by April Lust
“Yes, I’ll be fine. Go back to sleep but call me when you wake up in the morning.”
“Alright. Will do.”
“Listen, baby. I don’t want you to worry about what happened last night. We’ll catch the person behind this. You’re going to be fine.”
“I know, Dad. I trust you. I love you.”
“Love you too, sport.”
When I hang up, I realize Landon has left the room. I feel suddenly empty and bereft inside. I can hear the soft sounds of the TV in the other room.
I settle back into bed again, a strange yearning to cry churning inside me.
# # #
It’s morning. When I first wake up, I call my dad to let him know things are going okay. Then I get dressed and saunter into the living room.
Landon’s still asleep on the couch. His lips are parted and he’s snoring softly. I’m arrested by his physical presence again. I feel wet and heated between my legs. But I resist my urge to touch him again, and instead go into the kitchen area and open the pantry. There’s a new box of butter crunch cereal on the top shelf. I take the container of milk out of the fridge and a bowl and spoon from the pantry and sit down to the table.
I eat my breakfast as quietly as possible. Landon shifts once in his sleep, but it seems like he’s out cold.
Suddenly I feel so lonely. What the hell am I doing here? I think.
It’s as if I’ve just contracted an intense case of cabin fever. It’s only been a day and a night, but I’ve got to get out.
Besides, what harm could a simple drive do?
Letting myself out of the hideout, I hold my shoes in my hand and tiptoe outside. Soon I find myself behind the wheel of my beloved little Saturn.
The cool, early morning air feels fresh and crisp and the early sun rays are warm on my skin. I drive, feeling free and elated. This is just what I needed, I think. Just a little bit of time to myself.
I drive a few miles when I see a small shopping center with a grocery store. Suddenly the idea of fresh fruit for breakfast appeals to me.
I park the car in the first space in the empty parking lot. There aren’t really many people here at all yet. Dust flies and settles into the shadows.
In the store, I buy some eggs and bacon, and some fresh kiwi, mangoes, and strawberries. A fruit salad sounds divine. I like the idea of cooking a meal for Landon.
As I’m walking back to my car, they both come at me seemingly out of nowhere.
Two men this time, both wearing the same black masks.
I feel their hands upon me and I think it’s finally the end. Because no one’s that lucky twice.
But this time, instead of my life flashing before my eyes, I see Landon’s beautiful face in front of me. How sad I never got to kiss him like I wanted to, I think from somewhere far off. I feel a soft pang of regret.
“Dumb bitch,” one of the men hisses. I recognize his voice. “You got away from me last time. But not this time. Your little ass is mine.”
And once again, I hear it. The roaring sound of a motorcycle.
I see the incongruous, cherubic blond hair, and I realize in awe Landon’s here to save me again. I can’t believe it. An overwhelming sense of relief courses through me. He struggles with the men as I manage to stumble away from their grip.
Somehow, in the struggle, I watch as Landon manages to unmask one of them. The guy’s got some sort of large, dark red birthmark on his cheek. He’s surprisingly lithe on his feet. At some point he outwits Landon and punches my messiah in the face. To my horror Landon sinks to the ground.
My heart lurches in my chest. No, I think desperately.
“We gotta get out of here,” the other man says worriedly. “It’s not safe.”
The man with the birthmark turns and looks me in the eye. “This is your second round of good luck. Next time, you’ll be out of luck. Next time I’ll put your tight little ass in your grave. You have no idea how big this is.”
They hop into the black Honda Civic and drive away.
I’m relieved to see Landon is still alive. I scamper towards him. He turns to look up at me, the look in his eyes one of pure hatred.
One of his big, strong hands comes to clamp down hard on my arm.
Chapter 6
Vivian
“What… the fuck… is wrong with you?” I demand, staring at Vivian. Her brown hair is standing up in a frizzy halo from her head and her eyes are wide with fear.
I’ve managed to stand up, and I’ve got her shoulders in my hands.
I want to shake her to death. I was terrified when I woke up and found out she was gone. And when I saw her in the parking lot struggling with those two men…
I’m not even thinking when I pull her into a nearby alley.
“Are you fucking crazy?” I rail at her. “Why the hell are you just asking to get yourself killed?”
I’m scared at my own vehemence. I don’t want to think too hard about the fact I suddenly feel like I would give my life to protect this woman from danger.
Vivian’s eyes are wide and it looks like she’s about to cry. But I don’t care. I want to scare her. I want her to never, ever think of leaving my side again.
“I-I was just a little bored, I guess. I thought I could take a short little drive—”
“No. Absolutely fucking not. I don’t want you thinking anymore. It’s not your place to think in this situation. It’s your place to obey my commands.”
I notice then I might have gone too far. A look of rage burns in her eyes and her lips thin out. She grits her teeth at me.
