Sinfully Supernatural

by Multiple

  “I’ve been yelling through the door for five minutes. When are you going to open up?” Rich punctuated his statement with a series of deep bangs. Andy winced. She hoped the door could stand up to the abuse.

  If she’d lived in a better neighborhood, it might have occurred to her degenerate neighbors to actually call the cops instead of turning a blind eye. Andy glanced down at the phone, a surge of guilt going through her. She could call the police, but she’d have to do it one handed. The gun could slip out of her hold. Damn. Maybe she’d accidentally shoot him. Andy’s lip quirked in a small smile. That would solve her Rich problem.

  “Andy, baby, I know you miss me too. You still want my cock in your bed. Come on let me in.”

  Andy rolled her eyes. The memory of his insignificant manhood flashed in her head. The arrogant ass sure thinks a lot of himself. She blew out an exasperated breath and cussed him to hell and back under her breath. She wanted to tell him how his vanity made her sick, but she bit her lip and kept her mouth shut, afraid to make the situation worse with a sharp comment. She didn’t want to provoke him.

  “Andy? I know you can hear me.”

  She waited knowing what would happen next, even as her body trembled in anticipation of the worse. This had happened so many times now.

  “Open up you fat ass bitch.” He kicked the door and pounded on it repeatedly. Andy jumped almost dropping the shotgun, as the old wooden door protested in outrage. She closed her eyes pretending she could merge with the solid wall at her back. Tears burned at the backs of her eyes at the violent reminder of why she'd finally kicked him out.

  I’m stronger than tears.

  She swallowed hard at the lump in her throat from the names he called her and blinked her eyes rapidly to clear them. As hard as she tried to ignore him, he still affected her.

  His true self always came shining through bright as the northern star. Rich continued to rage at the door, cursing her, while the door groaned under the onslaught. Andy took a deep breath trying to steady her hands.

  “Please, God, just let it hold. Don’t make me kill him.” If he came through that door she would shoot him. No matter what, he won’t put his hands on me again. The broken arm healed and the bruises were all gone, but the emotional scars were etched deep into her soul. If Andy killed him she’d go to jail for murder, even if the restraining order said he was a danger to her person. Andy’s heart raced as he kept up the shouting and kicking. Then it went eerily quiet. Andy stilled then tiptoed over to the peephole and looked out as a chill crept up her spine, goose bumps rose on her arms.

  “Oh. Shit.” Her body tensed at the silence. Rich was nowhere in sight.

  The kitchen window exploded and Andy jumped nearly dropping the shot gun on her foot, catching the barrel as the rifle slipped out of her hold. Little shards of glass tinkled into her porcelain sink.

  “Don’t think these fucking bars will stop me bitch.” His face was pressed to the bars and his hands tried to shake them.

  Andy sent up a silent prayer as she swung the gun in the direction of the kitchen window. The gun shook in her hands, as her angst had her struggling for control of her body and mind.

  “This isn’t over Andy. I’ll be back, lard ass.” Andy closed her eyes as the demeaning name deflated her a little and her shoulders slumped. She opened her eyes at the wail of a siren approaching, hope flared for a moment as Rich glanced quickly over his shoulder before trotting to his car.

  His piece of shit ‘79 Camero grumbled to life, then the tires squealed and he was gone. Relief flooded Andy and she sagged against the wall. A few seconds later a cop car came roaring toward her house… and right down the street. Figures.

  Andy slipped the shot gun down to droop in her shaky hands and slowly slid down the wall. She landed with a thump on her rear end. Her body continued to shake and hot tears blurred her vision. She was so sick of the mental abuse that eroded her self-esteem like acid on skin. She picked up the cordless phone that lay next to her foot and dialed the non-emergency number for the police department.

  “Police Department. What can I help you with?” The dispatcher on the other end was way too perky.

  “My ex just broke his restraining order and I’d like to make a report.” Andy wiped her hand over her tear streaked cheeks.

