The Goode Fight

by Seth King

  I turn a corner, notice a big, orange centipede-looking thing hanging on a leaf right in front of my face, and promptly freak the hell out; flailing my arms and whipping my hair back and forth to make sure it didn’t jump on me. When I’m sure I am bug-less and resume running, I can’t help but laugh to myself at the irony of the fact that I can’t even be in the vicinity of a harmless insect without flipping out, but if you ask me to hook up with a dangerous criminal who may or may not have killed someone, I’ll say, Sure, when do I show up?!

  Suddenly the Kelly Clarkson song playing in my ear buds fades and becomes replaced by my Miley Cyrus ring tone. (Yes, I have the musical taste of a middle schooler, I know.) I remember my mom telling me to take the garbage out by one o’clock, which didn’t happen, and she probably just got home and is about to flip out on me. Oh well; it’s not breaking news to her that I’m still figuring out this whole “successfully carrying out adult responsibilities” thing. I look down at my phone expecting to see her name, but I don’t, because Stellan’s photo is looking up at me instead. It’s a FaceTime call.

  My feet stop at the same time as my heart. Suddenly all I can think about is the fact that I am about to talk to a killer. I steady myself, wipe some sweat off my forehead so I don’t look like such a wretched mess, and answer the call. But the eyes I see glaring back at me don’t belong to Stellan.

  They belong to Bad Stellan.

  14

  Stellan Goode

  I watch her face appear, red and splotchy, her wet hair matted to her forehead, and feel an instant jolt of hunger pulse through me. She’s obviously jogging, but she looks like she just got fucked, and it’s sexy as hell.

  I don’t wait for her to say hello.

  “You didn’t text me last night. Or today. Tell me why.”

  For a second I think Taylor is looking at me a little differently – like she’s more nervous than usual, perhaps? – but I let the thought pass.

  “Um,” she finally says, her voice smaller than usual, “I didn’t know you wanted me to. I thought you were out of town?”

  Suddenly I am completely thrown. Why would she think I didn’t want her to call me? Does she not want me to call her?

  “I am out of town, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “Oh, okay. I’ve just been busy, then, I guess.” She frowns for a moment, and then opens her mouth and closes it again, and I am sure she wants to say something else. But for some reason she decides against it.

  “Busy doing what,” I demand.

  “Um, catching up with my parents, pretty much.”

  She unknowingly lets the phone drop a few inches, displaying her sports bra.

  “Why are you wearing a bra in public.”

  “Because I’m jogging? And I’m basically, like, in the forest, so nobody can see me.”

  “You are mine right now,” I tell her, “and I don’t like sharing my possessions with a hundred of your closest neighbor friends.”

  “Stellan, I am not your possession.”

  “But I want you to be.”

  She stares back at me, confused. But is it good confusion or bad confusion?

  “You do?” she asks.

  “Yes.”

  For a second she’s silent, then she shakes her head, exasperated. “Why exactly are you calling me, Stellan? I’m an ugly, sweaty mess, and it’s embarrassing.”

  Her words tinge my thoughts with red but I ignore it. I picture the reason for my call, and hear my mother’s voice from the conversation we just had. Her message was very simple: my father has accepted to rethink the trust find decision, but if- and only if- I show up at the party with a girlfriend. A real girlfriend. It was an ultimatum, but it was one I needed, because it finally gave me the motivation I needed to do a test-run. Clearly there is no opportunity to hurt her though a video call while she is hours away, so I thought I’d have a virtual hookup with her and practice restraining myself. If I can make her come this way without letting my thoughts get too violent, maybe my plan will actually work.

  I push down the excitement rising in my throat. I get back to my mission- to make her come.

  “Well, I called to see how your day is going, but you’re looking so delectable that I may have to change plans,” I say. “Do you really think you look anything less than traffic-stoppingly gorgeous right now, Taylor?”

