Not Looking For Love: Episode 5

by Bourne, Lena

  I shake my head, and blink back hot stinging tears. "Nothing, just a nightmare."

  He kisses my forehead, sweet warmth passing through my skin, erasing the terrible dream.

  "So do you want to go out tonight, or stay in?" he asks.

  "I don't know, what do you want to do?"

  "Well, it's a bit of a walk to town, but it's nice. I saw a moose the other night," he says. "But we could always stay in. Though we could try and get you a ride while we're there. You know, for tomorrow."

  His voice cracks and sharp, cold sadness stabs through my heart. "I could just stay."

  But we've discussed it before and I know I can't. My dad would go crazy for one thing, and I need to finish school, so I'll have more choices next year.

  "It's only for a few more months, then I'll come home," he mutters, his hand running down my cheek, but I'm not sure he knows he's doing it.

  "I might not be able to wait that long," I say and I don't know why. I truly don't want to make him feel any worse than he already does.

  "You will, Gail, you're all kinds of strong. You just have to believe you can," he says. And maybe he's right, because sometimes he seems to know me better than I know myself.

  "I think I'd rather stay in," I say later, as the setting sun is bleeding into the pure white blanket of snow covering the world outside the window.

  "Me too," he says and hugs me from behind, his hands holding onto mine across my belly.

  The thought of leaving is freezing my insides, my body so heavy and hard inside, that it immediately swallows up the spark of heat roused by his touch.

  He kisses my neck softly and I lean back into him, let him hold me up. His lips travel down to my shoulder, back up to my ear, nibbling on my earlobe.

  "I thought we could do all those things we won't get to for awhile," he whispers, and a shudder racks through me, ending in a sob.

  "Or not," he mutters and kisses the top of my head, his gaze melting into me through the nearly translucent reflection in the window.

  I pull away and take his hand, lead him to the bedroom.

  Once there, I push him down so he's sitting on the edge of the bed and take a few steps back. He licks his lips as I pull my sweater off and my boobs pop free. I'm not actually wearing any underwear, but I wish were so I could do this properly.

  Only it doesn't matter, because his eyes are like feathers all over my skin, and I'm glowing, perfect, as beautiful as I'll ever be.

  I walk toward him slowly, naked, floating as though suspended on invisible ropes. He rises and runs his hands across my stomach, my breasts, wrapping them around my neck as he pulls me in for a kiss, his lips soft, and tender, his tongue hard, demanding entry. Which I grant. And always will.

  I help him take off his own clothes, slowly, like it's the last time. And then I'm laying on my back in the center of the bed, his tongue sending sparks across my body as it traces the path down my neck, across the soft rise of my breasts, twirling around my right nipple before traveling to my left. The spot between my legs is so hot it's cold. I trash against the bed as his tongue passes across it, right before his lips wrap around my lower ones, the pressure relentless. He licks across my hole and back up, opening me up, every bump on his tongue sending off fireworks.

  But I can't let him do this on his own.

  I prop myself up on elbow and ask him to climb on the bed with me. He lies back and I kneel my his side, my fingers wrapped around his throbbing cock. But he pulls me up on top of him before I can take it in my mouth, his breath hot on my pussy again, his cock just inches from my mouth.

  I suck the head in, just as his tongue passes over the tender spot at the top of my opening. I take more of him into my mouth, sucking gently, seeing how much I can swallow. His tongue is back on my lower lips, suckling them, sending shivers down my legs. I moan as his tongue enters me again, hard and insistent. His cock twitches in my throat, and I know he's close, so I pull my mouth off, because this can't end. I lick the side of his shaft, his tongue circling my tender spot, making me whimper, yearn to have him inside me.

  I release him and lie down on my back, spreading my legs wide. He needs no more invitation than that, though his eyes are searching inside mine, and I don't know what for.

  I shudder as he presses into me, but he doesn't relent until he's buried as deep as it will go. I nearly cry out as he pulls back out, the emptiness too vast, too cold.

  But he's back inside in an instant and then his thrusts start building speed, his shaft brushing against my tender spot each time, his cock expanding inside me, and soon it will be all over.

