by Holly Hood
Delaney touched his face again. Against her better judgment maybe, but she didn’t care. She got up on her tiptoes. Her lips level with his chin. “Kiss me. I’ll prove it. Just kiss me.”
Sam’s body stiffened at her words, but she wasn’t letting him get away. She took hold of the back of his neck, looking into his eyes. “Kiss me.”
Sam’s mind was racing. The kind of thing she was asking for was not a good idea. But he hated seeing the pained look in her eyes. He moved in, hovering close to her mouth. He watched her close her eyes, ready to feel his lips join with hers in the personal way she was always looking for since they met.
He moved closer, however he lifted his chin, grabbing the back of her head and planting a kiss on her forehead. He walked away, listening to her heart wrenching sobs overwhelm the room.
“You’re a coward!”
Sam nodded in agreement as he poured a glass of whiskey in the kitchen. Delaney was all set to let him have it now. He tipped the glass, downing it in seconds. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“Any man would love to kiss me. And you just turn me away over and over again!”
Her voice jumped a few notches at every heated slur she hurled at him. He poured another glass of whiskey and nodded along to her verbal beating.
“You have nothing to say, of course not. I’m surprised your still here. I’m surprised you’re not at some bar with your brother. Or maybe it never was your brother. Maybe it was another woman!” She shook her head in skepticism, as if she had put the puzzle pieces together.
Same balled his fist in resentment at this point. “Just stop talking while you’re ahead. It’s not a woman. I don’t want any other woman. I want you.” He took a sip of his whiskey. “I’ve always wanted you and that will never change. You don’t understand and I get that.”
Delaney plopped down on the sofa. “And I never will because you don’t want to tell me anything.”
Sam finished off another glass of whiskey. Proof was better than any words he could say. He sighed, rounding the counter. “Come here.”
Delaney’s eyes grew large with indecision, but she stood anyways. Sam pulled her close, the smell of liquor on his breath, he kissed her neck. Her eyes instantaneously closed in pleasure. His lips met her jaw line, his tongue connecting with the delicate skin. He took hold of her chin, moving in without any wavering this time. He told himself he had enough control to get through it.
A remarkable sensation throttled all his senses as their lips joined.
Delaney’s body seared to his like two magnets. Her mouth pushed into his. Sam parted her lips with his tongue, his hands meshing with her hair. He jerked her head back to control himself and her all at the same time. He slowed her down as he laid kiss after kiss on her lips, until it became too much for him to handle. His body ached. It was the engagement party all over again, but this time things were a lot different because his level of control was barely there.
He felt his hands drifting to places they should stay away from. Delaney easily undid his pants in the heat of the moment. And Sam was shocked he wasn’t aware that this had happened. She pushed him into the countertop. Already out of her dress.
He closed his eyes in contentment at the feel of her lips on his chest, her hands running down his strong physique.
“We have to stop,” he whispered in her ear.
But Delaney was hearing nothing he had to say. She wanted what she wanted. It wasn’t her fault. It was the natural reaction a woman had going up against an incubus. Sam let it continue, the two of them dropping down on the couch. Delaney wrapped her legs around him perfectly, lost in the act not caring about Sam’s forewarning. Not concerned with anything.
Sam removed her panties. He closed his eyes, pleading with himself not to go there to just get up and walk away. He was only part human. He didn’t have what it took to reject her any longer. He moved in, his eyes looking around the room for any way to escape the situation. His hips jerked forward. Delaney’s body instantly reacted. Her piercing cry of ecstasy crashed into Sam’s mind. He jumped up, thrown back into reality and thankful that he was.
Delaney sat up in an unclear fog. She stared at Sam. The look of terror on his face at what they just about did. She clutched her chest in pain. He wasn’t going to give in. And any longer she felt like some obsessive fan that couldn’t have what she wanted. She dropped her legs to the floor and stood up, walking past Sam without uttering a single word.
His bedroom door slammed shut. He pulled his pants up, securing his belt. Going back into the kitchen for the entire bottle of whiskey, so he could drink himself stupid and forget the night even happened.
Waking up
Sam’s eyelids fluttered as the sunlight seared into the small apartment he was in. He was sprawled out on an unfamiliar bed, totally naked. And not even certain where he ended up or how he got there. He raised his head, searching the room for something recognizable.
The incessant buzz of the ceiling fan overhead was enough noise to make his head explode. He groaned, sitting up, searching the room for his clothes, a clock, anything to help him out. Dropping his feet to the floor he gasped. At his feet was a girl who couldn’t have been any older then maybe twenty five. Her body still, her eye makeup gritty.
“Hey,” Sam whispered, afraid to know if she was still breathing. He touched her arm, it was cold. Her eyes popped open and her head fell to the side. Her gaze stuck on Sam. She did her best to produce a smile. She was nearly dead, probably from a night of endless sex with him. Sam cursed himself for doing it yet again. But he really didn’t remember anything after taking that whiskey bottle from his kitchen.
