by Liz K. Lorde
“Can’t let that be,” there was a fire smoldering in my gut. If they were going to play this way, the least they could do was tell us straight up. Damn cowards at the head of the table over there, now.
“No. We’ll take care of it soon, right now I want us to pin down a couple more travel routes through Washington – I want to use as few roads as possible that Allen and his crew showed us how to do. Once you get that girl—“
“Madeline,” I interrupted without even thinking, and for half a heartbeat there was an amused silence coming from Luke’s end. Feeling awkward, I said, “I mean, that’s her name. Madeline.”
Luke chuckled, “Right, right. You think you can keep your mouth shut?” Another small, stifled laugh rolled from the man.
“Sorry, Prez.”
“Ah, it doesn’t matter anyway. Known each other too long, brother. Can’t expect you to see me as higher up than you.”
“Well higher I can get,” I brushed at my nose with the back of my hand.
“Ha-ha. Yeah. We’ll smoke and party once this shit’s cleared up. Get Madeline, you damn gash hound, better ASAP and once those routes are locked in – we’ll hit Demonios.”
“Heard, brother. Heard.” There was this tightness in my throat, this warmth that soaked itself in to my bones. Why I didn’t like hearing him call me that, with Madeline at least, I couldn’t understand.
***
When morning rolled around I managed to pick myself up off the couch and drag my groggy ass over to the bedroom. I knocked on the door and called out, “Mads?”
… Nothing. I let out a deep noise from my chest and turned the doorknob, “Time to get up, sweetheart. We’re going to get some food in your system,” I told her, sweeping a hand through my hair and blinking. She was tossing and turning like the sea in my bed, the sheets and blankets were plainly damp with sweat from her struggling; oddly erotic, was that my shirt clung to her skin – and at some point, she had taken her bra off in the night.
Approaching her, I mentally reprimanded myself for looking. Still, there was this weird connection that I’d felt a spark of ever since I met her. Warmth flooded at the base of my cock, and my balls tightened up as she let out a small moan, her eyes still shut and her nipples beautifully stiff. Clenched my teeth and balled my hand into a fist at the thought of wanting such a desirable creature. I’d told myself long, long ago, that I was done with anything outside of a quick release.
“Madeline,” I said more curtly and loudly than I’d intended, my seething rage getting the better of me. I knew in the back of my mind, because of the frightened pricks at my heart, that if I stuck myself inside of her… if I claimed that damn girl for even just a night. I’d never break that addiction, there wouldn’t be another high or another low in the world that could rip me from her enchantment.
Her body jolted to life in a sudden flinch, those sapphire eyes shooting open and a quick gasp leaving her blue lips. It was miraculous how well whatever the fuck she used stayed on so long. “What time is it?” She winced and rolled over, away from me, onto her side.
“Time to get up,” I told her.
“I hate that time,” she offered, groaning in some kind of pain.
“We all do. But you need to drag your pretty ass out of bed before I do it for you, beautiful.”
“Hmn,” she hummed, “if I wasn’t so miserable I’d probably enjoy that.”
I placed my hands on my hips, “Breakfast will be ready in ten, and if I don’t see a half-naked recovering addict at my table, I’m going to get my father’s rope and lasso you right the hell out.”
She whined in pain, and in that moment, I truly felt terrible for the girl. Pangs of sympathy hit me right in the gut. “That’s nice, Cowboy,” she said unenthused.
Tilting my head and pushing out a breath, I turned on my heel and strode straight to the kitchen. It took me a little longer than I’d anticipated; ended up making four sunny side up eggs, pan fried in butter and rubbed with a stick of thyme – six slices of bacon, each perfectly crisped and patted down for excess drippings. Additionally, two slices of whole wheat bread, toasted, and split in half – drizzled with golden butter; and a glass of orange juice for the each of us.
