by Carian Cole
“No.” Her voice shakes with emotion. “No way. I’m not leaving until we talk about this. And I’m not going to sit in the dark with my own brother.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. You’re a whore, and I’m an ugly psycho. The end.”
Her hand smacks my face, hard, and I grin at her for having the balls to do it. Being raised with five big brothers made my little sister tough as nails.
“I’m not a whore, Tyler.”
I cock my head at her and run my hand along my scarred, stinging cheek. “From where I’m standing, you are. Last I heard you were a hairdresser. When did sucking dick for money become part of that job description?”
“Fuck you. Don’t you dare judge me. It’s not as disgusting as you think. I don’t stand on street corners. You went through the interview process to get me here in this room with you, you know first-hand it’s all discreet and professional.”
“Wow. That makes it much better.” My voice drips with sarcasm. “You can get the fuck out now. Unless you want to wait here for your next customer?”
I barely recognize the girl shaking her head at me with hurt in her eyes. I haven’t seen her in probably three or four years, and now she’s a gorgeous woman. Not the cute teen I remember. And not the little girl who screamed when she saw my face for the first time after the fire and ran to hide in her room.
She kicks off her black high heels and plops back down on the couch, pulling a pillow onto her lap.
“The fuck are you doing?”
She shrugs. “I’m not leaving. I haven’t seen you in years. Since we’re both here, let’s talk.”
My sister apparently has the crazy gene too. “I don’t talk.”
“Well, maybe you should start. Your voice sounds good, by the way. A lot better than it did the last time I saw you.”
I sit on the arm of the couch because I can’t sit next to her when she’s wearing a low-cut blouse and a tight skirt and I just gave her a pile of cash. “Yeah, I’ve been practicing.” I don’t try to curb the sarcasm.
Her eyes hang on me for a long time. “Believe it or not, a lot of my clients don’t even come to me for sex. They just need a friend. Someone to listen. Most of them are just lonely. You can talk to me.”
I let out a laugh. “Seriously? Men pay you two grand just to talk? C’mon.”
An offended frown turns the corners of her mouth. “I’m totally serious. Obviously, something made you come here tonight.”
“Yeah, to fuck someone who’s not my sister.”
“Jesus, Ty, can you just drop the attitude? You don’t have to be an asshole all the time, ya know.” She looks down at the pillow she’s holding. “You used to be such a happy, sweet guy. That’s how I remember you.”
“Really? Because I remember you running from me screaming in terror.”
Tears glisten in her eyes when she looks back up at me. “For God’s sake. I was just a little girl. You can’t hold that against me forever. I’ve apologized for that more times than I can count.”
If only apologies had the magic to take pain away. What a better place the world would be.
I take off the guy-who’s-not-getting-laid hat and put on the concerned-big-brother hat. “Why are you doing this, Tess? Do you need money? Because if you do, I’ll give you money to keep your clothes on.”
“No, it’s not about money.” She fingers the silver hoop hanging from her ear. “I just can’t get into relationships and commitment, I’m not like you guys. But I like sex, and I like feeling like I’m making people feel better, whether its physical or emotional. And the guys treat me really good. They buy me gifts, they take me on vacation. For now, it works. It’s giving me what I need.”
A burn sears through my stomach. If Pop knew his little girl had turned to this kind of life, it would kill him. Just like I killed him with my attitude and addictions…I chew on the inside of my cheek, wishing I could light up a cigarette. “You shouldn’t be doing this. You’re so young.”
“That’s part of the appeal for most.” No surprise there.
“Is this even safe? Aren’t you scared?” Does she know what kind of sick monsters are out there?
Monsters like me.
“In every way. I use protection, I’m tested, I have a can of mace and a knife my purse. Last year I took a self-defense class. I’m totally fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”
How can I not worry about my sister getting paid for sex? “Does anyone know?”
“No, so please keep your mouth shut. Mom would never understand, and the guys would have me locked up in a nunnery someplace.”