  A flush comes to her cheeks. “And do you have to be so damn aggressive all the time?” she asks. Her smile looks forced, but I don’t dwell on it.

  “Fuck yes, I do. Now find a private place and sit down- I’m about to watch you make yourself come.”

  Her breath hitches. A visible tremor runs through her body, but I can see the desire in her eyes mixed in with the fear. Yes, babe, I think. You’re in the mood. You know you want this. She hesitates for a second, but then looks around and starts walking, and to be honest I’m more than a little relieved. It’s like my whole being revolves around her- if she’s happy, I’m elated; if she’s troubled, I’m depressed. If only this beautiful girl knew she has me in the palm of her hand.

  The light gets darker as the thicker trees start to hide the sun. Taylor finds a large tree and backs up against the trunk before sinking down against it.

  “You’re alone?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I’m bordering someone’s backyard or something, but nobody can see.”

  “Good. And don’t sigh at me.”

  “What?” she asks. “That sigh was totally silent, and you can’t even see my mouth right now. How did you know?”

  “Because I know you. That’s what you do when you’re annoyed, along with rolling your eyes. Now to the important stuff.” I take a short pause and let Bad Stellan take hold. “You’re about to feel what you would feel if you were with me and I caught you running around in a bra. You’re too hot to be doing that- you would turn other guys on, and that makes me jealous. And bad things happen when I get jealous. Now put your hand in your pants.”

  She looks back at me in disbelief. “Why?”

  “Because you’re about to make yourself come in front of me, like just I said. If you don’t want to, then hang up. But I know you better than that.”

  She’s silent for a second or two, but soon I see the top of her arm shift. I stir to life in my pants as I watch her.

  “Is it in there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Show me.”

  She points the camera down, displaying her hand in her black leggings.

  “Good, now let me see your beautiful face again. I want to watch.”

  When I can see her face again I start murmuring to her, slow and deep. “This is what’s happening. I just burst through your door and pushed you up against the wall in your kitchen. I kiss you long and hard, biting your lips every now and then. I want you and you know it. I pull down your leggings with my teeth and start exploring you with my tongue. I circle around and around, pushing you higher and higher. Now touch your clit with your pointer finger, imagining it’s my tongue. Go around and around, slowly but with a little pressure. Around and around and around, then stop and push harder.”

  As she starts to move her finger around and then pushes down on herself, her eyes roll back into her head and she lets out a little moan. The awkwardness is fading from her face and being replaced by pure ecstasy. Holy fuck. I can’t believe how turned on I am by her, even through the phone. She’s the most perfect creature I have ever seen.

  “You’ve been a bad girl, and I need to punish you. Now rub faster, using more fingers. Use the wetness; I know it’s there for me.”

  She moans louder.

  “You are so gorgeous, Taylor,” I say as her breathing gets faster. “I’ve never seen anyone half as perfect as you. And to show you how much I want you, I am going to slip my tongue inside you. Imagine I’m lying in front of you on a bed, staring up at you, right into your eyes, thinking about how bad I want you. Don’t break eye contact or you’ll be in trouble. Next I lick your upper thighs slow
ly and then travel down and start kissing you there. I lick and kiss for a second and then start fucking you with my tongue. You’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted and I want more. Put your finger inside yourself and pretend it’s my tongue. Now.”

  The camera is right up against her face now. I hold in a groan as she does what she is told. She sighs loudly, her face contorted with pleasure.

  “Imagine you’re grabbing my hair, pulling on it hard as I lick you. Feel my stubble against your pussy. Do you like it? Do you know how badly my mouth wants your pussy right now?”

  “Yes, Stellan.”

  “Good. Now I’m going to hit your G spot, Taylor. I want to watch you come in front of me. Put your finger in and hit that spot.”

  She pauses. “But…I don’t know how. I don’t do this by myself. Ever.”

  “Well I’m about to tell you. With your finger facing upward, make a motion like you’re telling someone to come closer. Rub it against that top wall with a good amount of pressure.”

