by Seth King
“You pissed me off tonight, Taylor, but I understand why you did it, and I don’t want to talk about it again,” I tell her. “I’ll see you tomorrow- I’ve got something special planned. But if I get another text like the one I got tonight about Noah, I’ll be standing on your driveway with a belt in my hand.”
With that I get up and head for the door, purposefully leaving my coat on the floor as she stares after me in confusion mixed with amazement. If I’m too messed up to sleep with her and hold her all night, I still want her to have at least one piece of me to cling to.
“Ya tu sabes,” I say just before I go, which is a famous Spanish saying I’ve grown particularly fond of.
“What does that mean?”
I glance over my shoulder at her one last time. “Now you know, baby. If you didn’t before, then now you know.”
†
I wanted to explode when I got the text. Earlier tonight I was just doing my cool-down at the gym after an intense back and shoulder session when I got a message from Kane:
Stell, you’re into this Taylor girl, right? I’m pretty sure she’s all over some dude at this bar Ace, like making out and shit…just wanted to let you know.
I squeezed the railing of the treadmill so hard my knuckles almost broke. The thought of her being with someone else absolutely enraged me- but not at her, at him. Those were my lips to kiss, and my hands to hold. All mine. Or at least I thought they were. And what if she’s drunk and getting accosted again, and she doesn’t want him? I would absolutely lose my mind.
But then other thoughts crossed my mind as I stormed out of the gym. What if all my issues were too much for her, and she’s falling for someone else? What if she’s mad I lied to her about the virginity thing, and she’s done with me? What if this is her first date with some other dude? What if she’s found a guy that isn’t too fucked up in the head to give her what she wants, and she’s leaving me?
I could not let that happen. I need her more than anything. She’s perfect for me, and I love every molecule of her. We fit together perfectly, and it’s like she was created specifically to be with me, as if from my own flesh. She thinks I saved her from that guy the night we met, but in reality, she’s the one doing all the saving. She’s resurrecting me; rescuing me from the prison of loneliness and self-hatred that I created for myself. And so I decided I was going to fight for her, no matter what I had to do. If I ended up in prison, so be it, because it’d be worth it. She’d be worth it. So that’s why I stole her away from Noah and then did what I just did.
But the punishment was only part one of my plan to keep her. I’m also going to tell her I love her, and make our relationship official, and then I’m going to have sex with her.
Tomorrow night.
17
Taylor Haney
When I wake the next morning, the unfathomable truth that I just got eaten out by a killer slams into me like two cars in a NASCAR blowout. As I stare up at my blinds, it hits me: we can’t go on like this anymore. I have to tell him I know about Caitlin. The only way to get over my terror is to hit it head-on and find out what really happened, and if he really killed her. During whatever special event he has planned for tonight, I’m going to tell him what I know. I have to, because last night was absolutely terrifying in every way, shape, and form. Every second I thought he was about to lose control and choke me, beat me, kill me.
But the most terrifying thing of all? It was still far and away the most erotic experience of my life. The way he tied me up, punished me, wore that gas mask…he looked totally terrifying in it, and totally sexy. I shiver when I think of the secrets connected to that mask, and feel an overwhelming sense of guilt that I haven’t told Stellan about them yet. But I shake my head and tell myself I’ll worry about it later. The soreness I feel all over my body from our hookup session also makes me realize how bizarre it is that for the past week I’ve been turned on like never before in my life, having orgasms like I never even knew were possible…and we haven’t even had sex yet. I didn’t even stop to think about that part, since I’ve been in such a constant state of woozy, post-orgasmic satisfaction from everything he’s been doing to me. I shudder to imagine how hot and intense and erotic it will be when The Big Event finally comes, if it ever does. If he’s this good and all he’s been doing is foreplay, then what the hell will it feel like when we actually have sex? How will I even be able to survive something that explosive and heavenly?
