Take Me With You

by Nina G. Jones

  I manage to yank off his shirt, and I taste him—his sweat, his smooth skin, and then his rough skin, like those maps I played with as a child, where you could feel the rugged topography lift off the paper like braille. I'll take it all, the soft and the jagged.

  Little dashes of paint and plaster stain his skin. It feels familiar. The way he used to come to my place after a long day of working to bring me food. I could tell he was tired. But he took care of me still. I'd study them for clues about his life out in the world, hoping they could aid me somehow in an escape, but now, it's fondness I feel looking at them.

  I bury my face in his neck, inhaling his faint musk mingled with soap. A rush—like all the blood pooling down at my feet and rising up through my head—inundates me. Seeing him, feeling him, tasting him, smelling him—I am right back to that last day, like he never left. Like nothing exists except us. Like right and wrong is something outside of us. It doesn't matter here. Everything we were and did doesn't matter when it’s just us. We become renewed.

  He turns me away, pressing me up against the wall, biting the back of my nape and shoulders. We'll do it like the animals do, because he's not a man, he's a savage.

  “Say it,” Sam growls.

  “Fuck me,” I plead. I need to stop thinking. I'm still thinking. Still wrestling. When he's in me, it'll stop, it always does.

  He doesn't hesitate to burrow himself into me. I grip at the wall, then reach back for him as he pushes in and out. The thinking stops, then I can just feel. Smell. Touch. Taste. I just am. The world shrinks to him. To this very moment. Nothing else matters.

  I let go. It feels so good to let go. He pounds against me. He is not gentle. He is not tentative. He's hard as stone inside of me. I know no one else does it for him like I do. I know while I've been with Carter, all this time, Sam's been with no one else.

  So it doesn't last. No, he's pulsating inside of me, his groans brushing against my ear with little wisps of his breath. I stay plastered against the wall, my breasts touching the cool surface with each inhale.

  Sam takes me by the hand, without a word, to the bathroom. He leads me into the shower. He soaps me up, running the slippery hands along my breasts and stomach, over the mounds of my ass, sliding his fingers between my thighs to clean me. He fucks me again, against the tile wall, and this time he lasts longer and I come and come. And it's like the last couple of months didn't even happen. I should be scared, but I'm not. There's no reason to be scared of Sam when he's getting what he wants.

  I wake up, my head pulsing with indecision. It takes me a second to see as I rub my eyes, coaxing them open against the blinding light of the mid afternoon sun. My breathing stops for a moment when I see Sam at my side, facing away from me, his golden skin swathed by a crisp white blanket, slits of sun peeking through the blinds dashing across his skin. This is real. This wasn't a dream. The most restful sleep I've had since I rejoined civilization couldn't have been precipitated by letting go of that gun and taking his hand.

  I watch Sam—quiet, still. His breath is too shallow to be heard over the humming of the fan pointed at us. The room is plain. Just a bed and white sheets. A small table by his side. A standing fan. He's new here. This place doesn't have the generations of history the ranch did.

  But I can't let him keep doing what he's done. I have to stop him. And in his sleep, he can't look at me with those eyes. He can't take my hand, or kiss me. I can't see those marks on his face and feel for the boy who never knew what it felt like to be accepted by those who should have loved him the most.

  I look away from him to the open bedroom door. Down the long hallway is the front door, where my bag and clothes still lay. They are in a heap, some of its contents spilling over: a couple of shirt sleeves, a piece of paper, the glinting hint of a gun. And hidden under all that is a box. A box I have to keep in the past. No more pictures, no more souvenirs.

  I don't want to do this. But I didn't put him away and now it's my responsibility to stop him. I look over again at him, biting my lip to stifle my emotions. I want this to be us. This right here. Quiet in bed. Just the two of us. But there is a part of me that never died, and she can't let this madness go on. I lean close. To feel him. To make sure he's asleep. His chest rises and falls in the familiar way I have seen so many times in that shed he built for me.