He stood up in the skimpy one room apartment, scanning over the disheveled clothes and newspapers. This girl was not a clean freak that was for sure. He stepped over her, almost stepping on a black cat that seemed to show up out of nowhere.
“Do you know where my clothes are?” he asked, not expecting an answer. He lifted up papers and old takeout, scouring the place for something similar to whatever he had on last night. “Shit!”
***
Delaney thanked the waitress for her coffee. She pulled several sugar packets from the holder on the table, shaking them irritably, tearing them open with a whole lot of resentment. She was angry and sad. She quite honestly felt crushed.
She went to bed devastated by everything that happened last night. And she wasn’t quite sure what her next move was. She studied the large diamond on her delicate finger. Tears formed, but she wiped them as soon as they escaped, dropping her head in her palm.
The diner door chimed. Rose scanned the customers, locating Delaney right away. She looked horrible and she was only looking at the back of her head. She gave a sincere smile, heading toward her once best friend, prepared to try and make her feel better.
“Hey,” Rose said, dropping her purse on the table and squeezing in next to Delaney.
“I had no idea you would still be here. But I’m glad you could make it,” Delaney told her, brightening up a little at the sight of her old friend.
Rose smiled, touching Delaney’s hand to console her. It was written all over her face, she was unhappy. Her eyes were dark, her hair a mess. She looked like she had been crying for a week straight. “What’s wrong, Laney?” she asked, using the nickname she used when they were younger.
Delaney sighed. “It’s Vance.” This caused Rose to perk right up. Delaney noticed the interest that Rose seemed to give the instant she spoke his name. As if she already suspected in secret that her relationship was doomed from the start. She ignored it. “We got into a big fight last night. I couldn’t take it anymore and I just lost it. And you know me, I never lose it.”
Rose swallowed. “Are you okay?” She scanned her entire body for signs of any kind of injury. Knowing the first mark she saw on Delaney she was going to hate herself forever for not being a true friend and telling her about Sam.
“No, I’m not okay. He left and I haven’t been able to get a hold
of him since. I’m really worried this is it for us.” She wiped the tears escaping her eyes as she stared at Rose for a reply of any kind that would make her feel better.
“What were you fighting about?” Rose scanned her eyes for any denial of the truth. “He didn’t hurt you did he?”
Delaney shook her head, her hair falling in her eyes, she blew it away. “No. Vance would never hurt me. It’s probably going to sound a bit silly, but we were arguing about sex.” She hardly said the last bit of it loud enough for Rose to hear.
Rose pursed her lips, her memories of the one romp she had with Sam flashing in her conscience. They had a fun time together. If anything he was raring to go. “I don’t understand.”
“We have never had sex. Vance says it’s complicated. And that he wants to wait. But last night he said he didn’t think he could give me what I wanted. And I just don’t understand what I am doing wrong.” Delaney sighed, staring off at the waitress.
“Maybe it’s the truth. Marriage is an important thing to some people,” Rose suggested. She knew that was a line of bull, but she was trying to repair her friends broken heart.
Delaney shook her head. “I invited his brother over last night for dinner. I expected everything to go great. And for Vance to be really pleased that he got to spend some time with his brother. But it was the total opposite. He seemed annoyed and upset.”
Rose nodded, listening closely to Delaney’s awful night.
“At the end of dinner something strange happened. Frankie, Vance’s brother, called him Sam. Now Vance said it was just a nickname, but he seemed to become even more on edge. And then Frankie says his date is ill and they leave. It was really weird.” Delaney shook her head in bewilderment. None of it made any sense to her.
Rose stayed silent, pretending to be mulling over the issue. She knew the issue all too well. Sam aka Vance was upset that his brother was airing his past in front of Delaney. It all made perfect sense to her why they got into it now. Sam was probably worried Delaney would find out the truth about him.
“Maybe you’re better off taking some time to think, Delaney.” She offered. “Give it a few days.”
Delaney nodded. She had no other ideas, so she wasn’t willing to pass up someone else’s. If things were meant to work out they would on their own.
“I wish I was more like you,” she blurted, staring at Rose. Rose shied away from the admiring comment. She ran her fingertips through her wavy blonde hair.
“More like me?”
“Yes.” Delaney nodded, a smile returning to her face. “You’re such a strong person. You were brutally attacked in the diner and you’re still so upbeat and not frightened about life. I don’t think I could do that.”
Rose looked away.
“Weren’t you afraid? How did you get over such a thing? I remember the day I came and seen you at the hospital,” Delaney said, drifting back to the image of Rose in the hospital bed, her face puffy and unrecognizable. She looked more like a swollen mummy wrapped in gauze with a ton of tubes and machines connected to every part of her. Delaney had always been so astounded her friend survived and went on with her life not phased—or at least it appeared that way.