Oops, I didn’t mean to say “survive.” Bad word choice. I know that wanting him is stupid, and all this drama is the last thing I need right now, but I guess that in the end, the heart doesn’t want what the brain knows you need. So what if I don’t need Stellan- I want him, as crazy as that sounds, and nothing can change that. What I probably need is Noah. Ugh, as if this whole situation wasn’t enough of a mess, let’s add a hot baseball player into the mix who may or may not be in love with me! I was blown away by what he told me last night. I have to admit, the prospect of being with a cool, simple, uncomplicated guy does have its positives. He’s nice and stable and normal, and my relationship with him would be smooth sailing. And I could actually get laid for once, which would be awesome. But when have I ever chosen the best for myself? If given the choice between a bagel or a banana, I will always choose the bagel. If presented with a free afternoon, I will always veg out on the couch instead of going jogging or taking care of errands. Noah is good, but I don’t want good- I want Goode.
And it all hinges on tonight. A million different things could go wrong. He could be so angry that I investigated him, he’ll leave. And if I decide that he was really at fault for Caitlin’s death after I hear the full story, meaning I’ll never be able to feel safe around him, I am going to have to make the most difficult decision of my life.
I try to go about my day like usual, but the enormity of what I must do weighs down my chest and makes my stomach churn and boil like never before. I empty the dishwasher, drop by the grocery store, and then hit up the bookstore just to look for something to distract me from this whole mess. I share a dark laugh with myself when I suddenly realize I’ve walked straight to the erotica section, which is full of cheesy book covers depicting muscled bad boys holding breathless damsels in distress. I feel like writing the publishers and saying that sometimes that “damsel” is a headstrong college student and the “muscle man” is a self-hating twenty-two-year-old in a Mercedes convertible, but I refrain. And besides, the ending of this story has yet to be written.
When I finally get home I trudge up my front steps, wondering what I should wear for Stellan’s big occasion, and then freeze. Hanging from my door is a black garment bag, and a large box from Michael Kors is set up next to the bench. My mom sometimes pays to send out my dry cleaning when I have a really nice dress that needs to be cleaned, but how would that explain the box? My parents had probably noticed I was melancholy and bought me some crap to make me feel better, I decide as I carry the items inside.
I open the garment bag and see a note slip out and waft down to the floor. I pick it up and feel my face go numb as I read it:
Babe-
I had to drop by the mall today to get some new running shoes, and I spotted a few things that made me think of you. You will look absolutely ravishing in this dress, and I can’t wait to see it on you tonight. Don’t think there’s a catch or anything, it’s really no big deal, I just felt like getting you something. I’ll pick you up at eight, and I want you to be wearing this.
Fuck you soon,
Stell
PS – I lied. There is one little catch. See the heels? You have to let me watch you come while you’re wearing them.
PPS – check your Spotify
PPSS – I really want your pussy in my mouth right now. Just felt like mentioning that
As red-hot desire blooms in my belly – right next to the red-hot fear growing in my chest – I open the Michael Kors box and see a pair of strappy silver heels. Simple, elegant, and sexy. Killer or not, the
boy’s got some taste. Then I open the garment bag and gasp: inside it is a beautiful deep-purple knee-length dress in a soft, gauzy fabric with slight ruffles at the hem. Unfussy and unflashy, and just my style. There’s also a black velvet box tucked into the bag, and I hold my breath as I open it and find a beautiful rope necklace with a simple cross hanging from the end.
My lips curl into a sardonic smile as I think of Stellan and his dark sense of humor- I guess he wants us to match now. I look at the tag and then shudder- it’s 22-carat gold. He didn’t have to do this. I don’t know whether to slap him or screw him, or both, at the same time, I think to myself as I take my loot and head upstairs. I grab my iPad and pull up Spotify, my music app, and find a message waiting in my inbox- he made a playlist for me. I feel like crying as I open the file entitled “Songs for Taylor” and see the little message attached:
So you say you want to get to know the real me? One of the deepest ways you can ever get to know someone is by listening to their music.