  I wince as I slide out of the bed. Pursing my eyes shut at each little creak, each time a plank of wood moans under my feet, until I am crouched in front of my mess. Until I have the cold gun in my hand. I walk back, this time my stride is more confident, making me lighter on my feet and suddenly all the little noises don't creep up. They don't scare me. This is the only time I can do this. The only time I can atone our sins.

  I raise the gun up, showing me that the sudden spurt of confidence was false. It trembles, aimed five feet from the back of his head.

  “If you're going to do it, Vesp, do it,” he says.

  The cold shock of hearing him speak like this for the first time makes me go rigid. Hearing it purely. Without sex, without violence, without anger. It's raspy, but there's a softness to his tone.

  “I—I know what you've done here. I can't let you…” My voice trails off. This shouldn't be so hard.

  “You have a choice to make, Vesp. Because I won't—can't—stop unless you do something. You can pull that t-trigger and end it all right now. And you will be alone. You will have to go back to your mom and that pretty boyfriend of yours, and you will have to s-spend the rest of your life pretending. You couldn't even bear it for a couple of months, but you'll have to for the rest of your life.”

  I close my eyes, shaking my head, sobbing. When I open them, he's still in his spot, unmoved, his back still facing me. Doing me the favor of making it easier.

  “Or, you can stay here with me. B-because when I have you, it works. You are the object of my obsession. You are the world. My—my holy grail. And if I have you, I don't even think about anyone—anything else. And you can be here with me, and you will be doing a good thing. For everyone. For yourself.”

  Sam speaking to me, alone, is enough to leave me stunned. I finally broke through. This battle we fought all this time—he's letting me have this victory.

  “You're speaking,” I mutter.

  He bobs his head in acknowledgement.

  “Why now?” I muster through the tears.

  “Because I'm free with you.”

  I maintain my wobbly aim at him, and he puts a hand up to show he won't hurt me before slowly turning to face me. “I can't stop myself unless you do something. You either pull the trigger or you stay with me. Death or life. So—so it's okay.”

  “I—I could go to the cops. I could tell them the truth.”

  “Vesp, you know I won't go with them. But I won't stop you. I wouldn't—wouldn't hurt you.”

  There are only two options. I kill him —directly or indirectly— or I let the past die.

  “If you won't stay, then I don't want to live anyway.”

  “Why? Why am I different?” I need to know. That's the only way I can believe he'll stop if I stay.

  “I saw you with Johnny. I always wanted someone like you when I was l-little. I've dreamt of someone like you m-my whole life. And you would've been the same way with our boy.”

  “Boy?” I utter. We were going to have a little boy.

  “You needed me to save you.”

  Sam turns away again, giving me room to make the choice. I can take him out of his misery and live in mine. Or, I can forget the man in the mask, and chose the one before me, the one who I know would die for me. And I can find some sort of peace in that.

  I slide my finger along the trigger. Toying with the idea of pulling it. What would happen then? His victims would never know. They would never get any closure. Unless I leave the box here with his body. Each souvenir could tie back to the people he's hurt.

  I pull a hand away from the gun for a second just to wipe my blurred eyes.

  Right. Sometimes the ch
oice is so clear. But for the past couple of years, my heart and my mind have not agreed. And here in this moment, there are two types of right. The one for everyone else, and the one for me.

  You don't stare the devil in the eyes and come out without some of his sin. You can't beat the devil without becoming like him. You can't appeal to his kindness, so you have to learn to play his games. You lie, you fuck, you manipulate, you fight, you hurl insults, until you do whatever it takes to win the battle. Every time you do those things, you understand him a little more. Until finally, he becomes your ally. You think you've won, that you've made him more like you. But the truth is, it's the other way around. So that even when you win, you've lost.

  Sam waits, patiently, as if he has already come to terms with both fates.