  “Yes, Ma’am. And is he there now?”

  “No, he’s gone.” She breathed deep, in through her nose and out through her mouth, in an attempt to calm her raging heartbeat and throbbing head.

  “Why didn’t you call sooner?”

  “I couldn’t. He would’ve broken in the door.” Andy petted the wood stock of the shot gun. She was comforted to have the fire arm at her disposal.

  “Well, ma’am, there’s not much we can do if he is not currently threatening you.” The dispatcher’s sweet voice went slightly tart. “It’s your word against his.”

  “I am aware of that I’d just like to make a report.” Andy sniffed away the last of her tears and squared her shoulders against the wall.

  The dispatcher sighed gustily, like Andy had ruined her whole day.

  “Fine. Name.”

  Andy took in a big breath and recited her information. She’d done this so many times the reporting was almost second nature. When did all this happen? When did I lose complete control of my life? Tears threatened again making her eyes burn, but she fought them back as she talked to the dispatcher.

  The officer promised someone would call her back later. By the end of the call she was numb all over. Are my feet still attached? She looked down. Her feet were still there and, with some serious determination and effort, she stood up. Her feet touched the floor, but she couldn’t feel the hard wood under her shoes. She leaned the shot gun gently against the wall in her bedroom. Andy walked back to the kitchen sink and carefully cleaned the glass out it, tossing the shards into the trash can then washing the rest down the drain. Andy sighed; her shoulders sagged with her relief when she saw the evening light touching the horizon. At least the day wasn’t completely lost. She’d just settled into the couch to breathe for a minute when the phone rang, startling back to her feet. She snatched the phone off the table and answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Andy, it’s Rosie. Me and some of the girls are going out tonight. You wanna’ go with us?” Rosie’s slight Mexican accent laced her words.

  “I don’t know.” She tried to sound as normal as possible to hide her emotions from her best friend.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, I’m fine.” Andy lied and held her breath.

  “That pinche pendejo. What did he do now?”

  “Nothing I’m fine… everything’s fine.” Andy squeezed her eyes tight to keep back the quickly rising tears.

  “You have never been a good liar, Andrea. You think I can’t see what’s happened? Open the door and let me in.”

  “Shit.” Andy hung up the phone and took a deep breath.

  She unbolted the door and opened it. Rosie stood with her hands planted on her thin hips and eyes narrowed with fire.

  “I can’t believe he broke your window again! That’s twice this month! Did you call the cops?”

  “Yes, Mom, I did.”

  Rosie came bursting inside in a swirl of cinnamon spiced perfume.

  “I swear to the Virgin Mother if he so much as touches you again, I’m calling my brothers. No, don’t shake your head at me. I should have let them go after him when he broke your arm.” She grabbed Andy in a huge hug crushing Andy close to the shorter frame. “Are you okay, momma?”

  “I’m fine, Rosie, really. Just a little shook up.” Andy smiled a little hoping it would convince Rosie.

  “You know what? Fuck him. We’re going out, you and me.” Rosie shut the door and slid the deadbolt back in place. “Come on, chica, you need to get dressed.” Rosie tugged Andy toward her bedroom. For a small woman she sure was strong. It must be all those brothers of hers that made h
er grow up tough. Rosie tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder and flipped on the light in Andy’s bedroom.

  “Andy, you have to get out of here. Look at this place, it’s a mess! Nana is rolling over in her grave right now.” Rosie pushed clothes out of her way with her foot making her way to the closet.

  “Rosie, I really don’t want to go out, I’m tired. It’s been a long day.” Andy protested because her eyes were swollen, and her head hurt and, and... she just didn’t want to think about how she’d look to other people.

  “No. You’re going. I wouldn’t be a very good best friend if I left you all alone. Here.” Rosie tossed a skirt over her shoulder. “Put this on. That skirt makes you look hot.”

  Andy caught the denim skirt out of the air and twisted it in her hands.

