by Kent, Rina
I tricked Uncle Agnus into buying me more behind Daddy’s back.
The boy with grey eyes must like Maltesers, too. He’s so generous and always shares them with me.
I stop near the basement door and throw a glance around the dark corridors. Them monsters lurk here, you know, but I’m not scared of them. I’m scared that someone — a person — follows me and finds Grey Eyes.
Yesterday, Uncle Reg almost found me. If I hadn’t heard him come down the stairs and smelled his pipe, I wouldn’t have escaped in time.
I hid in my room and didn’t see the boy with grey eyes.
I miss him.
I was counting down the hours until I could see him again, sit by his side, and listen to him talk all night.
He doesn’t say much, though. I have to always talk because he’s usually silent.
Holding the flashlight under my armpit, I slowly open the basement door.
A smile tugs on my lips. “I’m here!”
No response.
“Grey Eyes?” I drag the bag behind me as I close the door. The creaking is haunting in the silence. It’s a little scary, too.
Whenever I come in, the chains would rattle as he’d stand up to meet me.
I direct the light towards the corner. The bag’s dragging sound comes to a screeching halt.
He lies in the corner, both arms shielding his face.
But that’s not it, no.
Red oozes down his skin and onto the floor.
Red as in blood. So much blood.
“Grey Eyes!”
I run towards him, my heart beating so fast like it wants to leave my chest. Once I’m within touching distance, I crouch in front of him, my lips trembling.
He’s not moving.
Why is he not moving?
“Grey Eyes…” I shake him with unsteady hands, all sweaty and cold. “Wake up. I brought you Maltesers and your favourite sandwich with cheese and ham. I brought you juice and everything.”
The flashlight falls to the ground as I lean closer to his face. Tears soak my cheeks, and I taste salt. “Grey Eyes… P-please, don’t go. Don’t leave like Eli… Don’t leave me.”
“I… won’t.”
“Grey Eyes!”
His lids slowly flutter open, but he doesn’t get up. They’re black in the dark, his eyes. Like all the emotions have been taken out of him.
His face appears pale and his lips are dry and cracked. The blood has turned sticky around his arms.
It’s a mess. I need to fix it before them monsters come here.
Daddy says sharks smell blood from far away, and I think them monsters do, too. They’ll smell Grey Eyes’ blood and then attack him.
I run back to my bag and shuffle it across the dirty floor. Perspiration trickles down my temple and down my nose from the effort.
Panting, I search through it. There are napkins and water. Since Grey Eyes always gets hurt, I stole cotton balls and the bottle Daddy uses to clean my wounds. He said an injury needs to be cleaned before it’s wrapped.
I wipe the sticky blood away with dry napkins. Blood is gross, you know. It wouldn’t go away from the skin.
A deep wound cuts along the side of his arm near his elbow.
It must’ve hurt so much.
The need to cry hits me, my nose tingles and my eyes burn, but I don’t cry. I have to be strong for him.
“It’s going to sting.” Biting my lip, I pour the liquid onto his injury.
A whimper comes from him as he watches me with half-closed eyes.
“I’m sorry it hurts. I’m so sorry.” Tears stream down my cheeks even when I tell them not to.
Just because he’s not crying shouldn’t mean he’s not hurt. I’m crying for him, not for me.
Using the cotton balls and the napkins, I wrap it around the wound as tightly as I can. Daddy said it has to be tight and clean so no nasty germs get in there.
“W-who did this to you?” I ask. “Them monsters?”
He nods once.
“I’m going to save you. I p-promise.”
His other hand wraps around my arm and tugs me down. I lie beside him, his injured hand remaining limp between us.
“Stay like this,” he whispers.
My lips tremble and my nose tingles as I stare at him and cry. I cry for what seems like forever. My tears turn into hiccoughs and then into loud sobs.
It’s ugly, snot and tears cover my face, but I can’t stop.
It hurts so much.
His thumb wipes under my eyes. “Don’t cry.”
“I can’t stop.”
“I don’t like it when you cry.” He continues gathering my tears and making them go away.
“Why?”
“Because it hurts me when you’re hurt.”
“M-me, too. That’s why I’m crying. I don’t want you hurt.”
“I’m going to be okay, Elsa.”
“Promise?”
He doesn’t answer. I jerk into a sitting position, hiccoughing and drawing involuntary breaths. “P-promise?”
“I can’t.”
“But why?” I shriek. “Does it hurt too much? I’m going to kiss it better.”
Leaning over, I place a kiss on the side of his bandage. “Daddy says it heals when you kiss it.”
He smiles. It’s weak and with no energy, but he smiles.
“You need to eat.” I rummage through my bag and bring out the sandwich.
It takes me some time to help him sit up against the wall. Once he’s settled, I wrap the blanket around him and place the sandwich between his fingers.
“You have to eat all that to get better.”
He munches slowly, not like the other days when he was so hungry, he devoured it.
I crouch in front of him, place my arms on my knees, and watch him. His injured arm lies limp beside him. The bandage around it is ugly.