Once the coffee table was set and cleared of its usual crap, I hustled over to my stolen bedroom and sidled over to Madeline’s side. She was of course, still trying to get some sleep. But I knew that she had to eat, and eat she was going to fucking do; her body was something unreal, but in the back of my mind I wondered if she took care of herself enough. The answer was probably no, given the fact that she uses – or rather did use.
How did she even get into this shit in the first place? “Mads,” I gruffed, placing my hand on her shoulder and giving her a shake. “Mads, time to get up. Last chance. Food’s all ready, I even took a sharpie to it – got your name on each slice of toast and each strip of bacon.”
“Mmmf,” she groaned out and turned to face me, laying down on her back. She was more pale than usual, and I could clearly make out that sheen of sweat on her forehead. Madeline’s brows knitted together, “You said you’d lasso me.”
That was something close to a pout, and I knew the guys would give me endless amounts of shit for thinking that it was cute. I shook my head, “No lassoing. You want a ride on the breakfast express?”
Her brows eased and then glided upwards, “Breakfast expres—“
Before she could finish, I grabbed hold of her and picked her up out of bed. Like some sort of animal she howled with laughter and joy; twisting her beautiful body and grabbing at me now and again, her legs kicking at me playfully. When I situated her on my back, and was sure she was comfortably clinging to me, I rumbled out a chuckle and padded through the bedroom door – ducking to make certain she didn’t bump her head.
I sit her down at the table and take up the seat across from her. Her eyes go wide and she gives me a kind of dour look, “I can’t eat all of this,” she informs.
“It’s okay,” I told her, “didn’t know how much you’d be up for eating. Just dig in to what you can.”
Madeline gave me a weak smile then, and began to pick at her food. “I woke up a lot in the middle of the night,” she admitted. “Thanks for the bucket, by the way.”
“I didn’t hear you. And it was the least I could do to make sure you didn’t cause a mess.”
“Yeah,” she said, “the urges to use haven’t hit me this morning. But I was battling them hard in the middle of the night…”
“It’s good that you didn’t try and leave,” there wasn’t a chance she would have been able to. Even though I told her I hadn’t heard her in the night, it didn’t make my words true. Every noise my ears picked up, woke me from every damn dream I was having, nearly. I chewed on the butter-moist, toasted half of bread. “Never asked this,” I gruffed, “but how’d a girl like you get caught up in that shit?” It wasn’t like me to wonder if I’d crossed some invisible line; every line, every limit, I made my bitch. Yet for some reason, it tugged at me, the concept of hurting Madeline.
Her lovely face darkened, and she stopped her eating. “Bad things,” she susurrated, and her eyes flicked away from me.
“I see,” it was all I could find within myself to say.
There was a long moment of silence between us.
“It wasn’t any one thing,” she wasn’t looking at me still. Just staring off into space. “Or, that’s what I’ve told myself at least. My narrative of events. Maybe even my lie,” the words came out in a broken, hurt meter. Each movement of her lips stabbed at my chest with guilt for having asked her; it was plain to see how much guilt and shame she carried on those shoulders. “Dad was the straight shooter of the family,” she brought her sapphire blues back to me. “Real hard ass on just about anything, very strict. Him being in the same room with Mom’s just about the only way to loosen him up, really. He got me into the stuff that I listen to today.”
The flavor explosion of pork burst in my mouth, “You mean…�
�
“Music. He got me into Sabbath, Grateful Dead, Lydia Lauren. You’d never believe that he wasn’t—“ Madeline stopped and clenched her eyes shut, her face contorting with pain. “Sorry,” she brought a hand to her stomach, and she wavered in her wooden chair.
I brought myself out of my seat and made long strides towards her, placing my hands on her shoulders and leaning down toward her. “Don’t be sorry,” sometimes I wished that my voice wasn’t so rough. Wasn’t trying to scold or talk down to her.
“I’m okay,” she pushed out in a breath, and when I was sure that she was, I nodded and made my way back to the chair: “Yeah… so Dad never did drugs, but he got me into a lot of bands that did them. Maybe that was where I ever got the first inkling.”