  “Now! Put it on or I’ll take those jeans off you myself. Don’t think I won’t. I’m tougher than I look.”

  That made Andy grin and her insides warmed a little. Rosie was the baby in her family of five brothers and knew how to hold her own. Andy quickly shimmied out of the pants and pulled on the denim skirt, then smoothed her hands over it.

  “Oh, this one!” Rosie gasped as she pulled out a black top that dipped low in the front.

  She tossed it at Andy’s head without looking up. Andy ducked and the material hit the wall behind her. After she pulled on the top she went in the bathroom to fix her curls and apply some eyeliner.

  “Now where did I put those shoes?” Andy walked around her bed feeling underneath with her foot. Her foot hit the shoes with a clunk. “Found them.”

  Andy turned around just as Rosie closed the closet door. Andy studied her reflected image in the mirror on the closet door and smiled.

  “Mamacita. You’re muy caliente.” Rosie smacked Andy right on the rump. “Tonight, we party.”

  Forever My Love

  Christle Gray

  Copyright © 2011 Christle Gray

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to a person or persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Darcy Abrams shot upright in her bed and bit back what was sure to be an earsplitting scream, tasting blood as it beaded on her lip. Her heart pounded so hard, the blood it pumped coursed through her veins swiftly and filled her ears to an almost deafening point. She blinked against the darkness of the room as her eyes fought to adjust to the sudden interruption of sleep. Deep breaths urged her body to a more calmed state, as her bedroom slowly came back into focus.

  What the hell was that about?

  Darcy wracked her brain in an attempt to remember what had obviously frightened her so badly, but the cause of her dream state distress remained elusive, and just out of reach.

  A quick glance around the room revealed nothing new. The same four walls silently greeted her just like they had these past eight months. The murky veil of night transformed the light blue paint that covered the walls into a colder blue gray, giving the room a tomb-like feel.

  Darcy shivered as she pulled the rumpled sheet up to her chin and lay back onto the bed. This place might as well be a tomb, given the lack of life that dwelled within these walls nowadays.

  The loneliness that kept Darcy constant company made its presence known in a cold wave that washed over her and seeped into every nook and crevice it could, filling her to overflowing with its stark lack of hope. Darcy flopped over on her side and punched her flattened pillow. A stray tear escaped from her eye and she quickly wiped it away. Her gaze fell upon the photo placed carefully on her nightstand. The silver frame glinted ever so slightly in the soft moonlight that filtered through the sheer curtains of the bedroom window. The face that stared back from the photo was like a dagger to her heart—a pain so sharp and bright it stole the breath from her lungs in a suffocating blow.

  Eric.

  Even thinking his name was difficult, compounding the pain of her shattered heart. Eight long months had passed, but the wounds of her loss were still as raw and fresh as that first day at the hospital. Time had not worked its fabled magic to heal her in the least. In fact, each day seemed longer than the last, an exercise in misery and loneliness that Darcy wasn’t sure she could stand much longer.

  Darcy reached out and lovingly traced her fingertip along the edge of the photo, caressing Eric’s features as she had so many times before. Her husband, Eric, had brought so much joy and love into her life. His absence created a world where the bright sunshine of his smile had been stolen away, leaving Darcy to dwell in a world now ensconced by utter darkness.

  “Eric, I don’t think I can do this without you, anymore. Why did you have to leave me so soon?”

  Her voice cracked in the empty room, filled with sadness and the pain of tears that threatened to have no end. Darcy squeezed her eyes shut to hold the tears at bay and prayed for sleep. At least then there was the chance of respite from this Hell. If nightmares didn’t keep jolting her awake, that is.

  “I’m right here, my love. Please don’t cry.”

  Darcy’s eyes flew open as the sound of Eric’s rich voice filtered through the room in a velvet whisper. Tensed and frozen, she refused to allow even a soft breath past her lips, and strained to hear past the dead silence that had infused the room. After what seemed like an eternity, nothing but the sounds of the city moving along outside reached her ears. Darcy finally blew out a long breath, allowing herself some much needed air.