“I have an idea!” I search in the bag and bring out my black marker. I was going to show him the picture of houses I’ve been drawing and ask him if he knows how to make one.
Because I told Daddy I’m going to build houses when I grow up.
Grey Eyes watches me closely but he says nothing as I grab his injured arm. Biting down my lip, I lay it on my lap and draw on the non-injured side.
Once I’m done, he studies my drawing. “What is that?”
“An arrow.”
“Why an arrow?”
“Daddy says when you feel bad, you should keep that energy inside.”
“Why inside?”
“So you can store it for later. Bad things happen for a reason.”
“Bad things happen for a reason,” he repeats, staring between the arrow and my face before a small smile breaks on his lips.
I love that smile.
I want to kiss it, not to make it better, but because I love it.
So I do just that. I lean over and press my lips to the corner of his mouth.
23
Elsa
Present
I startle awake. My hair sticks to the side of my face with sweat. Sitting in bed, I pull my knees to my chest like in that dream.
Only it wasn’t a dream. It was a memory of when Aiden got the scar on his forearm.
Raw emotions creep under my skin like creatures from the night, rough and mysterious.
The tattoos.
His arrow tattoos are inspired by what I drew back then.
He’s right. I’ve been under his skin for such a long time just like he’s been under mine.
Even though I don’t remember everything, I clearly remember that potent connection we shared in the basement.
Our story started there whether I like to admit it or not.
Back then, it was children finding friendship in each other. Truth is, we were and still are lost souls finding refuge in one another.
I check the time and it’s a little after midnight. Retrieving my phone, I type.
Elsa: Are you there?
Aiden has been absent from school
since the scene at the pool three days ago. Apparently, Jonathan didn’t like the way he ended the engagement with Silver and he’s making him pay in the only way Jonathan knows how — taking him away.
They’ve been on some business trip to China. Aiden has been texting me sporadically whenever he finds the time.
To say I miss him would be an understatement and an insult to my feelings.
Just when I thought we could talk about our differences and have a real conversation, Jonathan has to ruin it.
No reply comes through.
It should be around eight in the morning in China right now, but he could be too busy to reply.
I’m about to try to go back to sleep when my phone vibrates in my hand, making me shudder.
Aiden: I’m always here for you, sweetheart.
My heart does that flip-flopping thing like it’s having a crush on Aiden all over again.
Aren’t we over that phase already, heart?
Before I can reply, my screen lights up with another text.
Aiden: Did you have another nightmare?
God. He knows me so well. Under normal circumstances, I would be fast asleep at this time.
Elsa: Half-nightmare. Half-dream.
Aiden: Do tell.
Elsa: It was about you.
Aiden: I told you, one day you’ll dream about me like I dream about you. Was it kinky?
Elsa: No.
Aiden: Half-kinky?
Elsa: What does half-kinky even mean?
Aiden: It means I tied you to the bedpost and fucked you for an entire day.
I bite the inside of my cheek, my temperature rising.
Elsa: No. It wasn’t like that.
Aiden: It wasn’t, huh? Funny because that’s what I dreamt about. We need to synchronise our dreams.
I suppress a smile. What type of magic does Aiden possess to make me feel better even through texts?
Elsa: If I ask you to tell me about the past, will you?
I expect him to think about it, to tell me I’m not ready, but the reply is immediate.
Aiden: Whenever you wish.
A stuttering breath heaves out of me. The type of breath which lifts some weight off my chest. Not all the weight, but the relief is there, as tiny as it is.
Elsa: Thank you.
Aiden: Don’t thank me until you know all the facts.
My hand turns clammy around the phone. In the back of my mind, there’s a giant box titled The Truth Isn’t Easy, but his words magnify that box, it’s becoming wider and bigger than what my head can contain.
Dad and I talked about my missing memories, alone and with Dr Khan. My shrink recommended that I remember it on my own without hearing retellings, and Dad complied.
The truth is a sneaky thing. Like a witch, it demands a high price before setting you free.
Life as I know it can go up in smoke — including my relationship with Dad and Aiden.
I squash that scary thought and type the question I’ve been asking since he left.
Elsa: When are you coming back?
Aiden: Less than a week.
Aiden: Why? Do you miss me?
I don’t even think as I type. I don’t listen to my paranoia anymore. Denying my feelings for Aiden only destroyed me from the inside.
Elsa: I do.
The phone brightens up with his name and the picture of our first kiss.
Shit.
I didn’t think he’d call.
Clearing my throat, I answer, “Hey.”
“Say it. I need to hear it.” The raspiness in his tone sends tingles racing down my spine. That voice is made to say dirty, authoritative things.
“Say what?”
“That you miss me.”
“I miss you.” My voice is low, sultry. I didn’t even know I had that range.
“Fuck, sweetheart. I’m hard.”
A wave of longing grips me by the throat. It tingles at the bottom of my stomach, pooling there. “You are?”
“Fuck right, I am.” His growl is rough, animalistic even.
God. I love his voice when he lets his real self shine through.