I’m having a hard time accepting my little sister is getting banged by a bunch of rich guys, but I promise her I won’t tell anyone. She’s an adult, and it’s none of my business what she does with her time and her body. I don’t think our other brothers would feel that way, and they would probably flip the fuck out, but I’m staying out of it. Especially since there’s no way for me to tell them without admitting how I found out.
“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll break into your apartment and shave your head while you’re sleeping,” I warn her.
“Wow, Ty. Dramatic much?”
“Let’s just keep this epic disaster between us.”
“Fine.”
Thank fuck she spoke before we actually touched. I’d slit my own throat if I accidentally touched my sister. My skin crawls thinking about it.
“Are you okay?” she asks. “We miss you. You don’t have to be alone and live like you do. You have a family that loves you and wants you around.”
“I like being alone.” Except when Holly’s around; then I never want to be alone again.
She stares at me in frustration. “I’m sorry about tonight; I really had no idea. I can set you up with one of the other girls. Someone nice—”
“No,” I snap. “I don’t want someone nice.”
A sly smile crosses her lips. “Okay, then I’ll set you up with someone dirty. Someone else who’s into what you want.”
Dirty sounds perfect. I need physical and emotional freedom to just go wild on someone without worrying about whether I’m hurting them or taking them for a walk down fucked-up-memory lane.
“Just stop, Tessie. Fuck this whole thing.”
“Your choice. I’m not going to force you. But for the record, I don’t think you have to pay for sex. Even kinky sex. You’re not ugly.”
I laugh. “Trust me. Nobody wants to be with me.”
“I think that’s bullshit in your own head. Look at you. You have a great body, your tattoos are awesome, and girls love that messy hair. And you ride a loud bike, that’s another turn on for a lot of women.” She tilts her head. “If Mickey Rourke and Kurt Cobain had a baby, he’d probably look like you.”
“That’s fucking twisted. What’s wrong with your brain?”
“It’s true. Just sayin’.”
“Half my body is covered in scars. The ink just hides it. It’s not there to be cool.”
“Oh, boo hoo.” She waves her hand at me. “I think the only thing turning girls away is your shitty attitude.”
I blow out an exasperated breath. “I have a realistic attitude.”
“Call it what you want.”
I look down at my boots and the mask near my feet, staring up at me. “I did sort of meet someone,” I mumble.
She leans forward. “Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere. And? Give me the deets.”
“And she’s sweet. And so fucking beautiful,” I say wistfully. “She’s kinda fragile but tough, and I like that about her. And she’s wicked honest.” Just thinking about her is making me wish she was here with me in this hotel room with the jacuzzi tub in the corner and the view over the city.
“So what’s the problem?”
“She was abused when she was young, and I have a lot of pent-up fantasies, and it’s a big fucked-up mess in my head wondering how to handle her. And to top if off, she’s moving to New York soon, and I’ll pr
obably never see her again. She’ll end up with some rich bohemian artist, and she’ll forget all about me.”
Tesla’s mouth hangs open. “Wow. You had to go all out with the dysfunction, huh?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re not helping.”
“All right, calm down. That’s all okay, Ty. So you just go slow with her. See her on weekends, it’s New York, not the moon. You can drive that in a few hours. What’s the big deal? Everyone’s messed up in some way or another.”
How true.
“It’s Holly Daniels,” I say under my breath.
Her eyes go wide, and she sucks in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Oh, fuck, Ty.” Her fingers brush across her lips as she eyes the mask. “And that? That’s the real problem, isn’t it?”
I nod, my hair falling down over my face. “Yeah.”
She nods and licks her burgundy-stained lips that match the tips of her nails. “Lots of men have date rape fantasies,” she says with a tinge of comfort and hope. “I’ve met a bunch of them.”
“I don’t have a rape fantasy, Tessie. I have a reaction fantasy. Fear being my top choice.”