“What was the big one?” I habitually cracked my knuckles and felt my phone go off in my jeans, but I mentally filed it away as something to check later.
“Lost my brother. Fell for the wrong guy, to save a friend.”
I stopped breathing for a moment, and just looked at her.
“We never even knew that something was wrong with him,” she continued, with an almost clinical tone. “He just… one day.” Madeline snapped her fingers, and shook her head, “offed himself. Me and my parents were asleep, and it was October 11th. I remember that. Such a mundane, typical day before – before it happened, you know. But now? Now it’s… not. We were all sleeping and then there was this great – crack? It boomed throughout the whole house.”
Jesus Christ. How the hell did this girl even have her head screwed on reasonably right? She continued: “Mom and Dad got there first. But I woke up in a panic, and I felt my heart just hammering away in my chest. I’d never even heard a gun before that day, not outside of TV and off in the distance. I thought that I was going to die,” Madeline shifted in her chair, the wood creaking as she did. “So, panic and terror had me in their grips, and I darted out to my room – listening to Mom and Dad call for me and Brandon. The screams that I heard that night, it sounded like it was from some kind of animal. They tried—well, Dad, tried to keep me out of his room. Try not to think about my brother like that… with all of that red running down his old bed.” Madeline shivered, and I couldn’t tell if it was from the memory or the sickness.
“Nobody should ever have to go through something like that, Madeline,” I told her. Knew there was more to this girl than a devil-may-care attitude and a great set of tits. “Please,” I said, “don’t tell me you blame yourself for something as fucked up as that.”
She didn’t respond.
“Madeline,” I urged, reaching my hand across the table to grab her own, delicate little hand. Her eyes shot up to meet mine, and a thorn of ecstasy pricked my heart. “I’m sure your brother, Brandon, I’m sure that he loved you,” I nodded my head for emphasis, “he wouldn’t want you to be torn up about him forever. He’d want you to be happy and healthy. Sound mind, sound heart.”
Broke me up inside to see the sheen of tears in her eyes, but she didn’t cry. Instead, after a moment, she looked like she was about to be sick and promptly excused herself.
She wasn’t ready to forgive herself just yet. For something that she didn’t even do.
But I’ll get her there. One touch at a time, one word at a time – one hour of listening at a time.
17
Madeline
It felt like the universe was punishing me for telling Gabriel about Brandon. I was puking my guts out for God only knows how long, and the rest of the day went by in a blur. Sleeping, tossing and turning, in and out of the shower, and a whole lot of irritability. Several times I told Gabriel that I was leaving, but he kept getting in my way like a stubborn ox. He told me that I couldn’t leave yet, that I wasn’t off of the shit for long enough – and he was right.
Damn, just so damn hard to not try and break away. In the back of my mind, I could feel myself unraveling. Dozens of plots and schemes on how to get out and score a fix went through my mind, and I knew that I could do it – if only for the fact that the man had to sleep sometime. Still, he had ears like a hawk; or at least it seemed that he did, anyway.
I savored every moment that I had with him, for some reason. Each talk and especially each touch of his hand on me, that was the most exciting part about it. We hadn’t done anything like that morning where he struck my ass – and if I wasn’t so sick, there were a number of times were I considered getting off to the thought of it.
My perversion was just a part of me, and I accepted that. It would be crazy not to fantasize with a guy like him around.
Pulling myself from that reverie, I shivered and bit down on my lip – sinking further into the embracing waters of the bathtub. Things had let up finally, and it was well past nine at night, now. Maybe I could leave tomorrow.
Leave. And go where? The thought stabbed at me.
I didn’t like home. I knew that Dad didn’t mean what he did, that I was just a huge disappointment to him and the family. But home just… doesn’t feel like home’s supposed to feel. Sure, I had my room and my guitar, and my music and my posters. But they were just tangible things, just items in my life.
What was there for me here?
What was there for me… anywhere.