  But I'm not a killer. Each step closer I get to doing it, the harder it becomes. So that leaves me with only one choice. He must know that. Just like all the other choices I had with him, there was only ever one option. It's the very reason he wants me above anyone else. I am that girl he saw with Johnny. I don't hurt people, I nurture. He wants someone all to himself. I want to be the complete center of someone's universe for once.

  I offered myself as the sacrifice. That's what got me taken in the first place. And if it means saving others, I'll do it again.

  I firm my grip around the gun, stiffening my arms in one last show of strength, and let them fall at my side. This time, Sam, the athlete that has outrun bystanders and cops on foot dozens of times, rolls over and is in front of me in a flash, but he doesn't lash out. No, he softly strips the gun from my hand. He opens the revolver and shakes the bullets into his palm before tossing them onto the bed.

  The same hands that he has used to hurt me, he uses to hold me up as I weep with my entire body.

  “Shhhh,” he whispers, stroking my head. “No one loves you like I do.”

  Love. I never dared use that word with him. It felt too perverse. But if what we are doing for each other isn't love—if letting me live at the almost guaranteed cost of his own freedom isn't it—if lying to the police and my family to let Sam live out his life isn't—then what is?

  He caresses my hair as I melt into his chest. I have tamed him. He is mine and mine alone. I will keep you all safe from him.

  “I know,” I answer, softly nodding against his warm chest.

  It feels good—the way floating in that lake would make me feel light and easy—to let go of that weight. To take that final breath and let myself sink down so far, that I realize I don't want it all to end. I want to live. I want him. I choose him.

  It's going to take her some time to get used to it all, but she will, just like she did before. I know I am a lucky man to have her, and I'll make sure she never regrets it. I wasn't lying about the promise I made. I don't need to hunt anymore. I've gotten my prize. I had to show her my commitment, even if it meant she heard my flaws. I wouldn't know until I spoke, whether I would sound like a babbling incoherent idiot or not, but living in truth truly is the greatest remedy. It'll only get better, speaking to her, the way it did around my mother. Though the night will always be my home, I finally have a place in the sun with Vesp.

  It's funny how I can finally speak to her, but we spend most of the afternoon in bed, staring at each other. I wipe the tears from her glowing cheeks. I watch her settle into the decision she made. As each minute passes, she seems easier. This is what she wanted. She just needed permission to want it. Vesper is good. I needed to make her feel like this was a good thing. That by putting that gun down, she was still protecting people.

  I've decided, with Vesper's approval, of course, that I'll be grilling up some burgers for dinner tonight. God, I feel good. I feel…happy. It was a long shot, this whole thing, but in the end, it all paid off. Planning and focus always does.

  I fumble around with the charcoal so that it perfectly frames the box. For so long, it was my only way to feel connected to the thrill of those moments. But they weren't real, now that I have something that is, I know this. Every time I used to open that box, the memories got a little foggier, the emotional connection a little weaker.

  I squirt an obscene amount of lighter fluid on the thing and the surrounding charcoals, and throw a match in. I jump back as the flames shoot up. I keep the fire going, sweat pouring over my brow as I use a grill fork to open the box and add fuel to the contents. A smiling picture of a couple I don't even remember curls as the flames overtake it.

  I look over at Vesper, sitting on a chair on the back patio. She looks troubled for a moment, and I get it. She's a sweet thing. That's what I saw in her that day. She was the embodiment of I had always dreamed of: a person--a spirit--kind enough for both of us. I'll help her reconcile it all in time.

  I wave at her and it breaks her distant stare. She gives me a smile that lets me know her mind is in a million places, but she's here, and that's all that matters.

  I said I would do it. Piece by piece. Break her down, and build her up again. Until she was rid of all the things holding her back from me. I never lost sight of that, even when things looked dire.

  I'm not a killer. Not really. Not unless I have to.

  But if there was anything I knew would finally push her to make a choice, the hard choice, to commit instead of wavering, it was that.

  I didn't have her at the ranch. I didn't have her until I let her go. Until I bloomed into the monster that she felt only she could save.