  Tears well from my heart, bubble up my throat, spill from my eyes because I can't stop them. I'm sobbing so hard the bed is shaking beneath me.

  "What is it, Gail?" he asks, but soft like he already knows. He moves to pull out of me, but I clamp my thighs around his waist, my muscles shaking from the effort.

  "Stay," I manage through the sobs still racking me. This is how it's supposed to be. I will never be whole without him.

  He lets me cry and doesn't try to move again, his eyes brimming with all the sadness flowing through my body now.

  It's like we're sitting by the edge of some slow flowing river, moonlight reflecting off the clear water, which will soon take one of us forever.

  On the morning of January 1st, I wake up with my arms wrapped around Scott's neck, and his around mine. I kiss his cheek and pull away, tears like a bowling ball in my chest.

  But I dress anyway, and pack my bag, sit on the edge of the bed and watch him sleep. The softness that's always present just below his features is more pronounced when he's asleep, probably because there's no tension there now, no pain and no regrets.

  Even the snowman we made a few days ago seems to wave goodbye to me as I'm sitting in the pickup of the guy driving me to the airport. My arms are wrapped around Scott, my whole body pressing into his side. His hand is digging into my belly almost painfully.

  "You're insane to just let her leave, Martin," the guy says.

  "Probably," Scott mutters and hugs me tighter.

  And then I'm on the plane and I have no idea when I climbed on, or who buckled me in. Scott's standing at the edge of the tarmac, clouds roiling in the sky behind him, obscuring the mountains. The world is so grey, so two-dimensional that it's like I'm looking at a photo, a memory that will never be the same again.

  Entering my car in the airport once I'm finally back home is like walking into a fridge, and the tears I've been holding back all through the flight well from my chest, stinging my eyes, but they're so frozen, they can't even spill from my eyes.

  I text Scott that I landed, because I'll never be able to drive home if I hear his voice right now. Then I bury the phone in my purse and start the engine. But the drive to Connecticut is a blur of white and red lights, snowy plains whizzing past in the corner of my vision.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The house is chilly and dark, because Phillipa won't be back until the 3rd, so I'm all alone. I swallow hard against the tears again, because Scott said I was strong enough to do this, and I believe him. And I'll go back to visit him as soon as I can take a few days off. Or maybe I'll just take a few days off to visit him.

  I hold on to the thought like it's a life raft, because I'm being tossed on the icy cold waters in the middle of the ocean, and maybe help won't come.

  I take a sleeping pill as soon as I'm done with my shower, keeping my mind blank and black as I wait for the chemicals to put me to sleep.

  The sound of glass shattering rips right through my dream of building the snowman with Scott, the tall mountains gleaming gold in the distance.

  My heart is trying to race in my chest, but the sleeping pill is making me sluggish. I hear footsteps on the stairs and bolt out of bed. Maybe it's Scott, maybe he couldn't stay away from me, had to follow tonight.

  I run to the door and open it wide, a wide smile stretching across my lips because there's no doubt in my slow-moving mind that
I'm right.

  But the nightlight in the hall glows blue across Mike's face, which is twisted in anger, his eyes blacker than the deepest pit.

  "Where is he?" he barks.

  I fill my lungs so I can scream, but his hand slams against my mouth, pressing so hard I can't breathe.

  He's pulling me across the hall, his grip so tight my arm might pop out of my socket at any moment, his fingers digging into my cheeks, taking my air. My neck cracks, I'm trying to fight him off so hard. But his grip is too tight, too relentless. He half carries me down the stairs, my heels thumping against the steps, my nails braking against the railing as I try to grab it.

  Someone will see, someone will save me. But then my head hits the car window as he pushes me into the back seat of an SUV. I scream, but the door slams shut just as I do. Mike's pushing my face into the seat, my nose twisting painfully, tires screeching as the car drives away.

  "You didn't say anything about bringing her," the driver says breathlessly.

  "Shut up and drive," Mike hisses back.

  He pulls me up by my hair, bending my neck back, his mouth less than an inch from my ear. "Where is Scott?"

