Where?”

  I shook my head, “I’m not sure. It’s a hazy memory.”

  “Perhaps we should hypnotise you and find out.”

  I hissed. “This is serious. We have no idea what we’re dealing with.”

  “I’m sorry.” He reached over and squeezed my hand as I changed gear. Our movements synchronised and we slipped the car into fifth together.