  She does as she is told, and I watch as her entire body twitches.

  “Oh, Stellan.”

  “Yes, babe,” I tell her. As her moaning gets louder I speak in a low, demanding tone. “That’s right, I love to watch you play with yourself. Keep doing it. Now I’m on my knees below you in the shower, staring up into your eyes, telling you how beautiful you are – as I eat you out I take both your legs and wrap them around my shoulders and lift you up against the wall so your feet aren’t touching the floor – I’m supporting you, devoting everything to you – you’re all that matters. I’m chin-deep inside you – the tree trunk is the wall, feel it against your shoulders while you ride my face – your back is arched and you’re about to come, but I push my tongue even deeper, I want to feel all of you – I want to be in you – I stick my finger in your pussy and stroke your G spot while I tongue your clit – the water is so hot on your skin, and the air is so steamy, and your skin is dripping with water and sweat – you can’t take it any more – come for me, babe. I want to watch you come.”

  Suddenly she opens her eyes and her mouth at the same time like she’s crying out in silence, and then she closes them again and starts to twitch and whine while taking deep, uneven breaths. I’ve never seen her come this hard, and I’m not even there.

  “Fuck yes, babe, keep coming. You are so fucking hot. Ughhh.”

  She moans my name one more time, takes one more ragged breath, and then stills. I can tell she probably has a mess to clean up in her crotch region, and I love it. As she gets herself under control I take a second to rate my performance. All in all, not bad- I did get a little carried away with the raunchy words and stuff, but I didn’t have visions of myself spanking her with a belt or choking her while she came, so that’s definitely a step in the right direction. As the redness leaves her face she slides further down the tree and exhales. She peers into the camera, embarrassed, and then points it away so I’m looking into the trees. I feel my heart rate slow and my mind clear, and I feel Good Stellan return to me.

  Or did he ever leave? Lately I’ve been feeling less of a switch-off; like I’m actually driving myself during these hookups instead of being taken over by the bad version of me. Who knows, maybe she really is merging my two personas.

  “Oh my God, Stellan,” she says, her face beet-red. “I cannot believe you just made me do that.”

  “And I love it, babe,” I tell her. “See you soon. I can’t wait for us to get back to Durham.”

  For some reason her eyes turn as big as the rims on my Mercedes.

  “What?” I ask her. “What did I say?”

  “Nothing,” she says after she wipes her forehead again, but she still looks terrified. “I’m just excited to see you, too.”

  “Well, good then. Talk to you soon, babe. I’ll be counting down the seconds.”

  I hang up before I can give in to the sudden urge I get to add a three-word, eight-letter sentence to the end of that statement.

  15

  Taylor Haney

  The drive back to Durham feels longer than it should. It was kind of hard to leave my mom- she seemed so harried and overworked, and even though I helped her rake the yard and dust all of the main rooms before I left, that did nothing to calm her. I don’t know if it’s just the preparation for the party, or the money issues are worse than she will tell me, but I know something’s going on, and that just adds to all the uneasiness. And obviously, the fact that I just had phone sex with a possible murderer does nothing to make me feel better. I have to admit, seeing him over video for the first time since my discovery was convenient, since I didn’t really have to face him, and so it wasn’t as scary or intimidating as I had imagined. It was the hottest thing we’ve done yet, actually. But I know I’m going to have to see him in person soon. Just because I’ve decided to try to make this work doesn’t mean I have a clue as to how I am going to do that. I haven’t decided when I will meet with him yet, but the clock is ticking, and I don’t have much more time to prepare myself emotionally for our meeting before he realizes something is up.

  When I get home I start to clean my kitchen, work on schoolwork, do the things I used to do before Stellan hijacked my life. But as I sweep my hallway the Calendar app on my phone makes a pinging sound, a sound that could only mean one thing. Suddenly a shock of a totally different variety suddenly sets into my bones:

  How the hell could I have forgotten about Cara’s birthday?