This is me, Taylor. I hope you like what you find.
–Stell
PS – I still want your pussy in my mouth
As I finish reading, the sadness of our situation suddenly comes crashing over me like I just stepped under a freezing-cold waterfall. Sometimes I just want to sit and cry for this gorgeous, damaged boy. What a beautiful tragedy our relationship is turning out to be; what a strange, sad, desolate, dazzling, exhilarating, titillating disaster. Heartbreak waiting to happen. If only he didn’t have these issues, and this dark past, and I could just be with him like a normal person. He’s never even kissed me on the mouth, for God’s sake. I just wish I could hold him, touch him, kiss all of his problems away. I feel for him so much, regardless of all the baggage and the boatloads of issues.
And the murder charge.
I shake my head and press play. The playlist is totally Stellan-ish, with a mix of sad, mopey British soft-rock bands and angry ‘90s punk rock. How representative of his two sides- one is soft and sensitive, the other is violent and reckless. I listen to the songs as I get ready. If he wants me to look hot, then I’m going to look hott, with two T’s. I shower for thirty minutes, conditioning my hair thoroughly and shaving my legs and other areas. As Thriller randomly comes on the playlist, I turn off the faucet and take a moment to marvel at how weird my life has become; how excited I am to shave my private areas in anticipation for a date with my murderer boyfriend. A rush of desire explodes through me as I realize that this could be the night, the night we finally come together in the way I want, but then I tell myself to relax – we have to get through the Caitlin thing first. When the playlist ends my computer starts playing my embarrassing pop music, and my room fills with the sound of my favorite old Rihanna song. Talk about finding love in a hopeless place, I think to myself. I can’t imagine a more hopeless place than Stellan’s twisted, tortured soul. For a second I almost feel ashamed about getting swept up in such a weird, fucked-up, dysfunctional whirlwind – but what is even more shame-inducing, I soon realize, is how much I love it.
Getting ready takes me longer than I’d meant it to, and just as I finish my lips I hear a knock at my door. Shivering with an equal mix of excitement and terror, I slip on my heels, go downstairs, open the door, and see him leaning against the doorway, smiling at me like he couldn’t be happier to see me. He looks as swoon-worthy as ever, in snug dark-wash jeans, scuffed-up leather boots, a black wool pea coat with a white wife beater underneath that shows off his rippled muscles, and messy, tousled hair. But his most butterfly-inducing quality is the unbridled hunger that creeps into his eyes as he looks me up and down.
“You look so fucking beautiful, Taylor.”
He strides forward, grabs me by the hips, pulls me close, and kisses me harder than I’ve ever been kissed before. I want to stop him, to be scared of him, but I can’t. I melt in his hands and feel the rest of the world fall away as I wrap my hands in his hair. He’s just as good at this as I’d imagined. As we kiss passionately, desperately, he suddenly grabs me by the jaw, pushes my face back a few inches, stares into my eyes in desperate wonder for a few moments, and then breathlessly says “I want you so fucking much, Taylor.” Then his lips meet mine again like two magnets drawn together and he gets even more desperate, slamming me up against the wall like a rag doll as he explores every inch of my mouth, and I feel desire explode in me as he bites down on my lower lip. He pushes me up on the wall a few inches so he’s supporting my weight, and the way he looks down at my crotch with absolute hunger makes me roll my eyes back into my head and moan. Overcome with need, I reach down and unzip his pants to let him know I’m ready, but at that moment he stops and sets me down. He backs against the wall like a lion that had just decided not to eat the carcass of a prairie animal.
He puts up a finger and motions at me, his eyes dark and mysterious, as my spirits crash and burn.
“Come,” he says. “We can finish this at our final destination. And you’re wearing the necklace – good. Now we match. I was hoping you-”
He stops and stares at something over my shoulder as his mouth drops open.