“Yeah. Of course I was afraid. It’s just something you do I suppose. You move on,” Rose told her. “Let’s talk about something else. How is school?”
“School is fine. Only a couple more semesters and I’m finished.” She heard the words coming out, but her mind was totally stuck on Vance. Rose picked up on this quickly.
“What do you like about him?” Rose asked swiftly.
Delaney smiled at the mention of him. “He’s sweet. But not in the vomit kind of way.” She laughed. “He’s a man in all sense of the word. I feel protected and safe whenever I’m with him. And he’s gentle. I know he would never want to hurt me. It’s hard to explain, but he is the most genuine person I have ever met. I feel loved when I’m with Vance.”
Rose felt a bit envious of Delaney’s description of love. She had been with Tad for six years and she couldn’t even begin to feel that way about him. She didn’t understand how Sam, someone she thought of as such a horrible person could be described so magnificently. That anyone could shed tears for him and not fear him. Then this made her question herself. Why was Delaney capable of making this man feel love and affection? And she produced such a cruel fury that made him want to kill her. It made no sense.
***
Frankie strolled up the sidewalk of the nasty apartment complex his brother had called him from. It was more a fraternity rat hole then a place of residence. And he wouldn’t have set foot in it on any other occasion. But Sam called in a panic, saying he needed clothes so he could get out of there.
Frankie looked down at the scrap of paper he scrawled the address on. He yanked open the door, passing two hung-over girls doing the walk of shame to their car. They gave him “the eye” but he simply ignored it, taking the stairs two at a time.
At the top he wrapped on the first door on the left before letting himself in. He immediately turned up his nose to the rank smell of cat urine and stale cigarettes. “Frankie to the rescue,” he said.
Sam’s expression looked relieved to see him for once. “Tell me you brought me something practical to wear.”
Frankie raised an eyebrow, a tad insulted by Sam’s complaining. “This is the thanks I get.” He chucked the bag at his brother, upsetting the cat on the floor at his feet. It let out a trill hiss jumping through all the clutter to get away from the two of them.
“Thank you. If it wasn’t for you I probably wouldn’t be here right now. So forgive me for not being more appreciative.” Sam tugged on the jeans that were not his fit. And drug the shirt over his head.
Frankie loomed over the now dead girl on the floor, studying her pathetic corpse. “You really did a number on her.” He picked up her cat by the back of the neck, letting it fight and thrash about before he looked it in the eye and relaxed it. He had it purring in no time.
“I don’t remember anything,” Sam muttered, sifting through the blankets for his cell phone. It had to be there somewhere. Frankie watched amused. Digging into his pocket and dialing Sam’s number on his own. A loud chirp and vibration rattled on top of the television that sat covered in dust in the corner of the room.
“Oh, you must remember that lovely dinner,” he said sarcastically, “or Blanca.”
“I suggest you get out of my sight. Because I have to find a way to patch up everything you managed to obliterate in an hour visit.” He swallowed down his anger, heading out the door.
Frankie tossed the cat, following on Sam’s heels, his black boots pounding the rickety staircase to maintain speed with Sam. “I helped you. You are not allowed to be pissed at me.”
Sam scanned the parking lot in hopes of locating his car. Not that it mattered because he had no keys. Frankie chirped his own car alarm, dangling the keys in front of his face. “Do you need a ride to? Or should I stay far away and let you walk home?”
Frankie could tell his brother was upset. That was clear. But he had no emotions. So to him it was nothing more than absurd and a tad comical. He didn’t know how to deal with feelings and nonsense like Sam. “Did you decide what you’re going to do?”
Sam ignored Frankie’s question, countering with one of his own. “How did our mother manage to survive an incubus when she was human?”
Frankie tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “You would have to ask her that one. I don’t talk to the bitch.”
Sam rolled his eyes. Tired of hearing about the abhorrence Frankie housed for their mother. Frankie hated everyone.
“She didn’t die. She had kids with our father. How do I give Delaney what she wants without killing her?” Sam said this more out loud then to Frankie.
“You don’t. Or you do.” Frankie shrugged. “You can’t have it both ways. You either give her what she wants and end her, or just tell her to hit the road. Seems like a giant headache if you ask me.”
>
Sam stared out his window. There had to be an answer.
Making up
Sam climbed out of his brother’s sports car. He scanned the parking lot for his car. It was still nowhere to be found.
“You’re really going to need to get a handle on the drinking and feeding,” Frankie said, pocketing his keys.
“Do you ever let up?” Sam asked, jiggling the handle, hoping a door was left open for him to get back in. Frankie watched his brother, amused with his antics. For a guy that claimed he had it together so well he was failing miserably at the basics.
“I have managed to survive for a lot of years doing what I do.” He was lying. He almost made it a few years. And he was depressed the whole time. Depriving himself of sex was like not eating, or eating just a measly cracker once a week. It coated your palette but it did nothing for your body. It only made you angrier.