  I meant what I said. You're all safe now. You can thank Vesper for that.

  “Look at him out there, playing with Johnny,” mom says, glancing out of her kitchen window. It's not the house we used to live in. She decided to sell it. Too many bad memories.

  “Yeah, he's so good with him,” I add wistfully. It always tugs on my heart in a painful way, in the way something can be both beautiful and sad, watching Sam with my little brother.

  I look back at my mother and she's looking at me with a smile—you know—that smile. The one where they want you to see they are happy to watch you in the moment.

  “What?” I ask sheepishly.

  “Oh, it's just, I'm happy for you is all.” She folds her arms and takes a breath. “Listen, I know I haven't been the greatest—”

  “Mom, don't.”

  “Let me finish, Vesp.” She places a hand on my forearm as my arms cross my chest. “I know I haven't been the greatest mother, but I have always wanted the best for you. I just wanted you to be happy. When you left like that—I worried so much about you. That I had lost you forever. But I understood you needed to get away from that house, and even Carter. Hell, probably mostly me. I'm just so glad you're feeling better. And I am happy that you found a nice guy like Sam.”

  “Thanks mom. He likes you, too.”

  I couldn't stay away from home forever. I love my brother, and even though my mother has decided to keep him at the home, he still needs his family. Sam understood that, and he was in total agreement.

  So after a few months in L.A., I came back. Told my family I met a guy. Not just any guy, a Hunter and a Ridgefield. Someone with a great family and money. Someone who adores me. Someone who would never let me go. Carter moved on like I knew he would. And now he wouldn't have to feel guilty because I found someone, too.

  I spruced up the little house in L.A. so that now it's a home. We thought giving Andrew his space was the right thing, even if we could force our way back to Sacramento. So we take the long drive up as much as we can to visit Johnny.

  Johnny makes a heaving sound, his version of laughter as he races into the house. I only hear it when he plays with Sam. Sam catches up to him, scoops him up and he gurgles with laughter. A flash of the first time he held Johnny comes to mind. But he's different now. And even then, it was just an idle threat.

  “Alright guys, it's time to sit down for dinner. Where's your stepfather?” Mom asks as she wanders off to find him.

  Sam sets down Johnny, who comes over to me and embraces my thigh. I rub his head. “Go wash your
hands,” I tell him. He shakes his head no.

  “Now, my sweet boy,” I order.

  He huffs and leaves for the bathroom and it's just Sam and me.

  “You're beautiful,” Sam mouths to me.

  I smile. So much of what he used to be already feels like a distant memory. But it’s always there. In the back of my mind, it lingers.

  As if he can feel the thoughts stealing my joy, he leans in and kisses me. His lips, they replace the doubt. They graze my cheek and then my ear as he leans in and whispers. “You make me so hard. Always. I never stop thinking about you. Even when you're just out of sight. I wonder about you, always.”

  That's his danger. That's his appeal. It's always just beneath the surface, the hunger he has for me. The pretty devil with the clear eyes.

  “Alright!” My mother announces as the family comes into the kitchen and we pull away, looking like two lovers having a sweet, secret conversation. “Let's eat!” Sam puts on the most innocent of smiles. I know now how he was able to go undetected for so long. How he can summon darkness so strong, there aren't even shadows, and suddenly turn bright and sunny. How he can go from bafflingly complex, to sweetly simple.

  We sit down for a meal. My mom's on a new religious kick. It'll pass, it always does. But she prompts us all to bow for prayer. I comply but shortly after she begins, I open my eyes. Amongst the bowed heads and closed eyelids at the table, there's Sam with his hooded gaze, and those glowing eyes, fixed on me.

  I watch Vesp, sprawled on the bed, a sheet perfectly draping over her breasts and buttocks, her long hair fanning across the pillow. Then I look outside the window I'm leaning against. It's late into the night. The night still belongs to me. It will always be my home. But now, it's to watch her. Still. Perfect. Mine.