  I clamp my mouth shut and shake my head, because I'll never tell him. He yanks my hair back harder, ripping out a few strands, but I don't really feel it.

  His fingers dig into my throat, squeezing. And I feel my eyes bulge out, as no breath gets through.

  "Tell me or I'll kill you right now," his fingers release and I inhale deeply, sputtering all over him.

  He shoves my phone into my hand. "Call him."

  I have no idea when he had time to get my phone. Then I remember I left it in my purse by the door, never took it upstairs, because I'd unravel completely if I heard Scott's voice tonight. Now I might never hear it again.

  Because Mike will never find his number. It's saved under Kathryn, my mom's name, which I picked after he made me choose a girl's name. Just in case something like this happened? But no, he'd warn me, wouldn't let me go back on my own if he thought this was a possibility. My breath freezes in my lungs as I realize he'll probably call tomorrow anyway. And then Mike will pick up.

  I spit in Mike's face, shocking him enough so I can wriggle out of his arms. I'm clawing at the door handle to pry it open, but it's locked. And we're driving so fast I'll never survive, if I jump from the car.

  Mike hits me so hard my head slams against the car window again, pain exploding across my face. I'm trying to keep my eyes open, but black dots are multiplying in my vision, joining together until everything goes dark.

  I wake up in a cold, dark room, pain thumping inside my head, my cheek throbbing like it's broken. I try to bring my hand forward to inspect the damage, but it jerks back, the handcuffs rattling against metal. I'm panting again, each breath sending a jolt of sharp pain through my head. The only light in the room is coming through the crack under a heavy, rusted metal door, and I can hear water dripping somewhere, the steady tap-tap-tap of the drops so out of tune with my racing heart I can't stand it.

  I scream as I bite my tongue, because my teeth are chattering so hard. I'm only wearing my pajamas, and I can hardly feel my toes I'm so cold.

  I'm stuck all alone in a dark room, which smells damp like the grave, like I'll be dead soon for real. I scream louder, until I don't even recognize the sound coming from my mouth as my own voice. Because it's not.

  This is just another horrible nightmare, because I'm actually asleep in the snow covered cabin, deep in the middle of nowhere. I'll wake up now and Scott will be there, willing to comfort me. Only the handcuffs digging into my wrists are ripping my skin, sharp pain traveling up my arms. And I'm still dreaming.

  I yell harder, thrashing against my restraints, my head a twisting ball of pain, my heart beating so fast I can't even feel it. The room's spinning around me, and I taste blood on the tears flowing into my mouth, but I can't stop screaming. Once I do it will all be real.

  The door slams open, the light piercing my eyes like daggers. When I open them again Mike's face is an inch from mine.

  "Shut the fuck up, bitch," he hisses. Something is gleaming in his hand, catching the light. My next scream sticks in my throat as he presses a knife to my cheek, dragging it across my skin so softly it tickles. "It's time to call Scott."

  He keeps the knife's edge pressed against my cheek as he pulls my phone from his pocket, reading aloud the text I sent to Kathryn, to Scott. How did he figure it out? But of course anyone would in half a second.

  "It's technically tomorrow, so I'm sure he's dying to hear from you," Mike hisses, his finger hovering over the call button. "In fact I know he would, because I just got done talking to him and he told me so. Now you just tell him where you are, nice and easy."

  He presses call, hitting the speaker icon right after. Scott picks up before the first ring sounds out.

  "Mike what the fuck are you doing? Where's Gail?" Scott yells into the phone.

  I clamp my mouth shut. I won't speak. If he doesn't know I'm really here, then he won't come. He'll be safe, and Mike'll let me go, or not. Because without Scott I'm dead anyway.

  "Speak up now, Gail," Mike says loudly, his eyes two kernels of coal, glowing bright red from the inside.

  I fix my eyes on his, putting as much menace and cold hatred in them as I can muster. Just like granddaddy Henderson would have done, if he were here instead of me. Just like he did, when my father told him to take his problems elsewhere after Hank got arrested for murder.