“What is it?” I ask him. He points up at the wall in my foyer.
“You have a painting of the Madonna on your wall.”
“Well, yeah,” I blush. “It was a housewarming gift from my dad. I grew up a Christian, Stellan. I love going to church with my family.”
Not that I’d be able to walk into one now without it burning to the ground, I think. He shakes his head, dumbfounded.
“After all this, after everything we’ve been through, I find out you’re the religious one?”
“You know what they say about real life,” I smile. “It’s stranger than fiction sometimes.”
He smiles and takes me by the elbow. “I guess you’re right. Come on- we’re on a schedule.”
He walks me to his car, but only after I slide into it do I realize it’s not even his car at all, but a big Mercedes SUV.
“You have two cars?” I ask as he gets in besides me.
“Eh, the convertible sucks for road trips,” he explains casually as he pulls away, as if everyone in the world had two Mercedes sitting in their driveway. “Too small.”
“Okay then,” I laugh. “What’s the occasion, anyway?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he says darkly. “Did you eat anything? Are you hungry? I have some leftover ribs in my fridge; I can swing by and cook some up for you if you want.”
“Keep your ribs,” I laugh. “Trust me, after that visit to my parents’, I don’t need to be eating anything for a long time.”
He scowls over at me, making him look like some male model in a cologne ad; his eyes contemplative and his brow furrowed. Again I am struck by his phenomenal beauty, his outrageous genetic perfection. Could he stop looking like this for a second? It’s distracting. I take a moment to study his face to commit it to memory just in case…in case things don’t end well tonight.
“Stop talking like that, Taylor. You’re perfect. And why are you looking at me like that? Am I driving too crazy or something?”
I look out the window, embarrassed. “Oh, no, not any crazier than usual. I was just…I don’t know, I was looking at your face because I was only able to look at in in my mind while you were gone, and I didn’t exactly get a good look last night.”
I can’t believe how pathetic I sound. Suddenly I feel his hand on my cheek, and he gently pulls my head toward him.
“Don’t be ashamed, Taylor,” he says softly. “You’re all I think about, and I’m not sorry about it at all.”
I smile and bite my lip, and he wordlessly returns his attention to the road. We ride in silence for a minute, and once we hit the highway I notice him absentmindedly biting his cross pendant.
“What are you doing?”
He startles and then looks at me with a sexy smile.
“Sorry. I’ve just been sucking on this all day. It still tastes like you.”
I feel my whole
body tremor like I’m standing in San Francisco and the ground just started quaking and rolling under me.
“You know, speaking of necklaces, you didn’t have to get me all that stuff,” I say quietly as I look out into the dusk. “I almost had a heart attack when I walked up to my front porch today.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he smiles. “Santa must’ve dropped something off a few months early or something.”
“So Santa left a note saying he wants me to ‘come’ for him?” I ask sarcastically.
“Taylor, you just used the words ‘Santa’ and ‘come’ in the same sentence. Corrupting nice boys, making dirty Santa jokes- you’re crossing over to the dark side.”
“If I’m going to hell, I might as well have fun on the way there,” I smile. “And let’s get real, you’re not a nice boy, we all know what you did with-”
I take a sharp breath. I don’t want him to know I know about Caitlin yet, so I zip my lips and sit back.
“Anyway, thanks,” I tell him. “The outfit goes together perfectly. You have a very artistic eye.”
“Thank ya, ma’am,” he drawls, a hint of a Nashville accent peeking through. “Don’t think too much of it. I’m a giver, not a taker, as I’m sure you’ve noticed by now. And to be honest, I mostly did it because I just didn’t want you to come out in those yoga pants. I don’t think we would’ve made it past your front porch.”
I laugh so hard, I snort like a pig.
“Sorry,” I blush, “I just didn’t know you liked them that much.”
“Too much,” he says, his face pained. “And actually, you wanna know why I got the dress in purple? It’s the same color you were wearing the first night we met.”