  “I must be really losing it, now.”

  Darcy almost laughed at herself. The whole thing might have been funny if she hadn’t already gone through the pain of seeing Eric’s face in every other man she passed on the street. Or hearing his voice in her dreams. But this time it had been so clear. So perfect. A recording dead set on torturing her to madness.

  “Losing what, Darcy?”

  A heavy, solid presence filled the space in bed behind Darcy as her heart flew into her throat and panic wrapped around her chest in a vise so tight it threatened to snap her ribcage. Slowly and deliberately, she rolled onto her back, fear that she had already gone off the deep end adding to the panic that had set her nerves on a razor’s edge.

  Eyes so clear and blue she could still make out their color in the dark stared at her from under a pale brow furrowed in confusion. Darcy blinked repeatedly, unwilling to trust her grief-skewed vision.

  “Eric?” Her voice was raspy with emotion, almost too soft to hear, even in the stillness of the room.

  “Yes, love, it’s me.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

  Darcy’s breath hitched as she stared at the man who had shared her bed for ten years before being stolen away eight months ago. He propped himself up on one elbow, and strands of sandy blond hair fell haphazardly over one eye. Reflexively, she reached out and brushed the hair back, as she had done so many times before. Her hand shook with tremors as her fingertip followed the line of his jaw to the curve of his mouth, then traced the lips that had kissed her more times than could ever be counted.

  “This can’t be happening. I’ve finally lost my mind and cracked up completely. I’m imagining this. I have to be imagining this.” Darcy withdrew her hand, fear still holding her insides hostage.

  Eric frowned, then took her hand and placed it over his heart. “Does this feel like your imagination?”

  The warmth of Eric’s chest seeped into her hand and up her arm. Darcy could distinctly feel the thump of his heartbeat and the corded muscles that flexed under her touch.

  “But—”

  Eric placed a finger over her lips to quiet her protest as he leaned forward and covered her mouth with his own. The pressure of his lips eased Darcy’s panic as the familiar sensation of his mouth brought every memory of their nights together to the surface.

  He’s here. He’s really here. My Eric has come back to me.

  Darcy grasped Eric’s head in her hands and pulle
d him closer, deepening the kiss. Her lips parted and his tongue languidly explored her mouth in a seductive dance that left her breathless. It had always amazed her how much their passion refused to waver as the years had passed. Just as much as the first time their lips met, he continued to set her body aflame.

  Darcy moaned softly into Eric’s mouth as he kissed her at his leisure, taking his time to stoke the smoldering flame that ceaselessly burned so brightly between them. He tasted warm, like honey and spice wrapped up in the musk of man. A familiar concoction that defied explanation yet was definitively Eric.

  Tears burned behind her eyes when he released her mouth. She had missed his kiss so fiercely, the intensity of feeling it once more was overwhelming. Eric gazed deeply into her eyes, the bright blue seeing past everything, right into the core of her soul. Her body in sensory overload, Darcy quickly pushed any thoughts of reality away, intent on sharing this night with her husband. Even if it didn’t last, she wanted this right now.

  She wanted him. Always.

  “I’ve missed you so much.” Her voice was a husky whisper, filled with longing.

  Eric softly caressed her cheek with his thumb. “I know, baby. I’ve missed you, too.”

  Just the mere touch of his hand was almost too much to bear. Living without his touch had darkened her soul. And now, through some type of miracle, he was here to save what was left.

  “Love me, Eric.” Darcy gently grasped his hand and placed a kiss in the center of his palm.

  He leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers, his lips curved into a seductive smile. “Forever, my love.”

  Darcy’s heart danced at the intimate sentiment, a frequent promise that Eric had made in their life together. He eased back and deftly helped her slide the nightgown she wore over her head. After tossing it to the floor, he slipped her panties down over her hips, his lips trailing fiery kisses down her inner thigh before that particular piece of clothing joined the nightgown.