  Mike exhales in frustration and slices my bicep open. I scream out at the sudden, unexpected sharp pain.

  "That's enough, Mike!" the other man yells from the doorway. "I didn't sign up for this shit!"

  "Gail! Gail is that you?" Scott is yelling into the phone, his voice so shaky and cracked I can't not answer him.

  "Yes," I mutter, and now I've messed it all up again. Because he'll come back and I'll lose him forever.

  "Did he hurt you?" Scott asks.

  "I'm fine. Don't worry," I mutter, hoping he'll believe me, hoping I can still make this alright. "You don't have to come here. I'm just fine," I add more firmly.

  Mike barks a sharp laugh. "Of course she's not fine. And she'll be getting less fine by the hour. Maybe I'll start with her face."

  The knife presses into my cheek again and I gasp, scared to pull away, too rigid to move even if I wanted to.

  "If you hurt her, I swear—" Scott starts.

  "Call me when you're ready to talk!" Mike cuts him off and hurls the phone into the wall behind me, shattering the glass.

  The knife travels down my cheek, bumps against my jaw. "Now where were we?"

  "Mike this is too sick," the man by the door says. "Let her go now, you got what you wanted."

  The knife is a blur of silver as Mike spins to point it at the man. "Just keep your mouth shut, Benny. This shouldn't take much longer."

  The man grumbles but leaves, and my last shred of hope dies with his receding footsteps.

  "Ready to have some fun?" Mike asks, his eyes opening right into the pits of hell.

  The knife slides down, the tip pressing into my chest. I shudder and it digs into my breast painfully.

  "Now, now, don't be so hasty. That will come eventually too," he mutters and eases the knife tip off my skin, tracing the path down my stomach.

  I pull away from the knife, not daring to breathe, but the pipes are pressing into my back, my arms so tangled and twisted I'm sure a bone will snap at any second.

  The knife is resting against my groin now, and Mike is breathing heavily, his chest heaving and his lips glistening. He's enjoying this! Hot bile rises up my throat at the realization, my stomach twisting in nausea.

  The knife is traveling down my thighs now, forcing me to hold them open, like I'm inviting him in.

  He licks his lips and I whimper, because this is it. This is the day I die. And every cell, every fiber, every drop of blood in my veins is howling No, my whole body screaming it wants to live.
<
br />   "I could just fuck you with this knife," he murmurs, his voice pleasant like he's whispering soft nothings. "I don't want my brother's sloppy seconds anyway."

  My whole body is stiff, harder than the knife blade pressing into my thighs.

  "What would Kate say if she saw this?" I mutter and it's not even me saying it. It's the rational Gail, standing by the door and about to leave the room, because this is too sick and twisted to stay for and witness. But she will have the last word.

  The pressure on my thigh eases, Mike's eyes no longer gleaming red.

  "She'd hate you for it," I add, because I have to drive this point in.

  Mike's face hardens, his eyes glowing red again. But he stands up, sticking the knife into a sheathe in his belt.

  "It's too early for that anyway," he says. "Scott won't be here for hours and I'd kind of like for you to bleed out in his arms. That would totally destroy him."

  The room's spinning all around me again, the pain in my head intensifying. He's speaking so calmly, like we're just talking about weather or something, not discussing my imminent death.

  The light coming in from under the door twirls and twists across the room after he slams it shut again, the tap-tapping of the water growing louder, until the walls start shaking from it. I shouldn't sleep, I should stay alert, but soft fuzziness is snaking across my mind, and I can't fight it.

  Because I'm not in this dank room anymore, but lying next to Scott in a cabin deep in the middle of nowhere, a warm fire crackling in the fireplace, his arms wrapped so tightly around me I will never get lost again.

  "Wake up, sweetheart," a cold voice whispers into my ear, and my eyes shoot open, my wrists cracking, exploding in pain as I try to rise.

  The knife's pressed into my neck again.

  "It's time to get these clothes off you, don't you think?" Mike sighs, sliding the knife down the front of my shirt. I shudder as the cloth rips and damp cold licks my chest.

  He wets his lips, whistling appreciatively. "I might just like this a little too much.