“Who the hell do you think I am? One of your sleazy biker girls you can order around? I’m not like that. I’m your boss’s daughter. You can’t treat me like this, you…you misogynist brute!”
And that’s when I want to slap the shit out of her.
But she’s snarling with fury and nowhere near to stopping. Tears of frustration are pouring from her eyes.
Why is she acting like this? Is it simply the shock of what just happened?
“Why? Why do you treat women the way you do, Landon? Where were you taught that? And by whom?”
I really want her to shut up now.
“Don’t say another word, Vivian. I’m warning you.”
“Warning me? What are you going to do, hit me? Go for it, then, Landon. Hit me!”
Her eyes are desperately pleading with mine. Pleading for what, I don’t know.
I can’t believe what she does next. She actually slaps me across the face. But it feels more like a caress than a slap. My body tingles with the sensation. I grow excited against my will.
“Hit me, Landon! I want you to hit me!”
Please, I beg her in my mind. Please, Vivian, stop it and shut the fuck up. Because danger is threatening to claw its way to the surface.
She’s taking another breath and about to rail at me some more when my lips come crushing down on hers.
Vivian moans, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
I take my hands and hold the sides of her face firmly in them, positioning her mouth over mine.
A soft whimper escapes her lips. Her hands brace themselves against my chest. I can hear the sudden hitch in her breath, which has gone shallow and ragged.
Oh, her sweet lips. I’m in disbelief that I’m actually tasting them like I’ve wanted to for so long, savoring them. She’s like some delectable dish I never knew existed. I can’t help myself. I take my tongue and part her lips with it, and she sighs into my mouth.
I explore the sweet, hot interior of her mouth. And her tongue touches mine, tentatively.
A jolt of electricity sears my body. Every fiber of me feels alive. Everything I am is being expressed in this kiss. My passion, my love, my hate, my fears…All the things I know I can never say to her.
“There will be time to murder and create…” I remember that poem Vivian read. At this very moment I’m creating a masterpiece by murdering her mouth.
Within seconds our
tongues are flicking hot and fast against each other’s. She’s pressed herself tight against me. I can feel her firm tits against my chest, her nipples hardened. I’m hard as fuck and she’s pressed against me there as well.
Her hands have begun to roam over my flesh. She tries to pull me even closer. She feels so small in my arms and I relish in the feeling. It makes me feel strong. Like a man.
Soon she’s clawing at me like an animal. She tongues lightly at my lip ring. The sensation is mind-blowing. My hands reach to grip her ass hard, and I grind myself against her.
I break the kiss briefly to pull back and stare at her, trying to gauge her reactions. Her eyes are wide and pleading with mine. “Please…Landon,” she breathes softly.
I take that as consent to devour her again. My hands roam her upper arms, the small of her back, the base of her spine.
And I can’t describe the feeling. For the first time in my life, I understand the meaning behind every sappy love song I’ve ever heard. All the old clichés make sense. My body and soul are on fire.
It’s like a dance, the most beautiful dance that has ever existed. Every step is so right and so natural. It’s the choreography of pure desire, and I’ve never wanted a woman so much in my life.
God, I think, I want to take her right now. I want to slam her against the wall, rip open her blouse, and take her breasts into my mouth. To lift up her skirt and ram myself into her tight, wet pussy.
I want to fuck her like an animal. Fuck her so she can’t walk anymore.
Because I think I’m in love with Vivian Grayson.
My boss’s daughter. The one woman I can never, ever have. The one woman, no, the only woman I would want to be a good man for. A decent man for.
Not the monster I truly am.
The monster with a secret that would ruin me if it came out.
And that’s when a memory comes hurtling back to me.
Chapter 7
Landon
“I wish they’d hurry their asses up,” I breathe into the icy air.
“They’ll be here,” Titus says.
He’s pacing again, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his low-slung jeans. The waistband of a pair of white boxers peek out and a cigarette droops from his mouth.
I suck hard on my own, biting back the urge to cough. I hate cigarettes.
“Stop pacing, dude. You said they’ll be here,” I spit out, trying to get Titus to stop moving.
“I don’t like it,” Titus says, not to me, but to someone else who isn’t there. “Don’t like it one bit.”
“We don’t need ‘em, anyways,” I offer.
“Like fucking hell we don’t. We don’t need ‘em.”
But Titus’s stupid. I know it, and Titus himself knows it. He’s got good plain street smarts, though—something I don’t have and desperately need to learn.
He’s the best teacher, they all say.
But I could never tell Titus I like English. The only fucking class I like in school. The class I look forward to even.
Better than having my ass kicked by my old man all the time.
Like when we read Hemingway last week. The Sun Also Rises. Those long-ass French meals, all the different courses, all the—what the fuck were they called—aperitifs. They ate and drank like nobody’s business. As if it all hadn’t happened like eighty fucking years ago. The same. People never changed. All they wanted was to eat, get sloshed, and get laid. There was something beautiful in that. The guy got his dick blown off in the war or something, and the girl was pissed ‘cause he couldn’t fuck her properly...