“So…you like them to be scared?”
“I like to make them feel the gamut. But fear is my major kink.” I bury my face in my hands. “I can’t talk about this,” I mumble into my palms. She grabs my hands and pulls them away.
“I’m trying to help you. Can’t you see that?”
“Yeah. I do. But it’s a waste of time. Just leave. Please?” I plead. I don’t want to deal with any of this anymore.
“No. I’m not going to leave. I don’t care if we sit here all damn night. I have no better place to be. Do you?”
I don’t answer.
“I didn’t think so.”
She stands and crosses the room to the small refrigerator and takes out two bottles of water, sipping hers as she returns. I take the other from her and gulp half of it down. All this talking is making my voice even hoarser.
“You care about her, right?” she asks.
I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth. “Yeah. I fuckin’ do.”
“Then don’t go screwing strangers. It’s only going to make you feel worse. I’m going to guess she probably has feelings for you, too, and you’re just in denial about it like you are with everything else.”
I wish. “It’s complicated. Right now we’re just kinda friends.”
She squeezes my shoulder. “Sometimes that’s the best place to start.”
“Ya think?”
“I do.” She plays with the cap on her water for a few moments. “This fear thing, it doesn’t have to be a deal breaker, Ty. Everyone has fantasies, or fetishes, call them what you want. You might want to at least lose the mask, though. That’s creepy as fuck.”
“She was kidnapped, kept in a basement, starved, raped, and mentally fucked with, Tessie. I don’t think she’s gonna be up for role-playing just to feed my horny little dark side.”
She doesn’t even wince.
“Ya never know. One of the girls in this biz with me? She was molested when she was little and now she’s a nympho. She’ll fuck all damn day and night. Just the other day she—”
I put my hand up in disgust. “Okay, okay. Spare me the fucking details.”
She shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m just saying…just because Holly went through some bad shit doesn’t mean she has to be some kind of prude. She probably just wants to be treated like a normal woman and not tiptoed around.”
“I don’t think she wants to be fear-fucked. And I don’t want to do that to her. She’s been through enough.”
“Maybe let her decide what she wants? Don’t think for her, Ty. Talk to her, take it slow. Feel her out. There’s always a way to work through things if you want it bad enough.”
I do want it. I want it really fucking bad.
“Well, thanks for your sexual expertise, Tessie. It’s been quite enlightening, to say the least.”
She rolls her eyes. “Just listen to me. Listen to someone, for once. Open up, trust someone. Get out of your own fucking way. That shit is getting tired.”
I grin, feeling slightly better. “Not bad advice, little sis. I may even let you keep that two grand.”
She kicks me playfully. “I’d rather you keep it and come visit me sometimes. And visit Mom. Can you do that? Stop punishing yourself and the rest of us. We all miss you. We’ve all put the past behind us. What’s done is done, Ty. You had an accident, you did some bad shit, and you let yourself fall into a really bad hole. It’s not too late to climb out. God knows everyone in our family has tried to dig you out. You have to get your head together and do it yourself.”
21
Holly
He’s different today, and I’m silently analyzing him from my wooden stool even though I know I’m not supposed to examine people. His hands shake as he picks out the tools he needs from the old red chest, and he’s on his sixth cigarette since I got here.
“What’s wrong?” I finally ask him, after almost an hour has gone by and he’s barely said a word or even looked at me. It’s been a week since our disastrous kiss and, up until today, I thought everything was okay between us. Now I’m not so sure.
“Nothing.” He continues to hammer a piece of metal around a thin cylinder until I get up and grab the tool from his hand and lay it on the workbench.
“You’re lying.” I try to say it as unaccusingly as I can.
“I have work to do,” he says gruffly.
“Why won’t you look at me or talk to me today? Do you want me to leave?”
His eyes close for a long moment, and his hands grip the edge of the workbench. “No,” he says under his breath. “Not at all.”