  I rush over and type out a quick comment on her Facebook wall. Dealing with a possible murderer is nothing compared to Cara McClellan, the Birthday Monster. One year her father paid an airplane to write HAPPY BIRTHDAY in the sky above our school during first period, and she threw a fit because the smoke was white instead of pink. After I post the comment I grab my phone, take a deep breath, and call her.

  “Um, hi,” she answers, clearly pissed.

  “Hey! Um, I’ve been so busy today, I totally forgot to comment you until now, I’m so sorry! Happy birthday!”

  “Busy?” she asks. “With what?”

  “Um, stuff with my mom,” I lie, as Cara knows enough about my mother to know not to ask.

  “Oh. Okay, well, I have a crisis- I still have no idea what I’m doing tonight.”

  Oh, shit.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, my mom’s taking me to the Biltmore in a few days for a spa weekend like usual, but I don’t know what I’m doing before that. I almost feel like your twenty-third birthday is so depressing, there’s no point in even celebrating it.”

  Suddenly I am swamped with pity for her. It’s not Cara’s fault that I’m her only female friend. (Okay, maybe it is, but I still feel bad.)

  “Stop being stupid,” I tell her. “You don’t know what you’re doing yet because I haven’t told you about your surprise until now!”

  “Surprise?”

  “Yep!” I say, my mind racing to come up with something. This is the last thing in the world I want to be doing right now, but I feel terrible for her and I don’t want her to be alone on her own damn birthday. “It’s nothing big, but I put a little something together. We’re pre-gaming at my house, then hitting a restaurant downtown for dinner, then the bars.”

  “What? Who is we?”

  “Um, you’ll find out later tonight! It’s a surprise! I’ve got a perfect guy for you, you’ll love him!”

  “Okay, thanks, I’ll get ready now. See ya soon.”

  She hangs up, leaving me furious with myself. Why did I have to do that? Ugh. I call up Ruth, the biggest busybody I know, and explain the situation to her. With barely any begging, she excitedly promises that she can get three or four girls I know from school to come over at about nine. They were going out anyway, she tells me, and it won’t make any difference for them to come over here first to pregame. I feel bad using Ruth so blatantly, but party planning is what she lives for anyway, so whatever. Next I call Noah, who I somehow convince to bring two guy friends over. (Okay, maybe I promised him that there wou
ld be some drunken hot girls here, but I did what I had to.) I spend the rest of the evening running around like crazy writing Cara a card and baking goodies and making myself presentable. I even take a few sips out of the wine bottle in the fridge just to help myself lighten up. To be honest it’s almost a relief to have a night off from the Stellan thing- after all, I can deal with it tomorrow, and there’s no reason I shouldn’t let myself have one night of carefree fun before then.

  Cara shows up on my front porch at eight thirty, and I take one last breath, try to pretend I’m not currently dealing with a murderous boyfriend, and then answer the door and hand her the plate of brownies I just barely had time to make. She’s wearing a tight silver dress and a scowl, and she takes them without saying thanks. (I took some old icing from a previous cake-decorating session and spelled out her name on the biggest brownie, but suddenly I ask myself why I didn’t write “Satan” instead.)

  “Surprise!” I shout. “I didn’t have time to get anything, what with all the planning and everything, so I made these.”

  “Oh my God, your angel brownies,” she says as she takes off the cover and smells them, her eyes lighting up and her bratty mood instantly lifting.

  “Angel brownies?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I call them- I can hear angels singing when I bite into them. The chunks of Hershey’s bars baked into them are absolutely perfect. And God, look at you, Miss Thing. New outfit? New hair? New everything?”

  “It’s just a new dress from Target,” I say shyly, “but the shoulders are a little weird, so hopefully I don’t look like an ogre. And I just started using this expensive new conditioner, I hope it worked.”