It trips me out. It reminds me of myself. Why, I can’t explain.
But I could never explain that to Titus. He’d probably beat the shit out of me.
Just like Dad.
“Your mom know where you are?” Titus asks.
“She’s drunk off her ass.”
“She’s a cunt.”
I hide my flinch, as if Titus has struck me a blow. Even though it’s true, I know he doesn’t mean it. In Titus’s own sick way, it’s a compliment.
You wanted this, Landon, now you’ve got it, I think. Gotta ride it all the way.
A picture of my mom flashes before my eyes. She’s sitting in front of her vanity mirror, shaking out her long black hair. My dad used to call her “Crystal” after Crystal Gayle, because she’d let it grow past her waist. Their song was always “Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue.” They’d be dancing in the middle of the kitchen floor like idiots, humming and laughing, practically screwing right there.
At least when he wasn’t knocking the shit out of her.
I had tried to stop him once. And my mom had gone ape-shit on me. Her hands were hard on me, pushing me away, slapping at my face. The shock and shame and hurt in her eyes. Like it was me who had been the one that had punched and kicked her and left ugly, mottled bruises on her arms and neck for fifteen years.
In the street, a wave of black bile rises in my throat. Tears sting my eyes but I blink them back. The smoke and my breath hiss out in one furious plume.
Titus stops pacing. His lips curl back in an ugly grimace.
“Fuck this shit. I’m fucking tired of waiting. We do it now, then run back to the house. They’ll have the door unlocked. If not, we’ll run out back and jump over the fence. Hide out on the patio.”
I nod. My feet feel frozen in their black, steel-toed combat boots. I scuff the soles across the hard, shiny gravel, reveling in the defiance of that abrasion. It’s too damned cold to think. The adrenaline is like a pulse—a motor set to running, a thin steady beat waiting to kick in and seduce me.
“So who will it be?” I ask.
“Doesn’t matter. But they gotta be old. Or a woman. Somebody weak-lookin’. You’ll know. You’ll feel it. It’s all about the feel, the ride, you know? Like sex. Like crack. It takes you for a ride. It’ll be a good trip. You just feel it, man. Smooth as ice.”
Yeah, I was high and tripping already. Good shit it was, too. Everything in my line of vision was hard and glittering and polished.
“Fine,” I say. “Let’s go.”
We flick our cigarettes out onto the cold, black, wet fingers of the street. The butts ricochet off the asphalt where they hiss and spit tiny fumes. I raise the hood of my jacket over my head and thrust my hands in my pockets. My tall, lean body moves with the wind.
A man walks out of the pharmacy. Hunched over, wobbling, a brown paper bag cradled in his gnarled hands.
No, I suddenly think, Titus’s face a white blur on the periphery of my vision. It’s too quick, too easy. It doesn’t seem like such a good idea anymore. Suddenly I think I’m going to be sick. The high is diminishing already, leaving behind a vague sickly urgent emptiness, and I need another hit to ease my stomach.
No time, man. Gotta do it.
Just do it. Like the fucking Nike commercial.
Something about the old man, the feeble way he’s walking, reminds me of someone.
Glasses. Watery eyes. The old-man shirt, the polyester kind with needlework on the front. Ballpoint pen in his pocket....My grandfather had always kept a pen in his pocket to use every day on the crossword puzzles he loved. He was too smart to use a pencil; he always knew all the words. When I was nine, he’d shown me how to eat sweet cornbread soaked in a glass of milk with a spoon. We’d eat cornbread and milk and watch The Love Boat together. Or Fantasy Island. God, those shows were great. They just don’t make television like that anymore. Later, I would get to sleep in the big bed, nestled right between my gramma and grampa. Everything warm and cozy and safe, the portrait of Jesus glowing and winking at me in the dark, my gramma’s delicate head propped on a weird pillow to keep her crazy beehive hairdo safe.
God, I’d loved my grandparents. That is, until they’d died within a year of each other.
The sudden, rapid blur of motion is like a dance. A scene in a war film. No music, no voices. Utter silence amidst a storm of images. Running, shooting, falling and ducking on the ground, b
odies flying...
The old man suddenly doubles over, sucking in great gulps of air as if he were choking. I realize Titus’s dealt him a single blow to the gut.
“Dude!” Titus yells. “Get the wallet!”
I’m shocked into action. Suddenly my hands are like instruments or surgeon’s hands. Smooth and quick and precise, as if I’d been doing this for years. The paper bag’s already been mashed into the ground. Orange plastic bottles have burst and splintered on the sidewalk like weird, angry sunsets. Red and blue capsules wounded, their guts spilling out in white powder and granules...I have found the bulging leather wallet. Now the man falls in a sitting position to the ground, sensing the end, clutching at the pain in his stomach as if he can remove it.