“Then can you please tell me what’s bothering you? You can tell me anything.”
His head snaps up, and he looks at me with a strange, unnerving smile on his face. “Really? Anything?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Fine.” He picks up a rag and wipes his hands on it then tosses it onto his tool chest. “I almost fucked my sister last night.”
I take a step backward and wait for him to laugh or tell me he’s kidding, but he just stands there.
“Oh,” I say. “That’s unexpected.”
“You have no fucking idea. Last night was the first time I’ve seen her in a few years.”
I close my mouth when I realize it’s hanging open. “I’m a lot confused.”
He touches my cheek with his thumb and then quickly pulls his hand away. “Join the club, sugar. I’m a lot fucked up.” I love it when he calls me sugar, but my insides are all sorts of twisted up over him and his sister and how strange he’s acting. Maybe he really is sick mentally, and it’s taken this long for it to come to light.
“This is coming out all wrong,” he says, reaching up to tie his hair back.
“I hope so.”
“Let’s go sit.” He grabs my hand and leads me outside to the garden bench. Boomer and Poppy trail after us and look at us expectantly, waiting—just as I am—while he lights up a cigarette.
“Everything about you is driving me fucking crazy. Your perfume, your voice, the shape of your lips, how you make me smile, how you look cute and innocent one minute and all fucking sexy as hell the next.” He swallows and coughs. “I can’t deal with this shit.”
“Oh.” I push my hair out of my face. I had no idea he felt this way. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I like it.” He takes a long drag on his cigarette. “Too much.”
I hang on to that space between him liking it and too much. The contradiction confuses me. Boomer nudges my hand with his black leathery nose, and I pet his head while I try to make sense of what Ty is saying.
“Is it possible to like something too much?” I ask.
“Fuck yeah.”
“I didn’t know that.”
He flicks the flame of his lighter on, then off, then on, then off.
“So last night…I contacted an
escort.”
I narrow my eyes at him, my confusion mounting. “An escort?” Have I seen those on TV? I can’t remember.
“Upscale fuck-for-hire, basically. Like a professional hooker.”
“Oh.” My vocabulary has greatly dwindled during this conversation.
“So I went to the hotel room, and the girl came in. And as soon as she started to talk, I recognized her voice.”
The puzzle pieces instantly form a vivid picture in my mind, and my stomach turns. “The escort girl was your sister?”
Nodding, he leans back against the bench and stares up at the clouds. “Yup. Seriously fucking embarrassing. Just my luck, though.”
Tears threaten to burst from my eyes, and my stomach roils. Intense jealousy, shock, fear, and sadness all clash inside me. Processing so many feelings at once is completely rattling. I swallow hard and let out a shaky breath. “Have you…been with an escort before?” If he says yes, my heart will shatter right here on this garden bench.
“No.” He replies. “Never.”
My relief only lasts a few seconds. “Why this time?”
“You don’t want to know, Holly.”
“Yes I do.” Do I?
He smashes his cigarette out with his boot. “Because ever since I kissed you, I’m out of my friggin’ head thinking about what your skin feels like. What you taste like and how it would feel to have your thighs wrapped around my fucked-up head. Because I don’t want you to move five fucking hours away from me. That’s why.”
My heart catapults up into my throat, and a tingly sensation spreads from my chest down to my toes. His admission creates a battle inside me, and I have no idea which side will win. The fear of a man touching me and hurting me again? Or the desire to be touched, loved, and wanted? “Oh,” I breathe.
“Yeah,” he says. “Oh.”
I have to know more. “Then…why… why an escort?”
“Because I can’t touch you.”
Once again, my heart jumps, and I’m starting to worry this conversation is going to send me into cardiac arrest. “Why not?”
“I just can’t.”
I count to ten in my head. This is definitely one of those crazy real-life moments Dr. Reynolds told me I would eventually encounter. “Because of what happened to me?” I ask. “That’s why you can’t touch me?”