The terrible thoughts, the darkness that soaked itself into my bones – I had to fight to get them away from me. When my mind drifted back to Gabriel, as I laid there in bath, equally bathed in mostly darkness – save for the soft, orange glow of the lights overhead; I felt this glorious heat rise up the soles of my feet, and shoot straight to my pussy.
Imagining his hard, chiseled body was my escape. My perfect little fantasy. Or at least, this was what I told myself – somewhere deep, deep inside of me, right down to my soul. There lurked fear. Fear of the shit that I felt when he sat next to me; of the way his hand would send electricity through my body.
Whatever it was that he made me feel. It was never supposed to be in the cards for a wayward daughter like me.
Maybe that wayward bad boy feels the same.
Regardless, I slipped my hand down my navel – the waters lapping against the bathtub as I sucked in a slow, slow breath. Waves of heat licked at me between my thighs, and my fingers found the head of my clit. I touched it ever so gently at first, a small, light moan rolling from my lips – so quiet that there wasn’t a chance that Gabriel could hear.
The darker, kinkier side of me wanted him too, though.
Easing my way down past my clit, I rubbed at the folds of my pussy. I pictured Gabriel, the way that I had saw him that morning, in all of his chiseled, tattooed glory. The scars, the eyes, the hunger and power behind his every motion. I wanted it all. Needed it. Inserting a finger, the lips of my greedy sex easily accepted it; this was a poor substitute for what I envisioned Gabriel carrying between those corded legs of muscle.
Picking up my pace, I could feel my nipples hardening at the lewd fantasy in my head. Colors swam inside my mind’s eye, and I imagined Gabriel slapping my ass again – picking me up in his strong arms and fucking me against a wall.
Fuck.
When I found a good, firm, quick rhythm, that was when the noises that escaped me grew loud. Pinpricks of pleasure danced across my skin, and I cupped at my breasts – pinching and twisting every now and again at my stiff nipples. Every part of my body was sick and tired of being sick and tired. Every inch of me craved him.
After a moment, I fully embraced and realized what I was doing. The mischief in me always seemed to be turned on, even when I didn’t notice. I made more noise; more wails and further writhing in the tub of warm water, fingering myself as good and hard as I could – pulling myself up and out of the water some. My fingers circled and pulled and worked at my clit until I was ready to explode; I wasn’t filled with shame, I was filled with the delusional hope that Gabriel would force himself into the bathroom and screw me until I was lost to blissful senselessness.
Every muscle in my body tensed up, and my toes curled something fierce. I shut
my eyes and shot my finger up to my mouth, biting down some, from some kind of old habit. And then I came harder than I could ever remember, at just the thought of getting taken by that man.
When a heavy, satisfied euphoria overcame me, and everything relaxed – I found myself smiling at the prospect of getting Gabriel hard.
A short spell of time later, after I’d cleaned myself and gotten dressed; I made my way from the bathroom into the living room, where Gabriel wasn’t to be found. I craned my head all around to look for him, and I noticed that his bedroom door was closed. Things were quiet. Suspiciously quiet. There was a part of me that wanted to knock, but instead I turned and surrendered myself over to that green couch – knowing full and well before long I’d be aching once more.
***
Everything came back in a blur, and I found myself waking up to the sound and sting of tears; didn’t take long for me to register that they were mine.
Why was I crying?
The dream. I had that dream again. Of Brandon. I lurched up in my makeshift bed on the couch, my skin slick with sweat and my bones aching with that familiar, chilling hurt.
Once my feet made contact with something hard and unmoving, that was when I realized Gabriel was sitting at the end of the couch – and he was just being roused from sleep. He looked over to me with groggy eyes, rubbing at them with the back of his hand. “What’s wrong,” he practically croaked before crawling over to me.
My heart wouldn’t stop hammering in my chest, and every breath that I took felt like pins and needles were going straight to my lungs. So I did the first thing that my body felt to do; there wasn’t any thought behind it, just basic instinct. I wrapped my arms around Gabriel and sunk my head into his chest, and when I convinced myself that it was okay to cry – that it was okay to just let go.
I did just that.