“You drive me fucking crazy, Elsa.”
“How crazy?” I ask because I can’t help myself.
“Crazy enough to jerk off in the bathroom when I should be downstairs.”
My cheeks heat as if they’ve been set on fire. My entire body is.
The desire in Aiden’s voice is contagious. It’s the type that grips you by the neck and never leaves.
“Talk to me, sweetheart. Let me hear your voice.” He pauses. “Scratch that. Touch yourself as if I’m there with you.”
My free hand is already travelling under my shirt, caressing the soft skin of my breasts. They’re heavy, aching.
“How do you want me to touch myself?” I ask.
“Remove your clothes.” His raspy order travels through my ear and hits me straight in my core. “Do it slowly as if I’m watching.”
Manoeuvring the phone between my shoulder and ear, I push down my cotton shorts. Despite their soft material, they create maddening friction across my heated skin.
I place the phone on the pillow and drag the T-shirt over my head, letting it fall beside me.
The cool air in the room creates goosebumps that cover my burning flesh. My nipples pucker, straining, demanding to be touched.
“Done,” I murmur as I hold the phone again.
A groan cuts through the other line. “Are your nipples hard?”
“Yes. T-they...”
“They what?” I can almost imagine the tightening of his jaw.
“They hurt.”
“They hurt, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Why do they hurt, sweetheart?”
“Because they want your hands on them,” I blurt out, sucking in a sharp breath.
“Touch them as I do.” So much authority. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever heard.
I wrap my thumb and forefinger around one nipple and squeeze. A whimper slips from between my lips.
“That’s not how I touch you,” he grunts.
“N-no?”
“No. Pinch them savagely as I would.”
Suppressing a moan, I squeeze my sensitive nipple harder, torturing it as if Aiden’s doing it.
I imagine him here with me, his lips wrapped around my other nipple, sucking it into his hot mouth. He nibbles on the perky bud sending tingles straight between my legs.
“Aiden…”
“Hmm, sweetheart?” I feel his grunt on my skin instead of hearing it.
“More. I want more.”
“Are you wet for me?”
“Yes.” A hundred times, yes. My arousal coats my thighs and permeates the air.
“Open your legs and dip your middle finger inside that soaking pussy.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
The moment my finger rests inside, I buck off the bed. It’s as if Aiden is here, thrusting that long finger in me, sampling me.
“Add another one.”
“But…”
“Do it.”
Oh, God. Why are his orders such a turn on tonight? They’re more than words and straight up torture devices.
Carefully, I add another finger. My eyes roll to the back of my head with how tight I feel around them.
“Move them for me, sweetheart. Let me hear those noises you make.”
I thrust my fingers in and out. The entire time, I imagine Aiden scissoring his fingers inside of me. His body overpowering mine. His strong muscles tightening with each movement.
“Touch your clit.”
My thumb grazes the swollen nub. Pleasure rushes through me in torturous bursts. I hold the phone between my cheek and my shoulder and use my other hand to twirl my hard, aching nipple.
Closing my eyes, I surrender myself to the overwhelming sensations. I might be the one touching myself, but I’m not the one behind this pleasure.
Aiden’s raspy orders are.
“Aiden… Oh, my God, Aiden.”
“Fuck right, your God.”
My pace escalates, ears buzzing, and stomach tightening. The sheets underneath me feel harsh and painful against my overheated skin.
“Harder,” he orders on a grunt. “Faster.”
I follow his command, my heartbeat jacking up with every move.
“Fuck.” His breathing deepens on the other end. “Fuck!”
The thought that he’s touching himself to my moans and whimpers drives me insane.
I can imagine him standing in the bathroom, his trousers and boxers pooling at his feet. He’s fisting his cock in that rough, masculine way and jerking up and down like he’s angry. Like his body yearns for mine the way mine does. Like his soul needs mine to be whole.
My movements turn more frantic and out of control at the thought.
I can taste the release on my tongue.
“Oh… Aiden… I’m s-so close…”
“I’m going to come.” He grunts. “Are you ready for me, sweetheart?”
“Yes… Yes…” I gasp as the wave hits me like sparks in a starless night.
I cry out then hide my face in the pillow to kill the sound.
My fingers are still seated deep inside of me, slick with arousal. It’s almost as if Aiden has been filling me — not my own hand.
It would’ve been more euphoric if he was here in person, though.
A deep growl fills my ear as Aiden reaches his own climax. I pant into the phone. I wish he was here so I’d see his sex God face when he comes.
“That was…” I breathe. “Amazing.”
“We’re not done,” he rumbles.
“No?”
“Remove your fingers.”
I do. “Done.”
“Now suck. Let me taste you.”
My cheeks flame at the thought, but I shove my index and middle finger into my mouth.
Tasting myself is intimate, but the fact that I’m pretending to be Aiden is even more intimate.
I lap my tongue around my fingers, making small noises.
“You know what I’m fantasising about?” His low, deep voice makes me suck harder for some reason.
I make a negative sound without removing my fingers.